Chapter Text
Witcher’s had the fear burnt out of them in the Trails. So when Eskel opened his eyes and felt the lung seizing, stomach twisting, skin chilling terror he had not felt in over 70 years, it took more than his first breath to identify it.
Eskel sat up, taking stock of his surroundings. A fog filled the room, distorting the light from the covered lanterns and the sun streaming in the open ventilation shafts. Pain radiated from his blood spattered hands, glass stabbing in his palms and fingers and shards rained over his legs as well. There was an odd smell in the air. Something earthen and acrid mixed with the scent of his own blood and Lamberts.
LAMBERT!
His already racing heart seemed to pick up speed as he searched the obscured room for his brother. They were in a laboratory. The well ventilated stone walls of one of Kaer Morhans alchemy labs. And there was Lambert, spread out over broken vials as if he had been thrown across the workstation by some sort of blast.
Eskel could not get his unsteady legs to cooperate and instead crawled to the other witcher, paying no attention as the glass and yellowed powder cut into the woolen fabric of his trousers and into his knees. Lambert was unconscious, the steady witcher slow rhythm of his chest an encouraging sign even as his face was covered in blood from a seeping head wound.
What had happened? Why were Lambert and he in the alchemy labs?
Eskel’s terror stricken mind refused to focus on any single moment that led him here. As he fumbled through his own pockets to find a handkerchief to try and staunch the blood seeping from his brother's head, he tried to slow his breathing. With each oddly flavored inhale of the polluted air, he felt the fear flood him instead.
It was a miracle that over his own panicked breathing voices from the hall grabbed on the edge of his hearing .
“....I think Lambert would be the best to try out this new batch on.” Vesimer’s voice was moving closer to the lab door.
“He is fun to test on, I like having an older witcher to run my more inventive ideas through. Make sure it’s perfect before forcing it on the young ones.” Yennefer’s voice held a slightly sadistic edge that sent a tremor through Eskels spine.
They were going to experiment on Lambert? Is that why he was here? Was he trapped in this lab until he could be strapped down to the stone table and forced through another round of mutagens like the Wolf had been?
His hazy mind played the painful screams that tore from young Geralt’s throat, echoing in Eskel’s ears as if it was today not decades previously. No, he wouldn’t let that happen again. Not to Little Lambert. His baby brother wouldn’t go through that.
Ignoring his own bleeding palms, Eskel flipped a wooden table holding various cleaned beakers and cauldrons and wedged it against the door leading into the laboratory. Vesimer was an old witcher, but a witcher nonetheless. A mere wooden table wouldn’t stop him from entering but maybe it would delay him a moment. Eskel then grabbed a handfull of Swallow off one of the shelves, shoving it into his belt pouch before moving quickly back to Lambert.
He was panting, his heart still racing and that light fog of the room having dissipated some thanks to the built in ventilation of the alchemical area.
Eskel carefully lifted the younger wolf, settling him over both shoulders as if carrying a freshly caught deer.
He heard Yennefer’s heeled steps reach the door and the latch rattle as Vesimer met resistance.
“Lambert?” he called out
Eskel dared not answer, and instead turned to the ventilated wall that would lead him to the outside of the keep. With a shaking hand, he drew on the vast well of Chaos that ran through his blood, cast aard blasting a hole big enough for three witchers to run through, and took off at a sprint.