I love how just a simple GIF conveys more about your inner workings than the most elaborate epic ever could. The macaroni is stirred so beautifully, I can almost hear the sounds of it. Naturally, it has inspired something. So you'll take what you get, no apologies, returns or refunds offered.
Pavlov's Cat
Of all the philosophical questions to ponder, Lambert never thought he'd be staring into a pan and wondering whether the hunger or the horny came first. Even worse, it was at the ranch for the monthly family meal where it was his turn to cook. Not exactly talented in the culinary department, Lambert thought he'd go for the easiest option; macaroni and cheese. Oh how he regretted it.
Unfortunate musings were interrupted by Aiden's appearance, though he froze in the doorway, eyes wide with concern as the sound of Lambert's stirring registered.
"That sounds like-"
"Yep."
"Are you-?"
"Nope." Lambert paused and shifted uncomfortably. "Yep." Pulling the spoon out, he pointed it threateningly at Aiden. "Don't you tell a single soul or I will carve your heart out with this."
Snorting, Aiden shook his head. "What am I going to do? Wait for everyone to be sitting at the table before announcing 'by the way, Lamby got a stiffy from stirring the macaroni because it sounds exactly like vigorous figner fucking with excess lube'?"
The glare from Lambert suggested that was exactly what he was fearing and, to be honest, it was a very valid concern as that was exactly the kind of thing Aiden would do. Thankfully the family meal finished without a related incident though, as the food was served, Lambert didn't dare look at Aiden. His eyes were firmly fixed on his plate and he tried to eat as delicately and noise free as possible.
Going home in the evening, Lambert didn't even think twice about seducing Aiden, tugging him into the bedroom by the belt loop. One thing led to another, Lambert was busy between Aiden's legs, three fingers deep in him while leaving messy kisses on the insides of his thighs. He only stopped when Aiden twitched under him, a hum in his throat which definitely didn't sound like it belonged in the moment.
"You okay?" Lambert asked gruffly, hand also still.
"Yeah. Use a bit more lube?"
Worried that he hadn't been considerate and careful, Lambert quickly did as asked, spilling a generous amount over his fingers. Slowly sliding them back in, he watched Aiden for any sign of discomfort.
"Perfect. Think you could go faster?"
Ever the one to oblige, Lambert did as told. Yet the moment felt broken, Aiden seemed distracted despite his best efforts.
"Sure you're okay?"
Aiden pulled his arms away from his face, cheeks red. "Fine. Just-" he looked torn between laughing and dying of shame, "-did we, you know, bring any of the leftover macaroni home? I got hit by a sudden craving."
For a moment Lambert stared, trying to process the words. Laughter won out for Aiden and his muscles spasmed with it. Looking down at his hand, covered in lube, Lambert recalled the indecent noises they'd been producing. A bark of a laugh shot out of him and he pulled his fingers loose, slapping Aiden's thigh palyfully.
"You bastard."
What he didn't say was that he was also craving macaroni.
Hi! Please don’t be freaked out that I essentially just stalked your blog? Emoji ask game, if you feel like it <3
😈💖🧐
Finding that someone has trawled through my blog is honestly the highlight of being on this hellsite (affectionate). It fills me with such unbridled joy. Having said that, my brain holds memories worse than a sieve holds water so I cannot for the life of me remember anything I post or reblog, as such the ask game is a mystery. By way of apology I shall pop on your doormat a fic like a cat would present a carefully hunted leaf.
Technically the Truth
The perk of Geralt dating Jaskier was that Lambert and Eskel met Cahir. How exactly Geraly ended up dating a popstar was beyond understanding but his makeup artist was a perk for sure, even if they couldn't visit him quite as they wanted to. Cahir had two dogs which, at first, had been a delight for Lambert and Eskel. Alas, they couldn't meet them. Being rescues with a gnarly past, they were distrustful of new people already and fiercely protective of Cahir. Add in their size and the stereotypes of their breed, Cahir did not take any risks. It didn't stop him sending pictures of the dogs in various ridiculous situations, Lambert's favourite was perhaps the one involving duck printed onesies, caps and, for some hitherto unknown reason, a pacifier.
Introductions were slowly made, meeting on a walk. Treats only worked to some extent as a form of bribery and buying the dogs' favour. While out and about, things were fine. But when home, it was a bit of a different matter. Still, they worked hard and finally both Lambert and Eskel were accepted and welcome visitors in Cahir's home.
For a makeup artist, Cahir sure seemed exclusive. He toured with Jaskier and his manager, Fringilla. There were very few other clients he worked with, Essi was one of them and, with some disdain from Jaskier, he also occasionally worked for Valdo. But mostly he was not only Jaskier's makeup artist but also confidant. Tours were one thing but Cahir also tagged along to trips, interviews, appearances. The biggest honour was when he asked Lambert and Eskel to take care of his dogs for a couple of weeks.
It was no hardship really. The first week flew by, they sent Cahir photos and got brief messages in return. Whatever it was Jaskier was filming (possibly a music video?), it was keeping Cahir busy. The second week they heard even less from Cahir. By the end of it he had seemingly dropped off the face of the planet. Worried, Eskel questioned whether Jaskier had been in touch with Geralt. Finding out he was home already made something twist cruelly in his chest. To make matters worse, at the end of the two weeks Fringilla was the one to appear, taking the dogs with her. House and hearts empty, Lambert and Eskel were at a loss.
Things didn't get better. Though it wasn't a comfort, Geralt started spending more time with them, seeming to sulk. It all came tumbling out after a few beers.
"I miss him," Geralt grumbled.
"Who?"
"Jask." The word was scoffed as if it should have been obvious.
Eskel rubbed his nose. "Isn't he home? Shit. You aren't having troubles too, are you?"
Shaking his head, Geralt knocked back the last dregs of his drink. "No. He's got these damn dogs living with him. Something about a will or some shit."
"Why's that an issue? You're Mr. Animals Guy. Let me guess, they're tiny teacup yappers?" It was nigh on impossible to hide the bitterness in Lambert's voice.
"I wish. Two big bastards, he says they're friendly once you know them. But fuck, they keep growling and snarling."
Lambert and Eskel shared a glance. It was Eskel who spoke up. "Geralt, listen to me very carefully. You said will, right? And these dogs, they big, one is brown and white, cropped ears, the other is solid grey, missing an ear and has scars on his neck? Called Peaches-"
"-and Fuzzles," Geralt finished, frowning. "How the fuck did you know?"
"Cahir." Voice barely more than a broken whisper, Eskel leaned against Lambert, trying to hide his breaking heart. "What the fuck happened?"
Anger was easier than grief and Lambert gave into it. Face twisted into a scowl, he squeezed Eskel's hand in his. "We have some questions for your boyfriend. How dare he not tell us?"
"Tell you what?!"
"We're paying him a visit right now. And making sure Peaches and Fuzzles are happy."
Just like that Lambert was up and grabbing his shoes, not caring that it was late or that they'd all had drinks. The taxi took them to Jaskier's without a hitch and he angrily jammed his finger on the buzzer. Familiar twin howls went up. After what felt like an age, Jaskier cracked the door open.
"What? It's a bit late and I'm not up for guests."
Pushing at the door, Lambert stuck a foot in. "Let us see them. And you better tell us why the hell you have Cahir's dogs."
Whatever it was that Jaskier saw in them, he stepped back, allowing them to barge in.
"They're in the garden," he said and gestured in the general direction. "Just-" breaking off, he shrugged, "-be gentle, okay? It's been rough."
Not really caring about Jaskier's woes, Lambert was hurrying to get to the dogs, Eskel hot on his heels. Only, the dogs weren't alone in the garden. The first thing that gave it away was the glowing cherry of a deep cigarette drag. A dark, familiar sihlouette was huddled on the bench, dogs by his feet.
"Cahir?!" Lambert near enough screeched. His determined march was only cut short by the deep growl of one of the dogs. It slowed him down enough to collect himself. "You have a lot of explaining."
The outside light came on and Eskel caught Lambert as he staggered back. Bruised, tired eyes stared up at them as Cahir took a moment to gather himself.
"Hey." Even his voice was wrecked, hoarse and scratchy.
"Is that all you have to say?" This time Eskel was the one to finally snap. "You fall off the face of the earth, Geralt tells us Jaskier has your dogs because if was in your will. And all this time you weren't dead?"
"You prefer if I was?"
"No!" Lambert's outburst drew another growl and Cahir tutted at Peaches.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Cahir pushed to stand, movements stiff. "Things went tits up. I'll call it in then explain inside."
In the end Jaskier was the one who made some mysterious call. He returned to the living room where Geralt, Lambert and Eskel were on a sofa while Cahir was in an armchair, dogs by his feet. Sitting down, Jaskier groaned.
"So, we may not have been completely liberal with the truth. Technically I am a popstar and Cahir my makeup artist. But, uh, that's a cover. We work, or rather, I do and Cahir used to work for the intelligence agency. I could get us places, Cahir had the time to do the work while I distracted."
Lambert laughed and the others looked at him like he had grown a second head.
"What? You don't believe this bullshit?" He stared at Eskel and Geralt, face falling. "Oh shit. You do." In the light of the living room it was much easier to make out the bruises on Cahir's skin, the shape of a brace around his knee under sweatpants, the sling which he had a knack for slipping his arm out of. A little weakly, Lambert added, "I just thought Cahir was too embarrassed to tell us he fell down some stairs or something."
"I wish," Cahir huffed.
"You rest your throat," Jaskier interrupted and took over. "That would be a nicer thing to recover from. Cahir's been staying with me since he was released from hospital. For obvious reasons we can't tell you how he was injured. He needs to rest-" here, he gave Cahir a pointed look, "-and not smoke."
"Bite me."
"In the interest of his health and recovery, it was deemed best he stay with me until he could be on his own again."
"Meaning?" Eskel didn't like the sound of that.
"Physical and mental rehabilitation," Cahir spat with disdain. "Company mandated. Will have some lovely scars and nightmares."
"Cahir," hesitant suspicion laced Eskel's voice, "are you being kept here against your will?"
The bark of a laugh turned into a coughing fit that left Cahir red in the face with tear streaks down his cheeks. "Just can't be alone. Jaskier knows the drill. Not for civilians."
"Do you still want us?" Eskel pushed on and next to him, Lambert sat up a little straighter.
"Don't think you'll want me after this."
"Come home with us." It was Lambert who said it, half a command, half a plea. "Peaches and Fuzzles too."
A long look was shared between Cahir and Jaskier who not so subtly shook his head. Taking a deep breath, Cahir nodded and offered the other two a small smile.
Bless for your Geralt whump, my eyes are sparkling! Your writing is really amazing
Nonnie, this has probably sat in my inbox for coming up to two years, I am so very sorry. If you're still in the fandom, I bring you an apology story of whump but, because of the way the brain gremlins sway, we're whumping Cahir today.
My Friend
Long story short, Kaer Morhen crumbled into dust, the Wolf School was no more. The stragglers and survivors who had been trying to find sanctuary there for the last century or so were left adrift. Options weren't exactly abundant and the Continent was a bit of a mess still. It was at Ciri's insistence that they headed south, to Nilfgaard in the hopes of maybe doing some good.
In a way, things were easier than anticipated. Ciri was welcomed by Emhyr, who was shrewd enough to recognise the potential power in having some witchers call Nilfgaard their home. Though Lambert went gallivanting off after the Cats' caravan, Geralt, Eskel and Vesemir stayed put with Ciri.
As it so happened, Emhyr took great interest in Vesemir's experience and Geralt had also intrigued him. It left Ciri free to explore and she took Eskel along. They didn't do anything as crass and voyeuristic as go into the dungeons. Ciri had no interest in seeing others suffer for their misdeed. Instead, she and Eskel took passages and random doors which led deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the large building. In the end they found themselves in a dimly lit, dank corridor that stank of misery and mould. Noses crinkling, they pressed on, curious about whether they were about to find some long forgotten, hidden cellar where they could carve out a secret space of their own. It was no such thing. Stepping into the room at the end of the corridor, Ciri almost wished she had never found it.
In the corner was a skeltal waif who looked as though he should have been dead some time ago. Yet he was breathing, squinting up at them as they stepped in. What Ciri didn't expect was for the man to panic.
"Princess? You can't be here!" The words were no more than a low croak. "He can't find you. Please. Run!"
Rather than listen, Ciri stepped closer. The rag that had possibly once been a shirt on the man revealed a gnarly scar, the wound had probably near enough split him in two from collarbone to the soft hollow of his belly. Magic had to have been involved in his survival.
"It's okay," Ciri tried to sooth but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as the man shook his head.
"No. Emhyr. He's your father. He's evil."
"I know."
That seemed to take the man by surprise and he sagged, eyes turning sad. "You know. No. He lies." Eyes turned to Eskel and rather than fear there seemed to be relief. "Witcher, help her get away please. Get her out of this web before it's too late."
Curiosity piqued, Eskel approached. Not once did the man flinch or show any sign of fear. As he crouched down, he offered a small smile. "In all the time I've known Ciri, she has only ever done what she's wanted."
"Please." The plea was so broken, so desperate, Eskel didn't have the heart to interrupt. "I have a good friend who was looking for her. A good man, Geralt of Rivia. Do you know him? He'll help."
The pieces clicked into place then as to who the man one. Eskel had heard enough stories, as had Ciri over the years.
"Cahir?"
For a moment silence hung in the air before Cahir sagged. "Nobody's called me that in so long."
"Okay, we're getting you out of here."
Picking Cahir up was almost laughably easy. He weighed near enough nothing as he was cradled against Eskel's chest. Torch in hand, Ciri led the way, trying to keep to the less populated passages to avoid questions for as long as possible.
In the end Cahir was gently deposited in Eskel's bed. Neither Eskel nor Ciri mentioned how he seemed reluctant to let go of Eskel, lingering in the warmth of any scrap of touch he could.
Nothing could remain a secret for long. Emhyr was outraged that his decisions were overruled. But, to nobody's real surprise, Ciri was a force of her own and, backed up as she was by her witcher family, got her own way. Cahir was free.
The curious part was Geralt's recation in all that had happened. Cahir had called him his friend. He had nodded in ackowledgement, offered a soft, "I didn't know he'd survived," and left it at that. There was no urge to see him, no exclamation of relief that his friend was alive. It was like when Lambert had told them that Aiden was alive. While knowing Lambert's misery was resolved, there was no mad dash to see him, they weren't friends after all.
When Cahir was a little more coherent and less lost in the depths of survival, he had smiled at Eskel.
"You must be one of Geralt's brothers." Which made no sense, Eskel's medallion was tucked under a shirt for a change, there was no way Cahir could have seen it. All the same, he had glanced down to try and see it, while a hand reached to fiddle with it. It only made Cahir laugh a little. "You two look like brothers. But you're more approachable."
If Eskel didn't know any better, he would have thought Cahir was flirting. Which, maybe he was. The thing was, it was difficult to tell how much Cahir was simply basking in the offer of kind company and how much he was intentionally seeking out contact. Such conundrums were rather quickly resolved, given how he and Ciri tended to mutter and giggle, heads bowed together in secret. And the blush that crept over Cahir's cheeks whenever Eskel interrupted those chats by announcing his presence. While he tried not to eavesdrop, it was difficult not to overhear snippets despite his best efforts. Murmurs like "I know he's your uncle but oh fuck me, I'm sorry" which was countered with "he'd snap you like a twig, at least get better before you try and jump him" coupled with "do you think I should cut my hair?" and Ciri's reply of "let me try and tame it for you, sickbed sexy is the height of fashion at the moment" made Eskel work hard to hide his smile. Especially when he saw the result of Ciri's efforts.
"You look nice," he offered when he saw Cahir's new hairstyle. Maybe the ribbon was a bit much but Eskel wasn't going to say that. Instead he enjoyed the pleased, flustered expression on Cahir's face. It didn't take long for Cahir to end up snuggled in his lap, forehead tucked against Eskel's neck and fingers tracing the lines of his palm. Very quickly it became the default position they could be found in, Cahir protectively wrapped in Eskel's lap. Not seeing Eskel's face also made it easier for Cahir to open up. He said very little about Emhyr and his time in the dungeons, nor did he speak much about his time with Nilfgaard. Then again, the scars and nightmares more than spoke enough for him. Instead there were stories of the Hansa, of friends, of camaraderie.
"It was nice," Cahir said softly, "to have so much trust. They were my friends."
Yet Geralt still hadn't been to see him. Eskel couldn't wrap his head around it. The fondness with which Cahir talked about the ragtag group, how they bickered, had messy fights (and how Milva once broke him and Geralt up), it all sounded almost homely.
"Would you like Geralt to come and see you?" Eskel finally asked. He couldn't imagine having a friend so close and recuperating from something so awful and not want to see them.
"That's his choice." Sadness tinged Cahir's voice.
"But-" Eskel was at a loss. He tried again, "You said he's one of your closest friends? Someone you'd trust and someone you've literally almost died for."
Finally, Cahir looked up at him, the sadness wasn't just in his voice, hus whole face was warped with it. "I did say that and I did do that. But I only ever said that he was my friend. I don't think I was ever his."
This is GENUINE SERIOUS BUSINESS ANON HATE so you better take it seriously you Letho cosplayer bot you! You're just a moist sock and deserve all this hate for being way too funny and smart!!
Ooooh! Some 'serious' anon hate going on here XD This has been sat in my inbox for far too long because I was having too much fun laughing at everyone else's 'hate' and their responses then promptly forgot I hadn't replied. But long enough has passed now that I look foolish now rather than just super late to the party. I can live with that. And, as always, an ask gets a ficlet in reply. But an ask like this? It gets "rewarded" with dubious morals, questionable medical knowledge and some bittersweetness.
Choose a Different Path
Whatever it was that Tissaia had done to Cahir, it had left some permanent marks. At first it hadn't been obvious, the fainting spells and funny turns chalked up to being on the run, to sleepless nights, to not having enough to eat, to having lived through horrors beyond most people's imagination. It wasn't until Geralt took his ragtag group to Kaer Morhen that it became apparent more was at play than trauma and lack of physical care.
At first they thought things were getting better. The instances where Cahir's movements slowed to sluggish and clumsy before sinking to the ground unresponsive were fewer. He hadn't passed out at all in Kaer Morhen, even seemed to be able to smile again.
Eskel had a lot to do with the smiles. For reasons he wasn't going to question, Cahir had taken quite the shine to him. And Eskel was never going to reject affection, not even when Geralt glared at him while Cahir was slumped against his shoulder and softly snoring away. In a way Eskel found Geralt's near enough fatherly attitude endearing. He'd seen the way Cahir and Ciri bickered, teased and generally terrorised each other. But while Ciri was more like a niece, childish in her youth, Cahir had lost that attitude years ago. Not to mention that Cahir was the one who initiated the start of whatever it was between them.
Of course it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Eskel had more than once watched as Cahir, for seemingly no reason, stumbled or slumped over, eyes glazed and unresponsive to touch. Each time he came back, he was upset, confused and sometimes defensive to the point of lashing out. Yet after a while he began reaching for Eskel for comfort, mumbled "what's happened" and "where am I" were tearfully asked into Eskel's chest. It was rare for Cahir to remember what had happened in the run up to such an episode, mind completely blank, not even the odd whisper of memory to help clue them in to the cause.
As quickly as they had fallen in love, found solace and comfort in each other, things were just as quick to falter. Cracks were appearing, Cahir was much more inclined to stay by the fire while Eske itched to be out of the keep. They clashed over whether the cold made old injuries hurt more, just because Eskel had more scars didn't mean his opinion on winters not actually making things worse had more weight to it than Cahir's experiences. Meanwhile, Eskel grew fearful of losing Cahir who was only a fragile human after all. They were doomed from the moment they met, Eskel had come to realise. If he didn't die first on the Path, Cahir was sure to succumb to old age eventually.
Arguments became more frequent and, with that, Cahir's dizzy spells increased too. It didn't take a genius to work out that stress was what set him off yet Eskel was powerless to protect him from it. Especially as he seemed to be the source of so much of it. He loved Cahir, he really did, but he didn't know what more he could do to prove it.
In the end he didn't have to. They were in their shared room but Cahir was pacing, throwing his belongings into a pile on the bed, not that there was much in the way of that.
"I can't do this," he seethed. "I'm not some child to coddle, not some pet to pamper. I love you but you're suffocating!"
Conflict had never been Eskel's strength. His bulk and general appearance meant that he looked imposing enough that few people picked fights with him and the few that did usually used their fists instead of words. Most considered him too much of a brute to be a worthy opponent in verbal sparring.
"But you're so young. And fragile!"
Whirling around, Cahir looked downright murderous. "Looks, as you well know, can be deceiving. I don't make decisions for you. And you don't make them for me."
"I don't though."
"You do!" Cahir yelled in frustration. "No training because it is cold. Should have a bit more food because I look like I needed it even though I said I was full. You put more wood on the fire because it was colder than what humans tend to like. And that was all just this morning!"
"I did it all for you!" Voice raising, Eskel ran a hand through his hair, ready to tear it out. "I love you and I want the best for you."
Suddenly Cahir deflated as he looked at Eskel with sad eyes. "Do you though? Or do you love and want the best for what you want me to be?"
"You! It's always been for you and your needs." Tone shifting, Eskel felt the argument slide into something beyond annoyance.
Sadness tinged the air as Cahir shook his head. "I can't do this. Sorry." Before Eskel could ask what he meant, Cahir held a hand up to silence him. "I'll move my things into a separate room. This is your home, don't feel you have to skulk around and avoid me. I won't make life difficult, I promise."
"This is it?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."
Just like that, Cahir walked out of the room. Eskel watched his back, rigid like that of a soldier going into battle. Except there was no battle, Cahir wasn't a soldier anymore. Lost and at a loss for what to do, Eskel followed a minute later. He couldn't be there when Cahir moved all his things, left Eskel's room how it had been before the winter.
Noises from the Great Hall drew him in. Desperate for a distraction, Eskel shuffled in, shoulders hunched. Lambert was kneeling on the ground, yelling at Geralt to get something soft while Ciri stared wide eyed. Cradled in Lambert's hands was Cahir's head, his body rigid as another of his spells wracked through him. It was worse than they had seen before but Geralt didn't seem overly worried. He trotted back with a folded throw.
"He hasn't had one like this in a while," he commented idly.
Uncertain whether he was allowed next to Cahir, Eskel kept his distance. He watched as Cahir was rolled onto his side as his muscles relaxed. Eyes which had been rolling slowly blinked and tried to focus, only tears were quick to blur his vision as Cahir came to. It broke Eskel's heart.
"Esk?" Cahir's voice was a wobbly croak as he blindly reached out.
Resolve to keep his distance breaking, Eskel sank to his knees next to Cahir and cradled him against his chest. After everything, Cahir still called for him.
The usual, teary question of "what happened?" was met with broad strokes across Cahir's back and the reassuring rumble of "you took a funny turn. You're okay now." Eskel couldn't help himself. "What do you remember?"
A head shake and a sad whine was the first response. "I don't- I don't know. We went to bed. But we're not there now. Where am I?"
Distressed sobs were buried into Eskel's soft shirt. His mind was spinning. Cahir didn't remember that morning. Didn't remember the final couple of straws that broke their relationship. Didn't remember breaking up with Eskel. If Eskel was a better man, he would have been honest. But he was only human, he saw a second chance at happiness. And this time he could probably get it right. As long as Cahir never found out, never remembered that morning.
"You're safe in Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is bringing you a warm, watered down cider. While you drink that I'll go make sure our bed is setup, okay?"
Slowly, Cahir untangled himself from Eskel's shirt. Wiping at his eyes, he nodded and accepted the drink Vesemir was holding out for him. Standing, Eskel didn't run but he hurried back to his room. Their room. Swiping everything off the bed, he made it look like they were in the middle of having a tidy, adding his own clothe to the pile with Cahir's. Bed ready, he raced back to the Great Hall where Cahir was bundled in the throw, empty tankard on the ground next to him.
"Come on, I'll get you back to bed, okay? Then we'll see how you're doing after a nap, yeah?"
Meekly, Cahir nodded and allowed himself to be picked up, feeling so much like a weak kitten in Eskel's arms.
I have cracked the code for Cahir's slutty little murder top. Because seriously, who shows up to kill a friend in such an open shirt? But just think! His armour is everything covered from neck down, even his hands are covered. That boy is so vitamin D deficient, it's not even funny.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Prompt: "You mean more than anything."
Fandom: The Witcher
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert
Rating: E
Content Warnings: Piss kink
Summary: Though Lambert hadn't understood Eskel's pleasure from when they roleplayed the patient with a bad tummy, the more he thought about it, the more curious he got. But he didn't want the same thing. In fact, he wanted something that only Eskel specifically could give him.
@cake-shop-rarepair-bingo behold! This just about scoots under the 500 fics rule if we count English only fics?
None of the pups realise it is survival training for Vesemir. He needs to know he can live when, inevitably, his pups don't come back and he's left all alone.
