Chapter Text
Howling snow blinded Ciri as she stumbled through a barren landscape.
She forced her way through the sturdy snow drifts clinging to her legs, their frozen chill seeping deep into the bones of her feet. Ashen hair whipped against her face from every direction. She paid little mind to the few strands that had become caught in the cracked skin of her lips.
Only a bit further now...
The stark whiteness made it so she could barely make out where she was going, let alone where she had been.
One step more... then another...
Fierce jets of wind found their way through the heavy fabric of her cloak as violent tremors shot through her body. It was so cold, the most frozen she'd ever felt. And yet...
Do it, Ciri... do it now!
A hand shook her shoulder. Green eyes shot open at the contact, staring up at the maroon canopy of a familiar bed instead of a storm unlike any she'd ever seen. Ciri rolled her gaze over to her lady in waiting.
"Your Majesty, you've missed breakfast," Magda said, concern pulling at her brow. "Sir Geralt is waiting for you in the courtyard."
Ciri sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes with cold fingers. "Don't let him hear that you called him that. Or Lambert. He'll never let Geralt live it down."
The girl at her side blushed. "Apologies, I keep forgetting. I was always taught that-"
"-that men who hang around castles with a sword and armor were knights," Ciri finished for her, though not unkindly. "I know. I was, too. Probably being forced to sit still in a chair for hours on end like you were."
Magda's cheeks darkened even more, but Ciri didn't miss the small smile pulling at her lips.
"Can I help you dress?" Magda tried. Ciri never said yes anymore, not after leaving Nilfgaard six months ago. She hadn't had reason to wear anything other than plain dresses or trousers, with the latter only requiring one set of hands to pull them up.
"I'm fine," she said as she quickly got out of bed. The sun was brighter against her walls than she would have liked. "You let me sleep in, I see."
Magda began stripping the sheets from the mattress. "I didn't think you would need a wake up call, Your Majesty. You haven't before."
She was right. Despite her time in Nilfgaard, a winter's worth of rising before the sun at Kaer Morhen had burrowed itself into Ciri's body. The routine had stuck again since arriving in Cintra. Even her nightmares failed to affect it - until now, she supposed. Ciri stiffened at the cold rush that ran back down her spine at the thought of her dream.
Magda's motions slowed to a stop when she looked back at Ciri. "Are you alright, Your Majesty?"
Ciri tore herself from the memory of the frozen wasteland. "Fine," she said and strode over to her wardrobe. She pulled out a white shirt with embroidered vines running up its sleeves and a pair of dark green trousers. She shrugged on a fitted vest to match. "Could you hand me my boots and sword?"
Magda did as she was asked while Ciri swiftly dressed. She buckled her belt and slid her sword into it when Magda handed her the fine blade. It hadn't left her side since Geralt - with help from Eskel - had finished forging it in the half-standing Cintran armory.
She didn't turn down Magda's offer to do her hair. Besides a sloppy braid or two, Ciri had never been much good at styling it herself. Especially when her curls became mangled in her sleep, as the mirror was showing her now.
Magda carefully dragged a brush through her hair and twisted the strands with her fingers. "There," she said, tying off a trail of braids at the base of Ciri's neck. The rest of her long hair hung in loose waves. "Lovely as always."
Ciri smiled at Magda's reflection in the mirror. "Thank you. Now please enjoy your morning for once. The laundry can wait."
"You know what Madame Fresjk would say if I were late with the wash," Magda grinned back. "But I'll try."
Ciri rose from her stool and headed for the door. "Tell her I made you late with the wash, then," she added over her shoulder, just catching sight of Magda's wider grin.
She hurried through the halls, slowing only to greet a group of the servants' children playing outside the kitchens. Ciri's eyes didn't linger long on the familiar tapestries and paintings she came across every now and then, or the more frequent reminders of Nilfgaard's attack.
Workers had repaired a fair amount of the palace already. She had made that one of their first tasks, alongside helping rebuild the city around it. But scorch marks still remained on the staircase closest to the kitchens, and her favorite stained-glass window that once showed a woman dancing under a waterfall had been replaced with a plain pane of glass, its vibrant panels shattered by the invasion.
Even months after arriving, it was strange walking through these halls. The servants were different, as were the guards. And, Ciri supposed, so was she.
She stopped by the kitchens to swipe a biscuit from the cooks, sending the woman at the hearth her thanks as she left. Geralt was waiting by the courtyard's fountain. The wet cement making up the mermaid at it's center was still setting.
"You're late," he called out.
"A queen is never late," she replied with her grandmother's favorite phrase as she stepped to his side. "Everyone else is simply early."
A smile followed Geralt's snort. "Hmm. A queen, indeed."
Ciri glanced around at the courtyard. A man was leading two horses toward the stables and a woman had a sack of what looked like potatoes in her arms, but it was far more quiet than she was used to.
"Let's walk through the city," she quickly decided. "Eskel said another caravan of merchants arrived yesterday. I'd like to see what goods they're selling-" a grin crept on her lips, "-even if I have to put up with you ogling at the women with the melon stand."
Golden eyes cut to her. "I don't ogle," he grunted. "And she sells herbs, not melons."
"Oh? You made me think otherwise."
She giggled as Geralt shoved her forward. "Funny," he rumbled.
Her smile faded but didn't disappear as they fell into step beside each other. "She does sell good herbs, come to think of it. I saw a nice satchel of lavender there the other day. Yennefer said that for something so common, it can be hard to find them in near perfect condition, like some potions demand."
Ciri paused at the thought of the violet-eyed sorceress. While she portaled to Cintra for Ciri's lesson once a week, it wasn't the same as before. "I almost bought it for her, but figured it was silly. She has everything she needs in Nilfgaard."
Geralt's shoulder brushed against her own. "It's not silly. The thought is what counts."
Ciri silently agreed, but a sigh still passed through her lips. "I know we're all where we need to be, but I wish we could see them more," she said.
Jaskier visited as much as he could and even organized a birthday feast for her in Cintra. The night was wonderful for what her new life was. The witchers were by her side, as was the bard, and she was able to celebrate in a home she once thought was lost for good. It would have been perfect if Yennefer hadn't need to stay behind for an emergency meeting with the empire's master of coin. Apparently, not all of their southern lords had liked the idea of Ciri taking power. Or a mage.
It was a relief when Jaskier charmed the three holdouts into sending coin to the capital again at a diplomatic dinner the following week. As much as she missed the him, she was glad he offered to stay behind to help Yenn. Any ounce of nobility benefited them in court, as he had explained.
"I miss them, too," Geralt hummed.
The summer breeze blew over her skin in pleasant waves while they walked. Ciri was thankful the last of the few heat spells Cintra was forced to endure each year seemed to be behind them. She hadn't really dealt with them before, since her grandfather would shuttle them off to Skellige when the air became too hot and humid each summer. By the fourth day of a particularly scorching spell, Ciri was nearly ready to ask Magda to chop off her hair.
Ciri glanced down a row of merchants selling what goods they had to the few but growing number of families that had moved back into the city. A booth with plump apples caught her eye.
She stepped toward the stand and scanned over the green and red fruit. The tall boy manning it had small patches of stubble growing on his chin, yet only seemed slightly older than herself. His eyes widened when he recognized her.
"Empress Cirilla! W-what an honor it is to meet you!" he stammered, heat rising in his sharp cheeks.
She sent him a smile. "What's your name, Sir?"
"Filip, Your G-grace. Of Ebbing."
He was trying to look everywhere Ciri wasn't, yet his gaze still glanced over her. He reminded her of the boys who once guided her across Cintra's ballroom with sweaty palms and uncertain feet.
Geralt stopped at her side. His shadow stretched over the stand, similar to the way his stare rolled over the boy. "You've traveled far," he grunted.
The color drained from Filip's cheeks at the witcher's hard stare. He was saved by a woman with black, curly hair who shuffled from behind a nearby wagon with a basket of apples at her hip. Two small girls trailed at her heals, the smaller one sucking her thumb.
"Had to when raiders burned our orchard and killed my husband. All I had left were the seeds for next year's crop, and I sure as hell wasn't going south," she said and used one of her arms to wipe away the sweat from her forehead. "Meanin' no offense, Your majesty," she curtsied.
"None taken," Ciri said. "How much for two apples?"
"Free to you, of course," the woman responded. Her plump lips turned up into a smile.
"I couldn't," Ciri politely tried to argue. The woman's raised hand cut her off.
"Nonsense. It's our thanks for freeing us from the tyrant before you, and givin' us the first proper roof we've slept under in a year. No other kindom's been as generous as Cintra, Your Majesty."
Pride swelled in Ciri's chest. It stayed there as one of the girls walked slowly toward Geralt.
"Who are you?" the shorter girl asked around the thumb in her mouth. Her brown eyes stayed locked on the witcher.
"Geralt of Rivia," he answered, the edge in his voice from before now gone.
The other girl leaned in closer to her sister, looking wearily at Geralt. A wide space showed where her two front teeth had been. "He's a witcher, Alina," she said in a rather loud attempt at a whisper.
Geralt tensed when the smaller girl's eyes widened. Ciri watched on with an apprehensive interest.
Alina stepped closer to Geralt. Her thumb slipped out of her mouth. "You kill monsters?"
"I do," he said slowly.
A grin spread across her face. "Wicked! Is that why you've got weird eyes?"
"Alina!" her mother snapped. "Consider your manners."
"Sorry," she said with a bashful glance in the woman's direction. It didn't linger long. "Can you kill the monster under my bed?"
Furrowing his brows in a feigned yet equally serious interest, Geralt knelt down on his knee and leaned closer to the little girl. He still towered over her in his effort to be at her level, yet Alina didn't seem to mind.
"What does it look like?" he asked.
"He's dark and slimy and has big claws, and only comes out when I'm sleeping," the girl rattled off in between breaths. "He stares at me with big red eyes."
"Hmm," Geralt hummed. "Sounds like a nightcrawler."
Alina gasped. Her sister stepped closer, the uneasiness toward the witcher from before now forgotten.
"There's only one way to get rid of them," Geralt continued solemnly. "You'll have to be brave."
Alina's eyes lit up. "I'm brave!"
"I am, too!" the other girl echoed.
"Good," Geralt nodded. "Nightcrawlers hate being around people they don't think fear them. You'll have to act like you're not afraid if you want it to leave."
"But I am afraid," Alina frowned.
"Doesn't matter. Brave people try not to show their fear, even though the feel it."
The girl considered Geralt's words. She nodded a moment later. "I can do that," she decided.
"Me too," added her sister.
Geralt stood. His lips curled into a faint grin. "You don't need a witcher then."
Ciri smiled as the girls turned to each other with twinkling eyes and excited chatter. Their mother stepped forward and put a hand on their shoulders.
"Take as much as you'd like- you too, Geralt," she jerked her head toward the apple stand beside her. "Anyone who can help me put these two to bed deserves it."
Ciri plucked a shiny green one from near the bottom, while Geralt grabbed a dark red one not far from it. Filip backed up a step when Geralt's arm reached toward the pile. The boy managed to keep his stare on the back of the wooden stand this time, much to Ciri's amusement.
Ciri bid the woman and her children goodbye and took a bite out of the apple. She wiped away the dripping juice from her chin with her sleeve.
"So, a nightcrawler? Vesemir hasn't taught me about that one yet," she smiled knowingly. Geralt waited until he'd swallowed his own larger bite to respond.
"The root of fear is always real. Monster or not."
"No wonder that boy looked like he pissed himself under your stare," Ciri smirked.
"Boys are gross. Another reason to stay away from them," he argued.
"You're a menace."
"So are they."
Ciri was about to send another retort when she saw two soldiers rushing toward them on horseback. She lowered the apple she was about to take another bite into away from her mouth.
"Empress Cirilla!" the taller of the two said while dismounting. "Your presence is needed at the refugee camp. A man's been killed."
Ciri stiffened, any good mood that had settled over her now suddenly gone. "Why?" she asked the shorter of the two guards.
"We're not sure, Your Highness. We weren't told much before we were sent to get you."
"Very well," Ciri said with a nod and dismissed them.
She moved with paced but steady steps down the street. There had been a few issues at the camp as refugees had poured into it over the months. The need for more tents, more clothes. Several fights had broken out among its residents, though nothing so severe as this. Ciri tensed at the thought of more blood being spilled in her kingdom.
They moved farther into the city. Hammers that bounced off of roofs echoed inside of Ciri's ears. Some carpenters stole glances at her and Geralt, though more so with passing thought than interest at the fairly regular sight of their young queen with a burly witcher by her side.
Ciri steeled herself when they approached the outskirts of the city. Rows of tents stretched along the outline of the outer walls, standing where twisting streets made up of modest homes and limping businesses had once been before Nilfgaard's attack. Two more soldiers clanked forward.
"Empress Cirilla," one of them bowed.
"I was told a man is dead. Where is his killer?"
The other guard looked toward the camp. "Being held in the commander's tent. The witcher is with him now."
Ciri nodded and walked passed them, Geralt close on her heels. It wasn't long before they were ducking under the fold of a tent that stood taller and wider than the others.
Lambert's crossed arms was the first thing Ciri saw. Beside him sat a man with a graying beard and faint creases pulling at the edges of his eyes. Splatters of blood were drying in patches on his stained shirt, its tattered sleeves showing off the shackles around his unwashed wrists.
The man looked over at Ciri as she approached. Her presence startled him out of the sour silence that seemed to have settled between him and the witcher.
"Your Majesty, there's been a misunderstanding," his taught voice said. "They're saying I've committed a crime when I haven't-"
Lambert cut him off by slamming a fist onto the table.
"You carved open a person you didn't know, for no good reason. I don't see how that could be interpreted any other way," Lambert growled.
"It wasn't a person," he challenged back, his chains rattling as his leaned forward. "It was just an elf- a scheming, dirty elf!"
Ciri's chest suddenly felt tight. She hadn't realized any elves were in Cintra. She didn't think they would want to come back after all her grandmother had done to them.
"You're the dirty one, you mule shit-reeking fucker," Lambert retorted.
"Hah, that's ripe coming from a witcher. Heard you lot only get off when you're rolling in Selkie guts, if you're still man enough to get off at all."
She didn't protest when Lambert's fist crashed into the man's face.
Lambert wound up for another punch. "Enough," her stern voice rang out. Frowning, he dropped his hand and stepped back from the man, who spit a glob of blood onto the floor. Ciri ignored it. "You killed a man because he was an elf?"
"Like I said, 's wasn't a man. Queen Calanthe never had a rule against killing elves. She encouraged it."
Anger raged under her skin, yet only simmered at its surface. "Do you have a family?" she ground out.
The man seemed confused now. "Been on my own since I was 12."
Ciri nodded at the confirmation she wanted to hear. She didn't say anything else before turning back toward the entrance to the tent. Geralt and Lambert followed a moment later.
"What should we do with him?" Lambert asked once they were outside.
Ciri toyed with a thought as she looked out at the camp; at the women chatting with smiles while wringing out their wash and the children running between firepits, their shrieking laughter piercing the air. It was a far cry from the Cintran refugee camp she had stumbled upon after the attack, yet it reminded her of the family there who had taken her in- the elf ears hanging about their neck and all.
"Execute him in the square," she answered plainly.
"I'll let the captains know," Lambert said and started walking away. The afternoon sun gleamed off of the small bit of silver sticking out of the witcher's hilt as it bounced against his hip. It made the lingering image of a dark, once friendly face sharpen in her mind. Ciri forced herself to swallow her memories of him despite the nerves stinging inside her throat.
"And Lambert?" she called. "Make sure the people know why."