#young lambert

[elmonstro]

Also posting this young man here for my birthday because I really like how he turned out! It's his first year on the path and he got a big scar and a cool story to tell

[eskel-loves-lilbleater]

Gorgeous Lambert and Aiden art found here by Sayuri, who also has an awesome Patreon.

[jellori]

Lambert Lambert, what a Prick 🎶

[jay-arts-t]

Do y'all think the witchers would have huskies? I wanna say they'd be more likely to have Malamutes or even Norwegian Elkhounds or a mixture of all three. But I cannot get the image of Lambert riling up the huskies into a howling frenzy. Little shit 16 year old Lambert directly after Kaer Morhen falls and Vesemir is like "yeah sure let's get dogs to make sure the boys don't become emotionally detached from themselves too much", carousing the little pack of 2 huskies and a malamute into screaming their heads off in the middle of the woods. Geralt is laying with his head in Eskel's lap glaring at Lambert because 1) yes it's funny but 2) he's trying to sleep for once dammit. Eskel is thinking "man we should get Great Pyrenees like my family used to have" (he does for the safety of the goats and chickens they eventually get). Vesemir is regretting all of his choices as his headache gets worse. But if it makes Lambert happy the three of them are willing to suffer.

[levikra]

A sketch of Lambert in young years cuz.... yeah 😩. He's definitely aged like a fine wine

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Day Two: Frosted Windows

A/N: As a young man, Lambert found the more pointless (read: focused and requiring of patience) tasks of training to be the most taxing. Like, why the fuck does a Witcher need to have a precise kerning?

Lambert puffed indignantly, and his breath clouded before his eyes. Every fistful of straw was another slight on his pride, and he practically punched each one into the target dummy. His hands were numb with cold, and his teeth chattered constantly. The thin woollen cloak they’d thrown at him as he’d stalked out into the courtyard provided little to no insulation from the harsh Kaedweni winter.

This was his punishment for thinking there were more important things to do than practice his downstroke. He snorted. It even sounded fucking stupid. Why did a Witcher need to learn to write, anyway? He understood reading. You needed to be able to work out the illegible scrawl of the average, vaguely literate alderman, and he excelled at mathematics, alchemy; everything that didn’t require pointless amounts of patience, endless misery and no visible payoff. 

Writing though. What a fucking joke. ‘It teaches you patience, coordination, and allows you to actually communicate with the world, boy.’ He could communicate just fine with the world; a middle finger and a curled lip had served him perfectly well for his last twelve years. 

Writing was just so boring; the endless repetition of the same letter until it was absolutely perfect. It was far more entertaining to flick ink at Voltehre, draw dicks on the corner of his page when he wasn’t looking and roll snap-bangs—as Lambert called his much-loathed explosive invention—under old Barmin’s chair when he fell asleep. It was that final little prank that had earned him dummy stuffing duty out in the cold, while the rest of his class sat and practiced their letters in front of a roaring fire. It had been a little bang. Not like he’d rolled a fucking dancing star bomb under the bastard’s arse.

This was a complete over-reaction.

Lambert glowered at the frosted window that shielded the other trainees from his view. Maybe he should throw a dummy through it? They could be as cold as he was, or maybe—no, wait. With a mischievous little smirk, he approached the window and wetted the tip of his finger. Oh, he could write. He just didn’t have the patience to, or like being forced to. There was a big difference between incompetence and reluctance. And, better yet, he’d prove his skill backwards.

First a nice, curly ‘F’, with a little flourish at the bottom, an upwards sweep into the ‘u’, don’t forget to maintain the baseline now, Lambert. Wouldn’t want a wonky ‘c’, would we? Use the very tip of the finger to create a hairline to connect the letters, and a nice, jaunty flick for the ‘k’. 

He could hear the sniggering of the other boys from this side of the thin pane of glass, which just made his grin wider, shortly followed by a loud snort as Barmin was disturbed from his slumber by the building mirth of his students…

The chair legs scraped just as Lambert was putting the finishing touches on the accompanying smiley face. The old Witcher snarled. “When I get hold of you boy—.” 

That’s just it, old man. You gotta’ get hold of me first.

Lambert arranged the target dummy carefully against the wall, adjusting its arms using the handle of the old broom they used to prop them up, and threw himself at the old, worn stone of the keep’s walls. By the time Barmin burst out into the courtyard, it was completely empty.

His gaze turned to the window, and he heaved a resigned sigh. The backwards ‘fuck’ and smiley face were now accompanied by a dummy pointing right at him. The happiest ‘fuck you’ he’d ever received.

Well, at least they knew the boy could write. Barmin counted that as a win.

Thirty-One Days of Decembert

[g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n]

Vesemir: You scored a 25/27 on your mental health questionnaire.

Young Lambert: So that means I'm good at mental health, right?

*Crisis Counselor mage enters room*

Young Lambert: Ah, fuck.

[aroomie]

Nosy

Lambert never claimed to be a well-behaved child. Before he was given to the Witcher’s, he would do all he could to get food or hide from his ungrateful sack of shit father. Then after the Witcher came to get him, when his body felt like it was being ripped apart and put back together, he would be even more of a whirlwind.

Somehow getting into places he shouldn’t, climbing high on the side of Kaer Morhen’s walls and hiding on the roof so no one would find him, once he was even found <i>inside</i> the oven snaking away on a loaf of bread!

Vesemir did his best to keep an eye on the boy, to make sure he was thoroughly whipped out from training and didn’t have the energy to be such a little hellion. But even the Wolf couldn’t keep an eye on the boy twenty four seven, eventually, he needed to not be a baby sitter for the little shit. Those days arrived with the welcomed visit from an old friend, a Bear Witcher that visited every winter, and Vesemir then dumped babysitting duty on one of the other teachers or one of the boys that Lambert was closest to.

It was one such evening, Lambert had snuck away from the pile of boys he had curled up with to try and find sleep, but after about two hours the boy had given up any hopes of finding any rest and started wandering around the keep, testing his stealth and trying to find new holes to hide himself in sot hat Vesemir couldn’t work him to the bone like he always tries to.

Late at night, everyone was asleep, the snoring varying from light to heavy, some very obnoxious and snorty, and made Lambert giggle as he resisted the urge to break into the room and pinch the Witcher’s nose shut. The same noises for the same dull evening and Lambert was about to throw in the towel on finding somewhere new to crawl into to see how long it would take Vesemir to find him.

It wasn’t until he started to hear a different sort of noise that made Lambert pause and contemplate his options that made the young boy push forward, needing to find out what these new sounds were. He approached a door that he recognized as Vesemir’s room, his head tilting far to the side as he stared at the heavy wood door, candle light filtering through a crack and Lambert licked his lips before easing it open a little bit more.

Instantly his eyes went wide, his eyes getting a full view of Vesemir bent over his mattress and the Bear Witcher standing behind him, hips thrusting forward, both men panting and moaning. Lambert’s mouth fell open and he quickly backed away from the door, blinking rapidly, looking both ways down the hall to make sure there was no one there.

The one time Lambert was too curious for his own good, and now he’ll never get <i>that</i> image out of his mind. The boy shook his head and stuck out his tongue, quickly turning heel and running back to the pile of trainees to try and get some sleep.