The leeches bubble out of the waters while Lambert uses clawed hands to clamber up the side of the earth pillar as rapidly as he can, adrenaline from the fight making it easier to ignore his injuries, for now. He keeps his mind on his goal: Strange, who he assumes must be on top of this platform, because if there’s one thing he knows windbag magicians need to work their magic most effectively? It’s air.

Too focused to pay attention to whatever negotiations are going on below, Lambert bursts from the water and onto the edge of the platform like a sodden, scorched avenging angel. This time, he learns from the mistakes of the past, and the first thing he casts is a purple circle around Strange’s feet to keep him corporeal.

Luckily? That spell doesn’t require words. Meaning that he’s absolutely free to yell as he hurtles towards Strange.

“If the lord wouldn’t return him, the witcher knew one sure way to break the fae’s hold! One the magician taught him!” A step more and he’s grabbing for Strange’s arm, his stupid armor, anything he can reach to grab ahold of him and yank him around. If this works, it’s going to be terribly awkward, if it doesn’t, it’ll at least shut Strange the fuck up for one second.

“True love’s kiss.” And he tries to kiss Strange. Well, more like tries to punch him in the mouth with his mouth, really, for the way it bangs their faces together.