#calanthe/eist

[marvellouslymadmim]

Chapters: 54/? Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach Characters: Calanthe Fiona Riannon, Eist Tuirseach Additional Tags: Vignettes, Slow Burn, canon compliant(ish), allies to friends to lovers Summary:

A collection of nights Eist Tuirseach has spent in the company of the Queen of Cintra, from his very first to his very last.

[bookcalanthedaily]

'The King...' stammered Crach. 'Is at sea, Modron. He is looking for the remains... And the bodies. Since yesterday...' 'Why did he let them?' shouted the queen. 'How could he allow it?'

[askcintra]

what do y'all think about Cirntra and Skellige forming a personal union through the marriage of Ciri and Cerys?

[tiffanyachings]

you can think of me when you’re heaving on the ground

the witcher, calanthe x eist, 4k, chapter 1/3

“Queen Calanthe is a -” he drowns a sigh in another deep sip of ale, “ah, well, she’s quite a character, to put it one way.” Or; Calanthe makes waves big enough to earn her a diplomatic visit to Skellige, and Eist falls for her in more ways than one.

(read on ao3)

[winters-mistress]

The Tenderness of a Wolf

Normally, Ciri wakes up in cold sweats, shaking from the memories of the fire and the smoke and the feeling of Lazlo's body slumping over her, of the feeling of Calanthe's blood underneath her fingernails, of Eist kissing her forehead before he went to war, or of Mouseack's poor body mutilated somewhere as somebody wears his face like a child wears a mask just before the winter frost.

She normally cries when she wakes up, her body so exhausted from her dreams but her fear keeping her from reliving those horrible few weeks, when her heart and her home were taken from her. Normally, she will compose herself and wipe her face clean and cover it in ice cold water to soften the puffiness of her cheeks and rejoin her new family of burly mutated men who have gruff voices and big muscles yet tender hearts she's only now beginning to see.

But today is not like those days. Today she wakes up and the first thing that happens if not a cascade of salty water flowing warn down her cheeks, it's a coughing fit so hard that it shakes her entire body, loud and barking and sore on her already ravaged throat, tasting the horrible bitter thick fluid that flies put of her chest in thick yellowish-green slug shapes, her chest and ears cracking with every motion.

She's too hot and she's too cold at the same time, her body burning from the inside yet the air around her is so cold she wants to burrow into the heat behind her. Her head hurts and she's confused and her temples pound and there's weight against her ribs and she doesn't understand what's happening and she coughs and coughs and coughs and she can't breathe and-

"Shh, cub." A low voice rumbles in her ear. It takes her a stupidly long time to realise who it is and why he's there.

It's Geralt. Of course it's Geralt. He had stuck by her the whole night when all of the witchers had noticed how her skin had started to pale and her body body begin to sweat despite the freezing cold temperatures of the keep, when Vesemir had placed a hand to her forehead when she had refused her favourite dinner of venison steaks with crispy, salted potatoes with winter greens and sweet roasted carrots, and had promptly sent her to bed with hot tea and a shit ton of water. He hadnt liked the sound of her cough, and when they all sensed her breathing begin to be more laboured with her congestion, all the wolves had agreed to lay off her chores and training when her breathing began to crackle and her chedks beginning to redden.

That had been last night, and her fever and chills and cough had apparently only gotten worse since then.

And of course, through it all, the famed white wolf had never left her side.

He does some sort of Axii, she can barely recognise the hand symbol when her bleary eyes open and try their best to focus on his hand. Her breathing eases and her coughing stops, and suddenly there's a smooth, crooked, hollowed stick in her mouth.

She trusts Geralt, Ciri loves him, so she drinks whatever he deems safe and sighs with relief when it lessens the tightening in her chest and the pressure in her ears. Her eyes flutter closed again, and he places a hand on her forehead.

"Still burning up." He mumbles. "In and out all night."

Is he talking to her, or is someone else in the room? Is Vesemir in the chair next to her bed, the great protector of all his pups, that now includes her? Is it Eskel, with his knowledge of things medical and scientific. Or is it Lamb? Who could be gathering ideas for a concoction to make her feel better? Is it anyone, does it matter?

"Mmm." She tries to speak, but she can only make a vague squeaking sound that cracks in the middle. Good gods, she sounds rediculous with her throat and nose so congested as they are now, but all she manages to do is roll over and push her face into Geralt's chest, whining in misery. She feels so sick, sicker than ever before, and just wants to feel better.

She opens her mouth, ready to beg for water, but for all of his accusations of telepathy in the past, it is Geralt who reads her mind now, as he gently -oh so gently, the physicans were never so gentle with her as a child, fearing the lioness' wrath should anything happen to her cub- lifts her with him, pressing her against his chest as they both sit up. She sags against him, lips parting again.

Her body aches all over, in a way it hadnt ever done when she had ran the killer or trained until her muscles screamed. He seems to read her mind again, resting all her weight on his chest, and that combined with his arms that dwarf her little body, brings tears to her eyes as he brings another cup to her lips. This time it is water, and she gulps greedily until it's all gone, opening up to beg silently for more again.

Ciri downs three glasses before her stomach hurts, and he says nothing as she belches slightly as her stomach accustomed itself with having something inside.

Good gods, she's never felt so sick before. Not in the skelligan snowstorms, not anywhere. Her stomach aches, her head pounds, her throat hurts, breathing is a struggle, and she reaches back to touch Geralt, to make sure he's still there despite the fact she's laying against him.

He humms for her, voice blessedly soft. "You've slept in an our for a day and a half, managed to get some broth down you early this morning. Kept up a mightily impressive fever."

She blinks, too many words for her to comprehend, and swallows thickly again. He takes hos opportunity, pouring thick, sweet fluid into her mouth, and Ciri had no choice but to swallow it down.

The effect is almost immediate. Her chest feels lighter, her breathing easier, her eyes become heavy, and she sags into his arms.

"Sleep, little one. I'll be here when you wake up."

[bittersweetbark]

While I'm at it: Another odd detail that occurred to me only now, having put the text under a microscope, is how Calanthe says that Roegner was the wrong father to give Pavetta away.

I'm waiting for the reread of the Lodge discussion about Ciri's breeding line heritage to see if they know. I hadn't caught up on this but maybe I just hadn't cared that much before.

So Pavetta's genes might have had a little help... from Skellige? Eist might have been her actual father since his dalliance with Calanthe is clearly anything but new. (Again, if this is something that has been obvious to everyone: sorry, I often ignore details for the greater picture on a normal read.)

[inexplicifics]

reading through the awau again as one does, delighted as ever by the way you write eist. he’s so shrewd but so amiable at the same time! i love it. also i love the detail about the embroidery on ciri’s tunic when she meets calanthe- did milena make her a shirt with wolves and lions especially for the occasion?

Milena absolutely made her a tunic especially for the occasion. Milena knows how court maneuvering works, even if she doesn't always enjoy it.

I'm so glad you like my Eist!

[duns-writes]

Finally found this thing I wrote, woohoo!

50 Types of Kisses - Writing Prompts

Send in a number and a pairing!

Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.

French kisses where they trace every tooth with their tongues as though trying to memorize them.

Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

A kiss that lasts so long, they are sharing each other’s breaths.

A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

Butterfly kisses against the other’s cheeks.

A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.

A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.

One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

Teasing kisses where one person blows air into the other’s mouth and runs away.

One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

A chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company.

A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

Brushing a kiss along the shell of the other person’s ear.

Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.

Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.

An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.

An awkward kiss given after a first date.

Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.

Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.

Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

Kissing tears from the other’s face.

A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

Kisses shared under an umbrella.

Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Tentative kisses given in the dark.

Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

A lingering kiss before a long trip apart.

A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.

One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

Short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date.

A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

[theladyofworlds]

Okay but I love how the Witcher Netflix fleshes out certain things that were either lightly addressed in the books or skimmed over.

One of these examples is how they fleshed out Ciri’s life in Cintra with Calanthe and Eist explaining and showing us how Cintra came to be attacked and how she lost her grandparents and home instead of just going straight into the Slaughter of Cintra. We even get to see how Ciri interacts with her grandparents and how she deals with things as a princess before losing it all.

[marvellouslymadmim]

Chapters: 55/? Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach Characters: Calanthe Fiona Riannon, Eist Tuirseach Additional Tags: Vignettes, Slow Burn, canon compliant(ish), allies to friends to lovers Summary:

A collection of nights Eist Tuirseach has spent in the company of the Queen of Cintra, from his very first to his very last.

[bookcalanthedaily]

got this cutest little thing from the incredible @xejune!

[the-ill-omen-of-hope]

She just has this regal empress energy 👑. I can’t help but imagine that every time they needed someone to play queen, they went “oh can anybody contact Jodhi May?” 😅

jodhi may as empress natalya arat corrino in dune: prophecy - requested by anonymous

[askcintra]

To all of you: is it possible that one day Cintra/Skellige and Nilfgaard can make peace?

[chaosandorder46]

1 and 10

OOOOOHHHH...I have never written Tissaia x Calanthe before, but this was fun. 🥰

#1 Getting overly jealous over small interactions

Tissaia couldn’t have clenched her jaw tighter if she tried. Rita leaned in closely, and Tissaia smelled her perfume: sweet and seductive, vanilla and spiced rum.

“Careful darling. You’re going to crack a tooth."

Tissaia huffed and shot her best friend a glare.

They had been seated at a table in a small coffee shop, enjoying an afternoon of blessedly empty schedules, when Calanthe walked in.

“Look at her!” Tissaia hissed. “Eist?”

Rita smiled knowingly. “He’s not bad looking, Tiss.”

Tissaia scoffed incredulously. “For a used car salesman.”

“If you two would just get your shit together, you wouldn’t have to worry about him.” Rita smirked and reached for the last bite of Tissaia’s pastry. “Are you done with this?”

Calanthe discreetly watched Tissaia and Rita, barely concealed by a row of snake plants. She was incandescent. The way Rita leaned in and whispered in Tissaia’s ear as if she had any right to do so.

Beside her, Eist prattled on about some work emergency or other…she wasn’t listening.

Not soon enough, her black coffee and Eist’s lavender vanilla soy latte was ready.

“Do you want to stay here? Or take it to go?” He asked looking around for a table.

“Let’s go,” she said quickly, striding toward the exit with Eist at her heels.

As she approached Tissaia’s table, Calanthe schooled her face into a mask of indifference.

“Tissaia,” Calanthe said tipping her chin in the air. She tried to hide her sneer. “Rita.”

Tissaia raised her eyebrows, but her face otherwise betrayed nothing. “Calanthe…and? I forget your name.”

#10 “Why don’t you get it?”

On campus the next day, Tissaia calmly moved about the lab, preparing the space for yet another research project for which she’d just received an embarrassingly large grant. She heard the badge reader on the door beep and looked up.

Calanthe.

“Come to see how a successful laboratory operates?" She quirked an eyebrow.

Calanthe snorted a mirthless laugh. “Helps when you are close with the dean.”

“You know Rita and I are just friends,” Tissaia said icily. “What about you? Seemed awful cozy with your department head yesterday.”

“Eist?” Calanthe laughed bitterly. “I am not cozy with Eist.”

“Right.”

Calanthe gritted her teeth. This woman was infuriating. She slowly approached Tissaia, who carefully placed the pipette she was holding in its designated place. She watched Calanthe approach calmly.

“You don’t get it do you?” Calanthe said, voice cracking slightly.

Tissaia took a calming breath. “I don’t think I do.”

Calanthe smirked, then bit the corner of her lower lip. She fixed Tissaia with an intense stare and waited.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @witcher-fanzine! I feel like I write a lot of ensemble fics. Probably cause I don’t write enough for different fandoms, so there’s a lot I want to dig into, and then every fic becomes “dig into everyone and everything” XD I need to work on that. I really wanted this to focus on Ciri and the other Witchers (her bastard uncles (affectionate)) but it ended up being an everyone fic again XD

…

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1.

Ciri’s world was one of structure and order. How could it not be, with stern Queen Calanthe in charge? Daily lessons, meal plans, even free time was all strictly kept on a schedule only her grandmother knew. Discipline was how she kept her kingdom strong and discipline was how she raised the sole heir to the crown.

Which was why Ciri preferred her grandfather. Eist was a carefree vagabond, always drifting in and destroying Calanthe’s plans. With a roguish smile, he teased Calanthe as he broke her rules, giving Ciri freedom whenever she felt too restricted. He was her favourite playmate and she couldn’t remember ever seeing a frown on his face.

Her life was one of order but today broke the mold. Generals crowded around the large table in Calanthe’s study, carefully moving tiny figurines over sprawling maps. Calanthe scowled as she knocked down a ship, speaking in a hushed whisper that Ciri just couldn’t make out. Whatever she said wasn’t good; the mood in the room grew even grimmer, and Ciri inched her way forward, fascinated.

There had never been a problem her grandmother couldn’t solve. Something big was happening.

“Don’t worry,” Eist whispered, his head bowed to her ear as his warm hand squeezed Ciri’s shoulder. As usual, he appeared out of nowhere. There were times when she had thought he was a magician, his footsteps were so soft. “We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m not,” Ciri replied truthfully, unable to tear her eyes from the sight in front of her. Calanthe was a lioness, nothing could escape her claws. If Eist the lazy house cat wasn’t taking part, then the situation wasn’t all that bad.

“Confident little rascal.” Eist chuckled as he ruffled her hair. “What did Calanthe teach you?”

Ciri rolled her eyes before dutifully repeating, “It’s impossible to be prepared for war.” She snorted. “Calanthe’s always prepared for everything.”

“Not everything, not always.” Eist replied lightly, the mirth gone from his voice. “And she’s right.” He knelt down beside Ciri and she shivered as she realized his smile was gone. He looked older, worn, and she resisted the urge to step back and run. “Now, it’s my turn to tell you something.”

“What?” she asked, her mouth dry.

“Don’t tell your grandmother I told you this.” Eist smiled now but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Should something go wrong—”

She didn’t want to hear this. “Nothing will go wrong.”

“It shouldn’t. But, even though we can’t prepare for everything, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.” Eist gripped her forearms tightly. “Should something happen, there is one who will protect you.”

She couldn’t pull away from his grasp. Fear rose within her, then anger. Ciri snapped, “Who can protect me if you two can’t?”

Eist shook his head. “We all have different skills and in this, he can. He’s helped us before, he’ll help you now.”

None of this made sense. Who was this mysterious person, why was Eist so vague, why couldn’t Calanthe know? “Why?”

“That…” Eist’s expression grew pained, and his jaw tightened. “Hopefully you’ll never meet him.”

“Is he bad?”

“Nothing like that. Just…I hope you never meet him.”

2.

“What was his name again?” Dara asked, rubbing his cold hands nervously as he scanned their surroundings. They were crouching in ditch in an open field, able to spot any enemy first, and yet he still jumped at every little sound. There was something mouse-like about his behaviour.

Not that Ciri could blame him. She was the same herself. Every shadow hid an enemy and this time she couldn’t mask her fear with anger. Licking her chapped lips, she buried her head in her knees. “Geralt. Of Rivia.”

“A witcher…” Dara muttered, his head snapping to the right as an owl flew by. He quietly released his breath. “I guess he’ll be helpful. And trustworthy.”

“Yes,” she agreed miserably.

“And your grandparents didn’t tell you anything else?” Dara asked before blowing on his hands.

Ciri flinched. The wound was still too raw, too fresh. Her grandparents were dead. Her kingdom destroyed. She was alone with no one but Dara to help. And this random stranger that she only had a name for. “Yes,” she mumbled, burying her face deeper.

“I’m not sure about witchers…” Dara trailed off. He chewed on his lip. “How do we even find him?”

We.

It was a simple word. A slip of the tongue, most likely. And yet, it was all Ciri could focus on.

We.

She reached down and gripped the edge of Dara’s coat. “I don’t know, but I think he’s looking for me too.”

3.

Jaskier was a slight man. Despite all of his adventures with Geralt, despite all of the husbands he’d run away from, he was slim and lanky, more like a teenage boy than a warrior. He was handsome too, and he knew it. Even now, as he strummed his lute and sang, he kept flicking his hair and winking. The campfire’s flickering light only made his smile look brighter.

And Ciri couldn’t tear her eyes away as she sat across from him. Maybe it was the charm, maybe it was his silly nature, but everything about him reminded her of Eist. Well, maybe not everything—the way he argued with Geralt was borderline whining and her grandfather would never resort to that.

Still, the feel was the same, and if she closed her eyes, if she let the smoke cloud her senses, she could pretend she was home.

“You look just like him,” Jaskier said with a chuckle. His fingers plucked a high note slowly, making it tremble. He leaned back on the tree stump, as though to direct his music at the night sky above. “Are you sure you’re not his secret love child? Though he’s kinda a shit liar, so I guess ‘not-so-secret’?”

It was like he had voiced her thoughts. Forced out of her daydreams, Ciri stared at him blankly and gave an undignified, “Huh?”

“Your brow.” Jaskier pointed at his own before giving an exaggerated scowl. “You and Geralt are always so grumpy. Do you have your personal raincloud too? I think he just likes being angry all the time.”

“I’m not grumpy,” she snapped, sitting straighter and grinding her heel on the dirt. If Geralt weren’t patrolling their camp, if he could hear what Jaskier said…

“Right.” Jaskier rolled his eyes. He strummed another note. “That’s what all grumpy people say. Like Geralt.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off. “So, Princess Not-Grumpy, why were you staring so hard? I know I’m tragically charming.”

And it was times like these that she understood why Calanthe would glare at Eist with a look that could shrivel a plant. Scathingly, she bit out, “You’re tragic, alright. And I’m not a princess.”

Jaskier pouted. “You’re just as cruel as he is.”

And that had been something she had wanted to ask for ages. Not missing her opportunity, she struck. “Is he?”

“Huh?” Now it was his turn to be slack-jawed, caught off-guard at the unexpected response.

Ciri had travelled a long way before she had stumbled into Geralt. A long way, chased by rumours and enemies alike. She gripped her thighs tightly, screwing up her courage. One way or another, she had to find out just what sort of man her grandparents had sent her to. And if it was worth it to save herself at the expense of his misdeeds.

“IS he cruel?” Ciri asked bluntly, squaring her shoulders and tightening her jaw. Calanthe had always looked her opponents in the eye and she did so now, not giving an inch as she asked. “Is he a butcher? Is he hurtful? Mean? Grumpy?”

“Uh…” Jaskier scratched his chin and set the lute on his lap. “Well, I’m not sure about the butcher part—he won’t say anything about it, but he’s always been tight-lipped like that. I think it’s a misunderstanding. But everything else? A hundred percent true.” He leaned forward. It was like a dam had been opened and he was unleashing everything. “The man left me heartbroken on a mountain. Though I did get a killer song out of it…”

Unable to help himself, Jaskier started to strum the tune of Burn on his lyre, the music slightly muffled by how he was still leaning forward over the instrument.

“The jerk’s impulsive,” Jaskier continued. Ciri started to fear she might have fallen into a trap. “And he’s rude. And he acts like a toddler with a tantrum! I don’t know how Yennefer put up with it for so long; she’s a bitch but a classy one, I don’t know how they got together. We both have terrible taste.”

“Oh.” None of this was inspiring. With each word, Ciri felt her heart drop further and further. Geralt was a fighter, of that she had no doubt. And it’s not like she needed a knight. But there was no way someone like that would help with her revenge. It had been hard enough to get him to teach her self-defence.

And the worst part was that this wasn’t over. Jaskier continued to rattle off eagerly. “He doesn’t listen, not even a little. And he’s so rude about it! Did I tell you about the time he almost killed me?”

“Oh,” Ciri repeated, her shoulders drooping.

“But…” Jaskier trailed off and surreptitiously scanned their surroundings. Satisfied they weren’t spied on, he leaned forward and cupped his mouth. Whispering, he added, “He’s not that bad.”

Ciri frowned. “You just said—”

Jaskier waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, he’s all of that, but…well, he makes up for it. You’ve seen it too, right?” He tapped his chin before his eyes brightened. “He’s like a porcupine! It’s hard to get past his quills but he’s rather soft inside.” At that, he scowled. “It’s extremely hard to get past his armour and he pokes you even then, but he’s soft.”

“Is he?” Ciri asked doubtfully.

“Burn wasn’t the only song I wrote,” Jaskier answered, grinning as he leaned back. “Here, listen to this one.”

4.

There was something sweet about wiping the smirks off the witchers’ faces as she ran the gauntlet, dodging wooden bars and spikes, running up steps and jumping from platform to platform. At some point, their jeers had turned to cheers and their groans matched her own when she got a particularly bad hit.

The training was a different beast from Geralt’s—he always felt too cautious, as though he were afraid that he’d hurt her. These jerks didn’t care in the first place and that was why she now sat in the stronghold’s mess, bruised and bloody from the countless runs she had to make to actually beat the trial.

Everything hurt.

Ciri couldn’t stop grinning.

“Oh, she’s smirking is she?” Lambert goaded, plopping down next to her. With a dirty hand, he turned her chin towards him and studied her face. “We might make a witcher out of you yet.”

“Hey!” Ciri growled, swatting his hand and jerking her head away. Geralt seemed almost princely compared to his brothers-in-arms.

“Still a wildcat.” Lambert chuckled, leaning against the wooden table as he watched her. “You sure you were a princess?”

“That’s enough for today.” Coen sat down on her other side, penning her between the pair. He had a roll of cloth bandages and a wooden jar in his hands. “You didn’t wrap it properly.”

She glanced down at her left arm. He wasn’t wrong; Ciri hadn’t had to patch up more than a scratch before. The bandages were loose, just staying on by the grace of a few pins. “I tried.”

“Badly.” Roughly, he grabbed her arm, though his grip was gentle. “You need to learn this properly if you’re going to train with us.”

“You’re babying her,” Lambert scoffed. “We had to figure this out ourselves.”

“We also had each other to practice on,” Coen pointed out, keeping one hand under Ciri’s as he unwrapped her crude attempt at first aid.

“We also had real danger.” Lambert tapped his cheek. “Got some cuts on your face. I didn’t know princesses could get scarred.”

His words stung like ice. Ciri couldn’t understand him; one moment he was helping her, the next he was heckling her. Coen wasn’t as bad, though he didn’t try to step in to help either. She looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have a kingdom anymore.”

Coen’s hands slowed, though he didn’t show any other outward sign of sympathy. It hard been hard enough to understand Geralt; Ciri wasn’t sure she wanted to try with the rest of the witchers. Maybe Vesemir; he reminded her of an older Geralt, but definitely not these two.

“Spoken like a true witcher. We might fix you yet.” Lambert rapped the table, thoughtfully. “Make sure to use some ointment. It’ll get infected and you’ll never finish that run.”

Ciri heard footsteps and she looked up as Vesemir and Geralt passed. Vesemir raised a brow as he lightly kicked Lambert’s leg. “Don’t get too rough with her.”

“We’re not all softies like you,” Lambert retorted, rolling his eyes.

She was still looking up as Geralt reached down and lightly ruffled her hair. Bewildered, she blinked twice. “What was that for?”

As usual, he didn’t explain himself. Instead, he nodded approvingly. “Good run.”

5.

There was something about Yennefer that Ciri just didn’t like. Maybe it was her haughty tone, her nose upturned whenever Jaskier so much as breathed in her direction. Or maybe her cocky smirk, her red lips sharp as a knife whenever she one-upped Geralt. Maybe it was something innate, something deep within Ciri’s bones that just made it impossible for her to like the older woman.

Or maybe it was just the fact that Yennefer had tried to kill her once. Ciri had enough blades pointed at her throat that she wasn’t too keen on ‘forgiveness’. Even if Triss had told her to consider trying it, back when Triss hadn’t looked at her like she was a monster in sheep’s skin.

Now that she thought about it, maybe she just hated witches in general.

Unfortunately, there was no one else who could teach her to tame the magic humming in her veins.

Just this cutthroat woman standing in front of her, her keen eyes missing nothing. Ciri wetted her lips as they stood in an abandoned room in Kaer Morhen, as far from the rowdy dining hall as possible. Not that it was that hard to find a moment of privacy; after her murder spree, most of the witchers’ avoided her.

It hurt more than she’d like to admit.

“You’re distracted,” Yennefer said, rapping Ciri’s wrists with a slender tree branch. “I thought you wanted to learn.”

Ciri gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to grab the branch and break it in half. Now wasn’t the time; she had to keep her hands and powers concentrated on the small seed in front of her. If she broke now, she’d have to start all over again, and it took hours to pour her energy into the tiny container.

Later, though, she’d shred that branch until it couldn’t even be used for wood chips.

“I’m. Trying,” Ciri forced out between clenched teeth.

“If you say so,” Yennefer replied doubtfully, her brow raised as she rapped Ciri’s wrists once more. “Higher.”

The witch could be making this all up, for all Ciri knew. Just outside, she heard quiet footsteps. Without looking, she knew Geralt had glanced inside before continuing on whatever patrol he had made up. When they’d first returned, he had been adamant to stay with her at all times, not trusting Yennefer for long learning sessions.

After a few weeks, he had relaxed just enough to leave occasionally. And now he popped by every now and then, discretely, as though just double checking. The doubt was all but gone.

How in the world he liked—trusted—Yennefer, Ciri couldn’t understand. Then again, Jaskier was also there and yet another Roach the horse so maybe Geralt just made poor life choices in general.

“I don’t know either,” Yennefer said thoughtfully, her eyes on the door, her lip pursed. “I would have killed him if it were the reverse. Actually, I have tried killing him.”

Ciri started, her hands dropping in surprise. She hadn’t meant to ask that aloud. In response, the seed exploded. “Shit.”

“Shit indeed.” Yennefer sat down on a discarded chair, lounging on it like it was a throne and she the queen. She ran a tired hand through her hair. “We’ll try again tomorrow, it’s too late to make another go at it.”

Ciri glared at the empty spot, the fragments too small for her to see. A glance at the window confirmed what Yennefer said; the sun was setting. Another attempt would have to wait till tomorrow. Wrinkling her nose in disappointment, she sat down on another chair. “He’s not like you. He’s better.”

Yennefer snorted. “You have more teeth than that.”

“I’m holding back,” Ciri mumbled. Another reason she didn’t like Yennefer: she felt like an open book in front of her. Was she that obvious? Curling her fingers on her lap, she squeezed her fists and looked up, staring Yennefer in the eyes. “Why did you save me?”

Yennefer stared at her. Recovering, she glibly replied, “That’s a heavy question.”

“I need to know the answers.”  

“That—”

Ciri interrupted sharply, “And don’t give me some bullshit about the goodness in your heart. We both know you don’t have any.”

Yennefer stared at her, eyes wide in surprise. For a moment, Ciri felt proud for surprising the normally unflappable woman. Then Yennefer chuckled, low and dark. “That’s true.” She tapped her chin, considering Ciri. “It might have been better if I had killed you back then. Would have saved me a load of trouble. And…though I doubt he’ll ever realize it, saved him too.”

Ciri’s brow knitted. She wasn’t a burden. Between her training with Geralt, the other witchers, and the little magic she could use instinctively, she knew she wasn’t a burden. Yet, Yennefer’s words picked at a still healing scab.

Before she could bare her teeth and attack, Yennefer shrugged. “I suppose you reminded me of myself.”

Now it was her turn to be surprised. And then disgusted. Ciri wrinkled her nose. “Absolutely not.”

Once again, Yennefer chuckled. “Trust me, I don’t like it either.” She leaned forward, a long finger tapping on Ciri’s chest. “Alone. Struggling with our magic. Having to carve a name for ourselves…you have power in you. It just needs taming.” Yennefer pulled back. “I want to see how far you go.”

“You—”

They both fell silent as Geralt passed by, his footsteps a familiar sound.

Yennefer smirked as she whispered, “And someone would have been very heartbroken if I hadn’t stopped.”

6.

It had been a long time since they’d needed a campfire. Ciri shivered as she rubbed her hands near the flames, hoping the fire would drive away the bone-deep chill. Winter in the mountains was colder than at home or even in the fields, and Ciri wondered if she’d ever reach a season where she stopped learning something new.

“When do we go back?” Ciri asked, peeking at Geralt as he skinned a rabbit. Tonight’s dinner was better than the vegetable stew they had for lunch. And all of it was worse than Kaer Morhen’s meals.

“Soon,” Geralt answered cryptically, as he always did. His knife didn’t miss a beat as he carefully pulled the undamaged pelt off the meat with a practiced ease.

“Oh.” Ciri sighed, the conversation dying again. They had come a long way since they’d first met, and yet he still needed a push to move.

“You miss it?” he asked, a rare question from him. His eyes met hers. “You look like you fit right in.”

“I do?” Though, she couldn’t deny she felt a pang of homesickness at the thought of Kae Morhen, a feeling she thought she’d never have again.

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve seen Vesemir smile in ages.”

Ciri couldn’t help but smile.

And though she’d never admit it, she felt like she fit right in here, next to him, too.

[oathbreaker-oathkeeper]

For the writing asks : 💡, 🎶, 🎁 ?

💡 what's a fun idea you had that you didn't have time to get to?

This is a hard one because I constantly come up with little scenarios for characters in my head and rarely write them because I have a hard time coming up with the plot to get them to that scenario. I was really into Hellsing again this year and kept having this little plot bunny of Integra sending Alucard off on a mission and telling him to report to her directly as soon as he comes back, but meanwhile she's tired and goes to bed (expecting him to not take her 100% literally) and so he ends up waking her up in the middle of the night and does his report to her while she's half asleep. But I never wrote anything about it because I wasn't sure where I wanted to go after.

🎶 any music/playlists you listened to while writing?

I listen to a lot of the "made for me" playlists on spotify. My favorites are my Desiderium Mix, Wistful Mix, and Poetic Mix. I listen to my daylist a lot too.

🎁 hype up one of your writing buds! what of theirs did you enjoy this year?

Mim! I've re-read A Night with the Queen (Calanthe x Eist) twice this year because it's so good that every time there's a gap between updates I just use it as an excuse to start over.