Archive of Our Own

A Witcher's brew

By HauntedIndigo

     Kahve, otherwise known as coffee in the continent, was not a common plant, bean, or drink. The merchants that did sell it usually did so at a price that only those more fortunate than the common folk could afford. So it came as a very big surprise to Jaskier when he found out that the wolves of Kaer Morhen were growing and brewing it. He found out when Geralt was suffering from the effects of taking too many potions and was bedridden.

     Jaskier had asked him how he was feeling and Geralt had mumbled in a half-awake state.

     “Like I drank Vesemir’s brew…”
Jaskier looked up from the bowl of water he was dipping a wash rag in.
     “Brew, like another one of your potions?”
     “Might as well be.” Geralt mumbled. Jaskier thought for a minute as he wrung out the rag.
     “I’m almost scared to ask, is this tea we are talking about?”
     Geralt shook his head.
     “Coffee.”
     Jaskier’s eyes grew wide and a smile spread across his face. He gently dabbed Geralt’s brow with the damp rag earning him a content hum from the sick witcher.
     “First off, where and how does he get it, and secondly are we anywhere near his supplier?” Geralt shook his head again.
     “He grows it.”
     “Wait, how? Doesn’t he live in a keep on the mountain?”
     “Greenhouse.”
     “Ah, that would explain it.

     And that's how Jaskier ended up searching Kaer Morhen for the Witcher’s greenhouse that winter. Being a viscount, he was lucky enough to have drank coffee with other nobles before he went off to study at Oxenfurt Academy, and now he would be able to drink it again. He had just rounded a corner when a voice spoke up from behind.
     “I can’t tell if you got lost again, or if you’re looking for something.”
Jaskier jumped and twirled around to see Vesemir looking rather amused. Jaskier quickly composed himself.
     “Yes, well…I was just looking for your non-witchery greenhouse where you grow safe-for-humans plants and the like.”
     Vesemir gave him a very confused look. “We only have one greenhouse, lad.”
     Jaskier’s eyes widened in slight horror. “You grow your coffee next to the herbs and poisonous plants you use in your potions?”
     Vesemir chuckled and shook his head.
     “I thought you were going to ask if we were growing something more lavish. Come to think of it, I could go for some myself. Would you like to join me?”
     Jaskier’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Yule morning. “I would be delighted! Shall I join you in the brewing?”
     Vesemir shrugged “If you wish. Fair warning, it's a rather dull process.”

     Jaskier followed the older witcher like an overly enthusiastic puppy to the greenhouse, which was located on the exact opposite side of the keep, where he watched Vesemir harvest the coffee beans, and cut a few abnormally shaped leaves from strange plants that were almost as colorful as the vest Jaskier was wearing. The herbs in question emitted a light odor that smelled like cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and allspice mixed together that reminded Jaskier of a freshly baked pumpkin pie. Before he could think to ask, he noticed a pouch of seeds that had sprouted a leak and to his delight they were pumpkin seeds. Jaskier made a mental note to ask Vesemir if there was any pumpkin left, and if it would be alright if he used to bake the witchers pies and pastries.
     Following Vesemir to the kitchen was very interesting. Every witcher they passed would smile softly at the smell and would appear to drift off into a nice daydream or memory.
     “There’s a story here…” Jaskier said as they entered the kitchen.
     “Several, but let me make our drinks before I tell them.”
     “Of course.” He leaned against the doorframe before he continued. “This may be an out-of-the-blue question, but do you still have any pumpkin left? Those herbs you picked reminded me of pumpkin pastries and pies, and I was curious if you would allow me to bake you all similar treats?”
     “Unfortunately all of the pumpkin was used up rather early. I’ll be sure to save some for you next harvest.”
     Satisfied, Jaskier leaned against an old wooden table covered in cuts, scratches, and dents from various cooking knives, daggers, swords, and whatever sharp objects someone had used to prepare food and looked around. Just like the rest of the rooms in the keep, the kitchen was old and bare of any decorations (save for the stains on the countertops that vaguely resemble abstract paintings). The pots, pans, plates, bowls, and other things used for preparing and serving food were neatly organized and were either hung from hooks and nails that aligned the walls, or stacked in neat piles on cleaner counters. There was one pot that sat away from the rest that looked warped and discolored from being exposed to extreme heat for too long that drew Jaskier’s interest.
     Before he could even get to the pot he could smell the faint scent of something burnt. Looking inside the blackened pot he saw long, misshapened, black noodles. Jaskier poked at one of the burnt noodles and frowned when he felt how hard it was.
     “That’s why Lambert is no longer allowed to cook unsupervised. It’s been 50 years and the noodles still won’t break loose.” Jaskier looked up at Vesemir with a look of awe and horror on his face, which quickly melted away when he saw the two cups filled with steaming dark liquid. He gleefully took the cup offered to him and nearly went weak in the knees over how ritch it smelled. Gathering himself, he followed the older witcher to the library where they both sat at an old desk stained with splotches of black ink. Vesemir took one sip from his cup then looked up at Jaskier with a twinkle in his eye.
     “It seems I owe you a story about why my pups act strangely around coffee. Before I begin, I must ask you to not turn anything I’m about to tell you into a song or poem.”
     “I give you my word, what is said in this library stays in this library.”
     “Excellent. Let’s start off with the witcher Eskel and his accomplice who you know so well..."

     Geralt groaned as he read through the oversized bestiary about zeguls, and other such sewer dwellers. As he jotted down his notes in his rudimentary notebook he heard the unmistakable mischievous giggle of Eskel. Looking up he saw his friend leaning against the doorway to the library with a grin on his face.
     “Guess what our favorite fencing instructor is doing today?”
     Geralt smirked and put his quill down.
     “Convincing Remus to not make bombs in the kitchen?”
     “Even better, Vesemir is brewing that shit-water drink again, and he put the special herbs in it.”
     Geralt laughed. “Did they have thin, jagged leaves that branch into five to seven fingers?”
     “Not those special herbs you ass. The colorful ones that smell like the spices used in sweets and fruit pies.”
     Geralt’s eyes lit up. He knew those herbs were used to make the effects of potions more potent, as did Eskel. For the lives of both of them they couldn’t remember the names of the herbs, but they knew it was the only way a witcher could feel the effects of the ‘shit-water drink’. Although neither one was sure what it did to witchers, it seemed to put Vesemir and any other grown witcher who drank it into a better mood along with giving them an energy boost. Something Geralt and Eskel thought was perfect for young witchers like themselves. Geralt stood, abandoning his notes, and followed Eskel down the torch and candle lit stone halls.
     “How do you want to go about getting it?” Geralt asked as they neared the great hall.
     “Simple, the second ol’ Vessie puts his mug down, you run in and get it.”
     “What?!” Geralt came to a sudden stop. “Why am I getting it? Why can’t we sneak in like we did with the shortbread?”
     “Because you’re the fastest and most agile out of all of us, even him.”
     “How do you know that?”
     “Because I saw you Aard him into a compost heap last month, and I saw how fast you could run when he went after you.”
     Geralt laughed and shook his head. “You won’t let me live that down, will you?”
     “Never.”
     “Alright, let’s see if I’m as fast as you remember.”

     The two little witchers peeked around one of the massive doorways that opened into the great hall and immediately spotted their target sitting and talking to a few of the druids, his still steaming cup sitting forgotten on the table beside him. Geralt took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
     “Meet me at the armory when you lose him.” Eskel said as he watched and waited in anticipation. Geralt nodded and took one last deep breath. He’d survived the killer, he’d survived going through the trials twice, he survived his training thus far, he could do this. He focused on the cup like he was trained to do with elusive monsters and broke into a sprint.
     One of the druids listening to Vesemir looked up just in time to see a white blur coming towards them that stopped inches from the table, grab Vesemir’s cup, and run off before the older witcher could grab it. Forgetting the conversation, Vesemir took off after the white blur screaming “GERALT!” loud enough that the witchers and druids working deep in the bowels of Kaer Morhen heard him and came running to see what had happened. The small group of druids stared blankly after the two for half a minute before one of them spoke.
     “Let us take note, we shall speak to those involved in Geralt’s second trial of the grasses and congratulate them on making a witcher that can move faster than any living thing has business to.”

     Geralt ran as though all of the beasts in the library's bestiaries were after him. He dodged witchers and druids alike as Vesemir's footsteps thundered behind him. He nearly singed his hair when he jumped too close to a torch to avoid being grabbed. He ran down a stone spiral staircase, narrowly avoiding a druid in the process, and sprinted into the tunnels that made up Kaer Morhen’s bottom most floor. Eerie green and blue lights illuminated the poorly lit halls from the rooms used to house hazardous materials and the substances and mutagens used to make witchers.
     He ran with no set destination in mind, turning left and right randomly to try and confuse and lose Vesemir. He finally managed to lose him after he ducked into a room full of foul smelling mushrooms that smelled similar to musty, unwashed men and sweaty socks. The smell was so overpowering Vesemir hadn’t been able to smell his precious coffee, and Geralt was far enough ahead that Vesemir thought he ran up a nearby stairway. Geralt waited with his free hand over his mouth and nose until he could no longer hear Vesemir’s footsteps, then he ran out trying his best to keep his breakfast in.
     Geralt put his creeping, sneaking, hearing, and hiding to the test as he crept down the halls towards the armory. The sound of footsteps, be they coming or going, put him on edge. He ducked behind an archway when he heard someone running towards him. A new trainee came jogging from around the corner mumbling to himself how he’d be flayed alive for being late again. Geralt waited a minute before he crept out of the shadows. A few minutes later he had to hide in an empty barrel that had been moved out of storage when he heard a large group approaching. Geralt listened in on their conversation trying his best not to make a sound.
     “You cannot expect me to believe you didn’t do anything different during his second trial. No witcher from this, or any other school, has ever run that fast!”
     “I assure you his second trial was just the same as the first. Save for nearly breaking his restraints.”
     “...What…”
    “He nearly broke-”
    “He’s the reason why they had to be reforged? Good Gods, man. You’re telling me not only is he the fastest witcher made, he’s also abnormally strong?”
     “And he got drunk off of adder venom.”
The druid sputtered in surprise then went on an almost incomprehensible rant about if it really was a good idea to send a child through the trial of grasses twice, regardless of how well his body took to it the first time.
     “Just because you can, and you want to see what happens, doesn’t mean you should!” was the last thing Geralt heard before their footsteps faded away.
He quietly left the barrel and stayed in the shadows all the way to the armory where he saw Eskel sitting on one of the tables kicking his legs absentmindedly. He stopped when he saw Geralt in the doorway and jumped down.
     “Vesemir is beyond furious with you!” Giggled Eskel as Geralt set the cup down on the table. “I don’t know which is funnier. The fact that you got away from him again, or that he’s got everyone looking for you on the wrong floor!”
     Geralt said nothing and looked at his reflection in the dark, strong smelling drink. He looked up at Eskel who still had a grin on his face.
     “Go on, you get the first sip seeing as it was you who did all the work!” Geralt nodded. He lifted the cup to his lips and nearly spat out the fluid when he tasted how bitter he was. He quickly swallowed and coughed a few times before he handed it over to Eskel.
     “It can’t be that bad…” Eskel said as he studied the drink briefly. He took a quick sip and nearly choked.
     “Yeah, it’s that bad!” he said in between coughs. “I dare you to take another sip.”
     “Only if you take one as well.” Geralt said, eyeing the cup like it had multiple heads. Eskel handed the cup over while nodding enthusiastically. Geralt looked like he was going to be violently ill the second he tasted the drink again, and Eskel had to put his free hand over his mouth to prevent himself from spitting the drink out.
     “I bet you a whole winter of mucking stables that I can drink more than you.” Eskel said with a devilish grin, which Geralt soon matched.
     “You’ll be scrubbing dishes all winter if you lose.”
     “Deal!”
     They passed the cup between them, keeping a tally of how much they had drank by cutting a slit in the table with a knife Eskel kept in his boot. By the time the cup was half empty Eskel was starting to get a little confused.
     “Geralt, shouldn’t we be feeling…”
     That’s when it hit both of them like a sack of bricks.

     The older witchers watched in amusement as Vesemir stormed back into the great hall with rage in his golden eyes. The younger children, human, and witcher, scattered in all directions while the older children and teens stood at attention.
     “You lot!” Vesemir barked at the group closest to him. “Search the bedrooms, even mine. Don’t give me that look, get to it! You four by the fire, search the tunnels and labs!” He was about to bark out some more orders when the potions master held up his hand, silencing him. They all took a moment to listen.
Two voices could be heard screaming, and they were approaching rapidly. Everyone who hadn’t run off looked at each other in confusion, then turned to look in the direction the voices were coming from.
     “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”
     “FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK”
     “No…” Was all a mortified Vesemir had to say when a wild eyed Eskel shot into the great hall screaming like a mad man. Geralt’s “fucks” faded away as he ran out of the keep. The hall erupted into chaos as Eskel ducked, weaved, and jumped over and around his peers and instructors as they did their best to catch him or get out of his way. Young Remus let out a squeak of terror and dove under the nearest table as Eskel charged at him, causing Lambert to break out into hysterics while Coen dragged him under an adjacent table. Witchers young and old watched in awe as Eskel then climbed one of the ancient tapestries showing the heroic deeds of the Wolf school’s founder and jumped to an old chandelier in the middle of the hall. Those under the chandelier dove out of the way as hot wax rained down.
     “Gods damn! Someone get a long pole, blanket, rope, and white honey!” Vesemir yelled as he tried to position himself so he could catch the out of control witcher child who was now swinging back and forth with gusto. Within minutes, Vesemir was handed a blanket from his chambers, a lot of rope, a vial of white honey, and a pole from the training yard. The items were distributed between Vesemir, the potions instructor, and two other large witchers who stood at the ready. The plan was to knock Eskel into the blanket, then he’d be wrapped in it and the rope would be tied around the bundle to keep Eskel still enough for the potion master to feed the little witcher white honey to neutralize the effects of the coffee. The witcher with the pole quickly realized it was too short, and gave Vesemir a sheepish look.
     “May I get another pole?” He asked softly, Vesemir sighed and nodded. The older witcher was confused when he saw the pole witcher stop short of the large double doors, turn around, and disappear into the kitchen. He returned shortly with a long broom attached to the pole with rags and string.
     “It’s closer than the training yard…” He said as he resumed trying to knock Eskel into Vesemir’s arms. The sight of a yelling Eskel being hit by a broom tied to a pole was enough to send Remus, Coen, and Lambert into a fit of giggles. Their giggles turned to laughter when Eskel grabbed the broom out of frustration with one hand while keeping a solid hold of the chandelier with the other.
     His screams suddenly stopped as he looked down at Vesemir, looked at the pole witcher, then smiled. Still keeping hold of the broom-pole, he pulled himself up and pulled his legs up so his feet were against the chandelier, then sprung forward and twirled like an acrobat causing the pole witcher’s wrists to bend at painful angles. As he let go he saw Eskel’s free hand reach out and snatch the blanket from Vesemir. The little witcher tumbled to the floor and when he stood he was wearing the blanket like a cloak and wielding the pole-broom like a spear. He screamed something that caused Remus, Coen, and Lambert to laugh so hard they wheezed, then he ran through one of the smaller side doors with his cloak-blanket flying behind him. Everyone, save for Remus, Coen, and Lambert, watched in silence as Vesemir and the potions instructor ran after Eskel.
     “What did he say?” Asked the now poleless witcher to the three young witchers who were in tears from laughing so hard.
     “He said: I am the great GrainJulio, and I need rags for my mudhole!” Laughed Lambert.

     It was the cloak blanket that proved to be Eskel’s downfall. The weight and wind resistance slowed Eskel down enough that the boys who were sent to search the bedrooms were able to catch him and turn the blanket into a makeshift straight jacket. Vesemir and the potions master followed the sounds of Eskel’s manic screams and howls until they found him being restrained by two of the bigger boys while the others stood back in fear. Vesemir grabbed Eskel by the hair and not too gently tilted his head back.           The shock and pain of having his hair pulled caused him to open his mouth and the potions master quickly poured the vial of white honey into it. Choosing not to choke, Eskel swallowed the potion.
He continued to writhe and scream for a minute before the madness drained from his eyes and he went quiet and still. Vesemir let go of his hair when he was certain Eskel was back to his senses and gave him a very disappointed look.
     “Please don’t flay me alive…” Eskel wimperd.
     “I’ve got better things to do.” Vesemir sighed, then he looked up at the other boys.
     “Unwrap him and take him to the druids to be examined.” Vesemir ordered. Then he and the potions master turned back down the torch lit hallway and briskly walked to the entrance of the keep.

     Icy winter air bit at their exposed faces as they walked out of the massive doors into the snow covered courtyard. Snow fell from the dark clouds above, the wind moaned through the trees that grew near the keep, and the howling of wolves could be heard off in the distance. The potion master gave Vesemir a worried look when they realized Geralt had climbed the walls and disappeared into the wilderness. The two men readied their horses, and promised them extra apple slices and carrots for their trouble, then set off down the path and into the surrounding trees.
     They were able to find Geralt’s footprints soon after entering the frozen forest and tracked him past a snow and ice covered buck skeleton. A raven perched on the skull’s antlers watched them in silence as they passed. Vesemir’s grip on his horse’s reins tightened when he smelled the scent of the massive wolves that lived around the keep and saw their fresh paw prints in the snow. Vesemir knew that the stories they told of the massive wolves eating children who tried to run away from the keep was a lie and that they would only attack a living person if provoked. But knowing how Eskel reacted to his coffee made him worry that Geralt might provoke them, either accidentally or on purpose.
     The wolves howled again and this time Vesemir could make out the sound of Geralt howling with them. The potions master heard it too and they both exchanged confused looks. They dismounted and continued on foot to not alert the wolf pack of their presence. They neared a large clearing where the pack had gathered and watched in awe as little Geralt ran, tumbled, and played with the pups while the adults watched on or napped. A young wolf who was almost fully grown ran up to the white haired boy, tackled him, and began scent rubbing him while he laughed. Both men quietly agreed to stay and watch the spectacle, in part to make sure Geralt didn’t anger the parents of the pups and get attacked, but also the scene before them of a Kaer Morhen pup playing with a bunch of actual wolf pups was the most endearing thing either man had ever seen.

     It was an hour after the wolves had curled up and had gone to sleep for the night when Geralt got up from the pile of pups and hurried into the woods. The two older witchers followed him in silence and watched as he ducked behind a bush. The sounds of sickness soon followed and Vesemir instantly knew that Geralt was going to have a rough time. Once he was done emptying the contents of his stomach on the forest floor Vesemir heard the rustling of fabric, and saw Geralt’s trousers and breeches fly from behind the bush and land atop its frozen branches. The sounds that came next were by no means silent, and were very violent. The grotesque noises that came from behind the bush were so loud it startled the sleeping wolves awake, then the ungodly smell that traveled through the trees soon after caused them to retch.
     Vesemir and the potions master made a hasty retreat to their horses and waited in stunned silence until the noises stopped. They waited an extra twenty minutes to ensure it was out of Geralt’s system before they crept back over to the bush where a shaking Geralt was slowly putting his trousers back on. Vesemir cleared his throat and Geralt looked up at his mentor with a look of embarrassment mixed with pain on his face.
     “Learned your lesson, wolf pup?” Geralt looked down out of shame and nodded.
     “Good. When we get back you will take a very long bath, then you will stay with the druids until everything has left your system.”
     “But…” Geralt whimpered. “There’s nothing left in me.”
     “There will be the next time you eat.”
Geralt groaned and allowed himself to be picked up and placed on Vesemir’s horse. The ride back was silent save for the painful gurgling of Geralt’s stomach, other organs used for digestion, and the sound of wolves whimpering in the distance.

     Once the druids had declared Eskel healthy, he had been punished with cleaning the dishes for every meal for the rest of that year. Some of the older wolves wanted his punishment to be harsher until Vesemir reminded them that being teased, and called “GrainJulio” at every lesson he attended was a punishment in itself. Everyone agreed that Geralt had suffered enough when they heard the sounds his insides were making, and heard the noises that came from the infirmary when the druids flushed the rest of the coffee out of Geralt’s system. The day after Geralt was released from the druid’s care he and Eskel sat down to breakfast and both agreed to never again steal whatever it was Vesemir was drinking.

     Jaskier came out of his giggle fit shortly after Vesemir finished the story. The mental images of little Geralt and Eskel climbing tapestries and playing with wolf pups was too funny. He took a sip of his coffee before he spoke.
     “In all seriousness, if anything about this can be serious. Why didn’t the wolves try to eat, or at least taste Geralt?”
     “Because wolves are more scared of us than we are of them. The big bad wolf is just a fairy tale meant to keep children from getting hurt should they try to pet one. Those stories are also told out of spite by farmers who lose livestock to wolves who’s territory they’re building their farms on. The only time a wolf would eat a person is when said person dies in their territory, or if a body is placed in their territory. They are very good at keeping the forest clean.”
     Jaskier chose not to ask how Vesemir knew that and instead sipped his coffee.
     “That wasn’t the last time a young Witcher tried your brew, was it?” Jaskier asked after a moment of silence.
     “No, Lambert was next, and his reaction was a little more…explosive.”

     For the first time since becoming a witcher, Coen was uncomfortable with what Lambert was planning. The youngest, smallest, and prickliest witcher in Kaer Morhen cackled when he saw his most hated mentor had left his steaming cup of "Batshit crazy shit water" at one of the long tables in the great hall. Coen quickly realized what his plans were the second he started walking.
     “Lambert, you have nothing to prove! Do you want to be a laughing stock like Eskel?”
     Lambert gave Coen a toothy grin, showing off his sharp teeth.
     “I’m not going to make the same mistake as him. I’m only going to take a few sips instead of downing a quarter of the stuff.”
     “But why touch it at all?” Coen asked as Lambert picked up the cup.
     “Because why not?” Lambert said with a smile on his lips. Lambert was true to his word and only took two sips, then he put the cup back with a sour look on his face.
     “Taste like shit?”
     “Like day old, been sitting in the summer sun shit. Let’s go.”

     They had been walking to the outside courtyard for their signs and combat training when Lambert started to feel it. His senses perked up, his body felt strangely lighter, and he felt like he could run the killer twice and still have energy to spare. Coen heard his friend’s heartbeat quicken and shot Lambert a concerned look.
     “I just heard it kick in.”
     “I can feel it kicking in!”
     “Are you sure you can handle it?”
     “I just took two sips, of course I can handle it!”
     “Alright, just don’t climb up any tapestries at dinner.”
     They both giggled at the memories of the week prior as they stepped out into the snow covered courtyard.

     One of the many effects of the trial of the grasses has on a witcher is a slow heartbeat, four times as slow as an average human’s. Because of that, witchers can usually tone out the noise of the vital organ, or not hear it at all if they are standing far enough away. So when Lambert walked over to the group of assembled students they all turned to look at him just as Coen had. Even the instructor shot him a look.
     Said instructor, thinking that Lambert was possibly up to something, had him pair up with Remus and had Coen pair up with the student farthest away from Lambert. He knew what kind of trouble Lambert and Coen could get into and was not going to have any of that during his time with the pups.
     “You lot will be practicing Quen with your assigned partner. You will take turns attacking and blocking. You will start out slow, then once you’re warmed up, will build up speed until I’m confident you could cast it faster than an arrow could reach you. Now begin!”
He began circling the group of students looking for any fault in their casting or how they handled their training weapons.
     “Don’t waste too much energy keeping the shield up unless absolutely necessary. You might have to keep it up for a while during a hunt, or if you scorn, or bed the wrong person and get pelted with rotten fruit, vegetables, and hazardous projectiles. Yes I’m talking about you, Luka!”
     From an open window high above the courtyard a red haired witcher stuck his head out and yelled “Fuck you!”. The instructor laughed and quickly casted Quen to protect himself from the apple core that had been thrown at him from above. He resumed circling and watching as soon as he was sure there was nothing else Luka was going to throw at him.
     “Good stance…Good timing…Plant your feet wider and put more weight on the back foot…Stop aiming for the groin, Geoffry. Have some respect…Lambert, slow down!”
     Remus was cowering behind his shield as Lambert hacked away at it with no signs of slowing down. Remus looked to the instructor with fear filled eyes and squeaked “Help me!”
     “That’s enough, Lambert!” The instructor was across the yard in a matter of seconds pulling Lambert away by the scruff of his shirt. Remus lowered his shield and whispered a quiet ‘Thanks’.
     “Geoffry, spar with Lambert. Remus, take Geoffry’s old partner. And slow down this time!”
     Remus scurried off to his new partner while Geoffry and Lambert sized each other up. Geoffry was a head taller than Lambert and had honey colored curls that were his pride and joy. He sneered at Lambert as he ran forward and swung his training sword at the other’s head. Lambert had figured he might do that, and quickly made the hand sign to pull up a shield of his own.
     “Good casting, for a half pint. Let’s see if you’re stronger than you look!”
     Lambert took that as an invitation to swing as hard as he could at Geoffry, which he realized too late was a mistake when his sword bounced off of the other’s shield with enough force to send him stumbling backwards. Geoffry didn’t wait until Lambert had gotten his footing back before he swung at him again, this time aiming for his legs. Lambert knew he wouldn’t be able to cast quen fast enough so he tried dodging the training sword by jumping over it. The sword connected with Lambert’s ankle and Lambert let out a short scream that was almost as loud as the wooden sword cracking. He fell to the snow and looked up when Geoffry started talking.
     “Not quite high enough, half pint. Also, I thought the purpose of today’s lesson was to practice Quen, not acrobatics.”
     Lambert felt the heat rising within him and it gave him an idea. Geoffry’s smile faded when he saw Lambert make a different hand sign.

     The lesson came to an abrupt halt when flames shot up causing several students to jump out of the way. The instructor quickly saw Lambert was the source and was quick to axii him, stopping the inferno. Geoffry had managed to cast Quen in time, saving himself from incineration, but his hair had not been so lucky. Geoffry felt what was left of his hair and started whimpering while Lambert shook off the effects of the axii and stood to face his instructor.
     “You!” He said pointing to Geoffry. “Get your head examined for burns! You!”
     “He started it!”
     “I don’t care, you’re going to run the wall until the end of the lesson!”
     “But…”
     “Go!”
     Lambert looked back at Geoffry and made a face at him before he ran off.

     The instructor watched in satisfaction as Lambert ran the entirety of Kaer Morhen’s wall again, and again, and again, and again. It was starting to get concerning that he wasn’t showing signs of fatigue. True to his word, he let the boy run off with the rest of his peers once the lesson was over. He heard someone approach as he picked up the discarded training swords and looked up to see Vesemir approaching.
     “Heard you had trouble with our youngest?”
The instructor sighed. “He casted a very violent ignii at Geoffry and trimmed his locks in the process.”
     “Oh, that’s where the burnt hair smell came from.”
     “That would be it.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know how you’re able to be so patient with him. He’s volatile, disrespectful to authority figures, destructive…”
     “Weren't you the same way when you were his age?” Vesemir interrupted.
     “Yes, but that’s different! I had a very good reason to be like that.”
     “Believe me, so does he.”
     The instructor had a feeling he knew what Vesemir ment. He, with Vesemir’s help, put the remainder of the training swords away for the next lesson. He saw the one Geoffry cracked on Lambert’s ankle and felt a little bad for making the youngster run.
     “Before I forget, Lambert is probably going to have problems sleeping tonight and will probably try to do something…noisy. Unless he destroys something important, can you let him be and let him get it out of his system?”
     The instructor gave Vesemir an amused yet confused look.
     “Depends on the hour he wakes me and what he uses to do it.”
     Vesemir nodded in understanding. The two were silent for a moment until the instructor remembered something.
     “You know, he came in with an unusually quick heartbeat and I could faintly smell spices on him. Do you know what that’s about?”
     Vesemir smiled. “Do you remember last week’s fiasco with Eskel and Geralt?”
     “Yes? Wait…He didn’t…”
     “He did, but was smart about it and only took a few sips so it should work its way out of his system without any issue.”
     “But will he be more of an issue later?”
     “Not sure. We’ll have to see what the night brings.”

     Lambert had been fidgety for the remainder of his lessons. Although his legs burned and spasmed from overuse, and his ankle was starting to turn purple, he still wanted to run, jump, climb a wall, or do something to alleviate the uncomfortable amount of energy he still had. Dinner came and went without any disruption, although he did get some odd looks from those sitting around him. After dinner he tried to run off the uncomfortable energy by running the wall but all that did was make his legs burn and cramp. He limped back to his bedroom and curled up on the old straw mattress hoping that he’d eventually be able to get some sleep.
     He lay there for hours glaring at the wall and listening to the footsteps of young and old witchers alike going about their nightly activities until the last one had crawled into bed. He eventually gave up and decided to wander the halls a bit until he felt sleepy. He didn’t care that it was forbidden for those still in training to roam the halls after hours. No one would be the wiser as long as he didn’t wake anybody up or do anything that would make anyone suspect he’d been out and about. He crawled out of bed, and in nothing but his breeches, crept out of his chambers and down the hall of snoring witchers.
     Once he could no longer hear snoring he began wandering aimlessly through the halls until he reached the library. He would have passed it by but a stack of new books with rather colorful bindings caught his eye. He limped over to the neatly stacked books and began looking them over starting with the one on top. His witcher night vision combined with the silver moonlight allowed him to see the title of the brick red book he was holding, Modern zoology and animal physiology. He placed that one down and went on to the next one, a marigold colored book about herbs, flowers, and medicinal plants. He continued on through the stack until he saw one that caught his eye. It was moss green with bold letters on the front that read Weaponizing flame: the science of explosives. He grinned, tucked it under his arm, and limped away towards the lab.
     Lambert knew all too well the lab was off limits after hours but that didn’t stop him. Up until now he hadn’t tried to make or do anything potentially destructive in them, he just enjoyed looking at all of the alchemicals, chemicals, herbs, and who knew what else was down there and imagining what kind of potions he could make with them. He eventually made it down the spiral stone staircase to the dimly lit tunnels of the keep’s bowels and made a beeline straight for the dimly lit laboratory.
     Glass vials and jars filled with glowing blue, green, and red substances were the only source of light in the room. He took a seat in one of the stools next to the work table and began skimming through the pages. Chapters 1-3 were about different known elements, plants, minerals, and other ingredients needed for making basic accelerants and explosives. Chapter 4 was about how to make different bomb casings and how to store your bombs and bomb making supplies. The chapters after that were about how to mix your bomb ingredients together, or layer them in the casing, and how to build more bombs than Lambert knew what to do with.
     With his newfound knowledge, he began going over what ingredients and supplies he could find on the shelves and in the cupboards and was able to pull together a decent sized pile of supplies needed to make a whole variety of explosives. One thing he’d read that he wanted to try out was how to change the color of the flame, fireball, or explosive by adding certain things to them. According to the book, strontium or iron produced red colored flames, calcium, or strontium and sodium caused the flame to be orange, sodium turned fire yellow, barium caused green colored explosives, copper turned the explosive blue, and strontium combined with copper produced purple colored flames. He prepared the flammable powders as described in the book and lit each one using ignii. What he made was a line of rainbow fire on the stone floor.
     Looking at the colorful flames brought back a memory of traveling with his mother on new year’s night and seeing colorful flashes of color in the sky above a castle in the distance. His mother had called them “sky flowers” and had carried him on her shoulders to the top of a hill so he could see them better. It then dawned on him that thanks to the book he had he could, in theory, make sky flowers of his own. Giddy with excitement he set to work building the first of many casings.

     Vesemir awoke with a start to the sound of something exploding nearby, filling his room in red light. He jumped out of bed and looked out the window just in time to see something small giving off a trail of sparks flying into the sky. It exploded in a flash of yellow light and sent thin arms of glittering gold and green sparks in all directions. His fear and annoyance that came with being woken up by an explosion melted away upon realizing someone was lighting fireworks, and he pulled his reading chair over to the window so he could watch the light display in comfort. Everybody else who had a courtyard facing window in their room did the same thing, and soon everybody was up and trying to get to a window to see the lights.
     A rainbow of sparks and fire lit up the skies above Kaer Morhen for almost an hour making the hardened monster killers and trainees “ooh” and “ahh” the entire time. The light show seemed to end after a brilliant golden one went off that sent branches of sparks raining down like the drooping branches of a willow tree. Only after a minute of cheering and demands for an encore did they start up again, but this time the display was more dazzling. Color Changing, three or more colors, whistling, sizzling, and all manner of light and sound filled the night until the grand finally filled the night sky with rainbow fire and sparks. Once the show was over and the icy wind had carried away most of the smoke, Vesemir could hear the whooping and cheering voice of Lambert rise up from the courtyard followed by the cheers and clapping from everyone else in the keep.
     The next morning Lambert was found in a deep sleep at a long table in the great hall using his arms and stolen book as a pillow. For his fireworks display, and for not blowing up the keep, he was permitted to not attend his lessons for the day and sleep for as long as he needed. He was awake and feeling less sore the next day and soon found himself the center of attention by his peers who wanted to know how he made those fireworks. He was permitted to show them during his lessons in the lab while under supervision, and soon everyone who was interested knew how to make basic fireworks. His fascination with explosives continued on into his adult life, and he’s now considered one of the best bomb makers Kaer Morhen has ever seen.

     “So that’s where Lambert’s love for explosives came from…Does he still make fireworks?”
     “Only on very special occasions and with a hefty payment in advance. He’d much rather use his pyrotechnic skills for monster hunting, fishing, and gods know what else. Not that I don’t miss his light shows, but I’d rather he use whatever reactive substance he can stuff in a bomb shell to good use on the path than waste it on a firework display.”
     Jaskier understood Vesemir’s reasoning and nodded in understanding. He made a mental note to ask Lambert how much he charged for his fireworks before he left the keep in the spring. Jaskier took another sip before he spoke.
     “So Eskel, Geralt, and Lambert all had a taste of your coffee. Were there any others?”
     The mirth in Vesemir’s eyes left the second the question was asked.
     “I wish there was…” He looked down into his cup in thought then looked up at Jaskier.
     “This happened shortly after the tragedy that took almost everyone they and I knew away…”

     Vesemir tried his best to live up to the lie that was ‘witchers have no feelings’ to try and numb the pain and be strong for those that survived, but after placing yet another body atop a funeral pyre and setting it alight he knew he was breaking. Unable to look at the remains of his mentor burning brightly in the twilight, he turned to look at the five pups he was now incharge of. The sight of Lambert, Coen, and Remus preparing funeral pyres with the aid of ladders and stools while Geralt and Eskel dragged the remains of their slain brethren out of the keep was too much for Vesemir. He hid his face as tears began to fall.
     None of them were sure how long it took to clear Kaer Morhen of the dead and clean up the gore, but by the time they were done they could hear the bells ringing from the town below signaling that Yule was near. Those sounds once brought joy to the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen, for who didn’t love a Yuletide feast and all of the merry making that came with the holiday? But now those sounds made Vesemir very bitter. He stormed off towards the ruined library in hopes he’d find something decent to read and distract him from the noise.
     From where they were in the great hall, the five pups of Kaer Morhen listened to Vesemir’s footsteps fade away before they began talking amongst themselves.
     “I couldn't get any more firewood without Vesemir noticing." Said Remus. "But I'm good enough with ignii that it shouldn't be a problem."
     “I found Vesemir’s cup and brewing supplies. The old man was smart to hide it on the shelves above the human’s eye level.” Lambert said as he produced a cup and a small sack.
     “I’ve got some more good news, the humans were more interested in the labs and left the greenhouse untouched. Vesemir’s explosive batshit crazy shit water plant is alive and well.” Said Eskel.
     “Excellent! Do we have a plan?” Asked Geralt.
     “The plan…” Said Coen “Is to take what we need from the greenhouse whenever Vesemir gives us a reason to be near or in it. Once we have everything, we’ll brew it in the early morning so it has time to cool to the perfect temperature by the time he wakes up.”
     “That’s great, but how will we know how much of what will go into it?” Remus asked.
     “Geralt and Eskel will figure it out seeing as they had more, and were around it longer.” Coen responded. Geralt and Eskel nodded, accepting their roles in the plan. Coen continued soon after.
     “Alright. We’ll meet every night before bed to check in. We’ll sleep in shifts the night of the brewing so we can make it on time. Now let’s go to bed before Vesemir checks in on us!”

     Vesemir was too distracted with trying to get enough food for them all and repair the keep to notice that his five pups were acting a little off. If he did it was that they were eager to see if the greenhouse had yielded anything edible they could use to make their meals taste better. He also didn't suspect anything when the pups volunteered to help fix up the kitchen and started asking him about making teas and warm drinks. He figured they wanted something warm to drink to ward off the cold, so he taught them how to make chamomile tea that was strong enough to relax them in hopes it would help them sleep through their nightmares.
The days went by in a blur of hunting and fixing the keep and before anyone knew it Yule eve was upon them. The pups hid their excitement as best they could by working extra hard during their chores, fixing, and cleanup duties. Vesemir started to think something was afoot when he saw how giddy his pups were.
     'Then again...' He thought. 'Yule is tomorrow...might as well not spoil what little fun they have.'
     Once they were done eating their bowls of poorly seasoned rabbit stew Vesemir cleared his throat getting the attention of his five pups.
     "You're free to do as you please tomorrow as long as you clean up after yourself. Chores will resume the following day." That earned him a chorus of "thank you!" and noises of approval. Vesemir raised his hand and his pups fell silent.
     "Right now I'm tired, that means you are too. You may stay up to make chamomile tea, but once it's finished you are to go straight to bed. Is that understood?"
     The pups answered in a chorus of "Yes sir."
     "Alright, now off to bed with you!"
     The pups slept in shifts as they agreed, until Remus saw the faint hints of blue on the horizon and quietly left his room to wake the others. He woke Lambert first, who smacked him with a lumpy pillow, then Coen, Eskel, and finally Geralt. The five crept down the stone hallways in near pitch blackness until they entered the great hall. They could still smell the faint scent of rabbit stew as they made their way to the kitchen. Everyone emptied their pockets of the herbs and coffee beans they had stashed, then they went to work.
     They did their best assembling Vesemir's coffee brewing device, but the end result left much to be desired. They figured as long as it could heat up water it would get the job done. Geralt fetched a ladle of water and carefully poured it into where he thought it went then watched it come to a boil with the help of ignii. The five stared at the bubbling water, then looked at their ingredients. Geralt and Eskel stepped a little closer so they could better smell what was being made.
     "Add the seeds, beans, whatever they are first but one person at a time." Coen instructed. Remus added the few he was able to get to the water and watched Geralt and Eskel in anticipation. The rich smell associated with Vesemir's favorite drink filled the room and Geralt shook his head. Lambert added the coffee beans he collected and they waited another minute before Eskel and Geralt shook their heads.
Coen added his next and after a minute of waiting Geralt and Eskel nodded.They did the same with the herbs, adding them one at a time until Geralt and Eskel approved of the smell. Once they were done they had a dark brown bubbling fluid that looked like the stuff Vesemir liked, and it smelled like it too. As they strained it into Vesemir's cup Lambert shot Remus a mischievous look.
     "Remus..."
     "Yes?"
     "Drink the shit water!"
     "Hells No!"
     Coen carefully lifted the cup of steaming liquid and carried it to Vesemir's spot at the table while the other four followed him. He set it down without spilling a drop and the five of them stood and watched the steam rise.
     "Alright..." Lambert finally broke the silence. "Now what?"

     Vesemir woke up very confused. For one, he had a very vivid dream where he could smell coffee, and now that he was awake he could still smell it. He slipped on his warmest tunic, trousers, and wool socks then walked out into the hall where the smell was even stronger. He followed the scent into the great hall where he saw his cup filled with what looked and smelled like coffee, and his five pups wrestling on the fur rug. He cleared his throat and the pups stopped mid tussle to look at him.
     "Happy Yule, we made you something!" Coen said as he got off of Lambert.
     "I see..." Vesemir said as he sat down. "Did you try to make what I think you tried to make?"
     "Explosive batshit crazy shit water?" Pipped up Lambert. Vesemir chuckled at the youngest pup then took a tentative sip. It tasted very different from what he usually brewed, but not in a bad way. It was a very good first try. He looked at his pups who were watching him with baited breath.
     "This is a very good first attempt. After breakfast I'll show you lot how to brew a decent cup of coffee." The five pups excitedly thanked Vesemir, and after eating their fill of porridge and dried fruits, the family of six went to the kitchen for a special lesson on how to brew coffee.

     "...And that's how brewing Yule morning coffee with the pups became a tradition. Of course I wouldn't make theirs as strong as mine until I was certain they could handle it. After a while they began making their own variants with different mixtures of herbs and spices."
     "That's just too precious..." Jaskier said once Vesemir had finished. "They really do love you like a father."
     "I suppose they do..." Vesemir finished the last of his drink and stared into his cup in thought.
     "Don't sell yourself short. You did a fine job raising them into brave, courageous, and fine men with good heads on their shoulders…Most of the time.”
     Vesemir chuckled at Jaskier’s joke and waited for the other man to finish his coffee before he spoke.
     “Perhaps we could make this our tradition, swapping stories over a hot cup of coffee. I have plenty more, some of which I’m alright with you sharing with the world, and I’m sure you have plenty as well from traveling with Geralt across the continent.”
     “What? Does he not share his adventures with you?”
     Vesemir chuckled “You’d think we were trying to pull teeth the way he reacts to us asking him about his year on the path.”
     “I know what you mean…Would you be interested in hearing the tale of how a little girl discovered Geralt loves to play catch?”

     And that's how Jaskier found himself spending the rest of the evening swapping stories with Vesemir until the moon shown through the window. When the time came for them to bid each other goodnight Vesemir promised he’d share more stories with the bard the following evening, that as long as Jaskier was respectful and stayed true to how it was told, he'd allow him to publish in the form of poems, songs, or ballads. Jaskier went to bed in a fantastic mood and fantasized about the tales Vesemir would tell him until he fell asleep.