Chapter Text
From the open window, joyful birds are seen swinging and heard singing jubilant songs among the tree branches, announcing the world spring has finally come to conquer the long and harsh winter all creatures endured. It falls to their feathery duty to let everyone know that the time to wake up from slumber has - at last - arrived, just as the first, small rosy buds springing from the upper twigs of the majestic tree itself signal life's rebirth and renewal.
Hope.
Yennefer finds it all very ironic and contrasting with the situation at hand. She sighs, shifting her gaze from the beautiful scenery she just witnessed only to land it on the motionless shape of the white haired Witcher laying in bed - still not waking up.
It's been almost a week since Geralt has shown any sign of life. He has both arms and legs broken, his once fit body now barely recognizable, weak and weary under the many layers of bandages and covers which hide his wounded form from the rest of the world. His back is stiff as a board, cracked during a fall which would have killed even a giant, if not for a last minute spell she managed to conjure, just as she arrived on the scene - shocked and out of breath.
Yennefer wipes a veil of sweat from his forehead with a wet cloth, finding it very hard not to think about the man's last moment of consciousness, just after his clash with all five of the Wild's Hunt Riders and his ruinous fall from the cliff's precipice. He had risked it all, just to buy Cirilla some extra time in order to escape. Yennefer had looked into his eyes, damning herself for arriving a second too late before she could stop his fall entirely, as he found the strength to grab her hand and croak his last words, before surrendering to darkness.
Take care of her... please.
She could not just abandon him there, at the feet of a sandy cliff, left to die from his wounds and the hungry beasts nearby. She knew Ciri had been able to at least reach the first village safely, the same village where she would meet and be escorted by the Bard, Jaskier, to reach Gors Velen, where they would all be together once again in the hope Geralt would heal swiftly. She'd given the girl a magical medallion which would track her at anytime anywhere she'd go, telling Yennefer which ever direction she'd taken.
But almost five days has passed since then and Geralt hasn't shown any kind of progress yet, making Yennefer question if the time to accept the futility of her presence there has finally come, while she should better be reunited with Ciri, the girl she'd come to see as her charge and responsibility, her daughter.
Yennefer has tried using her magic on Geralt's wounds, hoping it would be enough to save him from a fate worse than death. But the stun he received from the Wild's Hunt King, Eredin Bréacc Glas, seems to have done more damages than just the fall the Witcher endured, rendering him unable to heal through magic. Instead, she had to resort to portal him here, in one of the few locations she least wanted to be at the moment: Melitele's Temple.
"He's in a place where magic cannot reach him," the High Priestess had softly explained to her the first days of her arrival, as if she was talking to a child.
Yennefer had snorted. "And what, pray tell, would reach him, mh? A miracle?" she spatted.
After a minute of silence, Mother Nenneke simply had offered a gentle smile. "I'm afraid your anger is not the answer to his healing, dear child. We will take care of him in any natural and holy way we can, tethering him into a peaceful slumber so he cannot worsen, nor feel the pain he's in." Her gaze turned then deeper, darker. "I sense you're searching for something-- for someone, to fill a void so immense and profound it hurts. What you’re searching for, what you’re yearning for though... you may already have it, without even knowing it. But alas, I believe this is a truth you have to find somewhere else... not here."
Yennefer had dismissed the priestess with a brief, sarcastic scoff, finding the reading from a woman she barely just met too absurd to give it any thoughts.
She's never been fond of priests, non magical remedies and anything holy, really. Though she knows the place itself - filled with ingenious stories about a Goddess who'd cure sick and wounded- had clearly always been very dear to Geralt, since it's name had left his lips more than one time during the rare and sporadic tales of his past he treasured her with. He'd even let her know about Nenneke, the woman who took care of him as a young boy, before becoming a mother figure as well.
Yennefer sighs again, imagining little Geralt wondering these halls while on his summer's break from Kaer Morhen, so full of life and hope in what he considered to be his very first home, alongside the Witcher's castle. Maybe deep down it is true, she's just lying to herself. Maybe this place feels so bothersome to her, so annoying, just because it is too much of a painful reminder of what she once had, of what she'd turned down in order to pursue her lost powers and herself only.
Yennefer thinks of Tissaia.
She thinks of the pain and the disappointment she must have caused her on that fateful night of Cahir's failed execution. She pictures Tissaia's mesmerizing cerulean eyes never leaving her as she makes her fiery and spectacular escape, nonetheless with the prisoner of war her mentor has so desperately been torturing for weeks just to know where to find her.
It isn't the first time she'd think about Tissaia in the long months after that nasty episode. On the contrary, the Rectoress of Aretuza has been a constant presence in her mind, as if she was a shadow who'd follow her anywhere. She's been the very first image which comes to her when she's in trouble, in doubt, or even - childish and absurd as it may sound - after waking up from a terrible nightmare.
Your pain is my pain.
Echoes of one of their last exchanges replay in her mind, her words so powerful and charged with meaning... with emotion, eternally stuck with her. She exhales a breath she's been unconsciously holding, coming to terms with the fact she at least owns the woman an explanation, otherwise she'd be hunted for the rest of her miserable life, and justly so.
Yennefer looks at Geralt's pale face one last time, before giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She'll collect Ciri at Gors Velen and then take her straight with her to Aretuza, where she'd be entrusted with her and Tissaia's teachings and then--
"Witch!"
She's already on her feet as she hears the call, all her senses on alert because she simply knows something has gone bad, if that very distinctive voice is in the room with her. Really bad.
"Bard," she answers in barely a whisper, her pungent retort held back by worry alone. "What is the meaning of this, why are you here? Where's Ciri?"
Jaskier bits his lips hard and then he swallows. His colorful clothes are a striking contrast to the graveness filling all the air in the small, private room they're in. "Ciri, she... Something got to her, while on her way to me," he searches in his pockets, occupying himself with anything it would not make him look straight into the raven haired sorceress' blazing eyes. "Three days ago she turned up at the village, wearing this around her neck, just as you said", the bard draws a medallion very similar to the one Yennefer gifted Ciri, but not quite the same, as it appeared cheaper, duller and clearly not magical. A powerful forgery. "I found her lack of words and humour strange only after a long while, because I thought she was too shocked and worried about Geralt, but as the days passed I simply knew there was something weird about her, so I pressed and I pressed and then--"
"It was a doppler," Yennefer cuts short, grabbing the fake amulet and looking at it closely. "They left the real one on the route to Gors Velen to mislead us and they took Ciri... the real one." She closes her hand around the medallion, clenching hard, focusing. "No traces of magic left on the surface, I will need something more powerful at hand in order to crack it. This is the work of a powerful mage, someone who knew about our plans and destinations," she concludes swiftly, moving past Jaskier in a twirl of her black dress.
"Wait, wait, wait," he calls after her. "Where are you going now--?"
Yennefer has already conjured a portal near the door, but she stops by it and turns, little words powerfully spoken to her months ago, now dancing around her mind, reaching to the warm depth of her bowels as if they were a gentle, reassuring caress.
I know you to your core.
The raven haired sorceress closes her eyes and exhales, before finally turning in order to briefly gaze at Geralt and then Jaskier one last time. On her beautiful face are traces of worry, ache, longing, but - most of all - resolution. Her voice feels constricted by emotion as she speaks at the end: "To ask for the aid of the only person who truly knows me and can help."
And with those final words, she disappears through the portal.
***
Tissaia is tending to her small personal botanical garden when she feels the unmistakable surge of Chaos coming from the corridor, just outside her office. She would recognize that magical signature anywhere. Even though it's been a very long time since she last felt it, she knows the extent of it, the very essence it is imprinted with and every form it can take.
Yennefer.
She barely registers she says her name out loud, just as the raven haired woman storms inside her study, without even knocking. Tissaia puts on a neutral facade, arching a brow as she composes herself to face her student. She's always found herself very proud of the younger woman's brash attitude, despite the irritating feeling of carelessness which transpires from it for most of the people who knows her.
There is never lack of care from Yennefer, not really; though she does an impressive job at dissimulate it, her very being is just imbued with passion ablaze pouring in her every action, mixed with a strong sense of familiarity, like an intoxicating potion not yet classified.
Despite this lovely sentiment, Tissaia can't help but call her pupil out on it.
"You should really learn how to knock, my dear," she says while enchanting the plants to water themselves as she turns to look at her visitor, lips thinned into a strict line, which only helps Yennefer remembering her old days as a young apprentice. "Especially after such a long time since your last visit."
Yennefer tries to brush off the uneasiness and sense of guilt, both threatening to rush to the surface. Instead, she does what comes most naturally to her: sarcasm. "I thought about portaling directly into here, but then it would have been difficult to explain if I'd locked myself behind magical enchanted doors, were you out for a stroll," she smiles, stepping casually forward.
The last time they saw each other after a month apart, Tissaia had pulled her into a tight embrace, not letting go of her for what felt like eternity. The woman had been a mess after she thought her to be dead at Sodden and she couldn't blame her. She'd probably feel the very same way if the situation were reversed, after all that they've been through together, even if it was still tough to admit it... at least for Yennefer.
But there are going to be no hugs in store for her this time, she just knows that. Only a thousands of unsaid words and unresolved emotional baggage.
"Why have you come?"
Tissaia's words come off as neutral, but Yennefer senses there's more to it. A tint to it.
There's always more to it with you.
I've been missing you, what else would there be, my foolish girl?
Yennefer gasps and her heart unconsciously skips a bit. Shit. It was not her intention to project her thoughts to Tissaia, but - what shocks her the most - is the older woman simple enough, yet so deeply felt confession to her. She tries her best to keep her eyes on Tissaia and Tissaia only, while a whirlwind of emotions charges her from the inside. How come this woman still has so much power over her, as if she - Yennefer - was still the helpless crooked girl from the pigpen of half a century ago, looking up to her former teacher for her eternal approval and affection?
"I messed up, I know that," Yennefer bites her tongue, choosing the safe and slow approach for once. She can feel Tissaia is hurt, but what she can't fathom is how to regain her trust once again. "And I'm sorry for it. I've been meaning to come back and fix it... but something has happened and I am in need of your help."
Tissaia has barely any reaction to this, clearly not impressed, as if this is exactly what she expected from Yennefer. She just stands there, face unreadable and her hands pressed together in front of her womb, as composed as ever. As time passes, Yennefer is tempted to throw her arms in the air and start screaming in order to get any kind of reply, damn it all. She just hates to be left there - bare and naked - without a clue about what the other woman is really thinking. She'd never try though to read her now, not even if she asked for her permission to enter her mind; Yennefer simply knows she'd been instantly rejected, forever destroying even the last bit of trust still lingering between them.
"I see," Tissaia's only answer is composed by two words, which irritates Yennefer beyond all measure. After not receiving another reply for a long minute, the young sorceress reaches the Rectoress' desk and lets her hands fall hard on the solid wooden board.
"That's it? That's the only thing you'll say to me?" she accuses, frustration echoing in her voice.
Tissaia doesn't blink to the sound of the board cracking under Yennefer's strike - she just sighs. Ever the impatient. "Did it ever crossed your brilliant mind that you're a wanted person here, after your little show to impress the Northern Kingdoms at the temple, two months ago? The more you stay here, the more you're in danger," she explains tiredly, not wanting to pick up a fight with the other mage. "So, whatever you came to tell me this evening, it must be of the utmost importance to you, otherwise--"
"It is, Tissaia," Yennefer cuts in with fervor, before lowering her voice to a gentler tone. "I wouldn't insist this much on it if it wasn't. It's-- it's about... Ciri," she finally blurts it out, finally dropping the heavy weight she's been carrying since Geralt's injury as she locks her purple eyes with the other woman's sky-blue ones, hoping to find a truce, if not the support she so desperately needs.
"Ciri," Tissaia bleakly repeats, wasting no time doing the math. Her eyes searches Yennefer's, trying to find confirmation or humour in the light it shines through, but she can't find none. Her once protégé is telling the truth, and the desperation she sees, the emotion she feels down the pit of her very being is the only thing which animates her right now. "You mean the Lion Cub of Cintra? Queen Calanthe's girl?"
Yennefer finds herself nodding, glad she doesn't have to play pretend anymore. "She's Geralt's child of surprise. We were travelling from Kaer Morhen after being attacked by Voleth Meir, which is the reason why I regained my powers," the dark haired sorceress dares to look at Tissaia and she's sure her lower lip trembles imperceptibly at her admission. She forces herself to continue her telling: "Ciri's been persecuted ever since by what I believe it is called The Wild Hunt. It wasn't enough to have all of the Continent on her heels, now these wretched wraiths won't rest until they'll get to her too."
Tissaia closes her eyes, finally exhaling the breath she's been holding. "The situation is graver than I thought then. You're treading on thin ice, Yennefer," she admonishes, darkly. The younger mage remembers she only saw her mentor this distressed and tired on the day she came back after being lost for a month. "Where's your Witcher now?"
Yennefer doesn't know why she winces at Tissaia's words, nor why they sting this much. "Melitele's temple, where he's fighting a battle I fear he may not win this time," she answer in a whisper, uncharacteristically absent-mindedly for an instant, before trailing her eyes once again on Tissaia's, her gaze intense. "I wouldn't ask this of you, if it wasn't--"
"Important, I know," it's Tissaia's turn to take charge and lead their exchange now. She manages to suppress the spark of anger surging for her pupil's foolishness at being once again at the center of a mess, only - this time - bigger than both of them. The pain it brings her to see Yennefer so distressed, so in peril... to feel the emotional tumult she's in as if it was her own, it's ten times worse than the disappointment she felt when the girl had left Aretuza - and her, Tissaia - once again to follow what she believed to be an impossible task. The Rectoress lets her hands finally unfold, her fingers caressing a precise spot on her desk, the same where Yennefer's own palms had just landed on a few seconds before. "You'll stay here tonight, just to be safe. No one can see you or know you're at Aretuza, otherwise they'll take you underground in Dimeritium chains without even questioning. Tomorrow, once we've both rested, we'll think of a solution to this colossal mess."
"Then... you'll aid me?" Yennefer looks almost star struck by Tissaia's acceptance.
"Must I really repeat myself?" Tissaia's smirk is strained, but Yennefer can't help but notice a little glint in her tired eyes, as if she was still reprimanding her little piglet from years ago, caught up to no good once again. For a fleeting moment of time, all seems reverted back to how it used to be between them. "Of course I will help you Yennefer." I'll always help you, Tissaia mentally sighs to herself, carefully concealing her thoughts behind a safe wall. "I suggest you make yourself comfortable," she advises, before securing her office and the adjoin rooms with a stronger incantation, so that they're are untraceable and inaccessible to portals, since they'd been silently locked already after Yennefer's entrance. "There's a long night ahead of us."
And with that, she dismisses herself from her former student, retiring through the lateral door towards her own quarters, while leaving the young woman alone with her tormented thoughts.