So I'm sorry this one is a few days late and also a little shorter than the last couple – the next chapter is the end of the 'bounds of reason' arc and it's going to be really long; this was the best place I could think of to break the action up. I'm kind of hoping I'll have enough on-campus free time that I can get the whole thing done to post it on Thursday and be back on schedule, but I'm not going to make any promises since I do still have classwork. For now, though, here's…whatever this is. –Bel
A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part One: Longing/Regret
Chapter Nine: The Limits of the Possible
"Careful up there!" Boholt yelled, turning briefly to look behind him at the rest of the group. They'd been walking for hours, winding their way up the cliffs on a narrow, rocky path. To their side was a steep ravine, and below them the River Braa churned furiously. There was enough room for several of them to walk side by side, and for the carts full of weapons that the Reavers and Yarpen's men dragged behind them, but Geralt stayed as close to the rock wall as he possibly could. He'd spent most of the time by himself—Dandelion was up at the front of the group, and Regis and Yennefer had dropped back some time ago. He could hear them if he tried, speaking very softly and quickly in a language he didn't understand, probably to prevent any eavesdroppers from actually understanding what they were saying.
At the front of their caravan was Niedamir, whose appearance left much to be desired, especially in comparison to his reputation—he was clearly young, thin and freckled, though he'd already mastered the condescending sneer that Geralt had never seen a ruler without. And Niedamir himself wasn't the only reason he avoided the royal party; a chancellor, Gyllenstiern, who had accompanied the king, had already complained to him at length about what he perceived as the changing moral code of witchers, and had warned him to stay away from Dorregaray. Geralt couldn't see what was so horrible about the mage (except, perhaps, that Regis had said the man's attitude reminded him far too much of someone Geralt would rather not think about), but he pretended to take Gyllenstiern's advice to heart and immediately dropped back to the middle of the group.
"He doesn't like you much, does he, Geralt?" the man in question said an hour or so later, speeding up to keep pace with Geralt. He was nodding at Eyck of Denesle, who had been studiously ignoring him for the entirety of the trip, except to throw tight-lipped glares at him every so often.
"I don't think many do," Geralt replied offhandedly.
"Competition? You've got similar professions—but Eyck's an idealist and you're a professional, though I'm sure it's a minor difference to the creatures you're killing."
"I'd rather you not compare me to him. I don't know who you intend to wrong with that comparison, anyway."
"Well, all right—but for the record, I despise you equally."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. I, witcher, think calling killing a vocation is loathsome. Our world is in equilibrium. To kill any creature inhabiting it upsets this equilibrium. And a lack of equilibrium only hastens the inevitable end."
"A druidic theory." Geralt raised an eyebrow. He wondered how many people there secretly wanted to stab him—the number was likely quite high. "I know it—an old hierophant in Rivia expounded on it to me at length once. Two days later, he was killed by wererats. I didn't notice any difference in equilibrium."
"Because the world," he repeated emphatically, "is already in natural equilibrium. All species have their own enemies. The killing of humans' natural enemies, which you devote yourself to, threatens the degeneration of the race."
"Do you know what?" Geralt snapped. "One day, take yourself to a mother whose son has been killed by a basilisk, and tell her she should be glad, because thanks to that the human race has escaped degeneration. See what she says to you then."
He heard a short, sharp laugh, and when he looked back Regis and Yennefer had caught up to them. She'd swapped out her boots for flat shoes, and Geralt, who had only once before seen her without several-inch heels, was struck by the difference, though it didn't make her any less imposing, less eye-catching. He could just barely make out the shine of pins in her dark hair. "Interesting argument, Geralt of Rivia," she said, glancing at him and then away quickly. She had barely made eye contact with him all day. "And Dorregaray, you ought to be careful what you say."
"I'm not accustomed to concealing my views." Geralt locked eyes with Regis, who already looked mildly exasperated. It seemed neither of them wanted to be caught in the middle of a fight between mages.
"I'd start concealing them immediately," Yennefer replied coolly. "Especially around Niedamir and the Reavers. They already think you want to interfere in their killing the dragon. If you only talk, they'll think you harmless. If you try anything, they'll kill you before you could even blink. And besides," she continued, ignoring the condescending smile that had appeared on Dorregaray's face, "by saying those things you damage all of our reputations."
"How so?" Geralt didn't like the tone of his voice at all, but a warning glance from Regis made him keep his mouth shut.
"You can apply your theory to all sorts of creatures, Dorregaray, but not to dragons, the greatest enemy of man. And I'm not talking about man's degeneration, but its survival. In order to survive, one has to crush one's enemies. Enemies that might prevent survival."
"Dragons aren't man's enemies," Geralt interrupted. Yennefer didn't look at him.
"Perhaps you should leave that judgement to the humans. Your role is to get a job done, not to judge," Yennefer said icily. He wasn't sure what he'd done to upset her so much, besides disagree with her, but he doubted she'd tell him. It was a far cry from how she'd treated him the night before.
"Yennefer," Dorregaray said, that awful smile still on his face, "for a woman of your intelligence and education—not to mention the esteemed company you keep—you really are saying some ridiculous things." Yennefer turned towards Regis, at such an angle that Dorregaray wouldn't be able to see her, and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Why, in your mind, have dragons become the greatest enemy of mankind? Why not another species, one that's killed a hundredfold more? Forktails, manticores, amphisbaenas, gryphons? Why not wolves, for that matter?"
"I'll tell you. Man's fight for dominance was won when the necessity for nomadism was eliminated. Only in towns, surrounded by walls and other defenses, can mankind thrive, as human children are dependent for a great deal of time, and need a place to be raised safely. And now we come to dragons—the only monster with the ability to threaten a large city. A dragon attack would force people to disperse—the fire would mean hundreds of victims and great destruction. That is why they must be utterly wiped out."
Dorregaray hadn't stopped grinning the whole time—in fact, Geralt thought the smile had actually widened. "Do you know what, Yennefer?" he said slowly. Geralt couldn't help but be impressed by the way she held his gaze. "I'd love to see the day this idea of yours comes to fruition—when people like you will occupy their due place in nature. Fortunately, it won't happen. You humans would rather slaughter each other in pointless wars, instead of trying to cure the ails that plague you. Because it's that, Yennefer, that threatens your precious cities, where women can have children once a year if they so choose, yet those children still die far more often than they should. So take up bearing them yourself, my dear; it's the most natural pursuit for you. It will occupy the time you're currently wasting on pointless research. Farewell."
He sped up rather comically, considering how fast he'd already been walking to keep up with Geralt's long strides, and Geralt helped him by slowing down to keep pace with Yennefer, whose mouth was open slightly in shock. There was anger building behind her eyes. Regis grabbed her arm, gently but firmly, and made her look at him. "He's not worth it," he said quietly, glancing up ahead. "There's no way he could've meant it like that—he doesn't know."
"Thought you were friends," Geralt interjected. She kept her face turned away from him, but he could hear her steady deep inhale, trying to calm herself. Her hands were tense at her sides, white-knuckled.
"He's Val's friend," she answered shortly. "He can't stand me."
"You'd be hard-pressed to find a sorcerer who does like her," Regis said, turning to Geralt. The corner of Yennefer's mouth tilted up slightly, partially hidden behind strands of hair that had fallen out of their band to frame her face. "Most are upset because she's accomplished more in a decade than they have in centuries."
Yennefer scoffed. "Please. The fact that I'm young and a woman is a far more likely reason."
"And all that means is you've got more to lose by reacting badly." The two of them looked at each other as they walked, a conversation Geralt clearly wasn't meant to be a part of. By that time they had fallen nearly to the back of the group, though they could've caught up easily. After a few minutes Yennefer shook her head and walked away from them, keeping to the far edge of the road so as not to cross paths with Dorregaray. Geralt wanted to go after her—the sight of her picking her way along the edge of the ravine made him sick to his stomach—but Regis stopped him with a gesture similar to the one he'd used on her not even five minutes ago. "I wouldn't if I were you," he said. "It's pointless trying to talk to her when she gets this way."
"What way?" he asked, but Regis only shrugged, and Geralt was forced to content himself with the fact that that was the only answer he would probably get.
~oOo~
"I saw it," Ciri said, taking a long slurp of the milkshake in a styrofoam cup in front of her. They'd returned from Aretuza less than an hour ago, and she was sitting in a low, round chair in the corner of her living room, the one that Yennefer would sometimes fall asleep in if she didn't feel like arguing with Keira that day. Triss was sitting on the nearby couch, looking at her in obvious disbelief. Philippa had gone outside—Ciri suspected she didn't want to have to hear about it a second time. (She had, Ciri noted, reacted very strongly on-site.)
"That's…surprising," Triss replied slowly, tucking her legs up underneath her. There were shadows ringing her eyes—she'd been taking on her own work and Yennefer's for days. Ciri herself hadn't even known about the dragon until she'd returned, and now her chest ached with worry for the both of them. Triss, it seemed, had other things on her mind.
"I haven't even seen it, and…I was there." Perhaps Ciri was exhausted and imagining things, but she could've sworn she heard a note of jealousy in her voice, though it was well-masked in layers of sadness. She understood why; she knew how Triss had become involved in the whole thing. But sometimes she got the idea that Triss cared more than she ought to. More than a friend should.
"I mean," Ciri said, shifting in the chair and suddenly wishing they had something else to talk about. "It's pretty heavily warded. I'm surprised it let me in in the first place."
"Because it's meant to be hidden." They both turned as Philippa stepped back inside, pressing her fingers to her temple as though she couldn't believe they were still discussing it. "The point of warding it in the first place was so no one would even know it was there except her, and her blood. At the time, we thought it was foolproof." She laughed humorlessly. "It's not like she was having any children. But it let Ciri in."
She sat on the couch, as far away from Triss as she could get, and tugged at the black agate bracelet around her wrist. The light slanting through the blinds threw stripes on her grim face, her hair that she'd pushed back behind her shoulders. "I—" Ciri didn't know what to say. They looked at her expectantly but not impatiently; a moment later Philippa's eyes darted down to check her phone. The discomfort grew in the air like a living thing, lurking in the corner.
"This whole thing was probably a mistake," she finally said, her voice trembling faintly. She looked at her similarly-shaking hands. She was the one who had started this; she was the one who hadn't known to leave well enough alone, to mind her own business. If it hadn't been for her, they would all be farther down the path of moving on. "I'm sorry."
"You've got nothing to apologize for," Triss said quietly, and Philippa nodded, though she wouldn't look at either of them directly. "And if you really feel like you need to, we're not the ones you should be apologizing to."
They fell silent. Ciri wished Yennefer were there—she'd intended to go straight to her when she got back. It felt wrong not to be with her now that she knew. Now that she'd seen.
"Truly, you didn't do anything," Philippa said, still staring at a scratch on the wall. "You've helped her quite a bit, no matter what you think. I doubt she would've recovered so quickly if you hadn't shown up at the right time."
"Yeah." Ciri sighed. She had entered Yennefer's life nearly four years after the fact, but it seemed pointless to mention now. "That's what she tells me, too."
~oOo~
"Hey, Beanpole!" Boholt yelled, irritated. The entire party had come to a halt in front of a bridge connecting two edges of a chasm. It clearly showed age, but it was made from thick pine and supported on a quadrangular pier, and to Geralt it looked sturdy enough, though it seemed their resident carpenter had some concerns, as did the youngest of the Reavers. "Why're we stopping?"
"Dunno if the bridge'll hold," Beanpole said, eyeing it suspiciously.
"Why did we even take this road to begin with?" said Gyllenstiern, whose nasally voice Geralt was quite tired of hearing. "Sheepbagger! Why did you lead us this way, and not by the trail?"
"Road's shorter this way," the carpenter replied, not looking at him but instead directly at Niedamir, who looked incredibly bored. "The trail cuts around some ruins, but we can avoid them entirely by taking the bridge."
"And you're sure it won't give way?" Boholt asked, peering over the edge of the chasm. "That drop…"
"It'll 'old."
"Right, then." The simple answer seemed to have appeased Boholt, because he motioned ahead in an exaggerated movement. "After you, then. We've a custom of letting the bravest go first."
Geralt thought that was a ridiculous idea—if he feared the bridge would snap, he should've gone first, when it hadn't held anyone else's weight—but before he could even begin to think about voicing that opinion, the earth started to shake, and an audible rumbling began to emanate from the rock wall beside them. Boholt cursed loudly at the same second Yarpen yelled "Landslide! Out of the way!" and shoved as many people away from him as possible in a mad dash across the bridge.
All hell broke loose. Geralt tried to stand back as the Reavers and Yarpen's men crossed, dragging the carts full of their weapons behind them, and Eyck followed. If not for the tight set of his lips, the sickly pallor his skin had suddenly taken on, one would think he hadn't even noticed the rocks that were beginning to fall around them.
"Witcher!" Dorregaray yelled, motioning him towards the bridge as he began to cross it himself, but his ear was caught by another sound—a cry behind him. He turned. One of the men still on their side of the bridge, who was now running towards it, had pushed Yennefer aside so forcefully she stumbled and fell, rolling with the blow and flattening herself to the ground, arms over her head. He ran back towards her without pause, jumping over the gaps opening beneath his feet to grab her arm and yank her upright. Her eyes were wide, staring at the rock above them, and a trickle of blood was running down her cheek.
"You have to move!" he yelled at the same time she cried "Look out!" and he twisted to see an enormous, flat block of stone plummeting towards them. He dropped immediately, curving his body protectively over hers, feeling her lungs fill and empty with ragged breaths. At the same moment the block burst, turning into a million particles of dust that stung when they landed on him.
"Quickly!" Dorregaray called again, spelling several more of the larger rocks to pieces. "Onto the bridge!" A hazy blue half-sphere suddenly enveloped them, sparks flying dangerously from Yennefer's fingertips as stones hit the light and melted away. He grabbed her free hand and they ran, the bridge rocking disturbingly beneath them.
A moment later, it snapped.
They half they had just crossed broke off, crumbling into the water, and they both quickly realized the surface they were running on was becoming vertical at an alarming rate. They were falling with it, digging their fingertips into cracks in the wood in a desperate attempt to hold on—but Yennefer couldn't. She shrieked and dropped. Geralt, gripping the wood with one hand, pulled a knife out of his pocket with the other and plunged it into the boards, gripping the handle with both hands. He felt his muscles straining as Yennefer, who had grabbed around his waist, tugged him down, trying to grab a hold wherever she could. The bridge was almost vertical.
"Yennefer," he panted, unsure if she could even hear him. "Do something…cast a spell or something!"
"How can I?" Her breath was hot against the small of his back, muffled and furious. "I'm hanging on!"
"Free one of your hands!"
"I can't!"
"Hey!" he heard Dandelion yell from somewhere above them. "Are you okay? Can you hold on?" Geralt didn't bother to reply. Yennefer's face was pressed into his shirt, and he could hear her panting, feel her warm breath. "Someone throw down a rope!" Dandelion screamed. "Quickly, dammit!"
"Wait," Boholt said, so softly he was sure Yennefer couldn't hear him. "She'll fall soon. Then we'll pull the witcher up."
Suddenly, Geralt found he had far more strength to hold on than he thought. "Yennefer?" he said, just loud enough for her to be able to hear. Her name felt awkward and heavy in his mouth. "Can you find a hold? With your legs? Anything?"
"I can," she panted, "swing them around."
Against his better judgement, Geralt looked down at the river churning beneath them. He could see her knuckles turning white, her fingers digging uncomfortably into his hipbones. "Can you hold on?"
"I…I think so, yes…"
"You've got to pull yourself up. You've got to find a foothold."
"I can't!"
"Throw down a rope!" Dandelion bellowed again, louder this time. "Are you all crazy? They'll both fall!"
"Is that really so bad?" Gyllenstiern said. Geralt clenched his teeth tightly.
"Yennefer…" he said
"Shut up…and stop wriggling about…"
"Can you hold on?"
"No." She'd stopped struggling, and simply hung from his back, a lifeless weight. Her breathing had evened out against his back, deep and resigned. He felt her fingers starting to slip.
Something slipped downward over the broken bridge—a rope, shining dimly, that wound itself around his torso, under his armpits, and tied itself into a loose knot. Yennefer moaned, sucking in air. He thought she was going to cry. He was wrong.
"Okay, we're going to pull you up!" Dandelion said. "You there! Pull!"
The rope constricted painfully around him as they slid upwards, flesh scraping on the rough wood. Her grip on him loosened the farther they travelled. At the top, Yennefer was the first to stand.
Again, sorry about the length; the next chapter's going to be a lot longer and unlike the past couple, it'll focus specifically on this plot because it's the end of the arc. Also, I can't even express my thanks to everyone who's been sending me asks/messages on tumblr…I didn't think this was going to have a readership at all, given it's something that hasn't really been done before, but y'all have been really sweet to me and it means a lot :) As far as the one-shots go, the title of the first one is up on my writing blog and I'm still hoping to have it done soon, since I've suddenly got a lot more time where I'm likely to write!
