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Hm, Jaskier thinks. This may have been a little more foolish than anticipated.
Yes, alright, all the farmers and villagers in this beautiful benighted backwater told him very firmly not to go up to the mysterious mountain lake, and if he did go up, not to disturb the waters, and if he was absolutely so foolish as to touch the water, not under any circumstances to make noise. They were really exquisitely clear on the matter.
And yes, alright, he did in fact climb up to the mysterious lake, because it’s a mysterious lake, was he supposed to not be vastly intrigued? It’s the most interesting thing for a hundred miles in every direction, and he is very, very, very bored! If his father hadn’t promised literal house arrest as a punishment for leaving this little barony before he’s summoned back to the familial seat, Jaskier would never have stuck around for longer than it took to seduce a few pretty maids or handsome lads! And Jaskier makes bad decisions when he’s bored, but they don’t usually turn out too terribly for anyone but him.
And yes, alright, when he finally got up the incredibly overgrown trail to the mysterious lake, he was in fact remarkably warm and his feet hurt and the expanse of green water looked remarkably inviting and there was a lovely flat stone near the edge of the lake that was just perfect for sitting on and so yes, alright, he did in fact take off his boots and stockings and roll up his trouser-legs and put his feet in the water. And the water did in fact feel cool and lovely on his sore feet!
But then of course he was sitting still, and any number of people could vouch for the fact that Jaskier is very bad at sitting still for really any reason at all, and so since he didn’t want to take his feet out of the water he had to do something to keep himself from getting bored, obviously, and since he didn’t have his lute with him because carrying a lute up that path would have been really unpleasant really what choice did he have but to start singing?
And naturally since he was sitting next to the mysterious lake which absolutely should not be somehow perched halfway up a mountain by all the natural laws anyone knows, and absolutely should not be clear and beautiful despite having no inlets or outflows, and certainly shouldn’t be perfectly circular, and generally is as mystical and marvelous as anything is in this poor boring world without any magic in it, of course Jaskier chose to sing a folk song which maybe he only learned by eavesdropping and maybe talks about that same mysterious lake and maybe promises that there’s something drowned deep at its heart which will overturn the world if it ever emerges.
All of which is to say that yes, alright, maybe Jaskier did exactly what the people of this isolated little corner of Kaedwen told him not to do, but in his defense, he was very bored.
And also how the hell was he supposed to know that if he climbed up to the mysterious lake and dangled his feet in the lovely cool water and sang a song about the lake’s dangers, that something would actually happen?
Magic isn’t real. Everyone knows that. It’s the sort of thing children and peasants believe in, not educated people. It makes for good songs and stories but it doesn’t actually exist.
And Jaskier was entirely sure of that, down to his very bones, up until the moment the last note of his song rang out over the lake and the mountains -
And the water started draining away.
The path up to the lake was in a dry gully, meandering about lazily. Now that gully is a river, water gushing and rumbling as it fills the gully to the brim, racing downwards towards the fields below. Jaskier really hopes it connects to the lovely broad stream down in the valley instead of going through the village. The lake’s water level is lowering at a really startling rate; already Jaskier’s feet are hanging in the air, damp and dripping, as the water drops away.
The lake’s sides are shockingly steep - it almost looks as though someone took a giant hole-boring mechanism and drove it into the mountain, lifting out a perfect cylinder and then filling the resulting chasm with water. Which is obviously ridiculous, apart from how Jaskier is looking at it right now. The only gap is a steadily widening split in the side of the lake’s steep wall, right where the gully connects, where the water is rushing through in a torrent.
Jaskier should probably move, but frankly he’s too damn stunned to do anything but sit there gaping at the impossible chaos he has somehow unleashed.
And then, in the center of the lake, he sees something rising out of the water. Or, to be more precise, the water draining away from…whatever it is. It’s just a speck of white at first, barely visible in the surging waves of the agitated lake, but the water drops with uncanny, worrying speed and the speck of white becomes a hand, reaching skyward - then an arm, pale and slender - another hand, curled towards the first in what looks like a purposeful pose -
A woman’s head, tilted up, her long black hair streaming down behind her. Her neck, her shoulders, her chest swathed in black cloth. She doesn’t move as the water falls away, still as a statue as the draining lake reveals an inhumanly perfect silhouette in a long dress clinging to every curve. Jaskier stares in baffled wonder.
She’s standing on…cut stone, actually, a wide circle of it that turns out as the water level keeps dropping to be the top of a tower, a tall crenelated spire with slit windows in a style Jaskier vaguely recognizes as being centuries old at least.
The spire rises from an entire fucking castle, the outer walls of its courtyards scraping the sides of the vast cylindrical hole in the mountainside.
Jaskier clutches at the rock beneath him. Maybe this is a dream? It would be a really strange dream, but that actually makes more sense than a castle at the bottom of a mysterious lake.
The castle is all grey stone and crenellations, enormous and imposing. There’s something a little odd about it; after a moment, Jaskier realizes that while the water is sheeting down the outside of the walls, no water is emerging from inside the tightly-closed windows and doors. Is it possible that there isn’t any water inside the castle? It’s no stranger than anything else about this bizarre experience.
The last of the lake-water rushes away down the former gully, leaving the cobblestones of the castle’s courtyard gleaming in the sunlight like dark jewels. There is a moment of perfect stillness, even the wind seeming to hold its breath.
And then, with a subterranean rumble, the castle begins to rise. Jaskier scrambles back on his boulder, gasping in renewed shock, as the whole immense edifice lifts slowly skyward. It’s slow - no faster than an ox-drawn plow in rocky fields, a speed Jaskier has grown regrettably familiar with during his sojourn in these regrettably rural surroundings - but that’s still faster than entire castles ought to move.
It’s going to come to rest here, he thinks wildly, because it can’t possibly go any further up unless it plans to float into the sky. And if it’s going to stop at the same level he’s at -
He grabs for his boots and stockings, pulling them on as fast as he can, and stumbles to his feet. If the castle is going to stop right in front of him, Jaskier might be able to go in.
And a castle which has just appeared from the bottom of a mysterious lake is a lot of things, but it certainly isn’t boring.
He’s dancing from foot to foot impatiently by the time the ground beneath the castle finally reaches the same level as the lake-water was at, barely an hour before. The great gates, dark wood stained darker with long years beneath water, stand only a few paces away. The steady upward movement comes to a grinding halt.
If he were a sensible man, Jaskier would probably be halfway down the mountain by now. Instead, he steps forward, putting a wondering hand on the ancient wood, and the gate opens silently beneath his touch.
Marveling, Jaskier steps into the courtyard. The cobblestones have dried during their rise, and by some miracle are not covered in pondweed and algae, but as plain and clean as if recently swept. He stops a few steps into the courtyard, staring around in wonder.
For a moment, all is still.
And then, up at the top of the tallest tower, there is movement: a flutter of black. Jaskier cranes his neck and gasps as the woman atop the tower moves, lowering her arms. She paces slowly to the edge of the tower and looks down between two of the merlons, and even at this distance Jaskier feels a shock as their eyes meet.
The woman gestures, and purple fire spills from her hands to form a staircase from the gap between merlons to the cobblestones a few paces from where Jaskier stands. She steps elegantly between the merlons onto the first stair, and Jaskier gapes in awe as she paces downwards. That’s not possible. People can’t just - just make stairs out of nothingness.
But she did.
The bewilderment holds him in place long enough for her to descend - startlingly quickly, actually, given the distance she has to cross. Her shoe makes a soft scuffing sound as she steps down onto the cobblestones; behind her, the staircase dissolves again into faint purple mist, and blows away.
Her eyes are a brilliant amethyst, and she’s the most beautiful woman Jaskier has ever seen. Also the most intimidating, despite being substantially shorter than Jaskier is. Mostly because she can do magic, holy shit. But also because she holds herself like - well, like someone with the power to do impossible things.
Jaskier wants to write a song. Several songs. An entire song cycle.
“Hail, bard,” the woman says.
“Hail,” Jaskier breathes. “What is happening?”
The woman raises an eyebrow. Behind her, Jaskier can see the windows of the castle being thrown open, heads poking out; the main doors move ponderously as someone pushes them. There are people in there, somehow. People who are alive and well despite having been under the lake for who knows how many hundreds of years.
“Did you not wake us on purpose, then?” the woman asks.
“No?” Jaskier squeaks.
“Hm.” The woman looks him up and down skeptically. “Well. If all the conditions were met by accident…I can see Destiny’s hand in this.”
The great doors finally creak open, and a small horde of people come spilling out - almost all men, and the few women among them all as preternaturally beautiful as the one with purple eyes.
“Destiny?” asks the apparent leader of the castle’s inhabitants, a lean tall man with hair as white as moonlight and eyes as yellow as a wolf’s. He strides over to stand beside the purple-eyed woman, looking at Jaskier curiously.
“Destiny,” the purple-eyed woman says firmly. “It can be nothing else. Come in, then, bard, and tell us of the world as it is now.”
Jaskier swallows hard and nods and follows his destiny into the impossible castle.
He suspects he’s never going to be bored again.