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Ciri made her way to the War Room alone, freshly bathed and wearing clothes that didn't stink of several weeks' worth of travel. Someone, likely Josephine or Owain, had left a stack of parchment with the meeting's agenda on her desk for her to look over, and she had it tucked beneath her arm in a tight roll. One item had made her both shake her head and wince, knowing the conversation to come would be a difficult one. It simply read, in a large, sharp hand: "BLIGHTED LYRIUM. EXPLAIN."

She pushed open the door to the War Room and found that once again, she was the last to arrive. To her relief, Owain, Raúl, and Cullen looked largely recovered from their ordeal with the lyrium addiction cure, and Owain met her smile with one of his own. The faint, ever-present lines of tiredness and tension that had marked his face since the day they'd met were nowhere to be seen.

She was looking forward to this evening. They had another 'picnic dinner' planned for her quarters, just the two of them, with sparring practice afterward. But first, they needed to get through the stack of parchment she carried.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she said as she set her roll of parchment down on the map. "Did all the agenda items make it into my hands, or are there other things I need to know about?"

Leliana spoke up. "My agent came back from the north. The report is ready for you whenever you want to hear it."

"And there's a complication back home I need to tell you about," Triss said with a careful glance at Chancellor Roderick.

"Then we'll get the Chantry's business taken care of first, shall we?" Chancellor Roderick said, nodding politely back at her.

"I saw that Revered Mother Kordula had been recalled to Val Royeaux while I was in the Hinterlands," Ciri said. "Is there more to it than that?"

"Grand Cleric Oudine is hoping she might explain what happened with the apostate, Anders, to her satisfaction. Though seeing as the details of how he was freed from the demon have been kept secret, it's unlikely." Chancellor Roderick turned his attention to the key-shaped marker sitting over Val Royeaux, his strong brows furrowed as if he was trying to see into the Grand Cathedral from where he stood.

"Does it matter?" Ciri asked him. "Justice is back in the Fade, and Anders is his own man again. Grand Enchanter Fiona vouches that no blood magic was used. That should be good enough."

"It will have to do," Chancellor Roderick said heavily. He looked back up from the map, his expression lightening slightly. "On the bright side, your pardon of Anders and the news that the demon Justice was the driving force behind the attack on Kirkwall's chantry has changed perceptions of the apostate among a key set. Certain extreme Libertarian mages saw him as a folk hero of sorts. This portrayal of him as a victim has made him lose some of his luster."

Ciri liked that not at all. "But he was a hero – he is a hero," she corrected herself. "A Grey Warden, for one, and for years he healed Kirkwall's poor without expectation of pay. He had incredible willpower not to turn into one of those monstrous abominations I've read about, to maintain his sense of self and his own mind. He was a victim, yes, but that doesn't make him any less brave or caring. One doesn't negate the other."

Chancellor Roderick looked dubious. "An interesting suggestion, Lady Ciri, and one more generous than Anders merits, perhaps."

Cullen dropped his gaze to the map and cleared his throat. He no longer looked quite so tired or ill, and the waxy complexion he'd had was long gone, but he seemed as stressed as ever. If Ciri had to guess, the confrontation he'd had with Hawke and Anders weeks ago was still on his mind.

"The only one who's reacted worse than the Chantry is Prince Sebastian of Starkhaven," Cullen said. "We received word from Kirkwall's interim viscount Bran Cavin and Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen asking for help repelling Starkhaven's forces."

"He's invading Kirkwall?" Ciri asked in disbelief. "That's ridiculous! Whatever for?"

"It would seem that with Anders out of reach, bringing Kirkwall to heel with annexation is the next best thing in his mind," Leliana said. She shook her head. "I have to wonder if he got the idea from me. I met him once when Justinia was considering drastic action against Kirkwall. Perhaps it planted the seeds."

"You mustn't blame yourself, even if he did get the idea from you," Ciri told her. "You can't control what other people do."

Leliana looked at her for a long moment, then nodded, her eyes warming.

"How would you like to handle this request for aid?" Josephine asked.

"Our soldiers have been well-rested since Adamant. We'll send as many as are needed. Healers, food, and medical supplies as well," Ciri said. "And write Prince Sebastian a firm reprimand, please. Make sure to include that this is neither how a peacekeeper nor a champion of the just behaves."

Josephine pressed her lips together to hide a smile. "I'll see to it."

"And what of the Chantry – the other Chantry?" Ciri clarified. "Is Agnesot content with her new title, or has she decided to act?"

"We've all been excommunicated." Chancellor Roderick sounded torn between annoyance and amusement. "The list of who she and her fellow excommunicants didn't 'excommunicate' in return may in fact be shorter than the one of those who escaped her ire."

"All of us, the remaining grand clerics, and every noble and head of state allied with the Inquisition are now banned from services in the cities and towns they hold," Leliana said. "Moreover, a bounty has been put on your head, Inquisitor. Fifteen thousand royals. Where Agnesot got that sort of gold, I don't know, but you can trust I'm looking into it."

"Please be careful out there," Owain said quietly. "It's enough money to tempt a great many people."

"I'll watch my back," she promised. "And you know I never go anywhere alone, anyhow."

He nodded in acknowledgment.

"I believe that's the last of the Chantry's business," Cullen said.

"And that's my cue to take my leave," Chancellor Roderick said, giving Ciri a shallow bow. "Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Chancellor," Ciri said. "We'll see you again at the next meeting."

She waited until the door had closed behind him and turned to Triss. "What's this 'complication' back home?"

Triss shook her head. "It's going to ruin the meeting if I tell you now. It can wait until the end."

Ciri's heart skipped a beat. "Are Geralt and Lady Yennefer –"

"They're fine," Triss reassured her. "The Witchers are fine. The school is fine."

Ciri took a deep breath and tried to set her misgivings aside. There were only so many other things it could possibly be, but if Triss insisted on waiting, she wouldn't press her. "The Exalted Plains situation, then. I understand we've been asked to intervene?"

"Asked to investigate," Owain amended. "The Civil War has been raging across Dirthavaren – the Exalted Plains – for over a year now. But these last few months, the front has been quiet. Unnaturally so."

"On both sides," Raúl added. "The scouts have seen corpses walking, and the occasional demon, but the armies, what's left of them, at least, have retreated to their camps to lick their wounds for now."

"And the request comes not from a general, nor from the empress or grand duke, but from Duke Cyril de Montfort," Ciri said as she glanced down at her stack of parchment.

The empress' second cousin was rapidly becoming a valuable ally. Not only had he secured them the use of Griffon Wing Keep, but he and Duke Bastien's son had also arranged for trebuchets to aid them in the siege of Adamant Fortress. If this request came from him, she could hardly turn it down.

"The duke is likely asking out of concern for the empress' war efforts," Josephine said. "His father, the late Duke Prosper, was Empress Celene's greatest supporter, and Duke Cyril is similarly close to his cousin."

"What does he think of the empress' slaughter of the elves of Halamshiral?" Ciri asked. "What are his views of Orlais' elves in general?"

"Both are very good questions," Leliana said. "I'll look into it for you."

Cullen redirected the conversation back to the war front. "If we resolve whatever is causing the dead to rise in the Exalted Plains, that may be our inroad to an invitation to the peace talks at the Winter Palace."

"Is it 'Dirthavaren' or 'Exalted Plains'?" Ciri asked.

"Dirthavaren," Owain said firmly, "though you won't hear many humans call it that. They renamed it the Exalted Plains after their victory over the elves during the second Exalted March."

"Dirthavaren," Ciri said, trying to puzzle it out. "Dirth means secrets or knowledge, but can also be an imperative to speak…"

"It means 'the Promise,'" Owain said. He smiled. "As in the land Andraste promised Shartan and his people. Max would kill me if I didn't know that much about his area of study."

Josephine made a note on her clipboard, and Ciri thought she saw something gleam at her wrist. "I'll ask Maxwell for his analysis of the Exalted – of Dirthavaren when the meeting concludes. Forgive me for the oversight."

"Scout Mahanon and Mihris were sent ahead on the report of a Dalish clan in the area," Leliana continued at Ciri's nod. "We felt they might act as ambassadors to smooth any potential tension or conflict that could arise."

That didn't sound right. "I thought Mihris was going to join Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches."

"She was," Leliana said. "But she decided to stay and keep Mahanon company. You can ask her for her reasons when you see her in Dirthavaren."

"Alright," Ciri said. "We'll leave for Dirthavaren tomorrow. What's next?" She flipped through the pages and paused on the short, emphatic demand for an explanation. "Ah…the blighted lyrium."

"I had hoped it was just a joke in poor taste, but I know you wouldn't be that cruel," Leliana said. "Your letter back from the Hinterlands was lacking in detail. Do you have anything else to add?"

"Not much, to be honest," Ciri told them. "Bianca Davri's discovery of lyrium's properties matches Triss' observations. She said that the Blight can't infect minerals, so it must be alive to some degree."

"Then everywhere those red lyrium formations are found, Blight is leaching into the ground," Triss said gravely. "Poisoning the soil, the plant life, even the burrowing animals and bugs. This could devastate your world."

"There are places that are still barren wastelands from the first Blight," Josephine said. "I don't want to think what adding lyrium into the mix will do."

"Nothing good," Raúl opined. He exchanged unsettled looks with Owain and Cullen. "Did Davri have any thoughts on what this means for the red Templars? Normal Blight sickness turns the infected into ghouls after some time. But the way the red lyrium has taken our former brothers and sisters is the stuff of nightmares."

"She didn't say," Ciri said, "but I imagine that's something they'll look into as well."

Cullen made a fist atop the table, frowning deeply. "There's no cure for the Blight."

"There wasn't a cure for lyrium addiction a few months ago," Triss countered. But she too frowned. "You're right, though. The Blight and the lyrium seem to complicate each other, amplifying their negative effects. Finding a solution will be exponentially more difficult, if it can be done at all."

"Should we recall the Orlesian Grey Wardens?" Owain asked. "They're currently in pursuit of Marquise Bouffon in the Gamordan Peaks. We'd like to bring her to justice for the illegal mining she was doing that broke into a darkspawn tunnel, but this red lyrium Blight seems more important."

"Send word to whoever is currently in charge and tell them to have a few of their cleverer Wardens go to Soldier's Peak to be part of the investigation into potential solutions," Ciri said after a second or two of thinking. "The rest can continue their work for now. And warn them about Bianca's encounter with Warden Larius – that was most likely Corypheus possessing the Warden. They'll need to be vigilant."

"We'll send word at once," Josephine said.

Ciri turned back to her stack of parchment. "Leliana, what progress have you made with Servis?"

"It's early stages yet, but his information so far has been accurate and helpful," Leliana said. "My agents have managed to disrupt a Venatori smuggling ring in the Lake Celestine region and uncover a double agent who wormed her way into Duke Tythas Pentaghast's confidences in Hunter Fell. He also has some suggestions on how to entice one of Corypheus' most devoted supporters away from his side. I have a full report waiting for you."

"I had my doubts about him," Ciri admitted. "I'm glad I was wrong."

"Your instincts have led you right so far," Leliana said. "Magister Tilani hasn't had any success trying to purchase Servis' grandparents from Magister Therastes. I have a pair of agents I could send to deal with the situation more directly."

Ciri hesitated. "Helping them escape, or…"

"Whatever seems best," Leliana said steadily. "It won't be traced back to us."

"I made him a promise," Ciri said. Her stomach clenched at the thought, but she met Leliana's eyes squarely. "Send them."

Leliana nodded. "I'll make sure to mention that violence should be a last resort," she offered.

"Thank you," Ciri said quietly. "Now. You said you had word from your agent who went north?"

Leliana looked sympathetic. "Solas' 'small village to the north' is a ruin, Inquisitor. It has been uninhabited for centuries. Wherever he comes from, it isn't there."

Somehow, Ciri had known that was coming. And yet, the confirmation surprised her all the same. "Well." She looked down at the map, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Well," she said again.

"Hm." Leliana let out a faint, stifled laugh, and Ciri looked back up at her. "It does seem to be going around, doesn't it?"

Despite herself, Ciri smiled ruefully. First Rainier, now Solas. And she, Triss, and Olgierd had lied to the advisors for a few months, and to their friends for even longer. "You might be right."

"Why did you even suspect him of falsehood in the first place?" Cullen asked.

"This is…hard to explain."

Haltingly, carefully, she began to describe her half-remembered dreams and the shadowy figure that spoke to her in them. Curious expressions turned serious, and Cullen dropped his hand to his sword as she mentioned the figure's dire warnings of a danger near her, a harellan who would 'doom the Fade and the physical world in his quest for atonement.'

"But the figure in my dreams said the winds were shifting," Ciri added. "They said he may yet have a change of heart."

"Is that enough?" Leliana asked. "Can we count on a potential change of heart when the danger he presents is so clear?"

"More than that, can we believe this figure in your dreams?" Cullen asked. "Spirits aren't all like Cole and Adventure, Inquisitor. Your experience in the Nightmare's realm is proof enough."

"I don't believe I'm dreaming of a spirit," Ciri told them. "That much I remember. They said they were…what was it? A political prisoner. 'Meant to be forgotten.'"

"Then you have a Dreamer intruding on your sleep, and you're stuck in the middle of some larger conspiracy we're only seeing the edges of," Leliana concluded. "My guess would be someone from Tevinter working against Corypheus and the Venatori, but I cannot imagine any scenario in which Solas would ally himself with a darkspawn magister who wishes to bring back slave-owning Tevinter's glory days."

"Nor can I," Ciri said. She braced her hands on the edge of the table and stared down at the map, unsettled and vaguely guilty. "He calls me his kin. I asked him if he had recent Elvhen ancestry, the way people believe I do, and he said he did. He believes we're family of a sort. He said that meeting me brought him great joy. He listened to me when I told him what he said in the future, about a world without the Veil being an abomination. I think I can reach him. He hasn't done anything wrong yet, not truly. We can't condemn him for nebulous plans I learned about in the Fade."

"No," Owain agreed. "He hasn't acted on anything yet, at least so far as we know. If you can resolve it peacefully, that would be ideal. We may find out if he's acting alone, or if there is some sort of conspiracy at play. But Ciri."

She looked up to see him watching her with serious, kind eyes. "Yes?"

"There's no way you'll be able to keep the truth of your origins from him forever. What will you do if he reacts poorly?"

Ciri shook her head. "He told me not to tell him when I saw him in the future," she said softly. "I don't… He's my friend. My tutor. I don't want to hurt him."

"And if he hurts you?" Owain asked, just as softly.

"I'll defend myself. But I won't strike first. Not against Solas."

Leliana spoke up after a moment of silence. "Then we have a plan. We watch him covertly, with no change to our behavior to arouse suspicion. Lady Ciri will take the lead in attempting to sway him from his course of action. If that seems futile, we'll reconvene and consider another approach."

"You could change your behavior," Ciri suggested. "Involve him in conversations, invite him to play chess, ask him about his art. That sort of thing. Sera jokes that he has his head 'stuffed up a thousand years ago,' and honestly, she's not wrong. He spends so much time thinking about the Fade, and the past, that he isn't invested in the present. Perhaps if we give him reasons to care –"

"This is a great deal of effort for one liar," Raúl pointed out. "Particularly a liar with an interest in destroying Thedas."

"I know."

"This seems dangerous," Cullen warned her. "I trust that you know what you're doing, but if Solas' plans truly extend to tearing down the Veil, we may be better served by acting to stop him rather than trying to change his mind."

"I know," Ciri repeated. "But I have to try."

Not everything about Solas' friendship could be a lie. She had to trust that the man who taught her magic and Elven, who told her stories of Thedas' history and of spirits, who painted such beautiful art in the rotunda, would see reason in the end. He'd stayed to help in the future, after all, and he'd hated the sight of a world where the Veil no longer existed. He couldn't be a bad person, even if his plans did worry her.

"What's next?" she asked. "Josephine?"

"There's nothing that needs your immediate attention," Josephine told her. "I've sent out requests to Rene de Genellen, the parfumier, and to the tailor Colet le Mire and his cobbler partner, Lorette Potin. They should arrive before you return from Dirthavaren. Messengers have been dispatched to cloth and leather merchants detailing our needs, so we should see those deliveries in the next few weeks."

"I'll leave that to you, then," Ciri said. "Nothing else?" No one spoke up, so she turned to Triss. "What's the complication, if my parents, the school, and the other Witchers are fine?"

"Olgierd and I were seen in Novigrad," Triss said reluctantly. "I don't know by whom, but they tipped off Philippa, and she showed up at the bank. She insinuated that she knew Geralt and Yenna were lying about what really happened to you after the battle against the Wild Hunt. And she –"

"And she's Emhyr's advisor!" Ciri interrupted. "Triss!"

"I told Margarita to warn Geralt and Yenna," Triss said. "Ciri, even if she does suspect, she can't find you while you're here. And what can you even do with the Veil trapping you in Thedas?"

Ciri crossed her arms tightly. "I could do something!"

Her mind raced as she revisited every village, every inn, that she'd stopped by on the Path. Had she let her hood slip too often? Had someone spoken of the odd female Witcher to the wrong person? Were Emhyr's spies still listening for news of her?

"Why would this Philippa not know what happened to you after your battle?" Raúl asked. "Am I understanding you correctly? You faked your death?"

"I did," Ciri said shortly.

"Why?" Leliana asked. "And you say that Philippa is…Emhyr's?...advisor? Which is the greater threat to you and your family?"

"Emhyr." Ciri's voice came out flat and hard.

"Don't underestimate the danger Philippa presents," Triss cautioned her. "She's centuries old, has friends and contacts in every corner of every kingdom. When she was head of the Lodge of Sorceresses, she shaped the Northern kingdoms from behind the scenes, and the last time she had a king's ear –"

"The last time Miss Owl had a king's ear, she turned Radovid the Stern into Radovid the Mad, lost her eyes, and brought witch hunters down on every magic user in half the Northern kingdoms," Ciri interrupted. "She doesn't make mistakes on a manageable scale, and her ambitions are greater than her ability to achieve them. No, the danger is in what she might say to Emhyr, and if he believes her."

"Tell us about Emhyr," Cullen prompted her.

"He sent men after me for years. His army conquered my grandparents' kingdom – he's responsible for their deaths. He's a brutal, power-hungry tyrant, and the only thing that granted me reprieve was that he had a glimmer of conscience when he finally got me in his grasp – not that it lasted, since he started searching for me again years later. If Philippa decides it serves her interests to share her suspicions with him, I'll never be safe from him again."

The silence that followed her words was pregnant. Then, rather delicately, Josephine spoke up.

"Your grandparents' kingdom?"

Damn it all.

Ciri looked around the room. Unlike the last time she'd been in this position, with Triss and Olgierd, the advisors looked concerned and worried, not skeptical or angry. Owain nodded to her in gentle encouragement. She took a deep breath and prepared to reveal what she'd purposely left unsaid before.

"Queen Calanthe of Cintra was my grandmother. She and her husband, King Eist Tuirseach, raised me after my mother, Princess Pavetta, died at sea when I was very young. Nilfgaard's army conquered the kingdom when I was almost twelve, and I escaped the slaughter and found refuge with a peasant family. Geralt discovered me there some months later and brought me back to Kaer Morhen with him to begin my training as a Witcher."

"Oh, Ciri," Josephine breathed. She set her clipboard down and came around the table to lay a soft hand on her shoulder. "Your poor grandparents. Your childhood. To have lost so much…"

Ciri loosened her tight grip on her forearms and briefly rested her hand on Josephine's. "I don't have any claim on Cintra anymore. I'm just a Witcher now. It's all I want, truly."

"You must still have some claim to the kingdom, or this King Emhyr wouldn't pursue you so doggedly," Raúl said. "Does he need you to give him legitimacy there?"

Ciri scoffed. "Emperor Emhyr married a lookalike and passed her off as me. No. He –" The words caught in her throat, and she reached for Josephine's hand again. "He's my birth father."

Cullen looked taken aback. "Your father invaded your kingdom?"

"Birth father," Ciri stressed. "It's… He married my mother under a false name. No one knew he was the rightful heir to Nilfgaard's throne. We thought he was lost at sea with my birth mother. We mourned him! Meanwhile, some man named Emhyr overthrew the Usurper in Nilfgaard and began conquering neighboring kingdoms. A few years later, he turned his eyes on Cintra. No love or mercy for his parents-in-law or daughter, or the kingdom that called him Prince Duny."

"Why does he want you so badly, then?" Leliana asked. "Are you his heir?" Her sharp eyes held concern. "If he married the imposter…that doesn't speak well of his intentions."

"No," Ciri said bitterly. "It doesn't."

She hadn't said this part to Owain. She wasn't sure if Triss even knew all of it. But she'd pieced part of it together on her own, and Geralt and Yennefer had filled in the rest.

"The trouble with Elder Blood," she began, "is that everyone seems to have an unhealthy obsession with making and controlling the next generation, and me by extension. The Aen Elle coerced me into agreeing to a pregnancy to 'return' Lara Dorren's power to them after the humans 'stole' it. The Lodge of Sorceresses decided I was to become King Tankred's mistress and have a magical child they could rule the Northern kingdoms through. A sorcerer wanted to force a pregnancy on me just so he could use the placenta to make himself more powerful. And Emhyr –"

She paused. "Emhyr chased me with soldiers, spies, and mercenaries. He created a false Cirilla of Cintra out of nowhere and married her. And when he finally caught up with us after a grueling battle, he didn't let on that he was my father. He just said he was taking me away to Nilfgaard and leaving Geralt and Yennefer to kill themselves 'honorably.' He let me go when he saw how devastated I was, but his vow to leave me in peace didn't last more than a few years. I had to fake my death after the battle with the Wild Hunt. I knew he was my father by then.

"I won't…I can't…I refuse to allow my body to be used as a vessel for anyone's ambitions! Avallac'h didn't succeed. Philippa didn't succeed. Vilgefortz failed utterly. If my tyrannical, incestuous bastard of a birth father lays a finger on me or my parents again, I'll make him regret ever contemplating doing it!"

She caught her breath as her voice rose to a near-shout, her heart pounding in remembered anger and terror. Josephine pulled her into a tight, comforting hug, and Owain came around from the other side of the table to offer her a warm embrace when Josephine released her. Triss looked momentarily stricken before she pulled herself together to give Ciri a nod of support and a regretful smile.

"They can't find you here," Owain said firmly. "If you're nowhere to be found on the Continent, they may dismiss the rumors that you're alive as just that. Rumors. It will give them time to die down before you go back."

Ciri met his dark eyes and nodded slightly. "I hope you're right."

"Even so, precautions must be taken," Leliana said. "You turned me down before, but this time I must insist. We need extra guards on that portal, Inquisitor, in case people come through looking for you. My agents are discreet and trustworthy."

Ciri hesitated, and Leliana let her steely mask drop just a little.

"Please," she said softly. "Let us protect you, as you have protected Thedas."

Her throat grew tight at the sincerity and honest care in Leliana's voice, and she nodded, just once. "Owain, you should write to your parents and let them know we're sending Inquisition agents their way."

"I'll take care of it first thing tomorrow."

Another moment of silence fell. Raúl broke it with a short laugh.

"What?" Cullen asked him.

"All those rumors that Lady Ciri was born on the wrong side of the royal bed," he explained. "The Valmont one almost sunk us in Orlais. But here she is, an actual princess. If certain people had any idea, they'd be feasting on crow."

Josephine laughed softly. "The thought of those who look down on you learning the truth does feel somewhat satisfying, even if it can't ever happen." She looked at Ciri with a new understanding in her eyes. "I had wondered for a time how the daughter of a knight and a mage could take to leading a large organization so easily. But you were raised for something like this, weren't you?"

"I'm just a Witcher," Ciri said with a shake of her head. "Whatever I might have been before Cintra was conquered, I'm not anymore. And even then, the Law of Surprise tied me to Geralt. By circumstance, by destiny, by choice, I'm a Witcher, not a princess."

"So who are you, then?" Cullen asked. "You told us back in Haven that your family name was Morhen, but a few minutes ago you spoke of a Kaer Morhen. I understand that you were just trying to stay safe then, but surely you can tell us your real name now, and whatever titles you hold."

Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. The Lion Cub of Cintra. The Lady of Worlds. The Lady of Time and Space. 'The Hand of the Maker.'

"Cirilla of Vengerberg," Ciri said at last. "Daughter of Yennefer of Vengerberg and Geralt of Rivia, and a Witcher of the School of the Wolf." She paused and added, "And, I suppose, your Inquisitor."


Ciri slid to the side, the sheets pooling around her waist. Beneath her cheek, Owain's chest was damp with sweat. His arm came around her as she caught her breath, and he chuckled quietly.

"Hm?"

"When we said we'd make time for sparring practice, somehow I'd pictured using a different sword –"

His chuckles turned into outright laughter as she yanked the pillow out from under his head and batted him with it. She laughed too after a moment and dropped the pillow to fall back across his chest.

She smiled against his skin, her heart full of appreciation. She'd been a moody wreck after the meeting, worried and tense. Owain hadn't let her cloister herself away to fret, though, and put together their picnic dinner himself. Gentle kisses turned to touches turned to pleasure, and now her fear and anger felt like a distant thing, days or weeks removed instead of mere hours.

She pressed a kiss to the skin beneath her lips and rolled away. "You're ridiculous."

"You bring it out in me," he said, not for the first time.

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss her. She responded with tired enthusiasm, reaching up to run her fingers through the soft, short hair at the back of his skull.

"Thirsty?" he asked as he pulled away.

"A bit."

He sat up and swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and strode nude to her desk, where the pitcher of perry and goblets from their picnic dinner still sat. Ciri sat up as well to get a better view, and she watched the muscles in his back and shoulders shift as he lifted the pitcher and poured them both a drink. He glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Oh, go on…flex a little."

He threw back his head and laughed, but obliged, lifting an arm and flexing his bicep. "Should I feel objectified?"

"Appreciated."

He carried the goblets back to the bed and passed one over before sinking beside her with the other. Ciri rested against him as she sipped at the sweet, slightly astringent alcoholic pear cider. His free arm came around her side, and his hand slipped into her hair to idly play with it.

"How do you feel?" she asked him, her eyes on his face. "You look much better now."

He smiled and took a swallow of his perry. "Healthy. Younger, even. I'd felt like I was recovering from the lyrium addiction fairly well, but I hadn't realized how much of it was still in my body until I took the potion. There's no soreness anymore, no tiredness. My head hasn't hurt in weeks. I feel lighter if that's possible."

"I'm glad," she said softly.

"They saved us, you know." He gently combed through her loose hair, and he took a moment to carefully untangle a knot as it caught his fingers on the next pass. "Evie, Triss, and Clemence. We have our lives back thanks to their efforts."

"What will you do now?"

"I'm not sure," he said. "Evie has some decisions to make. The University of Starkhaven wants her as a lecturer for their medical department. And Teyrn Fergus Cousland wrote with an offer, asking her to stand as guardian to the young Franderel girl until she's of age to rule West Hill."

"Why Evelyn?" Ciri asked. "Not that she isn't a good choice, but she isn't even Ferelden."

"Our family is a close trading partner to the Couslands, and as a noble, a member of the Inquisition, and someone who's recently created a potion that could be the saving grace of countless former Templars across Thedas, my sister is exactly the sort of person Teyrn Cousland would look for as a good influence on a growing girl, mage or not," Owain said. "On top of that, she doesn't have a partner or child that she'd have to put first."

"Mm. And Maxwell?"

"Max has been considering his options." Owain polished off his perry and set his goblet down beside the bed. "On the one hand, he could come back to Ostwick and help Liam and Father manage the family fortune, or return to the university to have a career in academia. On the other, if Dorian goes back to Tevinter, he may just decide to follow."

"I hadn't realized they were so serious."

"I think it took him by surprise as well."

"But you," Ciri pressed gently, returning to the original topic. She sat up to face him and looked into his dark blue eyes curiously. "You don't have any thoughts on your future?"

"I have a few." He pulled her back down against his chest, taking care not to spill her drink. "I'd like to see the Continent. Grandmother Iori told us stories, but that's all they could ever be with the portal dormant for so long. Now, though. I might see Tir Tochair, or Novigrad, or Toussaint. Her stories are over three hundred years out of date, but still, I'd like to try and see what matches."

"You'd leave Thedas?" Ciri asked.

His chest hitched with laughter beneath her. "There's a portal in my family's garden. Leaving Thedas doesn't have to mean saying goodbye forever."

"Would you like company on your tour of the Continent?" she asked, her throat tight with relief as a complicated flood of emotions rose in her chest.

"I can't imagine anything better." His fingers slowly started to draw abstract patterns down her bare arm, and she sighed and cuddled in closer. "Tell me something."

"Anything."

"What's the Path like? The Witcher's Path?"

Ciri twisted to look up at him. "Dangerous," she said at once. "Lonely. The peasants are suspicious, superstitious, and often don't wish to pay. The monsters are deadly – faster, stronger, and bigger than a human. The pay sometimes barely covers enough to feed my mare and me, let alone supplies to care for my tack and swords, or a bed at an inn. I can go weeks without seeing a friendly face."

"You make it sound miserable," he said. "But it can't be all bad."

"No," she admitted. "There's satisfaction in helping people. My last contract was for ridding a village of a grave hag. She'd been preying on the children at night. They had no idea what was stealing their sons and daughters. But I investigated their rooms and the windows outside, tracked her to the cemetery and the crypt she'd turned into a lair, and put an end to it. They'll be safe now – I did that.

"And sometimes it's the monsters I help. There was a troll whose cave was too close to a village that was expanding into a new settlement. Villagers were logging near the cave entrance and the troll was throwing rocks at them to keep them away. I talked the troll into finding a new cave…after I won a game of riddles against him." She laughed quietly and finished off her perry. "I didn't get paid for that job, as you might imagine, but the troll gave me a very shiny stone."

"Nice of him." Owain took her empty goblet and placed it on the floor beside his. "You can't be on the Path all the time."

She shook her head. "I go back to Corvo Bianco frequently. Geralt and Yennefer keep a room for me there, and there's always a place at the table for me. Geralt's all but retired from Witchering, though he still takes local contracts in Toussaint. I suppose I've taken up the mantle."

"I'd like to meet them someday."

"I hope I get to introduce you." Ciri was certain Geralt and Yennefer would like him. She hoped they'd like him, at least.

"We should do some actual sparring," she said, changing the subject. "Now that you're in better shape, we ought to work on your speed and evasion. The way that dragon knocked you down never should have happened."

"Agreed," he said firmly.

"And maybe we'll make some adjustments to your sword work –"

His lips twitched. "I was under the impression you enjoyed my sword work."

He burst into laughter again as the discarded pillow came down on his head. Ciri giggled and squirmed away from the hands that searched out her ribs.

"Ahahaha – truce! Truce!"

She collapsed back down across his chest, still giggling.

So much had been brought to light during their meeting: betrayal, secrets, danger, even a bounty on her head. The threat of Emhyr hadn't felt so present for years.

But here in this moment, she was happy. And that would do for now.