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solcorvidae · 4 months

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I've been thinking about how Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt all deal with the trials and how it shapes them into the people they would grow to become.

Lambert remembers his past. He is angry, upset, bitter, and vindictive. He's got this fire in him that is only stoked by the pain and suffering forced upon him. He remembers the boys who did not make it: the hell they all had to go through, and he has a complicated relationship with Vesemir that surrounds it. Lambert does questionable things that Geralt is bothered by in his grief and anger. Geralt calls him out for killing in cold blood, needlessly and mercilessly.

Lambert avoids Vesemir at Kaer Morhen and mocks him when he is not around. He may come off as childish and like an asshole, but Lambert knows what he feels. Lambert doesn't lash out because he can't control his emotions or because he doesn't understand the path of least resistance. He knows. He chooses to avoid conflict with Vesemir at Kaer Morhen by keeping out of his way. He knows he can't control his emotions effectively if he is face-to-face with him for too long. He knows, and he isn't stupid.

Lambert talks to Geralt about the trials and the injustice of it all. He probably looks up to Geralt, hoping his brother feels just as angry about it as he does. He went through the Trial of the Grasses twice for Christ's sake! Why is he not more angry? Why is he so apathetic?

And Geralt brushes him off time and time again. Such is life, is his attitude. We all went through it, he says. Geralt can't be upset because there is nothing he can feasibly do about it. He didn't choose to be a Witcher. He wouldn't have chosen this life. He would have some other job somewhere else, just like he told Regis. He can't change the past. He can't go back and fix something he never had control over in the first place. Besides, they can’t inflict the trials upon a new generation of kids, not anymore. It’s in the past now, so why dwell on it? What’s done is done and thank god no other kids have to suffer the way they did. It’s over. It’s time to move on.

Geralt doesn't enjoy fame. He tells Eskel this in To Bait a Forktail. Geralt is the famous twice-grassed White Wolf. He is The Witcher. The famed Geralt of Rivia. He has expectations piled upon him the size of mountains. He's got to be the perfect Witcher, he's got to be a loyal brother, a lover, and a best friend… Geralt had expectations put upon him that set him aside from the rest since he was a kid. He hates it. Underneath the banter and the wit, Geralt accepts that this is his life, but that doesn't mean he likes it. He tolerates it because it is his reality and nothing more. If he thinks about it for too long… maybe it will consume him.

"You remember her?" he asks Eskel about his mother.

Unlike Lambert, Geralt hardly knows what it means to live another life. He doesn't have that following him like it does with his brother. What little he remembers is not enough to erase the apathy drilled into him at such a young age. Maybe he has a more strict moral code than say, Lambert, (or if you want to bring in the other Witcher schools, most of the Cats and the caravan) but that doesn't make him the most ethical person on the Continent. How could you be? After all that he has endured, the things he was taught? Where do you draw the line? He kills monsters, but like in Velen, it's hard to see where the line's drawn in the sand.

Humans are monstrous too.

Eskel, however? Maybe he's jealous. He did everything right, why shouldn’t he be? He is superiorly skilled in magic, one hell of a good Witcher. He has a reputation for it. Maybe he's not as kind as your average person, but he gets the job done. He's got a more relaxed demeanour than his brothers which reveals itself in his reputation. He's reliable. He is damn good at what he does. So why does Geralt get all the attention? The fame? He clearly doesn't want it.

While Lambert got turned into a vindictive prick and Geralt became a quick-witted nihilist, Eskel? He's exactly who he should be. Why shouldn't he be praised for it like his brother? Why should he be forced to bend over backwards to accommodate people and keep up with his reputation? For what? His skills? Ha! He lives in the shadows of Geralt who's notably a good Witcher, but he's not quite as good as Eskel.

Eskel was beaten shaped into the man he is today because of the trials, his training, and everything else. Should he not get credited for that too? Why does someone who doesn't even want his fame get all the recognition? Genetic predisposition? Shouldn't his hard work be given more consideration and praise? Thank god Geralt survived the hell of being subjected to two rounds of mutagens rather than one, but why should that overshadow the efforts, the time, and the sacrifices that everyone else around him has made? Eskel is exactly the man that they intended him to be by the end of it all. He is an efficient hunter, he is outstanding with signs, and he works diligently for his reputation. He did everything right. He does everything right. Why is that not enough?

TL;DR: Lambert, Geralt and Eskel handle their traumas in different ways. Lambert gets vengeful, Geralt gets apathetic, and Eskel gets borderline jealous. (And it breaks my heart)

#this probably doesn't make as much sense as it does in my head but I tried to write it in the most coherent way that I could #this has been gnawing at me since last night I needed to get it out of my head because its eating me alive #the witcher #the witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #eskel witcher #lambert witcher #eskel tw3 #lambert tw3 #meta post #witcher meta #sol rambles #sol scribbles

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ccghastly · 7 months

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Trainee Geralt & The Advanced Obstacle Courses

A little oneshot I just had to write out. It's only about 1k words long.

I hope you enjoy it!

The trainers grew frustrated with Geralt after he'd finished his trial of the grasses(both of them), as he'd slowed down on the obstacle courses.

He used to run the trainee courses with the frantic reckless hope that all the trainees did. Pushed, as they were, by their trainer's harsh words and expectations.

He now plodded through the advanced courses, pausing on every obstacle to watch how the next moved, even after having completed the same courses over and over again. The trainers had tried shouting and beating and bribing and threatening and cajoling and scorning, but still he crept through each course.

The trainers went to Vesemir, as he was leader of Geralt's Cohort, and Vesemir tried to encourage a bit more confidence into Geralt; he knew that Geralt could run those courses just as fast as any of the other trainees, if he'd just apply himself.

But still Geralt refused to speed up.

There came a day that Vesemir was headed to the library and, while crossing a walkway, spotted Eskel running the third advanced course. Curious, and knowing the trainees rarely went anywhere alone, he stopped to see what they were up to.

The trainees weren't forbidden from running the courses independently, but they rarely chose to with the rare bits of free time they had.

Eskel seemed to be trying to improve on his speed record, sprinting as hard as he could through the obstacles, and getting summarily knocked off for prioritizing speed over caution.

Vesemir winced as Eskel tucked into a hasty roll to break his fall and crashed into a support pillar of the neighboring course,

"Doing better, Keli." Came a soft rasping voice,

"Yeah," came a more acerbic voice "Last time you took way longer to fall there."

Vesemir looked over and wasn't surprised to find Geralt and Lambert stood nearby, they were a trio none had seen pairing up, but they hadn't yet had a spat bad enough to permanently split.

Geralt was tallying up the marbles from the counter; a contraption of turning gears and popping ropes the mages had put together to accurately time things. Marbles dropped out of it at specified intervals, the more marbles, the more time had passed.

The record for the third advanced course by a full witcher was set by Naumir at eight marbles, the trainee record was fourteen. Eskel seemed to have run about three fifths of the course in eleven, which was about where he should in his training.

Eskel groaned as he disentangled himself from the pillar and pushed himself to his feet, the many scuff marks and skids of dirt on his clothes showed that he'd been at this for a while. Lambert looked to be only a touch cleaner, so the pup must have given it a few tries as well. Vesemir studied Geralt, hoping for even the smallest smear of dust, but was dissatisfied to find he showed no signs of having fallen from the course.

Vesemir didn't know where the boy's sudden fear of falling had come from, it wasn't a large fall, and he didn't seem to fear heights when running the walls or during climb training, but still he refused to take risks on the obstacle courses.

Vesemir shook his head and began to walk away, but paused when he heard Lambert pipe up through Eskel's plotting and self chastising,

"Will you run it, Geralt?"

Vesemir turned back and watched Geralt study the course with a pensive look in his eye, he seemed about to decline when Eskel spoke,

"Would you? Show me how it's done, Wolf"

Geralt gazed at the course for a moment more then tilted his head to eye his brothers, Eskel and Lambert stared back with pleading eyes, and Geralt finally nodded a slow agreement. Lambert broke into cheers and Eskel clapped him on the arm with a beaming grin.

Vesemir watched with trepidation, and a small amount of hope, as Geralt clambered to the start of the course and stared it down while he waited for Lambert to shove all the marbles back into the counter and Eskel to set everything moving again.

"Ready… Go!" Shouted Lambert as he pulled loose the starting cord of the counter.

Vesemir felt his heart sink in his chest, when instead of launching forward Geralt slid into a crouch, his eyes unwavering from their lock on the course's first obstacle.

Vesemir might have left then, but there was something about this that felt different, so he stayed and watched his boy watch the rhythm of course.

For the first time Vesemir was able to have his full attention on Geralt as he faced a course and he realized that the gleam in Geralt's eyes wasn't fear, but a fierce calculation.

Geralt's head started a small sway in time with the first pendulum and then, all of sudden, he was off.

Vesemir felt his jaw slacken, he'd never seen a trainee run this course that fast, or that fluidly. It was as though Geralt knew exactly what was going to happen an instant before it did, he swung around pendulums, under bars, leapt gaps, and dodged spikes without a single toe misplaced. Not a move was wasted.

Vesemir found himself holding his breath as Geralt approached the final stretch, it was designed to force Witchers to use their signs, the obstacles unnavigable without them.

Geralt threw himself into the fray without a single beat of hesitation. His fingers flowed through his signs, but he left them half powered, giving them the bare minimum of the strength that was needed to let him eel through the great moving pieces, that could and would break any limbs they caught.

Geralt was nearly out when a piece moved a touch faster than he'd anticipated and clipped his heel, sending him tumbling madly into the last set. Vesemir wouldn't be surprised if he left an exact imprint of his fingertips in the balustrade he was clutching, with how tightly he was strangling it.

Geralt bounced off one clapper into another, and kicked off a third to tumble desperately over the finish line and, blessedly, off the obstacle course.

Only then did Vesemir register Lambert and Eskel's screaming whoops and howling. Geralt's brothers rushed to congratulate him and Vesemir sagged to the floor of the walkway.

As he calmed, Vesemir began to make out words over the thunder of his heart in his ears,

"TEN!" They were screaming "TEN! GERALT!" and Vesemir felt a grin creep onto his face.

I do have more on this, so if you have any questions feel free to ask!

💝 Thank you for reading 💝

#Geralt #Eskel #lambert #vesemir #papa vesemir #the witcher #witcher trials #ccghastly #kaer morons

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jasmines-library · 1 year

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You'll Be Okay.

Geralt of Rivia/The Witchers x Injured Reader.

Summary: Growing up in Kaer Morhen as a female Witcher was never easy, but you always had your brothers beside you. Although you only see them a few times a year, you are still close, trusting each other with your lives as you have done many times before. So what happens when your brother, and best friend, gets infected by a creature you dedicate your life to hunting?

Warnings: Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, angst, choking, near death, swearing, stabbing, weapons, loss/grief, whump, angst, hurt/comfort, a bit of a slow start.

Notes: This can be interpreted as completely platonic, or as a Geralt x reader, or Eskel x reader, it’s up to you to choose. This also takes place during S2E2 of the Netflix show.

Word count: 4.1K (it got a little out of hand...)

⭒ Masterlist ⭒

Kaer Morhen was far from silent. The snow had settled on the blue mountains casting a misty haze across the sky and the Witchers had retired home for the winter. They sat gathered round the dim firelit hall sipping on beer and sweetened mead as they boasted about their scars and the exciting stories behind them. Witchers were rare to stumble upon.The trials were dangerous and most people died before completing them. There were as little as 20 witchers left after the massacres, where many of the few men died. Female Witchers were incomparable, unheard of. The trials were nearly impossible for boys, let alone a young girl. Though, some spoke of a woman with eyes as golden as the blazing sun whose magic and strength was comparable to that of mages. A woman who not only passed the trials but exceeded trials beyond those alongside Geralt of Rivia.

You sat slumped against the table in the corner of the room with a dark beer in hand as you studied the scenes of your brothers before you. Many had not returned home. Being a Witcher was a dangerous art and not always a wanted one. You knew that. You could be killed or fatally injured at any unexpected moment. It’s why you all had to keep a keen eye out, a single slip up and it could be game over. Your golden eyes glazed over the men before you. You would be lying to say that your stomach knotted in the absence of Geralt and Eskel. You had grown close with the pair, Geralt had been there throughout your trials, easing you though the burning pain as the herbs coursed through your veins like fire and patching up wounds you could not. Eskel had helped train you to fight. He taught you to never give up. That you could do anything they could. Your enhanced senses meant that you could hear the rattling of the door handle before it slammed open and the muttering died down like a flame. A hooded figure stepped into the room. His pale hair fell in ragged ringlets in front of his face and his eyes that correlated yours melted from the piercing gaze they held as he pulled his hood down. Surprisingly, in tow was a young girl, perhaps around the same age you were when you began your trials.

“Here comes trouble.”

You leaned forwards in your seat as Lambert stood and approached Geralt.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He folded his arms.

“We thought you got lost. Or killed.” Coën jested.

Geralt's eyes softened and a smile crept onto his lips. “Not yet. Sorry.”

Lambert smiled before embracing his brother tightly. “Brother! I knew you’d make a fucking entrance.”

A tall figure lurked towards the front of the room. His hair was much like Geralt’s; it shimmered softly under the light and his eyes were much like yours. Upon his face his moustache and eyebrows were littered with greys.

“Wolf.” When he spoke his voice was firm though you could hear the relief. “You’re home. Finally.”

“Vesemir.” Geralt said, addressing the man. He was as close to a father as Geralt had. As close to a father as all of you had. The young girl who arrived with Geralt, clung to his side, anxiously, wrapped tightly in a fur shawl, which was so large that it tickled her rosy cheeks. Geralt gestured to her. “Had to make a few stops.”

“Hmm.”

A sort of uncomfortable silence encased the room as people waited for what would come next. The cracking of the flames was the only thing heard before you rose from your chair, the old wood creaking as it shifted, and made your way towards your brother. His face lit up with anticipation.

“Geralt of Rivia.” You chuckled. “You never fail to surprise.”

Geralt studied you carefully as you spoke. He noticed all of the new blemishes in your skin and the fresh scar that ran across your eyebrow and down your cheek. He took in your eyes and the way their yellow hues shifted in the light and the smile that was pressed on your lips. He admired your hair and the way you kept it; different from the last time he saw you, but still he liked it. He had missed you.

“Y/N. Long time no see.”

Your lips curved further upwards and your eyes glistened. “Too long.” You pulled him in close and welcomed the slow beating of his heart. He was alive.

“He’s home!” The tender moment was broken by the slamming of a knife in one of the tables followed by the rest of your brothers swarming the man.

It was darker still when the room continued to erupt with laughter at Lambert’s very animated retelling of one of his jobs. The young girl - Ciri, had made herself comfortable with a goblet, her face was lit up with an ecstatic grin. She reminded you much of yourself when you were her age. The wind howled outside, rattling against the door and pounding at the windows.

“Best job I had all year.” Lambert chuckled, taking another swig of his drink, spilling some of it down the side of his face and onto his shirt. He cursed and patted at it with a rag before tossing it back on the table.

Vesemir raised his goblet aloft. “Each of your faces is cause enough for celebration. You’re safe. You made it back. You made it home.”

A series of glasses and goblets were raised in agreement. You raised yours high, morning the missing face of Eskel and your other brother who didn’t make it.

“Here’s to another winter together.”

There were a number of murmurs and follow up toasts, the sound of glasses clinking together and chairs shuffling.

Geralt raised his cup “To the brothers. To our sister. To family.”

“To family” chortled everyone.

A strong draft rushed in as a booming voice sounded from the entrance to the hall. “To forgetting the fucking path! For one fucking night. Who’s ready?”

“Eskel!”

You rushed forwards and embraced him. His expression was tired and there was a thin sheen of sweat cascading across his brow. His dark hair fell across his face where it had fallen out of the tie he had scrapped it into.

“Are you alright?” You asked him as you furrowed your brow. “You look like day old shit.”

He chuckled, placing a hand on your shoulder and making his way into the room “Yeah?You should see the other guy.”

Geralt eyed him as he stepped forwards, revealing the long, branchlike hand that was shoved into his bag.

“The bout lasted six hours. I’d have got the fucker too. If I hadn’t lost my elixirs.” He threw the bag on the floor. It landed with a thud which ricocheted throughout the silent room and unsettled the grime on the floor. “Took her hand though.”

“What’s that?” One of your brothers rolled the bag over with his foot. “Is that a leshy?”

“Walked like one. Talked like one. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” You queried, raising your brow.

“I haven’t crossed a leshy in a while.” Geralt said, turning the branch over in his calloused hands. “Not in Kaedwen.”

Eskel pulled down the hem of his coat slightly. It was long and green, frayed at the edges. Bloodied bandages poked through from underneath. “Well count yourselves lucky. Unless you’re aching for the sting of one of their fucking roots.”

“Fire through the heart is the only thing that puts one down.” Vesemir said firmly. “Six hours in, that didn’t occur to you?”

Laughter scattered about the room and Eskel’s face darkened as he made a beeline towards Ciri, who took a sip from her goblet, trying to avoid his gaze and retain her laughter. He made it pretty impossible not to when his face was inches from hers. “Who the hell are you?”

“Princess Cirilla of Cintra. Pleasure to meet you.”

He did not return the greeting, only glared at her for a brief moment before grunting and slipping away. You could tell that something was wrong.

~~~

Your sword rang loudly across the courtyard as it made contact with Geralt's. He grunted as you advanced forwards, forcing him back against one of the pillars. You smirked, pressing the sword closer to him. He shoved you backwards, using his extra strength to force you to the floor. The snow was cold on your body, despite the layers you were wearing as you rolled underneath him, grabbing his uninjured leg and pulling him down to the ground. Scrambling quickly to your feet you forced the sword from his hand.

“You’re getting sloppy, old man.” you chuckled.

“Or maybe I just let you win.”

Shaking your head, you held a calloused hand and helped him up from the ground.

“When you told us you called law of surprise, Vesemir and I told you ‘big mistake.’ You said you promised you wouldn’t claim the child.”

“I had to save her.”

“I know. And you knew I would call you out on it.”

Geralt hesitated and placed his sword in a sheath. “Yeah.”

Your eyes found their way to the floor, tracing the little indents in the snow carved by the shuffling of feet.

“What?” Geralt asked.

“Nothing.”

Geralt's stare spoke for him and you let out a deep sigh.

“Eskel. He’s acting strange.”

Geralt sighed and brushed the hair from his face. “I noticed it too.”

“I sense something is changing, Geralt. Keep Ciri close.”

~~~

Eskels party raved on as you sat, tucked away in the corner with a glass of mead observing the way the flickering candlelight cast a gentle glow over everyone's faces. The witchers swayed and danced and kissed with women from the nearby village. You observed how Eskel was fondled over desperately by a fair haired woman. He hollered and pulled his arm back protectively when she got a fraction too close to his wound that was no longer leaking crimson, but burned like fire. You watched how Geralt, who had been previously absent, walked briskly towards him with angry lines etched on his face. You edged closer, something was telling you this wouldn’t end well. And you were right, you rose quickly to your feet when Eskel got up in Geralt's face. When you pushed the two of them apart, Eskel eyed you angrily.

You could tell his shoulder was bothering him and that he was in more pain than he let on.

“You know, it's funny,” Eskel grunted at Geralt, “Me and the others, we come back here, all banged up. Rock troll busts Lambert's eye. A werewolf takes a chunk out of Coen’s arse…” Eskel’s gaze turned to you and he drank you in, lingering on the pink scar that ran along your face. “And Y/N… Y/N here gets her face torn up by a Bruxa. Was out for days.”

It’s clear from the way that Geralt watches you that you didn’t tell him that one. Eskel smirks and cocks his head. “Hmm, but looks like she didn’t tell you that one did she? And…what do you come back with? All i'm saying is when I find a princess, the last thing i'm gonna do is play knight.” he jested.

He swung at Geralt who quickly countered the punch and pulled his brother into a hold. You skidded to a halt besides the two trying to separate them. Eskel’s face was raging with anger, his eyes piercing like a thousand tiny daggers. “Eskel,” You told him sternly. “Do us a favour, and go to bed.” His teeth clenched and he pulled his hands into fists but before he could do anything, the woman pulled him away down a corridor and deep into the keep.

You turned to leave, to go back to your corner or to join another Witcher, expecting Geralt to return to Ciri or wherever he had been before he caused the stir, but instead he gripped your arm and forced you to face him. You looked at him inquisitively.

“Y/N…”

“Geralt.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Bruxa?”

You turned away from him, walking back to your goblet. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“But you told Eskel?”

You whipped back around, his face was laced with concern and frustration. “I didn’t tell Eskel. He was there.”

“He was hunting it with you? Then why didn’t he stop it before you got hurt? I swear to the gods-”

“Geralt. Stop. He found me… we were both coincidentally hunting the same Bruxa.”

“You hate Bruxae.” Geralt stated.

You hummed and sipped your drink. “There was a rumour about a local village being attacked by a vampire. Things had been slow and the pay was good, so I went to check it out. You know Bruxa, they’re quick and she got me from behind. Winded me and pinned me down so I couldn’t get to my weapons. Took a chunk out my face with her claws and nearly drunk me dry. That’s when Eskel found me. He shot her down and took me to an Inn. He saved my life Geralt. I can never repay him for that.”

It was the high pitch buzzing followed by the rapid vibrating of the medallion slung over your neck that caused your head to snap up. Everyone stopped. A low, guttering rumbling spread its way across the room.

“Maybe Eskel’s leshy wants its hand back.” Coën said.

Vesemir’s golden eyes scanned the room, trying to follow the pattering and heaving creaking. “Wield your wits, kids.”

Everything seemed to happen very quickly. Everyone scattered to keep Kaer Morhen safe, darting between corridors and brandishing themselves with their weapons. You slipped away from the crowd to try and find Eskel, if he was preoccupied and didn’t notice, or it was his leshy, he was in trouble, and you felt as though you owed him protection. Geralt, to your surprise, joined you in the eerily silent corridors. You had a feeling he wanted to get to Ciri, but knew he was needed in the fight or, perhaps after your story about the Bruxa, he felt as though he needed to stay by your side.

The weight of your sword was comfortable in your hand as you released it from its sheath, it was almost like an extension of your body; an arm made of silver, a protector, a deadly limb. The sound of your footsteps mixed with the steady drip of water seeping through one of the many spidering cracks in the tall ceilings. Sometimes they seemed never ending as though there was no escape from Kaer Morhen, you would be trapped in its walls forever. A low rumbling ricocheted throughout the keep, shaking the walls and blowing out some of the sconces, plunging more of the halls into darkness. You gripped your sword tighter.

The grand oak doors creaked as Geralt forced them open. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight which flooded in from the skylight and from the chandeliers which swung wildly on their hinges. The pair of you edged your way inside, your eyes and ears sharp as you scanned the room.

“Oh God…” You recoiled. On the left side of the room, the girl Eskel had been with was pinned against the wall, suffocated by a thick rope of branches. One protruded awkwardly from her mouth, a river of blood coating her chin and the offending branches. There was a thud, and you raised your sword aloft to slice through the thick vine that darted out towards you. A second one raced towards Geralt, who sliced through it as though it was butter. The pair of you readied your swords, turning to watch each other's backs and making your way further into the centre of the room. Glinting as it caught the light, your sword swung to destroy another branch, which had made to grab your ankle. The room was silent for a worrying moment. Then, the two of you were assaulted from all sides. The leshy growled as its arms attacked from all sides, breaking walls and bending the wooden framing of the windows. The pair of you swung your swords with precision, slicing and ducking to avoid a deadly ending, though no matter how hard you tried, the two of you were outnumbered. One of the vines, as thick as your arm, wound itself around Geralt, slamming him against the wall with a grunt, out of your reach.

“Geralt!” You cried, trying to make your way over to him in vain, whilst dancing between the onslaught of vines. You could see the witcher struggling, wheezing and clawing at the second branch slivering across his neck, binding him to the stone pillar. You could see him straining, his hands struggling to grip the sconce that hung just out of reach, mocking him. The branches’ attack ceased for a moment, as the leshy rolled in. It was tall and spindly with a humanoid face that looked very pissed off. Geralt dropped beside you as the creature squealed in pain; he had managed to burn the wood with the sconce, casing it to drop him to the ground. With your face stony, you pointed your sword at the leshy. With the help of the flames from Geralt's sconce, the pair of you backed it behind a table. Geralt jabbed the flames at the creature, which caused the bark of its skin to blister and it to growl. When it turned its head towards you, your face dropped.

Staring back at you were the piercing, green eyes of another witcher. “Eskel?”

It came out as less than a whisper, your voice betraying you, revealing the fear behind your mask.

“Y/N…” Eskel panted back. “Geralt.”

The leshy, Eskel, grunted in pain as it stood, tossing the table it hid behind to the side. Geralt dropped the flames and held his sword in front of him. It was only seconds before Eskel was firing vines and the pair of you. Geralt thrust his sword downwards, deep into one of the branches coming towards him. Eskel howled in pain and tossed his brother back into the doors before turning towards you. Desperate to get away from the danger, you rolled across one of the benches. The branches shot over you as you backed away. You were about to strike again, when two protruded from the walls and gripped both of your arms, yanking you backwards against a second cold bench. Two more slithered around your ankles, pinning you to the piece of furniture. They were harsh, thick with thorns and rough surfaces that scratched against your skin. You grunted, squirming to get free, but you were stuck.

“Eskel.” You strained, “I don’t want to hurt you…please.”

The leshy bent over, towering above you so that you could see the scarring on the wooden version of Eskel’s face. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t the witty, gruff voice you were used to, but a fragile, pained whisper. “I came back here…I knew something was wrong.” He swallowed thickly, struggling with his words as you struggled against him with gritted teeth. Where was Geralt? What had Eskel done to him? “I don’t know what happened...”

One of the leshys arms jabbed itself into your shoulder, drawing ribbons of crimson blood. You screwed your face up and bit back a scream.

“I thought I could fight it.” Another branch into the same shoulder. You groaned and clenched your jaw. The next few words were broken and hard to understand, you weren’t sure if it was because of the hazy pain you were in, or because Eskel was struggling against the leshy. Probably both. “I thought…you could help me like I helped you…”

Eskel stared at you, before turning away and screeching loudly. Vessemir stood in the doorway, his sword sheathed behind his back and a javelin which he had just thrown lodged inside the bark of the creature, Geralt stood beside him, weapon at the ready. It yanked it out and ascended into the ceiling as Vessemir removed his sword and began to cut the vines from around you.

“What is this?” He grumbled, pulling you up to your feet.

“It’s Eskel.” Geralt replied. “The leshy’s infected him.”

Vesemir faltered. “But that’s not possible.”

‘

“That’s what we thought.”

The room creaked, the ceiling cracked and the chandeliers swayed as the three of you circled the room. You held your weapon in your off hand as you nursed your injured shoulder. When the leshy’s failed attacks wore thin, it descended from its place in the ceiling and made a beeline for the door. The elder witcher was quick to notice and ordered Geralt to shield them shut. Pissed that its simple escape route was no more, Eskel stalked towards Geralt, albeit didn’t make it very far because you and Vesemir assaulted him with chains that were pinned to the walls. The hooks dug into the bark, keeping him in place. You wound them tightly as he thrashed, suspending him off the ground. Vessemir’s attempts to calm him, telling him you could save him were futile. He just knocked the man to the side, attacking him with lengths of branches, sending him careening to the side.

“Hey!” You yelled, stabbing one of the branches with the point of your sword. The creature turned its attention back to you. It vines wrapped themselves around you, suffocating you in a bone crushing grip. One hooked itself around your neck like a python, coiling tighter and tighter until you felt as though your head might fall off from your body. Eskel cocked his head and studied you closely, his eyes twinkled. No amount of yelling or distraction could draw his attention away from you. He was hooked, conflicted between wanting to kill you and wanting help.

“Eskel…” You wheezed, “Please…stop.”

You were completely unaware of the distressed calls of the other witchers and the hum of Geralt's sword as he cast a spell over it, causing it to glow white hot. You were absorbed by the face of your brother as the branches tightened around your body. Your lungs burned and you tried to suck in air, much to the protest of your ribs, which cracked and shifted uncomfortably. It was when that coppery taste flooded your senses and blood fell from your mouth that you stopped struggling. Your vision blurred as you choked, gasping and spluttering. Your ears rang and white spots obscured your vision as you stared blankly up at Eskels face. When Geralt drove his sword into the leshy’s heart, your body slumped to the floor.

“Y/N!” Geralt was quick to your side, rolling you over to face him, agitating the raw wound on your shoulder. You cried out in pain.

“Shh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “ he hushed, taking you in. He eyed nervously the blood that was seeping from your mouth and ears, some streaming down your nose. There were angry bruises already forming on your neck and winding around your body. As your spluttering began to cease, your eyes began to flutter shut.

“No. No, no, no, no. Keep those eyes open.” Geralt pleaded. You whimpered as he pulled you into his arms, holding you securely to his body. Your head lolled against him as your eyes fluttered. You missed his call to Vesemir, who led Geralt down the hall. You missed the anxious calls of your brothers, who were aghast to see your condition. You didn’t see the way that Geralt’s face contorted at your pained whimpers and the scattering of people trying to make room for you. You missed it all as you slipped into unconsciousness.

~~~

When you awoke and your eyes had adjusted to the light, the first thing you were aware of was the dull pain that radiated throughout your body. A throbbing ache mixed with a sharp stabbing pain. The second was the anxious, golden eyed stare of Geralt of Rivia.

“You’re awake.” He whispered, as though he were trying to convince himself.

You groaned as you tried to sit up, ignoring the pain in your shoulder and across your ribs. There was still a slight wheeze to your breath.

“Easy,” He told you. “You took quite a beating.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke, dry from lack of water. “How long…?”

“A few days. We had to lace you with elixirs…” Geralt sighed deeply. “You had us so worried, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. In that moment, you remembered something, like someone had turned on a light. “Eskel?”

Geralt shook his head. “Gone. I’m sorry.”

You nodded solemnly. You knew that the chances of saving him were slim, through a rough tear spilled from your eyes.

“It’s okay.” Geralt placed a hand on your shoulder that wasn’t covered by a bloodied bandage. “It’s okay. We still have each other. We have our brothers. We will be okay.”

————

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shy-urban-hobbit · 3 months

Note

If these are prompts please can I get a "Good boy" with Lambden? 👀

This went pure angst!! I would apologise but I'm not sorry 😂

It was Kiyan-or rather, the news of him-who bought it on. Aiden had stared at the medallion Geralt presented, along with heartfelt condolences. The medallion which had belonged to a brother he’d thought long since dead when none could find any sign of him, only to find out that he’d spent the last few years in what could only be described as Hell.

Lambert had only managed to get out a cautiously whispered “Aiden?”, recognising the signs in the way his partners pupils were dilating wildly, the way his muscles started to tense and his breathing was starting to grow harsher. The Cat gave a noise between a whimper and a yowl before Lambert bundled him into his arms and made his way to an abandoned part of the Keep at a near run, feeling his Kittens claws digging deeper into the fabric of his tunic with every passing second.

Geralt gently grasped a concerned Jaskier by the elbow to indicate that he should stay put, “Not the best idea, Lark. Aiden’s not in his best mind right now and he’d feel even worse if he hurt you.”

“Geralt’s right.” Eskel said, coming over to wrap an arm around his brother, unable to stand his guilty expression any longer, “Cat Witchers, sometimes when they feel an emotion strong enough it can consume them, is the best way to describe it. Aiden wouldn’t mean to hurt you but he wouldn’t register that it was you. He’d even attack Lambert in that state, has done once before I think.”

The air grew sharp with the scent of Jaskier’s concern, “Well, will Lambert be alright alone with him?”

Geralt drew Jaskier closer to his chest, “Lambert knows Aiden better than any of us. We trust he knows what he’s doing and besides, it’s best Aiden doesn’t feel outnumbered right now. Lambert will let us know if he truly needs help.”

Lambert’s back had grown stiff hours ago from sitting propped against the thick wooden door but no way was he moving even for a second, his worry and frustation just as fresh as it had been when he locked the door behind him, accompanied by the first of many bangs and snarls and shouts from the other side from Aiden who could smell him, but couldn’t reach him. When they’d agreed on this plan, Lambert never thought in a thousand years that they’d have to use it. Unfortunately for him it was one of the few things that Vesemir and Aiden had whole heartedly agreed on. If Aiden was to continue visiting the Keep they needed something in place in case something like this happened, Lambert was loath to let him work through it in the forests surrounding Kaer Morhen where he could fall victim to exposure, among other things, and letting him roam the keep when he was in the throes of Cat madness was out of the question. Accidental or not, Lambert knew from personal experience that Aiden hurting someone he cared about when in this state only pushed him dangerously close to it taking hold again. And so, this was the compromise that had been reached, Lambert playing jailer while waiting for Aiden to come through the other side alone and hurting.

It took him a few moments to realise that the room (more like a cell at this point in time) had been fairly quiet for a while now.

“Aiden?”

No response. That worried Lambert more than the constant barrage of noise had and he scrambled to his feet, dropping the key twice as he fumbled to get it in the lock.

“Aiden?”

Lambert’s heart broke a little for his love as he took in the sight before him. Aiden was crouched on all fours in a corner of the room, taking shaky breaths and dripping with sweat and blood. The same blood that was covering the walls in various places from where Aiden had clawed and punched.

“Oh, Kitten.” Lambert made to step forwards only to be made to stop by a flinch and a low growl. Lambert bit his lip, this was bad. He so wanted to gather Aiden in his arms and take care of him now the worst had passed but that wasn’t happening whilst Aiden was throwing him a look suggesting that he was in danger of getting his eyes clawed out if he took one step closer. Unbidden, a memory found it’s way to the forefront of Lambert’s mind.

“Will you stop squirming already?”

“It’s not my fault your hands are so cold! You dunk them in ice water before you came back up here or what?” Aiden complained from where he was lying shirtless on the bed.

“My cold hands are going to be the least of your problems in a minute.”

“That a promise?”

Lambert let out a warning growl as he went to dab at the wound on Aiden’s stomach again, the Cat flinched minutely but didn’t pull away this time, allowing Lambert to finish up cleaning and treating it. A flesh wound, it would be gone in a day or so.

“Good boy.” Lambert said absentmindedly and patting Aiden’s uninjured side in what was supposed to be condescension until he both felt and heard the hitch in the others breath. He flicked his eyes upwards, as much as Aiden was trying his hardest to avoid eye contact it was obvious that the Cats pupils had dilated slightly accompanied a small spike of arousal.

Huh.

“Aiden, you want to be good for me, don’t you?” He asked experimentally, letting his hand drift down to Aiden’s thigh as he dropped the cloth back in the slightly bloody water next to the bed.

Aiden tried to fight back a noise of want and failed miserably.

Lambert slowly trailed both hands up to Aiden’s wrists, guiding them above Aiden’s head

“Then behave. Leave these here, let me hear you properly and I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.” He said, squeezing Aiden’s wrists briefly for emphasis and rewarding him with a kiss when Aiden nodded eagerly before curling his fingers into the pillow as Lambert started slowly making his way downwards.

Lambert went back to contemplating the figure in front of him. It was entirely different circumstances but it wouldn’t hurt to try. He was always one for experimenting after all.

“Aiden, it’s me.” He took a slow step forwards, “I just need you to stay there a second, alright?” Another step. Aiden growled again in response but didn’t move as he kept still slightly hazy eyes firmly on Lambert, “Good boy, that’s it. You’re doing so well for me.”

And so it went, Lambert slowly making his way over, keeping up a steady stream of “Good boy, you’re alright. So good doing what I asked, so brave.”

It was when Lambert crouched down in front of him, taking a bloody hand in his and praising Aiden yet again for not attacking him that the Cat seemed to come back to himself a little more, letting out a shaky “Lambert?”

“I’m here, Kitten.” Lambert answered, trying not to wince at the wooden splinters buried under broken nails. He suddenly found the hand replaced with an arm full of shaking Cat, who appeared to be apologising to him over and over.

“I didn’t....” Aiden trailed off, gazing at Lambert pleadingly with watery eyes.

“No, everyone’s fine. You did so well, following Vesemir’s instructions and letting me bring you here. If anyone should be apologising it’s me for leaving you in here alone.”

Aiden shook his head, “No. Didn’t want to hurt...”

“I know, and I love you so much for that.”

He grabbed Aiden’s chin gently and guided it to the crook of his neck when it looked like he was moving to take in the state of the room. He knew Aiden would be able to smell the blood and no doubt feel the pain in his broken hands and the scratches on his arms and face (because of course Aiden would turn on himself when there was nobody else. Fuck, Lambert was an idiot for not considering that) but that didn’t mean Lambert wanted him to see it.

“I’m taking us to our room. Focus on me until we get there. Alright?” he asked, hoisting Aiden into his arms again as he stood and giving another quiet “Good boy.” When he felt Aiden nod against his neck and bury his nose deeper.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #aiden x lambert #aiden/lambert #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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podcastenthusiast · 2 years

Text

Lambert and Vesemir's whole dynamic in Witcher 3 is So Interesting.

Like, Lambert carries a lot of trauma about his childhood and being a witcher, and he harbors bitterness and resentment toward Vesemir specifically--or at least the system he represents. Vesemir is the only authority figure left to whom he can express his anger, true, but he also was complicit in the Trials happening and Lambert, rightfully so, isn't forgetting that.

When they all watch Uma writhe in pain from the Grasses, Vesemir says he hoped he would never have to see another person go through that again, and Lambert asks bitterly, but understandably, "Then why did you keep the table?"

His anger is valid! There's a measure of betrayal in that. It's like if someone stabbed you, then said they would never harm anyone else, and you find out years later they still have the knife.

I don't know why Vesemir kept that table, but it wasn't out of malice. It's clear it holds no pleasant memories for him either. Vesemir himself was put through the Trials once, and he has seen countless boys die. He cared about them and he hurt them. Clearly he feels sorrow and remorse, if not regret. He's trying, now, to do right by those few who remain. He loves them, okay? He really does.

Like Lambert, Vesemir also seems unable to let go of the past, though. The crumbling fortress and the table are reminders of everything he's suffered and lost, as well as the suffering he caused and witnessed.

They argue about it--whether to move on from Kaer Morhen, etc. Lambert detests any reminder of what was done to him. He claims to hate Kaer Morhen as a whole, too, probably does somewhat-- but he always comes back.

Lambert might hate Vesemir a little, might loathe how he never questions a witcher's purpose or the tests they were subjected to.

But here's the thing: Lambert still loves Vesemir. So fucking much.

He looks up to him, even. Maybe wants to be more like him. He talks about Vesemir more than anyone else. Quotes his words constantly. Tells Yennefer to show the old man respect. He dresses up like him when the kaer morons get drunk together. His impression of him is spot on. He'd hoped to inherit his sword someday.

Lambert, who blamed Vesemir for the deaths of the other boys and his hated witcher path, still wanted his old mentor to have a better death than he got.

He mourns him. They were family.

And yeah, Lambert's own father was an abusive dick, and I'm sure there's some of that tangled up in his feelings about Vesemir, too. Loving adults who've hurt you when you were a kid is complicated. It's painful and hard even when you know they were hurt, too, long before you were born. Lambert never forgave him and I doubt Vesemir expected him to.

I think Lambert sought something from Vesemir. Maybe an apology or answers or paternal approval--I don't know. I don't think he knew exactly how to ask for whatever it was he needed, and I don't think Vesemir was ever taught how to give it either.

Is it fucked up? Yeah. They all are. The generational trauma runs so deep.

#the witcher #witcher 3 wild hunt #the witcher 3 #vesemir #lambert #kaer morons #counselors shouldn't be allowed to play video games

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lassieposting · 1 year

Text

God though, reluctant single dad Vesemir. Vesemir who openly dislikes children, Vesemir who leaves a kid in the woods with the remains of his dead family even though he knows there's something else out there, Vesemir who refers to baby witchers as "abandoned little tragedies", Vesemir whose response to being told he's to teach them to fence is "Am I being punished?"

And suddenly he's the last wolf left. His whole pack is dead and he's got a litter of already-mutated pups to look after that won't get taken in anywhere else. He's completely responsible for the next generation, and children need so many things. He has to learn on the fly that it's not just feeding them and clothing them and teaching them to fight. It's getting up every night for Geralt's night terrors about the Trial and the Sacking, because he's five and he doesn't know how to self-soothe and nobody else is going to do it. It's watching Lambert hurt himself and the other boys in his rages, because he's so mad at the hand life dealt him and he doesn't know how to handle it, and having to figure out how to teach him to channel his anger some other way because that kind of blind fury will get him killed. It's answering a thousand and one "But why?" questions without putting a sword through Eskel because he wants to be good and that is a quality that needs nurturing even if it's annoying as fuck.

None of this is natural to him. He's not a kid person. He's grieving, too, for everyone he ever cared for and the trust he gave his father figure who betrayed him. He's sarcastic and impatient and he fucks up badly, so many times, with these lonely, traumatised little boys. He has to learn to apologise, and forgive, and love them even though he never wanted them to be his responsibility, even though they've basically taken his life from him - the adventuring, the monster-slaying, the coin and the women and the fame - because raising brats is a 24/7/365 job that keeps him tied to Kaer Morhen. He has to learn not to resent them for a life they didn't choose. He has to learn to make them feel like part of a family, because he can't afford to have them abandon Witchering at the first opportunity.

And somehow, it works. His pups grow up, and become Witchers themselves, and he sends them out into the world and breathes a sigh of relief every time one comes back safe. Grieves as best he can whenever one doesn't. Geralt makes him a grandfather, which is not something he ever thought he'd want even with a Witcher's long lifespan, but he loves the bones of that girl. He sees Geralt trying so hard to do better by Ciri than was ever done by him - he's not sure where the hell Geralt got that from, that soft streak that training never quite beat out of him - and the other boys rally round to help him raise his lion cub as a wolf so much faster than he thought they would, and he knows he did something right. And more than that, he's somehow managed to do away with some of the stigma the generations of Witchers before him passed down. Geralt isn't afraid to be gentle with Ciri. He's kind and understanding and supportive towards her, he has to be reminded not to prioritise her wellbeing over finding Leshen!Eskel, he's calm and patient and comforting when her trauma is playing up. It's such a far cry from the completely detached, "numbers game" attitude of the generations before Vesemir, and even from Vesemir's own attitude towards recruits as a young man. He's done exactly what his mentor asked him to do. He raised better, more scrupulous Witchers. He raised better men.

idk man I just have a lot of feelings about Vesemir after NOTW okay

#the witcher #netflix witcher #vesemir #nightmare of the wolf #breaking the cycle of intergenerational trauma my beloved #the witcher headcanons #the witcher meta #kaer morons

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thesleepy1 · 2 years

Text

Monsters and Muslin

A/N: Sometimes when I post fics I feel like I’m feeding bread crumbs to cannibalistic ducks with a taste for human blood. They will either eat the bread crumbs, each other, or me. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long. Please don’t kill me and accept my peace offering. (Eskel has dimples because I said so.)

Pairings: Eskel x Reader

Summary: You and Eskel grew up together at Kaer Morhen. You trained together, fought together, and loved each other. When the Path demanded that you went separate ways, you agreed to meet up annually. Until Eskel missed a meeting.

Or “hii can I request an Eskelxreader angst, where the reader is a female witcher and they fell in love before he got his scars. then he left because of insecurity when he got it and she went to look for him?”

Word count: 1,146

Warnings: angst, violence, scars, insecure Eskel, blood,

“It makes me look like a monster.”

You felt soft hands on your face, fingers cradling your jaw. Eskel forced your gaze to his with the lightest of touches. Your teary carmel eyes met ones that juxtaposed your own. They were the same shade of golden but instead of salty tears rolling down his cheeks, Eskel just had a smile wide enough to show his dimples.

“Who told you that?” He hummed, fingertips grazing the red line from the middle of your forehead down your brow and just passed your eye. It went deep, but luckily the skin stitched itself back together faster than any normal human could. If it weren’t for the witcher mutagens, your wound would have likely gotten infected. Unfortunately, it still left a gnarly scar.

“The witcherlings Vesemir just brought in.” You explained to Eskel’s shoulder, refusing to properly meet his eye. “I walked past them in the courtyard and that was all they could say to me. I-I made a little girl cry, Eskel.”

“Children fear anything they don’t understand.” Eskel brushed your tears away but that only caused them to increase. “None of them must have realized they were in the presence of one of the strongest witchers in the keep. The one and only witcher who single handedly warded off the cockatrice from their beds.” Eskel rested his head against yours. You shared the other’s heat, the smell of the other witcher filling your senses until it was all either of you could feel. “If they had known how brave you are, what you had done for them, they would love you just as much as me.”

“You love me? Even with this hideous thing?” You sniffled, peering up at Eskel through your wet lashes.

“I love you, darling.”

*****

Eskel couldn’t be dead. You refused to believe it. He had just sent you a letter the week before. His words, oh his words painted the most beautiful picture. Eskel must have been a poet in another life for how he spills words into tapestries. He still wanted you just as much as you wanted, no, needed him. The witcher would never dream of standing you up so something must have happened.

That was the only explanation you were willing to believe.

He had been late. The town was large and the streets busy. When minutes turned to hours, you began to worry. Your nails were bitten to nubs before you could take the anticipation no longer. It had been decades since you agreed to meet up on the Path. Not once had he missed a meeting. Of course there was the creeping thought that he had not wanted to see you, but you quickly pushed those useless emotions down before they could get out of hand. You needed to find Eskel and make sure he was alright.

You tried his usual inn and asked the innkeeper if she had seen any witchers pass by. The look she gave you made your blood boil but she directed you to where a witcher was lodging for the night. His room was the one closest to the stables. The smell of damp hay, horses, and the usual unwashed stable boy made the hairs in your nose curl.

Your knuckles knocked the door, your senses finding another beyond. You could hear his heart beating slowly just past the door. “Eskel?” You made your voice low, knowing he could hear you. “Are you alright? I waited by the road just as I’ve done the year before. You weren’t there.” You sucked in a breath when the faintest skip of a heartbeat could be heard. “Was it something I did?”

You stumbled forward as the door suddenly swung open. There he was, your darling witcher in the doorway, his head wrapped with gray muslin. “You haven't done a single thing to keep me from you.” He leaned his weight on the doorframe, chest bare, and medallion hanging on his neck. Eskel made no mention of his face covering.

“Then why did you not want to see me?” You searched for his lips, the quirk of a smile or the downturn of a frown. There was nothing. Only his eyes poked through gaps in the fabric. They were clouded as if by the effects of a potion or illness. “Did something happen to you? Did your last hunt keep you here?” Your eyes searched his form for any wounds, any fractures or broken bones. Your hands moved forward like a moth drawn to a fire, rough fingertips alert for inconsistencies.

He only groaned at the contact. Not from pain. You would have known if you caused him harm then. “N-no. Not the last hunt.” His hands left the door frame. They reached for yours, enclosed and encapsulated them. He kept them warm.

“Then what? Why are you hiding your beautiful face from me? What have I done to have such a privilege revoked?”

Eskel lowered his head. The floor was apparently more riveting than your conversation. “You don’t want to see me.” You could barely hear him despite being in front of him, his voice was so small. “Not now. You’ll think I'm a monster.”

You were never more taken aback in your life. “Monster?” The words seemed foreign in your mouth when in reference to Eskel. “My love, I would never think of you that way. You are a pushover and a teasing bastard but not a monster.” Taking a risk, you took a step forward. “Who told you that?” Your fingers brushed the edge of the muslin.

“I-it’s what I am now. My face is marred beyond recognition. I don’t even see myself. There is only this beast who stares back at me.”

“Then am I a beast as well? Because my face is littered with more scars than I can count. Do you consider me a monster?” You peered up at Eskel wanting his most honest answer. You both knew the other would be able to tell the difference between a lie and the truth.

“N-No. But it’s not the same—”

“How is it different, my love?” You tugged the muslin away. The fabric fell soundlessly onto the ground. Beneath it was your beautiful Eskel. He had the same burry, teary eyes, the same thick brows, and the same plush lips. The right side of his face was new to you, but it was not a horror. You well and truly loved him all the same.

“Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t think I am physically capable of doing such a thing.” You were the first to lean forward for a kiss but he met you halfway. The sewn skin had a different texture to what you were used to. It was all the incentive you needed to explore Eskel’s mouth anew. An experience you would never tire of. “I love you, darling.”

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blackberrywars · 2 years

Note

I saw the flash fic thing you're doing!! If you're in the mood any of your adorable Kitten Shenanigans™ would be delightful ❤️❤️❤️

Ask and ye shall receive, my friend! It ended up just slightly angstier than intended, because witchers and Vesemir are involved, but I hope it meets your expectations for the Kitten Shenanigans™. Full disclosure, it is heavily inspired by this post.

——————————————————————————————

Kittens love to be tossed.

This epiphany —perhaps the most important one in all of Guxart’s many, many years of raising kittens into Cats— came at the cost of his ungreyed temples and his witcher-slow pulse. All he remembers now, four decades later, is that he had been walking through a Toussaint forest with Gezras when a horrible, ear-piercing shriek shattered the peaceful morning air. It had ripped through him like poison. Made his guts fall through to his feet. Nearly took him out at the knees before he whipped his useless body around, sprinting to the source, the lake where he’d left his kittens to bathe. Another scream found his ears, and he barely fucking registers the orange blur of Gezras beside him as he pushed ahead, bursting though the treeline to save his kitten

“Lexandre!”

The sound nearly tore his throat apart, but how could he care? Just beyond the shores stood Lexandre, cowering from the claws of a water hag. He ran. Vicious, disgusting claws tore into his back as he tackled his kitten, curling him into his chest and away from the danger. He barely felt them, just kicked away underwater as fast as he could, hearing the sound of steel on flesh, knowing that Gezras had the danger in hand so he could focus on getting his precious cargo to safety. When Lexandre began to scratch at his arm, he pulled them upwards to the surface, took their heads above the sudden waves.

He expected screaming. He expected whimpering and sobbing, to have to comfort his kittens and scold them in the morning.

He hadn’t expected laughter.

—

— — —

—

From that day onward —when the beat of his heart had kept pace only with the rapid, joyful cries of “Again! Again! Again!” as rowdy kits begged to be tackled once more— Guxart had a new tool to wrangle his growing clowder. Lakes, rivers, bushes, leaf piles, snowdrifts, pillows. Other kittens, on occasion. And oftentimes, right back into his arms. Any and every surface that could give them a somewhat soft landing, and Guxart has both an irresistible reward for good behavior and a deterrent for excessive mischief, all in one. Good kits are tossed, repeatedly. Naughty kits would have to, unsatisfyingly, throw themselves. It minimizes considerable damage. So, when he decides to show Vesemir his newfound knowledge, he expects more gratitude than he gets, and maybe even a fun, tossing-related reward of his own.

“What the actual fuck, Guxart.”

It was foolish, in retrospect.

“What? They’re having fun, look at ‘em.”

Guxart’s newest charge, a dwarvish girl just barely past five summers, falls hard into his arms, giggling with glee. Kiyan’s weight pulls at the strained muscles of his back the same way her smile pulls at the strained strings of his too-soft heart. Shrödinger handles his other kit, Joël, in a similar manner, tossing him higher still. The pair had done excellent in their drills today, and had been slowly learning to hold knives properly with no delays, thanks to the promise of being tossed. His wolf snarls, curling his lip. It’s handsome, but ultimately unnecessary.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, damnit! What the fuck are you even doing to them? What for?”

“I’ll be fine, pretty boy. My kits aren’t so big yet. And it’s called kitten-tossing, a favorite pastime around here.”

He catches Kiyan again, and lets the resistant kitten wiggle her way out of his arms to be tossed by some other willing elder before turning back to his sometimes-lover.

“The long and short is that they like it. It keeps the hellions sweet, and I thought you’d appreciate that for your own little pack. I’m sure they’re no kits, but surely not all of your pups are as stiff as the pole stuck up Rennes’ ass.”

“Don’t you bring up Rennes, not when he doesn’t know I’m even here. What are you coddling them for? With their odds, what’s the point?”

Guxart sighs, rubbing at his graying temples. The movement makes his shoulder twinge again, but he ignores it again.

“Fuck off, Vesi. I can love them at least a little while, or however long they last. Besides, I think it really does help them —we don’t just get lucky picking acrobatic children, not with how desperate we’ve been for new trainees. The throwing… balances them, oddly enough.”

“Maybe. Or it’ could be what makes them all crazy.”

It’s a low blow, and it stings like bitter herbs in a fresh wound. But Vesemir can’t stay for long, so Guxart lets it slide with a wink and a laugh. A joke.

“Then what’s my excuse, hm? And yours, for coming here?”

“Don’t make it like that. You’ve always had your way of handling your recruits, and I won’t stop you. Lexandre turned out mostly fine, explosives aside.”

With that, the Wolf bumps his hip against Guxart’s, the best apology he can make, and Guxart takes it. He likes his way, and this method is one of his best to not only prepare his kittens for witcher life, but show them some kind of affection under the guise of training. It works, whether Vesemir understands it or not. He’ll bet anything the bastard adopts it himself, once he gets a pup who needs it badly enough.

——————————————————————————————

#in case it's not heavily implied enough #lambert is that pup #and vesemir will have to concede that his lover was right #even if he's not around to say it to anymore #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanart #guxart #gezras #lexandre #witcher kiyan #witcher joël #school of the cat #dyn marv #berry's fics #flash fic requests #inbox is open!!

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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 years

Text

It would be so funny if Lambert brought his bestie Aiden to winter with him at Kaer Morhen, and the thirsty cat witcher spent the entire season trying to seduce Vesemir; Vesemir saved Aiden's life once--sewing up his wounds and mending his shirt--and now he's got an admirer for life.

Aiden sees that hunk of DILF and the pupils round out; the 'stache, the thicc. Aiden pulls out all the stops: flexing in the courtyard, manspread in the library, sitting on the kitchen counter and twirling his hair... musical montage...

Lambert, can I come over after fall?

I promise I'll try not to drool,

Did your dad get back from his business trip?

Is he there, or is he trying to give me the slip?

You know I'm not the little boy that I used to be,

I'm all grown up now, like man, I'm fifty-three!

Lambert's dad is actually pretty rad,

He's all I want, and I'm obsessed, just a tad.

Lambert can't you see? Your dad's just the guy for me,

I know it might be bad, but I'm in love with Lambert's dad.

Lambert, do you remember when we killed that wraith?

Your dad held my guts in, told me I was safe.

I could tell he thought I had the right stuff,

By the way he ripped my shirt off!

And I know that you think it's just a fantasy,

But since your keep fell, your dad could use a guy like me, hey!

*with credit to Annapantsu for the "rad" line.

Vesemir is just... So Done.

#lambert #witcher lambert #vesemir #aiden #tw3 #the witcher games #yes I've been day drinking #yes I think I'm funny

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queenxxxsupreme · 2 years

Text

He Comes With The Storm (Lambert x reader)

A/N: Hi babes! I know it’s been a while, but my summer has yet to be a chill and relaxed one. But I will continue to write what I can, when I can :)

Warnings: nothing outside of canon,

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Lambert comes home.

***

A clap of thunder made you jump, your hand coming to cover your heart.

Your cat, Bread, meowed loudly and weaved between your legs.

“It’s just a little thunderstorm, handsome boy.” You leaned down to pet his head.

You returned to the soup you were making, stirring a few bay leaves into the pot.

Even though it was late in the evening and the sun had long since set, you were just getting around to making dinner for yourself. Time had escaped you earlier in the day. You found a rather intriguing book and dived into it, losing all sense of time as the day went by quickly.

The next thing you knew, it was nighttime and a thunderstorm had rolled in.

Bread meowed again, rubbing against your calf.

“You’ve already had your dinner, silly.” You smiled down at him.

A sudden echoing thud against the front down made you jolt, a squeak of surprise escaping your lips. Your hand slapped over your mouth as you listened for the noise again.

Your heart began to race in your chest at the possibilities of what could have caused the noise. A fallen branch? Debris the heavy wind could have stirred up? A person even?

The thud came again.

Goosebumps began to rise on your skin. There was no way the wind caused that noise. It had to be someone.

Who the hell would be at your door at such a time of night and in the middle of a storm?

Worries began to swarm your mind. They mustn’t be here for anything good.

You picked up Bread and began to take slow, quiet steps towards the hall that led to your room.

“Y/N– Fuck!” A familiar voice shouted. “I can hear you in there! It’s just me!”

You put Bread down on to a chair and hurried to the door. You pulled it open, then quickly pulled Lambert into your home.

He was soaked to the bone and his red ringlets were disheveled from the wind and the rain.

He let the satchel over his shoulder fall to the floor, then he took the sheath for his swords off.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming so early in the spring.” You picked up his satchel and placed it on the table.

As you turned to face him, his arms suddenly embraced you and he kissed your lips. You were pleasantly surprised by the kiss. Your hands came to hold his shoulder and his cheek, fingertips brushing over his scruffy jaw.

“Missed you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing.

“I missed you too.” You smiled. “And as much as I love your hugs, I am not a fan of getting my clothes wet.”

He stepped back, looking down at his attire.

“All my shit’s drenched from the fuckin’ rain.” Lambert moved to his satchel.

“I think I have one or two pairs of your trousers from last autumn.” You turned to go to your room.

Lambert followed behind you.

“How are Vesemir and your brothers doing?”

“Vesemir’s good. Old bastard’s still runnin’ around annoyin’ the piss outta whoever he comes across.”

“He only annoys you.” You grinned a little.

Once you were in your room, you began to search the wardrobe for the trousers you had folded away months ago.

“What of Eskel, Coen, and Geralt? Anything exciting with those boys?”

“Geralt brought his bard. He was annoying too, like a little gnat always yapping.”

“Who doesn’t annoy you?” You paused your search to look over to your witcher, a teasing grin playing on your lips. “Me?”

“Nah. Everyone annoys me.” He grinned.

“Hmm. I’ll keep that one in mind.”

“Coen got himself a new nasty scar just across his collarbone. Said a pair of griffins did it to him.”

“Oh, you boys worry me– Aha!” You found the trousers and pulled them out. “There. You can change into that and then come out to the kitchen. Dinner should be done momentarily.”

“You made me dinner? How sweet of you.” The witcher teased, taking the trousers from you.

In truth, you had just made enough soup for a couple days, so there was plenty for him.

“Get out of your wet clothes. We’ll string a line up in the front room so your clothes can dry quicker.” You smiled at him, your hand lingering on his arm before you began to make your way towards the door.

But Lambert caught your hand, ushering you to stay for just a moment.

“I really did miss you, bug.” His voice was quiet. He squeezed your fingers gently.

“Missed you too, Lambert.” You smiled.

Taglist: @samuraigrl89 @burningcoffeetimetravel @open--till--midnight @beautifulsweetschaos @gm_abbo @thefirelordm @here4thespice @many-fandoms-lover @one-eyed-captain-kinky @sparrowsparadise @bluscryn @blushingskywalker @buckysxgal @lady-of-glass-and-bone @super-calithehamm @invelda @eddyofthetruth @hc-geralt-23 @persephonehemingway @adhdhufflepuff @Purple-Tsuki

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#lambert x reader #lambert x reader fluff #lambert fluff #the witcher #netflix #lambert #the witcher lambert #witcher #netflix lambert #netflix!lambert #queenxxxsupreme

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slumberingcorpse · 1 year

Text

The Wolf and The Fox

Part 3 “Hope”

Summary: Worried about Lambert’s chances of surviving the trail of grasses, Geralt and Eskel decide to drown away their anxiety the same way they’ve seen Vesemir do many times before...

The way back to Kear Morhen was a silent one. Geralt couldn't stand to even look at Lambert while Eskel couldn’t help but stare at him.

It wasn’t the first time Vesemir had brought another boy to the keep with the hopes of creating a new witcher. However, every single one of them slowly and painfully died. All the two boys can remember of those boys are their horrid screams as they choked on their blood.

The thought of a new brother used to bring the two pups such joy and excitement but now it filled them with pure dread.

Lambert is a lot smaller and younger than the others before him. If Geralt remembered correctly, the only boy that almost made it was twice Lambert’s size and was ten. Lambert couldn’t be no older than seven.

Of course, there is a chance for his survival, after all, Geralt and Eskel were five when they went through the trials. Even then, Vesemir was shocked, to say the least.

Not a moment too soon, the keep’s gate can be seen and a horrified gasp can be heard from Vesemir’s horse.

“Easy, it’s alright.” Vesemir soothes holding Lambert closer to his chest.

“Alright!? There are bodies in the water! Am I going to end up in there!? Am I going to die!?” the young boy panics. His wide green eyes suddenly turning to Eskel for an answer.

Eskel tenses and quickly turns away while biting the inside of his cheek trying his best to hide his fear but his bottom lip trembles and his eyes quickly fill with tears.

Geralt can hear Lambert’s heartbeat sore as he tries to escape Vesemir’s grasp and yet the master witcher was as calm as ever, “It’s alright. Everything will be alright. You aren’t going to die.” he says.

Geralt’s fist turns white by how tightly he was gripping his reins. How could Vesemir be so confident? After all the bodies had had to bury?

Lambert turns his emerald gaze to the elder witcher, “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

Vesemir leans back on his saddle with surprise while teen pups turn to him in suspense.

For a long moment, he stayed silent. Remembering his elders simply using axii on panicked boys. How they used axii on him before strapping him to the chair. He remembered being terrified and not understanding what was being done to him. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head, “You don’t.”

“Y-you lied to me...” Lambert mutters before repeatedly punching him in the chest, “YOU LIED TO ME! You said you were going to protect me but you just want to kill me! Let me go! I want to go!” he screams.

Vesemir gently shakes his head and catches Lambert’s tiny hands, “No, I didn’t. I fully intend to protect you. To teach you how to protect yourself and others but there are some things I can’t protect you from.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?” Lambert sniffles trying to stop himself from crying. He was scared, Vesemir couldn’t blame him.

“You have to go through the trial of grasses. You’ll have to ingest a series of dangerous potions and elixirs that will break down your body from the inside out. It’ll be the worst pain in your life.” he explains calmly.

Lambert hesitates but asks, “W-will I survive?”

Vesemir reaches up and gently wipes away the young boy’s tears, “I’ll likely have to bury you with the many other boys that have come before you, but I have hope. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Lambert turns again toward the rotting corpses buried beneath the water before silently nodding. Both Eskel and Geralt sadly gaze at each other before following Vesemir’s horse inside Kear Morhen’s walls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Moon rose and the screams began. Even from their rooms, Lambert’s cries echoed loudly through the halls.

Geralt and Eskel huddled together in a corner covering their ears the best they could but with their mutations, the screams were still loud and clear.

“I can’t listen to this anymore!” Geralt growls quickly putting on his snow boots and getting up.

Eskel quickly grabs his arm but Geralt shoves him away, “W-where are you going?”

“I’m going to take Roach for a ride, far away from here,” Geralt says quickly heading towards the door but again, Eskel grabs his arm.

“You can’t, Vesemir told us to stay put.”

“I don’t care what he said! I won’t just sit here and listen to another boy die!” Geralt snaps yanking his arm away.

“Come Geralt, don’t be that way. Maybe he’ll make it...we just have to have a bit of hope.” Eskel mutters, mostly trying to make himself believe it.

The other wolf pup scoffs, “Hope? What hope? Let’s say he does survive this one. What about training? You almost died while trying to learn aard! After training, we’ll be sent on the path to be killed by monsters! Of course, then there are the people! The same people who created us are the same who butchered our brothers! The same brothers we pass by every time we enter this keep! There is no hope, Eskel! Only death! A slow painful death!”

Eskel looks down at the ground. Only Lambert’s screams filled the room for a painful amount of time before he spoke again, “I won’t let you leave the keep...but I know what can help...” he says walking past Geralt and out of the room.

Quickly, both boys make their way downstairs, through the dining hall, and into the kitchen until standing in front of a locked wooden door.

“The wine cellar? Are you nuts? Vesemir will kill us,” Geralt says shocked.

Eskel shrugs, “As you said, we’re going to die anyway so why does it matter?” he grumbles before making the aard sign blasting the door open.

Geralt frowns upon hearing his brother’s words but doesn’t say anything, instead covers his eyes with his arm from the wood splinters.

“Vesemir will probably be down with the kid all night so let's drink up,” Eskel says walking into the cellar and picking up the first bottle he sees.

“Are you sure we-”

“What? Having second thoughts? Want to spend all night hearing those screams? At least with this maybe we can sleep through it.” he says tossing the shorter witcher a bottle of wine.

Another horrible scream rings out in the keep as Geralt catches the bottle, like that, all of his doubt disappears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bottle after bottle, the two boys chugged without a second thought. Only stopping to comment on how disgusting some of the alcohol tasted. Even so, the wanted effects were there. The last thing on their minds was the dying child screaming in their basement.

“I wanna pet a kitty...” Eskel pouts leaning against Geralt’s shoulder.

“Why? Cats are scary! They scratch and bite! Not like horses! They’re the best!” the other slurs leaning back against his brother before taking another swing of his sixth or seventh bottle.

Eskel shakes his head and downs another bottle before speaking, “No~ kitties are better, they’re really soft and fluffy. Horses aren’t soft and fluffy.”

“Yeah well, you can’t ride a cat! You can ride horses!” Geralt refutes.

“What about big cats? I heard there were some in...umm...I forgot...it was somewhere far away...but they are huge! They must be extra fluffy...”

“Alright then... let's run away and ride one,” Geralt suggests trying and failing to stand up.

“What? No, you’re drunk!” Eskel giggles.

Geralt pouts, “I’m not that drunk! A lot less drunk than you anyway.”

“Liar,” Eskel says sticking his tongue out only for his brother to do the same.

A particularly painful scream echoes through the room quickly reminding the boys of the reason they were there. Without a word exchanged, the two grabbed another bottle and chug it.

“Let's run away to Toussaint,” Geralt suggests twirling a wine bottle in his hand.

“Why there?”

“I heard it’s pretty and they say the wine taste as sweet as honey unlike the stuff here. We can go there and...and become knights! That way we can do what we want and we won’t have to worry about...about...” Geralt whimpers before suddenly bursting into tears, “I don’t wanna die!”

Eskel quickly does too though he tried not to, “S-stop it! Stop crying! Witchers aren’t supposed to cry!” he sobs.

“But I’m scared! What if I’m not good enough!? I don’t want Vesemir to abandon me too!” Geralt wails.

“I’m scared too! I keep t-trying to be g-good but all I keep thinking about is losing you and Vesemir. I d-don’t wanna be alone!” Eskel confesses between choked sobs.

“What the fuck!?” Vesemir shouts in both shock and confusion causing both boys to quickly turn to him. For a second there was silence before both boys let out a new set of tears as they run into his arms.

Both pups tried their best to talk but between the sobs and their faces being buried into his chest, Vesemir couldn’t understand a thing. What he did know is that he should be angry. He should shout at them, belt them until they can’t walk, and punish them harshly for what they did, but how can he shout at them when his boys are so panicked? How could he punish them when they are squeezing him so tightly?

Gently, he pets both boy’s heads, “It’s alright, everything is going to be okay.”

“We don’t wanna die! We don’t want to end up like Lambert! Can’t we just stay up here with you forever and ever?” Geralt whimpers looking up at him. Vesemir couldn’t help but smile as he leans down and kisses his forehead, “No one’s dying. Lambert made it and I know that both of you will be fine. Here and on the path.”

“R-really?” Eskel sniffles still having tears and snot covering his face.

“Yes, now come on, off to bed. Lambert’s resting and the two of you should sleep.” Vesemir says trying to find a way out of his pup's arms but their grip only became tighter.

“Please don’t leave us, Papa...” Geralt begs, nuzzling his shirt.

“Relax pup, I’m not going anywhere,” Vesmir smiles kissing the top of his head.

<- Previous Part Next Part ->

Tags: @wrongdodo

#the witcher #witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #witcher geralt #witcher vesemir #witcher eskel #witcher lambert #kaer morons #papa vesemir #part 3 #i somehow write better at midnight

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jaskierswolf · 2 years

Text

Chaos and Kittens

For @kueble who wanted kitten (not cat) Jaskier for my Shifterverse!

Feat deaged Jaskier!

Rated: T Ship: Geraskier

On AO3

Curses. Geralt really fucking hated curses. It was bad enough when mages tried to target him as a witcher, at least he had some immunity... but Jaskier was vulnerable. Of course it had been entirely the shifter's fault. He had been acting really childish, taunting and teasing the mage in a way that would obviously end poorly. It was times like that when Geralt realised that Jaskier really was just eighteen, no matter how mature he seemed most of the time. A tragic childhood had forced him to grow up early, which Geralt could relate to, but he was still just a teenager... or at least he had been.

Geralt's boyfriend was now... well... a boy - more a toddler. Gods knows. Geralt hadn't had to age kids in years. He wasn't cut out to be a parent.

Bright blue eyes peered up at him, and Jaskier's bottom lip quivered as he started to cry. Tears rolled down Jaskier's cheek and he held his arms out, reaching for Geralt. It seemed as if his mental age had regressed along with his body. Just what they needed.

"G-geralt?!" Jaskier whined, red faced and snotty already. "What have they done to me?!"

Well... that should have been obvious. Geralt sighed, squatting down so he was nearer eye level to the young shifter. His clothes were hanging off his small body, his trousers around his ankles and his shirt around his shins. He looked more innocent than Geralt had ever seen him, and he was overwhelmed with the instinct to protect.

"I think you've been deaged, Jask," Geralt murmured, trying to be as reassuring as he could but it wasn't easy for a witcher with two swords and armours not to be intimidating to a child, and Jaskier burst into tears once more.Then with a crack of bones, ginger fur burst over Jaskier's skin and he fell to the floor with a pathetic mewl. It was Jaskier's usual cat form, Geralt recognised the markings... but he was tiny.

Geralt very gently picked up the kitten, feeling a little like a bear in an apothecary shop. Jaskier fit into the palm of his hand, and his usual loud meows were squeaky and high pitched. He seemed unsteady on his paws, tripping up as he tried to clamber up Geralt's arm to his shoulder. That was at least something that hadn't changed.

"What am I going to do with you?" Geralt sighed, reaching up to scratch the tiny little kitten behind his ears.

Normally by now Jaskier would be purring contently on Geralt's shoulder, but instead he was making quiet hiccup sort of noises in between his squeaky meows. The curse had distressed the bard more than usual. Gone was the cocky bastard that Geralt had come to love, and in his place was a shy and vulnerable child who was now relying on him to set things right. Unfortunately, the mage was no longer an option... but hopefully it was a curse they would be able to break together. If not, then Geralt might be bundling Jaskier back up to Kaer Morhen for the spring. Hopefully Vesemir would still be there and they could put their heads together.

But for now, Geralt would look after his baby feline friend to the best of his ability. That meant for now, finding food that would be okay for Jaskier's stomach until he decided to shift back into a human, or at least a slightly more steady animal. That and lots of affection. Geralt knew he needed to comfort Jaskier as much as he could, especially with his more childlike mind. So he plucked the kitten back off his shoulder and brought him to his face. Before he could change his mind, Geralt placed a kiss on Jaskier's forehead, right between his fluffy ears, and then clutched him tightly to his chest.

"We'll figure it out, Julek. I promise."

Jaskier mewled again, this time a half purr croaking out. The sound was one that Geralt always loved but he'd never been so relieved to hear it, but before he could really enjoy it, Jaskier's bones cracked again and it was like he popped into a wolf cub. It was quicker and less controlled than his shifting as an adult, startling Geralt. Another pop like crack and Jaskier was a bear cub. In the back of Geralt's mind, he smiled, wondering whether Jaskier would shift into a viper, griffin or baby crane next. It seemed that his shifter friend really did have some kind of infinity to witchers, but instead Jaskier settled back as a kitten and then promptly fell asleep, purring softly in Geralt's arms.

#the witcher #shapeshifter!jaskier #shapeshifter jaskier #geraskier #de aged jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing

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dear-galileo · 2 years

Text

playing games only kids would play

heres my gen witcher fic i wrote for @thepassifloradiscord for cheese's flash fic challenge! thank you to @fontegagrilledcheese for putting this challenge together!

focus on the witchers as a family, background geralt/jaskier, vesemir's pov

collection on ao3

fic on ao3

"Ah! Mister Vesemir!" Jaskier called, which alerted everyone else. Geralt sat up beside Jaskier, snow in his hair, while Eskel tumbled to the side to stop his sliding. "We were just... Ah... We were... Any help, anyone?"

"We were sledding!" Ciri chirped. Vesemir had to fight to keep a smile at bay.

kaer morhen may never be what it once was, but that doesn't mean that it isn't filled with love and happiness anymore, even if it's just occasionally.

Kaer Morhen wasn’t full, but it was more filled than it had been in years. Of course, Vesemir’s heart filled every time his boys came home, often rowdy and hungry, and stayed for the winter. Eskel, Lambert and Geralt, occasionally even Coen all filled the keep in their own ways, with training, stories of their lives throughout the world, and a reason for Vesemir to leave his lab every once in a while.

But when they started to expand their own families, quietly and cautiously as they did, Vesemir made sure to welcome them as well. It took years of coaxing to get Geralt to bring the bard, Jaskier, who had spent nearly 20 years talking about, and the year after Ciri joined them. Lambert had been making noises about bringing Aiden, the Cat, though had so far failed to come through on that. Vesemir wasn't worried- they had time.

Ciri was by far the most exciting addition to their winters, both her youth inspiring the men, and her hunger for training and knowledge immense. Even Yennefer of Vengerberg, who had joined them alongside Ciri, would indulge in the young girl's excitement about magic, teaching her what she knew.

The training had been going as well as could be expected. Ciri was young, and had been through many troubles which she came away with the need for perfection. Geralt did his best to calm Ciri, but it didn't always work- she did not take to being told no very well, especially when it came to training.

So the Wolves, bard and witch spent much of their time divided into training Ciri in different subjects, from combat, music, agility, and chaos magic. There was always something new to be done, Vesemir found. It made him very happy, though he would never admit it.

He had a reputation to upkeep, after all.

One bright winter afternoon, Vesemir left his lab. It was quiet in the keep, and generations of raising young boys had taught him to be suspicious of such quietness. He checked the great hall first- he had given Lambert and Geralt the chore of putting together a bench that had been broken earlier in the winter, but neither of them were there.

The kitchen perhaps? Eskel was on dinner duty for the night, and though it was early, perhaps they were getting a snack.

He poked his head in the kitchen, only seeing the witch. "Yennefer," he greeted. Yennefer looked up from the book she had been flipping through.

"Vesemir. Can I help you?"

"Don't suppose you could point me in the direction of the boys?" Yennefer crinkled her nose, the corners of her mouth kicking up.

"They are in the courtyard. I'll warn you, they certainly are not doing their chores." Yennefer closed her book and got up from the table to follow Vesemir.

When they reached the courtyard, Vesemir nearly halted in place. The snow had let up for the day, leaving Kaer Morhen coated in a thick white powder.

That apparently meant for the wolves, and Ciri, that it was time to do... Whatever it was they were doing.

Geralt was currently on an old wooden door, one that had been put aside for firewood, and was sliding down a small snow slope, balancing on the door. Once he reached the bottom of the slope, he hopped off, while Ciri and Jaskier clapped.

"Nine points," Jaskier called. Geralt scowled.

"Why nine?"

"Eh, your starting form could have used some work. There wasn't enough... Flair, should I say, for this run." Geralt growled and stomped through the snow to reach the bard.

"I'll show you flair," was all that he said before he tackled Jaskier into the snow. The bard had been saying "no, no, no, have a ten, no, Geralt, don't!" before being shoved into the snow, but his laughter could be heard even from Vesemir's distance.

"Stop mauling the judge with your lips," Eskel called, from the top of the slope. "I'm going next."

"But the door is down here-" Ciri started to call, but Eskel was already taking a running start, before jumping and landing on his knees. Instead of going straight through the snow like Vesemir had thought, he started to coast down the slope, rapidly gaining speed.

Ciri squeaked, and had to jump out of the way to avoid the collision. It took a moment, but Vesemir realized that Eskel was casting Quen on his legs, which kept him above the snow. It was actually quite smart, he mused to himself.

Jaskier's head finally popped up from the snow. He immediately caught sight of Vesemir, and his already pink cheeks flushed even more.

"We were sledding!" Ciri chirped. Vesemir had to fight to keep a smile at bay.

"The benches are all fixed!" Lambert called. He was holding an old metal shield, though he attempted to hide it behind him when Vesemir looked at him.

"That doesn't explain why the child is not studying with the bard as was scheduled," Vesemir started.

"Eskel should get a nine for creativity," Yennefer interrupted beside him. "Geralt's was a seven, at best."

Geralt sputtered while Eskel punched a fist in the air.

That seemed to break everyone out of their shock, as Lambert launched himself down the slope, the shield under his ass, with a battle cry. Predictably, he nearly fell off of the shield, and ran directly into Eskel. The two almost immediately started to scuffle.

"Vesemir, come on, come sled with us!" Ciri called, as Geralt crawled past her to get in on the brawl between his brothers. Someone yelped something about snow being shoved down their britches, but Vesemir didn't care enough to figure out who it was.

Vesemir hesitated for a moment, before shaking his head. "This body is much older than yours, child." Ciri pouted, but scooped up Lambert's discarded shield and ran up the slope.

"She's just a child," Yennefer murmured next to Vesemir. He looked at her, surprised. "She tries to act as old as she can, but other times, she's just a child. A bit of fun is good for her."

"Chores are good for her," Vesemir retorted, but it came out half-heartedly. They watched Ciri sled down the hill, much more successfully than Lambert just had.

"Ten points for Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon! What a remarkable run!" Jaskier shouted as Ciri stood up, brushing the snow off of her before bowing deeply.

Vesemir sighed, watching his wolves and their loved ones chatter, roughhouse, and laugh in the snow. Dinner wasn't for a while. It was alright if they did what they wanted for a few more hours.

"You need a cloak," Vesemir told Yennefer. She smiled, and her fur-lined cloak appeared over her shoulders. Vesemir gave her one last nod before turning back into the keep, and heading into the lab.

The next time Vesemir saw something similar happen was a few days later. Having learned his lesson, he had given Ciri and Lambert dinner duty, with the addition of cleaning up the kitchen. But when he walked past the kitchen on his way to the library, he was stopped by the sound of laughter, and the occasional sound of Ciri shrieking. It took no longer than a moment to discern that they weren't in any danger, but still, curiosity got the best of him.

He pushed the door to the kitchen open, preparing himself for a massive mess.

Instead, he was faced with Ciri and Lambert, who were both flushed in the face, and what looked like a jar of red sauce smashed open on the ground. Most notably, they both had wound up pieces of cloth in their hands.

"Lambert started it!" Ciri burst out. Lambert growled and snapped the towel back at Ciri, making her shriek and dance backwards.

Before Vesemir could gather a way to respond to this, Ciri snapped her towel back at Lambert, just barely missing his chest as he stepped to the side.

"Now you're asking for it!" Lambert called, beginning to chase her around the kitchen. Ciri was breathless with laughter as she ran, hopping over the table to avoid getting snapped.

"Don't hit anymore jars!" Ciri reminded, popping out of a squat to avoid being hit.

"That wasn't my fault! If you had just stayed put, I would have hit you instead!"

Vesemir was relatively safe from the action, as he stood in the doorway. While the two were most certainly making a mess of the kitchen, instead of cleaning it, Vesemir didn't feel the urge to stop them. What Yennefer said the other day had lingered in his head. Ciri was just a child, hardly a cub. She had been through so much, and if it did her well to make her laugh like that... Who was Vesemir to stop it? He wouldn't, not when it brought this much laughter and life to the cold, empty keep.

Vesemir watched as Ciri snapped Lambert across the face, almost expertly. Lambert stood there for a moment, stunned. Ciri tried to stop her laughter, covering her mouth, but she soon doubled over, her shoulders shaking.

"Excellent aim, child." Vesemir eventually said. "I expect that jar to be cleaned up by dinner."

"Okay!" Ciri replied. "Does this mean I win?"

Lambert still looked flabbergasted, so Vesemir nodded. "I believe so. Congratulations."

"Yes!" Ciri cheered, while Lambert groaned. "Come on, loser, you have to clean up the mess you made."

This time, as Vesemir turned and walked away, he didn't bother hiding his smile.

"Mister Vesemir, this may be the greatest battle that you will ever fight, to date." Jaskier said, his face completely serious. "I have full faith in you. Melitele may watch over you."

"Why are you rooting for him?" Lambert complained. He was standing right next to Vesemir, with Geralt on the other side. "Not even Geralt?" Jaskier shrugged.

"I have faith in Vesemir." When Lambert turned his shocked face to Geralt, the other wolf only shrugged.

"If I wasn't competing, I would bet on Vesemir too."

"Betrayal!" Lambert shouted.

"Alright, that's enough chatter." Eskel called from the other side of the field. They had spent the better half of a day clearing it from snow, all for a series of challenges that Ciri, Eskel, and Yennefer had put together. When questioned on why he wasn't participating, Eskel claimed he knew that he would win every challenge, so he ought to give the others a chance.

This one they had managed to rope Vesemir into- carrying an armload of firewood from one side of the field to the other. The loads were large enough that they were nearly spilling out of Vesemir's arms, and the challenge was being the first one crossing the finish line by Eskel.

"Are you ready?!" Ciri yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. Jaskier balanced a few more twigs in Vesemir's arms. "Get set!" The three witchers all got into a running position. "Go!"

They took off. The field wasn't spectacularly large, but the remaining thin layer of snow and massive firewood bundles were already proving to cause issue. Lambert slipped almost immediately, narrowly avoiding slipping on his ass, but dropping a few sticks in the process.

Vesemir took care to make sure he was taking coordinated, balanced steps. Jaskier ran alongside them, shouting commentary: "There goes Lambert! Oh no, can he recover? He's leaning down to pick up the wood he dropped, and oh! He's dropping even more! Geralt is currently in the lead, but Vesemir is close on his tail, who's going to win-"

The finish line was fast approaching. Vesemir spared a glance to Geralt who was hardly in front of him.

"Come on Vesemir!" He heard Ciri call. Gritting his teeth, Vesemir put on another burst of speed. Right as he passed Geralt, Geralt made a strange noise. He didn't take the chance to see what was wrong, Vesemir kept charging for the end.

"-And here comes Lambert, throwing sticks at Geralt! Not a sportly choice, but not explicitly written out of the rules! There goes Geralt, dropping his sticks to chase Lambert! And is it? Is he going to? Yes! Ladies and gentlemen, Vesemir has crossed the finish line!"

Vesemir dropped the firewood as Ciri cheered, launching herself in for an embrace. As he held the girl, Vesemir panted, completely unable to stop the grin from spreading across the face.

"He did it!" Jaskier cheered, finally reaching them. "Vesemir is the winner!"

When Ciri dropped her arms from Vesemir's shoulders, landing back on the ground, her smile was bright.

Vesemir looked around. Geralt and Lambert had stopped throwing sticks at each other, and were heading towards the finish line, sticks abandoned. Even Yennefer was laughing, as Jaskier slung an arm around her.

Would the rooms of Kaer Morhen ever be filled, like they once were? No. But these people, this family, their heart, joy, and laughter was enough to fill the keep all the same.

#my fics #the witcher #vesemir #geraskier #flash fic #witcher fic #kaer morhen #em posts #idk what else to tag this

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shy-urban-hobbit · 6 months

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8 with Lambert & Vesemir please if you want to 💕

8 - "I'm really disappointed in you."

I had two ideas for this one and I really wanted to write both so we have a modern au humour drabble with a little bit of role reversal which Lambert is way too happy about and/or fluffy/angst child Lambert under the cut where Vesemir learns Lambert doesn't use words to apologise (CW on that one for implied abuse/corporal punishment).

"I'm really disappointed in you." Lambert didn't even try to hide his smile as Vesemir was led out from the cells to the front of the station. Of all the days Geralt and Eskel had to be busy...

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Lambert crowed, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in a parody of the pose Vesemir adopted every time he'd asked that of his youngest.

"Wrong place, wrong time." He answered as he walked out onto the wet, dark street. It really was - Vesemir had just been minding his own business at a nearby bar when all hell broke loose between a couple of guys and their respective friends. Vesemir wouldn't have gotten involved at all if someone hadn't thrown a right hook at him as he tried to leave and well...old habits and all that. It was just his luck Lambert was the only person available to come and post bail.

He might have realised too late what exactly he'd said, but Lambert certainly didn't. His smile morphed into a full on, shit eating grin as one of his own classic excuses fell from his father's mouth, "I've heard that before!" He yelled out, raising a finger and wagging it in exaggerated sternness, "When are you going to start thinking before you act? I swear, I never have this much trouble with Eskel and Geralt!"

"Are you done?" Vesemir deadpanned from where he was trying to walk ahead of the younger man.

"Not even close." Lambert laughed, jogging slightly to catch up so they were now walking side by side, "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this opportunity? I'm not stopping until I've gone through your entire repertoire of Disappointed Dad phrases old man!"

Vesemir did an about face, "That's it. I'm seeing if they'll let me spend the night in the drunk tank."

"Ok, ok." Lambert said holding his hands up in a placating gesture, still grinning, "But you have to admit, the irony is pretty fucking funny."

Vesemir gave out a "hmm". He supposed he'd be able to laugh about it in the morning - he wasn't telling Lambert that though.

"C'mon. I'll buy you a drink, we should celebrate this. Vesemir's first run in with the law!"

"What makes you think that was my first?" Vesemir asked, ducking through the door of the first bar they came across and smirking at Lambert's spluttering.

"Wait, what...Vesemir??!"

It was nearing the end of Lambert's first month at Kaer Morhen when it happened. He was confident that he could handle whatever punishment he was about to receive and then Vesemir had gone and said those five words before dismissing him.

"I'm really disappointed in you."

That one phrase had cracked through the walls he'd built up during his short life and had settled unpleasantly in his chest. He'd grown used to people being angry at him thanks to his shit-stain of a father, his mother was the only one who'd ever felt fear for him and there had been absolutely none of that since he arrived here and got shoved into a bare dorm room with six other boys. He didn't think he'd ever had anyone express disappointment in him before - at least, not directly. He wasn't sure how to feel about this, which in turn was making him feel angry.

It wasn't his fault! Voltehre had dared him to try and steal something from one of the alchemy labs. If he hadn't done that, Lambert wouldn't have dropped that stupid ceramic bowl. He'd hidden the pieces as best he could, it had only been one of the smaller ones so it had been pretty easy really. Apparently that hadn't been good enough though as he found himself being summoned to Vesemir's office; where he'd resolutely denied all knowledge despite the evidence staring him right in the face from Vesemir's desk.

"What's up with you?" He looked up from where he'd been sat curled in on himself at the top of the stairs to the boys dorms, definitely not sulking. One of the younger, freshly turned Witchers he recognised as Eskel was leaning against the wall, looking down at him.

"Nothin'. Piss off, asshole." Lambert snarled into his knees.

Eskel only laughed, "Big words from such a small mouth. C'mon, either talk or piss off yourself. You're stinking up the hallway with that sad stench."

"M'not sad." Lambert said petulantly.

"Uh huh."

"Stupid Vesemir."

"What'd you do to get a beating from him?"

"Didn't beat me."

Eskel was silent for a minute before dropping down next to Lambert, "Let me guess. He did the 'I'm not angry, I'm disappointed' thing. Fucking hate that."

Lambert's head shot up in surprise. The last thing he'd expected was for the other to agree with him.

"So. What'd you do?" Eskel prompted again.

For some reason, Lambert found himself telling the whole story. How Vesemir had summoned him to his office to ask him about the broken bowl. How Lambert didn't understand why Vesemir was disappointed when he should be angry, right? That was usually what happened when people who weren't his father broke things (that would still be the fault of Lambert or his mother).

"You do know he'd be able to smell that you'd been in there, right?" Eskel asked from where he was leaning back on his elbows.

Lambert froze. He did now!

"He's not disappointed that you broke it, you know how many of those things we have in storage? He's disappointed that you lied about it. He'd have been able to smell that on you too, just so you know."

They sat in silence as Lambert digested this. That still didn't make sense. He still should have gotten a beating for the lying, shouldn't he?

He didn't realise he'd said that last part out loud until Eskel answered, "Honestly, if it had been any of the other Masters, you probably would have. Vesemir's harsh, but he's not the worst one here. Do you understand why you feel guilty now, though?"

Lambert nodded, "So, how do I make it go away?"

Eskel shrugged as he stood up to leave, "Figure that out yourself. I'm not your damn mother."

Lambert flipped him off in response, tapping his feet as Eskel's words called up thoughts of his mother. How she'd sit trying to salvage whatever his father had destroyed the previous night, how she'd smile that sad smile at him when he'd try to help. Hmm, maybe that was an idea? He picked himself up and hurried down the stairs shouting for Eskel. Maybe he'd know where to find what he needed.

Vesemir turned the bowl over in his hand. Calling the repair work amateur would be being generous. Thick lines of glue making the cracks appear large and obvious and giving the rim a slightly uneven quality, the surface was also uneven in some parts where the adhesive had dried in globs and smears, a couple of spots on his desk suggesting it hadn't fully dried when it had been left. Obviously the work of a child, confirmed by the now familiar scent it was covered in. He thought on the dark rings around Lambert's eyes that morning, his shuffling steps and wandering concentration during training. The lad must have been up all night working on this.

Vesemir gave a small chuckle as he placed it on a high shelf. No good for potion work now, but he'd find some use for it.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #witcher lambert #lambert #witcher vesemir #vesemir

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