The first time Jaskier meets Lambert heās been chained up in a prison in Vizima for two weeks.
āOh, another midnight torture? What a surprise, bring it on!ā Jaskier snarls at the dark figure standing at the door of the cell. āCome on, Master Henchman, bring on the Scavengerās Daughter, bring those thumbscrews to torture an innocent troubadourāā
āJaskier,ā Geralt growls from the ceiling where their torturers chained him up about a week ago when he nearly bit off a guardās finger. āShut up.ā
āExcuse me, but Iām not going to suffer thisāā Jaskier gestures with his hand wildly, his chains clinking. āThis preposterous parody of justice silent! Show your face at least, coward!ā he spits at the cloaked figure. āLet me see the cruel and foolish man, who fears not the punishment Destiny harbours for those, who hurt the innocent! Let me know the name of the man, who brings my doom, so with my last breath I can curse him.ā
Despite his daring words Jaskierās mouth slams shut when the cloaked man steps closer and moves his hand. However, in the end he only reaches up to lower his hood. Yellow, cat-like eyes, much like those of Geralt look at Jaskier with an amused squint in the dim light.
āWhat a lovely introduction for little old me. Iām touched.ā The man grins and looks up at Geralt. āIs he always so wordy?ā
āAlways,ā the witcher confirms from the ceiling.
Jaskier looks between Geralt and the stranger confused, then he says, tentatively,
āAre youā Vesemir?ā
The cloaked man lets out a bark of laughter at that.
āShould you ever meet the old man, donāt tell him you said that. Heād be offended.ā He shrugs off the heavy cloak to the floor, revealing a stylishly sewed leather jerkin and gives Jaskier a theatric little bow. āLambert dol Angra, at your service,ā he says, and picks out a small tool from a pouch on his belt to duck down to tinker with the lock on Jaskierās handcuffs.
āLambert of Dol Angra?ā Jaskier repeats watching as the man frees first his right then his left wrist.
āNo, no āofā,ā Lambert huffs, with the air of someone, whoās already explained something about a hundred times, which is, considering the lifespan of witchers, actually quite likely. āDol Angra, the Elven name of the city next to the River Angra literally translates to āof the Angraā, which with an extra āofā in my name would make me āof of the Angraā. And that would be just silly, wouldnāt it?ā he asks, flashing a bright smile at Jaskier as he takes the cuffs off his sore wrists.
āWouldnāt be the stupidest thing about you,ā Geralt chimes in from the ceiling, making them both turn their heads up at him.
āThatās rich, coming from a man chained to the roof,ā Lambert retorts snidely, but despite his biting words heās quick to stand on the creaky bench (the only piece of furniture in their cell), so that he can work on the locks holding Geralt restrained. āRemind me, what were you arrested for? Spanking the aldermanās son, hm?ā
āI was mind controlled,ā Geralt grits out. The kick towards Lambertās face once his legās freed is definitely not just a muscle spasm. Lambert dodges it easily though and moves to pick another lock. Once he frees the last chain he swiftly catches Geralt in the air before heād land on the ground.
āHello schmuck,ā Lambert murmurs, effortlessly holding Geralt in a bridal carry as if that was his gods given job. āLong time no see.ā
āPrick,ā Geralt says as a greeting, wiggling out of Lambertās arms with a ferocity as if that was his personal quest bestowed upon him by the very same gods.
āAw, wonāt you let me carry you over the doorstep?ā Lambert crows, and Geraltās just about to say something biting to that when Jaskier loudly clears his throat.
āI hate to interrupt, gentlemen,ā he says flatly. āBut I think we should, you know, get the hell out of here preferably before the guards notice us.ā
Two pairs of golden eyes blink at him surprised.
āWell, you heard your bard,ā Lambert says eventually and then without warning he lets Geralt go. He lands on the ground with a thud and a groan, which quickly turns into a snarl as Lambert casually steps over him to walk out of the cell.
āOi, you bastard, you canāt just drop a poor man like that!ā Jaskier calls after him before he rushes to Geraltās side. āAre you alright?ā he asks earnestly, holding out a hand for Geralt. The witcher makes a point of not taking it and scrambling to his feet on his own.
āIām fine,ā he grunts, dusting off his trousers. After two weeks rotting in a prison cell it doesnāt do much, but still, at least it makes Geralt feel a little more like himself. Heās just about to step out of the cell when Jaskier grabs his hand, the unusual physical contact making Geraltās head snap back.
There were a few precious times when Jaskier was willing to hold hands, most of which happened in the context of some awkward, but positively delicious trysts in the wilderness when they couldnāt pay for whores and a couple of times when they were in mortal peril for simple comfort.
Geralt knows how monstrous he is and Jaskier forcing himself to call for his attention by touching him has significance.
āWhat?ā he asks sharply, his shoulders tense. Jaskier worries his lips between his teeth for a moment before he asks, quietly,
Geralt knits his eyebrows, looking at the bard as if he thought he was a little slow.
Jaskier lets out a small, humourless chuckle, his eyes a little too knowing and sad for his young age and light nature when he looks up at Geralt, and asks,
For a moment Geralt just eyes Jaskier, trying to parse out the meaning of this questioning, for he knows it is not simply in the words, but in the way Jaskierās hand clenches and his mouth wobbles just a little like when heās about to cry, but tries to put on a brave face.
āHeās just a prick,ā Geralt says eventually, his tone soft and warm despite the crude wording.
A loud explosion shakes the ground beneath their feet.
āGentlemen,ā Lambert croons, popping his head in through the door. āI hate to interrupt, but the guards have noticed us, so if we donāt want to die a fucking gruesome death in about three minutes, we might want to move our asses.ā
Jaskier looks up at Geralt and the witcher squeezes his hand reassuringly.
āLetās go,ā Jaskier agrees with a small smile, and they do just exactly that.
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