Work Text:
Heart hammering beneath her ribs, each beat racing and wild, Yennefer internally floundered. In all her life, she had never expected to find herself in the unprecedented position of giving Tissaia of all people a pep talk. Then again, she mused, expecting the unimaginable was becoming good practice given the last few days’ events. Still, Yennefer couldn’t help but think that Rita or Triss would be better suited to the task.
In their absence, Yennefer resolved to do the best she could. After so many years of the Archmistress propping her up, the younger mage supposed it was only fair she finally returned the favour.
It shocked her how easily the words came. Perhaps, Yennefer mused as she strode toward the snow-haired woman; the words had been there for days. Collecting in the safety of her heart since the moment she’d sensed the danger Tissaia was in. Mounting with the ever-rising torrent of her loathing for Vilgefortz. Each strung sentence wound innocuously around her heart, tightening a snare as her violet gaze watched, dismayed, as the Rectoress’s demeanour grew more haunted by the day.
Hands slapping down on the desk defiantly, Yennefer continued forcefully, “This isn’t you!” It wasn’t. The wavering shell of a woman before her wallowing in self-pity wasn’t Tissaia at all. She didn’t blame the older woman for it. How could she? Melitele knew the toll, although differently expressed, that Istredd’s betrayal had taken on Yennefer all those years ago.
Neither, however, could Yennefer let it persist.
The likes of Vilgefortz of fucking Roggeveen would not be the catalyst for the end of Tissaia’s glorious story. His actions - and those of many other mages, Yennefer thought bitterly of Philippa and her conspirators - would not be allowed to be the thing that broke Tissaia.
Yennefer refused to allow it. Tissaia had saved her so many times. It was as the older woman had said at Sodden: now, it was Yennefer’s turn to be the saviour.
Unbeknownst to the younger mage, her fervent declaration spilt a thimble of regret through Tissaia’s veins. The Rectoress’s heart ached for Yennefer’s certainty. Grateful as she was for the raven-haired woman’s regard, the snowy-haired woman couldn’t help but doubt the statement. What did Yennefer know of who she was? For all the years between them, they’d spent precious few together.
Despite her cynical musings, Tissaia cursed the treacherous pinprick of hope Yennefer’s conviction tattooed in her heart.
Her attention fixed on the Rectoress, Yennefer whispered, “I know you,” Raven-dark brows furrowed as violet eyes stared unblinkingly at the older woman. Her lips dared a half-smile as she continued fiercely, “At your core.”
Tissaia’s heart trembled. Her fingers unconsciously flexed where they lay atop the armrests of her chair.
Wretched girl. How dare she turn those words back so soon after Tissaia herself had said them. Words that, despite herself, Tissaia could not deny. Their relatively little time together aside, Yennefer had always been shockingly skilled at seeing the woman beneath the Rectoress’s veneer.
Many a night, the older mage had spared a moment’s regret at how that particular skill attracted the most vicious of her defences.
The raven-haired woman’s heart quavered as Tissaia’s captivating blue-green gaze stayed resolutely down. Unwilling to back down, Yennefer continued passionately, “Everything I’ve done, everything that’s been done to me,” a flurry of wretched rememberings passed behind her eyes just speaking the words. “I’ve survived because of your faith.” The raven-haired woman revealed softly.
Tissaia froze. Heart stuttering in her chest, she marvelled at the younger woman’s words. It was hyperbole, surely? Yennefer couldn’t possibly mean that as it sounded. Yet, for the surety in the raven-haired woman’s voice, Tissaia could not deny it. Whatever she may think, to Yennefer, it was fact.
The very notion flooded her with incredulity. And warmth. Tender and soothing in a way she’d thought lost to her since the wretched atrocity Thanedd’s conclave had become.
It made Yennefer’s stomach swoop to reveal so much, yet the raven-haired woman could not deny the truth of it. No matter how dreadful her life had grown or how she’d rebelled against seeing it, Tissaia’s faith had remained steadfast. Her jaw trembled, lips in the ghost of a shaky smile as she recalled the late Rector’s words at the Chapter meeting: Of course she has your support.
The others had laughed, but warmth had bloomed in Yennefer’s heart like spring’s first crocuses toward the sun. An unspeakable wonder, to be known as one with the Archmistress’s faith.
It was worth exposing the vulnerability to see the slow upward creep of those mesmerizing azure pools. Though red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears, Yennefer couldn’t help but spare the sickly-sweet thought that they were the loveliest sight she’d seen all day.
“You are the strongest force I’ve ever known,” Yennefer said, unconsciously shaking her head as her breath hitched. A weak smile pulled at the younger mage’s lips because, for Melitele, wasn’t she just? Who or what could ever hope to compare to her beloved Rectoress? Only Ciri had ever come close. Even then, impressive as her daughter’s chaos was, the blonde was too young to compete with the once-brunette.
Looking at the younger woman, Tissaia wondered how Yennefer could say such a thing. Had her darling girl not yet realized her own power? Though years had passed, many a night, Tissaia’s dreams featured fields of flame. The breathtaking control Yennefer had exerted to spare her their scorching licks and appetite.
To say nothing of the terrifying power the younger woman’s daughter held. What could Yennefer possibly see in her now? She who had so clearly led them all to ruin. Tissaia withheld a grimace. Strongest force indeed.
As fast as Yennefer’s smile came, it fell as she held the older woman’s gaze and bade, “Remember your strength.” She paused, barely daring to breathe as she barrelled ahead, “You are Tissaia de Vries!” Yennefer wondered, at times, if Tissaia herself ever appreciated what that meant. Though the raven-haired mage had, herself, mocked it at times, there was no denying the weight and respect around the Continent for the Great Tissaia.
Fervency carried her momentum as the raven-haired woman declared, “You are their mother, and they need you!” A pause as Yennefer’s violet gaze bore relentlessly into the glossy emerald-hued surface of Tissaia’s gaze. “I need you!” The raven-haired woman pled emphatically.
Stomach swooping, Tissaia’s mind stilled. The words turned over - once, twice, thrice - like a rolled coin between the knuckles of her mind. Her fingers twitched, and she found herself struck by a sudden impulse. With desperation she’d not felt since Yennefer’s miraculous return a month after Sodden’s battle, she needed to be closer to her girl. Now.
Yennefer’s chest heaved as she spoke. She quaked with the truth of her own words. Gods, did she need Tissaia. More than anyone on the Continent, whether she’d tried to run to or from her, Yennefer had needed Tissaia. Would always need Tissaia.
She had no time to dwell on it. Whether her words or tone had reached the snow-haired woman, Yennefer couldn’t say. Nor did she care because Tissaia was rising from her seat and rounding the desk.
Straightening, Yennefer turned to meet her, unsure what the Rectoress intended. However, seeing Tissaia’s raised arm, there could be no doubt. Relief and eagerness rushing through her, Yennefer wasted no time bending to sweep the older woman into a fierce embrace. It was rare for Tissaia to openly offer physical affection, and Yennefer would be damned before she’d squander the opportunity.
Head tucking eagerly over the shorter woman’s shoulder, Yennefer pressed a firm hand between Tissaia’s scapula. The raven-haired woman’s back tingled when she felt Tissaia’s hand mirroring her own. A soothing up-and-down motion as the older woman’s thumb affectionately rubbed her spine. Tightening her grip, Yennefer relished in the closeness. A small smile crossed her lips as Tissaia’s other hand buried itself in her hair, pulling them closer together.
Gods, how long had she ached to hold Tissaia like this? Though they had become more tactile since her return after Sodden, never had it been so close. Violet eyes drifted shut as they held each other. The moment seemed to stretch, blessedly suspended in stillness save for the shallow rise and fall of their chests against one another.
As she held Yennefer in her arms - held her properly, with reciprocation, for the first time in their long lives - Tissaia dared not close her eyes. Her sharp mind catalogued each point of contact, memorizing how it felt to hold her, breathing in the lilac and gooseberry that Yennefer wore so proudly with reverence.
Unaware of Tissaia’s efforts, Yennefer resisted the urge to twist and inhale the older woman’s intoxicating scent deeper. The petrichor and ozone of her chaos mingled with a gentle floral that had long-haunted Yennefer’s dreams. The first time Tissaia had ever hugged her, Yennefer had been struck by the mad desire to keep her ruined ropey gown just for the lingering scent of it.
A knock at the door shattered their peace. Tissaia’s head turned to the door as they withdrew from each other. Yennefer was gratified the older woman did not step away fully. Their closeness was unabashedly displayed to whoever had arrived.
“The service for the novices,” Triss said by way of greeting as she entered the room. “It’s time.”
As one, Tissaia and Yennefer turned to look at each other. Yennefer shivered as Tissaia reached up and brushed a raven lock behind her ear from where it had fallen in her face. For a moment, Yennefer thought Tissaia would dismiss her. Thought the Rectoress would send her along with Triss with the assurance that she would follow along after them.
To her surprise, something emerald flickered in Tissaia’s gaze. Bright with familiar curiosity for the first time since Vilgefortz’s betrayal. Before Yennefer could ask after its presence, Tissaia turned her head to look back at Triss.
“Go,” Tissaia gently bade, inclining her head toward Yennefer and the desk. “We’ll collect ourselves and come along.” With a nod in return, Triss offered a weak smile and took her leave, shutting the door behind her.
As the redhead’s footsteps retreated down the hall, Tissaia’s brightened gaze turned back to Yennefer. The razor’s edge of her mind finally hooked on the wordplay in Yennefer’s speech. Heart fluttering and stomach swooping with anxiety that the crackling chaos in her chest skittered to match, Tissaia took a step back to brace herself. Unsure what was to come.
A pang of loss struck Yennefer’s heart as the snow-haired woman withdrew. Her pale hand trailed down Yennefer’s arm as it fell away to fold together with her free one at her navel. “Their?” the older woman prompted softly, head tilted as she regarded the younger woman with rare, unmasked curiosity.
Yennefer blinked, still dazed with relief and warmth from the shorter woman’s embrace. “What?” she asked, brows lightly furrowed.
Tissaia’s gaze was searching as she elaborated quietly, “You said that I am their mother.” Yennefer froze. “What am I to you, Yennefer?”
The raven-haired woman stood frozen. Tissaia’s plaintive question sent her mind careening down a helical spiral of memories. The now snow-haired woman before her had been so many things to her in the winding decades of her life – how could she possibly articulate them? To say nothing of what it would reveal if she did. How desperately had she hidden her affections for the older woman? Was a single word all it had taken to unearth them all now? Harried, Yennefer’s thoughts surged and corkscrewed through her memories.
A first sunlit morning in Vengerberg, stark among the increasingly grainy memories of that wretched place long years ago. The arrival of a beautiful, mysterious woman cloaked in a rich red fabric far too austere to belong among such dilapidated squalor. Terror, humiliation, and rage that lodged itself so deep, Yennefer was sure it had calcified in her heart.
Waking from what was supposed to be a final sleep to the same beautiful stranger, convinced the woman must have a soul forged from ice. Long years spent in a potent mix of fear, frustration, and awe beneath the Rectoress’s relentless rule. Words that cut with a scalpel’s precision and drew back with a serrated edge. Ever struggling to meet measures that seemed impossible.
Breath hitching, her thoughts spun to the school’s depths – a late night, the pearlescent shimmers of chaos-laden water highlighting the sharp plains of the Rectoress’s face. Turning to find the brunette looking back at her, an undeniably warm smile on her features. Young heart racing, cheeks flushed as she saw Tissaia for the first time.
The first permeation of what might have been safety and care trickling into her heart echoed through her. Fragile trust. Tender hope. Warmth and comforts she’d never before known. Though it had been years, Yennefer’s heart clenched in grief as she recalled the shattered glass and the bitter end of her schooling. A betrayal not their own that had set them against each other. Letting the hurt warp and colour the pictures of their lives until she could no longer recognize the warmth within them.
Her heart quailed as she recalled long years spent apart – avoiding and aching for all she denied herself. Wasted years spent kneeling only at the hearth of her rage and hurt that burned hotter by the day. Brandishing the heat of her anger as a justifiable defence for pushing the older woman away - even when, decades on, Tissaia had risked herself to reach out. An ethereal arrival in shades of peridot, emerald and mint. Herald of danger yet to come.
Violet eyes shut to hold back a treacherous tear as Yennefer recalled the firm set of the Rectoress’s jaw as she’d turned away and left that bedroom in Rinde. Her mind rounded a spiralling bend of the years after - fraught with the djinn’s machinations and the ever-growing chasm of empty, purposelessness inside her. Silent regret, acknowledged only in the dead of night, for having refused the only lifeline any had ever offered her.
Words echoed through her mind. Careful prose hidden among a plea to a conclave to act before their enemies did that soothed the poorly healed wound in her heart. Torch-brightened larimar pools and a quiet ‘Please’ that brought them together again. Yennefer’s breath again caught in her lungs as she recalled terror like no other as she’d stumbled about the battlefield. Desperate to find the woman who brought them there, only to find her suffering in her own right.
Poisoned. Betrayed.
Though many memories of that harrowed day were blurred by disorder, Yennefer remembered acutely the heat and weight of their foreheads pressed together. Shared breaths they both feared could be their last and clutching hands, gloved and without. Swelling heat filled her and poured out in a riotous scream: clasping the power fiercely in defiance. Refusing it one victim.
The desperation to return to the older woman that had relentlessly burned in Yennefer’s belly from the moment she’d awoken. Weeks and weeks of cold emptiness, hollowed out inside and hungering for what she had lost all to make it back to her. A first embrace, much more lacklustre than that they’d just shared.
Many long nights after her frantic departure, Yennefer fondly recalled the encompassing warmth of Tissaia’s care. The godly sight of the older woman coming to her rescue from Stregobor’s vile hands. Her chaos twisting and clenching in remembered discontent. Seering jealousy at the attention paid to a different man entirely unworthy of the Rectoress’s attention.
A shiver raced up Yennefer’s spine as she recalled long nights spent in Kaer Morhen’s icy walls. Stricken with anxiety about what the Rectoress must think of her. What fallout she had left the other woman with when she fled. Endless wonderings in the days turned years that followed over the older woman’s well-being. Candle marks spent writing, rejecting and re-writing a letter detailing her return home. Anxieties that only grew stronger still with each day of travel.
Lungs stuttering, Yennefer recalled the heavy woosh of air that had fled her to see the woman again. Lovelier and more resplendent than Yennefer’s memory could ever do justice, even as she stood in a dreary vault. The breathless wonder that had filled her after the chapter meeting, hand-in-hand with the Rectoress, laughing and smiling in the halls. How unspeakably beautiful the older mage had looked: sublime.
Skittering ice raced up Yennefer’s spine to cup the base of her skull as she thought of the terror that had consumed her days later. Realizing Tissaia was in danger. The fiery fury at Geralt’s assertion that they had no time to seek the then-brunette out. Though he did not say it directly, Yennefer was sure Geralt had understood the ferocity with which she meant it as she vowed not to leave Tissaia to her fate.
The unbridled terror that had impossibly tripled when she’d seen the beginnings of Alzur’s thunder brewing above Aretuza. The breathless panic that had flooded her as she’d raced through the wrecked battlefield the once pristine castle had become to reach the older woman. Grief and elation mingled when she reached her, barely in time to haul the smaller woman’s body away from the balcony.
A sight forever etched in her mind: The All-Powerful Sorceress Tissaia de Vries. Powerful beauty, at once terrible and great.
As her mind caught up to recent times, Yennefer’s thoughts inevitably turned to Ciri. The last time she’d seen the girl before they parted.
Though unspeakably worried for her missing daughter’s whereabouts, Yennefer couldn’t help but recall the young blonde’s perceptiveness. Her daughter turned to her, voice but a whisper as she urged, “Go to her. We’ll be all right.” Gods, Yennefer hoped that was the truth. That, wherever she had found herself, Ciri was all right. Her brave girl who, even in the face of Geralt’s gruff refusal, had been adamant. “She has no choice,” she’d said. Green eyes, entirely too knowing, had met violet as the blonde said gently, “I understand what she means to you. To know she suffers, she fights, that she may die.”
It hurt to think of Ciri – anxiety of a different sort threading its way through the trembling eye of her heart. Yet, thinking of the blonde also allowed Yennefer to gather her courage. Tissaia had, by the grace of too-close timing, not died with the many others who had. Ciri did not have to be present for Yennefer to know her daughter would urge her to tell the truth.
She loved Tissaia. Of course she did.
In the face of the older woman’s guileless question? The earnest curiosity glowing emerald from the azure depths of her gaze? The words felt inadequate. How could such a simple declaration hope to encompass all that Tissaia had been to her in the winding paths of their lives?
The raven-haired mage took a shaky breath and, thoughts collected, finally said, “The moon.”
Tissaia jolted faintly, half-startled by the words that broke the suspended silence. For how long it had stretched, she’d begun to fear Yennefer might not reply at all. As it was, the response the younger woman gave flummoxed her. Holding her silence, Tissaia tilted her chin up, brows lightly furrowed in silent askance.
A faintly amused smirk tugged at Yennefer’s lips. Though their adversarial days were long behind them, the violet-eyed mage would not deny the trill of enjoyment that ran through her at being able to catch the older woman off guard.
Holding the bright blue-green pools in her violet stare, Yennefer guilelessly resumed, “In the long darkness of my life, you have always been the moon. Sometimes more present than others, but never truly gone.” Orchid affection glowed in the depths of cavernous violet as Yennefer continued, “The light that acted as my sole comfort and guided me in my wanderings. My silent companion. Witness of all the fears and musings I dared voice and some I did not.”
Cheeks faintly flushed, the raven-haired woman quietly said, “A beauty I have gazed at in silent yearning, wishing beyond reason that I might stare upon your lovely face ever longer.” The soft curve of her lips tugged into a revoltingly fond smile as she saw Tissaia’s cheeks pink. Yennefer couldn’t bring herself to feel ashamed for it – after such harsh days, even harsher lives, who but they were warranted unabridged softness? “Where others have claimed to be my sun, pulling me into their orbit against any will of my own, you have instead let yourself orbit mine.”
Chest lifting, Yennefer took a steadying breath and said, “The light of your love, while not always warm, has never hurt me.” Daring to reach across the space between them, Yennefer tucked a pearlescent strand of the older woman’s hair behind her ear. “Even when I took it for granted or thought myself abandoned by it for failing to see through the clouds, your love remained. Will remain even as the spheres collide and all the sun and stars of my life have burnt out.” She swallowed and added thickly, “As shall mine.”
Her hand trailed down to cup the trembling edge of Tissaia’s jaw, the emerald in the older woman’s pupils spread so wide they nearly swallowed all traces of blue. “You want to know who you are to me? You, Tissaia de Vries, are everything.”
“Yennefer,” Tissaia dared whisper when it was clear the younger mage had said her piece. Her eyes burned with tears, and the klaxon beat of her heart thundered in her ears as she tried to process the words the younger woman had offered.
As she took in Yennefer’s ardent words, Tissaia felt her world tilt on its axis. She hadn’t known what response she expected, finally asking Yennefer to give voice to the nameless thing between them all these years. However, the younger woman’s poetic prose was far beyond her wildest imaginings. But, oh, how she had ached to hear them. Had never dared hope that she would.
As the silence stretched between them, Yennefer’s soft smile turned wane. Her heart squeezed, remorseful and pained in her chest. Carefully tucking those emotions away for a private moment, Yennefer reached out to tuck a flyaway pearl strand behind Tissaia’s ear before withdrawing her hand. “It’s all right that you don’t return the sentiment, Tissaia.” Her lips quirked wryly at the ends as she added, “It may have contributed some to how recalcitrant I was in the past,” She shook her head, raven locks swaying faintly as violet eyes rolled in exasperated self-deprecation. “I’d always known my feelings were unrequited—”
“No,” Tissaia cut in sharply, having finally found her voice. Lithe hands unlinked, frantically grasping Yennefer’s retreating one. The younger woman started in shock. A myriad of emotions flitting across her face, fragile hope blooming lilac in violet pools. Voice minutely shaking, Tissaia asserted, “They are not – your sentiments, darling girl, you have not been alone in them.”
Yennefer didn’t dare breathe.
Swallowing hard, Tissaia lifted one hand and stroked her fingers along Yennefer’s hairline, tucking the strands of raven hair behind the taller woman’s ear and cupping a trembling jaw. “If I am your moon, darling girl, you have been my Sirius – the brightest spot in all the nights of my life.” A tear slid free of Yennefer’s control, slipping down her cheek where Tissaia’s thumb wiped it away. Thin lips pulled into a tremulous smile, faintly dimpling pale cheeks as the older woman continued, “Though your wanderings set your orbit far from this place, I could always find you, Yennefer. Even in the darkest night.”
Eyes bright beneath the wetness that coated them, Tissaia’s smile wavered to melancholy. Gaze dropping momentarily, the snowy-haired woman met curious violets and admitted, “As with many beautiful things, I had resigned myself to only admiring from a distance. Anxiously awaiting the day your orbit next brought you close to me. Knowing you would soon be called away again when it did – chasing a fleeting hare, a loosed arrow, or the mystery of a unicorn.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. It was a heavy thing, at last, voiced. For all that the Continent and its many players had set them apart, they had loved each other. Silently, distantly, maddening, and achingly - endlessly, they had.
Stray pearlescent strands fell loose from their arrangement as Tissaia gently shook her head. Looking through the dark fan of her lashes into lilac-speckled violet pools, Tissaia asserted quietly, “Whatever we may feel – I would not see you caged.”
Yennefer’s hand came up to cover the snow-haired woman’s. With a subtle twist, she turned her head to kiss Tissaia’s palm. Warm and lingering. The older woman exhaled a shuddering breath, eyelids falling momentarily shut as she revelled in the intimacy.
Turning back to face her, Yennefer murmured thickly, “To be by your side, Tissaia, could never be a cage.”
Tissaia trembled. Gods, she wanted it. Wanted her. And yet.
“Darling girl, I am not…” Tissaia’s gaze dropped momentarily. Yennefer watched, fascinated, as the Rectoress seemed to take a moment to gather herself. When the familiar glacier melt of the older woman’s stare met her own, Yennefer’s heart ached for the mossy sorrow that carpeted their depths. “You must know I am not who I have been.” Thin lips quirked, lightly dimpling pale cheeks. “After all, you spent considerable effort less than a candle mark ago beseeching me, rather compellingly, to remember who I was.”
Realizing where Tissaia’s mind was headed, Yennefer gently squeezed the hand beneath her own before drawing it forward to lay a soft, airy kiss on the older woman’s knuckles. A trill of delight filled her when Tissaia’s breath hitched at the action. “I can give you time, Tissaia. To know you feel something for me? A love of the kind I feel for you?” she shook her head, raven locks swaying as violet eyes bright with awe. “It is already more than I’ve dared dream. Everything.”
Lips curled up in a hopeful smile, Yennefer said gently, “I don’t have any expectations, Tissaia. Just tell me you will be with me on the next leg of my journey and that, one day, we’ll try?”
Tissaia was silent for a long moment. The ravaged plains of her heart offering feeble, weary protest. Yet, she could not deny the must stronger call. Had never been able to deny the depths of her adoration when it came to Yennefer. She would not leap headlong into something with the raven-haired woman now and risk losing everything. However, if Yennefer was true in her convictions – and Tissaia had no reason to believe she was not – then perhaps, one day, they could truly have each other. As they long should have.
Decision made, Tissaia slowly nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “One day.” The near-beaming smile Yennefer offered in return was more than enough to vanquish the doubts that shadowed the Rectoress’s mind.
A regretful glimmer entered Tissaia’s gaze as she turned emerald-speckled pools toward the door, “For the moment, however, we really must go. The novices…” she trailed off.
Yennefer squeezed her hand in quiet support. She understood.
“Come then, my beloved Rectoress,” the raven-haired woman urged, unjoining their hands to gallantly offer Tissaia her arm. “When this is all behind us, there will be a time for us. For now, let us go pay our respects.” Eyeing the offered arm, the Rectoress - in an uncharacteristically frivolous expenditure of chaos - changed her simple gown and over-robe to a more appropriate dress. She saw, with a twinge of amusement, Yennefer’s brows shoot upward at the black fabric she now wore.
Linking her arm with Yennefer’s, Tissaia remarked, “Despite appearances, my dear, you do not have a monopoly over a colour.” Her lips quirked in amusement at the younger woman’s chastened expression. Somberness falling a moment later, Tissaia gently squeezed the arm beneath her hand. “Shall we?”
Yennefer nodded once and led them out.
Though her heart was heavy with grief and betrayal, Tissaia could not help but feel a fractal of hope. The first she’d felt since everything came crashing down. There were many dark nights to come, she knew. But, she would walk them, safe in the knowledge her brightest star would guide her. And perhaps, when the next orbit came, she would follow her.
Wherever the next leg of their journey went they would, at last, walk it together.