#this is job for vesemir

[werewolfsister]

Slip of the tongue there, Gale???

I’d like to credit the OG poster but reblogs are disabled, so @this-is-a-job-for-vesemir hope you enjoy.

[spielzeugkaiser]

Okay, I'm not done! We had the tiniest hint of some Vesemir and Milek in the last fic from @magdelanesingerin and my brain went!! Kaer Morhen time! It must have been strange for them all.

[jay-arts-t]

Posting a a little today but really like the whole bit the boys have over calling Vesemir old. They all just collectively agree “old man old man”

It’s even funnier when notw makes vesemir only 70, or really 60 something years older than them since they’re around 4-8 age group. And he only looks like he’s in his 20s-early thirties. I’m sure Lambert started it. One day he just asks “why are you so old?” And Vesemir is left shocked. He’s not that old!!! But then when they get back to Kaer Morhen and the boys are a bit older Geralt finally gets to ask all his questions about Kaer Morhen he couldn’t ask before.

“How old is Kaer Morhen?”

“I don’t know Geralt. Old.”

“Are you older than Kaer Morhen or as old?”

Vesemir throws his boots at him. Then that’s when the whole “*insert item* is almost as old as Vesemir!”

HE HATES IT.

When Ciri finally joins them, Lambert immediately teaches her the bit. She is RUTHLESS with her insults. Vesemir is giving her a history lesson in the courtyard since it’s nice out. The boys are fixing one of the walls in the background. He’s telling her about a war that happened around 600 years ago.

“Do you remember what it was like in that time? Since you were there?” Vesemir wants to crawl into a hole and die in it. The boys are basically toppled over in laughter. Lambert starts choking from laughing too hard. Ciri seems extremely pleased with herself.

It starts evolving further into “oh you wanna know about the conjunction of spheres? Oh I dunno, ask Vesemir he was there since before the conjunction.” And “what was it like when dinosaurs were alive, Vesemir?”

AND IT SOMEHOW SPREADS. He’s in a growing town in southern Redania with Geralt and they run into Jaskier. Now he’s never had the fortune of meeting him, but he’s heard plenty. He’s about to thank the poet for looking after Geralt until Jaskier goes “so I’ve heard you’re quite old! Tell me Master Vesemir, what was it like when kingdoms started to form? How did the royal families come to be in power?”

Vesemir is SEETHING. Geralt just smiles like the little shit he is.

[teatitty]

Thinking about that scene in TW3 when Lambert puts on Vesemir's hat and does the goofiest impression of him ever this is how you know he's the youngest of the wolf bros

[artistsfuneral]

"So you're just going to give up?" Vesemir's voice bellows across the courtyard, "Boy, I did not raise a quitter!"

Weirdly enough his anger calms Lambert.

"You did not raise me," he says, voice steady, "You trained me to do a job and I quit."

[egooppidum]

Tav: So Astarion wants to suck blood and you want to suck magic. What's next?

@this-is-a-job-for-vesemir thank you, your post reminded me of this gold

why didn't they leave this dialogue??? I laughed so hard when I heard it for the first time in early access

[podcastenthusiast]

"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

[flamemittens]

Gale and the Netherese Orb

Following on from the discussion regarding Gale's post-stabilisation side effects via @this-is-a-job-for-vesemir (here and here):

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Have some Aiden & Kid!Jaskier interaction!!

"It's you!"

Aiden turned his attention towards where Jaskier was sat by the fire alongside the wolves, the bard's face a strange mixture of disbelief and elation, as was his scent. Aiden crinkled his nose slightly as he fought back the urge to sneeze or cough at the unfamiliar combination being directed at him.

"Yeah, it's me. Happy to see you too?" Aiden ventured, despite the fact that it couldn't have been more than an hour since they'd last seen each other. Aiden had gone back out into the courtyard after dinner to run some drills, despite the harsh weather, and get rid of the excess energy he could already feel building up. Vesemir was gracious enough to refer to it as 'extra training' and not act like it was a necessity if they all wanted Aiden to avoid getting so restless he literally started climbing the walls.

"No! I mean...I didn't realise before now until I saw you silhouetted like that with your swords and everything, but it's you!"

Aiden suddenly found himself with a limpet of a bard hanging off him, determined to cling despite the rainwater which now soaked both of them.

"Jaskier, I-"

"Oh right. You probably don't remember, what am I saying, of course you don't - Jaskier you fucking idiot. It's been thirty years, no doubt you've lost count of how many humans you've dealt with in the meantime. But-"

"Jaskier." Lambert huffed out from where he was dozing on the fur which acted as a hearth rug, not even bothering to open his eyes, "Let Aiden go dry off and then maybe some context to go with your twittering, Birdie."

By the time Aiden returned, Jaskier's excitement was enough that even the Wolves were giving him their full attention as he re-entered the main hall. Eskel and Geralt's books lay abandoned on a side table while a now awake Lambert was sat leaning against the wall by the hearth. He pulled Aiden down to sit next to him, the fire hot stone through his thick, wool shirt creating a pleasant warmth against his back.

"Alright then." Jaskier started from where he was sat cross legged in one of the old armchairs, leaning forwards as he once again addressed Aiden directly, "Before I start, do you remember anything about a night in Lettenhove thirty years ago. At the Viscount's estate."

Aiden shook his head, although something about this was starting to niggle the back of his mind.

"Name of Panktratz. Little boy, around six years old?" Jaskier continued, eyes growing sadder as it became clear this memory was potentially very one-sided, "Somehow convinced you to-"

He wasn't sure if it was the name or the wide-eyed look the man was throwing him, but Aiden felt something suddenly tumble into place. "Wait, I do remember that night!"

Aiden fought back a growl as he took in the various toys littering the floor, the miniature four poster bed...whose occupant was an even smaller lump under the covers.

That son of a bitch! That slimy twat had hired him to 'take care' of his nephew so he'd be next in line for the title instead, implying the whole time that his relative wasn't exactly deserving of the title. Aiden had accepted the job - what difference did the inner squabblings of Nobility make to him afterall.

In hindsight he probably should have asked more questions but he didn't have a copper coin to his name and this guy had paid upfront; enough for him to be able to eat regularly and maintain his gear for the foreseeable. He started planning after his employer graciously provided him with a blueprint of the estate and pointed out the targets rooms. He'd failed to mention however, that said target looked to be scarcely old enough to wield that wooden sword properly, nevermind any degree of power.

Fuck it. He should stay as far away from this potential mess as possible. It was bad enough when their employers pointed the finger of blame at them when they assassinated an adult, but a child? That was a complication none of them needed. Mind made up, he turned to climb back out of the window (which had been concerningly easy to coax open from the other side), making sure hood and mask were still firmly in place.

"Hello."

Aiden froze. Speaking of complications....

Rookie mistake! He'd been so caught up in everything else he'd forgotten to keep one ear focused on the other heartbeat in the room. He ran through possible scenarios: he could do what he'd been paid to do, but now the kid was awake there was every chance he'd scream and alert the house before Aiden could even lift a finger. Same potential problem if he tried to leave. He could always cast somne...

"You're a Witcher aren't you? I can see the shape of your swords!" Aiden's nose twitched at the boys scent. Strange. Even through the cloth covering the lower half of his face he could tell the boy didn't smell afraid. He smelled excited, happy even?

"I know all about Witchers. You keep us safe from monsters. Is that why you're here, is there a monster in my room?" The small voice turned slightly fretful as a faint whiff of fear started to sour the air - yet more strangeness in the fact that it was due to imagined monsters rather than him.

Aiden dared to turn and look, something about this child's initial boldness piquing his curiousity (who the hell starts questioning a stranger in their room instead of screaming the place down?). A small boy stared back at him with large eyes as he clutched the soft looking sheets to him like a shield as he curled up in the centre of the bed. "My Uncle Desmond says that monsters like to come out at night and eat little boys. I don't like him. He's mean."

Aiden gave a bittersweet smile at the pout he could see on the little face.

'Oh. You have no idea just how mean, kid.' He thought to himself.

"No, no monsters here. Go back to sleep."

The boys pout turned into a frown, "You didn't even look."

"Because I don't need to."

"Please, Mister Witcher." His bottom lip wobbled in a practiced tremble as his eyes grew even bigger.

Aiden bit back another smile. Kid was good, he'd give him that. Such audacity deserved some sort of reward.

"Alright. One very quick monster check, then you go to sleep. Deal?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "My name's Julian, by the way."

"I don't care."

"...are you going to tell me yours?"

"No."

"Can I see your swords?"

"No."

"How about your-"

"How about no talking until we make absolutely sure there's nothing waiting in your wardrobe?"

Turns out the only monstrous thing in Julian's wardrobe was a few hideous combinations of frills and lace. Behind the curtains yielded nothing, as did underneath the bed.

"Ok. Now you hold up your end of the deal and go to sleep."

Julian scowled at him in response from where he was now stood up on the feather mattress to watch rather than huddled under the sheets, arms crossed expectantly.

"What?"

"You're supposed to say sweet dreams."

Aiden blinked at him before replying "Sweet dreams." Monotonously.

"Tuck me in?"

Aiden cast the sign for somne, Julian's body flopping down before he'd even finished. Cheeky little fuck would've been wanting a lullaby next. Still, it wouldn't do for him to get cold, there was no fireplace in this room after all. He grabbed the quilt from the bottom of the bed, not bothering to straighten it as it fell haphazardly over the small body before doing what he should have done thirty minutes ago and taking his leave back through the window.

"I told my parents about you the next morning. They didn't believe me of course. Said it was probably just a dream and that if there had been a Witcher in my room I'd be dead. Although, I suppose that explains why my Uncle Desmond looked apoplectic when I came down to breakfast. I never knew he'd hired you to, you know." He flicked a hand across his neck in a throat cutting motion. "Why didn't you by the way? Not that I'm saying I wish you had or anything. I was a human child, you could've killed me multiple times as easily as scratching an itch but you didn't. Why?"

Aiden's features settled into a frown, "Oh trust me, if your Uncle had waited ten more years it probably would've been a very different outcome. As it is, once I had all the facts, I just decided against accepting a contract on a kid. The one who offered me the contract however..."

Jaskiers eyebrows shot up as he shuffled further forwards, "Are you saying you offed my uncle? He did just sort of... disappear."

"Not exactly. I merely broke back in and left evidence of what he'd planned somewhere I knew the current Viscount would find it. What he chose to do with that I had no involvement in. If he just so happened to be on the lookout for an assassin and I was coincidentally still in the area, well...no Witcher is ever going to turn down such well paying jobs so close together."

Jaskier laughed, causing the wolves to look at him in shock, "Oh don't look like that. I didn't learn the extent of it until I was older but besides trying to murder me he was an absolute cock. Definitely not somebody you'd want in charge of anything!"

"The ones that desperate for power usually aren't." Eskel mused, Lambert raised his cup in agreement.

"You know, I'm so happy that Geralt ended up being the Witcher I ran into in Posada. But when I started out from Oxenfurt, I was actually looking for you."

Aiden straightened up in slight surprise, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do this." Jaskier got down on the floor and once again wrapped his arms around Aiden, the Witcher returning the hug this time.

"Thanks." Jaskier muttered, "For humouring a scared, probably irritating as hell, little boy."

Aiden tightened his hold slightly, "You're welcome, Julian."

[bluedillylee]

The number one thing about season 2 I didn’t like was how Geralt’s story line felt very static. We got little nuggets to extrapolate from but we never got to see Geralt really struggle with anything. And there was plenty going on this season with Geralt too but somehow the emotions never hit for me

1. Law of Surprise Fatherhood aka fuck how do i raise a traumatized teenager with magic powers

2. Yennefer is dead and I’ll never to see her again -devastating

3. Eskel is dead and I helped kill him.

4. Vesemir tried to mutate my child and could have killed her

5. Roach dies :(

6. I miss Jaskier but I don’t know how to fix things with him (a tiny nod towards their friendship would’ve been great)

7. Yennefer is alive! but also she’s kidnapped Ciri

Each one of these should have hit hard and we should have felt how betrayed and stressed Geralt was. How much he was grieving. They did a great job with Yennefer’s story line- I was right there with her in her desperation and her fear to the point that I understood why she would take Voleth Mier’s deal. Jaskier got his Burn song and the torture with Rience for the audience to understand and empathize with his emotional state too. I needed that same thing with Geralt so I understood how he could threaten to kill Yennefer. Why he would struggle to apologize to Jaskier.

I feel like a very easy fix would’ve been to use Geralt talking to Roach as a way to show what was on Geralt’s mind and how he was dealing(or not dealing) with it. Then when Roach dies that could’ve been used to increase the tension because now the audience wouldn’t have a view into what Geralt was thinking and feeling. Then his confrontation with Yennefer after she takes Ciri could’ve been more tense. But it would only work if the audience had the look into Geralt’s emotional state beforehand.

It would also give Roach’s death more narrative meaning because it would mean that not only does she die but also the only outlet Geralt had to express his feelings would die as well.

[the-butch-of-blaviken]

I’m rereading The Last Wish in the french translation (which so far isn’t bad, as opposed to what I’d heard) and it strikes me that despite Geralt’s efforts to curate his own presentation (situating himself by adding “of Rivia” to his name, adopting the Rivian accent), people get to take one look at him and pick the parts of him that are easiest for them to hate at any given moment.

In the first short story, when he walks into an inn in Wizima, people identify him as a Rivian and reject him based on that. Then, later, Ostrit accuses him of being a vagabond, a brigand — a landless, individualistic man whose loyalty goes to no one. At other points, he’s identified solely through the lens of his trade: a group on the margins of society whose intentions are unclear (and who goes out of its way to maintain this aura of secrecy) and is thus not to be trusted.

So he lives in this in-between state, alternatively seen as someone from somewhere or from nowhere or something else entirely, but most importantly, not from around here. And that’s just in the span of his introducing short story. I think Sapkowski does a good job of showing us one of his main characteristics right from the start: the fact that he doesn’t belong anywhere, and that this is the first thing people will ever see when they look at him.

I keep thinking about young Geralt workshopping his name before going out into the world (finally, he can choose who he’s going to be) before Vesemir laughs at him for his ridiculous-sounding name and advises him to choose something that’s not going to stand out. But the truth is that he was always going to stand out, no matter where he went.

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST]

Eskel tries to be calm about it all, besides his initial reaction, but it's hard. (I think he does cry in private, which is something he very rarely does.) That being said, and all the worries aside, I think he's also the first one to go "...huh" about them. Something might be up, but he isn't sure.

[solcorvidae]

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)

[powdermelonkeg]

Just read your fic, I don't think I've seen anyone write Lambert so...calm? Not a critique whatsoever, I'm just shocked at how levelheaded he was, even when the dwarf was threatening him. It's a nice change of pace!

Thank you!!! (Fic in question here)

A lot of people write him as this angry, prickly, sweary little bastard. Which he can be, for sure, but when he's at his limit.

In the books, he's only mentioned for his mentorship of Ciri. <- Translation (to me): Good with kids. Compound that with his TW3 backstory of how he was treated as a kid, and you've got protectiveness.

In TW3, we see a lot more of him. His angry moments boil down to:

When he's tracking down a guy that murdered his best friend

When Yennefer says she's going to torture a being (that, to his knowledge, might be his niece under a curse) potentially to death

When he's being threatened by monsters that throw boulders at him

When Vesemir shows up with torture equipment that he kept for sentimental value

When Vesemir's dead and Geralt's pushing buttons

When he's relived some of his worst moments during his last trial where he lost ANOTHER friend of his, pointlessly

Which, tbh, are pretty solid reasons to be pissed off.

Is he sadistic? Yes. He killed two people that threatened his life by charming them into killing themselves and told the story to get a rise out of Geralt, and he's proud of the vengeance he got to exact on his dad.

Is he snarky? Absolutely. In nearly every sentence he says.

But off the top of my head, I've only ever heard him raise his voice twice: Once when demanding Jad Karadin's whereabouts, and once when Yen proposed the Trial of the Grasses.

Witchers are "emotionless mutants." This isn't true, but they ARE masters of their own bodies, from their reactions to their mutations. They can control the literal dilation of their pupils at will. Couple that with the kind of training that was exacted on them during Kaer Morhen's heyday, and you get someone who can shut down on command.

Lambert in TMYTIA, so far, hasn't been put in any position to make him angry. He's in control of the situation. He knows what he wants and exactly how to get it. Being able to hide how he's feeling on a job is always an advantage.

And beyond that, Lambert isn't governed by his wrath. He's bitter, sure, but he's also playful. If you take the few moments you get where he isn't grieving, you get someone who's incredibly silly, who likes to do impressions, who goes for a hug when someone says they love him, he names animals, he has the stupidest ideas when drunk. He plays Gwent and likes cracking jokes.

He's the kind of guy not to feel bad whatsoever about murdering a man. But he'd also drop a kid in a pile of snow just to make them laugh, or play whatever role game they asked him to.

[patroclusdefencesquad]

headcanon any fight of geralt's that jaskier gets to watch, he grades it. geralt finishes a hunt and jaskier is sitting writing in his little book and he just goes "good job, 8/10!" and gives him a ye olde gold star. except after going to kaer morhen and meeting vesemir jaskier starts being more critical and geralt will get back from hunting like 6 selkiemores and he's been fighting for hours and he's covered in blood and gore and jaskier just shakes his head and goes "4/10. sloppy work. do better."

[on-a-lucky-tide]

(Aiden/Lambert; a small dedication to the beautiful artwork by @elmonstro that was one of the first things to greet me when I opened the "witcher Lambert" tag after so long away. Cheers, bud. Rated: T.)

“—so, there we were, Gaetan stuck with his arse in the fence, Joel had cast Somne on the cock—hurr, hurr—cockeral, and—“

Beneath the branches of a gnarled old tree, Lambert and Aiden found respite from the midsummer heat. The sun played hide-and-seek through the verdant leaves as they swayed idly in the breeze, casting a dance of light and shadow over the forest floor. With naught but the rush of the waterfall behind them and the warm lilt of Aiden’s voice, Lambert all but forgot the world beyond their little patch of paradise. He was only half listening to the actual words; Aiden could be listing the anatomical parts of a drowner dick for all Lambert cared, as long as he kept talking, and gesticulating, and laughing. Like that.  Just like that. 

Lambert quirked both eyebrows and hummed a non-commital acknowledgment of the story as Aiden progressed onto the details of how they extracted Gaetan’s backside from the fence. 

Lambert and Aiden had met just outside Vattweir, heading west along the main path through the Kestrel Mountains. Aiden had just finished up a routine dog clearance–slim pickings this time of year, when even monsters shirked the heat in favour of their gloomy lairs, tunnels, and hideaways–and Lambert had been hoping to pick up some escort jobs with local merchants. Any thought of coin had evaporated the moment he had heard Aiden’s familiar bray from across the meadow. 

Instead of turning back to town, they had decided to find some peace in the mountains. There was only so much human stank and fuckery Lambert could take in one go, and he’d reached his limit a whole two contracts ago. The wilderness was a welcome relief. The cacophony of humanity replaced by the subtle hum of nature. But only idiots left the trail at the height of ‘bandit season’ to go for a swim in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, even a witcher. Yet, when Aiden had insisted, Lambert had been powerless to resist. At Aiden’s side, Lambert felt invincible. Just the two of them against the world. 

What they had–shit, Lambert couldn’t name what they had. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. When he looked at Aiden, he felt a swell of something soft and gooey in his chest, his skin prickled, his toes tingled. Why did his fucking toes tingle? He had no idea. They just did. It was Aiden. Always Aiden. 

It didn’t matter what mood he was in when Aiden found him–angry, miserable, despondent, wounded–within hours, Aiden would have him laughing, smiling, patched up. They would share a brew, a rabbit haunch, and swap stories like two old girls gossiping over a wash basin. But that wasn’t even the best part was it? N,aww. The best part was when they rested their heads down, side by side, and watched the stars.

In those moments, they would talk in hushed whispers about the world beyond the Path, like if they talked too loudly, their Masters would appear to steal the dreams and the hopes from their heads and throw them to the monsters. Vesemir, old dog. He’d have an absolute shit-fit if he knew. Lambert could hear him drone now, Stars are for tracking, boy, not dreaming. Get your head out your arse. Lambert might have agreed two years ago. 

Not now though. 

Now he looked heavenward and saw Aiden. 

The hushed dreams they shared of a future where they could become more, the glisten of mirth in his eyes when Lambert was especially vulgar, the corners crinkled, cheeks dimpled, and now the drying droplets on his skin, shimmering like diamonds as they ran in rivulets with every one of his twitches and flails.

With Aiden’s head on his thigh, Lambert had the perfect view of it all. Well, not all. They had pulled their trews on for comfort after the dip; he didn’t much fancy chancing fighting off an ambush with his dick out. (“There’s always a chance”--”Fuck, Bertie, you could knock ‘em clean out with that cudgel you’re packing, I really wouldn’t worry.”) And now Lambert was somewhat regretting his caution, his eyes wandering from the gleam of Aiden’s chest to the line of his waistband, and–

“You’ve not listened to a plowing word I’ve said, have you?”

“Huh?” Lambert blinked, and rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, Gaetan’s arse… Joel Somne’d the…” 

“You absolute bellend. I was just getting to the good part.” Aiden threw his hands up in exasperation, the knife he had been twiddling through slender fingers falling to the forest floor with a dull thud. “Fine, if my offerings aren’t intellectual enough to entertain Master Lambert, he can come up with a story of his own for the masses.” Aiden gestured to the peaceful emptiness of the forest before flopping both palms onto his belly, and Lambert huffed a wry laugh.

“Ahh, I’ve got nothin’ you haven’t heard a million times,” Lambert said, “tell me again, I’ll listen this time. Promise.”

“Oh yeah? You won’t get distracted by whatever’s brewing in that thick skull of yours.”

A hint of a smirk quirked at the corner of Lambert’s mouth, and Lambert watched as Aiden’s pupils blew a little wider. Probably one of the few people on the Continent who looked like that whenever he was faced by Lambert’s sardonic attitude. Lambert reached out to brush a lock of dark hair from Aiden’s forehead. “Can’t make any promises, but I’ll try my best.”

“Soppy fuck,” Aiden mumbled, lower lip pushing up in a brief pout before his hands lifted into the air again. “So, as I was saying, we heard about this alderman–”

Lambert closed his eyes and leaned back against the old tree, allowing himself to float in the sounds of the forest and the gentle lull of Aiden’s voice. Maybe his lot wasn’t so bad after all.