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“Vesemiiiiir?” Geralt called out, and Vesemir couldn’t suppress the tired groan he gave as little fingers slipped under the smallest crack that separated the thick, wooden door from the stone floor. He didn’t know what the cub hoped to accomplish as he wiggled his fingers searchingly, but he didn’t care. He held his breath. Maybe the cub would give up and find something else to entertain him for just two fucking minutes.
Two minutes.
Just two minutes he wanted to himself. Just enough time to pee in peace for once, without whining cubs and little poking fingers.
“Vesemir! What are you doing?”
The pup was scratching at the bottom of the door now, and Vesemir winced as his little claws left visible lines in the wood.
“Vesemiiiiir!” Eskel’s voice joined in with Geralt's yowling and the older Witcher cursed under his breath, hurrying to finish his business and do up his trousers. He may not have a moments peace in which to take a piss, but even half a dozen whiny cubs couldn't stop a man from heeding the call of nature.
“Alright you beasts!” He called out, completely exasperated. “I’ll be out in a minute, behave yourselves!”
“Gweld is eating all the pickled onions in the small pantry!” Eskel complained. Vesemir swore, not quietly enough by the sounds of little giggles.
A second pair of fingers poked out from under the door.
He gave up.
“Alright you naughty cubs!” He yelled, opening the privy door and tumbling several fuzzy little Witchers over like dominos. They shrieked their glee, scrambling to escape as he roared mockingly, chasing them all about the hall scolding them for bothering him on the toilet. The cubs payed him no mind, their stubby tails straight up as they scrabbled around. Vesemir “hunted” them down one by one, scooping up each captured pup with a victorious roar and causing the others to run a little faster.
Eventually, even with dragging out the game he soon had all his cubs gathered up. He had Gweld and Geralt scuffed as they kept trying to reenter the hunt despite being caught. They took the man handling with all the grace of a Witcher cub, that is to say, with lots of complaining and kicking their legs around in the air like demented windmills.
“Alright. Since you scoundrels rousted me from my well earned break I say it's time for a bite to eat so that all little Witchers can be full of energy for the obstacle course!” He announced, and all hell broke loose.
“Food!” Cheered Lawel, pulling on Vesemir’s trousers in excitement while Mark attempted to climb up the back of them, using the pockets as handholds and almost pulling them right off the older Witcher's ass in the attempt.
“I wanna run! —I want PIE!! Plums!—mir tell Geralt to STOP KICKING ME—IM NOT YOU'RE THE ONE KICKING—"
Disaster struck.
Struggling to keep control of the pups under each arm and the ones clinging to or weaving between his legs while navigating the narrow passage towards the kitchen, Vesemir was too slow to notice Lambert come barreling around from the back to join his litter mates at his caretaker’s heels.
Almost as if time was slowed, like some meditative trance that allowed each horrible detail to be savored, he felt it. The cub running around his legs, bumping him just enough in the calf —and more devastatingly— with all his little weight right behind the older Witcher’s bad knee. Lambert was bounced around him to stand in ahead just as the old man stumbled, thrown off by his wiggling charges.
There was the soft feeling of a little paw under his own massive foot. A pained yowl of shock from the littlest.
In a move that would shame his training masters Vesemir lurched to the side in a desperate attempt to shift his wight away from doing any worse damage, and he went down to the floor with a shout, cubs all yelping in unison as they were all dragged along with him.
Dazed, and in no small amount of pain, bruised elbows -and a bent tail by the feel of it- along with his pride all throbbed in sync, Vesemir found himself blinking up at the ceiling as cubs clambered around him, some giving protesting cheeps at the violence of their descent to the ground, some gleefully taking the opportunity to crawl all over and sit on their caretaker.
Lambert was sitting by his hip, wailing.
“Awwww cub,” he groaned, rolling over and dislodging several of the elder cubs, who only just seemed to notice the youngest’s distress. They all crowded around as he pushed himself up to sit, back braced against the chill stone wall as he pulled the wailing cub into his lap.
He fussed over the poor cub, rubbing his paw, checking for broken bones. Giving in fully to his brooding instincts he dragged a bristly tongue over the top pup's head, all his little Witchers scrambling around for cuddles and offering their brother various items from their pockets and hugs in turn. Eskel especially was purring up a storm to comfort the cub, who had subsided into angry, wet hiccups by the time Vesemir had finished giving his head and face a very thorough grooming.
“I'm getting too old for this. I swear you all will be the death of me.” He grumbled, but gave the cub a last lick on the cheek, making the boy pout, but snuggle closer as he shifted to allow the rest of the cubs to tuck up under his arms. “I guess this is a sign from the gods. It’s time to get a few more trainers in to help watch you lot.” Maybe if he did so he could brush up on some of his own skills. Really. Brought down by a bunch of feral cubs. He was damned lucky no one had been around to witness it.
“More trainers?” Gweld asked, little brows furrowing as he bared his baby fangs in a hiss. “I don't want new trainers!”
“So you don’t want someone who can take you out to the wall and the running tunnels whenever you like?” Vesemir asked with mock surprise, patting Lambert's back as the little cub regained his composure. “And here I thought you were bored of always waiting on this old man.”
“I like you Vesemir!” Geralt declared, copying Gweld and puffing up. “We don’t need anyone else! Even if you take foreeeeeever to pee.”
“Ages to pee.” Eskel agreed, and Lambert giggled at the offended look Vesemir gave the cub.
“We’ll be good!” Geralt swore. "You can look after us forever and ever!"
"Of course cub," Vesemir agreed, touched at their care. He had raised many litters over the decades since he had gone into semi retirement, but never before had they been this cuddly and attached. He had to admit, he reciprocated the sentiment.
Someday his cubs would have other trainers. They would have masters for potions, swords, animal husbandry and all the various skills a Witcher needed to survive in the world. But no matter how many other Witchers would eventually help raise these cubs Vesemir doubted any would ever love them as dearly as he did.