Over the course of the last few days, Ciri had noted how the city had changed since the last time she had been in the Free City; for one, she was pleased to see no more witch hunters and the Eternal Fire's presence did not feel as blatant and open as it had been before, though the fire bowls still burned and believers flocked to them in search of comfort.
It didn't sit right with her, for she remembered the burnings like it was yesterday and the association between fire and the very cult that firmly gripped the city was enough to make her disavow the so-called religion entirely, but she kept her head down and chose not to fight this battle, for she knew she would lose and no amount of Witcher training nor the Elder Blood would be enough to fight off hundreds of angry, militant members of the Temple Guard.
White-robed, red-hooded priests seemed to preach from their makeshift pulpits at every street corner but Ciri walked right past them and ignored the drivel they were spewing, which she was sure was a bigger insult than a punch to the face ever could be.
That being said, Ciri might have punched any one of them if she heard disparaging remarks about Avallac'h and the priests were truly lucky that she was travelling alone through the city or all of Novigrad would have ended up learning about the wallopping she would have given the priests by the end of the day.
She had better things to do and today, Ciri had found herself at the docks.
Avallac'h had something to take care of in Glory Lane, something about picking up an order from the herbalist, but they had agreed to meet up at the Rosemary and Thyme once they were done with handling their personal business.
She was in no hurry, though, and went by the Golden Sturgeon to rest for a spell and to fill up on delicious food and quality ale.
After eating, she had plans to visit Hattori so he could give her sword much-needed repairs because she had spent the last few months repairing it using whetstones and wanted to give her beloved weapon the tender loving care it deserved, and finally get around to giving him the diagram for the new sword she had wanted made for months now.
Plus, all the good work Geralt had done to help the blacksmith drive out his competition had earned her an honorary discount on account of her being the daughter of the famous, white-haired Witcher.
She was also becoming quite famous in her own right as well and she could only hope that Voorhis would keep his so-called promise and that some conniving Nilfgaardian noblewoman would manage to capture his attention and make him too busy to concern himself with hunting her down.
After all, he was the slimey type and unlikely to keep his promise when it didn't benefit him at all.
He would likely keep pursuing her even after she had said no to his proposition but Ciri was prepared to fight him off, no longer terrified like she had been a few weeks ago when that Nilfgaardian officer posing as a farmer had first approached her with a propositional letter from Voorhis.
Enough of that, she chided herself as she walked into the Golden Sturgeon and took a seat at one of the available tables.
The tavern was relatively crowded despite it barely being an hour past noon but Ciri took that as a sign that business was good and knew it would become packed later on in the evening, when the drunks came out to play.
Seems some of them decided to get started early, Ciri observed just as she looked over by the bar and saw a patron trip over his own feet and send beer spilling everywhere. She then noticed a familiar redhead waitress make her way over to her table and smiled warmly at her as she neared.
"Ah, Ciri! Where's your charming elf friend?" Bea chirped.
"He couldn't make it this time so it's just me," Ciri explained. Charming was indeed a word she would definitely use to describe Avallac'h because, as cold as he was, his presence was enough to make all the girls in a tavern swoon but whether he was aware of that or not was another thing altogether.
Knowing Avallac'h, he flat-out didn't care, for he was too old, too bored with the world, and too jaded to be concerned about which human wench was admiring him without bothering to make an attempt at hiding what she was doing. He lived for himself, it seemed, since he had nothing else driving him forward ever since the White Frost had been defeated.
It was good to rest and explore the world, but she could tell he was secretly antsy without a purpose that didn't go beyond traveling to new places for the sake of travel.
Ciri suspected that he felt more at home at Tir ná Lia than her world but had no concrete proof besides what she already knew about him.
"Well, it's a good thing you showed up when you did or we would have missed each other."
"Why do you say that?" Ciri asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion.
"It just so happens that I'm getting married!"
"You are? Congratulations!" Ciri leapt to her feet and circled around the table so she could hug her friend.
"And that's not all: I would like you to be my bridesmaid."
"Oh, Bea… of course I will! It would be an honor!"
"Wonderful! The ceremony will be in Farcorners, out in the orchard. Feel more than free to bring someone or if you don't have anyone to accompany you, there will be plenty of charming men there," she promised with a coy smile, as if she was trying to further sweeten the deal even though Ciri had already agreed to attend.
"Thank you, Bea," Ciri said gratefully. Though she didn't say it aloud, she already had someone in mind for her plus-one and could only hope that he would be willing to come along.
No way of knowing unless I ask him.
"So how did you two meet?" Ciri asked as she reclaimed her seat. Her curiosity was too great and she wanted to know who the lucky person was that had impressed her friend enough that she had wanted to marry him.
"Ciaran and I met after an argument broke out between two customers who got into a disagreement about Gwent, of all things," Bea half-laughed, half-scoffed like she wasn't sure if she should be amused or irritated. "Broken glass was everywhere, bottles were flying back and forth, and we hid behind the bar while I tried to figure out how to stop the fighting."
"There must have been a lot of money on the line if they got into such a loud argument over Gwent of all things," Ciri laughed. Why did Bea's story sound so familiar?
"It sure seemed that way! Poor Ciaran, though… he got hit in the head with a glass bottle and I spent thirty minutes after my shift patching him up."
"Oooh, Bea, what happened next?"
"Oh, hush!" her friend scolded, quickly catching onto what she was trying to imply with her teasing. "He insisted on staying and helping clean up but I told him to go home and see a doctor in the morning."
"And did he?"
"He did, but he also came by the next morning to see how I was doing."
"Aw, how sweet!"
"After that, the damn elf started coming to see me every day after that and then it, dare I say, became a habit for him."
"He's an elf?" Ciri echoed.
"Aye, he is. Let's just say that humans never appealed to me…"
"So how long did you court?"
"Wasn't long but we clicked so well that it felt like I'd known him for years," Bea admitted, "and now we're to be married!"
"Sounds like a truly charming story!" Ciri laughed. "Congratulations, I'm so happy for you."
"Thank you! So I'll see you at the wedding?"
"Yes, definitely!"
"Okay, wonderful! Now, what will you be having?"
After she finished her meal, Ciri said goodbye to Bea and dropped off Zireael for repairs as well as the diagram for her new sword with Hattori before continuing her way down the street to Dandelion's tavern, where she found her elf companion seated at one of the tables.
"Can we talk? I'd like to ask you something."
"What is it, Zireael?"
"My friend Bea is getting married and I would rather not go by myself to the wedding. Would you like to come with me, as my plus-one?"
"To a dh'oine wedding?"
"Well, not quite. Her betrothed is an elf," Ciri explained in hopes that it might even make the slightest difference to the sage in spite of the vast difference between the Aen Elle and Aen Seidhe elves. "It's one night of drinking, dancing, and revelry. Please? Won't you come with me?"
"Very well. I will accompany you," Avallac'h agreed after pondering for a moment, which brought a smile to the witcher's face.
Her joy was short-lived, though, for Ciri quickly realized that the clothes they had been traveling in for weeks weren't suitable in the slightest - she couldn't go to the wedding looking like she'd just killed a horde of drowners in the sewers and it wasn't like Avallac'h was much better with his robes, which had seen better days - but there was a certain someone who could help them look presentable on such short notice, so all was not lost.
The tailor's workshop was a short walk outside the city gates and upon entering, they were met warmly by Elihal, who Ciri was glad to see was still alive even after everything. Of Elihal's own omission, she learned that the tailor had abandoned his business for a time when witch hunters had started going after non-humans following the disappearance of the mages.
"If you don't mind my asking, how did you survive?" Ciri couldn't help but ask out of curiosity.
"Once I heard the mages had all disappeared and the witch hunters were starting to round up non-humans, I ran for the hills and got as far away from Novigrad as I could. I returned well after the war had ended, once I was sure it was safe."
"Well, I'm glad you're still here."
"You're awfully kind. Ah, but enough about me! How may I be of service to you and your friend?"
Ciri explained what the occasion was and it didn't take Elihal long to suggest a number of different garments
displayed on the mannequins around his shop.
It took Ciri even less time to choose because the only option that appealed to her was a a ladies' doublet that had been made of the finest blue silks with cut sleeves that revealed a white, almost shimmery fabric beneath and with it, she purchased a clean pair of form-fitting trousers made from black silk because she would never wear a dress, not even if her life depended on it.
With some helpful suggestions from Elihal, Avallac'h selected a set of elegant blue robes from the tailor's newest, collection, which consisted of a high collar, loose, flowing layers, and had an abstract floral pattern that resembled swirls but was still very much the style and preference of wealthy dh'oine despite the tailor's claims that he had been inspired to make an elven-themed collection ever since he'd resumed running his business.
It was clear as day that the Aen Seidhe and Aen Elle were more different than they were similar.
And it was only later, when they were on their way to the wedding the very next day, that Avallac'h realized he'd unconsciously coordinated the color of his garb with Ciri's. His robes were a few shades darker than her doublet but they complimented each other quite nicely.
"Something the matter?" Ciri asked.
Her voice snapped Avallac'h out of his thoughts and he realized that the look on his face must have conveyed discomfort about attending the wedding, even though that couldn't be farther from the truth.
"I was not expecting there to be so many people."
"Yes, yes, you despise humans but you've agreed to come with me so what does that say about you?" the witcher teased. There was some truth in what she'd said - at least, Ciri thought so - and it took all of Avallac'h's power to not go on a long-winded explanation of how she was incorrect, mostly because it would be unbecoming of him. Instead, he said,
"I don't despise all humans."
"Oh, so there are exceptions?"
"A few, perhaps."
"Am I one of those exceptions, perchance?" Ciri inquired boldly. Avallac'h didn't answer right away but for a brief moment, she saw his lips quirk up into a slight smile, which spoke volumes about his true feelings.
"Indeed, you are, Zireael."
Ciri was, perhaps, the only exception, and there truly were no words to describe how beautiful she looked, only that Avallac'h found himself enamored with her appearance and reminded himself that he had to be aware of his actions so that he didn't stare at her too long because the witcher could be quite perceptive at times and he was so sure that she would instantly notice if he was looking at her longer than what was considered normal.
Her silver locks were pinned up in her usual hairstyle but were neatly combed compared to the messy up-do she typically wore and she had somehow managed to coordinate her attire to include her Wolf medallion around her neck and Cat medallion on her belt without making them look even slightly out of place on her, and he couldn't resist giving the witcher a compliment.
"Te glosse elaine. You look beautiful."
"You sure can be charming when you want to be," Ciri laughed bashfully. "And of course, you look quite dashing yourself."
Human revelry was exactly what he'd expected it to be - copious amounts of alcohol drinking, singing, and dancing - but any disdain he might have felt for the event and its partygoers dissipated whenever he looked over and saw a smile on Ciri's face that stretched from ear-to-ear.
"Come, we must give our blessings to Bea and her husband," she said as they crossed the field and came to stand behind other guests who had come to congratulate the couple on their marriage.
From where she stood, Ciri was able to catch her first glimpse of Ciaran, who possessed shoulder-length dark brown hair that was slicked back and left his forehead exposed, pointy ears, piercing blue eyes, and an easy smile. There was also a deep scar on his temple that fanned out like tree branches but he didn't seem embarrassed by it and wore it proudly; the scar was likely the result of the bottle that had struck him in the head, Ciri assumed.
Somehow, this was exactly how she had imagined him looking.
They'll have adorable, half-elf children, she thought with a smile, imagining their children possessing Bea's red hair and freckles and Ciaran's blue eyes and ears.
When it was finally their turn, the first thing Ciri did was hug Bea and congratulate her on her marriage.
Her dear friend looked absolutely beautiful in the white lace dress she was wearing and Ciaran looked just as dashing in the blue tunic he'd donned. They even wore matching flower crowns made from red and blue daisies, which Ciri thought was quite cute of them.
"Thank you so much, Ciri! We're so thankful for your blessings."
"Bea, you've already met my friend but this is Avallac'h." Ciri introduced him anyway because Ciaran had never met him and as Bea's friend, she thought it was only appropriate to be the middlewoman between the elves, who were strangers.
"Greetings," the elven sage said, nodding politely to Bea and Ciaran.
"Ah, yes, and you've never met Ciaran," Bea added. She smiled at her husband and said, "Ciaran, this is my friend, Ciri."
"It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise, Ciri," Ciaran agreed with a smile.
"Bea has told me a lot about you, Ciaran."
"Oh, what did she say?" Ciaran and Bea exchanged knowing looks with teasing smiles attached to them, and Ciri chuckled.
"Told me all about how you two met, how bottles were flying, how tempers were flying…"
"Not our tempers, that's for sure," Ciaran chuckled. He seemed to be as easy-going as Bea and could take a joke or some playful teasing, which was a trait she really admired in others.
"Just some Gwent-obsessed patrons who took things way too seriously," Bea laughed along with him.
"In the end, it really was for the best. You two met because of that bottle."
"I'll never forget that broken bottle," Ciaran groaned, which caused Bea to throw her head back in laughter at what was likely a happy memory… at least, it was now.
"Okay, you two go enjoy yourselves," Bea urged.
"Thanks, Bea. Enjoy your wedding," Ciri said, bidding them both farewell for the meantime before she and Avallac'h went to the tent and allowed themselves to indulge in the feast that had been set out for all of the guests in the enormous wedding tent - Ciri nibbled on a roasted chicken leg while Avallac'h had settled on a bowl of mutton stew - and then, once they finished eating, they took to walking around Farcorners in search of entertainment.
At the edge of the village, by the pond, Ciri discovered that a game had been set up, consisting of a tightrope that had pulled taut between two posts.
"This almost makes me wish I studied at the School of Cat," Ciri remarked while she watched other partygoers make an attempt at walking the tightrope, only to fail and fall right into the pond with a loud splash!
It was obvious that so many of them were already drunk, with some even attempting to cross the tightrope while holding flagons overflowing with beer, only to lose their balance and fall into the pond as soon as they set foot on it, but she doubted she would fare much better despite being perfectly sober.
"Why is that?"
"Geralt told me that the final test for Cat Witchers is to walk across a tightrope over a chasm while blindfolded. Failure resulted in death," she said, grimacing.
"You've beaten the gauntlet at Kaer Morhen, haven't you? How different can it be?"
"It's quite different and well, that's exactly the problem." Though she didn't say it outright, Ciri's tone and the look on her face said, "dearest sage, please don't say such stupid things when you clearly don't even know what you're talking about…"
There were still many hours to go before the capping at midnight and she wanted to continue looking presentable. Sure, her clothes would survive but she knew she would be wet and cold for hours afterward if she fell from the tightrope.
Still, she wasn't one to back down from a challenge, even if the outcome could potentially prove to be an embarrassing, uncomfortable one.
Once she found herself next in line to attempt the tightrope, Ciri slipped off her boots and handed them to Avallac'h for safekeeping, who she thankfully could trust, especially since it didn't look like he had much interest in joining in the festivities - he seemed perfectly content with letting her enjoy herself, though - for she knew that they would disappear if she simply left them lying around just anywhere.
The likelihood of them being stolen by an opportunistic villager who would enjoy a new-old pair of boots was high but her plus-one would ensure that her boots would go nowhere except back on her feet.
Here goes nothing…
Once she was on the tightrope, Ciri tried to steady herself by sticking her arms out and did her best to ignore the burning sensation caused by the coarse rope digging into the soles of her feet while she walked the rope. She realized it would have been a lot easier had she kept her boots on but she hadn't wanted them to become waterlogged, either, and pushed past the pain as she inched across the rope bit by bit while praying that she wouldn't fall in. Despite nearly losing her balance a few times, she eventually made it to the other side and breathed out a sigh of relief when her bare feet touched damp grass.
"Your prize, miss," the villager said, handing her a wooden flute as a reward for successfully walking over the pond. She thanked him and triumphantly walked back to Avallac'h.
"For you," Ciri said when she returned to her elven friend, holding out the flute. He gave her a peculiar look but accepted her gift anyway and thanked her for it. Then, once Ciri had put her boots back on, he followed her back to Farcorners in search of another game to play.
They quickly came across a shooting game in the orchards, which consisted of shooting apples sitting on the fence posts using a crossbow from a distance. The goal was to shoot down as many apples as possible in under ten seconds and the person who got the highest number would win a prize.
The bolts were marked with different colors - the ones in Ciri's bucket had red feathers - which cleared up any question regarding how their scores would be counted without points being given to the other players.
From where he stood on the sidelines, Avallac'h watched her aim down the sights just to ensure that they were working and when the proctor shouted "Ready… set… go!", she raised her crossbow and dispatched apple after apple, firing off bolts and reloading the crossbow at top speed and making every single shot, whereas her opponents managed to hit several apples but nowhere near as many as Ciri. Many of them were drunk, Avallac'h observed, and it was a miracle that they hadn't shot themselves or worse, Ciri.
Every apple she hit went flying off the fence posts and into the dirt, chunks flying everywhere as her crossbow bolts struck them with killer efficiency, and did so while putting her fellow competitors to shame.
Once time ran out and the scores were counted, Ciri was determined the winner and she earned herself an ornate dragonfly figurine carved from wood as her prize.
"It's quite pretty, isn't it?" she asked Avallac'h as she showed him what she had won.
"Indeed, Zireael. You're quite a force to be reckoned with."
"Of course I am!"
The game had almost been too easy but then again, she was a witcher. Of course she was going to be as adept with a crossbow as she was with her sword. These ordinary dh'oine had nothing on her.
"Hey, what's that over there?" Ciri said as she pointed out towards the fields, where she noticed a few wedding guests tossing balls of some kind at a target on the ground.
When they neared, they realized that the balls were actually bean bags and they were meant for playing cornhole. They found a board that was unoccupied, which prompted Ciri to scoop up the bean bags into her arms like a dragon hoarding gold. Avallac'h agreed to play at her urging, took the green bean bags and left the red ones to her, and came to stand next to Ciri behind the designated line that had been drawn in the dirt.
At first, they played the game by the rules but quickly got bored and decided to challenge each other to see who could throw the bean bags from the farthest distance, with the goal being to hit the tree at the fringes of the orchard or even farther.
It went about as well as expected, for when Ciri's turn came to make her throw, she accidentally smacked herself in the face with her bean bag when a particularly belligerent wasp buzzed around her face, causing her to fall to the dirt with a loud shriek that could easily compete with a banshee before it finally decided to leave her alone… after being shooed away by Avallac'h, of course.
"The mighty witcher fears a mere wasp?" Avallac'h teased as he held out his hand for her to take so he could help her to her feet. In true Ciri fashion, she refused his hand and climbed to her feet on her own, crossed her arms, and pouted.
"Come now, Zireael," he soothed. He brushed his palm over her clothes, dusting off the dirt, and locked eyes with her. Her emerald eyes challenged him to say something even more inflammatory than he already had but Avallac'h knew exactly how to navigate himself around her, for he said, "let us resume our game."
"Fine," she agreed.
Her lips quirked up into a competitive grin and they went back to tossing bean bags as if she hadn't been accosted by a frightening, buzzing insect, not even bothering to continue scoring points on the cornhole as they made an entire competition out of who could throw the bean bags the farthest distance and once their arms got tired, they collected the bean bags and returned them to the cornhole so that other guests who came by could play.
Having abandoned their game, Ciri and Avallac'h returned to the village where most of the wedding guests had congregated, and it took no time at all for Ciri to discover a new game that she hadn't participated in yet.
"How about a game of gwent?" she called as she approached a table in the clearing where two humans and an elf sat with cards in front of them.
Upon hearing them agree to her challenge, she sat down and pulled out her own deck before proceeding to wipe the floor with her opponents one by one and wound up collecting a considerable amount of coin after only two rounds. After her third round, Ciri ended up losing the money she had bet on and received a pair of rabbit ears as her "prize", which looked so silly on her that Avallac'h couldn't help but smile to himself.
"What's so funny?" Ciri demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest and pretended to glower at the elven sage, though her forced-serious demeanor was broken by the smile that stretched across her lips a few moments later.
"Oh, nothing," he couldn't resist teasing.
"Hey, what's that over there?"
"What?" While the elven sage was distracted, Ciri managed to sneak up behind him and placed the rabbit ears on Avallac'h's head before running off towards the tent with a laugh.
He managed to catch up to her with ease and after setting the ears down on a nearby table, Avallac'h approached Ciri when she beckoned him over, where they bowed and curtsied to each other just as another song began. Their hands met as they stepped towards each other and separated as they stepped back into their original spots, which brought Avallac'h back to the time they'd danced in Night City underneath thousands of tiny purple, pink, and blue fluorescent lights.
He remembered dancing with Ciri in hopes of lifting her spirits because life in Night City had been a difficult grind, consisting of endless work in a world that was so different from their own… just to keep themselves afloat while they hid from Eredin.
She had smiled just as brightly as she was now, laughing happily as they looped arms and skipped around and around until they were so dizzy that they had to take a moment to pause and catch their breath.
It felt just like that night dancing in that neon club, where he could clearly remember the first time Ciri had smiled in weeks as if it was yesterday but also found himself treasuring the smile currently plastered on the swallow's face.
"Do you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"When we danced in that club?"
"I do." Ciri smiled. She remembered all of the flashing lights, the heat from so many bodies pressed up together in an enclosed space, the pulsating music which was unlike anything she'd ever heard before and had made every cell in her body feel as if it were vibrating.
"Almost makes me wish we were back there."
"Well, what would you say to another dance?" Avallac'h said as he held out his hand to her, which Ciri accepted without hesitation.
Her heart skipped as their fingers waffled together and bodies came to press up against one another, her chest meeting his as lively, fast-paced music started up. Ciri and Avallac'h hopped and skipped as they danced in circles around the dance floor and the witcher found herself laughing so much that she grew more and more lightheaded with every passing second until the song finally ended and she was able to lean her head against the elf's shoulder, giggling breathily in between gasps. Avallac'h let her stay that close for as long as she wanted, until she finally caught her breath and asked for yet another dance, to which he obliged.
Ciri was having so much fun that she didn't notice time passing quickly and before she knew it, it was midnight, which was announced by Novigrad's bell tower as it rang twelve times in the distance, and time for the capping ceremony.
She quickly found her place between the other bridesmaids, all of whom had encircled Bea where she sat on a chair in the center of the dance floor, and happened to look over towards the stage just as a man stepped forward on the stage and called out,
"The midnight chime has struck, the capping time's a-come! What thoughts in young hearts prance, what dreams make young blood run?"
The flower crown on Bea's head was removed from her head and placed in her lap by her maid of honor before being replaced by a lace cap and then the bridesmaids began to dance around the bride and all of the guests began to chant,
"Be they nice, be they vice, of jesterly or lordly stance, out they'll come in this hour's dance! Toast the lovely couple, then give 'em a few weeks, and we'll toast their lovely bairn with its pale and puffy cheeks!"
As she circled behind Bea, Ciri happened to glance over at Ciaran and her heart skipped when she saw how intensely his eyes sparkled with love and adoration for his bride. His eyes alone could have lit up the room and somehow, that comforted Ciri because at least she had the assurance that Bea would live a happy life with the elf she'd met during a bar fight on that fateful night.
"Don't you mind our song, we don't sing to be unkind! We sing so we can empty yet another stein! Bride's sworn love eternal, bridegroom best beware, or she'll make you a cuckold in the comin' year. What's the groom a-thinkin', a storm upon his brow. Must be second guessin', if he'll get that cow!"
"Garland, garland, garland!" the other girls in the circle chanted while they clapped their hands.
Their dance resumed and then, as the last verse was sung - "You'll get the cow, lad, the bull, the calf, the hay. So drink and be merry, tis your wedding day-o!" - Bea tossed the garland up into the air and in the commotion of all the bridesmaids trying to grab it, it landed on Ciri's head, much to the witcher's shock.
"As hallowed tradition holds, whoever caught the garland shall be next to wed!" a woman crowed.
Ciri's cheeks burned - was she really the next to be married? - and her lips turned upward into a broad smile that made her cheeks hurt.
It suddenly felt as if she'd run a marathon and it was only when her eyes met with Avallac'h's across the room did her pounding heart start to calm down. She flashed him a smile and felt her heart skip a beat in her chest when he smiled at her in return, if only for a brief moment, before he looked away, as if he was unable to hold her gaze for longer than a few seconds.
But for that brief moment, his smile meant the world to her.