witcherwrite

[witcherwrite]

a modest portrait of a vineyard owner (lighting model from Alexander Roslin’s portrait of Prince Vladimir Borisovich Golitsyn)

[witcherwrite]

smiecht on twitter posted a really cool tweet (see the replies on this) about Ciri trying to braid Eskel’s hair after she successfully braided Geralt’s, but because Eskel’s is so short, it ends up in all these lil messy mini braids – I just had to doodle that :’)

(Also… in my mind, that shirt Ciri’s wearing is Eskel’s, from that one mod that’s floating around, and the pants are Geralt’s old ones!)

[witcherwrite]

Disaster Dads Chapter 3

You can read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091329/chapters/55760416#workskin

STYLING WITCHERS

Geralt noticed in passing that Ciri’s hair was slowly becoming… bigger. A little less flowing locks and more condensed chunks of hair. He’d left it be, thinking Ciri was old enough to know how to care for her own hair without intervention.

Though that was quickly brought to an end when he and her were eating lunch together and Vesemir walked by to compliment her on her training. His mentor rested his hand upon Ciri’s head and stilled. He patted once and his face went from content to holistically disgusted, now glaring at Geralt.

Ciri didn’t understand until Vesemir tried to run his hand through it and she squeaked, her hands flying up to yank his hand away from the mats in her hair.

“Geralt.” he said sharply over Ciri’s monstrosity of hair, boring holes into his soul. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t shrink back a bit like he did when he was a child.

He’d known the knots were bad but now that he was seated on Kaer Morhen’s steps trying to de-tangle her hair he realized he was lucky Vesemir didn’t hide him like a child for being an idiot.

“Ow!” Ciri cried, as he tried to gingerly work on one of the impromptu dreads.

Lambert and Eskel offered to assist in the forced grooming process but after Lambert had tried to wrench a horsebrush through Ciri’s hair starting at the scalp he’d chased the both of them away.

Vesemir at least had the knowledge of how to care for long hair, one of the few witchers who appreciated the aesthetic over the practicality like Geralt. But Vesemir was insistent that Geralt just cut it all off. If she didn’t know how to care for it, she shouldn’t keep it. A rule he’d held since Geralt was a boy.

Geralt wholeheartedly disagreed. Ciri wanted to keep her hair and every boy of Kaer Morhen had been subjected to a patented Vesemir style haircut while within its walls. There wasn’t a single Wolf School Witcher would dare curse Ciri with that misery.

Finishing another dread, Geralt moved onto the next caking the clump of hair in coconut oil. Vesemir had criticized him heavily for using such a valuable resource on detangling Ciri’s hair, but it was the only way he could manage it without tearing it all out. He was trying to be careful, almost halfway through the ordeal as Ciri whined and wiggled.

“Stop squirming, we’re halfway there.”

Ciri gave a few familiar grumbles.

“You’re eleven Ciri, you should know how to brush your own hair.” he grouced, breaking the mat apart.

“Grandma and Agatha always did it for me.” she said quietly.

Agatha had been Ciri’s nanny when she was still a princess in Cintra.

Geralt felt a pang in his chest, so glad that he hadn’t allowed Vesemir to cut off all her hair. He shook the fine tooth comb out, adding to the large clump of goopy hair that had piled up on the steps beside him.

“Alright, well I’ll show you.” he said focusing on a new dread.

After a beat of silence Ciri said, “Could you teach me how to braid it as well?” he paused in his assault. He’d never braided a person's hair before.

But, braiding Ciri’s couldn’t be any more complex than braiding Roach’s mane or strips of leather. He hummed, now moving closer to her scalp to get rid of the last of the tangle. Her head was going to smell like a coconut for months. And although he’d tried not to, her hair was a bit shorter from Geralt tearing away at the tangled mess.

“Could you braid it after I take a bath? My hair is always nice and wavy after it dries.”

He hummed again, hiding his panic. He didn’t expect for her to want it braided so soon. He didn’t want to braid her hair wrong and make a matted mess all over again, and he needed practice beforehand.

She complained far less as Gerlat finished up on the last few bits of her hair caked in oil. Clearly excited about him braiding her hair later. After a few more minutes of suffering Geralt was finally done, sending her off with one of the brushes and instructions to brush her hair when she put goat's milk in it. She nodded and gleefully ran off with a head of slimy, but untangled hair.

Geralt quickly gathered his things from the steps and beelined it to the stables where he could practice in private while Ciri was bathing.

She returned from her bath in record time much to his dismay. Almost scaring him if he were capable when she burst through the doors of the keep. He quickly shuffled out of the stables, hoping no one would check for the next few moments.

Ciri was already seated back on the steps, smiling with expectant eyes, making his heart gain speed in anxiety.

He sat behind her and began to braid, fumbling a few times while Ciri hummed some obscure song that he couldn’t place. He hadn't factored in that Ciri’s hair grew in all different places on her head, meaning he’d have to gather it as he braided. After a few failed attempts he relented and just started the braid at the base of her skull, gathering all of the hair at once.

He was actually a little proud of the way it turned out, excited to show Eskel his work when Geralt saw him walk through the courtyard, too focused at the moment to call him over. He had a small moment of panic when he realized he didn’t have anything to tie it with before deciding to remove his own leather tie. No way he was allowing this to fall free anytime soon.

“Done.” he said, pleased.

Ciri hopped up eagerly, poking at the braid she couldn’t see. Her face broke out into a grin that warmed him to his toes. She turned and threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Geralt!”

He hummed embracing her lightly in return. She all too quickly broke away and said “Wait till I show Vesemir!”

Geralt hummed and nodded, staying on the steps as Ciri ran off. He sighed to himself, satisfied with a job well done. Until he saw Eskel peer out of the stables. Far too amused.

“What happened to my horse?” he said with a poorly hidden grin. Geralt groaned aloud and Eskel laughed.

“You could have lied. Told me that Ciri ran in and badly braided every available lock of hair. I would have believed you.”

He huffed, leaning back on the steps to avoid looking at Eskel’s satisfied expression.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“No, I wouldn’t have.”

~~~~~

He almost regretted teaching her how to braid, Ciri had become a menace. Eskel made fun of him relentlessly for days after he’d braided all of the horse's manes and tails in an effort to practice for Ciri. But now that Ciri had been taught to braid she’d been styling the horse's hair in exceedingly complex ways for weeks. Only now becoming bored of horses and trying to convince the witchers to allow her to practice. Geralt had had to fight her off when she begged to braid his initially.

Though he did finally allow her to practice on him in private after Vesemir had given her a rather sharp no when she was brave enough to ask him. Geralt knew he wouldn’t be able to live it down if Eskel or Lambert ever caught Ciri perched on his bed styling his hair in all manners of ways while he sat on his floor, a mirror positioned in front of them. She was actually becoming rather good at it. The ideas she had sounded strange, but in practice he rather enjoyed them.

The current hairstyle she was giving him was some variation of his normal tied back style, but instead she braided the hair on top of his head and then gathered the excess into a bun. He was tempted to leave it in after she finished. However, the thought of Lambert haranguing him for having impractical braided hair made him think otherwise.

Ciri squealed at the finished product and Geralt allowed a small smile to be seen in his reflection. Which caused Ciri to respond by trying to choke him to death in some form of demented hug. He laughed aloud at her antics and she giggled in his ear, making him warm. Though it had gotten late, and she needed to go to bed before Vesemir chewed them out. His mentor had planned for the two of them to go herb picking this weekend to teach Ciri how to find plants on her own. She needed to be up early tomorrow.

Geralt huffed pushing forward “Alright, time to go to bed.”

Ciri groaned aloud, tightening her hold around his neck. “Can’t I try one more?”

“No. You promised this would be the last one.” She pouted knowing Geralt could see it in the reflection and poked at the rather large bun on top of his head.

He didn’t even bother arguing. He just stood suddenly, causing her to squeal in his ear, wrapping her legs around his waist for a piggyback. He couldn’t contain a chuckle when she began giggling herself.

He walked them both to her room, only a few floors below him in his personal tower. Less witchers meant more room options which meant that they all had their own personal castle wings. Though Ciri preferred to be close to Geralt. He made the way to her room, her still giggling and fiddling with the rest of his hair. Debating if she could manage a few more braids before he put her to bed. Geralt lightly shouldered open her door.

“Alright, we're here.” he said, stopping in the center of her room.

It looked a fair bit like his, books and random weapons scattered everywhere. A haphazard pile of pillows and furs on top of her bed. She’d been here a few months and had already amassed quite the collection. A few potions that she made with Lambert sitting on her window sill along with a few practice sketches of monsters scattered on her desk.

She grumbled, burying her face into the back of his neck. He sighed and began trying to pry her legs off his midsection. She half heartedly fought back, tightening her hold and clinging to him, but Geralt managed the upper hand when he wedged an arm in between hers and his neck. Breaking himself free and flinging her onto her overstocked bed with a laugh.

She giggled, a sound he didn’t think he’d ever tire of, as she fought her way out of the mountain of pillows she’d obtained.

“Bed. Now.” He said gruffly, only half effective as he was still smiling.

She smiled wide at him, patting her blankets down and pushing her hair back. He should probably braid it for her so that it wouldn’t become a mess over the weekend. But was denied an excuse to stay when Ciri said,

“Ok, night Geralt.”

He nodded at her, making his way out of her room and closing the door behind him. He barely had an opportunity to turn and walk down the hall before he saw Lambert standing there with Gwent cards in one hand and a small keg in the other. Likely making his way up to Geralt’s room to drink and play cards.

Geralt didn’t think much of it until he saw Lambert’s shit eating grin. Fuck. His hair. Geralt tried to play it off, nodding to Lambert. Now painfully aware of the bun bouncing on top of his head.

“Coming up for cards?” he said sheepishly.

“Initially,” Lambert said, so very amused. “Now. Now I’m here for blackmail.”

Lambert 101: Can’t use it as blackmail if you pretend that you don’t care about it anyway. Geralt schooled his face.

“You’ll blackmail me with what?” he said pushing past him and making his way up to his room, Lambert following. He fought the want to tug the tie out of his hair.

“You. Becoming whipped by every female in your life ever.”

Geralt really hated that Lambert always managed to associate Ciri to his myriad of flings over the years. He also hated that it bothered him enough not to be able to hide it when mentioned.

“Letting Ciri practice isn’t being whipped.” he argued, opening his bedroom door and for some reason allowing Lambert in.

“Mmhm, because knowing how to braid hair is a critical Witcher skill.” he said grinning wide and gesturing with his keg.

“Don’t get jealous just because you don’t have any hair to practice on.” Geralt quipped.

Lambert stilled. Glaring at him, and then pointed threateningly. “Sit your ass down. I’m about to destroy you at Gwent pretty boy.”

“You can try baldy.”

~~~~

After Lambert caught Geralt with freshly done Ciri hair he realized that the only way to prevent maximum teasing was to double down on the not being bothered angle. So, Geralt wore his hair styled now, much to Ciri’s delight and Vesemir’s befuddlement the next morning.

Vesemir and Ciri left that morning after Geralt swallowed what remained of his pride and braided Ciri’s hair for her in the courtyard. Lambert was relentless the next few days with his teasing, Eskel not helping the matter by smiling knowingly at him. Geralt remained stoic, keeping the braided bun in despite the onslaught of Lambert’s mocking jeers.

Insulting Lambert’s fading hairline quickly lost its effect as it only proved to Lambert that it did sorta maybe bother him. Much in the way of being called pretty boy still did. The two of them slung a variance of insults at one another, only resulting in one act of violence when Geralt pointed out that not even mutagens could keep Lambert hair from falling out. Then Eskel had to pry Geralt off of Lambert when he spat the banned phrase ‘Momma’s boy’.

Witchers were called all manner of horrendous things, making insults at home welcoming and sometimes fun. But even then there were things banned from joking about in other witcher’s presences.

They’d still played cards that evening and Lambert had pulled out some of his special brew as a form of apology. Geralt accepted and then groaned aloud when Lambert mentioned that he should ask Ciri to braid his hair in one of the Scoia’tael woman’s styles that was featured on the cards.

Thankfully Vesemir returned before Geralt could murder Lambert in his sleep. Finally killing the onslaught of insults when they all spotted the back of Vesemir’s head. It was small, but instead of Vesemir’s normal wolf tail, there was a braid.

[witcherwrite]

Disaster Dads Chapter 2

You can read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091329/chapters/53300131

PAVLOV’S DOG

Watching Ciri practice always filled Geralt with fond memories. Of him training with Eskel in this very courtyard when they were younger and the school of Kaer Morhen was at its height.

The three remaining witchers of Kaer Morhen had spent their morning doing their own drills at their master’s insistence. ‘Trained witchers can always take value in practice, especially when someone needs to watch them.’ But now the three of them lounged watching Ciri stumble over another movement with her practice sword .

Geralt was watching her attentively, giving instruction while the two behind him would either give encouragement or jeer. Lambert contributing mostly to the latter. Ciri let out a groan  when she failed to complete the pirouette again.

“It’s alright Ciri, try again.” she shot him a bitter look and he gave her an amused smile in turn. She readjusted her grip on the sword and went through the motions once more.

“How long did it take the both of you to get that move down?” Geralt asked, watching Ciri’s feet and how she spun her sword.

Eskel hummed, opening his eyes and sitting upright to answer. “Think it took us; what. Two? Three days to get down?”

Geralt nodded humming, “That’s what I remember. What about you Lambert?”

“‘bout the same.” The youngest witcher spent his time cleaning his swords on a bench.

Geralt hummed again and was about to ask another question when a curse sounded through the yard. Geralt’s head whipped around in Ciri’s direction watching as she stumbled again and  shouted.

“Shit!”

Fury built in Geralt’s chest, making his shoulders rise. He’d never curse in front of Ciri. Made sure he was out of earshot if he did and there was no way Eskel or Vesemir would ever dream of cursing near her.

She stumbled again loudly screaming “Goddammit!”

Geralt’s head snapped around glaring at Lambert with ice in his eyes.

Eskel’s mouth was wide in a big crooked grin as Lambert sat pale and still. Eyes meeting Geralt’s and pleading.

“Fuck!” she cried behind them and Geralt’s lips pulled back into a snarl.

“You taught them to her. Now teach her not to say them.”

Lambert shot from his seat, dropping his blades and rushing across the courtyard to talk to Ciri.

Geralt stared, silently fuming as Lambert was trying and failing to press upon her that those words were taboo and where reserved for particular moments. The youngest witcher became even more flustered as Ciri argued that he used them without reservation, so clearly they weren’t so taboo.

Lambert’s gaze flickered over Ciri’s head, focusing on Geralt’s absolutely livid expression. Also catching Eskel smiling so wide that the scars on his face threatened to split.

Lambert argued with her some more only to walk back to them defeated. Geralt stood there, arms crossed and baring down on him.

“Look I’m sorry, but she’s learned them and their’s no unlearning that shit so-”

“Fuck!”

Lambert turned his head to Ciri’s curse. Leaving a perfect opportunity for the White Wolf to clap him on the back of the head.

“Ow! The hell?!”

“You’ll make her stop saying them, or every time I hear her curse I’ll thump you.” he said between gritted teeth.

Lambert’s face twisted in annoyance “That’ll be more trouble for you than me, honestly.”

“Son of a bitch!”

Geralt’s hand hit the back of his head so hard that he could feel his brain rattle in his skull.

“I’ll make it worth my time.” Geralt said walking away. Likely to give Ciri a far more convincing reason as to why she wasn’t allowed to curse.

“Lambert, you’re screwed.” Eskel said, amusement plain in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up Eskel.” he said rubbing the back of his head.

“See!” Ciri cried “he says it all the time!”

If looks could kill Lambert would have been dead three times over already.

After a strict talk from Vesemir and a few from Geralt. Ciri had slowed down significantly in her cursing, though every once and a while one would slip. Then Geralt, true to his word, had heard it uttered would appear like a goddamn Foglet in the night to slap him across the back of the head.

He’d even done it while Lambert was sleeping once, from Ciri cursing after losing a game of Gwent. After a few weeks, he had begun to fear that he may have a lifetime of this. Listening to Ciri talk 24/7, living in terror as to whether or not she’d curse. He’d maybe only get thumped once or twice a week now, but it was frequent enough that Lambert feared Ciri might catch on.

At the moment he was too tired to particularly care about anything. He’d spent the entire night chasing harpies around Kaer Morhen trying to get rid of the last of the nests before winter came through. Though Geralt had been subjected to a similar pain involving Drowners by the lake’s edge. It had been a small consolidation prize as Eskel was the one forced to make breakfast that morning.

Eskel sucked at breakfast, he’d somehow managed to overcook and undercook the oats all at the same time. Lambert glowered into his mash, watching as Ciri was equally unimpressed, poking her spoon into it. Both of them making a disgusted face when it squished and crunched in one  stab. Ciri still tried eating some of it only to drop half of the goop into her lap.

“Shit.”

Lambert’s entire body seized preemptively. Making Ciri jump across from him. He waited, and Ciri stared at him like he’d gone properly mad. He waited a moment more, peering around the hall. Geralt was nowhere in sight, could he be so lucky? Eskel had come to sit at the table,  looking at the both of them curiously.

“Geralt’s still out.” Lambert cut him a glare. Not believing Geralt’s lifelong friend for a single fucking moment. But then another tense minute passed and there was a small amount of hope that had formed in his chest. Ciri had cursed, and Geralt had somehow, by the grace of some deity. Hadn’t heard her.

He released a slow breath. Joy slowly spreading through him, not even horribly cooked oats could dull his joy. He turned back to his bowl, still scanning as he leaned his head down for a mouthful.

Out of nowhere, a hand came down on the back of his head, smashing his face into his oats.

He shot out of his seat with a howl. “GOD FUCKING DAMNNIT!”

Eskel was wheezing from how hard he was laughing and Geralt looked equally amused as he sat next to Ciri on the bench across from him. Lambert wiped crunchy yet squishy oats out of his face, debating whether or not to throttle Geralt in front of Ciri.

“How in the fuck do you walk so quietly?” Geralt glowered at him as he also ate an equally unappetizing breakfast.

“I don’t curse so much, to begin with, and I actually paid attention when Vesemir taught witchers how to walk silently.”

Lambert was about to retort but paused when he saw Eskel and Geralt suddenly sit straighter. Without warning, he was thumped yet again. His head was reeling as he turned around to see Vesemir’s annoyed expression.

“Must you be so loud and vulgar? It’s unbecoming of a Wolf School Witcher to curse as if he was a sailor.”

Lambert rubbed the back of his head listening to Eskel and Geralt chuckle behind him.

“Sorry, Uncle Vesemir.”

“Lambert, give it back!”

He chuckled as he watched Ciri try and reach for the tome that she had been reading in the great hall.

“Vesemir wants me to finish the chapter on forktails before dinner!”

“Well, then you’ll just have to get this back from me before then!”

Ciri leaped and Lambert jerked his arm up as he walked away and out of the main hall.

“You’re a jerk!” She shouted.

Lambert nodded still holding the tome above him.

“That I am. What are you going to do about it?”

He swerved from a well-aimed punch to the balls, cackling at her near miss. “Gonna have to be more clever than that!”

She stopped following him and just stared. Lambert looked back a smug smile on his face. Watching her face grow red from anger.

“What’s the matter? Run out of fucking ideas?”

Suddenly her anger dissipated and was replaced with a matching smug smile.

“What? Gonna throw things at me now? Or you gonna go get a ladder?”

She shook her head “No, I’m just going to say,” she drew a large breath “FUCK!”

Her curse echoed through the large hall and rattled Lambert’s bones and brain. Already smacking around in his skull.

She smiled sweetly at his pale face. “May I have my book back please?”

He handed her back the tome, leaning close and whispering “You’re a bitch.”

“You’re the one who taught me.” She said holding the book close. Her grin widening was the only warning he got before five fingers and a palm met the back of his head.

Geralt was deadly silent as a witcher creeping about, but how he managed to be so quiet while running like a bat out of hell would remain one of Kaer Morhen’s many mysteries. He groaned rubbing the back of his head as Ciri happily walked back to a table to resume reading.

“You know she only curses now just so that you’ll hit me right?”

Geralt grunted, nodded his head “Yes, and every time you deserve it.”

“I did not!” Geralt’s piercing gaze made him shrink. “Really? Why did she curse this time?”

“That’s not really important!”

“Hm.” Geralt brushed past him a small smile on his face.

Ciri barely cursed any longer. In fact, the only time she cursed now was to make Geralt attack Lambert for teasing her. Even though Geralt was aware of this development it didn’t bother him enough to quit the punishment, much to Lambert’s annoyance.

Ciri was barely a factor in the thought process any longer. The act becoming second nature for Geralt to half-heartedly strike and for Lambert to brace. A few odd times Lambert would manage to dodge or block but that only turned it into a game for Geralt to torture him. Though both agreed to bring the practice to an end after a brief stint to gather supplies in a nearby village.

He and Lambert were in the town’s marketplace, haggling with a merchant over the prices of his items. They really needed to grab a few small contracts while they were down here for coin, but Geralt was always in a rush to return to Ciri as soon as possible. Lambert doubted he even slept the nights when Vesemir forced him to leave the keep every blue moon for contract work.

Lambert had begun to tune out Geralt’s debate with the merchant over hardened leather and became aware of a family out for the day as well. Two of the children were getting into an argument, the eldest picking on the youngest about something. The two children were getting louder and Geralt remained blissfully unaware, completely focused on making the price drop just a little more. The youngest began to throw a fit for the parent’s attention and for them to intervene. After being ignored for a moment more the child, very suddenly and loudly, cursed.

Then, without prompting and in mid-bargain with the merchant. Geralt thumped him. Lambert hadn’t reacted until he brought his head back up to see the merchant’s bewildered face. His brain caught up with him finally. Did Geralt just?

Lambert cast the white-haired witcher a glare who was staring at his hand in absolute befuddlement. Equally confused as to what the hell just happened.

“If the prices mean that much to ye. I suppose I can drop it further.” the merchant said uneasily.

Lambert had to choke back a laugh as Geralt nodded dumbly back to the merchant. In a confused daze, he paid for the items and didn’t say anything until they were away from the merchant square.

Lambert just stared at Geralt, a smile plastered on his face the whole walk.

After a beat more of silence the White Wolf finally spoke. “I think Ciri has improved all she’s going to. No need to keep punishing you for it.” he said carefully. His stoic face did nothing to hide his embarrassment, face slowly turning red.

“Is that code for ‘my daughter has trained me so well that I no longer have control of my own hands’?”

Geralt didn’t even bother glaring at him. Merely shook his head and mumbled “Fuck.”

Lambert thumped him.

[witcherwrite]

Disaster Dads Chap 1

This is also on my ao3 account at https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091329/chapters/52722004

Feel free to comment and share.

BLOOD MOON

He was roused from sleep by the sound of small footsteps making their way up to his solar. Geralt let out a soft groan cracking his eye open. Likely Ciri coming to badger him into anything else other than studying. She had become quite crafty in her excuses as to why she shouldn’t have to sit and read for the day but was still alright to swing a sword.

He huffed and nuzzled further into his pillows hoping to protect his head from an incoming Ciri attack. Oddly, when the doors to his room opened he didn’t hear her rush across the room so that she could leap into the bed as normal. Instead, she just stood in the doorway.

“Geralt?” she said uncharacteristically soft. Gods, was she that good at acting now?

He groaned into his pillows not yet worried enough to leave the confines of his blankets.

“I can’t train today.”

That’s new. He unburied himself enough for his sleep laden voice to be heard. “What?”

Sleep still fogged his mind, preventing him from making any clear reasoning as to what her excuse today would be.

“I’m bleeding.”

He sighed; if she thought a cut was going to get her out of reading or drills today.

“How’d you manage that?” he brought his hands to his eyes, rubbing them and yawning.

“I don’t know! I was sleeping!”

Geralt suddenly shot upright at the sound of panic in Ciri’s voice. His gaze shot over to her and immediately a hot rush went through him.

She stood there, hair a mess and a slightly worried expression on her face. She wore her bedclothes, but instead of their normal linen color. A bloodstain at the front of it, right where her legs met.

His head went blank. He must have failed at hiding his shock as her face suddenly morphed into that of panic.

“Why do you look like that?!” she sounded as if she was going to cry “Geralt am I dying?!”

“What?” his focus returned to her panicked expression, confusion taking over “No?”

Ciri gripped the front of her bedclothes tears in her eyes.

He lept from bed rushing to fix his mistake. “Ciri. No.” he tried to sound surer “No. No. No. No. No.” walking to her only wearing his own bedclothes.

He stood in front of her trying to hide his own panic. He had no idea what to do or say in this situation. He didn’t know how this worked and there were no women near Kaer Morhen who could explain this to her either. Vesemir. Vesemir would know.

Geralt grasped Ciri’s hand, realizing a moment too late that it was also bloody. Schooling his expression he said “Let’s go find Vesemir.” he tried to give a reassuring smile, something he never did and it only made her panic increase tenfold.

“Geralt! Why do you look so worried?!” Ciri was becoming louder and more upset every step they took. She never cried, not even when injured, and now she was near tears.

“Vesemir!” he bellowed. He had no idea what to do and he was only upsetting Ciri further. Gods he was horrible at this why didn’t he think to- “Vesemir!”

“Geralt what’s going on?!” Ciri was shrill with panic, and it took every fiber of his being not to lift Ciri and run to get someone to explain this.

“This is fine! It’s all natural! You’re fine!”

“Natural?!” she shrieked.

Both of their panics were feeding into one another's making everything worse. Geralt burst into the dilapidated main hall and bellowed again. “Vesemir!”

He saw the old witcher rush around a random pile of junk. “Geralt, what’s go-” the words died in his throat as laid eyes on the two of them. Both wild with panic and embarrassment.

“Oh. I see.” he said resolutely, uneasiness in the lines of his face. The pair saw the ambivalence in his face immediately, causing Ciri to finally cry out.

“I’m dying aren’t I?! I’m dying!”

Geralt glared at his master and growled out “Vesemir help me please!”

Vesemir walked forward trying to be comforting to Ciri while also arguing with his oldest pupil “I don’t know what you expect me to do Wolf. I’ve raised boys for the past century. I don’t know what to say here.” Ciri’s crying grew in volume.

“I don’t either!” he snapped back.

Ciri’s wailing attracted the other witchers in the keep. Eskel stood by with a similarly uneasy face.

“What’s going on?” the scarred face witcher said. Before anyone could answer Ciri wailed. “I’m dying!” she sniffled “I’m dying and no one will tell me why!”

“You’re not dying Ciri.” Geralt said gripping her hand tighter. “It’s fine. I told you-”

“You’re lying!” She howled as Lambert approached, assessing the scene. He would have been amused by the whole thing if it weren’t for Ciri’s legitimate distress.

Out of nowhere and with perfect ease he said “Oh, your moon blood. Congratulations.”

Ciri’s cries stopped immediately at the youngest witcher's calm demeanor.

“W-what?” she said between sniffles.

“You got your moon blood. You’re a woman now. Congratulations.”

The pandemonium that had filled the keep moments ago was brought to a screeching halt. Everyone stared at Lambert and he merely shrugged. Walking towards her.

“You bleed on your sheets too?” he said matter of factly.

Ciri nodded dumbly and Geralt’s gaze bounced between the two of them, still gripping her bloodied hand.

“Alright, well go up and strip your bed. Then bring a change of clothes, we’ll go wash ‘em out.”

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, softly removing her from Geralt’s protective grip.

“You remember how to get blood out of cloth?”

Ciri sniffled slightly, the only sign that she had been crying were her red eyes.

“Yeah,” she said sounding surer. “cold water and goats milk.”

Lambert nodded a far more comforting and easy smile on his face.

“Well go on, you get the sheets and meet me out front. I’ll get the rest.”

She nodded, then looked at the other witchers, still a little nervous and shaken. They all had lost expressions so she focused back on Lambert’s sure one and ran off to her room.

Eskel looked at the youngest witcher incredulously “How did you-”

“I grew up with three sisters.” Lambert said sharply and Geralt was struck with the realization that they had never asked about Lambert’s life before Kaer Morhen.

Vesemir looked at him seriously, “Well, we thank you Wolf. I’m not sure that could have gone much worse.”

Lambert laughed loudly, shaking off the focused praise. “I’ve never seen three grown witchers shit themselves so badly!” a teasing smirk returned to his face. “And Geralt. With all the women you sleep around with you never bothered to learn about a woman’s moon blood?”

He prickled at the association between the women in his life and his surrogate daughter. “I know about it. I just don’t know how to talk to Ciri about her first time having one.” he growled.

Lambert’s face twisted in irritation “Alright, alright.” he threw up his hands “no need to go all Papa Wolf on me.”

Geralt softened instantly “Lambert, I-”

“I’m gonna take Ciri down to the lake and we’re gonna wash everything.” He paused and thought for a moment, looking back to Geralt “You ever have a girl leave one of her pairs of panties here?”

Geralt fought not to become angry again. “I’m not letting Ciri wear- ”

“No, not those genius!” Lambert said exasperated “The ugly cotton ones that they tie around themselves.”

Geralt was reeling and tried to think if anything like that could possibly be in the back of one of his drawers “No, I don’t think- ”

“ I got a few.” Eskel said, drawing shocked expressions “Deidre left a good amount of her things here.”

Lambert nodded “Glad someone knows what’s going on.” a wide grin was directed the white-haired witcher’s way.

Geralt tried not to be embarrassed by his lack of knowledge on this important time for Ciri. Feeling rather helpless all over again, even with the help that he asked for.

“Mind grabbing them?” Lambert said. Eskel nodded. As he walked past Geralt he gave him a few reassuring pats on his back. Somehow that only made him feel worse. He was sincerely thankful for Lambert’s help and his taking control of the situation, but the bastard was making it hard with his smug ass expression.

“Hey, Vesemir.” Their master’s piercing gaze switched from Geralt to Lambert. “Know if we got any bloodmoss or cotton lying around in the stores?” Vesemir nodded an inkling of pride on his face.

“Great, I’ll go grab-”

“No, no.” Vesemir interrupted. “I’ll go grab those and a bar of goats milk. Need to be able to do something here.”

He turned to gather things from the stores and Geralt simply looked at his bloodied hand.

Something unknown formed in his gut. Ciri had come to him for help, and he not only wasn’t able to do anything, but he made it worse. His gaze moved over to Lambert who was doing everything in his power not to look Geralt’s way.

He felt guilty and useless, sure he could protect her and train her, but what did he know of Ciri’s upcoming change? Future feelings and hurts that couldn’t be solved with the swing of a sword? She was becoming a woman and Geralt was wholly lost.

“Lambert-”

“Don’t.” The young witchers gaze shifted over. “ I know she’s your surprise child and all, but we can take care of her too.”

There was a lump at the back of Geralt’s throat and a stone in his chest as he spoke.

“We-” Lambert took a steadying breath and rocked from foot to foot. “We love her as much as you do alright? And sometimes other people may know better than you.”

He was frustrated and angry but Lambert was right. Much in the way that Yennefer was. Ciri needs more than one person to look out for her. He can’t be the only one and he can’t know everything she’ll need.

Geralt sighed and stood in front of Lambert to look him in the eye. The discomfort Lambert had at confessing his own feelings grew as he watched Geralt. “Don’t do that. I hate that look, you-”

“Thank you.” he said soundly a hand landing on his shoulder and giving him a solid shake.

Lambert’s face pinched in feigned discomfort while another expression ran through his features, softening him for a moment. “Yeah, happy to help.”

They both heard Ciri rushing down the steps at the same time they heard Eskel and Vesemir returning.

Lambert broke away, quickly refocusing on the task at hand. “I’m going to give her the whole talk on the way down. You cool with that?”

“You know the whole talk?” Geralt said amused.

“The bits I remember from my mom talking to my sisters. Merigold and Yennefer can fill her in on the rest when she sees them next.”

Geralt nodded and looked as Ciri approached them with a bundle of linens and a change of clothes stacked on top.

“Ready?” Geralt said.

Ciri looked at him a little worried. “Are you going with me?”

Geralt fought the hurt in his chest about Ciri no longer wanting him involved. Though he felt resolved by the fact that she had Lambert to talk to about it now.

“No, Lambert’s clearly better at this anyway.” Geralt caught Ciri’s relieved expression right as he saw a hint of pride on Lambert’s face. Eskel and Vesemir handed him their supplies.

“Oh! Ok!” She still ran up and hugged him, dirty linens and all pressed against his bare chest and sleep pants.

“Alright then woman! Time to go wash your mess out!” Geralt made a face at Lambert calling Ciri ‘woman’ but she was clearly overjoyed by the new moniker. Bounding away from him to chase Lambert out of the keep.

As Geralt watched them leave he felt Vesemir’s hand on his shoulder. “Looks like our little witcher is growing up.”

He hummed, watching them open the hall doors, Ciri already asking dozens of invasive questions and Lambert answering them easily.

Eskel snorted, walking away. “We react this bad to her moon blood. Imagine what will happen when she introduces us to someone special for the first time.”

Geralt froze at the thought. “Fuck.”