[UPDATED: rewritten and new dialogue]

Fire In The Heavens - Christopher John Brennan: Chapter 4, Fire

Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,

and fire made solid in the flinty stone,

thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fills

the breathless hour that lives in fire alone.

Yennefer bit her lip as she tried to suppress a small shiver. Philippa was still looming over her and the Owl Witch appeared threatened by her presence, even after all this time, and the thought brought Yennefer ineffable pleasure. The crisp night air was leaking through the cracks in the door behind her, banishing whatever heat was pouring from the blazing fireplace. It had been a long ride and Yennefer had no desire to stand around in the doorway for the others to gape at as Dandelion recounted their journey, soaking up the spotlight like a fat, pompous cat. She threw her shoulders back and stepped out from the doorway; when Philippa copied her movements Yennefer ignored the Sorceress and barged past without looking at her. The hairs on Yennefer's arm stood on end as their shoulders brushed, a crackle of energy leaping between them like static.

Even as she slipped onto a nearby bench, resting her back against a thick tapestry, the feeling had passed. The two Sorceresses narrowed their eyes at each other but, for better or worse, their eye contact was broken by the Witcher's muscular form as he moved into the corner, taking his time before he sat beside her. Yennefer folded her arms and shot a sideways look at Geralt, he was watching his friend's storytelling intently and she was too tired to pry his attention away. Looking briefly around the room, it appeared that the Bard had captured everyone's attention besides hers and Philippa's. Their silent argument went uninterrupted for several minutes.

"I must admit, Yennefer, that I am impressed with your spell work. Not that I would expect anything less from a Sorceress such as yourself." Yennefer bowed her head graciously at Francesca, acknowledging the Queen's rare praise. Not only was she a powerful and knowledgeable figure but one who was renowned for being exceedingly hard to impress. Yennefer believed that the elf had simply been around for so long and seen too many things to find anything short of a miracle worthy of appreciation. A small smile crossed her lips, less the result of the praise itself, but at the thought of Philippa's escalating anger. Perhaps even jealousy. As the idea crossed her mind, Yennefer deliberately turned her face to the Owl Lady who was notably inspecting her glossy nails.

"Well, know you've enlightened us with your fascinating story," she huffed, words dripping with sarcasm so thick it couldn't have escaped even the village idiot's attention, "do shut up. You dimwitted fool." Dandelion scowled at Philippa's back as the Sorceress turned towards Geralt. "What is he doing here?"

Yennefer, however, had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of replying. She smirked. "Do you really not know, darling Phil? Your mind is clearly becoming addled if you can't recall your own instructions, any and all witnesses is what I believe you...requested."

The air around Philippa thickened, Yennefer could sense the magic building around her as clearly as she could feel Geralt's heat against her skin. Every Mage in the vicinity would be able to feel it, magic was not inherently stealthy, not when used amongst those who claimed its power. That's why they all envied her life's work, her obsidian star. While her aura remained clear and unique, marking her as a powerful Magician, calmness surrounded her even as she drew magic to her fingertips. Yennefer doubted the Owl Sorceress would try anything so brash, not with Ciri watching and Geralt so close at hand, but she kept her guard up. It was always safest to do so.

An eerie silence followed her words, it seemed that no one was willing to risk breaking the tension. Yennefer was mostly spent, but she wasn't prepared to back down.

"While time moves forwards, memories linger, and history is written in favour of those who make them." Geralt sighed and Yennefer questioned, not for the first time, why the Witcher chose to put up with his company. Though, for once, Dandelion's knack for putting his foot in it was in her favour.

He was holding his lute tightly, knuckles whitening. She saw Ida eyeing the instrument curiously and wondered if she recognised its Elven origin. She likely did. Though Yennefer knew the story behind the strange lute she needn't have heard it to guess that it was made by one practised in Elven craft. She knew more about their culture and history than most, it was a part of her heritage after all, even if it wasn't always obvious to those who saw her.

Yennefer was lost in thought when Dandelion began to speak and it looked like she wasn't alone as the Bard cleared his throat loudly and repeated himself. "Dear Ladies of the Lodge," he rose to his feet and bowed courteously. Yennefer scoffed. To her mind, there was only one Sorceress amongst them that deserved the respect of a monarch and even then she begrudgingly gave it. The Lodge had no need to bolster their already insufferably large egos. "I am here to offer my services to you, those of a witness and of a Bard. It's all well and true to have facts written down in a history book, but ballads and poems are how the mass will remember the Wild Hunt, and I dare say you want to be remembered well. Thus, we," he placed a hand on Priscilla's shoulder, "are here."

Geralt covered his face with his hand and Yennefer could see the goblet in Triss' handshaking and she finished the rest of her wine. Yennefer felt no sympathy for the man, however, but rather a guilty sense of satisfaction. She'd been beginning to doubt that the rise she'd gotten out of Philippa for bringing him had been worth putting up with the fools company... Or his opinions, to be precise. Seeing Dandelion slowly shrink in on himself, elbows pressed close to his side and his shoulders hanging forward as he squirmed under the Sorceress' glare, had finally turned this into a worthy exchange. Yennefer only hoped that Geralt wouldn't stick his neck out for the idiot. Philippa placed her claw-like hands on the table before Dandelion, gradually leaning forward. Darkness appeared to gather around her like a shroud of mist and the room grew dim and cold.

"There's truth in what the man says, Phil," said Rita. "There are already rumours circulating about the hunt, it would be wise to exert our influence over them while they are still malleable. To emphasise the Lodge's role in the annihilation of the White Frost."

Philippa showed no indication that she had heard her fellow Headmistress, hovering over the Bard like a bird surveying its prey. Despite appearances, Yennefer knew that she'd already made up her mind. Philippa would never miss an opportunity to spread the Lodge's informal control. "The Lodge will permit you to attend the gathering, on one condition. Any material you create must be verified by me and if you change even a single word of the final draft," the runes on her band pulsated and Dandelion's swallowed, "I can promise you that your fame won't protect you." The two Bards nodded in reply, their voices petrified. The group was still for a moment until Philippa stood up and glided into the centre of the room. Yennefer rolled her eyes, not caring that the other Sorceress could plainly see her, indeed rather hoped she would. She had no time for Philippa's impotent theatrics.

"Now, let there be no more interruptions. While you, Yennefer, might have ample time to waste idly like a lounging cat, the Lodge's time is valuable seeing as we still have some importance in the world." Yennefer folded her arms but her face remained impassive with ease. The only thing she regretted about retirement and settling down was not doing it sooner.

"Not only have you turned up several days late," she continued, "but you failed to do us the most simple courtesy of informing us of your delay. Really, Yennefer, even Keira had the decency to warn us. Now, let us begin at last. I have a list of rules to be followed to the letter, without expectation, during your time on Thanedd and with the Lodge…"

The first of several meetings dragged on until the moon had reached its peak. Under its ghostly light, he prepared his next trick. His audience - Dorian.

"And I thought it was hard negotiating with the Jarls," said Cerys. She clambered up into the carriage containing Yennefer, Geralt and Ciri and sat down on a bench opposite them. Her brother clambered up after her, without as much grace. "It would seem that intelligence doesn't make people any less stubborn or pig-headed, but at least on Skellige you know what to expect when someone's pissed off at ye. You lot on the continent are just as likely to stick a knife in someone's back as cut em down in broad daylight."

Yennefer nodded and Geralt thought she looked impressed by the young woman's keen eye. She's only been on the continent for a matter of days and yet already deduced the core principles of the shambles they called politics. "Well, if you survive this meeting, consider it good training," said Yennefer. "One word of advice, stand your ground no matter what. If you don't, Philippa will walk all over you, but I can't imagine that will be a problem for either or you."

The carriages clattered against the moonlit stone bridge as the group made their way to Loxia, their accommodation on Thanedd during the meetings. Yennefer pulled one leg up, placing her foot on the bench and wrapping her arms around it. She watched Cerys and Ciri as they shared a small bottle of vodka and compared their experiences of ruling with one another. Meanwhile, Geralt listened to Hjalmar as he recounted the stories behind his various scars, occasionally contributing his own story. The Witcher was only paying half a mind to what the man was saying, however, as he kept an eye on Yennefer who had fallen completely silent, resting her head on her knee as she started out into the shimmering sea with glossy, droopy eyes. Halfway through another of the warrior's tales, Geralt heard a faint murmuring coming from somewhere nearby. Tuning out Hjalmar with difficulty, he searched for the origin of this disturbance and grabbed one of his saddlebags.

"Geralt," Yennefer reprimanded, as his sudden movements jolted her. Geralt felt her piercing eyes on the back of his neck as he riffled through the bag. "What on earth are you doing? We're almost there, what could you possibly need so desp-"

"Geralt! Geralt can you hear me! Geralt!" Keira's shrieking was coming - painfully loud and clear - through the small silver box in Geralt's palm. A Xenovox. He could hear her panting frantically on the other end.

He raised it closer to his mouth as the others sat watching him silently. "Keira, it's Geralt. What's going on?"

"Geralt? Oh, thank God, we urgently require your assist-"

"Enough of the pleasantries!" shouted a voice which sounded uncannily like Lambert, only that his voice seemed strained. "Just tell him to be fucking quick!"

Geralt heard Keira scoff. "Yes, thank you, Lambert. Geralt, you need to come to Dorian - now. There's a mob outside." The Witcher's muscles tightened. Too many bad memories. "We can't hold them off much longer." There was a loud smash followed by an encore of cursing and shouting and Keira spoke an incantation which made Geralt wince and lower the box. "Be quick, we're in the abandoned brothel by the main square, Phil knows the one. Hurry." Another smash and this time muffled jeering; the box went silent.

Geralt shoved the device into his pocket and started clambering towards the end of the carriage. "Get their attention, I'll try and catch Eilhart," he called.

The Witcher jumped off the moving vehicle and Yennefer followed him. Stepping to the side she waved her hands and fingers in a subtle pattern and two streams of yellow light shot from her hands. He saw them whizz off up the bridge and they collided together with a phenomenal bang above a carriage just ahead of them. Sparks started flying directly over Philippa's head. There was a shriek. Grabbing Yennefer's waist, he pulled her down and kneeling beside her he formed the Quen sign. The owl narrowly avoided colliding with the shield, its claws just scrapping the surface. The Witcher dropped his shield as Philippa remerged, baring her brilliantly white teeth.

He pulled out the small box hastily.

"A mob in Dorian has the others trapped." Geralt wasn't sure if Philippa was paying him any attention. He stood up, standing between the two Sorceresses. "They need help now. An old brothel in the town square, Keira says you know they one."

After a moment, Phillipa nodded, though a scowl was still clearly plastered on her face. "Follow me, Witcher."

"I'll come," said Ciri. She jumped down the carriage and walked past him, heading after Philippa as she headed up the bridge.

Geralt started to make his way towards them when he heard a pair of high heels behind him. "Yen, please," he said. He put out an arm to stop her, holding her shoulder. Her eyes snapped up to his but he was willing to risk her wrath. "Stay here."

"Let me tell you, Geralt, exactly what you can do with that order." She cursed profusely and barged past thundering off. Hjalmar's mouth dropped open and Cerys blushed.

Geralt stayed behind her, watching her hair sway side to side as she walked up the bridge. He didn't plan on dropping the subject just like that, there was too much at stake. "Yen, stop," she ignored him. "Yen, if the mob turns on us-"

"I'll defend myself," she retorted without turning her head. He could hear her heart thumping madly.

"Yen-"

"Geralt, enough!"

The wind was beginning to increase as they neared the middle of the bridge. Yennefer's hair and cloak were billowing around her furiously, adequately appropriating her mood. As the black material was jostled to the side, Geralt could see the tightness of her shoulders; her slightly stooped over posture and the way she was hugging her sides. He seized her upper arm and when she spun around - he kissed her. Yennefer didn't pull away, instead, Geralt felt her hands on his chest as she closed her eyes and deepened the kiss.

He held her close and rested his forehead on hers, whispering softly. "This won't be like Rivia, Yen. I promise."

Slowly, the Sorceress exhaled a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, their colour seemed dulled. "I've seen you die in that place so many times," she said under her breathe. Her voice shook almost undetectable. "I want to come, Geralt…"

"I know," he replied. Geralt had lost count of the times Yennefer had awoken in cold sweat screaming his name. "I can't imagine how I'd feel if I had to watch you die, Yen." He brought a hand to her face, pulling away some of the hair whipping across her cheeks. "I couldn't bear it, so please...wait for me."

Yennefer closed her eyes leaning into his touch as Geralt tenderly stroked her cheek. She sighed. "Okay." The Witcher kissed her on the forehead before they pulled apart.

Their hands and arms brushed as they walked the rest of the way. In the carriage at the front of the precession, Philippa was conversing with some of her fellow sisters while Ciri leant against the stone railing. As they neared, Yennefer turned off and went towards her and he saw her hands go to her neck.

"Here, Ciri, wear this." She pulled off her black cloak and handed it to the girl. "It will help hide your face, stop you from drawing too much attention." Ciri nodded and took the cloak, putting it on. Yennefer fasted it for her. "Please be careful," she said quietly, holding her by the shoulders.

"I will, promise."

"Let's go, now," barked Philippa, waving them over. Fringilla and Rita were getting off the carriage beside her.

As Geralt turned to go, a small hand held his wrist. Yennefer tugged him and kissed his cheek. "You better come back in one piece, Witcher - or else."

He chuckled. "For you, always." She gave him a meek smile - but a smile nonetheless - and released him.

Geralt stepped through the portal.

When he emerged, the Witcher was quickly reminded of why he detested magical means of transport indisputably. Ciri and Philippa, who had taken a separate portal, were nowhere to be seen and his skin was drawn tightly over his body. He took a couple of steadying breaths and tried to shake off the lingering effects of his unfavourable travel. Then he stood for a while and listened, hoping to found a noise out of place amongst the sound of the city. It took only a few moments for him to find it as the streets were unusually still and he took it as a bad omen. When the drunkards and homeless go missing in the city at night, one can be sure that something is amiss.

Geralt walked briskly through damp and dingy alleys, spying only wild street dogs and filthy rats along the way. The streets were far to calm and unassuming for his liking and Gearlt felt with increasing certainty that he was being led into a trap, yet with nowhere else to turn he had no choice but to head towards the commotion. Eventually, he found his way to what he presumed was the town square and pressing his back up against the wall.

A mob of thirty or more heads was swarming around an old and boarded up two-story building with small windows and peeling colour. He watched the men from the shadows as tables and chairs and benches passed over the crowd and were stacked up against the building's old wooden doors. Geralt frowned, this wasn't the situation he'd been expecting, the mob didn't appear the least bit interested in reaching the small group inside and had trapped them instead. Though he wasn't certain for what reason they'd changed tactic, he knew that it spelt disaster either way.

The Witcher pulled down the hood of his cloak and shouldered through the crowd, the tide pushing and groping him as he battled through. As he neared the brothel a squat little man pulled the end of his cloak and started cursing his mother, refusing to let him be because he was a pox on the world or something along those lines. Geralt didn't care much for his insults but still took pleasure in delivering a swift punch to the man's face knocking him to the floor and watching him roll around, whimpering in a puddle of piss. Those closest to him stepped back leaving Geralt alone at the front of the mob which was whispering behind his back.

Before him, his feet planted wide on the steps of the brothel, stood a tall and plump man draped in a black leather apron, his head bald and wrinkled like a rotten egg. He was glowering down at the Witcher with a flaming torch in his hand and when he raised a hand for silence, the mob obeyed without question.

"Move aside good sir, this here's no business of yours. Unless you'd like to watch these freaks burn with us, you'll stay out of my way. You strike me as a sensible man who knows what's best for him," he said in a deep voice which rolled across the town square. The bald man did not take his eyes off Geralt's face, perhaps trying to distinguish his features under the shadow of his hood. Whether he found something of interest there, he couldn't tell, but the smirk slid off his face and he spat at Geralt's feet. "Answer me!"

"I care not for the freaks, do with them what you will, but I'd rather not watch the city burn for them. The wind will spread your flames over half of Dorian."

Behind him, the crowd descended into whispers and Geralt could hear arguments and shouting breaking out. He'd driven a wedge between the group and while he doubted he could talk the mob down he welcomed the extra time for Ciri and Philippa had yet to appear. The bald man looked away from the Witcher and tried to hush his men. Silence fell again over the square and the leader came down the steps towards the mysterious figure. His eyes were narrowed at Geralt and he could see a vein throbbing in his neck as the torch shook in his fat hands.

"Do you really wish to throw your lot in with these freaks?" he asked, spittle flying onto the front of the Witcher's cloak.

Geralt grunted in disgust. "No, I'm simply not willing to let our houses burn for them. You'd been doing more harm than good by torching that place and perhaps doing more harm than the freaks," he said calmly. The words tasted bitter in his mouth and his voice sounded cold and twisted. He'd not be surprised if his brothers couldn't tell that it was he who stood outside their door.

"Enough!" the bald man yelled over the Witcher's head. The cobblestone shuddered under the force of his anger and the few that had begun to wander away from the group frozen on the spot. "The flames of the Eternal Fire will purge this sin from our city. None but freaks have anything to fear!"

Geralt dived at the man as he drew back his arm and the torch clattered to the floor as they tumbled down the steps. There was a brief silence before the crowd erupted.

Fists and kicks flew around the mob as they turned on each other, beating anyone within reach without a care for what they were fighting for. The Witcher's fist was coated in blood and the bald man lay crumbled at his feet. He got up and stamped on the torch, extinguishing its flame and throwing the stick across several houses. As the battle raged on Geralt flew up the steps and pounded on the wall trying to make himself heard over the mob. His back was turned for no more than minute, yet when he looked upon the battle once again fire glowed within it and the thatched roof of the brothel began to smoulder as torches sailed past his head. A bloodcurdling cheer rose up around the square as the building lit up like a beacon of the Eternal Fire.

Several people rushed towards the building with torches and the Witcher sprang towards them his cloak falling to the floor behind him. The runes on his steel sword blazed ominously against the darkness and the men looked upon them with terror welling in their eyes.

"Move back," the Witcher growled and the edge of the mob retreated, some of the men who'd tried to assault him dropping their torches on the spot. The last of the fighting died away, around two-thirds of the men still standing on their own two feet. He could see weapons in the hands of most and he felt his chest burn as he caught sight of three metal fangs amongst them.

"Another freak!" cried the man holding the weapon. "Look at his eyes. Cat eyes! What are you afraid of, cowards! There's but one of him, let's cut him down!" The Witcher's heart sank and his blood ran cold as they slowly marched towards him. He counted six- no, seven pitchforks among them and an image of Yennefer screaming his name in the clutches of a nightmare surfaced into his mind. She was crying in the bed alone.

"He's not just any freak, mind you, but the Butcher and Blaviken and White Orchard, the White Wolf himself!" The mob broke ranks as the new voice echoed around them. Thinking quickly, Geralt snarled nastily at the men, flexing his muscles and catching the light of the fire on his sword. The performance felt strange and unnatural to him, but his show paid off as almost half of the men backed away. "If I were you, I'd run for your lives… Or your blood will soak the cobblestones."

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Ciri step out into the town square with Zireal in her hand emanating an unusual red glow which made his medallion tremble. She walked past the Witcher and jumped down the steps, standing within arms reach of the mob. He watched her closely, not sure what she had in mind yet trusting her with his life all the same.

"But, if you're too stupid to fear him..." the crowd drew together as Ciri vanished in a flash of light, tripping over each other's feet. "Then fear me!" There was a cacophony of shouting and screaming, all manner of weapons clattering to the floor as the men dashed away leaving the town square empty and quiet. They gave Ciri, who'd materialized behind them, a wide berth and would have fainted if she'd whispered so much as 'boo'.

The last few men were scurrying away when Philippa flew down from the rooftop and ushered Geralt away from the brothel. She held her hands before her and a web of purple light crept over the barricade and when the net shattered like glass the objects covering the door were blown in all directions and the door flew asunder with an almighty crack. A billow of smoke writhed up into the night sky as three figures emerged, a woman being supported by two men. Keira, Eskel and Lambert spluttered and coughed, staggering a couple of metres from the house and dropping to the floor.

Geralt knelt on the floor beside them, watching in silence as they gasped for air and retched. He kept a lookout for stranglers as they caught their breath, but the town square was now utterly abandoned save for them, though still, he felt sure they were being watched. Eskel moved up beside him as he waited and the brothers embraced, slapping each other on the back as was their custom.

"Is everyone alright?" asked Geralt.

He pounded a fist against his chest and cleared his throat, his face, hair and clothes were covered in ash and grime. "Yea, we're fine, other than a dirty pair of lungs. Though things were looking pretty bad in there for a while." Geralt nodded his head, it had been a close call for them and Eskel only knew the half of it. Truthfully, he'd rather have been trapped inside the brothel than facing down yet another mob.

The two Witchers talked in hushed whispers as Ciri went to fetch some water for Keira, the Sorceress was doubled over and choking up soot and Lambert told them she'd inhaled a lot of smoke in an attempt to cast a spell. He stayed beside her, holding her hair and rubbing circles on the small of her back. When Ciri returned Keira and the Witchers swarmed around the bucket of water and almost emptied its contents. Philippa paced beside them impatiently.

"It was nice of you to show, Geralt, and with darling Phil and Ciri. I dare to think what would have become of us if you didn't have the Xenovox. Honestly, I'm surprised you kept it after all this time," said Keira.

Geralt shrugged. "You said it was valuable, wouldn't throw something like that away. Besides, I thought Lambert might want it." The other Witcher glowered at him behind Keira's back and he smirked. Lambert would never be able to escape the Sorceress as long as he had the box, and Geralt knew he'd never dare to throw away something that belonged to her. Especially when the item was so rare and irreplaceable.

As Lambert scowled at him Philippa leaned over Keira, who had water trickling down her face. "How did things get so out of hand, Keira? The one thing you needed to do was stay clear of trouble and yet here we are." The roof of the brothel was beginning to cave in and by the end of the night, nothing would be left of the old building. Geralt wondered what the waking city would make of the wreckage.

"Surprisingly enough, Phil, this wasn't what we wanted either. We kept hidden in the brothel, but someone must have seen us because not long after that mob turned up on our doorstep," Keira blustered. She stood up and started beating soot from her dress - with little to no success. It was also torn in several places and looked expensive.

Philippa waved a hand in the air and walked around her, carefully avoiding the muck and water as her dress skimmed over the cobblestone. "We can speak of this later, Keira, it's time to leave. I've had enough of this night and its unruly surprises."

Speaking the elder speech with clarity, a swirling portal filled the town square with light and she was swallowed by its depths along with Eskel while Lambert followed Keira.

"I hate portals," muttered Geralt, taking Ciri's hand. There was another flash of light and the pair vanished without a trace. As darkness returned to the empty square the mob went their separate ways and never spoke a word about that night, not even as rumours circulated around Dorian about the mysterious fire. In the morning they awoke with no memory of what had transpired and no explanation for their wives and families about their dishevelled clothes, and their cuts and bruises.

The room was filled with niggling buzzing and idle chit-chat, the Lodge's guests conversing endlessly about pointless things. Yennefer longed for silence; her head was ringing from all the noise but she could not leave just yet. She sat in an armchair by the window, legs pulled up onto the soft cushions on which she sat as the Sorceress waited anxiously for their return. One arm supported the other as she held a hand to her face, a finger pressed against her lips as she gazed into the night sky without truly seeing it. Yennefer felt sick; she should have gone with him. It was a bad idea, true - but still, she wished she was there with them and that Geralt hadn't talked her out of it. The stupid loath and his sweet words.

Yennefer watched the clouds pass over Gors Velen and tried not to think about it, but it was an impossible feat and she knew it. Her mind was drawn back to Rivia and while the memory felt old and distant, it was painfully clear all the same. Blood trickling down the cobblestone and pooling on his chest and by her feet, the light fading from his eyes as she tried to stop the bleeding. Yennefer knew then, as she looked down upon the wound, that there was nothing she could do to save her beloved. Yet her heart could not bear the loss and begged for her to try, pushing her to new limits until she collapsed beside him, her light fading with his.

Yennefer blinked and rubbed her temples. She felt just as helpless now, if not more so, and wished that Geralt's wish still bound them. Perhaps then she'd know if something was wrong, or, if it was, that she'd not have to bear the pain of losing him. The thought disgusted her, however, and she scolded herself for being selfish.

The Sorceress looked away from the window and keenly searched the room with her eyes. She listened to snippets of conversation but nothing was able to catch her attention and keep her mind from wandering. Occasionally, as she watched the group, Yennefer caught Triss looking sideways at her from across the room, her eyes quickly turning away. She was standing with Dandelion and Zoltan in the corner, saying little and responding to their questions and jests with short, hasty comments. When Triss saw that she was staring at her she blushed and hide behind her goblet and didn't look at her again. Yennefer was pleased. She hadn't the patience or strength to deal with the Sorceress tonight and she despised her feigned concern.

When she'd finished studying the room, Yennefer turned back to the window with glossy eyes and was close to deciding she should go after them when a pulse of magic passed through her. She held her breath and watched the door which opened a few seconds later, smoke trailing behind the small group as they entered. Yennefer's hands trembled in her lap as they dropped from her face and the room swayed in and out of focus. She dug her nails into her forearms as she looked over the group with blurred eyes and tried to listen to what they had to say. None would look in her direction and she dared not ask what had happened, though catches of conversation rang in her ears. Talk of freaks and mobs, and of fires and bigots. Yennefer almost choked, her heart was beating without pause and she closed her eyes feeling faint.

She didn't notice the group leave or hear the room break into conversation like nothing had happened. Nor did she notice the eyes which had fallen upon her as she sank further and further into her chair.

"Yen..." Blinking, she squinted across the room. Two figures were standing in the doorway and hurried towards her. Though concern lined his face the Witcher smiled as he neared her, and Yennefer knew that she too was smiling stupidly for all the world to see, but she let her smile be, along with the tears caught in her lashes. She felt giddy with relief and seemed to fall into Geralt's arms when he reached her, pressing her cheek close to his heart and feeling the heat of his body. They could have been like that for hours and she'd be none the wiser. Everything moved in slow motion as he held her, whispering tenderly into her hair and pressing his hand against her back so she couldn't slip away. Yennefer couldn't remember who'd pulled away first, or after how long, but she recalled guiding their lips together and feeling a comforting warmth settle in her chest as though she were dreaming. Now that the panic was gone she felt foolish, except she was pleased to be a happy fool.

Geralt kept his arm draped lightly across her back when they'd pulled apart and his body helped to shield her from the room's curious glances and open stares. Yennefer wasn't overly fond of the attention, particularly of having her private life on show, and found comfort in knowing she wasn't entirely on display. As the room talked brashly amongst themselves, the Sorceress questioned Ciri and Geralt about Dorian thoroughly and they assured her several times that they were neither cut nor burned, despite the smell. When she was satisfied that this was indeed the truth the pair turned the tables on her and tried to hurry her along to bed, not listening, as she had done, to her reassurances that the world would not end if they sat together for a while. After a brief argument, Yennefer conceded without much of a struggle and bid Ciri goodnight.

She walked arm in arm with Geralt down the empty paths of Loxia, watching the light of the moon break against the sea. There were only a handful of lanterns still lit to ward off the dark, young students working, as she had done, well into the morning. Yennefer had few pleasant memories of this place, she'd seldom laughed or smiled here yet she did not look upon the school unfavourably. She'd learnt much in Thanedd and owed it a great debt that none could claim for she was the only one left living who knew of its existence.

As they walked along the cliff, Yennefer began to lean heavily against the Witcher and struggled for breath. With the dread and concern washed from her system, the Sorceress had little energy left to draw upon and her body was shutting down. She'd never craved sleep this badly before and when they finally reached their room Geralt was almost carrying her. Yennefer slipped onto the bed and sighed, feeling as though she'd fall asleep right where she lay if she closed her eyes. However, she was not quite that desperate and sat up on the edge of the bed to begin the laborious and unappealing, yet necessary, task of removing her clothes.

She let her shoes and clothes pile on the floor by her feet, caring not a bit about creases and wrinkles, they didn't seem such a bother anymore. Geralt was standing beside her and silently dropped a silk nightgown in her lap, but rather than watching her change, as was routine, he collected her discarded clothes and folded them neatly. Yennefer was amused by his sudden change of heart regarding the condition of her wardrobe, too much so to be annoyed about his blatant mother-henning.

As he tended to her clothes, and in part her future mood, Yennefer slowly stood up and ambled towards the dresser. A large mirror hung above it framed in silver and she stared at her changed reflection, brushing her hair aside to look at the gash on her forehead. I didn't look deep but it was certainly the main source of her splitting migraine and she wondered if it would heal in time for the banquet. Geralt moved up behind her as she tilted her head, running a finger over the faint burn marks on her skin, and closed his arms around her waist. One of his hands strayed down her leg and Geralt lifted her off her feet, carrying her bridal style towards the bed and silencing her protests with kisses.

"There's one more thing we need to take care of," he said, lowering Yennefer onto the bed. She watched him collect a few boxes and bottles from a trunk at the end of their bed which he then set down on the closest bedside table. Perching on the edge of the bed, Geralt gently held her chin with his fingers and dabbed the cut on her forehead and cheek with a warm, wet cloth. Yennefer rolled her eyes, she could have quite easily done this herself, she wasn't decrepit, but she knew that it would help set Geralt's mind at ease and she was willing to make this sacrifice for his sake.

"Just a few more days, Geralt, and we'll have our peace back for good," she murmured. Her eyelids were growing heavy and the cloth in Geralt's hand was heavily scented with herbs she recognized but could not currently name. It reminded her of home.

"Just a few more days," he repeated.

"I've not missed long days and nights like these, nor waking to your troubled face. Though I must admit that it is an oddly charming and endearing look." Yennefer wasn't sure if he'd heard her, doubtful if she'd spoken at all. Perhaps she was already dreaming because she no longer knew how to tell the difference.

She felt someone carefully pat and dry her face and her cuts tingled and went numb as cream was smeared over her skin and arms. "I'll always worry about you, Yen. You can't stop me... I love you."

"And I love you, Geralt."

Yennefer's eyes fell shut as he finished rubbing cream into her wounds and they did not open again until the morning came. She slept peacefully as Geralt changed out of his armour and looked over his cuts and scrapes for the first time. There were few of them and they were already healing well so he left them alone. Leaning over the basin in the corner he splashed cold water over his face and sat for a little while beside the bed. Though they were deep within the walls and halls of Thanedd, Geralt didn't feel safe and was reluctant to sleep.

Something peculiar had crossed his path not long after he'd left the city of Vizima and it remained close at hand following him from there to Gors Velen and to Dorian and back again. He wasn't sure what it was, it was entirely unfamiliar, though he was certain that he didn't like it and wished greatly to be rid of it. Geralt felt threatened by it and his heart grew heavy with dread whenever he felt its eyes upon him and those close by. He'd not thought much of it at first, thinking the sensation to be born of his imagination, but after what had happened in the last two days he could no longer push it aside. Perhaps he'd simply stayed too long in the comfort of Toussaint and the outside world had become daunting to him for he was unfamiliar with the shadows and darkness that fell upon it. He truly hoped it was so. The Witcher sighed and rubbed his chin.

He looked over at the bed; sleep had transformed Yennefer's face, lighting up and softening her features, removing all traces of worry and weariness for a time. He pulled the cover over her shoulders and brushed loose strands of hair from her face as she rolled over, muttering softly, and climbed into bed beside her. Geralt held her close to his chest, her breath tickling his arm and her head tucked comfortably under his chin. The scent of her hair and feel of her heat and her heart against his skin was enough to lull him to sleep after long hours spent within troubled thoughts.

Richard Bach: Chapter 5, The Meeting

"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life."

Hi, guys, hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, feel free to leave comments or PM me, I love hearing from you.

The long day from the cave to Gors Velen is finally over and the meeting can begin. I hope the Yennefer and Geralt fluff towards the end makes up for what I did to Yen DaisyOfGalaxy (I'm trying my best but I'm not sure fluff comes naturally to me!)

This plot seems to be becoming more mysterious by the chapter…what could happen next? I'd love people to PM me your ideas about what's going on if you like to speculate and figure things out like me, also to see how subtle my hints are.

Massive shout out to vic-of-thor (Tumblr) for all the kind words and support and to korbel05 ( ) for all the feedback and suggestions.

Until next time guys, have a great week - Eileniessa