ourladytrees | the witcher and the goddess

[ 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.

[ Nodding to show she's heard him, Julia stays standing at the door for just a moment longer, pulling together the scraps of whatever strength she has left. It's not much, she's spent nearly every ounce just getting this far, but all she needs is enough to get through this night. One step at a time.

She takes a breath, holds it, and then turns and walks back to the bed as she slowly lets out that breath. Stepping around to the other side of the bed, she gathers the voluminous nightgown as she slips under the covers he'd pulled back, arranging the extra fabric of her borrowed clothing so it wouldn't tangle or be too uncomfortable. Only when she's finished does she lean back against the pillows, which are far from luxurious but feel like heaven at this moment.

Darkness immediately wraps around her mind, trying to tug her into blissful unconsciousness. And she has no intentions of fighting that pull, she'll give into it soon, but first. ]

Thank you, Geralt. For everything.

[ Her words slur slightly at the end, and she tries to shift to better face him, but all she manages is to turn her head and blink slowly at him. Her knight in slightly dirty armor. ]

[ He huffs a breath and nods. ]

Sure.

[ Even he's not enough of a boor to sleep in his armor in a bed, especially when she might roll into him in the night and accidentally hurt herself on a stud or the chainmail. He'd heard enough complaints from Yen over the years about the perils of sleeping next to a lump of boiled leather and mail, so while Julia closes her eyes, he sets about removing first his gauntlets, then his chest armor. Sets it aside as the banked fire glows, filling the little room with the warmth she needs after the shock she's had.

His thoughts meander as he tugs off his boots, unlaces the leather armor from his legs, leaving him in breeches and undershirt. Could be an Elven Sage might know something that would help. Trouble is, he can't stand any of the Sages of his acquaintance.

All of that is a problem for tomorrow. The witcher swings his legs up onto the bed and settles back, lying over the blankets while she's underneath them, his hands loose on his stomach.

Sleep. Both of them need it. ]

[ She doesn't dream. Her sleep is deep enough that she barely even moves, physical and mental exhaustion pulling her deep enough into the darkness that even her usual nightmares can't penetrate the veil. It's a blissful reprieve from the pain and regret that has haunted her for months, though it'll be renewed now with the fresh material of recent events.

The sun is up when she finally opens her eyes. Is she waking naturally or did something tug her back up to the surface? As she blinks heavily at the unfamiliar room, she struggles to remember where she is and why she's here...

Until it rushes back to her with the force of a truck. She presses her aching hands to her face, taking a few long, deep breaths, and pulls herself together before she breaks apart into a thousand little pieces. ]

the witcher and the goddess

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[blows the dust off]

well worth the wait!

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