the light of your deepest devotions (witcher games | iorveth & saskia)

[fiachairecht]

the light of your deepest devotions. the witcher (video games), iorveth & saskia. lonely vigils at your best friend's not-bedside. 300w, rated t. for filigranka in trickortreatex 2018.

Vergen's stone is cold against Iorveth's back, cold in a way he has never felt tree bark during even the deepest snows. Inside Saskia lies in a mockery of sleep; outside, the wind sweeps the dust of countless burned dead over his boots.

If the Witcher fails, Saskia will join them. He is not thinking about that, no matter how his thoughts may wander. Death is not something that will come to Saskia; he has always believed that on some level, and he sees no reason to start believing so now.

Of everyone he has fought with, he can least imagine losing her.

The scent of rot collecting in the back of his throat is nearly overwhelming, for all that he is used to it. The sun is setting, gold like Saskia's hair and red like blood.

She will wake. She will.

The wind picks up, the ends of Iorveth's bandana trailing over the back of his neck like leaves. He lifts his face to the breeze, squinting past the charred corpses of trees with his one good eye. If he concentrates, he can near imagine Saskia in full flight in her true form, banking over the valley on strong winds undiminished by a coward's poison.

It's a flight of fancy, nothing more: flight is too dangerous for a dragon now. But he knows how deeply Saskia yearns for it, and he cannot remain untouched by her hope despite his knowledge of the world.

Saskia will wake. Saesenthessis will have her flight. He would kill to ensure it — has killed for less and more.

There are shapes in the air beside his imagined friend and they are screaming with voices not hers. Iorveth closes his eyes against the sun and watches her, dragon-mouth laughing in the future yet to come.