maggicktouched

[maggicktouched]

[maggicktouched]

"You're hardly the first to consider the search to be fruitless." Fenris said dryly. His head weighed heavily on his palm as he assessed the man in front of him. The vampire was, surprisingly and in contrast to the whole of his family, about as morally upstanding as a creature that lived off of human blood could get. This refusal hardly surprised him. That he'd gone along with the Wolf King's plans for so long was a shock.

Fen sighed deep and heavy, preparing for the conversation to take a tedious turn. "My sister is unwell. Her mind wanders and I doubt she even realizes the damage she is doing to herself and the threat that could pose to millions of people. This goes beyond my selfish desire to see her home; I need her safe. The Fox Clan needs her safe. If you have any grand solutions to this problem, feel free to state them. If not, then I don't know why you're wasting both my time and yours."

closed starter for @maggicktouched

The vampire had not seen Fenris in some time, but the task that was given him was starting to weigh on his conscious. After traveling back, he approached the king without much of an announcement. His only check making sure he was not interrupting anything important. He didn't beat around the bush when he spoke. "Look I've yet to meet your sister, but I do think throughout the course of this futile search so far I've come to know her." He'd been on the run from his father for a century. Finn knew a thing or two about how living your life always looking over your shoulder festered in the mind. In turn he also knew where he could look, where she might go. And he'd come up empty, wasn't even sure if he had ever been close. "She does not want to be found, we keep pulling at this rubber band, the further and faster she will run. And when it snaps, and it will, you might just never see her again." He sighs and shakes his head. "I won't continue like this. It is not the way."

[maggicktouched]

Still not over this stomach bug and the end of the school year. Now storms in top of it all.

[maggicktouched]

A faint blush crept into her cheeks. She wasn't humble by any means. Quite the opposite. The compliments might have passed with nothing more than a grin and a thank you from most other people, but Yennefer impressed her. A glace, a honeyed word, and all the sudden her heart was racing. It reminded her of her girlhood---sneaking glances at Harper in the back of classes and kissing in the little cave behind the waterfall by the temple.

It wasn't the first time she'd compared the two. Yen and Harper were two very similar sorceresses. Each of them had a hunger inside that drove them. They were both painfully beautiful with quick tempers and sharp tongues. Ultimately, it wasn't a comparison that gave her any peace. A lifetime ago, she and Harper had loved one another so deeply it ached, and it hadn't been enough to keep them together. In the end, she had wanted simple things---safety, affection, family---and Harper's desire for power both over people and in her craft, kept her from being able to provide that.

Would it have been better if she'd have given up on everything she wanted and settled into marriage? After all, she was in much of the same position now. Her journey to this land was to be her last taste of freedom before she was made to bend to the will of her family and her people. And now she had gotten someone else caught in the snare with her.

She blinked several times, and the blush on her face went from flattered to embarrassed as she realized how far away she'd been.

"It is a beautiful thing, but those that have it forcefully thrust upon them---well I can see how they'd only be able to feel cursed. But mine is a blessing. The forms I can take, I have earned. I didn't forcefully take them like some witches. Some were given to me by those I loved, others I gained through devotion and sacrifice. There's no pain in the transformation, no fear." She shrugged. "But learning to take another form and learning to control it are two separate things. The way you perceive the world changes entirely. Colors, smells, sounds, even shadows change depending on the form, and your human mind has to learn to overcome each new kind of animal instincts. I imagine you'd take to it rather well. You seem to take to every kind of spellcraft well."

Beck rested her head back on the side of the boat and hummed softly in thought. How would her family respond? Poorly. Her mormor would be worried about how it looked. Her mummi, though she'd likely be the first to accept Yennefer, would be wary of the unknown phenomenon that had created the life growing inside her. Fenris would be furious that she'd even associated with a foreign sorceress. Especially someone as powerful and opinionated as Yen. Someone he had no chance of intimidating into submission.

"Before the last big war among our people, it wasn't too uncommon for ships of strangers to arrive on the shores of the Witch Wilds. Mostly humans, but sometimes I heard stories of elves." Her lips twisted in thought. "There are the other races too, sometimes they marry into our people. Werewolves, mostly, but I knew a woman that left the clans to join the centaurs. Haven't the slightest clue how well that went. Has it ever happened in my family? No. Not that I know of. I come from two very, very long lines of royal blood. Back to the first of our people--supposedly--and our marriages are usually arranged very carefully."

She waved her hand as if to dismiss the whole thing. "But you have something they value just as much--if not more--than blood ties to our people. You've more power in your little finger than most witches will taste in a lifetime, and you're beautiful and intelligent. They'll all take their turns yelling and cursing and telling me off when you're well out of earshot, and then it will be over. They'll undoubtedly insist we get married or that I... well, I won't even speak it." A hand went protectively to her own stomach. "I'd never allow them to do such a thing. And neither would you. All this might be---a lot to take in, and not without its challenges, but we both want this baby. Everything will be fine. And if it isn't, then I'll make it so."

She paused for a moment, drumming her fingers over her own stomach. "Does it worry you?"

No one can do everything.

Rationally, Yennefer understood the sentiment. She even believed it. That did not mean she had to like it. Asked once--in the midst of a terrible fight with a Djinn that had nearly leveled an entire city--what it was she wanted, what was so important that she would risk everything, Yen had replied, simply: everything. That had not changed. Over the years, she had learned to refine her wish list, to be more selective, more determined with what mattered the most. Becoming a mother had risen up that list until nothing else mattered quite as much. But that did not mean the other desires simply vanished. Yennefer still wanted everything, wanted to be capable of anything. The old wisdom that no one could be perfect at everything seemed to her the words of people who had not yet tried every avenue.

"We are all just trying to make it," she agreed. "Some--like you--simply do it better than others." Yen would not be shy about what she saw in front of her: a beautiful, capable, incredibly powerful woman. "I hope so." She was nervous; that she could admit to herself. Meeting Kings and Rulers meant little to her now--been there, done that--but meeting the grandmother of her child's mother? The grandmother of her--more than likely--wife to be? That was a very different risk, a different world waiting for on the other side of this boat trip.

Their relationship and the wellbeing of their future child was going to force a change in Yennefer. She was very used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted. She bossed Geralt around like it was her job--and sometimes, she thought it was. She believed, at times, that he--and everyone else--was better off when she told them exactly what to do. Because she knew better. Because her plans had a tendency of working--and a bad side effect of not being trusted. So she kept secrets. She worked silently behind the scenes. She gave orders and expected them to be obeyed without question.

But that was no way to raise a child.

Still, there was time left, months to ponder that dillema, to find a better way of...coping. Making it, as Beck had said.

"My, my, well aren't you impressive?" Yennefer's tone was both sultry, flirty, and genuinely impressed as she listened to the lore of shape shifting, how Beck could--yet again--do more than all the rest. She leaned back against the edge of the boat. She had noted Beck's reaction to being offered help of any sort but decided now was not the time to comment on it. Instead, she said, "I don't know how I'd feel. I can't imagine it: shape-shifting. My body has changed, yes,..." She let her voice trail away. Beck had not known her before the magic had shaped her, turned her into this inhumane, magical version of beautiful. "Yet, it has always been mine. Always this human form. You talk of shifting, and I think of werewolves and harpies, but you make it sound so graceful. Beautiful even." Would their child be a shifter too?

Yennefer glanced out over the water, at the banks beyond. Then she looked back to Beck. "What will your family think? Of you marrying a non-shifter? Has it happened before?"

[maggicktouched]

Fenris didn't let any particular emotions show on his face. He was famously apathetic until something managed to ignite his temper. Draco's response was measured but receptive, and that was the most that Fen could really ask for... Even if Draco didn't seem to fully grasp just what he was asking for.

"I'll not mince words with you. I have little time to spare on those who are not my subjects or my family. My offer is an offer of marriage. That is the bond I'm proposing." A shadow twisted in his periphery and Fenris followed it slowly with his piercing gaze. To anyone else it might have looked like nothing more than the fire flickering, but he was paranoid. Were they being listened to? That damnable familiar of Addie's could mold into the darkness and hide in plain sight if she wanted to. His finger traced a seal upon the smooth leather of the couch where he rested, and a faint pulse of magic rippled through the air. Wordless. Invisible to the eye. But palpable. It was nothing. Just shadows playing tricks on him.

"With our families joined together, I'd have a vested interest in your ambitions. I am young, but I am still a king, and when my education is finished I'll return to Finland and take up my father's mantle to rule properly. I'll have the power and resources to aid you in any of your endeavors." He let that last word linger in the air. They were both aware that war was brewing. After a moment, a deep sigh left his throat, and for a single heartbeat, the exhaustion showed on his face. "What I'm asking is fairly straight forward. Addie was born into the priesthood, and she cannot take our mother's throne, but she is royal still. Undoubtedly worthy of taking the Malfoy name. Marry my sister, take care of her, and this will secure my loyalty. All I want is for her to be safe."

[x] The truth was that Draco hadn’t had all that much reason to think about Beck — she seemed to have her own little circle and was cheerful enough, so he probably had no reason to be concerned. Besides, his mind was usually on bigger things than individuals at Hogwarts. Yes, there were a few students he had a personal stake in. Vince and Greg were his responsibility, and no matter how much he hated Pansy’s clinginess, he was also going to do his best to keep her safe in the upcoming war. Aside from that, he’d do as much for Beck as he did for anyone else, which largely meant he’d be civil and only offer help if explicitly asked to do so. After all, he had no intention of keeping her indebted to him. It seemed a poor choice.

And maybe he was a little wary of her cat. Sue him.

None of these thoughts could have prepared him for what Fenris was saying. An alliance… knowing that the wizarding world was on the brink of catastrophe? Did that mean that Fenris would be willing to assist in the fight? Many of the Slytherins were not of the same mind as Draco, though they admired him, and he was keenly aware that he may raise his wand against people he’d known for his entire life very soon.

It was a hell of a thing to suggest. Draco wasn’t foolish enough to assume that whatever Fenris was suggesting would see him through the war intact. But then what was he suggesting.

He replied cautiously. “I am not stupid enough to turn down such a massive alliance, not only specifically to your clans but as a way of bridging the wizarding world with that of your witches. I would not presume that all of our kind would understand even a fraction of what you are and know and do.” True enough, even Draco knew little at the moment. “I could, in time, move to quell any uprising against your people, if there came a need for it, but I am not in your position of power just yet. What would you ask of me in the meantime? Bonds in blood come in many forms, many of which are no longer legal, but I’m sure you already know that. Depending on what kind it is, I may not be averse to it.”

In a way, it made sense for Fenris to use a proxy, Draco thought. If this was the kind of blood bond that tied one’s soul to another and built in a level of codependence, that would be motivation enough for any ruler to avoid it. Perhaps his sister was amenable to the idea, or simply a convenient device for the alliance to occur. Either way, he’d have to examine Fenris’s offer very carefully before accepting.

[maggicktouched]

King. Fenris bites off the correction in his head. Ultimately he has nothing to prove to this stranger, and it hadn't felt like intentional disrespect. He has a vicious streak, but Fenris is no raving madman that sends people to the chopping block for such trivialities. Though he is certain that the rumors whispered in the dark corners of the temple by nosy serving girls and young priests would tell a different story.

But the correction sticks at the tip of his tongue for one reason: he has more than just a community. He has a kingdom. Not of a hundred or even a few thousand witches, but of millions that live across the Wild Wilds and scattered in the human world that rely on his leadership---that bow their head at the sounding of his name.

"You may stay here as my guest." Fenris says, opting to let the matter of his title go. Finn isn't going anywhere, and he is certain someone else will gasp and hurriedly inform him of his mistake sometime in the near future. "Anything you need, I can acquire. Simply ask."

And with that, the vampire left. Finn stays as an honored guest in his home, and Fenris neither denies him nor offers any information on how to leave. He draws his people from the human world and back into the safety of the Witch Wilds as Niklaus Mikaelson throws an unholy temper tantrum and otherwise goes about his business unbothered. He isn't really sure what to do with his guest---for the most part he seems utterly clueless about the events of the last few centuries so his former plans fall by the wayside---but the vampire isn't any trouble and Fenris is a very patient wolf. Besides, he indulges in far less than what Fenris would have provided if asked. Knowledge, blood, and lodgings are really all he seems to desire.

"You ask for so little. How could I refuse you this?" Fenris says dryly. There are other things on his mind. Addie is causing trouble again, and the last batch of bounty hunters he sent for her had come back via the post in the form two fat snails. They still haven't been able to turn the idiots back to their human forms and it's been a week.

The Wolf King sighs and tries to focus. "What is it you require?"

The vampire listens carefully. Tries to process the information as best as he can. He can accept the facts thrown at him. He is no stranger to magic, but.. well, it was a lot wasn't it? Centuries away from home in a world not his, surrounded by people he doesn't even know if he can trust. In the end he just nods. "Secret magic community, of which you are the leader." He combs a hand through his hair. "I should be more impressed," he admits, but he feels too numb "to learn something like this exists." His other hand remains firmly clasped around the dagger and for a moment he is silent. Overwhelmed by his own thoughts. Apathy lurking in the shadows. He swallows, shaking it off. "And I should like to learn more, but.. perhaps not now." His gaze is trained on the other, trying to read his response. The man didn't give away much. "Do you know somewhere I could stay? I am grateful your feud with my brother led you to release me.. but I need some time to process. To adjust. I will need a way to access blood too." The months pass by quickly after that. Even though Finn is allowed to stay, he does not feel particularly welcome. More like he is simply tolerated because it is requested of them. Finn stays ever polite and respectful towards his hosts. Sometimes he does ask people about Fenris, trying to get a better idea of who he was. He was not a king loved for the kindness in his heart. He was a king that was somewhat feared. He had been given his freedom, but from what little he had been able to pry loose, Finn suspected it was going to come at a price. The realization shifts his focus a bit. He takes time to familiarize himself with basic history, takes his first steps learning modern language. It gets him through the day, but each day the desire to leave this place grows too. He wants to find his family, face them. And so he requests an audience with Fenris again. Makes his way to the temple where he had awoken. He takes a deep breath before pushing through the final door, relaxing his shoulders. "Thank you for seeing me."

[maggicktouched]

I'd like to mention that Beck pretty rarely just touches animals, especially wild ones, even if she's given the chance to do so.

Animals are drawn to her and often seek her out, wild or otherwise, but Beck is very respectful of these creatures. She seeks not only to honor the way they communicate naturally but also to respect the wildness in them. So you'll rarely see her touch wild animals, and if she does it is almost always because they touched her first. Exceptions are made for animals she's more familiar with or if they are hurt though.

Beck is very aware of her power and very aware that she could have pretty much whatever she wanted from animals (or from people if she really wanted to dedicate herself and learn to influence human minds) but that is very much not who she is. She loves the wild world, and she loves her magic, and believes they are worthy of the deepest respect. It is enough to be near them. To feel their presence and the gentle way their spirits flutter against hers. It's enough to be a part of their world rather than an interloper.

Some wild animals hang around her more frequently (especially in verses where she's settled into one place) and sometimes she'll touch them if they seek her out and she can feel that they really want her to, but for the most part she names them, talks to them, watches them from afar, and is happy to let them be.

[maggicktouched]

I have both replies and muse to do them but this week has been so long and I've been so tired

[maggicktouched]

"It would be best if he simply went ho-"

"I will do it."

Linnea paused. A stunned silence followed. She was unaccustomed to being interrupted, and even less familiar with people completely disregarding what she'd been saying. It was like he hadn't heard a single word. Her eyes cut over to Karl, who was staring hopelessly at this young king. Why wasn't he saying anything?

"I can do it."

The urge to roll her eyes was almost too strong to resist, but she restrained herself. Was this the sort of confidence that came with youth? Or perhaps love granted him his nerve. Either way, it was going to get him killed, and she couldn't allow it. There would be consequences to his death and his people---innocent people---would pay the price for his stubborn love. As a queen herself, she couldn't sit by and allow that to happen. If he was too young and blind to protect them by preserving his life, she would. If for no other reason than to save herself the headache that it would cause her later.

"Absolutely not." Linnea said sternly. The tone was more motherly than she meant for it to be---as if she were addressing one of her grandchildren. She pursed her lips and corrected herself. "I cannot allow you to enter the competition. I appreciate that you may have---strong feelings regarding my granddaughter, and given our current circumstances I don't doubt that she feels the same, but we are not the Bears. We do not participate in harems. Go home to your people. Return to the wife you already have."

It was a good excuse to turn him down. At least, she thought it was until Karl visibly winced and shook his head at her. Her cool mask slipped a little from her face. There was a hint of pity in her eyes as she looked away from the boy.

"I'm sorry. I had not been informed." She said gently. The apology shocked Karl, who had never once heard her utter the words.

"You are having no reason to deny him." Karl replied once the surprise wore off. "He is a King."

"On the contrary, I have plenty of reasons to deny him." She twisted the ring on her finger as she spoke, the barest hint to how anxious she was truly feeling. "An entire population of people rely on him. As their king, he has a responsibility to every single person he brought to this new land... but, as far as the law is concerned, I have no grounds to force you to consider that before attempting this foolishness. If you are unbound to any other, and you wish to compete, it is your right as a king."

Robb's breath caught in his throat. Grani. He did not think he would ever forget Beck's companion, even if he was lucky to live another hundred years. Linnea was right about one thing: he was not just a horse. From the moment Beck had first introduced them, Robb had felt that, known it deep in his bones: that this was a creature unlike any he had ever met before. And he remembered, too, what Grani meant to her: He found me some years ago, on the brink of death, she'd said, He all but demanded the familiar bond. She would have died if the horse had not found her, if he had not bound his magic with hers. Robb recalled him lying gently in a field, allowing Beck to braid wildflowers into his mane, while Robb's own wolf, Grey Wind, slept soundly by his side.

He had not brought the wolf with him this time. It's absence felt like a wound, and the first night on the ship, he had not slept at all, plagued by the lingering sound of Grey Wind's howls on the wind, a memory that played again and again in his mind. Even as the days passed, he would find himself reaching out instinctively, expecting a looming force and heavy fur at his side. But he had not thought it wise to bring a direwolf into an unknown kingdom, not when he had declared so adamantly that he came in peace. He was not here to negotiate or intimidate. He was here to find Beck and only Beck. To do whatever it took to make sure she was alright. If that meant leaving a part of himself behind, then it must be so.

They say that when witches marry, and they share their blood, their familiars can learn to communicate with their spouses and children.

Of course, Beck wanted her future husband to be chosen by Grani. To earn that role in her family.

He is my familiar. My heart… A living piece of my soul.

"I will do it," Robb said suddenly, breaking up the argument of the two elders. His hand clenched in his lap, remembering the feeling of Beck's fingers laced through his own, her gentle guiding hand as she'd brought him forward, placed his palm against the stallion's strong head. It had been just a moment, the briefest of seconds. She had warned him that even that was rare. To ride the creature for so long? It was likely impossible. Every man that had tried it before him had all but proven that it was. Yet--

"I can do it," he said. Was that ignorance? Perhaps. He preferred to think of it as faith. That maybe everything did happen for a reason. That there was a reason they had met all those years ago, a reason she had introduced him to her familiar. A reason he could communicate with Grey Wind the way he could--despite having no real magic--if only it was to get her attention, to prove her trust.

[maggicktouched]

It wasn't that she had a poor opinion of herself. On the contrary, she was prone toward vanity. It had been necessary to survive a youth filled with her mother's loathing and the whispers of her teachers and peers and priests whenever they glanced her way. Most people didn't matter; they didn't care about her, and in turn she didn't care about them (or at least she tried very hard not to). At the very least she certainly didn't care what they said.

No. It wasn't humility or an inability to accept her own prowess that made her uncomfortable. The concept itself just sat poorly with her. As a rule of thumb she was convinced that she wasn't any better than anyone, and they weren't any better than her. There were exceptions for truly despicable folk.

"I guess." She shrugged. "I can do things they can't. They can do things I can't. And no one can do everything. At the end of the day, we're all just people, and---misguided as they are---they are just trying to make it. Same as me. "

Her grandmother might have hit her for saying something like that out loud.

She let out a soft sigh, "You'll see eye to eye with my Mormor, I'm sure."

Maybe there was a time when the Fox Queen had been humble and warm, but life had stripped that from her. A war had cost her all of the family she'd had, and when she married and rebuilt that family, it had been ripped away from her as well. The death of her son by her husband's hand, the death of her daughter by her own, though for entirely different reasons, both incidents had scarred her. She held herself apart from people, and above them, as far as Beck could tell.

"It'll be fine. I'm sure." There was a little tick in her expression, easy to miss for the less observant. A slight wince that betrayed her discomfort. She trusted Yennefer, but she had never trusted medicine nor healers. Being sick was bad enough, but being seen while she was sick--accepting anyone's help--set her off terribly. Even the smell of medicinal potions sent her back to being a little girl on the edge of her dying father's bed.

"I hope you do... " She shook her head, mumbling quietly. "He's in need of a friend."

Beck leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to the gentle sound of water rushing against the boat. It really was a beautiful day. There was much to love in this place. She'd been fortunate enough to avoid the worst of this land across the sea. To her, this place was freedom. It was a shame her time here had been cut so short.

"We can all shift. It's the mark of our people. There are twenty one different clans of witches, all named after their sacred animal. My parents were married in an alliance between the Fox Clan and the Wolf Clan. I took the Fox upon my first shift. Fenris, the Wolf. You don't get to choose. It's passed down through the blood, and then one day, usually right after you turn six, you shift... but most witches only ever take the one other form. My ability to shift into many different creatures is fairly unique."

"You don't need to," Yennefer said simply. "I have said it for you. I have found people have a very hard time commenting on their own gifts." Yennefer had no such issue, not in complementing the future mother of her child or in declaring her own aptitude had nearly everything she tried. As far as she was concerned, she, Yennefer, was the most powerful sorceress she knew. She had made sure of that. If there was a magic she did not already know, she would study it. If there was a mystery she did not know the answer to, a spell she had not memorized, she would do so immediately. Yet it was seeming clear to her already that Beck was simply not in the same sphere as the other sorceress and green witches that Yennefer had met. Her magic operated on a different sphere entirely, one Yennefer knew nothing about--and one she desperately wished to learn.

What a strange thought, not being sick. But the moment she contemplated her, Yennefer realized it had been decades since she had been sick herself. When she was young, her body had never done what she wished it to; it was twisted and sickly, and she had felt that she was in a constant battle against it, always wishing to be someone else, always hoping for abilities beyond the prison that was her skin and bones. And then, one day, she'd realized what she could do, had come to understand her own power, and with magic at her side, she had never been sick again. She could not imagine losing that feeling. How terrible it must be for Beck to feel that she had lost control of her own being.

"Then we will solve it," she decided. She was not one for uncertainty, for waiting around for answers to show themselves. "There is not much to be done on this boat, but I have my books with me. A few ingredients. I'm sure I can come up with something." She would not settle, not rest until she had. After all these years, she was having a baby, the one thing she'd been tole was impossible, despite all her study and attempts to circumvent her infertility. Surely something as simple as morning sickness could be dealt with.

Yennefer leaned back as she listened. Mummi. Mormor. She put the names--or rather, pet names, it seemed--to memory. Despite Beck's insistance that this "Mummi" would like her, Yennefer had her doubts. She had never met a mother or a mother's mother that had liked her. As for her brother... "A dangerous, controlling witch with a quick temper and a sharp mind?" she repeated, smirking slightly. "I think I'll like him." Yet despite her flippant response, it was clear to Yennefer that there was a deep and complicated history here, that this family had suffered and put itself back together with scars. Beck's mother seemed to have a lot to do with it. Yennefer had seen many kings in her time, had worked for many of them, dethroned several others. But her heart ached to think of a nine year old boy, in over his head, forced to rule. And their child would be the heir? It was quite a lot to absorb.

"I see," she said finally. "It seems there is much to respect in your family. And much more I will need to learn." She wondered if they, like Beck, would have barriers to her reading their minds. She wondered how angry they'd be if she did read their minds. It was always much easier to read a strangers' thoughts than to truly try and get to know them. Talking, after all, took so much time. Then again, if Yen was to marry Beck, to make this life her own, she would have quite a lot of time on her hands--forever, in fact. She smoothed out the fold of her black pants. "And your family, they can shift as you do?"

[maggicktouched]

✎ㅤ. . .ㅤ𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis /headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.

[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? [ ☂️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they crave touch or fear it ? [ 🎐 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a sound, like a song or voice, that they associate with peace ? [ 🕊️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen did they feel the safest ? [ 💤 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they sleep ? curled up, sprawled, holding onto something ? [ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ? [ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ? [ 🪢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they broke a promise ? [ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ? [ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ? [ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ? [ ⛓️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does guilt feel like to them ? [ 💢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho have they never forgiven and never will ? [ 🩸 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there something or someone that, if lost, would break them ? [ 🌧️ ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a pain they refuse to heal from ? [ 🪞 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen have they looked at their reflection and hated what they saw ? [ 📿 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat superstition or ritual do they cling to ? [ 🌊 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they cried ? [ 🐾 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo animals like them instinctively ? [ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ? [ 🫀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? [ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ? [ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ? [ 🔦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they search for ? [ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ? [ 🌒 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a dream or goal they have given up on ? [ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat memory do they replay when they’re alone ? [ 🌪️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the one choice they regret (not) making ? [ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ? [ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ? [ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ? [ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ? [ 🕸️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a favourite lie they like to hear ? [ 🪦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat would they want on their gravestone but never admit aloud ? [ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ? [ 🌀 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a recurring dream or nightmare ? [ 🍃 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they feel like they belong ? [ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ? [ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?

[maggicktouched]

So this was Robb Stark.

Dahlia had always been hard to pin down. As a little girl she'd had a penchant for running away into the woods that had only festered and spread like some kind of infection in her body. Her tolerance for people had waned as she got older---perhaps because of her wild nature, or maybe it was a product of the abuse her mother had heaped upon her---regardless, she had spent several years running away from her duties both to their family and to the priesthood she'd been born into. Every time she arranged a marriage for her granddaughter, the girl would go missing again. No matter how good the match, how advantageous the alliance, how dire the need to have a living heir for the Foxes proved, she didn't care. She did not wish to be married.

And sitting before her was the reason she'd given it all up. Dahlia hadn't needed to tell her anything about Robb. There was no need to explain. It was a sacrifice for a man she loved.

He was handsome enough, she supposed, and they appeared to be the same age, but he was mortal. More importantly, he was married. The Foxes were generally a monogamous folk, and even if she allowed her granddaughter to become a second wife, the man was human.

"Dahlia has a horse." She explained, "She has decreed any man that can mount the golden stallion and ride him around the arena three times without falling will have her hand."

Beside King Robb, Karl Pallson visibly winced. "Not Grani."

"No matter how good a horseman you may consider yourself, it cannot be done. Grani is not just a horse, he is a sun spirit in the body of a horse. The first man didn't even make it on his back before Grani broke his ribs. The second was rammed against the fence so harshly his leg was snapped in two, and then the golden monster reared back his head and broke the boy's nose for good measure. The last one used a silver bridle to try and force him into submission, and it worked for the first two laps. On the third, the bridle melted away, and Grani sprouted wings and leaped into the air, where he proceeded to fly him into the nearest tree. He was nearly dead when recovered."

"But... why do this? This is only meaning the next rider is more cruel." Karl said, sounding bewildered and hopeless.

Linnea let out a defeated sigh. "I believe that is the point. She knew the price for saving the mortals was her hand in marriage, and even still she will not go quietly. She wants everyone to see that if she is to be tamed, it will not be willingly."

They were met at the door by a beautiful older woman whose bronze hair was streaked with gray. She was short, muscular, and round with a neatly pressed apron dress that matched the slender stripes in her hair. Edla Holmgren, the head of the staff at the Tandy Estate, barely reached his waist, and Karl knew if she was here instead of back home managing things, then Linnea was reaching her wits end.

"King Pallson, King Stark, the Queen has been expecting you." The elder witch said tightly.

Karl huffed a pitiful laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood, "With the knife in her hand, eh?"

"Your grace, all due respect, but I doubt you'd be given the mercy of such a clean death." There was the faintest glint of amusement in her eye as she spoke, and it gave him just a bit of hope.

Even the temporary home of the Foxes was grandiose. Painfully clean and glittering with golden accents. Towering ceilings and sprawling rooms that never caught a chill due to both magic and carefully tended fireplaces that snarled behind metal grates like chained lions as they devoured the tender in their claws. A crew of women in dresses quite similar to Edla's silently roamed the halls and kept everything in order. Linnea had a limited tolerance for men, and that was a well known fact.

Edla lead them to a set of double doors that flew open without so much as a gesture from the witch. Inside was a lavish sitting room with plush couches that looked as if no one had ever dared to sit on them in the presence of the Fox Queen. And Linnea Tandy was perched on the end of a cream colored chair sipping her tea and glaring at him like he was a roach scurrying across the floor.

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmgren." She said gently---apparently unwilling to take her sour mood out on her employee and dearest friend. It was not the tone with which she addressed him only seconds later. "Are you pleased with yourself?"

It was practically a hiss. He hadn't even had time to speak.

"Me?" Karl gracelessly took a seat on one of the couches and scoffed. "I am doing nothing. You are the one making up this--this contest!"

Linnea clenched her jaw, then turned to look at Robb. "You must be Robb Stark. I am Linnea Tandy. Welcome. Though I don't know why you let this old fool drag you to this farce. Surely you don't mean to compete in the final challenge."

"Farce? The Tourney?"

"Tourney? Ha! More like blood sport." She sighed. "I've never been so embarrassed in my life, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."

Karl sat up a bit, looking from Linnea to Robb. "This is not your idea?"

"My idea? Don't be a fool. Do you honestly think I would give my granddaughter away like a broodmare at auction. To these simpletons? Don't make me laugh. She insisted on this, and I had no grounds to deny her. In fact, I was certain it had to be you or your wife who gave her such a dreadful idea. And now there will never be an end to it, because she has set an impossible task here at the end of it all."

[maggicktouched]

"I wouldn't say that..." Beck said with a wince, then she heaved again, though blessedly nothing came out. Sure she was stronger, but better was a tricky word. The power came at a cost. People didn't trust her, people had used what she was to justify her mother's treatment of her, and there was always that siren's call deeper into the woods---a desire to leave the world of man and witch behind and join the great spirits of the forest and the beasts that sang her name. Was it better to be this way? She'd always considered it both a great gift and a heavy burden.

Beck covered her mouth and breathed deeply. Blessedly, they were far enough from town that the air was fresh and the river they rode was clean enough. Meadow flowers and the moist, almost sweet smell of the forest filled her lungs as she greedily gulped in air. Yennefer took the hand that wasn't over her mouth, and Beck gave her a weak smile.

"Thanks... I've---never been sick before." She admitted. Over her life she'd suffered many many injuries. Falls from trees or horses, even the occasional cliff, cruelties at her mother's hand, scratches from animals that she'd lacked the power to control, there was even a bite on her leg from a whale that had gotten too playful and dragged her under the surf. She'd stolen and killed to soothe a starving stomach, she'd stitched and splinted gaping wounds and broken bones, but she'd never once in her life vomited before her pregnancy, and she couldn't be certain what the hell could be done for it. Everything she ate, she saw again a short while later, with the exception of some hot tea or bland bread. She grunted, then swallowed the saliva gathering in her mouth that threatened she would vomit again, "I'm not used to my body not doing what I want, or what there is to be done for it."

Beck winced slightly at the mention of her family, but Yennefer did have a right to know what she was about to be elbow deep in.

"Well, I was the daughter of a political marriage between the Wolf and the Fox Clans. My mother, was once queen of the Foxes, and my father the King of the Wolves. But my parents have both passed. Long since. I was only a girl when my father died. Six, I think? My mummi---my father's mother---couldn't handle the grief for many years, but she's mostly recovered now. She's sick with worry for me, but she's a kind soul, and she'll welcome you into the family eagerly whether you like it or not. Be prepared to eat a lot around her." Beck paused and laughed warmly at the thought of her grandmother, then she grimaced once more as she thought of her other grandmother. "My mormor is who we will be staying with. My mother's mother. She's the current Queen of the Foxes, and by all rights, our child will be the heir to her throne one day. She is stern, powerful, and absolutely ruthless to those that oppose her, but she has a soft spot for me. Not that it'll spare me a proper chewing out when I get home. It is best to avoid offending her. Don't bring up my mother. Or her husband. My morfar. He's been in a kind of silent exile since before I was born. He lives in the summer estate far away. You'll likely never meet him. I never have... and then there is Fenris. Fen is a right prick, but he's my brother. I escaped our mother---maybe not unscathed, but I escaped her. Time after time. He never did. He was made to take my father's seat as King of the Wolves when he was just nine, and between that and my mother, well, it all did a number on him. He's calmed down a bit over the years but... if he demands something, he gets it. My mormor is about the only one that can stand up to him, but even she doesn't do so carelessly. He's a very dangerous witch with a quick temper and a sharp mind. And he tends to be controlling... but he had a good heart once. I still believe it's there---somewhere. He loves me, and I love him, but it's complicated."

She sighed. The desire to throw up had at least passed. There was a brief shadow and fluttering of wings as Habrok swooped low, and something soft jostled into her lap. It was her water skin. The hawk flew a low circle around the boat before perching himself on the bow.

"Sorry." Beck whispered, pulling the cork from the skin and rinsing her mouth before taking a proper drink. "He's not great with new people, or really any people that aren't me. He'll warm up... but yeah, my familiars, my mormor, my mummi, and my brother. That's pretty much the whole family. My mormor's family mostly died in the War of the Twin Flowers, and my dad was my mummi's only child. It's just us. That's why they were going to make me get married anyway after this trip. I'm sure mormor had it all neatly arranged."

"So your magic is better than others. Stronger." It was not what Beck had said, exactly, but was it not the gist of it, that she had connected to the world around her at a younger age than nearly anyone else, that her magic was so strong, it had showed its face long before the rest? From the sound of it, it seemed Beck had the magic of the ancients within her. And so might our child, thought Yennefer. Would their child, too, feel the pull of the forest, the call of the animals?

Yennfer folded her hands together in her lap, looking out at the world that surrounded the boat on every side. The mountains in the distance, the swaying trees, the sun low in the sky. Beck was a part of this world, every element a piece of her but Yennefer felt apart from it all, as if a wall had been built between them. It was a wall she had been constructing all her life.

As Beck grew ill, Yennefer hesitated, unsure if she should do something or not. Should she get a rag, hold it to Beck's head? Should she, perhaps, brew up a potion for nausea? Or was it best to simply let things be, to wait until Beck asked for help and otherwise allow her to deal at her own pace? After all, it wasn't like the reaction was unexpected.

If it were up to Yennefer--if she were more external with her emotions--she too might have puked over the side of the boat at the idea of being bound, magically, to a man on the other side of the world. Sometimes the thought did make her queasy. In truth, the idea of sailing toward an unknown land to have a child with and, perhaps, marry a woman she barely knew also made her queasy. But Yennefer rarely allowed herself to feel such things, and she was sure that Beck would not like to hear her woes when she was the one carrying the child.

"Darling, you're pregnant. I'm going to see much worse," she reminded her. "You do not need to apologize for being ill." She reached out and gave Beck's hand a little squeeze--a middle ground for the myriad of options spiraling around in her mind. "In fact, I'd be worried if you weren't a bit seasick." But they would need to get something in her stomach eventually to make sure she and the babe were well-nourished. But not just yet. Yennefer would give her time first to ease her stomach.

"If I asked you to tell me about your family, would it make you ill again?" she asked. "If I dared tell you about mine, it would certainly turn your stomach, and I'm not nearly that cruel. But I do wonder what I am walking--or rather sailing--into."

[maggicktouched]

They were met at the door by a beautiful older woman whose bronze hair was streaked with gray. She was short, muscular, and round with a neatly pressed apron dress that matched the slender stripes in her hair. Edla Holmgren, the head of the staff at the Tandy Estate, barely reached his waist, and Karl knew if she was here instead of back home managing things, then Linnea was reaching her wits end.

"King Pallson, King Stark, the Queen has been expecting you." The elder witch said tightly.

Karl huffed a pitiful laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood, "With the knife in her hand, eh?"

"Your grace, all due respect, but I doubt you'd be given the mercy of such a clean death." There was the faintest glint of amusement in her eye as she spoke, and it gave him just a bit of hope.

Even the temporary home of the Foxes was grandiose. Painfully clean and glittering with golden accents. Towering ceilings and sprawling rooms that never caught a chill due to both magic and carefully tended fireplaces that snarled behind metal grates like chained lions as they devoured the tender in their claws. A crew of women in dresses quite similar to Edla's silently roamed the halls and kept everything in order. Linnea had a limited tolerance for men, and that was a well known fact.

Edla lead them to a set of double doors that flew open without so much as a gesture from the witch. Inside was a lavish sitting room with plush couches that looked as if no one had ever dared to sit on them in the presence of the Fox Queen. And Linnea Tandy was perched on the end of a cream colored chair sipping her tea and glaring at him like he was a roach scurrying across the floor.

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmgren." She said gently---apparently unwilling to take her sour mood out on her employee and dearest friend. It was not the tone with which she addressed him only seconds later. "Are you pleased with yourself?"

It was practically a hiss. He hadn't even had time to speak.

"Me?" Karl gracelessly took a seat on one of the couches and scoffed. "I am doing nothing. You are the one making up this--this contest!"

Linnea clenched her jaw, then turned to look at Robb. "You must be Robb Stark. I am Linnea Tandy. Welcome. Though I don't know why you let this old fool drag you to this farce. Surely you don't mean to compete in the final challenge."

"Farce? The Tourney?"

"Tourney? Ha! More like blood sport." She sighed. "I've never been so embarrassed in my life, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."

Karl sat up a bit, looking from Linnea to Robb. "This is not your idea?"

"My idea? Don't be a fool. Do you honestly think I would give my granddaughter away like a broodmare at auction. To these simpletons? Don't make me laugh. She insisted on this, and I had no grounds to deny her. In fact, I was certain it had to be you or your wife who gave her such a dreadful idea. And now there will never be an end to it, because she has set an impossible task here at the end of it all."

Robb brought only his brother Jon with him. In their lands, Jon had been considered a "bastard"--base born, unable to inherit even his father's name, he had no future in Westeros. But in this new world--the one Robb was currently working so hard to build--there was no reason for such old, backwards laws. Robb had legitimized Jon immediately and made him part of his council, and as he sailed across a strange new land--not even daring to say what he hoped to find on the other side--there was no one he wanted with him more than his brother.

Still, it was not exactly a pleasant trip.

When the day finally came that they entered the Fox Lands, Robb watched from the bow of the ship, his eyes skimming the plum-colored trees and brightly colored tents. So this was where Beck had grown up. This was the land of her family. Would it truly be the place where she spent the rest of her days? There was still so much he did not know about her, still so much he had hoped he would have the time to learn. But time, it seemed, had never been on their side.

Robb's eyes followed the Bear King's toward the balcony. He did not recognize the woman standing there--of course he didn't, for this was a strange land filled with strange people, and Robb was a newcomer to them all--yet he could tell immediately from her expression that their arrival was not to her liking. At this distance, he could not see the color of her eyes or the curls of her hair, could not see if she had any of Beck's beauty or kindness or grace. But he could see that she was, indeed, a queen, and she wore her lineage in the line of her shoulders, in the sharp curve of her back.

"I know," he replied. Then, aware that he must sound like a petulant child being scolded, he added, "Rest assured, I have nothing but respect for the queen. And I have no wish to make matters more difficult for yourself or Beck after all you have done aid me and mine." As always, his heart did a backflip at the very mention of Beck's name. Not now, he thought. She is competing to be married. A suitor might already have won her hand. They could already be too late. This was no time to let his heart get the better of his head.

[maggicktouched]

[maggicktouched]

[about my own oc, who i created] in theory its possible she would say that, but we just dont know for sure

[maggicktouched]

"I was told what I was long before I ever could have understood it." She said vaguely. At barely three years old, she'd been the youngest witch to ever shift---or at the very least, the youngest anyone in the Fox or Wolf clans had ever known about. Before that, her uncle Leif had been the youngest when he'd shifted a month before his fifth birthday. Her memories from that age were mostly shadows and blurred colors and feelings of warmth. Whispers of feelings and a lingering taste of love was all that usually came to mind when she searched her thoughts for anything from those first few precious years of life. All but one. One memory, magically preserved for her as it was all her people, was crystal clear in her mind's eye. All she'd need to do was stare off into the swaying grasses of the shoreline until the real world faded away, and she'd feel the vibration of her father's footsteps---hear the creak of the door. One careless thought could put her back in that body, wrapped in fur for the first time, looking up into the face of her parents---one filled with shock and the other immediate contempt.

She did not let her mind wander. Not there. Never there. Her mother's hatred was vivid enough in her mind, and she had so few memories of her father; she didn't want to taint what she did have.

"My people call us feral witches. We aren't common, but I'm far from the only one. We're identified by the age that we shift. While all young witches interact with magic and even cast minor spells, our first shifts typically happen at six or seven. If it happens before then, you're a feral witch." Beck chewed the inside of her lip. She wasn't sure whether or not to tell Yennefer just how her people saw feral witches. Before she knew anything about nature or spirits, before she knew what the word feral even meant, she'd known she was different from the look in her parents' eyes. "They say we all used to be feral witches back in the age of the Grandmothers of the Forest, but not anymore. They don't know why."

But she had a feeling. They had tamed themselves over the years. No longer witches of the wilds, because they had abandoned the wilds for the extravagance and safety of civilization. Feral, they called her, not wild, because she had slipped the noose of self-domestication and allowed the Spirit to blossom inside her... Not that she'd been given much of a choice.

"It happens to animals sometimes too---well---obviously." She made a motion toward Habrok circling in the sky above. "But I mean sometimes it isn't even because there is a witch around. The Spirit just... takes root. They don't have anyone to tell them what they are, but I imagine they feel it eventually. I feel it now, deep in my bones, hear it singing in my sleep. The branches of the forest stretch out to me like the open arms of a mother. The deepest caverns hum an ancient song that few but I can hear. Animals come to my aid or yearn to stay by my side. Now I cannot help but know."

Yennefer thankfully stepped in to put a stop to her rambling, but as she spoke, a wave a nausea swept over her. Whether that was because of the morning sickness or her strong tendency toward jealousy, she wasn't really sure. A spark of pain in her jaw as her teeth sank into the flesh kept her mouth shut and her mind on other things than the rolling of her stomach.

"I see." She said, uncertain how to respond to the news that the woman she was having a child with, and undoubtly going to marry if her family had their way, was forever bonded with a man by a magic she knew nothing about. Yen didn't seem happy about it, but she wouldn't have appreciated sympathy or drawn comfort from false promises that everything would be alright. In fact, Beck wasn't sure she was the sort to draw comfort from anything. Yennefer, from what she could tell, trusted nor relied on anyone. She carved the world around her into whatever comfort she desired.

"Hopefully he does not find himself lost across the sea." Another awkward statement without any heart to it, but she didn't want to say nothing and let her jealousy show. In the end, she had no right to be jealous where Yennefer was concerned.

The nausea was too much. Beck stood to her feet, trying not to let her face betray her. She desperately searched for a place to flee where she might privately release the contents of her stomach and be spared the humiliation of it, but the boat wasn't large enough for that degree of privacy without using a spell. There was no time for that, and Yennefer would fee her hiding something anyway.

Beck leaned over the side of the boat and retched miserably until what she'd managed for breakfast was expelled from her stomach and she was breathless. Her face was flushed from the exertion as well as the embarrassment when she righted herself.

"I am so sorry. I guess the baby isn't a fan of boats."

Yennefer was a well of endless desire, a black hole of need and spiraling, pulsating power. She had never felt the way Beck was now describing, as though she was a part of something, as though she were anything more than a parasite, sucking energy from the world around her. The closest she had ever felt to connection was the day the sorceress Tissaia found her and brought her to the magical school of Aretuza. For the very first time, she had experienced some akin to friendship. For the first time in her life, she was surrounded by people like her: those with the same power buzzing beneath their skin, the same relentless ambition, the same disconnect from everyone around them. And yet the friendship came at a cost, with a limit. It was a sisterhood, yes, but like any sisters, they cared for one another just as much as they despised each other, competing endlessly, always determined to be stronger than the others, to stand out, to be the best.

If Yennefer were to be the reincarnation of a spirit, it would not be anything so pure or beautiful as the moon or sun or nature. She would be a spirit of want, a vacuum in space tugging, seeking, sucking in the world around it, intent on making everything it could touch a part of itself. As she listened to Beck speak, she tried to imagine what such a connection might feel like, but she had no reference or experience to which she could compare. Yennefer had a bad habit of running the moment anything felt too comfortable, too familiar, so of course she could not possess anything with such a name. (And that too was a line in the sand between their two very different lives, that the word possess came so quickly to mind; not friend, not ally, not fellow. Yennefer knew only how to take.)

“Perhaps,” she replied. Her expression had folded into the same unreadable mask she so often wore in public. She saw no point arguing with the woman, yet she could not agree. Beck was sweet, kind-hearted. Of course she thought the best of Yennefer too, thought her deeper than she was, thought her power noble. But did the birds not come because her magic forced them to her will? Was she not simply a puppet master borrowing the energy of all life around her?

But the birds live, said a little voice in the back of her mind. In her world, magic always came with a cost. As she drew energy from the world around her, that energy had to come from somewhere. She had been taught with flowers—pull the life from the flower, and convert it into a spell. Sometimes, the best thing a flower can do for us is die, Tissaia would say. But the birds lived. They thrived, even. They appeared, they did her bidding, and they remained intact, cheerful and determined—no wilting feathers or sullen faces.

As she carefully watched Beck’s expression, took in every word, Yennefer thought of the gardens she’d killed, the life she’d sucked from growing vines, the trees she’d sucked dry. Here, sitting before her, was the very essence of nature itself, and she its killer. Yet it happened less and less, her power requiring less energy, taking less and less each time. It had been the same in school. Every sorceress and sorcerer she’d met required an offering, substances to draw from, in order to open a portal. Yennefer needed nothing but the mere thought of her destination.

“How did you know?” she asked. “That you were this spirit?” She had seen many nature spirits, godlings and monsters too, ancient witches of the forest and prophecized saviors and end-bringers. Yet she had heard of nothing like Beck before. “In any case, it seems you were all meant for each other. I am glad they found you.” And if there was the slightest tinge of jealousy behind her words, the reckless, hopeless desire to ever care or be cared for in such a manner, she did not let it show.

“There is a man,” she said suddenly. Her eyes remained on the water, on the curve of the ox’s head and the parting pool beneath his body. “Many years ago, I attempted to capture a Djinn.” A foolish plan. But she had been young and reckless then—and desperate for a child. “I thought that if I could become the vessel for the Djinn, I might control its power. It did not work.” Her plum-painted lips fell into a stiff line as she remembered this failure. “It would have killed me, if this man had not stepped in. He had freed the Djinn and so had three wishes it would grant. For his third, he wished for our lives to be connected. Because the Djinn cannot kill its master, and our fates were now one, it could not kill me either.”

She placed her hands upon her knees and, finally, looked up, meeting Beck’s eyes. “The wording was vague. The wish…obscure. I do not know what it means for my future. We were romantic for a time. We are no longer. Yet, I wonder if my soul is my own or if this wish marks him forever as a part of it.” Geralt was no familiar, and it was clear by her expression that Yennefer was not comfortable with such a bond, could not relate, as Beck had said, like wool that had been felted together. “I tell you this only because I believe you have the right to know. He will not follow us. He is no threat.” He might, in fact, be the best man she’d ever known. “Nor do I wish to find and speak with him before we leave. But he does have an annoying habit of ‘accidentally’ showing up in my life again and again, no matter how far away I get. It seems only right that you should know the truth of it now."