hope you're ready for the slowest burn of your life because here it is

A Wolf Among Lilacs
Prologue

"Look, all I'm saying is that one of us has to do it, and it's sure as hell not going to be me."

Lambert tossed the folded paper carelessly on the table between them. They'd been fighting for nearly two hours now, though Geralt had done his best not to interject, to leave the others to it. Political debates were the last thing he expected to come out of being a witcher, even when the entire continent was boiling, on the brink of war. He'd resolved to stay out of it. He'd thought the others had as well.

But politics was all they'd been talking about since they got the letter—an invitation to teach self-defense workshops at Oxenfurt Academy, printed on thick cream-colored paper and, for some reason, sealed in wax. Geralt supposed, though rather reluctantly, that there was no one better for this kind of work than a witcher. Their years of rigorous training ensured that. No, this debate was entirely ethical. Their qualifications had been the one thing they'd agreed on.

"I don't know if any of us should," Eskel said cautiously, though he wasn't treading ground they hadn't already walked. Lambert, sensing retaliation, pressed his fingertips against his forehead, and Geralt couldn't help but silently agree: this had gone on far too long. "Much as I hate to admit it, we've got the reactions of the other schools to think about. We don't know if they got this invitation; they might accuse us of selling out. And we can't just toss witcher neutrality to the side—"

"Fuck witcher neutrality!" Lambert exclaimed, not for the first time, although now he accompanied it with a slap of his palm on the table that echoed off the walls. "And fuck what the other schools think. We have to take this. This job will pay more in a month than any of normally makes in a year."

None of them could deny that. The unfortunate truth was that, since the advent of new technology, witchers were becoming increasingly obsolete. Most of the larger cities were walled in and well-guarded; those who lived in smaller towns knew how to defend themselves better than they did a hundred years ago, even. They still got contracts fairly regularly, but they were barely paid enough for travel expenses and weapon repairs, not to mention upkeep on Kaer Morhen, which was all but falling apart around them. The keep itself was the last dying relic of an old time, but Vesemir refused to move. Lambert complained about it almost nonstop. Geralt, however, refused to outright take sides—much like he was currently trying to do.

He hadn't given any of them more than monosyllabic answers for the past hour, after Vesemir left. He'd been firmly against the idea, but Lambert wouldn't back down, and there was only so much he could handle. Vesemir was the eldest, the most set in his ways, but with him gone, Geralt was the oldest there. His opinion technically mattered the most, though he didn't want to admit that or bring attention to it. He had other things to worry about.

"The money shouldn't be an issue," Eskel sighed for the third time. "If we would just move somewhere else, somewhere smaller that needs less repairs—"

"But that's not going to happen!" The outburst was accompanied by another smack of the table as he leaned forward. "He won't move, and we all know it. And don't say the rest of us should move, either, because we can't just abandon him. There are only four of us left, and who knows for how long?"

A heavy silence fell. None of them wanted to think about it, though the discontinuation of the Trial of the Grasses made it near impossible to ignore. The mutations slowed the aging process, but they didn't make them immortal. It was only a matter of time before a contract gone wrong knocked their numbers down to three, and the other schools were faring much the same.

"Geralt," Lambert said suddenly, turning towards him. The expression he wore, full of hidden malice, made Geralt wary of what he might say. "You've been awfully quiet over there. Go on, what do you think we should do?"

There was the slightest mocking edge to his tone. Geralt grimaced—this was exactly what he'd been wanting to avoid.

"I think," he said slowly, weighing each word, "that we need to think a lot more about the outside world. There's about to be a war on, and I'd rather not get caught in the middle of it."

"Didn't you say a while ago that you were all for neutrality?" he countered almost immediately. "Besides, you've got friends in high places. I'm sure they could help you find your way out of any trouble."

"Just because I did some work for Dijkstra once—work that didn't even involve politics, because it's not supposed to—doesn't mean he'd be willing to stick his neck out for me if it came to that. Besides," he added, frowning deeply, "we all know who's really in charge there. And when did this purely hypothetical situation come to involve me?"

"Well—" He stopped, looked at Eskel. It was clear they'd been discussing this without him. The thought made his blood boil, but he kept his mouth shut for the time being.

"Well," Eskel picked up, in a much calmer tone, "you've really got the best temperament for it out of all of us. I mean—look how well you did with Ciri. A class that covers the basics would be no problem for you after that."

"I see. You forget that Ciri was a completely different case, considering she'd only train with me for the first few months she was here, not to mention that she's one person, not twenty. And I'd love to hear how you were planning to convince me of this."

There was a booming knock at the door before they could respond, and when it became clear no one else was going to answer it, Geralt stood from the kitchen table resignedly. The door was a fair distance from where they'd been sitting, and despite the fact that he was staunchly against leaving Kaer Morhen, he found himself irritated by the walk. He pulled the heavy wooden door open, but before there was a gap even a couple of feet wide, Triss Merigold had slipped inside.

"What are you doing here?" he said in lieu of a greeting. It was raining outside, and her chestnut-colored hair and clothes were damp. He could see her car parked on the dirt path leading to the steps, and he realized she must have been planning this—it wasn't a spontaneous visit, or she would've portaled.

"Nice to see you too," she teased, dropping her purse on the floor and shrugging off her jacket. "I come all the way up from Novigrad and all I get is what are you doing here…not even a nice to see you, Triss, I sure missed you—"

"It's good to see you, really," he replied, allowing a small smile to creep onto his face. She did always know how to lighten the mood. She hung her coat on a hook driven into the stone wall and slung her bag over her shoulder again. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"I was invited. By Eskel." Triss led the way back to the kitchens. She knew the twists and turns of Kaer Morhen as well as any of them—not much of a surprise, considering how she'd often stayed there for months at a time, back when Ciri still lived there. "Besides, I was already in Aedd Gynvael…visiting. It wasn't exactly a huge detour."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you were in Aedd Gynvael, you just went the opposite direction of Novigrad to come here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flush.

"Okay, well maybe I just wanted to see you? Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes," he said as they entered the room where the others were and sat down. Eskel and Lambert were watching them with perhaps a bit too much curiosity, especially since it seemed like they knew she was coming. "You always seem to have an ulterior motive."

She chuckled, but it sounded forced. "Fair enough." He sighed, relieved she'd apparently taken it as a joke like he intended, without reading too much into it. "But when you put it like that, I suppose I do have some news…"

"What is it?" Lambert asked in a way that clearly said he already knew. Geralt clenched his fists under the table. Her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink and she stood abruptly, going to the sink to fill a glass of water.

"I…I'm doing an apprenticeship. Finally," she announced. He wasn't sure why she was so anxious to say it. This was par for the course for a sorceress, though admittedly a bit late—most did them immediately following graduation from Aretuza. Triss, swayed by a colleague and an adamant offer from King Foltest, had gone straight to a career in politics.

"That's great, Triss!" Eskel recovered faster than Geralt, while Lambert sat there, still looking incredibly smug. Did they both know? Did neither of them? He wasn't sure what was going on anymore. "Where at?"

She was turned away from them, gripping the counter so hard that if it had been one of them, it would have broken. "At Oxenfurt Academy."

Geralt pressed his hand to his forehead and groaned. No wonder she'd been invited here—probably by Lambert, despite what she'd told him only minutes ago. There was only one person more likely to convince him than Triss, and the fact that she was here probably meant they couldn't get in touch with her.

"And Geralt," she said, spinning to face him as she rummaged around in her bag, finally pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope. "This is for you. I hope you don't mind it's already open—well, it wasn't actually addressed to you, but given the circumstances she asked me to pass it on—"

"Thanks, Triss," he interrupted, hoping to cut her off before she started rambling too much. She grinned, embarrassed, and passed him the envelope. On the front was a street address in Aedd Gynvael, and he recognized the scratchy handwriting almost immediately. Ciri. He pulled out the hastily folded paper and read it, his brow furrowing in disbelief. Once he'd gone over it three times, having finally decided it wasn't a joke, he looked back up at them—Triss, slightly shamefaced, Eskel, just as confused as before, and Lambert, smugger than ever, still wearing that shit-eating grin.

"So," he said, "do you need some time to think about it or have you changed your mind?"

~oOo~

One month earlier, Thanedd Isle

Generally speaking, mages convened on Thanedd twice a year, but it had been nearly seven since he attended. Before that, the number had nearly reached twenty, despite his work being constantly published and circulated. No one had ever noticed; he wasn't the sort to dabble in politics, and that was all these gatherings were about, even if they were held under the guise of presenting research. Until recently, he'd made a point of not interacting with those kinds of mages. He probably still would, if some of those people weren't also her closest friends.

He knocked on the door of the suite she was staying in cautiously, still amazed by the luxury accommodations given out for a few days when the conferences happened (especially to a certain group of sorceresses). In his head, he prayed she was awake and would answer herself, but he knew it was unlikely—if the messages he'd gotten yesterday were any indication, the welcome gathering had lasted well into the night and if she didn't get out of bed until noon on a normal day, he could only imagine what she was like now. She wouldn't be up; he could only hope no one else was either. That hope was nearly immediately dashed when the door swung open and his least favorite of them was standing behind it.

"Val," said Philippa Eilhart, more than a hint of disdain in her voice. She stepped back to let him in, heels clicking on the wooden floor. He could smell her perfume as she shut it behind him, cinnamon and muskroot. Very, he thought, appropriately bitter. "You know, when she said you might actually come this time, I'd hoped she was joking."

"Nice to see you too." He didn't need to look to know she was rolling her eyes. He'd known her for nearly ten years now and she'd never bothered to mask the fact that she disliked him. As he followed her to the kitchen, she resumed pulling her hair away from her face, pinning it behind her head with a golden, feather-shaped clip. "Where is she?"

"Asleep—or I'd assume that's where she is, since I haven't seen her for, oh, about ten hours or so."

"You always were so good with directions, Philippa. So wonderfully exact."

"There are two bedrooms over there." She pointed one red-lacquered nail down a short hallway. "Two adjoining bedrooms. If you don't know where she is based on that alone, I'd question the wisdom of getting engaged so soon."

"I wouldn't exactly call seven years 'soon.'" He opened the fridge and pulled out a glass bottle as she sat back down at the counter, steadfastly ignoring his actions as usual. The surface was entirely covered in papers, and she didn't look up as she addressed him.

"I would be ever so grateful if you'd find out whether or not she plans to sit in on the Council meeting in two hours."

He tried not to hear the sarcasm dripping from her words, but it was all he could think about; that and his distaste for mages' politicking, which had grown stronger in direct proportion to her involvement. Philippa was clearly trying to provoke him. On any other day it wouldn't have worked—but being here had already made him so agitated that he found himself pausing with one foot down the hallway, turning back around to face her.

"I'd be ever so grateful if you told me what, exactly, I did to warrant the way you treat me."

"To me, personally?" She held uncomfortable eye contact with him as she took a long drink of the iced coffee in front of her. "Absolutely nothing."

There was a lamp on in the corner of the bedroom, shining dimly next to a softly humming white noise machine. She always slept with a light on; he'd long ago given up on asking why. Most of the furniture was shoved to the side in order to make room for a massive bed, covered by a thick quilt and several blankets. Peeking out from the top, barely visible, was a mess of black curls.

He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, placing the glass bottle on the nightstand. "Yenna," he whispered, and the blankets stirred, a low groan issuing from them. He waited for a minute, but the movement stilled, and he could hear her breathing even out once more. He sighed quietly. She had always been like this. Resignedly, he walked over to the small table and shut the noise off with a click.

The silence rung in his ears. After a few moments of waiting with bated breath, she pushed the blankets away, violet eyes angry but still half-closed. The diamonds in her obsidian pendant sparkled faintly—he'd only learned to notice it after four years of knowing her, though he'd long been hearing about how it was one of the most impressive graduate projects Aretuza had seen in recent years. Apart from the choker, she had nothing on. His throat tightened. He wondered what exactly had been going on before he got there.

"I'm beginning to think," she said, voice still scratchy from sleep, "that you enjoy coming up with new and terrifying ways to wake me." He allowed himself to smile a little as she sat up, his fingers running lightly down her arm. When they drifted up to her shoulder, across her back, she jerked away violently, shifting to the other side of the bed to stretch. That was another thing she'd never told him. Philippa's words surfaced in his mind, but he shoved them back forcefully.

"Brought you this," he said instead of responding, handing her the bottle when she straightened back up. She opened it and drank half of it in one swallow, then handed it back, stretching her arms above her head. He tried and failed not to look down.

"Thank you," she said, though it seemed more like a basic courtesy than genuine expression. "I think I was about to die of thirst."

"No need to be melodramatic."

"Please," she scoffed, finally turning to face him. There were dark circles under her eyes, nearly permanent from constant late nights. "If you think I'm melodramatic, you haven't met my associates."

It was true enough. She liked to show off, but in a more subdued way than most of her colleagues. "Unfortunately, I have. Speaking of which, Philippa wants to know if you're shadowing today."

"Of course she does." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I suppose I am. If rather reluctantly." He waited, hoping she would elaborate, but she didn't say anything more on the subject. All she did was get up, pulling on a black robe that had been carelessly discarded on the floor, and walk into the half-bath to splash cold water on her face. If there was one thing he knew for certain about Yennefer, it was that she was decidedly not a morning person.

Behind the other door in the bathroom, he heard the sound of a shower starting. Yenna sighed and, water still dripping from her face, walked to the door and rapped on it. The sound died off suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Five minutes, please?" She sounded annoyed. He wondered if she was just playing it up because he was there.

"….okay," Triss Merigold replied after a moment's hesitation, closely followed by "Is he here? Did he actually show up?"

He could hear the barely-suppressed laughter in both their voices. "Yes, he's here. Right here."

If he heard any more of this it would only make him angry, so he followed her in, pulling the crumpled envelope from his jacket pocket. Most of the drive there had been spent deliberating over whether to even bring it up, but he knew if he waited, the backlash would be that much more severe. She'd find out inevitably.

"You don't have to confirm the rumors for me," he said dryly. He saw her shoulders tense but she didn't look at him, preoccupied with examining herself in the mirror. "I already knew about them."

"I was under the impression you didn't care." He knew what she was getting at, the agreement was years old, but still it irked him.

"I care if there are strings attached, Yenna."

She turned and met his gaze sharply, much in the same way Philippa had only minutes ago. They were too much alike, those two. They'd known each other too long. "If you want to judge a relationship by the number of strings attached, you'll be gone before she is."

When he didn't immediately respond, the corners of her mouth turned up in a triumphant smile and she leaned against the counter, tilting her head to the side. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of conceding, but she was right and they both knew it. His position in her life, even after all this time, was far more precarious than almost anyone else's.

"This came to the house for you the other day," he said instead of a real reply, holding out the envelope. She took it without even bothering to dry her face. Her mouth opened the slightest bit in surprise as she looked at the front, but she quickly schooled herself into a more neutral expression.

"And you waited this long to tell me?" she replied coolly as she slit it open, pulling out a poorly-folded paper. He watched her closely as she read it, hoping to see some change in her eyes, but she gave away nothing. Even when she folded it back up and said "interesting," her tone was blank.

"What's so interesting?"

She set it carefully on the counter and turned back around, reaching for a glass bottle. When she opened it, the scent of lilac and gooseberries filled the room.

"It seems as though our living arrangement will require some imminent changes."

"Is this about what we discussed last time I saw you?"

"It is." She knocked on the door again and this time Triss opened it, wrapped in a towel, her hair disheveled. He hated the way they sized each other up, hated the tension he'd never seen around anyone else, the ambiguous nature of their relationship. "You're going to visit him soon, aren't you?" she asked without preamble, and when Triss's face turned bright red and she tried to stammer out a reply she said "We both know 'coming to visit me in Aedd Gynvael' is a horrible excuse."

Triss nodded. They didn't quite meet each other's eyes, but something felt off all the same. "Why? You finally going to join me this time?"

"I don't think so." She was still smirking as she handed over the envelope. Triss read it quickly, her eyebrows knitting together, showing more emotion in that one moment than Yenna had all morning. Fear, concern, confusion, resignation.

"Is this—" She broke off and looked up, eyes flitting to him for the barest of seconds before refocusing on the curls falling heavy over Yennefer's collarbones. "Might this have anything to do with the offer we got a while back? If there's nowhere else for her..."

He wanted to leave. He would've left if she hadn't seen him. He could guess what this was about now, and the whole thing felt wrong. "I've been thinking it's time I accepted."

I hope you enjoyed! This is going to update on Thursdays. If you've got questions/want to talk about the modern AU, I'm almost always on tumblr; I've got two blogs but I'm more likely to be active on my main yennas! Thank you for reading!