After reading the Witcher series and playing the Wild Hunt, I couldn't keep the thought of this pairing out of my head. Somehow it makes so much sense, and I really wanted to think that the games were trying to make Avallac'h into a better person. So, as in lack of fanfiction about this couple, I started to drabble on something small, but then it turned to over 3000 words.

So, I do not own anything about the Witcher franchise, but I did write something.

/author

He wasn't sure if he tried to make himself feel a certain way, or was he not trying to feel a thing. Although the most obvious, but not the strongest, feeling was confusion. And logically after that and because of it, he felt anger. Mostly at himself. But anger was good, it was something that he could control, something that was painfully familiar to him. For he had been feeling outraged for the better part of his life.

And because he was a man of logic and order, he really expected himself to act accordingly. And in that situation, anger was appropriate manner of approach. But silently, almost secretly.

He had loved. It had felt pure, right and decent. What was even better, it had also came with intoxication, ecstasy and a deceiving feeling of happiness. He had been in love. Deeply in love. And it wasn't what was supposed to happen, but it was warmly welcomed. Everything had worked out for him, and the pessimist in him was silently but firmly executed, and he had come to believe that not everything ended badly. He had given himself a chance to believe that some things, even if it were small and stupid and had absolutely no meaning what-so-ever, could end happily.

That was what he had thought. And he had been at peace. And then she died.

For what it was worth, his world had already crumbled shortly before. First it was a stabbing feeling in his gut when he realized that the woman he loved, and who he was promised, expected, destined to be with, bare a child and hopefully live till the end of his or her life, glanced at a human mage. At that moment he hadn't been sure if he hated more the glance or the mage or her. He had certainly hated and rabidly envied the man when he took her to bed. He had felt sick at thought of it, and surprisingly been filled with worry. When he learned that the woman he so desperately loved and cherished was carrying a child, well, if he'd been any less the controlled and sophisticated man he was, he'd say he'd been in shock. For the thought that it truly had happened, and was not some cruel misunderstanding. And for the thought that in this beautiful and most elegant, the most perfect creature in the history of everything, she had the genes of this mage. Human mage. So when she died after giving birth to this special child, to the symbol of this boundaries-breaking-lust and the reason she had felt the need to sacrifice not her, not the mage and not even him, but the whole world. She was a traitor. And despite that, he'd still had given everything in his possession to be there when it happened. Not to tell her that everything would be alright, because he didn't believe in empty promises, but to simply save her. And if the must have, also the baby. He had thought that the love he felt for her, the undeniable, uncompromised, please-have-this kind of love, he thought he could love anything that had Lara Dorren inside of it.

He had been deeply wrong.

For all the love he had felt for Lara Dorren, the purest love a person can have, died when she died. But the anger, it very much survived and filled the now empty part of him, which he had given his sole life and purpose for. He had thought that he could never abandon his mission and life intention, but for her, he did. Thought at first little involuntarily but then overwhelmingly.

And when all of this was ripped from him and the rage took its place, he twisted.

This child was no legacy, it bore no connection to whatsoever, and had none of the love her mother had had. In one night, his love had chanced for the cold, calculating and even more logical hate for himself and the world. Ironically, he still had the intention of saving this world, their world. Because he felt the need to act, hate and have a revenge. That he would not give up, he would still do what he had promised to do. He was going to have a way to save all of the Aan Elle. It was just a pity that this quest mainly concentrated upon that one child. Which, unfairly, was taken by the relatives of the Dh'oine. He had no other means but to observe from afar. This child, and then the next child, and then the next one, until round goes the wheel, there was a child whose abilities matched those of Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal.

And that was what made him so furious. When he wasn't sure was he going neatly insane or was this what he deep down in himself felt was somehow wickedly proper. It popped into his mind that maybe like Lara, he too was a traitor. That when that something twisted in him, he really had changed by the roots of his personality. This ashen-haired girl in front of him wasn't Lara, and would never be Lara. She was a shade of something bigger and more powerful. In the veins of these humans, who originally were to blame for everything, the genes had changed. The girl had changed. But then again, now he had changed.

So when he involuntarily smiled, when his anger was blown away for the slightest of moments, when his chest got the feeling of proudness and he didn't, for the first time, deeply despise this human girl, he couldn't deal with himself.

He trashed his laboratory. He burned papers filled with genetic knowledge and years, no, decades of study. He thought he would kill himself, for a moment he thought he would kill that young woman. But, as was a characteristic of his, he pushed it aside. For he had been ripped apart and had been putting himself together ever since, even if the pieces were in wrong order. So that was what he did, when he picked up a painting, brushed away the dirt from pens and inkbottles, rewrote down most crucial points of his previous experiments. He pushed his emotions aside.

Because even thought this girl was not Lara, and he was no longer himself, the feeling he had was something he faintly remembered. But when he previously had given himself in, sank in the feeling, he now felt the repulsive need to vomit. And then the anger came. Because he could not and cannot admit to himself that he was afraid.

He had convinced himself that he was noble, he acted for a just cause and he worked for a greater good, to ultimately save his people. And being afraid was directly result of what got him distracted in the first place. He was being selfish. An ironic image rose in his head, in which he was no different than the Dh'oine. He, in the end, was afraid of getting hurt. He, whose age was measured in centuries, was afraid that he was going to stop living because of it. Simply to stop breathing as, if he'd have to live it all over again, the action of inhaling would hurt too much.

But all was not lost. He still had his manners.

So when he prepared this not-Lara-girl to be presentable in in front of their, as he had once descripted, supreme leader, he kept his voice steady, his hands peacefully resting on the girl's shoulders. Her green eyes met his in the mirror, before which they stood. He calmly explained the situation and gave advice and even offered support for this new mission.

Because, when Lara Dorren had a half-human child, it created a debt. Debt which this girl would now have to pay. For one child, there would be another. This ashen-haired, green-eyed and restless young woman would have a half-elven child. And as it turned out to be with the first child, neither this one would be sired by Avallac'h. But he had almost as important job. He would be the one to convince the girl to do this, for cooperation in these kinds of matters was crucial.

So, as the girl whose company both freed and captured Avallac'h, who made him remember and did it extremely painfully, was getting her hair washed and trimmed, her eyelids painted and a gown picked up, he didn't feel anything. No, he felt something and it was paralysis. Somehow he acknowledged that if it weren't for that mage, he wouldn't get hurt this bad. Twice.

Lara Dorren had been very envied as a mate. She had been exquisite, even in elven standards. Ironically, "elven" was the key word. The king of Elves could not perform with someone who clearly wasn't an elf. And hadn't been in centuries. That night she, in her own way comely looking young woman, the descendant of Lara, was taken to the chambers of King of the Alders in vain.

She had been furious. She had come to Avallac'h and shouted to his face. He did not appreciate her temper, nor her words or actions. If this girl was to be anything, even a memory, this was not worthy of her ancestor. She was not anything close to the grace and beauty, she was disheveled and mad, looking exactly like a pitiful human she was. What he saw in her, were the smallest drops of Lara, clouded in a mist of the mage. As he found himself completely and utterly loathing the human girl, a most unpleasant poke was born in the back of his mind. This isn't her fault. Their conversation had ended in a comforting hug.

But it wasn't until her daring and almost catastrophic escape from Tir ná Lia that he couldn't deal with. Avallac'h swore to himself, afterwards, that if he'd knew what would happen to the girl, he'd never allowed her to depart. As she was running between times that would come, and places that since then have seized to be, he was desperate. He was broken.

It wasn't until they met again. When he needed her, for the sake of others, and for the first time she needed him. She had grown, learned and matured. Her temper was smoothed, but in a way that wind rounds rocks in a desert. He knew that the Hunt was after her, that this was a question of life or death for her. To him it was a question of multiple lives that were depending on him. Rightfully he felt like a hypocrite and wasn't going to deny it. But it was a question for mutual benefit. And when the road stretched to be longer, harder and every new sunrise was a victory, they somehow understood each other.

He was much too reserved to talk about matters of heart. As it figured out, she was not. Avallac'h thought that this was because she completely acted like, and even though he didn't like remembering it, was a Dh'oine. It was profoundly morbid and disgusting, but he found himself desperately looking for signs of Lara. He would have been content to just compare the women with each other, and find nothing significant. He was disappointed in himself, to how ordinarily he had hoped to proceed to replace the woman he had loved with this cheap copy. But he was tired, so overpoweringly tired. One night when he had patched himself and the woman up, he admitted it to himself. He was tired of fighting. Nothing would ever, not in this world or any other, come close to what he had harbored for Lara. But Ciri was not Lara, and they shared no similarities that would matter. They were different people and completely different races.

But what he was scared to admit, and only did so in those dark hours when he was sure they both wouldn't make it to sunrise, was that he didn't care. It didn't matter anymore.

When they were wet from the rain and breathless from running, anxious and miserable from the fight, weary from the hiding, they found a place. Inside a moist cave he uttered her name to get her attention.

"Zireael."

"Yeah?"

Her eyes were big for a human. They weren't near elven, but they weren't ugly. He had found himself to be very fond of them. Her scar was a serious flaw in the complexion even if she tried to hide it behind that, now wet, hair. She didn't smile, but there were trust in her voice. Avallac'h wouldn't admit it, but he felt proudness to have gained even some of it. He approached her, with soft, long and unhurried steps. Ciri didn't look away, but she did raise an eyebrow for a sign of mild questioning. But she didn't move away as he proceeded to stand in front of her. But she did stiffen when they observed each other for a moment. He felt so beaten.

"… Avallac'h?"

He leaned in closer, so close that their foreheads almost touched each other. She welcomed the warmth of another body, trustingly tilting her head upwards. He hugged her. And gave up.

"Please help me."

His plea came straight from somewhere deep and hidden and well-guarded. In all of his lifetime, he'd say that it was one of the truest things he'd ever uttered. But if his request was pitiful, he'd had no words for what he did after. For he, bit by bit, almost sluggishly, breathing warmth into Ciri's face, pressed his lips to her slightly colder ones.

He did not know what galloped in her mind, or if she'd ever made a well-measured decision in her life. Or if she, just like he, acted with the stronger powers guiding her life. She grabbed her hands on the elves sleeves, just above his wrist. It felt like a frantic act, thought it was made sharply. Pulling his hands lightly she threw all of her grieve and worry, as well as exhaustion and disbelieve in that kiss. She pressed herself against the elf, and in his head he didn't know what he was doing. But he knew he would die if he stopped.

And somehow, this cheap replica of Lara Dorren was a person.

More importantly to him, in its own, twisted way, it felt pure.

He wasn't surprised that she didn't even flinch. Because she, as he, was beaten. She had been scarred and abused and had grown in a very uncertain environment. She, just like he, was not really there but continued to live because they had little choice in the matter. And whatever did this girl realize it, she was easily manipulated in this sort of actions. It had happened in her past, it had also happened with Eredin. She longed for love, and made absolutely bad decisions to gain it. So he wasn't surprised when she was eager and hungry. But what he was surprised by, was that his actions rose to match hers.

He was tired of waiting, he was hurt and crushed. But above all, without knowing it, he was frustrated. With all that was once promised to him, but which he didn't receive. By living with the knowledge he never would. By being daily reminded by it, and having to work with it, and founding something like a comfort in her eyes. A little piece of serenity.

And that was why, he and she collided. As a result from series of events, and unhealthy reactions to them. By hunger, disappointment and the understandable need to be with someone. They were both alone, and that was part of the reason they came together.

His hand slid up her sides, as he firmly pushed her against the un-even, probably cold and wet cave wall. He acknowledged that the wall was probably hurting her back, but she gave no sign of it. She had entwined her arms around his neck, and was giving into anything the elf was offering. He felt horridly selfish, because all that was rummaging through his mind was the unfulfilled need to have her, and let her have him. He knew, that even if the woman was fond of the elf, even to go so far and say the girl felt attracted to him, it was not love. Not by his standards. But, as it turned out, the oh-so-noble elf kept going nonetheless.

Clothes had never felt such an obstacle before. They had never felt so hard to unbutton and they couldn't get off of them fast enough. And to the contrary of everything he lived by, he felt he had no time. But still, he did not hurry. He was not hasty, and he was very throughout.

"Wanting to make that elven-baby now, huh?"

Her voice was flushed, and it had dark, uneven color of humor. The trance, the moment was over and he was stopped by this rudeness, shocked by the lack of suitability, as if she'd smack him right in the face. There, on a chilly stone floor where they lay half-naked, he once again grew angry. His voice was cold, quiet and it tampered in the borders of fury.

"How dare you."

Her eyes glistened with a suddenly risen, silent challenge. He understood, but he could not calm himself. This girl, she too needed to understand. That was this just because before, when they strolled beside the river in Tir ná Lia, he had hoped for this. But only with a different elf. Was this, in his sick and bitter mind a solution, a back-up-plan. To put it shortly, she needed to know what had driven him to do this. And that was something to slap the elf across the face. She did not completely trust him, but he did not blame her, but didn't like to be reminded of it. But even if he wanted to, he could not entirely calm himself.

"This has nothing to do with it."

He fought with the rabid sensation to leave her there, for he knew that it would break something. And they both did not need any additional breaking. So they did what they could, and it translated into doing nothing. They stayed still, watching each other. This time, her voice was colored with regret as she broke their gaze.

"Forgive me. Please. I didn't intent to hurt you."

For a moment, he stared at her. Then his lips curled up in a bizarre smile. He leaned further down to kiss her salty neck, to leave a wet line behind her ear. He spoke calmly this time, tender and somewhat warmly.

"You, my little Swallow, have already broken me."

He continued to touch her skin first with his tongue, and then with his teeth.

"But I think…"

She lay there, praying to the sentence to be over with. For this whole morbid moment to transform into something else, and be what it may, the time to continue flowing. His warm mouth near her ear felt too exhilarating.

"That in somehow", he couldn't look in her eyes. He would lose himself in them. "You also mend me."

There were little words after those. She was overpowered by the feel of this bigger, older elf and his touch. Her thirst and his hunger were extinguished there, in their temporary hiding place. She could not oppress a whimper, and he was deaf to all other sounds. When she whispered his name he thought, for a brief time, that it all had been worth it.

When the morning came, he was at peace.

SPOILER ALERT – if you haven't read the books, and you are planning to, you probably shouldn't read this.

Just for the record, I really think that all of the characters from this amazing franchise has some sort of a problem. I mean, look at Geralt and Yennefer. He was sleeping with Fringilla when Yen was being tortured, and then LIED about it (but I'll give him some slack, knowing that it would have just hurt Yen). No wonder they couldn't raise a child straight, Ciri practically slept with a guy for a horse (who then died on top of her) and later hoped that Eredin would "force" her to fornicate.

So I decided that Avallac'h would be no better, and wrote this! And also because I really, really need this pairing to happen.

So please, comment for the sake of my self-esteem, which highly depends on the opinions of others (even better if it's a stranger from the internet).