hiatus who? i don't know her
A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part Two: Hope/Fear
Chapter Twenty-Three: And The Hunger Will Linger
"This is ridiculous," Keira grumbled as she lifted a glass of wine to her lips and drank half of it in one go. She'd found their little group only a few minutes after Yennefer had disappeared with the rest of the Council and Chapter into a back room Geralt hadn't even realized was there, for a reason he didn't know. It had taken a while for the applause to die down, hesitant though it had been, and she'd been forced to stand through it all, next to Vilgefortz, pretending to be happy when Geralt—and everyone around him—could tell that she wanted nothing more than to leave and not return. He could only imagine the things they were saying to her back there; he'd rather not think about it, actually. Even focusing on Istredd, who'd been glaring at him for the better part of the past several minutes, was preferable to that.
"What's ridiculous?" Triss, clearly, was already tiring of Keira's complaints, especially since they'd been nearly nonstop, and seemed to center around Yennefer. They were visibly grating on Regis's nerves as well, but he at least had the good sense to keep to the edge of the conversation and not address them directly. As far as Keira was concerned, he wasn't even listening; theoretically, Geralt and Triss were the only ones who knew he would still be able to hear them, even turned away and talking to Istredd, which he seemed none too happy doing.
"That." She pointed at the door next to the stage, which had just opened, allowing the Chapter and newly-full Council to spill back into the hall. There was a small crowd surrounding them almost immediately, Yennefer in particular. If she couldn't stand the way people were trying to talk themselves up to her when her position was based in rumors, she'd be absolutely miserable now. "This whole thing. They'll put anyone on the Council these days, I guess."
"Yenna is perfectly qualified for the position," Triss said tightly. She seemed more upset than anyone else about the whole thing—anyone, perhaps, except Yennefer herself—so Geralt was surprised at how calmly she was handling Keira's bitching. "Besides, what were you expecting? For them to suddenly elect you? We all know that's not likely to begin with."
Geralt blinked several times in quick succession, mildly shocked, and Keira did the same, before huffing and turning to leave. It was a relief to have her gone, and neither of them tried to hide it as Triss looked back over at Geralt, her eyes now reflecting nothing but concern for her friend.
"They'll make their away around to us eventually," she said. "Until then, we just have to act like nothing's wrong. Everyone on the Chapter will be watching us. A couple of them in particular."
True to her prediction, the group did eventually circle around to them, though by that time it had grown significantly smaller. Geralt was personally introduced to every member of the Chapter, but the Council was nowhere to be seen. He didn't want to think too hard about the implications of that, so instead he focused on the conversation going on around him, which seemed to be mostly useless small talk until Vilgefortz of Roggeveen stepped closer to him.
"I wonder," he said, "if I might have a word, witcher?"
Triss and Regis were looking at him with barely-disguised worry as he waited a moment, then nodded. There wasn't much more for him to say, and it wasn't like he could refuse a direct invitation from a Chapter member. That was probably considered the biggest faux pas of them all. In silence, he followed Vilgefortz out of the room and down a large hallway that opened up into what seemed a rather spectacular art gallery.
"Have you visited here before?" Vilgefortz asked, and Geralt mutely shook his head. There was a purpose behind this, he knew it, and he wished that they could just skip all the formalities and get straight to it, but Vilgefortz didn't seem like a man for blunt honesty. Based on the way he'd spoken to the crowd, Geralt could tell that he'd talk his way around whatever it was for as long as possible, until he got to the important part. An offer he couldn't refuse, probably.
"Well, then. What an honor to be the first one to show you around." He gestured to the hallway around them, the walls of which were covered in paintings, arranged in odd formations, almost like a family tree. Some had such sprawling arrangements that they took up entire walls and then some. Geralt remembered a conversation with Triss once where she'd mentioned that mages took sponsoring very seriously. He hadn't realized just how seriously until that moment.
"There used to be another gallery here," Vilgefortz said. "The Gallery of Glory, dedicated to illustrating the history of magic. But recently the higher-ups decided to swap its place with the gallery where they display all the sponsorship lines. It seems they care more and more about staying on alumni's good side as the years go on."
"You'd think some wouldn't be happy about them switching the galleries."
"Some weren't. But mages, as a whole, are vain. I'm sure you've noticed." Geralt kept an eye on the walls as they progressed through the rooms slowly, wondering if he would see anyone he knew. "Personally, I find these far less interesting than the paintings in the other gallery—excepting a specific few, mind you. They're so much more…dynamic. Full of life. These aren't."
The portraits were connected, he supposed, by thin lines on the wall drawn between them, though as a whole the arrangement didn't look messy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Geralt was no expert in art, not by a long shot, but he couldn't help disagreeing with Vilgefortz—perhaps for no other reason than to disagree with Vilgefortz. "Don't know how you can say that. They're people, every one of them. Doesn't that make something about them intrinsically alive?"
"I suppose. That's an interesting point of view to take." They were both silent for a moment, the tension growing thick. Geralt was about to say something when Vilgefortz suddenly asked "Geralt, did you ever think about becoming a sorcerer?"
The question caught him so off-guard that he answered a bit more honestly than he'd intended. "Yes. Years ago. Why?"
"But you didn't? You were never attracted by the Art?"
"I was. But I decided it would be better to follow the voice of good sense. Besides, I've seen firsthand the kinds of trouble mages can get themselves into. And most of the other witchers at Kaer Morhen had a stronger magical presence than I do. I would've been lousy at it."
"That's quite fascinating. All things considered."
Geralt stopped suddenly and turned to face him. With those words, things were beginning to fall into place, and he knew why Vilgefortz had wanted to speak to him privately. "I get it," he said. "I should've guessed. You've been digging around in my history. Well, it won't do you any good. Just because my mother was a sorceress doesn't mean I'm automatically talented, or even interested."
Vilgefortz was looking at him rather strangely, with something that seemed almost like triumph, or eagerness, or some mix of the two. He wanted something, and he clearly thought he was going to get it. "We have that in common, you and I," he said slowly. "My mother was a sorceress as well—or, at least, I have good reason to believe she was. It's strange how those things happen. In most cases, mages shouldn't even be able to conceive."
They started walking again, slower this time, and Geralt didn't say anything—he knew Vilgefortz would circle around to his point soon enough if he just stayed quiet. And sure enough, after another moment he spoke again. "Let me tell you a little something about mages, Geralt," he said. "It requires a fair bit of background knowledge, but I hope you'll find the payoff worth it."
He remained silent, still, but nodded when Vilgefortz looked over at him. There was something like dread seeping into the pit of his stomach, up his throat, and he couldn't help but hope that someone would come looking for him, get him out of whatever was about to happen.
"I don't know who my parents are," Vilgefortz said. His voice had adopted the tone he'd used on the audience in the main banquet hall—the one that would captivate a crowd, and it might have worked on anyone but him. "Some druids from the Kovir Circle found me in a gutter in Lan Exter. They took me in and raised me to be a druid myself. Some years later, my gifts began to reveal themselves during certain druidic rituals, and it was then that I began to understand my origins. I was conceived, unplanned, by two people, and at least one of them was a mage. Perhaps even both."
They crossed through a doorway and into the next section of the portrait gallery. The paintings, Geralt noticed, looked newer and newer the farther along they walked.
"The person who discovered my abilities was, of course, a sorcerer. He offered me what, to his mind, was a tremendous gift: a chance at an education, at self-improvement, with a view to joining the Brotherhood of Sorcerers."
"And you accepted," Geralt said quietly. If this was all there was to his story, he didn't understand why he was telling it, but Vilgefortz looked briefly annoyed at that—Geralt must have interrupted him.
"No. I rejected it. Quite rudely, in fact. I wanted him to feel guilty, him and his entire magical fraternity. For the gutter in Lan Exter, for the fact that one or two detestable mages—bastards without hearts or human feelings—had thrown me into it at birth, and not before, when I wouldn't have survived. He didn't understand. As was to be expected. He shrugged and went on his way. By doing so, he branded himself and his fellows with the stigma of insensitive, arrogant whoresons, worthy of the greatest contempt."
This had to be going somewhere, Geralt thought. There was no way Vilgefortz had brought him all the way out here—presumably away from prying eyes and ears—just to talk about his distaste for mages when he was one himself. No, there was something hidden in his words, waiting to make its way out. A snake, looking for the right moment to strike.
"By that time I'd grown sick of druids. So I left them and set off into the world. I did a variety of things, some of which I'm still ashamed of, but eventually ended up a mercenary. My life, as you might imagine, unfolded rather predictably after that. Victorious soldier, defeated soldier, marauder, robber, rapist, murderer, and finally a fugitive. Fleeing the noose, so to speak. I ran to the end of the world—which, it just so happens, is right here. In Gors Velen. And here, at the end of the world, I met a sorceress."
They came to another stop, far more deliberately this time, and Vilgefortz turned to look at the paintings on the wall to their right. Geralt followed his gaze, but froze when he realized what he was looking at: a sponsor line that, near the top of the wall, started with Tissaia de Vries. Her painting was clearly far older than the rest of them, and a thin line connected her portrait to Philippa Eilhart's, and then Philippa's to Yennefer's. He was sure it was no coincidence that they had stopped here, and he didn't have to read the small placard under the frame to know it was her. He'd recognize her anywhere, even over a decade younger—her eyes, her profile, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, were all still exactly the same. She wasn't quite looking at the artist, or the camera that had taken the picture it was painted off, but her gaze landed somewhere to the side, a small smile playing on her lips. Another thing that hadn't changed.
Gods, she'd been young when she left the school. It hadn't fully hit him until then.
"I'd be very careful," Geralt said softly, "with your choice of words now. Be careful that the similarities you're so desperately searching for don't lead you too far."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," said Vilgefortz. "I'm only telling you what happened. You needn't know who it is, because it doesn't matter. She was young, enough so to still be in classes—and, like most young sorceresses, she was promiscuous, arrogant, spiteful, unfeeling and cold. She'd only been seeking a distraction, and came out of the situation with more than she bargained for. So she left." He paused briefly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "For a while I was pathetically hung up on it. I couldn't cope with the things I felt for her, and assumed that the only thing to do was try and win her back. But she refused, and there was no way for me to see her. I'm sure you've noticed that the school is incredibly well-warded."
Geralt nodded, jaw clenched. He could pretend all he wanted that he didn't know who Vilgefortz was talking about, but if he took a stab at asking and was correct, he was certain the woman's version of events would be quite different.
"A few months later, I found out why she'd been so unwilling to let me back in. And I realized that what I felt for her wasn't love at all. It was hate. So I left on my own after that. I went straight to Ban Ard and enrolled in classes. You should be able to fill in the rest of the story from there."
Geralt wasn't sure he could trust himself to speak without saying something he'd end up regretting. What he actually wanted to do was punch Vilgefortz in the face, quite hard, but he held that impulse in check. "And what was it that made her want to keep you away?"
"Ah." He sighed, his gaze roaming across Yennefer's portrait, accounting for every detail. "She'd tried to keep from me what was rightfully mine."
It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, and he'd barely even had time to process it before a voice behind them called out "Oh, there you are!" and when he turned it was Philippa, looking, if possible, even more agitated than she had before. "Everyone's looking for you," she said to Vilgefortz. "You know how it is at these sorts of things. Besides, I need to borrow the witcher for a minute."
She slipped her hand into the crook of Geralt's elbow, much like Triss had, but her grip was far tighter, much more insistent. Vilgefortz looked between them for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face, and then nodded. He had only gotten a few steps away when Philippa called out to him again, and he stopped, his back still turned to her.
"Just so we're clear, she was never yours to begin with."
There was no response from him, not even a moment of hesitation as he started walking again, back towards the main hall. Philippa tightened her already vise-like grip on Geralt's arm and began dragging him in the opposite direction.
"I suppose I should be thanking you," he said as she pulled them through a doorway that led to a tower, circled by a spiral staircase. She hiked her dress up to her thighs and started taking the stairs two at a time. Wherever they were going, she was clearly in a hurry to get there.
"You should," she said, without even looking back to see if Geralt was following. "But you can save that for later. There's more important things to discuss."
They climbed until they reached the third floor, and then Philippa led him down a hallway lined by rooms that must have been dormitories, because there were plaques with what he assumed were students' names next to the doors, and decorations on the doors themselves. He hadn't expected the place to look so modern, but it did, and there was a coldness about it as well, though perhaps that was just the grey carpet, the cinder-block walls painted a stark white.
"Well, in that case, could you tell me why exactly we're here?"
"Because it's the only place I can be assured no one will try to eavesdrop." They reached the end of the hallway, stopping in front of a door that looked significantly worse for wear compared to the others, and which lacked a few coats of fresh paint. He was surprised, when he looked at the plaques next to it, to see Triss's name, and Yennefer's underneath that. It seemed there would be no shortage of things to surprise him that night. "No one likes being in here. Myself included. But it'll do for this."
She reached into the front of her dress, and Geralt looked away, embarrassed, but she was only pulling out a small silver key, which she used to unlock the door. They stepped into a stark, tiled room that must have been some sort of entryway or common room, because it was completely devoid of furniture, or of any decoration at all, save for a whiteboard on the wall. There were two more doors on the opposite wall, and she went to the one on the left, unlocking it with the same key. His medallion vibrated as he stepped inside, and once he'd gotten a good look around the room, he realized why.
"What happened here?" There was nothing in there apart from the furniture he would expect to see—a lofted bed over a small couch, a desk, a dresser, a wardrobe—but leading from the doorway to the couch was a veritable trail of bloodstains, and they looked to be all over the couch itself as well, though the black fabric hid it better than the grey carpet. All the while, as he took this in, his medallion was pulsating sharply. Something had gone on here, something so bad that the echoes of it could still be felt years later.
"It's not my place to tell you," she said. "But surely you've guessed that her time as a student here wasn't easy."
He nodded. The high standards that most mages were held to meant that no one's time at an educational facility was easy, but he got the sense that Yennefer had had it worse than most—or, at the very least, it had left her still wanting something. Wanting it desperately enough to accept his offer of taking her to Novigrad without thinking too much about the potential consequences. And look where they'd ended up.
Philippa huffed and splayed her hands out on the desk, which was blessedly clean. She had her back turned to him, but Geralt didn't mind. Whatever was going on here had to be awkward for her as well; he didn't think they'd ever spoken one-on-one like this.
"I'm worried about Yenna," she said finally, almost hesitantly, like she didn't want to admit it. He'd never seen her hesitant about anything. If he hadn't been there when Yennefer had received the nomination in the first place, he would've been confused, but having seen that, he felt the worry tighten in his own chest, especially after hearing it so prominently in another voice.
"Because of the Council? I think we all are."
"It's not just that." She turned to face him, leaning up against the desk now instead. Her fingers gripped the edge tightly and for a moment her posture looked so much like Yennefer's that he was startled by it. "I'm nearly certain you would've had the chance to hear her complain about the sheer number of people who are trying to get on her good side now." He nodded. "As you can imagine, that's only gotten worse since the announcement. She could barely move a few feet without someone accosting her. So she left."
It wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear. That she was upset, he could understand, but for her to take such drastic action? It seemed unlike her. "What do you mean, she left? Left the castle? The grounds?"
"No. Just the room. Luckily, I think I know where she is. But I won't be able to get in there."
"Then why are we here?"
She sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, once again looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Because I have a feeling that you could."
He blinked a few times, unsure he'd heard her correctly. "What makes you think that?"
"Geralt, don't ask questions you know the answers to. It makes you look stupid." She waited, but when he continued to look dumbfounded she rolled her eyes. "You were with her in Novigrad. And I know you're the one that talked her out of her study before that."
"She told you that?"
"She didn't have to. My point is, you're closer to her than either of you want anyone to believe. It's about time you owned up to that."
The conversation felt remarkably similar to the one that he'd had with Ciri on the night they returned from Novigrad. It seemed everyone thought he was close to Yennefer except Yennefer herself. But just like that night, he found himself unable to come up with a reason he shouldn't—or, perhaps, he didn't want to.
"Fine. So where did she go?"
"I don't know exactly where it is—"
"That's not very helpful—"
"Would you let me finish? Gods, I'll never understand what she sees in you. I don't know the place's exact location, but it's somewhere in this building. I doubt you'll have any trouble finding it, and her."
"Why?"
She pressed her hand to her forehead for a brief moment before standing up and pulling the door open. "Do use your head for once. Some of those mutations of yours were designed specifically to enhance your tracking skills. I'm sure you'll figure out something."
Geralt found himself at a loss for words for what felt like the millionth time that night, so he stood there as she walked to the outside door, pausing once, briefly, just outside the room. "And if you've really no idea where to start," she said, "she came here first."
~oOo~
"So you said your parents are separated?"
Ciri looked up from where she'd been resting her head on Bea's shoulder. They'd been lying there, in her bed, for most of the night, after everyone else had left for the banquet. Originally, the idea was that they'd take advantage of the fact that they'd have the apartment to themselves for the night; that rarely happened, especially considering how overprotective everyone was of her. But once the place was empty, save for the two of them, Ciri had found she wanted nothing more than to drop the pretenses, the lies about who she was, and just be.
And Bea, surprisingly, had been all too happy to accommodate that, so instead they laid there, half on top of each other, talking about anything and everything. Bea related the struggles of being the only daughter in a large family, and Ciri countered with heavily-edited tales of her time with the Rats, as well as what it was like to be, for all intents and purposes, an only child. She'd seemed particularly fascinated by that - she'd never been an only anything - and had spent the past several minutes asking questions about Geralt and Yennefer in particular, and how they'd brought her up separately.
"It's...a little more complicated than that," she admitted, as honestly as she could. It would take a lot of thinking for anyone to figure out that she was the runaway Cintran princess, especially someone like Bea, who had confessed that she didn't pay much attention to politics, but she still wasn't willing to chance it. "They were never really together."
"Ah." She felt Bea turn her head, felt lips brush her temple. She blushed. "So you were - "
" - a surprise." She smiled a little, even knowing full well she wouldn't be able to laugh at her own joke. Bea wouldn't understand, and Ciri didn't need her to. They'd gotten this far without her recognizing either of them, and she preferred to keep it that way. "It's worked out just fine, at least this far."
"You don't think…?" She trailed off, and Ciri looked up to see her biting her lip nervously. "No, never mind."
"I don't think what? It's okay. You can tell me."
"You'll think it's ridiculous." Ciri rolled her eyes and gestured for her to continue. They were both sitting up fully now, shoulders still brushing. "Oh, alright. You don't think it's possible that they're...seeing each other without you knowing? Behind your back?"
Ciri let out a sharp breath, a laugh lost somewhere in the middle. She was glad she hadn't been eating or drinking anything; that could've been disastrous. "Geralt and Yennefer? Being around each other that much voluntarily? Not likely. Besides, Yennefer's engaged."
"Which you said yourself hasn't exactly stopped her before." That much was true, Ciri admitted reluctantly to herself. There were reasons that the engagement had gone on for two years with no end in sight, and not all of them were because Val was an asshole.
"...okay. Yeah. Any particular reason you're bringing this up now?"
Bea sighed and pushed a hand through her hair, which had come loose from its usual braid. Ciri liked it better this way. "When you introduced me to Geralt earlier, I recognized him. I saw him at work, a few weeks ago. Fairly late at night. With Yennefer."
"You're sure it was her?" Of course Ciri had considered the fact that, at some point, they'd had interactions that didn't involve her at all. They'd been in the Kestrel Mountains for days hunting down the dragon, and besides that they had so many mutual friends that Ciri was sure they saw each other frequently. But to her eyes, it had never looked as though they'd gotten along that well. The only proof she had to the contrary were the things that Geralt had told her the night they returned from Novigrad, but they had only seemed to be the words of a concerned friend, not a lover. Besides, they would've told her. Right?
"She's not exactly easy to mistake for anyone else," Bea said dryly. "Anyway, it was late, and they were sitting on the second floor, and you know full well that no one ever sits on the second floor, not when there's room on the first. And it looked like they were pretty...comfortable with each other."
For a minute she was silent, trying to take in what she'd heard. She knew that Geralt had gone to Novigrad with her, but she'd assumed that, like so many other things, he'd done it for her sake, because it was important to her that Yennefer be happy, and not for Yennefer herself. They'd only known each other in person for a few months, and as far as she could tell from listening to Triss or Dandelion talk about how things usually went when they all got lunch together, they barely even spoke to each other. But still...he had seemed awfully concerned that night, and Yennefer had been acting cagey for days afterwards. And she'd enlisted Ciri's help with getting him the swords. And when Triss had mentioned earlier that day that Geralt had accepted her invitation to go to the banquet, Yennefer had gotten a very strange look on her face, and left shortly after.
None of that had to mean anything. But Ciri couldn't help thinking it wouldn't be that bad if it did.
"You're right," she said, resting her head on Bea's shoulder. "I do think that's ridiculous."
~oOo~
After stopping several times to backtrack, as well as inordinate amounts of hesitation, Geralt finally found himself in front of the door to the room he was nearly sure Yennefer had to be in. He'd paced up and down the hallway for several minutes after Philippa had left, and finally caught the scent of her perfume, which had led him all the way back down the stairs and through several hallways, each one taking him farther and farther away from where the banquet was taking place. Nobody else would have been able to find her here. A good place to go, then, if what she wanted was to get away from them.
The door itself was made of diamond-shaped panes of frosted glass, and it was impossible for him to see through it. The place behind it looked muddied, more than the glass should have made it, and he couldn't even see enough color to hazard a guess on what was there. But she was. He knew it. And he knew that going into wherever it led would only end up causing more problems. She had enough to deal with already. They both did.
After a moment of deliberation, he decided he didn't care, and pushed the door open.
wow i wonder what's behind That Door
next chapter will be up hopefully soon because i'm really excited about it, but it's up in the air atm so keep an eye out
