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She’s just got her ale at a tavern in Ellander when she first hears the rumors.
“Looks like they robbed another grave.”
... what?
Yennefer brings the tankard to her lips but doesn’t take a sip. Slowly, she casts a small, but subtle noise-enhancing spell she’d perfected back at court- all the better to eavesdrop on murderous courtiers and would-be insurgents.
Or, in this case, two weary farmers who she’d previously disregarded as just shooting the shit after a long day. Now it seems that shit is important.
“Aye,” the red-headed farmer says, taking a swig of his ale. “So I’ve heard- who was the poor bastard this time? Monty?”
“Nay,” the first one says solemnly, grimacing. The curl of his mouth pulls at his pox scars, making him look almost menacing in the dim tavern light. “T’was- t’was Oakley.”
The red-head gapes. “Oakley?!” he repeats, shocked. “Ox-head Oakley? No!”
“Aye,” the pox-faced farmer says, scowling. “Graverobbers went after Oakley this time. Know what’s worse though?”
“What?”
The pox-faced farmer looks about the tavern. His gaze falls over Yennefer, and she quickly takes a sip of her ale. That was probably a bad idea, given that the ale tastes little better than piss. She manages to fight back her gag though and tunes back in just in time to hear-
“They took his heart.”
What?
“What?!”
“Quiet!” the pox-faced man hisses, frantically looking for eavesdroppers. He must not find any because he turns back to his friend with a glare. “Keep it down, will ya? M’not supposed to know about this, much less tell ya!”
“Where did you hear about this?” the red-head asks, face gone pale with horror. “And what the hell d’ya mean by that?!”
“Me cousin’s the lawman, remember?” the pox-faced one says, puffing up a bit. Yennefer scoffs- so prideful. “Told me that when they found the poor bastard’s grave, his candle was gone, an’ he had this huge hole in his chest where his heart should’a been.”
That’s… certainly interesting. It almost sounds like a case Ger- a witcher would take on.
Yennefer sighs and takes a sullen swig of her drink. Gods, but she really doesn’t want to have to move again to keep away from the witcher- it’s only been six months since she saw him last, and yet he still manages to dog at her heels. It’s been an endless amount of near-misses since she left Caingorn’s mountain, usually by her leaving a town just hours before he arrives. The reason she can even tell that is through the bond that thrums in her chest- now that she’s aware of it, she can usually use it to tell where the witcher is relative to her. It makes it easier to stay away from him and his foolish attempts to reconnect with her.
...Granted, it has been a couple of months since their last near-miss, so he seems to have gotten the message.
Still, if he’s in the area, he’ll no doubt follow the rumors here. That heart-stealing thing is not going to fly under the radar for long, and once it’s out, it’s only a matter of time before he or another witcher comes to Ellander.
And to think she’d just set up shop in Ellander too. She fights back the urge to bang her head on the table in frustration- wouldn’t do to look like a nut, not if she wants customers. Though, given the potential arrival of the White Wolf, would it even matter?
She’s thinking of ending the night with another tankard of ale (the shittiness has grown on her), but apparently the night’s not done with her.
“Yennefer?”
She looks up and almost drops her tankard in shock. “Triss?”
Triss stands in front of her, practically unchanged from when she saw her last. Her curly hair is halo-ed in the light of the tavern’s torches, and her wide dark eyes are lined with kohl- though some of it is smudged. Dimly, Yennefer takes note of her lilac dress and has to bite back a smile- Triss was always the brightest of Aretuza’s mages, both in disposition and in fashion. It’s good to see she hasn’t lost her knack for that.
“What are you doing here?” she says, eyes still wide. She reaches out to grab the table with a shaking hand. Yennefer frowns, worried. “I- where have you even been?”
Yennefer blinks. “Well,” she says tentatively, taking a sip of her ale. “In answer to your first question, I’ve set up shop here in Ellander. And in answer to your second, here and there.”
“‘Here and there,’” Triss says flatly. Yennefer blinks again, taken aback.
“Is something wrong?” she finally asks, trying not to pick at her fingers- she always did have a nervous habit of that. I thought you’d be happier to see me.
Triss sighs and bows her head. When she looks up again, she’s smiling, which is more like Triss, but the smile is painfully fake.
“I’m quite alright,” she assures, taking her hand away from the table. Yennefer doesn’t think it’s shaking anymore, but she can’t be sure, given that Triss has clenched it into a fist. “It’s just been a long day of work, that’s all.”
“Work?” Yennefer says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were stationed at Vizima?”
“Ah well,” Triss says. “You know how it goes- court mages go where their king tells them to go.”
Yennefer snorts, amused. “Well do I remember,” she says, sipping her ale. “It wasn’t the life for me, let me tell you that.”
Triss smiles, faint. “I suppose it wasn’t,” she says quietly.
Yennefer is suddenly uncomfortable- Triss hasn’t been this quiet with her since their first few meetings, and she’s still upset about something or another.
Perhaps it’s a court thing, she thinks, gesturing for Triss to sit before buying her an ale. Well, Yennefer’s not one for playing priest, especially not for court life, but perhaps she can listen and help Triss unload some.
“You didn’t have to,” Triss protests as her ale arrives. “I could’ve paid for that!”
“It’s fine, Triss,” Yennefer says, waving off the rest of her protests. “You’ve had a long day- and I’m not too poor that I can’t buy you a measly ale.”
“But-”
“Hush and drink,” Yennefer says. “Unless you’d like my money to go to waste?”
It’s a simple tease- Yennefer doesn’t mean it, and Triss has heard far worse no doubt. Still, her eyes shutter as she takes a tentative sip of her ale. Surprisingly, she doesn’t start gagging- somewhere along the years since she last saw her, Triss must’ve gotten a tolerance for piss-poor alcohol.
“S’bit watery,” she comments, taking another of her ale. “Yesterday’s was worse though.”
“Worse than this?” Yennefer says, huffing in incredulity. “I’ll take your word for it then.”
Triss hums and sets her tankard down. “Thank you for the ale,” she says, one hand playing with the handle of her tankard.
“Don’t mention it,” Yennefer says, eyes locked on Triss’ small thumb rubbing circles into the old can. Strange, Triss only stims like that when she’s nervous- at least as far as Yennefer remembers. “Is- is everything ok Triss? You look a bit tired.”
“I’m fine!” Triss quickly assures- too quickly. She sips her ale again, likely trying to cover up the speed of that answer. “Really, it’s-”
“Miss Merigold?”
They look up to see a tavern boy standing in front of their table. He holds a paper in his hands and shifts from foot to foot like he wants to run away as far as possible.
“That’s me,” Triss says pleasantly. “How can I help you?”
The boy sniffs and hands her the note. “Ma said to give this to you.”
“Oh, you must be Gerta’s boy then!” Triss says, taking the note gracefully. “Duncan, was it? Tell your Ma I said ‘thank you’, and that I loved her pie yesterday!”
The boy- Duncan- smiles, easy and sweet. That’s simply Triss’ charm- she can use sweetness as a weapon, yes, but there is still something genuinely good and sweet in just about every word she says. Yennefer’s admired that for a long time- hells, she was probably even a bit jealous back when they were still students!
“I’ll tell her, ma’am,” Duncan says, bowing briefly before walking off, a jaunty whistle on his lips as he threads through the thinning evening crowd.
Triss’ smile lingers even after Duncan leaves, and it’s with this she unfolds the note and starts reading. It doesn’t take long to drop after that.
“What is it?” Yennefer asks, fighting the urge to lean across the table and read the note over Triss’ head.
“Nothing,” Triss says finally, re-folding the note with a troubled look. “Only- it looks like I might have to hire a witcher.”
And that is not something Yennefer can allow.
“Or,” she says, reaching across the table to take Triss’ hand. “We could tackle it together? Surely two mages can do the work of one witcher.”
Privately, she knows that’s not always true- there’s a reason mages call on witchers for work. Much as Yennefer may distrust a certain one’s company right now, she knows that witchers can do the work they do because they’ve been trained to do so, unlike the two of them sitting at the table right now.
Still, Triss seems to be thinking it over. “We could,” she says slowly. Then she pulls her hand away, and Yennefer is left feeling almost bereft. It’s a stupid thing to feel, given she hasn’t even seen Triss in years, but there you go. “But… pardon, but why do you want to help? I mean, none of us, save Tissaia, have seen you in years.”
Yennefer smiles thinly. “Can’t I want to help a friend?” she teases, sobering a bit when the joke doesn’t seem to land. “I realize I’ve not seen you all in the past couple of decades, but I truly do want to help.”
Plus I’d rather not take the chance of a witcher arriving and it being Geralt.
Triss looks at her, discerning and- dare she say it?- almost distrustful.
“I heard about the Striga,” Yennefer says, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat. “Temeria just can’t catch a break, can it?”
Triss purses her lips and turns away. “The princess’s,” she says, hand tightening on her tankard, “condition was unfortunate, yes, but she’s well recovered. Her name is Adda.”
“A fine name,” Yennefer says faintly, wracking her brains for the right thing to say. “Listen, Triss-”
“I’ll take your offer,” Triss says, cutting through Yennefer’s sentence and standing up. “Come meet me at the Treacle Inn tomorrow, and I’ll fill you in on the details.”
“A-alright,” Yennefer answers, taken aback by Triss’ abruptness. “I’ll- I’ll be there.”
Triss nods sharply- for some reason, the movement reminds Yennefer of Tissaia. “I’ll see you after breakfast tomorrow. Good evening, Yennefer.”
“Good-” Triss portals away, “...evening.”
Objectively, the tavern is still loud in the wake of Triss’ sudden departure, but the world suddenly seems quieter, lesser to Yennefer. There’s no doubt about it- Triss is upset, no, angry with Yennefer. But why?
Yennefer rifles through their conversation, trying to figure out how exactly she upset Triss Merigold of all people. Well, she did reference Yennefer’s absence a lot, so perhaps that could’ve been it. Still, not even Tissaia had been this angry with Yennefer when they saw each other last in Rinde- that could have changed now, of course (and doesn’t that thought twist her stomach unpleasantly), but it hadn’t been the case back then.
She wonders if Sabrina and the others would be mad at her if she’d suddenly appeared in their kingdoms.
She goes to sip her ale and stops. The ale is gone.
---
“You’re here,” Triss says when she sees her the next morning, voice dripping with disbelief.
Did she really not think I was going to come? Yennefer smiles, pushing the thought out of her mind. “I said I’d be here.”
“Hm.” For one hysterical moment, Triss’ hum reminds her of Geralt. Then Triss turns on her heel and walks away, pace brisk and measured. “Come with me- we’ve got a lot to do.”
In Triss’ room, Yennefer learns about the situation that made Foltest send her here to Ellander. It turns out that she’s here to investigate the grave robbings that Yennefer heard about earlier.
“They’re taking the candles from the deceased.”
“Candles?” Yennefer asks, confused.
“Temerian tradition,” Triss says, picking at the hems of her sleeves- her favored stim, if Yennefer remembers correctly. It’s why she often chooses dresses with longer sleeves. “Their dead are buried holding candles- it’s believed to help them walk the road into the afterlife.”
“Interesting,” Yennefer murmurs, a bit fascinated. She can indulge her curiosity later though. “So the graverobbers are stealing candles?”
Triss nods. “It’s an odd thing to steal, given that the candles aren’t worth much in the monetary sense,” she explains. “That being said, it’s been going on for months and no one’s caught the robbers- morale is pretty low in Ellander right now, and low morale is bad for kings.”
Yennefer remembers- low morale in a populace means a higher chance that citizens will turn against the king, especially if he doesn’t even make the effort to help. “So Foltest sent you here then, to find out their identities?”
“Mhm.” Triss stops playing with her sleeve. “Not a moment too soon either- I’ve just received word that the robbers have upgraded to stealing-”
“Hearts.” At Triss’ confused look, Yennefer explains. “I overheard a couple farmers talking about it yesterday.”
“Ah,” Triss says, looking speculative. “That’s… not good. We need to hurry before this gets out even further.”
Yennefer agrees. “So, where do we start?”
They go down to the alderman’s house- it’s fairly lavish, which makes sense given that Ellander is on the bigger side for a city. The alderman himself- Heinrich, he says- is quite jolly up until he hears about why they’re both standing in front of his door.
“Right,” he says. “The grave-robbers- come in and I’ll explain all I know.”
Heinrich tells them all that they know currently, so in the end the visit to his house is not as useful as they thought it would be.
“Can you tell us anything about the deceased?” Triss asks. “Was there anything connecting them?”
“Not that I know of,” the alderman replies. “You can ask around if you’d like, but the graverobbers have been going after farmers and merchants alike. Anyone buried with a candle can be a victim- it’s all very barbaric!”
“And what about the hearts?” Yennefer pipes up. “That’s a new occurrence.”
The alderman’s face twists into disgust. “As I said, barbaric. I’m afraid I don’t know why they’ve started going after their hearts too. Although… maybe Agatha can tell you more.”
“Agatha?”
The alderman turns back to Triss. “She’s a healer- been with us for the past three years. She’s not a mage, but she does know a fair bit of magic, so perhaps she can help.”
Interesting. “Where can we find her?”
Heinrich tells them how to find Agatha’s cottage and sends them on their way with goodwill and good luck.
“May Melitele keep you safe,” he calls out to them.
“And you as well!” Triss calls back.
It’s a long walk to Agatha’s cottage. Yennefer decides to make it pass faster by engaging Triss in conversation, but every time she tries, Triss shoots her a one or two-word answer and just keeps walking.
What is going on?
“Triss,” she says finally, stopping in her tracks. She swallows. “Are you- you’re upset with me, aren’t you?”
The words sound childishly direct to her ears, but she’s tried to confront the issue in other ways- the only way out is not beat around the bush.
And it seems to work, because Triss stops too. “I am,” she says, not turning around. Her hands twitch at her sides.
Yennefer swallows again. “Why?”
There’s a moment where the world stops, then Triss whirls around, face a rictus of anger and pain. “You left,” she says, voice cracking in her accusation. “You left us, and you didn’t even tell us why!”
“Triss-”
“Do you know many days Tissaia looked for you?” Triss cuts through, eyes bright with sudden tears. “How many sleepless nights there were when she couldn’t reach you and just had to pray you were safe somewhere until some rumor of you popped up? Do you know how many years Sabrina and the others kept you a seat at Council meetings, how many years they tried to piece together hearsay and gossip to find out where you were? Do you know-”
Triss cuts off with a sharp breath, tears falling into the dirt. “Do you know how many years I’ve looked for you?” she whispers.
Yennefer can only look as Triss cries, stifling back sobs. She keeps rubbing at her eyes to try and stop, but Yennefer knows from experience that only makes the crying worse. “Triss,” she says, reaching out. “Triss, I-”
“And now,” Triss interrupts, laughing wetly. “And now you show up, swanning in and asking to help and- and- oh it’s just not fair Yenna! It’s just not fair.”
Yennefer swallows. “Triss, I’m sorry,” she says. “But I had to leave.”
“I know that!” Triss yells. “I know that, but you could’ve at least told us. Any one of us would have been fine! Instead you just- you left us and didn’t even tell us where or why.”
Yennefer wants to ask why they’d even care that she was gone- it’s not like they were family or anything- but a sudden voice stops her.
“Well now,” the silky voice says. “What do we have here?”
They turn as one to see a red-headed woman standing in front of them. She wears a black dress- not unlike one Yennefer herself would wear- and holds six lit candles in her hands.
“Well met, mages of Aretuza,” the woman says, grinning widely- too widely. Her eyes are inhumanly blue and carry a glint that makes Yennefer reach for the knife she always carries on her. “You must be Triss Merigold and Yennefer of Vengerberg, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Our reputation precedes us then,” Triss says suddenly. Yennefer looks over to see her standing tall and proud- if not for the tear stains sticking to her cheeks and her red eyes, none would ever believe that this very woman had just been crying her heart out. “And yet, we cannot offer you the same courtesy.”
The woman chuckles. She shifts the candles to one hand and uses her free one to summon fire. “Can’t you?”
“Agatha,” Yennefer breathes in realization.
Agatha’s smile widens. “Got it in one. You’re truly as clever as they say, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”
“You’re the grave robber,” Triss says. Yennefer notices her fists clench out of the corner of her eyes. “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”
“Why?” Agatha chuckles again, the flames jumping in her hands. “Because I can. What other reason do I need? It was easy enough to dig out their emotional hearts… so I decided to take their physical hearts as well.”
Yennefer sighs inwardly- she hates people on ego trips. “I’m assuming nothing we say will get you to stop?
Agatha’s eyes glint. “No,” she says, before lobbing the fire ball at Yennefer.
Yennefer rolls out of the way and throws one back. “Triss!”
“Got it!” Triss pulls up poison spores and throws them at Agatha, who burns them to a crisp. It turns out to be a mistake, because once the spores burn, the smoke bursts into Agatha’s face. She coughs, choking on the poison as shiny red welts crop up all over her face.
“You pay for this!” she snarls. She hurls the candles at Triss, who throws up a shield right before the flames can hit her.
“Not likely,” Triss murmurs, keeping her shield up with one hand and walking forward. “We’re a bit stronger than you, you see.”
Agatha coughs again before laughing maniacally. “But are you smarter?”
The candles at Triss’ back turn to sharp knives and fly towards her.
“Triss!” Yennefer screams, but Triss isn’t going to dodge in time.
With a furious cry, Yennefer pushes Triss out of the way. The last thing she sees before the daggers hit her is Triss’ horrified face.
---
She wakes.
The room is dim, barely lit by the dying fire. Somehow though, it looks familiar- ah right, it’s Triss’ inn room.
Speaking of… where is Triss?
She tries to sit up, looking for her friend, but then she’s right in front of her. “Don’t move,” Triss says, bringing a water skin up to her lips. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“What happened?” Yennefer rasps, drinking greedily from the skin. “Did- did you get her?”
Triss hums and wipes Yennefer’s wet mouth with her thumb- the gesture makes Yennefer’s stomach squirm in embarrassed pleasure. “ We did,” she says, capping the skin and putting it away. “I have to apologize- it was my outburst that led to us getting caught.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” Yennefer says. “I- I didn’t realize I’d upset you all so much.”
Triss looks at her. “How could you not realize?”
Yennefer feels off-balance, and she’s still in bed. “I- I didn’t think it would matter? Why do you all even care?”
Triss makes a pained, incredulous noise. “What do you mean, ‘why do we care’? We care because we love you, Yenna!”
What?
“What?” she breathes, trying to sit up. “No, no stop I can sit- what did you just say?”
“We love you, Yenna,” Triss repeats, playing with her sleeves. “We all do, and always have.”
“You can’t mean that,” Yennefer rasps. “You- you can’t mean that.”
Triss smiles then, and it’s the first smile Yennefer’s seen since she saw her again that’s not fake or pained. “Tissaia thinks of you as her daughter, and I know Sabrina and the others see you as a sister. You’re family to them, Yenna.”
Yennefer’s mind whirls with this new information- it can’t be true, it can’t be- but then it latches onto something Triss said- or rather did not say. “And you, Triss? What do you think of me as?”
Triss breathes in sharply. Her eyes flicker to Yennefer’s lips, and she blushes.
Ah, so it’s like that.
She kisses Triss then. It’s soft, softer than anything she’s ever felt before, and so unbelievably tender she’d almost think it a dream if not for the ache in her stomach. Triss kisses back, so sweet and wonderful she makes Yennefer’s head spin.
They pull away only when Yennefer’s stomach hurts too much to kiss through, and Triss lays her back down, hand gently smoothing her hair.
“You know this is only the start, right?” Triss says, eyes dark and earnest. “I’m. I’m still so angry at you Yenna- a kiss isn’t going to make it better.”
“I know,” Yennefer whispers. “I know. I’ll try for you all.”
Triss drops a kiss onto Yennefer’s forehead. “That’s all we ever wanted.”