#coën/lambert

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Missing scene from Blood of Elves. Coën argues with Lambert about responsibility, nobility and their fate.

“I believe that. But I’m not gallant enough. Nor valiant enough. I’m not suited to be a soldier or a hero. And having an acute fear of pain, mutilation and death is not the only reason. You can’t stop a soldier from being frightened but you can give him motivation to help him overcome that fear. I have no such motivation. I can’t have. I’m a witcher: an artificially created mutant. I kill monsters for money. I defend children when their parents pay me to. If a Nilfgaardian parent pays me, I’ll defend Nilfgaardian children. And even if the world lies in ruin—which does not seem likely to me—I’ll carry on killing monsters in the ruins of this world until some monster kills me. That is my fate, my reason, my life and my attitude to the world. And it it not what I chose. It was chosen for me.” —Geralt of Rivia in the Blood of Elves.

Coën drew in a deep breath through his nose. The smell of pine filled his chest, mixed with the subtle fishy odour of the lake, and the sprawling bryonia clinging to the rocky outcrops at his back. The mountains around Kaer Morhen were peaceful and familiar in a way that made his chest tight and his eyes prickle; it reminded him of home. He didn’t resent the ache, but cherished it, for it was one of the few things he had left. A tenuous link to something he could never get back.

His head lolled back between his shoulders and he held that breath deep in torso for as long as he could, expelling it through pursed lips only when the ache became a tight pain. Splashing at the lake edge drew his attention and he watched through slitted eyes as his companion stumbled ungracefully through the shallows.

When Lambert had invited Coën to winter with him, Coën had accepted without hesitation, and had been most bewildered by the relieved grin on Lambert’s face at the time. It had been many years since Coën had wintered with other witchers, and Kaer Morhen’s hospitality had not disappointed. Lambert seemed to be bending over backwards to make sure Coën was included in every part of the wolf’s life here, and for that Coën was grateful.

“Ahh, just as bollock-shrinking cold as always!” Lambert crowed, before swearing as he stubbed his toe on a pebble buried deep in the silt and sand. It was an uncharacteristically warm day, but the mountains could be like that. When the skies cleared and the snows had cleared a little, it could almost feel like early summer, when the cool spring breezes stirred the first buds of wakening meadows but your cuirass became itchy and close.

Lambert flopped down on the threadbare tablecloth they had pilfered from Vesemir’s kitchens as a makeshift picnic blanket—Lambert’s words, said with a wry smirk as they had tiptoed out of the larder like errant trainees. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it out to dry. Not for the first time, Coën was struck by just how good-looking his companion was when the lines of anger and frustration had smoothed out, the shadows in his yellow eyes chased away by good sleep and good food. “Urf, fuck,” Lambert lifted his hips and pulled the damp cloth of his trews away from his crotch.

“Dunno why you didn’t take ‘em off,” Coën said lightly, tilting his head back again to bask in the warmth of the sun some more.

“Told you, not the type of tackle I tend to fish with. If you’d seen the teeth on some of the fish I get from here, you’d understand why.” Lambert shuffled some more and flipped to his front to grab one of the unopened bottoms of ale tucked in the shade of a large boulder. “No drowner spawn that I could find in the usual places. No idea about the far banks though, that’ll have to wait ‘til—,” Lambert waved vaguely towards the derelict old boat he had been working on half-arsed for the majority of the morning.

“Mmhm, and when’s that then?”

“Fuck knows. Between Geralt’s princess and Vesemir bellyaching about the west wing falling down on his head, dunno when I’ll get back down here.”

Coën opened his eyes, squinting into the great expanse of unclouded blue above. Cirilla. Sweet child, mischievous and bright, despite all the trials and loss she had faced. And yet, the shadow of destiny loomed over her, ever present and threatening. Coën had hoped that, with Triss’ arrival, they might have felt slightly more sure of her path forward, but the magess’ presence seemed to have brought new tensions to the fort. The wolf witchers had invited her in, and yet not a single one seemed to trust her intentions, except old Vesemir, who seemed relieved to have someone take a little responsibility from his shoulders; the girl was beyond even the old wolf’s knowledge.

Geralt appeared somewhat exhausted by her and Coën sensed by her advances that there was a history there that Geralt did not wish to revisit, Lambert was confrontational and ice cold, even more so than usual, and Eskel was the most peculiar of all. He was beyond polite, magnanimous, quick to take the knee and open doors for the magess, scurrying around the castle at her beck and call; if Lambert hadn’t told Coën which way Eskel’s appetites leaned, Coën would have assumed it to be flirtation. Yet, it had been Eskel that had gazed at Triss with distrust and apprehension when they had discussed her whisking Ciri away to her Chapter as in days of old.

They had called Triss out of desperation, but not a single one of the wolves were willing to let her take Ciri from them. They were guarded, protective, Lambert perhaps most of all. He treated Merigold with open disdain, dismissing all pleas from his brothers and master to remain civil. Coën surmised it might be more than a distrust of mages in general, but he hadn’t found the opportunity to probe further.

“None of you trust, Triss Merigold. That much is obvious. But Ciri’s peculiarity worries you. Would it not be best for Triss to take on the burden? To let her take the child with her to Aretuza or wherever destination she has in mind?” Coën asked.

Lambert didn’t answer immediately. They had spoken some of the school’s previous experience with such a girl, but the conversation had been stilted and tight, like it was a source of pain and shame. Coën found out little of the girl’s fate, only that she had left her mark on one of Lambert’s kin. Lambert sighed. “N’aw, she’s just another lost kid. Nothin’ new, nothin’ special.” He didn’t look up as he said it, focusing instead on a blade of grass. “As I said, we’ll teach her the sword, let her grow big and strong, and she’ll be like any other warrioress out there.” He flicked the blade of grass away and drew a swig of ale.

“You don’t believe that. I know you too well, Lambert of Kaer Morhen, you may lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me. You care for the girl, I’ve seen it. You wouldn’t drive her so hard if you didn't, and you would not see her whisked away by the magess. And yet you know there is more to her—”

Lambert rolled his eyes, settling them upon Coën’s face with one eyebrow quirked towards his scruff of dark hair. “It doesn’t make a difference either way. What can we do? Train her to be one of us, but without the poisons. This—that—“ Lambert waved over his shoulder vaguely southward, towards the majority of the Continent, “is so far beyond us, so fuckin’ bigger, we’re just witchers. We fight monsters, that’s it. We don’t get involved, no matter what Merigold might want. No matter the moralistic fuckin’ rants she wants to have over our own fuckin’ mead in our own fuckin’ keep. Arrogant bitch.”

Coën winced and fell silent, giving Lambert’s anger time to settle to an even ebb again. Such was the way with Lambert; whereas the older witchers of the keep seemed to have suppressed their emotions to the point of ambivalence, Lambert’s raged all the fiercer as if out of spite. It was one of the things that Coën admired so ardently about him; the way he took on the world unapologetically and refused to succumb to its darkness. When Coën sensed the turbulent waters had settled, he continued. “You agree with Geralt, then. That there is no side for us to take in this conflict in the South, no greater good for us to fight for.”

“The only greater good for us is coin,” Lambert murmured. “Come spring, we should head south and we can clear up in the wake of the armies. Wade through the shit and the corpses to find the monsters. It’s what we’re built for.”

Coën huffed. “You sound like a cultist reciting a mantra you don’t even believe yours—“

“Where’s this goin’? Out with it. I’ve had enough of politics, euphemisms and bloody philosophising from Merigold this winter; I don’t need it from you too.”

Coën gazed over the lake to the far bank where a mist hung unnaturally among the trees. Foglets, no doubt. The recorded voices and shapes of hundreds of trainees that had perished in the mountains. Souls that were never given the opportunity to realise their potential, to breathe free air beyond the confines of the brotherhood. “I’ve been thinking more on those orphans Triss spoke of. How she works to prevent them from being orphans in the first place, whereas we’re just there after the fact to pick up the pieces.”

“You let her get into your head,” Lambert shook his, adjusting his trews once more, nose wrinkled in discomfort. “She was just trying to take a cheap shot. Get a knife in your ribs and twist.”

“What if she’s right? We may be mutants, but can’t we rise above? Become more? We are worth twenty Cintran soldiers. Having witchers fight on the side of the North, we—we could turn the tide of this war, we—“

“Delusions of grandeur.”

Coën’s blood ran hot with anger. While he admired Lambert’s sass and sarcasm when it was directed at others, he didn’t much enjoy being the target of it. Such dismissal bit at him, and he didn’t much want to examine why it hurt so very much. “So we stand by and watch the world burn so long as we line our purses, how very noble. We pick over the corpses of children like graveir, thugs and mercenaries with yellow eyes.”

“I never pretended to be otherwise,” Lambert snapped back. “You seem to think we owe this world something. We don’t. You think they’d care if us mutants fought at their side? You think they’ll give you a fuckin’ medal? Accept you back with open arms? Write stories and songs about you? Grow up. You’ve got yourself all wrapped up in those fairytales you read to Ciri.”

“And so what if they don’t? It’s not about that—it’s about doing the right thing, it’s—“

“There is no right thing. There is survival. There is getting through another pissin’ year and getting back here. Drinking with the people who actually give half a shit about whether you live or die. That’s it!”

Lambert was shouting now, his eyes furious, and Coën’s belly had tied itself in knots. Defensively, Coën raised his own voice, shoulders bunching. “For you, maybe. But I’m done with it. Maybe I want to become more! Rise above. Maybe I want to fight for something meaningful, defend the innocent, protect the—“

Lambert’s eyes narrowed, his fist tightening around his bottle, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Throwing your life away won’t bring them back, Coën. Get your head out your arse. They’re dead, and you’re alive. Foolish sacrifice for those who don’t give a shit about you is just that, foolish. You’re a witcher, not a hero, stop trying to be more than you were made to be.”

Lambert’s words cut sharper than any knife. His lip lifted in a sneer of what looked like contempt, but there was an unnameable hurt in his eyes. Coën couldn’t parse it, he couldn’t even begin to, because his own anger and hurt was making his head ache. “Then perhaps I am a fool,” he snapped, rolling to his feet and snatching his shirt from the grass. “And as my foolishness seems to vex you so, I shall relieve you of my presence.”

“Fine! Why don’t you scurry off to Merigold? I’m sure she could tell you exactly the best way to piss your life away on her crusade.”

Coën stalked away and didn’t look back. He found Eskel weaving baskets with Ciri in one of the stillrooms and sat with them. The older witcher studied him closely, one of his large hands pawing at the scars on his face om thought, but he said nothing.

The rest of the winter passed much the same as before, but Lambert was no longer open and jovial in the evenings. He festered by the fire, muttering darkly about the cold and throwing an occasional scathing remark in Merigold’s direction, only to be chastised by Eskel, Vesemir or both. He drove Ciri just as hard—harder, when Triss wasn’t looking—and picked fault with everything she did.

Coën found her sitting by the fire one evening, picking dejectedly a the scabs on her hands, and staring into the flames. He brought her a blanket and hot mug of juice. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Half an oren, and we’re talking!”

He thumped her lightly on the shoulder as he sat at her side, and she heaved a sigh. He pressed gently. “Come, a burden shared is a burden halved. Talk to me.”

“I think Lambert hates me, thinks I’m weak.”

“No,” Coën said quickly. “He loves you. Very much.”

Ciri blinked at him in surprise. “But he berates me every day. I disappoint him with everything I do. I need to get it right, I need—“

“Princess, Lambert is harshest to those he loves the most.”

“Well, he must absolutely worship Triss…”

Coën winced. “Ah, yes, no, perhaps there are exceptions, but…”

Ciri sniffled and turned her head away, one of her small, broken hands lifting to her face. He placed an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Come, there’s no need to hide your tears.”

“He’s right, I am weak…”

“No.” Coën lifted her chin so that their eyes met. “When I lost Kaer Seren, I cried for many days, and when I thought there could not possibly be a single tear left, they kept coming. Do you think me weak?”

“No, you’re so strong. You can shoot an apple from the air at a billion miles away! You make Lambert sweat in fencing and you can do ten backflips in a row, and—”

Coën smiled crookedly. “Your emotions aren’t something to be overcome, they are part of you. They make you stronger.”

“I need to get this right, I need to get strong, I need to kill him. I need to avenge them all. I need to—“

“And you will,” Coën said. “But Cintra was not built in a day, and its lioness is still a cub with a lot of growing to do. You must give yourself time. Strength is something that is forged through hardship, through failure. It will come.”

She gave him a watery smile and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I will get strong, Coën. I’ll listen to everything he teaches me, everything you teach me, Geralt, Eskel… I’ll get strong enough that I can protect people. Save people, you know, just like you do.”

“Yes,” Coën said, smiling. “You will be the greatest of us. Now, drink your juice. It’s past bedtime and Lambert wants me to teach you the crossbow tomorrow.”

“He does?”

“I found him stuffing targets only an hour ago.”

She squealed with excitement and downed her juice. He carried her to bed shortly after, tucking the heavy furs around her narrow frame. But that night sleep wouldn’t reach him; he listened to the others snore as he stared at the ceiling, thinking of orphans, monsters and war.

Come spring, he would head to the front, Coën decided. He could not stand by. He would rise above. He would become more.

#the witcher #witcher lambert #witcher coën #cirilla fiona elen riannon #blood of elves #missing scene #witcher books #witcher games #coën/lambert

[cardierreh15]

Phoenix: Story of the Lost Fire Princess

Hi everyone! I’m back! Here’s Chapter 4 of Phoenix! Enjoy ❤️‍🔥

**I do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Cursing , Drinking , Violence , Nudity , Mentions of Loss , THE FEELS 🥺💔 , Angst ,

Pairing : Geralt Of Rivia x Phoenix (Curvy African American Woman) (With Guest Stars: Coën, Lambert, Vesemir)

Description: Days after their ambush, Phoenix & Geralt make their way back to Kaer Morhen where she meets those who helped change his life.

Word Count: 3.9K

Chapter 4: Kaer Morhen

The two of them rode in a comfortable silence. Phoenix was to busy taking in her surroundings as, she had never been on this side of the continent before. Even though everything was pretty much the same, having a new companion, made everything seem all the more — different.

‘Hmm, you’re rather chatty today.’ He said softly, with a slight bit of playfulness. He glanced back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of her looking down at the shimmering snow.

‘Perhaps I do not have much to say today Witcher. You should pay attention to the path before you get us lost.’ She argued back, her own little playful taunt.

Geralt smirked at her remark, ‘Lost? I know this Terrain better than I know the bestiary of this Continent,’ he looked back, ‘You should put some trust in me Princess.’ And he looked ahead once again.

Phoenix rolled her eyes as a smirk curled on her lips, ‘Hmph.’ She breathe out. Her caramel eyes once again found that sparkling white snow again. This time in the trees. And the way the sun shone down on it, — it was breathtaking. It was like looking at diamonds! It was so white and — untouched! As if no one had ever traveled this far before.

It was unfortunate that she never got to take in this bustling and beautiful world around her. She was always on a time limit. Always on her toes. Minding the twins and running from those who wish to seek her harm. Or worse— bring her back to her kingdom, defenseless.

***

Riding from the protection of the trees up above, Geralt and Phoenix had finally come to a stop in a open field that turned into snow covered mountains. And hiding in plain sight, a place she had thought she’d never see in person, was sitting there awaiting their arrival.

Phoenix clutched the reins tightly in her palms as her chest shook with shock and anticipation. She finally opened her mouth, and a small cloud of fog disappeared before her.

‘Phoenix, this is—‘

‘Kaer Morhen.’ She stared up at the fortress as if it were to burst into flames! It was old as time, (or it had seem to be) destroyed by the trials of time and weather. Or maybe—

Geralt looked over at Phoenix. Watching as her emotions shown like a picture book on her beautiful features. ‘Home.’

She looked over at him with her plumped lips pressed together in approval. ‘After you. I am your guest, after all.’

He had given her a simple nod and kicked at Roach’s side, taking off towards the path that lead up to the fortress. And Phoenix had followed suit.

***

After pulling their horses to a stop and dismounting them, the both of them made sure to tie them up, and remove all of their equipment to bring inside with them. Phoenix was enthralled to learn more about this place! Things that the books wouldn’t tell or her father’s Golden Knight, Levy, refused to explain. She looked around, noticing more debris lying about. Large rocks, broken statues, and one thing that caught her eye in particularly. The remains of a.. Griffin?

‘Geralt is that a—‘

Geralt smirked and looked over at her with slight confusion, ‘A Griffin? Yes.’

Phoenix had dropped everything that she held. Her weapons, her travel kit, her knitted blanket— EVERYTHING— and quickly rushed over to the icy bones. She dropped to her knees, fast breaths leaving her lips. She popped the button on her wrist and removed her her glove.

With the warmth of her hand now gone, she shuddered at the brisk feel. She could have used her power to warm up her palm, but she wanted to feel all of this. This whole moment, she wanted to remember how everything felt. So she placed her palm on the skull of the skeleton and she had never felt so enlightened before. Phoenix let out a scuff, with thick tears filling her eyes. All of this was like a dream to her.

Geralt had picked up her valuables and walked over to her, ‘decades ago. A father, seeking the revenge for his mate and offspring. When Griffin’s mate, they—‘

‘Mate for a lifetime.’ She said softly, loud enough for him to hear but so softly. Phoenix looked over her shoulder, up at him with wet eyes. ‘He only wanted justice. Were there any innocent lives slain?’

Geralt pressed his lips together and give her a nod. ‘Mmm.’

‘Then — you did what was right.’ She sniffed and looked back down at the skull before slowly standing to her feet. ‘This is— stellar.’

Geralt chuckled, ‘If you say so. Come, there’s warmth inside.’ And he jerked his head towards the large doors. Phoenix smiled softly and followed the tall broody man towards the doors.

As they walked inside, the hall was bustling with noise and men chattering. Phoenix was too busy taking in the place to truly pay attention to the conversations. All until it got deathly quiet. She knew then, that the attention was on the both of them.

To be frank, it was eerie. Phoenix swallowed her spit and stepped a tad bit closer to Geralt as they all stood to their feet. ‘Don’t you worry. They’re all harmless.’ He smirked, reassuring her.

‘BLOODY HELL!’ One with ginger curly hair exclaimed, walking over to the both of them. ‘Took you long enough shit head!’ And he embraced Geralt in a tight hug. Once she knew the coast was clear, Phoenix stepped to the side, allowing his Witcher brother’s to welcome him back home. All until—

‘Aye, You’ve brought a guest?’ Another had asked, a bald black man with a blind eye and an intriguing smile. The rest of the men had immediately turned their attention to the woman who stood only a mere few feet away from Geralt. ‘This is Princess Phoenix of Jedajél.’

The room grew quiet once again. Until she waved her hand once, ‘Hello, gentlemen. It’s an honor.’ And it was! She wanted to be a Witcher when she was a little girl. Be the first woman that endured the Trial of the Grasses. But her life steered her in a different direction.

‘Haven’t gotten enough of bringin’ princesses around eh?’ The ginger asked. Geralt’s eyes narrowed and his lips frowned up, ‘aye, aye— relax. I’m only fuckin’ around. Aye, Princess? Anyone who is a friend to Geralt, is a friend of ours!’ And the room erupted with a glorious roar.

That alone was enough to make Phoenix smile. She had never truly been welcomed anywhere. Maybe this was where she was intended to be.

The noises of footsteps had captured her attention. They were not synchronized so there were two people. And one sounded lighter than the other. ‘Ahhh, wolf— you’re home.’ All of the men stepped to the side, looking back at a older male with gray shoulder length hair. Standing next to him, was a young girl. Ashen hair— eyes as green as emeralds. This was the girl. The girl that the continent had literally stopped for. Princess Cirilla of Cintra. And she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Ciri had taken long strides over to him and embraced him in what had seem to be a tighter hug than what his brother’s had given him. And Geralt had returned that hug, in the same manner. ‘Welcome back, Geralt.’

He had pulled away from her, his large hands now resting on her arms and a proud smile on his lips. ‘It’s good to be back Ciri,’ then he paused, his head gently falling to the side as his smile had disappeared. Phoenix studied them— their body language. He was no different than a biological father. Even at first glance you’d think she was his. With all that strange beauty. ‘Ciri?’

Ciri’s smile had faltered as well, in worrisome as if she was in trouble. Her eyebrows tugged in together as if she was trying to understand the shift in energy, ‘Yes?’

Phoenix braced herself. Waiting.

‘Have you done something different to your hair?’

Ugh, he was liable to give someone a heart attack with his antics.

Phoenix had rolled her eyes and silently giggled, her head falling forward.

Ciri halfway blinked before giving her father a happy grin, ‘Indeed. It looks like yours almost.’

‘See? I knew it looked familiar. Very nice, Cirilla.’ And he gave her head a gentle, loving pat before he glanced over to see Phoenix taking in all this — joy. Cirilla then followed his glare. ‘Who is this?’ She asked.

Phoenix stood up straight, gently clearing her throat as the two came closer. ‘Ciri, this is Princess Phoenix of Jedajél. Phoenix this is—‘

‘The Legendary Lion Cub of Cintra. I— my Gods!.’ She reached out towards the girl and grasp her smaller hands in hers. They were callused. Rough as if she had been a knight instead of a princess. The same kind of hands Phoenix had. She gave them a gentle and loving squeeze, ‘It’s a pleasure, Cirilla.’

Even with the power Phoenix wielded, she knew that Cirilla could flip this world inside out with out the effort. And with that, she felt an familiar urge around Ciri. One that was similar to the twins. One to protect.

Ciri gave Phoenix a smile, intrigued by the news. ‘I wasn’t aware that there was any Princesses in Jedajél. They said that she was dead.’

Phoenix scuffed and nodded, ‘Of course they did. I was Princess before your time darling. I don’t really like to carry the title anymore though. Way too much authority for me.’ She giggled, placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at Geralt.

Geralt looked over at her with a nod in understanding, but in reality— he was trying to hide that smirk that was cracking at the corners of his lips.

Ciri smiled softly, glancing between the two. She couldn’t tell if there was something going on between Phoenix and Geralt. From how it looked, they appeared to be friends. But, leave it to her to snoop around for clues and theories. ‘How did you two meet?’

‘Well,—‘

‘It’s a story that can be shared once we all meet for dinner. I don’t know about you Phoenix but, our travels have caught up with us. We’re starting to smell like it.’

Phoenix’s eyebrows tugged together and looked down at her shoulder, pinched at her blouse and did a quick sniff. And she was absolutely mortified! ‘Augh! How is it that we still smell like The Gwellech?’ She whispered in slight embarrassment.

‘SINCE WHEN WAS IT THAT YOU CARED ABOUT YOUR STENCH?!’ The ginger called out before he took a sip of his ale.

Geralt’s head snapped over and that devious grin had curled on his lips, ‘Since when did you possess such a big mouth, Lambert? Oh I forgot! You’ve always had it!’ The room erupted with laughter.

Ciri watched Phoenix as the woman did her best to control her laughter. ‘Vesemir always keeps extra gowns for his guests…’ she implied, ‘That’s if you’d like to smell like drowners and week old onions.’ And she gave Phoenix a half smile. Phoenix gasped softly and looked over at Ciri, ‘Oh dear! Do I smell that bad?’ And she lifted her arm this time, she didn’t have to dip her head down to smell. It had hit her in the face like a ton of bricks. ‘Oh-‘ she gagged, ‘OK, I’ll take your word for it.’

***

Knock, Knock— ‘Come in.’ She said softly as she sat in that large wooden tub. It was filled with decent warm water but she was able to bring it to a gentle boil so her body could relax. Ciri pushed open the door gently with towels in her hands, ‘I’ve just come to drop these off. They’re not… what we’re used to but, they’ll do.’ And she sat down on the wooden stool.

‘Thank you Cirilla. But trust me, I’ve been handed worse. These are fine.’ Phoenix chuckled and pressed her lips together before her head fell back against the tub. Her eyes were closed. She finally felt like she could truly, rest!

Well, not exactly.

‘You know it’s hard to relax when someone is burning a hole in your head with their eyes. Speak child.’

Ciri’s eyebrows raised in surprise a little, ‘i suppose I could have given you some privacy.’ But would she? She was too— interested to know about this woman. But it grew quiet again. She only wanted to ask a question… one that would answer all of the ones she had. ‘What happened to you?’

Phoenix’s eyes flashed open and she sat up. She stared at her with soft eyes. She had knew what Ciri had lost as well. Though the circumstances were different, she couldn’t help but feel the same… two princesses, hated because of what they were, loved because the good they’ve done. Their families stripped away from them like a patch on unhealed wound.

‘You know when I was younger than you Cirilla, I dreamed of becoming a Knight. I loved the idea so much that my father made it his business to have his Golden Knight train me like a orphan off of the street.’ She scoffed and shook her head slightly, ‘When I got older— I looked into becoming a Witcher. I read everything, what it would take— the risks. But then my father met my The Kingdom’s mage. She got in close, told me that it was my destiny to be Queen. That I was born for this and that I was the one and true heir to the throne. Hell, she even taught me how to manage and control my own chaos! But there are snakes always lurking in the grass.’ Phoenix lifted her hand out of the water, channeling that warm energy to her palm. And a bright orange ball of flames appeared in her hand.

Ciri slowly stood up from her stool and kneeled down in front of the tub. Her bright green eyes gazed at the burning ball as if it were going to disappear into thin air! ‘You have it too… chaos.’

Phoenix breathe out with a soft smile curling on her lips, ‘I — wouldn’t call it that. Sure it is chaotic… but for me, it’s a gift.’ And the orange ball of flames turned blue.

Ciri smiled softly, at a loss of words. ‘Then?’

‘My father married her when I was around your age. And she fell pregnant 8 months before my 18th birthday. And the day before my birthday— my father was found murdered in his chambers. She placed the blame on me. Had everyone question my loyalty and manipulated them into believing that I was jealous and angry that it was possible that my father could have a son. The kingdom figured I wanted revenge— so I left and never came back. I’ve had a bounty on my head ever since.’ With her last words, she finally closed her palm, and the blue flame had finally died out.

Ciri’s green eyes glanced from her fist, to her face. She could tell that it still bothered her. Her eyes were sad, and her aura was blue. ‘What about your mother? What happened to her?’

‘She died from influenza when I was 10…’ her brown eyes finally met Ciri’s face once again.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I was pretty young when my parents died too…’ she paused, ‘Do you remember her? Do you miss her?’

The thought of her mother made Phoenix’s heart grow 10 times the size! Her mother was noble, intelligent, kind, brave— and most of all, she loved her only daughter with her every fiber. She sniffed, blinking back tears. ‘Every day Ciri, every day.’

Cirilla’s head forward, looking down in her own reflection of the water. ‘I don’t remember much of my parents. But my grand mother was my everything. She was strong, wise and she— only wanted to protect me.’

Phoenix nodded with a smirk, ‘Yes. Queen Calanthe of Cintra. She was a force! I am terribly sorry for your loss, Lion Cub,’ she leaned forward and gently placed her finger tips beneath her chin to lift her head, ‘Had she been here today to see you— she would be so proud of you. I know it.’ Ciri’s eyes filled with thick tears as a sweet smile curled on her lips.

Then, a sudden knock interrupted the moment. ‘Cirilla,’ and Geralt walked through the door, with soft yellow robes in his fist, ‘Are you antagonizing our company?’ Ciri cleared her throat and stood up. ‘She’s fine Geralt. We were just having a heart to heart.’ Geralt glanced from Phoenix to Ciri who had just a half smile. ‘Hmm, go get cleaned up for dinner. Lambert is making it.’

Ciri rolled her eyes, ‘lovely,’ she said in a sarcastic tone and started towards the door, ‘Gross.’

Phoenix let out a gentle chuckle, shaking her head. ‘You’re too hard on that girl.’ She took the bar of soap and started washing her body off.

‘Only to protect her. It gets the job done.’ He said leaning against the wall.

‘Oh look at you… sounding like a father…’

‘Hmph, unfortunately.’

‘You know it causes her to rebel,’ she paused for a second, watching as his face mold into something more treacherous. ‘Look, I know — how special Ciri is. I can… feel it when I’m near her. How powerful she is. But if you become too strict and allow the roles of power and parenting to mix— it won’t end pretty. Not for you. Not for this world.’

Geralt stood there with his arms folded in silence.

Phoenix sucked at her teeth, ‘fine. Don’t listen to me then.’ And she started rinsing her body off. She then stood up, stretching out her curvaceous body as she did so. She then reached over and grabbed the white, red wine stained towel and patted down her body before completely wrapping it around her bare breasts. Geralt stared. As he always did when he saw her naked.

‘You could always paint a picture, Witcher,’ her back was turned, ‘It may last longer.’ She smirked.

He rolled his eyes and stood up straight, ‘Well it’s too bad my brushes no longer have their bristles.’ Such a smart ass. ‘I only wish to bring you this.’ And he placed the folded up dress on the stool. ‘Don’t take too long Princess. The wine and ale will be gone before it touches the table top.’ He smirked as he turned away and walked out of the bathroom.

***

Phoenix sucked in a deep breath, sucking in that tummy as she reached behind her to tighten that corset in the back. She had forgotten what it was like to wear things like this. Even though the fortress was in ruin, Vesemir had seem to have the finest of threads when it came down to the women.

Once she was done, she finally took a breath in relief and walked over to the mirror. She smooth out her the fabric on her stomach, stood up straight and walked out of the bathroom.

She listened to them. Their obnoxious laughter could navigate her even through the darkest of nights without her powers. And when she drew closer to the main hall, she swallowed her spit and held her chin high.

There it was again. The silence. All those eyes glaring at her from across the room as if she was a fish out of water. But she stared back, showing them that she wasn’t the one to be frightened. Only they weren’t trying to scare her.

Suddenly, Ciri grabbed her hand. ‘Come. You can come sit with me and Geralt.’ Phoenix looked over at Ciri with a gentle smile, ‘I would love to.’ And the girls started towards the end of the table. As they walked, some of the men cat called and whistled after her. Things she had heard before but—

‘Well. I did wonder what was beneath all of those rags and to say to least, I’m impressed!’ Lambert said and the room went into an uproar of laughter.

Phoenix took a deep breath as she sat down in front of Geralt. ‘Knock it off Lambert.’ He was munching on a piece of meat. He didn’t dare look up or bat an eye though. It was like— he was in charge almost?

‘Aw shit brother! We’re just poking a lil’ fun. Pokin’.’ And the room rattled with laughter again. Ciri rolled her eyes and placed her hand on top of Phoenix’s, ‘Don’t pay him mind Phoenix. He’s a lonely old coot. When ever he sees a pretty girl, he says stupid things.’ She murmured as she popped a piece of bread in her mouth.

Phoenix chuckled and nodded, ‘I see.’ She reached over and took a piece of bread. But before she could pop it in her mouth, she heard twinkling. Chiming like charms. She didn’t realize how she’d missed it before.

She placed her bread down back into the bowl and stood up to her feet. She then carefully stepped over the bench and started to walk over to the The Witcher’s Medallion Tree.

Finally when she stood in front of it, she took notice of how many medallions that hung. She knew about the Sacking of Kaer Morhen— when the humans had come to rid them of their existence— but since then, they have seem to have lost so many more. There had to be at least 100 there.

Phoenix reached up to grab the closest one in her reach between her finger tips. Her thumb ran over the cold wolf engraved silver. As if she needed anymore proof that she was here, taking refuge here at the School of the Wolf.

‘You seem so fond of this place,’ Geralt said as he walked up behind her. ‘If you’d like we could always trade places? You slay the monsters for coin, and I get to sit on a throne, making demands all day.’ He scuffed and folded his arms.

Phoenix smirked and let go of the medallion, ‘Is that what you think ruling a kingdom is all about?’ She raised a brow, ‘I didn’t know you were interested in becoming King.’ She looked up at him, with her head slightly fallen to the side.

‘Hmm, I’m not. Too much responsibility. I’m just now trying to figure this Child of Surprise thing out— sure you don’t expect me to run a Kingdom?’ He smirked.

She inhaled slightly and tan her fingers through her thick curls, ‘Ahhh, yes.’ Then she turned to look back towards the Tree. ‘You— had to be young when the Sacking of Kaer Morhen happened. How many were there?’

Geralt looked up at the tree, ‘23 Witchers… 40 students…and over time more medallions were added to the Tree.’

Phoenix pressed her lips together, her heart squeezing in her chest. How could someone hurt such promising young souls. Most of them knew of nothing they did! Humans and their fear never did anyone good, now there weren’t many Witcher’s left to protect them from what hid in the darkness of night.

‘At least they will be remembered. My father’s Golden Knight, Levy, told me the stories and read me the books,’ she scuffed, ‘Treated them as if they were horror stories but, I was much more intrigued on how to become one and why women weren’t allowed.’ She turned around to face him again.

‘We have our reasons. Will you join us now?’

Phoenix pressed her lips together, 'I will join you and Ciri in a second.' she looked back at the tree one more time as Geralt turned away and walked back towards the table. She stared up at the tree, getting lost in the sounds of the gentle jingling. Then a gentle smile curled on her full lips. This was all, in the strangest of ways, a dream come true.

#witcher geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #witcher x black plus size female reader #Geralt x Phoenix #Princess Cirilla #Cirilla of cintra #cirilla fiona elen riannon #The continent #Lambert #Vesemir #Kaer morhen #coën #coën/lambert #black woman #henry cavill x black plus size woman #pyrokinesis #fire bringer #their chaos

[witcher-trash]

Witcher Fic Recs 19

A Friendly Game of Gwent (coën/gaetan, explicit, complete, 4k) What was supposed to be a friendly game of strip Gwent quickly turns heated when Gaetan wins his second round and earns Coën's shirt on the floor. It's hard not to stare and even harder not to touch.

A Light No More (Warritt-centric, explicit, complete, 2k) Sometimes contracts go wrong, especially if you're a young, cocky witcher. There's always a cost, but for Warritt, the price was higher than expected.

An Open Door - The Other Side (eskel/lambert, explicit, complete, 5k) After preparing an herbal tea designed to nearly paralyze the user, Geralt asks Eskel to test it. It works swimmingly, so Geralt takes it to Jaskier's open door. Lambert stays with Eskel and works him through the night.

as the world comes to an end (coën-centric, teen, complete, 2k) There’s a wet, squelching sound behind him, and Coën ducks on instinct, rolls, scrambles back to his feet and dashes off at a right angle. He can hear wood splinter, close enough that the shavings rain down on his head, and he lengthens his stride to put more distance between himself and the low, guttural moan that he can almost feel at the back of his neck. Fuck. That was too close.

Beekeeper AUs - series (yennefer/jaskier, geralt/jaskier, aiden/lambert, eskel/letho, teen, 14k) several fics about different ships - and with bees!

Delayed (eskel, lambert, explicit, complete, 9k) When a liberating change of scenery at Eskel's fingertips is ripped away, Lambert steps in with comfort and a few ideas for how to make the winter palatable.

Free Bird (geralt/yennefer, teen, complete, 2k) Lambert's first visit to Geralt in Toussaint was heralded by angry screeching.

How Far We've Come (jaskier/lambert, mature, wip, 7k) Jaskier takes a summer job working on a farm to escape the disapproval of his father. He's struggling to fit in with the other young people looking to party and has resigned himself to a long, boring few months stacking rhubarb. He expects to go crawling home with his tail between his legs come autumn, but a chance meeting with another migrant worker changes all that.

If Tomorrow Comes (eskel & lambert, gen, complete, 3k) The Trial of the Grasses looms, and the knowledge of what's likely to come plagues both Geralt and Eskel's minds. They try to find some small comforts in each other, trying to decide on things to do should they both survive. If they both survive.

Of rookie mistakes and broken ribs (eskel/lambert, teen, complete, 4k) “Come on, we’re almost there. See? That’s the entrance. Just -- hold on, all right?” Lambert nods with a small huff. Bad idea: huffing sends a jolt of searing pain through his already hurting chest, knocking his breath off and making him see stars for a while. “‘M not dying, Eskel”, he objects, though gasping for air. Eskel shoots him a disapproving glance and shakes his head, probably amazed about how reckless he is, although being long past the appropriate age for such bullshit like activating a goddamn explosive trap while trying to scratch some silver from a rock. Now Lambert would like to chuckle again, but he’s afraid his knees will buckle for the pain if he just tried. “Shut up, please, before I finish the job instead of taking care of your sorry ass.”

Silver Moon Sparkling (arnaghad/erland, gen, complete, 2k) soft Arnaghad/Erland

Soft the Stars (aiden/lambert, explicit, complete, 2k) Lambert visits a certain cave outside Posada on two separate Saovine nights, each quite different from the other. He finds a bit of comfort in both.

The Comfort of a Bear (eskel/geralt, explicit, complete, 9k) Last week, I met a Bear... Witcher, Geralt wrote, adding the last word after a moment's pause. It wasn't an inaccurate description, but neither was the first. Eskel was a Bear in every sense of the word, but oh, he was so much more.

The Eighth Knightly Virtue (coën/lambert, explicit, complete, 6k) Lambert hadn’t known a lot of people like Coën. The Continent was a torid place full of people with dual purpose and multiple faces, and Lambert had grown up learning to navigate it well enough to protect his own interests; the trick was to always expect the double cross. No one could be trusted to mean what they said and there was always an ulterior motive. Even the most kindly face would screw you over at the first available opportunity, which is why Lambert had spent his first few years of knowing Coën waiting for the other boot to drop. Or: Lambert falls in love with Coën very fucking slowly, and then shakily confesses after getting railed (and then we see Coën's point of view too).

The Give Away (iorveth/roche, explicit, wip, 35k) Fifteen years after their conflict in Flotsam, Iorveth and Vernon Roche have crossed paths once more. It's not a happy union. Roche has a few new truths that Iorveth would've preferred he'd kept buried, and Iorveth has a ring on his finger that Roche would rather not think too hard about. Yet more worrisome still, they really need to find a way home. (And they've gotta do it before October 20th, but that's none of Roche's business.)

The Viscount de Fucking Lettenhove (geralt & jaskier, explicit, wip, 22k, non-con: please read all the tags!) Something (or someone) has killed the Viscount de Lettenhove and is picking off his heirs. Convinced to intervene by a cryptic message, Jaskier takes Geralt back to his childhood home. Now they have to untangle an ancient prophesy, forbidden magic, secrets and sibling rivalries to solve the murders before it's Jaskier's turn on the chopping block.

When Bear Stepped Clear of Bear (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 26k) The nameless things Geralt wants and needs don’t have much of a place in his life until Jaskier shows up.

Wir 💛 Lebensmittel (geralt/jaskier, gen, complete, 1k, this fic is in German and I love it very much!) Geralt will eigentlich nur seine Pfandflaschen zurückbringen. Wer hätte denn ahnen können, dass ausgerechnet der Edekamitarbeiter, der sich um den kaputten Pfandflaschenautomaten kümmert, so verdammt attraktiv ist?

You Make Me Shiver, I Feel So Tender (aiden/lambert, teen, complete, 5k) Every day Aiden spent with Lambert, he was handed a single page drawing of foliage.

#the witcher #geraskier #lamden #jaskier #geralt #coën #coën/gaetan #warritt #eskel/lambert #yennefer/jaskier #eskel/letho #arnaghad/erland #jaskier/lambert #iorveth/roche #coën/lambert #eskel/geralt #eskel #lambert #fic recs #trash speaking

[brighteyedjill]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Relationships: Coën/Lambert (The Witcher) Additional Tags: I Shook A Witcher And Intergenerational Trauma Fell Out (The Witcher), canon-typical child endangerment, Near Drowning, Bathing/Washing, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Cuddling & Snuggling, Found Family, Witcher Medallions (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Hurt/Comfort, Self Confidence Issues, there's a tiny bit of video game canon mixed in but it's mostly netflix, Minor Character Death Summary:

Coen was only coming to Kaer Morhen this late because he’d had to take a week to heal enough to travel, after having been nearly disemboweled by a wraith. And the wraith had only gotten the drop on him because he hadn’t had any warning she was even there. And he hadn’t been given any warning that the wraith was there because a month before, a harpy had caught Coen’s medallion in her claws before Coen stabbed her through the heart and dumped them both out of the sky and into a lake. Coen had dived for the bottom again and again, searching. But the medallion had disappeared into the murky depths, as thoroughly lost as every other trace of the Griffin School.

Coen loses his Griffin medallion, and Lambert wants to make it better.

--------

This fic contains

Sadness about the loss of the Griffin School

Sex in the hot springs

Vesemir leading old Wolf School rituals

A wee mention of Voltehre

Lambert conspiring to do something nice and then pretending he didn’t

Check it out!

#lambert may act like a dick bu he secretly just wants to love and be loved #and isn't that always the way? #coën/lambert #coen/lambert #the witcher netflix #the witcher #my fic #more coen more coen more coen!

[random-apollo-child]

Jaskier chillin in kaer morhen singing with Geralt laughing and hanging his arms around him

Lambert: Is Geralt laughing how does the bard make him laugh

Yennefer: I don't know they have known each other for years almost 24 years I think

Coën: 24 years? Jeez how the hell did they meet and when did they meet?

Jaskier: You know you can just ask us, right? Yennefer doesn't have all the details

Lambert: Ok then how did you guys meet

Jaskier: Well Geralt was brooding in the corner of a tav-

Geralt: I was not brooding

Jaskier: Bull shit now let me finish, now. Geralt was brooding in the corner of a tavern when young and finish 18 year old me saw him and started to follow him and he never got rid of me

Geralt: Hell I had to save his life once remember that Yen?

Yennefer: Oh how could I forget about what you guys say is your biggest argument (in a moking tone) "how's my singing Geralt" "it's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling" "you- you need a nap"

Jaskier: Oh ha ha ha very fucking funny

Geralt: Yennefer shut the fuck up

*The other witchers cracking up"

@help-help-i-need-an-adult

#jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #the witcher #witcher geralt #julian alfred pankratz #witcher dandelion #geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #coën #coen #lambert #witcher lambert

[jay-arts-t]

Sometimes I just like to think about what it could've been if Geralt had gotten Ciri right after Pavetta and Duny died. If Calanthe was so weighed down by grief she realizes she can't take care of Ciri. So she orders Moussack to go find Geralt to collect Ciri. Imagining Geralt in a random tavern somewhere in Temeria, slowly making his way up to Kaer Morhen for the winter as autumn is approaching. Him having a gut feeling he should head up early, he thinks it's because something is wrong with Vesemir so he's anxious to make it through. But Roach needs to rest and well, it wouldn't hurt to get some extra supplies for the winter. Certainly wouldn't hurt to get some extra booze so he has relief from Lambert's grating voice on his ears. Besides, he and Eskel can stay up late and drink to their hearts content up in his room like they used to sneak around when they were teens.

Then out of the blue he sees Moussack, and dread fills his entire body. He doesn't keep up with news outside of what Dandelion tells him. So when Moussack is telling him Calanthe is summoning him he's thinking "oh fuck, she's changed her mind and is going to execute me."

But Moussack reassures him he's not going to be harmed. Calanthe is asking for him because of his child surprise. And now Geralt is really worried. What happened to them? Are they okay? Are they hurt? Did they die? They're only a few months old, there's so much that could've gone wrong. So he agrees to go with Moussack.

Calanthe looks a mess when Geralt sees her. Eist is by her side as always, trying to comfort her. Pavetta and Duny are nowhere in sight and it's making Geralt extremely antsy. Calanthe tells him the news, her voice is hoarse from all the crying she's been doing. Geralt sympathizes with them, gives them his condolences. And then that's when he realizes "oh. OH. OH NO". Sure enough Calanthe tells him she can't take care of herself, how could she care for a baby. Geralt refutes telling her "they're your grandchild, I don't want to rip them away-" and Calanthe tells him then it's a girl. And for a split second his brain gives the helpful thought of "oh I have a daughter" and Geralt is having an internal meltdown right there in the throne room. But he can't refuse. His entire basis for not coming back and claiming her is because she has a family who cares about her. But now that family is saying that they can't care for her, not because they don't love her, but because they do. So Geralt agrees to take her.

The first time he meets her he is entirely captivated by how small and precious she is. The moment he holds her he feels overwhelmed with such a fierce protectiveness and he can't help but absolutely adore her. He is trying so hard to stay stoic and unemotional but the moment he's alone with Ciri back in that old tavern he'd been at he just holds her and smiles. If he'd been a normal man, he probably would've burst into tears by how happy he was. (he did later once she got settled into Kaer Morhen, when he and Eskel did end up drinking up in his room. They're talking about the usual things, and then he looked over to her in her makeshift crib and just started bawling. Eskel freaks out and asks him what's wrong and he replies "I just love her so much."... Yes Eskel teared up.)

Then he has to go through the lovely moments of "how the fuck do you raise a baby" which Vesemir watches with so much amusement. Geralt raided most of Kaer Morhen's library and Nenneke's office for books about parenting. (Kaer Morhen has none, unsurprisingly.) He eventually asks Eskel to go to Oxenfurt and grab Dandelion and any books about parenting, childhood development, psychology and women's health he can find. (He is DREADING eventually having The Talk with Ciri but he won't be unprepared.) Dandelion is completely awestruck with Kaer Morhen of course however, nothing shocks him more than seeing Geralt looking bone tired with a 5 month old baby wailing in his arms, trying to soothe her.

"uh... What ya got there, Geralt?"

"H e l p."

Where's Yennefer? What about Yennefer?? Geralt is hesitant at first to even tell Yennefer he has a kid. But she sends him a letter one day, asking him where he is now that it's coming up on spring. (Ciri's first bday!!! Yay!!!! Also oh gods planning a birthday?!?!?!?? That's a thing??????) So he does tell her, and she understandably to her character demands to see this child surprise. So again, sends Eskel on out (pls Geralt, he's your childhood best friend, not your errand boy.) to go get Yennefer. Yennefer storms through the main hall, not even acknowledging Lambert and Vesemir, and right up to Geralt. How did she manage to find her way through the halls without ever being there before? Geralt doesn't know and he's scared by it. Yennefer spots Ciri, who's doing her tummy time. To which she's very fussy about and gives the nastiest glares an almost 1 year old can to her father. Yennefer is absolutely gobsmacked that Geralt was being genuine. She points to Ciri, then to Geralt, then back to Ciri, to Geralt.

"YOU?????? HOW????"

"I'm really bad at making jokes."

Yennefer adores Ciri, but Ciri is a little skeptical of her. Who is this strange woman????? Where is her dad?????? Where's her other dad (Dandelion)???? How dare she smell nice and be warm???? Ugh as if she'd let her feed her!!! No way! Yennefer is always completely drenched with baby food whenever she attempts to feed Ciri. Geralt tries so hard not to laugh at her. Ciri is absolutely seething by the end of it and is only contained when Geralt picks her up and holds her securely. Then it's like little devil Ciri never existed, she's all smiles and babbling happily to her dad. Yennefer gets really disheartened over it. Late at night she ends up crying over it, thinking it wouldn't matter if she was able to have kids or not; Ciri proves she'd be a horrible mother anyway. Geralt doesn't know what to say at first, but he knows it's not true. Yennefer is trying her best, it's just that Ciri is really fussy. She even fusses sometimes when Dandelion holds her. He tries to comfort Yen, and ends up deciding the best thing to do is hold her and tell her that she's doing amazing. He doesn't think she believes him because she's still got a very somber look on her face the next day. She becomes reluctant to take up care of Ciri because of the incident. Well about after the third day of this Ciri gets fussy again. Geralt is taking a well deserved nap day. He's back in his room snoozing away. Yennefer and Dandelion are with Ciri in the library, one of the warmest places in the keep. Dandelion wipes his hands of the ink that stains them and picks her up and checks if she's soiled. She isn't, so he asks if she's hungry. She thrashes around in his hold and turns in search of Yennefer and starts grabbing towards her. So Dandelion hands her over to Yen. The moment Ciri's resting against Yennefer she settles down.

"huh, guess she just wanted her mommy." Dandelion comments and Yennefer starts crying. (Dandelion's face morphed from aww to OH FUCK)

The bigger Ciri gets the more rambunctious and energetic. Geralt couldn't be prouder that they're all raising her to be genuine to herself and that they've broken the generational trauma. Vesemir pats Geralt on the shoulder one day and tells him "I'm proud of you, Wolf" and damn, if that doesn't make him want to cry. He doesn't of course, only meeting Ciri made him cry from joy. And oh how she gives Lambert a run for his money. It's hilarious to see a 60-something year old argue with a 4 year old. They get into the most stupid arguments too. "blue is better than red!" Or "I'm taller than you" which is the most absurd because it's always Ciri who starts it. Geralt thinks it's because Lambert is the shortest besides Vesemir. But Vesemir has only become short due to his old age, and Ciri already gives him a hard time for that. ("Why are you so fat and old? Aren't you a Witcher like Daddy?" She said once and Vesemir just paused and looked at her like "why would you say that to me". She burst into a giggle fit at his crushed expression.)

The argument will always, without fail, go:

C: I'm taller than you.

L: no you're not? I'm 5'11!

C: well I'm 8 feet tall!!!!

L: more like 2 feet tall!

C: NO! SEE

Then she'll stand on the chair so she towers over Lambert.

L: fine well I'm older.

C: no??? My birthday is first

L: NO ITS NOT?

C: YEAH IT IS

L: NO APRIL IS BEFORE MAY. AND IM 67, YOU'RE 4

C: uhhhhh I hate to break it to you, but no you're not. You've been lied to your whole life.

L: W H AT WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE????

C: uhmmmmm god.

Then when Coën finally meets one of the Wolves and comes up to Kaer Morhen he's shocked to see someone so young. At the time Ciri was around 7. She calls him ugly and walks away to the stables. Coën is just left flabbergasted while Lambert and Eskel are laughing their asses off. Geralt apologizes to him, while trying to hold in his laughter. Coën becomes like an older brother to Ciri, and he gets on her good side by helping her prank Lambert.

When Ciri hits 12 she does get her period, and Geralt is like "OH GOD OH FUCK HOW DO I TALK TO HER ABOUT THIS I DONT WANT TO MAKE IT-" and Yennefer walks into the room and goes "I told her, we're good."

Then comes the "boy talk" Where Ciri brought up that a character in a romance book was attractive and Geralt went into "No one is good enough for my baby girl" dad mode and brashly announced "you're not allowed to date boys until you're 21."

Yennefer slaps him on the arm and Ciri looks at him almost offended.

"jokes on you I don't even know if I LIKE boys. Maybe I just like this character's personality." She replies sassily. Geralt cannot argue with that logic. (And yes 2 months later, she goes on a day trip with Yen and talks to a girl her age. She comes back and Geralt asks her how it went and she says "I definitely like girls." And walks up to her room to take a nap. Geralt celebrates as soon as she leaves "YES!!! I DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT SOME BRUTE MESSING WITH MY DAUGHTER FUCK YEAH" Yennefer reminds him that some women are just as bad and he crumples to the floor in agony. Now he has to worry about brutish women hurting his daughter.)

Essentially, I just love that Geralt has a daughter, and that he's so proud of her and loves her so much. Their relationship is just so 🥹❤️ I adore them.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #dandelion #yennefer #vesemir #papa vesemir #peepaw vesemir #dadralt #lambert #eskel #coën #calanthe of cintra #eist #moussack #geralt best dad award #he just loves his daughter so much #gerlion #yenralt #oh god whats the ship name for book yen geralt and dandelion????? #book! yennefer x geralt x dandelion #the witcher saga #the witcher books #ciri #cirilla of vengerberg #ciri introducing herself like “I HAVE 3 PARENTS WHAT DO I GO BY????? CIRI WHAT? OF RIVIA? OF VENGERBERG? PANKRATZ???” its a dilemma.

[minne-cerbinna]

I'm playing TW1 again and I have thoughts about this tiny little sequence in the Chapter 2 quest "Memories of a Blade", which amounts to the only mention of Coën in the game.

When undertaking this quest, Geralt is investigating the origin of the silver sword he was given to slay a cockatrice; he mistakenly believes that it might be Berengar's sword since he knows the other witcher to have been in the area. A conversation with Thaler, from whom the sword was confiscated by the guard, will lead him eventually to speak to the Gardener outside St. Lebioda's hospital in Vizima. This man used to be a mercenary under Pretty Kitty, but has since retired and works as a gardener, and had lost the silver sword at dice poker. When interacted with, he will begin any conversation with "Look how they grow!", referring to the plants in his garden. The player can then initiate the quest dialogue with option one, "I'm more interested in silver swords".

GERALT: I'm more interested in silver swords.

GARDENER: I knew one of you would come by eventually.

GERALT: You lost it playing dice?

GARDENER: I was sure I'd win. Beware, the sharp one plays well.

GERALT: Where did you get this sword?

GARDENER: Five years ago, there was a battle near Brenna. When the dust had settled, our men had beaten the Nilfgaardians. We ceased to call ourselves an imperial province that day.

GERALT: You captured the sword during the battle?

GARDENER: Yes, it was witcher Cöen's [sic]. A strapping fellow and a rare breed. Not very talkative, mind you.

GERALT: Like most of us.

GARDENER: I gave my word the sword would find another witcher. As he lay dying, he mumbled about teeth and destiny. Then he laughed -- at his own death.

GERALT: Yet you lost it gambling?

GARDENER: I kept it hidden for five years. I lost hope I'd ever run into another witcher. Miss Shani knew Cöen [sic]. She works at the hospital.

GERALT: Thanks.

GARDENER: Good luck on the path!

The quest will lead you to speak with Shani, then Zoltan, but neither will provide further information on Coën, aside from Shani mentioning that he died on her operating table -- Shani's dialogue is to provide her backstory as a medic at Brenna and to mention Rusty, and Zoltan simply assesses the quality of the blade to ensure that it is a witcher blade of good workmanship. It has no further significance to Geralt, who, without his memory, has no idea who Coën is and has more pressing matters to deal with than to look into the past of a man who died five years ago (according to the somewhat off-kilter game timeline, anyway). But it's the only mention of Coën in the games, and I find that it's a very interesting way to manifest his presence.

I think it is reasonable to tie Coën quite closely to his sword on a symbolic level, if one considers his appearance in the novels where he not only trains with Ciri, but his prowess with a sword is unrivaled even by the other witchers to the point where she believes that he may be the best swordsman in the world. Additionally, the fact that he fought at Brenna at all means that he offered his sword in the service of the Northern Kingdoms, and when he dies, he is identified by his peers as a "master swordsman" rather than as a witcher, despite the fact that they know of his nature. As such, Coën's sword is a very important possession for him to leave behind.

And from there, there is a connection to Lambert, left unsaid. To go beyond the simple fact that Coën was Lambert's friend, someone dearly loved who was close enough with Lambert and his family to get on with the other wolves and stay a winter at Kaer Morhen, the importance lies with the sword. As with any witcher, Coën wouldn't have much in the way of worldly possessions to bequeath onto someone else in the event of his prophecied death. But he does have his swords, which are established as symbolically important to him. A steel sword could be taken up by any warrior capable enough to use it, but a silver sword belongs in the hands of a witcher, and that is what Coën asked for on his deathbed, for his silver sword to be given to another witcher. While it's very possible that this is meant in a general way, that he just wanted any other witcher to take it up, to avoid the sword being wasted, broken, or dismantled for its composite parts, it also strikes me as possible that he could have intended it for a specific witcher.

Lambert is one of the instructors for Ciri when she's first learning the swordplay and acrobatics associated with being a witcher. Lambert is the one in the first game to provide the instructional descriptions of the Fighting Styles for Geralt to regain his swordplay competencies after losing his memories. And there is another bit of dialogue in TW3 that really emphasises both Lambert's connection to Vesemir, the swordmaster of Kaer Morhen, and the idea of swords as inheritance, as a manifestation of closeness:

LAMBERT: Knew the old man couldn't live forever. Huh, even told Eskel that when it came time, I'd get his sword. Fits my hand perfectly, you know.

Which is a heartbreaking notion in and of itself upon which I could expostulate, the symbolism there in the fraught relationship between Lambert and his father figure reduced to something as simple as a hilt that fits two hands perfectly. But if this is the inheritance that Lambert wants, it makes it all the more pertinent that Coën desperately wanted his silver sword to make it into the hands of another witcher. Lambert, the son of a swordmaster, wants to take on a sword as a memento of someone he has lost, and Coën, the master swordsman, left his sword behind. Even if Lambert were not the specific intended target of the sword, he would have possibly or even likely known Coën well enough to fulfill his wishes, whatever they might be.

And yet Coën's sword never makes it home or into the hands of someone who would value it, like Lambert would, this last memory of his dear friend. Geralt makes use of the sword during his time in Vizima, and then it is lost, replaced by the gifted Aerondight. And so Coën is lost with it, never mentioned again.

#rambles #the witcher #the witcher games #lambert #coën of poviss #shoutout to the dog that wandered through some of these screenshots what a good boy #anyway i am back on my tw1 bullshit #coën my beloved #it makes me so sad that he's never mentioned again #especially with the creation of aiden in tw3 #like #lambert has already done this #he has already found a good man that he considers a dear friend #and then lost him brutally #and yet they don't mention coën at all in 'following the thread'??? #wack #like geralt knows this about lambert #he knew coën too #and yet there is not even the slightest reference #i mean in tw1 it makes sense for geralt to not lend much significance to the name of a dead witcher #he has no memory of coën #but by tw3??? #he has his memory back he must remember #and to join lambert on his revenge quest for aiden #where lambert has again lost someone very dear to him and does not have anything by which to remember him #there is no reference at all to the fact that two years ago geralt literally owned coën's sword #i mean i get that they might not want to be so specific because like seven people total have played tw1 #but at least mention my boy coën #come on #as an aside i do think it is nice that even though coën is barely mentioned he is remembered fondly

[winters-mistress]

Of gentle wolves and healing princesses

It's a slow process, all things considered. It had been impressive enough that Ciri had even woken up from her injury at all, let alone begun to heal from it. Vesemir tells the twice grassed pup that even fully grown witchers have fallen from injuries like that one. But still, the girl awakens.

Because of the fall, her head had been banged up pretty tightly, Eskel and Vesemir taking turns changing the bandages and boil washing them in their best bet to ward off infection. But as the days go by, Geralt watches Cirilla remain awake for stretches longer and longer, even starting to respond to stimuli and respond to questions at the end of the first week of bed boundness.

Coën takes to slowly maneuvering her limbs as she's in bed. Bending her knees and extending her arms and rotating her torso. It's to keep her blood flowing, he tells the wolves, before admonishing them for their lack of knowledge on the clotting of human blood. Not enough movement could still the blood and kill her just as easily as the fall or infection could. Geralt is just greatful the Griffin has the instinct to take such good care of the white wolf's pup, for his instinct is to still protect the girl fiercely.

Lambert is the least helpful when it comes to Cirilla's recovery. He drank himself into a stupor the first night she had fallen, and had his face pummelled in by Geralt on the second. It had taken all four of the other witchers to separate them both, the two growling witchers thrashing as they fought with fists flying instead of the wooden swords of their youth.

By the start of week two, Ciri can swallow broth and thin soups, can move her body after vials of pure poppyseed milk to stop the pain, and Geralt is relieved when the bandages come off that reveal a clean wound, sewn up and sealing over with scabs and iodine. They keep a bandage on there just in case, but nowhere as dramatic as the others she had been wearing all that week.

After the wound is closed, Eskel and Coën and Geralt wash Cirilla's hair clean of the multitude of fluids that maar the girl's pretty blonde hair. Vesemir took the time to brew up a soup with small cooked root vegetables, while Lambert was scheduled to make more healing potions thag wouldn't melt the poor girls insides.

By week three, Cirilla can wash herself with a flannel and eat thick soups of barley and potato. She can sit up by herself now and hold a slow conversation. Her words are slow, slurred and take a while longer to understand their responses. Lambert drinks himself into a bucket again, and Vesemir tans his hide for it.

Geralt is impressed as the girl begins to get restless in her bedrest and sees the spark returning as she tries to get up and explore. He feels like Vesemir when he tells her that she needs to walk before she can run, but will stay by her side as she steadies herself and holds her hands as she climbs to her feet.

The witchers are honestly mighty impressed that it takes them only a day to start walking the length and around Ciri's room, and only another fir her yo walk from one wall to the next without Geralt's hands to support her, even if she falls into them when she's scaled this hurdle.

Day by day, they walk a little further in the keep and Geralt carries her less and lesson their way back. Her words get quicker in speed and understanding and the promises of a visit yo the horses or the hunting dogs or the livestock keep Cirilla motivated when she cannot put one foot in front if the other anymore.

But they get there, one step at a time, a harem of large, mutated witchers and a pretty princess who has just as much strength as them.

#geralt and ciri #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #fanfiction #witcherfanfiction #ciri is his baby #geralt is the best dad #dadralt #i love him #princess cirilla #ciri and Eskel #ciri and Lambert #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri and Vesemir #ciri and coen #coën #uncle lambert #lambert #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #witcher fanfiction #witcher coen #protective geralt #papa vesemir

[luckys-last-brain-cell]

Lambert is the TikTok bro. Eskel would like to stop ending up on TikTok, please and thank you. Geralt purposely looks menacing in the background of TikTok videos but he’ll insist up and down that it’s not deliberate. Coën forwards every TikTok to Yennefer and Jaskier.

Vesimir doesn’t know what TikTok is, he’s convinced it’s some kind of timekeeping app and he’s deeply confused as to why Lambert is still late to fucking everything.

#kaer morhen #the witcher #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #coën #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #shitposting plain and simple

[incorrect-quotes-at-random]

Coën: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter A.

Triss: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory.

Lambert: Fuck you.

#source: perchance generator #netflix the witcher #the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #witcher coën #witcher coen #coen the witcher #coën #coen #triss the witcher #witcher triss #triss merigold #lambert #lambert the witcher #witcher lambert #lambert witcher #incorrect quotes #incorrect witcher quotes

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Another draft for the Witcher Summer Camp prompts? More likely than you think. I wrote this a while ago and queued it up to be expanded. I don't think it fits anything on the list though, so here it is.

CW: internalised homophobia and fear of being 'found out'; Lambert's canonically abusive father; keeping relationships secret. Lambert is always his game version.

I've been listening to Westlife, and I have an idea where twelve-year-old Lambert watches something like X-Factor. He watches sixteen-year-old Coën win with the most amazing voice; he gets his recording contract and becomes a big star.

Lambert follows his meteoric rise; he sings his songs, buys his albums, and steals a poster from the centre of a teen magazine while collecting his dad’s booze and cigarettes from the off-license.

Lambert knows the feeling; it’s the same one he gets when he sees Betsy-May, the cute girl in his year, at the park.

If he keeps it quiet, then it stays… abstract. He can dream, right?

Dreams aren’t dangerous, he tells himself as he sings into his hairbrush in front of his ma’s mirror. He can dance on stage with Coën and they can jet across the world, leaving the grey streets of London behind.

But Lambert's hotshot football manager father won't have any son of his being into that poncy performing arts shit and Lambert has that dream... removed from him.

Fast forward 15 years later.

All grown up now, Lambert went into security because that is a suitably Man-like career. He still sings privately in the shower, in his bedroom, where no one can hear. And hates himself for it because he should be over it by now.

A record label hires his company for security. Some of their best-known artists are getting harassed by fans. One was even photographed in his home in his underpants by a girl that climbed the security wall.

It's a huge contract. Of course, he accepts, and he even appears in person to meet the client's intended asset.

It's fucking Coën.

Lambert would recognise him anywhere. He almost fucks up the contract completely by being a dick because the walls all come flying up.

But, for some reason, Coën really likes him. Lambert's head of accounts tells him they fucking well need this client because there could be endless work from all the different assets. And Coën? He doesn't want anyone else. He wants Lambert.

Something about treating him like a real person, not a prized pig.

So, Lambert grits his teeth and returns. Because he doesn't have an explanation for potentially writing off a load of jobs.

For some reason "I had a gay little boy crush on the dickhead and my dad beat me for it, and it's easier to blame a faceless famous person for having your dreams crushed than realise how fucked up your childhood was and work through that" is a bit too raw.

He tells himself that he will keep it strictly professional. Protect the asset, get the money. But the more time Lambert spends around Coën, the more he realises the guy is so, so desperately lonely.

He wants to talk to someone who doesn't instantly squeal at his "hot body" and "hot voice” or see him as a walking cash machine.

Coën is open, quirky, funny, and a little mischievous, and he loves cooking, which Lambert is shit at and doesn't really have taste buds, or so he's told, but Coën's curry is the best thing he has ever fucking tasted, and they're both equal at MarioKart so those evenings are...

..well, good. So good.

And... Oh, Coën is gay. He lets it slip after he'd had too much to drink. That one day he dreams of being able to marry the man of his dreams, but how is that ever going to happen when his record label needs him to be a heterosexual heartthrob?

Lambert makes a mistake then.

He runs away. Because he's a coward.

Coën has just shared with him a secret that he's been made to keep. Something that he has been told makes him not good enough. And Lambert can't deal with it. He can't. So he runs.

Lambert calls Geralt. Because Geralt may be a bigger mess than he is, but he's way better at navigating it. They stay up all night, drinking and talking. And Geralt helps Lambert realise he needs to take the leap or live forever wondering.... what if.

He goes back and finds a wounded, devastated Coën who still, somehow, underneath it all, has the strength to hold the bruised scraps of his heart out for Lambert to take. Coën is in a really hard place. A desperate place.

Over the years, he's been told to "change" his music, and style, to keep up with the times. More jaunty tunes like “Blurred Lines". Emotionless, heartless drivel that shoots him to the top of the charts. He hasn't sung or released anything he's written himself in years.

Lambert sits down next to him at the piano and timidly sings the first few lines of a very, very old song. Coën is shocked. Lambert confesses... almost everything. He's not really ready to tell the whole story yet. But Coën knows there's more.

He can see the shadows behind Lambert's eyes, so he says they'll sing it together. For the twelve-year-old who watched Coën win the X Factor final with adoration and hope.

What they have will stay between them. It doesn't belong to anyone else. They don't owe anyone a "coming out", let alone the rabid hordes of fans and media jackals. Lambert will walk at Coën's side as his bodyguard in public, and then hold him in private.

It's not shame. It's not staying in the closet. It's protecting something fragile and precious from a world that would tear it to pieces before it even has a chance to bloom. They'll work it out. Together.

#Coën #witcher Coën #lambert #witcher lambert #Coën x lambert #Coën/lambert #Coëbert

[yeraskier]

i had to, for reasons

#i actually do allow criticism in this one because “looks like a bottom actually is a bottom was a STRUGGLE #matter of fact that entire last row was a struggle #also wanted to add fringilla but she’s also very looks like a switch is actually a top #yen too looks like a top but… tissaia. so undeniably a top like i just had to #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer #triss merigold #coën #lambert #istredd #renfri #tissaia de vries

[hungerofhadarr]

Banished from the sketchbook GO FORTH INTO THE WORLD

#the witcher #witcherposting #geralt of rivia #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #witcher coën #coën #they r discussing a contract do not disturb

[thethumpergod]

As soon as I'm done writing the Aiden and Lambert fanfic, I have to decide on which to write next.

Plotline for the first option: Gaetan is a lawyer, working for Guxart's law firm. He loves his job but finds himself burning out anyway. Deciding to give himself a break he ends up on a dating site, looking for his next lay. That's when he sees a profile that catches his eye, a guy who calls himself "Viper". He soon finds himself falling for a gruff-talking mystery man.

Plotline for the second option: Despite being a hopeless romantic himself, Coen gave up on romance. After losing his family, he begins spiraling into a long depression. He finds himself being invited to his best friend's wedding, he dances with Lambert's brother, Eskel. Coen tries to stop falling in love with Eskel, but that becomes more difficult by the day.

#the witcher #fanart #artists on tumblr #lambert #aiden the witcher #aiden x lambert #fanfic #letho/gaetan #coën x eskel

[burnbrighterthanever]

Witchers never die in their beds!

(click for better quality)

#the witcher #gwent edits #geralt #ciri #vesemir #letho #lambert #eskel #gaetan #gezras #ivar #erland #coën #ivo #stel speaks #stel creates

[too-many-blorbos]

Out of Touch Thursday featuring the Kaer Morons

#the witcher #kaer morons #geralt of rivia #lambert #coën #eskel