Chapter Text
The first thing Yennefer hears when she wakes up is Triss' voice. For a single, crystalline moment, she thinks she must be dead; she must have died, somehow, impossibly, when she scorched the battlefield in Sodden, and her friend has come to lead her on.
But then there’s another voice, one that takes a split second longer to process in her muddled, pain-hazy mind.
Ciri.
“Triss, stop, I think – ”
“Yenna.” The bed shifts with new weight.
Opening her eyes feels like the first time she learned how to carve stone with her Chaos; like she’s pulling and pulling and pulling, but nothing is happening – until suddenly something does. The room is dim, but all the same the light hurts her eyes, and just like that she’s lost the progress. She hisses and groans.
“Yenna, it’s okay,” Triss says. “Ciri, grab that extra sheet – yes, like that, good, thank you. Yenna, try again.”
She takes a deep breath, ignoring the way it stings, and tries to open her eyes again. It’s a little easier, this time, but that doesn’t say much; when she finally manages it, though, the room is even dimmer, nearly dark, and it doesn’t hurt to keep them open. She can just make out the stone of the ceiling, if she focuses.
There’s a small hand on her face, much too thin and soft to be Triss’. Her heart skips.
“Ciri.” Her voice is thin and rasping, and speaking hurts more than breathing did, but it’s worth it for the choked sound Ciri lets out before suddenly she’s there, pale, round face and messy ashen hair hovering above Yennefer’s own face.
She looks exhausted, bags beneath her eyes, but she’s smiling, and something inside Yennefer that had been untethered since she left Kaer Morhen settles back into place. “Yennefer,” she says, all affection and relief.
“How lo – ”
She coughs, and it’s from deep in her chest, lungs aching with the force; Ciri’s face twists, but before Yennefer can parse the expression, she’s moving and Triss is replacing her. The other sorceress murmurs something she doesn’t catch, stroking one fingertip down the hollow of her throat, and the coughing stops. Another stroking touch, down to her sternum this time, and the pain settles, then fades.
“Thank you,” she says, and her voice is still a weak rasp, but it doesn’t hurt to speak, now. “How long have I been…asleep?”
She’s not sure asleep is the best word for it, really, considering that while she knows time must have passed, it doesn’t feel like it has.
“A little under a week,” Triss says. “You were badly burned, and I think the fire sapped your Chaos.”
She…doesn’t think too hard about that second one. She’s only just woken up, after all. “How did I – how did we make it out?”
Triss makes an indistinct noise, and leans away for a moment. “We almost didn’t,” she says, when she leans back, this time with a shallow bowl in her hand. She tucks her other palm behind Yennefer’s neck, helping her raise her head enough that she can drink from the dish. Whatever it is it’s…mostly water, but not entirely. She doesn’t bother trying to puzzle out what it is, though, too grateful for something to sate the thirst she hadn’t even realized was itching at her.
“But we did,” she says, when Triss takes the bowl away and lets her lay her head back down.
“Barely,” Triss says. “It was Letho. I don’t know why he was in Sodden, or how he found us. I don’t even know how I ended up with you, in the ditch he found us in. But I was able to portal us here by pulling from him.”
“...Letho?” Ciri asks, sounding surprised. “The Viper?”
Triss turns to her. Yennefer – tries to do the same, but can’t quite shift properly to do it without a worrying twinge of pain. “You know him?” Triss asks.
“Of him,” Ciri corrects. “When I arrived here, I asked Jaskier to tell me about all of the Witchers he knew. Letho was one of them. Why didn’t he come with you?”
Triss’ mouth twists, and she turns away from Ciri, just barely catching Yennefer’s eye before she’s moving. The bed shifts as she stands. “...I don’t know,” she says. “He said he had to stay. I was…barely conscious, and Yenna was barely breathing. I didn’t have time to ask.”
Ciri hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t press the issue. Triss seems grateful for it, from what Yennefer can tell of her expression, when she returns with the dish of not-just-water again.
“Here,” she says. “Ciri, help me. Let’s get you sitting up properly.”
It isn’t until three days later that Yennefer is fully healed (or at least as close as she’ll get, with limited resources and Chaos), and Triss finally gets a moment alone with her.
“I assume you knew about the prophecies.”
She doesn’t really mean to just blurt it like that, but it’s late, and the issue of Ciri’s visions – and especially the one they shared – has been crawling under her skin for…several days. Too many for her nerves, in any case.
Yennefer blinks. “Yes, I did,” she says, cautiously. “She…told you?”
Triss laughs. It’s short and sharp and bitter, and that clearly gets Yennefer’s attention. She stops where she was washing the last of her bandages and puts them to the side, turning to look at Triss directly.
“No,” Triss answers. She pulls the tie out of her hair just to run her fingers through it, a distraction from the odd, jittery energy suddenly sparking in her fingers. “Or, well – after, yes, she mentioned it. But I…. I think I met whatever it is prophesying through her. When I first woke up, when I tried to heal you – I couldn’t. My Chaos had been spent at Sodden. She offered to let me pull from hers.”
Yennefer’s face does a complicated sort of twist, and she turns back to the bandages just as quickly as she’d turned away. “...it has a terrible voice,” she murmurs. “And all it seems to foretell is death and destruction.”
“You know it?”
Yennefer shrugs one shoulder. “She had one,” she says. “After I arrived, in the night, she had a vision in her sleep – it speaks through her, sometimes. None of the others were there, and so I…tried to speak to it.”
“And did you get anywhere?”
“No.” Yennefer wrings the bandages out with significantly more force than necessary. “It gave its message about flames and seeds, and then Ciri woke up screaming.”
Triss’ heart jumps into her throat. “The seed which will not sprout, but burst into flame,” she quotes. “It told me – it said she isn’t a child. That she was the White Flame, and the blood of elves.”
Yennefer’s hands start to shake minutely. “She is a child, Triss,” she says. “A child of destiny, but a child. I don’t know what she may be destined for, but right now – right now, she’s just a girl.”
“Va'esse deireádh aep eigean, va'esse eigh faidh'ar,” Triss quotes again. “Something ends, something begins.”
“I don’t care,” Yennefer says, and it’s not a shout, her voice barely even changes, but her shaking worsens. “I don’t care what she is, what that thing wants to use her for – she’s just a girl. No matter what Destiny plans for her, what blood runs in her veins. Do you understand that, Triss?”
Triss chews on her lip. “Yes,” she says, after a moment. “But – ”
“But nothing,” Yennefer snaps. “Whatever stone her destiny may be set in, she still has the power – and the right – to carve it anew. I know whatever you saw frightened you. I’ve looked into her mind, seen what it shows her in her nightmares. I don’t care. I won’t let you frighten her into lying down and refusing to choose for herself.”
She takes a deep breath, and carefully smooths out the bandages she’d wrung. “We can help her,” she says, sounding a little steadier but no less fierce. “We can teach her. But that is all we can do. We cannot choose for her, nor can we protect her indefinitely – but I won’t let you, or anyone else, for that matter, shove her prematurely into any beginning or end she isn’t prepared for. Not when I have the ability to give her the tools she might need first.”
“...you sound like Tissaia.”
There’s a tense pause, and then Yennefer snorts, dropping her head to her hands on the table. “Take that back,” she says, finally, and Triss allows herself to laugh, too.
In its usual fashion, time marches on. Only a handful of days after Triss finally finishes healing her, Vesemir is lashing his cobs to a wagon and preparing to head down to Ard Carraigh.
Of course, he insists upon going alone, even though Coën and Ciri both offer to accompany him.
“No, I can do it,” he tells them, tone brooking no argument as he waves them away from the wagon. “I’ve been making this trip myself for decades now. Take care of them.”
Them being Yennefer and Triss, of course, though at this point neither of them need that much care, really. All the same, Coën and Ciri take their assignment as seriously as a heart attack.
It’s rather…cute, actually. Particularly that Coën seems to have formed a bit of an attachment to Triss, despite a…less than auspicious start to their acquaintance. (Ciri had gleefully told Yennefer all of the gossip, for as much as it can be gossip, in a remote castle with just the five of them.)
For her part, Yennefer is just glad to have Ciri nearby again. She had spent the entire time in Sodden caught somewhere between worrying for her and focusing on the strategies of the battle. Even knowing that if anywhere in the world was safe, it was Kaer Morhen, she’d find her mind wandering without her permission back to the old, crumbling keep.
It isn’t until the week has passed and Vesemir has returned with his wagon full of supplies that the subject of Ciri’s training over the winter is brought up again, though, and when it finally is, Yennefer feels…a bit stupid for not thinking about it.
They had come up with some ideas before her departure to Sodden, but all of that feels…far away, now. At the least, she thinks Triss ought to be a part of the process, now, considering – well, everything. Especially the fact that Triss has seemingly taken a page from Coën’s book and decided that since Ciri has plenty of parental figures (possibly too many, though if Yennefer starts trying to list them the categorization gets messy), she ought to be an older sister, instead.
Which is sweet, if a little worrying, considering the chaos Yennefer knows Triss is capable of.
But then again, one of those parental figures is Lambert, so she’s not certain there’s much hope in the way of Ciri ever being well-behaved anyway.
“She’s done well here, hasn’t she?” Yennefer points out during dinner. Ciri has gone to bed, citing lack of sleep from another nightmare yesterday and also, quote, I’d rather choose between options than try and brainstorm them in regards to her training. Yennefer can respect it, even if she doesn’t understand it.
Then again, perhaps the fact that Ciri trusts them to try and make decisions about her without her direct input isn’t such a bad thing, as long as they don’t abuse it.
“She has,” Vesemir answers. “At least, as far as a Witcher trainee.”
“Then we can continue training her here, certainly,” Triss says.
Coën clears his throat. “You could,” he says. “But consider there are probably things you can’t teach her here. Lack of supplies, or room, or – I don’t know, exactly. But the magical training rooms at Kaer Seren were…practically their own worlds. Certainly, Aretuza and Ban Ard are similar.”
Yennefer nods. He does have a point, but then there’s the issue of where, because – “We can’t take her to Aretuza,” she says. “Nilfgaard assassinated Calanthe and Eist, and I can’t imagine they’re thrilled about the possibility of their heir still running around posing a threat to their rule of Cintra. The Brotherhood would give her up in a heartbeat, if they thought it could get them something.”
“...good point,” Triss agrees. “...Rissberg, maybe? But even then, the Brotherhood would probably find out, and they’re not likely to take kindly to your return – or mine, frankly. As favored as Vilgefortz is, we all went against the Brotherhood to follow him to Sodden. The Citadel may not be under their power, but they’re not unfriendly, when it comes to politics.” She pauses, frowning. “Also, I don’t know that anyone at Rissberg could be trusted not to try something…unsavory, considering the prophecies.”
Yennefer nods. Vesemir and Coën are just looking between the two of them, not quite bemused but clearly not fully understanding the politics they’re discussing.
Lucky them, really.
“Nowhere…official, at least for mages, then,” Yennefer says, finally. “And nowhere we’d draw undue attention.”
It leaves a very, very small list of places, all told.
There’s a heavy pause for a long time while they all think, but then Vesemir speaks.
“...I understand that neither of you are particularly religious,” he says, slowly, “and Ciri isn’t, either, but…. What about the Temple?”
Coën hums. “Nenneke would love her,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the bedrooms. “And it’s not as if there’s not a dozen acolytes in and out of the temple, and more students besides. It would be fairly easy to disguise her as just another one of them.”
“The gardens and library there rival Aretuza and Ban Ard,” Triss says, and she sounds – hopeful. “I can’t imagine there’s much we couldn’t do there.”
Yennefer feels the same sort of tentative hope blooming in her own chest. It’s a good choice, really – supplies and the space to teach Ciri, but safety in the sanctuary, safety in knowing that Ciri wouldn’t be the first or likely the last royal heir taken to Nenneke for care and protection.
The fact that Nenneke holds a disdain for the Brotherhood that rivals her own is a bonus, too.
“We’ll want to contact Nenneke first,” she says, “but…even if we do take her to the Temple, the question remains of – well. Custody, I suppose.” She can’t help the way she laughs. “She’ll want to continue her training here, too.”
Another pause while they think. Coën is the one to break it, this time.
“Alternating years?” he suggests. “One year here, winter’s end to winter’s beginning, and then the next with you.”
“That would work well,” Triss says. “Remember how they used to trade some students between Aretuza and Ban Ard?”
Yennefer hums. “It would,” she says. “And you, Coën, would you – ”
He doesn’t even let her finish the question. “I’ll be wherever Ciri is,” he says.
It’s exactly the answer she expected, and from the quirk of Vesemir’s lips, she’s not the only one.
“Alright. Obviously, we can discuss with her, and the others, first, but. It’s a solid plan, otherwise, I think.”
Triss nods. “It is. And I think as long as Ciri has her big brother – ” she gives Coën a look that’s mostly teasing, but also fond, and Coën rolls his eyes back at her, “and gets to see the others regularly, she’ll like the… custody agreement.”
They all laugh at the phrasing this time.
Ciri agrees to the plan of alternating years with no real fuss. Her only requests are to stay long enough to see everyone again at the beginning of winter, and then to meet Nenneke properly before they officially decide to stay at the Temple.
Yennefer considers them both extremely reasonable requirements, and had frankly been fully prepared to agree to even a few unreasonable conditions, considering that Ciri has had very little control over anything in her life. She knows full well what that’s like. Given that, she’d be very willing to give some of that control back for Ciri’s well-being, even if it was an inconvenience.
Once it’s decided, Triss sends a messenger to the Temple to make sure they’ll be welcome at all, and Yennefer takes Ciri up to her tower room, hoping to resume the training that had been cut short with the news of Sodden and everything afterward.
Before she can actually do that, though – start Ciri on her studies again, that is – Triss is appearing in the room and demanding that Yennefer allow her to inspect the remains of the burns.
“Please let her,” Ciri says, when Yennefer scoffs and hesitates, and when she and Triss turn to look, the girl has a fragile look on her face. “...I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Something in Yennefer’s chest goes tight and then loose all over again, and she feels…warm. “Alright,” she says, but even still, she hesitates to pull off her top, feeling the creeping fractal scar tissue under her fingers when she tucks them under her sleeve.
“We’ve already seen them,” Triss reminds her, and while her tone isn’t particularly gentle, the expression on her face is so incredibly earnest that for a moment, Yennefer is thrown back to the same sort of hesitation she’d had with Geralt.
They have already seen them, of course, and she knows that. And even if they hadn’t, why would either of them care?
“Thank you,” Ciri murmurs, when Yennefer gets rid of her shirt and presents her arms to Triss.
All three of them are silent for a long moment while Triss prods at the new scars, mottled burns that spot along Yennefer’s chest and arms, some inching up over the edges of her palms. Triss had been able to heal a lot of the damage, but some of the scarring couldn’t be erased. At this point, Yennefer figures it’s all sort of more of the same; she’ll never have the flawless skin Aretuza gave her back, not without going back to them to grovel, and something so superficial isn’t worth it.
“Do they hurt?” Triss asks, and Yennefer goes to answer her, a confident no, because Triss is good at what she does and the burn scars don’t hurt, but…. Triss’ fingers rest on one of the other scars, the grey frost-fractal where it stops just short of her wrist.
“...not exactly,” Yennefer answers.
Ciri makes a small sound, but when Yennefer’s eyes flicker to her, she shakes her head.
Triss just arches a brow at her, when she turns back, and she sighs.
“It’s – they get…cold, sometimes. But it’s not – I can’t actually feel them, not really,” she explains. “There’s no nerve sensation.”
Triss’ touch turns from a light, tentative brush to something more clinical, her other hand coming up to turn Yennefer’s arm toward the light. “What caused them?”
Once again, Yennefer’s eyes flicker to Ciri, but now the princess is looking at Triss where the other sorceress is tracing the lightning scars.
“Fringilla,” she answers, quietly, and adds, “before Sodden,” when Triss looks up at her sharply. “I don’t know exactly what she did, but…. Well, when I woke up afterward, I had these.”
“Just like they are?” Triss asks, bending closer. Yennefer raises her arm to help with the angle.
“No,” she shakes her head. “They were pitch black, at first.”
“And you haven’t done anything to lighten them?”
She shakes her head again. “Nothing worked on them except a glamour,” she says. Triss gives her another eyebrow, and she clarifies, “I went to Istredd, when nothing I did revealed anything, and he called Stregobor. We proved it, between the three of us.”
“Caused by Chaos, can’t be altered by it,” Triss mutters. “It follows a certain kind of logic, but….”
“But not the conventional kind,” Yennefer finishes for her.
Ciri finally pipes up, after that. “...can I…see?” she asks, uncharacteristically timid, and both of them turn to her again. She’s chewing her lip.
“Yeah, come here,” Triss answers, without even looking at Yennefer.
And she’d feel offended about that, really, but – the assumption Triss has made is correct, for once. Yennefer was going to say yes, too, even if having both of them prodding at her scars will make her feel a bit like a specimen. (The gods know that Istredd and Streogobor doing it made her feel like some kind of display.)
“Make it useful,” Yennefer suggests, turning her hand to poke at Triss’ palm. “You can teach her something with this, certainly.”
Triss grins. “Well, if you’re offering to be a training dummy,” she says, the teasing tone ruined a little by fondness.
Yennefer takes her hand away just to swat at her and then give it right back, laughing the whole time. Triss laughs right back, squeezing Yennefer’s wrist, and Ciri giggles, too, looking between the two of them with clear affection in her eyes.
Yennefer thinks that makes all of it, everything they’ve all put up with for weeks (months, years in her own case) entirely worth the trouble.