ourladytrees | the witcher and the goddess

[ It hadn't been a contract nailed to a board, this time. Instead, it was whispers overheard in the tavern where he'd stopped for a drink and a meal the week before. Whispers not about the witcher, sitting silently in a dim corner, but about a farmstead to the south. A demolished house, blood on the steps. The loss of the family dog a few days beforehand. Uneasy murmurs about a lumbering shape in the woods. He'd finished his drink, paid his coin, and the next morning pointed Roach's nose southward along the road.

The village nearest the farm had offered little more in terms of information, but the ealdorman was happy enough to pass around a hat, after extracting a deal. The witcher would investigate, then return to tell the ealdorman what manner of beast or wraith could wreak such havoc. And, for the right price, the witcher would ensure it would ravage no more.

The farm is silent when he arrives. He studies the deep scores slashed across the wood of the house, the crumpled door, the splintered frame. Something enormous had crashed through the dwelling, laying waste to the family that lived there. But first, it had enjoyed an appetizer of the vegetables in the garden, followed by the goats in the pen outside. The tracks aren't difficult to follow: enormous clawed feet had sunk deeply into the earth around the farmstead. The thing seems to shuffle on two hind feet, balancing now and then with three-fingered hands the size of hams. That, and the stench it leaves behind, is enough to identify it.

A chort. Fantastic. He coats his silver sword with relict oil and studies the tracks, then follows them away from the farmstead.

Hopefully the damn thing is slow and sated from its feast. Not that he's ever known a chort to pass up on the possibility of another snack. ]

[ How long has she been out here? Julia's lost track, time slipping away from her in the moments when she stops to rest, leaning against a tree and closing her eyes for seconds that feel like days. She's crossed through a forest, over open land, and even stumbled through a stream in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and where she'd arrived. The problem of how to get home again can be dealt with when she's not in possibly imminent danger.

Of course, the problem with that is this world is inherently dangerous. She's certain there are eyes watching her from the darkest shadows, and she's tried to steer clear of the foulest smells, but eventually, something is going to catch up with her. Whether it's the Library's goons or a monster is anyone's guess.

The dark forest she's stumbled into is not kind to someone in her state. Her aching feet trip over thick protruding roots and low branches catch at her hair, ratcheting her nerves up higher than they've ever been before. Instinct or paranoia insists there's something out here with her...

And then she hears it. The sound of something moving. She can't say whether it's footfalls or breathing or just some animal sense of a predator nearby, but she knows it's there. And she also knows there's no way she can fight or outrun it, not in her present state.

So up she goes. Finding the closest tree with a low enough branch to grab, she climbs, her body shaking as she pushes it past the point of exhaustion. She's barely made it up to the second branch when she finally sees the thing. ]

[ He's not far into the woods when he picks up another set of tracks: small, with a pointed toe and a divot at the heel, calling to mind the heeled boots Yennefer and Triss sometimes wore.

Not great for wandering in a forest. Even less so for running from a chort. He'll have to find either the woman or the monster soon to make sure there's no more bloodshed today.

Well. At least he has some bait to work with.

The witcher focuses, listening hard as he follows the tracks. There's a low shuffling and snuffling from deeper among the trees – the chort, tracking its prey. Heavy breathing in the dark, the reek of unwashed fur and old blood wafting through the trees. Geralt makes the sign of Quen and steps forward into the clearing beneath an old, sprawling oak as the shield-spell shimmers over him.

The chort isn't the biggest he's seen, but it still towers over him, scoring the ground with heavy swipes of its claws. The other tracks disappear at the trunk of the tree; good. Whoever it is has the sense to try and escape rather than fight the monstrous thing snarling before him. ]

Stay up there.

[ His voice is calms as he instructs his hidden companion. Geralt eases his silver sword from the sheath on his back with a whispered, silken sound of metal on leather, his eyes never leaving the chort as it paces before him. The thing snorts a blast of hot, foul breath, then roars, shaking the trees around them.

The witcher considers it, silver blade at the ready, waiting. Only when the chort rears and plunges toward him does he pirouette out of its path and strike, scoring a bright line across the tough hide of the monster's flank. ]

[ Whatever that creature is, it's big and scary and not something she wants to tangle with. There's no possible way she'd win, not when she's already tried to use magic once since her arrival in this world and failed. Even if she had some sort of weapon, there's no way she'd be able to muster the strength to bring it down. So when she hears a voice below her, it's an almost crushing relief — for more than one reason.

Geralt. Of all the people who might have wandered into the same part of this random forest, somehow it's one she knows. Julia has no concept of how much time has passed here since they first met, but she doesn't have to hope that he'll remember her well enough to help her. That's not who Geralt is; if someone needs his help, there are probably very few things that would convince him to walk away. And he knows how to fight, this is what he does. She might live to see another day after all.

Still, that terrible roar reverberates through her, shaking the trees even as her body trembles with exertion, and she nearly loses her grip. Through branches and leaves, she tries to watch the proceedings, her heart in her throat when the thing charges. It's only when Geralt makes a hit with his sword that she finds her voice again, calling out from her hiding place in fear and worry. ]

Geralt, be careful!

The hell?

[ His distraction costs him. The chort wheels around, claws raking up the loam of the clearing, and charges with the speed of a blooded Nilfgaardian racehorse. Its hard, horned skull catches Geralt in the ribs and sends the witcher flying as the shield-spell shatters into a myriad gleaming particles.

That hurt. He gets to his feet and circles the thing warily as it stamps and snorts. He can't afford to wonder who might be up in that tree, and why they know his name, not until this damn thing is down for good. ]

I'm trying.

[ When the monster charges again, he flicks out a hand, making the sign of Igni, and sends a blooming cascade of flame directly into the chort's eyes. It howls in agonized fury and slides to a stop, shaking its enormous head as the flames flicker out of existence, smothered. But the witcher doesn't pass up his chance: he strikes and dodges away, strikes and pirouettes, over and over, always staying out of the monster's reach, striking with the very tip of the silver blade, honed to a razor's edge.

Before long, the chort is bleeding from a dozen different slashes, and its breathing is labored. It bellows and rushes him once more, the ground shaking with its approach. ]

Edited 2023-01-16 01:28 (UTC)

[ Shit. Shit shit shit. She hadn't meant to distract him, she'd just been trying to— What, keep him alive? From the reputation of his kind, he's much better equipped for that than she is. Look at her, hiding up in a tree while he does all the fighting. He's already been hurt once on her account and if it happens again...

There has to be something she can do, anything that's not just clinging to this damn tree while he risks his life down there. But she doesn't have any weapons, and if she tries something too big, it might backfire and distract Geralt again at the worst possible moment.

If she could distract the creature, though, that might give Geralt the opening he needs to finally take it down. Carefully shifting position, Julia leans her back against the tree and slides down to sit on the branch. With as little movement as she can manage, she brings a knee to her chest so she can untie the laces of a boot and tug it off without tipping right off the branch. And then, while her would-be rescuer continues his violent dance, she crawls forward as much as she can on the thick old branch, trying to get the best vantage point.

As it makes another charge and passes by her branch, she hurls the boot at it, using every bit of strength she can muster and hoping it does something. If not, well, she won't need that shoe if the thing manages to eat her. ]

[ As the chort thunders past the tree, now intent on adding filet of witcher to its dinner plans, a small object comes sailing out of the branches and bounces with a thwack off its rump. Not effective on its own, perhaps, but it happens to smack against a weeping gash the witcher had cut into the thing's back, and even a chort has some sense of stinging pain.

It roars and skids to a halt, rearing up on its hind legs to reach into the branches with its gnarled, clawed hands, searching for its new tormentor.

Good enough. The witcher sheathes his silver blade and takes a running start to leap onto the chort's back, wrestling his way up to its neck. He winds an arm around one horn, holding on, and reaches for his hunting knife. The wickedly sharp blade comes down with the finality of a rockslide, slicing through the chort's spine and severing the vein in its throat.

Blood spatters hot and rank against the witcher's face, over his armor, but he holds grimly on until the chort ceases its confused staggering and stumbles, then collapses to the clearing floor. Geralt leaps clear at the last moment, a sharp snap of pain making it clear that those ribs are probably broken, and lands with a roll before getting back to his feet. ]

It's safe.

[ Safe enough, anyway. He wipes the knife on his arm and sheathes it, then goes to study the projectile that had given him the opening he'd needed. A heeled boot, made for a small foot, smudged and scraped with travel but clearly well-made beforehand. ]

Thanks for the help.

[ Safe. Will anywhere ever really be safe for her? Likely not until Irene McAllistair and the Library are dealt with. In between, she'll have monsters and enemies and who knows what else to contend with, all while being... Not helpless, but definitely powerless, and thankfully not dead. ]

You're welcome.

[ She responds from within the tree as she edges backward towards the trunk so she can descend. It takes some work, adrenaline still coursing through her enough to keep her mind from going too fuzzy while her heart races. Trembling slightly as she makes her way down, she stumbles when she finally lands on solid ground, her footing uneven without one boot.

When she turns to face him, she's certainly a sight to behold. Though she's in the same outfit he'd first met her in, previously perfect hair is now a tangled mess, dried mud clings to the bottom of her long shirt, scrapes mar her hands, and perspiration shines all along her hairline. Compared to before, she's a wreck, breathing heavily and pale from exhaustion. But despite her unkempt state, she's focused on him, worry creasing her expression. ]

Are you okay? I'm sorry about before, I shouldn't have distracted you.

[ He waits as whoever had squirreled their way up into the tree makes their slow, shaky way down. Geralt, they'd called. But of all the people who know his name, he least expects the one who appears, muddy and tired and scraped all to hell. His brows draw together, incredulous. ]

Julia.

[ No longer looking like the ethereal goddess. More a girl once more, and one in trouble at that. Geralt shakes himself free of his surprise and comes to offer her the boot she'd thrown, shaking his head at her question. ]

I'll be fine.

[ A dose of Swallow, some rest, and his ribs will knit together again. But he's not concerned about that as he studies her. ]

What're you doing here? Something happen?

[ Accepting the boot, she sets it on the ground and shoves her foot into it before leaning her side against the tree so she can bend down to clumsily tie the laces again. As tempting as it might be to just tuck them in at the top and not go through the hassle, she can't afford to be lazy when she might have to run at a moment's notice. (Whether she'll have the strength to run fast or far is another matter entirely.)

She should explain. He deserves that after he'd just been injured because of her actions. But first. ]

Have you seen anyone? When you were coming through the forest, or before that? Anyone who looks like they're not from here?

[ Chilled fingertips tug the knot tight as she asks her questions, and then she leverages herself upright again. His answer is important and she'll face it head-on, but with any luck, she won't have been followed. ]

[ He shakes his head. As she ties her boot, he whistles for Roach, then palpates along his side. Two, maybe three broken ribs. Bruising and contusions. Another handful of scars to add to his collection. ]

No one. [ The witcher tips his head toward the fallen monster. ] Anybody who was around here either got out when they could or got eaten.

[ Roach trots into the clearing, and Geralt goes to her to collect a small vial of Swallow and a waterskin from the saddlebag. The Swallow he keeps; the water he holds out to Julia. ] Drink. Looks like you need it.

[ Julia accepts the water, taking a deep drink. It's hard to stop herself from drinking it all down in one go, but she doesn't know how close they are to another clean source and she can't use magic to refill it. So, after another big sip, she replaces the stopper and holds it out for Geralt to take again. ]

How badly are you hurt? Really. I know you'll be fine but that means you aren't right now.

[ She's clearly not fine but she wasn't the one just tossed around by a monster, so they can deal with her shit later. ]

Broke some ribs. They'll heal.

[ He drinks down the Swallow as she's sipping at the water, then stashes the vial for a later use and accepts the waterskin back. Geralt studies her with those yellow cat's eyes, taking in her snarled hair, the dirt and smudges, her scraped up hands. ]

Hold out your hands.

[ He lifts the water to indicate he'll wash out her abrasions, which are clotted with dirt and bark from the tree she'd climbed. ] Swallow won't work on you, but I've got some salve that will.

[ When he looks at her like that, she's pretty certain he's trying to look right down to her soul. Unravel the bullshit and secrets to get to the root of things and there you will find the very fucked up sad story of Julia Wicker. But he doesn't press her for answers yet; she appreciates his focus on more practical matters first.

She also appreciates that they're just ignoring the giant dead monster next to them like it's an everyday occurrence. Though, for him, it probably is.

So she does as instructed, holding her hands out and wincing as the water flows over the scrapes and cuts she'd barely noticed through the rush of adrenaline. Now, however, they sting like hell, sharp bursts of pain that cut through the fog clinging to her mind. ]

Thank you.

[ Does she sound like a scolded child? She feels a bit like one right now even though he's done nothing of the sort. ]

[ Despite his gruffness and the violence she's just seen him enact, his touch is gentle as he washes her cuts and abrasions, carefully coaxing out the dirt. When he's finished, her hands are sore and red and several of the scrapes are bleeding freely once more, but they're clean. Geralt turns to stash what's left of the water and retrieves both salve and a small bundle of clean rags. ]

So.

[ He uncaps the salve and motions her to hold her hands out once more, then gently dabs ointment onto her wounds. ]

Someone's chasing you.

[ Or something. But one thing at a time. Roach, unbothered by any of this, puts her head down to search for anything edible left in the wreckage of the clearing as Geralt continues his ministrations. ]

[ His gentleness might be at odds with his appearance and what she's just witnessed, but it doesn't surprise her in the slightest. She'd experienced his kindness in their first meeting and felt his capacity for so much more. If anything, his actions now make her certain of how good a man he is, and just as certain of how much he doesn't need her problems dropped at his door. ]

Yeah. [ The whispered confirmation feels like a confession. There's more to it, though, and he deserves to know. ] I fucked with their shit and now they want me dead.

[ She isn't looking for sympathy. She'd do it all again, consequences be damned. ]

Hm.

[ It's all the comment he makes as he finishes dabbing ointment over her hands and begins carefully wrapping them in the rags, which are worn but soft and clean.

A girl on the run for breaking the rules, someone else's order. Sounds like somebody else he knows. He ties off the bandages and hands her the tin of salve to pocket, then turns and considers the dead chort before striding over to it, slipping his knife out of its sheath. ]

They deserve it?

[ He asks the question as he crouches next to the chort and begins the arduous process of slicing off a horn, a paw. ]

[ It's been a long time since someone took care of her like this. For a few moments, she almost feels safe, and it's a sensation she wishes she could wrap around herself like a blanket. But she might never be safe again if they can't stop the Library.

Her expression tightens slightly with a cold fury when she thinks of what the McAllistairs had gotten away with for so many years. Power and privilege used in the worst ways. There's venom in her words when she answers, tucking the tin into a pocket and watching him work. ]

They had fairies enslaved and were killing them to crush their bones to snort for magic. So yeah, they deserved it.

[ The vengeful part of her argued they deserved far worse than they'd gotten, but she'd seen the room in the aftermath of the faeries' wrath. It was a fitting end for that despicable family — she looks forward to the last member being clipped from the tree like all the rest. ]

[ He wonders what she'd think of the sorcerers of this world, some of whom would be more than willing to make that very same deal. But there are none in this part of Velen, as far as he knows; certainly none out here in the woods and the wild.

The witcher finishes collecting his trophies and proof of a contract completed, then straightens with a wince and a grunt of pain. The horn he tucks into a saddlebag; the paw he ties to the saddle itself. Task complete, he takes Roach by the bridle and leads the mare over to where Julia's standing.

He hasn't commented on her answer, and he doesn't now, only tips his head at the saddle. ]

Come on. I'll give you a leg up.

[ The worst part of giving up her power is not being able to create those new worlds where people could be safe from that sort of harm. Would any of the other gods bother with such things? They seem to create worlds and then only pay attention when it suits them, not when they're actually needed. Look at the way Our Lady Underground had just ignored all the horrible things her monster of a son was doing, and the way Ember was going to be able to just wipe out Fillory because he was bored. How was any of it right?

Julia reaches out to set a bandaged hand on Roach's neck, giving the creature a gentle pat. When was the last time she'd ridden a horse? It doesn't matter, she shouldn't be riding one now. ]

Geralt, I appreciate you saving me from that thing, but you don't need to be mixed up in my mess. If the Library finds me, they won't care about collateral damage.

[ He exhales through his nose and crosses his arms as he studies her, ignoring the twinge of pain that shoots through his ribs as he does. Brave of her. Foolhardy, but brave. Still trying to do the right thing, even though it's clear whatever had been sustaining her before was no longer at her fingertips.

He nods, once, decisive. ]

Fine.

[ In the next second, he has his hands at her waist and is lifting her up onto Roach's back, heedless of the way his ribs complain. She's tiny and feels as light as a sparrow in his hands.

If the Library finds me. He fends off a sudden desire to bring her to Kaer Morhen, where she'd be safe behind the walls and wards and where Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert could help guard. If it comes to that, it won't be right away. ]

But you may as well ride while we're keeping them from finding you. Can't leave you alone in the woods.

[ He moves faster than she can process in her current condition, lifting her before she even realizes it. Her body moves without thought, swinging her leg over so she's seated properly in the saddle. There are old memories of learning to ride as a child, taking lessons with the other rich kids because it's what families like theirs did. Of course, she'd ditched them as soon as her mother would allow.

The urge to argue rises up inside her but catches in her throat. She's so tired, and she doesn't know the way. If he leaves her out here, she'll probably just get eaten by some other monster lurking in the woods.

So... okay then. For now. ]

Fine. [ Her acquiesence screams of reluctance. She's even more reluctant to say the next part, but it doesn't seem like the sort of thing he'd find a pleasant surprise. ] But fair warning, I might pass out and fall off.

Could always tie you to the saddle.

[ His humor, as always, is buried beneath a gruff voice and unsmiling face. Even less visible is his concern. Angoulême would have thanked him for his help with a kick in the face and a shrill declaration that she was fine to walk, and Julia has no less spirit. Or so it had seemed before.

But now, there's something more to her weariness than simply being lost and tired and hungry and hurt. The witcher mulls it over as he slips Roach's reins over the mare's head and begins leading her back through the trees, walking beside horse and girl. ]

There's food in the saddlebag. More water, too.

[ And plenty more where both came from. The coin from killing the chort will be more than enough to replenish his supplies.

He ignores, for the moment, her protestations about getting him involved. He isn't planning to do anything of the kind. Witchers don't get involved. But he won't leave her here in the middle of the woods with nothing. ]

[ His humor is exactly as she remembers it, which is nothing short of comforting. When everything else in her world has changed irrevocably again, he is the same as the man in her memory. It's only been a few weeks for Julia, but they suddenly feel like years.

She wants to cry. She wants to scream. She wants to climb back into that tree and wait to wake up from this nightmare. But this isn't a dream, it's her life, and she has to figure out the new rules before she gets someone killed.

The offer of food and more water is ignored for now. There are more important things, and she's too tired to feel the pangs of hunger. ]

Does the medallion still work?

[ It should. She hopes it does, but now that her power is gone, the possibility of her gifts being undone sinks sharp claws into her chest. If he's lost that connection to his child again... ]

It does.

[ He doesn't hesitate to reassure her, though the glance he slides her way is thoughtful. She isn't Ciri, running from the Hunt, and she isn't Yennefer, desperately portaling away from Vilgefortz despite her ruined hands.

But she's still running. And with a question like that... ]

Your magic.

[ Despite his bluntness, he's trying to be gentle. She's been through plenty already. That's more than clear. ]

Is it... [ He stops, tries again. ] Are you having trouble with it?

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