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Lambert
Lambert spends his first spring in Kaer Morhen furious.
Seven in ten of the trainees die before they can ever become squires. In years past, it wasn't uncommon for another one of those three survivors to die before they earned their Medallion.
Eskel, Geralt and Gweld are the survivors from the Wolf School from their year.
Aubry is the only one from his.
Letho and Serrit.
Voltehre.
Aiden and Jad.
Milena.
Vesper and Rach.
Cöen and Ealdred.
And the Path? The Path is hard. So many more lost there in the years between.
He interrogates Leocadie and Ivar and when they can't answer the whys of it all, he goes to every trainer among the schools that has anything to do with the Grasses.
He goes to every trainer that has anything to do with the Trial of the Medallion (which admittedly, has changed in the last few years since Geralt burned Geibol and took Kaedwen from its piece of shit king) but their answers aren't good enough either. A fucking cyclops? In a dark fucking tunnel? It was a fucking death sentence.
So that spring, Lambert listens to boys and girls he has grown to know over the winter suffer and die from the Grasses. He seeths. He yells and shouts, and cries.
Voltehre, who has taken it upon himself to be one of the caretakers of the younger trainees, is inconsolable.
Lambert is livid.
Apparently, it's like this every year.
What. The. Fuck?!
So, Lambert rages.
His friends amongst the cohort his age, understand. They tell him about their own trials. They tell him about those who died. He takes it all in. He uses it to fuel his fury, and his mind.
The Mentees and the Squires are upset, but that is apparently the reality of being a Wolfblood. It sucked, but that was and is the life of a Wolfblood - death and risk of death.
Leocadie shows him the notes from the Grasses. Shows him why it is done this way. Shows him how it is done. Leocadie tells him everything they've tried, and everything that's failed.
He's missing something. He can fucking feel it. They're all missing something.
He's also feeling… Restless. This is the longest he's lived in one spot since before his mother fled with him, and they joined the merchant caravans.
“I know an apothecary, in Temeria,” Lambert says to Leocadie one day. “I want to write to her. She might have ideas we don't have. She might understand the human side of it, if not the Wolfblood.”
Leocadie hums thoughtfully. “Send a letter with one of the patrols going out. Get them to deliver it and bring a reply with them, or another Wolfblood.”
“Should be getting your supplies from her, anyway,” Lambert grumbles. “She doesn't upcharge like most fucking cesspits there…”
“We will let the patrols going to Temeria know then,” Leocadie smiles.
And they do.
With one of the first available patrols Lambert sends a letter.
Tris,
I probably should have written before now. I'm alive. My mother is not.
This letter should arrive to you via Wolfblood. I met a group last fall while heading in the direction of Wolvenberg anyway. Letho, Cöen and Voltehre. They're the good sort.
I am living in Kaer Morhen, in Northern Kaedwen. Have been since then. By choice. Cold as tits here in the winter. Fucking ridiculous fuckers no don't write that, you absolute ass - ~`~~`°
Sorry. While my reading is much better now, I still can't write for shit. Voltehre is writing this for me. Apparently he's writing everything I'm saying because he's an asshole and is also the best brother ever wait I didn't say that!
~`°~~`¬¦
Fucker. I didn't say that. But he is.
The Wolfblood are a good lot. You might have a lot more coming to give you business. Sorry. I'm not.
You will actually sell them quality shit. And don't let them overpay you! They will try. Fuckers need all the help they can get.
I need your advice. There is a series of steps that humans go through to become Wolfblood. It's deadly to 7 in 10 of the Children who take the potion. Problem is, it has to be that deadly to be effective. They have to use poison and monster bits to make them into monster-killers.
Leocadie and Ivar (potions masters for the Wolfblood) have been trying to find a solution for decades - in Ivar's case it's probably centuries. He's old as fucking dirt.
We're missing something. I know we are.
When I figure out how to make money, I'll pay for you to get here, and take a look at the formula.
Until then, any advice you have is needed.
Send a message with this group before they leave, or with another one who will pass through during the season.
Lambert
*
He gets a letter back partway through the season from the same group that took the initial letter.
He rips it open right there in the courtyard. He can feel eyes on him. Everyone has been dealing with his anger and impatience these last few months.
Lambert
I am very glad to hear that you're alive and well. And you'd better not be lying to me about being well. I am sorry about your mother.
You should have written to me sooner. You could have come to Temeria.
I could leave the apothecary for the season to come and advise, especially if you don't want to risk the formula for the potion to get into hands outside of the Wolfblood.
Yes. There is no need for coded messages that way. This sounds important.
If some of the Wolfblood are willing to accompany me, I will happily come this winter. It is the slow season and my apprentice can easily handle the orders for the winter.
I cannot wait to meet this brother of yours, and these Wolfblood that have taken you in.
Expect me in the winter.
Triss Merigold
*
Letho
Two weeks before the snow hits, Aiden runs into the Viper Pit where Lambert is reading with Letho and Aubry, and some of his age-mates.
The Keep has taken to lumping Lambert in with either the newest year of Medallioned Wolfblood, or with Voltehre, Aiden, and Milena. He's always in the company of one of the two groups, and they're always getting up to mischief.
“Hey, Lamb,” a familiar voice calls from the doorway. Ah, there's the mischief.
“Fuck you, Moggy,” Lambert says without looking up.
“There's someone at the gate for you.” Letho can hear the smile in Aiden's voice.
Lambert's head shoots up.
Letho lowers his book and watches.
“Tanned skin? Red hair?” Lambert asks, excited.
“One Triss Merigold,” Aiden nods.
Lambert throws his book onto the table and races out of the room.
Aiden snickers.
Letho sighs and gets up, setting his book down more gently. He and Aiden set off behind Lambert at a trot. He's been waiting for this woman to show up since her latest letter weeks ago.
They don't make it to the courtyard. Triss has been brought out of the wind and into the Great Hall. Letho and Aiden find her and Lambert embracing. It smells like one of them is crying.
“Oh Lambert, why didn't you write sooner?” The woman whispers. She doesn't know that the Wolfblood can hear her.
“I didn't really have the chance. It took me the better part of two years to save enough to make it to the border of Kaedwen. And then I'd heard about Geralt killing the king of Kaedwen and decided to try heading this way before the snow fell.”
Letho watches Triss’ eyes dart to Geralt when Lambert mentions him by name. She smells uneasy, but she is surrounded by Wolfblood, an unknown entity to her.
She steps back, hands on Lambert's shoulders, and looks him up and down appraisingly. Lambert wipes the tears from his cheeks. His cheeks red from embarrassment.
Triss puts her hands on either side of the boy's face. “You've grown up so much. I'm so glad you're well.”
Lambert grins, and his ears turn pink to match his face. “I wouldn't lie to you.”
“No, but you admitted in your letters that they weren't written entirely by your hand.”
Voltehre steps forward to Lambert's side.
“I swear any letter transcribed by me is what I have been told to write and nothing that is a lie,” he says, hand over his heart.
Triss looks at him, looking for something.
She must find it. “You must be Voltehre.”
“I am,” he nods.
“It is nice to meet Lambert's adopted brother,” she says, winking at Lambert.
“I will fucking bite you. Don't think I won't, Triss.”
Voltehre laughs. “He very much will.”
“Oh, I know,” Triss says, calmly. “I learned to dodge a decade ago.”
Lambert just grumbles and swears at them both. He doesn't move far from Triss’ side. He's actually leaning into her.
Letho doesn't think he's the only one thinking about what she said. A decade. She's known Lambert since he was quite small, then. Hmm. Interesting.
“Now that I am assured that you are well, I will better trust it in the future,” Triss says, her shoulders relaxing.
Eskel and Geralt step forward.
“Triss Merigold,” Eskel greets. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen. I am Eskel.”
She only smells slightly apprehensive after looking at Eskel's face.
“It is good to meet you… Eskel.” Letho wonders if she thought about adding a title there.
“This is Geralt, the White Wolf.”
Geralt stares at her. She's only slightly afraid. The woman is made of strong stuff.
She steps away from Lambert and curtsies. “My Lord.”
“Triss Merigold, you have been invited to our Keep for the Winter.”
“Yes, My Lord,” she says nodding.” I have been invited by Lambert to work with him and his Masters. I am here to determine if there is a safer method to administer the potions used to create Wolfblood.”
She pauses, then continues.
“I am here of my own free will, and I swear to do all I can to prevent harm from befalling those under the White Wolf's protection.”
“You do not swear to do no harm?” Geralt rumbles.
“I am an apothecary and a healer. Sometimes healing requires harm in order to save lives. As I'm here to consult on the Wolfblood potion, which itself kills seven in ten who drink it… it would be foolish of me to promise the impossible.”
The Wolfblood who are in the room nod in approval. Lambert smells nervous. He's fidgeting.
There's a beat of silence before Geralt speaks. “Be welcome in Kaer Morhen, Triss Merigold.”
She curtsies again. “Thank you, My Lord.”
Lambert quickly comes back up to her side, smelling of relief. Triss wraps her arm around his shoulders. She presses a kiss into his hair without thought.
Letho has the feeling, based on her sad scent, that she's used to doing it on a much shorter boy. Though she's not a short woman, Lambert is of a height with her. He's already on his way to being a tall man.
Letho can see Lambert's knuckles are white where his hands grip her dress. He was genuinely worried then.
*
Later that night, there is a small group gathered in Lambert's sitting room. Letho and Voltehre, Cöen, and Milena are all that's left.
Aiden has taken Lambert's yawning year mates to their rooms.
Lambert, meanwhile, has fallen asleep leaning against Triss. Letho decides it is a good time to interrogate her.
“You are not Lambert's mother.” It's not a question.
“No,” she replies softly. She's gently stroking Lambert's hair where he's leaning against her shoulder, sound asleep. He looks soft like this, unworried and unburdened. He never looks this way awake. It is a privilege to witness.
“I knew her. She and Lambert used to pass through Temeria every few months when they were with the merchant caravans.”
That would explain the travelling…
“He is a bright lad, and has always been curious. It was easy enough to leave him in my care for a few hours while she worked.”
“He loves alchemy,” Milena says.
Triss smiles. “He has a talent for it. I'm glad he can put it to use. I was always afraid that he would be another boy ruined by the Continent.”
She's quiet for a moment. “I was devastated when I hadn't heard from him or Leora after they travelled to Skellige two years ago.”
Cöen, Voltehre, and Letho share a look.
“We knew he had travelled. He's quite proficient in languages as well,” Milena says from her spot on the floor by Voltehre's leg.
Triss nods. “Yes. I never did learn from Leora where they were originally from… But I know she was running from something.”
The Wolfblood are all silent.
“They ran for a long time.” she pauses, looking at Lambert's head on her shoulder.
“He likes it here,” Triss continues. “He wouldn't have stayed if he didn't.”
“He's got a good head on his shoulders,” Letho agrees.
“We are quite pleased he decided to stay,” Cöen offers.
Triss looks Letho in the eyes, before doing the same to Voltehre, Cöen, and Milena.
“If I ever find out that anyone does anything to harm him, I will kill them, Wolfblood or not. Vow to the Wolf, be damned.”
There's a beat of silence.
Letho smiles.
“As you should.”
Yes, this woman would fit right in.
*
Triss
When Triss first received Lambert's letter, she didn't believe it was truly him.
The signature was in a different messy scrawl than the rest of the ink-splattered letter. That made it slightly more believable but it did also make her worry more.
She couldn't go up against a Wolfblood, but she would try if it meant saving Lambert - the boy she'd always considered a nephew, and now, if jet Leora truly was gone - as close as she'd ever get to having a son.
*
Triss is just as furious as Lambert is when Spring comes, and the school heads refuse to put off administering the Grasses for one year.
Out of the six cantidades given the Grasses, three survive, which is honestly the best odds they've had in a while.
The interesting bit is that two of the trainees who survived were given the same school's draught, and the third was given a draught that was very similar.
Each school still customizes their Grasses for specific abilities, but it is the base that remains the toxic component in the end. The Wolfblood herb is poisonous to humans, and necessary to create Wolfblood.
That Spring, Triss leaves Lambert the task of going over the recipes for the Grasses. He is going to go through every draught from every school (with the supervision of Leocadie and Ivar of course).
Meanwhile Triss, accompanied by a patrol of Wolfblood heads for her apothecary in Temeria. She packs her belongings and sells her shop to her apprentice for a fair price.
The coin she uses to fund the trip back with the Wolfblood.
Once the Grasses have been rectified, if she's not welcome to stay in Kaer Morhen, she'll settle perhaps in Wolvenberg, or another nearby town that neesa the skills of a healer or apothecary.
She comes back the following fall, a wagon of her belongings with her. Herbs, and other ingredients, tools and vials and distilling equipment. Her prized items that couldn't be left behind are packed in trunks alongside some clothing.
The still room she used last year is still there, the evidence of recent use.
Lambert and Milena took to helping her distill oils and make soaps after Lambert requested that Triss make the soap that she used to make for Leora… she can't refuse.
When Lambert comes from the bath smelling faintly of Lavender, Milena requests Triss teach her how to make Rose-scented soap.
Others who enjoy the activity joined her as well, but not as often as Milena.
Clovis tries to remark on Lambert's new soap once… And Milena promptly stabs Clovis in the upper leg, threatening to go higher next time if he continues. He shuts up.
Triss taught Lambert and Milena how to dye hair oil after that. For purely educational purposes, of course.
*
Lambert
Lambert spends the summer and fall reading and making notes, interspersed with forced excursions outside of the keep.
They send him out with “his” yearmates. They help him identify unfamiliar plants to him, and he rants when they are lazy about harvesting the various herbs and damage parts of the plants.
There's a dicey moment when they find a griffin next in the valley over from the Keep.
The moment they hear the twin screeches, Lambert is told unequivocally to run.
He runs for the treeline, and once there, scales a tree. He sits amid the thickest branches halfway up the tall spruce where he hopefully won't be seen if the beats decide to take flight.
He stays there until the all-clear is given, and Kiyan appears in the tree next to his.
“Want to come learn how to harvest harvest bits? Griffin's aren't toxic to humans.” His grin is all teeth.
“Fuck yes!” Lambert says, quickly but carefully making his way back down the tree.
Kiyan meets him on the ground, and they walk back to the rest of the group.
Lambert made sure to grab a handful of pin feathers. He had an idea to make Triss a new quill and Cöen had mentioned that griffin feathers were particularly sturdy and long-lasting.
Lambert has already bullied everyone else (Letho, Aubry, Voltehre, Aiden, and Coen) for their favourite scents so that he and Milena could make them personal batches of their preferences. Triss’ improved formula for the soap is much gentler on the skin than the one the Wolfblood have been using on their skin and hair.
When he is pouring over notes, Lambert goes through everything. He notes down ages and genders of the trainees, ingredients in the draughts, dates they were administered, even the brewers. Something interesting doesn't go unnoticed by Lambert. Trainees from m certain regions seem to survive certain formulas better.. And Trainees with non-human blood also have a higher survival rate. It's not exact, but it is an interesting correlation.
*
By the time Triss returned to Kaer Morhen, seemingly for good, Lambert was no closer to an answer, and growing more frustrated.
Triss review Lambert's notes, her and Lambert discussing everything with Leocadie and Ivar late into the evenings.
“How do you determine which candidates receive the draught and which don't?” Triss asks one evening.
“We don't,” Ivar responds. “In ages past, we brought as many children as we could back to our Schools. So many children die… we give them all the Grasses, and hope for the best.”
“Since Geralt reunited the schools,” Leocadie says, “we've started choosing which schools the children go to more carefully. We try to match existing attributes to the schools that will suit them best. We've had an increased success rate, though not by much.”
Triss looked at them both before looking at Lambert's meticulous notes.
“Why don't you test for compatibility beforehand?”
“... Because it's never been done,” Ivar said slowly.
Leocadie swore. Lambert growled. He gated that response almost as much as “It's always been this way.”
“If we develop a way to test the candidates for compatibility, we might be able to root out those who won't survive before they ever have to take out the actual draught.”
“You're fucking brilliant Triss,” Lambert said, hugging her tightly.
“Now, Lass,” Ivar started. “How do you suggest we go about creating such a testing method?”
“I have a few ideas from Lambert's notes, but I think we should start…”
*
They spent the rest of the fall and winter creating, and testing the potion. There is only one incident where Lambert nearly poisons himself (Okay, fuck ofd Leocadie, it was only a little poison…)
Triss theorizes from Lambert's surprisingly mild reaction to the potion, that Lambert would have been a survivor of the Trial of the Grassess.
Separate, and silently, all four of them thank whichever gods will listen that that isn't a reality.
Once Triss has given him the all clear, Leocadie rips Lambert a new ashole, and Ivar tattles to Letho. Lambert isn't out of his sight for a week. Milena, Aiden, and Voltehre all cuff him upside the head too.
Fuckers.
So that spring, they tested the candidates - against the orders of some of the trainers, mind.
They'd presented their findings to the collected Trainers and School Heads (they'd carefully kept it from the Trainees just in case). Some trainers had voted to give the potion a try and not give the draught to those who failed. Some voted to try the potion, but Grass all if the children regardless.
When the children who'd failed the testing potion also died… Lambert raged. Publicly.
He couldn't remember the tirade he'd given in the middle of the great hall, but he remembered the fight from some of the more… Sadistic Trainers.
Ivar declares that no Viper Candidate who failed the Testing Potion would be given the Grasses. Not whilst he lived and breathed.
Ivo stands up and proclaims the same. When Rennes and Varin vote against it, Vesemir stands up.
“I won't watch anymore children die. If we can save even one boy or girl, it needs to be done.”
*
Eskel
On Lambert's third spring in Kaer Morhen, every trainee who passes the Testing Potion survives the Grasses. None die; The argument is won.
Most of the Schools’ Trainers have been convinced that the testing potion is a better solution than unnecessary death.
Geralt lays down the law to finalize it.
“No more trainees will die unnecessarily. We have the means to prevent it now. We will test all cantidates. Those who fail will be given other jobs within the keep. If they don't wish to stay on Kaer Morhen, they will be sent to nearby villages within the Wolf Lands.”
“White Wolf,” is the cry that rings up.
Eskel makes note of those whose agreements are less… Enthusiastic than others. They might cause trouble in the future.
*
Lambert
Eskel asks Lambert to come to Geralt's office a few days later.
When Lambert arrives, it's to a crowd in Geralt's office. Geralt and Eskel, the heads of each school, Letho, Triss, and Leocadie are all gathered.
Lambert can feel his shoulders hunch before Triss hooks her elbow through Lambert and Letho comes up on Lambert's other side
“Lambert,” Geralt says, standing.
This feels oddly more official than calling Geralt by his name would warrant, so he answers, “Wolf?”
“You have done us a great service.”
Lambert relaxes a bit. He's not in trouble, clearly. Hopefully.
“You thought to ask questions that none of us thought of. You fixed the Trial of the Grasses, and in doing so, have saved the lives of countless Trainees.”
Triss squeezed Lambert's arm. Letho takes his hand off of Lambert's shoulder, and walks towards Geralt.
“Lambert, step forward.”
Lambert takes a breath and does so, Triss letting go of his arm.
“From this day, and for all your days, you have a place here in Kaer Morhen should you so desire.”
Lambert stares at him, dumbfounded.
“We present you with this Medallion.”
Letho steps forward, holding a chain, and a Medallion. The Medallion is smaller than that of the Wolfblood, but is also cast in silver.
Letho holds the chain up and lowers it down over Lambert's head.
He takes the Medallion in his hand and examines it.
On the front, a small fox lies curled up, sleeping. The back of the Medallion is smooth, save for the seven small circles punched into the metal. Each circle is a miniature of the school's mascots; Wolf, a Bear, a Cat, a Crane, a Manticore, a Griffin, and a Viper.
“Welcome, Lambert of Kaer Morhen. Not from one school, but of All Schools.”
“Lambert of Kaer Morhen!” call everyone else, some smiling, some not.
Lambert can't help the tears. Triss comes up beside him, and he can see her own Medallion, a coxen to his fox, he thinks, but hers is an adult, sitting proud.
Letho takes him by the shoulders.
“I'm proud of you, lad.”
“Thank you,” Lambert whispers, and then gives into his urge to hug Letho. The large man pauses for a moment, before wrapping his arms around Lambert's back, returning the hug.
*