so - there's a brief time skip between pretty much every section in this chapter except the first two (the short one and the first long one), and also a skip from the last chapter to this one. honestly i don't have a super precise timeline but think probably a few days to a week between each of them - enough time that a couple of weeks have passed before the events of the next chapter happen –bel

A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part Two: Hope/Fear
Chapter Twenty-Six: Hold Me Tight Or Don't

She went back once, on the last day of the conference, hours before she would have to return to Oxenfurt and pack. Everyone was so caught up in their insincere promises to keep in touch that they didn't even notice her slipping out, and they wouldn't have been able to find her once she was away from the crowd either. The only other person who might have known where she would be was long gone, and that was for the best; at least, that was what she told herself. Easier for everyone that way.

It was cold in the courtyard but she hadn't brought a jacket, and she let it bite at her shoulders until she slid her hands up to rub away the sensation. How long had it been since she'd even thought about coming here voluntarily? How many times had she stood in front of the door, hesitating, ultimately deciding she didn't have the strength to go through with it? And the one time she did was the worst time possible, the only time there had been anyone to see through her ruse.

Gods, when had everything become such a mess?

Her eyes stung from lack of sleep, from how long she'd forced them to stay open for fear of what she might dream, what thoughts would slip away from her control. She couldn't afford to lose her grip on anything now, not when the dust from the Council announcement had finally settled and things with Val were going—if not well, at least amicably, peacefully—for the first time in years. Any variable, any unknown quantity, could throw the entire thing off-balance, and where would she be then?

She didn't know the answer to that. But she could get answers about some other things, at least.

~oOo~

"Who is that ward actually meant to let in?"

Philippa blinked a few times, startled at the sudden question that had broken minutes of silence. She had been surprised, to say the least, when Yennefer had asked to talk with all three of them before she left. She usually wanted to get away from these gatherings as quickly as possible and would take her leave without even a brief goodbye. It had never bothered Philippa—she'd see her again sooner or later anyway—but others had always taken note. This year, more so than any other, she'd assumed Yennefer would try to slip out undetected.

Next to her, she saw Tissaia tense up, barely perceptible to anyone who wouldn't have been looking for it. She knew what this was about. They all did; they'd all been there when it was put in place. That she was actually bringing it up, of her own volition, was unusual, though. As far as any of them knew, she hadn't been back there since the day the ward went up. She barely even stayed in the palace for conferences as it was. But Philippa remembered the brief conversation she'd had with Geralt a few nights before and started to wonder if, perhaps, she'd been right.

"I've told you before." Not for the first time, she marveled at how Tissaia was able to keep a straight face in the most uncomfortable situations. Even now, when Yennefer's normally infallible composure was faltering, she didn't flinch, didn't betray any sign of discomfort as they stared each other down. "Only those bound to you by blood—"

"I know that's not true," Yenna interrupted, clenching her hands into fists at her sides and releasing them, flexing her fingers out. A nervous habit, of which she had many. Despite her obvious anxiousness, she kept her voice down, though there was no one else in Tissaia's office that would have been able to hear them. "I was willing to believe that a ward like that would let Ciri in," she continued, barely above a whisper. "But not—"

A pause. A rough exhale. So her plan had worked after all, Philippa thought, and she was right about whatever might be going on between her and the witcher. No one else would have seen—based on the few times she'd observed them around each other in public, they were both surprisingly good actors—but when she had gone to the hospital in Novigrad to find that she wasn't alone, it told her everything she needed to know. Geralt of Rivia was, quite possibly, the worst person who could have accompanied her on that trip, but she had asked him anyway. She never would've made such an irrational decision if there weren't feelings involved.

"Not anyone else," Yenna finished quietly. Triss, who had been silent until then, watching impassively, looked over at her.

"Who else could possibly get in there?" she asked incredulously. Perhaps she was imagining it, but Philippa thought she detected a note of jealousy in her tone. She knew there was a time when the two of them had been each other's closest allies, but that time had passed, though Triss stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. Not even now, when all the evidence was staring her in the face, but she was too caught up in her own ideas to put the pieces together.

"That's not important right now," Philippa said, and Triss turned to glare at her suspiciously, but she dropped the issue, electing not to say anything further. Yenna looked over, and Philippa could see the gratitude conveyed in her otherwise neutral gaze. "You still haven't answered the question," she said, this time directed back at Tissaia, who was straightening her sleeves in a gesture that would have looked nervous on anyone else. On her, it carried the same unflappable calmness that all her actions did.

"The ward on that courtyard is the same ward that is on all the others," she said, slightly slower than usual. Philippa wasn't sure if it was for their benefit, or because she felt guilty for keeping it a secret for eleven years. "It allows access to those with strong emotional ties to the people buried within."

"And you didn't even once stop to consider what a risk that was? De—" Yennefer paused to draw in another deep breath. Philippa raised one eyebrow in surprise. It was the closest anyone had ever heard her come to saying that in the time since it had happened. "She had other friends."

"None who would have kept visiting after a year. Besides, you complicated things." She doubted the words were meant to sting—Tissaia was practical above all else, and not cruel without reason, even to someone who had broken one of her most sacred rules—but she saw the effect it had on Yennefer anyway, how whatever had been even slightly open in her expression suddenly closed off, her mouth hardening to a thin line in a way it only did when she was trying to hold herself in check. "Immeasurably."

If not for the look on Yennefer's face, Philippa would have said that of course they could measure it—in the number of years she'd spent trying to get back what she'd lost, in the number of people she'd told and people she hadn't, in the two who had managed to get through the ward, the only others who would even be able to see it. As it was, she held her tongue. She didn't need to make this situation worse, especially seeing as it had already been worsened in ways none of them had even anticipated.

As much as she disliked Istredd on a personal level, Philippa could admit he was a reasonable choice, and possibly the safest one she had. Yennefer had managed to keep him unaware, for the most part, of anything that had happened before they met, and she felt nearly nothing for him, which made it less likely that he would seriously hurt her. Besides that, he'd be able to provide her with safety. Stability. Something she hadn't had before, and something she knew had been reassuring when she first moved away from Aretuza. He was well-respected academically, and though most didn't know him well, they didn't dislike him, either. In all aspects except those that mattered, they were a perfect match. Yet Philippa didn't even need to ask to know that no matter how much he loved her—or thought he did—he would have never been able to see that door. In over a decade, he still hadn't gotten close enough.

Geralt of Rivia had somehow managed to do it in a matter of months. And that, more than anything else, more than a decision that had been made that far in the past, was the issue.

"Of course," Yennefer said in a voice like ice, a current running through it that said the conversation was done. "It was only me who complicated things."

~oOo~

The last time Triss had spent even a moment alone with Yennefer in a manner that wasn't at least mostly professional had been months ago, so to say that she was surprised to hear from her at all was something of an understatement. Triss had been under the impression that Yenna would pack up, go to Aedd Gynvael, and stay there until the beginning of the next term, ignoring everybody in the process. It wasn't an unusual thing to do—when she stayed there for any extended period of time she seemed to think herself remote, an untouchable island, and it was rare that she'd reach out to anyone or try to see them. Part of it, she assumed, was just because she knew that most of her closest friends didn't like Istredd in the slightest, but recently she couldn't help but think there was some other reason. That she was running from something.

That wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, either, and it wasn't until the night of the banquet that Triss had seriously started to worry something was wrong, and those suspicions had all but been confirmed after the conversation that had happened on the last day. Something was going on. She wondered if it had anything to do with Yenna's recent trip to Novigrad, though she hadn't spoken about it except to briefly say that nothing had come of it, and the physical evidence was long gone. Triss had assumed that it would be like after all her other attempts at finding a solution; that she'd shove away any disappointment and move on so quickly it was almost like the previous experiments hadn't even happened. Clearly, there was something else going on here.

They didn't talk much when they were together. For the most part, they didn't have to. Triss had learned quickly that Yenna wasn't one to waste words, to fill the empty spaces in the air with them simply because the silence made her uncomfortable. If there wasn't something important to say, she'd rather not say anything at all. On rare occasions, though, Triss could get her to open up, if only a little, and when she got the message that Yenna wanted to see her, she'd hoped that tonight would be one of those times.

"Yenna?" She turned her head when Triss said her name, but the rest of her didn't move. She'd been laying there, resolutely staring at the ceiling, for the better part of twenty minutes, and hadn't looked like she was going to stop anytime soon. Far too deep in her own mind, or, at least, that's what Triss thought. She had always been like that. When she finally turned to look at her, though, the intensity of her stare almost made Triss regret speaking up, because she knew what she was about to ask would only upset her more than whatever she'd been thinking about already had. Yenna raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue.

"Who did you take with you to Novigrad?"

The question wasn't even fully out of her mouth before Yennefer sighed in annoyance and turned away again. Whenever she looked at her, Triss thought she could discern some softness in her features, some affection, but her profile was all sharp lines and harsh edges. Seeing her like this, it was no wonder why, despite her small stature, so many found her intimidating.

"Like I've told you a thousand times," she said, drawing out each word so Triss would know exactly how irritated she was at being asked again, "I went alone."

"And I still think that's bullshit." The sound that came out of her then was very nearly a laugh. Triss could make her words count too, when it came down to it. "You really mean to tell me you looked at all the people who would've willingly taken you and decided none of them were good enough?" None of us, she wanted to say, and she knew Yenna would hear it even if she didn't voice it. She hadn't exactly thought the procedure itself was a good idea, but…she wanted to be the one Yenna came to with these things. She had been, once, years ago. And you betrayed her trust, a voice in the back of her head whispered to her. You did the one thing she begged you not to do.

"I looked at them and decided none of them would take me willingly. You needn't sugar-coat everything."

She was right, much as Triss hated to admit it, even to herself. Regis would have gone, but made his opinion on the venture known in no uncertain terms. She wouldn't have been surprised if Philippa would have flat-out refused. Ciri couldn't go at all. Even though it had been nearly ten years since she left Cintra, even with the scar that barely anyone had seen, there was still too high a chance someone in such a massive city would recognize her. They were having a hard enough time keeping her hidden in Oxenfurt as it was, though that was also partly due to Ciri's own restlessness, her desire to keep moving when something happened that hurt her. They were alike in that way.

Triss would have taken her, had she asked, though she wouldn't have been thrilled about the reason they were making the trip. There had been a time, years ago, where she felt they had been each other's only confidantes, when they would sit on the couch in Yenna's room (perhaps a little closer than they needed to be) and talk about anything and everything—when she could actually get her to talk. After a few months, when it was becoming more difficult and draining for her to hide, she'd told Triss her secret. She was one of the very few who had known when it happened. And ever since then, they'd been slowly but steadily growing apart.

"I'm not trying to," Triss said. She wasn't sure if her voice actually cracked or if she was just imagining it had, if she'd been so afraid it might that she'd willed herself to hear it. "I'm just saying you had other options besides doing that yourself."

"I—" She stopped, looked briefly to the other side so all that Triss could see of her was the spill of her dark hair against the quilts. Gods, how familiar was she with that sight? How long had it been since she'd seen it? Since they had a conversation about anything that mattered, one that didn't invariably end with Yennefer shutting her out? She was starting to think that things might be easier if she just mirrored her actions; if she let herself drift away from her, tried to stop caring as much. Even as she thought it, she knew she'd never be able to actually do it.

"Phil was there. For a bit." A bit. It was the most Triss had been able to get out of her so far, in every variant of this argument they'd had, and even that was barely anything. It had been at the back of her mind constantly—what about this was so different from everything else she'd tried? What made her think she had to guard every detail so closely?

"A bit didn't help you get there. Or back."

"No." Another small concession. She turned back to face her, reaching up to brush away a few strands of her hair as they fell across her face. Her fingers froze there for a moment, her brow furrowed, before she smoothed her face into careful neutrality and let her hand fall back to the blankets. "But it was enough. I wasn't alone when I got back, either, so you can stop worrying about that."

"Really?" This, too, was new information. She wasn't sure exactly what was making her want to divulge all of this, but she wasn't going to say anything for fear of making her shut down. "Who was with you?"

"Ciri." The pause was so brief, so well-camouflaged, that no one else would have even known it was there. But she knew—she knew, and it ate away at her, curling somewhere behind her lungs. Yenna was lying to her.

This wasn't the first time it had happened. There had been instances over the years they'd known each other that she hadn't been completely honest, but for the most part, Triss had taken them in stride, tried not to worry too much about them. Considering what had happened to her, she had every reason to be selective about what she revealed, even to those closest to her. Triss's actions had certainly given her cause to be wary. Somehow, this small deception felt worse than all the rest. And yet…

Ciri's key had been on the table in Yenna's apartment when she went to check on her, the morning after she'd returned from Novigrad. It was possible, she supposed, that she was telling the truth, and Triss was reading things into it because she was the nervous one—because she was so afraid of losing that friendship that she kept trying to find reasons that made sense. Maybe there simply wasn't one. Maybe they had both changed so much that they wouldn't be able to get back what they'd had.

But that didn't stop her from wanting it.

~oOo~

"I'm worried about Geralt," Ciri said, resting her head on the back of the couch as though it had become too heavy to hold up any longer. In an effort to not be in her own apartment, she had somehow ended up at Regis's, along with Dandelion, and the three of them were sitting in the living room, not saying much of anything. Triss had been moping for the past several days, and it was getting on Ciri's last nerve. She knew exactly why, too—Yennefer had been over one night and left for Aedd Gynvael the next morning without so much as a goodbye. That sort of thing had been happening for years, and Ciri didn't understand why Triss still got so upset about it every time, when it had more or less become par for the course. She didn't like to tell people when she was going to stay with Istredd because no one except her liked him. It was as simple as that.

Whatever had Geralt acting so strangely, though, didn't seem simple at all.

"So am I," Regis said gravely, and hearing the words come out of his mouth only confirmed what Ciri had feared. If he was acting strangely enough that multiple people had taken notice, it had to be no small thing. The dread in the pit of her stomach only intensified when Dandelion nodded along.

"He hasn't been himself lately. We've gone out together a couple of times—well, more like I had to drag him out, because he's the least sociable person on this side of the Pontar, and getting him to do anything where there are more than two or three other people involved is like pulling teeth—not that I'd know personally, I've never done anything like that—"

"Dandelion." Regis had the fingers of one hand pressed to his temple, and he looked considerably more disheveled than usual, though that wasn't saying too much. He'd told Ciri earlier that he was spending the break between terms working on some new research and that it had been, so to speak, keeping him up at night. Ciri took that to mean he hadn't changed clothes in several days, not that it mattered much for someone like him. "The point, please."

"Right. The point is that he's been even surlier than usual, and that's quite the accomplishment."

Ciri frowned. He had been more withdrawn than normal, that much she'd seen, but she was surprised it had extended to what little of a public life he had. Geralt wasn't the best actor—though it might have just been the fact that she'd always been able to see right through him—but he could at least pretend to be neutral when he needed to be, even if he was miserable somewhere. He didn't want any more of a reputation than he already had, and the best way to accomplish that was for no one to notice him.

"You don't sound particularly worried," she said to Dandelion, sitting up just a bit so she could prop her head on her hand. As soon as she said it, she wondered if it hadn't meant anything at all. Dandelion never sounded particularly worried about anything—and this, too, he waved off with a grin.

"I'm not," he said, and Regis raised an eyebrow at him. "Whatever's going on, he'll get over it. Especially now that there's—well—distance."

So he knew, she thought. He knew, and he wasn't telling her, which made her angrier than she had the right to be. She recognized that she wasn't entitled to every detail of Geralt's private life—she certainly didn't want all of them—but she had hoped that, if it was something that was affecting his behavior this much, he would tell her what was going on. She remembered, suddenly, what Bea had told her the last time they'd been fully alone, when most of the others had been at Thanedd. The idea of her parents having an affair with each other had been ridiculous at first, but now that she was sitting here, hearing Dandelion mention distance, she couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, if that had something to do with it.

"Besides," Dandelion added, in a confident tone of voice that usually only accompanied his worst ideas, "I know exactly what will make him feel better."

gee i wonder what horrible idea dandelion has now

it's almost time...