Epilogue: White Orchard — (Empress Ending)

Geralt clenched the worn scabbard in his fist, a final token and memento from his surprise child. Without a second glance, Ciri strode across the snow crusted field towards the awaiting Nilfgaardian escort. In fact, Morvhan Voorhis himself road with the escort, and the commander stood near a beautiful white mare, waiting as Ciri approached him.

Yennefer emerged from the White Orchard Inn, her expression one of confusion at the gathered Nilgaardian soldiers, all of whom ignored her as if she were a common peasant. She said nothing, his never-shy sorceress, but instead watched, her jaw clenched to bite back a call of alarm as Ciri mounted the white mare.

Geralt crossed the field and paused on edge of the main road, standing opposite the entrance gate for the inn. He observed Yennefer, closely.

The sorceress remained stoic, despite the entourage and excitement. The gathered peasantry bowed low, kneeling in the cold, late-winter muck and snow. Some murmured and whispered amongst themselves, obviously unaware until that moment who exactly Ciri was. Yennefer took two bold steps forward, her gaze never leaving her adopted daughter, as if to will the young woman to turn, to acknowledge, to lock eyes just once more, even if a true farewell was not to happen.

Ciri did not look back.

Crushed, Yennefer ducked her head, her lips parted as her absent gaze fixed on the rotted fence post nearby. The witcher waited as two mounted and armored soldiers passed, kicking up mud and water in their wake. With the path clear, he crossed the main road and stepped up beside the sorceress.

Controlled, she lifted her chin, watching the retreating escort. "Geralt, did you know?"

"No," he said simply and shook her head. "But she said that this is her decision. Nobody forced her."

She nodded, searching the witcher's eyes. "We should ready to ride south."

"She doesn't want us to follow her," Geralt said.

"She said that?"

Geralt hummed. "Mm hmm. She said that she wants to make a difference, and she spent this winter thinking about it. I suppose the path wasn't a way to make a difference in her eyes."

"A witcher can make a difference to a village," Yennefer said. "They could be the bulwark between survival and extermination. Do not sell yourself or your services short."

"Hmmf, yeah. But I think Ciri was thinking beyond the village by village situation."

"Perhaps," Yennefer agreed and she tilted her head as she searched his eyes. "Regarding your last conversation with her. May I?"

Surprised, Geralt questioned. "You're actually asking?"

"I was going to do it anyway," she answered. "Think of it more as a courtesy."

Geralt grumbled, but more to tease than to protest. Instead of focusing solely on that last conversation, he thought about the last month they spent with Ciri, as a family. He thought about the two witcher contracts their young ward had accepted, only telling Geralt of the one for a grave hag and conveniently leaving out the details about the one for three foglets.

He and Ciri had easily bested the grave hag, and later that evening while he and his surprise child shared a drink near the hearth at the inn, she had presented him with the expertly tied trophies for those foglets and the corresponding coin purse reward. With excitement, she then regaled him with a detailed account of her adventure, and how she bested the foglets with the help of an oil she had learned from Vesemir.

He had been impressed that she managed to beat them so easily, for as a witcher, he often relied on the Yrden sign to draw foglets from their fog. But as Ciri could easily shift between the planes of time, she had no need for such simple spells. She was, herself, the living embodiment of magic, and therefore, witcher signs. Even if she never could control it.

Yennefer smiled softly at the memory. "You did not tell me about this. She was so proud."

"You were in Vizima for a few days. I thought she would have told you when you got back."

"She did not," Yennefer replied. "It is almost as if she thinks I would disapprove."

"Hmmf, can't imagine why she'd think that. It's always so easy to earn your praise."

"True, I am not easy to please," the magician said. "But I would not say that I disapprove of witchers or their contracts. After all, I do love you."

Geralt nodded, and he stood a little taller at the easy utterance of affection from his beloved sorceress. "Maybe, but I might be the exception. You're not exactly on good terms with Eskell or Lambert. And Vesemir, well, you two often butt heads on those few occasions you crossed paths. After that, didn't know you knew any other witchers."

"Only a few,," Yennefer said, "And you're not wrong. But I have been nothing but supportive of Ciri for as long as I have known her." Sighing, she shook her head. "No matter."

He knew that she searched his mind for more, and so thought about the last hour with Ciri in White Orchard. He thought about their hunt, about their walk, and about their quest to fish; those same perch still hung from a trophy rope at his waist, waiting to be cleaned for the evening meal, and until the very moment, forgotten.

Reaching to his side, the witcher lifted the rope hanging from his belt to ensure all four fish were still present. "I suppose it's just dinner for four tonight," he said, casually.

He finally recalled the last conversation with Ciri before she mounted that white mare, and before he could censor his thoughts, he remembered the harsh and almost accusatory tone the ashen-haired witcheress used regarding Yennefer and her interference.

Yennefer recoiled as if physically struck and averted her eyes from the witcher's far too perceptive gaze.

"Yen," he called softly as she stepped back from him. "I don't think she meant it as harshly as it sounded. And let's face it, in the past, you've had a habit of meddling in politics. You've told us that you're done with all that, but I can't blame Ciri for thinking you'd break your pledge if you knew she'd be going back to Emhyr."

"Have I given any indication that I wished to return to the politics and plots of the world?"

"No," Geralt answered. "But I wouldn't be surprised if you made an exception if it concerned Ciri. I'm sure she felt the same."

"Only if she asked," she said. As the sorceress retreated back to the inn, the witcher followed her. Meandering through the crowd, they made their way down a narrow corridor to one of the three private rooms of the establishment. Closets really, with nothing more than a bed, a trunk, and a small table. Small, but cozy by his standards. Likely not spacious enough for Yennefer's liking, but she didn't complain. He always enjoyed any place that had a warm bed and minimal draft. It was a nice reprieve from the chill, damp sleeping conditions on the path.

"Nilfgaardian soldiers entered the inn soon after you and Ciri went on your walk," Yennefer said, and pressed on the closed wooden door that was Ciri's room during the last winter. Inside, the room was empty of Ciri's few belongings. Instead, it appeared unused, as if scrubbed clean of any evidence that she had been there.

With a heavy sigh, Yennefer closed the door and continued down the hallway into their rented room. She sat in one of the chairs at the small table near the door. Scattered across the table were Gwent cards: one deck, the Nilfgaardian Empire and the other deck, Monsters. Tenderly, the sorceress ran her fingers across the Monsters deck — Ciri's preferred deck.

Smiling, Geralt rested Ciri's sword atop the chest at the foot of their narrow bed and sat in the chair opposite Yennefer. He turned over one of the cards from the Nilfgaardian deck. "I'm surprised to see the cards out. I thought you hated Gwent."

"I do," Yennefer said, softly. "Ciri insisted that I would enjoy it if only I learned the nuances of it. What she failed to see is that I do understand the rules of the game, I simply find it incredibly dull. Personally, I'm a fan of dice poker as my gambling vice of choice."

Chuckling, Geralt turned over another card. "I enjoy dice, too. Think I still have my set in my saddle bags. So you hate Gwent, but you never said no to her when she asked you to play."

"Of course not," she replied. "She enjoys it so much. I'm quite certain that's your fault."

"It is," Geralt admitted, amused and turned over another card — this time, it was Yennefer's card. "Do you know how long it took me to find this card? Once I knew that innkeeper had it, I didn't rest."

"Why?" Yennefer asked, incredulous. "It's just a card for a silly game."

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "But it's you."

She visibly warmed at the simply stated answered.

Geralt, blind to the small shift in Yennefer's demeanor, continued, "And a medic card. Those can be really useful."

The sorceress rolled her eyes; the fleeting, romantic moment passed. "I must say that I am disappointed in how the creator of this game views the relative power of the sorceresses. Ciri showed me a few of the other cards, and I heartily disagree with most of them."

The witcher chuckled, continuing to flip through the deck until he overturned Fringillas's card. He placed it next to Yennefer's card and fished Triss's corresponding card out from the discard pile. "I don't know. These numbers can't be that exaggerated, especially when you take into account their special abilities."

Unimpressed, Yennefer's lip curled. "Card abilities discounted, the strength ratings are laughable when compared to each sorceress's actual power."

"Seem to be taking this personally," he commented, amused.

"Hardly."

Geralt hummed, nodding. "Ciri is jealous, you know. She wanted my Yennefer card badly. I even wagered it in one of our games last week, but she couldn't quite beat me."

"I suppose she will have little time for such games now with Emhyr," Yennefer commented. "They took everything from her room, but she did not tell them about the Gwent deck."

Geralt gathered the Nilfgaardian deck, and then the Monster deck. "We'll send it to her. I have a full Scoia'tael deck as a spare. If we are to run away together, I'm going to expect us to play. I'll need my thirst quenched."

The magician smirked, her legs crossed as she regarded the witcher with amusement. "There are other ways I can quench your thirst, Witcher, the least of which involves a game of cards."

"Mmm. Is that a proposition?" The witcher tugged off his left gauntlet and set it on the table.

"Later, perhaps," Yennefer teased.

Removing his right gauntlet, he grunted. "Hmmf, fine."

Frowning, Yen gestured towards the sword on the trunk with a slight nod of the head. "Is that Ciri's sword?"

"Yeah," Geralt answered, leaning forward in the chair to rest his elbows on his knees. "She handed it to me before she walked away." Sighing, he shook his head. "I commissioned a silver sword for her."

"You did? When was that?"

"From Hattori, in Novigrad before we came south for winter," he answered. "I got a letter last week that he was almost finished, and that it should be ready by the end of the month. I was going to ride north to get it, and then surprise her after our next contract."

Snarling, the witcher pushed to his feet, stalking away from the table to pick up the scabbard. He turned the worn leather over in his hand. "Guess she won't be needing it now."

"Not true," Yennefer said, and she slipped up behind him, resting a calming hand on his back. "It would be a wonderful gift to send her. And one never knows when the city would be invaded by bruxa."

"I suppose so," Geralt replied with a small smirk. "She could handle it."

"Of course she could," Yennefer said. "She learned from the best."

"Yeah," the witcher said. "You."

"Flatterer," Yennefer said, coyly.

"It's true," Geralt continued. "She adores you. There was so much she learned from you. My lessons were … hmm, limited."

Circling the witcher, she slid her hand along his bicep and gripped his forearm. "I can think of many words I would use to describe you and limited is not one of them. Ciri adores you, as well." She reverently touched the sheathed sword in his hands. The scabbard pulsed with magic, and the sorceress frowned, holding her palm over the scabbard. "Do you feel that, Geralt?"

Suspicious, Geralt answered. "Yeah, now. My medallion is humming. What are you doing? I didn't feel it until you tried to touch it."

"I'm not doing anything," the magician said, and her brow pinched as she examined the scabbard carefully. "Give me the sword."

Geralt obliged.

Yennefer examined the scabbard, carefully drawing the steel sword from its sheath. The sword was a perfectly ordinary, well-crafted steel sword. She studied both objects a long moment, and then finally set the sword on the edge of the bed. Caressing the scabbard, she chanted softly. It was a spell that Geralt had not heard her utter before.

Peering inside, Yennefer finished the incantation, flicking her fingers to summon a tiny ball of blue light which pierced into the scabbard as if she were sheathing it. At the tip was a concentration of magic pulsing around a small key.

"Geralt, it's a key!" the magician exclaimed. Carefully, she cast a second spell, her fingers curled and froze in an awkward and angled position.

His wolven medallion continued to vibrate and then intensified with Yennefer's spell. Soon, everything stilled, and the sorceress tipped the scabbard and poured the key into her hand. It was small, as if for a locket box.

Geralt grumbled. "What's that key for?"

"I have no clue," Yennefer said, simply. "It looks like it could be for a lock box, or perhaps a small trunk." All sarcasm was absent from her tone, a rare occasion.

"The magic activated when you touched the sword," Geralt said. "She wanted you to find it. I never would have known it was there. Sure as hell wouldn't have been able to dislodge it."

Yennefer enclosed her fist around the key and marched from their shared room. Shoving the door open to Ciri's abandoned room, she stepped inside. "Can you see anything, Geralt, some place she may have hidden something?"

Geralt grumbled, and his brow narrowed as he carefully scanned the room. Combing over every inch of the room, he examined it for clues.

Near the bedside, he touched a single strand of ashen hair. "Hair. Looks like Ciri's."

Slowly, he wandered around the perimeter of the room. Lifting the lid to the trunk at the foot of the bed, he peered inside. He sniffed. "Musty, but nothing of interest here."

Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back into a hip as she watched him. "Do you normally talk to yourself while you utilize your senses during an investigation."

"Helps me think," Geralt replied and crouched to touch a damp spot on the wooden floor. He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed. "Ale, a bit rancid, but still fresh. Probably within the last couple of days. Maybe Ciri spilled it."

Yennefer sighed. "Geralt, none of this is leading me to a lock box or something that this key might fit."

"You asked me to search the room," Geralt said. "That's what I'm doing."

A single book was on the floor partially tucked under the bed. He crouched down and touched the dyed vellum. "Hmm, Kovir and Poviss. Yen, have you been in contact with Triss lately?"

"No, why?"

The witcher tossed the book onto the bed, then ducked lower to look beneath it. "Looks like Ciri was reading up on it. Isn't that where Triss went?"

"It is. Likely Ciri was educating herself about the neutral northern kingdom. It would be on the edge of what could one day be her domain."

His only response was a terse nod. On the floor near the headboard of the bed, he touched the scratches in the wood. "Scratches. Hard to tell if they're new or not."

Yennefer stepped further into the room, observing the small landscape painting on the wall. The paint was cracked, faded, and in one corner, crumbling. "Scratches on the floor? Well, Darling, I'm quite sure that we've added some scratches of our own. Something like that shouldn't be unusual."

"Not in this direction," Geralt answered and pushed the bed towards the door. Exposing parts of the floor, he ran his hands over the long planks, and finally paused over one that had two new markings, as if a knife had scored the edges. "Here."

Yennefer turned at his call, watching as the witcher drew his trophy knife, wedged the blade between the slats of the wood and carefully pried the plank loose. The wood did not resist; it had already been loosened.

He removed a small lock box from the hiding place and handed it to the sorceress; Yennefer, with eyes widened from excitement, took the offered box and set it on the bed. Fitting the key to the keyhole, she opened it.

A single piece of parchment was inside, folded in half. When Yennefer opened the page, it was blank. Geralt scowled. "Who goes through the trouble of locking up a piece of blank parchment?"

The sorceress ignored the question, instead tracing a strange pattern over the paper. She uttered another spell, the words crackling in the air.

A faint blue light emanated from her hand, her fingers curled in a specific fashion, their placement exact. She read, her eyes darting from one side of the page to the other. Occasionally, the parchment sparkled, like fine glass in the sand on a beach reflecting the sun, and at times, the witcher thought he saw strange runes on the page. Yennefer read silently:

Lady Yennefer,

If you are reading this, I am already gone. And if not, I ask that you at least read to the end before taking action. You made me promise once to be sincere with you and to never lie. Everything I write to you now is with deepest, thoughtful sincerity.

This last winter, I have spent many hours in reflection. Where is it that I will make the greatest difference? What do I wish to do with my life? Where can I benefit others the most and use everything you and Geralt have taught me? My conclusion is in Emhyr's court, and to take my rightful place as heir to the Nilfgaardian throne.

I know that intrigue and corruption frequent the courts, and I must learn to navigate cautiously and tactfully. I am more comfortable with directness, as you know, and I am certain that I will make many mistakes in the coming months. But then I need only to remember you, and everything you have taught me.

I am sorry for not telling you of my plans before my departure, but you see, I have very good and sound reasonings for my silence.

Philippa Eilhart is already in Nilfgaard, and I worry that she will continue to conspire to resurrect the Lodge of Sorceresses. She is ruthless, cunning, and quite possibly, an adversary. Emhyr will not be patient nor understanding, and at the slightest misstep, I have no doubt that he will hunt down and imprison every mage in the city, quite possibly the kingdom. He will not take lightly any transgression or attempt to undermine his authority.

I remember a time long ago when you once told me to run, to leave you. I felt betrayed then, abandoned, and enraged that again, I had lost everything that was important to me. You were my only family. All I had was you and Geralt. And you were leaving me, so I felt, after promising that we would be together.

I was wrong. I understand, now, the sacrifice you made then to protect me. I love you, and so, I ask you now what you then ordered of me with that same love. Run. I have lost you and Geralt before, and cannot bear the thought of losing you again. Either of you Even if the consequence is that we are to part for some time.

Perhaps I am mistaken in reading this climate, but I will not take that risk with you or with Geralt. We both know that he would not sit back were Emhyr to come for you with shackles. One day, hopefully, this will pass, and we can speak more freely to each other. But that day is not now.

I am doing this for your own good. A phrase you had uttered many times to me, and I hated you for it each time. It never felt that your actions were for my good. All I wanted was to live with you, to stay with you, and that we would be together. You and I. Yet that never happened. As soon as we found each other again, something separated us, perhaps by choice or fate. I had a lot of time to think on that matter, the years that you and Geralt were gone.

But I understand now. I understand what it took for you to put aside everything you wanted in order to do what needed to be done.

You had told me once that you listen to every word uttered in your presence. I will do the same. I will listen to the advisors, to my father, and to anyone who would speak. I will always retain the upper hand. You have taught me so much, and I will make you proud.

I do not know if I am ready for this task that awaits me, though I am not afraid. I will stumble, and I will fall, but I will always rise, to act, to fight. If this is to be my destiny, then I shall seize it, and make it my own.

I have struggled so long with finding my place. Who am I? Well, I may be known by many names, and I will be called many others in the years to come: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, a Child of Surprise, the Lion Cub of Cintra, Zireael, the Lady of Time and Space, and perhaps one day, Empress. They are all wrong, for I know who I am. I am Cirilla of Vengerberg, Daughter of Yennefer.

Your Ciri

Geralt was not quite sure what could be on the paper, as the parchment contained what appeared to be a splattering of bizarre characters. Perhaps it was some sort of spell, or note. Though he did not understand it, the enchantress obviously did. And the witcher witnessed something else, something that happened so rarely, Geralt recalled the time quite clearly. The sorceress Yennefer cried.

Note: Thanks for the views and reviews. There will be more chapters, I am simply posting them as they are finished. Hope you enjoy!