Sure thing my dear! I might have gotten a bit emotional about it, I must confess, and I do love Papa V and Lambert. My brain is vaguely offline, but here, have a hug-ish! Please enjoy! <3
Warning: Baby witchers at Kaer Morhen, meaning they are having a shitty time. Hight toxcixity, potion overdose mention, nightmares, Lamberts immature insults. He is working on it.
Enjoy <3
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Toxicity can be rough for an adult to handle.
For a child, it’s even worse.
Vesemir has seen it so many times, and it hits each child differently. Some get violent, some get tired, some become catatonic.
His child of surprise, Lambert, was always angry. He lived through the Trial of the Grasses, he lived through the harsh training and he lived through the cold winters of the keep.
All this time, Lambert voiced his anger and defiance, roaring his rage to anyone who stood in his way.
Vesemir, being the one who put Lambert on the path, has always received the brunt of it.
But tonight, Lambert overdoses on his potions for the first time. His young body strains and fights against the toxins, his veins and eyes black as the night sky, his skin sickly pale and tacky with sweat.
As with everything else, Lambert recovers, but for the first time Vesemir finds him silent.
There are very few boys his age this year; the other wolf cubs are a few years older than him, finding comfort in each other's presence.
Lambert never allowed them to comfort him. He doesn’t trust them, doesn’t trust the adults, doesn’t trust the world to keep him safe. Rightly so, Vesemir thinks, believing distrust will hopefully keep him alive while on the path.
But tonight, that is worrying. Lambert’s silence is uncharacteristic and Vesemir has learned to watch out for it.
From the shadows, he follows Lambert, watching him sneak away to the barn and curl up in the hay.
Restless sleep and twitching limbs, his child tosses and turns as nightmares take him. In time, he will learn to repress the dreams, but for now they torment him.
Lambert startles awake with a muffled shout before he gets his bearings.
Crying children is nothing new behind the stone walls of Kaer Morhen, but Vesemir feels the responsibility weigh heavily on his shoulders.
He parts from the shadows, approaching Lambert and makes deliberate noise as he does. The child rushes to his feet, a knife in his hand in the blink of an eye, and Vesemir’s heart swells with pride.
“What do you want, asshole?” Lambert says, wiping his tears angrily with the heel of his hand.
“I have been thinking about something for a while,” Vesemir says calmly, walking up to Lambert and promptly plopping down on the hay.
“What,” Lambert asks, eyeing him suspiciously. The dark circles under his eyes are not only the remnants of the toxins.
“Sit down and I will tell you. And put away that knife before you poke someone’s eye out.”
Lambert grumbles but sits down without complaint. Again, not like him.
“What,” he repeats.
Vesemir eyes him right back, and then nods to himself.
“I have been wondering who would wear my hat better. You or me. But I still think I would do it better. So I’m keeping it.”
“You are so dumb.”
“The opposite. This hat has some splendid qualities and I’m not sharing.”
“Good.”
“Really? Not even if I let you try it out?”
“I don’t want to try your stupid hat.”
“Hm. What I heard is that you want to try my beautiful hat. Ok.”
Vesemir shoves his hat on Lambert’s head despite his protests, and then scoops him up in his lap and holds him tight.
“Hey--! You--! Asshole, let me the fuck go, you stinky… bearded- nasty!” Lambert fights him, but he is exhausted, and finally gives up, just accepting Vesemir's grip stiffly.
“Fine. Fucking fine. You got me, I’m wearing your fucking hat, what do you want?!”
“Yeesh, those words in your mouth,” Vesemir snarks, and wraps his arms more securely around Lambert.
It’s not a hug. Witchers don’t hug.
It is merely...a comforting wrestle.
They sit in silence for a few minutes until Lambert sniffles.
“Let me go,” he croaks.
“No.”
“Let me go!”
“You know, when I was your age, I hid in the stables.”
Lambert falls silent.
“Nightmares suck. But I don’t dream anymore.”
“No?”
“No. They can’t touch me. I’m too strong.”
“That sounds fake,” Lambert says, his voice wobbly and muffled under Vesemir's arms.
“You doubt my strength?” Vesemir asks, smirking and tightening his grip.
“Ugh, no, yuck, no, stop it, fine! I believe you!”
“Good. And now I am going to be super strong all over again and fight your nightmares too.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I absolutely can.”
“How.”
“Just close your eyes and let me do the rest.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to. But you can keep the hat for tonight. It keeps the bad memories away.”
“Really?”
“If you believe it, it will,” Vesemir says, slowly letting go of Lambert's small body, watchful of a vengeful elbow. But it doesn’t come, and Lambert doesn’t move away from his lap. He leans back against Vesemir’s chest, fiddling with the brim of the hat between his grimy fingers.
“Don’t tell the others.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
Lambert does fall asleep. As soon as the nightmares start to creep in, Vesemir soothes him, petting his arms until he settles again. At some point, he falls asleep too, but pretends not to notice when Lambert stands up, waking him out of his sleep. Lambert places the hat on his head, and sneaks away.
Vesemir remembers his first night with too many potions in his system. Toxicity can be rough for an adult to handle.
