Chapter Text
Philippa walked over to her window, the moonlight painting silver designs on her naked skin. Behind her, the sole occupant in her bed groaned, “Pippa, come back to bed. You cannot be thinking of working at this hour.”
Philippa chuckled and closed the window, walking back to her bed, and slipped behind Triss, drawing the covers over both of them. Triss turned to face her, tangling her legs with Philippa’s, and stroking her dark hair with nimble fingers. “Twelve orens for your thoughts?”
Philippa frowned, “Twelve? Isn’t it supposed to be an oren for your thoughts?”
“Yes, but your thoughts are worth more than one oren.”
“But twelve?”
“Mhm. Now tell me what you’re thinking or let me go back to sleep. I have an early audience with Foltest tomorrow, and it’s barely a few hours till sunrise.” Triss stifled a yawn, soft cornflower blue eyes looking blearily at Philippa. Philippa smiled and laid a chaste kiss on top of Triss’s head, surprising herself (and Triss if her sudden intake of breath was any indication) at the domesticity of her action. “It’s nothing. Go to sleep.” Triss yawned and buried herself in the older woman’s chest, her warm breath tickling Philippa’s neck. As her breathing evened out, Philippa finally voiced her thought out loud, “You will be my downfall.”
----
Philippa had seen sixteen summers when she had her conduit moment and was bought to Aretuza. On her first night itself, she had broken curfew and gone down to the rocky edges of the island where the turbulent waves crashed against the rocks, soaking her with sea spray. It was then, as Philippa later looked back, that she had developed an intense dislike for the cold and the wet. In her initial days as a student, she would break curfew and come down to the coastline every night, looking over the dark blue waters and wondering what it would be like to leave. She hated Aretuza with the damp sea air permeating every inch of the fortress, the rigid schedules, and sullen classmates. It had taken a fortnight for her to get caught, or perhaps a fortnight before Tissaia decided that she had enough of Philippa breaking curfew.
“You can’t leave.” The stern voice came behind Philippa. “The island has a magical boundary which you cannot cross, not without alerting everyone.” Philippa waited till Tissaia came to stand next to her, peering over the cliff. “If not magic, the waves and the rocks will certainly tear you apart. It would be foolish to even try.” Tissaia put a hand on Philippa’s shoulder, trying to lead her back.
“I could conjure up a boat,” Philippa answered petulantly.
A bark of laughter escaped Tissaia before she could school her features back into a neutral expression. “As I said, the waves and the rocks would tear you apart. If you could overcome the magical barrier, you could fly but that is very unlikely. As of now, there remains only one way for you to leave Aretuza; completing your studies and ascending. No one can stop you from leaving then. Now come, I am tired of standing here in the cold.”
Philippa let Tissaia lead her away, away from the cliff and back into Aretuza. “I better not find you breaking curfew again, Philippa. The more you focus on your studies, the faster you can leave. Now, go to your room. The next time I see you wandering past curfew, I will not be so lenient.”
The next morning Philippa had been the first to master the basic conjuration spell, and when she looked at Tissaia, she could swear she saw a hint of a smile before Tissaia directed her attention to her struggling classmates. It was a month before Philippa broke curfew again and went down to the rocky shore, but Tissaia never came to find her. In her next few years of being at Aretuza, Philippa would get caught breaking curfew but never by Tissaia de Vries.
Philippa had seen twenty-two summers before she could successfully polymorph. It took her another three years before she could do it instinctively. Her successful polymorphism into a tawny owl was rewarded by an appreciative nod by the Rectoress (a feat in itself) and the awed muttering of her fellow classmates. However, for herself, Philippa’s achievement wasn’t solely an achievement, it was freedom personified. She had forged her own way into getting out of Aretuza. It did not matter that her ascension was merely a summer away and she would be foolish to quit now, she could leave.
Philippa had seen twenty-five summers when she broke her curfew for the last time. She went down to the cliff, threw her cloak on the ground and polymorphed. It was exhilarating, the wind ruffling her wings, the far sight, soaring with the wind.
She was free, she was flying. Free. She flew over the cliff, over the rocky sea where the turbulent waves strained to reach her, and the sea spray caressed her wings like an old lover. So enamoured was she with her newfound freedom, she failed to notice that her wingtips were getting soaked by the spray and to her sudden dismay, she could barely fly, her wet feathers dragging her towards the vicious dark sea. She struggled, her wings getting heavier every second and the blessed coast of Thanedd Island still a few wingbeats away. She flapped harder, angled her descent, and allowed gravity to guide her. She crashed onto the beach, now human, exhausted, and soaking wet.
She took her discarded cloak and wrapped it around her, staring at the sea which had nearly torn her apart. She, Philippa Eilhart, the prodigy of Tissaia de Vries, on track to becoming the youngest member of the Chapter, was defeated by the rogue sea. And for the first time since coming to Aretuza, Philippa broke down.
----
“Father, I have found the feathers. Cleaned them out too.” Daedalus peered out into the balcony where Icarus had sat down, cleaning and drying all the feathers he had collected.
“Good, my boy. Now you must remember, not too close to the sun so the wax melts an-”
“And not too close to the sea so the feathers dampen.” Finished Icarus with a grin, “Yes father, you have repeated this at least ten times today.” Daedalus chuckled, “It never hurts to say it again, my son. Now, I believe we have almost collected enough wax. We should be able to start making the wings by dawn.”
----
Philippa had stopped counting summers by the time she first met Triss Merigold at a banquet. Margarita Laux-Antille, her closest friend and a self-professed romantic, swore that it was that night itself when Philippa had started falling for young Merigold, a claim Philippa would vehemently deny at every opportunity.
----
It took another decade before Philippa actually had an opportunity to talk to Triss. She had come to Temeria at the behest of her king to resolve the border disputes that had caused tensions between the two kingdoms. The discussions had run late and King Foltest of Temeria, famous for his hospitality, had prepared a room for her, and knowing better than to deny a king, Philippa had agreed to stay. It was there when she finally interacted with Triss Merigold, now royal advisor of Temeria, where her refreshing wit and invigorating youth had intrigued Philippa and over the span of a week, they were spending all of their spare time together. Triss had taken her on a tour of the royal gardens, pointing out the rare plants and their usages and the older woman had listened attentively. Philippa had showered her with attention, something that the younger woman had craved since her childhood and in a bid to spend more time with her, quickly invited Philippa to her tower in Maribor.
“Triss. It looks positively…phallic.”
“What, no! It’s a tower, it’s supposed to look like that.”
“Is it? A sole tower among the flatlands. Tell me it doesn’t look phallic to you.”
“It doesn’t. At least, not before you said anything.”
“I never took you to be such a traditionalist, Triss Merigold. Living in phallic towers like in the olden days. Do you have a broomstick too?”
“…No. And towers are nice, you have a nice view, there’s always a breeze and sometimes you can almost feel the tower swaying in the wind.”
Philippa hummed, “It is very different from Montecalvo, I will give you that.”
“Why, is Montecalvo designed after the fairer sex?” Triss’s eyes widened, and she bit her tongue, mortified, but the words had already been blurted out. Before she could even open her mouth to apologise, Philippa winked at her, “Why don’t you come and find out?” and waltzed inside the tower, leaving a gaping Triss outside.
“Did you just invite me to your castle?”
Triss’s tower, despite the unfortunate shape, was quite cosy inside. They were sitting in the observatory, in the streaming sunlight, where the rays were reflecting off the various lenses in the room, creating a burst of twinkling lights that bounced off of Triss’s hair, making her chestnut curls look fiery red.
Triss, after a lot of cajoling from Philippa, had finally gotten over her embarrassing slip of tongue and was now chattering away about something Philippa had long since forgotten. Daylight danced around her, making her appear radiant, like looking directly into the sun. Yet Philippa could not turn away and when Triss’s voice faltered at the intensity of her gaze and she hesitantly pressed her lips to hers, Philippa wasted no time in deepening the kiss.
----
“Keira Metz thinks you are bedding me for information.” Triss stretched languidly, her voice casual enough but not successful in hiding the insecure undercurrent in her statement. Are you?
At her desk, Philippa frowned at the small inkblot that had appeared. Using her chaos, she siphoned off the extra ink and continued writing. Triss sighed, donned her silk robe, and padded down to the parlour. Philippa would find her when she’d want to.
Triss was curled up on the chaise by the time Philippa found her, a copy of Before the Ages of Men on her lap while she stared out of the window. Her posture was stiff as Philippa sat next to her. “No.”
Triss turned, confused but waiting.
“No, I am not using you for information. Triss, no -Triss, look at me. Why are you listening to the likes of Keira Metz? In all the days we have spent together, have I ever asked you anything about Temeria? Or have I mentioned anything about Redania? Our kingdoms are allies, have been for years, so tell me dear, why would I need to play espionage with Temeria’s royal advisor?”
Before Triss could get embarrassed or voice any further doubts, Philippa kissed her, her hands skirting over the uncovered expanse of Triss’s thighs. Triss ran her fingers through Philippa’s braid, untangling her dark, wavy hair. Philippa slowly made her way down her neck, teasing the skin at her jugular, careful not to leave a mark. Triss clutched at her, a quiet moan leaving her lips. By the time Philippa had nestled herself between the younger sorceress’s thighs and pressed her lips at the apex of Triss’s legs, all thoughts of Keira Metz and any lingering insecurities had long been dissipated
----
“She has started swearing, you know?” Tissaia de Vries’ disapproval was clear. Philippa’s lips quirked up involuntarily before she smoothed her face back into polite neutrality. However, Tissaia’s pursed lips showed that her subtle movement had not gone unnoticed. Tissaia sighed, long and hard, and sank back into her armchair. “Melitele knows I tried with you Philippa. You were my, nay, you are my best pupil, yet I could never curb this wild streak in you.” She paused, reaching out for her pipe, “Triss Merigold is young, she has a lot of potential. Do not involve her in your twisted schemes.”
She looked at Philippa, her dark eyes boring into Philippa’s. It made Philippa feel small, like she was back at Aretuza, in front of the Rectoress being reprimanded for breaking the curfew. Philippa steeled herself, shaking off the memory of her younger days and took a sip of her wine. “How are you so sure it is I who is corrupting her? Yennefer is her closest friend, is she not? She could have picked up this…habit while visiting Yennefer in whatever backwater town she is hiding.”
“Do not play coy with me, Philippa. I have known you since you were a girl. All your lavish attention and frequent visits to Temeria have not gone unnoticed. She looks up to you. Do not turn her into another one of your playthings.”
Philippa shrugged, “Redania is in the process of signing a trade agreement with Temeria. As his royal advisor, it is my duty to accompany my king and well, if that involves socialising with Temeria’s royal advisor, that can’t be helped now, can it?”
Tissaia shook her head, disapproval radiating off of her in waves. Philippa ignored the sickening feeling in her stomach and downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp, taking comfort in the way it burned her throat. She stood up, eyeing Tissaia who was still in her armchair, tugging at her pipe. “Are you merely here to accuse me of corrupting Merigold or is there another reason for your visit?”
Tissaia stood up, disappointment clear in her face. “I had hoped that your time in Redania had matured you, but clearly I was mistaken. For her sake, I hope you stop before you cause irreparable hurt to her. She is not like the rest of us, Philippa. I will not let you drag her into whatever scheme you are planning.”
Philippa wanted to scream. Where was your mothering instinct when I needed you? Where were you when all I ever wanted was your approval? To make you proud? To feel wanted after being abandoned by those who hated how different I was from them?
Instead, she walked over to the side table and poured herself another drink, ignoring Tissaia who was casting a portal.
“Philipa, I am asking that you recommend Triss to be a part of the Council. She has shown great promise and I can think of no one else who can fill Yennefer’s seat but her. Do not deny her this opportunity. You and I both know that she is the most deserving candidate.”
Philippa did not reply, did not turn back until the hum from the portal had dispersed, taking the Rectoress of Aretuza away from Montecalvo.
----
Margarita Laux-Antille was of the opinion that one can only polymorph into creatures they share inherent qualities with. Her hypothesis was substantiated by her observation of Philippa Eilhart, the most accomplished example of the art of polymorphy.
Margarita would argue that Philippa’s observant gaze, nocturnal habits, elusive nature were traits shared by tawny owls, or Strix aluco, if you will. Owls are apex predators, efficient in hunting their prey with nary a notice, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the precise moment they can strike and dispose of their prey in neatly packed pellets. In the metaphorical woodlands of the royal court, Philippa Eilhart was an apex predator, efficient in hunting her prey with manipulation tactics, hidden in thinly veiled threats or pretty words, making her prey spill their secrets faster than a drunk spills their ale.
And well, Margarita would add with a coy smile, concerning Philippa’s famous rivalry with Yennefer of Vengerberg, owls and kestrels have been rivals since time immemorial.
It was only later, when Margarita found out about Philippa’s liaison with young Merigold, did her assiduous hypothesis falter.
Romantic fools carried their heart on their sleeves but Triss Merigold, to Margarita’s quiet amusement, carried her heart in her eyes.
She was mediating, albeit unsuccessfully, an argument between Dorregaray and Sabrina Glevissig, the former going on a tirade about the latter’s wyvern leather boots and the ever-dwindling population of wyverns when Philippa Eilhart had walked in. To Triss’s credit, her reaction had gone wholly unnoticed by Dorregaray and Sabrina who was now scowling heavily at the former, but Margarita had caught the sudden widening of her eyes and the involuntary upturn of her mouth before she could school her features back into polite concern over the quarrel she was supposed to be mediating. Even then, the softness in her blue eyes spoke volumes to Margarita who hid her smile behind her wine glass.
Margarita could not blame young Merigold for pining after Philippa. After all, just like a witcher wields his sword, Philippa Eilhart wielded her charm with deadly precision. She had seen first-hand, countless women (and men) who had fallen for the allure of Philippa, their attractiveness magnified by the secrets they held, and the ease with which Philippa would coax information out of her victims. Triss was still young, still new to the ways of the court and the magicians alike. Margarita liked Triss, had taught her at Aretuza and she would hate to see the intensity in those blue eyes dimmed after Philippa’s eventual abandonment.
It was hours later when Margarita, while conversing with the slightly tipsy Keira Metz, saw Philippa staring intently at Triss who had successfully prevented an all-out war between the zealous Dorregaray and the fiery Sabrina. Philippa Eilhart had spent centuries perfecting her mask. Her face rarely betrayed any emotion, and most people would have missed the subtle softening of her onyx eyes, but Margarita Laux-Antille, who had known Philippa for centuries, was not most people.
----
The mood at Montecalvo was tense. Nilfgaard had captured the kingdoms south of the Amell mountains and was steadily marching north towards Cintra. If their progress remained undeterred, the northern kingdoms would have to prepare for war. Philippa was busy at her desk, scribbling replies to her various correspondents when she heard the familiar hum of a portal in her living chambers. Philippa had put down her quill and was rubbing her eyes when Triss walked in with wild eyes and unruly curls.
“Is it true then? Nilfgaard has taken Ebbing and is now marching towards Cintra?”
Philippa exhaled tiredly, “Yes, it appears so.”
“Pox, shit and leprosy!” Triss swore, her eyes flaming. She ran her hands through her hair, now pacing back and forth across the study.
Philippa’s lips twitched as she recalled Tissaia’s disapproval regarding the younger woman’s sudden penchant for swearing.
“Do stop pacing like that, dear or you’ll wear a hole in the carpet, and I just had that imported from Ofieri.”
Triss whirled around, “How can you be so calm? Nilfgaard is practically at our doorstep and you’re--you’re…wait, what are you doing?”
“Calming you down,” Philippa replied, tugging at Triss’s waist till the younger enchantress was on her lap. “Do you talk to your king like that? I thought I taught you better than to let your chaos implode like that.” She murmured, stroking Triss’s hair and smiling as she leaned into her touch.
“Foltest won’t send men to help Cintra. I told him that the Northern Kingdoms should unite and attack first before Nilfgaard has time to prepare, but he refused. Insisted that we should wait them out.”
“Hmm. I’m afraid all the Northern rulers have agreed to wait Nilfgaard out. Years of peace has softened them.”
“But what does that mean for Cintra?”
Philippa gave her a thin-lipped smile, “It means Cintra has already fallen.”
“We should stop. Vizimir is getting suspicious.”
The fingers trailing down Philippa’s back stopped abruptly. “What? Why?”
Philippa climbed out of bed, pulling on her discarded nightshirt. “We should be preparing for war. Even with Skellige’s aid, Cintra cannot hope to keep Nilfgaard at bay. Not for long.”
Triss sat up, wrapping the bedsheets around herself. “But what does that have to do with us?”
Philippa sat down at her vanity, “Don’t be daft, Triss. This new Emperor is different. He is inciting our people against us, turning them into spies for Nilfgaard. At this time, Vizimir is right to be suspicious and as my king, I have to obey him.”
“But Temeria and Redania are allies. Why would Vizimir b--”
“Damn it, Triss!” Philippa slammed her hand on her vanity, her redwood hairbrush leaping off the table. She whirled around, “Don’t be so naïve. This is much bigger than us. Once Nilfgaard crosses the Yaruga, and mark my words, they will, do you think any of the alliances will hold? This emperor is already creating discord between our kingdoms by creating an air of mistrust, half of my spies are either missing or dead, and Kaedwen is too busy dealing with the Scoia’tael to even prepare for war. Even the Brotherhood won’t lift a finger because gods forbid they ever leave their ivory towers.”
Triss’s eyes hardened, “So this is it then? Just like that?”
“Yes.” She replied, coolly. “It was fun while it lasted but we both have kings to advise and our duty to our kingdoms comes before anything else.”
“Fun?! Pox to that! Philippa, I love--” Triss swallowed her words, knowing that the older sorceress would not appreciate her words now, if ever.
Philippa looked away, now exceedingly uncomfortable by the words that had almost slipped out.
Triss scoffed, slipping on her crumpled dress. “I should have listened to Keira. I should have known that you’d use me just like that you use all the women in your court.”
“Used you?! You think I slept with you for information? Used your, what, a decade worth of connections, as opposed to my centuries worth of connections?” Philippa breathed out, incredulous. “And if you’re jealous about me bedding other women, it’s pathetic to expect a sorceress to be monogamous.”
Triss paused, clenching her jaw. Behind her, the flame in the lantern jumped dangerously. “Pox on you.” She spit out.
Philippa squeezed the bridge of her nose; this was not how it was supposed to go. “Triss, wait. I did not mean to imply that you’re just another notch on my bedpost. Maybe I was too hasty, perhaps we can rekindle our affair after matters have settled.”
Triss’s eyes widened. “Unbelievable! You’re still manipulating me. You end it when you want to, but you expect me to come running back to you when it’s convenient for you. Yenna was right about you.”
“Oh?” Philippa’s eyes flashed menacingly. “What did darling Yenna say about me?”
Triss stared at her. “I should go.”
“Yes, perhaps you should.” Philippa waited until Triss had reached the door before adding, “Oh, and Triss? You should advise your King to prepare for war as well. Once Nilfgaard crosses the Yaruga, Temeria will be the first to be attacked.”
And the door closed behind her.