#'don't settle for your lot' he's no longer settling just for simply being in geralt's presence he KNOWS he deserves more and better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angst-fairygodmother · 2 years

Note

Could you maybe write soneting where the reader and Lambert are together at Kaer Morhen, they are together and the reader helps out Ciri a lot. But the reader is later wounded when the Voleth Meir posesses Ciri? 🌚✨🗡

A/N: I sort of skipped the first bit, because a little Lambert/Reader hurt/comfort felt right, here. I hope you enjoy! Word Count: 1783 Rating: T - canon typical language, canon typical violence, The Witcher season 2 spoilers, descriptions of pain/injuries, innuendo and implication

“Y/N, what are you doing?!” Lambert hissed, even that sound seeming to boom in the eerie empty halls of the witchers' keep.

He grabbed your wrist as you tried to push your way past him, refusing to simply sit in the room you shared and do nothing while he and his brothers risked their lives. The hold was gentle, easy enough to yank out of while you glared at the big redhead.

“Going to Ciri,” you snapped as if it were obvious (and it should have been). “She needs me, needs us.”

“Are you mad woman?! She would have slit all our throats as we slept if she hadn't been interrupted.”

“You said yourself that that thing isn't her. Except the part that is,” you sighed and ran your hands over your face. “We don't have time for this. You know how close she and I have become, closer than anyone else here. If Geralt can't get through to her, can't help her break whatever's doing this, maybe I can.”

“You could get hurt,” he said, voice plaintive and almost broken. “You could be killed.”

“So could you. Every time you go off to fight a monster, just like now. Have I ever tried to stop you?”

“Well no but...I'm a witcher. That's my job.”

You reached up to cup his bearded cheek in one hand, smiling fondly as he leaned into your palm. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, like he was memorizing your smell or looking for something in it before exhaling in a sigh.

“Please Lambert. I need you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, Y/N. It's her I don't. And me, if something ever happened to you.”

You stood on your tiptoes, the height difference still meaning you were barely eye to eye. You leaned in, feeling the way the coarse hairs scratched familiarly against your own face. His breath ghosted over you, a strange comforting feeling before your lips pressed together. Your hand slid back along his jaw, tangling into the long locks at his temple and his clung to your hips, holding you against him like his life, or yours, depended on it.

“I'll be okay,” you promised. “How can I not be, when I know you'll be watching my backside the whole time.” You winked, drawing out that deep, blessed laugh that you loved so much.

“Damn right,” he growled playfully. “And when this is over, I'll be dragging it back here and keeping it in bed with me for a week.”

“Only a week?”

“Oh it'll be longer if you let me.”

“Well then, I suppose we had better go find Ciri and settle this, yeah?”

He hesitated, reminded of the reality of the situation outside your teasing, of how momentarily terrifying the little girl had been when he caught a glimpse of her fleeing. You gave his hand a comforting squeeze and he nodded solemnly, words lost in his throat. And then you were gone, slipping through his grasp like smoke as you headed for the Great Hall and Ciri and he made for the armory and his brothers.

It was easy to lose track when your home, a place that should have been impenetrably safe, exploded into a battlefield. Even easier was losing hope as you watched a child you had come to care for slaughter the people you'd grown up beside, known all your life. Add being battered by a basilisk like a cat with a toy mouse, and no one could blame Lambert for not being at his best. Except Lambert.

Y/N approached Ciri, hands held out to her, inviting her to take them. She called Ciri's name, voice somehow carrying over the noise of the fight and the cyclone that was building up around the younger girl. Everything seemed to stop as the eerie, unnatural green eyes considered her. A chill certainty washed over him that the thing that had taken over the girl was wholly evil, and had fixed it's intent on his lover. He turned his sword away from the monsters and toward her, determined to reach her or die trying.

“Ciri,” you spoke softly, calling to the princess. “Sweetheart, can you hear me? Let me help you.”

“Help me?” The voice that wasn't hers echoed through the room and your mind followed by a cruel laugh that twisted your stomach. “How could you help me? I have more power than you could ever dream.”

“You're right. But that doesn't mean you can, or should, do everything alone. Ciri knows that, and even when she's stubborn, she relies on her friends, her family.”

“That's what made her weak.”

“No. We made each other strong.”

You took a step closer, unwavering despite the hatred you could feel rolling off the girl like a physical force.

“Ciri, I know you're in there. And whatever she's doing, it can't be good. But you have to fight. Be strong.”

Suddenly, the unnatural green eyes narrowed and something grabbed you by the throat, invisible claws digging into flesh as it squeezed.

“I am going to enjoy destroying you.” The voice reverberated. “Your pain will make so much more.”

Your feet lifted from the floor as you struggled helplessly. And then the room was rushing past faster than you could process, before you slammed into something solid and blackness overtook you, too quickly to feel any pain.

Someone was screaming...no roaring. Like a wounded bear. It didn't even register to the redheaded witcher that it was him as he launched into a second rage, on top of the one caused by the elixirs, and cut through Ciri's monsters like they were bags of straw.

He wanted to get to the girl, to make her suffer, no matter what affection he, or you, had felt for her before. But Geralt and Vesimir and more basilisks stood in his way. He felt trapped and helpless, feelings he hadn't since he was a boy, and his vision seemed to narrow.

No longer registering the dangers in the room, he ran to Y/N's side, cradling her limp body against his chest.

“Wake up, damn fool woman,” he growled, trying to bury pain in anger. “Why the fuck did you put yourself in danger like that?”

He was still holding his love close, shielding her with his body and listening carefully to her unsteady heart and labored breathing when Vesimir placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Take her to the infirmary, we cannot help her here,” his mentor said softly, tiredly.

“Can you help her at all?” He asked in return, not daring yet to move.

“I don't know.”

When you woke, you were staring up at a ceiling that told you nothing about where you were. Rough wool scratched at the underside of your arms where they rested beside you and there was a heavy weight pulling at one side of the material, stretching it tight across your lap.

You groaned weakly, body aching in so many ways that it was impossible to identify one or trace and pinpoint them. Suddenly the tension released, making the blanket snap back into a rumple that barely covered your legs.

“Y/N! You're awake!” Lambert shouted, shooting up into a seated position beside you, his volume making you wince as your head throbbed.

“Unfortunately,” you grumbled.

A split second later the air was knocked painfully out of your lungs as he crushed you into a hug. His face pressed into your neck and you were shocked to realize that it was damp. Grimacing, you did your best to return the hug, running a comforting hand across his shoulders.

“Dammit woman, you scared me,” he murmured, only audible because of his proximity to your ear.

Before you could answer and apologize, another voice cut through.

“Oi! Lambchop! Suffocating the girl isn't a good way to make her rest,” Coen teased as he approached.

Lambert leapt back from you, face as sheepish as a kid caught stealing cookies from the baking tray. You smiled softly at him before Coen's hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“I don't know what you've done to this off Y/N, but he hasn't left your side since the battle. How are you feeling?”

You felt your cheeks warm in a furious blush under the sudden, intent focus the two men turned on you.

“Honestly, awful,” you answered with a rueful chuckle that became a cough. “But I'm alive apparently, which is better than I thought the result would be, in the moment I had to think.”

Coen laughed, while Lambert scowled with worry.

“Well I'll let the others know, and leave you two lovebirds alone,” he paused, glancing around at what you assumed were other beds with injured witchers in them, and shrugged. “Alone-ish.”

He threw you a wink as he turned and strolled away again, and you tried to cover your heated face with your hands. A silence settled over you and Lambert as he seemed to study the threads of your blanket.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching out to cradle his cheek in one hand, forcing yourself into a semi-seated position in the process. “Lambert, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He frowned, even as he leaned into your touch.

“I should have listened to you. I didn’t stand a chance, and I…I hurt you by getting hurt.”

He laughed, the sound warming your heart even though it seemed out of place here and now.

“Only you,” he shook his head. “Would almost die and be worried about me.”

“Well…of course. I love you.”

“You what?”

Blood rushed in your ears and you felt dizzy. You couldn’t be sure whether it was the after-effects of your injury or the words that had slipped out of you so naturally. You closed your eyes to steady yourself.

“I love you Lambert.”

He brushed a soft kiss against your lips, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. He gently cradled your head in one of his hands, the other supporting his weight so that he didn’t hurt you. You looped your arms around his neck, trying to hold him close as he drew away with a groan.

“I love you too, you mad infuriating woman,” he said with a smirk. “And gods damn it all, if you weren’t still hurt, I’d show you just how much.”

You smiled back at him, teasingly. “I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Y/N. But for now, rest.”

“Will you stay with me?” you meant it as a joke, but he nodded, gaze intense.

“I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere else.”

#The Witcher season 2 #The Witcher spoilers #Lambert x Reader #Lambert (The Witcher)#The Witcher fic #new character alert #but it's not post and run #although I am going to bed so I guess it is...#this was an excellent test-prompt #because it comes with a pre-set scenario and I just have to find voices not a plot

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

Goodbyes

We’re almost done! Part 6 of @heyabooboo‘s gift for @thewitchersecretsanta.

I'M SORRY! I know it was mean to end the last chapter like that, but I couldn't resist. I won't keep you waiting any longer, here's the second to last chapter:

Summary: Jaskier has lost the Game of Fools. Before he says goodbye forever, he asks for one last favour.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: references to depression

Read on AO3

'It truly is the softest silk,' he thought as the white robes settled on his body. 'The chains are a bit heavy, though I suppose shackles are meant to be.' Maybe he could bargain to be relieved of those later. He had a lot of time, now.

He blinked his eyes open to see he had traded places with Geralt. He was kneeling at the deity's feet while the witcher stood before him; bloodied and bruised, his hair a matted mess, clad in black leather. "Jaskier," he whispered, disbelievingly.

Slowly, a smile spread on his face. "There," he said softly. "That's better."

"What- no! What is happening?" Furious, he turned to the deity, all the docile tranquillity that now settled in Jaskier's mind gone, replaced with outrage, disbelief, fear. "We made a deal," his voice was quivering uncharacteristically. "You said you'd leave them be as long as I'd stay. You said you wouldn't lay a finger on him!"

There was something strange about Geralt's statement, something that Jaskier's clouded mind couldn't quite grasp. "It's alright," he promised just as the deity answered: "We did. Until he offered a better one. I might be a god, but he chose this fate and there is nought that I can do. Just as little as you. There is no entity stronger than the own free will of a man. He will stay until the day that he completes the task."

Jaskier blinked slowly. That might be the most the deity had said to him since his arrival. "Task?" he echoed weakly. When had talking become so hard? "What task?"

"Funny that you should ask." They carded their fingers through his hair and he couldn't help but lean into the touch. It still burned, though not as much as when he had touched them before. "I already told you," they soothed. "Follow the rules, that's all you have to do."

"Free will or not," Geralt growled, "I am not about to accept this. It is my own free will to say that I am staying. Let him go."

"I can't," they answered simply, "and I shan't. Your soul belongs to me no more, that's what he is paying for. It was won, fair and square. You can go, he'll be fine within my care."

"No!" he insisted and stepped forward, one hand already going for the sword.

They held up their hand in warning. "Go ahead and draw your sword," they said, almost sounding amused, "and you'll end up where you were before. With no-one to save you anymore. Your freedom was won, so go on: leave."

Helpless, Jaskier watched as the witcher growled and narrowed his eyes and the deity raised their hand, lighting curling around it. He had to do something. "Wait!" he blurted and leapt to his feet before he even knew what he was doing. Both of them turned to him. "I— I should be granted a favour, I believe."

Geralt's brows knit together in confusion, but the deity only chuckled. "And why is that?"

"For putting up a fight."

They crossed their arms defiantly, but at least the lightning stopped. "Alright. Ask your favour, then."

"I won't see him again," it wasn't a question. "This is no realm that welcomes him. I— May I say my farewell? There's... one last truth I need to tell."

Suddenly, their expression softened. "Be my guest."

Carefully, and with shaking knees Jaskier inched towards Geralt. He was half expecting the deity to withdraw their permission halfway there, but then he was standing next to his witcher and being pulled into a tight embrace. He almost forgot to breathe and was gasping for air once Geralt released him again. Though that might also be attributed to the sobs shaking his body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly enough that he hoped that the deity couldn't hear them. Those were very slim hopes, however.

"Don't be," Geralt lied, "it's not your fault."

Jaskier's heart clenched. 'Only that it is.' It was him who had been foolish enough to enter into this world. Who had been foolish enough to challenge a god. Foolish enough to think he could win. 'It was always going to end like this.'

"Jaskier," he said insistently, "Jaskier, look at me." Slowly, he raised his gaze to comply. "I won't leave you here to your demise. I will come back for you and I will get you out of here. You know that right, you—"

"No," he shook his head adamantly. "No, Geralt, please don't—"

But the witcher didn't hear him, and if he did, the selective deafness stroke again: "I won't let them take you away from me, do you understand that? You just need to be a bit patient, alright? Wait for me."

"I won't," he replied with a steadier voice than he would have thought possible.

"Jaskier—"

"Shh, Geralt." He put a finger over his witcher's lips to shut him up. "We don't have much time. Just once in your life I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?"

"Just—"

"Can you do that?" he asked again, more insistently this time. Geralt nodded slowly and Jaskier wet his lips with his tongue nervously. "When I came here, I was fully aware that this outcome was an option," he began explaining quietly. “Not my preferred one, of course, but an option nevertheless. I wouldn't have entered this world if I hadn't been willing to bear the consequences."

He breathed in and out shakily. "I am more than willing to stay if it means that you walk free. If you— If you want to help me, there's one thing you can do."

"Anything," Geralt said. It sounded so desperate that for one moment Jaskier could imagine that he knew the extent of such a promise. So desperate that for one moment he almost regretted what he had done.

'Focus,' he told himself. He was doing this for Geralt, after all. "I need you to wake up. I need you to go back to your sorceress and your child surprise, your brothers and your friends, all the people you love. And then—" He gulped. "And then I need you to forget about me. Do not come back. Do not bargain for my release. Do not go looking for a cure, for there is none. I will return when my time is done, and maybe if the fates are kind, you and I will meet again."

"But—"

"No buts, Geralt. If you have any respect for me and our friendship, do as I say. Don't you dare waste what I just gave you. Don't you dare trade your soul for mine again, don't you dare waste your life with grief. Did I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Good." Jaskier nodded, his whole body trembling. "Good. One more thing. There's something I... have for you. A parting gift, if you will. One last song, if you will have it."

"I... I will. Always."

Jaskier nodded and pulled him down to his knees with him. He'd rather do that in a position where he might not be in danger of collapsing spontaneously. His lute appeared in his hands, his fingers settling on the strings as if it was as natural as breathing. He plucked the first notes, breathed in and— hesitated.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly. 'I can't do it, I can't—' It was the one song he had written that never was supposed to be heard. The one song he had only dared to compose when he was overcome with heartache and grief, incapable of keeping all those feelings inside without combusting. The one song that was nowhere to be found, not a single line written on so much as a scrap. And now he was supposed to sing it to the last person who was ever supposed to hear it?

"Jaskier," Geralt said sheepishly, almost ashamed, "I lied."

That was enough to snap him out of his spiralling thoughts. "What?!" What on earth was that damned moron talking about now? Jaskier was having an existential crisis, thank you very much, and—

"I lied," he said again. "So many times. Your singing is no annoyance, no fillingless pie. I love it and I do not yet know how I shall lead a life without it. Without you. Please. Don't be afraid of me."

Somehow, that was all it took. "Never," he promised. He could only hope that Geralt knew the truth of that statement. From the first moment he had seen him in that shitty tavern in Posada, Jaskier could never imagine to be afraid of him, witcher or not. And how could he be? How could he fear a man as fiercely loyal and stubbornly kind as Geralt?

'I'm not afraid of you,' he wanted to tell him, but Geralt, as a witcher, as the Butcher of Blaviken, was feared by so many people. He couldn't allow him to believe for even a moment that Jaskier even thought about doing so himself. And so, there was nothing to be done but sing:

"I found you when you were so lonely

And I was on my own as well.

In spite of your nature, you took me in your heart,

Now I’ve got this story to tell.

I could hear the song of our heartbeats.

Within but an hour I knew

That I will love you ‘til the end of all time.

Each day I fall for you anew.

For you I’ll always wait

Although chance might tear our Paths asunder.

Against the whims of fate,

I will wait while you wander.

A monster is roaming the forest,

I laugh as I hear a wolf howl.

No devil of hell is bloodcurdling or fright’ning,

They all fear the White Wolf’s growl.

A demon they call you; I don’t care

‘bout that or if you love me.

My heart’s yours to keep, for better or worse

Your side is where I choose to be.

My friend, I’ll always wait

Although chance might tear our Paths asunder.

Against the whims of fate,

I will wait while you wander.

Your first laugh was brighter than sunshine.

When you laughed I did nearly faint.

But our life is not made of innocent pleasure,

Not this peaceful picture I paint.

I’m cursed, for I fell for a wand’rer.

Your Path is so ruthless and long.

I’m twice cursed for my fate is that of a dreamer

I blink, and I turn, and you’re gone.

My dear, I’ll always wait

Although chance might tear our Paths asunder.

Against the whims of fate,

I will wait while you wander.

Now I wander through the dark wasteland

At the hour of loneliness

No moon, star, or sun to cast but a mere beam

As I long for your soft caress.

A wealth of truths I failed to confess

In all of the poems you’ll miss.

The Path’s taking you far and farther afield

While I’m dreaming of your sweet kiss.

My heart, I’ll always wait

Although chance might tear our Paths asunder.

Against the whims of fate,

I will wait while you wander.

I sob as I curl up on my cot.

Without you my camp is too bare.

My terror’s my pillow, despair is my blanket;

I’m wishing that you were still there.

I fear this time you won’t come back here

You’ve fallen into the abyss.

I wonder if I should have bid you farewell

With that accursed ill-fated kiss.

My love, I’ll always wait

Although chance might tear our Paths asunder.

Against the whims of fate,

I will wait while you wander.

Dear heart, I’ll always wait.

I swear I’ll always stay."

Jaskier gasped quietly as the song ended. His head spun and his breath came raggedly as if he had forgotten to breathe throughout his performance. Maybe he had. Still, he wiped at the tears on his cheeks, put on a brave smile and asked: "Well? How about a review? Three words or less."

"Hmm." Geralt was frowning deeply, his expression so clouded with a whirlwind of emotions that not even Jaskier had the slightest idea what was going on in his head. Then, finally, he said: "It's not true."

"What is not true?" he meant to ask. But before such words could leave his mouth, he was silenced by Geralt's lips. Taken aback by the sudden motion, he tensed up. 'Salty,' was his first thought, 'and wet.' Was Geralt crying, too? He could scarcely believe it. Geralt had told him witchers couldn't cry. But he'd also told him they couldn't blush, the liar.

A hand slipped into his hair, carding softly through it, while Geralt snaked an arm around his waist and— 'Oh,' he realised belatedly, 'Geralt is kissing me.' It took him a moment to process that shock before he remembered that kisses were supposed to be a two-man-act and that he should probably start kissing Geralt back.

'Great gods,' he thought, 'I can kiss Geralt back!' With a desperate whine he let his lute drop to the ground, for once uncaring for the consequences—this was a paranormal netherworld that existed beyond what any mortal could grasp with its mind, after all, he doubted the lute would mind—and looped his arms around Geralt's neck to pull him in tight. Because after years of endlessly seemingly unrequited pining he was finally allowed to.

And now all he got was one farewell kiss.

After what felt like an eternity, they pulled apart. "It's not true," Geralt said again. "You make it sound like I don't love you as well, and that's not true. I love you, Jaskier. It scares me, but I do, more than you can imagine."

"Oh. I love you, too." He kissed him again. If only he had known that earlier. That would have changed everything. Only that it wouldn't have. Geralt still would have entered into the ruin. Jaskier still would have followed him to the netherworld. He still would have lost. They still would have been doomed to spend their lives apart.

"Your time is up," the deity commanded with a booming voice.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier said again. "Farewell, my love," he whispered and kissed him one last time. "Don't wait for me."

Thunder roared.

He blinked.

He found himself looking eye to eye at the deity, who stared down at their chest in disbelief. "Thank you," they whispered as if they couldn't quite understand what was going on either. Lightning cracked like a whip. They groaned and sank to one knee. Jaskier surged forward to keep them from falling, but he wasn't fast enough.

Thunder roared. Wind surged up, mingling with the darkness receding from their body.

He blinked.

The shackles disappeared around his wrists and fell to the ground. "What—"

"Jaskier!" Geralt yelled, trapped on the other side of an impenetrable wall of storm clouds and lightning. "What's happening?"

"It hurts," they whimpered curling in on themself. "Please, it hurts so bad."

"What does?" Jaskier asked. "Tell me, how can I help you?"

An agonised scream escaped their lips. "My heart," they sobbed. Thunder roared again. A deep crack appeared on the grey, stony surface of their chest. "It's breaking again." The stone splintered further. The light filtering through the rifts was almost blinding. Not angry lightning, but soft, soothing sunlight.

"No," he said softly. "You're starting to feel again."

"I'm hurting!" they disagreed, their voice almost drowned out by the thunder of another crack appearing. "Don't you see? How can that be better than feeling nothing at all?"

"It will get better," Jaskier promised because there was nothing else, he could think of to say. "It hurts, but it will get better." And then, because apparently, he had lost his sanity somewhere in the netherworld, he surged forward and pulled them into a tight hug.

Thunder roared and the first wave of pain punched the air from his lungs. "Great gods," he wheezed. The trials had been barely a pinch in comparison. Still, he refused to let go.

"What are you doing?" they sobbed, uselessly shoving at his shoulders. "I'm hurting you." As if that would get him to let go. He was as stupid as a turd and as stubborn as a mule with no sense of self-preservation, after all. And he knew exactly how they felt. The emptiness. The numbness. The nothing. And the heartbreak, the agony when the stone encasing your heart finally crumbled away.

"I know," he said, pigheadedly holding them even tighter. "But alone you're hurting even more." He squeezed them and heard the stone crack again. "It will be over soon. It will be better."

Thunder roared. Lightning flared. They both cried and sobbed in unison.

He blinked.

The storm died and the wall of darkness around them dropped. Above the sun had reached its zenith, the sickly orange washed away.

He blinked.

He was lying on the ground, his sweat-soaked hair plastered against his forehead and breathing heavily. When he stretched out his hand, he could feel the deity's next to his. "You did it," he whispered and grasped their fingers. Their touch was pleasant and warm, like a ray of sunshine after a cold spring day.

"No," they answered. "You did." They fought themself to their feet.

Jaskier's breath hitched. They were even more beautiful than before. Their body was still engulfed in swirling mist and snow, their skin still the same tan colour. But instead of darkness shrouding them, they were glowing now. Not with violently flashing lightning, but a soft reddish glow. 'Like the sky eternally stuck in sunset.' Their long hair floated behind them as if they were surrounded by water instead of air. And in their chest where the grey expanse of stone had been, was now a swirling sphere of golden light. They tilted their head to the side, their eyes sparkling kindly.

"Jaskier!" his attention was diverted by Geralt looming over him with a worried look on his face. "Are you alright? Talk to me, Jaskier, what happened."

"I'm fine," he croaked and let him pull him to his feet, leaning heavily on him, "I think."

"You are free to go," the deity answered in his stead, "if you wish so."

Geralt's grasp on his waist tightened at that. "I am?" Jaskier asked, confused. "But I lost."

"No, you paid the cost," they insisted and bowed their head. "With your song you freed me from my throne. A song to melt a heart of stone."

"I did? I didn't know."

"And maybe it's better so. Go now, both of you. Wake up, but be careful as you do. You are safe within this world, but on the journey back you're on your own. You'll have to find your way alone. Do not get lost."

Jaskier pried Geralt's arm away, to manage a deep bow. "Thank you," he said, earnestly grateful, "for your advice. And for keeping your word."

They smiled. "I might be a dreamer, coward, and a fool, but I am not a liar, too. Enjoy your freedom."

"We will," he promised and turned to Geralt. "Come on, love. It's time. Let's go home."

Geralt frowned darkly. "How do we do that?"

Jaskier chuckled. "Of course, you wouldn't understand," he mumbled with fond adoration. Geralt opened his mouth to say something, but Jaskier was faster: "It's easy," he promised. "As easy as breathing." He put his hand over Geralt's eyes. "Close your eyes," he instructed him. "Take a deep breath. Just like you taught me." He waited until his witcher's breathing evened out. "Good. And now, love, imagine waking up."

Geralt heaved another breath. Jaskier kissed him on the lips. "I'll be with you in just a moment," he promised.

He blinked.

“Jaskier,” the deity said softly. Geralt was gone and Jaskier found himself alone in an empty garden with a deity. He turned around to them.

“He’s gone,” he whispered, relieved.

“He is. You showed him how.”

He gnawed on his lip, nervously. "Could Geralt have left at any time? Is this a prison of his design?"

They hummed thoughtfully, contemplating that question. "It is and it's not. He owed me, after all. But after paying his price, yes, he could have left." They sighed. "But," the deity continued, "he couldn't have."

"He could have never imagined," Jaskier whispered.

"No," the Deity said softly, then scrunched up their nose. "Are you certain it's him you want? You can do so much better than that."

"No," Jaskier answered with a dreamy smile. "I can't imagine that."

"Such words from you. I wouldn't have thought it possible." They smiled. "I have a question for you, too, flower, one answer that finally is due. Say it, friend, do not be shy, so this chapter finally can end. Tell me, who am I?"

He thought for a short while before answering: "I thought you were the patron of dreams, but here nothing is quite like it seems. Who you are, you want to know? You are who you create yourself to be. Just like I. Fate's around our necks like a noose, but what matters in the end is what we choose. I am not who I have been, nor am I who still will come. Reality will bow to your whim, and to mine, until I am gone. We are who we create, deity or not, we share the same fate."

"So, you do understand," they said, a satisfied smile spreading on their face. "From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were divine as well."

"I am," Jaskier agreed, understanding. "You are not alone."

"Neither are you. There is a witcher waiting for you."

He smiled. "And I will go to him in just a moment," he promised, "but… What about you? What will happen when I’m gone?”

"You go back to your life," they answered with a sad smile, "I go back to mine. It will be fine."

"It won't." He frowned. "You will be lonely again."

"If that's Fate's will, so be it then."

He huffed. "I did not just bear the brunt of your pain only for it to happen all over again. What will you do when I'm not around anymore? What will you do when you turn to stone again?"

They laughed weakly and shook their head. "Your concern is cute, but uncalled for. Not even a god lives long enough to turn to stone twice in their life."

"Not even a god?" he frowned. "Can it happen to mortals, too?"

"Worry not, my flower dear," they replied. "You're not in danger here. Humans might grow still, but they die before they petrify. As will I, once the loneliness returns."

“In that case, friend, I have one last offer to present. A priest you want, you say?" He bowed with a flourish. "It would be my highest honour to take on that duty for you. I might not pray or know how to raise a temple But I can make people believe in you. I can make people imagine."

"That you can," they agreed. "The honour would be mine, priest." They held up their hand. "Before you go. Might you show me what you've created?"

"Of course. Come and look your fill."

He blinked.

There was a wooden door hovering in the air over the wintery garden. He turned the doorknob and stepped aside to let the deity peer through, but not before sneaking a glance as well.

The lake was still there, and it was still winter, too. But instead of the playing children there was a cottage on the shore, with a bench overlooking the scenery. On it sat an elderly couple, leaning against each other and smiling.

They smiled. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you. If you want it, it belongs to you. Talking flowers, birds, and all."

They giggled. It sounded strange out of their mouth, strange and familiar at once. "I should have known I'd find that in your world. I look forward to visiting."

"And I look forward to returning," Jaskier answered. "Invite us again once our days on earth are done. We will come."

"Once the day of both your deaths arrives, I will. But ‘till then I’ll stand guard, so that none without the other parts. So now: farewell."

He was hesitant almost when he said: "I shall be taking my leave."

"You shall. Good riddance, priest."

Jaskier stood and turned. "It was an honour meeting you," he said and bowed deeply. "Farewell, Nehaleni."

The deity looked almost surprised for a moment, but Jaskier was already imagining.

He blinked.

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