So this is kind of the Exposition Chapter, and I'm sorry about that, but there's a lot to be explained. I tried my best to do it in context, so hopefully it worked out. There's not much else to say, so hope you enjoy! –Bel
A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part One: Longing/Regret
Chapter Two: Take It In (Don't Hold Your Breath)
Oxenfurt seemed livelier every time he visited it, though he suspected that was largely due to the fact that he spent most of his time alone, or at Kaer Morhen. Any place with more than a few people in it felt crowded to him. He had a special hatred for large cities, though—the mass of bodies, all the sounds and smells, were hell on his enhanced senses. Dandelion told him every chance he got that he thought Geralt would probably settle in a big city for good, and while he couldn't deny they were excellent places to pick up contracts, he couldn't see himself being happy in a place like this.
Ciri had clearly picked up on his discomfort, because she led him around the outskirts of the city to a small tavern called the Alchemist. Aside from them, there were only a few other patrons, and the man at the bar waved happily to Ciri when they entered, almost as if he knew her.
"You come here often?" Geralt asked as they sat down at a table by the windows. The shutters were closed, but light still seeped through them, even though the sun was beginning to set.
Ciri nodded. She picked up a menu from the rack on the side of the table and flipped it open. "We stay here sometimes when we're travelling. He's got rooms upstairs. It's better than sleeping in an RV, anyway."
"Right. With your…band." When she'd explained to him on the walk over, he wasn't sure if he'd heard her right. He still wasn't sure. For the past few years he'd tried not to think too hard about what she was doing—as long as she was safe, he wouldn't press too much, especially since she'd done nothing but insist she could take care of herself. But I joined up with a bunch of vagabonds and we formed a punk band was very low on the list of the things he thought would come out of her mouth when he asked what she'd been up to.
She rolled her eyes as the waiter came by and they both ordered very large burgers. "Yes, with my band. Why do you find that so hard to believe?"
"First of all, the last time I saw you, you didn't know how to play any instruments."
"I was twelve the last time you saw me, if I remember correctly. And I can play three now, thank you very much."
"That is the least of my confusion over this."
Ciri sighed loudly. Anyone watching would think she was genuinely annoyed, but he knew better. He could tell she was happy to see him, and besides, she'd always skewed towards the dramatic. "What's confusing you, then?"
"How you ended up on the road in the first place." Why you ran away from Aretuza. It hung in the air and though he didn't dare say it out loud, it was clear she knew what he meant. "You don't have to be afraid to tell me—"
"I'm not!" she exclaimed indignantly. Their food arrived and she gladly took advantage of the opportunity to delay the conversation. She took her time eating, and didn't start to answer until Geralt had nearly decided to drop the whole thing altogether. "It's just…I don't want to be a sorceress. I know," she hurried on as he opened his mouth to reply, "that you were never trying to pressure me into anything like that. Nobody was, actually. But I could feel it—everyone assumed that's what I would do. Go to Aretuza, graduate in a decade or so with a final project as good as my heritage. Yennefer would sponsor me. Triss, maybe, if they wanted a nice straight line. A nice, straight, nepotistic line." She rolled her eyes as she pushed her plate away. "But that was never my plan. You only sent me away so I could learn how to control…it. I can do that now. Actually, I can't even feel it anymore. I don't need anything else."
He nodded. There wasn't much else to say; he understood the reasoning behind her actions. Still… "There were ways to get out of it without worrying us so much."
He wasn't sure which 'us' he was talking about. The witchers at Kaer Morhen? The lecturers at Aretuza? Him and Yennefer of Vengerberg, whom he'd spoken to approximately once on the phone and had never seen in person? That thought made him rethink his last comment—he'd made his fair share of poorly-thought-out decisions, though he'd been backed into a corner on that one. "I know that, too." She looked back at him, seeming truly apologetic. "But…I was only fourteen, Geralt. At the time, it didn't feel like I had many options."
This was the part of being her guardian he had never been very good at. In fact, he'd never been good with emotions at all—they'd been stripped from him years ago, and his capacity to feel was extremely limited. He cared for her, that was true, but it was cold comfort.
"Wasn't trying to accuse you of anything, or make you feel bad. But…next time you want to do something like that, a heads-up would be appreciated."
She smiled widely and squeezed his hand over the table. "Of course."
After that she changed the subject for a while, very quickly and without explanation. She asked Geralt everything she could think of about his past few years on the Path. He answered as thoroughly as he could, and though she seemed satisfied, there was still an air of wistfulness about her. When he'd first taken her in, nearly ten years ago, she was insistent on becoming a witcher. For all he knew, that was still what she wanted. But as she got older and her magical abilities grew stronger and more unpredictable, controlling them became their top priority.
He had initially wanted her to train with Triss. They'd known each other for a few years after meeting through a mutual friend, and she'd become fairly close to Ciri as well, almost like a sister. She was young, true, but Geralt had trusted that she'd be a good teacher, and Ciri would listen to her. But when an offer to train as an advisor on Foltest's royal council arrived on her doorstep—an offer she would've been hard-pressed to refuse—they were forced to alter their plans. It was too dangerous to wait any longer, so just before Ciri's thirteenth birthday, they sent her to Ellander to stay at Melitile's temple with Yennefer, who had been highly recommended by Triss (though judging by what Ciri had said on the phone, he had to wonder how much of a biased decision it had been).
They'd corresponded a few times over email, always very professionally, always about Ciri. He knew almost nothing about her besides what Triss had said, and her qualifications had been impressive enough. He knew now that Ciri loved her, considered her a mother, and that was enough for him. As far as the plans to take her to Aretuza, he'd been in the dark until he got the call that she'd run off. It was the only time he'd heard her voice, the only time the stark wall of cordiality between them had been breached.
They searched for her independently for about a month before she got in contact with them both via payphone to let them know she was okay. She hadn't given many details about where she was—not to Geralt, at least—and at the time he'd been too relieved to press for them. He'd never exactly been good at being strict; he always left that to the others, no matter how much they teased him for it. As long as she was safe and happy, he could deal with being somewhat in the dark.
They spoke as frequently as possible, considering his long stretches of time on the Path, and up until a couple of years ago, when she'd dropped off the radar almost completely, he'd invite her to visit Kaer Morhen in the winter and stay for a month or so. She always refused, which meant he hadn't seen her in person for seven years. Even after all that time, it had still felt off to not have her wandering around the keep—but she was here now, in front of him, the only thing that felt real on this otherwise incredibly odd day.
"You still haven't told me exactly what you're doing here," he pointed out as they paid and started to walk back in the direction of the apartment complex. Ciri grew quiet, and the setting sun slanting through the buildings illuminated the sudden tension in her face, the lines that had formed between her eyebrows. She looked as though she was trying very hard not to cry. Geralt immediately regretted asking.
"We were supposed," she began, softly and hollowly, "to be working with Dandelion. He got in contact and offered to help us record some things. Get out name out there. We were broke, so of course we took him up on it." She had slowed down considerably, and Geralt did his best to keep pace with her, match her shorter strides. "Then, a few months ago….we were driving through Aedirn. We'd been all over for a while, you know, trying to drum up some popularity. Or make enough to eat, at least. And a semi hit us head-on. Didn't look where it was going, I suppose, or maybe we didn't look." She stopped, leaned heavily against the side of a building. "At any rate, I was the only one who made it out."
Her arms were crossed, and she gripped her elbows tightly. Without thinking, Geralt put his arms around her, pulling her closely to him. He felt her shudder against his shirt, holding back tears. "I'm sorry, Ciri," he whispered.
"It's alright," she sniffed, rubbing her eyes as she stepped back. Her knuckles came away black with eyeliner, though the makeup still on her face looked undisturbed. "There wasn't exactly a lot you could've done." The laugh that escaped as she started walking again, just a little faster than him so she wouldn't have to meet his gaze, was brittle. "It's funny, isn't it? I was going to be a witcher. I wanted to protect people. But I couldn't protect them in the end."
Her voice was cracking, and all he could feel was remorse. He hadn't wanted her to be a witcher. He'd only begun training her in the first place because it was the only thing he knew how to do. But as he grew fonder of her, so too did he become more unsure about his choice. Sending her to Yennefer had seemed the best thing—she had the innate ability and besides, a mage's life couldn't possibly be any more dangerous than a witcher's. But if it had led to this…
"You shouldn't blame yourself," he said, completely at a loss.
"That's what everyone's been telling me," she replied sourly. "But given the circumstances, it's kind of hard not to."
She sounded very much like she didn't want to talk about it anymore, so he didn't push her. But there was still one thing confusing him. "You still ended up here, though. How?"
This time, when she chuckled, there was a little mirth in it. "I spent a month or so in the hospital. Got a lot of injuries, including this, from glass." She gestured to the scar dividing the left side of her face. "Couldn't really talk—couldn't talk at all, in fact, and my phone was shattered. So I wrote to Aedd Gynvael. I didn't know where exactly either of you were, so I figured my best bet would be to make sure Yennefer's stupid fiancé got it. She came down when they discharged me, and I stayed with her in Vengerberg for maybe another month. But…" She swallowed thickly. "I didn't have anywhere else to go. I hadn't made any contingency plans. But the Academy had been trying to get their hands on her for years. So she called Oxenfurt, accepted their offer conditionally, and arranged for me to move in with Triss."
"You realize that raises more questions than it answers."
"Like what?" she huffed. "I've told you the whole story."
Perhaps it felt that way to her, but he still knew almost nothing about the past few years, except that she'd contacted Yennefer far more often than him. The idea made him oddly jealous. "Like a lot of things. That scar, for instance." Her hand flew to her face, feeling along its ragged edges. "You say you got it a few months ago, but it looks like you've had it for years."
"Because it is only a few months old. Philippa's been giving me creams and such for it. I don't know what she puts in them but they're quite good, actually. She does it for—wait, I probably shouldn't tell you that. It's none of your business."
"Thought you said you weren't friends with Philippa Eilhart." Despite that, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the concept of them being around each other in any capacity. He'd only met her a handful of times before that day, mostly in Dijkstra's company, but she wasn't the easiest to get along with, that much had been immediately evident.
Ciri scoffed. Above them, the sun lengthened their shadows. "I'm not. If I had my way I wouldn't be around her at all. But she sponsored Yennefer. From what I can tell they're fairly close, actually. They weren't supposed to be, but something happened right before she graduated, or so Triss says. Anyway, I'm kind of stuck with her." She shrugged as they passed the row of hedges that surrounded the apartment complex. "It's funny. If you knew them individually, you'd think they would hate each other. There are probably a million universes where they do. But we live in this one."
The more she talked, the less sure he became that Yennefer of Vengerberg was a person he actually wanted to meet. "Based on what you said earlier, I'm not sure Yennefer has the best judgement when it comes to choosing friends." Though, taking Dandelion into account, he might be a bit hypocritical.
"What, are you talking about Istredd?" He looked over just in time to catch her rolling her eyes again. "He's not actually an idiot. He's brilliant. He's also annoying and condescending and he doesn't like me. Lucky for him, the feeling's mutual."
"Why doesn't he like you?"
"Fuck if I know. I think he just hates anyone Yennefer likes that isn't him. He really doesn't like Triss." She laughed a little. Geralt didn't understand why that was funny, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer. It was becoming clear that he'd missed far more than he thought.
They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, aimlessly wandering the parking lot, neither of them wanting to admit they had other things to do and should probably go. He still had to unpack the large majority of his things, and he supposed it wouldn't kill him to at least dip in to the faculty welcome. What Ciri was doing, he wasn't quite sure, but it seemed like she didn't know either. As they grew closer to his building's door he spoke up, suddenly remembering something he'd heard earlier.
"Dandelion mentioned something to me this morning. About you having tattoos? He seemed to think I'd be scandalized by it, but I don't know why."
"Oh!" She seemed considerably more excited than any of the other times he'd asked her about things in the past hour. Slowing to a stop a few doors away, she started to roll up the right sleeve of her shirt. "He was probably thinking about this one. I was going to show it to you anyway, but I guess now's as good a time as any."
She turned and offered a view of her arm. On her shoulder, in thin black lines, was the recreation of a very familiar wolf-head medallion. He smiled at her, and she looked visibly relieved. Had she really been worried about his reaction to this? Though, considering his reactions to other things, he couldn't truly blame her. "Impressive," he said, and she beamed. "But he said you had more than one."
The smile slipped a little as she pulled the right sleeve back down and started to roll up the left. "Yeah, I've got this one," she said, showing what appeared to be a star surrounded by…small circles. He wasn't quite sure of its significance, and she didn't pause to explain as she tugged on her sleeve. "The other one…I'd rather not talk about right now."
He let her be silent. He knew what she meant. They stood in front of his doorway, not quite making eye contact until the quiet was broken by the phone ringing quite insistently. "Sorry," she mumbled sheepishly as she fished it from the pocket of her shorts and pressed it against her ear with a very annoyed "hello?"
"Where are you?" The voice that scratched through the receiver, which he could only just hear, was melodious and slightly accusatory. Ciri looked up exaggeratedly, hand over the phone as if whoever was on the other end would be able to hear her. "You said you were going to be at the dinner."
"I'm with Geralt! I haven't seen him in years; I saw you this morning! Besides," she said, her voice lowered but barely disguising laughter, "we can't all be department heads. Some of us aren't even on the staff at all."
"I'm only a department head because they're trying to bribe me into letting them publish my research before anyone else." The voice sighed. "But that's beside the point. Triss wants to know when you plan on removing all the boxes from the kitchen."
"Why didn't Triss just call me herself and ask, then?"
"She's misplaced her phone. As usual." Someone was trying to talk to whoever was on the other end, and the voice was growing more and more agitated as she continually tried to cut them off. "I—can you just do it before people get there? I can't talk right now. I'm sorry." She hung up and the call ended as abruptly as it had begun. Ciri slipped the phone back into her pocket. She looked defeated.
"Guess I have to go move some boxes now."
"So do I." There wasn't much unpacking to be done considering his few possessions, but he'd been intending to put it off as long as possible. Part of him didn't want this place to feel like a home. It seemed, though, that he'd exhausted nearly all his other options. There was still one person he could call, a way to distraction, but that was a decision he'd have to weigh carefully before making.
"I don't suppose you'd come with me?" They'd stopped just inside the entryway of his building. Ciri turned her bright green, hopeful eyes on him. He almost didn't have the heart to tell her no, but the thought of running into Triss, who was probably more than a little drunk, was just as unappealing as the stack of boxes waiting for him.
"Probably shouldn't. If you still talk like you used to, neither of us will get anything done." She smiled a little, but it barely hid her disappointment. "It won't be that bad. I'm right down the road if you need anything."
She nodded, and then rather suddenly threw her arms around him. He only had a moment to return the embrace before the pulled back and dashed off with only a hasty 'goodbye' thrown over her shoulder. Apparently she still hated parting as much as she used to. He went inside and shut the door behind him, but the sight of the stacked boxes and bags on the floor gave him a headache and his phone was burning a hole in his pocket. Semi-reluctantly, he pulled it out and keyed the number in. He had one last distraction left. He might as well use it.
First of all, that thing about the sponsoring system will be here...eventually. Second, sorry I'm making everyone wait another chapter before things pick up. I've already written it, though, and I'm editing it right now. I'm hoping it'll be worth it, I had way too much fun with it...
