~ Here Is Some Water for the Dead Tree ~
Tissaia's 'crown' has no flowers at all. It is a simple strand of ivy. Looking at her, most people assume it is the strange fashion sense of a sorceress, not the marker that identifies her soulmate.
Only once they've known for her for more than an average human lifetime do any of her students think to question whether she knows her soulmate's identity, and if the ivy means what they think it does, then her soulmate must be a mage as well, because they've never seen her without it and the flower crowns only wilt if your soulmate dies.
"None of your business," she replies primly when asked, shielding her mind so they don't pick up the echo of the quiet horror that went through her soulmate at the realization the two of them were paired.
For a few brief days, Geralt is glad to have found his soulmate and honestly believes that they will be happy together.
What is destiny? What is fate? What is changed by the choices that we make? Geralt wonders as blackened flowers tumble down from his hair to land on the still-warm corpse of his soulmate, who died in his arms after he killed her with his own hands.
Calanthe is royalty and does not have the luxury of waiting for her soulmate to appear. She marries for political reasons.
She is still married when her flower crown blooms, amaryllis and mountain sandwort.
Her soulmate is a man who would never interfere in her marriage, would never dishonor her that way. After her husband's death, she refuses to accept her soulmate's courtship under any circumstances until it becomes her last resort for a vital political alliance.
Eist is just happy to finally be allowed to stand at his soulmate's side as her husband.
Geralt keeps one withered petal in an otherwise empty potion jar.
He doesn't think to ask Vesemir about soulmates when he returns to Kaer Morhen the winter after Renfri's death. He doesn't think to ask until after a new crown has bloomed upon his brow - dandelions and wolfsbane, gaudy and bright.
"I thought it was only possible to have one soulmate in your entire life," Geralt says, opening his fingers to reveal the tiny bottle in his palm which houses a single crumpled petal, unidentifiable on its own but also clearly not belonging to either of the two flowers that grace his current crown.
"The one person among all currently living people - human and nonhuman alike - who has been chosen as your perfect romantic match by the goddess Melitele is your soulmate."
Vesemir's explanation sounds as if it's quoted directly from a book.
Geralt does not think to ask about Vesemir's soulmate. The strand of ivy that circles his brow is a detail that Geralt's mind skips over without a thought. It doesn't stand out as remarkable because it has always been there for as long as Geralt can remember.
Cintra is burning.
Ciri sees her people being cut down by Nilfgaardian soldiers right before her eyes.
She flees, but everywhere she tries to go there is more death and destruction.
A Nilfgaardian solider on a huge black horse, with black wings on his helmet, reaches out for her. Not with sword or spear, but with an open hand outstretched.
There is nowhere left to run.
A wreath of pink and yellow roses manifests on the soldier's head, over his helmet, making him look so ridiculous that she could almost laugh if she didn't feel like she'd scream if she opened her mouth at all.
Ciri feels a weight upon her brow. If nothing else, she can trust that he doesn't mean her harm in this moment.
She takes his hand.
Jaskier whimpers as the djinn hand-braids sprigs of lilac in between the wolfsbane and dandelions of his existing flower crown.
Ciri runs from Cahir.
The roses wilt and fall, petals raining down her back as she flees.
Cahir reports back to his emperor that Ciri is dead, using the withered remains of his flower crown as proof.
Mere moments after Yennefer arrives at her portal's destination, the dandelions wither and fall from her crown, leaving only a uniform purple wreath of lilac and wolfsbane.
She immediately returns to mountain top.
She finds nothing but a single shriveled dandelion, which is soon whipped away by the wind, and she can't help wondering what Jaskier met on his way back down the mountain, and why Geralt had not joined him in time to stop it from killing him.
A sense of loss sweeps through her, but he is not truly hers to mourn. He was Geralt's soulmate - his real one - only bound to her by proxy through the djinn's magic and that stupid fucking wish.
"You found your soulmate?" is the first thing Tissaia says to her when Yennefer returns to Aretuza.
"No."
"The flower crown says otherwise."
"It's not real," Yennefer says. "It's djinn magic. My... I don't know what to call him, but he already had a soulmate of his own. And... now it's just the two of us, and it's not even real."
Tissaia doesn't know whether this means the djinn was able to break a soulmate bond through magical means or if the other person is dead now, and she doesn't want to look into Yennefer's mind to find out.
"Being real doesn't necessarily mean you'll be happy," Tissaia says, touching one of the ivy leaves in her hair wistfully.
Somehow she doubts that her identity is any less horrific to her soulmate now than it was centuries ago when they first met.
Geralt returns to Kaer Morhen for the winter, the composition of his flower crown altered once more. This year he asks the question that has somehow never come up before.
"Have you ever wondered about your soulmate?"
"Not really," Vesemir replies. "We met once. She's a sorceress. I know she's still alive."
He touches the strand of ivy where it crosses his forehead, drawing Geralt's attention to it.
"You've known who your soulmate is this whole time?"
Geralt starts to ask something else, but Vesemir stops him with a gesture.
"She's never attempted to contact me even once in the centuries since we met, and it's probably better if we keep it that way."
He couldn't imagine she'd want anything to do with him, especially considering how quick she'd been to flee that first encounter.
~end~