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Chapter Text

Yennefer limped out to the barn, a bucket of chicken feed hanging from her fingers. She hurt, more than just the constant aching from her twisted spine, but she knew that stalling on her chores would only earn her more pain.

Heaving open the door to the barn, she shouldered aside a pushy cow and unceremoniously dumped the chicken feed on the ground. The birds immediately swarmed her feet, and she kicked halfheartedly at them to clear enough space to move. With a handful of hay, she lured the cows to the edge of the barn.

The bucket was in the same spot where it always was, and she sat down on it, ignoring the way the sharp motion sent a spasm of pain up her spine.

As soon as she'd finished milking both old heifers, she sped back to the house. Sometimes, if she was fast enough, Yennefer could get back inside before her mother had the time to get fully drunk and could convince her father to give her some breakfast while it was still warm.

Today was not one of those days. By the time she'd circled to the front of the house, her father was outside with a strange, gray-haired man. The man was standing in front of a covered wagon, arms crossed, and Yennefer paused before rounding the corner.

“I'm not selling you my cows, you old bastard. Seek another farmer.” her father sneered, and it was clear from the slight slur in his tone that he'd already had at least one drink. He looked over his shoulder, and she ducked back around the corner, but not fast enough. “But.” her father grinned foully, crossing to the house in a few quick steps and grabbing Yennefer by the hood of her cloak.

She yelped, trying to wiggle away, but her father hauled her forward. “I'd sell you this pathetic animal for five crowns.”

The stranger looked her up and down, seemingly unimpressed. “Four.”

Yennefer scowled, hoping to push every single ounce of hatred through her violet eyes and toward the man. Her father still held her by the back of her cloak the way a mother cat would scruff her kittens.

She could remember one of the barn cats having kittens. Her father had made Yennefer drown the little furballs. She'd cried the entire time, and earned a beating for her reluctance.

“Five.”

“Three crowns. Final offer.” the stranger said finally, raising a gray eyebrow. Her father hummed, and Yennefer snarled, squirming and wrenching herself out of his grasp.

“You can't sell me! I won't go!” she shouted, stomping one foot for good measure. Her father smacked the back of her head, hard enough to send her reeling.

“Four.”

“Deal.”

Yennefer gaped from where she'd fallen to the ground, shoulder smarting in protest to the impact with the stone. “No!” she yelped, scrambling backwards as the gray-haired man approached her. “No, you can't take me! Mother!” her voice cracked as she realized how futile it was. Her mother was probably either drunk or hungover, too much so to do anything about it either way, even if she wanted to.

The gray-haired man caught her by the sleeve and hauled her to her feet with surprising strength, dropping four crowns into her father's outstretched hand as he marched her to the covered wagon he'd arrived in. Yennefer struggled the whole way, until she was unceremoniously lifted and deposited in the wagon bed.

She scrambled to her knees, shoulder already aching, as the man circled the wagon and climbed easily onto the front, snapping the reins. The wagon started moving, and Yennefer slumped angrily, crossing her arms across her chest.

She shouldn't have been surprised that her father was willing to sell her. That bastard had hated her since she was born with a twisted spine, shouting at first her mother and then, when Yennefer was old enough to be shouted at, her. He claimed it was an effect of her mother's elven blood, of cheating and lies, of the gods cursing her simply for the sin of existing.

His anger had led to drinking, which had led to bottles being broken and used as weapons, and. Well. Yennefer shouldn't have been as surprised as she was.

“You alright?” a voice asked, startling her.

Her head snapped up. There were two other kids in the wagon. The speaker was a boy who looked two or three years older than her, his dark hair tucked behind his ears. Yennefer blinked. She'd never seen a boy with hair longer than his ears before.

The other was a girl, brown hair tangled and face flushed pink. Her gray eyes were swollen and red with tears. The boy was rubbing her back soothingly, even as his wide brown eyes watched Yennefer.

“Considering my father just sold me to a stranger at the side of the road? I'm swell.” she sneered, leaning her head of the canvas side of the wagon. The brown-haired girl sniffled, and Yennefer rolled her eyes. She'd learned before the age of five that crying earned her nothing except a headache.

“Well.” the boy said finally. “If it makes you feel better, Vesemir is good. Better than your father, certainly.”

Yennefer watched the farm where she'd grown up fade as the wagon trundled farther up the hills. They were heading north, she thought. The horse snorted every now and then, and the gray-haired man- who must have been Vesemir- soothed it with a few soft words.

“Where's he taking us?” she asked, glaring at the trees.

“Mountains. We'll stop for a night or two in Kaedwen then we'll head up into the blue mountains for the winter.”

The other girl hiccuped again and Yennefer scoffed. She was about to tell her to suck it up, but the brunette beat her to it.

“Why is he taking us?” she whimpered.

“It's... ah, complicated. He'll explain once we get there, but it'll be okay. My name is Eskel, by the way. What's yours?”

The girl sighed. “Selna.”

There was a pause, and Yennefer felt both of their eyes on her. She didn't react. Her shoulder hurt from the impact with the ground, and her back ached from her father's belt, and she really just wanted to curl up and die.

Eskel had been right. They spent two nights in Kaedwen during their journey. The first time, they made camp not far from the road they'd been traveling. Yennefer and Selna had shared a tent. She hadn't been able to tune out the sound of the other girl crying herself to sleep, even after she'd clamped her pillow over her head.

The second time, Vesemir left all three of them in the inn he'd rented and commanded them to stay put, vanishing with a coin purse.

For the last two days of travel, Yennefer had sat silently in the back of the wagon, watching the road disappear behind them. Selna and Eskel had become friends, and Eskel was like a thorn in her side, always trying to drag her into their conversations. Finally, after the third time he asked how she was doing, Yennefer snapped.

“I've been sold from my family, thrown in a wagon, and dragged halfway across the Continent against my will, for a purpose that nobody will tell me! And my fucking shoulder hurts! How do you think I'm doing?” she demanded.

A pause, and for a moment Yennefer thought she'd finally pounded in the final nail, that Eskel would leave her the hell alone. She ignored the sinking feeling in her gut that came along with that feeling. And then, finally:

“What happened to your shoulder?” his voice was soft, kind, and Yennefer finally crumbled. She knew crying was foolish, that it did nothing except make her look weak, but the last three days had been hell and her shoulder still hurt.

She sagged, stifling her breath to try to silence her sobs even as the weight of her torturous childhood crashed down on her shoulders. Her father had hated her from before she could walk, made her sleep out with the livestock and do chores to earn her keep, all because of her twisted back, hunched shoulder, half-paralyzed face.

A hand on her back soothed her sniffling and gasps, a soft humming from over her shoulder gently quieting her hiccups.

Yennefer wasn't sure how long it took her to pull herself together, but when she did she shook Eskel away and swiped angrily at her face, wiping away snot and tears on her sleeve.

Blessedly, Vesemir returned before Eskel could make her emotions explode like that again. He was carrying four bags, two over each shoulder, and he deposited them on one of the beds.

There was a pause as his amber eyes took in the scene, then he turned to Selna. “We're leaving.” he announced unceremoniously, seemingly having decided Selna was the safest of the three to address. Eskel extended a hand to Yennefer, and to her surprise, she took it, letting him pull her to her feet.

The trio each took a bag, Eskel slinging two over one shoulder. Vesemir silently removed one and slung it over the boy's other shoulder with a comment about balance.

Unsurprisingly, the wagon had been stocked with supplies, barely leaving enough space for all three children to pile in with their bags. Vesemir had also bought another horse, a large gray having been hitched to the wagon alongside the bay that had been pulling them along.

Yennefer wrapped a blanket around herself, forced by proximity to sit side by side with Eskel, Selna on his other side. She felt strangely drained from her crying fit, and she could barely keep her eyes open as the wagon started moving. It wasn't long before the rocking motion lulled her to sleep.

She was woken by the wagon jolting. It took her a moment to get her bearings- the wagon had stopped moving, and when she squinted open her eyes she found that it was sunset. She'd slept the whole day, pressed against Eskel's side.

Vesemir unhitching the large gray horse had been what had woken her, and she detangled herself from Eskel's frankly absurdly lanky arms to watch.

The old man was blanketing the horses, giving the bay a quick pat on the nose. When he finished with the animals and looked up, she realized far, far later than she should have what he was.

A witcher.

Even as secluded as Yennefer had been while growing up, never leaving the farm, she knew what a witcher was. Mutant monster hunters, with a reputation of killing not just monsters but innocent humans. She'd heard the stories of witchers bearing cats-head medallians snatching away young boys from their homes to mutate them, put them through fatal Trials, for their own gain.

She knew what they did to the children they kidnapped, and now she was one of them.

Vesemir must have seen her go pale, because he raised an eyebrow questioningly. She scootched further back into the wagon, hearing Eskel groan sleepily. Her head snapped around to where the boy was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He, at least, was still human, distinctly normal brown eyes fixing on her curiously.

Selna stirred not long after Eskel slipped out of her tentacle-like grasp, rolling over with a groan, and Yennefer whispered, “He's a witcher.” under her breath, as if that would keep her words from being picked up by his unnaturally sharp hearing.

“Mhm.” Eskel agreed noncommittally, hauling himself to his feet and hopping to the ground from the wagon. “What's for dinner?”

She and Selna shared a wide-eyed stare, and for the first time Yennefer realized why the girl had been crying on that first day.

“But woeen can't be witchers.” she blurted. “Why take me and Selna when we can't be witchers?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” Vesemir said dryly, handing Eskel a stick of jerky. “And it's Selna and I. You hungry?”

She shook her head wordlessly. Eskel shrugged. “More for me, I guess.” he said, making grabby hands at the two sticks of dehydrated jerky still in Vesemir's hands. The witcher swatted his hands away.

Chapter Text

By the time they'd traveled up the mountains, Yennefer had accepted her fate. It wasn't like death by witcher mutagens could be any worse than the life that she'd been taken from.

Still, she couldn't help but be awestruck by the ancient keep that came into view as they rounded the final turn of their journey.

It was equal parts majestic and mournful, stone walls rising from the mountain as though they had been birthed from the stone itself. The weathered stone had clearly endured several hundred years before Yennefer had even been a twinkle in her parents' eyes.

A metal gate separated what seemed to be a courtyard from the path they'd followed, and there were turrets rising from many corners. Even the patches of stone that had crumbled away, the weeds growing resiliently through the weaker gaps in the walls, couldn't strip away the awe she felt looking up at the castle that very obviously predated any history she'd ever been taught.

“Welcome,” Vesemir announced as he heaved open one side of the iron gate, “To Kaer Morhen.”

Eskel was the first to hop down from the wagon, untying the lead rope that had connected the gray horse to the wagon and leading the large mare inside. Selna followed, much more shy as she trailed behind him. Yennefer was last, biting back a pained cry as she hit the ground. Everything ached, the normal soreness in her neck and back combining with her whole body protesting the days spent jostled in a wagon.

Vesemir gave her an approving look, leading the bay gelding through the gate and making quick work of the harness connecting him to the wagon. “Take him in and give him a good brush, would you?”

Yennefer did as she was told, following the prints Eskel and the gray had left in the snow to the stables. Her years of practice ignoring the pain kicked in as she brushed off the horse, blanketing him gently. When she emerged, Vesemir was handing bags out to Eskel and Selna.

“Carry these inside and I'll show you to your rooms.” he said, leaving no room for argument. “Nock and Vann should have dinner ready soon.”

She was limping by the time they'd deposited all the bags in the main hall of the magnificent keep, and when Vesemir showed them to a hallway of doors with the warning that the first three on the right were all taken, she didn't hesitate to take the second room on the left and fall into bed after only locking the door and stripping off her outer layers.

Faintly, she heard a bell ring and assumed it meant supper, but all she did was pull the blankets and furs over her head. Nobody came to fetch her.

The next morning, she felt slightly better. As better as she could feel, having been kidnapped- sold- and taken on a week long road trip up an entire mountain against her will.

Her room only had one window, and it was wide open. It was all she could do to convince herself to get out of bed and slam it shut. She tossed her discarded dress over her shoulder. She smelled, quite frankly, like she'd slept in a heap of horse shit that a skunk had seen fit to spray for the last month.

Needless to say, she set out to find the washroom. Eskel was just emerging from his room- the third on the right- when she stepped out, and he pointed her in the right direction with the warning that breakfast would be on in half an hour and she'd be expected to attend.

It took her fifteen minutes to even find the damn washroom, and she didn't trust the rickety old tub to hold her even if she could somehow fill it with water in ten minutes or less, so she instead dunked a cloth in the bucket of freezing water and set about washing her face.

She put her dress back on and was only five minutes late to breakfast, face pink from the harsh rubbing she'd given her skin.

Vesemir sat at the head of the long table in the center of the hall, with Eskel at his left and a boy she'd never met at his right. Selna was next to Eskel, and another strange boy across from her. Yennefer sat down next to the other girl.

Breakfast, at least, was still warm. Bread and honey, a bowl of mixed vegetables being passed around. Vesemir said a prayer, which only one of the boys she hadn't been introduced to repeated. Yennefer wasn't in the habit of praising gods that had done nothing for her.

Vesemir was the first to start eating, everyone else following his lead. Yennefer would never admit to just how hungry she'd been, forcing herself to eat slowly in case her hunger was noticed and later used as a weapon.

When they'd finished, Vesemir cleared his throat.

“I'm sure you're wondering why you're here.” he began. Yennefer had made a guess, but Selna nodded nervously. “I'm also sure you've been told witchers are murderers, cannibals who abduct children from their homes-”

“You haven't exactly done anything to dissuade that notion.” Yennefer muttered, then tensed. She was surprised by the low chuckle that brought from Eskel. Vesemir politely ignored her, much to her surprise. She'd been taught to expect a beating from backtalk like that.

“Those are myths. There are, unfortunately, witchers who act as paid killers. We at Kaer Morhen do not associate with them, nor do we support their ways. Cat witchers, those who act as assassins, are unwelcome here or anywhere else we may be.” Vesemir continued. “However, witcher numbers are dropping dangerously. There are only two other Wolf witchers that I'm aware of, and neither has yet returned home for the winter.

“I've met a mage who believes she knows how to recreate the witcher mutagens that create us.”

Selna gasped. The boys looked like they'd already heard this speech.

“As one of the last standing Wolves, I've chosen to take her up on that offer and try to create a new generation. And that is where you five come in.” he continued, ignoring the way Selna's face blanched.

“She'll be here to administer the Trials in the spring. Until then, you'll be expects to train at least four hours a day, as well as perform general chores to maintain the keep. Training will take place immediately after breakfast every day.”

“What if we don't want to?” one of the boys asked, staring stubbornly at the aged wooden table. Vesemir raised an eyebrow, the quirk of his mouth almost making Yennefer think he was amused.

“You're more than welcome to try and take the hike down the mountain, if you like.” he said dryly. “If not, meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes.”

With that, he stood and left the dining hall, leaving five confused children and teens in his wake.

Eskel was the first to break the silence. “He's... not that bad. I swear it on all the gods. He saved my life when I was a child, and he had good reason to do what he's doing. Without witchers, humans would likely die off in a decade or less.”

Yennefer stood and stormed out.

She proceeded to get hopelessly lost trying to find her way back to her room, and eventually stumbled out into the courtyard where Vesemir was waiting, testing the weight of training swords in his hands. He turned when she appeared in the doorway, somehow sensing her presence, and nodded in greeting.

“Ah, Yennefer. I've been meaning to speak with you in private.” he greeted, beckoning her over. Yennefer shuffled closer, still unsure about the old witcher. “I wanted to look at your back, see if I have any potions or herbs that could straighten it out.”

Yennefer scoffed. “Good luck. Father took me to every medic and mage on the Continent before he decided my mother was an-” she made air quotes, “-elven whore.”

Vesemir grimaced. “I think you'll find witchers have ways of healing that humans have never even considered possible.”

She shrugged, sliding the neckline of her dress off one shoulder so he could look. His hands were cold on her skin, and she hissed through her teeth as he kneaded the skin with a dissatisfied hum.

“Were you born with this?”

Yennefer nodded, and he sighed, fixing her dress and giving her shoulder an oddly paternal pat. “Nothing I can do that wouldn't be extremely painful.”

She was spared from having to answer by the arrival of the others, the two boys she didn't know were play-wrestling, while Eskel and Selna walked side by side behind them. Vesemir clapped his hands and the boys broke apart.

“Line up.” the old man ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. They quickly complied. “I don't believe you've been properly introduce.” he raised a hand, going from left to right and gesturing at each trainee in turn. “Nock, Vann, Selna, Eskel, and Yennefer.”

“Do we get to use the practice swords?” one of the boys- Vann- asked, with the tone of someone who had asked this question many times before.

Vesemir sighed. “No, Vann.” he said, with the tone of someone who had answered this question many times before. “Today we're working on footwork. Knowing where and how to place your feet is one of the most important skills for any person, especially a witcher-”

If Yennefer had thought she was tired earlier, after two hours of training she was exhuasted. Vesemir gave them a break after two hours, and she'd practically collapsed onto one of the wooden benches surrounding the courtyard.

Vann was next to her, drinking from a waterskin like his life depended on it. Eskel was the only one who didn't seem on the verge of fainting, and even he had broken a sweat. Vesemir, on the other hand, wasn't even breathing heavily.

She was feeling slightly better after their ten-minute break, when Vesemir clapped his hands and gestured to Eskel.

“Eskel, will you show the boys and Selna a few more drills? I'd like to coach Yennefer separately.”

Eskel gave him a thumbs up, trotting obediently to one side of the courtyard while Vesemir led her to the other side.

She crossed her arms, waiting for him to make the first move. Being singled out was, in her experience, never a good thing, but the witcher just lifted a wooden training sword.

“You're overcompensating for your hunch.” he said plainly, sliding into one of the stances they'd practiced. Yennefer mimicked him, and he used the edge of the training sword to guide her feet into a different position. She stumbled, hitting the ground with a yelped curse, and tensed. That kind of language would get her scolded at best and beaten at worst around her father.

Vesemir just chuckled and helped her to her feet.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” he asked, and she shook her head. “You overcorrected. You're trying counterbalance your hunchback but what you're doing is leaning too far. Keep your feet like this-” he demonstrated, “-and stick your right arm out to the side, then try to balance.”

By the time they were finished, Yennefer ached all over. She'd toppled over six more times before she'd caught on and began counterbalancing herself properly, and her muscles protested.

“Alright.” Vesemir clapped his hands again. “Before you can settle for the evening, please do your chores. Vann, Nock and Eskel know their chores, so they can go. Girls, I want Yennefer to sweep the courtyard and put away the training tools and Selna to stoke the fire and sweep the dining hall. You may go.”

Yennefer took the offered broom.

Slowly- very slowly- Yennefer got settled at Kaer Morhen. She wore the men's clothes she found in the trunk in her room, bathed in frigid water, trained until her muscles gave out and accepted the hand that pulled her to her feet to continue.

And yet, she fell behind.

Eskel had been there since he was a child, so it only made sense that he was the best at all of the drills Vesemir put them through, but the others- Nock and Vann and Selna- still excelled while Yennefer staggered behind.

After the fifth time in one training session that Selna's practice sword took her off her feet, Yennefer swore loudly and punched the ground. She hurt, bruises from the cobblestones and fake swords covering more of her body than was left unmarked, and she was sick and tired of being the weak one.

Even their chores seemed to favor the others- the boys did most of the repairs around the keep while Selna carried wood for the fires and Yennefer was left to sweep and cook. Woman's work, her father's voice jeered in her mind.

Fuck's sake, it had been weeks and Yennefer still couldn't keep her gods-damned feet beneath her.

When Vesemir announced almost five weeks into her stay at Kaer Morhen that he had decided to allow the students to use some of the more intense training machinery, Yennefer swallowed back an angry shout. Another thing for her to be worse at than the others.

Still, as they marched out to the secondary training ground where the tools stood, she kept her chin up. In the four weeks she'd been at Kaer Morhen, she'd quickly learned that showing weakness- espeically in front of Nock or Vann- would only bring her more hell.

The two boys were brothers, taken in just a few weeks before she and Selna had been, and the brothers had clearly been raised on cruelty the same way she had. Except, while Yennefer had been on the receiving on of it, the boys had been dishing it out.

Eskel demonstrated the pendulum, rolling poles, and climbing equipment. Vesemir occasionally called out tips or corrections while Selna and Vann grappled playfully. Yennefer rolled her eyes at the immaturity as Selna tackled him into a headlock.

Once Eskel was finished, dropping to the ground in a smooth roll from the top of the climbing wall, Vesemir raised a hand and the play-fight stopped immediately. “Who would like to go first?”

Nock and Vann both raised their hands. Vesemir quirked a bushy eyebrow. “Yennefer?”

She prayed that the constant curl in her lip covered up the scowl that grew. “Yeah, fine.” she stepped up to the pendulum, seeing Vesemir gather the ropes that would start the three pendulums swinging. “Go on, start it.”

Yennefer started moving as soon as the pendulums were swinging, and she only made it past the first one before the second clobbered her head-on and sent her reeling into the snow with a yelped out curse. She steadfastly ignored the jeers from the boys as she hauled herself to her feet and marched back to the ladder.

The second run, she did a little better. It wasn't until the third swinging pole that she got the breath knocked out of her, letting out an undignified oomph as she toppled sideways, landing hard on the hunched section of her spine.

She refused to give up, because that would mean Vann and Nock and her father were right. She couldn't let them win, because she'd been running on empty for years and if she let herself lose than she wouldn't have the energy to start again.

After an hour or two, Vesemir dismissed the other trainees back to the keep. Yennefer barely realized that the time had passed, the spots at the corners of her vision making it harder to see them slip away.

It was another few hours before Vesemir yanked on the ropes and held, keeping them still.

Yennefer doubled over, hands on her knees. Her vision was blurred and the spots were closing in, giving her tunnel vision, and her clothes- riding breeches and a plain black tunic- were soaked through with sweat. She was shivering, she realized faintly, though her thoughts seemed detached from her body.

“C'mon.” Vesemir called up to her. “We're going back to the keep before you collapse, Yenna.”

“I didn't make it through yet.” she said. “I'm not stopping until I make it up the wall.”

Vesemir didn't answer. The silence gave her the time to reattach her mind to her body and realize that he was right. If she tried to take another step across the pendulum, she would most likely keel over on the spot.

“Shit.” she spat.

The senior witcher cocked his head pointedly, and Yennefer forced her shaking legs to descend the ladder.

Chapter Text

The keep's library had become Yennefer's refuge. Her childhood had been... quite lacking, in terms of education, but the library at Kaer Morhen more than made up for it.

It had ancient tomes and more modern releases in equal numbers, a beastiary that was thicker than Yennefer's head and an entire shelf of nursery rhymes.

With the smoldering fire that Vesemir kept burning in the fireplace, the countless rugs and chairs, and of course the books, Yennefer could squirrel herself away in the library for hours on end when she needed time off. She knew Vesemir knew she hid in there sometimes, but the witcher never said anything about it.

The beastiaries were some of her favorite books, with detailed illustrations and descriptions of practically every type of monster a witcher might need to know about. She lost hours just flipping through the pages, reading about archspores and noonwraiths and bruxae, among others.

Occasionally, one of the other trainees would come in to fetch a book. Nock and Vann mostly ignored her, or sneered and made crude gestures that she resolutely ignored. Eskel and Selna at least had the grace to nod in acknowledgment of her presence.

They were training in the courtyard the morning Yennefer tried to kill herself. She had been sparring with Vann, heart pounding and muscles throbbing with exertion. She was paired with him as sparring partners more often than not, due to their similar statures, and yet he always seemed to hold an advantage.

Her foot slipped on the slick cobbles, and his stone training sword connected painfully with her hip, sending her sprawling to the ground. Vann spat proudly on the stones not far from her hand.

She grit her teeth, arms burning with the exertion it took to hold herself up as she steeled herself to stand.

“Get up.” Vesemir barked, voice cold as she pressed her forehead to the stones, and for a heartbeat she thought I want to go home, which was stupid because home wasn't much better than where Yennefer was now, if she even considered that gods-damned farm a home in the first place. But at least at the farm, her treacherous brain whispered, when I was beaten black and blue I knew it wasn't my fault.

She pushed herself to her feet, every inch of her body aching and her mind roiling with anger and shame, and stormed to her room.

Nobody followed her.

Laying in bed, staring blankly at the stone walls, Yennefer wondered why she of all people had to go through this. What had she done to deserve it, besides being born with misshapen bones?

Her father had always told her she would never go anywhere in life, would never be worth more than an old heifer, wasn't worth the food she took from the pigs, and over the months at Kaer Morhen she'd begun to understand why.

After all, even while taking the herbs Vesemir gave them to build strength, she could barely walk after a day of training- she could barely breathe after running drills, let alone think or walk straight. Gods, she'd spent her entire life doing nothing but working for the right to fucking live, and had barely earned that much.

She growled, rolling over to face the small vanity in her room. It was barely more than a trunk with a mirror mounted above it, and she avoided it most mornings. The sight of her reflection usually turned her stomach, with short-cropped hair that she'd cut the second night at the keep barely falling to the bottom of her ears. She really should get another sharp shard and hack it off again.

A sharp shard.

A thought crossed her mind. Usually she'd chase it off right away, because if she died nobody would be there to care for the farm animals, nobody would be there to put themself between her mother and father when either of them got drunk. Nobody would be there to pull the tiny, broken family back together when all hell broke loose.

It didn't really matter now, she thought dully, considering she'd been abducted and would surely die during the Trials anyway.

Before she realized she was standing, she'd broken the mirror with a single swing of her fist. The glass shattered into the bowl sitting on the trunk, and she snatched the largest shard she could find. Yennefer's vision blurred as she

Her heart jumped to her throat as her hand shook, turning over the shard of glass and watching the faint light that snuck through her window reflect through it.

She'd read about the feeling of floating outside your body, watching yourself move in slow motion, but she'd never experienced it until she found herself watching through a long tunnel as she raised the sharp glass to her wrist. She didn't see herself slash the shard across her wrist, only felt what came next.

Pain exploded through her entire body, the ache that she'd repressed for months bursting to the forefront of her mind, and she watched herself collapse forward to her knees, scattering the bowl of glass as she hiccuped and clutched at her wrist for any sense of stability.

She didn't want to die like this.

Someone knocked on her door.

It was a few weeks later when Vesemir beckoned for her to stay after breakfast. He sent the others to the courtyard to warm up and walked over to her. She refused to make eye contact, shame burning her skin. He'd already tried to talk to her once about the incident, when he'd gently bandaged her skin and told her in no uncertain terms that there was a better solution.

He offered a hand.

Yennefer accepted it.

“Come with me.” Vesemir said, voice soft but inarguable. She did.

He led her to the library, where she felt herself relax minutely at the familiar scent of old books and a faint fire. Instead of going to any of the sitting areas, though, Vesemir led her to the very back and slipped his hand into a gap between two dusty bookshelves.

The shelves slid forward, revealing a doorway. Yennefer sucked in a breath, surprised, and immediately regretted it as the dislodged dust went straight down her throat.

Once she'd gotten her coughing under control, she followed the witcher wordlessly down the staircase behind the hidden door and into what could only be described as a secret laboratory. Two long tables spanned most of the room, with a wall of bookshelves on one side. The tables were littered with tools, most of which she didn't recognize.

Among the ones she did recognize were a scale, measuring cups, and jars of both herbs and monster parts in equal numbers.

Vesemir went straight to the bookcases lining one wall, drawing out an old, dusty tome. He blew the dust from it and beckoned for her to sit in one of the chairs that scattered the floor with a soft hum. When she did, he handed her the book and flipped to a dog-eared page.

On it was a symbol she didn't recognize and a wall of handwritten text, words blurred slightly by time and pages yellowed and waterstained.

“This,” Vesemir said softly. “Is the sign of Aard. Witchers use a few signs, and this is the first we learn. It allows you to send a brief, telekinetic burst of energy in a direction of your choosing.”

She traced the symbol with the tip of one finger, studying the words. A few were written in Elder, and she started to sound them out before Vesemir stopped her.

“Usually I would only show this book to you after you underwent the Trials.” he said, “But I believe the signs would help you. Particularly-” he took the book from her, flipping to another page. “-this one, Quen. It allows you to form a temporary shield. I believe it would allow you to compensate for your... disability, by offering particular protection around your back and shoulder.”

Signs, Yennefer found, came to her as naturally as breathing. Even though her footwork was still unsteady at best, and her natural reaction was still flight instead of fight, she began using Igni to heat her baths to sooth aching muscles and Quen to protect herself before she hit the ground.

Her fighting did improve, albeit slowly. The first time she'd beaten Nock in a sparring session, she'd found Vesemir gazing at her proudly from the edge of the courtyard and Vann had even given her a high five. After she'd made it across the entire training course without hitting the ground, Selna yanked her into a hug.

Slowly, steadily, she improved. Her back didn't ache as much anymore as she built up the muscles to properly carry herself, and though the new scars on her wrists itched when the weather changed, her mirror was replaced and, while she still didn't like her reflection, it didn't quite draw the same sense of revulsion as it had before.

Vesemir began teaching the others signs a few weeks after Yennefer. None had underwent the Trials yet, but her success seemed to have convinced him to allow them to begin training early. No use idling when they could be learning, after all. She caught Nock glaring at her when Vesemir asked her to demonstrate Axii on one of the horses.

The bay gelding sighed heavily as soon as she traced the sign between his ears, resting a hind leg and putting his head down. She smiled, rubbing the star on his forehead with a gently touch.

Exercising the horses had become one of her favorite chores. The gray mare especially seemed fond her of, and the large animals reminded her of the cows she'd grown up alongside. No matter how torturous her upbringing had been, those old heifers had seemed to be a constant, calming presence.

“How come she knows all this shit already?” Nock asked loudly, startling the gelding out of his relaxation. His ears went back, and Yennefer quickly shushed him.

Vesemir sighed heavily, pulling the scroll towards himself. “I taught her because I knew she needed and was able to perform them. Considering how long it took you to master your footwork, Nock, I would've put it off a few more weeks, but the weather is warming.”

Yennefer snorted, hiding her amusement in the bay's mane. She didn't miss the smirk on Eskel's lips as he came forward to practice the sign.

Spring came in waves. The first of the snowmelt left the sill of her window dripping icicles, and the tenacious early-spring plants began squirming their way through the stones of the courtyard.

With the spring came more chores. Sweeping the courtyard whenever the warm wind brought more snow down from the mountains, reviving Vesemir's old garden, beginning to clean up the abandoned rooms of the keep that had been too cold to work in over the winter, exercising the horses as their spring fever began in earnest, and countless more tasks around the old keep.

Throughout it, Yennefer pulled her weight. She and Nock were assigned to clean some of the old bedrooms more days than not, and the boy was, to put it lightly, lazy. They'd already worked through the majority of the rooms in the north-most wing of the keep when she confronted him about it.

She put her hands on her crooked hips after hauling two old cots out into the hallway to air out their mattresses. “Will you at least help me more the dresser?” she snapped, and Nock hummed from where he was tracing the shape of Igni in the dust on the ground.

“Nah.” he said flatly, redrawing his Igni until the lines were straight. Yennefer scowled and threw Aard, the purple shimmer of energy knocking him forward. Truthfully, the sign barely had the force of a sneeze behind it- she'd been more focused on learning Quen and Igni- Nock still yelped and whirled towards her, but Yennefer was already busying herself dragging the mattresses to the nearest balcony.

“You bitch!” he snapped, fumbling for a moment before casting Aard towards her. It was clumsy, and he hadn't had the weeks of practice that she had, but it was unexpected enough to send her reeling backwards into a door. “I swear to all the gods, you're such a bitch!” he snarled. “We all know you're Vesemir's favorite, brat. Couldn't tell you why, considering you're an ugly teacher's pet and a-”

She cut him off with Igni, a burst of flame darting past his cheek. It was barely close enough to feel, but still Nock shrieked and lunged towards her, knocking her onto her ass before she even realized what was happening.

The shriek drew attention. Eskel was the first to arrive, rounding a corner from where he'd been sweeping an old classroom. “Yenna? What happened?”

“That wench tried to kill me!” Nock spat. “I can see why your father fucking sold you, hunchback-!”

“Enough!”

Vesemir had arrived. Yennefer furiously wiped her cheeks, ashamed of the water building in her eyes.

The old witcher studied the scene, the mattress still on the ground in the middle of the hallway, Yennefer on the ground, the scorch mark on the wall behind Nock's head, Eskel hovering in the doorway looking unsure, and sighed deeply.

“Yennefer, go muck out the stables.” she started to protest, but Vesemir's glare silenced her. “Nock, to the kitchen. Eskel, fetch Vann and finish that room and then we'll eat.”

The students silently complied, though Yennefer heard the whispered, “Wench” that Nock threw her way as she stormed past him. She wordlessly raised her middle finger in his direction before she rounded the corner, biting back a smirk at the enraged sputtering the gesture drew.

She was clearing the last of the snow from the courtyard a few weeks later when the sorceress arrived. The woman rode in on a palomino horse, mounted sidesaddle. Yennefer watched her dismount. She pushed red-brown hair out of her face and turned to Yennefer with a quirked eyebrow.

“You one of Vesemir's kids?”

She nodded, and the woman dropped the reins into her hand and walked straight into the keep. Yennefer watched her go and led the palomino into the barn. Nock was there, tending to the chickens Vesemir kept in one of the empty stalls.

Nock was still completely ignoring Yennefer, which she was more than fine with. The scars on her wrist itched in what felt like a reminder whenever they crossed paths, as though even her body was reminding her not to give in to the insults and slurs he and Vann began throwing her way at breakfast most mornings.

Something in her had snapped the night she'd slit her wrist, the realization that the last decade and a half of hell was over and she had power seeming to harden something inside her. Her father could never break an alcohol bottle over her head again, and if he tried she could set him ablaze.

It was nice, to feel powerful.

Chapter Text

The sorceress, it turned out, was named Visenna. She was the one Vesemir had summoned to remake the witcher serum, and she was entirely antisocial. She spent the first week at Kaer Morhen holed up in the wing of the keep that she'd claimed for herself minutes after her arrival.

Vesemir, though, seemed to respect her, which was enough for all five of his students to share that same respect. Yennefer would rather die than admit that her respect for the sorceress went beyond respect and into jealousy. The mage radiated nothing but power, confidence, and femininity, all things she longed to project herself.

She spent long minutes in the morning combing through her chin-length black hair. The fine-toothed comb stung like hell as she forced it through more knots than she could count on one hand, but she grit her teeth and pushed through the tears in her eyes until it was silky and falling in soft waves.

She was almost surprised to find that it fell just past her jaw, though she'd cut it just before winter truly fell. With a surprising pang in her gut, she realized she'd been at the keep for three months or more.

Three months. She thought plainly. So much has changed in three months.

With a dissatisfied hum, Yennefer brushed her thumb over her curled lip, studying her face in the mirror. It was perhaps too small to even consider a mirror, really. Vesemir had agreed to replace it after she slit her wrists, but the replacement was so small it could fit easily into one of the makeup compacts that Visenna had brought.

Despite the paralyzed half of her face, Yennefer thought to herself, she might have been beautiful.

Not beautiful in the inhuman way that Visenna was, though. There was something distinct about the sorceress's beauty, something that set off a warning in Yennefer's mind that her perfectly clear skin, her immaculate posture, that her unnatural beauty couldn't be real.

A bell rang out, announcing that it was time for breakfast, and she tore herself away from the mirror to get dressed quickly. She tied back her hair with a strip of fabric torn from a set of old breeches and jogged off to the dining hall.

To her surprise, Visenna was there. She'd spent the last week staying in either the wing of the keep she'd claimed for herself, or that laboratory hidden deep beneath the library, only showing her face for supper and, on occasion, when she came out to gather supplies.

Yennefer slipped onto the bench next to Eskel, giving him a quick nod and folding her legs beneath herself. Her neck ached, but the familiar pain was easy enough to push to the back of her mind after the months of practice ignoring the muscle aches from days of hard training.

Vesemir cleared his throat, and Visenna raised a hand to call attention to herself. Once all eyes were on the woman, she spoke.

“I'm ready to begin the Trials on Eskel, Nock, and Vann.” she announced, her face emotionless even as Eskel gasped and Nock flinched. “We'll begin tomorrow morning. You must skip breakfast. Meet me in the library at eight.”

And with that sobering declaration, she turned and swept out. The train of her skirt, absurdly, reminded Yennefer of the drawings of peacocks in some of the keep's old books.

Nobody spoke for a long moment, nor did anyone touch their food until Vesemir spoke up. “Boys, you may skip training and chores today. Yenna and Selna, please take over their chores for the day.”

They nodded mutely, and finally started eating.

It was clear that the boys didn't know what to do with themselves when there weren't chores to be done, training fights to burn off energy or books to study. By the time Yennefer was done with the chores, the sun beginning to kiss the horizon, dinner was served- courtesy of Eskel, who had apparently dispelled his boredom in the kitchen.

Dinner that night was a somber affair, the distinct sense of a last meal before execution hanging in the air. Even Yennefer and Selna, who hadn't yet been called to the metaphorical gallows, barely spoke as they ate the stew Eskel had prepared.

Vesemir, for the first time since they'd been brought to the keep, skipped dinner. Yennefer was willing to take a guess as to where he'd gone, and when she stepped into the library after supper she was proven correct.

The witcher was meditating in front of the fire, hands open on his thighs as he sat cross-legged on one of the many rugs scattered along the floor. Yennefer watched him silently for a few minutes, hand on the doorframe as his chest rose and fell unnaturally slowly until his amber eyes flicked open, meeting her own violet eyes.

“Yenna.” he greeted softly, and she nodded, stepping inside and quietly closing the door behind her.

“I just... came to get a book.” she murmured, feeling uncharacteristically shy. Vesemir just hummed, patting the spot next to him questioningly.

Yennefer sat, folding her legs underneath herself.

They were silent for a few minutes, watching the flames dance. Vesemir was the one to break the silence.

“It's been hundreds of years since I underwent the Trials. It was the worst week of my life, and I've been stabbed by more monsters than I can count on one hand.” his voice was soft, and he didn't tear his eyes away from the fire. Yennefer just hummed, prompting him to go on. “Visenna is an amazing sorceress, and I'm sure her Grasses are safer than what they used for me, but... I raised those boys like my sons.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, pushing her hair behind her ear. Vesemir sighed heavily.

“I want you to be prepared. You remind me of someone I knew, Yenna. I want you to make it, but I can't expect it.”

She flinched, feeling distinctly like she'd been struck. Of all the people she'd ever met- an admittedly small number- Vesemir had been the only one to ever have faith in her. “You expect me to die?” she asked, a scowl rapidly growing on her face. “After all the shit I've been through, you think the Grasses are what's gonna kill me?”

She wasn't able to keep the sting out of her words, betrayal bubbling up in her throat. Over three months of training until her muscles gave out, and before that a decade and a half of enduring whatever it took just to get out alive, and Vesemir, the only person who had ever seen the strength humming beneath her skin, didn't expect her to survive?

Vesemir looked... surprised, an expression that looked unnatural on the elder Witcher. He didn't speak, and after a moment of silence Yennefer snorted scornfully and stood, leaving the library without a word. She didn't even end up getting the book she'd wanted.

It was late that night when she decided she didn't want to be alone. She'd been laying in bed staring at the ceiling for hours, listening to the howling of the wind and the occasional sounds of wildlife from her cracked-open window.

She'd learned over the months at the keep that Eskel had a certain affinity with the animals, which was why she wasn't surprised to find him in the stables. He started when she hauled the door shut behind her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Yennefer leaned on the stall door, watching him work the curry comb in circles over the bay horse's flank. The horse, to his credit, didn't seem to mind the absent way Eskel re-brushed the same spot over and over.

They stood in silence for a while, listening to the chickens cluck in their sleep and the rhythm of the brush on the horse's coat until Yennefer hummed.

“Do you want to steal some of the ale Vesemir pretends not to have?”

“Fuck yeah I do.”

And that was how she ended up pouring her entire life story out to Eskel and Vann- Nock and Selna were enjoying what was very possibly their last night together in a very different way that Yennefer didn't particularly want to think about- while lying on one of the rugs in the dining room.

Eskel patted her back sympathetically, and Vann groaned dramatically when she brought up her father.

“Well, fuck'im!” he announced proudly, having drank far more than Yennefer had been brave enough to, immediately before devolving into a fit of giggles. Eskel rolled his eyes, taking another sip and wincing.

The alcohol, if she was being frank, tasted fucking awful, but that hadn't stopped any of them from passing it around the circle. Yennefer had awkwardly sipped at first, but she passed when it came back to her, feeling lightheaded and a hint of nausea. “Your turn, Esk, what's your tragic story?” she questioned, stumbling to her feet. “I'm getting some water.”

Eskel was halfway through his story of being abandoned as a child when she returned, drinking half the water in three swallows and feeling immediate relief from the swirling in her head. She passed the cup to Vann when he reached out, and he sipped greedily. “Gods, Vesemir's shit is strong.” he muttered into the cup as Eskel stretched.

“So I was raised by Vesemir.” Eskel concluded, his words not slurring nearly as much as Vann's. “Always knew I'd grow up t'be a witcher.”

Yennefer patted his shoulder firmly. “I,” she announced, “Am going to bed. Vann, tell your brother that if I have to listen to him and Sel getting it on I will slit his throat while he's under the Grasses.”

Vann saluted her with a “yes ma'am” as she headed to her room, only stumbling once on the stairs.

She didn't go to bed like she'd thought, though. Instead, her feet brought her to the wing of the keep that Visenna had commandeered for herself. In the morning she'd blame it on the sips of booze, though she'd barely had three swallows before passing it up. The sorceress was spending the night in the lab, as she had for the last week, so her room was empty when Yennefer marched inside.

She wasn't entirely sure what she was trying to achieve, but sleep wasn't an option- her mind was buzzing with nerves, and her hands needed to do something.

Visenna's full-length mirror stood mockingly in the corner, and Yennefer sat cross-legged in front of it, studying herself. Black hair, purple eyes, a permanent curl in her lip, and the hints of freckles appearing on her cheeks from the amount of time she'd spent in the sun.

She was fucking beautiful.

Yennefer ended up passing out two hours later in Visenna's bed, wearing one of her long dresses with makeup smeared on the pillows.

The first thing she registered when she woke was the throbbing ache in her head. The second thing was the bell's clanging that was perfectly timed with the pounding sensation.

She stumbled out of the bed, not bothering to wipe the makeup she'd applied the night before off as she headed in the general direction of the dining room, getting lost twice before finding her way to the empty room.

It didn't even register in her mind to be confused as to why the room was empty until Selna stumbled in, tears in her eyes.

Yennefer, who was sitting cross-legged on the table trying not to fall asleep in her mug of water, looked up just in time for the brunette to smack her on the back of the head, hiccuping.

“You didn't-” she choked, “didn't ev'n have the decency to say bye-” Selna sobbed, and Yennefer stared at her blankly.

“What?”

The other girl draped herself over the table, almost kicking Yennefer in the gut as she did. “The boys w'nt to the lab and you didn't even say bye, Yenna.” she rolled to her side to face her.

Yennefer felt herself go pale. That was what the bell was for. Fuck.

She'd been caught up in the euphoria of her late-night realization, of the sleepiness from staying up for hours perfecting her eyeliner, and hadn't even realized she didn't say goodbye. Sure, Nock sure as hell didn't deserve a farewell, but Vann had been... tolerable, and Eskel had been good.

Selna stole her cup, drawing a few swallows and wiping at her face with her sleeve, smearing tears across her cheeks. “I think Nock and I-” she sniffled, taking another long drink, “-are in love.”

“Nock can go fuck himself.” Yennefer surprised herself with the vitriol in her tone. Selna stared at her, then cocked her head.

“You're wearing makeup.”

“I noticed.” she said dryly, adjusting the neckline of her dress self-consciously as she prepared to be mocked, sneered at for daring to try and feel pretty. Such a privilege hadn't been afforded to her, ever, and the one time she'd tried as a child she'd been met by a sneer.

“Looks nice.” Selna said, instead of the many things Yennefer expected. “Can you do mine?”

Yennefer and Selna were so busy raiding Visenna's trunks that neither of them heard the screams until that afternoon.

The following week would be simultaneously the longest and shortest of Yennefer's life.

Vesemir and Visenna stayed in the laboratory. With no supervision, nobody telling her what to do, Yennefer threw herself into training with renewed vigor. She ran drills, both ones they'd practiced and ones she invented in the midst of training, and once her body gave out she practiced signs until she nodded off.

Strike, strike, duck, twist, parry, kick, strike, twist, block, strike.

Her breath came in sharp gasps, clouding in the air as she knocked the dummy to the ground, hearing the satisfying thump as it bounced against the cobblestones. She panted, lowering the stone training sword.

Selna had spent the last two days inside while Yennefer had been training, cleaning and stress-cooking and hauling large stones to repair the old walls. When Yennefer went inside, muscles burning for an Igni-heated bath and lungs aching, she found the brunette wearing a long dress, sleeves rolled up just past her elbows.

They were in the dining hall, Selna stoking the fire with her skirts laying on the ground in a circle around her- probably a fire hazard, but Yennefer was too tired to point that out.

“There's food in the kitchen if you want it.” Selna said, not looking up from the fire and startling Yennefer. She hadn't realized Selna had heard her come in, though her breathing was still heavy and her steps may not have been as quiet as she'd hoped.

Yennefer hummed in acknowledgment, beelining for the kitchen and returning a moment later with a bowl of fresh stew. She paused in the doorway, watching the brunette stand and fix her skirts.

She was wearing makeup. Yennefer supposed she shouldn't be surprised, considering the other girl had seemed delighted when they raided Visenna's room and Yennefer had seen her a few mornings slipping down the hall towards her wing, but-

It looked good. Maybe her eye makeup was a little too dense, the green not quite suiting her brown eyes, but Yennefer was instantly jealous.

She must have been staring a moment too long, because Selna grinned and brushed her hair back. “I've been camping out in Visenna's room some nights. She's spent the whole time down in the lab so... if you want me to do your makeup, I've got nothing but time.”

And that was how Yennefer ended up sitting cross-legged on the sorceress's bed, eyes closed as Selna carefully traced a line of charcoal over her eyes. They'd been in silence at the dining hall, but since they'd entered the large room Selna had been talking on and off, only stopping when she was particularly focused.

Yennefer didn't blame her. The screams were inaudible in the main rooms of the keep, but this particular bedroom was close enough to the lab that the sounds echoed among the stone walls until it reached their ears.

In the time it had taken to do the bottom half of Yennefer's face, she'd learned all about Selna's upbringing as the youngest of six daughters, and the last to be born before their father died to smallpox.

“Mum was always mad that she didn't have a son,” Selna continued, sitting back. Yennefer opened her eyes, but Selna clicked her tongue scoldingly and she shut them again as the pad of fabric swiped over her eyelids so Selna could redo what she'd done. “So I got the brunt of her anger as her last chance. She wanted someone to carry on the family line, though my oldest sister was pregnant when I left anyway. The baby's probably come by now.”

“How did Vesemir find you?”

“He won me. Law of surprise, 'that which you have at home but don't yet know.' Mother thought I'd be out in the stables, but I was actually at home with a dislocated arm. You can open your eyes now.”

She did, and when Selna gestured toward the mirror she stood and went to look at herself. They'd both picked dresses beforehand, Yennefer choosing a streamlined black piece that accentuated what little curvature her hips had and Selna going for a green and white set.

Her first thought when she saw herself in the mirror was that's not me. Her second thought was this is the most me I've ever been.

Selna had kept her eye makeup light, a thin line of charcoal accentuating the shape of her eyes but letting the violet color speak for itself. In contrast, her lips had been painted a deep purple, so dark it was verging on black. She could see a hint of the white of her teeth where the side of her mouth curled, which only served to make the stark darkness stand out even more.

She was fucking gorgeous.

She didn't know how to say that, though, so she went with the next best thing.

“Can I do yours?

Chapter Text

In the span of a few days, the girls formed the closest thing Yennefer had ever known to a friendship. It turned out, when you left two children unsupervised in a sprawling keep, they found ways to entertain themselves.

Selna, it turned out, had become quite talented in applying makeup and choosing clothing to compliment their figures- different as they may be. Yennefer found herself fascinated by the easy way Selna seemed to smooth her skin, accentuating her eyes and drawing attention away from the parts she hated.

In return, the other girl took a renewed interest in Yennefer's interests. They took the horses out on trail rides- never straying far enough to lose sight of the keep, of course, but far enough to feel free- and when Yennefer lost her balance and sprawled on the ground, Selna turned the bay around and offered a hand to help her up.

They spent more nights than not sharing a bed, knees tangles together as they whispered into the space between them, sharing secrets and nonsense alike.

And Yennefer was oddly... content.

It wasn't uncommon for her to wake up after Selna, finding herself in a cold bed with a dress laid out for her, so on the morning of the eighth day she thought nothing of the cold sheets as she sat up, wiping the gunk of sleep from her eyes.

She held up the dress she'd picked last night to the window, checking for moth-holes or worn down patches, and slipped it on over her sleep shirt and breeches once she'd deemed it acceptable.

Selna had asserted that the kitchen was her domain, something Yennefer had no qualms with in the least. She made her way to the washroom first, heating the water in the bucket by tracing the shape of Igni over it before dipping in a washcloth to clean streaked makeup from her face.

Her hair had almost reached her shoulders, and she ran a hand through it to work out the few knots that had formed in her sleep before tying it back and making her way for the kitchen, feet silent on the stone floor from months of practice.

Yennefer was stretching her arms above her head when she ran into Selna, quite literally. One minute she was stretching, the next a chest collided with hers and she was on the ground, blinking as she processed the change in orientation.

Once her body had accepted the change from vertical to horizontal, she heard the stifled sobs and jerked her head up.

Selna had curled herself into a ball, pressed against the wall with her head resting on her knees. Yennefer paused. She was not equipped to handle this situation, but... it wasn't like she could just up and walk away at this point. She owed it to Selna, at least, to make sure she hadn't hurt herself in the collision.

She shuffled forward on her knees, setting a hand between the brunette's shoulder blades and awkwardly rubbing in soothing circles. Selna startled at the touch, wiping away tears on her sleeve as she looked up at Yennefer.

“Vese- Vesemir came to-” she cut herself off with a sniff, “-to the dining hall.”

Yennefer felt the blood drain from her face as she realized what she meant. It was their turn.

“We- have to skip breakfast, and come to th' lab at noon.” Selna stammered, leaning into Yennefer's hand on her back.

Yennefer let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to be logical. Of course this would happen eventually, and Vesemir had told them the Trials would take about a week.

Still, it took her a moment to pull herself from the terror that had exploded in her chest and ask the question at the forefront of her mind. “Did any of the boys...?”

“I didn't ask. I'm- I'm sorry, Yenna, I know Nock was terrible to you but I don't want him to be-” she hiccuped, looking away, and Yennefer pushed down the anger that bubbled up. “I think I love him, Yenna.”

Yennefer pulled her hand away, averting her eyes to the window looking down at them. The sun was shining, and she could see the snowcaps on the distant mountains. Selna was her friend, in a slightly twisted way, and they'd both been through hell. She couldn't find it in herself to be mad, at that moment, her anger buried beneath fear and a tiny pinprick of hope.

“It's not noon yet.” she said, in lieu of the hundreds of other thoughts racing through her mind all at once. “Want to raid Visenna's room?”

Before she went to the lab, Yennefer visited the courtyard. They only had a few minutes before they had to be at the lab, but she needed a breath of fresh air. Perhaps her last ever breath of freash air, something in her whispered.

All three horses were out, grazing at the sparse grass that fought it's way up through the stones. The bay raised his head and went back to snuffling the ground, and Visenna's palomino pinned her ears and turned away, but the gray pricked her ears and approached her, head lowered and relaxed.

Yennefer smiled, stroking the white stripe running up the horse's face as the mare nosed at her pockets hopefully. “Hey, big girl.” she murmured, scratching behind her ears and earning a deep sigh for her efforts. “I just wanted to let you know I forgive you for the time you spooked at a bird and made me fall into the creek.”

The horse replied by blowing out from her nose heavily, and Yennefer flinched. “I also forgive you,” she said once it was clear the horse wasn't going to do it again, “for getting snot all over my nice dress.”

A squeal distracted her, and she looked up to find the bay gelding trotting away from the palomino, looking peeved. She chuckled, and the gray mare startled her by resting her nose on Yennefer's shoulder. It was heavy, but the weight was oddly soothing and Yennefer reflexively brought an arm up to wrap around her neck in a strange mimicry of a hug.

“I'm scared.” she whispered into the horse's mane, drawing a shaky breath that smelled like hay and horse. The animal, naturally, didn't respond, but Yennefer felt some of the tension she'd been holding in her shoulders for the last months lift away. “I'm scared.” she repeated, voice wavering. “I don't want to die.”

She didn't realize she was crying until she lifted her head and found a smear of mascara on her mane. She wiped it off with the side of her hand, biting her lip to hold back a sob. “I want to live.” she whispered, feeling the horse sigh heavily.

They stood in silence for a few moments, Yennefer leaning her head against the horse's neck, until a voice spoke up from the main door. “Yenna?”

She startled, quickly wiping her smudged makeup with the side of her hand. “It's time.” Selna said softly, and Yennefer took a deep breath, steeling herself and turning to nod.

“Let's go.”

Yennefer wouldn't remember much of what came next, after the fact.

She'd remember the walk to the library, one that felt distinctly like being marched to the gallows, and she'd remember fishing behind a bookcase for the switch to open it. She'd remember Selna holding her hand as they descended the winding staircase.

She froze when they entered the lab, taking in the changes since she'd been there last. The tables were pushed against a wall, three cots lined up against the opposite wall. Two were tidy, sheets folded and tucked in, and the third-

It took her a moment to recognize him, without his long hair and with those shockingly amber eyes. And then-

“Yenna-”

“Eskel-”

They spoke over each other, and Yennefer couldn't help the nervous laugh that slipped out of her at the absurdity of it all. Eskel was sitting up in the cot, one hand holding his side as though it hurt, and his grin was toothy and real as he looked at them.

And then she noticed Visenna, standing by one of the pushed-aside tables, and the reality sank in again, her stomach dropping. The sorceress was holding up a vial of liquid, the blue color screaming danger in that deep instinctual part of her brain that warned of great heights and poisonous mushrooms.

Vesemir was sitting at Eskel's bedside, and when he looked up his face went through a brief gauntlet of emotions, none of which Yennefer could recognize in the split-second they appeared before settling on a mix of resignation and surprise.

“You're dressed up.” he commented, and Selna squeezed the hand Yennefer hadn't realized she was still holding. She squeezed back before letting go, almost regretting it when the sense of loneliness sank in alongside the mounting dread.

“Yeah, well. Figured we should look good if this is our last day alive.”

She would remember this moment, looking back. The sharp intake of breath from Vesemir, the tiny smirk from Eskel, Visenna glancing over her shoulder briefly. She marched across the room and perched on one of the cots, feigning nonchalance.

Vesemir firmly patted Eskel's thigh and stood up, coming to her and surprising Yennefer with a hug. She stiffened momentarily, shocked by the blatant show of affection from the usually stone-cold witcher before returning it, somewhat awkwardly.

When they broke apart, Vesemir's hand lingered on her shoulder, the one where her shoulder was elevated slightly over the other. His voice was soft when he spoke, almost too quiet for even Yennefer to hear despite being right in front of him.

“I believe in you.”

With that, he turned to Selna and left Yennefer sitting, feeling stunned. Thankfully, she wasn't allowed to wallow in her thoughts long before Visenna approached her.

This was the part she wouldn't remember. A blur as she looked away from the needle, a soft hiccup from the bed beside her where Selna had sat, and then nothing but the vague sense of fear and indescribable agony.

There were moments that would stand out, of course. The scraping of her throat when her screaming wore down her vocal cords until her cries were barely rasps, the dull pain of the metal bands holding her to the cot as she tried to jerk away from the inescapable pain, the feeling of each and every one of her bones breaking apart to heal anew, a warm, wrinkled hand in hers between rounds of the drugs, the soft voice humming at her bedside as a hand caressed her forehead, and the faint sobs when the second set of screams stopped and left only hers.

Consciousness returned to Yennefer in waves. Strangely, taste and smell were the first of her senses to return in full, with the bitterness of herbs and distinct metalic scent of blood hitting her nose. Her throat, too, tasted like blood and something oddly tangy.

It took all of her energy to groan, the back of her throat protesting the effort the soft sound took. Something warm touched her hand and a warm, wet cloth was placed on her forehead as she slipped back into the comfort of sleep.

The second time she stirred, her hearing had returned. She could hear four heartbeats, one significantly faster than the other three. It took her a moment to realize that was because the other three were unnaturally slow and not the other way around. She swallowed, throat scratchy, and let out a soft groan. The muffled conversation went silent.

Footsteps, and then a hand in hers. Her wrists, she noticed vaguely, had been released from the shackles that had restrained her. Something cool was pressed to her lips and after a moment she opened them, letting the cool water soothe her vocal cords.

Yennefer sighed deeply, each breath coming slightly easier than the last as she leaned into the warm hand caressing her cheek and let sleep reclaim her.

The third time she woke up, she thought briefly that she was alone until she picked up the sound of a second heartbeat, it's slowness matching her own. Steeling her strength, Yennefer took a breath and slowly opened her eyes, wincing against the candlelight that seemed ten times brighter than before.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she pushed herself up on one elbow and took in the round room. It was the same as the last time she'd been there, though the mess on the table had been tidied and there was someone sleeping in the cot next to her own.

Squinting, she recognized Eskel's brown hair and relaxed marginally into the scratchy bedsheets, trying to get her head on straight.

She'd... she'd survived the Trials.

The realization should have made her feel elated, gleeful, proud, but instead she just felt... numb. As though someone has used a straw and sucked all the emotion out of her, leaving nothing but the dull ache of emptiness.

“I made it.” she whispered, voice raspy and slightly slurred, and then the dam broke, horror and pride and fear and euphoria blending together until tears streaked down her face and a laugh forced itself from her throat. “I'm alive.”

It was the forth time that Yennefer woke up when she realized the extent of the changes. It was, by her best guess, morning when Vesemir came into the lab. Eskel was still asleep on the cot beside her, snoring softly, and Yennefer had dozed off after her realization the night before, after the blanket over her emotions had lifted and left her overwhelmed.

The gray-haired man paused in the doorway, hand resting on the doorframe as Yennefer pushed herself up on her elbows and gave him a small nod.

“You made it.” he whispered, the words hitting Yennefer's ears as though he'd spoken right beside her. She nodded, saying nothing. A cup of water had been left beside her bed, and when she twisted to grab it her shoulder smarted in protest.

Vesemir stepped into the room as she drank, downing most of the cup in the time it took him to cross to her bed and set a hand on her thigh. She looked down at the wrinkled skin and noticed a distinct red stain on the bedding, a mark of blood proving the ordeal she'd gone through.

The ordeal that she'd survived.

Vesemir seemed to be studying Yennefer, his free hand coming up to push a few stray strands of hair behind her ear...

...and lingering there, thumb grazing her lip.

Yennefer raised a hand to mirror his, tracing her own thumb across her lip-

-and freezing as she realized her lips were smooth, sealed in a straight line across her face when before her upper lip had been curled, paralyzed in place.

She could feel the blood drain from her face, lightheadedness hitting her in a wave as she groped for the mirror that she swore had been left on the table beside her-

“Yenna...” Vesemir murmured as her hand hit the cold glass, bringing it up to rest on her lap and taking in the changes that had been made by the waves of poisons and mutagens shooting through her body.

“No.” she whispered into the still air, her hand coming up to touch her shoulder, where she could feel the point where the bone had broken and healed itself straight, no indication of her hunchback or paralysis left behind by the drugs that had ravaged her body.

She should, Yennefer thought in some deep corner of her mind, be glad to be rid of the disability that had made every day for over a decade a living hell, but the only emotion she could conjure in that moment was horror.

Horror, that after the months she'd spent feeling more like herself than she ever had before, she couldn't recognize the woman looking back at her. Horror, that the hours spent learning new ways to balance her weight, training to use her twisted back to her advantage, had been wasted. Horror, that the girl she'd slowly come to appreciate in the mirror had morphed into a woman who's unnatural beauty didn't quite match Visenna's.

And it was unnatural, there was no other word for it. There was nothing natural about the smooth skin when she'd had chapped lips her whole life, nothing natural about the point in her shoulder that twinged as a reminder that her bones had been shattered and forced to heal back together wrong in a matter of days.

A sob wracked her against her will, and she slumped into the arms that looped around her shoulders as she cried.

Chapter Text

Vesemir let her wallow in her depression for two weeks. Eskel had thrown himself back into training with renewed vigor after his Trials, but Yennefer squirreled herself away in her room- or Selna's now abandoned room.

The other room was smaller than Yennefer's own, but it had a full-length mirror and the sounds from the courtyard didn't carry as strongly as in hers.

She hadn't expected her senses to become so heightened, after her Trials. Sure, she'd known Witchers had faster reflexes than a human and sharp eyesight, sharper hearing, but somehow she hadn't processed that she would have those same traits when she became one.

And wasn't that an odd thought, that she was now a witcher.

Yennefer spent hours staring into the mirror, trying to reconcile the girl she'd been learning to love with the woman she saw staring back. The only similarities she could find were her violet eyes, tangled black hair and the two matching scars on her wrists.

After two weeks, she was woken in the early morning by a firm knocking on her door. She groaned pointedly, pulling her blanket up over her head. The door opened and she called a halfhearted “fuck off” in the general direction of the person who was invading her naptime.

Her blankets were rudely yanked away, and Yennefer snapped her teeth as Vesemir revoked her pillow.

“Pack some spare clothes. We're going for a ride.” he said plainly, closing the door behind himself as he left.

Yennefer rolled over, considering going back to sleep. Eventually she decided to haul herself out of bed, figuring she was in enough trouble already from slacking off for two weeks straight and didn't need even more chores heaped onto her shoulders.

She didn't pay much heed to what clothing she packed into the saddlebag that had been left on the foot of her bed, throwing in a set of breeches, a tunic and underclothes without really thinking about it. Before stepping into her boots she glided her hand down to the heel, checking to ensure she wouldn't cut herself on the knife she kept tucked in the ankle of the right boot. Better safe than sorry, as Vesemir loved to say.

When she arrived at the courtyard, Vesemir and Eskel were already there with the horses, all of whom were already tacked up and waiting. Vesemir was holding the palomino by the reins, adjusting the stirrups as the cranky mare swished her tail, and Eskel was patting the bay gelding idly, so she went to the gray.

The horse pinned her ears when Yennefer approached, and she felt an icy shock of fear run down her back at the thought that the horse might not recognize her, might not accept her, even after those months of tending to her.

Tentatively, Yennefer extended a hand for the horse to sniff. After a heart-wrenching moment, the horse nickered and nosed forward and Yennefer's shoulders slumped in abject relief.

She made quick work of attaching the saddlebag to the gray mare's saddle, checking the girth and adjusting the stirrups more out of habit than anything as the other two mounted.

Once she was on the horse, Yennefer was reminded of her heartache. The stirrups- which she'd set, out of habit, so the left was shorter than the right- felt uneven, and her face burned as she kicked a foot free and leaned down to fix it, stretching her heels down once she was properly mounted. She was abruptly grateful that Witchers couldn't blush as she patted the horse, staring straight ahead.

“Ready?” Vesemir called even as he undid the latch on the gate, nudging his mount to let him swing it open. They rode side by side at first, and Yennefer's curiosity finally won out over her other simmering emotions.

“Where, exactly, are you taking us?”

“You'll see.” Vesemir barely turned his head. “It's a two day ride. Four, round trip.” and with that, he urged his horse to a trot and pulled ahead of his two students.

Yennefer and Eskel shared a sidelong glance and followed along.

Barely a few minutes into the ride, Vesemir gestured at a section of cliff that had clearly endured a rockslide, blocking what looked like a trail. “This used to be the road we'd be traveling.” he announced, “A rockslide almost a decade ago blocked it off. It took me a few years to find an alternate route.”

“Why not clear it out?” Eskel asked, trotting up to ride alongside Vesemir, who chuckled.

“I'm not as young as I used to be. I tried, but I don't travel this path often enough to warrant such an effort.”

They made camp after the first day of riding at the edge of a stream, so the horses could drink and forage. Vesemir sent Eskel out to hunt for dinner, to Yennefer's surprise. She'd assumed that the elder Witcher had packed enough food for the three of them, but he'd announced it was time to get some real practice living on the road.

Yennefer was tasked with building a fire, a task that she would usually breeze through- throw some sticks together, light them with Igni, and add larger wood as it grew- but tonight she was deliberately slow about it, keeping one eye on Vesemir as he tended to their mounts.

She had a suspicion that Eskel had been sent out hunting so Vesemir could get her alone, something she hadn't let him achieve since her Trials. She'd been told after the fact that she'd been under the effects of the drugs for almost two weeks, twice as long as any other Witcher before her. Visenna claimed it was due to her gender, that alongside the usual mutations she'd also lost her uterus and had hormonal changes that Yennefer couldn't be bothered to ask about, but Yennefer privately suspected it was due to her elven blood.

Sure enough, once Vesemir had swung all three saddles over a fallen log and given each animal a quick brush, he sat cross-legged on the ground across from Yennefer, on the other side of the small firepit she'd constructed.

She didn't acknowledge him, at first. Instead, she coaxed the small flame into life, cupping her hands and blowing carefully onto the pile of twigs she'd collected until the flames started to lick at the air.

It was still an adjustment for Yennefer to perform most movements, including the twisting motion she made to grab a larger piece of wood to add it to the fire. Even the simple pivoting of her hips was an aching reminder that her body had been changed, forged in fire into something new and barely recognizable.

“Yenna.” Vesemir was the first to break the silence. Deciding to take a page out of his book, she only responded with a soft hm and added more kindling to the fire.

“Yennefer.” he repeated, tone too firm for even Yennefer to disregard him. Instead, she met his gaze head on, purple eyes boring into amber with the most disinterested expression she could muster.

“What, Vesemir?” she asked, words clipped. She knew, on some level, that her anger was misplaced. Vesemir hadn't been the one to abuse her as a child, hadn't known what the mutagens would do until it was too late, hadn't even known of her growth in the weeks before her Trials, but. But-

But there was nobody else to blame. Visenna spent all her time in the lab, Selna and Vann and Nock were dead, Eskel had done nothing wrong, her parents were still in that gods-forsaken village in Vengerberg, and her anger needed somewhere to go.

“I just wanted to talk to you. Alone.” Vesemir said, confirming her theory. “To let you know I'm here if you need anything.”

And... a part of Yennefer bristled at the statement, wondering how dare he try to be a good father figure after the life she'd had, but a larger part- the part that hadn't been shown kindness before Vesemir, that hadn't known a full belly or gentle hand- softened against her will.

She was saved from having to answer by the distinct sound of someone traipsing through the brush, and- later than she expected, because she still wasn't used to the enhanced hearing she'd woken up with- Eskel emerged, holding their dinner in one hand and his dagger in the other.

She dared to give Vesemir a wobbly smile before standing up under the pretense of rummaging through the saddlebags for the supplies they'd need to roast the meat Eskel had brought back, though the moment her back was turned she was blinking away tears.

They were halfway through the second day of riding when the trio was attacked. They were emerging from a narrow ravine, where they'd been forced to ride single-file with Vesemir in the lead, Yennefer just behind him, and Eskel hanging back by a few strides.

The narrow walls had amplified the sounds of hoofbeats and Eskel softly reassuring his anxious horse, with the occasional snort or neigh as he urged the bay onward through the claustrophobic space.

Admittedly, Yennefer had let her guard down. Her horse wasn't as bothered by the tight quarters as Eskel's, and with Vesemir leading on the palomino she didn't need to worry too much about where she moved.

And so, when she heard the shriek from above, her reaction wasn't as fast as it should have been when she looked up and saw the dark shadow descending far too fast at them.

The horses spooked in near perfect unison, and before Yennefer could even register what was coming at them she heard a surprised shout from Eskel. Her body reacted before her mind, even as her horse dashed sideways.

One hand on the pommel of the saddle, the other with a fistful of mane- the reins had slipped free from her fingers when her horse initially spooked- kicking away her stirrups, releasing the mane and vaulting out of the saddle in a motion that probably looked far more graceful than it felt, Yennefer hit the ground in a roll that left her in a tucked crouch, already rummaging for the knife hidden in her boot.

Risking a glance around, she found that Vesemir was the only one still mounted, despite his horse's best efforts. Eskel looked as though his dismount hadn't been quite as elegant or, well, intentional, as Yennefer's, judging from the distinct dirt smear on his hip, but he had a sword in hand and his eyes on the sky.

Following his gaze, she squinted at the silhouette circling high above. It gave a distinct shriek and suddenly it was coming down again. Yennefer barely had time to shout a warning- “Griffin!”- before talons dug into her shoulder. She swore passionately, twisting to drive her knife into the claw tearing through her tunic.

The creature shrieked, close enough to Yennefer's ear to make her ears ring and her head spin for a moment even as she swung her leg up, silently thanking her newfound flexibility as she hooked her knee around it's leg.

Gritting her teeth against the throbbing pulse of pain radiating from her shoulder down her spine, she narrowly avoided a strike from the razor-sharp beak by ramming the heel of her hand against one nostril, and then Eskel descended with his steel sword in hand to finish it off.

All things considered, the fight was ended quickly- a matter of seconds, in hindsight, but Yennefer was already feeling the sting of her wound, as well as a dull ache most everywhere.

The claws in her shoulder went slack, and Yennefer barely remembered to scramble out of the way before tonnes of weight crashed down on her.

“Alright?” Eskel asked, retrieving his sword from the corpse and turning to her. Yennefer offered a shaky nod, feeling the uncanny sensation of her wound trying to heal itself in a matter of moments.

Peeling her shirt away from her shoulder to assess the damage, she grimaced more on principle than genuine reaction. There were three deep wounds forming a triangle around her shoulder joint, but the bleeding was already slowing and her enhanced healing meant it probably wouldn't even scar.

Now that she took a moment to assess, though, her hip was throbbing where she'd struck the ground, the side of her knee ached for no real reason- she might have been kicked by her horse on her way down?- and her wrist would probably punish her for holding the dagger so hard in the morning. All things considered?

“Could be worse.” she said aloud, wiping her blade on the bottom of her tunic- it was ruined anyway. “Where's Vesemir?”

“I'm here.”

She looked up as the senior Witcher emerged from the same ravine they'd just exited, leading all three horses. He must've used Axii, she reasoned, because there was no other way the panicked animals would've returned so quickly otherwise.

Eskel kicked the corpse with the side of his boot, raising an eyebrow at their mentor. “Should we... do something with this?”

“We'll spend the night here.” Vesemir decided, dropping all three sets of reins into Yennefer's hands. “Pass me your dagger, I'll show you how to get the best supplies from a griffin.” After a brief pause, he turned to Yennefer. “You alright?”

“Fine.” she said flatly, already working to relieve the horses of their tack. “I'll get a fire started. Am I hunting, or are we eating griffin tonight?”

Thanks to the diversion, they arrived at their destination near noon the next day.

Yennefer didn't realize what it was, at first. They'd left the horses after crossing the last river, hiking into the dense greenery on foot. Summer was well and truly beginning, and it seemed every plant in the mountain was taking advantage of the snowmelt.

Her entire body was, as she'd expected, throbbing with the reminders of the last two days, but she grit her teeth and powered through it. A persistent twinge in her back- the spot where her spine had broken itself over and over and over, she thought- made each step more uncomfortable than it perhaps should have been.

A large cleft that looked as though a giant beast had dragged it's claw down the flank of the mountain, leaving a cave bigger than the dining hall in Kaer Morhen. A log lay across the entrance, and it was only when Yennefer noticed the many wolf's-head medallions hanging from various branches that she realized what they were entering.

“A graveyard.” she said, thumbing one of the hanging necklaces. From a distance, they'd glittered in the sunlight like droplets of water, but up close she could see every imperfection in the silver pendant.

Vesemir paused at the mouth of the cave, where he'd been standing with one hand on the fallen trunk with a guarded expression. Eskel was behind her, appearing stunned into silence at the- it had to be almost fifty medallions, swaying in the breeze.

“A graveyard,” Vesemir agreed after a weighted moment. “For the witchers killed in the attack of Kaer Morhen, almost two decades ago.”

Yennefer swallowed, licking her lips and gazing up at the tree. She'd never heard of an attack on Kaer Morhen, but something about this place, the odd stillness in the air absent of the usual rustling of animals, soundtracked only by the jingling of the medallions as they clinked together, made it feel almost unjust to ask.

They entered the cave in somber silence, even the soft echoing of footsteps seeming too loud. The jingling faded as they passed the tree, so that the only sound not brought by the trio of witchers was the soft whistling of the wind that made it into the cave.

Yennefer blinked, feeling that uncanny sense of awareness of her pupils dilating to accommodate the low light. It was barely a second before she'd adjusted to the darkness, and when she looked around the cave she fought back a shudder at the sheer amount of graves living the cave.

Fifty, by her best educated guess, though most were unmarked and she easily could've missed several. Those closest to the entrance had gravestones, small, barely legible carvings indicating who's grave they might have been, but the further they stretched into the cave the less distinct they became, until the only indication of the bodies beneath the ground was the elevated ridge of dirt.

They remained in an almost reverent silence as Vesemir led them deeper into the cave. There was a small patch of undisturbed ground at the back of the cavern, a small outcropping of rock gathering moss in the darkness. Vesemir sat on the small ledge, tilting his head to the ceiling and drawing in a deep breath.

Yennefer faltered, sharing an unsure look with Eskel before he sat cross-legged on the ground in front of their mentor and she followed his lead, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Two decades ago,” Vesemir began after a weighty pause, “A Witcher from the School of the Cat who had wintered with us revealed the location of Kaer Morhen to a group of mages. Even back then, public sentiment towards Witchers was rapidly deteriorating, and many humans and mages believed magic should only be held by those humans who came across it naturally, not granted through unnatural means like our training and mutagens. Many also disagreed with the fact that we took in all species, elves, humans and dwarfs alike.”

Yennefer wanted to scoff at that particular statement, but she held it back- it felt almost sinful, to show such distaste in a place like this.

“Those mages, alongside a handful of Cat Witchers, were able to rile up a mob of frightened and angry humans. They stormed Kaer Morhen, with the element of surprise and far, far more power than we'd ever anticipated defending against. The only survivors were those of us who weren't at the keep at the time of the attack.” his tone wobbled, almost imperceptible. Yennefer certainly wouldn't have noticed if not for her preternatural hearing. Still, Vesemir soldiered on through his story.

“I was the first to return, the next winter, and it fell on me to... perform damage control, I suppose. I know there were at least sixty men and boys at Kaer Morhen during the attack, though by the time I got there some of the bodies must've been eaten by animals or otherwise destroyed. I brought what I could recover here- it was only an hour or so's ride back then- and did what I could to rebuild the keep. I didn't think Kaer Morhen would ever produce more Witchers, not if there was ever the risk of a bloodbath like that happening again, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“What makes it so desperate?” Eskel asked softly, and Vesemir sighed.

“Things are changing. They attacked because they were afraid, saw no reason to let us live when they knew we were more powerful than them, and since monster populations had begun to decline sharply during that golden age, they didn't see the necessity anymore. That necessity is coming back. The griffon you fought on the way here was proof enough of that, if even a place like Kaer Morhen can have monsters at our doorstep.”

“That's why I contacted Visenna, why I picked up you kids during my last few visits to the rest of the Continent. It's my duty, as one of the last remaining Wolves- if not the last remaining Wolf- to at least try to build a safer future, even if I receive no thanks.”

A pause. A silence, as the weight of the story they'd been told, the weight of the lives they were stepping into settled on their shoulders, and then-

“Thank you.”

Yennefer wasn't sure why she'd said it- she was still mad at Vesemir, for stripping away the life she could have had, but at the same time... had there been a life for her, before Vesemir? She still wasn't comfortable in her new body, wouldn't be for years, perhaps decades, but if she'd grown up on the gods-damned farm, she likely would have died as that perpetually frightened little girl. It would take work, to grow into her new self, but it was better than dying in a heap of horse shit and anger.

Eskel's hand on her thigh startled Yennefer out of her reflection, and when she turned her head he gave her a tiny smile. She surprised herself by returning it.

(Before they started the ride home, Vesemir had each of them pick a medallion from the tree for themself. Eskel choose one that looked fresh off the forge, only a few dimples in the metal to show it's share of fights. Yennefer's choice was the opposite, one weathered and battered from what must've been years of use and one of the depicted wolf's ears bent backward. It resonated with her, in a way she wouldn't be able to put to words for many, many more years.)

Chapter Text

Four years. That, Vesemir had explained, was how long any graduate from thee School of the Wolf had to walk the Path before being allowed to return home to Kaer Morhen. A voluntary exile of sorts, the final Trial to prove they were fit to be true Witchers.

Those four years, for Yennefer, passed like a heartbeat. She learned more in that time than she ever could have at Kaer Morhen, and before she realized it over a decade had passed and she was well and truly a Witcher.

(The first coin she'd earned that hadn't been spent on food, a room in an inn, or care for her horse was spent on a tight fitting necklace with a small, obsidian pendant in the shape of a star.)

She had learned a lot, between the catcalls that turned into jeers when people realized who they were talking to and the fresh scars that seemed to multiply every week. Still, she couldn't help the relief that washed over her every time she made it through the Killer, back to Kaer Morhen. Her first time back, after that gauntlet of four years, she hadn't hesitated to fall into Vesemir's open arms.

There had only been one year in Yennefer's decade and a half on the path when she hadn't made it back for the winter, her horse having gone lame partway up the mountain and forcing her to turn around. By the time she'd been able to barter for a new horse, the first snows had descended with a vengeance that made it clear that attempting to return would be suicide. She'd spent that winter sleeping in various sheds and, on occasion, a brothel if there was a room to spare.

Her return the year after had been emotional, to say the least. She'd set out early, determined to have a winter of rest, and her pushed her horse perhaps harder than she should've to beat the first storms.

Eskel was already there- he always arrived before her- and was in the stables when she'd stepped inside to groom her horse. It was a whirlwind, after that, of tears and hugs and “we thought we lost you”s.

Vesemir, too, had been busy for the last decade and a half, training new recruits. Yennefer quickly learned not to get too attached to the children, especially the ones who's bright eyes spoke of a distinct lack of hardship. Those ones in particular rarely survived the Trials.

Yennefer grit her teeth as she sat up in the coffin, ignoring the throbbing of her twisted ankle and the bruises on her back where she'd been thrown into a pillar. The third crow of the rooster still rang through the underground halls, barely audible beneath the ringing in her ears.

She was soaked to the bone, rainwater, viscera and sweat chilling her to the core. The potions she'd drank over the course of the last twelve hours were likely the only thing keeping her on her feet as she stepped towards the striga- the girl- who lay on the ground.

The young princess, who just moments ago had been a furious, feral monster with four rows of dagger-sharp teeth, looked so small. Yennefer's head was swimming as she shrugged off her cloak, slipping it easily from beneath her breastplate and crouching to throw it over the child.

She should have been more careful, really, but the exhaustion of fighting for twelve hours straight and the slurry of potions in her veins made her react too slowly as the striga's eyes snapped open.

By the time she'd moved- out of instinct more than anything, really- there were teeth embedded in her bicep, tearing through skin and muscle like parchment and scraping against bone for a heart-stopping moment.

Aard hit the monster like a boulder, and it was nothing but luck that kept Yennefer's arm from being torn off entirely.

The striga snarled valiantly, but it's strength had waned far too much for the curse to keep effect, and her head collided with the stone floor with a dull thwhump .

Yennefer, quite frankly, was jealous, but she couldn't afford a nap. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, she tore a patch of fabric from her cloak and bandaged her arm from the shoulder to elbow, using what was left to make a crude sling. The wound pulsed pain, and she grit her teeth as she stood, retrieving her sword- which had been lost in the fray mere moments before, as she sealed the sarcophagus with quen and fought to hold out until the rooster's third cry.

It was silver, and that was all she needed.

After a moment's thought, she also lifted what remained of her cloak. She hadn't been warned that a striga could find a second wind, but the creature almost certainly didn't have the strength for a third round, now that the curse had lifted enough to reveal the young girl beneath.

She prodded the princess with the flat edge of the sword, satisfied with the lack of reaction, and threw the cloak over her. King Foltest had demanded the girl back unharmed, but he'd have to be satisfied with a few bruises and a scrape where her cheek had struck the ground.

It was only a few moments before the princess stirred. Yennefer had returned to the coffin, lighting it ablaze with igni to assure there was no chance of her returning to it. Everything she'd read said that the curse would be lifted if she was kept from her coffin until the cock's third cry, but they had also neglected to mention several other factors that had come up over the night.

Princess Adda stared up at her, wrapping the cloak clumsily around her bare shoulders as Yennefer approached, boots scraping away rubble and debris from their fight.

She knew she probably made a horrific sight to the child, eyes blackened by potions and covered in several fluids that were best not to name, with her arm already bleeding through the sling, but the princess was clearly too numb to react as she was hoisted to her feet and led from the castle in a somewhat awkward shuffle.

The Temerian court healer was a short woman named Jolien, and to her credit the sight of Yennefer with black sclerae and breastplate streaked with dark viscera merely made her gasp softly and pause for a moment before she got to work.

Jolien worked quickly, unwinding the bandages and hissing through her teeth. Yennefer had no illusions of having a weak stomach, but she averted her eyes as the doctor worked. It took a lot to make a Witcher vomit, but the sensation of the reversal potion she'd drank burning the rest of the elixirs out of her blood was not a pleasant one and she wasn't particularly inclined to add more discomfort to it.

“Nothin' I can do save for settin' the bone and bandaging it up, I'm afraid.” she said after a moment, and Yennefer hummed affirmation.

Jolien bit her lip as she worked, hands warm on Yennefer's cold skin as she splinted her forearm. When she was done, Yennefer's arm tucked tightly against her body just below her chest in a sling, she sat back on her heels and looked up at the Witcher.

“Believe it or not, you got lucky. Such a wound would kill any human. Can't say I know much about the way you Witchers heal, but I'd keep it splinted for at least two weeks. You got somewhere safe to winter, girl?”

Yennefer nodded, stretching her legs and rolling her ankle- it was already feeling slightly better than when it had been yanked from beneath her, though she'd prefer to ride back to Kaer Morhen rather than walk, and her potions were finally wearing off, though her skin would be clammy for at least an hour still.

“My bag?” she asked, and Jolien hummed.

“Should be in the armory. Taryn took it with yer chestplate. Got anythin' you need in it?”

Before Yennefer could reply, the side doors of the great hall swung open and two guards scampered through, holding the doors open for the trio that followed- the king in the lead, of course, followed by an older man who made Yennefer's medallion vibrate where it was tucked under her shirt, and a boy who seemed to be a courier carrying her bag and the sword that she'd been forced to abandon in the old castle.

Jolien quickly rose to her feet, bowing deeply to the king. Yennefer adjusted her sling and rose, though she left out the dramatic bow. To her surprise, the king rushed right to her and took her hand, bringing it to his lips to press the back of her knuckles to his mouth.

“Lady Yennefer, I am in your debt. My daughter has been restored and sent to bed. Time can only tell how her time under that foul curse will affect her, but I am grateful to you for granting me the chance to even see those effects.”

Yennefer floundered for a moment- courtly etiquette had decidedly not been part of her training- before inclining her head slightly in acknowledgment. The king seemed satisfied, stepping back and beckoning forward the man who must have been the court mage, judging from the way he made her medallion hum.

The man dipped his head, placing a hand on Jolien's shoulder to shoo the woman out of the grand hall, and the way she stiffened minutely under his touch and her dilated as she ducked away from his hand told Yennefer everything she needed to know, before scampering off and out of sight quickly before Yennefer turned her eyes to the mage.

He was clearly an older man, though one could never tell precisely with sorcerers, with a well trimmed, bushy beard and sapphire colored eyes.

“Yennefer of... Vengerberg, was it?” he asked, leaving her no time to answer. “My name is Stregobor. As the court mage, I extend to you my thanks. The curse that plagued our dear Princess Adda was a blight on our reputability for nearly a decade.”

She simply hummed in response, and the courier scurried forward to hand over the bag and sword. She sheathed it alongside it's sister blade across her back and swung the satchel over her shoulder, turning to the king.

“You could repay the debt with a fresh, healthy horse and my payment for the striga.” she offered, because she was already itching to be on the Path again- a week and a half spent in Temerian castles was more than enough for her.

“Of course, my lady witcher. Patryk, please escort her to the stables. Any horse you wish is yours, witcher.”

“Thank you,” Yennefer said, tacking on a “my lord” for good measure as the courier led the way from the hall. She wasn't expecting the mage to follow, but she chose to ignore him as they wove through the castle and out onto the lavish grounds- really, how much land did one castle need- to the stables.

She took a moment to greet the horse who had carried her and the princess back here from the abandoned castle, satisfied to see that the chestnut gelding had been groomed and there was fresh hay and water in his stall.

Patryk gestured broadly to the rows of stalls. “Any horse y'like, milady. We've lots of good horses here, or so I'm told.”

“Thank you.” she repeated, giving him an approving nod as she went to examine the stalled horses. There were more in pastures outside, but she was confident she could find a good steed without going too far out of her way.

Her eye caught on a gray gelding being brushed thoroughly by a boy who looked no older than Patryk, perhaps sixteen at the eldest.

“How old is this one?” she asked, leaning her good arm on the stall door. He was tall, and certainly fit enough to take her to Kaer Morhen from the distinct muscles in his chest. The boy grooming him startled, looking up at her, and-

-if she wasn't a Witcher, she wouldn't have noticed the slight delay between the left side of his face and the right, the way the muscles had to work ever so slightly harder to draw a smile on his left side, or the way one foot seemed to drag on the ground slightly as he stepped toward her.

“Six, milady.” he said faintly. “He's a good, healthy horse. I helped rear him, see, he's a cross between the Zerrikanian Desert Horse and Temerian warmblood, though he's only a quarter Desert Horse-”

The boy cut himself off, one hand on the horse's neck, as if realizing he was encouraging her to take the horse that he clearly loved dearly. Yennefer gave him a wane smile.

“I prefer mares.” she said simply, seeing the tension ease from his shoulders. The boy recovered admirably fast, gesturing to the opposite side of the aisle of stalls.

“Mares are all on that side, though there's a few in pasture if none catch your eye.”

She ended up selecting a black mare, trading the tack for her gelding for fresh, polished tack- the mare was plumper than her gelding, and she firmly declined the offered sidesaddle in favor of a standard all-purpose one.

Stregobor, who had been standing looking like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, set a hand on her uninjured arm as the stable boy with the limp tacked up the mare.

“My lady, if I may?” he asked, carrying on before Yennefer could decide whether it would create a political conflict if she told him to stuff it. “I've never met a witcher of the... female persuasion, and I'd like to do a test or two- nothing major, of course, it shan't take more than half an hour- to see how your biology differs from your kinsmen.”

Perhaps Yennefer would have agreed, if not for three factors: she was exhausted, the potions having been burnt away and taking their boost of energy with them, she already knew how her anatomy differed from at least Eskel's, from the tests Visenna had performed after their Trials- she'd never have to endure the monthly pains that ailed many human women, nor would she ever bear children, but she nearly matched Eskel in strength and her signs surpassed his- and thirdly, she'd seen Jolien flinch from his light touch like she'd been struck.

Figuring out how to politely turn him down was harder than deciding to turn him down, but she eventually settled on, “I'm afraid I really must be leaving. It's already autumn, and I'm sure you know Witchers like to bed down for the winter somewhere safe.”

She didn't give the sorcerer time to respond, weighing the coin pouch she'd been handed in one hand before tucking it into her saddlebags alongside most of the other contents of her pack before mounting in a smooth motion, gathering the reins in her left hand carefully.

She'd been assured the mare she'd chosen was trained to be ridden one-handed, which proved to be true as the stable boy limped alongside her to the gate. “I've never seen someone mount with a broken arm before.” he commented, eyes almost comically wide, and Yennefer offered another wane smile. “You... have somewhere safe t' spend the winter, right, lady witcher?” he added more tentatively, and this time her smile wasn't forced.

“I do, thank you.” she nudged him with her heel, nodding thanks to the woman who hauled the metal gate open so she could trot out and finally put some space between herself and the gods-damned Temerian royal family.

She cut it close on the road to Kaer Morhen. Leaving Temeria in the middle of autumn left her only a few weeks to make it all the way to the keep, despite her horse's steady pace, and by the time she arrived, the first snows were already settling on the mountain.

The stretch of trail that they'd nicknamed The Killer did it's damnedest to earn it's name, and she found herself riding through several inches of snow, her horse snorting every few strides to express her displeasure with the situation.

It was just short of a blizzard by the time the old metal gate came into view, the sun already descending swiftly towards the western horizon. The gate had been left open a few inches, braced on a rock to prevent it from slamming in the high winds the mountain range was known for. The courtyard was deserted as Yennefer dismounted in a single, smooth motion and heaved the gate open with her uninjured arm.

Metal screeched on metal, announcing her arrival, and she led the mare quickly towards the small stables. She really just wanted to sit in front of the fire in the great hall and eat half her weight in whatever preserved food had been stored from the summer, but her horse deserved a good groom and rest after the trek they'd made.

The main door creaked open before she could enter the stable, two small faces peering at her curiously. A third appeared behind them, and a moment later the tallest of the three called back into the keep “Yennefer's here!”

She offered a tense smile. The keep was nowhere near it's former glory, but each year one or two new recruits graduated as full Witchers and more children filled the keep for the months before the Trials. Clearly the first two were some of this year's new trainees, from their soft faces and nervous voices, but she recognized the eldest boy from years prior. His eyes had changed since the last time she'd seen him, though- from soft blue to slitted silver.

The young Witcher- Asil, she believed- hopped down the steps leading up to the keep in a smooth leap and offered a hand. She passed off the reins gratefully, giving the horse one last pat before striding across the courtyard.

Admittedly, Yennefer took a bit of somewhat sadistic pleasure in the way the younger boys scrambled out of her way. It wasn't as strong as the sense of power she got when a town's alderman or head of guard dipped their heads to her, but she wasn't above the thrill of being seen as respectable.

Vesemir rounded the corner as she stepped into the hall, and she saw the tension ease slightly from his shoulders. The old man always carried stress, muscles seemingly perpetually corded tight with the centuries of stories he bore, but that didn't stop him from crossing the hall in a few quick strides and pulling her into a hug.

She returned it, one-armed, and melted into the embrace. They stood, for a moment, in the quiet of the near-empty keep.

Yennefer moved away first, grimacing as she resettled her arm in it's sling. Vesemir's eyes dropped to the clumsy bandaging as she flinched, sucking in a breath through her teeth.

“Alright?” he asked, soft enough that the boys who hadn't gone through their Trials wouldn't be able to hear- though she knew they were listening. There was very little privacy in Kaer Morhen, filled with curious youths as it was.

“Striga.” she said in lieu of an explanation. “Lucky to still have it attached, apparently.”

Vesemir tilted his head to the side and she followed him to the grand hall, hearing the scrambling of trainees pretending that they hadn't been eavesdropping. When they reached the kitchen, Vesemir unlocked a cabinet and handed her a potion the distinct color of a mudslide.

Yennefer uncorked it and gave it a cursory sniff, immediately regretting it. She resisted the rather juvenile urge to pull a face as she downed it in one quick swallow.

“Gods,” she hissed, “Over a century of making these and not one School has found a way to make them not taste like wyvern piss?”

Vesemir just chuckled and ruffled her hair, an action that would have made any other man lose his hand.

And speaking of other men... “Where's Eskel?”

Maybe it was the potion that made her stomach feel like a cloth being wrung out, or maybe it was the way Vesemir's face paled and his heartbeat audibly increased. It was probably the potion that sent a wave of nausea down her spine, but the way her head began reeling was all from Vesemir's sharp inhalation.

“Shit.” she said, articulately, taking a step back to half-fall against the counters behind her. “Shit.”

The constant background noise of Kaer Morhen, stones settling and resettling and trainees talking or working, faded as she forced her eyes open, forced herself to meet Vesemir's sharp amber gaze head-on.

“Is he dead?”

“He didn't make it back this fall.” Vesemir said softly. “He might be wintering elsewhere, or... well, it's not common for a witcher to not winter at their school if they can help it.”

She couldn't stomach much for dinner that night, despite the gnawing of hunger that had made itself at home in her stomach for the last week.

Yennefer wasn't sure what woke her that night. It could have been anything, really, a wild animal in the distance or snow slipping off the roof, but she rarely woke during the night at Kaer Morhen. It was the only place where she could truly let her guard down.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and staring into the dark as she waited for her eyes to adjust. An animal howled in the distance. After a few moments, when it became abundantly clear that she wouldn't be falling back asleep any time soon, she pushed herself upright.

A quick assessment proved that the potion she'd downed the evening before had done it's job well, leaving a dull ache where stabbing pain had been before, and when she experimentally wiggled free of her sling her arm merely throbbed like a bruise. Yennefer slipped her feet into her boots and settled a black cloak around her shoulders.

The door creaked faintly as it opened to an empty hallway, and she left it cracked open behind her as she padded across the stone floor on silent feet.

Usually when she couldn't sleep, Yennefer would meditate, or go hunting, or sort the items in her pack for the umpteenth time, but tonight she allowed herself to wander the halls aimlessly.

She was still slightly groggy when her feet brought her to the courtyard, snow crunching under her boots as the chilled air made her tuck the cloak closer to her skin.

It was unsurprising when she made it to the stables. That had always been her favorite place in the keep, and a sleepy nickering greeted her. A tiny smile quirked her lips as a gray stallion, descended from the mare she'd grown so attached to years ago, nosed hopefully at her pockets.

Words of greeting were still forming on her lips when three of the horses called out at once, a shrill whinny cutting the air.

Yennefer startled, one hand still resting on the stallion's neck as he snorted heavily. Her hand went instinctively to her hip, where a knife usually sat, when she heard the hoofbeats.

She thought fast- the only hoofed animals in these mountains were goats or horses, and these steps were too heavy, spaced too far apart to be a goat. The only people who knew of Kaer Morhen, who would be riding near enough to be heard at this time of night, were either the humans who they occasionally bartered with, Visenna, who hadn't returned to the keep for the last few years, or-

“Eskel.” she whispered, breath clouding the air in front of her as she went from a standstill to a sprint in a matter of moments. The squeal of metal on metal pierced the air as she heaved open the iron gates, and she covered the distance between the keep and slouched figure on horseback who had just crested the final ridge in a few strides.

The horse startled, hooves digging into the ground as he stopped from a steady trot. The figure on his back was unmistakably Eskel now that she was closer, she would recognize that heartbeat anywhere, and even beneath the layer of filth and blood- oh shit why was there blood?- she could make out his brown hair and distinctly witcher clothing.

The first thing she noticed was that his heartbeat was far too slow, even for a witcher. The second thing she noticed was that practically the entire right side of his body was coated in mud and dirt, and from his chest up the mud was suspiciously red-tinted. The third thing she noticed was the piece of wood protruding from his chest.

“Shit.” she hissed. She'd barely formed the sign before a blast of Aard banged open the main doors, catching Eskel as he slipped from the horse's back even as she shouted for help.

Yennefer had to run slower than she would have liked back to the keep, every stride drawing a pained sound from her brother. By the time she got there, two boys had appeared in the doorway. She didn't question how they'd gotten there so fast. She didn't have time to.

The taller of the duo took one look at her and spun on his heel. “I'll wake Vesemir.” he said, already running.

The shorter, a red-haired boy, only faltered for a moment before he pivoted. “Dining hall.” he said simply, sprinting down the hall. She followed, wincing with every step that made Eskel whimper.

There was already a blanket thrown over one of the long tables in the dining hall when she got there, the boy returning from the kitchen with a handful of potions in his hands. She recognized Kiss and Swallow- Kiss to stay the bleeding, Swallow to force his body to heal.

One hand was already occupied, tearing a piece of fabric from her cloak and pressing it as hard as she dared against the wound on his chest and pinning it in place with her body weight. Her free hand snatched the bottle of Kiss from his hand, uncorking it with her teeth. The boy had a handful of rags, attempting to clean Eskel's face, heedless of the blood that soaked into his nightshirt. Yennefer pressed the potion to his lips, upending the bottle and discarding it as soon as it was empty. Eskel made a soft sound, and the red-haired boy grit his teeth and firmly rubbed his throat until he was forced to swallow the potion.

Vesemir arrived as Yennefer was adjusting her weight, holding down the makeshift bandage packed around the branch in Eskel's chest and leaning to help swab at his face, reveal a gnarled wound that ran from his hairline to his jaw.

“Fuck.” she muttered as wrinkled hands pressed over hers, Vesemir's presence stifling some of the anxiety twisting her stomach- though not enough, because this was her brother bleeding out in front of her, even as another set of experienced hands set to work.

It was almost twenty minutes until they'd finished triaging his injuries, coaxing half a dose of Swallow down his throat- any more and the toxicity of the potions would counteract their benefits- and bandaging his face, handing off the branch to a nearby trainee, winding lengths of bandages around his chest, knotting them tight enough that she would worry about limiting bloodflow if not for the extent of the injury demanding it.

It had missed any vital organs, by some miracle, but he'd been nursing several broken ribs and a bruised lung for the rest of the winter, not the mention the scratch on his face that even Vesemir couldn't gauge the true severity of- they wouldn't know if Eskel would ever see from that eye again until he woke. Vesemir identified the wood after the fact, when most of the children had gone back to bed and there were only four or five people left in the dining hall, three boys by the fire and Vesemir sitting with Yennefer holding Eskel's hand.

“Leshen.” he said plainly, turning it over in his hands. “Eskel must have sliced the arm off to get away. I'll lead a group out to find it soon. Must be close, if he made it here after an altercation.”

Upon closer inspection, Yennefer could make out faint burn marks on the severed arm, and she almost laughed. Eskel's signs were nearly as strong as hers, and he was clever. Even if only a silver sword could have broken it away entirely, his Igni would have put up one hell of a fight before it managed to stab him.

She smiled, snapping off a loose twig from the branch and tossing it into the fire. It took a moment to identify the feeling building in her core. Pride.

“Alright, Yenna?”

She was surprised to find herself nodding. Eskel was... not okay, not yet, but he was alive. And so was she, despite everything that she'd been convinced would kill her, she was so deeply, stubbornly alive, with the constant ache in her shoulder and hip from her bones resetting themselves and her father giving her a caring half smile and her brother still breathing and the memories of her upbringing slowly fading like a bad bruise. Yennefer thought she was doing more than alright.