Chapter Text
If not for Milena’s bright eyes and happy sunshine smiles, the whole evening would be fucking irritating. It’s very hard for Lambert to feel anything but a smug motherfucker; those smiles and that citrus-bright happy scent around her? That’s all because of Lambert! Who knew he could be so generous and accommodating? He never imagined he would ever even want to. However, as it would seem, Milena only needs to bat those eyelashes and curl her lips just so and Lambert wants. By the gods, he wants Milena to be happy and content more than anything in this godsforsaken world.
This whole evening, the loud music, the constant scrutiny of all these softhanded, sharp-tongued cunts that call themselves nobles - it’s all laughingly easy to bear because of Milena’s happiness. By Melitele’s tits, they haven’t even had to go too far out of their way to give her this much.
Now, as she spins happily in elaborate forms on the dancefloor, laughing brightly with Aleksander, Lambert can’t help his smug satisfaction. The Duke of Roggeven can suck eggs in hell, he probably silently does so right now. Lambert shoots a quick assessing look to the high table. The Duke and the Duchess sit there straight-backed with expressions sour as if they’ve swallowed something hard and foul.
They weren’t invited to Tretogor when Geralt’s Progress arrived there as the last stop, hell no. Honestly, they should be happy they are still breathing, and perhaps some semblance of understanding has finally come over them. They are only alive because there are none in Kaer Morhen who wish to see Milena sad.
All of Redania came, except the Duke and the Duchess of Roggeven. That was perhaps for the best, but Lambert saw how sad it made Milena. Of course, they made up some bullshit reason about a census they needed to supervise during the visitation, but Lambert knows better. (And even if he doesn’t, even if he feels himself lost in the sea of all this proper, fancy and convoluted way nobles operated; Aleksander always takes the time to subtly let Lambert know. It’s sweet of him, Lambert thinks, how Aleksander always arms him with knowledge when he needs it, without anyone else seeing Lambert’s blindspots.)
The Progress was a long political parade, and honestly, if Lambert had to be the stupid warlord he’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t light something on fire. He did not envy Geralt through the whole ordeal and if his brother had cracked a single joke about giving him the title even for a single day, Lambert would have bitten him. Even if the lands under Geralt’s rule are theirs, they all keep the Wolf Law, and they are all led by reasonable folk; these last couple of months were fucking exhausting.
Milena was disappointed. Sure, she tried to act lively, and calm as always, and she had plenty to do as one of the Ladies-in-waiting of the cub, but Lambert knew. Even if the Duke and Duchess don’t fucking deserve it; Milena still loves them.
She had tried to explain once, the human condition. Aleksander too, when Lambert had a hard time imagining his whole being controlled by so many conflicting emotions. Perhaps once upon a time, when his eyes were still brown, his heartbeat human-fast, and he could still feel proper terror, he too was able to experience this phenomenon. Not anymore, though. He sympathised all week with Milena when she smelled like deep sorrow and tasted like sadness whenever Lambert kissed her - but secretly he couldn’t care less if a herd of ghouls ate the Duke and the Duchess.
Winter can’t come early enough this year.
Lambert watches Aleksander spin Milena swiftly and catch her safely, perfectly in sync with the music. Aiden beside him lets out a dreamy, happy little sound, and Lambert can only smugly grin and playfully nudge his boot under the table. Aiden must agree with his sentiment, and Lambert probably grins like a besotted fool, because soon enough the Cat nudges him back with his shoulder.
He still keeps half an eye on the high table as the servants come with another round of decorative pitchers. Nothing smells like poison, and the Duke and Duchess seem to be on their very best behaviour, even if they look like they bit into horseshit.
In another section of the ballroom, Livi laughs and spins with Coën, and Lambert sees with a certain sympathetic smugness that Dragonfly watches her lady love from a corner with the same sort of adoration and open wonder as he does.
Milena and Aleksander both clap now, cheering to the playing band with rosy cheeks and bright smiles, and the whole hall smells of their happiness. Aiden sighs beside him utterly besotted, and maybe Lambert would have teased him had he not made the exact same noise. It’s surprisingly easy, even if all their senses are on alert.
It seems her parents really only wanted to see their smallest daughter.
That was in their letter. It came on the last day, their party was already making the travelling plans back to Kaer Morhen when the message arrived, and Milena… Milena was overjoyed. She tried to hide it of course because Lambert’s precious lady love never wanted to compromise their journey, but Lambert… sweet Melitele, Lambert would have rolled around that scent of relieved happiness like a dog! Equally so, Milena couldn’t hide her overwhelming joy from the whole horde of Witchers either.
So Geralt let them come to Roggeven. With precautions, of course. As the greater part of their Progress party turned North with the help of the sorceresses’ cleverly placed portals - peppered in an intricate pattern around Kaedwen so no nosy sorcerer from any other kingdom could follow them - Milena was allowed to visit her ancestral home. With Lambert of course. And Eskel, so the Duke and Duchess would feel properly respected but also put into their places firmly and immediately if needed. Dragonfly and Serrit also came as it wasn’t certain Milena wouldn’t be immediately separated from them for some arbitrary gendered nonsense, and that of course meant Livi and Gweld joining them too. Aiden also wanted to come which meant Aleksander, the brave young man, also rode with them. (What is it with all these Redanian young nobles and their steel spines? And why can’t their seniors learn from them?) And Coën volunteered to come and support Eskel with sensible courtly behaviour because the chivalrous bastard thought they couldn’t be proper enough.
(Well, he isn’t wrong, but also, fuck him! Lambert has been on his best behaviour, and whenever he couldn’t, Milena and Aleksander helped him through the nifty, tongue-twisty, backhanded-talking verbal battles. Aiden likes to pretend he is better than Lambert, the charming bastard, but Lambert sees him observing from the shadows more than actually setting himself into vulnerable and foreign positions - or he just enjoys it whenever Aleksander takes the lead not only on the dancefloor but in social situations too. Livi is bright and brilliant as always and rewards Dragonfly with secret kisses whenever the Cat chooses to act courtly - and nobody has dared to even look sideways Serrit’s way, no matter how jovial and bright Gweld is beside her. So Coën and Eskel could get the fuck off that high horse!)
They can’t sleep inside the castle for some bullshit reason. Lambert is half convinced Milena’s parents are not only troublesome but also idiots and think Witchers carry some sort of disease with them within their walls. Well, jokes on them, because the camp they raised with luxurious tents in their hunting garden is just as comfortable, and Lambert can still snicker with wicked glee at the face the Duke had made when Milena let them know in no uncertain terms that she’ll spend the nights at the camp too.
Regardless of the awkwardness they themselves caused, the Duke and Duchess announced a ball in their honour.
And now they are here.
A proper feast with good wine, sweet mead, music, and dance… even if Milena’s parents look pale and almost unblinking, Lambert can slowly relax as Milena’s joy is so infectious. Perhaps her and her parents’ relationship will never be the same, but maybe that’s for the best, and something could grow from it. Like mixing substances in an alchemical lab, reacting and creating something entirely new, whether it’s a healing potion, a useful decoction or an explosion. Their relationship could morph into… something.
And Milena’s happiness is worth everything to Lambert.
And look, Lambert would do so much more for her. He would wrestle mountain trolls for bragging rights, and bring the finest tanned hides of slaughtered wyverns. He would bring her the head of the Duke of Roggeven if Milena wanted such a thing! Seven Hells, Lambert was ready not so long ago to be her consort if Milena so much as breathed any intention of taking over her dipshit father’s position!
Fortunately, though, his ladylove doesn’t need anything so outlandish. (Even the humble offering of a single elk made her pretty eyes bug out and gasp loudly when she saw it. She talked about it for days on end, but also assured Lambert she didn’t want him to go out of his way and hunt for her.)
So attending a ball at the Roggeven castle is no hardship, even if the band plays a touch too loud and the lanterns burn a tad too bright, and the latest fashion with all these sharp and contrasting colours is a bit dizzying. Lambert only has eyes for Milena anyway and her laughter sounds just like silver bells, her scent is joyous and citrus-bright and her smile is blinding brilliant, warming him to his core like the summer sun - it makes all that worth it.
They are already halfway to their table, and Lambert’s about to ask for the next dance when a lanky, young lad with flaming red hair and bright eyes shyly asks Milena. The lad is barely of age, a pup more than a fully formed man, and he looks at Milena like she hung the sun and the moon. Well, at least he has great taste, Lambert thinks. Of course, he would be smitten by radiant, brave, sweet and strong Milena de Roggeven. Who in their right mind isn’t a bit in love with her, Lambert wonders with an indulgent smile.
Milena only shoots a brief questioning look at him. It isn’t as if Lambert holds Milena hostage or something, but she seldom dances with anyone else except Aleksander, the cub and him, and Lambert has a sick sort of possessive joy over this fact… but this pup is hardly older than the cub, perhaps only two-three years or so her senior. And he is so clearly in love with her that it’s almost painfully sweet. If Lambert had the chance to dance with a woman like Milena when he was so green and innocent, perhaps his whole personality would have changed with the opportunity.
And Milena truly, honestly enjoys the evening, so why should Lambert break the courage and heart of a young man? There will be another dance later. He only smiles and nods to his lady love, and instead continues to look and listen for any lingering danger. He soon starts to suspect there aren’t many, except the general dickish expressions and passive aggression of Milena’s parents.
Which, now as he looks, seems more like they are hungry for something. Both the Duke and the Duchess watch Milena and the young man dance like crows perched on a tree above a battlefield. Huh, weird. The pup seems as dangerous as a newborn kitten and while Lambert listens he’s also stuttering apologies right as he stumbles and mixes up his right and left legs in the waltz. Milena is sweet as midsummer’s day is long, she kindly holds her conversation and graciously forgives whenever the lad accidentally steps onto her toes. Yet her parents watch them without so much as blinking.
What the fuck?
Lambert listens over the swelling music if there is anything fishy with this pup, but he is only as suspicious as a teenager would be in the presence of their first-ever beloved.
“Forgive me, my lady,” the lad whispers under his freckled nose both delighted to dance with Milena and mortified by making a fool out of himself. Lambert could sympathise with that sentiment. “Your radiance took my breath and also my balance, it seems.” Well, he has a better way with words than Lambert had the first time Milena asked him to dance, he gives the pup that much. But he definitely needs to borrow a few good poetry books to finetune all that. Perhaps he needs a bard for a friend.
Aiden nudges Lambert with his elbow, snickering with sly eyes just as Aleksander slips beside him on the bench.
“Looks like you have competition, Lambert.”
“Shut up,” Lambert snorts with amusement and only holds back himself from jovially flipping Aiden off because they are at a ball for their honour. And because Milena laughs like silver bells as the lad slowly finds his courage and spins her a bit more sure now.
“You are doing very well, Lord Andrzej,” Milena kindly reassures the lad, smiling at him like the sun. “Left now.”
“Thank you, my lady,” the pup says, and if Lambert concentrates really hard, he can smell the earnestness and open admiration on him.
“He seems sweet,” Aiden says softly as he gently takes Aleksander’s hand under the table, and with that, his breath. It’s really fucking adorable.
“I wouldn’t be worried about him,” Aleksander murmurs as soon as he gathers his wits and Lambert listens with his whole being. If there’s some sort of nobleman-fuckery afoot, he’s best to trust Aleksander’s expertise. “Lord Andrzej is the heir of the nearby Baron. I would pay more attention to the Duke and the Duchess, though. Something’s not right with them.”
“What do you mean, sweet pup?” Aiden purrs, his eyes already fixed on Milena’s parents as a cat would look at an amusing insect. “What’s not right?”
“They are awfully invested,” Aleksander swirls his goblet, pretending he doesn’t know everything about the true meaning of each social interaction that goes on in this ballroom. Lambert’s impressed yet again by his sheer knowledge of this foreign battleground. “Lambert, you are one of the highest-ranking lieutenants of the White Wolf and the closest thing she has to a husband. You danced with her at the opening songs and they pretended you two don’t even exist. I danced with Milena for three sets, and they didn’t even look at us once. Now the son of a Baron dances with her and they eye her as if she’s dancing with a crown prince. Something’s off about that.”
“Huh,” Lambert says softly. “Good catch. At least it’s not only me who feels weird about this whole evening.”
“She’s very happy,” Aleksander nods toward Milena. “I didn’t want to point this out to her because it felt too cruel. Everyone hopes for a good relationship with their parents, and perhaps I’m wrong and it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
“You give yourself too little credit,” Aiden hums as he leans a bit closer to Aleksander. Lambert suspects if it weren’t for this weird Redanian thing about gender, the Cat would kiss his forehead. “You have a very good eye for this. Danger is danger. We know how to see it out in the wilderness and you know how to recognise it within your walls. Now, do you have any idea why they would be so keen on seeing our darling Kitten spin around with a lad that’s barely old enough to get Grassed?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t make any sense,” Aleksander frowns in his wine, but Lambert sees his warm eyes taking in the ballroom as if he’s preparing for combat. “Usually marriage proposals from high-ranking families would make noble parents act exactly like that.” At that Lambert bristles. He knows this lad is no danger, yet something wild in him protests the idea vehemently. “But it doesn’t make any sense,” Aleksander quickly continues with an apologetic look. “You are as good as already married, and way higher ranking than Lord Andrzej is - even by Redanian standards. So I might be wrong.”
“Should we wed like Redanians?” Lambert growls low, and he doesn’t mean the mean edge to his tone, Aleksander doesn’t deserve it, but he can’t help as he glares daggers at Milena’s parents.
“I mean… I don’t think Milena would want that,” Aleksander shrugs with a shy smile. “I believe she’s more than content as you currently are. Why would you want to do something just to impress those vultures over there? You are far better than that.”
“My sweet, wolf-hearted pup,” Aiden sighs reverently, and Lambert sees him physically hold himself back from kissing Aleksander right on his lips.
And Lambert? Well, his Witcher-slow heart warms at his words, and he hears the steady support in Aleksander’s soft but fierce words in a way he could have never heard before Geralt gathered the Witchers in Kaer Morhen.
“Just… don’t be alarmed if someone would offer their sons for marriage,” Aleksander whispers, blushing as Aiden bats his eyelashes at him.
“Thank you,” Lambert huffs low, but grateful nonetheless. “That little lordling is only a child. No reason to be a dick to a pup. I’ll hold my prettiest words for his folks if it comes down to it.”
“Well, as amusing as that is,” Aleksander says with a little smile. “Be careful not to be coerced into a duel. You’ll win, there’s no doubt about it. But duels for the hand of a lady is customary to be until death in Redania.”
“The fuck?” Lambert frowns. “They would want me to kill a green pup?”
“I suspect, they’d expect so, yes,” Aleksander hums in that familiar tone he always makes whenever he feels he could solve some social puzzle. “Perhaps that’s why they are on the edge of their seats? Maybe they are afraid you’d demand a duel for Milena’s honour.”
“Or perhaps they are hoping for it,” Aiden says low and dangerous. “Redania might be part of Geralt’s lands, but this area sure still thinks us to be monsters.”
Lambert silently fumes. He would never raise a hand upon a child who takes one look at Milena and falls in love with her. What was with these sick bastards and their stupid duels and duelling insults? No matter how much more vile Lambert finds their customs; he will be the monster in the end within every scenario.
“Lambert,” Aleksander says softly. “You might be in their hall, but don’t forget who you are here. They are lucky Lord Eskel graces them with his presence and even more so; their daughter has such a fine partner.” Aleksander grins a bit, his eyes glinting almost as sharp as any wolf. “You can get them all grievously angry and fuming without any chance for them to say or do something if you choose to overlook such insults.”
“So all I have to do is not punch the teeth out of a literal child,” Lambert smirks. “And they’ll lose their shit? Sign me up.”
Aleksander giggles into his goblet and Aiden coos beside him. Lambert decides to ignore Milena’s parents so he can admire Milena’s beauty and grace as she twirls and giggles. The redhead lad’s face is flushed all the way to his neckline, and he grins as if he had just found the meaning of life.
“Lady Milena, you dance wonderfully,” he says, and Lambert smirks into his goblet as he listens in. “Would you care for a walk in the gardens after this set?”
“Your words astound me, Lord Andrzej,” Milena smiles sweetly as ever, but her eyes are now a bit more stern than warm. “But I will most certainly not do any such thing. Dancing with you is a delight, but I am not interested in walking or courting for that matter. My heart is already taken and I’m very content with my choice.”
“Oh,” the lad deflates like an abandoned bagpipe, and Lambert would feel sorry for him if his chest wouldn’t puff with pride.
He absentmindedly strokes the embroidered roses along the hems of his sleeves, and perhaps he blushes now. He certainly feels the tips of his ears burn hot. Milena’s open claim, whether it’s expressed with thread or with words, each time stuns him like an arrow through his chest, and it’s a bit hard to breathe after it.
“It’s not because I’m a Baron’s son?” the pup asks low, almost whispering as if he’s embarrassed by the question itself.
“No, Lord Andrzej,” Milena smiles sweetly, a bit softer than before, and the lad follows her twirling like he’s being pulled by a string after her. “It’s because my heart is already in the hands of the finest man on the Continent.”
Lambert chokes on his wine, and Aiden snickers beside him. Somewhere in the corners of the ballroom, Lambert can make out Dragonfly and Gweld cooing, Serrit harrumps in a certain way that means she almost has a heart, Coën dares to catch his hands against his chest with how adorable he finds Milena’s blatant claim - and even Eskel sighs reverently from his lonely, honoured perch at the high table. Romantic, ridiculous bastards!
“Oh,” the lad sounds stunned a bit. “I’m glad for you, Lady Milena,” he says after a moment, and it’s true, his speaking only the truth, even if Lambert can almost smell the moment his heart breaks. Poor sod. “But, forgive me for my forwardness, does your mother know about your happiness? Because I admit I wouldn’t have dared to ask you for dance if not for them reassuring me that you’re looking for marriage candidates.”
“Did they say so?” Milena asks, her smile no longer sweet and warm, but that horrid fake thing she wears as her armour. Lambert instantly wants to punch something. Preferably Milena’s parents. “It must have been a small misunderstanding. People in Kaer Morhen usually don’t wed in the sense people in Redania do. It must have been a small culture shock for my mother and perhaps I haven’t explained well enough in my letters. I’m beyond sorry for hurting your feelings.”
Lambert knows for a fact that Milena made it extremely clear who she had chosen and why she had stayed in Kaer Morhen. Not that any of them ever responded to her letters, not even on her birthday, or solstice days. But this is low, even for them. Now Milena had to break the heart of a green pup and learn her parents had probably only invited her to find her someone eligible to marry. Milena’s joy all but evaporates within minutes as the set slowly ends and the lordling politely thanks her for her time with a sad little bow.
Lambert silently recites the ingredients to his favourite bombs in reverse alphabetical order, his fingers curling into tight fists and he holds back himself from slapping the Duchess across the face only because Aiden secretly holds a hand on the small of his back, and also because Milena needs his support more than her parents need his wrath.
Lambert sighs deeply as his lady love comes, slow and sad. This is not a ball for their honour or some shit. They didn’t want to see Milena or gather up and mend whatever had remained of their familiar bond, no. This is a trick where they disrespect and disregard their littlest, smartest, most wonderful daughter’s choice.
He reaches for the fresh pitcher of sweet plum wine Milena likes so much. It’s sweet and warm and makes Lambert’s tongue stick to the roof of his mouth after a few sips, but it’s Milena’s favourite. He pours her a generous amount because that’s all he can offer right now (well, aside from killing her parents right here and right now) and the overly sweet scent pleasantly burns his nose. At least her parents did one thing well and it’s her favourite.
Lambert knows that later, when they retire to their tent, Milena will most probably cry, and Lambert will hold her and swear up a storm in her name, perhaps even swear to burn down the Roggeven castle. Who knows, perhaps he’ll even offer to bring her her father’s head on a silver tray because now Milena might at least consider it. And tomorrow, they’ll head North because there’s no hope or any sensible reason to stay one more day - and if it’s up to Lambert, Milena will never ever have to put up with these dickheads again.
Milena gracefully slips beside him on the bench and gratefully takes both the goblet above the tabletop, and Lambert’s warm, calloused hand under it. She looks at him with a forced, pained, teary smile, and Lambert wants to set something on fire only to bring her joy back. He hears the low whine from Aiden, and perhaps he subconsciously makes a similar noise. Milena should only smell happy and content, and not at all so sad.
She glares at her goblet wordlessly, pressing her lips together deep in thought.
Perhaps she doesn’t want to drink it at all.
Perhaps Lambert should throw it in the high table’s direction. Maybe it would be a good aiming game with Dragonfly, Serrit and Aiden. Fuck their wine!
Or perhaps Lambert should drink it all. It’s free wine after all, even if it’s overly sweet for his taste. He should drink their cellar dry only to make a point!
Whatever Milena wants to do, whatever her choice is, Lambert’s holding her hand and he will continue to do so however she chooses to do. There ought to be at least one person respecting her decisions, even if they are not her parents.
Who takes the goblet in the end?