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dandelion’s eyes flutter open, soft blues peeking out from dense brown lashes, mind clouded in a state of half awakeness. priscilla is talking in her sleep again, voice hoarse and weak, but the words remain unmistakable. the same string of sounds he imagines she tried to scream as that bastard poured formaldehyde down her throat and scooped out her eye and- no. dandelion can’t think of that right now. the rain runs along the window and taps against the roof, but all he focuses on is gently calling her name.
“priscilla.”
more screams, but no signs of awakeness.
“priscilla!”
nothing. he’s getting desperate.
he shakes her awake, feels remorse for doing so, but is there to catch her gently in his arms when she bolts into consciousness. and, although he’ll never admit it, this is his least favorite part. the sobbing. not because he doesn’t want to comfort her, nor because he believes she’s overreacting, but because of the noise. a guttural cry, so raw and inhuman, it reminds him of an animal wheezing out its last breath. he holds her still, gently stroking her golden rivers of hair, soft whispers of ‘you’re safe’ running across his tongue.
he feels her nimble hands clutch onto the fabric of his nightshirt, and is relieved when her cries give way to shaky breaths. the reassurance of ‘it’s all over now’ joins the melody of comforting thoughts he’s trying to give her. dandelion gently rocks, still holding her as tightly as her wounds will allow, hoping the rhythm of the rain and the steady movement will help ground her. but as he does this, his heart aches, for he wondered if she’d ever be able to have a restful night again.
“stop doing this. just stop, dandy.” the words almost surprise him. his thoughts linger on how he can hear just a hint of her former voice in them, but the shock gives way to protest.
“why? i’d do anything you wished, but- perhaps that is ungrantable. i love you far too much.”
“you don’t.”
“and what evidence do you have to the contrary?”
tension looms in the air. only breaths and rain tapping against the streets of novigrad flood the room. she doesn’t speak. he continues to gently stroke her back. just holding her. just loving her with every last drop of his soul.
“this,” she finally replies. her voice seems to have gotten weak again. a whisper, barely floating above the ever increasing loudness of rain.
“this? how so?”
“all you ever do is pity me, dandelion. remember when we used to laugh and sing and write each other silly little couplets? remember when we used to be happy?” he feels the shoulder of his nightshirt swell with saltwater again. he presses her just the smallest bit closer.
“and we will do that again. i promise. right now we both have… other things to worry about. i, the chameleon and keeping track of geralt, you, getting better.”
“i want a life, dandelion. not to be chained up here like some- like some bird in a cage, or an animal, helpless in a menagerie! i want to be your love again!” her hands grip the cloth of his shirt, fingers scraping the surface of his back. it hurts, it stings, but he feels he deserves it.
there is no immediate reply from dandelion. he doesn’t want to cry. but he can’t figure out why not. why can’t he be open with her? why can’t he just tell her he keeps her locked away because he blames himself for what happened and can’t see her hurt again? that he can’t bear the thought of people constantly throwing questions of “why do you look like that? how’d it happen?” and forcing her to relive the memory?
even if he doesn’t want to cry, that doesn’t mean he could hold it in any longer. “you are my love. and i’m a coward and i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, priscilla.” there’s a breath before he falls apart and melts into her, allowing himself to be just another puddle on the cobble streets. “i don’t want you to be hurt again. i don’t want people to hurt you or mock you or- or anything like that. i just want you to be okay and i know it’s incredibly selfish and demeaning, and i’m just- i’m sorry. i’m deeply, deeply sorry.”
now it’s her turn to hate his ugly way of crying, and hold him still.
“i forgive you.” her reply floats around the room. “i forgive you.” relief floods dandelion’s clouded mind, and he is aware of her hands no longer digging into him. his crying lets up significantly. “now- i say it’s high time we finally get some more rest. don’t you agree?”
a sniffle, he unceremoniously untangles himself from her, and tries to compose himself somewhat. “yes, yes. you’re right. we have a long day ahead.”
“oh? what’s tomorrow?”
she can just barely make out his sloppy, silly smile in the blue-stained moonlight. “why, the return of the great troubadour duo, master dandelion and lady callonetta! haven’t you heard?” even as dried tears glisten on both their cheeks, it’s hard to tell from the laughter echoing off the still walls that just a moment ago they were both waist-deep in gloom.
“how come yours is the first name? did you forget who won?” she teases, laughter airy and hoarse. she no longer seems to mind how much she doesn’t sound like herself.
“of course not, just testing your quick wit!” with a tender peck on her cheek- for he wished not to cause more injury to her acid-burned lips- he then finally laid back down, snuggling up to her when in his familiar, lazy way. “good night, my darling.”
“sleep tight, dandy.”
and as they slept, they both dreamt of each other, spring, and the good times to come.