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Lambert lent against the hard stone of the window frame with his arms crossed as he looked out at the landscape below. Winter was finally releasing its iron grip on the valley but it was still too cold for the snow that had collected to melt. A thick blanket of it lay over the courtyard. It covered up the ugly, half crumbling walls and outbuildings, hiding the mess that lay beneath. ‘ It must look even worse in the summer’ Lambert mused. He spared a rare, pitying thought for Vesemir who was the only person that had to see it.
Down in the courtyard below, Geralt and Jaskier worked on clearing out the stables. The bard seemed content to leave most of the shit shovelling to Geralt and instead busied himself with feeding the horses treats, making sure their tack was in order (which it was, Lambert had cleaned it all himself the day before), and generally being a nuisance. He shuffled around and kicked snow at Geralt when he walked past before resorting to hanging off the witcher when he wasn’t given the attention he thought he deserved.
Geralt, remarkably, seemed to have endless amounts of patience to spare. He smiled softly at the bard and took his weight without complaint, even when Jaskier’s feet dragged along the floor, arms around Geralt’s shoulders as they disappeared back into the stables. Lambert wasn’t sure what he’d do if he were in Geralt’s place. On one hand, Jaskier’s easy touches would no doubt be overwhelming, as would his untiring attempts at distraction. But on the other hand… well.
Jaskier was just so… nice. Sometimes it was almost painful for Lambert to bear it. Unfailing positivity wasn’t something he was used to, even as a child, and he had no idea how he should be reacting. Setting his eyes upon Lambert for the first time as Geralt introduced them, Jaskier’s first words had been “My word, what lovely hair!”. No one’s first thought at meeting Lambert had ever been anything nice before. Not knowing how to react, Lambert had snapped at him and been forced to watch the smile on his face die.
The compliments didn’t cease though, in fact they only grew in frequency. Lambert was never sure what to do with himself when given them. They made him feel so… vulnerable. And vulnerability was something he’d shied away from all his life. Since midwinter, Jaskier’s kind words had been getting quieter and less performative - now not for dramatic effect and more for just Lambert alone. And with each one, the unfamiliar but not unknown feeling in Lambert’s chest grew.
Jaskier had wormed his way into Lambert’s heart and that scared him. But the possibility that Jaskier might return the feelings Lambert had developed almost against his will was a distant one considering the bard’s relationship with Geralt. The two were clearly in a relationship, even if no one would admit it out loud. Right from the start, they’d smelt so much of each other that blindfolded, they would have been indistinguishable if not for Jaskier’s faster heart rate. Lambert was sure he’d heard Jaskier sneak into the other’s room on cold nights too - although he’d never heard them fuck (touch wood) for which he was greatful. With that in mind, Jaskier’s endless attention seemed to be a slap in the face, no matter how much Lambert wanted to lean into that slap.
He turned away from the window with a quiet growl when Jaskier reemerged, laughing and dragging Geralt along behind him by the hand. He couldn’t watch. They were so happy together and Lambert was a fool for thinking, even for a moment, that he could have the same. ‘ Gods, he was pathetic wasn’t he? Turning into a pining mess at the first sign of kindness?’ Lambert was too broken for love and it was stupid to think otherwise.
With another annoyed grumble, he stomped from the room in the direction of the alchemy laboratory. Making bombs and blowing shit up was a method of therapy that had yet to fail him.
The day passed quickly enough after that, for Lambert at least. The bombs took a long time to brew so his therapeutic explosion session would have to wait until the following day. He passed the time in between doing anything he could to burn off his restless energy and quiet his mind. First, it’d been his usual exercises but when Vesemir had noticed he was idle he’d quickly been put to work hauling rubble for the rest of the afternoon. By the time his chores were done and dinner was over, Lambert considered himself sufficiently worn out.
“You’re on clean-up duty.” Eskel nudged his shoulder with his own as he stood from the bench, the others doing the same.
“Oh joy…” Lambert breathed, although he was a little too tired for his voice to carry it’s usual scorn. Geralt snorted, and stood too, following Jaskier’s lead.
“Oh I can help!” The bard turned from where he’d been heading towards the door. He looked so hopeful and when his gaze turned to Lambert, it was unashamedly sincere. Lambert’s gut wasn’t sure if it should flutter or cringe.
“That’s ok, you go on up.” He waved him off. But Jaskier wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
“No it’s fine! I’ll help! It’ll be done sooner with two people anyways.” Jaskier was already clearing up plates, energy as boundless as always, and Lambert was powerless to stop him.
Jaskier took his place at the sink without complaint, his chatter petering out into a soft melody hummed as he worked. Lambert stayed mostly quiet, unsettled as always by Jaskier’s kindness. He wasn’t sure if Jaskier knew, but the actual washing of the dishes in the sink was something Lambert despised. The soggy bits of food touching his skin and floating about in the water made his skin crawl nastily. He couldn’t help but be grateful that Jaskier had taken on that particular task.
Instead, Lambert stood beside him, drying and stowing away plates, pots and cutlery as he went. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax into the domesticity of it. It was easy to pretend that they were together, Geralt out of the picture. That Lambert wasn’t a monstrous witcher but simply a lover and someone to be cared about. It was something he could never have but that didn’t stop him dreaming.
“Here you go, darling.” Jaskier murmured before passing him a plate. The vision Lambert had created in his mind shattered, as did the plate when he threw it against the wall.
“Don’t fucking call me that!” He snarled viciously. Jaskier froze and stared at him with wide eyes. The surprise and innocence in them only angered Lambert more.
“I just-”
“You were just being a bitch. I know what you’re doing! What you’ve been doing all winter! You’re flaunting how nice you are just like you flaunt your voice! ‘ Oh look at me! Look at how much I’m better than you! Nicer! More sociable!’ Fucking stop it. You think it’s funny to give compliments you don’t mean? To make people grow attached and fall in love with you even though you’re fucking someone else?” He’d already given too much away but it was too late to turn back. He paced the worn flagstones of the kitchen , gesticulating angrily as he did so.
“I’m surprised Geralt hasn’t caught on yet but i fucking hope he does. You know I hate people like you? You don’t care about other people’s feelings at all! You’re just leading everyone on for your own fucking vanity! I won’t have you sit there and fucking lie to me anymore!”
“Please don’t yell at me…” Hearing Jaskier’s usually strong voice trembling as an odd sound. When Lambert turned, his face softened from it’s angry expression into one of surprise. Jaskier was crying. Lambert wasn’t sure what he’d intended when he’d exploded like he did but the sight of Jaskier’s red cheeks and tears unsettled a deep part of him. As it was, he was shocked to silence which was leave enough for Jaskier to continue. “I was saying these things because… well because i care about you, you fucking ass hole. I love you, can’t you see that? I haven’t exactly been hiding it.”
Lambert’s arms dropped to his sides. The shock of the declaration overrode everything else he was thinking and feeling. What was he supposed to say to that? It took more than enough brain power just for Lambert to turn on his heel and leave the room.
He avoided the main hall and the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. No doubt, someone would’ve heard his outburst and tried to talk to him about it. He couldn’t deal with an annoyed Geralt or feigned sympathy from Eskel. Lambert wasn’t in the mood to talk, there were too many things to think through. Instead, he opened the side door out into the courtyard. The chill hit him like a ton of bricks but he barely noticed, stomping out to clear his head and smalling the door behind him.
As he trampled around in the snow, Lambert wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel. This could just be more of Jaskier’s mind games. He couldn’t love Lambert, surely? During the season, Lambert had snapped at him countless times and mocked everything from his clothing to his handwriting. Sure, they’d had some fun times too but that was Jaskier just being nice - just trying to fit in so Geralt would feel like he’d made the right decision in bringing him here.
And he was dating Geralt… wasn’t he? They were with each other all the time, practically living inside each other’s pockets. He was almost certain he’d seen Geralt being love-sick too. He’d seen the look often enough when Yennefer had stayed on year. Could Jaskier perhaps be stringing them both along? It was a slim possibility. Eskel, ever astute, would have noticed and said something if that were the case.
Fuck, what if Jaskier really did like Lambert? What then? He wasn’t sure what kind of mental hoops the bard would have to jump through to develop feelings for Lambert of all people but too much of this was already questionable to begin with.
Fuck.
He’d made Jaskier cry. Fuck. Usually, bards cried at the drop of a hat, emotional beings as they were. But this winter he didn’t think he’d seen Jaskeir shed a single tear. Travelling with Geralt, he’d become hardened to that kind of thing, Lambert guessed. But that only made it all the more heartbreaking and unsettling when the bard did finally cry. If Jaskier didn’t hate him before, he certainly would now.