Ciri was hardly alive by the time she understood that her dæmon should be a lion. She was four by the time she and Zireael tried a number of times to take on a lion's form. She was seven by the time she learned to force it out, to put on a smile and Zireael would trot around in the shape of a lion cub. Mesotreith was always proud to see Zireael in such a form. But in the quiet of their bedroom, Ciri would watch as Zireael changed into the shape of a marten, or a chinchilla, or a fox, or a kiwi bird.
When Ciri was eleven, Zireael first tried on a snowy owl form. He had grown a taste for bird forms, and he liked to fly around the room while Ciri read or played games. Their room was a safe haven, a place where the two of them could exist.
"I feel so fluffy." Zireael ruffled his feathers, giving his best bird hop from the edge of the bed towards the middle. Ciri turned a page in her book.
"Is there a word for fluffy when it's about feathers? Or should we be using furry when we talk about animals with fur who are soft?" Ciri mused as she continued to read, not even giving Zireael any proper mind. "Is it even really the same word if it's for both feathers and fur?"
Zireael flapped his wings and flew in a circle around Ciri's head, making little twittering noises as he did. "It is so boring in here. We're going to die of boredom, Ciri."
Ciri reached up a hand to wave Zireael off, but he caught one of her fingers in his talons. She tried to yank it back and ended up falling backwards onto the bed with Zireael falling into her arms. The two of them were laughing moments later as she held Zireael and tumbled side-over-side along the length of her bed. Zireael tapped his beak to Ciri's nose, and the two both felt a warmth spread through them.
This excitement was suddenly interrupted with a knocking at the door. "Ciri? Can I come in?"
Almost anyone in the kingdom would have laughed; the voice of Queen Calanthe asking permission to do something was hardly an image many Cintrans could bring to mind. Ciri knew this was not a true question, merely a formality. Still, it was nice to at least hear her ask.
"Of course, Grandmother," Ciri responded as she watched Zireael change in the blink of an eye from a snowy, comfortable owl to a furred lion cub's shape. At the time, she didn't know why she had the feeling she did, but she would later identify it as shame. Like she had to hide herself away, and Zireael put on this appearance that was wrong to seem like what Calanthe expected.
As per usual, first came Mesotreith. A huge mass of rolling muscle and golden lion fur, always headed by a perfectly-kept mane. He was everything a monarch of Cintra was expected to be: poised, perfect, elegant. Powerful, terrifying. Awe-inspiring. At the same time, his playful side came out quickly when he saw Zireael. He bounced around like an excited dog, inviting his son to come and play.
Zireael obliged just as Calanthe entered, leaping off the bed to play-fight with Mesotreith and receive a quick tongue-bath. "My darling," Calanthe said, approaching the bed and sitting on the side to run her fingers over Ciri's hair. "Let me take a look at you."
Calanthe ran her fingers over Ciri's hair, fixing it as much as using it to show affection. Ciri leaned into her grandmother's touch instinctually. It was a different type of closeness than what she had with Zireael, and it felt nice to be with family. Calanthe was all the family she ever remembered having.
"Why does everyone in our family settle as lions?" Ciri asked from her grandmother's embrace. The question was nagging at her ever since she and Zireael had resigned themselves to exploring other forms.
Zireael tensed up at her words, and mentally shot her a what are you doing feeling. It was enough to stop him playing with Mesotreith, and he instead hopped onto a dresser and began pacing on it, while Mesotreith came over and nuzzled Zireael with his snout. Ciri wriggled uncomfortably, but she did her best not to give away her anxiety in the moment.
"We have flown the flag of three lions that stood over us when our ancestors crossed the Yaruga to take the kingdom. Since then, our family has been possessed of the courage and leadership of lions. Our dæmons reflect that honor and courage we possess. We have the hearts of lions, little cub, and so do our souls." It was clearly a speech she had prepared for this very question. Ciri couldn't remember precisely, but the words felt familiar.
Her eyes kept askance towards the floor, unwilling to even risk looking her grandmother in the eye right then. "But what if there's something else that fits me better?" Her voice had dropped to hardly a murmur.
Calanthe drew a hand under Ciri's chin, lifting her face to look at her. It was what Ciri had been trying to avoid, but there was no more avoiding it. Ciri felt her grandmother's eyes bore into her, like they were trying to pull knowledge from her through her forehead.
"Nothing will fit you better, Ciri. You are mine, and you are the lion cub of Cintra. You will be a lion when you are ready." Calanthe gave Ciri a proud smile, trying to instill her with the courage and pride she was encouraging.
Instead, Ciri felt meek and small. She felt as though she wanted to run, run away as fast as she could. There was nothing to be done except to grin through it, for as much as her grandmother loved her she was a token of her mother. Her love was conditional. Ciri forced out a smile. "I believe you."
At the same time, Zireael leapt from his perch on the dresser and grasped onto Mesotreith's mane, climbing over his back and trotting along, putting on his best show of an okay cub.
Calanthe leaned down and kissed Ciri's forehead, brushing her hair back once more. "I must go, but I will see you when we eat tonight. Enjoy your book." She stood from the place she had taken on the bed, heading towards the door. Mesotreith helped Zireael down to the floor before turning and taking his place at Calanthe's side. The queen put a hand through her dæmon's mane for comfort before turning for a last look at her granddaughter. Then she exited the room, the door shutting with a loud thud behind her.
Zireael took on the shape of a rabbit, powerful legs propelling him up and onto Ciri's bed. He dashed directly into her arms and shrank into a fluffy guinea pig.
Huge, puffy tears started flowing from Ciri's eyes. A sob welled in her chest, and with no more grandmother to stifle it, it poured out of her like wine into a goblet. She curled up, clutching Zireael into her chest and falling over onto her side. Her body felt as if lightning shot through it, stinging her and making it impossible to move.
Zireael changed into the shape of a kitten, chest rumbling with gentle purring as he tried to console Ciri. Her body was wracked by her tears as she sobbed, and he gently pushed his nose into her chest. His eyes shut, and he rode out her sobbing fit. The two of them felt every bit of shame and embarrassment that came from being anything but what their grandmother would want out of them.
"She's so sure I'm going to be just like her," Ciri finally said, hiccuping between words. "But I'm not like her at all."
"I just want to be myself," Zireael murmured as he curled into her, still focusing on keeping his purrs audible.
The girl and her dæmon curled into one another as they lay on the bed, not sure what to do with themselves next. Suddenly, they had an idea.
"It's dangerous," Zireael said as he stepped off the bed, changing to the shape of a small reddish deer. "Where would we even go?"
Ciri's cheeks were still a puffy red, blushing with the pressure of her emotions. She had a steeled expression, focusing on going through her wardrobe to find what she needed. "I don't want to be somewhere my grandmother doesn't want me. I'm done being hers."
Zireael trotted up to Ciri's side, but he knew she wasn't going to be reasoned with. Rather than try, he leaned and lifted up her travel cloak with his teeth. He held it out towards her. I hope you know what we're doing because I sure don't.
Ciri accepted the cloak, pulling it around her shoulders. "I know there has to be somewhere we can find for us. Where we won't have to be someone we're not."
The two spent several minutes collecting a few sets of clothes and the other most important belongings to them. A couple of books, their childhood favorite toy, a spare pair of boots. The sack of coins that they had saved from the times Calanthe had given them spending money. A few Ducats could carry her a long way, especially if she tried to go somewhere like Aedirn or Skellige.
With all her things put in a bag, she pulled her cloak over her face and headed for the door. Zireael turned into a small marten and leapt from a vanity table onto her shoulder. He crawled around and settled himself as a scarf around her neck, trying to tuck himself in.
Now was the hard part. Getting out of the castle without being noticed. Most people wouldn't be expecting her to try to leave which gave her an advantage. On the other hand, it was very possible all hell would break loose if she was discovered and her grandmother tried to figure out what was going on.
Ciri quietly skirted the familiar hallways and tried to make her way without bumping into anyone. She tugged at her hood, and Zireael grabbed at and pulled her hair further in. Not only did it create a warm layer for him to be buried in, it also made her less easily recognized. Part of her famous silhouette was the veritable canopy of white-blonde hair which she had in common with her grandmother. She managed to keep her head down while any number of servants or minor nobles went by. None of them thought to ask her who she was or what she was doing, so she felt in the clear.
Without even having a moment to contemplate what she was doing, Ciri felt a hand on her arm. She turned rapidly, spinning to confront whomever was there. A few years in the future she would have instantly hit that person, but she was not yet equipped for fighting for her life. Thankfully, she didn't have to in this moment either.
The face she came to confront was that of Eist Tuirseach, her grandfather by marriage. "Ciri, where are you going?" Despite not being blood family, he often felt like a great comfort to her. Closer than Calanthe was, most of the time.
His dæmon, Addelina, came forward on her hands, ticking her head to the side. Zireael sheepishly poked his head out of Ciri's hood. This led to Addelina reaching out towards the little dæmon, who hopped from Ciri's shoulders into her arms.
"We were just going to go out for a little while." Ciri was not a liar by nature, and she knew it was clear from her mannerisms and what she was holding that she was not, in fact, going on a walk or a quick errand.
"Ciri." Eist pulled back Ciri's hood, a hand going to prop up her chin. "Tell me what's going on."
Zireael turned into the shape of a hamster, curling into a little ball as Addelina pulled him into her chest protectively.
Ciri let her shoulders slack. "Don't want to be here."
Eist reached for Ciri's back, slinging it over one of his shoulders and using the other arm to wrap around and guide Ciri to walk by his side. "Talk to me, Ciri, you know I only want to help." He fell into a casual step, as if avoiding drawing attention was something he was ready to do. It honestly surprised her some.
"I don't belong here." Ciri's voice was hardly a murmur as she let Eist guide her back through the halls she had thought only moments ago to escape. Instead she was going deeper and deeper into the place she called home but was so afraid to be a part of.
Addelina held her grasp on the tiny form of Zireael, quietly chittering in an attempt to be calming. Still, Addelina was silent.
"You belong here more than I do, Ciri. You're as Cintran as they come." Eist tried to keep a light tone, ever-attempting to be the fun one.
They rounded a corner directly into pair of local nobles, one of whom made a loud oof as she lost her footing. Thankfully, her companion, who had a lovely tapir dæmon at his side, managed to grab her arm and return her to her feet. "Excuse me," he said, guiding his partner on a continued path down the hall.
"Excused," Eist responded curtly, a tinge to his voice that Ciri had heard more than a few times. Ciri herself felt her face flush with red. "Cintra is your home, Ciri. This castle is full of your people. You do belong here."
"But I don't," she responded, feeling her throat seize as she did. "I'm not big and brave and at all like people expect me to be. I'm not my mother."
"I'm not a lion," Zireael whispered from his place huddled in Addelina's arms.
That made Eist stop in his tracks. They were almost to the hallway outside Ciri's quarters, but he whirled around and got down on his knees. He put each of his hands on Ciri's shoulders and looked straight at her. "You're not Pavetta, that's true. You are Cirilla, and you are my granddaughter by marriage to your grandmother. I could not want for a better granddaughter, Ciri."
Addelina held Zireael up and out in her grasp, smiling at him. "You are my grandson, Zireael. That's all I need." She placed a gentle monkey kiss on the top of his mouse head. If mouse could blush, Zireael did.
Ciri diverted her eyes from Eist's gaze. "Grandmother expects me to be like her, and for Zireael to be a lion like Mesotreith. He's not going to." She kicked one of her feet on the floor, desperate for a way to move but not wanting to pull away. She hardly made the rug move, but it felt satisfying to know she had an impact on the world around her.
"I can handle your grandmother. You just worry about being you." Eist removed his hands from her shoulders, stretching his arms wide. "And keep winning at those games you play with your friends."
Tired from the day's stress and the weight of her thoughts, Ciri put her arms around her grandfather and hugged close to him. She shut her eyes and tried to imagine the look on Calanthe's face when she saw Zireael settle as — well, he wasn't going to settle as a lion, that was for sure. She shivered slightly as she did because there wasn't a version where she didn't see supreme disappointment on it.
Eist hoisted Ciri into the air, and the girl's legs went to wrap around his torso to keep balanced. Perhaps a little embarrassing to be eleven and still holding onto her grandfather this way, but it didn't bother her enough to make her stop.
Addelina led the way this time, cradling Zireael on the way to the bedroom. She reached with one long arm and opened the door, and Eist followed in. The king and his dæmon lowered Ciri and hers onto the bed, shuffling the supplies she'd been carrying to the floor.
"Ciri?" Eist tried to call to her when she hardly seemed to be aware of the world around her.
Ciri shook her head slightly then moved her eyes to him, pulling herself out of her head. "What?"
"Cintra will always be your home." Eist smiled.
Addelina stroked her hand over Zireael's head. "And yours."
Ciri and Zireael both nodded their heads in response, hardly knowing what else to do. Eist and Addelina headed towards the door and left Ciri and Zireael, once more alone in their room, with the attitudes of their two parental figures to consider.
Do you really think we could never be a lion?
I don't want to be a lion ever again.