beta-read by brightspot149 - thank you!

Chapter specific warning: Ciri and Owain briefly talk about the long-term physiological effects of addiction. If this is something you can't read, it starts at "May I ask you something?" and ends at "Your strength astounds me." Ctrl+F to the end of the conversation if you need to. Take care of yourselves!

Triss pulled the shining chrysoprase disc from Ciri's palm and turned to open the small chest on the table beside them. Ciri had to squint as emerald light poured out from beneath the lid, painting the workroom a brilliant green hue. Her friend placed the disc among the rest and swiftly shut it, and the vivid light cut off abruptly. In the far corner of the workroom, Evelyn looked up from her writing in curiosity.

"Any changes?" Triss asked. "You said you had to close rifts out in the Emerald Graves."

"No changes to the sensation," Ciri said. "But closing the rifts was easier than ever."

"I don't like the sound of that." Triss frowned and jotted down a note. "I'll see what Solas has to say."

Evelyn spoke up, leaving her spot in the workroom's corner to draw closer. "You'll be drawing the magic out for a while yet, I take it."

"At least another eight months," Ciri said.

"And what will you do once it's off?" she asked. Though her tone was friendly, her pretty blue eyes held sharp intent.

Ciri paused. Her first answer, the one she might have given several months ago, would have been easy: teleport home and not look back. But now? Things were much too complicated, personally, professionally, and politically.

"I can't go before we've defeated Corypheus," she said. And solved the problem of Solas. "Once we've done that, I'll see to it that the Inquisition is in a position where I'm able to leave. I'll find a new Inquisitor if I have to. And then I'll go home with Triss—and Owain, if he wants to come."

He had spoken to her about wanting to see the Continent, about the portal in his parents' garden making travel between their worlds something that meant he'd not have to say goodbye forever.

"He'll want to." Evelyn sounded entirely certain of herself. "His childhood dream was to see everything Grandmother Iori told us about."

"Tir Tochair," Ciri said with a nod. "Toussaint and Novigrad. And a dozen other places, no doubt."

Evelyn smiled briefly at that. "He was more taken with her stories than the rest of us." Her smile faded, and the sharp intent returned. "Will you ask him to stay with you? Over there?"

"I don't know," Ciri admitted. It surprised her how badly she wanted to ask him to stay. "We'd come back, you know. Even if the portal in your parents' garden stopped working, I can teleport, use the navigator powers of the Aen Elle to travel anywhere I want to. But the Continent is home to me. I tried living elsewhere once when I thought my parents were dead, and yet I found my way back, anyway. It will always be home."

"Decide," Evelyn told her firmly. "My brother would follow you through a hundred portals to any world you wanted so long as you were there with him. I hope you know that."

"I do know that." Ciri leaned against the table and reached up to toy with her necklaces, feeling a bit off-kilter at having a solid plan for the future demanded from her when it remained so nebulous in her mind—particularly when she thought of Owain. "I hadn't intended to get involved with anyone here, you know. I didn't want to have to leave anyone behind. And things before Owain…well. But he snuck up on me," she said with a light laugh. "Some witcher I am. He got in under my guard and the next thing I knew, I had feelings for your giant of a brother."

"Do you regret it?" Evelyn asked. "Getting involved with him?"

The answer to that felt as easy and free as flying over the ice. "Not even a little."

Evelyn beamed at her. "Good."

"But what about you?" Triss asked Evelyn, finally speaking up. "I saw you on the ballroom floor at the Winter Palace with Commander Cullen. Are you two back together?"

"What?" Evelyn stared at Triss in confusion, then shook her head, looking mildly embarrassed. "Oh. No. He wanted to apologize. Properly this time. And I suppose I had to apologize as well for holding him at arm's length for so long. But we aren't back together."

"Whyever not?" Ciri asked. "You were quite enthusiastic about him at one point."

Evelyn blushed and joined her in leaning against the table. "He's handsome! Do you know how few handsome men I'd seen at the Circle with a physique like that? And he was kind, if a bit stiff. I just…"

"You had a crush," Triss said sympathetically. "And he responded to it."

Evelyn nodded, her cheeks bright red. "But we talked after the events of the ball. I thought we might start over, see where things went. So I mentioned that I was taking the offer from Teyrn Fergus to be Joana Franderel's guardian until she came of age and he—" She sighed.

"He what?" Triss asked.

"He wants to retire to Honnleath, to a farm near his family," she said. "Get a dog, live a quiet life. No part of that was appealing. And he didn't want to be involved in mage and noble politics for the next fifteen years, but I can hardly turn down the opportunity. Not when independence for mages is so new and this would give me, give one of us unprecedented power and influence. So…that's the end for us."

She shrugged. "It's a pity. I do like him."

"Liking someone, loving someone, isn't always enough," Triss said. Her gaze flickered to Ciri and a regretful expression crossed her face before she focused on Evelyn. "It takes more than attraction. A shared history, common interests, and compatible personalities are all just as, if not more, important. And sometimes even that doesn't guarantee that things will work out."

Ciri narrowed her eyes at Triss, but before she could say anything, her friend continued quietly, "Sometimes, there's someone better for them out there than you. And maybe there will be someone better out there for you, too."

"Oh." Evelyn smiled. "That's a nice thought. It's not an end to the story, it's just turning the page to write something else."

"Take as much time as you need to write the next chapter," Ciri told her, watching Triss as she spoke. "But remember, it won't help to linger on the finished pages if you're trying to move on."

Triss didn't quite flinch as Evelyn nodded thoughtfully, but she gave Ciri another regretful look.

Her parents had forgiven Triss, and her mother had forgiven Geralt, and that was good enough for Ciri. She hoped that Triss did find a better person for her than her father. It was good advice she'd given Evelyn, and she ought to take it herself.

"I'd love to stay and talk about men some more," Ciri said dryly, pushing away from the table, "but there's a party in the tavern that I'm holding up. I wouldn't want to keep the Bull's Chargers waiting any longer."

Evelyn waved a hand at the far end of the workroom. "I ought to finish writing up our paper on the lyrium cure for the College of Enchanters. Vivienne, Letia, and Grand Enchanter Fiona expressed quite an interest in our process."

"And I need to speak with Fiona about the logistics of Comtesse Solange's idea for mages attending and teaching at the university in Val Royeaux," Triss said. "Looks like we'll all be busy."

"Good luck," Evelyn said with a laugh. "And have fun, Ciri. Those Chargers are a rowdy bunch."

Ciri grinned. "That makes it even better!"

She and Triss left the workroom and parted ways, Triss heading for the mage tower along the battlements and Ciri making the brief journey to the tavern in the building next door.

Olgierd almost collided with her as he came out the tavern door, a bottle of spirit in his hand. Impulsively, Ciri flung her arms about him in a tight hug. Unlike the last time she'd done so, just before his Harrowing, he returned it immediately, his surprised chuckle warm in her ears and his arms firm around her back.

"What a greeting," he said as he pulled away. "In a celebratory mood?"

She laughed up at him. "Don't think I didn't see Josephine's ring at breakfast. Marriage?"

"Marriage," he confirmed with a small, delighted smile. A soft wonder lit his eyes and took years of strain and suffering from his face. "She told me she'd need to write home about it, but she said yes."

Ciri just looked at him for a moment, quietly taking in how much he'd changed since the night she'd first laid eyes on him. The hairstyle and the new cut to his robe were the most noticeable, but they were superficial. The light in his eyes, however, how easily he smiled, how rare it was to have that air of melancholy surrounding him these days… She smiled at the man who'd somehow become her dearest friend and held back the urge to embrace him again.

"I'm so happy for you," she said sincerely. "For both of you."

"My thanks." He and Ciri stepped to the side as the door opened again, and he continued, "You must know your good opinion means more to me than almost anyone else's."

Not Josephine's, she knew at once. But—

"Even Geralt's?"

"I owe him a debt I can't ever repay," Olgierd said. "He saved my soul from a fate worse than death. But you saved me as well, again and again, in a hundred little ways."

"That's what friends do," she told him, feeling her cheeks heat, "and there are never debts between friends." She nodded at the bottle of spirit he held. "Where are you going with that?"

"Varric wanted a break from writing 'Swords and Shields' and asked if he could plumb the depths of my past for inspiration for a new character," he said dryly. "I felt the conversation might need fortification."

Ciri looked at him in surprise, and he just shrugged with a faint smile. "I must admit, that's not something I'd ever have thought you'd agree to."

"He caught me at a good moment," he said. "And in truth, the memories don't ride me so hard these days. Perhaps it won't hurt to share the tale with a friend."

"Our friend who writes, as Solas put it, pornography of fictional versions of real people?" Ciri asked.

Olgierd laughed. "He'd do better to write about Vlodimir, in that case. I wasn't half as licentious as he."

Ciri held up her hands and shook her head. "There are things I don't need to know about my friends."

"Remind me, who was it who stripped down to their underthings in mixed company in a moving carriage?" he teased.

She lightly socked him on the shoulder and wrinkled her nose at him playfully. "Go on. I'm sure Varric is waiting breathlessly."

"And you'd best not keep the Chargers waiting any longer," he told her. "They're almost as energetic as the Wild Ones. Less inclined toward arson and pillaging, mercifully."

She raised her eyebrows at his joking reference to his past, but he seemed entirely unbothered by what he'd just said. A soft, almost painful pride in her friend filled her, coupled with a hesitant curiosity: Will I ever make light of Bonhart and Eredin and the Rats? She gave her head a tiny shake.

"Say hello to Varric for me."

"And you tread carefully," he warned her quietly. "The Iron Bull is still a spy, and much smarter than he acts."

She nodded, sobering. "I will."

He returned her nod and turned to walk across the grassy courtyard to the main hall, the bottle of spirits sloshing at his side. She watched him go for several seconds, then entered the lively tavern.

A cry of welcome went up as she stepped inside.

"Inquisitor!"

"Hey!"

"There she is!"

"About time!"

The Iron Bull pushed through his band to usher her over with a giant hand planted firmly on her upper back. "Thought you'd never make it," he said. "The guys were starting to feel stood up."

"Ah, don't mind him," Krem said as she sat down at the crowded table. "We knew you'd show up, Your Worship. Here."

He slid over a full tankard of something with a thick head of foam.

"You've met my second in command, Cremisius Aclassi," the Iron Bull said, "'Krem' to his friends."

"Good to see you again," Ciri said, lifting the tankard at him in greeting.

Krem smiled and toasted her back.

"And around the table, we have Stitches, our company healer, Rocky, our lead sapper, Skinner, our best rogue, Dalish, our ma—"

"Archer," Dalish interrupted. She was, as her name suggested, Dalish, with green lines sweeping across her pale face and up to her light blonde hair.

"You carry a staff, Dalish," Krem said with patient amusement. It sounded like an old, practiced joke, like a cart that had worn ruts in a road from traveling down it too many times.

Dalish gave him an impish little smile and crossed her arms. "It's a bow."

"It's a very nice bow," Ciri placated her, disrupting the rhythm of the joke. "I particularly like how straight it is. And the massive crystal at the top. Does it glow when you loose your arrows?"

Laughter broke out around the table, and Dalish winked at her.

"And last but not least, Grim," the Iron Bull finished. "He doesn't talk much."

Grim grunted and gave her a terse nod.

"The rest of the Chargers are off somewhere. Getting stronger drinks, probably," Stitches said. He had a calm, even way of speaking that brought to mind an old campaigner, and his umber brown cheeks had deep pockmarks—from an old illness, or adolescent acne.

"Good to meet you all properly," Ciri said. She raised her tankard and took a careful sip, then a larger one as the flavor hit her tongue, dark and full and slightly sweet.

"We just got back from Orlais," Krem said. "Knocking heads together, greasing palms. Keeping other merc bands out of nobles' employ while Emperor Cyril settles in."

"I thought I would have a chance to kill a chevalier," Skinner said with a sharp smile. Her Orlesian accent was thick, nearly impenetrable, and her dark elven features had a hard-edged beauty to them. "But the new emperor has recalled them all to the capital for a review of their conduct."

Ciri took another sip and set her tankard down. "I wonder if they'll make another attempt on the throne without Gaspard leading them. It's bold of Emperor Cyril to have them all in Val Royeaux at once."

"Especially when Gaspard just met the headsman only last month," the Iron Bull added. He looked thoughtful for a moment, but he shook his head. "Nah. I doubt they'll try anything without anyone to rally behind. He's going to cut back on their power and privileges, and most of them will play the long game to see if they can get any of it back. The ones who don't?"

Skinner made an ugly, remarkably accurate sound of a throat being slit as she drew her hand across her neck, and Dalish laughed.

"To the marquise!" Skinner toasted, and Dalish cheered and stretched across the table to knock her tankard against Skinner's.

"To Marquise Briala," Ciri added, touching her tankard to theirs.

"It is a new day," Skinner said with fierce satisfaction. "She has his ear, they say. No shems going into the alienages to kill us anymore. No hunting parties in the Dales. We'll see what else changes."

"Long as he keeps the fuck out of Ferelden, I don't much care," Stitches said frankly. "We've had enough of those masked arseholes back home."

Grim grunted in agreement and took a deep swig of his ale.

"He seems like a reformer, not a conqueror," the Iron Bull said. "Might get some pushback from his nobles, but that's inevitable no matter who's in charge."

He leaned back in his seat and gave Ciri an open, friendly smile. "Not what I was expecting to happen that night, Boss. I thought for sure true love would win you over and you'd bring the marquise and Celene back together."

Ciri made a face at that. "Not on your life."

The Iron Bull had said Gaspard would have been the Qun's preferred choice for the Orlesian throne, she recalled. She wondered what his superiors in Qunandar made of his reports; if her decisions gave them pause or were pushing them closer to that invasion she'd learned about in the dark future.

She pushed the thought away and looked across the table at Rocky. "How did you end up joining Iron Bull's company?"

"Got exiled from Orzammar," Rocky said. He had scars across his pale face to rival Olgierd's, and a large, bristling mustache beneath a nose that had clearly been badly broken in his past. "Stupid noble crap. Also, I accidentally blew up a bit of the Shaperate."

Krem snorted into his drink. "A 'bit.'"

"Barely noticeable!" Rocky insisted. "And who even went to that section, anyway?"

The Iron Bull laughed and said, "Rocky's one of the best sappers in the business. He can take down enemy fortifications faster than a golem."

Ciri did her best not to show any reaction to that. They had golems here in Thedas as well? Were they made the same way? Used for the same purpose? The Iron Bull surely had to be exaggerating that a single sapper could outdo a golem—unless the ones here were weaker.

She set her confusion aside and turned to question the others.

Ciri pushed away from the table as the Chargers broke into loud, off-key singing and followed the Iron Bull to a dark, empty corner of the tavern. He took in her tense posture in a single swift look and slouched back against the wall, holding himself loose and open, as nonthreatening as a seven and a half foot tall Qunari could appear.

"Hey," he said calmly. "This was fun, right?"

It had been fun, and she knew that had been the point. But she'd trusted him at her back more than once, and he hadn't let her down yet. "You have a good band," she said. "I can see why you're so proud of them."

He grinned over her head, back toward the poor singing. "Crazy bunch of assholes. But they're mine."

"So what was it you wanted to meet about?" she asked. "Much as I enjoyed getting to know the Chargers, I doubt that was the only thing you had in mind."

"No. I got a letter from my superiors. Already verified it with Red." His face was open and honest, but in his single eye, Ciri could swear she saw hesitation.

"What is it?"

"The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports," he said. "They don't like the sound of Corypheus or his Venatori. And they really don't like the sound of red lyrium. They're ready to work with us—with you, Boss. The Qun and the Inquisition, joining forces."

"They what?" Ciri stared up at him and shook her head in disbelief. "That sounds hard to credit. You know it does."

"They want this red lyrium taken out of circulation, and they want Corypheus dead," the Iron Bull said with a shrug. "I know how it sounds. But partnering with the Inquisition is the best way for them to do it."

She took a step closer and lowered her voice. "Almost everything I've done is something that runs counter to what the Qun either wants or stands for. I allied with free mages, I stood aside so that a reformer could end up on Orlais' throne, I pardoned Anders—"

"You allied with the Grey Wardens," the Iron Bull said. "That decision was popular with the Arishok. Look, they wouldn't call it an alliance if they didn't mean it. They're offering naval support, more Ben-Hassrath reports, soldiers from the Antaam ready to fight the Venatori…this could be a good thing."

Something about this felt off to her. She couldn't see the Qun allying with the Inquisition, not given the decisions she'd made and the reports that must have been sent back about every little judgment and recruitment she'd had along the way. But she'd see where this led.

"What are they suggesting?"

"They got wind of a big red lyrium shipping operation on the Storm Coast," he said. "They want us to hit it together. No army, so they don't get wind of us coming. Just you, me, the Chargers, and some backup. They'll be there in the water with a dreadnought to sink the Venatori ships."

"And what's our timeline for getting this taken care of?"

"Sooner rather than later. No more than a month from now," he said. "They don't want them too entrenched to deal with easily."

Ciri still felt hesitant, but she nodded to him and stepped back. "We'll meet them out there in four weeks, then. You can send them confirmation. But if they're playing us false –"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know." He looked down at her for a long moment, the expression on his craggy face unreadable. "Your thing with spies. That's personal, isn't it? Because I've been the big friendly guy, the honest guy, the funny guy, and the only side of me you trust is real is the professional spy. None of it's fake, Boss."

Ciri hesitated, then tapped the long scar on her cheek. "A spy did that."

The Iron Bull whistled. "Damn. You must have had some adventures before the Inquisition."

"Are you saying you didn't look into my background?" she asked.

"Look," he said with a sigh. "If I don't acknowledge it, I don't have to report it. You understand?"

She tensed, and he added quickly, "Whoever did the work—Josephine or Red, I'm guessing—made it airtight. There are just—inconsistencies. Things a spy would know to look for."

Varric had mentioned them before, almost a year ago. Her lack of stories about the Grand Tourney or watching Geralt compete in it, and Triss' lack of a Starkhaven accent. And almost everything about Olgierd.

"Maybe someday you'll buy me a round and tell me the story," he said. "I won't hold my breath, but it would be nice to know."

"Someday," Ciri agreed. She felt a moment of trepidation, then she reached for her witcher medallion and held it out. "This used to belong to my uncle Vesemir. When he died, I took it as a memento. I only had it for a few weeks before it was stolen from me, and then…things became much too busy for me to track down the thief. Later, my father and I retraced our steps and went right to her home to get it back."

The Iron Bull's gray eye glinted in amusement. "Thief put up a fight?"

Ciri gave him a sharp, satisfied smile. "Not for long."

He looked from the wolf's head to her face and nodded slowly. "True story. Personal, too. Thanks for telling me, Boss. I appreciate the trust."

"I wish I could trust you with more," Ciri told him honestly. "But you are a spy."

"Hm." His gaze traveled back over her head toward the Chargers again, soft and slightly wistful. "Sometimes I think you, Olgierd, and your advisors might be the only ones looking at me clear-eyed."

"Are we looking at you clear-eyed, or is everyone else looking at you and seeing you the way you'd like things to be? Where would you rather be?" she asked him, lowering her voice. "With your band, listening to their terrible singing and revisiting old stories? Or getting ready for your next task for the Qun? You know it won't be with the Chargers, Iron Bull, not now that news of you being Qunari has got out."

He grimaced and looked away from the table of boisterous mercenaries. "That's—this is a good life. These are my guys. But—" He broke off and fell silent.

"Go keep them company," Ciri said, feeling sudden empathy for the giant spy. "We'll leave in a few days, as soon as I've spoken to my advisors."

"Yeah. Sounds good." He straightened from his slouch, and she stepped aside to let him pass. He paused as he moved past her, and he said quietly, "It's going to go fine. They want this to work."

"We'll see," she said to his back as he walked away.

The tavern felt too crowded for the thoughts chasing each other through her mind. Too boisterous and loud. She headed for the exit, intent on working out her worry in the sparring ring.

Ciri settled against Owain on her loveseat, warm and comfortable after their filling supper in the great hall below. He stretched out his long legs before him, dropping his arm around her shoulders and yawning a bit.

"Three rounds in the ring and a heavy meal," he said, his voice full of amusement. "I'll be lucky if I can keep my eyes open another hour."

She laughed and stretched up to kiss his cheek. "You don't want a fourth round?"

"I didn't say that."

He turned and leaned down slightly, his callused hand coming up to rest on her jaw as he kissed her. A shiver ran through her, heat pooling low in her stomach at the touch of his lips on hers, and she responded with enthusiasm.

When she broke away, she pressed her forehead to his gently and murmured, "You're the best part of the day when I'm here in Skyhold."

His hand traced a feather-light path from her jaw to her hairline and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I feel the same way."

Ciri dropped a swift kiss on his lips and settled back against his side, her head on his shoulder. "I assume you knew about Evelyn and Cullen?"

Her head rose and fell as he shrugged. "She told us her plans yesterday, right after you judged Agnesot. I'm not surprised that's how it ended up, but I know she liked him." He made a soft sound, something that wasn't quite a laugh. "I didn't say I told her so."

"Good; that would have been rotten of you." She elbowed him, and he laughed properly.

"It's an older brother's job to be rotten on occasion. But I was nice." He reached for her hand and began to idly play with her fingers. "That was a surprise at breakfast."

"Josephine's ring?"

"Mm-hm." He fell silent for a few seconds, his fingers still gently toying with hers. "That's not something you've thought about, is it?"

She laced their fingers together and shook her head. "We don't need it, do we? Olgierd wants to settle down and have a nice domestic life once this is all over. I'm not him, and you're not Josephine."

"Probably a good thing," Owain said. "It would be hard to compete with that much romance."

"We do alright," Ciri said fondly.

"We do," he agreed. "So where to first on our tour of the Continent? Beauclair, to see what became of the elven palace and indulge in some drinking? Oxenfurt, to drop in on a lecture at the academy? Lan Exeter in Kovir? Ofier?"

"Mm, Beauclair and the wine second, and all the others eventually," Ciri said. "But Corvo Bianco first. It's been too long since I've seen Geralt and Yennefer, and I want to introduce you to them."

She felt him momentarily tense and then relax beneath her. "I'm sure they miss you as well," he said. "I'd be happy to meet them."

"But?" She pulled away and swung her legs over his lap to sit facing him, her knees bracketing his thighs.

His hands settled on her hips, and he gave her a half-smile, a rueful look in his eyes. "I'm not sure how your mother will take me, given the political climate on the Continent a few years ago."

"You mean –"

"Hello, Mother, Geralt," he said with a surprisingly accurate impression of her accent. "This is my lover, Owain. He spent years guarding a mage tower. He used to be addicted to a potion that gave him magic canceling powers. And forgive him if he cracks his head on the lintel; low doorways are a particular weakness."

Ciri laughed and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're not the only one worrying about that," she told him, and she put on a somewhat poorer version of his Ostwick accent. "Mother, Father, I've taken up with Ciri. She's a former princess who spent months as a bandit robbing nobles and merchant caravans. She also used to be addicted to a drug, and she faked her own death so her birth father won't force her to bear his child. She's a real catch."

His strong arms came up around her waist and pulled her toward him in a tight embrace. "Good thing I've caught you, then."

"Hmm." She relaxed against his chest, her chin propped on her arm around his neck. "Your father said your family needed to send a child to the Templars or the Chantry to help keep suspicious eyes off the Trevelyans with how many mages you have. One a generation, almost."

"We always had the option to say no," he said. "I was encouraged—it made things better for Evie having a Templar sibling at another Circle, and Max wasn't suited for it. But no one would have pushed me if I decided on a different path. And I needed to do something as a second son."

"I know you feel regret at being part of that system, even if you did try to act as the protector that Templars were supposed to be," Ciri said. "But Owain…what would have happened to the mages from the Markham Circle if you hadn't become a Templar?"

"Raúl and Rona would have helped them make it to the rebellion," he said. "They would have been fine without me. But—" His arms tightened around her for a moment, and he gently eased her back so he could look into her face, his eyes pained and full of love. "We'd never have had a reason to send for help through the portal."

"I can't say I'm happy with everything that's happened since then," Ciri said. "Meeting you, though? That's one of the best things to happen to me in years."

The corners of his dark blue eyes crinkled, and she leaned in to kiss the smile off his face. His hands slowly traveled up her back as their mouths moved together lazily. The pleasant heat returned, and she let her own hands wander down the firm planes of his chest.

Owain squeezed her hip gently and gave her a last kiss. "May I ask you something?"

"Always," she told him. The warmth dimmed as she wondered at the sudden concern in his voice.

"You mentioned a drug," he said carefully. "Knowing what I know about lyrium—having experienced the withdrawal—are you alright?"

Her chest went tight at the lack of judgment in his question, in his face, and she leaned forward to kiss him again, hard and swift. "I'm fine. I haven't had it for almost a decade now. The smell of it…still makes my hands shake," she said quietly. "Not from withdrawal, but from the memories, and the pull. I don't want it, it's just—"

"I understand," he said, his voice just as soft. "I don't have a drop of lyrium in my veins anymore, and several months ago I had to practically run from the barracks when I saw one of the last Templars take a dose. I was repulsed, but at the same time…"

Ciri swallowed. "Yes. Like that."

His eyes held only empathy, and he reached up to gently touch her scarred cheek. "Your strength astounds me."

Stay with me. The words lingered on the tip of her tongue. Stay with me and see my world; see a hundred worlds with me.

"You could have given up as well, or taken the easy path," she said. "You didn't have to take in the mages from the Markham Circle, our suffer through withdrawal. Your family could have found lyrium for you with their connections."

"I didn't have to," he agreed, and he gave her a wry smile. "But I'm stubborn."

"I suppose that makes two of us."

"The things you've been through would have shattered almost anyone else," he said, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "But they only made you stronger."

"Hm. You're very good for my ego, you know."

"I'll refer you back to my devious plan." He asked with some regret, "Did I kill the mood?"

"If you think we're not having a fourth round, Owain Trevelyan—"

He burst out laughing and pulled her closer, giving her backside a playful squeeze as he did. "No one else I'd rather spar with. Or spar with."

She giggled and set to kissing him again, her heart overflowing with affection. Stay with me, it said. Follow me home and stay there.

She'd ask him later—when she wasn't so preoccupied.