This story is a gift for berk324, who gave me the idea. I'm sorry if I did not write exactly what you had in mind, I did it my way so I hope you still like it and it brighten up the bad week you were having!
Also, as always thank you DaisyofGalaxy for the lovely feedback while I was writing this.
Characters and places belong to Mr. Sapkowski, TW3 belongs to CDPR and that adorable song "The Wolven Storm" was writen by Marcin Przybylowicz.
The cheerful melody that came from Dandelion's lute filled the ambient of the Chameleon like haze meant to divert the attention from the gloom that lurked that night of so many farewells. It worked as an illusion, at least for a while, because Geralt, Ciri and Zoltan, sitting on a table next to the small stage, chatted lightly, telling stories and laughing from time to time.
It was long after midnight and besides them remained in the tavern only Yennefer and Priscilla, both leaning into a column not so far away from the rest of the group. When Dandelion ran his fingers across the musical instrument finishing his song, Priscilla directed Yennefer a nervous smile.
"Do you think it will hurt the healing process if I sing?" Her voice had not yet healed fully, the damaged she had suffered had been too great, however she had received the best treatment available in Novigrad, including Yennefer's spells. The sorceress had assured that with her help in a few months the bard's voice would return to what it was before.
"No, I do not think so," Yennefer said kindly. "Just do not over do it."
The blonde bard smiled prettily and headed towards Dandelion, sitting on the small stage of the Chameleon. She whispered on his ear and he nodded, his blue eyes widen with surprise. The poet gave Priscilla his seat and handed her the lute ceremoniously, which she took with the same intensity.
Her delicate fingers tested the chords and pleased with what she heard she risked a few more notes. The fear of losing forever her singing abilities had diminished Priscilla's passion for the art she had dedicated her life to the point she had not even touch her lute since the attack. However, now her expression was akin of one reencountering a long lost lover.
Under Dandelion's watchful eyes and with her cheeks bright pink with joy, she played some more with artistry and ease, as if she had not stopped playing for a single day. Dandelion observed her worried at first, but as the woman played her soft melody, soon his face changed to express something Yennefer had never seen on him before.
At first, Priscilla just hummed along the melody, as if testing her own limits. The melancholic tune made even Geralt, Ciri and Zoltan halt their conversation to observe the bard.
These scars long have yearned for your tender caress.
To bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own.
Rend my heart open, then your love profess.
A winding, weaving fate to which we both atone.
The words she sang started out not much louder than a whisper and her voice, famous for its sweetness, was tainted by a raw hoarseness that possessed its own kind of beauty.
You flee my dream come the morning.
Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet.
To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy.
Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.
Protected by the dimness of the room that hid her reaction, Yennefer frowned. The song was about Geralt and her. She had heard more than enough songs about them, most by Dandelion and for some damn reason, a few became popular among other bards; she had learnt to ignore them, for most of the times they told things that never happened, if not exaggerated versions of the facts, and always contained unprecise comparisons, especially about her.
The wolf I will follow into the storm.
To find your heart, its passion displaced.
By ire ever growing hardening into stone.
Amidst the cold to hold you in a heated embrace.
Priscilla's sang more confidently now, pulling out different reactions from her small audience. Dandelion did not lift his eyes from the poetess for a single moment during the song, he watched her every move intently. Meanwhile, Ciri seemed delighted with the performance, she observed the bard mesmerized with teary eyes. Next to her, Zoltan's head was down as if he were looking into his mug of beer while he rocked with the melody.
After Yennefer ran her eyes across the ones there gathered, she finally meet Geralt's gaze, provoking a discrete smile to escape their lips.
You flee my dream come the morning.
Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet.
To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy.
Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.
The lyrics carried something different from all the songs the sorceress had heard about the witcher and her, the sweetness and the sentiment avowed the song could not be Dandelion's composition. The blonde bard's song permeated Yennefer, recreating so many memories that danced across her mind synchronized with the sad melody.
I know not if fate would have us live as one.
Or if by love's blind chance we've been bound.
The wish I whispered, when it all began.
Did it forge a love you might never have found?
You flee my dream come the morning.
Your scent - berries tart, lilac sweet.
To dream of raven locks entwisted, stormy.
Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.
When the bard finished her song, it took a few moments before any sound took the vacuum left by Priscilla's tune and Dandellion was the first one to break the silence.
"Priscilla!" He exclaimed, "That was just beautiful!"
"Oh yes, it was!" Ciri agreed clapping.
Priscilla smiled graciously to the compliments and gave back the lute to Dandelion. "It felt so good to sing after all that happened…"
"You will get good in no time, you will see, dear," Zoltan said and yawned. "What a beautiful way to finish this night, my friends. It is time for me to hit the sack."
Ciri yawned also and stretched. "Tomorrow will be a long day…"
"As Zoltan perfectly stated, it is time for us to bid our good-night," Dandelion putted his arm around Priscilla in a sweet gesture.
"Keep it quiet tonight." The dwarf reprimanded the couple as he followed them upstairs, "the Hierarch does not need to know the disgusting things you are do."
Priscilla's giggle trailed off from upstairs.
"Time to go to bed for you too Ciri. We have to be up early," Yennefer said while the ashen-blonde woman rose from her seat.
"When I become an Empress, will you still boss me around like this?" Ciri asked with a crooked smile.
"Of course, darling."
"That is what I hoped," Ciri said and with a sudden gesture, she hugged the sorceress. "Goodnight, mother," she whispered.
Geralt approached them as silently as only a witcher could.
"Goodnight, Geralt," she said kissing his cheek, not being able to conceal the trembling on her voice.
The witcher followed his adoptive daughter with sad eyes. The sorceress knew that seeing Ciri go once again broke his heart, even more after all he had done to save her, just to lose her again.
Nevertheless, it was her decision.
Yennefer tugged at the hem of Geralt's shirt, decided to drag him of his gloomy state at least for a while. "It was a very pleasant night," she offered with a smile.
"It was."
"And Priscilla's song was very nice. Dandelion should watch out, because it exceeded anything he ever composed."
"And was probably the most accurate song I've heard about us," Geralt said tucking a black curl behind her ear.
"Please, when have you seen me weep?" Yennefer asked humorously, although she had to agree with him.
"Never," he lied with a sly smile.
"And by the morning I'll be right next to you," she said quietly and kissed his lips.
"Not for long…" he sighed deeply.
"Geralt… we discussed this already," she stroked his cheek softly. "Ciri needs our support, at least for a while. That is the path she choose and you also made your choice of not coming along…"
"I can't just hand her to Emhyr, Yen," he said bitterly, looking away. She kissed his cheek softly embracing him. Yennefer knew he needed her comfort now because although he wanted to support Ciri, he could not accept her decision to claim her nilfgaardian heirloom. Even if it was her right, the price to pay was too high and would force her to sacrifice her own freedom in a selfless act with nothing but the hope it would bring something good.
"Is what she wants," he continued, nestling his face on her neck, "but I can't shake off the feeling that we are taking her to the lion's den."
"And we are, but she is well aware of that."
"I do not know if we should be proud or mourn," Geralt whispered putting his arms around her waist.
"Both seem just right," Yennefer said quietly running her fingers through his white hair, "I'll make sure she will be fine, I'll stay with her until she is settled and then… and then I'll find you."
He nodded silently and they both remained for a while holding each other.
"Let's go to bed," he sighed finally breaking the silence.
"Let us go," she whispered, "for tonight you will have no need to dream about me."