Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lightning flashed, putting the room in stark contrasts. The world shook with the following roar of thunder, before only the pelting of rain against the windows was audible.

The room was once more set alight by the flash of lightning. A faint buzz at the edge of her awareness. Nothing compared to the power buzzing inside of her, lapping against her tight control, wanting to spill forth like a tsunami on an innocent coastal village. Despite the burst of maniacal laughter she swallowed, she kept her face carefully blank. Anything else would have been unbecoming. Yet temptation flared, to laugh, to scream, to dance like madness had finally had swallowed her whole. Every hurdle, every condescending word forgotten, of no matter any more. Here she was, achieving the impossible.

The corners of her mouth quirked upwards, unbidden. The ravenous beast inside her chest, which devoured never satisfied, falling silent. The testament of her will, of her ambition and power, cradled in her arms. Everything she had wanted.

A tiny hand, wrapping around her finger, swept away the memory of cat-like eyes. The skin prickling sensation of his laughter, the even worse twist of his brows. A triumph over superiority wrapped into human form, steely eyes, thin lips, daring to deign her with pity. Rage simmered underneath her skin. If she opened her mouth, no one would note the difference between her and a dragon, fire spilling forth. See her now, look at her now. She wanted to scream, to crow. Wanted to hide and never let go.

Captivated. Milky-grey eyes, blinked open sleepily at first. The grip on her finger growing stronger. The storm inside settled, preoccupied with so much more. This tiny hand, barely big enough to wrap around her finger - her legacy. The world would be on the palm of their hands. A part of her, perhaps drunk on triumph, shaking with euphoria, wanted to press kisses against pink skin, to whisper promises of power and glory against the blond tuff of hair-

“Mother, put the sword down, please.”

Yennefer hummed, yet didn’t look up. The steel pressed against her throat, an inch above her choker, not even worth her attention. The Queen could threaten. Snarl and growl like a mindless beast, she could.

Unimpressive, like any other bout of dick measuring contests between men. The Lioness reduced to nothing but a mangy, rabid dog. Barking with no following bite.

Already, once destiny showed her, it was not to be denied, not to be trifled with. Nothing to treat with, nothing to trick or fight.

“Kill the creature!” Calanthe had ordered, even as Pavetta accepted to go with him. She barely looked up from her nails. She had been invited to feast, been promised generous coin to observe, even guard the Queen. Not to be reduced to some sort of attack dog or mercenary.

Long since having grown tired of the moods of royalty, of their pompous nature. She sighed, head rolling back lazily, thoughts of a warm bath, some wine filling her head. But the whole affair had been boring so far, the damn witcher and the bard croaking like a dying hen, hadn’t even hold her interest but for a minute. Not even scaring off would be suitors offered any amusement. Leaving her to plaster a pleasant smile on her face while gritting her teeth. The brainless chatter of royals and nobles, enough to consider stabbing herself with her fork or all who shared her table. A service to the world it would be.

It didn’t look good for the Urcheon or the princess, foolishly standing before him, as if she alone would stop knights and islanders from reaching him. Her brow lifted, watching the witcher attempt to close the distance. The monster hunter, definitely more concerned with saving one than slaying. Anything to escape this bore of a feast.

All too simply, she raised her hand, shielding the Urcheon and Princess alike. Leaving swords and axes to glance harmlessly off. The disbelieved curses of the buffoons, their uncomprehending staring barely worth a twitch of her lips but Calanthe-

Face a grimace of fury, white knuckled around her sword-

Nothing frightened her any more and none would take what belonged to her.

“She has a right to be here.” With a growl, the sword disappeared from her throat. The Queen continuing her earlier pacing.

“No harm will come to my daughter by your hands.”

Yennefer blinked, tilting her head to the side, brow arched upwards, but the Princess left no room for argument. What should have been a meek question or an order, inscribing itself into the universe. Despite the weakened frame, hair slick with sweat, skin as pale as marble bright red. Propped up by pillows, breathing harshly and yet, yet-

“She will not.” Yennefer answered.

Such a foolish thought. No, her mind fixed on a million ideas and possibilities, a future ripe for the taking. Lightly, with the tips of her finger, she traced the bridge of a tiny nose, upwards until soft skin gave away to the softest crown of hair. She had won. Fate, destiny for once in her favour.

“I’m in your debt. You saved my life.” The so-called Duny asked after the Queen and Geralt beside her had come to an agreement of payment. “What boon can I grant you?”

Yennefer considered what had transpired, what destiny was capable of. A last look at the witcher, she went in for the kill. Smelling blood in the water, leaping to strike. “You’ll give me that which you already have, but do not know.”

She heard the Queen shout, voices rising but more she saw the princess turn pale, her hand the moment she finished her demand coming to rest on her stomach. She smirked. Oh, so innocent, their secret meeting had been. Recognition dawned, Duny blanched, face a twist of terror and elation. But Yennefer grinned, her tongue tingled still. Giving the dishevelled Princess, the utterly destroyed hall a once over, tasting the heavy tang of raw chaos in the air.

“Will you take her with you?” The now remained unspoken, but heartbreak laced every syllable. Enough to draw the ire of the Queen once more, enough for her to shift behind her, thoughts of slaughtering her, soaking the floors with her blood loud.

Yennefer feigned ignorance, leaning down to inspect the babe closer, ensuring there were no visible defects. Ten finger and toes, two ears, eyes and one nose. Wrinkled skin, all in all an ugly little thing.

She had only one answer to give, one she did not wish to utter. Her euphoria tempered. Closing her eyes to rein her chaos back in, Yennefer ground her jaw. Stifling the scorching licks of her chaos inside her, all too easily swayed by her moods, even now.

Her eyes startled back open, brows snapping together. A tiny hand had found purchase in one of her raven locks, and she hissed as another tug followed. Teeth bared even as her eyes narrowed in amusement.

“No.” Catching the offending appendage, she swallowed her grin, the not yet.

Yennefer sighed, melting back against the chair, eyes rolling heavenward. Her focus had been a bit narrowed, distracted. With the Chapter and the Brotherhood still searching for her, as well as a few unsavoury individuals on her trail, it would be unwise. Even if a tiny voice whispered to take the babe, to run and never look back.

She sniffed, smothering thoughts and emotions alike. With things now in motion, she would need to hasten her pace or else be left scrambling, which was unacceptable. She had schemes to scheme, assassins to assassinate.

At least, high castle walls, an entire army, her noble birth and the raging contempt held by the rabble would do well to protect the babe for now. “I’ll be visiting.”

“Cintra doesn’t want any-“

“Mages. I’m aware. But my interests hardly lay in Cintra.”

Queen Calanthe snarled, like the lioness they told her to be, but Yennefer only raised a brow at the undignified behaviour. She behaved no differently to the men of her station. Yet the Queen was easily tamed by a scolding look from her daughter.

“You are free to visit whenever you wish, Lady Yennefer.” Princess Pavetta graciously allowed, like she had any choice or say in the matter.

Yennefer swallowed the venom, which wanted to find its way onto her tongue. Far too used to appeasing men by letting them think they commanded her and not the other way around.

Alienating the princess was not in her plans, for now, no need to burn bridges, which still could prove useful. The royals had seen destiny at play once already, how it ended. Calanthe was predictable with her daughter holding her leash, so she would keep what was hers. No reason to unnecessarily use brute force when some pleasantness would do.

Still, raising and closing the distance was difficult. Transferring the babe into the princess’ arms enough for her to draw blood, teeth digging into her cheeks.

The babe grew restless, wiggling and beginning to whimper, distressed at being placed into inferior arms. Enough for her mouth to twitch, already the babe behaving accordantly.

“If the Lady would like, I could show her to her accommodations for her stay.” With one last look, she twisted gracefully around, ignoring the glare of the Queen.

King Eist bowed lightly, opening the door, in an unneeded show of gallantry. She had liked him better for the entire time, he didn't say a single word.

Yennefer nodded, forgoing all court protocol. What did it matter? He wasn’t her liege and her days at court long over. If she wanted, she could burn him to ashes, take control of his corpse, let him plunge his sword in the back of the Queen. It mattered not. She strode out of the room, the King following in her wake. Every step conjuring up visions of possible futures, despite the tightness closing around her throat, the farther she went.

The babe was a warm weight against her chest, blissfully sleeping since she had collected it in the morn. Lazily, she rocked the chair, the constant motion soothing. Fingertips traced smooth, yet wrinkled skin, the tiny nose. The tuft of hair having grown fuller over the last month. The angry red hue and pink skin turning pale, a stark contrast against her own darker skin.

Rumours of her whereabouts were spreading. Some even true in announcing her presence in Cintra. The need to move, inevitable and growing with every hour. If, she liked to keep her latest machinations hidden. None involved would talk, neither the royals nor the witcher, not out of any kindness or loyalty but sheer idiocy in not realizing how he could use what he had seen.

It didn't matter. She needed to throw the scent off her trail, needed to feign some kind of normalcy, for her. Or else future visits would become more complicated, and she did not wish to involve the Chapter or the Brotherhood in her dealings.

It would prove wise to tie up as many loose ends as she could, even if she struggled to tear herself away from the babe. Her heir, the legacy which would live on if she ever departed. Nothing inside her felt rational.

Instead of blood, her heart seemed to pump lightning through her veins, chaos simmering beneath her skin, senses heightened. And not even the finest wine could compare to the mixture of satisfaction, elation, energy brewing inside her gut.

Gurgling drew her attention, and she glanced down into sleepy eyes. Intense green eyes. Yennefer bit her lips, soothingly tracing the bridge of the babe’s nose.

All the while she was watched. Gone was the hazy milky-grey stare, having changed into a dark green and then settled on a lighter shade. No longer comparable to the leaves of trees or the grass in spring, but a lighter shade of emerald. Somewhat unnatural. Almost attentive, definitely curious.

A corner of her mouth lifted, observing a short arm wobble, fingers spread wide. Eyes transfixed on the violet pendant hanging from her chocker. Hand just falling short of it, despite the insistent wiggling. Despite failing short of it every time, the babe stubbornly tried again and again. After brief consideration, Yennefer leaned down the slightest bit, tiny fingers finally coming into contact. The rolled her eyes at the happy squeal, the kicking of tiny legs. She shrugged, it was never too early to plant the seeds of future teachings.

Even if it meant loosing nearly loosing her chocker to enamoured hands, to see a toothless smile, followed by delighted blubbering.

“Aren’t you an ugly little duckling?” Yennefer murmured, grinning broadly when the tiniest presence of chaos nudged her. The slightest shadow in the chaos, feather-like in its caress.

Chuckling, she carefully nudged back, causing the babe to squeal, kick its little legs. Beauty was a boon but not everything, and she had chosen well. The ugly little duckling would learn everything Yennefer had to teach. No one would be a match to her.

She grinned gleefully, imagining the look of horror on her former rectoress’ face. The sour grimace her face would change into.

“My little child surprise. I have so many plans for us.” She murmured to green eyes, focused solely on her.

Chapter Text

She ignored the stares directed at them, despite her cloak and the hood hiding her face. Peasants were drawn to anything that might make their lives less miserable even for bout a moment, like moths to flames. Urging the mare into a trot, reins in one hand, the other wrapped securely around her child surprise. The young one wiggled from time to time, a bundle of energy, not occupied enough, playing with the rings on the hand Yennefer had wrapped around her.

Steadily she led them away from the castle and the surrounding town, deeper into nature, fields, and forests. Trailing off the road, the sun was high above them and Yennefer shook off her hood. Now away from prying eyes, she was no longer able to stand the heat. Choosing a meadow suitable for her purposes, one that was hidden and far enough from any lumbering fools, she dismounted. Lifting the girl off the horse afterwards. It grazed freely after a slight magical suggestion to remain close.

Not surprised when the moment of distraction was enough for her child surprise to run off. Racing through the high grass, she ruined her beautiful dress without a hint of remorse. For now, perhaps white was unsuitable for their excursions. Yennefer crossed her arms and sighed while observing. The girl was not the least shocked when she stumbled and fell, face first. Only a moment later, she was back up again and tumbling anew through the grass. At least she didn't have to deal with a crying, snot-covered urchin. Her giggles echoed in the clearing until she fell silent because she caught sight of a butterfly.

Meanwhile, Yennefer watched with a hint of impatience. Hopeful that if the child expended some of her energy, she would be able to achieve what they had set out to do.

“Cirilla." The girl's head shot up and with a grin she raced up to Yennefer who huffed, shaking her head at the state of her dress, torn up and dirty but more focused on the grass clinging to her ashen hair. "What an ugly little duckling you are."

She raised her brow, cocking her hip when Ciri simply giggled. Leaning against her hand while she picked grass out of her hair. Raking her fingers through it and pushing it out of her face.

"Come now." Ciri reached for her hand, which Yennefer used to lead her into the middle of the clearing, noting the blooming flowers around them before sitting down cross-legged. Smiling when Ciri struggled to imitate her, losing her balance but stubbornly trying until she ultimately managed.

When another butterfly attracted her attention, Yennefer sighed. Allowing herself to lose her composure and grasping the bridge of her nose. Children and their attention spans. Yet it would be worth it, all this would be worth it, she reassured herself. Having the ugly duckling imprinted on her, raising her according to her specifications and teaching her young would make it all worthwhile.

With that in mind, she picked a flower, settling down the stone she had brought with her. In a blink, it hovered over the earth, taking the chaos from the flower and not from the world around them. In the end, when Ciri failed to notice, she lobbed it against the back of her head. Amused by Ciri's startle. Her wide-eyed, confused expression turned into utter delight at seeing the hovering stone. Basking in the adoration in green eyes when they made the connection between her and the stone.

Ciri had, of course, already been aware of Yennefer's talents. She had heard enough stories from the sorceress and seen her perform countless feats, but her childlike wonder never ceased. Yennefer let her reach out and poke at the stone, making it sway in the air.

"Magic, or rather the ability to channel, manipulate the chaos around you, to bend it to your will, is a rare talent among us. Despite chaos being everywhere, in the grass, the trees, even in the very air we breathe, inside of us." Yennefer spoke in simple terms, satisfied she had Ciri's full attention. “If you wish to learn how, I'm willing to teach you.” Yennefer offered the illusion of a choice she had long since made.

Destiny, fate bound them together. This was meant to happen, no matter if Ciri chose it or not. The bond between them was a thread Yennefer could feel, especially when she was away from her child surprise. As if someone was plucking it like the string of a lute. Her visits were more sparse than she intended, irregular, with all the people still searching for her and destiny liked to remind her of her responsibility. After all, she was all too likely to forget about a whole person, a child she had worked years for. She would not think about him again.

“Will you, Lady Yennefer, will you?” Ciri edged closer, bouncing not unlike a newborn mutt, eagerly.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone." Yennefer leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, and when she was already so close she quickly thumbed away the streak of dirt on the girl's face. Listening to her rambling promises. "And you will never attempt what I show you on your own. Only when I'm with you, is that understood?" Yennefer insisted sharply, hoping with how bright Ciri was, even shy of six winters she would comprehend the severity of the situation.

Her child surprise blowing herself up or, less gravely, accidentally killing another was the last thing she needed.

"Concentrate and follow my instructions to the letter. Pick a flower." With a lack of patience or rather eagerness that betrayed her young age, Ciri did as told, holding a flower as well as a handful of grass and a knot of earth in her hand.

In spite of all the chaos around them, it would be better to focus on the flower as a source of power for the first time. So it would be easier to get a feeling for how it felt to draw power. This would help to make sure she didn't draw too much and hurt herself. It also served as a lesson that nothing in life was for free and every action had its consequences. Even if she didn't expect Ciri to come to such a conclusion for quite a while yet. For now, it was an easier way for the child to access chaos. Even though she had been around for 14 winters, she had not yet truly grasped what she had learned.

"Concentrate on the flower, study its markings, how many petals it has and now close your eyes." Ciri squeezed her eyes shut. "Inhale deeply. Imagine the flower. Do you see it?" Ciri's brows knitted together before she nodded softly. "Exhale, and now let the chaos flow. Remember the stone. Lift it. Slowly."

Yennefer leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, hawk-eyed. Wishing to avoid something like what happened to Fringella and her hand all these years ago in their first lesson. Also, it wouldn't do for the child to be injured and scared off by magic or Calanthe being after her head. Even Pavetta might attempt to forbid her from seeing her and she was not in the mood to let Cintra fall into anarchy.

She shook the thought off. Her own magic, finely attuned to every shift of power around her, made her aware of the chaos encompassing Ciri, falling over her small shoulders like a blanket. Yennefer held her breath, closing her eyes to make sure the moment the girl was about to hurt herself she would be able to intervene. For a long time, nothing happened. Birds chirped, the horse neighed, but the stone didn't move.

Yennefer didn't repeat her words, not wanting to discourage or let Ciri get frustrated. It had taken them all a while to accomplish the feat, and they were all older. Ciri's inert grasp for chaos ensured it would happen, even if not today. Then there was the faintest tremble, a surge in the surrounding chaos.

Yennefer opened her eyes, knowing what she would see. The stone hovered perfectly in the air. Warmth spread across her chest and she felt like a peacock, ready to puff up. Their first lesson and Ciri had achieved what she had wanted.

With difficulty, she managed to stifle the urge to take Ciri and portal them to Aretuza and rub this under the nose of a certain Archmistress. She wouldn't be that juvenile, it would be unbecoming of a sorceress of her standing. Even so her opinion hadn't mattered to Yennefer in eons. Still, the thought amused her and stayed in her mind when Ciri opened her eyes. Her concentration broke when she cheered, beaming at Yennefer.

The stone dropped. Her smile didn't. "I did it! Did you see? I did it!"

"I did." Yennefer offered with a gentle smile. Fostering positive connotations was critical, so she added. "I'm quite proud of you, my ugly duckling." Before she had even finished speaking, Ciri launched herself at her, landing in her lap, nearly taking them both down.

Yennefer wanted to admonish her. Interrupting someone while speaking was impudent, the lack of manners especially for a princess but the thought evaporated when Ciri melted against her, light green eyes blinking up at her with so much- she stifled the thought, shrugging it off.

Lazily running a hand through the ashen mane of her child surprise. "You did well." Ciri hummed against her. "Perhaps you would like to try it again." Yennefer offered, stopping when Ciri yawned widely, undignified, not even covering her mouth and burrowed even deeper into Yennefer's embrace.

She should have foreseen this. But the start of her training had been a while ago, and she had forgotten how tiring the first few times of manipulating chaos could be. Not even considering children Ciri's age still napped frequently, and while her ugly duckling was far superior to most common rabble, she wasn't immune to that affliction. With a sigh, she conjured a pillow, letting herself sink into the grass, her head resting on the pillow. Ciri limp in her embrace, already asleep following her movement.

The idea of riding back with a sleeping princess screamed for trouble, more than Yennefer had the nerve for, even if she had to clean grass stains and dirt later on. But if drool found its way onto this dress, there would be hell to pay for. Feeling her own exhaustion nag at her, despite her preference to sleep till midday, she had dragged herself out of bed early for this. She murmured the words necessary to ensure their safety and closed her eyes. Soaking in the sun, her hand entangled in ashen hair, she listened to the soft, even breathing of her ugly duckling.

Chapter Text

Even hours later, she still couldn't believe what she had seen, torn between awe and disbelief. A dragon. A golden dragon. It should have been less shocking for a sorceress of her ability. All these years, wandering the earth, seeing things no one else had witnessed, harnessing powers no one had before. But such a magnificent creature. Creature wasn’t the right word, being able to speak, think, feel, able to shed his scales and use a human form. He was perhaps beyond comprehension.

Even better or worse, the longer she thought about it, was once more stumbling over the fool of a witcher, with his signing moron to boot. She sighed, rescinding deeper into the warm water, washing away the stench of horses and blood she had spilled. The meagre sum of coin she had earned for attempting to slay a dragon hadn’t been worth this trip at all. Definitely not enough for the days spent close to the snooty boy-king and his entourage of filthy animals. The scent of their inferiority seemed to cling to her. She rubbed her skin through fully with her sponge.

All the while banishing the thought of golden cat-like eyes from her mind. After all, he had disappeared for six years. Rather in the company of monsters wishing to tear him apart, gallivanting through shit stained villages for a few golden crowns. No more than a cheap whore.

His little grin and low voice only stroked the fury inside her. Still, the only enjoyable part of this had been hanging miles above ground. Clinging to him, to not fall to her death and being treated to the most lovely view. Firm and shapely, she hummed, and her gaze flickered to the unicorn standing proudly in the corner. Leaving her mouth, tasting bitter at his absence. Yennefer shook her head, deciding she had indulged herself enough, mind already settling on her next endeavour.

A baron in Toussaint had sent her a letter, beseeching her for help at her earliest convenience, promising quite a lot in return. She just hoped it was not another case of limpness she was leaving her house for and facing the common rabble. She dried herself and put on clothes. Her hair wouldn't cooperate even after she used a spell to dry it, causing her to sigh in frustration. Securing her choker around her neck, and grabbed for her satchel when her legs gave out beneath her.

She barely registered the throb of her knees hitting the ground so unexpectedly over the hand, which seemed to grasp her heart and squeeze. She choked, a strangled gasp falling from her lips. The sensation was all-consuming for a blink, lessening slightly before returning. Her chaos burst through the surface, unconsciously searching for the cause. Numbing the pain significantly enough for her to think.

Sending objects flying, shattering like her composure when she realised where this must be coming from. Reigning her chaos in only enough to create a stable portal, stable as she could get it. Cracking, flickering and cracking like thunder as she stepped through. Announcing her arrival.

A mop of ashen hair shot up, red rimmed green eyes finding hers. With a sickly pale face and dishevelled state to match. “Lady Yennefer!” Her ugly duckling flew into her arms. Sobbing, grasping at her with desperation.

A dark inkling settled in her chest, which grew when she looked at the other person in the room. The Queen. Mirroring her granddaughter’s state, except for the black attire she wore. Or the murderous glower she greeted Yennefer with. Hate glittering in her eyes like the sword beside her.

“Have you no respect? To intrude now, of all times? After having spent years circling around like the heartless vulture you are? Thinking me now weak enough to strike?” Madness radiated from the woman so strongly the fine hairs on her nape raised. She pulled Ciri closer to herself, a move which went not unnoticed. “You will not take her.”

Yennefer sneered, pushing down her magic, wanting to lash out. The Queen's challenge to a simple truth enraged her. Her child surprise and her were bound, nothing could ever separate them. So she replied without thinking.

“I will if I want.”

Only for the Queen to shriek like a harpy and swing widely at her head. Yennefer turned with Ciri clinging to her, managing to evade the sloppy, by grief’s hand guided swings. With ease throwing up a shield on which the sword bounced off. Letting the Queen rage and holler, snarl and growl, howl like the lioness they depicted her to be. Until she dropped to her knees. Whether from exhaustion or heartbreak, Yennefer could not say.

Tenderly she stroked through Ciri’s hair, who trembled against her sobbing, breath shaky and closed her eyes and controlled herself. This was not the time to goad the Queen needlessly. She could not imagine the pain the woman was experiencing. She embraced Ciri tighter. Never would she.

“Leave her to me.” Yennefer spoke softly, meeting the Queen’s glare steadily. “I’m sure you have royal duties to tend to.”

The Queen said nothing, heavily staggering to her feet. Taking her sword and drawing closer, Yennefer did not flinch at the sword or the scowl, raising her chin defiantly.

“If you disappear, sorceress, there won’t be a shithole you can hide in, where I won’t find you.” Her lips pulled back, effectively baring her teeth. Waiting for a reaction Yennefer did not give before parting with a last kiss on the top of Ciri’s head.

It seemed enough to break Ciri’s resolve. “They are gone!” She sobbed, hot tears staining the fabric of her dress. “They are never coming home.”

Yennefer closed her eyes at the utter devastation in Ciri’s words. Her chaos crashing against Yennefer’s with an unmatched fury, a raging ocean threatening to swallow them both. The room trembled as much as she did before Ciri’s legs gave out and Yennefer followed her to the floor, holding her. It was hard to admit, even to herself, how unprepared she was for this.

She had been overconfident. Assuming Ciri's noble blood would make her life easy and Yennefer would be there in case of any mishap. Grief, pain, misery she had foolishly believed would never haunt her.

Ciri didn't cry when she got hurt, but she couldn't sit still while Yennefer took care of her cuts and scrapes because she wanted to get back to playing. Yennefer had learned how to look after cuts and bruises, little sniffles. How to reign or at least guide her periods of wilding around. Her ugly little duckling was brave and tough, a beacon of happiness, a spring of endless laughter, carelessness, and unending mischief.

To see her like this, feel her in the surrounding magic, hurt more than Yennefer could put into words. Made her feel helpless. A feeling she had believed she left long since in the past. The air shivered with wild chaos.

“My darling girl.” Yennefer let her own chaos seep out and wrap around Ciri’s, mingling with it and helping her control it. “My ugly little duckling.” She pressed her lips against her forehead, inhaling the scent she was as familiar with as her own. “I’m here.” Ciri whimpered, pressing impossibly closer. Seeking solace.

Yennefer could not remember a time she had found solace in another, could not envision anyone ever consoling her. The only one she had ever relied on had been herself, but she would ensure Ciri would never know that feeling, would never be alone with her hurt. Pushing back strands of hairs from her face, she pressed another kiss on her forehead, vowing in a murmur. “I will never leave you.”

Ciri hiccuped, grip tightening, magic ebbing away. She did not care how, but she would keep her word, if it meant levelling kingdoms, slaughtering thousands. Nothing mattered beside her ugly duckling. The world could go to hell for all she cared.

Ciri’s breathing evened out, but she never let go of Yennefer. Legs numb, she swayed as she stood with the girl in her arms. Cursing under her breath the sensation of pins and needles and settled them in Ciri’s spacious, fitting for a princess, bed. Letting her rest mostly on top of her, snuggled close, lazily out of boredom, weaving her hands through ashen hair.

Silence broke hours later when Ciri shot up, screaming, eyes wide, muttering words Yennefer did not understand.

Chapter Text

“The ice was thick enough to skate on, and I saw a whale on the journey back,” Ciri told eagerly, spreading her arms wide to show how big it had been. Swaying dangerously on the saddle with how exuberant she was in her gestures. Yennefer kept an arm around her as she continued.

”But the best part was Crach taking us with him on a hunt. A nearby village had a problem with a pack of wolves killing a lot of livestock. He took us with him, we learned how to track, and I can throw an axe now!”

Yennefer blinked, grasping the reins tighter in disbelief. “He did what?”

“Taught us how to throw an axe. I even hit a wolf with it.” She replied gleefully, mimicking the movement.

Not for the first time, Yennefer wished she had kept Ciri on the continent. The isles were perilous. Full of idiots with more brawn than brain, clan feuds and infighting. Not even mentioning the monsters which roamed Skellige. Yet the sheer idiocy, the gall of Crach to take a ten-year-old with him on the hunt and give her an axe? She was split between knocking her head against the nearest surface and teleporting to Skellige to knock Crach around. If there ever was a next time, she would go with her, to ensure her continued survival.

And wolves? As if Ciri’s meeting with Geralt hadn’t fed her interest in monsters and beasts enough. Yennefer had heard word late that Calanthe had engaged Ciri to some prince and had sent her to meet him, only to disappear on the journey.

Yennefer had searched without luck, returning to Cintra to let her anger out on the Queen only for Geralt to appear on his beloved horse with her child surprise. Having saved her from dryads and monsters and obviously enamoured by her by the looks of it.

He had observed the reunion between the Queen and princess silently coming to stand beside her. I understand now; he had said, gaze flickering from Ciri to her. She is, he had trailed off, finding not the right word, interrupted when Ciri threw her arms around Yennefer, hugging her tightly.

He had left with a hint of longing in his gaze and threats from Ciri to visit her or else, who had become enamoured as well with him. Later, she bombarded Yennefer with countless questions. About witchers, covering everything from their mutations to the different schools, and even mentioning a bestiary.

Books Yennefer spent searching for longer than she wanted to admit. Gifting them to Ciri as a reward for her studies because even for a sorceress, it couldn’t hurt to know what was running around in the woods. Aware when little wooden figures started to appear on her nightstand, raging from a wolf to a troll. Not amused at all, a certain witcher was vying for the affection of her child surprise.

“I missed you.” Yennefer, taken from her thoughts, tensed at the simple statement. Inhaling the salt of the sea still clinging to ashen hair even after a bath and gently carded through it with her fingers.

“I’m sure you were just getting sick of eating fish for every meal.” Ciri laughed, leaning back against Yennefer. Magic gently nudged against Yennefer’s who poked back. Perhaps the Isle had done some good.

Her ugly duckling brimmed with energy, happiness, if she dared call it. Not once had she fallen into melancholic silence, she was sometimes prone to since her parents’ passing.

“Here we are.” They dismounted and Yennefer led the horse to the stables, giving it with a few crowns to the stable boy.

“I like Vengerberg in winter.” Ciri said as they walked to her house.

“Did you not get enough cold on Skellige?”

“Mhm, yes, but Vengerberg is different.” Ciri did not elaborate. Eyes roaming over the houses, dusted with snow while Yennefer opened the door. Glancing at her but not digging deeper into the statement.

“Freshen up, on the bed I laid out a few options to wear for today, chose one and meet me afterwards down here.” Ciri ran off with a nod, disappearing up the stairs.

Yennefer shook her head, far too distracted to reprimand the girl once more for running inside the house, especially after the last mess.

Instead, she shrugged off her cloak and went to check on her potions in the making. Mixed emotions simmered in her gut regarding the plans for today. Still on the fence about going back there. To return on her own free will. She inhaled deeply. This time, it would be different. It was for a good cause, in a way. For her.

With the only good reason to return there, to show her dear mentor what she had achieved, to show her she had been wrong. The only reason to ever step into that hellhole again. Loud footsteps echoed, interrupting her dark becoming thoughts.

“We can leave.” Ciri panted, innocently shrugging at Yennefer’s misgiving glare, folding her hands behind her back.

“One day I shall turn you into a snail or better, a turtle, so I do not lose sight of you and give myself rest from all your mischief.” She blew a curl of hair from her face, resting her hands on her hips and regarding Ciri sternly. “What is this?” She lifted her brow.

“My dagger.”

“I’m certainly aware of how a dagger looks. Thank you for clearing that up. Why do you have one, and why is it hanging off your belt?”

“Grandmother gave it to me.” Ciri shrugged, rocking back and forth on her heels. “She says it’s important to be never defenceless, especially for me if I were to ever fall into the enemy’s hand.”

Yennefer grasped the bridge of her nose, quite sure the Queen was steadily but surely losing the little sense she had. While she always kept Ciri close and remained vigilant for any threat everywhere to her granddaughter, she had also spells of madness. Like sending Ciri to Skellige or trying to marry her off to some prince only to break it off.

Calanthe also started training Ciri in swordsmanship personally. Now that she was thinking about it, she would need to assess what Calanthe was teaching Ciri and improve upon it.

Yennefer wanted to tell her she did not need a dagger under her care, but resisted. Much could happen, so instead, she conjured a sheath and helped Ciri fasten it properly on her belt. Afterward, taking in the sight of her little ugly duckling, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. She had given Ciri various garments to choose from, ranging from dresses to doublets and breeches but also in various colors, a few blues, greens, and black.

Ciri chose to wear a black velvet doublet. Brocaded with silvery lines and breeches and leather boots, also in black. Under her scrutiny, Ciri straightened. Chin raised proudly, chest puffed out. Betraying her royal blood as she stared confidently back at Yennefer.

But having known her for so long, the enchantress smiled at the barely noticeable anticipation, the tension in her shoulders. Even if the thought of them matching her own black dress, adorned with lace, pleased her greatly.

“Adequate.” She drawled, giving Ciri’s cheek a pat. “Are you ready?” She asked, and Ciri eagerly nodded. “Do not forget your lessons and stay close to me.” She opened a portal, letting Ciri step through first.

“Wow.” Ciri breathed out, awed at the seemingly flying isle they stood upon, while dread settled inside Yennefer.

Aretuza laid out in front of them, the majestic castle with its lofty towers. Resting on a structure of rocks or, better described, a cliff, hovering over the ocean, waves crashing loudly against.

Yennefer’s nose crinkled when the wards brushed against her, stomach knotting up. A part of her wanting to grab Ciri and portal them far away from this place and never return. Startling when she saw out of the corner of her eyes Ciri lean dangerously over the edge, watching the ocean beneath.

“Careful.” Yennefer was quick to grab her by the scruff of her neck and pull her farther away.

Knowing with her luck, Ciri would somehow manage to end up falling. “You are not capable of flight, even being my ugly little duckling.”

“I wouldn’t need to, would I? Before I could even scream, I’m sure you would have already saved me.” Ciri grinned up at her cheekily and Yennefer tucked at her ear in admonishment.

“Perhaps I would not.”

“As if you would let me perish.”

Yennefer simply rolled her eyes, but did not deny it. Warmth spreading through her being despite the castle hovering over them gloomily. “Can you sense the wards?”

Ciri closed her eyes, clasping her hands together, mouth slightly open when she found them. “I can.”

“In my life, I have never encountered wards stronger than them.”

“They won’t smite me the moment I’ll step over the boundary, will they?”

Yennefer chuckled. “No, it would be rather hard to train sorceresses if new students never reached Aretuza alive. Come now and do not dawdle.” Yennefer added, knowing how easily Ciri was distracted and marched into the building, shoulders back, face blank.

Easily evading any other living soul on their way up to the rectoress’ office and chambers. Aware of the wards and alarms placed on the door, she unlocked the door with her magic, grinning at giving the rectoress an inkling of her presence.

The office had not changed in the last decades. Bookshelves up to the high ceilings, brimming with books and scrolls. The furniture out of dark wood, desk neatly organized but straining under the weight of missives and books. Pipe forgotten in the middle of it.

“Sit down and stay here.” Yennefer ordered before Ciri got any ideas of exploring the room, aware of how many unknown and possible dangerous trinkets and objects were housed in here. “Do not get into any trouble. I won’t be gone for long.” She narrowed her eyes at Ciri’s innocent expression, watching her settle down on the chair, fold her legs and place her hands primly in her lap.

“Of course not.”

Yennefer straightened Ciri’s collar and brushed with her hands through her hair. “Alright.”

Yennefer inhaled deeply and left Ciri. Tempering her nerves as she strutted down the halls, no longer interested in being subtle. Her magical aura flared, a beacon even in these halls. No longer dampened by her to remain inconspicuous.

Smirking when she passed a gaggle of girls who were quick to scramble out of her way. Savoring the thought of the Brotherhood, who still searched for her to hear about her presence in Aretuza. To know that they had been only a few steps away from her.

How she would enjoy bursting into their little meeting and ruin their day. Especially with her influence, favours owed and money on her side, it would be terribly hard for them to get rid of her permanently. She would relish in the chance to rub their noses in it, but she could not risk bringing her child surprise into the equation. Not yet, at least.

So she settled close to the meeting chambers. Leaned with her back to the wall. Unbothered, eyes closed as she needled the rectoress. Gleeful knowing she was stuck in the after meeting about the Ascension, which had been yesterday, filled with the senseless blabber of the old fools. Already headache enough without her interference.

She smirked when the rectoress bat away her chaos, her presence immediately drawing nearer. Lazily studying her nails, posture impeccable.

“Decades pass and yet you still insist on wasting your time and those of others with your imprudence. Disgracing yourself and the Chapter with your use of magic for trivial matters has not been enough for you, I see.”

She lazily pushed herself off the wall, smirking down at the other woman. How she cherished the difference in height between them. “I see we are skipping the pleasantries.” Yennefer turned around, listening to the footfalls behind her.

“After all this time, I do not believe you are capable of being pleasant, Yennefer and after Rinde, those would serve as nothing but a waste of breath.” Tissaia replied, face emotionless while she met Yennefer’s gaze, hands all too familiar clasped before her stomach.

“Mhm, Rinde, such fond memories.” Like Tissaia telling her to crawl back to the Brotherhood. To give up on her foolish endeavor, to make her return to Aretuza while clinging to her skirts like a silly, broken girl.

“I have neither the patience nor the nerve to participate in your childish games.” Tissaia stopped walking, blue eyes studying her. “So tell me why you returned after making unmistakably clear how much you despise this place and your distaste for me. If it’s to beg for help keeping the Brotherhood unaware of your dealings, then I have already done everything in my capacity for you.”

Yennefer paused at the latter, surprised the rectoress would go through the effort to try. I shall take care of you. Eyes bored into her side profile, sure Tissaia would like nothing more than to read her mind, to get the answers she sought, but thought the practice beneath her.

“I hardly think you came to socialise with your fellow sorceresses, your sisters.”

Right, the second reason for her appearance today. After the Ascension, the sorceresses liked to meet. To celebrate their ranks going up in numbers, or unofficially, it was an excuse to get drunk and spread gossip, scheming and start backstabbing each other at the earliest convenience.

“Why, I love listening to bland court gossip. It never changes, stays the same as we do. The King fucks another maid, the Queen fucks some lowlife knight, and the mage is planning to fuck them all. Not even considering the pleasure it gives me to listen to the young ones’ dream, their hopes of grandeur knowing they will be crushed by life mercilessly.”

Yennefer hummed thoughtfully, smirking at Tissaia’s clear displeasure of her obscene language. The mocking of their traditions in serving at court, to advise kings. They reached the office and Yennefer opened the door with a flourish and a mocking bow, interrupting Tissaia’s, no doubt, heart-warming speech about duty and honour.

“Piglet, what is the meaning of this?” Tissaia sounded more exhausted than she ever had. Like someone her age was supposed to sound like, and while Yennefer growled at the name, she looked over her shoulder.

“Fuck.” She sighed when her child surprise was not like she had told her to, sitting and waiting, the epitome of poise and grace, but hanging from a bookshelf. Feet off the ground, head close to the ceiling, having climbed the shelf like a tree.

Sheepishly she jumped off, book in hand, giving Yennefer a minor heart attack and causing the entire shelf to shake.

“Good day.” She offered, curtsying, putting the book down on the desk. “I’m Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Ria-” She stopped when the bookshelf creaked, glancing upwards the same moment the shelf broke and a dozen books fell down.

Before Yennefer could cast a shield to protect her, Ciri stopped their descent, letting them hover in the air before stacking them neatly on the desk.

“Whoops.” Ciri offered, glancing wide-eyed at Yennefer and scuffing her toe on the ground. Startling when another book hit the ground beside her. She squinted, rubbing her neck. “I told you my name and titles are too long.” She muttered.

Yennefer froze, closed her eyes and pushed down the urge to drink herself into oblivion. All her meretriciously planning falling apart in front of her.

“Piglet.” Again that name, perhaps shooting lightning at Tissaia again, would alleviate some of the mortification.

She could not call her that, especially not in front of her child surprise and wonder why she ended up fried.

“Please, tell me you did not kidnap the Princess of Cintra.” The rectoress exhaled, voice matter-of-fact as she grasped the bridge of her nose, hand settled on her hip. Feathers ruffled.

Yennefer huffed, as if she had to stoop so low. “I did not. May I introduce to you my child surprise.” She stepped up to Ciri, coming to stand behind her, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Tissaia did not speak, not a single muscle twitched. Eerily still before rounding her desk. Without a word, she opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle, and filled a glass. Downing the amber liquid in one gulp without a grimace, face indifferent. Yennefer’s brows twitched up to her hairline.

“It is an honour to meet her Royal Highness.” Tissaia offered at last with a curtsy, never forgetting her manners, afterward sitting down heavily on her chair.

“I had heard rumors about your presence in Cintra and, of course, reached us the news about the Law of Surprise having been invoked, but those were about the late princess. Not in my wildest nightmares I imagined you claiming the Law of Surprise.” Tissaia took her pipe, igniting it and sinking deeper into her chair, puffing out smoke. “Could you not just corrupt the Queen? Seduced your way through the population? Planned a coup of the Brotherhood?” Tissaia took another hit on the pipe, closing her eyes.

“And you have been training her. To what end? Bring forth the apocalypse?”

“I taught her the essentials.” Yennefer glanced at the shaken rectoress, at how done she seemed and worried a little for her sanity. The scars on her wrists itched, and she swallowed dryly. I shall take care of you, girl. Because I believe it’s worth it. “She excels in manipulating the chaos, and I already began teaching her elvish and alchemy.”

“Ceâdmil.” Ciri piped in, greeting Tissaia in elvish with a tiny wave like they originally planned to do in the beginning.

“She is too young.”

“Age does not define skill.” Yennefer rebuked firmly, glancing down at Ciri, who leaned back against her.

“I see.” Tissaia silently regarded the both of them and Yennefer felt her magic reach out, investigating the both of them, seeing the twitch in the rectoress’ jaw. “The others will already have started without us.”

She rose, pipe still in hand. “If you wish, we should join them.” The words were directed at Ciri, but Yennefer knew them to be a dismissal.

Leaving Yennefer dissatisfied with her reaction and off balance, having thought this to be a more notable occurrence. But Tissaia had always thought herself to be above showing any emotions.

Ciri’s chaos brushed against hers and while she hadn’t accomplished speaking telepathically yet, their lesson more focused on protecting her mind and controlling the bad dreams she had since her parent's passing, she was able to convey feelings.

A mix of guilt, regret, but also happiness and worry reached her. “My little ugly duckling, what should I do with you?” She responded telepathically, threading her fingers through Ciri’s hair. “I should have expected nothing else from you.” She sent, scolding even if it dripped with fondness. Nudging the girl to follow the rectoress.

They stepped into a grand chamber filled with plush couches, an arrangement of tables filled with food but, more importantly, wine. A fire roaring in the fireplace and the room rife with sorceresses known and unknown to her. Tissaia disappeared without another word.

“Stay close.” Ciri nodded absently, eyes trailing over the gathered women, overwhelmed by so much chaos in one place. Yennefer herself was a bit, after so long of solitude and like the various perfumes of incense in the air, it flooded her senses.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.” A familiar voice drawled and Yennefer tensed. “I was starting to hope for an assassination attempt to liven up the atmosphere, but it seems this evening shall not be as disappointing as I feared.”

“Philippa, I never imagined seeing you here. Did your king grow bored with your perpetual scheming?” Philippa Eilhart, like every other sorceress, had not changed since Yennefer had seen her last.

Dressed in Redania’s colours of white and red. Dark brown hair tied into her two signature braids with the familiar bored expression on her face betrayed by the inquisitive narrow of her black eyes. A single, white owl-feather was braided into her hair, very on the nose like the enchantress herself. Yennefer was not the least surprised to see a red-pink smear on the hollow of her throat.

“Did your king not understandably try to have you killed?” Another voice chimed in. “And here I thought I would never have to see your face again with the Brotherhood hunting you.”

“Please tell me you jest, Sabrina.” Yennefer looked down at the blonde. “But I guess you do depend on the inevitability of no one requesting your presence for your brains.” She finished with a look down Sabrina’s neckline. Earning herself a sneer from the blonde while Philippa chuckled, taking a sip from her wine.

“Girls, you should conduct yourselves like the sorceresses you were raised to be. You should be examples for the younger ones and not behave like common rabble and that in front of guests.” Margarita intervened. The only sorceress Yennefer could genuinely claim to respect.

The woman was just motherly. Genuinely caring and believing in everyone she taught, and Yennefer remembered her guest lessons fondly. She appreciated her honesty and openness, but still Yennefer hesitated to introduce Ciri.

“She’s my child surprise.” Yennefer stated, making her claim clear, not liking the interest in Philippa’s gaze.

“The Law of Surprise?”

“You? With a child?”

“Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

“The whims of fate.” Yennefer shrugged. “But she is now my responsibility, and I thought meeting other sorceresses would be wise.”

Yennefer kept her face blank. Aware some might know about her hunt for a cure to her infertility, her search for a child. It had been not an accident but a calculated bluff which linked Ciri to her.

“Does your child surprise have a name or do you call her just that?” Sabrina looked down at Ciri, gaze flickering from her up to Yennefer. Lips curled into a thin smile, making her look even more similar to the cow she was.

“Cirilla.” Ciri choked out, cheeks turning red, flustered with so much attention on her.

“What a beautiful name.” Rita complimented and gave Ciri a smile and nudged Sabrina, who frowned.

“Yes, beautiful.”

“Cirilla as in the lion cub of Cintra, heir to the throne?” Philippa gazed intently at them, and Yennefer nearly complied with the sudden urge to set the sorceress alight.

“Did I hear right?” Two other sorceresses joined them. Sheala, advisor to the King of Kovir, known to rarely leave the palace and Coral, a boisterous sorceress hailing from Skellige.

“Yes, but I believe with friends Ciri suffices.” Ciri answered, fidgeting with her sleeve for but a moment before exhaling and standing with the poise her standing demanded.

“An honour to make your acquaintance, your Royal Highness.” Philippa curtsied, eyes keen while they flickered from Yennefer to Ciri.

“She’s chaos sensitive.” Sheala hummed, sipping from her goblet.

Yennefer felt the chaos of the other sorceress rise to the surface, reach out for Ciri and had to clamp down on her own in response. Aware it would lash out at the for her offending chaos.

“I have already begun training her.”

“So young?” Rita asked, lips pursed in obvious worry.

“She has shown early on an aptitude for it and has only advanced with her age.” That statement caused murmurs and shared glances between the sorceresses. Yennefer squeezed Ciri’s shoulder when she shifted.

“Who did you have to fuck to get her?” Sabrina only raised a brow at Yennefer’s glare.

“I remember someone quite eager to spread their legs for-”

“Perhaps.” Rita talked over her loudly, glaring at them both. “If the young one wishes, I can introduce her to the others.” She leaned down, whispering to Ciri, knowing Yennefer could hear her as well. “And show you some little tricks?” With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a yellow glowing bird, which chittered and proceeded to fly circles around them both.

Ciri grinned, face lighting up, and looked up at Yennefer. “Go on, Margarita is quite an accomplished sorceress.”

She swallowed, unsure and giving Rita a look which spoke volumes about what would happen to her if something happened to her child surprise. Ciri squeezed her hand before eagerly trailing after Rita.

“Who would have thought you could be so maternal, Yennefer?” Philippa drawled, pushing a full goblet of wine into Yennefer’s hands.

“And she doesn’t even look as traumatized as most do after spending longer periods of time around you.”

“Have you filled the position of royal advisor in Cintra now?”

“I don’t imagine so. Cintra despises the Brotherhood.”

“Especially with how prickly our dear Yennefer likes to be.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, swallowing her mouthful of wine. “We hate the Brotherhood, so.”

“Stregobor.” They said in unison, staring at each other in silence for a moment before breaking into laughter.

Yennefer would never, not even on her deathbed or under torture, admit it, but she missed the easy camaraderie. The understanding they had of each other, of their past, the future, and the expectations of the world.

Evening came quick while catching up and Yennefer was sad not to see Triss here who had to remain with King Foltest helping him with a dispute between some nobles. It had been far too long since they had seen each other face to face. Only sharing letters infrequently if Yennefer stayed somewhere long enough for word to go around.

Gossip was shared, barbs which grew fewer in between the more they drank and old anecdotes of their time in Aretuza. Keira Metz was introduced to her by Sabrina, a young sorceress who had ascended only two years ago with blonde hair and hazel eyes. Triss had taken her under her wing since she had joined Foltest court as advisor. She clearly was still young and nodded off soon on the couches they had claimed after a bit of wine.

Ciri was always in the periphery of her vision with Rita by her side while she evaded Philippa’s needling over her whereabouts and plans, waiting for scraps of information she would no doubt use in some way against Yennefer or trade it.

Only giving up after a while and simply transforming into an owl. Chaos ensued when she teased Ciri, hooting and nibbling at her ear despite Ciri shooing her off more than once until she had enough and went after her. Uncaring of the gaggle inebriated sorceresses in the room, she chased her around. Yennefer mellowed out by enough wine just watched.

“Shouldn’t you go and tame your child surprise.” Sabrina asked beside her, mocking Yennefer for the constant use of the phrase while she had told them more about her.

Yennefer hummed thoughtfully, swirling her goblet in circles while Philippa, in her owl form, continued to fly wildly around. Barely over the heads of them and Ciri running after her with Rita in pursuit. All the while knocking against furniture, leaving more than one shattered vase and glass in her wake. Women shrieking and wine spilled.

“Rita has it under control.” Yennefer offered at last, topping off Sabrina’s and her goblet, answering her arched brow with her own.

Observing moments later Ciri’s capture. Coral picking her up as she tried to run past, not impressed with her squirming while Rita stopped beside them panting. The Lady Owl landed on Ciri’s head. Hooting infuriatingly, causing Ciri to growl and curse, words which she definitely never heard Yennefer utter. Rita gasped, looking open-mouthed at Ciri while Coral just laughed and chimed in.

Deep into the night or early morning left most of them past coherency, and Yennefer found herself with no collection of coming here beside Tissaia on a settee. Laying more than sitting, sprawled on it, brows drawn together when she noticed her hand was empty, her goblet gone. Pondering its whereabouts, only to be interrupted by the woman beside her.

“It seems you had your fun.”

Yennefer groaned. “Who would have thought a bunch of sorceresses are easier to stand while neck deep into wine?” Her head lolled to the side, and she gave Tissaia a grin.

“Yennefer:” Ciri stumbled towards her, ending up heavily falling into her lap with a giggle.

“Ciri?” The girl mumbled into her dress and Yennefer frowned, cupping her chin and making her look up. Green eyes were glassy and cheeks red with wine on her breath. “Did you drink? Who let you?” Yennefer asked in disbelief, more alert now. But Ciri just giggled, dreamily pawing at her face like a cat playing with yarn,

“Coral.” She offered after a long pause, humming. “I told her about Skellige and the hunt. She lives there and said it’s custom to drink after a successful hunt and that this would make me grow the mane I needed.” Ciri squinted at the last words, tongue poking out.

Yennefer glanced around, not seeing the ginger haired enchantress. Huffed, her attention recaptured when Ciri grasped her chin, gazing at her. “What has your attention now, my little ugly duckling?”

Ciri blinked, biting her lip, fingertips tracing her jaw and cheek. “Hm, I can see it.” Ciri ominously stated and Yennefer sat up worried. Ciri sometimes muttered strange things in the throes of her nightmares, never remembering after waking.

But Ciri just knocked their foreheads together clumsily. Yennefer hissed before rolling her eyes at her child surprise who seemed to be moments from falling asleep. Instead, Yennefer flinched when a chilly hand grasped her arm and Ciri glanced down, finger trailing over the scar on her wrist.

“Your time has not yet come.” She whispered, swaying slightly in her lap, and Yennefer’s breath caught. “They did not have much work to do, I think.” Ciri mumbled, blinking hazily. “I think you already were beautiful.” She added, yawning and then like she had not just rocked Yennefer’s whole equilibrium, she curled up in her lap, falling asleep.

Yennefer shakily inhaled, sobering quickly. Mind running wild. Her past was nothing she ever discussed, ever and there were only a handful of people left knowing her from that time, from before. For Ciri to somehow know-

Yennefer closed her eyes, heart raging against the restraints of her rib cage. Reaching out and carefully running her fingers through ashen hair, disquieted.

“She shall never be a sorceress.” Yennefer startled, having long forgotten she was not alone, scowling when the words registered, sounding like a curse to her.

“It is not your choice to make.” She hissed, keeping her voice low. “She shows more promise than most of the girls you let into Aretuza nowadays.”

Tissaia ignored the barb, lip pursed and gaze unreadable, which remained on the child in Yennefer’s arms. “It is not yours either.”

“She is my Child of Surprise. Destiny links us together-”

“Her advancement in manipulating the chaos has ceased, has it not?”

“She is beyond anyone her age-”

“Do not hide behind words. You thought her elvish and alchemy rather early and we both are aware of how dull you find the latter. And yet.”

“Both are important for her education. It matters not when she learns it, but she does.”

“Magical abilities matter not for potion making. That’s why herbalists and potion makers exist. I have known you for long enough. Do not insult us both by trying to lie to me. I’ve been teaching longer than most of you gathered have been alive combined.”

Yennefer closed her mouth, rage bubbling beneath her skin.

“She won’t advance any further.” Tissaia spoke gravely. “No matter how hard she and you try, so I’ll spare you the heartache. I felt a difference in her chaos in the office, something I have never encountered before but familiar and just now her words, your reaction to them. It is not the first time she speaks about matters she should know nothing about. I thought so,” Tissaia said when Yennefer looked away. “She is a Source with a magnitude I have never felt.”

Tissaia stood, looking down at her, through her gaze far away while Yennefer felt her nails bite into her palm, chaos raging through her. “I’d start researching. For what it is worth, knowing my opinion is of no value to you, I am happy you found what you searched for.” Yennefer coughed, keeping herself from flattening Aretuza by a hair.

“So long, Yennefer.” Without another word, the rectoress left and Yennefer seethed, stomach in knots. Tissaia had looked at her with something she had thought her incapable of. Pity.

Something she had never shown her. Her mind whirled. Remembering Pavetta’s outburst of raw chaos at the wedding. How Ciri’s abilities seemed more instinctive and less depended on the elvish incantations. But more glaring was the eve of her parents’ death, the way the walls and quivered with her grief.

Yennefer bit the insides of her cheeks, tasting blood and glanced down at her precious, blissfully sleeping child surprise.

Chapter Text

“Yennefer!”

“Quiet, Geralt!” She hissed over her shoulder at him, eyes roving the crumbling curtain wall, the destroyed houses, the burning castle.

Fire everywhere, burning bright, swallowing anything, the smoke stinging in her eyes. The heat was searing as they drew closer. Screams echoed, the clashing of metal, figures all around in black armour.

“How do we find her? Cintra is overrun with Nilfgaardians.”

“I did not bring you with me to state the obvious.” Yennefer clasped her hands together, forming a black sphere of chaos, and blew life into it, turning it into a raven. Sending it out to search. “We must reach the castle. The Queen will have her last stand there.”

“It will be swarming with Nilfgaardians.”

“Stop whining and move.” Yennefer did not care much for moving subtly or sneaking, but Geralt kept them close to the walls and houses, finding a way through the ocean of soldiers.

Yennefer was furious enough to go against an army, and she could not forgive herself for learning so late of the attack. Too busy heading Tissaia's summons and returning to Aretuza only to find out in those very halls by a frantic Triss that Nilfgaard had marched on Cintra, defeated them at the Marnadal Stairs, and laid now siege on the capital. A conclave was called for all Northern mages, and she had remained only long enough to hear about making a stand in Sodden from Triss before stepping through a portal.

Her child surprise was somewhere trapped in her crumbling, burning inheritance. Alive, she had to be alive. Yennefer was sure that if it were different, she would have felt it. Ciri was capable. Her grandmother was guarding her, no doubt, and even then, Yennefer knew her to be quite proficient with a sword and trained for survival with the lessons she instilled in her. She was alive, and they would find her.

Closer to the keep, the screams got louder, even with nightfall, Yennefer saw the ground soaked in blood, uncountable bodies paving the way. Not many in golden armour but simple clothing. The battle was already over; this was a senseless slaughter of the simple folk.

Shouts and a shriek. Through the smoke, Yennefer saw a figure fall from a tower and hit the ground, only reacting when she realised something golden and glittering was rolling closer to them on the ground. A crown. Eyes wide, Yennefer sprinted out of hiding, not caring when a group of soldiers noticed her and shouted in alarm. She fell down on her knees beside the body, nerves frazzled enough her chaos reacting on instinct to the soldiers coming closer and lashed out. Geralt took care of the rest while she turned the body, already knowing what, or rather who, she would find.

Queen Calanthe. Yennefer closed her eyes, swallowing, having forgotten how similar Ciri looked to her grandmother. Only the eyes were different. Ashen hair was crusted with blood and dirt just as her golden armour was, with the lion paws on the shoulder pads. Blue eyes open and unseeing.

“Yennefer she is-”

“Dead, I am aware.” The ground swayed beneath her, vision swimming.

“Yen.”

“She loves Ciri.” Yennefer choked out, fingers trembling as she closed Calanthe's eyes. “She would have never-” She did not finish, could not. She would have felt it. She would have. The world would have stopped turning, the sun would have turned black-

“Yen.” She shrugged off Geralt's hand on her shoulder, standing up despite her legs nearly giving out.

Fury burning bright inside her chest, fingers stained with blood and her heart howling like a beast of the night. Her face was wet and with a growl the Queen's corpse was set alight by her chaos.

“Yennefer!”

She whirled around to him, hitting him in the chest. “What do you think they would have done to the corpse to the Queen's corpse of the Kingdom they are burning down?” Geralt avoided her gaze while she paced in front of him, and she clawed at her hair. “At least she is now reunited with her daughter.” She muttered, chaos reigning inside her.

Every last soldier would pay for what they dared take from her. She would not stop, not hesitate. Her heart squeezed painfully, tears trailing down her jaw, making her remember the ghost of a touch, such a little hand, the flames inside her roared louder than those surrounding them. Yennefer followed the screams, Geralt without question walking beside her. She would let them feel what she felt, to-

Her. A single rider. Ashen hair. Soldiers in pursuit. Trees. Forest. Away from the burning city.

The images flashed behind her eyelids, the raven circled above, cawing.

“Quickly Geralt!” She raced through the streets and knocked the first soldier they saw from his horse, killing him with his own sword.

She mounted the horse and reached down to help Geralt up, who did without a grumble. Even when he desperately clung to her waist as she spurred on the horse, following the raven through the streets to outside the city walls. Leaving the burning kingdom, seeing the vast ocean of black armour to turn away and race into the direction of the forest. Barely had they crossed the tree line when the air popped, the sound of an explosion following and raw chaos crashing over them like a wave. She nearly lost the grip on the reins, Geralt less sensitive to magic steadied them in time.

An unholy green shimmer in the air dissipated. But the chaos was all too familiar. Yennefer followed the feelings, disbelief and worry clashing when they rode through broken trees, some simply uprooted, some shattered into a million pieces. Reaching a clearing where the earth was split, a deep rift in the middle, a gigantic rock broken, three dead horses and two riders lacerated, parts scattered around the area. Chaos still heavy in the air. Still one had the remains of gold clinging to him and the other was in black. Yennefer dismounted at the same time a shout rang out.

“You can’t take me.” Yennefer darted into the direction of the sound. “I will burn with my kingdom before I surrender to the likes of you.”

“You have no choice-, you bitch. I will kill you for this, you abomination.”

“You can try.” Ciri. Soaked in blood, grime on her like a second skin, green eyes blazing like an inferno.

“Ciri!” The girl glanced up, meeting her gaze and Yennefer was sure she had never seen anything more beautiful than her girl, living, breathing.

“No!” The soldier lunged for Ciri, who evaded his swing, raising her sword, which looked far too big in her hands, and stabbed him. The sword pierced through his armour, into his abdomen.

The Nilfgaardian gurgled, spattering blood over Ciri's face, who pulled her sword out, stepping back as he fell to the ground.

“Ciri.” Yennefer crossed the last few steps between them, sweeping her into an embrace.

Ciri was stiff in her embrace and even after the havoc she had wrecked Yennefer's skin crawled with the strength her chaos lapped over Yennefer's.

“You are here.” The girl croaked at last, knuckles turning white around the pommel of her sword.

“You are alive.”

“Grandmother she is-” Ciri trailed off, face blank.

Yennefer pulled back from their embrace, gaze roaming Ciri's figure for any wounds, but with the blood and grime it was hard to tell. Wiping away the tears, streaming over Ciri's cheek, cringing when the blood on her hand smeared on her cheeks.

“I am so very sorry.” Yennefer embraced her again, harder, tighter, nearly weeping at hearing her breath. Hands carding through ashen locks while pressed a hundred kisses to her hairline.

​Ciri grasped at her desperately.

“Yennefer.” Geralt drew closer, the tension in his shoulder melting when he caught sight of Ciri, and yet his gaze was troubled when he nodded into the direction they came from. “More are coming.”

For someone always claiming to have no feelings, the slope of his shoulders, the frown on his face betrayed him.

She leaned back, cupping Ciri's cheeks. “Ciri, you have to listen to me now. You will go with Geralt to Kaer Morhen. The witchers are overwintering there, he will look after you-”

“Don't leave me!” Ciri cried, pleaded, holding tightly onto her.

“Hush now. I will come for you. The battle, the war is not over, the North not yet saved. I need to join the others, if Nilfgaard marches on, you won't be safe anywhere.”

​“Please no, you can't go, please.” Ciri grew hysterical, shaking her head, the sword which Yennefer now recognized as Calanthe's shaking in her grip.

“Geralt.” Yennefer did not say more, hoping he understood the silent look after her, stay safe, don't die.

“Yen.” He stepped closer, pressing up behind Ciri and rested their foreheads together, sharing the same air. For a blissful moment, she had everything she had ever dreamed of. Geralt whispered a kiss against her temple.

“You must go now.” Yennefer tore herself away before the strength to do so left her, avoiding the two expressions speaking of heartbreak while she created a portal, hopefully close enough to Kaer Morhen.

“No!” Ciri shrieked, fighting against Geralt's grip on her. “No, don't leave me, please. You promised!” Yennefer's heart broke, and she hugged herself to stop from lunging at Ciri, to never let her go. “Don't leave Mama! Please!”

Her resolve broke in time with Geralt's grip on Ciri, and she embraced Ciri with all her might. “Hush, my daughter. My brave, sweet girl. I will come for you, nothing will keep me from you, I promise.” She wiped the tears from Ciri's cheeks, feeling her own run over her face. Foreheads resting against each other. Now she heard the sound of hooves, the chiming of metal. “Now go, my daughter!” She pressed a last kiss against Ciri's forehead, inhaling her scent tainted by so much blood, before she pushed her into the arms of Geralt.

Vision swimming, Geralt disappeared with one last look into the portal.

Yennefer allowed herself a second, a heartbeat to weep, to scream. Her daughter. Alive and safe. For now. Far away from her. Chest hollow, she pushed everything down, wiped her tears away and created a second portal, stepping through.

*

The ground swayed under her feet and she stumbled, catching herself on a piece of the wall still standing. Groaning, she took a step forward, black spots consuming her sight and she hissed, pressing her hand over the wound on her abdomen. Sabrina had stabbed her. Crudely with an arrow into the upper abdomen. Which on its own wasn't surprising, the blonde was crazy and Yennefer couldn't count the many times she had tried while attending Aretuza to curse her but to risk getting her own hands dirty?

That was quite unlike Sabrina, she had determined even more so when they both got blown up, tower crumbling and hitting the ground hard.

Sabrina had been knocked out by the fall but still breathing, Yennefer flinched when another consciousness was torn from her mind. Another mage dead. There were not many left. She panted, limping over the battlefield. Stepping over the bodies of the peasants who had come to protect their home with nothing more than their pitchforks.

Numbly registered Coral, face streaked with blood, impaled on a tree, soldiers hollering and laughing.

Her blood boiled and with a gesture she broke their necks. She had told Coral to fall back, retreat into the walls. That foolish old hag.

“Tissaia.” She telepathically reached out once more, having lost contact moments after the battle had begun.

They were losing. Nilfgaard overwhelmed them with the sheer size of their army, not even counting the fact that Fringilla and the mages working with Nilfgaard were religious fanatics, believing in the white flame and not shying away from using their own life forces to subjugate the North. Overstepping every line and slaughtering them all.

The Kings of the North still had not arrived, if they would, and she doubted they would in time. Yennefer did not know what to do, she needed to find Tissaia, she was the one with the plans, the one with the ideas.

She blinked, licking her lips and only tasting blood. She had promised, she reminded herself. Everything ached while she wandered aimlessly in the dark. No idea how to save them.

“Yennefer.” She looked up, the flicker of hope which the voice ignited, dying at the sight Tissaia made.

Pale, face ashen with dark veins protruding like a spiderweb over her cheeks and neck. Dimeritium poisoning, Yennefer concluded with a shiver, trying to catch Tissaia as she stumbled and legs buckling beneath her and only ended up falling with her. Her ears rang. The strongest sorceress on the continent, her, their only hope, rendered useless, cut off from her chaos.

This was it. The Nilfgaardians seemed to multiply, their ranks not getting thinned out, and with the night upon them, it got even harder to see them even with the fires burning all around them. This was it. She would die side by side with peasants and sorceresses she despised, perhaps endured sometimes. She would be a footnote in the history books, perhaps even less and her child surprise, her daughter and her witcher, waiting for someone who would never return.

“It's your turn now.” Yennefer hazily blinked, gaze flickering from the devastation surrounding them to Tissaia. “Save these people, this continent. Your legacy is waiting for you.” Yennefer shook her head, nauseous and disbelieving. Remembering their last talk, the shared ale, shared truth and her grim jests.

“How? I can't!” Yennefer bit back a sob, blood in her eyes, pleading for direction, perhaps for salvation.

“You can.” She trembled under Tissaia's gaze, so stubborn and expectant it brought her back to being young and naïve, to listening to Tissaia's lessons, her commands to succeed and her own longing for approval. “Everything you have ever felt, everything you buried.” Tissaia paused, eyes jumping between Yennefer's, expression pained but more open than Yennefer had ever seen.

There are mages like Sabrina who ignore their emotions. And then there are mages like us who are consumed by them.

Back then she had asked like us, in disbelief. Even now, she often barely believed the woman in front of her had emotions or found them hard to control. But she remembered. So much. The telepathic connection between them despite Tissaia's poisoning was wide open.

Yennefer did not breathe as Tissaia reached for her, fingers in the barest hint of a touch, stroking her hair before trailing down and palming her cheek. A tenderness to her gaze and voice, Yennefer had experienced hints of over the decades.

“Forget the bottle.” In every other setting Yennefer would have laughed it off as a joke, Tissaia had always preached control, control the chaos not become the chaos. A sad smile crossed Tissaia's lips. “Let your chaos explode.”

She leaned closer, emphasising every word. Yennefer quivered, grasping at the arm which held her. Knowing what Tissaia meant for her to do. The woman who bought her, cared for her, betrayed her, saved her. Taking in the proud but accepting expression on her face. The way she held her head high. Permission. Goodbye.

Her mind raced, bargaining for another option, and she felt something break when a thumb brushed tenderly over her cheek. Gasping for breath when Tissaia pulled her closer, resting their foreheads together. Tears she had stubbornly kept in, fell as she listened to Tissaia breathing raggedly, her form trembling with pain and yet somehow barely a whisper her chaos brushed against Yennefer's, filled with pride and determination, breathing it into her. She had been in this position too often in the last few days.

She rose, legs threatening to give out, their hands clasped together between them, while Tissaia remained kneeling. Yennefer could not bring herself to look at her again, loosening her grip and noting numbly how Tissaia prolonged the contact for as long as she could before letting her go. Yennefer turned around, the pain in her abdomen nothing to what was inside. She walked up the slight hill, overseeing the battlefield, channeling her chaos with every step.

Eyes trailing over the flames devouring the village, her fellow mages. Somewhere in there was Triss. And Sabrina. Still linked to her, alive for now. The Lady Owl was somewhere, hopefully not already cutting her losses.

Up here she could see the sheer numbers of Nilfgaardian soldiers remaining, prepared to flood the whole North. A symphony of screams, metal clashing and the roaring fire reaching her ears, She concentrated, closing her eyes, letting everything she had pushed down, forcing herself to forget come to the surface.

She is no daughter of mine. She held out her hands, palms facing upwards. You horrible useless bitch. Wench. Witch. Beast. Heartless bitch. You, a mother? You will not take her! Do you actually have what it takes?

She opened her eyes, heart beating against her ribs painfully, like a startled horse. She stepped forward, being the conduit to a magnitude of chaos she had never been before. It tore at her, seared her insides. She kept it inside until she could look at the battlefield.

Gaze finding Tissaia's below. I shall take care of you, girl. Because I believe it's worth it. Mama. I love you, Yen. I think you were already beautiful.

Blood rushed through her ears. She let go. Fire bursting forth. A wave, a storm, an inferno. She screamed, howling. Anger. Fear. Desperation. Unleashing it all. Incinerating everything in her wake but one. Holding on that tiniest shred of control, her body tearing apart at the seams. Her screaming echoing through the valley, joined by yielding throats. She screamed and did not stop.

*

​She blinked, everything cast into shadows. A figure standing over her.

“You should have joined us when I graciously offered. But you never cared for the consequences, did you? Live with them now.”

Dark embraced her. A dark which swallowed all light.

Yennefer you have to wake now. The battle might be won, but the war isn't.

“Hold her down.”

“Give her something!”

“A curse, a very old one.”

“There has to be a cure.”

Voices, so many voices. The world turned and her light exploded.

Lightning and thunder. The crashing of waves. A ship illuminated in the dark. Swaying and creaking. Breaking. Ashen hair and eyes of green. A disembodied voice echoing. The time of the white frost nears.

Suddenly she was whipped around, hands closing around her throat. Destiny. Your destiny awaits. It hungers for your blood. Calanthe, eyes grey and glassy, speaking with a voice not belonging to her. Her face, grotesque, disturbing. Broken, bleeding.

Endless blackness, disturbed by flashes of Ciri on horseback. Riding hard, looking over her shoulder as if someone was in pursuit.

Yennefer called for her, tried to reach her, but never seemed to. No matter how she tried. In the end, fire blazed and devoured them. Screams so loud, so petrified.

Chapter Text

“Tell me again why we can not just travel per portal.”

“Piglet, if you ask this question one more time, I will silence you.” Tissaia glared at her before continuing. “Because your eyes are still healing and you were a conduit to more raw chaos than you ever have been. We don’t know with your stores still depleted if even the tiniest bit of chaos might do the trick and kill you.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, especially with her thighs chaffed and back hurting from horseback riding the last few weeks. She would of course never mention it to Tissaia, who had told her they should stop more often, yet months had gone by and she had been gone long enough from her child surprise. The moment she had regained her sight, even if she was still sensitive to light and got headaches regularly, she set out to leave. Tissaia, healing from her own ordeal, had told her she would be accompanying her to ensure she would not get herself into trouble or risk her progress.

Even if she had the suspicion, Rita might have threatened to take over Aretuza indefinitely if Tissaia dared to come back before she herself was fully healed and her chaos restored by the heated discussion she had witnessed. Heated for Tissaia, who had not only frowned for all to see but also gesticulated while Rita had her arms crossed and shook her head at intervals. Tissaia, for all her refinement, had looked like she was ready to fight Rita, which wasn’t surprising with her need to control everything, and only restrained herself because of the audience they had. Which left her with a slighted Tissaia following her around.

At least they had not been overrun by Nilfgaard. Thanks to her, the Kings of the North had idle time to waddle on to the battlefield and claim victory with their armies while the snake, Fringella, when she got her hands on her she would pay for her betrayal, to blind her while she was more dead than alive. Waking up in absolute darkness yet so much noise had been petrifying.

The vulnerability of not knowing what was happening around her, too weak to call chaos forth to reach out to her surroundings. Humiliating. Scarring. She hated every moment of it. She would have rather seen the bodies of her fallen mages, the destruction she had havoced as Tissaia had described, endless hills of green turned into ashen, dead land.

At least she had been long enough unconscious for Triss to be declared dead and then return from the dead. To her, the other woman was a dear friend, so losing her with all the others was unimaginable. The survivors had all cluttered together. The first few weeks, most of them had slept in the same space, and even as she was blind, she had constantly felt Sabrina close to her but most often Tissaia.

Such a battle had not occurred in millennia. So many mages, so much death and destruction. It would be the last time she answered Tissaia’s summons or went anywhere with a handful of sorceresses of her own free will. In the north, people hailed them as heroes, and whenever they stopped at an inn or alehouse, Yennefer heard stories and ballads about Sodden hill, which only gave her a taste of ash, her ears ringing with the screams of the dead.

But Yennefer thought, grinning wearily, she was sure soon enough they would go back to spitting at their feet and sneering at them.

“Fatalistic.” Tissaia hummed in her mind.

“The truth.”

Tissaia did not answer, eyes on the fortress appearing in the distance. “What will you do with her?”

Yennefer did not need to be told who she spoke about and tensed, jaw clicking shut. “Make sure she regularly eats and bathes and especially brushes her teeth. Probably take her to the tailor for clothing after all of hers has burned to a crisp-”

“Yennefer.” Tissaia gave her a look, brows drawn together. “Don’t let us dance around the issue at hand. She is the heir to Cintra, and from what you told me, they are already searching for her, which is not even considering the problematic matter of her heritage or the prophecy-”

“There is no prophecy.” Yennefer cut her off, looking straight forward, knuckles turning white around her reins. “Kaer Morhen is of no interest to Nilfgaard, so she will be safe there until the interest in her dies down.”

“Lying to yourself won’t help her or you.” Tissaia sighed, adjusting her pace as Yennefer quickened her horse. “The prophecy speaks about the Elder Blood, and if you have done your research like I told you to-”

“Elven experiments. Ciri is a human, and it does not have to be her.”

“Her mother had a gift, as did her great-grandmother. I knew her personally, was aware of her gift of sight, she could have been a sorceress if she wished to be but chose not to-”

“And you told me Ciri could not become one, so.” Yennefer shrugged, throat tight.

“You can’t hide her from destiny, only prepare her.” Tissaia paused as they stepped over the last hill, following the road that would directly lead them to the gate of the fortress. “She will decide the fate of the world, Yennefer. Destiny links you to her. You can not hide, can not run from it. Not this time.”

Yennefer snarled, feeling the weak sparks of her chaos race through her. She wanted to lash out, to tell Tissaia differently. Yet heaviness filled her. All those dreams she was sure were coming from Ciri. The family tree she had made, connecting Ciri to her. She choked on her anger, seethed in silence.

“This is a school?” Tissaia eyed the fortress warily.

“Not up to your standards?” Yennefer teased despite also being unsure about the integrity of the castle, with the loose and broken masonry.

“It looks quite ancient and very windy for the winter, a humble abode.”

“Not as ancient as its Grandmaster if Geralt is to be believed.” Yennefer jested distractedly, eyes already roaming over everything in sight.

The gate was surprisingly open, and without complications, they tied their horses to the stable. Yennefer hovered for a moment beside Tissaia, listening to her heavy breathing caused by simply dismounting. Quick to look away when Tissaia noticed.

Instead, her attention became focused on the male voice shouting orders, which was carried by the wind, and they followed it up to the inner courtyard. Yennefer paused involuntarily, breath stuck in her lungs.

“Left foot. Jump back. Right foot. Concentrate on your footwork.”

Her child surprise was on a construction of wood, balancing on a row of wood logs while other logs were swinging from side to side. The unknown greyed witcher painted a sign in the air, which made the whole construction shake, and Ciri lost her equilibrium, nearly falling and just in time parrying with her sword a log, which headed in her direction.

Her eyes were covered by a scarf wrapped around her head, and she wore a shirt much too wide on her frame and leather breeches. The steel of her sword glimmered with every hit in the sunlight. She had grown taller in the months they had been separated, and chaos radiated from her like warmth from the sun.

Before Yennefer could study her further, she paused, and her head whipped around in Yennefer’s direction even with her eyes covered. Her mouth opened in disbelief, and she carelessly jumped off the construction. Giving Yennefer a slight fright, and ignored the grey haired witcher and ran in her direction. Yennefer’s heart raced, and she stepped forward before the girl managed to break her neck, stumbling when her child surprise leaped into her arms.

“You are here! You are here.” Ciri muttered, pressing against her, clinging tightly to her.

“I am. I am,” Yennefer assured, raking with her fingers through ashen waves, unknotting them, so they fell free over Ciri’s shoulders.

“I told them. I saw you. I tried to come, I did.” Ciri rambled, trembling in her embrace.

“I’m here now.” Yennefer murmured, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “I tried to come as quickly as I could.”

“I know.” Ciri leaned back from her embrace, taking off the cloth covering her eyes and reached for Yennefer’s face. “Your eyes, are they?”

She felt Tissaia’s eyes burn into her neck and she knew why, chaos was coming off of Ciri in waves, strong and wild, she nodded. “They are all right, they will heal fully with time.”

“I was worried.” Ciri admitted in a whisper. “I-” She broke off.

“As I was for you, my daughter.” The world felt pleasant but unfamiliar rolling from her tongue, but the way Ciri’s head shot up, stifled the thought.

All breath taken from her when Ciri embraced her tightly for a second time. “I did not tell you. I wanted to for so long. I love you, mother.”

Yennefer attempted to bite back tears, especially with their audience, but failed. Her daughter was safe, in her arms, it was like her heart was running around, no longer part of her but personified in this little person. Her heart ached with an intensity she had never experienced, thought herself unable of. She would have to tell Ciri not to bring up such things in public. Better behind as many doors as there were still overwhelmed, she pressed kisses on her cheek, her head.

“I love you too, my daughter.” She replied in a hush, breathed into her ear.

Sure, she had never said those words in her life, ever. Not to a single soul. But she did. Fiercely. All encompassing, which made the clouds looming in their future only seem darker, more nefarious.

She felt a spike in the chaos behind her and glanced over her shoulder, hurriedly wiping her tears, remembering Tissaia’s words. There isn’t a more hideous sight than a sorceress weeping. But Tissaia did not give her a look of disapproval, no, she wore a thoughtful expression, and as she noticed Yennefer’s attention, she gave a barely visible nod.

“Yen?” She peered over Ciri to see him standing there, hands partly raised in the air, eyes wide. Lacking his swords and armour. In a simple white shirt and breeches. Such a lovely sight.

“Witcher.” She gave him a nod, not surprised and quite pleased when he drew closer, fingertips hovering over her cheek, looking at her as if she was something, someone ethereal even in her travelling attire and still wounded from battle even months after.

“I thought you were dead.” He admitted, his voice gravelly. “No word came. Only talk about so many fallen.” He trailed off, brows knitted together.

“I was quite indisposed for a while, so my return was delayed.” Yennefer offered, cupping his hand on her cheek.

“Not to interrupt this reunion, but, White wolf, would you care to introduce your guests?” The older witcher stepped forward and remembering Geralt’s stories, she believed him to be Vesemir, his mentor.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, and this is the Rectoress of Aretuza, Tissaia de Vries.” Yennefer interjected, eyes flickering between Ciri and Geralt.

“An honour, I am Grandmaster Vesemir and keeper of Kaer Morhen. We did not know to expect your arrival, so I apologize for the rugged state of us.”

“No need, we thought it better to travel inconspicuously and not relate our plans. It is good to see you as well, Cirilla.”

“You as well, rectoress.” Ciri backed away, answering Tissaia's nod and curtsy, making Yennefer notice something.

Thinking she might faint, she stifled the shriek rising in her throat. The flare of her chaos drew Ciri’s attention as well as Tissaia’s who both gave her a puzzled look.

“Perhaps I could show you the castle and prepare some accommodations for you?” Vesemir questioned, and Yennefer nodded quickly.

“Ciri, would you help show Tissaia around, Geralt and I have some matters to discuss.” Yennefer offered, noting Ciri’s reluctance to leave her side, but in the end she nodded, gaze jumping from Geralt to her.

“Of course. If you would lead the way, Grandmaster Vesemir.” Tissaia waved for him to take the lead, saying nothing when Ciri matched her pace and gave Yennefer a last look over her shoulder.

“Yen.” His voice was rough, and his gaze told her without reading his mind, he expected something quite different.

Yennefer breathed in deeply, centred herself and kept in mind that more people with supernatural hearing were present before hissing. “You were supposed to look after her!”

Geralt took a step back at her ire. “I did.” He protested.

“Look at the state of her. What did you do? Left her in the woods for months?”

“Why? She eats, sleeps, trains. She has grown taller and has gotten some muscle definition.” Geralt rubbed his chin, clueless.

“Her hair!” Yennefer bemoaned. “Did you let her chop it off herself? It barely covers her shoulders! It’s unkempt, shorn like a sheep at the sides and neck and to that roughly as well. Did you let her do it herself?”

Amber eyes widened a little and evaded her gaze while he cleared his throat. “She was moaning about her hair getting tangled up and dirty with all the training and asked if I had any problems with it which I haven’t so she wanted to try.” He trailed off at her look.

“Are you telling me you committed this atrocity?”

“I didn’t think it was so bad and it is only hair. It will grow back.”

“It will grow back?” Yennefer growled, palming her face and controlling the urge to strangle him. “What about her attire? Her clothing is too big on her and torn.”

“Well, most of it is mine. We thought it better not to risk going to a town after her-” Geralt gesticulated with his hand, rubbing his beard.

Yennefer thought back to her dreams, eyes wide. “Do not tell me-” She inhaled deeply. “She ran away from you? Aren’t you a trained witcher? Isn’t keeping track of things your profession?”

“Killing things and she is a lot wilder and smarter than a beast.” He huffed, crossing her arms. “And she was searching for you. It was on our second night here and she snuck out and rode off. I went after her. She fought me on coming back and the only thing she admitted was seeing you fall in her dreams.” He did not meet her gaze. “You told me to keep her safe and I did. I kept her here, I trained her, I did my best even with the thought that you - that you were gone. And I didn’t believe her when she told me she still felt you, and a few weeks back when she told us she saw you in her dreams.”

Yennefer sighed, turning away from him. “You handsome fool.” She turned back to him and cupped his cheek. “What you did to her hair is still an atrocity but thank you for looking after her.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb and then pulled him down for a short kiss, pushing him back before he could deepen it.

“We should join the others.”

“Keep them hovering.” Tissaia ordered, adding simply. “I can see them tremble in the air.”

Yennefer drew closer, observing from afar, drawn by the chaos. Ciri seemed to tremble, red faced, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, shirt sweat drenched in the back. Even the sword shook in her hand as she balanced on her wooden construction. Bobbing and weaving through it, hitting her targets while three barrels hovered next to it. Eyes covered by cloth.

“This is stupid.” Ciri hissed when a log clipped her in the side, catching her sword with her foot and kicking it back into her hand, all the while the barrels still shook. One spilling out some water.

“Sloppy footwork and you just lost control of your barrels.”

Yennefer saw the sneer on Ciri’s face and stepped closer, the chaos rolling off Ciri menacing, intemperate.

“Hmm.” Tissaia drawled, observing Ciri do a flip to avoid getting hit, catching herself and using her momentum to strike once more. Barrels shifting in the air. “No sophistication, you only rely on brute strength.” Tissaia tutted and held a hand up when Yennefer came to a stop behind her, prepared to intervene when the chaos gathered tripled.

“Brute strength?” Ciri hissed. “And for what Rectoress would I ever need to let barrels hover over the earth while fighting? Tell me, is there any point behind this?” The barrels trembled but not only that the whole construction did.

“Fighting? Who would you fight?” The question was goading and Tissaia stared at Ciri who froze not saying anything. “Nilfgaard? Do you think to go against a whole army by yourself? Get your kingdom back?”

“I will.” With a snarl Ciri ripped away the cloth from her eyes, baring her teeth and the ground trembled. “I will kill all of them for what they have done. Every single one of them deserves to die. And they will.” Ciri quivered, clenching her teeth, panting. “For what they did, they will.” The barrels exploded in the air and not just them but part of the nearby brickwork too. Yennefer with her slowly restoring Chaos threw up a shield around them, to avoid anyone getting hurt by the wood.

Ciri was wide eyed by the destruction and white as a sheet when she met Yennefer’s gaze. “I didn’t mean to.” She whispered, clenching her jaw not meeting her gaze.

“Chaos is the most dangerous thing in this world. I am sure Yennefer taught you that.” Tissaia studied Ciri. “Either you reach balance and learn to control your chaos or it won’t just kill you but those around you.” She spoke gravely and Ciri flinched, glancing at Yennefer. “All your power will be worth nothing without control. You should freshen up, I’m sure supper will be finished shortly.”

Ciri jumped from the contraption, not looking at either of them before scurrying off. “That was harsh.” Yennefer said, following Ciri with her gaze. Throat tight at the obvious pain her daughter was in, the alarming amount of anger.

“It is the truth. We both know it.” Tissaia turned to her, clasping her hands over her stomach. “I understand her anger.” Tissaia offered. “But she shan’t become consumed by it.”

“Perhaps, I was not the best teacher for this lesson but the anger is new.” Yennefer ran her fingers through her raven curls, startled when Tissaia grasped her arm.

“We can guide her, offer advice but learning to let go of her anger and to do so will be her own decision to make.”

Yennefer swallowed, gaze on the splinters and pieces of wood and stone around them.

Chapter Text

It was far too early to hear so many voices. Yennefer grumbled, slipping out of the bed and covering Ciri with the blanket which had slipped off. She had sneaked in late into the night, startling Yennefer out of her sleep when chilly hands and feet brushed against hers and had, despite her unrest, regularly tossing and turning, to which Yennefer had long grown accustomed to, slept into the morning.

Not getting up for morning training, Vesemir insisted most days on. Yennefer leaned over, tucking locks of hair that had fallen into Ciri’s face behind her ear and left her sleeping.

She dressed and made her way down to the hall. Nose crinkling at all the clutter, stepping over swords and raw materials, evading boxes full of bombs and other stuff. Following Tissaia’s voice to find her standing, frown adorning her features, hands on her hips and vein throbbing at her neck, which meant she was exasperated with fools. Berating the gaggle of witchers sitting at the table. Yennefer was quite content to watch quietly, it was far too early, and observing Tissaia lecturing someone was amusing if it was not her.

“How is it that you roamed these halls every winter for decades and not deem it important to repair the castle? The integrity of most walls is questionable at best or non-existent regarding the west tower roof. In more than one place rainwater drops down unhindered, parts of the outer wall are utterly wrecked and in the circumstance a siege might occur would lead to the annihilation of all of you. Even worse is the clutter. Why are there volatile materials and objects close to another, why are armour and swords just laying on the floor and all this stuff?” Tissaia paused, nose wrinkling when she looked around.

“It comes as no surprise Cirilla’s manners are disappearing like my will to live thinking about all of this. Do you even know the concept of cutlery? Or are you just content eating things raw and whole? Are you not four able bodied men who have all lived for decades?” Tissaia must have stewed for the last few days and had said nothing for politeness’ sake but seemed unwilling to let it go on any longer. Yennefer smirked when she continued. “The outer wall is a priority for now. And you three.” She waved over the younger witchers. “Will start fixing it now.”

Geralt and Eskel just shared a look before standing, while Lambert clearly wanted to protest. “Go on, you’re wasting sunlight.” Tissaia stared him down, and they disappeared.

“Well, my attempts to convince them to repair the wall were in vain, so I am grateful for your intervention.” Vesemir offered, rolling his shoulders.

“You are their mentor, you ought to act like it,” Tissaia dismissed. “I also wanted to talk about the herbs you are giving to Cirilla.” Yennefer perked up at that. “Are those not one’s preparing a trainee for the Trial of Grasses?”

Vesemir nodded. “To make it easier, but it also helps to stimulate their growth, to gain muscle mass and help with their stamina.”

“They change her physiology, do they not?”

“What do you mean by that?” Yennefer made her presence known, alerted.

“They do.” Vesemir answered simply, wondering where this conversation was going.

Yennefer glanced at Tissaia. “It possibly could stop her from fully going into puberty, perhaps she could lose the ability to conceive children.” Tissaia spoke plainly, and Yennefer inhaled sharply, glaring at Vesemir.

“You gave her those? Without asking? Without discussing it with me? Taking such a choice from her?”

Vesemir stood, holding his hands up before crossing them over his chest. “You weren’t here, and Geralt came with the girl who asked to be trained as a witcher. Those herbs could later mean the difference between her life and death when she is faced with a monster.”

Yennefer saw red, chaos pulsing through her veins when Tissaia grasped her arm. “The effects won’t be permanent for quite a while yet,” She soothed. “And I might know a way to help her with all those things without risking the side effects.” Yennefer glared at Vesemir, form trembling.

“How?”

“I would need a lab, a simple list of the herbs you used, and I could make an improved version of it.” Tissaia offered. “It won’t harm her in any way, but if this is the path she chooses.” Tissaia did not finish, and Yennefer was sure she would like to bring up fate and destiny again and only did not in the presence of the witcher.

“I will help.” Yennefer accepted even if it meant she would watch like a hawk over Tissaia’s shoulders, which the rectoress knew, answering with a raised brow. “Of course.”

“I’ll help the others.” Vesemir left with a nod to both of them.

Quiet footfalls echoed through the hall, and heartbeats later, Ciri appeared, sliding under Yennefer’s arm. “Good morning.” She mumbled, hair and clothing in disarray, eyes falling back close when she leaned against Yennefer.

“Good morning, my ugly duckling.” Yennefer shrugged off her concern, even as her eyes tried to see any visible changes the herbs might have done to Ciri, other than her height. Fondly brushing through ashen hair with her fingers while Ciri yawned.

“Good morning? It is nearly midday.” Tissaia interjected, disapproving even as she studied Yennefer with interest, illuminating Yennefer to the reason when her whisper of ugly duckling echoed through her mind, causing her to shrug, heat spreading in her cheeks.

“Good morning, Yen, Ciri.” Geralt walked in, a box in hand he left at the door. Ruffling Ciri’s hair, which she had just untangled moments before.

“See morning.” Yennefer said to Tissaia, following Geralt’s movements, drawing closer to them. “There is nothing wrong with sleeping in.”

“After decades, it would have been wise to work on your less desirable traits and not pass them on.” Ciri grinned, slipping away from Yennefer to steal an apple from the table, biting into it while watching amused.

“But Tissaia.” Yennefer smirked when Geralt stopped beside her, watching the conversation, head tilted. She didn’t even need to read his mind to know where his mind had gone. On their first meeting, clearly past midday with her just waking with a massive headache, and her telling him to bring her apple juice. “A woman should be allowed to have a single flaw.” She turned to Geralt, reaching for his cheek, fingertips trailing over his jawline, feeling the fuzz of his beard growing in. “And I have grown quite fond of mine.” She finished giving Geralt a pat on the cheek, turning to Tissaia but not before she saw his eyes grow wide and heard his snort while Tissaia just shook her head.

*

“On your right.” Tissaia voiced while stepping around her, and Yennefer offered her the next ingredient.

The lab Vesemir had shown them was surprisingly well maintained and equipped. As well as their stock of several ingredients, from herbs to parts of monsters.

“Careful.” Tissaia reached out and grasped her arms before she accidentally let her sleeve catch on fire.

“I’m not blind anymore.” Yennefer reminded, even if it had grown quite comforting, Tissaia was quick and much freer with her — if they could be called that affections. Sometimes still reaching out to offer her assistance or telling her where things were.

Much less humiliating than walking into walls while blind or having Sabrina steer her around like a mule.

“And yet still accident prone, it seems.” Tissaia filled the brew into vials. “One every week should be enough. I shall show Cirilla to make them herself. Then I can evaluate for myself if she is as proficient in alchemy as you bragged.”

“I did not brag,” Yennefer protested, putting away the rest of the ingredients and the tools they used.

Tissaia shot her a look. “Of course not. It is not as if it was your sole reason to return to Aretuza and look like a cat who had caught the mouse and showed her off all night.”

“I wanted to introduce her. You should be honoured. I deemed you important enough for my daughter to know.” Yennefer grumbled when Tissaia pinched her in the side only to ignore her scandalised look. “It was to further her education.”

“Sure, piglet.” Tissaia left her standing, walking over the courtyard back in the direction of the main keep.

“It was.” Yennefer stopped herself from saying anything further, not wanting to give Tissaia the satisfaction. Still glimpsing a smile on the rectoress’ lips.

“Princess, you will have to try harder.” They heard Lambert in the distance and the clashing of swords. “But I guess you are used to being spoon fed, your highness. “

Yennefer bristled at the words, catching a glimpse of the training pair when they turned the corner. Ciri was attacking, evading Lambert’s strikes until she got too close, and he roughly kicked her in the stomach and pushed her back. Leaving her keeled over for a moment. Instead of letting off Lambert struck. Ciri ducking under the first and parrying the second.

“Hopeless. You want to become a witcher?” Lambert backed her into a corner, hitting while Ciri blocked, her grip visibly weakening.

When he brought his sword over his head for a strong hit, Yennefer's gaze widened, and she froze, but Ciri, out of nowhere, caught his sword between hers and her dagger, going to her knees with the force behind Lambert’s swing.

So focused on the swords, she didn’t notice Lambert let up, reaching for her hand and twisting it until she let go of her dagger and when she cried out startled, disarming her completely. Yet instead of calling the bout, he let his own sword fall, grasped Ciri by the scruff of her shirt and threw her farther into the corner.

“Already giving up?” He toed Ciri’s sword on the ground, picking it up and studying it. “We should melt that down, it would be worth a pretty coin, and it is of no use in your hands.”

Ciri growled, leaping at him only for him to backhand her hard enough to drop her back on the ground. Holding her stomach, she hit the ground angrily with her fist, trying to get up.

“While Papa Vesemir might teach you the theory about monsters and being a witcher and Geralt tells pretty stories about his gallivanting around the continent, I will teach you the truth. A witcher gets tossed around, spit on, chewed out, stabbed. You are clearly not witcher material, and instead of filling your mind with such notions, you should go become a pretty little sorceress with nothing to do but twiddling her thumbs and spread her legs for a king.” He threw down her sword beside her and turned to leave. “It should come easily to you after all your mother must have taught you.” He said, looking over his shoulder.

He did not get far, Ciri launched herself at him, legs wrapped around his back, hands clawing at his face. Punching him from above once, twice, thrice into the face while he tried to catch his balance and get her off. But she held on, spitting like a cat, drawing blood until he got a grip on her and threw her off, stalking closer only to grasp his throat and fall to his knees in front of her. He clawed at it, face turning red, and Yennefer let her magic roar in her chest.

“I will kill you for this.” Yennefer hissed, stepping closer to Ciri, who looked up, face bloody, lips split. Holding her ribs and struggling to get up.

Tissaia dropped to her knees beside her, with a seldom tenderness helping her up and steadying her as she swayed.

Her heart raced, and her chaos, feeling so alien after so long without it simmered in her gut. But it wasn’t enough, and she let her chaos pull back and choked Lambert, who only had a moment to breathe, with her own bare hands, pushing him back until he hit a wall.

“I should pulverize every single one of your bones and make it so you won’t fall unconscious or die before I am done with you. You disgusting piece of shit-”

“Don’t kill him.” Yennefer glanced disbelieving at Ciri, and even Tissaia seemed all right with Yennefer’s idea. “He’s not worth your attention.” Ciri added, glaring at him.

Yennefer fumed, wanting to know what her daughter was thinking, but with how angry she was, she might have hurt Ciri by trying to read her mind. Instead, she opened a portal and pushed Lambert in, where he hopefully fell from a great height into the sea and, without his sword, would need to make his way back. Until then, she would have decided what to do with him.

“We need to heal you.” Yennefer hastened to Ciri’s side, cupping her cheeks. “Are her ribs broken?” She asked Tissaia, who carefully prodded them.

Ciri shrugged them both off, backing away. “I am not weak.” She growled, blood running down her chin, bruises already forming. Emerald green eyes sparking with ferocity, her chaos, a storm around her. “We were only sparring, and I could have handled him.” She added, looking where he had disappeared, limping over and picking up her sword and dagger while clearly in pain.

Yennefer closed her mouth in disbelief, looking at Tissaia, not sure where she should even begin with such a statement.

“Training implies someone being instructed by a more knowledgeable person than themselves. Tell me, in what was he instructing you? Teaching you something valuable? The role of a teacher is to instruct, but also to guide the student. In swordplay, just as in magic, the safety of the student is most imperative.” Tissaia stepped closer to Ciri, causing her to flinch but not retreat further, listening to her.

“Pain is a part of life, is it not?” Ciri argued, breathing shallowly, and Yennefer wanted to knock her out and care for her wounds. “I can handle it, I-” She trailed off, evading their gazes.

“Ciri.” Yennefer forcefully calmed herself, exhaling deeply. Her daughter was more important to her than her anger. “Tell me.” She ordered softly, seeing Ciri struggle at voicing her feelings, brows scrunched together, licking her lips.

Ciri shook her head, backing away further from them. “I should clean up.” She cleared her throat, foot tapping on the stone, uncomfortable and yet the way her gaze flickered and lingered on Yennefer, a hint of desperation and pain.

“Let me see?” Yennefer pleaded softly, her chaos brushing softly over Ciri’s.

Avoiding saying she wanted to help, knowing it would cause Ciri to retreat further. And how much had she missed? Ciri had opened up to her easily. Even after her parents’ death, she shared her nightmares, her thoughts. Her daughter had lost everything, and she had not been there in the aftermath, and while Ciri had since she returned searched and wandered always close to Yennefer’s proximity, there hadn’t been like in the past conspiratorial whispers, shared laughter.

Ciri stared at her, grip on her sword tightening as if she were ready for another blow. Yet she gave the tiniest nod, and Yennefer felt her chaos recede, creating space, a door for Yennefer to step through. Ciri’s thoughts loud and overwhelming all over the place, even hard to sift through for Yennefer, who was quite the accomplished mage.

Emotions were the first layer, grief, stifling and black all encompassing, hurt red, like sprinkles of blood, sadness blue and deep like the ocean, anger scorching, blazing gold like the sun and then an emotion she was most familiar with but never wanted her daughter to feel. With it came thoughts, unconscious once.

Weak. Weak. Weak. The last. Not enough. Only brings blood and destruction. Ruining everything I touch. Spoiled. Princess. I deserved it. I deserved it. So angry. I want to avenge them. I want to kill them. Nearly hurt you. I’m a monster. I deserved it. Losing control. I deserved it. I need to kill them. It was my fault.

Yennefer choked and slipped out of Ciri’s mind. Aching. Hurting for her daughter.

“Listen to me.” Yennefer stepped up to Ciri who let her but did not look at her so Yennefer grasped her chin. “You are allowed your anger.” She stopped Ciri from looking away. “Listen to me, my daughter. You are allowed to be angry. Anger does not make you a monster, wanting revenge for your grandparents, your people does not make you a monster.” Yennefer thumbed at the blood on Ciri’s face, staring intently at her eyes, feeling weak, ill suited for this conversation and could not help herself, chaos reaching out for the woman behind her, begging for guidance, help.

“It’s quite human my dear.” Tissaia came to stand beside Yennefer, their shoulders brushing and a wave of calm and comfort came with it. “To be angry, to rage and shout and scream. Just as it is to sing and dance and laugh. It’s part of being alive, thinking, feeling, existing.”

“You are allowed your anger but don’t let it consume you. With our powers, with the chaos heading our call, being a conduit for it, it’s more dangerous for us to feel. For ourselves and others. But that does not mean you stop feeling. Or just bury them. For some mages that might work.” Yennefer shared a glance with Tissaia. “But not for all of them. For others it poisons them, to keep it in until it tarnishes every other feeling. And you never deserve to be hurt and punished for having feelings.”

“It’s your responsibility to keep your control, to tame your feelings and don’t become them. But you’re allowed to feel. And you won’t hurt us.” Ciri cringed at that and Yennefer swallowed heavily.

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.” Ciri promised, earnestly, desperately and Yennefer shivered at the look in her eyes as if she was talking about more.

“I’m your mother.” Yennefer kissed her forehead. “I am the one who will keep you safe.” Ciri’s shoulders slumped, and she leaned against them.

“It seems it falls to me to keep you both out of trouble.” Tissaia sighed, and Yennefer just rolled her eyes while Ciri gave a small smile. “But for now we should get you cleaned up and looked after.”

Ciri did not protest, and steadied by both of them, they made way to the tower Yennefer had claimed. She was quite tempted to open a portal with every step Ciri took, hurting only for Tissaia to notice her obvious desire and shake her head. Somehow they managed all the stairs up and Yennefer left Ciri’s side only to fill the tub with water, adding scented oils while Tissaia helped Ciri undress, who was obviously embarrassed. Ears red and trying to argue she could do it herself.

Yennefer just chuckled because Ciri normally was not shy, but clearly the rectoress brought it out in her, and Yennefer took mercy, asking Tissaia to search through her shelves for a healing potion. Closing her eyes and trembling with rage when Ciri was nude, she saw slashes, tears in her skin from Lambert's sword and various bruises ranging from deep purple to yellow. Some from other training sessions and while Yennefer knew swordplay came with it, sometimes Yennefer believed Ciri had been born with scrapes and bruises, she had the urge to wrap up her ugly duckling in blankets and furs and never let her go anywhere ever again alone.

Ciri settled in the tub with a sigh, and Yennefer lathered her hair, took time to run her fingers through it and rinsed it off. Leaving Ciri to finish washing herself to find suitable clothing for her. Yennefer was just relieved Tissaia had given her a reluctant go ahead, so she was allowed to portal again and had been quick to go to Vengerberg to pack clothing for Ciri and her and other essentials to bring to Kaer Morhen. The moment she was at full health again, she would take both Tissaia and Ciri out to buy more clothing and other things they needed.

Ciri, wrapped in a towel, was caught by Tissaia as she swayed and nearly lost her footing and only put on underwear and breeches before they stopped her. “Drink this.” Yennefer pushed the potion, accelerating healing, into her hands and together with Tissaia fussed over her wounds. Disinfecting various cuts and scrapes with alcohol while Tissaia covered those with herbal paste also meant to help with healing. Leaving Ciri’s rib to the end. Yennefer flinched when Ciri whimpered, eyes watering as she prodded at them, and knowing Tissaia had far more experience and a vast knowledge of healing and treating wounds, left it to her.

“Bruised, not broken.” Tissaia determined at last with quite a lot of prodding. “There is not a lot to do. We should give you something for the pain, and if it swells, we can cool it. No practice for at least a few weeks until we made sure you are all right.” Ciri protested, rambling about training.

“This is not up for debate, Ciri.” Yennefer silenced her protest. “If you train, you risk further injuring yourself, not only will you be in pain, but you could also break your ribs, and in the worst case one will pierce your lung and you die.” Yennefer said gravely, intently. The thought alone enough to send her into madness.

“If you have trouble breathing or cough up red or yellow mucus, you tell us immediately. And while I know you are in pain, you must try to move normally, breathe in like always, and if laying down in bed hurts, try to sleep upright, it might stop you from aggravating your ribs any further.”

“Should we bind them?” Yennefer asked after Tissaia’s evaluation.

“No, if they were broken, yes to keep them from healing wrongly, but they are bruised and it might hinder her healing instead of helping.”

Yennefer nodded, and Ciri spoke up. “What am I supposed to do all day then?”

“You can sleep.” “Read a book.” Tissaia and Yennefer said at the same time.

“Vesemir still can teach you the theoretical aspect of monster hunting.”

“And if you liked, I could teach you to meditate.” Tissaia offered, and Yennefer wanted to snort but bit it back, even as Tissaia gave her a suspicious look.

“Meditate? Geralt does that.” Ciri scrunched her nose.

“It can help clear your mind and also might help you with controlling your emotions. It can be quite calming.”

Ciri tilted her head in a way that starkly reminded her of Geralt, hesitantly accepting Tissaia’s offer. Yennefer could not wait for Tissaia to find out Ciri was incapable of sitting still. Her energy appeared to be endless, and she grew restless quite fast, another reason Ciri liked sword play.

Anything physical. Horseback riding, climbing, running. It was much harder to get her to read, and even then Ciri’s leg was bouncing or she was fiddling with something. Even in sleep, Ciri moved from one side to the other, Yennefer had even woken to Ciri’s feet nearly in her face and her head somewhere at the foot of the bed.

Over time, Yennefer had found ways to teach her. From bribing her with sweets when she was younger, which ended up leaving Ciri with even more energy, but Yennefer had simply brought her back home to terrorize the castle. To do their lessons outside, so Ciri could concentrate on what she was teaching her because her attention was split between what happened around them and what Yennefer showed her.

Yennefer had a collection of tricks, toughly earned through enough misshapes, her exploding lab only one example, to tame her daughter. But meditating? Sitting still and not doing anything else? Yennefer bit down her smirk, knowing Ciri would be frustrated quite quickly and was already imagining Tissaia’s ruffled feathers by the end of the first lesson. Already searching her mind for other ideas for the inevitable failure.

“Tea drinking is the first step, I believe.” Tissaia rose after they gave Ciri something for the pain and helped her into a loose tunic. Ciri, sleepy from the potion and herbs, following them quietly to the kitchen.

Tissaia prepared tea and Yennefer food. Ciri eagerly despite her sluggish movement, ravenously scarfed down the food. Yennefer and Tissaia taking their time. Afterwards, retreating closer to the fire, Yennefer and Ciri sharing a seat despite how cramped it was Tissaia in the other. Just drinking tea and Yennefer snorted and how primly Tissaia even looked now nearly swallowed by the big armchair she sat in, strands of hair falling from her up do framing her face and dress rumpled by the happenings of the last few hours.

Ciri nodded off quickly, head falling on Yennefer’s shoulder, dead to the world.

Chapter Text

Yennefer startled awake, blinking disorientated for a heartbeat before another scream rang out. She sat up abruptly, dislodging Geralt’s arm around her waist and rousing him. He blinked, rubbing his cheek, eyes more closed than open.

“It’s Ciri.” When Yennefer went to stand, he grasped her wrist. “Nightmares. It happens quite often. It’s hard to wake her, and the last time we tried, she freaked out. Hid in the corner, despondent. It’s better to let her wake up by herself, and she asked us not to come.”

Yennefer listened, no other scream rang out. “You didn’t say anything.” She was worried. After her parents’ demise, Ciri was plagued by nightmares, night terrors, heaving up screaming. Yennefer had spent months on her own learning to control her dreams only to learn they did not stop all of her dreams. Somewhere prophetic like visions and Yennefer had felt unease creep up on her even then. Ciri talking about white frost. Skeletal horses. Worlds swallowed by white.

“She asked me not to.” He admitted, more awake now. “And she hadn’t had one since you came back, so I thought-”

“That they had gone away.” Yennefer concluded, grasping his hand reaching for hers, thumb circling over his bruised knuckles, the scab.

After Yennefer told him about what happened with Lambert, asking if he knew how their lessons went. Geralt, just as she thought, knew nothing about his methods, assuring her Lambert had only given Ciri lessons thrice when Geralt and Vesemir had gone hunting for food. Punishing himself and asking for her forgiveness, having noted Ciri being more banged up afterwards. But Lambert had said nothing, and Ciri had shrugged off Geralt’s question, just saying she had a lot left to learn.

Lambert had crawled back to the fortress, bloodied and mud clinging to him, soaking wet and enraged, only for Geralt to grab him and throw him back out, following after him. Coming back with a split lip and bruised knuckles before seeking out Ciri. Eskel and Vesemir had made their disapproval obvious, and the last witcher was quietly shunned by them. Yennefer made her disapproval of his continued existence loudly known.

“I’ll make sure she is back asleep.” Yennefer stood, pushing Geralt back down. “No need for both of us to go, Keep the bed warm for me.”

Geralt shook his head, eyes shining in the dark. “Bring her here if she wants.” Yennefer smiled at him before padding her way down to Ciri’s room. Eyes adjusting to the dark slowly, the door to her room was open.

Alight in the room, Yennefer’s eyes fell on Tissaia sitting on the bed, back resting against the headrest. Humming and then in the silence of the night, her voice carried, Tissaia singing, and Yennefer in the decades they knew each other had not even known Tissaia could carry a tune, never expected it. In their private dance lessons, Yennefer remembered Tissaia guiding her through the necessary dance steps for the ascension instead of the dancing instructor because of her deformity. Tissaia rarely touched them, keeping a clear distance, keeping herself closed off, cold and stern, firm and unbending in her lessons.

Yennefer had taken a while to relax with Tissaia so close, cringing at every misstep she made, off balance, not the least graceful and gliding over the dance floor like she should. Tissaia had been patient, careful, keeping them going through Yennefer’s frustrations until she learned. But now she remembered the music, the waltz Tissaia going from counting the steps aloud for Yennefer to softly humming.

In the dark and so far away Yennefer could not make out her expression but she was here in her daughter’s room after she had a nightmare, singing in a soft, lilted voice a lullaby and looking closer Ciri’s head was in her lap, face buried into Tissaia’s stomach. Yennefer leaned against the door frame, listening quietly until Tissaia stopped.

“Tell me, what did you see in your dreams, child?”

Yennefer waited with bated breath for Ciri’s answer, fearing it. “I saw a dark figure wearing a helmet resembling a skull. I found myself standing in a blizzard, white all around me, cold biting, shards of ice tearing at me. I heard voices beckoning me closer. I saw the silhouette of a tower.” Ciri whispered. “I saw helmetYen-, mama.” Ciri paused. “She didn’t get back up. She just laid there.” Her voice quivered.

“Hush, child.” Tissaia soothed, and Yennefer looked away. “Sleep now, I shall watch over your dreams, and you shall be undisturbed.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

*

Her head hurt, and her temples throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Somehow she thought not even the best bottle of wine on the Continent would cure her of this headache. Yennefer would have liked to know how she had been convinced to rejoin the Brotherhood to join the Council of Sorcerers. To debate all day with dimwits, having no brain but all say, while Tissaia seemed to be the only one with common sense.

They were still, even years later, discussing Nilfgaard, even as the first war had ended at Sodden Hill. Not believing it was a declaration of war on the mages of the North when they had dimeritium. No, they spent hours with senseless blabber and posturing as if one of these sodden arseholes had been there defending the hill, risking their lives on a suicidal plan to defend the North.

Tissaia sometimes got exhausted far more quickly after doing magic than before the dimeritium poisoning, Triss had burns, scars on her left shoulder curling down to her chest, which couldn’t be healed any better, and she put on a glamour not to show them. Sabrina evolved into an even uptighter and icier version of herself, Yennefer did not expect it to be possible. She herself, even if she never would admit it still felt Sodden, saw it when she closed her eyes, and she had never called fire forth again. But more noticeable were the gaps in their ranks.

Coral fell for a win the Brotherhood seemed to want to waste. She wished that scared fuck Stregobor would have been there and died, doing finally something useful, but so Yennefer spent most sessions imagining grabbing him by the scruff of his frilly robe and beat sense into him. If that inevitably failed, she would let Tissaia do the honour of throwing him out of the window. She projected the vision to her fellow sorceresses. Causing Triss to bump their shoulders together and grin, Sabrina cracking the ghost of a smile and a reprimanding pinch from Rita in her side as well as a chuckle from Philippa, that bitch.

Tissaia, aware how much she was starting to not jest but getting agitated, gave her a stern glance to pull herself together, and Yennefer had simply crossed her arms and schooled her features. That woman was too good at robbing others of joy and happiness.

She was just glad to finally be back in Kaer Morhen, having left last afternoon, and now it was already after midday. She sighed, lighting the fireplace with a match, afterwards shrugging off her cloak, unsurprised when her eyes fell on her rumpled bedding, a dagger peeking out beneath the pillow.

She rolled her eyes, wishing Ciri would at least leave her bed made and folded the blankets magically with a wave of her hand. Frivolous and banal use of her powers Tissaia would have scolded her for. Also noting the sword polish and rag on her desk, meaning Geralt had stayed last night here too, he most often like a nightly ritual taking care of his swords before coming to bed.

Stepping onto the balcony, she glanced at the courtyard below, expecting the witchers to train, but they stood in a circle arguing, wildly gesticulating, and Ciri was nowhere in sight. She stepped through a portal, appearing right next to them, apprehension rising when the witchers jumped at her entrance, going from wide eyed to not meeting her gaze. Not even Vesemir, who was never really faced by her moods.

“Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but notice you gathered around in a heated discussion with my child surprise nowhere in sight.”

No one answered her leading question, getting on her last remaining nerve after the night she had, and she growled, chaos accumulating in her palm.

“It is a rather simple question, is it not? I’m exhausted after being in the proximity of fools all night, so spare me more. Where is my daughter, whom I left under your care?”

“Yen.” Geralt stepped closer, voice reaching that soft timbre meant to be soothing, his brows knitted together worriedly. It earned him an electric jolt.

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s Lambert’s fault.” Eskel blurted out, pointing at the other witcher.

“What? How is this my fucking fault? Vesemir is the one always filling her mind with stories about the good old times.” Lambert snarled, creating distance between him and Yennefer, who already thought about striking him with a bolt of lightning not even a witcher would survive. “And Geralt is the one supposed to watch her, the kid is his fucking baggage.”

“Don’t call her that.” Geralt shoved Lambert roughly, pointing his finger at him. “You are the one who told her she needed to do the trial to call herself a witcher.”

“Gentlemen.” A bolt of lightning struck the floor beside them all, drawing their attention back to Yennefer. “Someone better tell me now where she is or I won’t be responsible for what I do next.”

“She went off to do the final trial. Attuning the medallion given in the Circle of Elements.” Vesemir answered at last, nodding to the mountains laying south in the distance.

Yennefer blinked, swaying with the force of her heartbeat. Geralt had told her about the trials. How many, even after surviving the mutations, found their end at the last trial.

“And no one thought to stop her?” The witchers all shared a look before Geralt answered.

“We don’t know when she left.” He did not dare meet her gaze. “We did not train this morning, and I just now noticed my silver sword missing and in her, room we found a diagram for the medallion and a book which describes the needed ritual.” He paused, fingering his own medallion. “I thought nothing of it when she did not come down for breakfast, with how moody she had been.”

Yennefer exhaled, lungs burning with unreleased chaos. “To summerize, my daughter has left to take a deadly trial, and neither did you notice when, nor instead of setting out immediately after her, you stand here bickering.” Her voice got louder with every word, loosening her composure, and the witchers flinched back. “Why are you still standing here? Move now.”

Geralt was quick to push the other two forward, hastily making their way out of the fortress. “I’ll wait here in case she returns home.” Vesemir calmly stated, crossing his arms.

“Just know that I will strangle you all with my bare hands lightning,if even a hair on Ciri’s head has been harmed.”

It was no wonder they stayed silent, after all, they were survival experts, walking the way down to the lake therefore, the first monsters crossing their path felt her wrath. In one thunderous strike of lightning the gaggle of harpies crashed down to the ground, burned and unmoving.

“There is my boat.”

“Your boat?”

“I made it.”

“I wasn’t aware you could, even less, build something and not destroy everything in your path.”

“You are still cranky about your armour.”

“It was expensive, you shit face.”

“It was a clunky walking death trap, I did you a favour - what are you doing?”shitface

“Steering the boat.” Yennefer sat down at the helm.

“It’s my ship and you don’t even know where to go,” Lambert protested, staring down at her petulantly.

“Then you better save your breath to guide me.”

Before Lambert could say anything else, Eskel grabbed him and pushed him to the other end of the boat.

Leaving Geralt to sneak closer to her as if she were an easily startled horse, prepared to bolt at any moment, just irritating her more. The urge to just toss him into the lake growing and perhaps hit him over the head with an oar to get some semblance of sense from him.

Dusk came when they finally reached the other side, and Yennefer had not even the capacity left to get properly annoyed by the swamp water filling her boots. Mind running in circles about Ciri. Where was she? Was she safe? Hurt? Bleeding out somewhere?

They stumbled over a handful of foglets and every other day she would have mocked her company for their incompetence, they were hesitant and stiff fighting alongside each other too used to fighting alone, going for the same monsters, getting into each others way, very much so Lambert who pushed not only a foglet back but both Eskel and Geralt off their feet with his Aard. But she had no patience left and her control was slipping, so she just snarled at them to hurry and stalked off to the caverns.

Casting a spell to see in the dark while the witchers drank a potion before entering the cavern system.

“We need to stay quiet.” Eskel whispered, answering Yennefer’s unspoken question. “The caves are the territory of a Cyclops, an ancient one.”

“Or we could make it easier for everyone and just kill dear Old Speartip.”

“We will cover ground faster if we just avoid him if possible.” Geralt argued, shaking his head.

“Quiet it is.” Yennefer decided before another round of bickering could start and gestured for Eskel to take the lead. Following him, climbing deeper into the caves.

Even the holes opening up to the sky offered no more light when night fell.

“There he is.” Lambert murmured when Eskel raised a hand to bring them to a halt, eyes fixed on the gigantic lump resting close to their exit, bathed in shadows.

“Steady now-”

“Wake up, you fucker!” Lambert shouted, pulling out his sword and stepping forwards.

“Lambert!”

Yennefer readied a spell, waiting for the mass to move and already planning to turn Lambert inside out for his sheer selfish idiocy when after many moments nothing happened.

“What the-” Lambert stepped up to the mass and kicked it, which earned no reaction.

“Dead.” Geralt stated, sitting on his hunches.

“Fresh wounds.”

“From a sword.”

“So the little menace was here.” Yennefer sent Lambert flying with a flick of her wrist, and he hit the ground hard, groaning.

“What that was a compliment, she killed the fucker after all.” He muttered, sitting up.

“But there is also blunt force trauma, broken bones which Ciri would not have the strength to inflict.”

“Magic.” Yennefer rolled her eyes, now that she focused on it feeling the traces of Ciri’s chaos here. “Can we go on now?”

“The head is missing.” Geralt said, nudging Eskel beside him. “Her first trophy.” He had a silly little smile curling on his lips while Yennefer ached, looking away.

They walked on, finally leaving the caves and breathing in fresh, cool night air. The sky a black canvas and hundreds of stars twinkling, unobscured by any clouds. She spotted light in the distance and smoke not far from them and headed upwards, the final steps to the Circle of Elements, when a shadow emerged from the trees.

“Two legs with their sticks.” A troll.

Yennefer drew from her chaos, listening to the others unsheathing their swords.

“Perhaps we can talk to him.” Geralt stepped forward, the hand not holding his sword, placatory raised at the same time laughter chimed through the trees.

“Brothers!” The troll shouted while Yennefer tried to pinpoint where the sound had come from, all too familiar with the sound of Ciri’s laugh.

Only for two more shadows, mountain trolls to stagger out of the tree line, one with the most precious cargo on his back. “Ciri!”

“Mother!” Green eyes glimmered like the stars above, and her entire face lit up.

“More two legs.” One troll intoned and Lambert stepped forward.

“Listen, Shit for brains-”

“Silence, Lambert.”

“Stop.” Ciri slipped off the troll’s back, stepping between the trolls and them, sadly starting not the dumbest conversation Yennefer had to listen to today despite Lambert and trolls taking part in it.

Yennefer ended the stalemate with the trolls being shifty with all of them here with their sticks by opening a portal back to Kaer Morhen. “You two go, your assistance won’t be needed any further.”

Eskel was quick to comply, giving them a nod before stepping through while Lambert dared to mumble. “No, thank you?” Ending up pushed through not too gently by Yennefer with a wave of her hand.

The trolls grumbled, shifting and looking at each other until Ciri showed them a stone as big as her fist, shimmering with dark brown lines, an ore, capturing their interest.

“Geralt, leave your swords here.” Ciri ordered, giving him a look over her shoulder until he complied.

All the while grumbling into his beard because, obviously, Ciri still had hers slung over her back. It was enough for the trolls, who trudged back where they came from, but not without waving at Ciri, who excitedly waved back at them. Yet the second they were out of sight, she pivoted on her heels and pounced on Yennefer, who let the embrace linger for a moment before pushing her back slightly.

“What were you thinking?” She asked, grasping her daughter’s chin, pulling it from side to side to examine her thoroughly.

A split lip, a bruise along her right cheekbone as well as she noted bandages wrapped around her left upper arm and both of her legs. Ciri tried to avoid her gaze, looking over Yennefer’s shoulder at Geralt for help, who closed his mouth when Yennefer glared at him, crossing his arms.

“Of all the foolish things you could have done, I barely left for a day.”

“Lambert said this trial was something all witchers took, so I did too.” Ciri met her gaze, raising her chin in defiance, and stepped away from Yennefer, crossing her arms.

“They were older than you and mutated. You left without telling anyone, what if something happened to you? More experienced witchers have fallen to lesser monsters.”

“This is what I’ve been training for, or not?” Ciri argued, pacing. “War is in the air, monsters are emerging from the depths in countless numbers-” Ciri trailed off, scuffing her boots on the floor. “I thought you would be proud. Everything you taught me led me to this, made me stronger, capable, and you showed me if I want something I take it, to forge my destiny.” She looked up, rubbing her neck, betraying how young she still was.

Nearly 15 years but set on becoming a detested, hated, scorned monster hunter. A witcher. No witcher dies in his bed. Geralt liked to say.

“Oh, Ciri.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Shouldn’t this have become easier over the years? She glanced at Geralt, caught the fondness in his gaze, the obvious pride in his posture and when he noticed her glance, he gave her an encouraging nod.

Had it been anyone else present, she would never have expressed what she felt, but he wasn’t anyone. He was part of this.

“My not so little ugly duckling.” Ciri shifted on her feet. “Of course I am proud.” Yennefer cupped her cheeks. “I’m proud of how strong and brave you have become, growing every day.” Even if she was already dangerously close to Yennefer’s height. “I-. I was worried.” She admitted, licking her lips. “And perhaps already a little stressed out when I heard of your disappearance, but never presume I won’t be by your side. Whatever path you choose, I will walk it with you.”

She brushed a strand of hair behind Ciri’s ear, which had escaped her bun. “But for now, please keep to training. There is still so much to learn, and my heart might just survive the stress of you reaching adulthood.”

“So my blowing up your lab was more soothing?” Ciri gave a cheeky grin, squeaking when Yennefer tucked at her ear. “I’m sorry, I should have told you or waited.” Ciri apologised.

“You wanted to prove yourself, I understand that, but I want you alive, not some legendary hero who mastered some feat or another.” Yennefer kissed her forehead before meeting it softly with her own, reaching with her chaos out to Ciri to convey the love, pride and happiness she felt.

Lifting a brow when Ciri held out her hand, beckoning for Geralt, who quickly took it, drawing them both into an embrace.

“Is it alright now to tell her how proud I am?” Geralt asked monotonously, shrugging innocently when Yennefer pinched him. “What the kid is relatively unhurt and killed Old Speartip.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes but let her arm rest around his waist, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Wasn’t easy.” Ciri admitted, leading them up to the Circle. “The trolls were a lot nicer. And the cave was pretty tight to fight in, but look.” The altar was filled with candles, and amidst them rested the ugly cyclops head, which Ciri picked up and showed them proudly.

“Wow, he is even uglier up close.” Geralt grinned, poking the head. “And he has even worse breath dead.”

They both laughed immaturely, bumping their shoulders together, and yet Yennefer still offered. “We could preserve it if you wanted, but it stays in your room.”

Ciri considered the offer, tilting her head in sync with Geralt as they both stared down at the head, only to shake her head. “Nah, I don’t need it, Lambert therewhile could do with a reminder of my skills and his own. And who knows how long he has not shared his bed with anyone, I think it rests on me to remedy that.” She smirked, and Geralt nudged her.

“If you wish to do so, but for now I think it’s time to leave.”

“Not yet, the medallion isn’t ready.” Ciri nodded at the centre of the Circle.

“You have one?” Geralt walked up to it, asking with a look for Ciri’s permission before picking it up. “Hm, it’s well made.”

“It should be after all the effort I put into it and the diagrams I had to study and materials I had to gather.”

“You made it yourself?” His brows rose, and Yennefer drew closer, looking over his shoulder.

It was the same as Geralt’s, the head of a wolf, only less scratched up, shiny and instead of red eyes the wolf had lilac ones.

“You didn’t use rubies.” Geralt stated and Ciri shuffled her feet, cheeks red, while Yennefer rolled her eyes, in disbelief how much she could love this little girl, warmth spreading inside her at the obvious homage to her it was.

“Lilac fit better.” Her daughter defended weakly, glancing at her.

“It’s beautiful.” Yennefer spoke, giving Ciri a smile, which was answered with a shy one. “I guess we have to stay then for the night.”

“A night in the Circle will attune it, make it more than just a pretty trinket.” Yennefer hummed at Geralt’s words, conjuring up in the middle of nowhere a bed filled with furs and pillows.

“Extravagant for a night under the stars.” Geralt teased, even as he was the first to drop into it, sighing contently.

Yennefer sighed, having hoped for her own bed, a warm bath, some wine upon her return but seeing Geralt’s smile and uff when Ciri knocked all air out of him when she jumped on top of the bed and him, both laughing she decided it was worth it. Joining them, settling down on Ciri’s opposite side. The excitement and fighting seemed to have been enough for Ciri, who was quick to curl up, her answers to Geralt’s questions becoming murmurs before disappearing completely.

Yennefer raked her fingers through her ashen waves, pulling them free from the bun. “This is all your fault, you know.” She spoke after a while, and Geralt hummed.

“Is it now?” He glanced at her, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the sky.

“Yes. How is it that my child surprise somehow ends up on the path of becoming a witcher.” Yennefer sneered the last word. “Underpaid, scorned, finding death quickly. She could have become a scholar, a shepard, a smith.”

“A sorceress with a sword?” He interrupted with a smirk, chuckling lowly when she leaned over Ciri to hit his shoulder.

“It would have been possible.” Yennefer defended, crossing her arms. “There have been stranger things. Coral used to carry an axe everywhere.”

“She was an islander, they don’t relieve themselves without an axe in hand. And Ciri loved fighting, swordplay long before we met, and a witcher’s life ain’t too bad.”

“What part isn’t so bad? The small-folk trying to rob you, the nobles trying to swindle you for your coin, or the kings demanding your head every so often?”

“Well, journeying the entire continent is quite enjoyable, meeting good people, getting knighted, getting enchanted by a beautiful sorceress.” He gave her a wink, turning to his side and propping his head up on his fist.

“Ciri is too smart to fall in love with a sorceress.” Yennefer stated firmly, evading Geralt’s searching glance. “And she is far too reckless, like you.”

“Like me?” He snorted. “Who was the one of us improvising to catch a djinn? Or going after a golden dragon without a second thought? That’s all you in her.”

“It wasn’t improvised but meticulously planned like everything I undertake and would have worked if you had not interrupted.”

He stared at her in disbelief, shaking his head when lilac eyes twinkled with amusement. “She will have a good life.” He became serious. “And we both know you will hover over her at least until she is thirty.”

“Thirty?” She shot him a look, disbelief painting her features. “At least fifty. She’ll be far too young to go on the Path alone any sooner.” They shared a chuckle, looking down at Ciri laying between them, slumbering peacefully. “I can’t believe I have to watch over two witchers then.” Yennefer sighed. “The trouble the both of you will get us into.”

“Us?” Geralt lifted a brow and glanced at her. “She will be happy, I promise that.”

Yennefer reached for him, tracing his jawline. “You handsome fool.” She murmured, studying his face, she knew he would try his damnedest to keep his word. Carefully, she leaned over and she kissed him briefly before leaning back. Heart overflowing with fondness, when his eyes blinked back open, his expression dreamy as he took her hand from his face and pressed a kiss on top of her knuckles. She hoped she did not have a sappy, foolish smile on her face like him.

They settled down, arms slung over Ciri, pressing the three of them as close together as possible, their intertwined hands in the middle.

Chapter Text

“Huh.” Geralt grunted, blinked.

“Get up, Geralt.” Yennefer paced the length of her room, objects hovering in the air around her, some going back on a shelf, others coming to stand on her desk which seemed to be overflowing with stuff.

“What is happening?” He asked hoarsely, adding. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

His eyes were slipping close again when the chamber was rocked by an explosion.

“Everything is fine!” Ciri’s voice rang out, muffled through the walls.

Yennefer just threw a glance at the door then kept pacing while Geralt groaned and sat up. “Today is the day.” She muttered.

“It’s not even day yet.” Geralt grumbled, leaning over the edge of his bed and searching for his clothes. “And what day is it? Mother and daughter wreak havoc before dawn day?”

Yennefer pivoted on her heels, hands on her hips, not amused. “We set out today.” Yennefer hissed, and if she had been a cat, her back would have been curved upwards.

Geralt stood, walking up to her. “We’ll break our necks setting out before dawn. The Path will wait.” He pressed up against her back and stroked her shoulders. “And you already finished packing yesterday.” She heard the judgement in his voice about everything she did, indeed pack, and glared at him over her shoulder.

Before sorting through her potions, the amount of healing potions she had brewed. “Yen, it will be fine. She is not setting out on her own but with us. So leave your army of potions- are you compensating for something-” She elbowed him in the gut and he chuckled. “Come back to bed, please.” He pleaded, his hand trailed down her back, coming to rest on her waist as he placed a kiss against her shoulder.

She turned in his grasp, facing him, and let her gaze slowly trail over his form. “You know how much I like it when you beg for me.” She softly traced the stubble of his beard, trailing down with her fingertips over his neck, feeling his throat bob until she let her palm come to rest on his chest. His heart beating fast under her palm despite his mutations. “But what would we even do, I don’t think I can sleep?” She murmured, tilting her head.

“I could think of a thing or two.” He leaned down, their noses brushing together before he kissed her, thumbs rubbing circles on her side. She bit his lip, soothing the sting with her tongue-

“I’m ready to leave.” Her door burst open, hitting the wall with a crack, showing Ciri, ashen hair dishevelled, dark circles under her eyes telling a story about a night without rest. She gave Geralt another brief kiss then turned around to her daughter.

Standing there proudly with two swords on her back and armour belonging to the School of Wolf. When all the witchers had gathered once more for the winter, Vesemir, knowing they had plans to walk the Path, brought up the idea to search for the lost diagrams of old. So before winter had set in completely, the witchers had scurried all over Kaer Morhen and its lands, searching the ruins of the bastion and watchtower until every last one had been found.

Yennefer had ignored their posturing and had accidentally bought more raw materials than just for Ciri’s. Her armour had been harder to make because, while Ciri had grown tall, broad shouldered yet slender, she did not have the dimensions of a fully grown man, of course. Taller than Yennefer would like to admit, looking her easily into her eyes even with her high heels and had reached Vesemir’s height, who took her jokes about it as a plea for more rigorous training.

Now seeing her in her shiny, well fitted armour, armed to the teeth with her swords and many knives – Yennefer swallowed hard and embraced her tightly.

“Mother.” Ciri grumbled yet melted into her embrace. Yennefer pulled back slightly, taking her hand, and when had it become so big, hadn’t it only been yesterday her entire hand had only covered Yennefer’s pinky? Her ugly duckling fit in her arms completely. Only yesterday, when her lab had blown up, leaving both their hairs standing with static, Ciri innocently blinked up at her.

“Your boot laces are undone.” Geralt interrupted her musings, and she shook her head at his utter nonchalance even as her lip twitched when Ciri growled. “And like I said to your mother, first light is not even there yet, we can’t set out in the dark.” Geralt did not even consider Ciri’s protest, falling back into bed, closing his eyes.

“But-”

“Shhh. Some of us need sleep or end up being mistaken for a ghoul.”

Ciri crossed her arms with a huff, staring at Yennefer even when she had to stifle a yawn. With no other choice and the knowledge they might be behaving the tiniest bit ridiculously, she gave her daughter’s cheek a pat, joining Geralt in bed.

“Boots off.” She ordered, eyes closed, and Ciri grumbled as if she hadn’t raised her with manners but some brute.

Feeling the blanket pull back and Ciri slipped in behind her, curling around her. “As soon as the sun is up, we leave.” Ciri commanded, interrupted by another yawn.

“Of course.” Geralt hummed, and Yennefer knew he had no intention of doing so, simply lifted her brow, which he answered with a smirk.

*

“Uncle Vesemir. I won’t be carrying an entire library with me, and of course I sharpened my swords, what am I six?”

Yennefer walked down to the stables, Geralt beside her with his saddlebags and her satchel slung over his shoulder. It was already past midday, they had slept for quite a while longer.

“Those books might decide between life and death, they hold knowledge about the monsters you will face.” Vesemir pushed a stack of books into Ciri’s hand. “And I remember someone losing their sword only a few weeks back.” He muttered, moustache twitching.

“That was different.” Ciri huffed, glaring at him. “And I have my Bestiary, which gives me the information I need condensed and in a way I won’t be tempted to stab someone three lines in.” She put the books back into Vesemir’s arms.

“Geralt, tell her.” The old witcher said when he spotted them.

“She is not wrong. And she needs her moveability, the books will weigh her down and end up getting her eaten.” He nudged Ciri in the side, who very maturely poked her tongue out at him.

“To be so young and full of confidence once more.” Vesemir shook his head while Yennefer sidestepped him, grasping Ciri’s shoulders.

Giving her a look over, noting the leather harness secured squarely over her shoulder, finely made in black, holding a multitude of vials. “I hope you expressed your gratitude to Tissaia for the gift.”

“Not yet, will you give her this when you see her?” Ciri held out a note, a small pressed flower peeking out of it.

“Of course.” Yennefer paused, noting how Ciri’s excitement had dimmed. “I will join you shortly in White Orchard.” She couldn’t believe she had to leave for another Brotherhood meeting, emergency had Tissaia said but how likely was that? War was brewing, and the mages would once more do nothing but debate.

“I know.” Ciri embraced her quickly, stepping away to their saddled horses.

“Stay safe.” Yennefer gave a pointed look to Geralt, who grinned, sighing exaggeratedly and leaned down to give her a kiss. “I know you.” She fiddled with his medallion, adding more quietly. “One minute you are just travelling the road and the next moment you are in the midst of a war, serving kings or solving one big conspiracy.” She poked him in his chest. “None of that. No contracts, no nothing. You two go to White Orchard and wait for me.”

Geralt covered her hand, squeezing it. “As you wish, m’lady. You won’t miss her first contract.” He assured her, pride in his eyes as they both watched Ciri hug Vesemir before mounting her horse. Geralt raised her hand to his lips, parting with a last look and joined Ciri.

Vesemir watched together as they left through the gate, and Yennefer departed shortly after, making haste to join them.

*

The alehouse was full even though it was only past midday. Smallfolk sitting together, eating, drinking, some gambling and playing Gwent. The smell of stew and mead hung in the air, just as burning wood. No one turned at her entrance, boisterous laughter ringing out, while her eyes trailed over the gathered, searching for hers.

She felt familiar chaos close and followed it, far back into the corner of the alehouse, catching sight of her witcher first, drinking, obviously discussing something, pointing at the papers resting on the table. Her daughter had her back to her. “Drowners. We do them all year round, and we hardly need to go and put them down together. Even the pay is poor.”

Yennefer stepped up behind her, settling the long package down before her on the table, startling her. “Mother-”

“What happened to your face?” Yennefer stared in disbelief, her daughter having a black eye, dried blood under her nose and a split lip. The sorceress glared at the witcher while her daughter rubbed her neck sheepishly.

“It was not a contract.” Geralt offered, leaning back and taking a gulp of his ale.

“No, we stumbled over a bandit camp on our way, and they shot first.” Ciri grinned broadly, wincing only slightly because of her lip. “And we tried saving a merchant.” She added, still looking proud.

Yennefer sighed, sitting down beside her. “Tried? Start at the beginning.” She took Geralt’s mug out of his hand, drinking it herself.

“Well, the brief version is we were attacked, we defended ourselves, they had some merchant locked up, we freed him, he might have gotten shot by an arrow and died because another handful of bandits returned home. They are all dead, and I have a magical horse now.” Ciri shrugged, rambling at the end.

Yennefer glanced at Geralt, who just grunted in agreement and also shrugged. “Yeah, simply put.”

The sorceress was still hung up on the part where her daughter got shot at and had killed humans not long after leaving Kaer Morhen when her last words registered. “A magical horse?” Ciri’s expression got even brighter, if possible, nodding eagerly before pulling her up to stand. Giving Yennefer only a moment to pick up the package.

“She is magnificent.”

“She is a demon beast.” Geralt grunted, following them outside with the papers Yennefer now saw were board notices in his hands.

“You just can’t get over the fact that a horse doesn’t like you.”

Ciri led them around the house to the stables. A handful of horses were in them, and Yennefer could sense the magical presence, wild, overbearing, before she saw it, noted the other horses having backed up as far as they could in the opposite direction except for Roach. The brown mare’s ears were turned to the side, head lowered — a mighty difference to those whose ears were constantly moving, brown fur glancing in the sun.

But besides Roach was another horse, head elevated, having clearly heard them, pawing at the ground. Fur midnight black, seemingly swallowing all light. Geralt stayed back while Ciri let go of her hand, stepping up to the horse, red glowing eyes, presence so domineering Yennefer had the impulse to grab her ugly duckling and pull her behind her.

Yet it nickered the closer Ciri got, and when she reached for the mare, it leaned down, nudging her, breathing in her face while her daughter laughed, patting her mane. “Come meet Kelpie.” Ciri looked over her shoulder, beckoning Yennefer closer.

She tilted her head, noticing with every rise in Ciri’s chaos around her Kelpie, and what a name for a horse, seemed to radiate more of it too. So slowly, while stepping closer, she let her own magic saturate the air, which made the mare look at her. Silently watching until she stood right next to her daughter.

“Greetings, Kelpie.” Yennefer observed the flick of her ears, the slight shuffle, and listened to the rustling of leather when Geralt must have straightened behind her.

Yet with Ciri standing beside her, blissfully running her fingers through the wavy black mane, fitting when the sorceress looked down to the feathered feet the same colour as its coat, she reached out. Knuckles first, the faintest of touches against Kelpie’s muzzle. The horse seemed to emit power, muscles moving underneath its coat. It let her touch and pat, but the mare’s attention was obviously on Ciri, returning to nuzzling her and nibbling at her shoulder while Ciri chuckled.

“She is beautiful.” Yennefer noticed the clear infatuation they both had with each other, and while she herself had only ever used a horse when necessary and then the most fitting one, she knew how much Geralt liked every version of Roach and how loyal the beasts always were. “So I hope nothing else happened on your journey?”

Geralt grunted. “Is a demon horse not exciting enough for you? But you could also try to talk your daughter out of hunting a griffin.”

“It has attacked a settlement further north, killing livestock all around the area. It must be male, young, no mate and not a territory yet. Explains how much it hunts and not staying in one spot.” Ciri offered her input. “We can haggle for more coin, and I don’t see why we should go after drowners when we are going together.”

Yennefer considered, studying the board notice Geralt gave her, crossing her arms. “Griffin’s are dangerous creatures. Are you sure you want to go after it?”

Ciri turned to her thoughtfully. “Yes, I have trained long enough, and I have you two by my side.”

“Then it’s agreed.” Yennefer gave her a nod before holding out the package for her. “But you’ll need this.”

Ciri took it, opening the paper it was wrapped in until she held a beautiful sword in hand. Silver. Grip wrapped in black leather, when unsheathed, she saw an elvish inscription on its blade. Her daughter glared at her playfully while Yennefer smirked. “Ugly duckling?”

“Fitting, is it not?” She teased, putting her hands on her hips, causing her daughter to roll her eyes.

Ciri stepped back, swinging it with a whoosh through the air. “It’s perfectly balanced.” She sheathed it. “Thank you, Mother, it’s breathtaking.” They embraced. “We should go, haggle for coin and then search for it.”

“I should freshen up, did you get us rooms?”

“A room.” Geralt led the way out of the stables.

Yennefer lifted a brow, biting back a laugh, cocking her hip. “Should I ask?” Ciri had come back down from their room, having excused herself to wash her face before going.

Yet while it was washed, Ciri had smeared charcoal around her eyes, the black making the green of them stand out even more. “What? You said make-up was a weapon, something used to intimidate.” She grinned lopsided and Geralt beside her chuckled.

“I did say that.” She left it at that despite how it made her look like a mammal, a racoon perhaps even an adorable one.

*

“You’re jesting, lass.” An older man with a full and long w hite beard but a certain lack of hair laughed, coughing smoke when he took another drag of his pipe. “You, a monster hunter?” He sat down heavily, leaning his walking stick on the bench beside him.

“I will be taking the contract, and I want coin worth it. I won’t risk my neck for a few measly coins. When I go by night, I need potions to see, no matter what hybrid oil for my blade, and when I get injured, I need herbs. That’s not even considering the fact that I would like to eat and rest my head somewhere. So, 500 crowns.” Ciri spoke calmly even as Yennefer saw her clench her fist and breathe in deeply.

The old man sputtered, roaring with laughter. “500 crowns? Wench, have you gone crazy, you-” His gaze fell on her and Geralt leaning lazily against the fence, arms crossed, and she knew she was glaring at him. He swallowed, eyes wide. “350.” He coughed.

“I need to take care of my equipment, too. 475.”

“We are poor villagers, 390.” He insisted, turning tactics.

“You just had a plentiful harvest, I’ve been told. The villagers are happy, drunk it seems to me the town is doing well.” Ciri straightened to her full height, stopping her slouching, and while her face still betrayed her youth, she was tall for her age. “We can just go on there are enough contracts but not enough capable people who can slay monsters, especially Griffins. 430 crowns. Last offer.”

The Elder squinted, gaze flickering to them, rubbed his beard, then, as if someone was pulling his teeth, he nodded. “Agreed. I want its head.” They shook hands, and Ciri pivoted, face blank, serious, and Yennefer quickly schooled her own expression, giving her daughter a nod whose corner of her lips betrayed her, quivering upwards.

“We already did a lot of legwork.” Geralt spoke up, leading them out of town. “We know where the Griffin has been sighted, and if we consider the area-”

“It makes most sense for him to have a nest near the hill.” Ciri finished his sentence, pointing to it in the distance. “Griffin’s like their height, and it lays nearly in the middle of all sightings.”

“Exactly.” Geralt hummed. “Do you have the hybrid oil?”

“Already coated the sword before we left.”

“Then there is nothing left to do but find it.” Yennefer sighed,

height, following the two of them, readying her chaos.

“We taught her well.” Geralt offered, Ciri having taken the lead up to the hill where all hints led.

They had found the carcass of a sheep on the foot of the hill, torn up, blood dried, bones broken, as well as feathers, which lead them to the conclusion that the monster they tracked was an Archgriffin, a subspecies of the normal one which could spit acid.

If anything happened to her clothes, she would light the beast up because she doubted acid stains came out after a wash. The feathers gave them a scent, and while Geralt’s senses were superior through the mutations, Ciri, if through her blood or connection to the chaos, had superior senses than a human as well. Easily following the trail left.

“We did.” Yennefer raised her brow when he bumped their shoulders together, bumping not all too gently back. Liking seeing the sword she had designed and ordered slung over Ciri’s back next to the golden one, her grandmother’s.

“We should be prepared, the griffin seems to be an adolescent, highly aggressive if not experienced, he will attack us the moment a shriek cut him off, a shadow falling over them.

In seconds, Yennefer had gathered chaos in both of her palms, Geralt unsheathed his sword, as did Ciri, who was the one getting his attention, having stumbled onto its nest. With a scream, it swooped down. Ciri rolled to the side, avoiding its claws, and then followed it, attacking its wings.

Geralt rushed forward, drawing its attention. Slashing its hind leg. It whirled around with a screech. Snapping at the witcher. Yennefer used the time to send a bolt in its direction, hitting its side while Ciri, flanking her, slashed at its legs. It reared, overwhelmed by so many and indecisive who to hit. With a mighty jump, it disappeared in the air.

Another screech. The sound of a cat throwing up. Yennefer backed away just in time as green slime rained down. Sizzling on the ground. Acid.

Clanking a crash. Geralt had blocked its claws. The Archgriffin landed, Ciri ducking beneath its wings, stepping forward and stabbing one. Geralt on his side doing the same and Yennefer let lightning scorch it. It shrieked. Attempting to claw at them. Spitting acid. Snapping at them. A high pitched screech, tearing out its throat when Geralt stabbed into its chest.

It was airborne in a blink. Vanishing seemingly. They all looked up at the sky, swords raised, magic shield up. This time Geralt couldn’t block. The force of it crashed down, throwing him to the ground, his sword flying out of his grip. He struggled, pinned by one leg. The Griffin reared up, wings flared out, preparing to bit into the fallen witcher.

Yennefer knew she was too far away, sending a strike of lightning hopefully enough to get it away when at the same time she felt chaos being drawn in gathering and then with a crack, a wave of chaos, Ciri shimmering emerald green, her eyes and aura around her stood over Geralt at the same moment the Griffin struck, blocking its claws.

A moment of disbelief for all of them was enough.

The Archgriffin shrieked, Ciri crying out a moment later and from afar Yennefer could only make out blood. On her face. She howled, gathering her chaos and called forth the biggest bolt of lightning yet. The Archgriffin shrieked, pelt smoking, the smell of burned flesh in the air and there was another crack and Ciri appeared on top of it.

Balancing on its back while it shrieked in agony, twirled her sword in her hand and stabbed downwards into its neck. The screech stopped in its throat but it reared upwards but Ciri held on, using her weight to push her sword in deeper. Geralt backed up, and used his own sword to stab the Griffin in the chest. It trembled, shook, blood spattering when with one last shriek it collapsed on the ground.

Flank raised once, twice, before Ciri with a growl pushed her sword completely through its neck. Everything was quiet. Ciri stepped on its neck, getting a grip to cut, severing its head. Yennefer ran up to her, heart racing. Nearly getting sick when she couldn’t make out her left eye. Only red. Blood. Her daughter’s.

“Ciri let me see.” Her daughter’s head shot up, and she stopped mangling the Archgriffin’s body further, her chest rising and falling heavily. She rummaged through her things for a handkerchief, grasping Ciri’s chin. Carefully while Ciri hissed, growled and tried to escape her, to dab the blood away. To see the extent of the wound.

Hoping, praying Ciri would not end up losing her eye on her first contract. What had she been thinking? Her ugly duckling was only 15. So young. And the Griffin was easily double her height, a giant. She choked when saw the deep claw wound.

A Gash. “Geralt, give me water.” He had stepped up beside her and was quick to wet another handkerchief she had pulled out. Cleaning the area.

Ciri seemed to calm, chaos still brimming with something around her, but her eye rested on Yennefer, hand on her sword trembling and yet.

“Are you alright?” She asked Geralt, single eye trailing over him.

“I am.” Geralt grasped her shoulder. “Thanks to you. Only a bit bruised and clawed.” He jested, knuckles white around Ciri’s shoulder.

It was a deep cut. Stretching from her eyebrow, next to her nose, above her eye, to underneath it, curving over her cheekbone. Angry red. Blood pouring out. Wide. Chaos roared inside her while her hand shook.

“Facial wounds bleed a lot,” Geralt soothed, and for a heartbeat she nearly flicked him against the nearest tree. Her ugly duckling. Bleeding. Hurt.

Ciri covered her hand, dabbing at her eye and then blinked. Meeting Yennefer’s gaze with two emerald eyes. Offering her the slightest bit of relief. She rummaged through her satchel, pushing a vial into Ciri’s hand. “Drink this.”

Ciri did so without complaint, even the next two ones. Flinching only when Yennefer disinfected the wound.

“We did it.” Despite the pain now clearly settling in, Ciri crowed, raising her hand for a high five Geralt willingly gave.

“We did.” Geralt said hoarsely. “And your first battle scar.” He swallowed, especially when even he felt the crackle of Yennefer’s chaos in the air. “Something to tell the guys.”

Yennefer said nothing, putting herbal paste on the wound, nose crinkling at the sharp, intense smell.

“Mama.” Ciri squeezed her other hand. “It’s all right. I am alright. I already was an ugly duckling, was I not?” She grinned down at her, ashen hair dishevelled, blades of grass tangled in it, face bruised, bloody, armour stained with grime and sword bloody, sticking in the ground beside her.

Yennefer squeezed her hand back, fuzzing over her even as Geralt picked up the head of the Griffin and they made their way down the hill, back to the alehouse. Pride and fear waged a war in her chest. Another reminder that she could not protect Ciri from everything, no matter how much she wished so.

Chapter Text

The setting sun warmed her skin. Her sword easily twirled in her hand as she played with her prey. Evading claws and teeth easily. Disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye. So much faster than her opponents she kept her distance, not let them encircle her. Sidestepping their leaps, beheading one of them, slashing over their hides as they did.

Nose crinkling at the awful smell of them. “No matter how many of you I see, I just can't get over how ugly you are.” As if they understood they growled, screeched.

Ciri twirled around avoiding another attack using the force of her turn to behead the closest Drowner to her. With a glance at the sun, she guessed it was time to rejoin Geralt and her mother in Rivia before they worried. She made quick work out of the rest, afterwards using her dagger to gather some materials, then whistled.

Grinning when Kelpie ran out of the woods and on purpose, the mare loved to play, to challenge her, sprinted past her. Leaving Ciri to run after her until she could reach the reins and hauled herself onto her mid sprint. Kelpie neighed, quickening her pace while Ciri held on laughing as the wind whipped strands of her hair into her face. Urging the mare on, the grass on the hills a lush green, the stomps of hooves hitting the earth beneath a symphony to her ears.

Not far from Rivia she stopped, slowing Kelpie down to a trot, carefully avoiding the small folk, returning from the fields after a day of work to their houses. Stopping at the tavern, she dismounts, patting Kelpie's flank, leaving her unbound for the moment it would take. Ciri stepped into the tavern, her stomach growling at the scent of stew in the air, already many were gathered, playing cards and drinking.

“The drowner's will be a problem no more, the road is safe to travel again.” She declared proudly leaning against the bar, arms crossed.

The innkeeper glanced her up and down, noting the fresh blood on her armour and nodded. “200 crowns like we agreed.” He slid a coin pouch over the bar which Ciri took, weighing it in her hand, then clipped it to her belt. “Could offer a free meal if you wanted, for handling the problem so fast.”

She smiled at him, shaking her head. “Thank you for the offer but I must reach Rivia before nightfall. So long.” She gave him a cheeky salute, pivoting around on her heels and skipping outside to mount Kelpie once more.

Pride and happiness sparked in her gut, buzzing pleasantly through her blood. She could not wait to take a warm bath, eat something while they considered where to go next. Perhaps they would go east to explore Lyria or farther north to Aldersberg.

With Kelpie not being a normal horse, having endless stamina they made way quickly. Leaving the forest behind, turning into smaller vegetation the more upwards the hillside they got. The sun slowly disappeared from sight, bathing the sky in tones of red and violet.

The first sign something was wrong was the dark smoke rising in the distance, beyond the walls of the city Ciri could make out on the horizon. The second, the people fleeing from the city as she got closer, dozens, women, men, children, pale, hysterical, crying.

Most offered her not more than a glance.

Apprehension twisted her insides and she quickened her pace and reaching the walls of Rivia she heard them. Shouts, Screams. Smoke and the scent of fire in the air. Ciri left Kelpie behind, pushing through a throng of people running away, stopping when she saw the destruction, the slaughter.

Elves and dwarves adorning the walls, burned black on pyres, the town folk a mob, armed with torches and pitchforks, some with axes and swords. Screaming, shouting, bellowing.

Smoke thick in the air, curling in her lungs but worse - the scent of burned flesh. Ciri blinked, screams long gone echoing in her ears, knights in gold littering the floor, flags with lions upon them burning. She shook away the thought, the past, unsheathing her sword. Ears ringing with the chants of the mob. “Kill them, kill them. Kill the creatures.”

Dread and rage beat in her heart, chaos simmering under her skin and her eyes roam over the mass, searching for the familiar white of Geralt's hair, chaos pulsing around her for a tendril of her mother's. She pushed through the mass, hoping to find them in the square, in the centre of town, remembering Geralt saying they would meet close by in a tavern where they could rest.

There was a crack in the air, goosebumps spread unpleasantly over her arms and legs, static heavy on her tongue and she felt cold. Lightning. The sky was clear. She rushed her way through the people, uncaring of their angry mutterings, paling when directly in front of her eyes an elf gets his legs kicked out under him, an axe splitting his head a heartbeat later. Folk gathered around cheering.

She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. Hurrying on. It happened in a moment. She made it to the square. Eyes taking in the hundreds of people, copper tang on her tongue, blood turning the ground darker. Corpses, mutilated, glassy eyes staring up to the sky, everywhere. And then she caught a flash of white, the whirl of a blade.

Geralt fighting.

A heartbeat. She saw the blade in his hand drop to the ground, and saw him fall to his knees. Caught sight of a boy standing in front of him, letting go of his grip on a pitchfork. A pitchfork.

Even from the distance she spied Geralt heaving. Sputtering blood which ran down his chin. Collapsing. Ciri pushed through the mob too far away and still heard a wail ring out, chaos blowing over her, teeth clanking together hard. Her mother kneeled on the ground, pulling Geralt's head in her lap, lips moving.

The crowd closed in. Ciri shoved people out of her way just as there was a sudden vacuum, everything silent, time coming to stand, then chaos rushed back in, assembling in Yennefer's hands, pressed into Geralt's chest, a crack, a shout. Yennefer collapsed, falling directly into Ciri's arms as she ran the last steps, sliding on her knees to catch her mother.

“Mama.” Her eyes were wide, flickering between her mother and Geralt.

Blood soaking into her breeches, her ears ringing. His chest didn't move. Did not rise. She reached for it, searching for his heartbeat, warm blood smearing her hands until she shakily sought out his neck for his pulse. Only to feel nothing. This couldn't be happening. Her eyes flickered back to Yennefer and she froze. The sorceress was not breathing either.

Painfully still in her arms. “Mama?” She shook her, throat closing, vision swimming. She shook her again. “Mother.” Her chaos instinctively sought out Yennefer's only to find nothing. A vast emptiness. She pressed her head against her chest, listening for a beat. A breath. Nothing. “Mama.” She trembled, heart beating painfully in her chest. Feeling cold, so cold. Ice in her veins.

She closed her eyes, mind set alight with the past. Her parents saying goodbye, the terrible storm, her grandmother's blank face, dressed in black. Never returning. Felt the ghost of a touch, the press of lips against her hairline, her grandmother cupping her cheeks, breathing laboured, sweat and blood smeared on her skin.

Opened her eyes to see Geralt, his own blood staining his hair red. Her mother in her arms, limp, unmoving.

I will never leave you.

She blinked. The sight did not change. Her breathing stilled. They were supposed to be happy. After everything they deserved it. They were meant to wander the kingdoms, help the small folk, collect coin, and be together. In the corner of her eyes, she noticed the figures creeping in. They dared to, they dared-

She howled with rage, lashing out with her sword which had fallen down beside her. Stabbing the closest one, hacking and slashing wildly while staying on the ground, her mother in her lap-

She snarled like a cornered animal, vision twisting, black spots appearing. Her chaos scorched up her throat. She did not control it. She let it out. She screamed. Did not stop screaming, clawing at Geralt, clutching Yennefer to her. This could not be it. This could not be happening. This was another nightmare.

Everything was all right. Everything was all right. Chaos raged, around her, inside her. She tasted blood in her mouth. She let it all go. There was a sensation of being squeezed, her ears popping. She stopped screaming. Everything went silent.

She blinked her eyes open when her breeches were completely soaked, her boots, hands in water. It was cold. The air shimmering around them was golden, a light green. The mob was gone. Rivia was gone.

Ciri in a sea, lake, water, she didn't know but she grasped Yennefer, heaving herself up, black spots filling her vision and heaved her onto the beach. Letting her legs dangle in the water before clutching at Geralt, nearly succumbed entirely in the water. Hands beneath his arms, she dragged him, somehow up to the shore beside Yennefer, falling to her knees beside them.

She felt weak, the buzz of her chaos nearly silent. The isle seemed familiar. She had seen it before. In her dreams. She looked down at Geralt, the water stained copper around him, washing the blood away, the gaping wound in his stomach, armour torn through, her mother stiff, her raven curls wet, sticking to her face.

She wiped at her face, blood staining her sleeve. Then the Isle became misty, Ciri shivered, her breath crystallizing in the air. Cold. Flakes of snow fell slowly.

Ciri was nauseous, bile rising in her throat. Deep inside her something urged her to run. To run and not look back. She heard the sound of ice breaking, everything seemed even colder, and listened to the faint sound of hooves on the ground.

She needed to leave. Mind flashing with visions of snow and ice, frost, skeletal horses, creatures in black armour. She glanced at where the sounds came from then down to her family. She could not leave them. The urge to run intensified. Her muscles seized.

She leaned down, grasped Geralt close to her, tears dripping down her chin. Disbelief gripping her when her gaze fell on his wound, observed it slowly, painfully slowly stitching close.

She laughed, sobbed. Embraced him. Knowing now what she had to do. Her nightmares. Her visions. The future. The frost. It niggled in the back of her brain.

Ciri hovered over her mother, pushing her wet strands of hair from her face, kissed her forehead like she had so many times kissed hers. “You need to wake up, I beg you.” She stood, swaying. “Remember your promise.” She picked up her sword, sheathed it next to the other on her back.

She needed to run. In most of her vision she saw herself being chased. She glanced over her shoulder at them both laying there painfully still. Not for long. She knew, prayed, hoped. Burning their image into her memories. They were here for her. She felt it. She was certain of it.

Her throat tightened. They would be safe. She assured herself. She needed to go. The sounds of hooves got closer.

She sprinted away, heart tearing in two. Vision swimming. She ran, muscles burning. Breath catching. With a crack, she was gone.

*

Epilogue

He was with him now. She paced the room, painfully aware of the eyes on her. The guards stationed all around, those high ceilings, the pillars, the perfectly white marble. Her magic roared inside her seeing the black of the guards armours, the sun adorning nearly everything.

“Yennefer.” She turned away from the fire, gaze darting over the witcher, the new scar on his face, near his eye so similar to hers. “The Emperor said you would have more information, reports.”

She nodded, waving to the war table. “Is it true? It can't be, how would he know?” His voice was hoarse, brittle, brows knitted together.

Wordlessly she grasped a paper, pushing it into his direction. His breathing stuttered, the paper crinkling in his grip. “It is her, the scar, she has grown up.”

Yennefer avoided his gaze, the own likeness of her daughter brought to paper, folded and burning in her breast pocket. Grown up. The last of her baby fat gone, scar if the description was to be believed healed nicely, hair long. Five years. Without a hint, without a trail. She feared what it meant for her to return now, the Wild Hunt searching for her.

The World will perish amidst ice. She shivered, gooseflesh appearing on her arms.

She pushed it down, informing Geralt methodically about the rumours and sightings of her daughter in Velen, Novigrad and Skellige, giving him anything he might need to go on. “You don't plan to bring her to the Emperor, do you?” He wasn't exactly being subtle, he had never been one for long games, schemes.

“The Emperor and mine goals align.” Yennefer looked directly into his eyes. “He wants to find his daughter.” She paused, the words tasting wrong on her tongue. “And I know no one with more resources to do so, money, men, spies.”

“He doesn't have magic or our knowledge of her.”

Yennefer chuckled bitterly. “Don't you think I already tried everything in my power to find her, I used every spell, every ritual, all my knowledge. I can't go outside these walls without the Wild Hunt knowing because of all my attempts. I can't risk another encounter like that.” She trailed off, grasping the bridge of her nose. They would try once more to use her as bait. “You are the best tracker I know, the only other option, every spy has returned empty handed or did not.”

She hadn’t noticed how she had gravitated towards him until her arms brushed against his. Noting his doublet and court adequate clothing for the first time. Freshly shaved, hair in a ponytail with the sides and neck shorn. Her fingertips ached to reach out, to brush over the soft fuzz, to see him shiver under her touch. For once he did not even need a bath, still smelling of bathing salts.

“I promise, I will find her.” He grasped her wrist softly. “I'll bring her home.” They both knew home did not mean the Emperor, therefore Nilfgaard, perhaps Kaer Morhen but more importantly back to them. “Do you remember when she pushed a nobleman from the balcony into a cart of manure?”

“You mean when we got all nearly hanged because Dandelion decided to fuck the wife of the guard captain? Ciri saved his neck. We had to flee Oxenfurt because your damn bard set the house on fire and nearly Ciri while Zoltan was stealing the silverware.”

“My bard? It's not my fault he follows me everywhere.” Geralt grinned. “And Zoltan had debts to pay.”

“Because he was gambling again.” Yennefer crossed her arms, lifting her brow. “Why bring that up now?”

“Because I missed you and her, even with my memory lost it felt weird to walk the Path alone, not even Vesemir's company could quieten the feeling.” He cleared his throat. “Why did you not search for me?”

She sighed, observing his downtrodden look. “I spent quite a while in the dungeons, my own memory in shambles and after the mages of Emhyr restored it, I did inquire about you.” Yennefer admitted, not able to stand the love plain in his gaze. They had no time for this, not now. “You were safe with your brothers and Vesemir, to my knowledge fully recovered.”

She didn't speak further but he nodded, understanding where her priorities always laid and shared them. “I will travel to Velen first, will you be here?”

Yennefer shook her head. “I still have a few possibilities to exhaust. Send word to me the moment you learn something substantial and if not we shall meet in Skellige to investigate the matter together.” She looked up at him, the warmth his proximity offered. “And Geralt I know it's wartime but try not to be a hero all right.” She grasped his neck and he went willingly when she pulled him into a brief kiss.

He still had his eyes closed when she backed away before it got harder than it had to be. “I shall be waiting.” She offered, turning away and opening a portal, not looking back, hoping, yearning to see him again, the next time with her Ciri beside them.