ok so i don't want to say too much about the schedule because i feel like i always trap myself into failing to update that way, but it's looking like it'll be biweekly updates at the most until mid-late may when i've graduated and finished moving/hopefully started at a job - basically until my post-graduation life is stable enough to allow me to write more. so that's what i'm shooting for, but really it's going to be more like 'i'll post chapters as i finish them' for a while –bel

A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part Two: Hope/Fear
Chapter Nineteen: A Forest For The Fire

"I don't want to sound smug, but I'm pretty sure I told you this was a bad idea before you even left."

"I know you did." Geralt clenched his hands tighter around the steering wheel as he drove. He'd been listening to Eskel say similar things for the past day, and he'd found himself becoming more and more glad that they were finally driving back to the airport. They wouldn't see each other again until after Yule at the earliest, and he wasn't even sure he would spend his time off at Kaer Morhen like he'd originally been planning. The idea of staying in Oxenfurt was steadily gaining appeal to him, especially since it now meant he wouldn't have to deal with the others pressing him about Yennefer. He was certain Lambert knew something about the situation, but exactly how much, he wasn't sure of. What he was sure of was that if he ended up alone with Lambert, he would never hear the end of it.

"You told me it was a bad idea," Geralt continued. "In no uncertain terms." He paused, pulled into a parking spot. "But I never said that I regretted it. Just that things are different now."

"Different in what way?" He sounded skeptical. Geralt didn't blame him—if their roles were reversed, he would likely be doing the same thing. But they weren't, and he was the one in this position, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Yennefer since he kissed her. It had only been a day, true, but he was already certain that she was avoiding him. She hadn't shown up to lunch at all and she'd apparently been acting odd enough that Triss was already worried. And when he thought about what she'd told him—that Yennefer was in Aedd Gynvael—it was enough to make his blood boil. He hated it, he hated that she'd gone there to see him after what had happened between them less than a day ago. But he knew, in the back of his mind, he shouldn't judge her too harshly. He was struggling with it too.

"Don't you have a plane to catch or something?" he asked gruffly instead of responding to Eskel's question. He didn't want to respond—it was far too early to tell what the answer would be; that much they both knew. But Eskel didn't say anything, at least not right away, for which Geralt was grateful. Instead, he reached behind his seat to grab the plain black duffel he'd brought with him. Eskel had always lived simply, even for a witcher. Geralt wondered when his own life had stopped being similarly simple.

"Yeah, I do." He opened the door but didn't get out. "And you've got a reality you need to face. She's a sorceress, Geralt. The only thing she wants from you is to use you—and that's if you're lucky. Gods help you if you get dragged into mage politics."

"Seems awfully presumptuous of you to say," Geralt replied flatly. He'd been dreading driving Eskel back to the airport for this very reason. "You've never met her."

"I know enough. And I saw her in person before you did. But fine. If that's not enough of a reason for you." He got out of the truck and paused for a second before he shut the door, making direct, uncomfortable eye contact with Geralt. "She's already engaged. Remember that when she's making you sneak around."

He had to sit in the parking lot for a moment before he could ease his white-knuckled grip on the wheel enough to comfortably drive. He'd nearly bitten the inside of his cheek bloody trying not to respond to the various insults Eskel had been hurling in Yennefer's direction for the majority of the trip. There was no good reason, at least none that he could think of, for him to be saying those things—unless he knew something Geralt didn't, which he didn't even want to begin to think about. There was some truth in his words, though he hated to see it. The only sorceresses he knew better than a passing acquaintance, up until a few months ago, were Triss and Keira, and knowing one of them alone had been enough to give him an idea of why mages had the reputation they did. Ruthless in their pursuit of knowledge and power, and Yennefer was no different—except she was.

He got the impression that she didn't want anyone to know there was any kind of softness to her, any sympathy, and for the most part she did a good job of hiding it around others. But he had known it was there before he even met her, based on nothing but the way Ciri talked about her. Geralt swore quietly to himself as he drove. If Eskel had been able to hear his thoughts and not just his words, he would've stayed for another two hours to lecture him.

Geralt knew, to some extent, that he was being ridiculous. They still barely knew each other, even after these last few months, and it truly didn't make much sense for him to be thinking about her as constantly as he was—not to mention that everything Eskel said had been right. He was secretly thankful he had decided not to ask Lambert to fill in for him after all, because he could only imagine the things he would have said (the same things, but far harsher). He didn't know how he would be able to get what had happened off his mind, but he had to. For both their sakes, he had to forget about it. Nothing would be made easier for either of them by him remembering. She was clearly already moving on.

When he pulled back into the parking lot in front of his building, the light in his apartment was on. He frowned and shifted into a more defensive position as he unlocked the door, his free hand tense, ready to fight if need be. It was, he knew, most likely someone who had his express permission to be there—Regis, for instance, who would've been able to get in even if Geralt hadn't given him a key, or—

"Ciri?"

She turned around as he shut the door behind him, grinning widely as she rested her chin on the back of the couch. "I was wondering when you would get back," she said. He dropped his keys on the table and sat down next to her.

"Well, I'm wondering what you're doing here."

She rolled her eyes. He knew what she must be thinking, that she didn't need a reason to be here if he had given her the means to be. For the most part, he didn't want to press her too hard about it. He could only guess how mind-numbingly boring it must have been for her to have almost nowhere to go day in and day out, and he didn't actually mind her being there. But the expression on her face said that she was there with a purpose, one he wasn't sure he was going to like.

"I want to know what you're getting for Yennefer, idiot." She rolled her eyes, as if this should have been incredibly obvious to him. He blinked a few times and tried to hold back a frustrated groan. Of course, just when he had decided it was best to forget about her, she was the first thing Ciri would bring up.

"I—Ciri, what are you talking about?"

"You mean she really didn't tell you?" When he shook his head, confused, she sighed and stood, walking into the kitchen. He could hear her rummaging through his fridge.

"We don't exactly talk much."

"I don't know what you mean. You've had plenty of time to talk in the last few days." She was raising her eyebrow at him when she walked back into the room, in a gesture that had already become so familiar to him that he had to look away. She was holding a bottle of water in her hand. He was surprised; he hadn't thought there was anything left in the fridge, considering he'd been gone for days.

"Well, we didn't," he said, perhaps more harshly than he intended, because her lips twisted into a scowl for a moment before she opened the water bottle and took a long drink. He doubted she was actually that upset, but he felt guilty about it all the same. He remembered what Yennefer had said about how he needed to talk to Ciri, when they had been on their way to Novigrad, and the weight of how long they had actually been apart fell on him yet again. "So it would be helpful if you explained."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated motion, letting him know she wasn't angry. "There's a Yule party in a few days. This weekend. In Vengerberg. And you're going."

"What makes you say that?" This was the first he'd even heard of it, not that he was surprised; considering how much time they'd spent alone over the past several days, he and Yennefer hadn't actually done that much talking. Ciri seemed to be under the impression that they were closer than they truly were, when in fact it seemed they were beginning to drift apart.

She huffed and took another drink. "You're going because I say you're going. And now you're going to tell me what you're getting her."

Geralt leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Even if he'd actually had time to think about this, he wouldn't have had any idea where to start. Yennefer seemed like the kind of person that was impossible to get a gift for, the kind of person who already had everything (except for something he didn't know about, something that apparently even one of the best surgeons in Novigrad couldn't give her). "I don't know. I didn't even know this party existed until two minutes ago."

When he looked up she was grinning wickedly, and he had to hold back another groan. He was beginning to realize that this was probably all part of some elaborate plan of hers to get him and Yennefer to get along. He wondered how much she knew about what had happened the night before. It likely wasn't much.

"I'm guessing you've got some sort of plan," he said, and she nodded.

~oOo~

Things had become markedly different between her and Bea since that first night they saw each other. Once that first wall had been broken, the rest followed quickly, and by this time she was spending several nights a week in Ciri's apartment, something that was good for both of them. Bea wanted to get out of her crowded house, Ciri didn't want to be alone, and they genuinely enjoyed each other's company. They hadn't yet fought once, which Ciri thought was suspect, though she also realized that her perception of romantic relationships was, perhaps, a bit warped. Yennefer and Val fought nearly constantly. Mistle, while she was still alive, had always been eager to pick fights with anyone, and Ciri was no exception to that, even when they were involved. Never before had she experienced such a long period of peace.

It seemed, though, that Yennefer wasn't experiencing a similar period, and Ciri could gauge that by how often she woke up to find Yennefer in the living room, her work spread over the table and her hair pulled back messily. Ciri was far too familiar with the sight. She'd been seeing it intermittently for years, every time she stayed with Yennefer, and she'd grown less and less fond of it as those years wore on. It used to be nearly charming, a sign that perhaps she wasn't as ethereal as Ciri had once thought, but now it was just an annoyance, another cause for worry.

This morning was one of those, though Ciri and Bea were the first ones out in the living room, curled up against each other with the TV on in the background. She heard the other bedroom door open and turned her head, expecting to see Triss and getting Yennefer instead. She looked far more put-together than she usually did on these kinds of mornings, though still not enough to go out—dressed simply, with no makeup, the dark circles under her eyes standing out more than usual. She stopped when she saw them, in the middle of pushing her hand through her hair, and eyed them uncertainly for a moment. Ciri didn't say anything, and after a moment Yennefer smiled tersely and walked past them to the kitchen. Bea sat up and watched her go.

"I will never believe," she said in a hushed voice once Yennefer was out of the room, "that that woman is old enough to be your mother."

"It's because she's not," Ciri whispered in reply, untangling herself from the nest of blankets they'd made and standing. "It's a long story. Excuse me for a minute."

Yennefer was standing at the counter, gripping the edge of it tightly with pale fingers, her head tilted down so her hair spilled around her face. Ciri walked up behind her and hugged her. She was tall enough that she could rest her chin on the top of her head, and she did. She felt Yennefer laugh quietly and grip Ciri's hands with her own. She felt worryingly small, though Ciri had long ago grown taller than her.

"I thought you would've left already," Ciri said softly. She didn't dare ask her how she was holding up. She wouldn't get an answer if she did. Talking about the party, which was finally happening that night, seemed like a far safer bet, though it came with its own set of risks. Her stomach wrapped around itself in knots whenever she thought about what might happen, and that she wouldn't be able to be there for her if anything went wrong. It was too dangerous. Someone might recognize her. She understood, but resented all the same.

"I'm portaling over later," Yennefer replied lightly, looking up and out the window. "Triss left already. With Regis, and Dettlaff." A pause, a quiet breath. "And Geralt. I assume that was your doing."

"I'm worried about you," she said instead of a direct answer. There were other reasons she had wanted Geralt there, but she would be lying if she said that hadn't also played a role in her decision to tell him about it. "And if I can't be there, I want someone else who can keep an eye out for trouble to be."

"I see." She was tense. Something about Geralt had set her on edge, and Ciri was determined to find out what it was. "So you don't think that anyone who was already going to be there is capable of doing that?"

Ciri took a moment to think before she answered. She knew she was going to have to make her every word count, far more than she would have to with someone else. She needed enough of the truth in her response that Yennefer wouldn't suspect anything; at the least, that she would be able to put it out of her mind. "That's not it. I know that any of them could help, if things came down to it. But…it's different when it's your own house. Not like when it's in Novigrad, or Montecalvo. There are so many more opportunities for him to try something, to get inside your head." She stopped, drew in a deep breath. "Not to mention the possibility that you could see—"

"That's not going to happen," Yennefer said sharply. Her grip tightened around Ciri's wrists for a moment, before she seemed to realize what she was doing and her hand went slack. "There's no way they would even know about this in the first place. It's not as if they've been keeping track of my whereabouts." She moved her hands back to the counter's edge, fingers curled around it so tightly that there would likely be red marks on her palms when she pulled them away. "You don't need to worry about it."

"Sorry." And she was, though more for the obvious discomfort it caused her than for bringing it up in the first place. Yennefer shrugged slightly and kept looking forward, unmoving. She wouldn't move, not until Ciri did, and the more she thought about her leaving the more she didn't want to let go.

"You know," she said, the words coming out before she could stop them, "I don't think you need another daughter."

She felt Yennefer tense up again and immediately knew she'd said the wrong thing, that she'd upset her. It had always been an awkward subject between them, one they were both hesitant to broach around each other. No matter what she said, Ciri got the feeling Yennefer would never quite believe that Ciri was okay with what she was trying to do (though she was definitely going about cheering her up the wrong way, she realized—there was no way she sounded like it). She was about to leave, to apologize and make her retreat, when she felt cold fingers brush against her own.

Yennefer sighed. "Perhaps you're right, my ugly one," she said, lacing her fingers with Ciri's, dangerously close to the place where, until a few days ago, there had been fresh scars. "Perhaps I don't."

~oOo~

The drive to Vengerberg took nearly all day, following the roads that snaked alongside the Pontar until they could cross into Aedirn. By the time they entered the city proper Geralt thought he might go mad from the confinement, from having to spend so long in such a cramped space with minimal breaks—they stopped for only a few minutes at a time every couple of hours, barely long enough for him to stretch his legs and take care of any other needs. It was made all the worse by the fact that they had taken Regis's car, which was smaller than any car had the right to be, and there were two others in it besides—Triss, who stayed quiet for the most part, and Regis's roommate, who Geralt recognized from his visit to Yennefer in the hospital. His name was Dettlaff, and he and Regis spent the drive conversing softly in a language Geralt didn't understand.

Geralt himself didn't say much—nothing at all, really, unless he was asked something. He stared out the window, occasionally responding to a message from Ciri or Dandelion and patting the small box in his coat pocket, as if to make sure it was still there. Like it would've gone anywhere else; it was as stuck in the car as he was. He'd never been more relieved to get out of a vehicle in his life. Not even all the times he'd had to spend straight days driving before he found a contract worth taking measured up to the sheer awkwardness of this journey. He'd notice Triss throwing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking, and he had to wonder what he'd done to irk her.

They parked, according to Regis, a block or so away from Yennefer's townhouse, and when the others got out and began to head in that direction, he hung back, half turned the other way. "You go on ahead," he said when Regis stopped and looked back at him. "I need to walk around for a minute. Stretch and all that."

Regis frowned. "You know how to get back?"

"This isn't my first time in Vengerberg. I think I'll figure it out."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded and turned away to follow the others. Geralt walked for several blocks before he came upon what he supposed would be considered downtown, an odd conglomerate of sleek modern buildings and the occasional piece of elven architecture that had been miraculously left untouched. There were only a few days left until the beginning of Yule, and the sidewalks were crowded with groups of people he had to try very hard to avoid. This was exactly why he hated cities, and for all he complained about Oxenfurt's loudness and business, Vengerberg was ten times worse. He'd hoped the fact that the sun was nearly set, combined with the chill in the air that said snow wasn't far off, would mean less people on the streets, and he was less than happy to find he was mistaken.

As he entered the main square, one of the few places that remained free of roads cutting through it, he heard something drifting to him through the air. It sounded like music. His curiosity piqued, Geralt wandered to the other side of the square, where, in front of what appeared to be a church, was a small group of people singing, conducted by a tall, thin man dressed in all black. Despite the weather, they'd managed to draw a sizeable crowd, and there were more than a few crowns in the buckets they'd put on either side of them for donations. A few feet behind, by the doors of the building, were two braziers dancing with bright flames. The Eternal Fire. He grimaced distastefully, but didn't leave, instead stepping back in an attempt to blend in with the crowd, hoping that the dim streetlights wouldn't illuminate his eyes too much. The last thing he needed was for someone to see them and panic.

"I think you've gone the wrong direction," a soft voice said beside him, and he stiffened a little, turning to see Yennefer there, looking up at him sideways, the corner of her mouth tilted. She had her hands in the pockets of her black coat, and through the slightly open collar he could see her star, shining faintly in what little light there was. "My house is that way," she said, inclining her head in the direction he had come from.

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to answer. This was the first time he'd seen her, let alone been in close proximity with her, since that night, and now that she was here, now that he could see the slight sheen on her lips and smell her perfume, the memory came back, almost painfully clear. "You mean the place you're supposed to be right now?"

She laughed quietly and turned towards the choir, watching then with interest. "Yes, that place. I've only stepped out for a moment—I had to pick something up."

She didn't at all look like she'd picked anything up, though Geralt didn't let that fool him. It wouldn't be difficult for her to conceal anything on her person, given the amount of power she possessed. He nodded instead of commenting on it. It seemed the smart thing to do. Several yards away, the small group ended their song, to a smattering of applause, and began another a few moments later.

"I didn't realize that the Church's practices had spread so…far," he said, not bothering to disguise the contempt in his voice. Considering their hatred for witchers and mages alike, he doubted her opinion of them was much different than his, and it seemed he was right.

"You shouldn't be. The Eternal Fire burns quite brightly in Vengerberg. It has for some time now." Yennefer reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, quickly putting her hand back in her pocket. She was wearing a ring on her index finger he hadn't seen before, a swirling silver one that nearly blended in with the paleness of her skin.

"You talk like you're familiar with it." He immediately regretted the words when he saw the expression on her face, angry and, he thought, nearly afraid, though he wasn't sure what someone as powerful as her would have to be scared of. She blew out a breath through slightly pursed lips and didn't look at him.

"My father was—is, I suppose—a deeply religious man," she said, so quietly that if he hadn't been a witcher, he never would have been able to hear it. He suspected she knew that. "He believed strongly, often to the point of extremes. It's why—"

For a moment she was quiet as the music drifted around them. Geralt wanted to press, ask her to continue, but he knew she would shut him out in a heartbeat if he did. Snow had begun to fall around them, but still she didn't move. Some of it got caught in her hair, and when he looked at her, Geralt felt strangely as if he couldn't breathe.

After several long minutes she exhaled sharply and stepped closer to him, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. It would look to anyone else like he was leading her, but in fact it was the opposite, her grip firm as she guided him back across the square and down the street. "That's enough of that," she said, trying too hard to sound cheerful. "Last I checked, we were here to enjoy ourselves."

He couldn't bring himself to reply, but when she looked expectantly over at him he nodded in agreement as they walked. He could tell which house was hers before they even reached it. Lights shone brightly from nearly every window, and despite the temperature, the porch above the half flight of steps that led to the front door was crowded with people. As she deliberately pulled away, Yennefer made a small noise, one he thought sounded unhappy, and they climbed the steps. She reached forward to open the door, but before she could, someone's hand closed around her wrist. He heard someone say "Yenna!" in a voice that was melodic and far too cheerful and when he looked up there was a man in front of them, tall with dark hair, smiling widely at her. Yennefer herself looked startled for a moment before she composed herself. She nodded at the man by way of greeting, smiling tightly.

"It's good to see you," she said. Her voice didn't waver at all but Geralt could tell she was uncomfortable. He could see the outline of the hand still in her pocket, curled tightly into a fist.

"Oh, come now," the man said, "is that any way to greet an old friend?" By now they had gotten the attention of the other two on the porch, an older couple who were watching them with a great deal of interest. Yennefer glanced over at them for a moment and then away quickly. She had, barely perceptibly, paled.

"My apologies," Yennefer said. "But as I'm sure you can understand, I've got quite a few people to greet. We'll have the chance to talk at length later, if you wish."

"I'll hold you to that." He winked at her, his smile widening, and Geralt suddenly had the feeling that the two should in fact be kept as far away from each other as possible. "Once you've made your rounds I'll have to introduce you to my friends as well." He nodded towards the other two. Yennefer pulled the door open and motioned for Geralt to pass through ahead of her, all without missing a beat. He heard her say something to the man before she stepped in behind him and shut it, but he had stopped paying attention to the conversation. Right up until the door obscured his view, he was watching one of the others, a woman who stared back at them with incredibly familiar eyes.

who's ready for a certain person to Fuck Things Up because i sure am