The Witcher: My Heart Will Always Recognize You

by DaWitcher

Geralt of Rivia has started anew in Kovir with his lover, the sorceress Triss Merigold. Their lives full of love & new adventures, yet each must contend with the dangers of their past. They'll endure the tortures of longing when they're apart. He'd take contracts more from habit, returning to her embraced. Friends are reunited, new love bloom and scars thought healed are reopened..

21. Where The Swallow and Sparrowhawk Play

Chapter 21: Where The Swallow and Sparrowhawk Play

August 26, 1275...Harbor, Pont Vanis...

The sorceress, flanked by Einar and twelve of his guards, climbed the gangway as they boarded the Koviri warship from the deserted docks. It was an enormous wooden vessel, dwarfed only by the Naglfar, a ship that was not of their world. The vessel stood twice the length of a caravel, she bore seven sails, a bowsprit, a foresail, two mizzen sails, a spritsail and two top sails, that flew the coat of arms of Kovir and Poviss. She was larger than the six smaller lateen rigged Koviri caravels that anchored nearby as her escort. The ships held a single purpose. Their deck lined with springalds and ballistae that hurled fire and flaming arrows; they were ships of war. Aware that the sorceress had a little one in her charge, King Tancred's sister, Princess Heloiza, ordered her youngest courtier to escort the enchantress and be her personal aid. Triss frowned at the thought of having a servant tend to her, yet the sorceress knew she would need the help with Rosina once negotiations began upon her arrival to Ard Skellig. She held her baby beneath her cloak and out of sight of prying eyes, as they walked along the wooden dock toward the large vessel anchored nearby. None, say a few close friends and family had seen Rosina, the daughter of Geralt of Rivia and Triss Merigold, and the sorceress intended to keep her child secluded, hidden away from the gossips of the city.

As she stepped aboard, the captain standing on the quarterdeck bowed respectfully, then a slender, well-mannered young woman drew her stare when she approached. The girl was the courtier from the royal court. The woman greeted Triss respectfully, then extended her hand to lead the sorceress to her cabin. Though she, like her sisters, enjoyed the finer things in life, Triss had no desire to be served by the courtier, nor be absent from her family. Geralt and Cirilla were still in Pont Vanis and as the sails lowered for their three day journey, she was in no mood to watch the shores of Kovir fade in the distance. She removed her hood and shook her hair in the wind, letting down her curly locks, unaware as the deckhands gawked at her. The scent of her fragrance and the sweet smell of her hair infused the sickly saltiness of the sea air, as the crew lowered the sails to catch the midday winds. Her scent drifted across the main deck with a sudden gust of wind and the crews halted in their efforts. Triss stared at the young woman who had been gazing at her with a nervous affectionate grin, then shifted her eyes to the men as each man scurried about, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you looking at, lads?! Take your eyes off the sorceress and fix them on your task!" The captain barked from the quarterdeck. He was a man of small stature, yet commanded great respect from his crew. " Deck officer, raise anchor and lower the sails, our sorceress is aboard."

"Yes, captain!" Yelled a sailor, and then the command echoed along the deck, sailor to sailor as they carried out the Captain's orders.

"M'lady, please follow me this way." The young woman said, "Your cabin is prepared."

Triss watched the odd ritual, then dipped her head, and gestured for the woman to lead her to her cabin, just as the ship began to sail out of port. She glanced at the dock hoping to see her witcher standing there, then laughed as the woman watched, baffled. The last time the sorceress had been aboard a vessel, she was all but ready to flee with her sisters from Novigrad, but her life forever changed that night. To their starboard and port side, smaller ships raised their anchors, lowered their sails and began to move alongside their ship. They were escorts to the royal envoy. Tightly cuddling her child beneath her cloak, Triss turned to Captain Einar, a friend and commander of her guards, and asked the man not to be disturbed, then she headed below decks to rest in her cabin.

"Will you lead me to out chamber? I need to get my baby out of this of this salty breeze." Triss asked with a smiled, as she pulled Rosina closer into her body.

"Right this way, m'lady...there's another sorceress aboard and she awaits you in your cabin." The woman said, pointing towards the stairs that led below deck.

Triss stopped and the courtier halted and turned. As their eyes met, the young girl timidly lowered hers to the deck, "Why so much? This ships and its riches are certain to tempt pirates if we come across them...Raise your head, girl, I won't bite you. What is your name?"

"We're safe here, Lady Merigold. We have a sorceress onboard—two sorceresses—and the smaller vessels there are indeed our escort." The young girl raised her head as she smiled. She had seen Triss in the royal palace in Pont Vanis, yet they had never spoken till now, "My name is Alina, m'lady, courtier to the Her Royal Highness Princess Heloiza of Kovir and Poviss. My friends call me 'Lina', you may call me whatever pleases you."

"'Lina' it is." Triss whispered, then continued down the wooden stairs. She held onto the railings as the ship rocked gently, "Who's the sorceress awaiting me, and why did you allow her to enter my chamber?"

"Forg—forgive me, but—but it's..." Alina replied, a hint of panic in her voice.

"Calm down and speak slowly. I'm not upset, Lina, merely curious as to which of my sister is here." Triss whispered softly, her voice affectionate, calming the woman. "Now continue and don't be alarmed so easily. You're to care for my child and she is not ordinary; it may prove difficult for you to care for her."

"It would be an honor to care for the daughter of the Lady Triss Merigold and the witcher Geralt of Rivia. I'm eager to see her...m-may I see her? Everyone talks about the little one, yet no one has seen the girl. Princess Heloiza wishes to see her." Alina said proudly, stammering in her excitement, she barely stopped to breath. "She watches you from afar in the palace, a little shy to speak. Perhaps you can meet her upon our return to Pont Vanis. I..."

"Alina?! It would be a pleasure and an honor to meet the princess, but I need your attention here with me now, and my little girl." Triss said, halting the woman's excitement, "Now, who's in my chambers, and why did you allow her to enter?"

"I did not willingly allow the sorceress into your chambers, m'lady. Naturally I protested, of course, but the Lady Margarita arrived in the morning, and she was in no mood for pleasantries."

"Rita is here?" Triss asked, as they continued walking down the stairs towards the sorceress' cabin, She is likely irritable because her lover is gone again. I know the feeling.

Both women walked through the broad passageway, just one deck below, and it opened into a large chamber. Beautiful chairs sat at the center of the room, lanterns hung along the walls, lighting the space as the drawn curtains held the sunlight at bay. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings and a portrait of the setting Koviri sun, delicate, each of them. The wooden floors polished like glass and the sweet aroma of burning shrubs incensed the decks. Her accommodations were certainly more than she had imagined, but the sorceress mind was elsewhere. Triss unlaced the string of her cloak from her neck, as Alina quickly stepped forward, took it, and hung it across her arm. The young woman's eyes widened to the sight of Rosina, who was awake, tugging on the witcher's medallion around her mother's neck.

Alina observed with anticipation as the sorceress softly interacted with her child. She brought her face closer and Rosina cooed, playing with her tiny fingers. The soft noises of her child held her eyes captive, as her tiny hands tightly gripped her father's medallion. Triss lowered her neck, afraid her baby would break the chain, but her fears were undue and Rosina quickly seized her hair instead, smiling at her mother's face. A beautiful calmness hugged the sorceress' lips, as she gently pulled her hair from Rosina's fingers whispering softly, "Hi, sweetie, you're awake...I know, baby, I miss your father already. If he were here, I'd kiss him, just like this."

"May I ask you a deeply personal question, Lady Merigold?" Alina mumbled, as she walked just ahead of the sorceress.

Triss raised her head as Rosina paused, then tilted her head as if Alina's question was hers to answer. Rosina's beady blue eyes met Alina's just as her mother answered, "Yes, you may, Lina, but be quick. I wish to lay my daughter down and let her play a little."

"Yes, m'lady, and please excuse my undue curiousness about your affair, but...what is it that attracts you to your witcher? Forgive me, he is handsome...but you are a sorceress, a beautiful woman who can have any man, or noble, at your beck and call…"

Triss chuckled, her voice drew an odd stare from the girl, "I don't wish to have a man at my beck and call, Lina, I want my lover to stand as my equal. I neither want to be, nor do I need someone to be, an ornament on my arm. I am no trophy, my love is given freely. Of all the men in all the kingdoms of this world—yes, even noblemen—of all the men I could 'have', Lina, there is only one I've ever fallen in love with. I remember vividly, as a young girl growing up in Maribor, I imagined like all young girls I'd be wedded to a man of stature, but my Geralt rivals any nobleman I could have imagined. You'll understand, someday. Now come."

"It's intriguingly stunning, and beautiful, how your face glows at the mere mention of the witcher—your husband. The princess is right, you are a remarkable woman...The noblewomen think it odd you would choose such a man to be your husband, yet they are all curiously engrossed like ladies of the evening over him. The Princess Heloiza tolerates none of their scandalous remarks. Your witcher is not of noble birth, but you...you are so elegant and refined—"

Triss closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then gazed into Rosina's eyes, "Geralt is not of noble birth, nor am I. People fear him, but call when a witcher is needed. I could search the world and never find another like him. There is nothing a nobleman with all his titles or fortune can offer me. All the gold and precious gems in the world would not buy the qualities my witcher posses. Where are the noblemen when bandits terrorize their people? Name me a nobleman who would pick up a sword to save village folk from monsters then walk through their hateful stares. Who among them stood up to the witch hunters and the Church of the Eternal Fire when they tortured and burned their countrymen? None of them would do what Geralt does. None could do what he has done for me, and what I would do for him. I have everything I could ever want and more." Triss said, looking down into the beautiful eyes of the child they had made together. You are your father's love, Rosi.

"Yes, m'lady." Alina whispered, smiling, then took a few steps forward. She opened the door to the bedchambers and bowed slightly.

Triss walked through the door into the cabin. A beautiful chamber adorned with carved furnitures and a bed too large to be crafted any other time, say when the ship was constructed. In the corner, tucked beside the enormous bed, was a small carved bassinet. Embellished with rich trimmings, a silk blue skirt draped down to the floor, Triss noticed as she fixed her eyes on the roses carved into the wood. It was beautiful, yet the cradle was nothing compared to the crib carved by Geralt for their child. His was made with care, and his love for their daughter was reflected in every cut and flaw. The sorceress Margarita sat peering out through the glass. In the distance, the rooftops of the city's buildings glowed like gems in the sun's rays. In a daydream, and oblivious to Triss' presence, Margarita peered over her shoulder only to Rosina's soft cooing noises, as her small hands again caught and tugged on her mother's hair.

"Hello, Triss." Margarita spoke softly as she rose to her feet, "It's been a while."

"It's so good to see you, Rita. You've visited less and less since Rosi's birth. I imagined you were busy with your work." Triss whispered, as she winced and canted her head to her child's violent pulling.

She gently handed her baby to Alina's waiting arms, "Take her, please, and be careful."

"Yes, m'lady." Alina replied, then cuddled Rosina in her arms, smiling brightly at the child's beady eyes gazed at her curiously. Rosina's sharp blue eyes changed, her pupils curled to thin oval slits, like a dragon, as Alina held her close, gently swaying her body, "Wow, her eyes are changing, m'lady! Her eyes are changing!"

"Calm down, Lina. She likes whatever it is you're doing." Triss said, chuckling.

"Or perhaps she thinks you're a zeugl or basilisk to hunt." Margarita teased.

"I don't think it's that at all, m'lady. What's a zeugl? Is that her pet?" Alina laughed, playing with Rosina.
Margarita rolled her eyes, gazing at the woman with a nervous stare as she carried Rosina away. After a brief exchange of pleasantries with Triss, the sorceress walked to Alina and took Rosina from her arms, "I'd almost forgotten how adorable she is, Triss. She is growing so beautifully...and her eyes are mesmerizing—Excuse us, girl."

"Yes, Lady Margarita." Alina said, then quickly made her way to the door, leaving the sorceresses alone.

Triss followed her to the door, as she gracefully exited the cabin, then the sorceress turned to Margarita with a gentle smile, "Don't be so hard on the girl, she is young."

"Yes, she is, but it does not warrant her presence when we speak." Margarita replied.

"Did you and Keira receive my letter about my offer to Philippa?" I am nervous to know your answer to my proposals." Triss whispered, then tapped Rosina's nose, "Look how Rosi adores you...I think she remembers your face."

"And I adore the little darling. As for the matter of Philippa, we will discuss in detail upon our return to Kovir, when Keira is present. Right now we have other matters to discuss." Margarita mumbled, then raised her head.

"Where is Keira?" Triss asked, then took her seat, crossed her legs and straightened her posture.

"Keira and her witcher Lambert are at New Aretuza. She continues her work on finding cures for illnesses, then hides away with her lover when he return from his hunts." Margarita replied.

"That's good." Triss smiled, "They are making it work. It's hard to think Lambert could be tamed by Keira."

"Is she taming him? I think she's the one who's being tamed. They have their moments, but she loves him. Things are looking well I'll say, the mages are hard at work, and Keira's agreed to tend to that affair until I return." Margarita said, "That said, Philippa has raised some troubling theories about Emhyr's access to the Lodge's secrets. I'm not one for conspiracies, but she is insisting that Yennefer betrayed us to the Nilfgaardian Emperor. Now, I am intrigued and my concerns are shared by Keira."

Dammit, Phil! This is your new plaything. Like a dog with a toy... Triss frowned, "Philippa is on the warpath, I told her to lay this matter to rest. I am not going to assemble my very own witch hunt. I've had enough witch hunts to last me a lifetime, Rita. There is too much at stake to address our petty squabbles now."

"Philippa won't relent so easily, just because you tell her to, you know that right?" Margarita smiled, then sighed, "Our sister does spend a lot of her time as a bird of prey, does she not? Hunting down small creatures, perhaps the experience has rubbed off on her. And now she thinks Yennefer betrayed her, us."

I know, believe me I know Phil too well. "So, what do you think, Rita? Yennefer was Emhyr's captive...Whatever was said and done as his prisoner is in the past. She was able to guarantee the Lodges safety...We all know the horrors of torture. Anyone would break, eventually under such horrible treatment." Triss mumbled, then hugged her body, a certain chill ran down her spine. "I for one will not hold that at her feet."

"I am aware of the circumstances of her imprisonment, but Yennefer was far from tortured. Emhyr waltzed into her prison cell and made her an offer to get Cirilla at his side, but he, and we, know that girl is attached to Geralt like we are to our fingers. Do you truly believe she intended to secure our freedom? Or was it a ploy to betray us all to Emhyr? I was captured with my girls, trying to find you and, while we suffered, Emhyr appointed Yennefer to his court. So many are no longer with us, but I don't blame her, either. Self preservation is alluring in trying times. I did however, declare my interest in the matter to Fringilla, but she refused to speak on that subject."

"Where is Fringilla? Hmm, I don't know, Rita, but this whole thing is fucking shit!"

"I know that." Margarita answered, calmly, "As we speak, Fringilla hides from Emhyr in Toussaint. So, I wonder, was our freedom and safety truly guaranteed?"

"I don't know, but I will not allow anyone to destroy what we've done here. Kovir is a kingdom that supports mages, Rita, the only one. We have a King at our side. Tancred is wise and intelligent, and I intend to win this war and position Kovir to dictate the terms of the world affairs."

"My, you are fired up."

"No, sister, in truth I am afraid for my family. I fled Novigrad, saved as many as I could. I was drowning in my sorrows when Geralt stormed my world once more and professed his love. Now, I find myself having to defend something so precious. I'll burn this world to cinders to see my child grow old, have children and know love." Triss whispered, closing her eyes to calm her thoughts.

"Her father would certainly greet the man who comes seeking her hand." Margarita bantered, to lighten her sister's mood.

Triss chuckled and forced a strained laugh, "Was there any support from Ida or Francesca?"

"I'm afraid not, Ida has also refused to answer my inquiries. She is not fond of you and that is why she refused your request to defend Cirilla. Francesca was more welcoming, but she will not move to aid us. Our sisters remain the wild cards." If Emhyr joins this war and they chooses to side with Nilfgaard, we will have to face our sisters in battle. We have so much work to do so that horror never comes to pass.

"I truly don't care about Yen's actions, Rita. What I care about is my little girl right there. My daughters are my concern, though I would be dishonest if I said Philippa's assertions weren't troubling. I don't want to have infighting between my sisters. Not when we have Radovid out there, a threat to us all." Triss continued, oblivious to what she had said, "As for Ida, I care little of what she thinks of me. She refused my request to defend Ciri in my most desperate hour and I will remember that."

You unwittingly call Cirilla your daughter, yet you are afraid to tell her. Oh, Triss... Margarita chuckled, shaking her head, "Stop, Triss, don't lose what makes you who you are. You are not one to hold grudges."

"You're right. I hold no ill will towards Ida, but I shan't forget her refusal to help me when Cirilla was in danger, Rita. The worst possible thing would have been to lose Ciri to Eredin. I lost someone who meant the world to me at Kaer Morhen...Let's drop the subject, please. I don't want to dwell on those who hide when they're needed. I trust the members of my Council now, you, Keira, Eve, and the others...the ones helping me fight this war."

"Are you referring to the old witcher whose medallion Cirilla wears around her neck?" Margarita asked.

"Yes, his name was Vesemir. Old and wise, he was like a father to me, Rita, to me and Geralt both. He'd watched from afar as I'd sneak around the fortress with Geralt trying to find someplace quiet. We had our bedroom, but it was always fun to play and pretend. Those were the good old days." Triss smiled, and closed her eyes as she reminisced. An ugly frown soon took away her beautiful smile, "Back then, I feared I'd lose Geralt someday, so I made wonderful memories...then all those fears manifested when I found myself alone in that place...after he came back to me, and things fell apart when Salamandra attacked us. And then...then I watched Vesemir die, protecting us, protecting Ciri, helpless to do anything...He gave his life for hers. It's too late to tell him how much he meant to me, how much I loved him. If I could, I'd love to hug him, listen to his old voice as he calls me 'child' just one more time...and tell him how far I've come. Tell him how far we've come."

"Now you and Geralt are inseparable." Margarita replied. "You've created an incredible magic."

"Mmhmm. Vesemir watched me care for Geralt when he returned to me at Kaer Morhen. He'd always advised me, but never once looked down on me. I wish he was alive today to see Geralt and I, to see our little girl, and Cirilla...I think he'd be proud. I hope he'd be proud."

"His approval means that much to you?" Margarita said, curiously lifting her gaze, eager to hear her sister's answer.

"Yes! That much and more." Triss whispered, then lightly wiped her face and eyes, "Excuse me, I keep these things hidden...now it's all coming out and it hurts to miss someone so much. Everytime I see Geralt, I see him there watching us play at love. I think Vesemir knew more than we did about how we felt. When I look at Ciri, I see him there scolding her I...I'll visit him at Kaer Morhen, when this is all over. It's so hard, Rita, I can't bear it sometimes...so much was left unsaid. I can't make the same mistakes with my husband, so I show Geralt the only way I know how. I show him how much I love him each day."

Margarita nodded, then smiled, "I share your sentiments and forgive me, Triss, but it is in our interest to address this matter quickly. This war, as you know, has everyone on edge, but there is so much to defend, we must not waver."

"I know and I agree."

"So...how are you, Triss?"

"Why do you ask me this now? I'm doing well. My progress is going well, and if this meeting with Skellige's Queen does too, Kovir will have a powerful ally." Triss answered.

"Yes, that is all fine and well, but what good is all this, when your family is in tatters? There are things more important than your work in the court, Triss." Margarita answered.

"Tatters? We're not—Rita, please, there is so much to defend. Everything we've done could be undone if we fail now. All I have to spur me forward are my feelings for those closest to my heart. I couldn't even face my husband and say goodbye, I left him asleep and snuck away. How pathetic is that? I knew I'd break down in tears unable to leave him there."

"Aren't we all, Triss..." Margarita replied.

"No, not all of us, Rita, just me. I even refused to allow Ciri to accompany me to the dock, because I feared I would fall apart looking into her eyes. That girl tugs at my heart like no other...I am so stupid...but enough of my failings. How are things with you and Eskel? Did he leave?" Triss asked, then paused as Margarita's smile faded, and she raised her eyes from Rosina, "Forgive me..."

"No need. Is it so obvious? I needed the distraction…" Margarita whispered softly, as she gently rocked Rosina in her arms, "Eskel does not wish to be a part of this war, and I, for one, will not ask him to. He visits me, and yet each time he leaves my sight I feel as empty as this vase."

"You are in love with him." Triss said, "Why don't you simply tell him how you feel?"

"Triss, I am not like you. You do not fear ridicule for your love for Geralt and I admire your courage, but it's not so simple. I am an enchantress." Margarita said with a certain pride, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"So am I, sister. We are sorceresses, true, but we are also women, Rita. We feel love, pain, loneliness and…some of us hide behind a veil afraid to be hurt, feigning strength. I've been hurt deeply, by the same man I fall in love with anew each day. Geralt's broke my heart, then he returned and taught me it was ok to let down my guard again. Each day my heart yearns for what he is, who he is. I want the simple things from my husband Rita, a kiss, his gentle embrace, the scent of his body, the warmth of his breath on my face, the taste of his lips after each hunt. I will trade all the politics, the trapping of the courts—everything else—just to have him, Ciri and our little girl at our side. We will live at Kaer Morhen or a tiny village far away...anywhere he chooses, but I will be in his arms. I will be the woman he kisses each night before he sleeps. I am so in love with Geralt there is nothing that could turn me from him. Maybe, I am stupid and naive for offering love unconditional, but I know no other way." Triss answered, a soft smile graced her face. Margarita who is often reserved and deeply private, had shared her fears, though it was only brief.

"Your love for Geralt is truly beautiful, remarkable in every way. You were willing to endure such pain for the one you love. It burns the heart, Triss, and it hurts. I cannot allow myself to endure this. Eskel knows how I feel, but I will not impose my desires on him." Margarita whispered, "I will see him again, when we return."

Beautiful? Yes it is, but to me, it's also magical...Now you know what I've felt all these years loving Geralt...Triss smiled, playing with her thoughts, then she whispered a reply, "Impose? Never be afraid to show your love. It's so easy to miss small moments of great significance. Tell him, Rita, tell him so he has no doubts. Witchers are not without emotions."

She nodded towards Margarita. Their faces, and their smiles, conveyed more than their words ever could about what both women felt for their lovers. Triss' eyes held a sense of shared understanding. She knew what her sister felt. The loneliness and longing, whenever she was away from Geralt, was the same. Triss rose from the bed, then took a piece of parchment from the table. She took her seat, then diligently scribbled a love note to her witcher, as she had always done whenever he departed for a hunt. It was their special game, a way to remind each other of what they had together, to remind him herself, and she was determined to keep it alive. Triss quickly folded it and, with a single kiss and a flick of her wrist, the parchment faded into a spark of flames. Though she had left the decks above so she wouldn't have to endure the sight of the fading shores, Triss drew the curtains and stared longingly through the window at the city far in the distance, as the last glint of rooftop faded across the horizon. She turned her gaze to Margarita, as Rosina's cooing grew louder and her tiny fists opened and closed in the air near the sorceress chest, her voice shaking as she began to cry softly, almost asking.

"Calm down, little sorceress." Margarita whispered, then stood with Rosina in her arms, gently rocking, and singing to calm her, "I think she's hungry, Triss."

A beautiful moment. A smile crept across the sorceress' lips at the sight of Margarita's gentle movement with Rosina, "Here, let me take her. I feel so engorged it's painful. I need to suckle her." Triss whispered, then took Rosina from Margarita's arms. She ran her finger gently across Rosina's nose, as the child smiled, "Aunt Rita thinks you are hungry. Are you hungry, sweetie?"

"Aunt?" Margarita mumbled.

"Yes, you are, Rita, both you and Keira. I owe you both a debt I cannot repay. You supported me and, because of what you both did, I have her." Triss said as she took her seat.

"I didn't sleep with you, Triss, that was Geralt's doing." Margarita smiled, "You gladly spread your legs for him and now you have that beautiful love you hold there."

"Rita!"

"Yes?" Margarita replied smiling.

"Stop teasing me. What I do with my husband in our bed is private." Triss whispered, then pulled down her gown, and gently grazed Rosina's lips with her breast. The loud frantic sucking sound of her daughter's lips made both sorceresses laugh aloud.

"Oh, so it's permitted for you and Keira to tease me about Eskel? And yet I am not to tease about that witcher you adore so much? Do you even use a bed with Geralt?"

"Rita!"

"What? It's a simple question." Margarita teased. There was a brief moment of pause and hesitation as Margarita's eyes followed her sister's actions. Triss had not covered her body as she nursed her child, she left her breast exposed, and Margarita followed her every move with curiosity, then she spoke, "I have something to say to you, Triss, and you will listen."

"Sounds serious...What is it, Rita?" Triss replied, lifting her eyes from Rosina's face. She shifted her child to her right side and continued to suckle her, then gazed down nervously as Rosina pressed her hand against her face closing her eyes.

"Cirilla." Margarita said and Triss' heart sunk, as her eyes wandered, "She paid Keira and I a visit at Aretuza, and what the girl told us is deeply troubling. Normally, I would refrain from involving myself in such matters, but...you fail to see what is happening, Triss, and this will cost you more than you know."

"Rita, I..."

"I said you'll listen!" Margarita whispered, then stood with her arms across her body as she gazed at the ocean through the open window, "You are running. You shun what you truly feel, hide in your work, and keep Cirilla at a distance. I have no doubt that you love the girl. You've achieved so much for the mages, but what good are your achievements when your family is in turmoil?"

"What do you mean—?" Triss asked raising her eyes, her voice wavering slightly. "What do you mean my family is in tatters and turmoil? What is this? A lecture?"

"No lectures, just words from one silly sorceress to another. I know your hesitation and I will never fault you for it, but you are wrong, Triss. Geralt has made his choice, that much is clear, and Cirilla has made hers. How long do you intend to torture that girl?"

"Rita, don't do this to me now—do you think I enjoy this? My heart is breaking each time Ciri looks at me as though...as though I am…"

"As though you are her mother?" Margarita chide, "Continue to shun that girl's feelings for you, by denying her the love she seeks, and Cirilla will resent you for it. She may not say it, but if you keep her at arm's length, eventually she will accept your choice and drift away from you. Is that what you want?"

"No! Of course it's not." Triss whispered, "That's horrible, why would I want such a thing?"

"Then don't be stupid, Triss."

"Your assessment is unfair, Ciri will always be my little girl, bu... it's not so simple...to simply pretend as if Yennefer is not in the picture." Triss replied softly, then called to her courtier, "Lina!"

"What's unfair is you behavior!" Margarita answered, raising her voice every so slightly, a rarity as the sorceress was always calm.

I miss you, Ciri, so much...I want to be closer to you...much closer, but I don't know how.

There was a long awkward silence, then Alina answered as she entered the sorceress chambers, "Yes, m'lady."

"Take my child. I'll call for you when we are finished here. Inform Einar that no one will disturb us or enter this cabin without my permission." Triss ordered, then rose to her feet and leaned her back against the table.

"Yes, m'lady." Alina replied, then tucked Rosina in her arms, and carried her out.

Margarita watched as the the woman left the room. She turned her gazed to Triss, "So you would hurt Cirilla to spare yourself Yennefer's wrath? Yenna and I have been friends much longer than you and I. She'll not willingly allow you at take the role as Cirilla's mother, yet it is not up to you or her to decide, is it?! The girl is determined to forge a relationship with you, and yet you keep her at arm's length! Must you be so selfish?!"

"Rita! You can't imagine what's going through my mind each time I look at Ciri. I hate myself for the pain I'm causing...but I don't know what to do." Triss answered.

"And Geralt? What does the witcher say about his wife's refusal to accept his child as her own?" Margarita asked, then waited, gauging Triss' response.

"He...believes I could be a mother to Ciri. He wants it, but...how can I do such a thing?"

"The decision is no longer yours to make! It was made for you when the witcher choose you, Triss, and now Cirilla will no longer see you as just a big sister. You took the mantle of motherhood, and loved her like your own daughter. Cirilla has realized this and your stupidity and stubborn refusal is hurting her. She feels rejected, Triss. Stop running!" Margarita said, her eyes held a scolding gazed never seen before, "Keira told me about what transpired at Kaer Morhen, during your battle with the Wild Hunt. From the walls, she witnessed you fighting to save Cirilla, she followed the girl as she rushed her sword to aid you. Do you know that Cirilla still carries the amulet you made for her?"

"Rita…how did it get to this?" Triss spoke softly, holding back her tears. She rested her fingers on her forehead, her face taut in anguish,

"Forgive me, this is not an easy subject to broach, but you have much to consider. I have said my peace...and will not revisit the matter." Margarita whispered, then left Triss to her thoughts. She walked into the main cabin where Alina sat with Rosina, then took the child into her arms and began playing with her. Moments later, Triss joined her sister, she gently tucked Rosina against her body, then sat quietly.

Margarita remained silent, turning her gaze as Triss began to sing. A sweet lilt in her voice, like she had rehearsed the tune. Hen Llinge, the language of the Aen Seidhe elves. "Cae''mil, me-elaine blath, aen bleiddwedd. Dearne aen dearme aen a'caelme tedd. velen melys a'baeth ess aép, en'ca minne. Yeá thaes aép llygaid, aen tuathe dearme."

"My elder speech is aged Triss, what does it mean? Did you create the lullaby for her?" Margarita whispered.

"Yes. Her father sings to her, but Geralt is not one for music." Triss replied proudly, "The words translates to—Hi, my beautiful flower and wolfchild. Sleep and dream of a calmer time. Autumn's sweet kiss is yours little love. So close your eyes, and whisper goodnight."

"It's beautiful." Margarita said, as she ran her fingers across Rosina's eyebrows. "Esseath Ensg'eass. You are enchanting child."

Yes, she is.

"Don't take too long to accept what Cirilla offers freely, or you'll never forgive yourself." Margarita said placing her hands on Triss' cheeks, a first, for both women, yet their friendship had grown past their profession. She rose from her seat and retreated to their cabin to rest.

Two Days Later...

It was pitch black and the sea had lost it blue spark. A night on the high seas was anything but calm. Both sorceresses woke to the loud commands and noise of the vessel's crew, as the men frantically tended their duties while the captain tried to steer the ship on the rough seas. Triss looked to Margarita, who immediately took Rosina in her arms to calm the child. Both women nodded without words and Triss opened the door, then walked through the passageway now narrowed by her guards as they moved to protect her on Einar's orders. A rigid man, ever watchful, Einar took no chances. He saw the chaotic situation as an opportunity for an unsavory character to easily reach the sorceresses, so he ordered his men to follow them closely. On his orders, six of her guards were posted beside the cabin door to guard Triss' child and the sorceress Margarita, then six others, including Einar, followed as she went above deck. The howling wind and the blackness of the sea captured the imagination as the ship swayed violently from side to side in the high waves and powerful winds. Rain and ice pelleted her face and body, while she stared at the swaying lanterns, as men ran across the deck and struggled to secure ropes that had broken free.

"Captain, we must sail out of the storm or lose the ship!"

"Steady yourself, we have sorceresses onboard." The captain shouted, as Triss made her way to the rear of the ship.

A young guard rushed forward as ropes from the loose sail swung across the deck, but Triss had already noticed and stepped aside. She climbed to the deck just left of the helm, then raised her hands through the rain and sleet to render aid. Using her magic, the sorceress did what she could to steady the ship, but the sea was untamable. She applied her sorcery and shielded them from the violent winds and ice long enough for the captain to regain control of his vessel. A daring man, steeped in the traditions of sailing, he steered the helm and the creaking vessel turned with the wind to gain more speed.

"High wave from the starboard side captain!" A crewman from the foremast shouted through the storm.

The captain quickly spun the helm and the ship lurched violently, "Hold on to something, m'lady, it will be bumpy!"

"M'lady, I beseech you and the Lady Margarita to leave this vessel." Alina begged, as she frantically held onto the ropes nearby.

"Be quiet! Stay calm and get down below deck to my child, girl. I promise, no harm will come to you." Triss shouted, as she watched the captain grin, "Control yourself, Captain! You'll not take unnecessary risks. My child is onboard this ship and you do not wish to anger me by risking her safety or mine."

"Yes, m'lady Merigold." The captain replied.

Einar stepped forward, then ordered his men to escort Triss as she went below decks, but the sorceress paused as he turned to the captain, frowning, "You will do well to remember that this is a vessel of the royal court, Captain Czcibor."

"Do not give me orders, Einar! You may be the commander of the guards, but I am the captain of this ship!" Captain Czcibor raised his voice, angered. "I have no intention of risking the Lady's safety."

"Your reputation precedes you, captain, so command you ship and do not seek to impress. You are aware of the delicate nature of our mission." Einar said.

The captain nodded, then ordered his men to lower all sails to regain their speed. He passed the helm to the helmsman, then climbed down to the decks where Einar stood. Both men faced each other, yet Einar's intimidating size could not sway the captain to back down. The man and Einar were both officers of Kovir' military academy, and each was well-skilled in swordsmanship. There was a loud steely click as Einar unlatched his sword, lifting the blade a hair from its sheath.

Czcibor stepped back to get distance, but the defeated silence was broken by Triss' voice and magic, "That's enough!"

"My lady, the captain requires a lesson in civility." Einar replied.

The loud crackle of flames on the sorceress' hands silenced further discourse, as the sailors pressed themselves against the ship's railings. "Do you both wish to partake in my lessons in civility? I have no patience or desire to watch men stroke their egos. Einar, control yourself, and as for you, captain, control your ship!"

"Forgive me, Lady Merigold, but this is a matter to be settled between officers." Czcibor grumbled.

"Very well!" Einar answered.

"I have no interest in seeing fools swing their swords. You are not impressing me in your rituals of honor. There is but one man who holds such sway over my attention with his swordplay, but if you both insist on teaching each other a lesson, then step forward, my offer still stands."

Both men backed away, eyes locked, neither willing to be the first to retreat, yet both unwilling to take the sorceress' offer.

"Good. Einar, you and your men are here as my guards, your actions reflects on me, but most importantly, on Kovir. You will do well to remember that."

"Yes, m'lady."
"Captain, my patience is wearing thin. You will sail around the storm and that is not a request!" Triss ordered.

Czcibor nodded, then turned away as Einar sheathed his blade. They both gazed at Triss as she extinguished her flames, then climbed to the edge of the quarterdeck to observe the other ships in her escort. Each vessel had sailed far from the storm, say a single ship that sailed hugging the treacherous coast. Triss glared angrily at the captain, as she climbed down to the main deck.

"The other ships are not faring well, you endanger those men in your egotistical quest for glory. Rejoin them and render aid, then sail around the storm." Triss ordered, then continued towards the front of the ship and down the stairs leading to her cabin. She shouted over the howling wind and caught Czcibor's attention, "Oh, captain, as before, my orders are not a pleasant request, obey them as if you life depended on it."

Czcibor mumbled returning to his cabin as Einar watched the man intently. He glanced out onto the horizon and far in the distance the islands of Skellige were in sight. A powerful storm hung over the Isles and he knew their arrival would be marred by terrible weather.

A half a day's sailing at most. Einar thought, "Forgive my display, m'lady."

"Everyone's on edge. I need you to maintain order when we arrive. The men of Skellige can be provoking when stewed with mead." Triss said, then turned and headed to her cabin with Einar in trail, "Less than a day's sailing."

"Yes, m'lady. We have but half a day's sailing left to reach the Isles, if the storm relents." Einar replied, waving his fingers to his men to resume the duties.

***][***

Meanwhile...

It had been two days since Triss and Rosina departed Kovir for Skellig, and Cirilla began to feel the absence of the sorceress and her little sister. Geralt's demeanor had changed since the Triss departure, he spent his morning training with Cirilla, then the witcher would retreat to the garden each afternoon after their morning sparring matches. He spent much of his afternoon in a far corner of the garden, as Cirilla watched him. Though his actions peaked her curiosity, Cirilla dared not intrude on his solitude. She sensed his deep longing for Triss and his child, and his obvious lack of focus, yet she was still unable to best him in swordplay even in his distracted state. Geralt hadn't taken a contract in months, but his skill with the sword had not diminished. The witcher easily bested Cirilla and countered every strike as though he knew what she intended before she moved. She had began to employ her magical abilities and grew more confident in her magic as she resumed her studies with Triss. The young witcheress had mastered a few witcher signs with instruction from her father, though she had no need for them. Her training with Triss had prepared her and say for her lack of mutations, Cirilla had become a skilled and capable witcher. Later that evening, as he rested beside the fireplace, she walked into the parlor and told Geralt of her intentions to join Triss on Ard Skellig. To her surprise the witcher agreed, knowing nothing he said would dissuade her. Despite her insistence, Geralt refused to join her. He quickly checked her armor, then bid her farewell, but Cirilla placed her hand on his cheek and hugged him. She broke their embrace, shifted her cloak, then shove the door open and stepped out onto the porch. Just outside their home her mare, Kelpie, stood impatient. Geralt bore a proud look in his eyes, yet his face also held a hint of deeper longing. He'd be alone until their return, absent his sorceress and children for the first time in months.

"You should really come with me, Geralt. We can surprise Triss, I think she'll love that." Cirilla said.

"I know, but I have something very important I need to take care of for her. I'll wait here, for the three of you. I have to get this right, Ciri." Geralt replied, then continued to Triss' lab to brew his potions. It had been some time since he had any use for witcher potions, yet he brewed them more out of habit than need.

Cirilla walked out into the yard, whistled for her mare, then took hold of her reins. "Come on, Kelpie, we are visiting Ard Skellig...I know, I miss them too."

She took a deep breath, then opened a portal to the island of Hindarsfjall and emerged near the village of Lofeton. Cirilla spent the evening visiting Skjall's grave, then traveled to Ard Skellig. She kept her distance from Kaer Trolde, and took refuge from the coming storm in the village of Arinbjorn, on the southern side of the bay. The storm was already fierce, and beat down with a force rarely seen outside the Isles, as she entered the village. The heavy rain was like solid a grey sheet in front of her face, making it almost impossible to see. Peering out from under her sagging hood, Cirilla made out the dim light in the distance. As she approached, she raised her hood slightly shielding her face from the rain to read the noticeboard outside. The inn, I'll wager. She thought. Secured to the wooden pillars beneath a simple cover, were five horses, beautiful creatures draped with armor bearing some clan's colors she could not make out in the darkness. Their warm breaths, and the steam rising from their bodies, clued her to the time of their arrival. Just arrived. Horses looks weary, armored riders and likely taking shelter from the storm? Cirilla thought, as she fastened Kelpie, alongside the other mounts. The young witcheress frowned at leaving her mare in such conditions while she waited out the storm, but she had no way to raise a fire in the rain or knew of no cave in which to seek shelter. She took an apple from her saddlebag and placed it in the horse's mouth. Her gesture caused the others to snuff and snorted as Kelpie whinnied and tossed happily.

"Sorry, I don't know your owners, so I don't want to give you treats and upset them. I can't afford to get into a scuffle here, I need to find Triss." Cirilla mumbled, then ducked her head into the doorway, listening keenly as she entered the inn.

The wooden door hit her back as the wind blew, and she slammed it shut against the elements using her foot, then pulled down her hood. Like a creature of the shadows, her face was partially hidden in the darkness, the room only dimly lit by the odd candle atop the well-spaced tables. At the far end of the room, Cirilla could make out what looked like a fire pit, likely used for cooking, but it was unlit. With the late hour, and scarce customers, the innkeeper had decided it wasn't worth the effort to keep the fire lit. As Cirilla scanned the room, she noticed large swathes of the room were shrouded in near darkness. I guess I won't be warming myself by the fire...or drying off. She thought to herself.

Nearly deserted, all but two tables sat empty. The innkeeper stood behind the counter at the far end of the room, as he counted his earnings. At the table opposite the door, two drunks slept, snoring loudly, one with his head on the table, the other leaning against the wall. Just a few tables over, along the aisle, was seated a party of five. Four of them were heavily armed warriors, wearing heavy gambesons with mail armor over the top. Each had removed his helmet and rested them on the table. One warrior sat leaning against the table, his back toward the other's, chin resting against his chest, his mug held loosely in his lap. The fifth member of the group was a woman, she sat alone in the dim light, but just in reach of the warriors. She was moderately armed, wearing a woolen gambeson, metal shoulder plates and fine fur wrapped around her collar. A hood hid her face and a cloak concealed most of her body, but the handle of her sword was visible. Like the witcher, everyone at the table was drenched. There was water on the floor beneath Cirilla's feet and wet boot marks covered the floor.

The riders of those horses outside, I take it…warriors, heavily armed Great... Cirilla thought. A place to warm up and rest for the night.

The four warriors had turned their heads as the witcheress slammed the door. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light in the room and she noticed all four men had fixed their eyes on her. The one on the ground had spilt his drink when the bang startled him, and grumbled and swore to himself. As she began to move towards the innkeeper, all, say for the hooded woman, turned their attention towards their drinks. She kept her eyes on the ashen-haired witcheress, but she could only just make out the bottom edges of the woman's lips, lit by the small lamp, as the rest of her face was concealed by the hood's shadow. She glanced at the woman and caught a smile, but shrugged it off and continued towards the counter and the innkeeper. As Cirilla passed the table, stepping over the lout on the ground, the hooded woman dropped her head just as she caught her smile again, but the witcher jerked her cloaked when she felt a hand brush against her armor and reach for her thigh.

"Touch me again and that arm is mine!" She muttered, her eyes frightening. Her voice echoed across the room, waking one of the drunks nearby, but the man quickly fell to the floor and snored himself back to sleep. The hand retracted as she looked down, it belonged to dozing oaf on the ground.

"Ye spilt me mead, wench…" He mumbled.

"True...and if you grab at me again, it'll be your blood I spill." Cirilla said coldly.

She paused briefly, as she heard the woman chuckled softly, then turned back and noticed the hooded stranger lightly smacking the warrior across the top of his head. Like a family, they laughed, then continued drinking their mead. Cirilla breathed a sigh of relief, then swung her cloak to cover her body as she walked towards the man behind the counter. The innkeeper lifted his gaze to the witcheress standing before him, then paused as she moved closer. He reached for a mug, then pointed at the barrel of mead nearby.

"...Continental? A witcher lass?" The innkeeper mumbled, giving her a rather unwelcoming look, when she rested her hand the counter, "Dinnae harm nae one in 'ere. Witchers, always killing…"

"Yes, I am a continental. Is that a problem?" She said tersely, as she dropped a handful of coins, Koviri bezants on the counter, "I won't kill anyone, as long as they don't try something stupid."

"Aye, and nae, continentals are welcome 'ere, An Craite orders." The innkeeper replied, quickly scooping up the valuable coins and pocketing them.

Yeah, welcome when they have the coin. "Good. I want ale...and then I want to be left alone." Cirilla replied, "Do you have a room, somewhere I can warm up beside a fire?"

"Nay, gray one, me room is taken." He mumbled.

"Just 'witcher' will do, don't call me 'gray one'." She replied, "Where's my ale?"

The innkeeper sneered at the witcheress, pulled out a mug from beneath the counter and filled it with a dark, black ale from a barrel behind him, then placed it on the counter and stepped back. He raised his head almost frightened as Cirilla glared from the corner of her eyes at the warrior standing behind her. The same stupid lout, she thought. Idiots never learn… She could smell the mead on him, the strong scent of old wet leather and sweat was unpleasing. He reached for her shoulders but she shrugged off his hands, swiftly leapt from her stool, and trapped the man's wrist, as she twisted his arm. She locked his feet with hers, then effortlessly shoved him forward, sending him crashing hard to the floor. The others laughed, as the man stood spitting blood. He reached for his sword, but stood frozen as Cirilla gave a brief demonstration of her witcher skills. She drew her steel blade, split a large bench at a nearby table, and sheathed the blade again, all before the man could even unsheathe his sword halfway. The witcheress, then slowly waved her finger as a warning, as he staggered backward gripping the hilt of his half sheathed blade. She turned, dropped coins on the counter for the damaged bench, then took her drink in hand. She glared at the man, still frozen in awe, then walked to the table closest to the door. Prudent, she sought privacy as far away from the other patrons as possible, although her choice left her with her back to the entrance. Acceptable risk, She thought. I can't leave them at my back...no one will surprise me from outside at this hour, with this weather. Above all Cirilla preferred to keep the group of heavily armed warriors within her sight, as she waited out the storm.

She sat for a moment, straining her eyes as she peered through into the gloom at the dark liquid in her mug. Suddenly, a noise and footsteps from across the room, drew her gaze. The hooded woman approached her table and without raising her head, Cirilla lifted her eyes, carefully watching the woman's hands, as the other warriors remained seated. From the corner of her eye, she observed the woman's boots crossing the floor until she lost them in the darkness, as the woman reached the edge of her table. Sensing no threat, she lowered her gaze back down to her ale. Without asking for leave, the strange woman made herself comfortable and sat down opposite the young witcheress. Cirilla could feel the stranger's eyes upon her, as she picked up her mug to take a swig of ale. She tilted her head slightly, then glanced over the brim of her mug at the woman, who was again smiling softly.

She placed her mug on the table, then spoke "Your friend deserved what he got."

"Aye, 'greed. He deserved that and more." The woman answered, her voice rang with the strong lilt native to Skellige, though hers was softer, clearer.

"What do you want then...an apology?" Cirilla asked, as she raised her mug and took another drink.

"Ye're so very pretty." The woman whispered softly, "A witcher…so tough and fierce, yit so delicate...and yer bewitching looks..."

Cirilla coughed, choking on her drink. The woman's compliments were unexpected. She held her mug pounding her chest, then cleared her throat, "Excuse me."

"Ye alright?" She asked, with a soft laugh. Her lilt was incredibly attractive, soft, almost song-like. "Skellige ale...not for the faint-hearted."

"It's not that...I'm fine, it's just...thank you. You're very kind." She replied politely, flustered as she lowered her eyes.

She rested her hands on her lap, squinting her eyes, as she tried to get a clear view of the woman, but her face remained hidden within the shadow of her hood. Though the candle at the end of the table had provided some illumination, it merely lit the bottom half of the woman's face, revealing only her jawline. Angular, yet deeply attractive, her smooth skin bore witness to her status, yet the scars on her armor and wear on her sword's hilt, told a different tale. Her full lips were darkened, as if they were bruised, but soft, as the edges curled into a tempting smile. Cirilla could make out the color of her clan beneath the woman's cloak as the candlelight flickered softly. Draped across her body, was a red checkered scarf, showing she belonged to Clan an Craite. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of polished leather—with a hint of feminine redolence—and the scent of damp hair. A shieldmaiden, perhaps? She thought, then relaxed a little. She knew she had little to fear from Clan an Craite. A mere mention of Crach, an Craite or the druid Ermion, and she would not be harmed. She carefully studied the stranger, and felt the woman's eyes observing her in kind. The witcher medallion resting against her collarbone, her tight armor hugging her body, revealing her shapely figure. Cirilla, briefly thought to bring her cloak across her body, but paused as the woman spoke.

"Ye'er nae wha ah expected to bump into, when ah ducked in here from the storm."

"Meaning?" She enquired.

The woman hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice held a playful tone, a constant since they began conversing, "Would ye believe, an ashen-haired witcher, beautiful or otherwise, tis nae common site in Arinbjorn?"

"I wouldn't...I am not a common site anywhere, being that there is only one like me." She said, dropping her eyes to her mug for a moment.

"Aye, ye're special...lovely. Ah remember an ashen-haired woman, she carried swords on her back in Skellige some time back. On Undvik, the sky crackled...Ragh nar Roog, but ye said ye're the only one…" The young woman said knowingly, smiling softly. She tilted her head, and Cirilla immediately recognized the test.

"That was me." She said, taking a gulp from her mug.

"See, but ah heard the ashen-haired lassie died, after everything went to shite...fire from the skies, ne'er seen nothing like it. Then, after the battle, a'body said ye died sacrificing yerself to halt Tedd Deireádh, the end of the world...we Skelligers called it Ragh nar Roog…" The woman said quietly, "Ah believed it true...when the red-haired sorceress cried and fell down, as Geralt told her wha happened."

Triss? "An...exaggeration about my death, I...needed to get away." Cirilla replied, her eyes shifted around the room, quickly, before returning to the stranger across from her.

"Sure, I'm just glad ye survived. Now ah have a chance." The stranger said, her voice and lilt alluring and calm as she smiled.

Chance at what? Cirilla thought, returning the smile, narrowing her eyes. "You seem to know a lot about what happened…"

"Ah do." The woman stiffened her posture with the statement.

"Clan an Craite colors...are you a shieldmaiden? Did you fight on Undvik?" She asked.

"Aye, ye could say that..." The stranger replied, "...Ah fought with me da, brother and fellow warriors."

"I hope you didn't lose anyone dear to you." Cirilla said quietly.

The woman paused for a moment, observing her, before replying, "Ah lost two, one was me da."

"I'm sorry. I...wish no one had died at that place, on my account…" She mumbled, her eyes softened, her face grew sad with a frown.

"Dinnae be. Ah found the other ah lost today, and me da was lost in a worthy battle... a glorious death, worthy of ballads and songs all Skelligers will be singing for generations." The woman said, as she reached out and rested her hand atop Cirilla's. Her fingers were calloused, but her touch deeply pleasing. There was a proudness in her voice as she gently rubbed her hand.

Cirilla smiled hesitantly, as she remembered all the people who had died or suffered when the Wild Hunt pursued her. Vesemir, Skjall, the warriors of Clan an Craite...and now another to add to the long list. She gazed at the woman's hand atop hers. It was surprisingly warm, her movement gentle and soothing, then the witcheress caught herself, and moved her hand away, reaching for her mug. She quickly downed another swig and finished her drink, hoping the candlelight did not illuminate her blushing cheeks. Her heart raced, as she called to the innkeeper for more mead, but the man seemed deaf to her request.

Her strange companion slowly retracted her hand and smiled, then lowered her gaze, and asked, "How's yer da?"

"My father?" Cirilla said, furrowing her brow confused.

"Aye, Geralt, the witcher." The woman responded.

"I don't know how you...he's fine. Great, actually. He's settled down in Kovir." She replied.

"Really? Geralt of Rivia settled down?" The woman answered surprised, her hood slipped almost revealing her face, but she pulled it forward.

"Mmhmm, it's true. He settled down with someone special and married her, even sired a child."

"Ye must be joking! Ah thought witchers cannae...well, who's the lucky wench? Ah know tis not Yennefer, she's 'ere on the Isles, nae in Kovir."

Cirilla raised her eyes, then nodded, "Another sorceress. She's...well, it's unlikely you know of her personally."

The woman appeared lost in her thoughts, as she folded her arms across her body, "Geralt and another sorceress, ah dinnae believe it. He's henpecked, like a leashed hound for Yennefer."

"Hmm, how do you know Geralt?" Cirilla probed as she eyed the lady.

Ah cannae believe she dinnae recognize me voice yet, ah havenae changed that much... "We crossed paths whin ah was just a lassie, then he came to Skellige years back and helped me again."

"On Undvik?"

"Aye, sure, on Undvik..." The woman said brusquely. "Yer mug's empty...I'll get ye another?" She said, reaching for her mug as she stood.

As the woman bent over the table she brought her head closer, but Cirilla could only just make out the outline of her face. The woman was young, perhaps the same age as herself. The candlelight illuminated the side of her face as she turned to walk away. She bore an impressive scar that ran down her right cheek. The witcheress mused on the mark, as she watched the woman walk away without her fur coat. She wore high boots and she could just make out the tops of her firm, muscular calves. Her skirt, still wet from the rain, hugged tightly to her well-defined curves, her waist small and fastened with a wide leather belt. The hint of a pleasant fragrance caught Cirilla interest; her scent was intriguing. As the woman's form disappeared into the darkness, Cirilla shook herself out of her dazed, flustered state and, reached for her now absent mug. She rested her face in her palms and laughed to herself. What are you doing, witcher? She then turned and stared out the window. The rain and wind had eased up considerably, and the moonlight peeked through the narrow slit in the window.

"Everything alright?" She asked, holding two mugs in her hands. She was standing beside Cirilla, who hadn't noticed her approach.

"Yes, it's nothing. Just laughing at myself." She mumbled.

"Well, here ye go, witcher. Skellige honey mead, sweet, pleasant, warm ye right up." The woman said.

She placed the mug in front of Cirilla. It held a golden liquid that smelled of honey. The woman, moved closer, then took a seat next to the witcheress. Their thighs touched, and both could feel the other's warmth through their armors and skirt, they were uncomfortably close, yet her fragrance was even more intriguing now that she was so much closer. Their shoulders rubbed against each other loudly as their armor plates scratched, and both women sat flustered for a moment. What is she doing? Cirilla thought, as she downed a mouthful of mead. She caught a strong whiff of the woman's fragrance as she moved her face and body closer. Much more subtle than the fragrance she herself wore, yet she found it appealing and pleasant.

They sat there for a moment, then she broke the awkward silence. "How big was the bear?"

"Come again?" The woman said, confused.

"The one that left that souvenir across your cheek? Judging by the spread of its claws, it must have been huge." Cirilla turned her head slightly to face the woman, still struggling to get a clear look at her face.

"Aye, twas muckle, a cave bear. Damn fucker surprised me on the road one day, knocked me from me horse." The woman said, drinking from her mug.

"You fought a cave bear by yourself?"

"Ah did, and ah slew it to." The woman said, the proud tone in her voice almost dared her to challenge the statement, "Whaddaya take me for...a helpless little lassie?"

"No, it's impressive. Not an easy feat, defeating a bear that size, especially with no time to prepare." Cirilla replied. She raised her mug in toast and took a swig.

"And yers? What manner of beast were responsible for marking such a beautiful face?" The young woman smiled, then turned to face her. Her lilt and words playfully disarming.

"A Nilfgaardian...Stefan Skellen." She replied, blushing, but refused to turn away, "Horrid times then...things I don't wish to remember."

"Aye, forgive me." The young woman answered, sitting quiet for a moment, before whispering, "Ah take it he got what was comin' to him?"

"He did, although not by my hands..." Cirilla replied, her thumb toyed with the handle of the mug.

"Glad he's dead, or I'd have to kill him meself, for hurting something so lovely." The woman said softly, as they both drank from their mugs. "Aye, it's a fine scar."

They sat there, for a moment, then the stranger coughed. She made an elaborate show of smoothing out the mail skirt of her armor, then left her hands on her thighs. Cirilla scooted away slightly, but the woman moved closer and her fingers brushed her thigh. She gasped as she felt the warmth on her leg through the taut leather pants. Her heart skipped a beat, her body tensed, and through the sudden quietness, she heard the loud audible beat of her own heart. She felt her face and body grow warm. Suddenly, her armor became too hot to bear. The woman's touch sent shivers through her body, a sudden warmth, uncomfortable, but pleasant, It's the mead…

"So...what's yer name? What do ah call ye?" She asked playfully, nudging.

"I'd...I'd rather not share my name, if it's all the same with you. No offense." Cirilla said, looking away briefly, "Please, your hand…remove it."

"None taken, but ah have to call ye something. Or do ah just call ye 'witcher'?" Her pleasant, gentle accent was affectionate and difficult to resist. "Gimme yer name and ah promise to remove me hands, pretty."

"Um."

"So ye want me hands to stay on yer leg, then?" She asked, laughing as Cirilla shifted her body.

"Umm, no…" She whispered, gripping her mug, "My friends call me Zirael. It means Swallow."

"Swallow...aye, a symbol of spring, sacrifice and rebirth and new beginnings. It suits ye..." She replied, then affectionately moved her left hand on top of Cirilla's knee as her right gripped her hips.

"Mmhmm." She mumbled.

"How come ye're so chary? Ye're easy on the eyes, ye know?" The woman said with a soft flirtatious laugh.

"Why are you saying these things?" Cirilla smiled, then gazed into darkness with an unconscious coquetry.

"Isn't it obvious already? I'm deeply fond of ye." The woman replied, her eyes glazed sensually from behind her hood.

"You're so blunt." And warm.

"Ye want me to stop?"

"No." Instantly, Cirilla had goose flesh. A chill ran across her body as she sat absent any slouch. It's just the cold, and my wet clothes…She thought, trying to convince herself.

She lowered her gaze awkwardly, her mind racing with each passing moment, as the woman's hands remained on her thigh. Enough playing. She smiled, then slowly moved her hand down and touched the woman's. Cirilla grabbed her fingers, they were warm, and she stopped short of removing the woman's hand from her knee. Her palm was also calloused but softer than the woman, whose smile dropped, just for moment, but she didn't struggle. They sat in silence, their fingers almost laced.

"And what do I call you? 'A Redanian spy? or Nilfgaardian?' Why the games? The questions?" Her hand feels nice. "How do you know so much about me? Who are your friends over there?" Cirilla asked, tightening her grip, though she was somewhat disarmed by the woman's lack of resistance.

"Redanian? The Black Ones?" The woman said, feigning offense, "I'm An Craite!"

"Then what do you want..?" Cirilla said, pausing as the woman grabbed her armor. She turned quickly, but without warning, the woman's face was just a hair away from hers, "What are you doing?!"

She tried to pull away as she raised her hands, but the stranger grabbed her wrists and paused, expecting a struggle. Absent any resistance, she moved closer, their breathes gracing each other's faces. Her lips smelled of honey mead, and Cirilla caught her first clear glimpse of the woman's eyes and hair. Beautiful brown orbs, lined with dark shadowed maquillage, and reddish brown hair. The stranger's hand drifted to her cheeks, but she gently grabbed her arm. In the shadows of the inn, they were hidden from the innkeeper and warriors, as their lips met in a soft kiss. Cirilla's were hesitant at first, she pulled away, closed her eyes and exhaled softly, licking her lips, but the woman advanced and tried again in a tender second kiss. Her eyes, her scent, and touch...the gentle forcefulness of her fingers overwhelmed the young witcheress, as their lips met again. Her senses heightened as the woman's kiss became more passionate, as though it was meant for her and her alone. She felt an urgency building, her body starving for more, she groaned deeply when the woman's tongue plunged between her lips. Fueled by a deep, buried loneliness, the warmth of her touch, her own fevered soft lips and searching fingers, made Cirilla pull against this stranger, until she gathered her thoughts, and jerked her body away.

"No...I can't." She whispered, panting.

"Is there someone else in yer heart?" The woman' replied, softly, then pulled away and rested her hand on the table, "I've wanted to do...to feel that fer so long."

"No, there's no one else, but this never ends well. Everyone I get close to...I don't even know you." She mumbled softly.

"Are ye sure? I've wanted to show ye ah was there fer a long while." The woman said softly, "No games. Me friends there are me escorts, me guards. Truly, ah was curious…so surprised and happy to see ye again, ah lost meself."

"Who are you?" Cirilla asked, her head crooked to the side curiously, her eyes strained.

"Ye still dinnae recognize me voice, Ciri? Tis been a long while—too long—but I'd know yers, and yer face, even in the black of night." The woman chuckled playfully as she turned her head towards her, "...me friends call me Sparrowhawk."

No way… Cirilla reached up and brushed the hood away, almost knocking the silver crown nestled in her thick reddish hair. Her eyes widened, her voice hoarse, "Cerys?!"

"In the flesh, pardon me continental manners." Cerys said, with a soft smile, her eyes deeply sensual.

Cirilla quickly leapt to her feet, she was before the Queen of the Skellige Isles. She knocked the table over startling the guards who had fallen asleep, sloshed on mead. An Craite warriors stood and quickly came to their senses, searching for their queen. The two drunks nearby also woke and mumbled rudely. They staggered forward, until a warrior stepped forward and knocked both men on their heads, as two other drew their swords. Cerys' orders from the darkness halted what would have been a quick death for the old drunks. Both warriors sheathed their swords, then dragged the unconscious men into a corner. One man shouted 'Sparrowhawk?' and her voice echoed across the room briefly, waking the innkeeper who had also fallen asleep.

"Go back to sleep and rest ye big oafs...ah can handle meself."

Nearly tripping, Cirilla stepped back, grabbing at her cloak, then took a moment to think. She began to curtsy, "Your majesty, I…"

"Nay, stop that, Ciri! I'm Cerys, or Sparrowhawk to ye, always. Start calling me 'majesty or highness', like Geralt, and I'll call ye Cirilla Fiona Ellen Rhiannon...that's how it went, right? Ye're a Queen too, ye know."

"Stop, okay...okay! Cerys it is...but that was never me. That...existence was meant for someone else. That was never going to be my life. I've always wanted to be like..."

"Like Geralt, free to wander...ah know. Ah was just teasin'. Ye can gimme a hug, ye know." She interrupted, fondly, and Cirilla embraced her warmly, without hesitation. "Ah promise nae to kiss ye again if ye don't kiss me first. By Freya...ye dinnae know how much I've missed ye. Ah thought ye've forgotten me."

"I've missed you too." She whispered, her voice muffled, as they buried their faces in each other's neck. "I'd never forget you."

"Tis funny..." Cerys mumbled.

"What?" Cirilla asked raising her head, but Cerys pulled her face back into her neck.

"Stay this way fer a while." She pleaded, "Ah wis raised to fight as a warrior, but ah became Queen, ye were born to rule as a Queen, and ye choose to be a witcher."

"We're both where we should be." Cirilla replied, with a soft smile.

"Even where we both are right now? In each other's arms?"

"Mmhmm."

"Right now, in yer arms this way...ah cannae disagree." Cerys whispered softly, as both women hugged each other fiercely. She pulled away slightly, placed her hand on Cirilla's cheek. She continued, smiling, then kissed her again. "Ah took a chance..."

She welcomed each sweet, tender meeting of their lips. The feel of Cerys' kiss lingered, as their eyes locked, shimmering with unshed tears, "You said you wouldn't kiss me, until…"

"Ah fibbed." Cerys smiled, as her thumb tenderly rubbed at the scar on Cirilla's cheek, "Dinnae do that...dinnae cry because of me. Ye're so damn beautiful, it would break me heart again."

"Don't say such things." Cirilla whispered faintly, then took her seat.

They were both weary and wet, yet their bodies held a sudden warmth. It was their doing; both women hesitant, as they explored their fondness for each other. Cirilla yawned, raising her hand in the air as she leaned her head on the table still staring at the women beside her. They sat, softly conversing. The loud snores of the warriors nearby, the inn keeper's head resting on the table, and she had fallen asleep. Wide awake, Cerys easily carried the sleeping witcheress into the single room at the inn and placed her on the bed. She unlaced her cloak, removed her swords, taking care not to wake her, then lit the fireplace nearby. She unfurled the fur collar of her own armor, carefully unfastened the metal shoulder plates and laid them on the the bench nearby. She slipped her red sash over her head, then unfastened the wide leather belt that hugged her waist. Dazed, as if in a sweet dream, she ran her finger across Cirilla's face and her head moved, twisting gently to her touch. Cerys stood with a soft smile as she removed her gambeson and placed it on a stand nearby. Clad in nothing but a blue dress with neat ornamental stitching, she added more wood to the fireplace, raising the flames, then spread out a hide on a padded mat. A confident woman in every way, always ready to prove herself, she was eager, and her heart raced with each breath, yet she dared not push or be hasty, fearing one misstep could drive away the witcheress' affection from her. She touched her lips, remembering their kiss, then closed her eyes. It would have been easier, and much warmer, had she laid in the bed beside Cirilla, but she didn't. A twist of fate, a neatly woven thread had crossed their path and landed them both in each other's arms. As she lay on the cold mat, Cirilla opened her eyes to the dimly lit room. She yawned, then leapt from the bed.

"Oi, dinnae scare me like that."

"What are you doing down there? How did I get here? Where are my swords?" Cirilla asked rubbing her eyes, staring surprisingly as Cerys sat on floor, resting only on a padded mat and hide.

"Calm down! Ah carried ye when ye were napping. Yer swords are over there, and I'm resting, so go back to sleep." She whispered softly.

"You carried me?"

"Aye."

"Asleep? In my armor?" Cirilla asked, surprised, yet impressed.

"Aye…." Cerys repeated from the floor. "Though, seemed like ye've taken to those continental sweets and cakes, eh?"

"Shut up, I have not!" Cirilla laughed, chucking a pillow at Cerys' sleeping form. "I'm not fat, am I?"

"Ye're beautiful, I'm just pullin yer shank."

"Shut up…" Cirilla said, then paused, her face became flushed red, "Why are you sleeping on the floor? The bed is wide enough for two…If anyone should sleep on the floor, your majesty, it's me."

"Have we gone back to that, Cirilla Fiona Ellen Rhiannon, Queen of Cintra and Princess of Nilfgaard?"

"Don't call me that! Please..." She shouted, shaking her head in disgust, "I'm just a witcher, daughter of Geralt and Tr…Sigh, nevermind, just come to bed, a queen should not be sleeping on the cold ground, especially not in her own kingdom."

"Ye do it..."

"I chose not to be a queen..." Cirilla mumbled.

She climbed out of the bed and released the buckles of her armor, then slid her top off, exposing her stomach, waving so Cerys would turn away as she removed her leather pants, but she refused. Cirilla narrowed her eyes with a soft tempting smile, as she extinguished the candle, dimming the room and casting her body in just the soft shadows. The flames from the fireplace gave enough light as she turned, waving her hips and pushing down her pants. Cerys briefly shifted her gaze, then fixed her eyes on Cirilla's body, her slender legs, delicate curves and smooth skin. She felt her heart pounding in her chest; it was painful, but pleasant. The witcheress stood wearing her knickers, she'd removed her blouse and draped it across the nearby beam to dry. Aware of Cerys' penetrating gaze, she untied and tousled her hair, then removed her witcher's medallion from her neck and hung it. She pulled the thick duvet and climbed beneath the warm sheets concealing her blushing face.

"Aye, ye're definitely not eating sweets and cakes…" Cerys said, lowering her gaze.

"Don't just stand there and stare. This is your bed, not mine, and there's enough room for us both. Don't expect me to let you sleep on the floor after you've kissed me."

"Aye." Cerys said hoarsely, then slowly made her way to the backside of the bed.

"Take off the damp dress and let it dry beside the flames, before you catch a cold." Cirilla mumbled, then raised the sheets and scooted her body towards the edge of the bed.

"Ye sure ye're worried about that, or do ye just wantae see me naked body?" Cerys teased.

"What?! Fine, stay in your wet dress and catch a cold then." Cirilla laughed.

"Aye, then I'll keep me dress, if yer dinnae mind."

"No!" Cirilla replied, "I mean, you'll get sick, I don't want that. Come on, stop teasing and take it off!"

Cerys removed her dress, exposing her breasts, her firm stomach, small waist, soft hips and thighs. Her body was thicker, more muscled, but beautifully feminine Cirilla thought, as she raised her eyes to gaze at the freckles dotting the woman's arms and cleavage. Her mouth hung slightly agape, in anticipation and appreciation, as she admired her form. She could feel her body heating beneath the duvet. She turned her eyes, blushing as the queen raised her head. Stirred by Cirilla's gaze, Cerys smiled then made her way to the backside of the bed, as Cirilla raised the sheets then turned away, hugging and covering her breasts. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her skin, then turned her back. The heat from their bodies warmed the air beneath the cover like a raging storm.

Cerys took a deep breath and exhaled, the sweetness of their breath lingered in the air, honey mead. "Ciri, am ah dreaming? It has to be. I'll wake on the morrow and ye'll be gone."

"It's not a dream, and I promise to be here when you wake." She whispered, then twisted her body in bed to face Cerys. They were coy, a rarity yet a sign of what they felt when they kissed.

Cerys touched the necklace hanging across Cirilla's neck, then traced along the chain, brushing against her skin, down to the pendant resting gently on the sheets. She took it into her hands, as Cirilla watched her eyes following the inscription, "Beautiful. Tis a gift from yer lover?"

"No...it says...Smile as though no one is watching. Love as if you've never been hurt. Kiss as though it's your last, and give all of your heart to the one you truly love. Wherever you are, Ciri, you are loved." Cirilla eyes watered as she spoke, recalling the words from memory, then she closed them as Cerys gently wipe her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, ah dinnae wantae make ye cry." She said, "Must be a very special person..."

"Yes, she is. She's a very special women, whose deepest flaw is her own doubt in what she deserves. I love her, but she doesn't see me...It hurts to be so close to her, and at the same time so far."

"She must care for ye deeply, to give ye something so precious." Cerys answered.

"I know, she does." Cirilla replied.

"So, where have ye been all these years? Ye left whin we were children, then Geralt asked me to come and defend ye at Kaer Morhen, but ah had to unite me people...so ah let Hjalmar and me warriors go to help. Ah sat on me arse while ye battled at Kaer Morhen, so whin the battle came to Undvik, ah fought for ye alongside me da and me brother, to wash me shame away."

"I know, and you have no shame, don't say that. I saw them there. I saw Clan an Craite warriors fighting again on Undvik." Cirilla said, "I fled the Wild Hunt for what seem like eternity. My companion was an Elven sage. What about you?"

"Me? Well, ah stayed 'ere on Ard Skellig, beating me brother in everything, the jarls voted me to be the first Queen of Skellige...So, nothing much...then ye returned. Ye know, ah ne'er forgot yer face...or yer smile." Cerys answered, brushing a lock of Ciri's ashen hair aside, as she studied every inch of the witcheress blushing face. "Mah, ye look so pretty...me heart is pounding so loud..."

"Mine too." Cirilla chuckled.

They conversed through the night about their past and showing a keen interest in all she'd missed, Cerys listened as Cirilla told her stories about her journey, her flight from the Wild Hunt, their battle at Kaer Morhen and her life on the path. She shared her journey up to the battle where their paths converged on Undvik, during their final battle. As their conversation wound-down, and the flames in the fireplace with it, she found herself again staring at the back of Cirilla's neck. In the silence, her eyes traced the delicate line of her neck down to her shoulder, and took account of every visible scar and freckle. She took a deep breath, her exhale warming Cirilla's back as she breathed in the scent of the ashen hair laying gently across the pillow. Their minds raced as if in an open plain, their hearts pounded loudly in their chest, as both women wondered what was next for them. Cirilla's eyes were wide open, but she remained silent. Cerys listened to the sound of their heartbeat through the padded bed, but she could not discern her own racing heartbeat.

"Ah cannae sleep." Cerys whispered in the darkness.

"Me neither."

A brief moment of silence ensued, punctured only by the quiet crackling of the fire, Cerys moved closer. With a slight hesitation, she draped her arm over Cirilla, pulling her closer. She stiffened, surprised by her touch, then smiled and relaxed her body. Cerys pulled her arms away, anticipating rejection of her brazen gesture, she rolled onto her back and stared forlornly at the ceiling, searching for an answer. Maybe ye wants another, the one who gave ye that pendant…She thought, then frowned. Cirilla sighed in disappointment as she felt the woman's hands pull away. She wanted to speak, but the words would not escape her parched lips. Her face flushed red, she took deep audible breaths.

"Ye sure there's nae one else in yer heart?" Cerys asked with the sweet lilt in her voice she adored, "Ah dinnae wantae be a deadwood..."

"I'm sure, and you're not, so don't say that." Cirilla answered nervously, her voice almost an inaudible whisper.

"Aye."

"It's ok to hold me. I don't know where this is going, but we can be this way... even if it's just one night..." Cirilla whispered, then moved her body back, closer to Cerys.

"Are ye sure ye're alright with that, Ciri?" She asked.

"I said it, didn't I?" Cirilla replied. She reached back and took her arms, wrapping them across her body, then tucked her small frame into her body.

She felt her pounding heartbeat as Cerys' breast touched her back, then hugged her arms as her grip tightened. Cirilla smiled softly as she felt the warmth of Cerys' body all around her. Both women couldn't remember the time since they had felt so relaxed, so comfortable. She wished the night would stand still, so she'd remain in bed with this women. She soon found herself wondering what her friend was thinking, and as though Cerys felt and thought the same, she answered humming softly. The tune was familiar, a Skellige ballad Cirilla remembered from her youth.

What was it called again? She pondered, as she struggled to recall its name. A content smile crept across her face, as her eyes grew heavy. The warmth of Cerys' body, so close, made her both nervous and safe. Their hands and legs entangled, their beating hearts in sync, as she was lulled to sleep by the sweet, soothing sound of Cerys' humming. Her dreams that night were the most pleasant she'd had in a long time.

"Are ye asleep, Ciri?" Cerys called, but Cirilla was indeed asleep. She whispered with a nervousness she'd never felt before, "Ah...ah love ye...and ah hope ye can love me back. Ah know this is sudden and all, but with all me heart, ah know. Hjalmar will be mad at me fer this, but ah cannae let ye go again if ah dinnae try to make ye mine. Whin ye let me kiss you, by Freya...I'd give ye everything. I've waited me whole life to do that. If ye dinnae love me, I'll..."

Cerys placed her lips against Cirilla's shoulder, and her whispered promises trailed off as her worried eyes stared at the moon peeking through the clouds outside. Don't let this be a dream...it'd be cruel if ah wake and ye're gone. Cerys thought as she closed her eyes gripping Cirilla tightly.

***][***

Morning...

It was morning, just before sunrise, when Cirilla opened opened her eyes. It was odd, but the witcheress had slept soundly through the night, and she woke to Cerys still tightly clutching her. Sometime during the night, she had turned her body and now found herself face to face with Cerys. Her head and face resting a hair's length from her body, as they clung to each other. She's still holding onto me, Cirilla chuckled. It was warm, pleasant. Cerys' hand laced through her ashen hair, cuddling her body. Perfect place to be, she thought to herself. So close, she could make out the intricate details in Cerys face. That spark in her eyes from the night before returned, as she scrutinized soft brown freckles across Cerys' face. She traced her scar, yet the marks did not diminish her beauty. In truth, it spoke to her skill and bravery, making her even more desirable to the young witcher. Finally, Cirilla's eyes lingered on Cerys' lips. She longed to taste them again.

The soft breath from the young queen's mouth against her skin made the witcheress smile, when the sound of a snorting sow and her piglets drew her eyes to the half-opened window. She took a quick scan of the room. The fireplace had burned itself out and yet the their bodies, so close, kept both women warm through the night. She searched Cerys' face and took another look at the room. The walls were furnished with Clan an Craite colors though, last she recalled, the inn was in Clan Drummond territory. During the night, Cirilla had abandoned herself, completely giving in to Cerys' close embrace, as she was swaddled by her powerful arms and firm legs.

She recalled the night before: the stormy weather that drew her to this place, the stranger who dug through her deepest desires, touching her lips with a passionate kiss. They had slept in each other's embrace and Cirilla could feel Cerys' heartbeat through her body, hear the soft hiss of her breathing as she slept. She blushed looking down where their breasts pressed against each other, the warmth and feel of Cerys' body against her own was overwhelming. She gently removed Cerys' hands from her body and tried to ease from her tight grasp, pausing only when she realized she had entwined their legs, as though, through the night, she feared waking to an empty bed. Cirilla lifted her head, her long ashen locks had woven with Cerys reddish-brown hair. She was slow, quietly freeing her hair and legs, she ran her fingers across Cerys' face, just along her hairline, then planted a soft kiss on her forehead, then her lips. Those lips...I can't help myself. She thought to herself and, smiling, slipped from bed.

The witcheress quietly donned her armor taking great care not to make a sound as she took her swords, fastened them on her back, then exited the room. In the inn, the innkeeper had already woken. He held an odd stare, but said nothing. The rays from the sun, just on the horizon, shone through the window and Cirilla took note of the innkeeper's garb. The man wore Clan Drummond colors, yet he was not a warrior. He gazed at her intently, as she lifted her tousled hair and fastened it loosely in a single interwoven plait. She left the strands to drape freely across her face, then took a deep breath. Cirilla raised her head and caught his oafish gaze as she walked past the sleeping guards.

"What are you looking at?" She mumbled, then dropped her hands and pushed the door open.

"Uh, nothing, witcher. Tis just that, ye look so fiercely like a witcher, but ye're just a lassie." The innkeeper replied.

"Looks can be deceiving."

"Aye, deceiving..." He mumbled.

"Brew us something warm to drink." Cirilla said as she disappeared through the door.

She walked to the horses tied nearby, took two apples from a pouch on her right hip, then retrieved a small blade from her back and sliced them into six pieces and fed the horses. Kelpie snuffed, then bumped Cirilla's head with hers as she brushed the mare's shoulders, gazing at the sun peaking over the horizon. The fresh gentle breeze blew across her flushed face, and she placed her fingers on her lips and rested her forehead against her mare. She was eager—nervous—to re-enter the inn. Her body radiated with heat, making her fitting armor almost unbearably warm. She drew her swords one after the other, inspecting each, paying special attention to her steel blade. During the storm, the young witcheress was forced to demonstrate her skill with the blade and now it required polishing. In truth, Cirilla hoped the quiet moment could bring her peace and clear her muddled mind. She turned her gaze towards the inn as the door flung open and out came the guards. Each clad in a gambeson and mail, wearing helmets adorned with scars of battles long since fought. She sheathed her steel blade, fastened the small pouch to her hip, then walked past a nervous guard towards the inn. Cirilla entered, walked to the innkeeper and collected two mugs of steaming brew, holding the handles of both mugs with her left hand.

"Me finest, mixed with honey, clear ye up just right, witcher." The man said.

She took two coins and placed them on the table, then nodded and turned her eyes towards the door, "Thanks, but I'll be the judge of that."

As she took a few steps forward, Cirilla felt a worried tension and an unusual angst as she made her way to the bedroom. That nervousness again... She held the mug tightly in her hand, her heart pounded and grew louder with each step. Inside the the bedroom, Cerys had woken to an empty bed. Frantic, the young queen hung her head over the bed searching for Cirilla's swords and armor. She gazed at the fireplace, then the floor, searching for any trace of the witcher, eagerly hoping she had not imagined or dreamt the night before. Cerys anxiously pulled the covers up to her face, Cirilla's scent lingered on the sheets, yet her bed was cold and empty. She threw herself across it in frustration, a sense of longing gripped her heart, as she smashed both of her fists against the bed, burying her face in the soft sheets to muffle her loud screams. Cerys cursed loudly, lifted her body from the bed and curled her legs. A sense of dread filled the air as the queen dove into a morose state. As she sat up in bed, the young queen pulled the sheets over her partially naked body. She curled her legs, tightly hugging her knees. She placed her chin on her knees, fixing her eyes on her crown resting just beside her feet, resisting the irrational urge to hurl it out the window. Her eyes had watered and she could not bring herself to move.

Cirilla quietly opened the door, her face flushed red, as she was met with Cerys' mumbles, "Well done, Cerys, ye scared her away with yer daft act! One night was all ye had to get it right..."

She watched as the love-stricken queen took her crown from the bed and threw it across the room towards her, "Ohh!" Cirilla laughed, as she raised her hand and quickly caught the silver crown, "Good morning, sleepy...are you alright, your highness?"

Cerys' eyes widened and she resisted the overwhelming desire to leap out of bed. "Aye, ah...thought ye were gone...and tis were a dream...ye had me scared." She replied, then turned her head towards Cirilla and rested her cheeks back on her knees.

"A dream? What would make you think something like that?" Cirilla asked.

"Aye, a dream. Ah woke to an empty bed, yer armor and swords were gone, so ah thought ah drank too much mead. All because someone forgot to bloody wake me and left me here alone!"

Cerys answered, grabbing a pillow, hurling it half-heartedly at the witcher, chuckling as her eyes warmed. Her long hair draped across her calves, down to the bed, "Ah felt so alone..."

"And how do you feel now?" Cirilla whispered.

"Ye look so breathtaking..."

"So are you, but that didn't answer my question, and don't say that." Cirilla smiled. Cerys' words made her flustered, as did the tears in her eyes, even as she tried to conceal them. Her stare was piercing, as if she were looking through her. The young witcheress felt the queen's eyes scanning every inch of her body, "I woke early, to tend to my mare."

"Tis true, ye know" Cerys' whispered, their eyes locked, the lilt in her voice made Cirilla's stomach flutter.

Cerys remained silent as both women stared at each other, their thoughts running wild with each quiet moment that passed by. She smiled as Cirilla moved closer to the bed. She walked like a witcher, yet Cerys found it deeply appealing. She gazed at the witcheress' armor in the morning light; it was perfectly fitted to her slender frame. A beautifully crafted breastplate covered her chest, down, just below her ribs. Two leather belts attached a thick woven leather collar that held her swords at her back. Her shoulders were covered with scaled spaulders, resting on a fitted mail dress that hugged her arms down to her wrists, waist and hips, just above her knees. Her waist was wrapped in taut leathers, laced on each side, then fastened with buttons. A double-buckled belt held a small pouch on her right hip and her hooks on her left. Her right gauntlet was made of leather, with steel inners, and the left of steel, encasing her forearm from elbow to wrist. Both gauntlets were fastened by three leather straps and and ring buckles. Cirilla's fingers and thumbs were visible through the gloves of her gauntlets, both of her legs were flanked by a long leather skirt. She looked stunning absent her cloak, like a hero out of one of their sagas—well, she is, she stopped Ragh nar Roog, Cerys thought—but to the young queen Cirilla was the woman who held her heart.

"Why are you looking at me that way?" She said, as she stepped forward, walked around the bed, and placed both mugs on the table. She removed her swords, allowing her to sit freely on the bed next to Cerys.

"Ye look so good in that...like Geralt." Cerys said.

"You've already said that…" Cirilla chuckled, resting both hands on the bed.

"Ah know, but ah have to say what I'm feeling for ye now…"

Cirilla turned her gazed to Cerys with a jealous wariness, then mumbled, "I see...so, you like that I look like Geralt? Would you prefer him?"

"What?! No, no, no! Ah dinnae have the hearts for yer da, ah see him like...me own da, ye know?" Cerys placed her hand over her mouth, and frantically pushed herself against the headboard of the bed, "Ah dinnae mean Geralt is me da—he's yer da—just…Freya, this must be another one of me crazy dreams about ye..."

"So, you have the hearts for me, then?"

Cerys gasped, her hands covered her mouth. Her eyes betrayed her. Ah do.

"Calm down, I'm just teasing you." Cirilla laughed.

"Alright, I'm calm! Ok, meybe I'm not, but..."

"Shush, I told you before, you aren't dreaming. I've been meaning to ask, why did you kiss me as though I am the only one you've kissed?" Cirilla whispered.

"Because...ye are..." Cerys mumbled, her face flushing red with embarrassment. "The only one ah wantae kiss, ah mean. Whaddaya think, ah just go around kissing a'body?"

"I don't know. You did kiss me." Cirilla cupped Cerys' face with both hands, then leaned in and kissed her, "This...this is payback."

"Din...dinnae tease me heart, Ciri."

"I don't know what this is, but I can do this." Cirilla whispered, and kissed Cerys again. In utter bliss, the young Queen closed her eyes, gripping onto the sheets as the witcheress mumbled against her mouth. "We should get ready to leave. I have someone to find."

"Aye." Cerys exhaled, her eyes still closed, as their lips parted.

Cirilla backed away, flushed and out of breath, her hands trembling as she quickly took to her feet. Her chest rose and fell in her armor. She was afraid, she couldn't say why exactly, but she could not resist what she felt. She stared as Cerys climbed from the bed, her hair was ruffled, her firm thick curvy body exposed. Cirilla followed closely, clenching her fist together, her mouth dry, her body heated. She was unable to turn her gaze from the woman tantalizingly just within arm's reach and naked before her. Her own armor felt oppressive, she fought the urge to tear it off, her body betraying her, urging her to give in to her desires. Cerys leisurely donned her armor, mindful that Cirilla's eyes were upon her. She teased playfully and Cirilla, enthralled by the queen, turned away, hiding her face. Both women tested the boundaries of their growing attraction, as each struggled to understand the feelings swelling inside them. Cerys slipped her dress over her head, then donned her gambeson. She fastened her belt and shoulder plates, then laid her sash across her shoulder and pulled it snug as Cirilla turned to hurry away, pausing only to the soft lilt in Cerys' voice as she asked her to plait her hair. The air in the room was still as she held onto the mail of Cirilla's armor pulling her closer to her back. They both stood awkwardly. Cirilla tried desperately to focus and calm her emotions. When she was done with the plait, she reached for the the crown resting on the bed. She gently placed it on Cerys' head, breathless as the queen brought her hand up, taking ahold of hers, then moving it down to her waist as she twisted her body so they face each other.

They stared into each other's eyes, but their moment was broken by the calls of the guards. "Sparrowhawk! Ye awake, yer Highness?"

"Aye! Wait yer horses for me outside, I'm coming." Cerys replied, then frowned. Cirilla had moved to the door. Her faced flushed, she hurried past the guards and made her way outside the inn. Cerys followed close behind, swearing under her breath, her eyes scolding her guards for their interruption.

Cirilla walked to the mounts and gently tugged Kelpie's reigns, moving her forward. "Come on, girl. Triss should be arriving today."

"That's a fine-looking horse ye got there." Cerys said, as she mounted her mare, a powerful horse unlike the shaggy breeds found on the Isles.

"Thank you. Her name's 'Kelpie'." Cirilla responded, bragging as she patted her mare's hind and saddled her, tucking her cloak in her saddlebag, then strapping her belongings.

"A monster of the deep that can assume the form of a horse…or a woman. Yer time in Skellige stuck with ye, ah see? So…ah wantae see how fearsome a beast this Kelpie of yers really is...and the woman on her back. Care for a wee race, Ciri? It'd make the journey home go quicker."

"Of course. I'd never refuse a race. What's the wager?" Cirilla asked, with her hands on her hips.

"Well, if ah win...I'll get another kiss." Cerys said with a covetous smile, as she trotted her horse in front of the inn. The Queen had donned her cloak and raised her hood, yet her brown eyes shimmered from within its depths.

"And if I win?" Cirilla replied, with a laugh, as she mounted and kissed Kelpie's crest. Come on, girl, win for me.

"That's up to ye. Whatever ye want. So, are ye ready?"

"Always." Cirilla answered with confidence, as she pulled her mount up alongside Cerys'. "But what about your men?"

"They'll catch up later. They're only for show, anyway. Ah don't fear anything on me own Isles."

"And off your Isles?" Cirilla questioned, looking sidelong at her friend with a cheeky grin.

"Nothing and na one there either." Cerys scuffed proudly, then winked.

"Are you sure?"

"Aye, I'm sure! I'm Cerys an Craite, a Skellige shieldmaiden! Ah fear nothing...say meybe one thing." Cerys grinned as her eyes travelled Cirilla's figure, and laughed when she raised her eyebrow in response.

"And what would that be?"

"I'll tell ye after."

They appraised each other fondly and, though both women had been close, they had become much closer. Averse to defeat, neither was willing to be gentle or take their upcoming race lightly. Strikingly competitive and determined, both women sought to impress the other. To each, it was a matter of pride but in truth, both set out to rekindle a friendship; a curious spark lit between them, their feelings had evolved.

"Alright then, we'll ride through Sund and on to Fayrlund. First one by the posts marking' the village's outskirts is the winner. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Cirilla said. Her voice and eyes determined, matched only by Cerys after the young Queen brandished a quick smile. They trotted together to the edge of Arinbjorn and the road leading to Sund, then halted. Both women locked eyes on each other, grinned, and then nodded.

"Ready…set…go!" Cerys yelled.

"Yah!" Cirilla shouted, and spurred Kelpie onwards. The mare lept forward, digging its heels into the soft dirt.

As the two took off down the road, Cerys' guards stumbled out of the inn only to see their Queen disappearing off into the distance. Swearing and mumbling to themselves, they quickly made for their mounts. Each warrior swiftly mounted their horse in the hopes of giving chase. Cirilla and Cerys were neck and neck each step of the way as they raced down the muddy road, both screaming and hollering as they tried to pull ahead and take the lead. The woods soon gave way to a forested area and Cirilla spotted a small logging camp and sawmill up ahead and to their right. The loggers, up early, were taken aback at the sight of their queen racing the ashen-haired witcheress. A few dropped their tools and made for the side of the road to watch. Some yelled out, while others cheered-on from where they stood.

"Ye show her, Sparrowhawk!" Yelled one man.

"Ye cannae beat a witcher!" Yelled another logger.

As they rounded the bend onto the road to Sund, the distance between the two women was but a hair, with Cirilla taking a slight lead as she turned inside, cutting the stretch. Approaching the village, both noticed the road narrow into the tiny alleyways that characterized the village. It was just enough room for two abreast, but children playing outside one of the homes made it impossible for both to enter the alley together. They knew whoever made the alley first, or let the other take the lead, would take or lose the prize. Both gazed across their shoulders at the other, neither willing to concede, yet each focused their gaze on the children, now running to see the pair. They yelled and spurred their mares on, but it was Cirilla who, with a half a length's lead, entered the village first. She noticed as Cerys willingly pulled back on her reins and fell in behind. The young queen could have pressed her challenge and entered the alley abreast, yet she would've endangered the children.

"Shite!" Cerys yelled in frustration.

Both women slowed their speed so as to navigate the narrow alleyways of Sund. Dogs barked at them, then gave chase behind their horses, as villagers, swore and leaped into doorways to avoid being trampled by the two young women and their steeds as they galloped along. They pulled up the small hill and exited the town, a shepherd in a nearby field cursed them for disturbing his flock. Cirilla laughed at his words and gave him a cheeky wave, both women were having fun. Cerys, though, used the brief distraction to spur her horse forward, quickly catching up to her friend. Surprised, she looked across as she pulled alongside her, the young queen's eyes were focused ahead with a steady determination, yet knowing the witcheress' eyes were upon her, Cerys couldn't help but let out a savage smirk. Cirilla regained her focus and flicked her reins, spurring her heels into Kelpie, she was resolved not to let Cerys take a lead.

They galloped along the cliffs deadlocked, turn for turn, through each bend and twist. To the seagulls squawking overhead, both women appeared as two screaming beasts, moving perfectly in-sync along the edges of the cliffs. Cirilla peaked off to her left and took in the scenery, and the view was magnificent. They had the great bay below them, the waves breaking against the rocky cliffs, and the village of Rannvaig visible along the distant shore. Her attention was quickly brought back to the race as the road was soon to take them over a rickety wooden bridge. There was almost no room for their two mounts to pass over the bridge abreast, yet again neither was willing to relent. As they rode across, the bridge thundered and shook to the pounding of their horses' hooves. Absent room to manoeuvre, they were brought almost within touching distance as they traversed the bridge. Cirilla could hear Cerys' orders to her mare, her hands gripping the reigns, the white sticky froth on her mare's neck and flanks just ahead of the saddle. The witcher could tell Cerys had pushed her mount as hard as it would go to beat her.

As they approached Fayrlund, Cirilla had taken the lead as Cerys' horse began to tire. Though she had pushed her mare as hard as she could, the Queen's mount lacked the stamina of Cirilla's beast Kelpie. Hard fought, the witcher had won the race, she had her mare in front by a neck as they passed the posts marking on the village's boundary, and she whooped with laughter, relishing in her victory. Cirilla patted her mare's neck, and both women slowed their pace as they passed the sleepy hunting village. The witcheress, rewarded Kelpie with a small apple from her saddle, then threw a second to Cerys for her mare. Cerys pulled her horse to a stop as Cirilla turned, triumphantly trotting Kelpie back towards her friend. The young witcheress was animated, yet she could quickly see Cerys' disappointment in her posture and by the way she refused to look at her.

"Well done, Ciri, ye won. Ah tried as hard as ah could, nearly slayed me mare from exhaustion, but ye were better." Cerys said, dejectedly.

"Hey, c'mon, you ran a good race! You might have beaten me had I not pulled ahead in the alleyways, I noticed you also slowed for the little ones. You made a good effort to recover, it was close all the way." Cirilla said encouragingly, hoping to raise her friend's spirits. She nudged Cerys' foot affectionately with her own, wishing she'd look at her.

"But ah didnae win. Even by a lock, it's still a loss... Ye won fair and square." Cerys mumbled, shaking her head.

"I still haven't got my reward for my victory. You said whatever I want, remember?" Cirilla said. She looked behind them, scanning their surroundings. She could see no one else around, say a few villagers back at Fayrlund, busy with their morning chores. The two women were alone. Cirilla smiled to herself, then whispered, knowingly.

"Aye, ah remember." Cerys mumbled, as she finally turned her head. "So, whaddaya want?"

Cirilla smiled as she gazed at Cerys, the scar on her freckled cheek, her reddish-brown ponytail snaking out of her hood and across her chest, and the look in her deep brown eyes as it changed from disappointment to surprise, when she grabbed her sleeve and pulled her across the narrow gap separating their mounts, bringing their lips together in a forceful kiss. She held her there, and felt Cerys' lips curl against hers into a smile. As their lips parted, both women slipped, and frantically tried to brace each other. They fell to the ground laughing, as Cirilla raised her body and hovered just above Cerys' face. Their eyes locked and Cerys chuckled, licking her lips, only to stare away blushing.

Can still taste ye..., she thought. Cirilla pulled Cerys' face back to hers and the queen studied her reaction, as the witcheress bit her lip playfully.

She tucked her hand beneath Cirilla's breastplate, just between her breast, then forcefully pulled her down for another kiss. It was long, passionate, intense, almost greedy, as their hands found each other's necks. Cirilla held on tight, curling her body into Cerys. They held their kiss for a long while, grinning on each other's lips, then separated quickly to gather themselves as the sound of galloping hooves drew nearer. Cerys knew that her guards had finally caught up with them. They pulled up just a short distance from their queen and their eyes darted between the two women still laying on the ground. Their laced fingers concealed by Cerys' cloak.

"Whaddaya two doing down there?" One guard said, breathing loudly, as though he had ran on foot.

"Mind yer business!" Cerys shouted, then turned to Cirilla, as the queen raised her hood. "Dinnae mind me guards. The one there is Ysberin Brodrick, that one with the stupid mug is Folan, this nosy one is Evrawg, and the one you put on his arse yesterday, he' Uchdryd."

"Well, who won, Sparrowhawk?" Evrawg asked.

"She did." Cerys murmured.

With her hood now up, they couldn't see her face. Had they, the warriors would have seen that their queen was blushing, and her eyes hadn't wavered from the ashen-haired woman beside her. Both women rose to their feet. Cirilla quickly mounted her horse and moved along briskly as Cerys climbed atop her steed and followed down the road.

"No, shame there, Sparrowhawk. Witchers are devils on horseback. Remember the grey-haired one who won the races in the Hero's Pursuit a few years back? Ah think his name wer Geralt. He saved me once whin trolls tried to stew me. He's the same one who helped ye and Hjalmar. Cerys? Cerys?" Folan asked, as his queen remained silent, staring ahead, "Yer Highness?"

"Shut yer mouth Folan, and leave me alone." Cerys answered.

"Aye, Sparrowhawk. Ah's just saying…"

Just up ahead, Cirilla slowly trotted Kelpie in a circle, then looked back playfully at Cerys. Their eyes met for a moment, and she tilted her head, then spurred her horse into a canter. Cerys closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then smiled. She understood what it meant. Cirilla wanted her to give chase. She ordered her guards to keep their distance, then lowered her hood to feel the breeze through her hair.

"Garn!" She urged her mare forward, as she chased after the ashen-haired witcher.

Both women were reunited further along the road to Rannvaig. Cirilla had slowed Kelpie down to a trot, then a walk, as she heard Cerys approaching. She smiled knowingly as Cerys drew closer, but kept her eyes on the path ahead. Now riding side by side, Cirilla turned her head to gaze upon Cerys, her thick reddish-brown hair and the crown nestled atop her head. She was struck by Cerys physical attractiveness. The woman had a unique beauty about her.

There is such strength to her…, Cirilla thought.

Cerys caught her eyes looking at her and the witcheress quickly turned her eyes back to the road, as they both laughed. They took their time, enjoying each other's company. Their race had shortened their journey, but they were in no rush, Cirilla knew she would meet Triss at Kaer Trolde by night fall. Cerys' warriors, afraid to leave their queen alone in Clan Drummond territory, had tried to rejoin. Aware or their actions, she held an admonishing glare that kept her guards at distance, though they stayed close enough that they kept their charge in their sights.

"What happened to Clan Drummond?" Cirilla asked.

Cerys eyed her, then pointed to the old sail of a Nilfgaardian warship draping a small hut. "Clan Drummond sided with the Black Ones. They had a choice after Madman Lugos' death, but his daft brother took up the sword against me. The clan fractured, then war started. Ah dissolved Clan Drummond, fer now. The women and youngins are safe in Clan an Craite territory. Drummond warriors who took up arms to defend their queen and clan honor are fighting alongside me brother. He'll crush the remnants of rogue Drummond forces or set them straight. Hjalmar is tending the matter now. It was our land by right, but ah dinnae want it to end this way." Ah want to restore their honor, some day soon.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to pry. It must have been difficult." Cirilla said.

"Aye, tis nae often a clan from Skellige falls in dishonor, but dinnae worry about it. Ah tried to unite me people, but ah failed with Clan Drummond. The Jarls supported me decision after Lugos lost his way, but it's never easy."

"Let's change the subject." Cirilla said.

"Agreed." Cerys replied.

She, with Cirilla at her side, made their way down the hill to Rannvaig, passing a travelling merchant along the way. They spoke briefly, and then the man was off to take his goods to some unknown village. It was late morning, just before midday, and the village was bustling. Women were out washing and gossiping. They whispered to each other, then paused and bowed as their Queen and her witcher companion passed by. Clan an Craite shieldmaidens stopped their vicious sparing, bowed and acknowledge their queen. Young boys and girls played in the wash along the shore, while fisherman plied their trade on the waters and a warrior honed his sword. The weather was clear, the scenery was picturesque and Cirilla took it all in.

"I love this! So much life, real people. I could spend the rest of my days like this, going village to village, experiencing what they have to offer…" Cirilla said.

"Slaying their monsters?" Cerys asked, her eyes fixed with yearning.

"Of course." Cirilla answered.

"This time, will ye take me with ye." Cerys asked, gazing into her eyes.

Cirilla chuckled and nodded in response, then turned her eyes back to the bustle around her. As she watched the villagers go about their business, Cerys stared. For a brief moment, the young Queen had forgotten about her responsibilities and everything that weighed upon her, she felt a lightness she hadn't felt in years, and a happiness she hadn't felt since she was a child, but their reverie was soon broken by the shouting of an old man.

"Hoy, witcher! witcher!" He cried, as he approached them from behind. They stopped, wheeled their horses to greet him, and the man looked surprised when he saw Cirilla's face.

"Yes?"

"Parden me, witcher, Queen Cerys..." The man said, bowing his head respectfully. "Ah saw the hair, the two swords on yer back..."

"What is your name?" Cirilla asked warmly.

"Odhen, Mistress."

"Please, just call me 'Ciri'." Cirilla requested, curling her mouth at the title he gave her.

"As ye wish, Mistress Ciri." Odhen said, nodding again. His response caused Cirilla to shake her head as Cerys to laugh. "Ye are a woman witcher, but ah thought…" He continued, trailing off, as he studied Cirilla up and down.

"I'm the aberrance." Cirilla replied, glancing across as Cerys.

He stared awkwardly, then answered, "Ah don't know what ye mean by that."

"I am special."

"Ye'll find the fact she slays monsters to be the least of what makes her so special." Cerys said, causing Cirilla to blush as her fingers tightened on the reins.

"Aye, I'll take yer word for it, me Queen." The grizzled old man said, staring puzzledly at the two women's interactions.

"So, why did ye interrupt us this morning?" Cerys asked, "Ah mean how can we help ye, da?"

"A few hot seasons past, a grey witcher helped me. Grim fella, scar on his cheek like yers. Ah wanted to thank him again. Ah thought ye looked a wee bit small to be him, but he wer deathly pale, ah thought maybe he wer sick, and me eyes aren't what they used to be..."

"Aye, ye mean Geralt of Rivia, her da." Cerys said, glancing at Cirilla who nodded proudly.

"Aye, Geralt wis his name. Ye're his lass? But ah thought witchers are—" Odhen asked, pausing at Cerys spoke.

"Like Ciri said, she's special." Cerys replied.

"What did my father helped you with?" Cirilla asked.

"Oh, aye, me laddie went missing out near Boxholm. Some fools from Faroe talked nonsense intae his head and we hadnae heard from them. We were afeared they'd fell foul of some monster, so ah put a notice. That witcher—yer da—answered one day. Alas, we were right. All the lads were dead, me laddie too, but the witcher slew the beast and avenged him." Odhen answered.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Cirilla said. She tilted her head in consolation and her kindness was heartening.

"Aye, thank ye, witcher. Ah told him those lads from Faroe were trouble…"

"If I may," Cirilla began, her curiosity getting the better of her, "What was the monster my father slew?"

"Oh, tis were a giant…'fiend', ah think he said. A huge monster, ah saw the beast head, hanging on the rump of his horse. Ne'er seen nothing like it in all me years…" He mumbled, shaking his head.

"Well, you won't see that one ever again." She said with a smile. A fiend, all on your own…impressive. When we hunted one together, I struggled, she thought to herself. "If you do, post another notice. Hopefully me or my father, or another witcher, are nearby to help again…before the monster takes someone's life."

"Whin ye see yer da again, pass along me gratitude, will ye?" Odhen requested, then nodded politely and bid the two women farewell. As they moved their horses and continued their walk, Cirilla looked back at Cerys' guards halted far behind them and smiled with bemusement.

"Your guards are keeping their distance. Your doing?"

"Maybe they're just scared of ye and dinnae want another thrashing." Cerys replied, then winked playfully.

"Yeah, I get angry sometimes when—"

"When someone is rude to ye? Ye know, yer da killed some Drummond boys who took their sword to him. They were a disgrace to Skellige hospitality—Geralt is honorable." Cerys said, "Madman Lugos spilled the tale to me da. Ye are just like yer da, ye know that?"

"Mmhmm, people say that."

"They're right." Cery laughed.

Both women left the village of Rannvaig behind them, spending much of their time on the road conversing about Geralt. The witcher had played an important role in both their lives and Cirilla was keen to know what adventures he had had in Skellige. Cerys told her how Geralt helped her defeat the hym that haunted Jarl Udalryk of Spikeroog, and how he aided when Hjalmar slay the ice giant of Undvik. She told tales of her race with Geralt, his victory, and the witcher's awkwardness around Yennefer, causing Cirilla to frown. To lighten the mood, Cerys quickly took to taunting her brother's exploits.

"Knowing Hjalmar, I'd wager yer da killed the beast and had to stop me fool brother from getting himself killed." Cerys laughed.

Cirilla nodded, then quietly answered, "Mmhmm."

"Are ye alright, Ciri? Did ah say something?"

"No, I love listening to your tales, tell me another." Cirilla whispered.

"Aye, I'll tell ye a tale of Cerys an Craite's journey to be Queen." Cerys said proudly.

The young queen then recounted Cirilla with the tale of the bloody feast at Kaer Trolde afterwards, where all the jarls' heirs, say her and Hjalmar, were slain. Cerys told Cirilla how berserkers had torn the great hall, and most of the guests, to pieces. She went on about how Geralt had joined her in investigating who and what was to blame for the massacre, and how together the two of them discovered it was the former queen, Birna Bran, who had orchestrated the murderous and treasonous act.

"Yer da put a lot of faith in me, trusted me…then again with Udalryk. It meant a lot to me. Tis because of him ah wear me crown." Cerys said sincerely.

"He saw something in you. He's good like that." Cirilla said, glancing at Cerys. She smiled, fondly reminiscing of her father. I wonder whats hes doing right now? Triss and Rosi are gone, I'm here…She shook her head, then she gave Cerys' foot an affectionate prod, "Don't sell yourself short, Cerys. Way I heard it, there were none more fitting then Sparrowhawk to wear the crown."

Cerys smiled briefly at Cirilla's gesture, then replied, "Aye, he saw something…more than a' body else did. More than me brother, and me da…" She trailed off, her face awash with a strange emotion. Cirilla was unable to discern if Cerys was holding back her anger or her sadness, but it tugged at her heart in a way she hadn't expected.

"I'm so sorry about Crach, Cerys, and I'm sure he—"

"Forget about it." Cerys said, cutting her off, as she spurred her horse forward. Cirilla frowned as she pulled away, then urged Kelpie forward to reach her.

They turned at the crossroads and crossed the bridge that marked the road to Kaer Trolde. Cirilla admired the waterfall that ran beneath the bridge, and the view back across the bay. She could see where they had traveled, the cliffs they had raced along, Rannvaig and off in the distance, almost entirely obscured by the woods, Arinbjorn, where they'd spent the night before. Cirilla smiled fondly and felt her face go flushed as she remembered the events of the prior evening.

"Ye better get used to that." Cerys said.

"Wh...what?" Cirilla asked, surprised, fearing that Cerys had somehow read her thoughts.

"Back there, the old man. Yer da is a legend in Skellige. There isn't a village in the Isles that doesn't owe him for something or praise his deeds. When the people know yer his lass, ye won't ever have to go another night on the Isles hungry or sleeping under the stars again. That being said, me home is yer home and I'd be cross if ye didn't spend yer time here with me at Kaer Trolde." Cerys said, looking sidelong at the young witcher.

Cirilla laughed then gave a little bow in her saddle and said, "I serve at Her Majesty's pleasure, of course."

"Hmm…that's a thought, ye know." Cerys said in a flirt.

"Cerys!" She shouted in shock, laughing at the bold gesture.

"Hey, ye said it. Ah will hold ye to yer word, Mistress Witcher." Cerys countered mischievously, and Cirilla gave her a playful smack on the back as they both laughed.

Cerys' guards had watched the pair for hours. Throughout their journey they had been inseparable, one could barely see a flicker of daylight between their two mounts. Although Cerys had always had a good heart and an adventurous spirit she'd maintained since her youth, the young queen also had a fierce determination that bordered on intimidating. As one of the mightiest shieldmaiden in the Isles, it often seemed as if the young An Craite girl was always out to prove herself, on every occasion. When she became Queen, Cerys had to sacrifice for her people, seemingly losing herself in her duties.

She rarely raided or sought adventure, spending her time travelling the Isles promoting peace amongst the jarls, and her commanders, or overseeing the many ventures she'd started. To elevate her people, the young queen focused on the expansion of the recently discovered silver mine on Ard Skellig, the restoration of the keep at Kaer Almhult, as well as the newly reclaimed Kaer Muire, and her mandates for expanded agriculture across the Isles. It was clear that the responsibilities of being Queen had taken a toll on the young Sparrowhawk, as her time with Cirilla was the most fun she had had in years. As the guards watched the two women, they would smile and nudge each other each time the women laughed. Cerys rarely smiled and they couldn't remember the last time they'd heard her laugh. Yet here along this road, with this ashen-haired witcher, her veil had dropped and her laughter echoed across the Isle.

They continued their journey along the road to Kaer Trolde, passing a small market area by the side of the road where merchants hawked their wares. Cirilla could hear a continental—she couldn't make out his accent—arguing with one of the merchants about the price of his goods. The Clan an Craite warriors standing guard saluted their queen as she passed, just as they'd done in Rannvaig. Cirilla knew her warriors did not do it out of fear but out of fondness, often addressing Cerys by just her name or calling out 'Sparrowhawk'. The queen scolded anyone who addressed her as 'Her Highness' or 'Queen', despite Ermion's advice to embrace the title. When they reached the fork in the road, where one road led up to the castle and the second to its harbour, Cerys brought her horse to a halt and dismounted, and then she waved for her guards to approach.

"We're not going up to the keep?" Cirilla asked.

"In a wee bit. There's something ah wanna show ye first." Cerys said, mysteriously. Confused but intrigued, Cirilla dismounted Kelpie and stood alongside Cerys, as she handed the reins of their mounts to her guards. "Take these up to Kaer Trolde. Make sure they're watered and well-fed, we put them through their paces today."

"Aye, Sparrowhawk." Uchdryd said, and they rode off with the mounts up the long, winding road to the Kaer Trolde keep.

"So, what's this surprise?" Cirilla asked enthusiastically.

"Come with me." Cerys said, with a smile, as she took the witcheress by the hand. Cirilla smiled with surprise as she looked down at their entwined fingers, then laughed loudly as Cerys walked towards the path down to the harbour, pulling her along behind.

Kaer Trolde harbour was a buzzing hive. Sailors hauled freight, merchants shouted out deals on their merchandise, children weaved in and out of the crowd and Clan an Craite shieldmaidens and warriors dotted the area, keeping the peace. A few drunken sailors leered at Cirilla as Cerys pulled her through the throng, but most averted their gaze when they saw the look on their Queen's face or after she put her shoulder into their chest. One, reeking of ale, grabbed ahold of Cirilla's arm and pulled her towards him, only to earn a swift knee to his groin and a shove from the witcher. Cerys stopped and laughed at the fool as he fell to his knees.

"Ugh…that fuckin' wench…hit me in me pearls..." He groaned. Cerys sneered, turned and walked over to the man, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck.

"And if ye touch her again, I'll chop them off." She said, staring into the man's eyes, as his pain gave way to terror. She let go, dropping the fool back into the muck. "Pass it along, tell yer friends."

"Get up ye fool." One An Craite shieldmaiden shouted, as Cerys took hold of Cirilla's hand again and continued through the crowd.

"Come on, we're almost there." She whispered, "I'm sorry bout that."

"Mmhmm."

They emerged from the crowd at the shipyard and Cerys stopped, "Here." She said, then called out to one of the shipwrights, "Bjorg! Over here!"

Cirilla looked at her in confusion then looked around. Several longships were in various phases of construction, but the one Cerys had dragged her in front of caught her attention. It was impressive, larger than any she'd seen before.

"She'll be twice the size of other longships in the fleet, yet still be able to navigate most rivers." Cerys said, as she saw what held Cirilla's gaze, then added proudly, "...and she's mine."

"Does she have a name?" Cirilla asked, as she ran her hand along the keel of the unfinished ship. Superb craftsmanship. No one makes ships like Skelligers, She thought.

"Nay, of course not." Cerys replied, waving her hand dismissively. "It's bad luck to name a ship before she's first sailed."

A well-built man, balding, but bearded, walked up and stood alongside them, wiping the sawdust from his hands on his gambeson. He looked at them proudly as he saw them admiring his craftsmanship.

"Aye, she's a beauty is she not? She'll be the first of her like, never a ship in the Isles like her: twice the size, twice the sails, twice the oars and twice the speed." Bjorg answered with pride.

"And room for twice the haul." Cerys added, beaming.

"Seems like a fitting ship for the first Queen of the Isles." Cirilla said, playfully nudging Cerys' shoulder with her own.

"Aye, that she is." Bjorg answered.

"Ciri, allow me to introduce Bjorg, Clan an Craite's master boatbuilder. Bjorg, this is Cirilla, a witcher and me dear friend." Cerys said with a smile.

"A pleasure." Cirilla said, bowing her head politely.

"Same." Bjorg replied. "A witcher, ye say?"

"Aye, the daughter of the famed Geralt of Rivia no less!" Cerys said, nudging Cirilla in return, as the witcheress shook her head in amusement.

"Witcher, Geralt…truly? Then ye must pass along me thanks. He cleared the bay of some horrors.. a spell and we haven't had nary a problem since. No lad's gone missing and the fisherman, crabbers and divers are bringing in record hauls. Tell yer da we're a' grateful for what he did."

"Told ye." Cerys whispered, leaning in close.

"Thank you, I will." Cirilla replied, shaking her head fondly at Cerys, and pushing against her with her body.

"Alright, Bjorg, back to work. I'm itching to take her out, see how she feels in me hands."

"Aye-aye." He said, then paused and nodded to the two women, "It's the ship yer referring to, right, Sparrowhawk?"

Cirilla held a bemused look on her face then laughed in shock, as she studied Cerys' reaction. The queen only grinned and shook her head, staring at the man as he walked away chuckling to himself. "I'll need to have a talk with him…" She said, then pulled Cirilla towards the village.

They passed by the herbalist, loudly discussing various remedies to an obviously embarrassed villager. A group of children played at combat with wooden swords and bows. The girls in the group stopped and stared in awe as Cirilla approached. Female warriors were common in Skellige, and many of the young girls had taken to looking up to Cerys as a role model, yet none had seen a female witcher before. Even the young boys looked up at her, twisting their feet in the dirt and awkwardly trying not to look at the beautiful witcheress. Cerys laughed as the girls ran up, crowding around the pair as they walked along.

One held Cirilla's hand, while another jumped trying to reach the witcher medallion dangling from her neck. Others tossed questions, all speaking together trying to get their tiny voices heard. One asked if her hair was real, another if they could hold her swords, then one shouted and asked if Cirilla would take them with her so they could become witchers too. She was delighted in their attention, but the children were soon shooed away by a couple of older women. The girls poked their tongues out in response, then ran back to play. Cirilla was relishing the simple moment, so much so, that she had totally forgotten about Cerys' hand holding her own until she noticed the absence of its warmth. She stopped and looked back at the queen, who tilted her head and nodded towards the nearby inn.

"This's where Yennefer stays." Cerys mumbled.

"I know." Cirilla replied, confused as to why Cerys stopped, "I've visited her here before."

"You don't want to say 'hello'?" Cerys asked, "Why not, ain't she yer ma, or something like that?"

"Can we go now?" Cirilla whispered, turning her eyes. She remembered the ill turn of their conversation when she last visited Yennefer at that inn. "Maybe later."

Cerys studied Cirilla's reaction. She was smiling, yet her eyes convey something else.

Did ah say something wrong again? "Okay." Cerys replied, then she turned their attention to the men fist-fighting in a ring of spectators just nearby. She noticed Cirilla's eyes lit up as she watched their footwork and listened to their taunts towards each other.

"This lot are probably fighting to see who'll fight Geralt next time he visits. Ye know, he's the Champion of Champions in Skellige?"

"Champion of Champions? My, that title will go to his head!" Cirilla chuckled.

"Oh, aye, even fought a bear...and a rock troll, would ye believe that?!"

"You are pulling my leg!"

"Nay, tis the honest truth! Ah swear to Freya, yer da defeated a bear and a troll with his bare hands! Ye can ask the troll if ye like!" Despite proclaiming the truth of the tale, Cerys' excitement clearly showed she had trouble believing the tale herself.

Cirilla stood there proud and lost in thought, as if mulling over taking on such a challenge herself. Then she smiled, put her hands on her hips and, gesturing dismissively, said, "Well, perhaps there are some things I won't best him at. I think I'll let him keep that honor, and the prestigious title that goes with it."

Cerys playfully pushed Cirilla along as they left the area, but the Queen's smile dropped as her eyes fell again upon the door of the inn. "Ye know, as many people who consider Geralt a hero in the Isles, just as many and more don't much fancy Yennefer for what she did here."

"I know. I'm sorry." Cirilla mumbled.

"Not yer fault, Swallow." Cerys said, "She's me guest, so na one dares bother her and 'Yennefer' dinnae take kindly to harsh words. Ah know what's happening with Radovid, so why won't she go to Kovir and fight like the other mages?"

"Thanks." Cirilla answered, "Kovir has someone who will lead her mages against Radovid."

"Aye." Cerys answered.

They made their way along the waterfront and up some stairs to a platform. It was a dead-end. Cirilla looked around confused. "Why are we here? Are we not going to the keep?"

"Aye, here we are." Cerys mumbled, as she reached for and pulled a lever on a nearby wall. "We're taking the lift."

Cirilla's eyes widened as she turned her gaze upwards. Far above her she could make out a small square slowly growing bigger as it made its way down towards them. She turned her gaze to Cerys.

"Surely you jest!"

"Nope." Cerys said with a devilish smile, as Cirilla shook her head in disbelief.

As they waited for the lift to arrive, Cerys tilted her head in thought then turned to Cirilla.

"So, if yer not here to see Yennefer, who then? As much as I'd like it to be true, ah dinnae think ye came all this way just to see me." Cerys whispered.

"And why not? I did come to see you!" Cirilla said, poking Cerys affectionately in the ribs, then she swayed her head and noticed Cerys still awaited a truthful answer. "Well, true, I did come to see someone else as well. They came to see you too. They might even be waiting up in the keep right now."

She had been so lost walking through the crowd with Cerys, she'd forgotten to scan for signs of the Koviri fleet.

Cerys' eyes darted quickly as she ponder, "The Koviri delegation?"

"Mmhmm." Cirilla answered, smiling widely.

Cerys tried to put the pieces together in her head as she looked at the eagerness on Cirilla's face. Her eyes were drawn to the pendant that hung from her friend's neck, then she remembered the words engraved on it and what Cirilla had said about the person who had given it to her. The young queen stared at the wall forlornly, as the grinding of the platform got louder, and her mind raced frantically. Her eyes, dejected, dropped lower and lower until the loud thud of the platform hitting the ground in front of them snapped her back to her senses.

Cerys took her hand and squeezed it gently, "So the one who give ye the pendant is coming with the Koviri delegation?"

"Mmhmm." Cirilla whispered.

"Aye, let's go then." She said, letting go of Cirilla's hand and stepping onto the platform.

"Oh, no-no-no! We're not! Cerys, it doesn't even have a cage! Can we just go back and walk?" Cirilla asked. She paced back and forth, then halted.

Cerys' worries disappeared for a moment, as she laughed, then grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the lift. When Cirilla tried to walk off the contraption, she jerked her body and held her close.

"Hey, trust me. Do ye think I'd do anything to put ye in danger?" Cerys asked earnestly.

Cirilla pouted, unconvinced, as she looked up at the lift, then up at the height they had to travel. She turned back to Cerys hesitantly shaking her head, as she reached for the lever. She smiled as she felt Cirilla's grip tighten on her hand, then pulled the lever so they began the slow ascent up to Kaer Trolde. She remained steady, stiff, but halfway up a gust of wind swayed the lift, the witcheress grabbed onto Cerys with both hands, hugging her waist. It was a welcomed gesture, as Cerys barely reacted to the swaying, say for her heart pounding through her chest to Cirilla's hug. She stood in disbelief as the platform continued swaying back and forth, yet the queen stood unfazed by the violent swing.

"Oi, shh, ye're squeezing the life from me body! Ye'll be alright. Ye'er the big tough monster slayer, remember?" Cerys said, draping an arm around Ciri, hugging and looking affectionately into her eyes.

"Bollocks to that! I can't fight a hundred foot drop!" Cirilla shouted, as they chuckled.

The swaying stopped almost as suddenly as it began and it wasn't long until they ascended through the tower at the top. When the platform came to a stop, she pried herself from Cerys' body and quickly stepped out onto the reassuring stone floor. She looked around at the guards who eyed her puzzledly and then back to Cerys, as she stepped off the platform with an amused expression on her face and both hands on her hips. Cirilla dropped her eyes, but the young queen quickly took her arm and led her towards the stairs leading up to the bridge.

"Hey, stop beating yerself up. Tis like that for a'body on their first try. Ah was worse, even Geralt, ah bet." Cerys said, pulling her close and nudging her head as they walked up the staircase.

"Really?" She asked, then she to smile.

"Sure. Ah heard the big grey-haired oaf almost wet himself first time up." Cerys joked and Cirilla's loud laughter echoed throughout the tower. She smiled softly, a longing filled her eyes, she had never heard a sound quite like Cirilla's laughter for some time. "Come, we can watch fer the Koviri ships from up here later. Ye can see yer friends when they arrive."

---

Thanks for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think I am always looking forward to improving my writing and ideas.