In Dreams
By Pyreite
Chapter 8: Visited by a Wraith
"Full, witcher?"
Geralt having cleared his plate, sank back into his seat. The wood creaked, the strap of his crossbow swaying behind the backrest. His stomach was full, his mind clear despite sharing a bottle of an exotic elven wine. It was headier than human liquor, sweeter too with exquisite fruity overtones. Yet the revelations of the past hour had soured his desire to indulge.
"Yeah", he replied, frowning as he contemplated what he'd learned. "Thanks".
Ellana rose from her seat, footfalls muffled by the rug underfoot. She acted the gracious host, offering Geralt further refreshment. He laid a hand over the top of his goblet, shaking his head till she recorked the bottle of wine. It was set aside as she busied herself packing away the crockery and cutlery. He'd never seen an elf bustle about like a servant, stacking empty platters, plates, knives and forks.
They'd eaten most of what she'd brought him, but there was some leftovers.
She heaped the last of the meat and vegetables onto the same platter. Flipping another upside down to act as a lid. She tapped her fingers twice on the top, whispering in a language Geralt had never heard before. It wasn't elder speech, nilfgaardian or the lyrical language of the dryads. It was half-sung, half-spoken with a serpentine hiss of vowels and syllables.
His medallion trembled, the spell taking hold.
A layer of frost covered the platters, chilling the cooled food inside. Geralt supposed it was a minor spell used for preservation in place of packing in ice. A mundane application of magic, more pragmatic than flashy. It made his skin crawl, the slightest scent of winter a reminder of darker more dangerous times. The witcher was aware that neither Eredin nor the Red Riders were at Avallach's door.
He was safe, so was Ciri yet cold fear slithered in his guts like a snake.
Ellana sensing his discomfort, apologised. "I'm sorry. I should have asked before using that spell. I forgot that it would make you uncomfortable. It must've brought back bad memories of your encounters with Eredin".
He gaped at her, blinking owlishly as if she'd said something shocking. "What did you say?"
"I'm sorry".
Geralt horrified and astounded, inhaled a slow shuddering breath. "Shit". He'd been kicked in the face, spat on, tied up, cursed at, attacked and set free by elves. He could recall only two times an elf had apologised to him. The first had occurred in Novigrad during a meeting with an Aen Seidhe swordsmith.
The second time was now with this strangely civil half-dragon elf.
"Are you all right?"
Geralt shook himself like a wolf shedding water. It started at his head, with a vigorous shake of his hair, then flowed down his neck and shoulders. His gambeson flapped as he wriggled in his chair like an eel. His backside slid across the cushioned seat, the heels of his boots clipping its wooden legs. He stared in wide-eyed incredulity when his host gaped at him as if he'd sprouted horns.
"Maker's balls. It was an apology not an offer of marriage".
He blushed, feeling like a fool. "I can't read you!" he cried, emphasizing his annoyance with sharp, frustrated gestures of his hands. "You look like a monster, but you're not! You've been civil to me, even kind and tolerant despite who and what I am! You don't even care that I set a trap to see if you'd attack me! Then you apologise, asking if I was all right? Do you know how abnormal that is?"
Ellana's surprise softened to something that near brought him to tears. It was a gentle, sweet sort of concern bordering on maternal. Even her voice was soft when she spoke to him. The thread of genuine empathy so visceral it left Geralt shaken. She was nothing like what he'd expected when he'd first seen her leave Avallach's bedroom.
"I don't know what it is to be a witcher. But I know what it means to be judged, hated and condemned for who and what I am. To be treated like an abomination, a thing to be feared and despised because of what I can't change. I can't comprehend what you went through to become what you are. But I can sympathise because like you, I had to lose who I was to survive becoming what I am now".
Geralt considered her for a moment, wondering if she could understand. "You were hated?"
"For being an elf, in my world humans despised my kind. They'd call me a knife ear – an insult for the one recognisable trait that distinguished me from them. I was once condemned to die for supposedly killing one of them. I didn't but the humans that captured me assumed I had, so I awoke chained in the dungeon under a chapel. I was to face execution until a creature called Corypheus punctured a hole in the fabric of space and time".
He gaped at her in astonishment. "A portal to another world?"
"Not in the way you're thinking. It was more of a rift into the realm of spirits, a place the people of my world called the Fade. It was part of my world – a land of dreams, nightmares and half-forgotten memories. It existed beneath what we knew was real, accessible only by mages in sleep. I of course bearing the Elder Blood was a special case, able to travel there while awake".
"What did you encounter?"
"Angry spirits, demons and a gigantic demonic spider".
"Damn".
Geralt glanced at the magical prosthesis of her left-hand. "Is that why you're missing a limb?"
"Yes".
"Who took it?"
"A man I'd thought a friend", admitted Ellana. "Until he betrayed me".
He waved a hand over his eyes, gloved fingers patting the crown of his head. "Was he responsible for your change?"
"I can't remember. I know that when we were last together that he was furious with me. We argued, fought and there was a light so bright it burned. I was aflame, he screamed then everything went quiet. I may have died and passed into the void, or been captured and forced into a magical sleep".
"You don't know?"
"I'm afraid not. I can make diamonds out of pebbles, but I can't recall much beyond meeting Avallac'h. There are things I know about your world, such as the customs and languages. I can recall spells, my childhood, but nothing about what happened to me. The details are hazy as if a fog lies over that part of my past".
Geralt understood with sudden clarity. "You've lost your memory".
"That's one way to put it".
She reached for an obsidian statuette on the table. It was behind the platter, next to a small brass candelabra. Its candle burned with an amber flame, casting shadows across the wall. She paused shy of touching it, the translucent fingers of her left-hand trembling. She gasped when flecks of ruby beneath stony brows blazed red-hot.
A shape coalesced in the dark, gliding across the floor on velvet-soft paws.
Geralt was on his feet in moments, diving for the swords in a rack against the wall. His medallion vibrating like a mad hornet in a glass jar, thumping his clavicle. It skittered along the chain around his neck, warning of magical interference. His gloved hand closed around the hilt of a sword, its silver blade aglow with fiery-gold runes. It attracted the attention of the thing that'd padded into Avallach's laboratory.
"Nae!" cried Ellana when it turned upon him.
Geralt saw that amorphous shape gain solidity. A creature emerging from an ever-shifting haze of black smoke. Its fur wispy as if it were a wraith, its multitude of eyes spots of brightness in the gloom. Pointed ears perked, dark lips peeled back from silver-white fangs. It growled at the witcher, its displeasure a guttural rumble of warning.
Icy breath rasped across its tongue, its nostrils flaring as Ellana turned around.
She raised a clawed hand, warding off Geralt when the beast whined like a pup. "Stay your distance", she cautioned when its jaws closed with a snap. "This is not an enemy that can be beaten back with a silver sword. If you charge at him now, he won't hesitate to retaliate in kind. I'd rather not have to tell Avallac'h why the walls and floor are splattered with blood".
"We wouldn't want that", he replied with a tinge of sarcasm, lifting his hand from the sword's hilt. The runes extinguished along the fuller, leaving the blade a dull silvery-grey. "I doubt your spectre will stay civil. I didn't imagine that snarl or the bared fangs. It came here for you, but didn't expect that you'd have company".
Geralt glanced between them, his yellow cat-eyes spying Ellana's sleight-of-hand. She continued to speak while slipping a translucent left-hand behind her back. The green heel of her palm slid across the tabletop, fingers patting the wood in search of something. She found it, the tips of her nails bumping against obsidian. She turned her hand sideways, palm gliding over the statuette of a lounging wolf.
Geralt continued their discourse, sensing a plan unfolding. "What does it want?"
"He has pursued me across space and time as Eredin and the Wild Hunt pursued Zireael. He wants to take me back to where he thinks I belong. But he never thought that I'd step out of the Fade, deciding to draw breath again. Did you? I am not near as frightened of you as I used to be".
She leaned against the table, lifting her horned head high. She looked down her nose at their uninvited guest, lip curling as she bared her fangs. Her throaty hiss of displeasure like gravel rolling downhill. Geralt was certain most elves couldn't grumble like a peeved panther.
The wraith pawed the flagstones, claws scratching like fingernails on stone.
The noise made the witcher anxious, though he refrained from reaching for a weapon. His medallion's sporadic twitching, a reminder that he was dealing with a magical foe. He tensed when the wraith's shadow seemed to thicken and take form. Out of that smoky haze stepped a wolf, tall, slender and shaggy with coal-black fur. Its two eyes red as blood inside a lupine face with large ears, broad cheeks and a long narrow snout.
"The patron of my witcher school", said Geralt in bewilderment, wondering if this was a quirk of destiny.
The wolf recoiled when Ellana snapped her fangs, whimpering as if in apology. It leapt aside when she stamped her foot, the toe of her boot missing a black paw. The witcher heard the whistle of something flying through the air. It was small, dark and spinning fast when he grasped the hilt of a sword. He withdrew it from the weapons-rack, igniting a line of fiery-gold runes down its length.
Geralt brought the blade down in a flash of silver.
The wolf bristled, realising its mistake. It turned body coiling like a spring, snout wrinkling as it gnashed its teeth. It leapt at the witcher, intent on ripping his throat out. The sword struck first, cleaving Ellana's obsidian statuette in two. The wolf snarled in fury, its form bursting like an overripe plum.
It was there then gone in an instant, its form dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
Light returned in a blaze of amber so bright it blinded. The witcher hissed, cat-eyes closing on reflex as he shielded his face. He heard the thump of something hitting the floor, its fall muffled but audible. Geralt opened his eyes, blinking blearily until his sight adjusted. He froze when a man pleaded in a language he didn't understand.
"Ma vhenan".
The witcher lowered his arm, turning towards the table. He saw Ellana conversing with a tall willowy elven man. He was clad in muted greys and browns, his clothes plain if washed out as if he were standing in the rain. Geralt could see through him, spying the table, the rug on the floor and the wall beyond. He was semi-transparent like a pane of frosted glass.
A spirit whose silver-white skull was visible through the veil of his skin.
Geralt heard his voice catch like a burr in his throat. The sob of grief so loud it echoed off the stone walls and high vaulted ceiling. The spirit reached for Ellana with shaking fingers, intent on touching her face. He froze when she barked a reprimand, pale hand hovering inches from her cheek. He gasped when she spat that reprimand again, denying him the thing he wanted most.
"Venavis!"
"Ma lath", he begged in earnest. "Garas vhenas".
"Banal!" argued Ellana. "Na solas din'an ma!" She thrust her hand towards the door of Avallach's laboratory. "Mala suledin nadas na abelas! Ghilas!"
"Vhenan".
"Ghilas!" she exclaimed in outrage, clawed fingers pointing the way. "Ir enasal dar'revas ma!"
The spirit's composure wavered in the wake of her rejection. It stood there, meek as a lamb, head bowing in disappointment. Geralt saw an elf that resembled Avallac'h, fair where Ellana was dark. Yet his face was more angular, his cheekbones higher and his chin square with a noticeable dimple. He was distraught as he looked at Ellana over the bridge of his patrician nose.
Like her he didn't resemble the Aen Seidhe or the Aen Elle.
His eyes and ears were larger than the elves of the Continent and beyond. He lacked their dignified restraint, their haughty condescension. His red irises were soft and sad beneath heavy black brows. His pale hand dropped when Ellana continued to bare her fangs. The display of hostility so upsetting that his breath hitched in despair.
"Ma nuvenin".
Geralt stared when it glanced his way, its red eyes – remorseful. He saw nothing of the fierce wolf in the wan face beneath long bone-straight black hair. The spirit didn't seem to see him at all, its gaze unfocused as shining droplets trickled down its cheeks. Geralt's nostrils flared, the briny scent of its sorrow filling his nostrils. He was unsurprised to hear the poignant drip of tears that fell like rain.
The resultant splash disappearing in a swirl of darkness.
The chastised spirit fled, shooting passed Geralt in a ball of inky blackness. It missed him by inches, its speed and nearness breaking his Quen-shield with a bang. He shed gold sparks, relieved when the spirit continued its flight. It flew out the doorway of Avallach's laboratory into the antechamber beyond. It crashed through the wards like a battering ram, waking the gargoyle sentries.
They roared till the intruder darted out into the night.
Geralt lowered his silver sword, yellow cat-eyes narrow slits beneath furrowed brows. He glared at Ellana in suspicion, wondering what he'd seen. She'd known the spirit, conversed with it in the same language she'd used to cast that ice-spell. The tongue was strange, its cadence shorter and sharper than Hen Llinge. The staccato of vowels and the sibilant hissing of consonants blunter and less fluid.
It'd lacked the finesse of the language of the Aen Seidhe elves.
The witcher wondered if it was an unknown dialect of Laith aen Undod. The parent-tongue of the Aen Seidhe and Aen Elle before their people splintered. He doubted Ellana would know for certain if she couldn't recall events from her past. But he did know that her spectre's brand of magic was powerful enough to overcome theirs. The spirit had destroyed Avallac'h's enchantments by sheer force of will.
A discovery that alarmed Geralt.
He retrieved the twin scabbards usually strapped across his back. Both had lain against the wall beneath the table, out of sight but not out of mind. He sheathed his silver sword, refusing to return it to Avallac'h's weapons-rack. The encounter with the hostile spirit raising his hackles as if he were a disgruntled tom-cat. He trembled with rage, the fright and the adrenalin fanning the flames of his temper.
He stomped to the weapons-rack, snatching his steel sword out of the wooden pegs with a thump.
The blade sharp as a razor, glinted like polished silver in the candlelight. He sheathed it beside the silver sword, the curved wolf-heads in the pommel seeming to mock him. His lip curled with indignation when his head turned. He looked back at the table, expecting to find Ellana still leaning against it. Her pert backside propped on the edge.
He saw her sitting on the floor instead, cross-legged with her back against a table-leg.
She was staring at nothing, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Her face moist and shining as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She wept in silence, quiet in her misery where other women wailed, stamping their feet. Geralt was perturbed by the sight of her once so confident, now pale and shaking as if she'd seen a ghost. She had in fact though he doubted that had frightened her enough to make her cry.
He sniffed like a hound, nostrils flaring as he examined her scent.
Ellana stank of acrid fear, the sour notes of it saturating that draconid musk. He was used to the smell, having hunted and slain many draconids of every size and species. The beasts had stunk of fear near the end - wounded, bleeding and afraid of death like any living creature. Geralt choked down his anger, feeling like an arse while a woman sat there weeping in silence. He rolled his eyes, grimacing as if he'd swallowed a lemon.
"I hunt monsters, I don't play confidant".
He was terrible at sympathy, worse at expressing it. A witcher saw all manner of horrors in their line of work. Villages burned to the ground, corpses hanging from trees. It was often fatal when a monster rampaged through a settlement or caught folks on the road. He'd seen the carcases of what used to be people.
They were often bags of torn skin and rent bones with dead eyes, swimming in a pool of their own blood.
Slaughter and death were part of the witcher-trade, whether by a monster's claws or a witcher's sword. The outcome was often the same. If a witcher survived a contract without dying or suffering permanent injury. He could still face the noose, an axe, a crossbow bolt in the back or a pitchfork in the guts. Courtesy of a disgruntled client refusing to pay the contract's fee in coin.
Betrayal was a common risk, as was being poisoned and lynched.
Yet even Geralt hardened by his profession was still human. Rescuing, training and minding Ciri had softened him. He was a gruff mutant, prone to bouts of melancholy resolved by drinking with his closest friends. But he was also a man with a conscience and a heart, even if his eyes glowed in the dark as if he were an animal. He understood pain, grief and regret even if he'd long forgotten how to cry.
He'd once been a frightened little boy, though the days of his youth were behind him.
Geralt exhaled a weary breath, head shaking as he contemplated his own foolishness. He hated being angry with someone that was watery-eyed, terrified and distressed. For all Ellana's bravado she was like Ciri when her confidence took a battering. She was still silent when he walked over, carrying the twin scabbards to the table. He laid the swords atop it, checking on her before he walked away again.
She seemed well enough as he fetched the statuette he'd cleaved in two.
He knelt on the rug, examining the pieces of obsidian. He laid one half against the other, seeing the cleanness of the cut. His silver sword was still sharp even after sitting in its sheath for several weeks. Being a vintner in Toussaint during the harvest had kept him too busy to return to the Path. That he had a warm bed, hot food and plenty of coin had made him rather reluctant to resume hunting monsters.
But Geralt supposed that he'd never truly hang up his swords.
There was always work for a witcher that befriended strange folk. The latest of which had thrown a statuette at him in the shape of a wolf lounging on a plinth. Its pose was relaxed, though its ears were pricked – suggestive of alertness. Geralt frowned when he saw the chips of ruby underneath its stony brows. Each glowing like banked coals in a hearth full of ash.
He would've dug them out, blinding the beast if something hadn't occurred to him.
He rose to his feet, clutching the pieces of obsidian. He brought them to Ellana, offering her first one half then the other. He waited, wondering if she'd take them. He knew that patience was best with a little coaxing. Ellana was in a fragile state, overwhelmed by memory and emotion.
He was willing to move at her pace if it meant getting answers.
It didn't take long. She blinked, lashes fluttering as if she were coming out of a daze. She was confused at first, brows furrowing until she spied what was in his hands. She peered at the witcher, her eyes shining like wet emeralds. She accepted the two halves of the statuette, weighing each in her hands like a stone.
"They're connected", said Geralt. "That figurine. The wraith we encountered. The wolf from Ciri's dreams. Don't deny it".
Ellana sniffed, her mouth turning down unhappily. "They are", she confirmed, breath hitching as she ran a clawed thumb over a pointed lupine ear. "That wraith was from my world. A creature my people called Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. He and I were strangers, then friends and we would've become lovers if he hadn't betrayed me".
"What happened?"
"My life is a rabbit's warren of mistakes. I was abandoned by my mother at birth, estranged from my father after he remarried. I left home in search of adventure to become destiny's plaything. Then I survived countless tragedies to become a dead prophet's herald. I was young, foolish and in love with a madman that would destroy my world and reshape it as he saw fit".
Geralt knew a man like that too. "Sounds like Emhyr var Emreis. So your tyrant was that red-eyed wolf-bastard we met?"
"Astute of you".
"You've got a past with him. I saw the way he looked at you, all soft like I get with Yen. That's love, but he did something unforgivable. When he asked you to go with him, you told him to plough himself. So he ran off in a huff, but if he's like Eredin. He'll come back to get you".
"By force if necessary", she agreed with unexpected honesty. "Fen'Harel was willing to kill you to get to me".
Geralt never one for subtlety, asked aloud what he'd wondered. "Would you have let him?"
Ellana stared at him, teary eyes widening in horrified realisation. The witcher didn't react like an ordinary man. There was no accusation of betrayal, no outward sign of hostility. The expression upon his face was neither furious nor upset as if he'd expected that outcome. She was appalled by his logic then offended by his presumption.
"You, arse!" she hissed, baring her fangs again. "I threw the statuette to distract him! Wasn't that enough to show that I like you?"
Geralt arched a snowy brow, finding her reasoning flawed. "No. You almost hit me".
She screwed her face up, scowling until she got the joke. The tension and fear bled away, leaving behind a feeling of horrible emptiness. She felt lighter if irked that Avallac'h's favourite witcher was as perceptive as she'd suspected he'd be. The arse. She shifted the halves of the statuette into the crook of her arm, when he offered her his hand. She accepted without hesitation, clawed fingers closing around his gloved ones.
"You have a rotten sense of humour", she told him as he helped her to her feet.
He shrugged, nonchalant. "You've stopped crying".
"Prick".
"Brat".
Ellana gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, smiling from ear-to-ear. "Thank you, witcher. I saw how fast you reacted when he barged in here. Most would've abandoned me to my fate, but you didn't even if it could've cost your life. I'm grateful".
Geralt sensing an opportunity, regarded her with concern. "Is this spirit after you because you're like Ciri?"
"It's not the Elder Blood that brought him here". She released his hand, gesturing to the goat-like horns upon her head. "Fen'Harel wants me because my father was a descendant of an ancient elven sorceress. But her power was only ever expressed by the daughters of her bloodline. I am her last living female descendant, the first in thousands of years to bear the marks of her lineage".
"So you do have dragon's blood".
"Not by choice. I became this way after suffering great pain. I cannot tell you the how or the why of it. I know that I began my life as an elf, but after surviving yet another tragedy I was like this. A half-breed mongrel, neither elf nor dragon but some twisted blend of both".
Geralt chose his next words with care. "Do you hate what you are?"
"No", replied Ellana. "I hate that a man I once loved, thinks he can decide my future".
She recalled the conversation she'd had with Avallac'h in a dream. She'd told him about what little she could remember beyond wandering the Fade. The argument with Solas, the fighting then an explosion of white light that'd seared her to the bone. Could that have been her moment of transformation? Had her dragon's blood ignited, changing her within and without to save her life?
"But did I die?" she pondered aloud whilst placing the halves of her statuette on the table. "Or was I asleep elsewhere, hibernating until my body and mind could accept the change?"
Geralt watched her fidget and wring her hands. She muttered to herself, head shaking now and again as she discarded an idea. She paced before the table like a house-cat outside a kitchen door. Back and forth she went, until she paused shoulders tensing. The next question she asked startled him.
"How did this world come to be inhabited by monsters?"
"The Conjunction of Spheres".
"What did it involve?"
"A cataclysm where a multitude of portals opened at once to different worlds. According to elven lore, the conjunction occurred fifteen hundred years ago. Humans appeared at that time, though the Elder races were already here. They occupied the Continent for more than two thousand years until the First Landing. Four human ships made landfall in the Pontar Delta and the mouth of the Yaruga. They'd found what would become the Kingdoms of the North".
Ellana bowed her head as if in shame. "Would you think badly of me, if I had done something terrible?"
Geralt didn't like her line of thought. "What're you saying?"
"The Conjunction of Spheres could be my fault".
"That's impossible".
"It's not", she countered. "I am of the Elder Blood. It isn't outside the realm of possibility that I could've torn holes in the fabric of space and time. Yet I may have done so by accident, to contain the power unleashed by the destruction of several foci. Vessels created by ancient elven mages to contain and absorb latent magical energy".
The witcher couldn't believe what he was hearing. "How much power could one foci hold?"
"Enough to level a mountain".
He swallowed, feeling nervous. "And several at once?"
Ellana averted her eyes, gazing at the rug upon the floor. It was handwoven in soft shades of red and yellow. A fine example of elven handcrafts. Avallac'h had brought comforts from home to his laboratory along the Pali Gap coast. He had somewhere to go should he desire to return to Tir ná Lia, it was more than she had.
"Enough to burn a world to ash".
"Shit!"
"Quite".
Geralt couldn't help but wonder if she was responsible. "Did you destroy these foci?"
"No", said Ellana with certainty. "Someone else did. I tried to contain what was unleashed. If I am responsible for the Conjunction of Spheres that occurred here. It was done because I was trying to save my world and my people".
"How can you be so sure?"
"I can traverse space and time like Zireael, but I can't unlock a box without a key. Foci aren't ordinary objects, but the hearts of ancient beings called Titans. They were vast magical constructs fashioned from earth, crystal and stone. As sentient and sapient as you and I, though thousands of times larger than either of us. My forebears created the foci by harvesting shards from a titan's heart and fusing it with a chosen vessel".
"Such as?"
"A stone orb. The foci was always small and light enough to be portable. It was often transported inside an iron-wood box lined with dragon webbing. Foci were placed in secret locations to absorb magical energies. After a few centuries a foci was collected and used to fuel the casting of powerful spells".
Geralt was suspicious of her knowledge. "How do you know that?"
"Because Fen'Harel gave his foci to a creature called Corypheus. A foci that I touched after Corypheus unlocked it. The resultant explosion levelled a mountain. I slipped through space and time, using the power of the Elder Blood to save myself. When I returned, the temple where I'd been was a smouldering ruin. Every soul inside it broiled alive, their corpses steaming like baked fish".
"It was a trap".
"That I got mixed up in by accident", explained Ellana. "I was supposed to die there too".
"But you didn't".
"No", she agreed. "So how much of it was because of the Hen Ichaer, destiny or this?"
Geralt frowned when she raised her left-hand. Transparent as a pane of green glass, the silver-white bones and veins visible inside. He saw her fingers curl into the bed of her palm, making a fist till light gathered there. It was as if a spark had ignited beneath the veil of her skin, swirling like a ball of fireflies. He stared when a line of green flame burned down her forearm.
"Varh'he".
Ellana grimaced as her left-hand transformed. What was once a magical prosthetic became a living limb. The glass-like shell solidifying with flesh, bone and blood under soft bronze skin. It was done in a matter of moments, the thick wad of scar-tissue at her elbow smoothing over. Erased as if she could grind away her own imperfections.
She unfurled her fingers, wiggling them to test their strength.
"So", she remarked afterwards, finding it strange to have a left-hand that matched her right. "I can make myself whole. Fen'Harel's hold upon me wasn't as strong as I'd thought. I have changed in ways I don't yet know or understand. Avallac'h will be relieved, he winced every time he had to look at what passed for my left-hand".
The witcher whistled in appreciation. "Is it real or another glamour?"
She smiled, soft and sad. "I've grown tired of wearing a mask. I needn't be ashamed of who and what I am. This world mightn't understand, but I have the power and skill enough to defend myself if necessary. Even against the likes of Fen'Harel".
Geralt recognised that tone of voice. "You're going after him".
She turned that newly transformed left-hand against her face. Clawed thumb and fingers wiping away the tracks of her tears. She gazed at the witcher, the slitted pupils of her eyes narrowing to black slits. That white nictating membrane slid across the ball of her eye, reminding him of how strange she'd become. This was no meek elven lass flipping her skirts in a brothel, but an agitated dragoness with a score to settle.
"He tried to kill you to get to me", she growled, voice frigid. "No one threatens my friends".
"We're friends?"
"I do have a bad habit of picking up strays".
"I'm not a stray!" hissed Geralt, taking offence. "I'm a witcher and if you're going to face this wolf-wraith again. I'm going with you".
Ellana arched a silver brow, giving him a pointed look. "I don't recall inviting you along".
"Don't care. Ciri's not here and neither is Yen, 'cause they're staying the night in Corvo Bianco. Ciri's got a bone to pick with you over Avallac'h, and you owe her an explanation about those dreams. I'm not letting you out of my sight until she's had a chance to talk to you. So if you're going anywhere than I'm going too".
Geralt folded his arms across his chest, trying to appear intimidating. He huffed, rolling his eyes when Ellana grinned from ear-to-ear. She didn't laugh to spare his dignity, though her eyes twinkled in amusement. Geralt realising his posturing had backfired, wondered if she'd disappear. He was surprised when she capitulated instead.
"Fine".
He eyed her warily. "Fine?"
"Fine", reiterated Ellana. "But Avallac'h will be upset if he wakes and finds me gone. We can't leave the laboratory, so we'll have to go out another way. I'll strengthen the wards, then prepare a pallet for you. Afterwards I'll bid you goodnight".
"What?"
"You'll understand once you're asleep".
Geralt awoke to find himself in a meadow filled with wildflowers. He stood upon a hilltop overlooking a tributary that flowed into an estuary. He was certain he'd heard the squawking of seagulls in the distance. He inhaled, nostrils flaring – smelling salt on the air. They were near enough to the sea, that he saw a ribbon of blue on the horizon.
He wondered where he was, certain that he'd fallen asleep inside Avallac'h's laboratory.
The pallet Ellana had prepared for him, a daybed of elven make with soft pillows and brocade blankets. He'd been in relative comfort, reassured that her spells would hold. The barrier she'd erected strong enough to keep out any uninvited guests. Yet somehow they'd left it behind, having ventured out into the world. Geralt was certain they hadn't used a portal, yet here he was in a strange place he didn't know.
"What is he doing here?"
He turned at the sound of that voice, recognising it with comical immediacy. That stilted arrogance overlying an intense dislike of humans, typical of an Aen Elle. He saw Avallac'h standing in a field of green, glaring at him while a butterfly perched on his shoulder. It was delicate as a piece of spun glass, fanning its white and grey paper-thin wings. Avallac'h didn't seem to mind his passenger, though he did mind finding a witcher in their midst.
"I invited him".
Geralt considered the slender she-elf with the fount of silver hair. She was of a similar height to Avallac'h, but dark in contrast to the fair Aen Elle. It was Ellana as he remembered her to be, though her choice of clothes left little to the imagination. She wore a studded corset with a high collar, the spaulders adorned with long black feathers. It was impractical, leaving a gap of bare skin at her clavicle that exposed the valley of her cleavage.
Avallac'h seeing where his cat-eyes were glued, took umbrage like a peeved cockerel. "Stop staring!"
The witcher snorted, unimpressed by his posturing. "I was looking at her corset unlike you", he told him, tone dry as desiccated bone. "That gap at her clavicle would be the perfect target for an archer. An arrow in the chest, right over the heart will kill. She should be wearing either full-plate or a cuirass with a gorget that covered her from chest to throat".
Ellana was less inclined to agree. "This outfit mirrors one worn by an old acquaintance of mine. It's meant to distract not to provide protection".
He wasn't so sure of that.
She wore leather vambraces overlaid in steel from elbow to wrist. The fingerless gloves beneath, exposing the clawed fingers of each hand. Avallac'h hadn't yet noticed the absence of her magical prosthetic. He was focused on something below her hip, though Geralt doubted it was the steel poleyns at her knee. Or the greaves upon her feet, the heels from which protruded a steel claw like that of a draconid.
"It's distracting all right", declared Geralt with a witcher's brazenness. "Your boyfriend can't stop looking at your ass".
Avallac'h turned away from the leather skirts flapping about her calves. The panels were long and cut in a practical fashion, leaving room for ease of movement. Yet it was the length of the slit to the top of her hip that fascinated him. Along with the tight black breeches underneath, laced with strips of black leather. Between the two halves of her breeches was a delectable strip of tanned thigh.
"He's allowed too", replied Ellana with a nonchalance that astonished Avallac'h. "He was grabbing two handfuls of it while we romped in bed".
Her lover was aghast, his face flushing red. "En'ca minne!"
"Geralt heard us grunting and galumphing like two hogs in a sty. You've little left to be embarrassed about. Leave him alone, ma lath. I doubt seeing a little elf-arse will distract him from what needs doing. A true witcher is a consummate professional".
Avallac'h glanced between them, aquamarine eyes widening in horror. "You let him see you like that?"
She shrugged her shoulders, black feathers rustling like leaves. "You were asleep, so I played the gracious host. It was pointless to hide my true nature behind a glamour. That medallion of his wriggles like a grub on a hook whenever he encounters magic. He would've suspected me immediately if he hadn't sniffed me out first".
That horror morphed into shock. "What?"
She tapped a clawed finger against the tip of her nose. "Their mutations provide them with an excellent sense of smell. I can shapeshift into a dragon, as a half-breed I stink like a draconid. Mayhap not as musky, but I still smell of ash and fire. The witcher knew what I was, so I didn't hide my true nature when we met".
Avallac'h was livid. "He could have killed you!"
"He had armed himself, but he wanted to talk instead of fight. So we did at length over dinner. He knows as much about me as you do, if a little more as he's quite the skilled conversationalist. I assumed as you did that he'd want my head on a pike, but he proved wiser than most men. I suppose that includes witchers as well if he didn't attack me outright".
"En'ca minne! You take too many risks!"
Ellana gazed at him, arching a silver brow in challenge. That look reminded Geralt of Ciri at her most stubborn. His daughter glowered at anyone the moment they questioned her decisions. Geralt wondered if there was something of Lara Dorren in the way they behaved. He'd never seen Avallac'h recoil like a chastised child, his shoulders hunching.
"If you can't trust my judgement. You can't trust me".
"I was merely concerned for your well being".
She beckoned Geralt with a flick of her fingers. "He stays. I have need of his tracking skills. We've a beast to find in the woods beyond this place. I'd rather be prepared than not should we come across this particular kind of monster".
Avallac'h saw how the witcher moved, seeming to follow her direction. "What do you mean?"
Geralt stopped beside her, nodding when she pointed to a trail of flattened grass. There in the dirt, amidst the crushed swards were the imprints of four-toed paws. Each with an oval pad and short curved nails. The impression was light, but the beast's passage was obvious. It'd fled south into the forest, bordering Ellana's grassy meadow.
"It's him all right".
"I thought so", she agreed.
Avallac'h not liking being ignored, puffed up like an angry bullfrog. "Who was here? En'ca minne! Speak to me! What's going on?"
"We've a wolf to hunt".
Elvish Translations: Dragon Age Universe
Nae - No.
Ma vhenan - My heart.
Venavis - Stop or cease.
Ma lath. Garas vhenas - My love. Come home.
Banal. Na solas din'an ma. Mala suledin nadas na abelas. Ghilas - Never. Your pride killed me. Now you must endure your sorrow. Leave.
Ir enasal dar'revas ma - I am glad to be free of you.
Ma nuvenin - As you wish.