niespodzianka | ( aefenglom ) inbox

[ It's a beautiful day to get horribly married.

At least that's the joke Lambert's decided he's going to stick with, later, after this is all over. He hasn't bothered to dress up or anything special like that, but he hasn't shown up dead drunk, either. This isn't a point he thought he'd get to during his stay here -- just about anything sounds better than having Geralt slotted up beside him in his heart and head -- but it's an arrangement that's convenient for the both of them.

He just hopes it doesn't also involve feeling every time Geralt fucks, because that's a level of intimacy he just really doesn't want to have with his sort-of older brother.

As luck would have it, there's a real Bonding ceremony taking place just before theirs, a blushing Merrow and her sheepish witch bride surrounded by friends as witnesses, taking their sweet time with their sappy, heartfelt vows. For now, it's hanging out in the waiting room off to the side, one of his feet drumming on the ground while his ears swivel restlessly. ]

[ If Lambert actually utters that joke aloud, Geralt may kill him. Bond be damned.

Bond.

He'd conceded to the idea because he feels like it would be awful of him not to. Lambert has the shit end of the situation here between monsters and witches, the witch he was close to has vanished, and abandoning him to suffer because of ironic justice is beyond the scope of what Geralt feels entitled to do. He supposes that dying on Lambert would also be abandonment.

His own fate, avoiding death, hasn't really factored into the decision. Not that he's mentioned this. Sure, I'd prefer to live wasn't a lie, exactly, but it's not something he believes with much weight, either. Dying was miserable and bleak, but Avalon was the only time he's known peace. Geralt isn't actively suicidal, but the idea of rest ... is not altogether off-putting. ]

In Dorchacht, bonds were all about making it easier to work together to escape the compulsion and decay the spell that stole their memories, [ Geralt says quietly, carefully compartmentalizing any reaction to the ceremony into nothingness. ] They were a utility.

[ Lambert turns to give Geralt an incredulous look at that. Really? He thinks that’s going to help right now, making the comparison to being each other’s war brides sharper than ever? After a moment, he turns away again, huffing. ]

You saying that for my sake, or yours? [ His ears fold back, annoyed. ] I’m the one who asked for it, aren’t I? Wouldn’t have if I didn’t know what I was getting into.

[ Which leaves him wide open for a shot about when he’s ever thought about anything he’s gotten into, so he’s quick to move on. ]

I’ve been bonded before. [ He’s left that little detail out, but whatever. What does it even matter at this point. ] It’s not a big deal.

[ Geralt's taken in a breath to explain - I'm trying to say people came together in the midst of something horrible and forged something useful, and we don't have to pay attention to the nauseating junk we're staring at - even though he's not eloquent enough to get across what he means anyway, probably. Lambert never takes it well. He thinks for a split second, bitterly, that maybe being bonded will help, but then the younger witcher cops to that.

You what?

Of course Lambert had just failed to mention it. Of course it's not a big deal. Geralt stares at the wrap-up of the very romantic bonding ceremony happening, and doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say. They're just going to do this, Geralt's not going to die, and they'll get used to it. He's swallowed his reluctance and discomfort over far worse things; this is, ultimately, fine and harmless.

If Lambert was hoping for a response, alas. Geralt just stares ahead, expression etched in stone. ]

[ For once, the younger witcher isn't looking for a reaction, his gaze is fixed at some point on the wall, faintly wry. ]

It was in a dream, though, so maybe that doesn't count. Felt close enough to the potion, though...

[ Maybe they should have tried that, first, before trying to go for anything perma nent. Any further musing on the topic is cut off by a final scattered round of applause, and the brides and their guests begin to file through the doors and out into the light. ]

[ In a dream? One of the shared ones? Geralt thinks he might have been bonded in one of those - but the individual turned up later assigned as a witch, and he thought, well, probably not, then. Nothing major had happened in the dream, anyway. That surreal and pretty one while he was in Dorchacht, a strange vacation in the midst of horror. Probably signifying nothing.

There's a requisite period of clearing everyone out, and setting the room up for the next victims. Ehem. Petitioners. There's another 'couple' behind Lambert and Geralt, a somber pair sitting close together against the back wall; he doesn't recognize either as mirrorbound, but he doesn't smell fear or discomfort on them. Just gravity.

He's imagined marrying Yennefer a thousand times. ]

Last chance, [ he observes. To back out. ]

[ Lambert, on the other hand, has no frame of reference for this at all. All he’d grown up with was the unhappiness that came after being wedded; if his parents had been happy at any point in their union, he wasn’t around to see it.

The younger witcher snorts, standing up and squaring his shoulders. ]

I said I made up my mind, didn’t I? [ He lifts his chin, determined, and strides into the chamber where the officiating witch is waiting, her demeanor calm and welcoming. They aren’t the first mirrorbound pair to step in here, and they won’t be the last, or the strangest, and her gaze passes no judgement.

Each of them will get waved to either side of whatever spellwork’s been wrought into the floor of the room itself, the officiant folding her hands in front of her once they’re in place. Are they ready to begin? she asks. ]

[ Geralt grew up with solitary witchers, and nothing else. But he's forged his own path, in addition to the one he was created to walk. What does he know of marriages being happy? Little. Most are abusive, convenient, forced, political. But he's also done countless jobs for countless couples who adored each other, even while living in misery. And Calanthe and Eist were happy, in the slim years they had.

Yen and Istredd would have married, without the djinn's interference.

This isn't that. He knows he has to put it out of his mind, for his sake and everyone else's; it had been a shock, realizing how little regard so many have for bonding, even when they're in one. It's left a strange bitter feeling in him.

Geralt nods. And then they're asked for vows. ]

[ Perhaps surprisingly, Lambert doesn't look caught off guard by the question. For all the disdain he has for the necessity of the ceremony, the ridiculousness of being caught up in it with Geralt, of all people, he has put thought into this, more than he'd ever admit without the influence of a copious amount of alcohol. Wouldn't do to be accused of sincerity after all.

Bonds, family, he doesn't have a lot of positive experiences with either, but he knows a little bit about stubbornness, at least. He stops letting his gaze fix on the flower arrangements, the ceiling fixtures, and finally focuses on Geralt. The transformation's left him substantially changed -- even the gold of his eyes has a different quality now, something strange and feral -- so he doesn't look much like the witcher he was, back home, but his voice is still the same, if uncharacteristically solemn ... for Lambert, anyway. ]

We've never really seen eye to eye, you and me. [ He starts, somewhat inauspiciously, with a wry curl to his mouth. ] We're too different. I don't think that's gonna change. But ... I wouldn't have it any other way.

[ He shrugs, shifting his weight from one foot to the next as his ears flick back and forth. ]

I can't promise I'll be a better person, but I can promise to be less of a pain in the ass. At the end of the day ... [ He huffs a laugh, cocking his head. ] You're someone I'd rather have watching my back than not.

[ Not like marriage at all, except for being bound, and having VOWS.

Rad.

Geralt's expression is unreadable, despite his disheveled, drawn appearance. He's had a rough time pushing his lack of a bond this far, and that's plainly evident. Time has become fuzzy; he's not sure if it was a week or a day ago that he went to the mirror hall and bumped into Berserker again. Should he have just-- would this be easier if he--

Too late now. He's agreed. He might not be enthusiastic, but he's not being coerced. Geralt thinks of Ciri; if she found her way here, through a mirror or just through her own powers, looking for him like she's done so many times before, only to discover he'd died. No. He can't allow that.

Lambert's readiness to just get all that out throws him off guard. They're holding hands, because that's the process, linked across from each other, witch and werebunny. It's difficult to look at him and know that he's suffering by losing control of his body in a crazy transformation for a second time, but he also looks fucking ridiculous. Geralt concentrates on what he's saying and it's ... affecting, but surreal, too.

The officiator is looking at Geralt expectantly. ]

You're my brother. No matter what.

[ Is that it? That's it, apparently. A period of silence lapses, and then the Coven witch hums and fiddles with the space above their hands, adjusting a spell. ]

[ Lambert looks across at Geralt and nods. That seems about all there is to say, really. The Coven witch does ... whatever it is she's doing with her spell, and Lambert forces himself to relax, to put his worries out of his mind.

It's just Geralt. It'll be fine. His ears twitch despite himself, though, waiting for ... he's not sure what. It would be obvious when the Bond takes, he figures. That part's out of his hands. All he can really do is be ready for it. ]

[ It's just Geralt is a little bit in the famous last words territory of things-that-won't-actually-be-fine. Ominous meta.

He doesn't want it to feel like what it did with Yen, even though that didn't actually feel like anything until it was gone. There had been no difference before he made that wish and after, but he'd felt like something had been torn from him when she'd undone it. He still can't put his finger on what it felt like but he still doesn't want it with anyone else. But this has to be different. It's a necessary biological, if also metaphysical, function. Like shitting. It'll be fine.

Perhaps that's not the right thing to mentally compare it to. The witch's head doesn't move but her gaze ticks sharply over to Geralt, seeing something he can't. She stares at him for a moment then asks him to repeat his vows. He obliges. Just get it over with.

The magic overload in his system pricks at the edges of his concentration, making him feel uneasy. The witch is fiddling with something else, attention on the supposed spell again. He can feel that, too. ]

[ Right, so Lambert wasn’t expecting flowers to start blossoming out of Geralt’s ass or anything, but he’s been holding the other witcher’s hands for a while now, and as the witch’s fiddling carries on, he struggles to hold his impatience in check. Without any further explanation forthcoming, though... ]

What’s taking so long? [ He asks, shifting restlessly. He may not be able to feel Geralt’s feelings per say but all his other senses are working just fine, and it doesn’t take a genius to sense the tension. If he felt like he was on the risk of exploding, he’d be tense too. ]

Impatience never helps magic, [ the witch says easily, practiced at being placating. ] And neither does cold feet, though it's not unusual. Why don't you both let go, step out of the circle, and step back in.

[ She makes it sound very routine, and her smile is guileless. Though when they move to do this, her gaze stays on Geralt. Assessing something. He can feel her attention on him despite the fact that she isn't turned towards him, and he pointedly refuses to look at her.

Round Two. The witch holds her hand over their joined ones.

A minute ticks by. Maybe a million years. Sure feels like it. Finally, she says: ] Please don't feel embarrassed. There's nothing wrong with taking some extra time to think about it.

[ Though polite and discreetly quiet, there's a definite note of dismissal in her voice. Trying to quickly get them out to avoid ending up a spectacle. ]

Think about it? [ Lambert, predictably, doesn't take the hint, and the pitch of his voice rise along with his temper, his grip on Geralt's hands tightening as though sheer force of physicality might be enough to glue their psyches together. ]

We've already thought about it. We agreed to it. You must be messing something up.

[ His words might be meant for the witch, but his golden-eyed gaze snaps sharply to Geralt, suspicious. ]

[ Geralt holds still like he's been frozen by Caranthir's void magic, realization and embarrassment nailing him to the spot. He's staring at nothing, some empty spot past their hands. ]

I can't force it, [ the witch says gently, her voice lowering even quieter opposed to Lambert's. ] Verbal agreement, even mental agreement, is sometimes at odds with what's within.

[ They could force it in Dorchacht, probably. He's sure there are ways.

The thought twists something in his stomach, breaks him out of that proverbial ice, and Geralt abruptly pulls his hand free from Lambert's. ]

Thank you, [ he says haltingly to the Coven witch, note of finality in his voice. She folds her own hands against her stomach and nods at him, expression a bit pained. He doesn't wait for further commentary, and bails out, without a word or look at Lambert. ]

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