ourladytrees | the witcher and the goddess

I'm sure we can come up with something.

[ He has no real interest in her coin, but after years on the Path, he knows that, sometimes, playing the mercenary is the only way some will accept aid.

But then, she hadn't turned from him, even though he's a witcher. She hadn't been afraid of him, and she isn't now. He turns it all over in his head as they finally make their way out of the woods and onto a path that soon joins the main road.

The witcher points ahead. ]

There's the village. Just need to finish up my business with the ealdorman.

[ Julia still holds that the people of this world are idiots for fearing and shunning the witchers. Those men help keep them safe, risking their lives when they could so easily make a living doing something else. If the others are anything like Geralt, then they don't deserve the treatment they receive — they should be honored as heroes.

Squinting in the low light, she slowly straightens, forcing herself above the haze of exhaustion to comb through her memories of the last time she'd been on this world. ]

I think I've been here before...

[ And if she has, perhaps that will be to their benefit. Quickly, she tugs at her clothes, trying to brush off some of the dirt before lifting her hands to her hair. She winces as tangled strands scrape over the cuts on her hands, but it'll be better for them if she can look even halfway presentable. ]

If we can make sure they know you saved me, it might work in our favor.

Or it might go the other way.

[ Not that they have much choice. He leads Roach into the village as Julia does her best to make clean herself up. She still looks like a foundling from the forest, one who'd been attacked and chased and injured. If he wanted to put coin on it, he'd say it's just as likely they'll assume he's the one who hurt her, and is now bringing her here in an attempt to up his price.

But maybe her optimism will be rewarded. He busies himself with keeping an eye on the villagers they pass, the few who are outside in the evening. More than one hesitates, then stares, and then the murmurs come.

"Our Lady... Our Lady of the Tree... "

Geralt directs his low voice to her. ]

Guess they remember you.

[ Amid the amazement in the whispers, a new note appears, sour and suspicious. "Our Lady... not safe, the mutant... he don't feel like we do, he's not human..." ]

Edited 2023-01-29 04:22 (UTC)

[ Julia does her best to hide how tired she is when they reach the villagers, offering them smiles as they pass and picking out the ones she remembers from when she'd last been through the village. There are quite a few she'd helped, and even a handful who had leaned heavily into the fact that she was a goddess. As Geralt said, it could go either way for them, but that doesn't mean she can't try to help tip the scales in a particular direction — especially when she catches one of those whispers.

Well, they can't have that. Speaking just as quietly to him, she holds a hand down to him and tries to channel even a fraction of the grace and elegance she'd so readily had before. ]

Will you help me down, please? [ And then, louder so those whisperers can hear: ] I thank you for providing me safe passage through the forest, and for saving me from that creature. If you're interested, I would like to formally employ your services.

[ There's a wry glint in his yellow eyes as he brings Roach to a halt, but the witcher reaches up to catch her around the waist and help her off the mare without hesitation. There's no doubt her gambit's working; the villagers hesitate in a bewildered, scattered semi-circle around them, murmuring to themselves. If their Lady is bestowing thanks and kindness on a witcher, ought they to do the same?

Geralt ignores them and helps Julia down, impressed at how she manages to carry herself. Even battered and dirty and exhausted and powerless, she holds herself like she has a core of steel within that small frame.

Losing her magic won't be the end of her. He knows the type all too well: women like Julia aren't powerful simply because they can start fires with a snap of their fingers.

More than that, he's in this with her, now. So he can play along. ]

So happens I've just completed my current contract. So why not? I'm free.

[ Julia is more than a little pleased with the effect her charade is having on the villagers. Since the last time they'd met, she'd wanted to find a way to somehow make life even the slightest bit better for Geralt and those like him. If this is how she does it, then she'll gladly put on a performance worthy of fucking Broadway.

Offering him a benevolent smile, she sets a hand on his arm, purposefully displaying how unafraid she is of him and how she doesn't see him as some thing to be disgusted by. ]

Good, I'm glad to hear it. We'll discuss the details once you've finished your business with the ealdorman. [ With a glance at Roach, she adds: ] How about I start getting her settled and you can meet us when you're ready?

[ The witcher nods to her, curt, though there's the hint of something almost like amusement in his yellow mutant's eyes. The way she'd gathered herself, used her reputation and infamy, put that steel into her spine... it almost reminds him of Yen.

The thought of the goddess lowering herself to take care of such a base animal as Roach, though, is a bridge too far for one of the women nearby; the innkeeper's wife, Geralt thinks, as she comes forward, apron in hands, her expression uncertain but her voice firm. ]

Don't trouble yourself with that beast, my lady. Corin! [ The woman turns about and gestures sharply toward a lanky young man who'd brought out a bucket of scraps to toss into the goat pen out back, only to be caught by the goings-on in his sleepy little village. ] Corin, come and stable this mare!

[ The witcher hands over Roach's reins, then looks at Julia. ]

Go on inside. I'll find you when I've concluded my business.

[ It's good to see that hint of something in his eyes, assuring her she isn't overstepping or taking things too far. Under normal circumstances, she might not even think to worry about it, instead just charging ahead in what she thinks is right — but she owes so much to Geralt, and she knows that debt will only grow in the days ahead.

Nodding her agreement with his plan, she turns to head for the inn but takes a moment first to address the young man already leading Roach away. ]

Thank you, Corin. Please take good care of her.

[ He looks more than a little overwhelmed at being addressed by the powerful deity who'd performed miracles in their village not long ago, but he hastily nods and they both continue on their way. She follows the innkeeper's wife inside, the woman already offering her a room for the night. ] On the house, my lady. It's the least we can do after how you helped us all when you were last here.

[ Thanking her with genuine sincerity, Julia sits at one of the tables in the dining area to wait for her companion. It's difficult to keep up the act of strength and not let slip how shaken she is by the day, but she does the best she can. ]

[ It's amazing – and a little insulting – how malleable the ealdorman has become now that whispers of Our Lady of the Tree have reached his ears. The man hardly hesitates at all before he pays the witcher the promised coin in return for the proof Geralt had taken off the chort. When he asks if the goddess will be staying in the village, the witcher shrugs. ]

Guess we'll see.

[ The inn is a good deal more welcoming this time around, too. A few villagers cast wary glances askance at him, but they simply shift away, leaving a bubble of empty space around him. He orders some wine and food at the bar, then makes his way through the pub to the table where she's sitting.

She's still upright. That's good. ]

Some food on the way. Wine. Anyone give you any trouble?

[ She might still be upright but that's about all she's got going for her right now. When Geralt enters the room, she's completely oblivious, and when he arrives at the table, it takes her a long moment to notice he's there and process what he's said. But she forces herself to focus and respond, shaking her head in answer to his question. ]

No. I think they're all too nervous to come over, which would normally bother me, but for now I'm okay with it. [ She starts to lift her hands to rest them on the table, realizes they're trembling, and lowers them to her lap again. ] She offered me a room for the night. I just thanked her. I wasn't sure what you wanted to do.

[ He might have said before that they'd stay here for the night, but she can't quite remember. Things are getting fuzzy around the edges and she's uncharacteristically happy to let someone else call the shots. ]

[ His glance drops to the hands she decides not to lift to the table, then narrows as he studies her. ]

A room's good. I can get one, too, if it'd make you more comfortable.

[ Not that he minds bunking down on the floor. He's slept worse places. As the woman who'd invited Julia in passes by, he glances up, lifting his voice just enough to be heard. A paying customer, not a witcher. Not here to make trouble. ]

That room you offered the lady here. Can you set up a bathtub in it?

[ Julia's dirty and cold and she'll need clothes as well as food and rest. But one thing at a time. The innkeeper's wife nods to him and to Julia, both, almost bowing as she turns to his companion. ]

Yes, of course. A tub, plenty of hot water. And... will you need those clothes laundered, my Lady?

[ Geralt looks toward Julia and lifts his eyebrows. ]

Not a bad idea.

[ Does she want to be separated from him for the night? It feels strange to even consider the idea. When was the last time she felt like she needed a man for anything? And now look at her, relying on a relative stranger for just about everything.

The mention of a hot bath nearly has her swooning and it takes every ounce of strength in her not to show it. She doesn't want to be an ambivalent asshole but she does need to keep up the charade of still being a goddess. It might be dishonest but she needs all the help she can get.

Glancing briefly at Geralt, she addresses the woman with a grateful but tired smile. ]

If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would greatly appreciate it.

[ The woman, of course, immediately responds with another semi-bow. ] It's no trouble at all, my Lady.

[ Julia watches the woman go before finally admitting to Geralt what she'd been thinking before. The admission is quiet and almost reluctant, like a child revealing they're too scared to sleep without a light on. And she is scared of something, but it isn't the boogeyman in the dark. ]

I don't think I want to be alone tonight.

[ He stays quiet as Julia arranges things with the woman, busying himself with laying out the food when it comes: a bowl of hot stew for each of them; a crusty loaf of bread, fresh from the oven and steaming from a soft white interior; plush white farm cheese; a platter of roasted root vegetables; a bottle of wine. He uncorks the wine and pours a glass for Julia, then pushes it across to her as she speaks.

Scared. That's how she sounds. Scared, and overwhelmed, and tired down to the bone. He shakes his head as he pours himself a glass, then sets the bottle aside. ]

Don't have to be.

[ Said with the calm assurance of gravity. If she doesn't want to be alone, she won't be. He'll bunk on the floor, keep her company.

The witcher tips his chin toward her bowl. ]

Eat up. Then go take that bath. It'll help. Both things.

[ Julia feels sick as she looks at all the food laid out before them, nausea washing over her at the very thought of eating anything — until she tears off a piece of bread and takes her first bite. Hunger propels her, autopilot taking over as she eats as much as she can stand without actually being physically ill.

Later, she'll regret that she wasn't able to savor the taste of anything. It's simple food but that can be the most comforting in hard times.

When she's finished, she takes a last sip of wine before taking her leave and going to find the innkeeper's wife. The woman takes her to a room upstairs, the space clean and tidy like the rest of the inn, the woman's care for her family's business more than evident. A metal tub is already waiting, steam rising up from the water within, and though it's nothing compared to the clawfoot tub in Julia's apartment back in NYC, after the day she's had, it's glorious.

The offer of a nightgown nearly does her in, the woman apologizing profusely for the quality not being good enough for someone like her, but it's warm and dry and that's all that matters. So she soaks in the hot water until she's close to falling asleep again and the water begins to cool, and then she quickly scrubs her skin with the cloth and soap also graciously provided by her hostess. When the other woman returns to check on her, Julia hands over the bundle of dirty clothes to be cleaned, thanking her again for the nightgown that is too large while also being absolutely perfect. ]

Will you please tell my escort where I am?

[ The answer to her request is a look of uncertainty and then a simple nod of agreement. ]

[ He spends the time while Julia bathes sitting by the inn's fire, nursing a cup of wine and considering his options.

Option one: just don't get involved. Too late for that already.

Option two: see if there's some way to get Julia her magic back. He mulls that one over for a while. It's a lot more promising than the first option, and she wouldn't be the first magician he'd known who'd had to work to regain the magic she'd lost. But it would require contacting Triss – not ideal – or Yen – even less so – in all likelihood. He tables it for the moment and keeps thinking.

Option three: he keeps Julia safe until she gets back to her world. That's likely a no-go without option two, but he keeps it in the mix anyway.

Option four: Julia stays here, on the Continent. It's not his favorite for a multitude of reasons, mostly because anyone being stuck here generally means they're out of all the better options he's failing to come up with.

He becomes conscious of the innkeeper's wife standing nearby – but not too near – when the woman clears her throat. ]

She's asking for you.

[ The witcher nods and gets to his feet. After a moment's thought, he retrieves the bottle and two cups – if Julia isn't nearly dead on her feet already, he'll be surprised, but it's always best to be prepared. A little more wine might help her to sleep.

The woman shows him upstairs to the room they're in, and leaves as he's knocking on the door with the knuckle of one gloved hand. ]

I'm coming in. Alright?

[ Once she's alone again, Julia finally sits on the edge of the bed, not daring to do more until Geralt arrives. She feels sick with exhaustion, the shaky, unstable feeling combining with the emptiness in her soul to make her want to cry. But she can't cry, she's too tired, and she knows that once she starts, she might not stop.

It takes a moment for the sound of the knocking to register, and another still for her to realize she needs to respond to the voice on the other side of the door. ]

Yes.

[ Does she sound as worn out as she feels? Every part of her aches. Her feet are sore from the shoes that weren't meant for running for her life. Her hands are tender from the scrapes on her palms. And her arms and legs are stiffening from over-abused muscles.

She feels like a little girl again as she sits on the bed in her too-large nightgown, wet hair hanging over one shoulder and leaving water spots on the white material. Her appearance is certainly less striking than on her previous visit to this world, with her hair a mess and all the makeup thoroughly washed off. She's just a woman now, scared and alone. ]

[ At her reply, the witcher opens the door and steps inside, then secures it behind himself. She's sitting on the bed, drowning in a borrowed nightgown, and though she's clean and damp he thinks of Ciri, smudged with ash and fleeing the inferno that had been the city where she lived. ]

Look a little better.

[ A little. He comes to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight and that of his armor, then unbuckles his swords, one at a time. The witcher sets them both against the foot of the bed, where they'll be in easy reach of where he plans to sleep, bunked on the floor. Those golden mutant's eyes of his study her.

Comfort is an alien concept to him. In his youth, it had meant Vesemir's gruff voice shouting at him to be faster, to keep his feet, to look. A little later, it had been sneaking vodka with Eskel and getting drunk in the Kaer Morhen's Great Hall or in one of their cells. After that... nothing. He's not certain he'd have called Yen's touch or whispers comfort; what they are is too complicated for that.

But then there was Ciri. And, after Ciri, the hanza. Dandelion. Cahir. Milva. Angoulême. Regis. A fire shared, a pot of soup made by many hands.

The witcher hesitates, then reaches one scarred and callused hand toward her, setting it on the bedspread, palm up, letting her come to him, if she wants. ]

Will you be able to sleep?

[ Saying she looks a little better might be stretching it. She's clean, but that's probably about the only thing she's got going for her. But it's still nice for him to say it anyway.

It isn't awkward for him to sit next to her on the bed, and she isn't the least bit concerned by the swords he sets down within reach. Geralt is a good man and she trusts him implicitly. If anything, having him so close is more comforting than whatever else he might say or do. Until he rests his hand between them. Again, it takes a moment for her brain to catch up, but then she sets her hand in his, the warmth of his skin mattering far more than the roughness of those scars and calluses. ]

I hope so.

[ But she doesn't know. Actual restful sleep may be beyond her; she may simply pass into unconsciousness and wake to find the waking nightmare her life has become. ]

Everything hurts. Inside and out, it's like I've been beaten and scraped raw, and my magic, it burned when I ripped it out. I can feel the place in my soul where it's supposed to be and now it's just... empty.

[ Why is she telling him this? Why is she rambling about all this when her voice is cracking and she's creeping closer to the sweet oblivion of exhaustion? What does any of it matter? ]

[ It burned.

Her words make him think not only of Yennefer, her hands broken and shattered, or of Ciri, burning her own magic out in an attempt to save herself, but of the mutagens coursing through his veins. The screaming agony of it as his cells rearranged, grew strange, died and were reborn again.

He isn't, he thinks, the best choice for her to have found in this world, when it comes to help and understanding and comfort. Regis would have known what to say; Dandelion could make her laugh. The best the witcher can do is listen, and plan.

And she's not wrong. His amulet isn't reacting to her the way it used to. It's possible her magic is gone forever, although he's become wary of considering things in absolutes. ]

You're in shock.

[ He says it quiet and firm, without pity but with deep understanding. ]

You injured yourself. You need time to heal.

I don't have time.

[ The words come out like an expression of pain, thin and strained. Her fingers tighten around his like he's an anchor in a storm and all she can do is hold on. And maybe he's right. Maybe she's in shock and all of this will be easier to deal with after she's had a little time to rest and recover. ]

I have to get back to my friends. I just left them— [ She feels a burning in her throat but no tears come. ] I ran and I left them and I don't know what they'll do to them.

[ Not knowing is terrifying. What if they're hurt? What if they're already dead? Logically, Julia knows she likely wouldn't have been able to stop anything from happening even if she'd been there, but still... ]

You did what you had to do.

[ She's not a fighter; not like he is, not like Ciri. He has no doubt her teeth are plenty sharp, but without her magic, she's muzzled. If the people after her had caught her friends, hurt them, it doesn't seem as though there's much she could have done to stop it. ]

No sense in going back now, not until you have a plan. A way to get to those people you're running from, even without magic. Can't rescue your friends on no sleep and one meal.

[ The witcher shifts on the mattress, reaching with his other hand so he's cradling one of hers in both of his. Her cuts still look raw and pink, but he doesn't see the angry red of infection. His own gloved hands are gentle beneath and over her fingers, her poor sore knuckles. ]

So you've got time. Because you need time, anyway.

[ It's not like there's a way for her to portal back tonight, anyhow, but he doesn't mention that. She already knows. ]

Sleep. I'll be over there, by the fire. Nothing's getting you tonight.

[ No, she's not a fighter, but she should have learned. Beyond knowing how to throw a proper punch, she knows nothing of how to fend off an attacker, despite growing up in a city known for its rampant issues with crime. She'd relied on knowing how to use a gun if it came to it, and then on how to use magic to shield herself from attack. Hell, she'd never even learned proper battle magic...

If she finds a way back to Earth, what could she possibly do to stand up against the Library? There aren't any allies for her to turn to. Dean Fog sold them out. Marina-23 doesn't have any reason to help her, especially given what happened to Marina-40. And everyone else she might have been able to turn to is in need of rescue themselves.

If they're even still alive.

Nodding at his words, she gives his hand beneath hers the slightest squeeze, not caring about the ache the motion causes in her fingers. He's done so much for her, she can withstand a little discomfort. ]

You can sleep on the bed too. [ The offer comes as she looks over at the fire and notices the distinct lack of a comfortable place to get proper rest. ] You need rest to heal those ribs. And I trust you.

[ There's not a single ounce of doubt in her that he'll be a perfect gentleman in the night. Geralt is a good man even if he doesn't always believe it himself. ]

[ The witcher studies her with those cat's eyes of his, the same incisive, unblinking gaze he'd used to take her measure in the woods. She's pale, injured, weakened, traumatized. If he wanted to take advantage of her, it would be all too easy.

Which she has to know. Which means she either trusts him so much she's willing to bet he's not that sort of man, or she's so scared to be alone she's willing to risk it.

But he'd seen that core of steel in her before. He doesn't think it's the second, even as shocked and worried as she is. ]

Alright.

[ He won't pass up a chance to sleep in a real bed, even if he ribs would be fine without it. And if something does come after her in the night, it'll be better if he's right there. Who knows, maybe that's part of it; maybe she wants to be able to reach out and find someone there in the dark. He's never thought of himself as an especially reassuring person, but he's taken on her protection, and he means to see it through. If this is part of it, it's part of it. ]

I'll take the side nearest the door.

[ Just in case. ]

[ Julia might be weak right now, but she's not helpless. Though it doesn't factor into her decision, she knows that if she were to scream for help, people would come running, and it wouldn't be because she was a woman in need. The reputation she built for herself when last she was here will serve her well so long as she continues to cultivate it, and it would be so very easy for her to use Geralt's unearned reputation against him as well. But she knows there won't be any need for such an effort because she's felt his heart and knows how true his soul is. He might not be perfect, who really is, but he's good and that's enough. ]

Okay.

[ She nods again before gently pulling her hand from his and slowly standing, her movements careful so she doesn't sway too much on her feet. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looks at the door for a moment before moving to it, her bare feet nearly silent on the wooden floor. Geralt will be between her and anything that comes through it, she knows, but she still has to reach out and check that it's secure. Her fingers itch to form the spell for a simple ward, and after a brief hesitation, she gives into the compulsion. The fluid motion is nothing like the magic of this world and there's no reason for her to expect it to work, yet she's still disappointed when it doesn't.

No magic. No money. No resources of any kind. Just a man she'd somehow roped into helping her and a warm bed for the night. Honestly, it's better than she could have hoped for, given her recent track record. ]

Edited (now with a link!) 2023-07-22 03:02 (UTC)

[ He can still recall the scent of magic that had surrounded her, before, like ozone before a storm. Enough that he could feel it, like the faint crackle of static energy, even without the vibrations from his medallion.

Right now, there's nothing, not even as she attempts what seems to be a warding spell. Her fingers move, graceful as ever, but nothing comes of it, not even a spark. There's not much he can do about it. Aard won't last long enough to be a meaningful ward, and the Signs are all the magic he has. Whether they'd need it tonight or not isn't the problem; it's the path ahead that has him concerned.

But they'll get there when they get there. And perhaps, along the way, they'll find some part of her magic again. He shifts on the bed, reaching to pull back the covers on the other side for her. ]

Come on. Get some rest.

the witcher and the goddess

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[blows the dust off]

well worth the wait!

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