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Chapter Text

Yellowhammers are quite common in this land. One of them, a pristine male, ceases its morning song and lands on a wet stone, charmingly shaking his feathers. It chooses to stay close to the river, moving its little head repeatedly, like it would be assessing itself on the water's surface.

It is a quite narcissistic being, so engaged in its refreshing ritual that it doesn't notice that he is being admired by a female lynx.

The ginger fur is just having her usual sunbath, lying gracefully under a weeping larch. She saw the bird at once, though she refrained from instant attack, simply taking time to take joy in watching her yellow snack-to-be.

Feeding her eyes takes a while, but it is high time to fill her belly. The distance between the feathery Apollo and the feline huntress eventually starts to shorten with every murderously silent step, but lucky for the bird the sneaking stops. The lynx dashes away into the shrubberies and the bird flies off into the tree crowns.

Approximately three meters up from the ground a circle of water and mud creates itself.

Two people flew out of it and with a sizable splash land in a shallow stream. They drag each other out, coughing and taking deep breaths. One of them immediately falls on the shore in a manner of exhaustion. The other one scans the surroundings, cape on his head and in his hand a long stick.

“We are safe.” He announces with certainty and kneels by the smaller one, who is still breathing rapidly.

The man quickly recognizes the changes in the air. The oxygen is diluted. For him this are sufficient breathing conditions, but not for her.

Zireael, she is so fragile, due to her humane genes, she may faint at every moment.

He falters for a second quickly assessing whether what he wants to do will be accepted or rejected. 

“I will stabilise your breathing. Your lungs will adjust, but now this process is unnecessarily painful for you. Do you feel pressure in your chest?” He reaches to her neck, in order to send a single magical impulse which is supposed to expand her bronchi.

The girl catches his wrist in the air.

Rejection then. Some memories like to stay painfully fresh.

“Just give me a while. I’m not made of egg shell Avallac'h.”

…

They are towered by the edgy horizon of mountains with snow covered peaks. After spending two awfully hot days rummaging through a muddy green hell jungle they gaze at each other with relief.

They notice a deer, passing majestically through a meadow. The animals' impressive antlers adorn his head like a magnificent crown of a forest lord. Both of them have faces filled with simple happiness. The huge mammal  is a nice change after the massive snakes they saw more than once in the last days.

They manage to descend to a lower level of this land until the evening falls. Avallac'h calculates quickly that the upcoming two weeks can bring them rest from the Wild Hunt’s pursuit and insists on following his distant memory about a small village here.

“How much longer are we going to play nature lovers? I am exhausted, Avallac'h.” Ciri whines, but doesn't slow down.

It turns out that time passed here quicker than the Sage estimated. He is mistaken. He got distracted. It’s a tiny sting in the Knower’s pride. 

They move along the shores of a vast lake and find nothing left, but one abandoned wooden hut which taunts and greets them with a single but huge bed under a shared roof.

The first thing the sorcerer does is to precisely cut the bed in two with a power beam. Though Ciri should get used to his magic solutions, her brows raise up. His spectrum of power wielding never ceases to amaze her. She assumes it will never stop. 

Avallac’h does not show it, but he likes to impress her. He likes it the most when she has those bad days of hers.

With another move which also looks entirely effortless, he pulls the parts apart, one landing far from the leaky window, further from the door, but closer to what undoubtedly once served as a fireplace. Afterwards, he pushes the lasting part away, as far as possible from the first one. While Ciri thinks he has given an end to his spells he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket, tosses it up and with the tiniest threads of power dismantles the fabric creating a gossamer curtain, covering the bed area. 

“Make yourself comfortable.” He grabs an empty bottle and leaves her. 

Ciri touches the curtain with her fingertips. From the start she knows this little nook is only hers. To say that the elf avoids physical contact would be overreacting. He rather keeps it to a minimum, for example leaving it for situations when the space-time tunnels resemble a storm of the century. He is also very casual when  his healing abilities come in handy. Occasional hugs can be counted on one's hand fingers. Once he even stooped down to graze her head playfully, but took the hand away as burned.

Ciri thinks it's the scar, or her human origin.

Or maybe I’m just oddly repulsive to him. She pushes the inquiry to the back of her mind. There is no need for the two of them to be fond of each other's looks.

Time passes and without asking she knows they will not move further in the days to come. She has stopped to ask him about things like that. To an outside observer this would be interpreted as an immense trust. And in part it is, yet Ciri does not really have a big choice. In the end he is better than the Wild Hunt. He must be.

The Sage trains her consistently with unspeakable patience. He is a great teacher. Demanding, but engaged. His knowledge is so vast that sometimes Ciri chooses to hide her admiration. 

But good days don't last forever.

Even if they have managed to at least ostensibly bury their differences, they are still who they are. He is an elf, she is a human woman. A dh’oine.

He does not offend her kin in front of her. Actually, not openly, but Ciri can sense the tension when their topics by chance reach Lara’s betrayal - an elf who betrayed him with a human.

Some time ago she wouldn't dare to ask him the details, but curiosity doesn't leave her. At the beginning she was literally afraid of him, but at the present moment there is no fear in her. She can do what she wants. For the past weeks the elf has been so stoic that she cannot even recall what his raised voice sounds like.

One evening she brings two hunted rabbits and prepares the meal. They eat in silence and Ciri decides to ask questions, but a strong cough ceases the trial. It turns out she took something with her from that previous world. 

Ciri gets cold the next day. It starts as a casual runny nose and quickly changes to shakes and coughs.

The fever is high and the Aen Saevherne healing spells don't work.

It makes Avallac'h nervous. Impotence does not befit this elf. In emotions, he throws a few words, cursing her human ancestors and their poor immunity to germs and diseases.

Ciri does not agree to his offer to use the nature surrounding them to heal her. It involves other beings' energy and Ciri does not want this kind of magic.

After supper she apparently starts to feel better until she falls through his arms after she stubbornly refuses for his company in her outdoor toilet.

He carries her limp body up effortlessly and gets her to bed.

A cosmic road depicts in front of her eyes. Sparks and stars mingle with black shadows.

She loses conscience and she dreams. About drifting in oceans, lakes and streams. All saturated with aquamarine. 

...

She wakes up weakened, but stable. She has no idea what time of the day it is. With bewilderment she notices that she is naked, covered in a sheet and Avallac’h’s cloak - an enchanted elven material.

Her skin is greasy. Her whole body, from head to toe is greased with some kind of lubricant or ointment-like substance.

Inside of the hut is exceptionally warm and filled with a pleasant scent of honey, flowers and something salty.

Ciri suspects that the Sage killed one of the water animals living in the lake. Took it life and extracted all he needed to heal her.

She speaks to him the same day.

Before approaching him she takes a while in observing him when she finds him at the shore of the lake. He looks like praying and sends flowers to the water surface. Ciri knows what it is: an elven apology.

He is openly relieved at her sight. 

Despite the edgy experience nothing seems to change between them. He is repeating to her that he did nothing special as in the end she is his and the whole universe promised saviour, but Ciri points out that again he is the one who saved her.

When she throws her arms around his neck in an innocent attempt of an embrace he answers back for a mere second. His height helps him in cutting the closeness. It could get awkward, however Ciri doesn't care, she is herself, not pretending or shackling her feelings.

The Sage prohibits her from cleaning herself in the lake's cold waters.

“I am the epitome of grease. I will just take a quick swim.” She bends down to take off her shoes.

“Naturally. Right after I said not to do it.” He says with a note of bitter amusement.

“I mean just look at me, I feel so filthy.” Ciri helplessly points at herself, her eyes looking into his in a search of understanding. She finds none, so she adds:  ‘Being around such a fine-looking elf like you obliges me to look at least decently.’ She smiles at him and stops for a second. They stay close enough for Ciri to notice he drifts off a little with his thoughts.

“Are you fine?” She stands up on her toes and touches him, disturbed.

He gazes at her hands like he would have the whole eternity to do this, one on the hem of his cloak and the other one his shoulder. He takes them off gently and with a reassuring soft smile holds them together, covered in his palms.

He can be physical like this, touching her as if she would be fragile and divine at the same time. Ciri melts at this behaviour of his, so rare, but filled with unspoken delicacy. She chuckles nervously and he lets her go.

“Just leave this idea of going into cold water. I will find a safe and warm solution.” He reassures her and walks away with his hands clasped behind his back.

The same evening Ciri thinks about breaking his prohibition when she strolls by through the meadows, just by the lake. The greasy glue in her hair makes her feel dirty as hell.

In the distance she sees a lynx, sitting on a huge boulder, watching her like she would be judging her bad looks. The wild cat is privileged to its mocking gaze - she looks purely majestic in the last rays of the setting sun.

The sunset rapidly steps aside to the cold which is ushering its chilly rule upon the valley. The grey ribbon of smoke coming out from the old chimney is like an invitation to hurry up her steps. When she enters the hut Avallac'h is sitting behind the table. He welcomes her back with an expression saying that he is clearly pleased with himself. He sees him lifting his head from his thick volumes with a contented smile. Ciri finds it charming; that an extraordinary person like him can look just like an ordinary man waiting to be praised.

She does not even have to ask him what is the reason behind his proud face. Close to the fire, a hollowed out tree trunk awaits her. The water in it evaporates with hot steam.

The witcher girl lets out a laugh of wonder.

“Well well Avallac’h, you have a gift of persuasion.” She praises him and starts to untie her corset inadvertently.

Without haste the elf stands up and relocates the chair, his back turned to the chamber.

As if unwillingly, he makes a move with his hand and in effect his cloak, which was hanging on his chair is aired, placed into a role of a temporary curtain, hiding half naked Ciri behind.

He turns his eyes to the window and stares into it. A splash of water and Ciri's pleased ‘mmm’ tells him that she is under water so he moves for some water too.

His throat has gone dry.

“Avallac’h? May I disturb you?” Ciri asks after a longer while and the elf can hear the water moving when she switches on her stomach into a more comfortable position.

He does not respond immediately and Ciri hears him giving out a long exhale. She notices his shadow on the wall, not obstructed by all the creative curtains he can invent in one blink of an eye.

With a peculiar effort he puts down his papers and gently bends his head back, just to speak with his usual tone.

“I am listening Zireael.”

Ciri smiles. It is a bit funny, a bit awkward to have this conversation in such a spacing.

“After all this ends…will we, sorry I mean, will you and I see each other from time to time?”

Again this silence. But Ciri gets accustomed to the fact that he sometimes does it; taking his time, weighing his words when serious matters appear in their conversations.

Despite this knowledge, a note of insecurity rises in her that she asked him about it right now. Maybe she exaggerated the fondness she felt and assumed he is likely to share it on a similar level.

Avallac'h finally speaks and pulls her out of her little pit of gloomy thoughts.

“If you need me I will know about it Loc’laith. And if you want it I will come.”

Ciri does not say anything in reply, she only smiles meltfully, diving under the water up to her nose.

Another type of familiar silence prevails between them now. A very nice one this time, which created itself through all those long evenings and nights, all the exhausting marches and waitings for the portals to open up, but also it is the same type of silence that takes place when they admire all those beautiful, sometimes desolated worlds of all shapes and colours. But foremost it is just simply nice, because not for the first time Avallac'h knows what to say to make her feel good and give her heart a sense of peace.

For someone else he might have sounded pathetic, too sublime, oddly mysterious, but Ciri appreciates it as she grew fond of it, even if in the beginning of their shared journey she rolled her eyes as a default reaction.

Despite the sword on her back it was pleasant to be treated like a frail maiden - from time to time.

Ciri knows the elf is dirty from the ointment too. His travelling cloak freshly wet after cleaning. That is why she presses on him to take a bath after her. 

He grunts, but ultimately informs her with reluctance: “That tub is for you only.” 

“Oh come on, loosen up. I'm not a peeper.” She jokes playfully behind the temporary curtain which still levitates, hiding her deepened in the hot water and warm mist.

“I will manage. Let us keep a modicum of decency in this wilderness. You stay here and relax.” He stands up and leaves her to her pondering.

Surely the great Aen Saevherne is too rejected by getting into the water after her. He rather goes to refresh himself outside in the freezing night. That alone already says a lot about his attitude to her physique. However Ciri does not care much about it at the moment. She is immersed in the egoistic pleasure of being warm and wet simultaneously. Avallac’h is good for her, like a friend would be. 

The fire blazes, kept and boosted by magic and when Ciri hits the bed sheets she immediately takes a nap.

She wakes up with an empty stomach. The position of the moon indicates she slept for some considerable time. Avallac’h’s place is still empty and his workplace is a mess like he left in a hurry, but Ciri is sure she remembers he was ordinarily calm.

She feels a little troubled towards him. He always cares about her comforts and now he himself left his cloak and went out in the cold only in his shirt. A delayed feeling of guilt hits her. She touches the soft elven material and states that it is already dry. She wraps herself in everything she can and without further thinking dashes outside.

It is a mystic night. Elongated clouds appear languidly in the night sky. The beauty of nature thrives in the moonlight. The shore near the hut is empty so Ciri walks to a direction of a small pond where she sometimes refreshes herself. The area is shrouded in ashen fog.

She stops, but her straight manners win. She will only leave him his cloak. She will hang it on some nearby tree as soon as possible,  as soon as she is sure Avallac’h is here. 

The moss is fluffy, muting her footsteps like a wool carpet. Either way, she moves like a witcher.

Her ears reach deep breaths, inhale exhale, alternately. She frowns as worries grab her, but not for long. She lurks behind the trees into the ponds hollow.

Avallac'h is leaning with his elbow on a stone wall. Hiding his face behind his palm, while the other one is stroking his cock. Slowly. Up and down. In turns.

Ciri squeezes the cloak to herself.

Firstly she is taken aback, her first thought is to run away, to leave him alone, to erase what she saw from her memory though as she refrains from moving and speaking she starts to play with the notion that he is purely magnetising in the half darkness.

The night palette suits him so right.

She smiles lightly, but very indecently; it might be her only chance to see him in this version.

His body is covered in ritual black ink. His head bends back and he gasps, whispering words in his mother tongue.

It stirs her senses. 

Ciri's mouth waters in response to his hand activity. She feeds on the arousal.

Messy thoughts occur to her. She pictures him holding her, his hands, those long fingers rubbing the ointment all over her unconscious body. So anxious about her well being. So caring, so nervous and so bloody thorough.

An insane idea rises, deeply in her bosom:

“ I could join him, touch him.”

But as longer as she looks she knows it is wrong. There is a note of sorrow in this act. Like he had been punishing himself. His breathing changes. The sound that leaves his mouth makes Ciri feel out of place and the name he whispers instantly contradicts her initial feelings.

That name that no one on the continent never used to call her.

The name she heard for the first name after she emerged from the tower of The Swallow.

The name which sounds so enchanting in his mouth.

‘Oh Zireael.’

Now she knows.

It is not Lara. It is not yearning and a broken heart speaking through him. It isn't even sorrow nor sadness. It is shame. He is ashamed of himself.

A stream of flashing pictures and thoughts occurs to her; he touched her that night before, rubbed the ointment thoroughly in her unconscious body, he was afraid that he could lose her, begging fate to spare her. 

The realisation is bittersweet.

Praying to the goddess to keep her invisible and undetectable she stealths back and when she is far away enough she dashes to the hut, like she had never been there. She smashes the door and jumps under her blankets trying to fall asleep.

When she hears the doors open her heart beats crazily, but she knows how to control her breath. How to move her chest like a sleeping person would do.

She senses his aura. His steps. Closer. He moves so silently, that she had learned him for a long time.

He kneels down and Ciri feels him touching the top of her head. His lips are incredibly hot, brushing her scarred cheek gently, not taking the grey strands away and it feels like a shy butterfly would like to kiss her and fly away into the rising dawn.

Ciri does not move until her ears reach the squeaking of Avallac'h's bed. After that she lets herself release a single tear caused by all the spinning emotions.

She will pretend, just like he does. They will complete their mission. Together. He - her dearest Sage, her protector. She - his Zireael, his hope and shame.

Chapter Text

Ciri turned herself to the wall. She woke up in a strange mood. She was alone as Avallac’h was a morning bird and usually she hadn’t seen him until she got outside for her morning practice.

She wrapped herself in the bedsheets. It was cold inside and the morning seemed to be an exceptionally gloomy one. She stood up and took a quick look through the door. Fog was still hovering over the lake and the elf was nowhere to be seen. 

Still sleepy, she decided to light the fire in order to heat some water to drink. The night escapade had left her freshly healed throat irritated. She looked at Avallac’h’s empty bed and felt the wish to leap the fuck out of there. Her clothes were scattered all over the place, bringing a hitting memory of her frantic return so she dashed to gather them in a rather hectic manner. There was nervousness in her moves. She pulled on her shirt with one hand and grabbed a bucket of water with the other. 

When she walked closer to the hearth it spontaneously ignited. Perplexed, she jumped back and fell straight into the Knower’s chest. Of course.

“Calm Zireael, it is just me.” 

Ciri gasped and moved away from his arms. 

“On seven devils, do you have to sneak up on me?!” 

He looked at her from the side and spoke matter-of-factly: “I live here too.” 

Ciri shrugged her shoulders, took the hair from her face and started to pull on her leather. 

“And how would you explain this?” She pointed at the fire sparkling lively.

“I wanted to keep you warm, however you were sleeping really heavily. I did not want to leave you alone by that old hearth. It would be risky. So I set the fire to reignite spontaneously whenever you had a wish to light it up.”  

Ciri poured herself cold water and did not engage in the conversation. The elf didn’t seem to discourage himself from further explanation. 

“Simple in its effect, it is a sophisticated branch of magic. It can only be applied to those whose standard preferences you know, even a little, and not to mention that it is combined with the favour of the person applying the spell.”

Ciri snorted with contempt. 

An expression of complete lack of understanding dawn on the face of the Knowing One. 

“Come on Swallow, I didn't mean to frighten you.” 

“But you did.” Ciri spoke curtly, avoiding eye contact, pulling on her boots, packing her water bag and wrapping her scarf around her neck. All things at one time. 

The Sage's shoulders fell down. He walked to his bed and sat on it. 

Ciri saw it with the corner of her eye and turned to him with her back.

“I guess you had a rough night.” He said with a soothing voice.

Now Ciri looked at him. She was already packed to get out, with an intention to spend the whole day alone.

She wanted to say something, to sting him with an allusive comment, to see him become a bundle of nerves. Nothing came to her mind, entirely nothing… When she saw him not only sitting with this kind face of his, but also leaning slowly back into a more comfortable position her sharp tongue failed her. 

Avallac’h sighed heavily and took one of the papers lying on the bed sheets, but instead of reading he spoke to her, or more like to himself.

“The brave witcher girl is afraid of a little fire. Noted.” 

Ciri was already walking out when his voice reached her.

“No! I’m not. I just don’t want your fire!” She threw the words and immediately regretted it.

She quickened her steps. Little pebbles played under her feet like an army of tiny mockers of her flared state. 

“Zireael.” 

She heard him, but didn’t look back. 

Avallac’h stayed outside and saw her making short leaps. 

“Oh Zireael.” He said her elven name once more, but she couldn’t hear him. “I just wanted to warn you that a serious storm is coming, you crazy miracle.” 

…

Ciri spent the whole day just like she planned. Alone. Only her and the swish of her sword cutting the air and occasionall tree branches.

She moved away in a really considerable distance, discovering another lake. Though it was still in the valley it was nothing like the blue surfaced one near the hut. Almost the entire lake was covered in duckweed and water lilies. Old trees on the shores looked like they would fall asleep while wetting their branches. 

This green around here was so ancient, indifferent and calming.  It was something she really needed. 

It was a good decision to take a breath and distance herself from the elf after acquiring this unexpected knowledge about…his preferences. 

While walking here Ciri was mad. Really mad! She felt confused as her perception of their already complicated relationship has been literally twisted.

She felt deceived with his stoicism and nonchalance. Avallac’h deceived her, because he modelled himself as her father figure, a mentor, someone on whom she can rely, act casually around him and tell him everything. 

It didn’t even violate the limits of absurdity - it scaled its heights! 

If yesterday someone would press Ciri and asked her what is the elf’s attitude to her in the carnal matters, certainly she would snort, probably laugh like a clown and then probably say that in his eyes, she, devoid of her sword and clothes, certainly resembles something akin to a badly shaved cat. 

How wrong she was.

He held her close when danger lurked, even slept near her. Gods she even changed her clothes in his presence, chattering and messing with him innocently like he would be some sort of two metre tall, horse cock equipped  girlfriend of hers.  She felt her cheeks turning pink.  That last thing was a difference hard to miss on that moonlit night. 

And the top of it all - that sweet sensual bath last time…

She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. 

What was I thinking then?! The thing is that I wasn’t thinking at all! 

All the time Ciri was aware of the fact that he had his own agenda in all this hardly categorised mission, but simultaneously she could easily tell he was having this soft spot for her as the daughter of the Gull. Usually she wouldn’t drown herself over this statement as she would follow the path of thinking that at the same time he despised her as the daughter of Cregennan, however now she was in a closer state to suspect that he despised not her, but mainly himself for finding her appealing. 

And still, what a sour realization it was. 

After finishing the first part of her sword practice she felt considerably better and took a break under an enormous oak tree giving her respite from the sun rays. She spread herself at its wide moss-covered tree trunk like a lady of the woods in her forest den and slowly became much calmer. A good warm up ended with a short nap. 

A thought reached her after she woke up. 

Maybe what I saw was a dream? My dreams aren’t usually normal. It is unbelievable that he would want me that much. 

It would be comfortable to stay blind for the truth and stick to the old vision concerning the nature of their allegiance, but Ciri herself knew well how capricious were the turns of fate. 

Evil and powerful people pursued her, wanted to use her blood, her body; even Avallac'h, who was now her ally, wanted to have her child in the past. Now however he sternly cut himself from it, numerously ensured her that he was wrong, but never apologised for it.

Regardless, she believed him. She wasn’t keeping herself busy with the trust issue any more.

Moreover, he saved her once more, which had happened no more than a day ago so she was sure he would never again push her to maternity, he was rather inclined to wipe out those who would like to force her to it or hurt her in any other way. 

And that was a wonderful feeling. To have him as an ally.

Ciri got lost in dubious wonder for a languid while.

He was on her side for such a long time and now it turned out that her protector is also silently thirsting for her.

The mere knowledge that she was having such an effect on his composed and haughty person continued to put the girl in a strange mood. Something like a combination of excitement and regret. Tiring anticipation and building thrill. Because well - It was Avallac’h. 

Earlier she treated his obvious attractiveness as a nice addition to her everyday life. There was enough ugliness in the world and she would be a hypocrite if she would complain about the fact that her companion is quite a…

 ‘Handsome bastard’, she muttered and sighed in exasperation. 

Ciri blushed once more due to the tickling in her underbelly. Years ago Yennefer matter-of-factly explained to her that those are not butterflies fluttering, but biochemical changes in the endocrine system. The sorceress categorised it as something precious, but very fleeting, additionally advising her to be wise and not let it impair her sound judgement.

I should be wise, but how? When even the alleged wise one is secretly venting out his desires? 

Mindlessly playing with flower petals she guessed that this melancholic charm that she finds undoubtedly captivating in the elf can only grow on a person, not be magically conjured. What is more, elves didn't need spells nor transformations. They just happened to be beautiful. 

Ciri grimaced. Anyway, when did she become an elf admirer? 

She scolded herself over her weakness - there was not much to relive, what had happened and no matter how sexual it was, it did not happen between the two of them. 

The leading obstacle of it all was that she couldn't be indifferent. She was never good at being detached concerning anything. And certainly not if it touched the matters of her being his unfulfilled sex dream. Just no! Not after she caught him with the literal cock in his hand, panting hoarsely over her name.

“My name - yes! Mine. Not Lara’s, not even yours you nameless gilded elven lady.’  Almost proudly she threw her hair away 

Without seeing the scene on her own eyes she would never ever believe that he would go as far as relieving himself in the frosty night. Her memory from Tir na Lia's garden  was clear  - he rejected her, pointing out that they ought to never come back to the topic - of them being lovers, of her having Lara's eyes. He did not betray any sign of sexual interest in her in the past. Nothing.

Didn't he, Ciri?  A sceptic voice from the back of her head dared to encourage her to list a few sloppy guesses, but she quickly dismissed those.

On a daily basis she attributed everything the elf was doing to his life motto which certainly was something akin ‘to protect the Elder Blood’, however the present issue was that Ciri’s perspective just started to significantly change, following a change including not only her attitude to the elf, but it additionally converged with the way she started to perceive herself.

Her girly days were over. She was a woman now. During their cosmic time and space run the elf pointed this to her more than once, usually in the context of safety and eventual dangers. He stubbornly repeated the phrase: “The spiral is a dangerous part of the universe, the more dangerous for a young woman.” She used to pat the head of her sword then, as if in an implicit response to his lecturing.

She truly couldn’t tell if she was a pretty one though. Comparing herself from half a year ago she certainly had looked like a feral fugitive then.  It was a trivial issue, but she was just slowly getting past the stage of not being able to look in the mirror and for Ciri even this meant a lot. More and more often she immodestly stated that Yennefer was partly right in explaining to her why she called her ugly one. 

Anyway, she did not find this assumption of hers confirmed in her rapidly changing surroundings because, as she also only now fully realised, Avallac'h usually made sure that their contacts with possible society were kept to a minimum. Sometimes it amused her, just to skip into serious irritation - this overprotectiveness of his. 

Wherever they were, Ciri hadn't yet had time to take a good look around and the next doors were closing fast. Whether it was the ones in a tavern or in a hotel. Only the places names changed. The sliders slid by themselves and the cave entrances were magically overgrown with ivy. One thing stayed the same -  the hand holding her own.

If they happened to be traversing crowded ports, cities full of people or were simply forced to interact with others then the elf always kept her close or reminded her to wear her hood. Not that she was kept by him like some prisoner, she still had her little moments of freedom and he himself agreed on controlled exceptions. 

They had storms and sunny days behind them. She tried to run away from him at the start, but he found her after three days. Next time it took him only a day and involved getting her out of a lot of trouble.

It really was a journey of her life; she danced till dawn on a festivity taking place on a sandy beach, overeat at a night markt standing close to a caged tiger and acted as his daughter when they took rest in an old schloss serving as a guest house. 

The elf didn’t even need to see her nor be around her to contact her. Despite his ability to reach her mind he easily conjured many devices helping in keeping them in staying in touch. Even now she was wearing one of his amulets. 

How simple things were then, even though they seemed utterly complicated.

It was one thing to be dependent on the elf for her own good, but this?! Now?! She was deemed to constantly live around him with the awareness that one day, one night she can lead him to a state where he would unleash his scrupulously untamed desire. Such an arrangement would be just similar to a slow descent into madness. What was worse - preceded with unsustainable excitement.

She raked her fingers through her hair and sighed. 

He was so powerful, mysterious and operated on different ethics than the rules she had known, that despite his calm demeanour - only heaven knew how he would behave if she made him reach the slippery edge of his temperance. 

All of this was making her nervous. Somehow it also made her intrigued. What hot blood he tamed under his skin, while wearing this fair form of the all-knowing Sage. Camouflaging himself behind those kind aquamarines and high-necked robes. 

So at the end of her musings Ciri was in a similar place as in the beginning, only her emotional state differed. She understood clearly what the reason for her morning anger was. She shamefully knew that if Avallac'h would like to shatter his mask and touch her in a way like lovers do she would probably just answer with eagerness and moan in his face.

But he won’t! Of course he won’t. He is so proud, so convinced of his primacy to humanity that he would rather put down roots in his corner of shame and lust than admit that he fantasises about me.

She reached into her bag for the tiny demijohn and gulped the golden liquid. 

This is how I should start my day.

After approaching a cherry tree she started to pick the glossy fruits, devouring them in between. A filled belly always helped her calm her running thoughts. 

“He fantasises about me.” She said silently to the roundy fruit that she swallowed with lightweight friskiness. “The great Aen Elle Sage, Crevan Espane aep Caohman Macha, the finest among the elven sorcerers’, the fearsome warlock is secretly drooling over…” she paused and slid her hand over her abdomen. “ME.”

 She drank and strolled a bit at the lake’s shore.The wind had shifted to a warmer one, carrying stuffy air, but Ciri thought that nothing would change between them. All her ruminations were nothing more but a set of silly delusions of a touch-starved girl. 

Avallac’h won’t do a thing. Not until I open my mouth and reveal what I saw. I could have just come back and spread myself in front of him on his maps and he won’t touch me with a finger. Oh no. He would probably use telekinesis and move me away gracefully. Even if I was crazy and openly seduced him he would just probably make me feel small and silly. Ha! Even if I told him what I saw he would turn this around me.

The thunder cut through the sky and another one followed. The storms weren’t anything unusual in this world, though it often took place in the noon and then the sun returned to shine nicely till the darkness ultimately fell on the valley.

Ciri moved to the hut’s direction not specially bothered by the rain. She kept her head up and with a gentle smile welcomed the water drops on her cheeks. 

The sky cracked once more. The pleasant summer-like rain changed into a downpour. The weather was becoming unmerciful.

“Not nice.” Ciri dashed under a huge tree when the hail began to crackle, bringing unpleasant ache to the girl's skin. The branches failed in hiding her from the pellets of the frozen rain. It was early evening already and the hunger and overall wetness made her rush to the hut in partial leaps. She was quick as a lightning and though looked like one.

All this ferocious weather gave her a proper hit of adrenaline and she even cheered herself while using the Elder Blood power. In the end she chose to run until she reached the dilapidated terrace. 

“Ah, roof at last!” She leaned by the wooden wall and breathed deeply. There was already total darkness outside. Through her head a thought passed that she will have to challenge Avallac'h’s presence again. She admitted with relief that her crazy run here blurred the pressure of the upcoming  awkwardness she expected to experience this evening. What she certainly foresaw earlier and kept in her mind was the indisputable fact that the Sage will be mad at her. 

Good. She will gladly meet some real emotion of his.

Without further thinking she opened the door and stepped in, bringing mud and water inside.

Only a few candles were lit. Her eyes met the Sage’s back leaning down over the table. 

Ciri acted quite opposite to the morning version of her.  She cleared her throat and spoke with a lower voice than usual. 

“I was met by a little rain.” 

Avallac'h didn't turn to her at first, so she concluded she was right - he was mad at her. 

“Well well, you have deigned to honour me with your presence.” He spoke with a feigned glory, but when he glanced at her the corner of his eyes crinkled in worry. 

She came back to him soaking wet. She didn't even have a cape in that silly leather jacket of hers. The scarf she was just taking off looked like a cleaning rag, not a nice piece of material which usually perfectly emphasised her milky skin tone. 

Ciri noticed the change immediately. She perfectly knew what deeds would follow his concerned sight.  And, as she justified herself, out of spite she had absolutely nothing against it at the moment. Her jacket was thrown on old crates. 

She trembled a bit, but it wasn't caused by the awareness of his upcoming touch. It was all a part of an act. So perfectly feigned that even the best actress would be jealous of her talent. 

“No towels I guess.” She commented with puppy eyes.

Avallac'h wordlessly took the bedsheet from his bed and approached her. He began from her head, wiping her like a baby, not touching the obviously intimate areas. 

-“Are you cold? Of course you are.” 

-“I was looking for you.” 

-“You know I am mad, don't you?”  

She listened quietly to all this set of his like to a well known song. How she liked that melody moving all her tender strings. Of course she was cold. Of course she knew he could feel her presence, but chose to give her space. Of course she was aware he is a bit mad at her. Though his touch didn't bear the tiniest scintilla of anger. Concern and care was all she could sense. 

“I will put a strengthening spell on you in order to avoid the return of the infection. Lie down on that awful semblance of a bed.” He pointed to his corner.

She moved to blithely drink from his chalice.

“Do you really have to? I feel fine.”

The sound of his arm bracers being put away reached Ciri’s ears.

“I don't have to do anything and I won't do anything if you oppose it.” He said with a kind smile, taking off his gloves and washing his hands.

“Certainly.” She commented and pursed her lips. 

“What?” He asked her, narrowing his eyes. “Anyway. If you have made up your mind, take off those soaked wet fripperies.” 

Ciri went behind her curtain. She undressed and pulled on the linen shirt in which she used to sleep. 

Should she go to him with her bare legs? If it would take place a few nights before she would not hesitate, but now she just felt awkward. Naked and exposed. Maybe she would just ask him to give her one of his robes. He was probably wearing three of those at once. 

She had a better idea. 

“I’m ready.” She spoke after a while staying at her place, wholly wrapped in her bed sheets, all up to her chin. 

Avallac'h approached her and casually sat on the bed. Ciri felt relieved at his healer-like attitude. It wasn't the first time he was going to use this particular spell on her. A simple provision of energy. A standard process used by skilled healers. Nothing that hadn’t taken place earlier.

Ciri swallowed and slowly laid her head down on his lap. She closed her eyes in order to avoid cracked capillaries. 

The first touch of magic was always a bit perplexing. However it passed quickly, spilling gentle impulses from the bottom of her head running all down to her chest.  

“Done Ciri.” He told her, but didn't stop holding her head in his hands.

She knew the lingering touch of his fingers wasn't connected with healing, but she resigned from drawing the line.

You hypocrite. Don't pretend it's the first time. Don’t lie to yourself that you do not like it. 

So she smiled foolishly, additionally feeling a pleasant dizziness embracing her temples.

“I was harsh in the morning.”

He nodded and smiled with the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. 

“Indeed, you were. I treat those tempers of yours as a test for my acclaimed patience.”

Ciri looked at him with a gentle note of amusing pity. It was worth it to keep her mouth shut up if only for moments like this one. 

She felt her eyelids fall down. 

“Am I sleepy?” She asked him when he gently lifted her up, moved himself and positioned her in bed. 

“Yes, you are. Very sleepy.” The words become very slow. 

“But I wasn't.” 

“Though you were reckless today. I put you into an extra healing sleep.” 

“You bastard.” She whispered dreamily and slapped him. He didn’t do anything about it. Her fingers only brushed his cheek, nothing more. He held her for a while and wondered if she would remember this tomorrow and to what extent she would be angry at him.  Regardless of the means he used she should be in a great mood. 

Ah, the underrated power of a really good night's sleep.

Finally he stood up and looked at her one last time. She was already in a deep phase of dreaming which was indicated by her hands thrown on her sides. She was whispering something , but it wasn’t a nightmare, her face was too relaxed. 

The rain was hampering so he leaned down to improve hearing.

“Handsome bastard.”

The elf smirked while walking to his corner and at the snap of the finger extinguished all candles.

  .

Chapter Text

The music.

That is how she found him the next day. Not that she was looking for him. 

He was sitting in the middle of a small slope from which lush braids of ivy fell down, almost reaching the lake's surface.

The flute went up and lightly kept on moving. Avallac’h took a break in his morning concert and let the instrument play itself. From his index finger a single flame ignited with a bluish glow. It extinguished as quickly as it appeared. 

While she was getting closer to him, at the same time preparing a properly sarcastic remark intended to serve as a greeting, she had noticed singular white clouds of smoke slowly rising from the elf's mouth. Between them was growing a humming  small grove. Ciri stopped lightly. Her palm touched the willow’s white tree bark.

She gave herself a while. 

‘He is brooding again. He may have one of those strange moods of his.’ 

The gold reflexes in his hair made her think about Aen Elle genetics. Was he also the fruit of some breeding process? He never spoke of a family, besides that one time he revealed he is a brother. Before this there was only Lara. 

And how could it be anyone else?

He had to feel her presence, because he moved to the side, marking a place for her to sit with a single pat of his hand.

Ciri wasn't entirely certain about the power of her motivation to spoil the day with an argument. To be true, she was feeling like after the best night of her life, otherwise she would spill a torrent of accusations from the first moments she saw him. She had done that before more than once. She was confused and it was all because of his magic. Even yesterday when she was drowsing off the feeling could be easily compared to a slow-motioned drift into a honey syrup or dense cream. She wasn't sure how to name it. It was just pleasant and enveloping.

Not that it altered the fact that it still took place without her own will! 

The music still filled the air and Ciri’s inner rebel was consequently growing weaker. She even asked herself what was the point of  fighting again with Avallac'h? The truth was that if he wanted to he could do with her whatever he wanted.

“Not with this beanna Aen Elle.” 

Ciri cherished her pride. The elf was deeply wrong if he thought that she came here to thank him for his care although there wasn't real anger in her. She acted more on a principal, than from a real need of getting the explanation or apologies. So she started quite lightly as for herself.

“You put me down like a dog.” She approached him on light knees, kicking the branches lying all around on the ground. 

He didn't look at her, just pensively scraped a piece of wood using a tiny dagger. Was it a harmonica? Or maybe a new flute? He had recently started to play strangely soporific melodies, not that she didn’t find them captivating. They just weren't typical for his usual merry tunes. Never mind . She had something to tell him and it certainly wasn't a question about music.

Ciri cleared her throat. 

“I will examine you in a minute.” He informed her.  

If she faltered before all of it was gone, thanks to his arrogance. She thought that he is clearly delusional if he hopes that the only consequence he would have to face was her cloudy gaze. She bent down and positioned her face straight at the line of his eyes.

“Excuse me, don't you think you should explain yourself?”

Avallac'h threw away the piece of wood and leaned himself on his elbow. 

“Would you agree if I had asked you beforehand?” 

There it was. His logic. Once more his questionable morality reassured her in the opinion that he was so different from her. 

“No.” She snapped.

“Of course. Another quick question, how is your health today? Is it fine?” He asked brightly. 

Ciri lifted her hands to the heavens and set out a short, but intense litany about respecting boundaries, all-knowing beings and their ego overgrowth. 

With a dose of derision, she added a few more phrases from one of his books that she had stolen from him some time ago and thrown away without his knowledge. The work dealt with the superiority of his race over others. She did not argue with him about this at the time, only because they landed in the ice desert the next day, where she (once again) tucked her pride in her pocket, shamefully opting for the warmth of the huge elven arms.

Avallac'h listened patiently and there wasn't even a shadow of ignorance on his face. On the contrary, he spoke to her with a flash of genuine interest.

“You have read my treatise?” He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Written for the public. To be credited and forgotten. I swear.” 

Ciri placed a palm on her forehead.

“You know what, I’m done with you.” 

He showed her his palms in a surrendering manner, but she only turned away from him and let out a harsh breath.

“Ciri.” He spoke mellifluously to her back.  “Do you think you can do both: be done and sit with me for a stretch of time? Let us enjoy the magnificence brought by the lavish splendor of this fair lady's generous shine.” He pointed to the sun and moved to the side. 

Ciri sighed with resignation, having another of many moments that lead her to a better understanding why the elves and humans' fight with each other for such a long time.

Therefore she sat down by the Knower. 

For a moment they didn't speak. Ducks and water hens were drifting leisurely amongst the sparse nuphars and clusters of calamus.

“How is your appetite?” He asked cordially.

“Fine. Alright, it's huge. I ate all the rest of this strange mushroom broth you conjured.” She muttered.

Ciri didn't want to be rude. It was the truth. She missed many things, but food akin to ‘momma’s kitchen’ just made her mouth water.

All in all, even Lambert’s nasty goulash was a true caviar compared to the things that Avallac'h rarely created. To be more specific - what he conjured. Because it wasn't cooking. There was something odd in this food. It looked fine, smelled good but it didn't give Ciri the feeling of fullness. It kept her nourished, but it didn't bring the usual pleasure to her palate. The best food delivered by him was the one he teleported. In the end she was the one  mainly responsible for the food. The witcher girl hunted and took care of the preparations. However the Sage’s instant wine was a total cosmic delight! In fact, she would gladly already have a decent cup for breakfast, and it was only morning. Nothing lost. She planned to drink a bit as soon as he goes on one of his many quests for the next portal. 

At this moment she thought about Geralt and lost herself in the many adventurous scenarios of the shared life of two witchers that was never to come. Only if fate would be more kind… 

Now that she was all grown up they certainly would love to go out to the tavern together and lose all the lousy gold they would probably have earned earlier by slaying something extremely disgusting and dangerous. Then maybe some assholes would bother them or better: a pretty innocent tavern girl ( because of course in her fantasy they were hosted by a voluptuous and charming girl) and they could give them a lesson of good manners. At that point Yennefer would appear out of a portal, her fancy frills flowing vividly as she would call them names and drag their drunk asses home. 

It would be a real dream come true. 

Though she knew these were only silly musings some parts of her visions seemed abnormally clear and detailed; Geralt's face with some new scars, her own scar looking much better, the warm wind playing with Yennefer’s raven locks while she would enjoy the sweet smell of ballerina roses.  Olive trees, grapes and wine. 

Her features became relaxed. She kept her eyes closed and smiled through her daydreaming. Today she planned to hunt pheasants after visiting that old lake once more and maybe even pick cherries there.  It was quite likely the elf would make a new bottle of his crimson ambrosia after she planned to drink the remains. 

The elf…She glanced at him.

Avallac'h was looking straight at her face. Unmoved, like under a spell. 

Ciri hid her neck under her scarf although there was no special reason to do it. It supposed to look ordinary, and maybe it would if she didn't t squeeze her thighs together and blurted out tentatively: 

“What now?” 

“Magic traces in you, Star-Eyed. I can see the sun rays toying with the roses on your cheeks.” 

She gave him an awkward look, though she couldn't hold a bashful smile taking control of her lips. 

He drugged himself again. Old fool.

In the back of her mind she was questioning the motives of this elven compliment, not having the slightest awareness that the embarrassment playing in her soul really made her look simply beautiful. 

Avallac'h smiled warmly and blinked.

“You resemble a peach sometimes.” His palm moved up, but he did not go as far as to touch her. Even his madness had limits. “Why do I mention this, you wonder? The spell I used is not a simple sleeping spell. I am not some inferior charlatan. You have to literally place the person experiencing the magic into something suitable for them. Otherwise, it is not always so nice anymore.” 

Ciri wasn’t even looking at him, her eyes pierced into her knees. She felt the subtlest touch of darkness which manifested in his voice so rarely, yet was still so electrifying. Though he kept this side of him neatly tamed, Ciri was aware it was there, somewhere deep inside, obscured by his appearance and collected shell. He was no white wizard, oh no. 

It cost her a lot: to lift up her chin daringly and give him a sidelong glance. 

The elf countered her enigmatic reaction with a kind expression.

‘It is all done on the basis of silent consent. I would never do anything unpleasant for you.’ As long as you don't want to escape again. The flute went mute. 

She didn't speak. Just because she put all her will in holding herself straight. 

‘I looked at you and you inspired me. Tell me, didn't you feel like you were melting into the inside of a peach?’ 

What a nifty bastard . Indeed he was right. What made her more nervous was the undeniable fact that his comparison was more aptly put than the associations she was trying to give a name to. 

The elf smiled at her generously. “You did.” 

There were two options. The first one was that he was talking the truth.

The second, simply put -  was the suspicion that he knew that she likes women. That she literally loves to love them.

Either way her forehead became a bit sweaty. His gaze was still fixed on her, but the growing flame within her was fueled mainly with the memory of that puzzling mention from Geralt’s lips about the all-seeing magical mirrors of Tir na Bea Arainne. The thing was that since the moment she fled from Tir na Lia and started to travel with him she had a few short but intensely steamy experiences and it just so happened that one of them had taken place at a liquor-dripping festivity and included her, red headed Natasha and…

Fuck. Ciri forgot her complicated name, but she would never forget her fingers.

Avallac’h grunted silently and it ultimately made her back to the side. 

She chose to avoid voicing her suspicions. It was better to remain in uncertainty. Or at least pretend - for now. Eventually that beautiful day will finally come - the day when she will say everything to his face. Then  he will have to answer to her for all his twisted actions. 

One thing at a time.

“A simple pillow would suffice. That elven talking of yours won't erase my memory. Act like you benevolently stated yesterday - do not do anything without my will.” 

She said it too diplomatically. Not sternly enough like she knew she should have. 

It lacked anger, but something she despised in herself at the moment held her from wholly discouraging him from…

From what Ciri? The question fired at her straight from the crevices of her inner critic. 

“No.” 

He snatched her out of her mind. 

“What “No"?” Ciri asked reproachfully. 

The Sage stood up and removed dry stems of grass from his robes.

“Simply no. To everything. I know better. You know why? Briefly, because,” 

“I know - I know,” She intervened, her voice feigning fatigue. “Because you are the Aen Saevherne, the unmatched master of magic, not subjected to any rules or rulers, nor the time and space. The one who sees through secrets and whispers, blessed by destiny, serving fate and forged in the light of the alders.” Ciri yawned theatrically and added sternly. “Have I missed something?”

A look of playful irritation dawned on the elf’s face.

“Indeed, you have, but only a little. It should be serving destiny and being blessed by fate.” 

Ciri leaned back carelessly and suppressed a chuckle.

“Oops, it seems I failed the test for your most zealous acolyte. Pity Avallac'h. May I weep now in solitude?” She made a crybaby face and feigned wiping her eyes. 

The elf observed her - mocking him smoothly like a court jester wouldn't dare. He stood up and made a few prolonged regal steps. 

His shadow fell on her. She was literally lying straight at his feet. 

He gazed at her languidly. His arm bracers shone in the morning light. 

Firstly smoke appeared, and then hard vowels came from his lips, topped with a subtle smirk.

Ellylon. The language of Aen Elle. 

Ciri couldn't tell what he said, but her intuition caught a wicked undertone in the phrase he delivered.

“Hey you! What did you say? I could bet I caught a word or two.” Ciri narrowed her eyes and lied. That language was strange.

“Never mind. If it wasn't me taking actions without your approval we wouldn't have the opportunity to even have this frivolous chat. I will continue to tend to your well being, but I am not some apodictic brute. As a form of a redemption, suitable for the condition of our present stay, you can drink my wine instead of my initial plan of discussing the safe boundaries of your acceleration while you leap. About the wine…” He seemed to ponder for a second. “It will additionally strengthen your blood system, but please - hold your liquor. “ He sent her a studied glare while noticing her enthusiasm. 

"Your hands are strangely cold lately. Rest. Relax. Be that sword dancer. Do what you like. Today I will be the breadwinner.” 

“Wow. Excellent. How generous.” She ironised, but only lightly. 

“Is venison going to be sufficient? Properly prepared might aspire to an exquisite dish, almost as exquisite as the wine someone planned to steal from me.” He was leaving the slope and heading to the dense part of the forest. He walked proudly like he would be at least responsible for feeding a small kingdom and had already received gratitude for his altruistic deed.

Ciri laughed at the combination of his pompousness and dark humor. He could be really funny sometimes, and when it happened Ciri knew it took place only because he wanted to make her giggle.  Then a thought reached her and the girl frowned. 

“Hey! You are doing this out of spite! I wanted to go for a hunt!” 

He pulled his cape on and continued walking. 

Not discouraged by his ignorance she called after him: “I’m sure you don't even know how to use a bow to hit a deer! You will spoil the meat!” 

“I don’t need a bow.” 

“An elf without a bow? Don't tell me you are going to use your flute?” She chuckled. 

“No. Not my flute. My eyes.” 

Ciri swallowed and trembled imperceptibly. She knew it. She suspected for a long time his prowess in hypnosis. 

“It is kind of psychotic don't you think?” She still pinched at him, though her voice grew weaker.

The Sage laughed almost roguishly. 

“And unfair for the victim!” She threw after him once more.

His caped figure wrapped in long robes disappeared between the trees and Ciri could  swear she saw a thin veil of mist enveloping the area. If she wouldn’t know it was her dearest Sage she could easily mistaken him with a fog demon.

“It seems he forgot about the examination.” she said to herself and sighed with relief. Was it paradoxically combined with disappointment? She wasn't sure. She didn't know. She was a witcher girl, not a Knower.

...

The next day she woke up aching. This particular condition wasn't any surprise for her. Still, Ciri hated the days when she bled, especially the first ones; hitting her with a stomach and back pain. As if that wasn’t enough all sets of accompanying states bothered her; sleepiness, puffiness, overall fatigue, impatience. As she was getting older the fire in her womb seemed to escalate. She cried sometimes from the pain, but also from the lack of the capabilities to take care of herself. 

Delirious thoughts run through her head. It was like her own body was throwing accusations at her - its ungrateful owner;  the contractions and tremors being a metaphor of unspoken pleas to take care of it, to give it respite. Warmth. Food. A little love. 

Lying on a fur, beside the burning hearth she reached to the past. 

Once she was so exhausted that she passed out from the pain and woke up, being sniffed by a stray dog. The dog wheezed alarmed by a warm finding, lying motionless  in large puddle.  The wet nose lightly hit her feverish temples. 

She screamed then. No. She had wailed like a banshee would. The hound ran away whimpering pathetically.

It was that time when she promised herself to take revenge on the Wild Hunt. For everything, but mainly for turning her into a green eyed bleeding demon. 

No man could comprehend the pain and still, there turned out to be one. 

The Sage approached the topic shortly after they started to move together through the spiral. Without any previous ruse he said to her with pure compassion: 

“You are in pain, child.” 

“Not your business.” A cold reply from a frozen girl in a frosty night. 

“I would recommend an iron rich diet.” 

“You don't say? Well, you know what I would recommend to myself - to get the hell out of here. Yes. I should run away first second you touched the matter of my…’ Ciri searched for a proper word. “My biology! Look at him, a specialist in dh'oine monthly cycle.” She snorted and sent him a killing gaze.

Avallac’h did not betray a scintilla of irritation. Instead he spoke matter-of-factly: “Although it is incomprehensible, elves and humans do not differ that much when it comes to anatomy. Otherwise there wouldn't be you for instance.” 

Ciri scowled while thinking that if he wants to keep this facade of indifference towards her origin he has to try better. 

She didn’t reply to his remark. Besides, at the beginning she was closer to a state of constant resentment and increased vigilance towards him than showing any eagerness to confess about anything.

“Your state is taking place once every month?” He asked directly.

They were sitting in considerable distance, a sizable bonfire between them, a forest around them, her sword at the reach of her hand. 

“No.” 

“You need to take care of yourself.” Let me take care of yourself.

Ciri glowered at him. 

“When I had…” she stuttered a bit, “recurring periods of hunger,’ her voice faltered and then became quickly charged with anger, “When I was starving too frequently then it disappeared for some time you asshole! You know why? Because you lured me into that tower! Because of your games with destiny I’m being constantly hunted down by your kin.” 

The elf seemed to take the series of verbal punches with dignity and went silent, but only for a while. 

“Not anymore Zireael. Secondly, I wasn't there.” He spoke morosely and added: “Now I will not stand by indifferently. You are embarrassed, but you shouldn't be. All of this is normal. The level of pain that you are experiencing - isn't.” 

“So?” She burked. 

“So we will alleviate it, and eventually, just please - don't throw the sword at me straight away; after you want to give birth to a baby in the future then it should go away. For good.” 

“I don’t want to have any offspring and I never will! I would rather throw myself into a volcano. And don’t use the word ‘baby’. It sounds weird in your mouth. Also I won’t let you touch me.” Her hand already moved to the hilt of her sword. 

“And I will not do it.”

Ciri remembered how the contractions in her lower belly tormented her that night. The pain didn't subside after telling the elf what she thinks of him. Her face was a miserable image of paleness, frowned brows and tightened lips.

“Well then, some confession to make. I do have five sisters. I have been at their side every time they gave birth.” He said it and added with a disarming smile: “Give birth to a baby.” 

Ciri rolled her eyes and smiled a bit too, completely involuntary. 

“You don’t happen to carry a hand-written recommendation from them?” She snarled at him. 

“Are five nieces and two nephews enough?” 

He asked her and didn't press for a while focusing on keeping the fire going.

She couldn't tell if this confession was true, but he had this bright feeling of pride while talking about it. 

Ciri remembered perfectly how his face looked then. Wrinkles in the corner of his eyes fueled with warmth. A soft sincere smile undoubtedly raised by nice memories. She guessed he let himself go to his homeland for a moment; to familiar faces, tears of happiness and little chubby elves. 

He couldn't hide his weakness for the good things. Ciri thought it was dangerous for her to see this version of him in him so quickly.

Frankly, she noticed sadness too. It came just after and it obscured his features like a shadow falling on a valley of flowers.

Ciri suspected he was the only one who didn't have children of his own. Her intuition gave her this notion. It was inexplicable, but she could see this void in him and certainly no magic, no mask of nonchalance could cover his failure, so important for the Aen Elle and additionaly very personal for him. 

She risked putting the malice aside. Let it burn in the fire separating them if only for a while. 

He seemed vulnerable to her despite all his mighty power and omniscience. Family -  a beautiful but equally ordinary concept was not destined for him. 

She couldn't tell why she felt for him then. Maybe she was too vulnerable that night in her own way? 

Seeing her pulling her guard down his eyes wordlessly asked her for permission. 

She looked into the forest darkness, refraining herself to nodding her head in a silent consent. 

A sensitive subject it was, so he applied an equally sensitive solution. 

The music of the Aen Saevherne was something she had never read before in the manuscripts at Melitele's Temple or in the old library in the Witchers' Keep. Dulling the pain, relaxing the muscles. Doing wonders. 

It was many moons ago.

Ciri ceased her journey to the past and was just benefiting from the pleasant notes right now, lying comfortably at the fire and musing what a secretive caste the Knowers’ were.

It was already afternoon and she spent the whole day like a lazy cat would do. 

Maybe after all this ends I could find that unfortunate dog? I could show it that I am not some monster.  I was just a lonely girl. Maybe it was lonely too? That would be something - a witcher girl and her cowardly giant dog.” Ciri smiled sadly at her musings. 

She took baths every day, the water wasn't as hot as the first time and had a quite specific smell. Still it worked, the pain was gone.  Avallac'h didn't leave her. Not entirely. He was sitting outside. His presence indicated by the smoke and music. Even without those Ciri could tell he was close. Deep inside she had to admit he was lovely in those days.

Until that evening came.

After putting down his flute he approached her with a mug of herbs. The bath was already prepared. He crouched down beside her.

“Forgive me Zireael, I must say, besides my title and healing experience my abilities fail with the,” he tipped a finger at her cheek. ”puffiness.”  

Ciri was a bit elated. Too much wine and even more free time of doing nothing made the needs flourish. 

Putting the herbs away she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and stayed for a longer moment closed in his embrace. 

She knew she acted crude, but she couldn't help herself - it was supposed to be a single sniff, nothing more. Moreover, she felt his fingers fondling her hair. So she stayed - guiltless, inhaling his scent. His wonderfully comforting scent which easily gained the name of her favorite aroma.

The beginning was so nonsensically redolent of a summer dawn. Green herbs bathed in morning dew preceded the upcoming heat with a subtle note of an orange just to reach the ending which was fairly more distinctive; smokey and masculine, like an ambiguous invitation for an evening tryst in a secluded corner. 

Little fires lit in her head. Little fires everywhere. A basic instinct made her sigh with delight.

He released her and turned his back on her. Ciri felt the blush rising on her cheeks, spreading the color  all up to the top of her ears. 

Unnecessarily. 

The elf acted casually. He flatly elaborated about the props of the herbal baths. Ciri just felt the tide of good spirits and humming softly she headed to refill their chalices.

Then he had left abruptly.

The girl stood unmoved with her eyes pierced into the old door. 

Then he stopped to be her dearest Sage.

He turned into a reminder of her half-breed nature, being not good enough for open affection. His privileged hands shackled with principles and resentment. 

Awkward bitterness invaded Ciri. She repeatedly cursed that flush of goodwill which had awakened in her on that inopportune night, because if it wasn’t for her foolish caring about him she would still exist in sweet ignorance - the state she would always choose instead of knowing the truth about his attitude to her. 

She knew perfectly well where he ran off.  The day was stripped of its normality. 

Her mood has shifted to a definitely bad one. Out of nowhere the image of the gilded she-elf appeared in her mind, though she had seen her once her beauty stayed imprinted in Ciri’s mind. 

A witcher girl with a scar on her face could really have a masochistic memory.

She felt awful about herself - a warped creation of fate. 

Her hair wasn't golden nor silver, it was ashen. Her breasts were too small, her nose too big. Her skin wasn’t flawless, nor was her body. 

Though she knew people of all kinds have their own tastes, this realization was no consolation at the moment

As in the tale of a shepherdess and the werewolf. The story had its edgy charm though shallow as it may seem no girl would like to be placed as the monster.

As the abomination. 

Ciri was going downhill. Why was she so harsh over herself tonight? Did she deserve it? For letting herself touch him? 

She fleetingly thought about what images appear in Avallac'h’s mind when he is taking a dive into his guilty pleasure. 

Is he punishing her? Making her pay for her ancestor’s betrayal? 

Man could awfully treat women in order to achieve satisfaction and too many men have inflicted pain on her. Instead of raising love, she raised fury. 

If he had any sick whims of the sort then he was a betrayer too -  towards her! 

She thought about Tir na Lia. About the perfect elves and their little slaves. 

She thought about Lara Dorren and Avallac’h as a couple. The perfect pair, mighty and beautiful yet doomed to be divided.

“Serves them well! Fucking spoiled fruits of Aen Elle. They were certainly worth each other.” She spatted in the hut’s space. 

The corners of her mouth fall in a miserable way. That was a falsely inflicted anger. 

The truth was that she couldn't bear the thought that Avallac'h could be her oppressor. She jumped into the bath and started to scrub herself frantically. After a moment she stopped and wiped her face. The eye-kohl she started to wear recently smeared all over her cheeks. 

“I don’t want him to hurt me. Never again.” Ciri whispered silently.

When did he start to mean so much to her? Why was he so good for her? 

He even told her today that she shouldn't worry too much about her cloudy thoughts on those days. Survive them and get past them. 

Easy to say. 

A wave of cold creeped on her nape. She hid herself under the water trying to drown in it her internal turmoil. The feeling of something being seriously wrong with her remained. It was all too familiar to wash away when it already made its presence. Too well known not to torment the girl for a longer while. Like an unliked acquaintance, straining on small talk. 

The state prolonged till midnight and then it was only darkness.

She was alone. Again. 

...

She had some worse moods lately. Even her training lacked her usual vigor. She didn’t even discuss anything with the elf. A strange numbness enveloped her mind and body. All of this possibly pushed Avallac’h to give her quite intimate advice. Ciri sneered at it at first, but then she appreciated it. 

He told her to write letters to her loved ones, but also to people she simply liked and then to burn them in order to scatter the ash over the lake. The last part they did together. He provided the flames and she was telling names of the recipients adding a few words from herself. Ciri resigned from further discussion about this ritual. She was grateful to the elf, but decided it is better not to ask him if this is how he tried to heal his grief. 

Surprisingly, she truly felt better then. Relieved. It brought back an incredible amount of good moments. She giggled to herself several times. It turned out her life wasn't that miserable and twisted as she thought.

The comfortable silence that occurred between them after and the exchanged gazes were better than any words.

That night another ferocious storm invaded the land. It was horrendous in its strength. Ciri jumped up at the thunder’s roar, torn from her sleep. 

She wasn't a fearful girl, although those few weeks in the valley had spoiled her. Her vigilance had been partially gone and her mind was focused on entirely different matters than her safety. A small fire cracked gently in the hearth, a source of warmth and weak light that allowed her to notice her solitude.

A strong thump reached her ears, and another one. She could swear it was an approaching giant. Or an army of those. Something massive flew over the roof. She reflexively went down to her knees and gasped rapidly. 

It all had stopped immediately. The voices of the storm seemed to be oddly echoed. She felt immense magic.

Had the elven corpses come for her? 

‘Go back to sleep luned. It is just a storm.’ 

The bed crackled when she fell on it with relief. Only one elf was here and as it happened, exactly this one was responsible for the magic she had sensed. 

Not obeying his wish she slowly emerged behind the squeaking door and found him sitting at the partially ruined terrace. His eyes were glowing with the similar light to his staff. It all started to  dim slowly when Ciri got closer to him. 

She realized she literally is in both: the eye of the storm and inside one of his spells. An invisible force field blocked the raging elements from reaching the hut. She had suspected for some time that domes, barriers, protective fields and magical circles are his specialty. He was the finest mage she knew. 

She embraced herself and gazed at him. 

Someone who didn’t know him at all would say that the havoc around had left him unimpressed. But Ciri knew the truth: He seemed to enjoy it like a weary worker enjoys a labor free day; sitting in an elegant pose, he blinked and the rest of the glamorous shine wore off. 

He held out his hand to her and said calmly amidst bangs and crackles:

“Do not be afraid Swallow. Let nature take its course. Terrifying as it appears the valley needs it. The fallen tree's will change into homes for the smallest animals, the hollows will bloom with flowers and greenery and the air which comes straight from a distant sea will fill the wolves lungs with iodine, so they can be the pristine predators and control the mammal’s population. Balance in its most feral form.” 

Without pulling her hand away Ciri looked at him warmly. He was monologing again, saying all of this. It stirred in her some sort of unexpected emotion. She felt stranded with him here amongst this vast space and it brought a pleasant whiff of unusual melancholy to her heart. 

Is balance what you miss Avallac'h? 

She fleetingly thought about sitting in his lap. How silly it was. If he had been the one to make her the offer, she would probably have turned it down.

Though she dared for the closeness. She would pay for it later. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. A simple embrace. Her body wordlessly wished him a good night. 

And once more he too wasn't reluctant to that casual intimacy.

What is more, Ciri liked the gaze he gave her; supportive, reassuring, nicely fatigued. A humble charge of gratitude for the tenderness she chose to show. So wonderfully normal. She wasn't alone in the storm. She really started to believe that what she saw that moonlit night,; that unbelievable carnal vision was just a delusion of her post-fever mind. 

She must stop her speculations!

She needed to shove it in the past. She saw more unbelievable things in her life than an aroused Aen Saevherne. 

There still was a chance their allegiance could work out just fine. 

Of course. 

Chapter Text

After the first time Avallac'h had suggested that he could fix it, Ciri thought it matched perfectly the range of his delusions. It was obvious to her that he just wanted to remove the apparent flaw from her - the blurred copy of his lost love. She let it go in between all the unspoken truths concerning their allegiance, all because of that promised effect. The fact alone that he offered his help in this matter might have caught Ciri by the heart, but she doubted that he was doing this as a cordial whim coming from the goodness of his soul.

Still, time has shown that it was worth saying ‘yes’ to the Knower. She didn't expect his healing abilities to have such a spectacular effect. The rapid improvement of her ravaged skin made her stop wondering about his real motives.

It turned out to be a long-term process - unfortunately for Ciri's resolve from last evening. One could be tempted to say it required a quite intimate setting, too. According to Ciri’s plans, intimacy between them - if it would occur at all -should take place in controlled doses, and best: happen briefly and shortly.

Treating her scar was nothing of that source.
The elven perfectionist liked to take his time with her. He was never in a hurry.

And today was just that day.

She carefully poked inside, slowly closing the door, and cursed internally. She hated that creaking old piece of wood serving as a door and easily playing the role of her unwanted herald. Although, it didn’t deserve her hatred right now. Avallac’h had seen her from the moment when her hand managed to catch the door frame. His body position indicated he was waiting for her for some time.

“Your scar treatment. Have you forgotten?” He asked nicely, as if he would be the living definition of forbearance.

Ciri glanced around. A small stool out of nowhere, a bowl with that pungent aromatic ointment and an elf who will be very close very soon. Just splendid.

“Why did you replace the chair with that stupid small stool?” She asked firmly, taming her hair, which was currently resembling a small gray stack of hay. The day was windy and since the morning she had spent all of her time outside.

“Because it's more convenient for me.” He leaned by the table and with a slightly jaded gesture invited her to sit.

Ciri knew what was expected from her. It didn't equate with the fact that she would comply eagerly. Her reluctance didn't stay unnoticed for the elf’s keen eyes, which narrowed suspiciously.

“So you haven't forgotten? On the contrary, you remembered perfectly.” He pushed the stool with his foot. The scrape sound it made could be undeniably qualified as irritating, and if Ciri wasn’t with him on good terms she would additionally find it peculiarly intimidating. Certainly it made her regret her dragging on. So much for her light-hearted manner.

"Does this little rearrangement help you in fighting off missing your lab?” She tried to settle herself down and started to make circles with her foot. Her pinches rarely killed his commitment, but it was always worth trying.

Avallac'h didn't take the bait. With composed moves, he stirred the bowl content.

“Go ahead.” Ciri added curtly. Her profile turned to his side, her elbows leaning on her knees.
A soft trace of mirth gleamed on the Sage’s lips.

“Not like this.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“Could you straighten your back and place your hands on the stool edges?”

Ciri glanced up to the ceiling and crossed her legs, settling herself more alike to the position desired by the elf.

“Like this?”

“Almost perfect. I will prepare your skin to absorb the ointment.”

Ciri focused on the decayed floor and tried to find the names for all the ugly shades of bronze over there.

The first part was clinical. The Sage was sending a wave of warmth concentrated on her face. It always took a considerable while and was the longest stage of the treatment.
Ciri calmed down and felt she could doze off with every passing minute.

Avallac'h was staring vacantly forward when a thought clearly slipped from his mouth.
“I might add a powerful spell, but there is a possibility that it would disturb your hormonal balance.”

“Do it, I plan to stay childless anyway. “ She claimed calmly. There was confidence in her statement.

“Do you really find babies repulsive?” He asked with pure disbelief.

“I do not like to talk about this. You of all people should know why.” Ciri looked at him with mean dullness.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“You will never forgive me Swallow, that is settled. Nevertheless, babies are innocent.”

“I told you something once, didn't I?” The impatience in her voice was growing.

“My apologies, My memory is not what it used to be.” He said evasively and added, almost giddily: “Plumpy miracles then.”

Ciri hit him gently in the shoulder.

“Used that spell you mentioned. Even grasping the notion of eventual infertility fills me with delight.”

The elf shot her a freezing glance and suddenly announced: “I had just recalled a safer and even stronger formula. Please, stay silent and do not move.”

“Are you lying?” She asked, amused with the fact how badly he did it.

He ceased the current spell and reached for the ointment.

“Now the second part, however, I will apply this safer option. Just keep your eyes closed during the application and stay still.”

Ciri stuck out her chin a bit and took a more comfortable position on the stool. The next thing she felt was the coldness of the ointment.

“May I touch you?”

There it was. It was his way since the beginning. Ciri didn’t fall for it in the first weeks, though she had to admit her replies had changed rapidly over time; ongoing from “No! Don’t you dare to touch me, or I will cut those dirty fingers of yours!” to “Do what you must, if you must” and have recently reached the level of “Yes, sure, I’m ready.”
Although she knew that Avallac’h, wielding immense power and being dragged to the edge, could be really unpredictable, those simple repetitive questions brought her a semblance of safety around him.

So she smiled with her eyes closed.

“Descend your magic upon me Aen Saevherne.”

His soft grunt made Ciri smile even more. How vain he was.

He took her mouth in his hand and examined the progress.

“Very nice. Today I will use a combination of healing magic and something fairly exquisite, even in the environment of mages. A branch of magic that I had learned straight from my godmother. Let me take you to the arcana of polymorphia.”

The girl gave him a look full of concern.

“Calm down. I will apply just the smallest particle of its possibilities. If I did not inform you wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

Ciri almost wholly trusted him on the matter, still a thought crossed her mind that with him sometimes it is better not to get into details.

It turned out the fox was telling the truth.

He worked as usual to some extent. He was keeping two of his fingertips to her creamed cheek, which was always followed by a gentle tingling. It usually took a short stretch of time and wasn’t painful at all.

“Everything is fine, Zireael?” She heard him asking.

“Mhm.” Ciri answered.

“Good. I will finish soon.” The tingling moved down to her neck. “I am being really gentle. The impulses might radiate besides the mouth area. Are you comfortable with this eventual side effect?” He started to move his fingers gently.

“I said I’m fine.” She wasn't. She lied. Badly.

“Really? I am sensing nervousness.”

Ciri opened her eyes and gave him a punishing glare.

“What tells you that?” She asked.

“Human cheeks like to change their color often, betraying your kind tempers.” He commented as if he was speaking about something simultaneously quaint and pitiful at the same time.

“Wonder if your cheeks don't change in particularly tense situations?” She fired back.

“Aen Elle have perfect control over flesh. The mind controls the body, not otherwise.”

Spitefulness grew in Ciri's mind, but it quickly forged into lightweight mockery.
“No, you don't.”

“Please close your eyes and don't move, I am doing a little miracle here.”

Ciri obeyed, only because she felt like her cheek would change its size. Almost like it would pop in.

“That was odd.” She commented and shrugged with all her body.

“Voilà Zireael.” Avallac’h announced with satisfaction and stood up vigorously. He conjured and aired a small mirror in front of her face.

Ciri in turn gaped and gasped at once.

She was speechless for some time. It was unbelievable.

A little miracle indeed.

The scar was still there and probably by many this alone might be categorized as an awful trait, but for Ciri it was the biggest change since the first time she saw herself in Vysogota’s hut.

Her features weren’t distorted any more. 

Sweet goddess, she looked normal. Normal!

She let her hair down, then tied it again. Eventually she made herself a braid and left some loose strands.
It couldn't be. Was she pretty again? At least if only for herself!

“Now we have to do it more often. I know you do not like this, but the effects will stay forever.” The Sage informed her, but Ciri ignored him, being completely absorbed in staring into the mirror.

“Come on. Don’t act like that! Like nothing had happened! I love the new me!” Ciri laughed, moving away, then bringing her face closer to acquire a different perspective.

The Sage waved his hand dismissively and rearranged his books. He thought that now he will have another problem with her or, to be more specific, with her eventual suitors.
Another gasp of amazement reached his ears, pushing his growing concerns away. He gazed at her fleetingly. Currently the witcher girl did not resemble a monster hunter at all. The applied spell worked wonderfully. Despite the fact he lately wore the skin of caring mentor his abilities were as they have always been: above average and better than the best.

He couldn’t stay indifferent to Ciri’s joy, and smiled to himself. It was all thanks to him and his creativity. It was a good deed, disregarding the motives he did not fully comprehend. Even her laugh seemed changed, became tinted with friskiness. But she still had those silent moves of a killer; a moment ago, she had been leaning by the table, fascinated with her improved appearance,  however now, he heard her sincere voice at his side.

“Thank you, this scar,” her hand moved from her face to his arm. “It reached far deeper than it was visible.”

It seemed proper then - the gratitude in the form of a kiss placed on his flawless cheek. Well, that really was the innocent plan raised in Ciri's endorphin drenched brain. Her lips landed much lower, not kissing but rashly brushing his sharp jawline. She overestimated the distance, and what a sweet mistake it turned out to be.

“Oh sorry, that turned out sloppy.” The honesty in her apology was indicated by her nervous laugh.

Avallac'h didn't frown, nor did he move away. The elf’s eyes darted slowly to the side, to the stacks of books and papers.

“What a mess, Ciri.” He said enigmatically and began to throw the converting spell to his thick volumes.

He acted mechanically, to prove to her that he is perfectly in control. Ciri was sure about that! The Sage was performing mainly for himself. A little detail made her certain about it: he was using one hand solely. The other one was holding the desk edge. His knuckle bones were pale white. And it so happened that the witcher girl had a perfect sight.
Ciri had an outstanding feeling that he would leave his fingertips on that poor piece of furniture.

A spark of sharpened spite flashed in her greens. Not more than a while ago, someone here was boasting about his kin self-mastery. She decided to strike while the iron was still hot. It was high-time to subject the Aen Saevherne to a little test.

Driven by a streak of confidence, she embraced him from the back. She did it without any former sneaking. Her hands slipped under his armpits, fingers split on his chest. It was surprisingly easy, like hugging a giant oak tree.

The elf released himself and turned to her slowly. He scrutinised her inquiringly, however there still was no trace of abrupt reaction from his side. Ciri intentionally prolonged gazing in his eyes.
Even at this point, Avallac'h got out of the situation smoothly: he leaned down and kissed her forehead in a purely paternal manner. Even a blind man could see that this behaviour was free of any subtext.

“Expressive joy. A fair thank you.” He spoke and armed himself in his herbal infusion.

He did not reject her, moreover the short moment could be easily considered as sweet and really tender, but it wasn’t even close to taking them into another level of being physical with each other.
Ciri smiled weakly and pulled her leather on. Cutting herself from the interpretations of the events, she was feeling deeply rejected, and now it was all that mattered. Her woman's pride was hurt.

“I need a breath of fresh air.” She left, promising herself to never ever again reach for him. Looking at the past moment, her behaviour equalled reaching to the moon and only lunatics hoped it was possible. And little babies.
“Babies. Ugh!” She spatted with disgust. She hated the word. The very notion of it.
Her thoughts quickly focused themselves once more on the elf.
From now, he won't be graced with a single affectionate glance of hers, not a word coloured with ambiguous meaning.
He will not get from her anything more than distance.

…

Ciri’s day was done. She sat on the grass and non-effectively tried to relax, watching the clouds roll by. Despite the vastness of the surrounding nature and its stunning form, not forgetting about her possibilities of roaming here freely, she had felt like she would be placed on a narrow aisle, not in the middle of an enormous valley.

In truth, Ciri was torn. Her resolution to erase what she discovered that crazy night hadn't worked at all. Staying indifferent towards Avallac’h failed entirely. The shock might have lost its intensity within the first week, but for the last few days she was constantly bothered by the arousing pictures rising in her head and in consequence she avoided the one who inspired them with all her might, strenuously trying to maintain a semblance of normality.

“Like anything would be normal in my life.” The girl spoke grimly to herself.

She still had her tree trunk and used it in the evenings, as Avallac'h just tended to prepare her sweet baths and leave the hut while she wanted to get clean.
Yesterday he was in an exceptionally good mood. Whistling a merry tune and smoking his herbs since afternoon. He even made for them something akin to towels, using some scratch of material Ciri found lately.
Whistling and wearing a kind smile he neatly prepared himself to be gone.
Ciri wouldn't be herself if she didn't try to conduct a little interrogation. The problem was the elf was too sly to be easily interrogated.

“Leaving me again, Avallac'h?” Her hands crossed on her chest, her eyes squinted.

“What do you need me here for?” He shot a glance at her bath.

“Where are you going?” She asked him at once, her arms akimbo.

“Me? ” The elf looked at her nonchalantly and pointed a finger at himself. “I am going outside.”

Ciri heard the obviousness in his voice. She was sure, even if she spread him above a bonfire, he wouldn't confess to his secret perversity.

“I see that.” She blurted carelessly, earning herself a look of concern.

“Oh Swallow. I know. You want to go with me.” He smiled warmly.

“No!” She replied rashly and added with a cooled down voice: “I mean no. Thank you. I will stay here. But… Aren't you suffering from the cold there, hm?”

Avallac'h answered back, already holding the door frame.
“In case you failed to notice, I am a quite good master of magic. Nature bends to my will.”

Ciri didn't comment then, though she really wanted to say a lot about bending things. Ultimately she did not, it could place her in a role of a permanently horny dh’oine. That her pride couldn't bear.

Besides the obvious sexually explicit nuisance, the Sage was a bearable companion. Apart from teaching her, he was just invested in his things. He was there for her when she needed him and in fact, he was extremely caring. Ciri bitterly reflected that this arrangement between them is slightly starting to remind her of a notion close to an unconsummated marriage.
And what was her role in this game of appearances? Had destiny ( that whimsical cruel bitch! ) placed her in the role of a touch-starved spouse?
That just wasn’t fair, because he was the one who was fighting with his urges to the point of having a risky steamy moment - not her! He was the one kissing her in the shadows of the night! He should be walking, tense and excited - not her!

Meanwhile, his self-control was perfect. It was vexing!

That is why Ciri has announced to Avallac'h that she wants to train more and more with her sword. Of course, it was an excuse to minimise the time spent together as conversing over manuscripts or accompanying each other on leisurely walks.
The alleged cheek swelling that gave her a break from her scar treatment was a similar set of lies, which also equalled in avoiding his closeness.
But the worst thing was the training of her powers. Avallac'h always emphasised how the spiritual part was the first milestone to her full mastering of the Elder Blood potential. He wanted her to ‘find harmony in the fire burning in her.’ As it happened, it was a fire which he also aroused. Those occasional touches, supportive praises and even, she knew she was pathetic, the gentle chastising.

Ciri grimaced morosely.

Today, she just couldn't bear it any more. She lacked an excuse for her burning cheeks and sat down on the ground, pretending tiredness. After he stood behind her, rubbed her shoulder and said: “Too much pressure luned? Let's try once more. Relax and take a deep breath,” she just took her sword and left him wordlessly.

She moved quite far away from him, again hiding herself almost on the other side of the lake, and trained for a good hour. After that, disobeying the elf’s orders, she cleaned herself in a tiny water source. The water was cold, like it just popped out from an iceberg, fortunately the sun was very warm making the refreshing bearable.

It was early afternoon and many hours to kill awaited her. Currently, she sat alone at a daisied glade and polished her steel, torturing herself a bit and rethinking her rapturous departure from today's magic lesson.

In her mind a thought flashed that if they weren't in such an uncivilised area she would go to the first line tavern, drink something really strong and just have sex without commitment with a first line person, fantasising about those deep aquamarine eyes.

She leaned her cheek against her palm.

Someone might really like me now.

She gently touched the scar. It looked much better than before the treatment and Avallac'h assured her that if she would let him treat it regularly then after the next full moon he could try to bleach the tissue to a more neutral tone - even much more similar to her own skin colour. All of this sounded very promising.
However, Ciri wasn't sure if she could be subjected to the whole treatment without some dramatic outcome.

She was disappointed with the anticipation building in her. Something could really finally happen between them. Even if it would be a serious argument, it always carried a chance of hearing something coming from the deep of the elf’s soul.
As she delved longer into this reflection, she concluded that all in all, she cannot complain on this matter lately. He allowed himself to be sincere more and more often.

His last reaction at her stubborn attitude to staying childless in combination with his secretive venting confused her.

He lied to me then with that spell. Could it be that he still strenuously sees me as a future mother? Maybe he can’t let go of this dream of having this promised child? Or begetting it? A promise of power - is this what I am for him? Or is it something concerning his species, maybe alder elves have some fixation over fertility?

In a manner of false modesty, she overlooked her body and threw the long hair away from her face. Could it be connected with her changing into a woman now, bringing her closer into being the essential part of a role he failed to fulfil?
Ciri started to follow similar paths of speculation more and more often.
She wondered how was it possible that the same act that was so offending for Avallac'h in Tir na Lia that even its very offer made him lose control has shifted in his mind to something utterly desirable? Or was he a simpler male than she expected him to be? Fixating over her as the forbidden fruit?
Shrugging her shoulders, the girl concluded that it is possible that his case could be anything but original. What had she really known about the Aen Elle?
Her intuition told her that those tirnalian snobs are possibly wetting their velvet pants having unruly thoughts about humans on a daily basis.

Band of hypocrites.

It was all very messy, not fully comprehensible for her, but it didn’t stop the notion from being utterly exciting. And what is more, Ciri couldn't tell why the certain feeling of being tempting for him felt so sickly good sometimes. Almost like she had this unsettled power over him.

She sighed once more. I’m pathetic. Instead of practising with my sword, I analyse Avallac'h’s sexuality.

Maybe if he would look differently, not wear this pleasant scent and didn't have this low baritone, which was especially appealing when he reassured her numerous times that she is safe with him Ciri wouldn't sit here hard shipping the next reliable excuse why she needs time alone.
Oh, yes. She had to admit that lately, she had become fluent in justifying her obsessive focus on Crevan Espane aep Caohman Macha.

The witcher girl bit her lip and concluded that soon he would start the scar subject again. She learned his ways as he learned hers. He knew that open pressure on her is pointless, and she knew that he certainly would bring the topic back in the nearest future, framed in some story, moral, ambiguous comment or joke.

Ciri took a deep breath, stood up vigorously and patted her breeches. This stupid tension gathering in her troubled her. She decided that she will act normally. All she needed was a small break and some time alone. And of course, she promised herself to be a better actress. Her leaving today was overly dramatic.

She stretched her muscles a bit, but eventually ended up laying back on the grass and enjoying the sun rays. She suspected they had arrived here in early spring as the days were becoming longer and warmer. The greenery started to become a lush bush and there were visible literal flower bombs all around.
It didn't take more than a short while to feel the familiar shadow on her.

“What is happening, Zireael?”

“Nothing. I need a while alone, a day.” She hid her face from the sun. Fortunately from his sight too.
At least her musings were safe. She aptly suspected he had significantly reduced reading her thoughts for some time.

“I understand,” Avallac'h faltered almost invisibly. “However, I am worried. Is the sorrow entrapping your soul again?”

Ciri almost imperceptibly blinked her eyes.

The sorrow? On the contrary Avallac'h, the sorrow is well, although it has reduced its size in my heart. However the nightmares are gone for good my dearest Sage. Could it be thanks to you? Maybe… People say time is the best cure for everything. But it also might be your magic, your rationality, the immensity of knowledge you are putting into my head. However, let's not leave other factors unappreciated. She scrutinised him with a note of frustration and sighed with resignation, playing with a blue primrose.

“No, it is something else. Just leave me. I am training.” She finally answered curtly, took her sword and moved it slowly in circles.

Avallac'h still stood in his place, with his hand clenched back. His expression was mildly amused. He looked up in the clouds dreamily.

"Of course, as you wish. Before I leave you, what would you say for a duel?"

Ciri's face flashed with curiosity. She stabbed the sword into the ground and scrutinized him.

"A fight? With you? I beg your pardon, but are we going to pull our braids or play riddles? No, thanks." She snorted and bent down to improve her boot buckle.

Something hit her gently from the back. 

A pine cone.

Ciri rolled her head without ceasing her previous action.

“Pretty childish, what next? Are you going to throw me into a portal to your library?”

A singular smack. Quick but hellaciously burning. Right through her back thigh. Ciri's eyes widened in disbelief that he would treat her in such a demeaning way. She turned back abruptly but saw only the aired wicker stick. She grabbed it and broke it in two.

The voice of the elf reached her from behind, it was obvious he had teleported.

"Where have your extolled reflexes gone?" He asked with feigned curiosity.

Ciri smirked, but didn't turn back. Not immediately. She bent down once more and shook off the dust from her knees with an evil-spirited grin, gazed at her spread fingers to feign boredom, and rushed at the elf.

All she met was the forest air. He dissolved like smoke.

"I knew you were going to be unfair! Just wait until I will master my power a little, I'll badger your ass then!" She promised and started to walk away with indignation, but still stayed focused.

To be true, the invisibility was an extra challenge for her, but it didn't place her as a loser. If only, it whetted her appetite for winning.

The fluctuation of air betrayed him. Ciri held her smile. It was as if someone would plant his foot over the move of her own, but Ciri was ready for another blow from below.
In a flinch of a second, she flipped over her invisible opponent and pushed him on the tree with her elbow. She released him quickly and sighed contentedly.

"You Knowers’ really know things. I already feel better." Ciri announced happily and tried to tame her dishevelled hair.

“You do not need much to be happy.” Avallac'h commented flatly, adjusting his robes.

"How about showing me some tricks with your staff?" She asked him daringly, but he reacted without a shadow of excitement.

“I don't know. Probably you will indulge in it and want to repeat that every day.”

Ciri tried to hide her snort. Of course, he did not openly participate in her joke, but had to point out to her that he grasped her allusion.

“I could bet its role lately is reduced solely to a prop.” She renewed her attempt to pinch his masculine ego. It was another obviously ambiguous remark. Avallac'h rolled his head in a scolding manner, but eventually smiled lightly.

He opened his palm and the magic wand materialised itself in a bluish glow.

Ciri stepped back, arming herself with her sword. White mist from nowhere surrounded them.

"And no magic! If you cheat, you will regret it!" She brandished her sword at him.

"Empty threats will not guarantee you a win.” He informed her with the same collected manner he lectured her during their lessons and leaned on his staff, slightly bored.

“Aren't you overconfident in this particular field?” She inquired. “My abilities are no joke.”

He shifted from indifference to snickering at her.

“What the hell?! You doubt that? Go and ask Eredin.” She threw proudly.

“With all my respect, Loc’hlaith, I am trying to stay courteous.”

“Say what you have to say. Do not delay your failure.” She demanded.

Avallac'h visibly hesitated for a short moment.

“I mean, look at you. You are tiny. If I was a barbaric warrior this duel would end in the exact moment when I would thrust out your sword and throw you over my shoulder taking you away. Avenging and wiggling, but still weaker and smaller.”

Ciri held herself from gaping. She herself couldn't tell what surprised her more. His sauciness or the rapid development of the events taking place in his mind just after this theoretical barbarian would defeat her.

“And where would this savage take me, hm?” She questioned with a hint of mocking doubt, but Avallac'h did not seem to be embarrassed.

“A savage would take you to a cave, or a meagre tent.” He answered nonchalantly.

“Then it would be dark there.” Ciri noted.

“Possibly. A half shadow is more than certain.”

“Good. Then he would not see me taking the dagger out.” Ciri gifted him with a venomous smile.

The elf nodded his head with recognition.

“So the barbarian is bleeding out. Bravo. I must say, I find it curious what hidden measures you will apply to the elf.”

The dagger hidden behind Ciri’s boot slipped out and with a quiet clatter slammed into a tree.

Avallac'h smiled mirthlessly.

The excitement stirred the hair on Ciri's nape. She felt it again. This anticipation, the unhealthy curiosity towards this secretive elf. Another journey into the many layers of his complicated character.

For a brief moment, none of them moved. It was clear as the sun that Ciri would attack first. She encircled the Sage, lightly on her knees.

"Till the first blood?" She whispered, slowly getting behind his back.

"Till the first ground." He corrected her sternly and hammered the staff in the ground. Ciri lunged at him, just to see that he took a swing and threw his only weapon at her. She dodged by doing a quite spectacular slide. The humid grass was her ally. The staff flew just above her non-scarred cheek.

She looked at the unarmed Sage like a hungry she-wolf.

“Bold, surprising but utterly stupid move O' Knowing One.”

She ran at him, but her feeling of advantage was broken by the fact that her sword had become wooden.

"Hey! I said no magic!" She shouted and threw herself into the fight. Avallac'h, temporarily armless, dodged her blows. Again and again, one by one, however, it required maximum focus and speed from him. Ciri didn't let him breathe until she noticed out of the corner of her eye that, moving away, the fox directed their dance to where his staff rested. She felt the resistance in her wrists when he strongly deflected the first blow. Ciri stepped away with a hiss.

"I magnanimously was giving you the foray, Zireael."

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't fatten a pig with this wooden cane." She furiously threw the sword aside.

He nodded in silent agreement and casually threw her his staff. Just like that. She caught it promptly and glanced at him with bewilderment.

"And another one for me.” He informed her and conjured an identical twin. “Is weapon variation another excuse for your upcoming failure?”

"How creative of you." Ciri rolled the staff, moving her fingers deftly. It was light, but she suspected that it was more durable than the gates of a well guarded fortress. Her eyes flashed with challenge. "Now let's see where this creativity will take you."

The first impact sound carried through the forest. Their movements dispelled the magical mist. It was a good fight. They never clashed before in such an arrangement.

Ciri was quite amazed with Avallac'h's skills, although she started to review his technique as a mix of defence tactics and delivering deliberate empty blows. Whereas, the elf felt a note of recognition for the Swallow's quick adjustment to a new weapon. Indeed, she was a talented and furious warrior. Definitely one not to be underestimated; rushing at him ferociously, not being intimidating in her strength, albeit making up for it with her speed and zeal. Some of the strikes were ugly, and the ugliest was the finishing one.
Ciri felt exhaustion taking over her arms, rising from countering the elf's punches.

He wanted to win her with her own fatigue.

She did the opposite - she took the risk.

Stepping away from him, she pretended to lose her balance. She was sure he would take advantage of this in order to undercut her from below. Every sly fox would do that and Avallac'h was no exception here. Ciri jumped to the right, throwing her leg forward, deftly avoiding the staff. Her feet impetuously hit the Knower’s upper arm, in effect precipitating his weapon.

Avallac'h hissed from the pain, and the next thing he felt was the hard ground and Ciri's body crushing him. She pressed the staff to his throat area, blocking his hands.

"I fooled you, Crevan." She smiled imperiously. “Or should I say - I outfoxed you?”

He gasped quietly under her pressure.

"Is this the end of the fight?"

"You are on the ground. As if you hadn't noticed." Ciri chortled in his face. It was a handsome face. From this upper perspective, he looked somehow indecent.

"Has your mood improved?"

"Mhm... I think defeating Aen Elle always feels good." She voiced her thoughts not getting off him. “As my so-called mentor and guide preaches: If your opponent is too confident, you need to exploit his weakness while feeding his ego.”

Avallac'h thoughtfully ran away with his gaze to the side.

"Learn from what you said." he spoke enigmatically.

Ciri dumbfounded at first just to release a loud squeak shortly after.

He pulled her by the back of her hair and threw her off himself. The staff disappeared, and now he was the one pressing her to the ground, keeping her hands above her head.

It really was something she didn't expect of him.

Ciri laughed in his face, unloading the tension, growing between them for so many days before. Her eyes blazed with fun. This time, her playfulness turned out to be quite contagious, because even the elf himself felt pure joy when the girl lying under him trembled while she tried to set herself free - to no avail. It was settled, she was a better sword-master, but he was stronger

"In a fair world I still win." She announced, sure of her rightness.

"There isn't such a thing like a fair world."

Ciri feigned a defeated face and feeling his pressure loosen over rapidly took another attempt to slip out of him, both writhing and laughing. With no success.

"You should really see your face now.” She mocked him.

“Why? Is it the face of a conqueror?” He asked, looking very pleased with himself.

“Not at all.”

“Then because it is very handsome?”

“No. Not in the slightest!”

“You are such a bad liar.”

Ciri wasn't capable of holding herself from looking at him for a bit too long when he was so charmingly brazen.

They stopped moving, and he loosened the strength of his hold on her wrists. She felt a shiver rolling over her nape and saw his gaze focused on her lips. There was a change in him. He looked dazed. He released one of her hands and touched her scarred cheek tenderly.

"Was I not being too brutal?" His voice was low, caring.

Ciri parted her lips slightly, looking at him shamelessly. Her arms were still spread out on the sides.

Intrusive and vivid memories of his intimate picture from that moonlit night invaded her thoughts. A need to tell him about her completely accidental voyeurism grew in her.
She couldn't stop looking into his eyes, being on the crossroad of admiration towards his beauty and asking for forgiveness for breaching his privacy.

It couldn't go another way around - this kind of look was interpreted by Crevan as a plea. The shiny emeralds, her rosy cheeks and the cupid bow of her upper lip provoked him to make a move. He fell on her entirely, sealing her lips with a passionate kiss. Ciri sighed into his mouth, and he, like an echo of her pleasure, answered with the same.

A single kiss wasn't enough. He held her mouth and claimed her lips repeatedly, tasting their softness. Ciri kept on kissing him back. A very silent sound, similar to one when one is trying a sweet delicacy, got out from her now, followed by a longing-saturated murmur, fully providing Avallac’h with proof that she wants it to last.

His fingers intertwined with hers, releasing her other palm, giving it the wonderful opportunity to embrace him. Ciri’s lips were freed, but her neck… He moved his lips there, making her lose the fight with the moans rising in her throat.
He slowed down, pinning her gently into the green meadow, and began to touch her even more tenderly.

Ciri felt his fingers, seamlessly sliding her shirt away, reaching for her breasts. Out of her throat came out an even more telling gasp. Her skin wasn't subjected to this kind of treatment for many days, many months. The sensations had gained a different dimension, not only because he was cupping her breasts now, but it also evidently made his breathing deeper. Sexier.
When he exposed and touched her nipples, at first in feather-like strokes, changing into a more firm caress, Ciri felt she was simply getting wet down there. She closed her eyes and slipped her fingers into the back of his soft hair. She dared to look down and what she saw made her cheeks burn.

Avallac'h wasn't feeling fine. He was feeling wild and untamed. He looked exactly like that - drowning in her warmth and breathing with her scent. The sophisticated and measured Sage was gone and forgotten, savagely pushed away by a hungry man, condemned to commune on a daily basis with that luscious woman, completely unaware of the power of her sex.

How exciting it was to have her under his body. He couldn't help, but reach for her skin. Just a little bit. Just a taste of this unruly little goddess, just a snippet of lust on which he could prey on till eternity.

He felt her arching her body under him, so he went full wild into rubbing his face between her beauties, taking them into his hands and gently rubbing them with his thumbs. He looked at them shamelessly, satisfying his curiosity concerning the colour of her nipples in the light of the day. True to be, he saw them already shortly that wicked night, but still hadn't had enough of this beautiful hue of pink. They were so gingerly tempting, as if being created to be teased.

So he complied, voicing his readiness in a low groan. Gentle nibbling and licking ultimately overwhelmed Ciri. It only took seconds, and she felt ready to make love. Her excitement grew when Avallac'h's body answered with the same fervour. She reacted quickly, trapping his hips between her legs.

The overall picture and the sensations made her feel both ridiculously frail and excited. Gods he was the one doing everything. She was just taking it. The kisses, the touch and the pressure. She became super conscious about his strength and size. Normally he was so gentle and composed that she tend to forgot who he really was, and now, subjected to his body and his ministrations, it all hit her at once: his chest pressed against her, his hand cradling her mouth single-handedly and that hard massive thickening he let her felt every time he moved to kiss her lips.

"You are so delicate, I can only wonder..." Avallac'h started to whisper to her mentally, lifting himself on his elbows. His hips moved, betraying his longing to explore the softness and warmth of her inner thighs. Ciri lost control, not letting him finish. She bit him on the neck and moaned. Not even being undressed, she felt it: she could come easily here and now.
She grabbed his hip and pressed him to her body. It made Avallac'h hard like never before. How he indulged in these ravenous gestures of hers, befitting all those dirty and indecent notions he had attributed to her race.

He gasped and slid his fingers into her hair, kissing her neck wildly. Indeed, she was a perfect representative of her kind. A female in heat. And still he wanted to claim her so badly. He would do that, soon, but not earlier than after her orgasm. He slipped a hand between them and gently massaged her through her breeches, sending her to the edge.

Ciri literally breathed out her pervy request.

“Please, please Avallac'h… just fuck me.”

The elf froze. In a glimpse of time, Ciri realised how unfortunately she chose her words.

He moved away from her erratically, wiping his hand through his face - like he was scolding himself.

“Wait… I didn't mean it like that.” Ciri threw quickly, extending a hand towards him.

“Forgive me Swallow,” he murmured, not looking at her, and started to move away.

“Hey!” She called after him and got up from the grass. Her hair was a mess and her blouse untied. He did not stop in his steps.

“Avallac'h... I’m sorry too, I didn't mean to use those words exactly. What I meant was eh… to share a sublime carnal experience!” She blurted out, but he didn't stop either.
“Anyway! - the message is just the same.”

There was a visible fall of his shoulders.

“At least one of us is specific.” He breathed out with defeat.

Ciri didn’t know what to say. To apologise? No, she did not do anything wrong to him. To hug him? Intuition told her maybe it is better not to throw herself on the elf. What the hell did he expect from her? To beg for his forgiveness because he wanted her?!

No way.

So in the end, she did what she could do best.

“Well, look at you! The great Aen Saevherne is running away because he went on fire?!” She threw the words and achieved her goal - he had stopped.

“I prevent you, I prevent us from doing something stupid.” His low baritone resonated with seriousness, but Ciri only made a scornful grimace and faced him.

“Stupid? At least have the balls to name things how they really are in your head!”

He glowered at her: “Stop this and do not make a coward out of me when I am the one who acts with reason.”

Reason. Prudence. Cold calculation. The mask was on. Ciri scoffed.

“If you are not a coward, then go ahead. I have nothing to be ashamed of.” She ordered and pointed to her forehead. She will show him the things that can’t get through his and hers throat. She will show him what and who she saw that night.

“Do what?” He asked, sounding slightly irritated.

“You know what. I see, you like to do it when I do not know or when I don't want to. It says something about you,”

Now he was the one who stepped closer. He spoke, still not raising his voice up: “Be careful with your words girl.”

“I'm not a girl! I'm a woman, but you have already noticed that,” she made a crooked smile, "And I know exactly when you are sliding into my mind! What, you did not know this?" She poked him in the chest. It started to become one of her ugly habits during their arguments.

Avallac’h looked down at her, intentionally trying to remain calm, but Ciri knew about his inner fight, evidenced by his clenched jaw and hands folded behind his back.

“Well, if this is like breathing for you, I am citing your words, then do it now.” She straightened her spine and looked at him. Her hand tossed her hair back, daringly and with confidence.

They must have loosened when they... The Sage shook off the poisonous charm carried by her attitude.

“What do you want?” He asked with resignation.

“Read my mind and oh, feel free to take a good look.”

He turned back from her, but she grabbed his hand.

“Coward.” she said quietly, but the elf only huffed.

“You are imagining yourself too much, I have already told you,”

Ciri scoffed. “I’m imagining? You are the one who at the same time is mildly disgusted with me and…” She made the first step, violating his personal space. He was unmoved, although she could easily sense the tension consuming him.

“And?” He asked curtly, giving her this condescending look of his.

But Ciri was far from being irritated. That single word was a tiny, but essential proof that he allowed himself to be drawn into her web of provocation.
It was enough to light up that little spark of mean playfulness. What is more, Ciri was quite sure he was not aware how messy he looked right now, with his usually smooth hair turned into strands falling on his forehead and his neat clothes crumpled.

She tilted her head to the side and soothed her voice. “You know, sometimes I can literally feel your sight on me. Did it ever appear to you that I know that you like to look when I don't seemingly notice.”

He swallowed like someone caught on something extremely vile, but besides this stood unmoved, his chest moving at a steady pace.

Ciri grazed her fingers on his chest and added with a honeyed voice: “You don't have to wait until I fall asleep. You can look at me now.”

Her tone did not leave much for Crevan’s interpretation, on the contrary, it stirred his imagination. He heard his own voice pushing him to show her what awaits those who think they can provoke the great Knower, he felt the power culminating in his lions.

“Your behaviour, it is…” He paused to take a breath. Ciri was really close now, almost leaning on him. She moved her fingers up to his lips.

“No wonder you offer to keep guard at night so ardently.”

“That's enough.” He pulled her arms down, but did not let them go.

Ciri let out an exalted ouch.

It was preposterous. Erotic. She was preposterously erotic. How could he allow himself to be a part of such a farce?

“Is my desire repulsive for you? That you are so uptight? Where is your nonchalance?” She teased him mercilessly. Wicked satisfaction painted on her face.

“Listen to me now, your desire... I will tell you about your desire! It is opportunistic.”

Ciri's lower lip fell down. She didn't expect this choice of words.

Avallac'h released her, scanned her wrists and started to walk away. No. Not walk. He literally stormed away from her. Finally, he had stopped and looked at Ciri once more. He spoke, his voice was calm but shadowed with untold sorrow.

“I will not allow myself to be treated as an outlet for your loneliness.”

Chapter Text

Ciri stood as struck by, watching Avallac’h stride towards the hut. The wind played with the strands of her hair like it would be offering its caress instead of the offended elf touch. 

The Sage stopped for a moment by the terrace, making her think he might be coming back to her or the contrary, leaving the place for good. She was wrong. First she heard a quiet swish, then she noticed the staff flying past her. It skipped straight into the elf's open hand. And then he was out of her sight. 

“But it should be me. I’m the one who is running away, escaping.” Ciri spoke to herself quietly and instantly added louder, spraying the ether with vitriol: “No need to flaunt your wounded pride like this, as if you were the only one in the world who had been spurned. Very well, stay in your misery. I am not affected by this theatrical performance of yours!”

Her hands squeezed into fists and her voice grew louder.

”I don’t feel sorry for you, Avallac’h!” She called after him. Though she couldn’t see him, she was sure he could hear her clearly. 

Indeed, it was a theatre. A real spectacle of denial, desire and ambiguity.  Apparently, the genre wasn’t categorised. Definitely, it wasn’t a love story. Was it a tragedy or comedy? She couldn’t tell, so she laughed bitterly.

 Ciri as usual, though she wholeheartedly didn’t wish to, was probably in the middle of the main act. How she would like to be just a witness, a simple viewer; to sit restfully in the back seat and watch how the drama unfolds.

She should go to the hut and throw the truth in his face. He was the one who started all of this! He and his uncontrollable urges! And he dared to prey on her loneliness and address her desire as opportunistic? Her desire was unique! But an ignorant egocentric like him wasn’t able to understand this, because he wasn’t in her skin when her innocence was taken from her, when she was touched without her consent, when everyone wanted to use her body because of her blood. It wasn’t he who had to endure Auberon’s treatment! 

And at last, when Ciri partly embraced her sexual self for a mere while and combined it with joy and mutual passion, this fool had to spoil it with his sick broken heart! 

Thoroughly and deeply broken heart. 

Ciri’s head hung down as she delved deeper into the elf’s past. 

It’s all about me again. When he looks at me, he sees the fruit of his beloved's betrayal, his rival's seed and his grandest failure. It is not my fault that he rejects this part of himself which generated feelings towards a human. 

Ciri ambled to a serene grove of willows growing closer to the lake. She sat down heavily and felt like her temples were evaporating with hot steam, not able to find a release.  

 It wasn’t the first and the last fight with Avallac'h, but this time he had to sound so hurt, like it really would be his pain speaking through him all the way. Although her feelings were offended, she couldn't deny she had felt for the elf.

The rejection had marked him for ages.

If at least he spoke more straightforwardly and just called her a vile dh’oine then she could just hate him, fight with him and now when he ripped his heart open in front of her she simply couldn’t. And she wanted to!

Oh how she wanted to despise him with all her might, or at least be indifferent to him. 

What the hell was he even thinking about her? That her heart is made of ice? Pushing away her skating skills, her nature never had anything to do with cold or snow. Nor with winter. 

What a top-level hypocrite he was, using her loneliness against her, placing himself as an innocent lamb and pushing her into a role of a hungry she-wolf who wants to noxiously use him. 

Did he expect from her to turn off her senses, stay blind to his care and closeness and gradually morph into a piece of stone for the time until they complete their mission? 

Ciri quickly considered another explanation, but pushed it away quickly. She couldn’t believe that he was so scattered after Lara’s betrayal that he did not let himself be physical with anyone else at all. What is more, she was sure he had a whole fancy bunch of paramours in Tir na Lia. She saw one with her own eyes and the lady was simply ravishing. From her point of view she was unquestionably a companion to the alcove, not the warrior or librarian type. 

The girl sat down and looked at the calm surface of the lake.  The sun position indicated late afternoon.

They were here for weeks. Never before did they spend so much time isolated from other people, other races. In different, more civilised parts of the spiral Ciri could have focused her attention to different realities, different customs. However this valley was cursed with lust preying on their exclusivity, along with her fancy bath and his steamy pond. 

The girl allowed herself to yield another perspective; maybe that was what the elf really meant? No other options, no other people. 

Maybe he thought that if they weren't doomed to each other then she wouldn't want him at all? Ciri snorted. Was it even possible for him to generate a thought like that? Be it or not, he was so nonsensically proud. His everyday self-absorbed manner wasn’t really indicating that he was drowning in a sliver of complexes. This expression was probably not even present in his vocabulary.

 “Well if he thinks like that then he is a fool.” Ciri spoke honestly to herself and rubbed her shoulders. The day was slowly reaching to its end and the peaks of the mountains began to be overcast with all-encompassing fog.

The girl really had a moment of sincerity when she wanted to understand the elf. 

What Ciri didn’t manage to know in her short, but intense life was the bitter taste of rejection and betrayal in a real long-term relationship and how it affects one’s spirit. She couldn’t know how it changes and twists the way you perceive your own self worth. 

Maybe this was what Avallac’h was undergoing for many decades?

At the same time she saw the object of her pondering getting out of the hut and disappearing into the greenery. Ciri noticed he was without his cloak. 

“It is probably undergoing changes in order to separate me from him.”

Despite the moderately nice weather a single lightning reached the older part of the forest. The blast was followed by a set of sounds; something large fell and the branches broke. The unnatural gust of wind danced for an iridescent while with her hair. The girl guessed the elf was just taking care of the wood for the night. 

Why pick up branches and struggle with breaking them when you can simply knock down an oak tree to pieces with a lightning bolt? Ciri sneered to herself. 

Finally the elf emerged from the back of the hut and slowed down his steps. He stopped and stared in her direction with his arms folded on his chest.

Ciri knew perfectly what was going on. The elven master thought he could herd his human just by a single glare. 

Keep on dreaming Avallac’h.

Ciri raised her head and pierced him with her gaze. For a moment it seemed they would stare each other to death. There was no sign from the elf; no gesture, no telepathic message.

She unwillingly returned to her previous thoughts about his attractiveness and gave a dismissive wave of hand. No, it is stupid. He sees himself in the mirror, right? 

Avallac’h rolled his head with resignation and moved away inside. 

After today the girl had ultimately come to terms with her attitude to the elf. She would be a hypocrite like him if she would lie to herself.  

And the naked truth looked like that: She wouldn't choose him in the crowd, of course she would not. Simply because she would not dare to court him, though if he would be interested in her, if things were going the other way around, if he was the one who would openly express his desire for her, offer her some time alone far from the prying eyes then well, in neutral conditions…

Ciri hid her face in her hands. 

Either way, what was there to argue with when she practically begged him to make love to her. 

Love? 

The girl’s nose wrinkled at the recurring disappointment over her eloquence.

Yeah, she could have put it a little better. More sophisticatedly. 

Could it be possible that for the great matchmaker love -making really meant a lot? But he talked about it with ease before, without excitement, flatly even. Like one talks about the weather or last year's crops.

Ciri was still partly ashamed of her poor choice of words, not the words itself. She wasn’t in a mood right then to muse how he is going to receive her pervy plea. Next time she will find more befitting ones.

Damn it! 

Why does she even think there will be a next time?! She should be mad at him! Leap away from him after he summarised her as an opportunistic dh’oine who only wanted to sordidly use the poor immaculate Aen Saevherne.

When the adrenaline wore off sadness took her over, however it took only a short while, blurred by the fresh memory of his passionate kiss. 

But sex was easy. However, the matters of the heart weren’t. 

He was hurt. She was hurt. They were on the run, though stuck in one place. No matter the circumstances and their undefined relations, their bodies demanded warmth and closeness. 

Another essential in her opinion question came to her mind. She wondered what if this was the first time in Avallac’h’s life when this overwhelming clinging feeling of rejection was slowly fading while being erased with an obvious want focused on someone who made him lose control? What if he was failing in taming this loss of control and this was what he really couldn’t accept?

What if the feeling of rejection was the only living thing that he still had after losing Lara? And she - Ciri, turned out to be his unwanted cure, coursing in his veins, slipping under his skin without his permission. 

She didn’t want to get between him and his meticulously nurtured memory of his lost love.  She doubted that it was even possible to make all this aching disappear. Or maybe just like she thought earlier, the process had already started without her participation? 

Pure emotion burned sometimes, and as he was partially frozen inside, no wonder the thawing proceeded painfully. 

Was she cruel that it made her smirk? 

She, like no one else on the spiral, had the whole right to millions of smirks like this one! And he had deserved them.

He was always above her. Always! Knowing what will happen, planning, scheming. She knew that he even impertinently met with Geralt by her back to tell him he should leave the idea of saving her. What is more, Ciri suspected he did this at the time when she was nowhere else but in Tir na Lia.

Ciri felt a whirlwind of emotions spinning in her young heart. She couldn’t help herself but naively wondered what could have happened if she kissed that proud, egocentric mouth of his, instead of pointing out to him that sometimes she literally feels his sight on her skin. At first, it had embarrassed her, since today she had never said anything to discourage him from his doing, because after some time she simply started to like it. Precisely, she fancied the moment when he was realising she knew about his observation. The elf wasn’t ashamed, nor did he run away with his eyes. Ciri couldn't explain, but it wasn’t weird. 

It was just so elven-like.

Perhaps Aen Elle did not acquire the sense of embarrassment? As an opposite and of course when no one saw, they certainly bathed in pride's nasty sister - shame. 

It was easy to spin scenarios and guesses when she was all alone with the hum of willow’s foliage and the soothing song of the swaying calamuses, a more difficult challenge was not to make the same mistakes twice. 

She still didn’t know what to do next. Above the line of the conifers was visible a narrow trickle of smoke.

Going inside and not speaking to him was her only option

Freezing to death in the night sounded just foolish. And additionally painful.

...

The twilight didn't care about the quarrel between the Swallow and the Sage. It felt in the valley even faster than usual. 

Avallac'h was in a more comfortable situation as he already was inside the hut. After lighting the fire up, he buried himself into his maps, figures and calculations. 

Ciri blew onto her hands and rubbed them together. She gathered branches nearby an old colossal pine tree. It was already cold, and she tirelessly tried to create a spark. A haughty part of her was sure that the elf is simply holding himself from using his power and dragging her inside. And as she foresaw it accurately, it wasn’t even completely dark when she sensed his tall form behind her back.

“It won't work. The wood is thoroughly wet.“ He commented on her trials.

“I know that.” She fired back and ceased her doing.

“Just come inside Zireael.” 

“Be gone Avallac’h!” She spat at him and added with more calm:  “Leave me alone. If you had listened to my request earlier, nothing stupid wouldn't taken place.” She deliberately put the emphasis on the ‘ stupid ’ word. Let him think it didn’t mean that much to her. 

When the desire completely left her, the rejection took the rule over her mood.

It hurt. It also hurt that somehow she hurted him. 

He made her nervous by coming here, but at the same time she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that some part of her was waiting for him. It seemed that with the elf everything became ambiguous. 

Avallac'h’s heavy sigh reached her ears.

“Even the wisest say and do stupid things.” He spoke in a tone full of pathos. 

“That really must have cost you a lot.” Ciri mumbled surly under her nose.

The elf stayed silent for a while.

“I am trying my best Swallow. Be so good and show some desire for a better coexistence between us.” 

Ciri was fortunately sitting to him with her back,  because he couldn't see her smiling nastily at his choice of words. She chose to ignore him. She knew he didn't like to be ignored.

The girl was right. He didn't seem to bother at first, but finally grew impatient. 

Ciri heard him cracking his knuckles. 

“You are aware I could just summon a hurricane that this land has never experienced before and force you to go inside.” 

“You don't say? And you are so humble that you kindly inform me about it.” Ciri spoke with false humbleness and stood up to face him. “Should I thank you for your mercy? For your general attitude to my degenerated persona?” 

It would be more effective, more conducive to her sternness, if she would stay down, without seeing his visage, being the incarnation of benevolence. 

To put it bluntly, the elf was trivially beautiful. Truly and especially in the lights and shadows of the falling evening. Without any exaggeration Ciri could swear that with those dropped eyes of his she could forgive him everything. 

That was just outrageous. Some little voice in her told her she should forgive him. 

If only he knew how to ask for forgiveness. 

“How should I tend to our good relations, to trust and peace when you so intendedly seek war with me? Tell me Swallow.”  He asked genuinely. The seriousness in his voice tended to give him such a dramatic manner.

“I do not seek war.” She said curtly. “You won’t understand. You don't even want to understand.” She turned back to him. “I will not ask you to do the impossible.”

She wasn't in the mood for throwing at him the same words she said earlier. He allegedly was the Knowing One so he should know! Read between the lines! 

Telling him once more that he sees her as something appealing on par with shame and disgust would be equal to asking him to deny it. To react.

To do something with it. 

But she wasn't so desperate to press him to action. It would make her feel like a pathetic desperate girl. 

Therefore she took a few steps away from him and let the annoyance dawn on her face.

Avallac'h closed his eyes briefly. He was really on the edge of dragging her inside and putting her to sleep. Instead, he chose to be gentle, act with respect. Did he get respect back? No. Gentleness? Neither. But this was the only way. This or reaching her reason. Too bad that again some threatening slipped in. A few days more in this world and he will start to resemble the primevals’. 

“I just do not want you to get sick again.” He said with a hushed tone.

“I need one more while alone, do you understand?” She glanced at him questioningly. 

“Of course” He answered genuinely. “Come inside and go to sleep, no talking, just silence.”

After these words, he strolled away into the hut's direction. The hems of his cloak blew in the increasing wind. Not more than after a quarter, Ciri opened the door inside. The fire was lit up brighter than usual, so her features involuntarily softened at the nice change of the temperature. No magical bath awaited her today. 

She put down her sword, a little louder than usual, in order to drag his attention, but Avallac'h didn't react. 

“Listen,” She started, faltering a bit, ‘We are adults...let us just forget about today.” 

At first, she couldn't see his face, only his back, leaned over the table. Finally, he turned to her and cast a dubious glance. 

“You aren't offended by my words?” 

“I noticed that you have an ugly habit of offending my kind from time to time.” 

But Avallac’h knew better. She was offended. Thoroughly and deeply. Though she tried to play tough and distanced. With that side of Ciri’s Avallac'h become well acquainted throughout their joint time. She was a stern deity. He knew that her real anger would not pass him, on the contrary, it would await him, growing and intensifying, bursting in a moment of culmination.

He put away his quill and smudged a hand through his face. 

Ciri shrugged her shoulders and stepped closer to the fire trying to warm up her hands.

“It wasn't the first and the last time. One day your arrogance will just stop impressing me, you'll see.” 

“Interesting.” Avallac'h mused and drank his wine. 

“Now the silence you promised.” Ciri said and felt very confident with the way she delivered this line. Not too proud, not too emotional but sternly. Cutting the contact smugly. Clearly and in her own opinion - very maturely. 

She approached the table with food and started to work with her fingers with the small, ripe fruits. Though she heard the move of the elf’s quill and the whizzing of the papers, she had an irresistible impression that he was looking at her. A light cough came out from her when one of the seeds irritated her throat. 

The elf moved from his place like he would instantly remember something, but didn’t get closer. Instead, he calmly waited on the other side of the table until she won the battle with the annoying seed and looked at him questioningly. 

“Zireael, I brew herbs for you.”

Ciri lifted a brow. It didn't take long for him to break through his own resolution of ‘not talking.’ She looked at the clay mug. Tiny white petals drifted on its surface.

 Chamomile. To calm her nerves. A simple gesture of goodwill and care. 

How.fucking.sweet.

'Thanks' She took the mug to her lips and grimaced. "Bruh, cold and bitter." 

"Let me fix it..." He approached her and touched the mug, simultaneously cradling her fingers. Ciri looked up at him, not letting the herbs out of her hands. It was just one of those little physical connections they were condemned to share on a daily basis.

"Of course, you can heat things up by a single touch." She commented and dodged her gaze to the side when he glanced at her with unhidden guilt.

"Now, it should taste better." 

Ciri casually took a small sip and directed herself to her bed, parted from the elf’s eyes with a makeshift curtain, left a single candle and loosened her hair. 

Avallac'h assumed it would be the best to do the same, with a difference that all the candles in his area were put down by a single blink of the elf’s eye. 

He decided he will sleep without taking anything more than his cloak and shoes and take a cold bath in the morning. However, as if not to look at it right now, one would be useful for him in the present moment.

Under the cover of the shadows, he sighed and rolled his head. 

He was very disappointed with himself during their stay here, not controlling his urges over a human female, letting himself release the hunger for her with an impetus of an uncouth savage.

Again he allowed her to provoke him. Again the hundred years’ cumulated hatred spilled on the girl. Why? Because she knew how to slip under his skin, took the power of control from him! Played with him, and riskily, wasn't aware what dangerous game she wanted to try.

She wanted to try? 

Don't be miserable, Crevan. 

You turned from a person of highest values into a hungry dog. Above all, keep control, because she… She won't. Those green eyes will haunt you, hypnotize you and use you. 

Probably out of curiosity. 

Stop even with grasping the thought that ‘this’ is something exceptional. You closed yourself with her in this idyllic valley, cut her from everyone, and now you are surprised she focused her lust on you? You are a strong elf in your bests and she is a healthy young woman.

Her fertility probably is having its golden age. You certainly take great pride in playing an essential role in her change from that malnourished vagabond into this walking cure for impotence.

Bravo.

You made yourself a great scientific area, you pervert. 

His inner monologue was resembling a choir of voices. Amongst the scorn and mockery one voice broke out, strangely soothing and invigorating at once.

In her was something so purely beautiful and at the same time so elusive and difficult to grasp. She was so honest in her actions. This fever burning inside her was so contagious. She made him feel similar to being in a narcotic dream with the difference that he never felt so awake.

The Knower’s face resembled a full set of theatrical masks. Doubts, fear, longing and rage. Suddenly there was something more. A strange flux of gratitude rushed through his soul. Though beyond all the internal war he struggled, there was one thing he was certain. He couldn't stay indifferent that he never wanted anyone in this nonsensical way.  

He clamped his eyelids shut. 

Not golden Eris. 

Nor even the Gull. 

And may the alder gods curse him for that.

…

The night was very quiet. Almost total silence. Not even the rustling of the wind, only the occasional distant howl of a wolf could be heard, but now even it went mute. 

Still there was an audible movement coming from Ciri’s little nook - the blankets, the furs, breeches getting off her thighs, slipping over her calves and narrow ankles. The clank of a buckle and the clasp of her corset. A small catch at her bralette. Until some time ago she was undressing as if she was ridding ants of herself; quickly, taking everything off in one second, not especially minding his presence. However now she has become much more modest with her nudity. Unfortunately tonight she wasn't in haste at all. On the opposite. She took her time and when he glanced towards her space he could see the edges of her shape, as through a semi-transparent umbra.

The coldness of the night sneaked inside through the cracks and holes like an indiscreet spy. The fire started to extinguish, and he should have put in extra wood, but he couldn’t. He couldn't move from his spot. It was too close to her meager haven of privacy. 

Or maybe it would be better to keep the fire going. Otherwise, she could get a crazy idea and simply come to him.   

He wanted to laugh sickly. He was going mad. A pathetic genius being torn over adding timber.

Eventually the wood moved on the Sage’s order and fuelled the dying hearth spectacularly, spiced with a dose of magic. Warmth spread instantly turning the hut into a truly cozy place.

Ciri’ last clothes fell on the floor, and the elf cursed himself for his perfect hearing. The wolf howled once more.  

“Well that is just splendid, she is probably naked, she must be…”

Avallac’h was waiting for the rustling of that oversized linen shirt she was wearing to sleep if they were lucky to spend nights under the roof. To no avail.

Ciri blew out the last remaining candle.

“Avallac'h?” She spoke shyly, and he felt his heart stop for a moment. 

“Yes Zireael?” 

“Your words offended me. I should take revenge on you.”

“You have the right to do it.” He spoke back, getting himself ready for whatever she considered appropriate. There was that striking honesty in her voice. Young women shouldn’t be able to talk like that. It was unnatural and unfair. Only those who were marked with trauma and experienced untold cruelty had this certainty about their right to act cruel.

What Avallac’h couldn’t predict was the fact that his words hushed the need to repay, still nesting in Ciri’s heart. The girl mused over his response and the scales were tipping more and more towards forgiving the elf. At least he knew he acted awfully and resigned from persuading his point of view. Only this was a lot more that she could usually expect from this arrogant asshole. 

The feeling of the conceded rightness combined with everything else: the nighttime tranquility, the crackling wood, her simple liking of him and damned be the spirits which awakened her sympathy for his broken heart. All of this raised a sudden spark of warmth in her. 

 "I didn’t want to hurt your feelings." Her voice lingered as the only sound under the wooden ceiling.

He felt a shiver run down his temples. Once more, she disarmed him into tiny pieces. Through his long life he experienced many wars, even more battles, but no one could defeat him like this woman did. He knew he would never be immune to the Swallow's most lethal weapon. The blade with she had already reached for his heart more than once. It touched him when she had moments like this. When she was so much better than him. The softness suited the warrior girl.

Here the pristine beauty ended. 

His vanity crossed out the pure appreciation that generated in him towards the human daughter of the Gull.  The elf admitted internally that he felt an immensely warped pleasure when her lips said the words of apologies.

“A simple ‘Forgive me Avallac'h’ would sound just perfect.”

He allowed himself to delight in that idea. The Aen Elle was back in the rightful place just on time. He took a silent breath and gave the Swallow a moment-  for her insecurity to grow. 

It had worked. Ciri felt like an idiot. 

She opened herself, put the pride away and what did she get in exchange - silence. She shouldn't be surprised. This is what he had promised to her before. 

“Swallow.” The elf spoke with engagement.

Ciri bit her lip in confusion. Maybe it would be better if he stayed quiet. 

“Please Swallow. Do not run away from me. If you escape, I cannot take care of you. And I cannot let it happen. I would pursue you on par with Eredin and I cannot accept the thought of sowing more hate in your heart.” He took a deep breath. “If you must, we can fight, argue or not talk at all. Though I do not want any of this. Just do not run away. Do not hide from me.” 

Ciri trembled inside. She didn't know what to say. She didn't expect this, what is more she didn’t even plan to escape and certainly she couldn't hate him even if she wanted to. Not after his unbosoming. It was odd, but somehow her pride and feeling of being so important to him were strongly and nicely pleased.

“I’m staying, but…” She faltered. “Good night Avallac'h. Just be good to me.” She threw it straight from the bottom of her soul. She wanted to sound more distant, but she failed.

Avallac'h on the contrary, knew perfectly how and what to say to get to the softest of her hidden layers.

A partial sense of self-loathing was building simultaneously with the satisfaction from the achieved target. Instead of loving her, he manipulated her. In different circumstances, in a perfect world things would probably take the opposite sequence and as the forbidden charm of the first act filled him with sheer madness along with the rising hardness of his body, the second he communed smoothly.

“I will. I swear.” He spoke and indulged into the imposition of the double meaning of his vow. The interpretation known to him only. 

“I don't believe you Fox.” Ciri sneered, but there was a tangible dash of a smile in her statement. 

It was relieving to hear the mood improvement in her voice. The Knower allowed her for this bit of mockery if only it would be another step to bring them closer to normality.

"Of course you don’t. Don’t worry, the upcoming days will take the rest of the inconsistencies away.”

"I hope so." 

The sweetness from the dark hit him once more and now Avallac'h was almost certain that in this apparent confession she could have hoped for something entirely else than a well-slept night and following calm days.

Or maybe it was only his male nature, making these sick assumptions, giving encouraging notes to her behavior. Was he so lost? 

What was worse, he knew how her lip would curve to the side. Just like when she was playful and teasing. He sternly decided to ignore all the eventualities and put it all on simple courtesy. 

“Sleep well Zireael.” 

It seemed to work because besides releasing the sweetest of the sweet dreamy sighs she went silent. 

Ciri turned on her back. She didn't make much of his apparent lack of reaction to her suggestion, which of course she had delivered out of pure spite and a little partial disbelief to his assurances. She corrected herself again and closed her eyes. 

She was sleepy, her body tired but her mind was wild. 

What the hell was happening to her? 

They had a valuable conversation and it went really well, but still Ciri couldn't push away this new carnal version of him.  Now that they reconciled she didn't even have her anger any more. It was impossible to erase these fresh memories. The feeling of his lips invaded her senses and left a trace of longing. She yearned for more, for a little too. She needed more of his words, sweet or obscene even. If only it would be the kiss itself. A passionate gift from the elven Sage.

Ciri sighed quietly.

A few minutes passed and it turned out that fatigue and fantasies were a successful combination leading to a progressive drifting off. The girl started to be slowly encompassed by dreams.

Avallac'h had nothing to do with any of this. He had his own mess to control. And the mess was tremendously dirty, shadowed with shame, filled with whines and pleads. Reading her thoughts was like betraying your own self. Hearing them was putting his world aflame. She was demolishing the coarse stone of his caves in which he was hiding like a forgotten hermit, she changed the eons of his infinite oceans into hot springs dragging the enraged leviathan out. 

The moment from when they fell into silence took ages for him and in those ages he had traversed through many eventual scenarios that lost their chance to become the past. An indulgence in which the powerful individuals thrived as easily as the simple mortals. An empty, vain and pointless activity. 

He wasn’t her dearest Sage in many of those, still he was and would always be by her side. If he would choose the path of violence and conquest of the continent he would have intervened in her young years. Intrigues, assassinations and sowing intentional conflicts - he would weave a web of events and cases. Everything without her knowledge. She would have had the sweet life of a cintrian princess, with whole years of courtly life to ultimately blossom into a fair lady. Still, there was a risk that her talent might have gone wild without the sorceress' care and this could make the girl deranged. An easy prey for those who move beyond the veil. 

A crazy princess waiting for an acclaimed, but mysterious Knowing One. Favorably for him his title would open almost all doors. And if the title wasn’t enough, there were always different measures.

And then no one, not even a whole imperial army could keep her away from him. Burning kingdoms would play a symphony of battle cry and Aen Elle might. 

Millions of slaves and at the first line the crown headed carrier of the Elder Blood. The fruit of Lara’s betrayal. A proper payment for his humiliation. 

His cold eyes of a warlock shone in the dark with the power he inherited from his ancestors. 

No one could save her, hide her or defend her from him. He would smoke her out from the deepest hole, from the most devoted arms of the white knights who would gladly die for their princess.

He took a deep breath.  If only she knew that Auberon threw the eventuality away and Avallac'h…

Avallac'h was neutral and calculated, never openly prone to evil. It would be impossible to throw the troops in limited numbers and success with the Gates closed. And the unicorns… They were still too powerful, too unpredictable.

He came back to reality and focused on her again. Her visions have become sweet, typical for a young woman she was. Wrapped in romance, gentle kisses and sunsets. 

For the elf it was still too much.

Disgusted with his previous stream of thoughts he made a choice. His bed squeaked almost maliciously and he promised himself he would smash it on their last day here.

 He tried to silently get out from the hut into the darkness of the night.

Meanwhile Ciri heard him. Or rather she heard the bed. 

The suspicion put an ugly grimace on her sleepy face.

It was unbelievable.

Ciri thought that she had to find a new word for hypocrisy. This definition was getting worn off and it was definitely too mild to describe the elf. 

Firstly he insulted me, then he acted so genuinely and in the end he is the one who wants to sneak out like one would head to a secretive tryst, with a meaningful difference that no lover waits for him in the forest. No one besides his own hand! 

She acted honestly towards him and he? He was loyal to his sick ways! 

“Weak elf.” Ciri judged the Sage in her mind and sat on her bed. 

“What is going on?” She decided to ask calmly.

"Nothing. I need to go out." 

“Why? Where?” She continued to question him, the sleepiness in her voice giving her the authenticity of being harshly awakened.

“I left something in the forest.” 

“What is that?” 

“Nothing relevant.” My pride. My reason.  

He was already pulling on his cloak. His moves were balanced and perfectly imitated normality. No haste, no blood boiling in his veins.

“Should I go with you?” She already stood in the middle of the hut, a feral angel, wearing only that night shirt. It seemed his senses fooled him once more. Rubbing her sleepy eyes she looked more beautiful than ever before. 

“No. Stay.” Instead of falling deeper into devouring her with his sight he opened the door.

“Will you kiss me goodnight when you return?” She took the strand of her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were glowing. The Elder Blood had been awakened in her. What was not fully noticeable for almost all dh'oine for him was hard to miss. 

He didn’t move. There was a drop in his confidence. Ciri took it with internal satisfaction. She had to bite back a contented murmur. 

He was stunned by her discovery. 

Bewilderment slipped through Avallac’h’s face only to change into a punishing glare. If only she knew a little part of his psychotic wild frenzy from a while ago. Or worse, if only she knew what he did on that night when she bathed so close to him, just after he saved her. She would have run away, just like she stands. 

And he would have to catch her.

“Go to sleep. You are relentless in pursuing,” he paused for a second. “A confrontation between us.” 

“There is no strife between us. Unless, of course, it is you that is still bothered by something?” She asked with care and leaned by the doorframe. 

Avallac'h opened the doors wider.

“You are right. We are fine.” He confirmed, his jaw set in a hard line. 

Ciri gazed at him still wearing her good-willed smile.

“There is nothing better from a decent reconciliation. Won’t you praise me for my mature approach?”

The cold air of the night played along, awakening her skin. In this thin material she looked even more tempting than she would be full nude. 

Avallac'h sized her up, too slowly and for too long. 

“That is a very mature approach. Are you proud of yourself now?” 

“Of course I am. Goodnight Avallac'h.” She moved a bit aside, like she would be setting him out. She felt the cold on her collarbones and sent him a fleetingly apologizing gaze for the state of her breasts. 

“Good night Zireael.” His voice was throaty. She was just killing him with this seductive attitude. 

 “I like how you say it. My elven name." Ciri clarified mercilessly and he was done. 

He pressed her to the hut’s wall. Not meeting any resistance from her, he intensified his embrace. She gasped when he kissed her. For although it was not a violent kiss it had madness in it, a century-long hunger for love and countless sleepless nights. It had evenings in which they shared a campfire and the mornings when he watched her, immersed in her sleep. His fingers that slid into the back of her head were not violent either, yet they held her in perfectly measured intensity. 

Ciri did not stop gasping since he reached for her. She was giving him her lips eagerly and moaned when his tongue led the wet trail to settle by the hollow of her neck. 

Her reactions made him kiss her ferociously. He easily lifted her up by her bottocks, curling up the white material, letting her feel the state she had led him to. 

But Ciri wasn’t stupefied or afraid. A sweet murmur sneaked between them, confirming that she took his ardor with amazement. Her arms wrapped around his neck in a passionate embrace. 

How it pleased her, to get what she wanted in such an arrangement, to indulge in his inner fight. That was all she wanted at the moment and why shouldn't she succumb to this vain craving? Wasn’t she deserving this? 

She gazed at him hungrily between the kisses and promised him more to come. Could he tell she was just warming up for him?

She wanted to be his forbidden lover; to feel his untamed desire, to mock his temperance while he would be savoring himself with her body.

As it happened, he was doing it thoroughly already, dipping his head into her breasts and inhaling her scent. The grunt from the depths of his larynx made her dizzy. 

When he lifted his face upon her Ciri partially lost her feeling of advantage. He was nothing like the beautiful elf with whom she wanted to make love on the sun warmed grass.

As if to confirm her thoughts he kissed her once more and his lips wordlessly swore revenge. Ciri knew. He read her. Her bare feet felt the ground.

“Isn’t this what you yearned for?” He asked and squeezed her greedily. 

The fascination in Ciri’s eyes pierced through the dark. 

Avallac’h couldn’t believe it. There was no fear in her. 

Telling she was excited would be simply belittling her state. She was closer to getting into some wild heat. 

This side of him - was this what she really wanted to see?

He still chose not to let her go.

He didn’t want to. Or maybe… He just couldn’t? 

Once more Zireael made him question his sanity. He had admitted he lost control.

Yes, he was insanely going mad for this woman. 

For this human. 

Humanity. The root of his grandest failure. 

He tore himself away from her surprisingly steadily and pressed his forehead against hers.

Ciri gave a strangled breath of excitement and relief. Her belated intuition told her that if they would proceed with the spirit which exuded from him a second ago the whole act might be even hurtful to her. Again she recklessly forgot with whom she was dealing. 

“I am trying to be good to you.” He spoke with eyes closed, as if convincing more himself than her. “You deserve only the good things Star-eyed.” 

The fever raised on Ciri's cheeks. She clasped her hands on the Knower’s chest and bit her lip. She did not want to torment him. Not anymore. He got his punishment, and she got her kiss. They were even. 

“Please stay.” He said with effort which made it sound plea-like. This attitude occurred briefly. He quickly recomposed and added matter-of-factly. “I do not want you to be sick again.” 

“Of course. You really care about me, don't you?”

“I have to.” He said sternly and did something Ciri didn't expect. He reached for her once more and lifted her up effortlessly. He put her down, taking the door out her reach. With the same smoothness he moved himself out. 

The door slammed and a flush of silver light ran through them. 

Ciri walked back to her bed. It was a strange day, and even a stranger evening. She felt strangely good.

She felt her body temperature is a bit higher, but she wasn't sick. True to be, she never felt healthier.

The major difference was also the fact, that the cold was less suffering. She liked the cold air coming from the lake from a while ago.

“Either way tomorrow breakfast will be confusing and awkward.” She said calmly and lied down. Then she heard wind in her ears.

“Ciri.” The elf's voice spoke in her mind. “Listen. What you feel right now, it is short temporary. Tomorrow I would rather face confusion than regret in your eyes.” He spoke to her mind and ceased the connection.

Ciri sat on the bed and embraced her own knees. She wanted to tell him… Right. She didn’t know what she would tell him even if she had the opportunity to do this. 

Regret? He said regret? 

Ciri suspected why. She stood up and poured herself a half chalice of wine.

So the past was holding him fast too. What he did to her in Tir na Lia wasn't only hurtful for Ciri.  They never had this valuable conversation if not taking under consideration all the bucket of slanders she threw against him in their first month. 

And why should I bother myself to come up with a solution for all his problems? Not my fault he is so rooted in the past.

She shrugged her shoulders and hid under the furs, but she didn’t fall asleep tangled in sadness or disappointment. Instead she tied up her hair in a braid.

Her hair… It was silly. She braided it because if Avallac’h couldn’t resist and wanted to kiss her while coming back from his penitential walk the hair wouldn’t get between his lips and her skin.

...

The elf however didn’t plan to kiss her. In a shell of analysis he re-experienced everything that happened between them.

That night he opened a portal to one of the peaks at the mountain's crown and tried to study the stars. He saw from there the little hut in the valley.

She was there. The one who snatched him from the land of despair only to engulf him with her fire. 

He left a strengthened protection field around the whole lake and a sensing line cutting through the valley. If anyone or anything bigger than a hen would put their steps too close to the hut he would be alarmed and approximately in five breaths he would be able to relocate himself. 

But this night was peaceful for the valley. The Swallow was sleeping already. Only the wise elf’s soul was screaming soundlessly into the void of worlds.

His beautiful eyes were burning. The human girl changed him into a living torch. Him - the model example of the elder race. The better race.

Was he better? 

Destiny took everything from him, mocked him like a cruel jester. He had nothing left. Not even his pride. Everything was lost in desiring the star-eyed daughter of chaos and chaos in his mind she sowed. 

All that was left for him to do was to howl at the moon.

Chapter Text

“Sorry birds, just try to make the next ones.”  Ciri poorly apologized to a pair of blue tits jumping briskly from one branch to another and counted her miserable prey from today. Four tiny eggs.

They'll have to be enough.

The girl sighed and landed gracefully on the ground.

She had a series of unsuccessful hunting attempts, scaring off everything that could be considered as eventual food and mainly fighting off intrusive insects. Going fishing was also an option, but when she imagined she would have another trout she chose rather not to eat at all. 

She moved from the hut early in the morning, leaving it empty. Through the whole day she didn’t notice any spies of the Sage. He himself also seemingly chose not to reach her.

It wasn’t even late afternoon when the wind started to roar so strongly that it seemed to chase the sun away. It wasn’t dark, but the clouds heralded an abundant downpour. Still, a single drop didn’t fall on the green carpet under Ciri’s feet. 

The fatigue which found home in her back made her think about leaping to the hut. Slowly starting to plan her route back she focused on summoning the power just like Avallac’h learned her; steadily and with confidence, not like one would be summoning a horse, but gently, however still rejecting any particle of hesitation.

So she proceeded with calm, her hands spread lightly on her sides.

The forest, the lake and the mountains top. High above them the pale blue sky, the aperture of the stars. She was doing it right, until her eyes opened abruptly. She bent her knees, adopting a position similar to dodging. 

It was impossible to mistake this dreadful wave of cold with any natural phenomenon. 

Although her body trembled, her vision stayed clear. In a bask of horrid glory Dearg Ruadhri appeared in the sky heralded by the roar of their ghastly mounts. 

Ciri hid deeper among the bushes. Don't panic. She recited the words repeatedly and frantically, her breath turned quick and shallow. It wasn't the first time she noticed them before they managed to catch her trace, still with utter horror she observed them descending to the ground level where she lost them from her sight. They were supposed to be far from her when she heard a quiet metallic sound behind her. 

A discreetly opening portal.

She managed to release a torn gasp and reach for her sword. The cold and unnatural gravity of the passage didn’t intervene with her instincts. Just as she fell out of the portal she was armed and ready to defend herself. 

But there wasn’t a single Red Rider that she could fight with. She found herself in the hut, her feet planted in the wooden floor, her hand clenched at the sword aimed at her elven guardian.

“Calm yourself. They are on the other side of the lake.” Avallac’h walked to the window, his hands clasped back.

Ciri quickly approached him, her heart fluttering like a caged bird. The elf gazed at her with annoyance.

“Come here, I will calm you.” He took her hand and closed his eyes. A wave of soothing magic spread from Ciri’s fingertips and settled in her chest, finding a cozy nest in her heart.

“Will they find us? Are we running away?” She inquired, craning her neck behind the Sage’s shoulders. 

“No.” He answered, his tone jaded which, from Ciri’s point of view, was totally inadequate to the situation. 

“It's the only standing building, the only eventual hideout.” She hissed nervously and took a deep breath under the punishing glare of the elf.

“Look carefully Zireael; a small number of them, an inexperienced navigator at the lead. A group of scouts who, I daresay, got here relying on struck of luck.”

The elf passed her his scope and she looked through it frowning and grimacing intensely.

The first thing she noticed was one of the riders taking off his helmet. It turned out to be an elven girl. Or a woman? Only the devil knows the elves' age. Her face was decorated in ritual maroon war paint, but besides her demonic makeup she looked just like Ciri’s peer. 

“Not good.” Avallac’h mused. “They have a tracker.” 

“What now?” Ciri asked, but gasped when the elf took her head in between his palms.

“Now? Now you will finally calm down. Close your eyes and think about that rapid river encircling the foothill of the witchers keep”

“Avallac’h we need action.” She did not give up.

“On the opposite. I will sedate you.”

“Why?!”

“To make you invisible.”

“No! What if they find us?” She protested, but didn’t tear herself away.

“I'll protect you.”

“We can defend ourselves together!” She pleaded with a frail trace of hope. 

The elf denied with a wistful expression and Ciri felt her body turning heavy, then limp and ultimately extremely light, but completely not obeying its owner’s will.

“Why should I be sedated?” She asked weakly.

“So you cannot see me doing it.” 

Ciri’s head slowly fell to the back, the spell was so gentle it looked almost leisurely. Avallac’h felt her arm wrapping around his neck. 

“Ah, you? Protecting me? Sure. If you say you will protect me… Let the rascals come.” Her eyes closed and she slowly dived into dreaming.

The elf smiled over her fierceness. The girl was light as a fallen autumn leaf. He placed her carefully on her bed and returned to scanning the elves. 

In the beginning the Sage thought about frying the navigator’s cerebral cortex, but it was wise to be patient and let the fate show its intention. After successfully hiding Ciri’s spirit he decided the best scenario that could take place is to wait, to let the scouts search and overlook the area. The hut was invisible, hidden in the mist engulfing the whole valley, and if the tracker would like to find it first she would have to think about it, have the smallest notion of a place she was supposed to look for.  Even if she would be the master of deduction she additionally would have to see through the gray veil which was getting even more dense. This type of sight was available only for a special caste of sorcerers. Be that as it may, the mist didn't belong to this world. As did its creator. 

The she-elf hadn’t taken any of the steps that would unmask the foxes spell.

She was too excited about their next destination, misled by a planted clue leading straight back to that endless jungle from where Ciri and Avallac’h came from.

She was young, inexperienced and desiring for the outcome. The Sage knew her mother well, though he helped in the successful breeding of the girl. She certainly will be expelled from the division, but this will keep her alive when the Wild Hunt perishes. A small consolation which will reach her with a delay. 

As the Knower foresaw the riders left very soon, rushing through the shore and airing themselves into the cracking slots fuelled with darkness. The nightmare was over and the sun had returned to adorn the sky. 

The corner of Avallac’h’s lips curled up. This land had been just crossed out from the potential list of Zireael’s hideouts. 

Excellent. Have a good trip children. 

What is more, the only passage available for the Alder Folk had just closed itself for the next two moons, possibly influencing the opening of another one, to the world he chose as their next stop.

At last, the plan started to work. Destiny was on his side. 

The girl laughed lightly through her sleep. 

Again, keeping her safe was so easy. As if he lived just to do so. Additionally it felt so improperly good. Too good.

With a single move he brought the chair closer to the bed and fell into it with all his weight. His face quickly turned solemn. He was ready to kill for her. To wipe the danger out in a single wave of annihilating magic only to gain the desired effect. He could lie to her that he would only do that in order to protect her - being the Elder Blood carrier, but he knew, precisely that growing urge deep inside him knew, and it did not fail to admit mockingly that in truth he didn’t want to end their stay here. 

He wanted her only for himself. 

His eyes raked shamelessly through Ciri’s body. It took not more but one guiltless moment and he was literally stuffed with her charm. A burning shiver ran through his temples.

He focused on the future and wondered how the constant feeling of safety would influence Zireael’s attitude to him. The musing filled him with joy and tore him apart; the awareness that he will have to endure more of her gazes, filled with gratitude and trust. But the real challenge would be staying here with her when every inch of her body, every subtle but ambiguous thought instilled in him this lustful fury. 

He leaned to her and gently took the hair from her face. He covered her up to her chin and embraced her through the fur. 

Ciri unconsciously cuddled her cheek into his palm. Her features were relaxed, her lips invitingly parted.

He couldn't stay indifferent and why would he? She wouldn’t know. 

This time he allowed himself more than usual. He knew that he would pay for this.

   ...

When Ciri woke up she didn’t even flinch. At the beginning of her dream she was strangely tied to reality. She saw the Sage laying her carefully on the furs and then she flew to Kaer Morhen, just as the Knower suggested. 

Carefully lifting herself up she stretched her neck. The dream was so real that she literally felt tired like she would train in the old castle. 

It was nightfall already and the elf wasn’t hiding with his presence. It was easy to see him, or better, the place where he actually was. 

The bonfire was enormous. A dozen people could warm by its dancing fires and the fire really seemed to dance too. When Ciri got out from the hut the elf stood up unhurriedly from a huge log and spoke softly:

“Can we talk?”

“About what? About regret?” Ciri asked sceptically and rested her hands on her hips. There was a note of impatience in her voice. 

“About how important you are.”

Ciri sighed and made a roll with her eyes,

“At least let me grab the wine.” She said and added behind the huts door: “Yes, your wine. I don’t know if I can do without it.” 

She was fatigued and hungry. Maybe because of that she didn’t feel really nervous while she chose to sit near him. It was also partly thanks to the fact that he was the one who wanted to talk with her, not the other way around and that alone meant a lot for Ciri. Not mentioning that earlier he did what he promised - protected her in his unusual way.

“What is this?” Ciri asked, bedazzled with the evening’s calm. “Did you stop the wind?” She asked with a note of amusement and promised herself she really had to ask him about the limits of his powers.

“Only until midnight.” 

Ciri didn’t feel any combination of the desire and the spiteful spirit that accompanied her last night. She gazed at the elf. He pensively stared into flames. 

“I hear different music. A new instrument?” 

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“Nice, but I like the flute more.”

He didn’t answer to her preferences. He didn’t speak at all for a longer while. Eventually it made Ciri voice her thoughts rashly. 

“Did you kill them?”

“No, I did not. However I have allowed for the risk of their coming.”

“How come?” She asked, fazed with his judgement. 

“I still haven't found the portal to the next world. It is here, but I need a few more days to find a safe passage. And don’t even try to suggest using your power.”

Ciri bit her lip and looked into the bonfire.

“About yesterday,”

“Yesterday.” He interrupted her with a stern voice. “Yesterday you needed an adventure seeking friend, but what you really need is a stable wall to keep the danger away and if there is such a need, a hand to crush that danger. You may think many things about my person, but believe me - I will protect you at all costs. If the sea would raise a gigantic wave I won’t stop it, but I can dense the air around you, lift you and push you out from the depths, take you to the shore and find you there. All I need from you is to stay calm and nurture this calmness. You need to stay by my side. All I need is time, because now, surprisingly for this old elf, time does matter. That is why we need peace between us, stagnation, we need trust. Do you understand me now?”

Ciri felt uneasy at the concrete weight of his promises. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to redirect the conversation to the previous topic.

“I do not expect from you all of this whatever you are talking about. Dragging me from depths, killing your people. I suppose you yourself already feel like your kin traitor.” 

The elf grunted carelessly and looked at her with a tint of pity.

“Do not feel for me Swallow. It will always be easy for me to choose what is good for you. The captive in Tir na Lia? Is this what Aen Elle do to their savior?” He said with disappointment. “I, like no one else, am responsible for your survival Child of Elder Blood. Neither morality nor anyone else will stand in my way.”

Ciri drank and didn’t give him a single look for a while. She focused on the fireflies in the forest - a great number of night bees circling and listening to the Sage’s confession. She heard the wind in the mountain peaks. Closer, the waves gently touched the shore’s edge. 

Although thoughts ran through her head like a herd of wild horses she didn’t feel anxiety towards the elf. Her features became friendly and she moved a bit closer to him. Someone else couldn't understand her; smiling to herself like on the first day of spring, sitting calmly nearby a person who just declared  that he is not bound by any rules, morals or feelings in the pursuit of his goal. Not that she didn’t know about it earlier. There was a difference between building a silent opinion about someone and hearing them spilling the truth from their own mouth. She knew he was able to sacrifice a great deal of things for her and for Ciri it bore a great importance, as she was the one who for the great majority of her life was persecuted, hunted and trapped.

He was telling the truth and a lot more. She really was all he had.

The bonfire warmed her. The wine was circling under her skin. The evening passed and turned into a starry night. The elf brought them another bottle and joined Ciri in her drinking. He teleported strange food, but everything was better than an empty stomach. 

“I think I get it. You think that if I would get too attached to you I could get emotional and leap the fuck out of here.” 

Avallac'h sighed. “Not almost, but partly - yes.” 

“I understand” She lied. She said it just to keep the serenity of the night untouched.

The riders’ appearance and his confession pushed away this other type of tension between them, but all Ciri knew was that it didn’t erase it for good. Certainly not from her side. 

“And as for you in general,” She cleared her throat. “I still think I will never be able to understand your motives, your approach. Your conduct is always so calculated, still you seem to really care about,” Ciri glanced aside and stuttered. “Care about the survival of your world, mine’s, probably even this one.” 

“It is my mission. I do not have to like it or feel affection towards it. All that is needed from me is to have belief in its importance.”

Ciri released a murmur of resignation.

“Ah, naive me. And I already wanted to call you my altruistic Sage.”  

“I’m sure you will find another proper term to describe my person. Your creativity knows no boundaries in this domain.”

Ciri stifled a chuckle and hit him lightly in the shoulder

“This wine is delightful.” She threw arching her neck back, spoiling her palate with the taste. 

“This is fruit juice, honey and well yes, alcohol.”

They spend a delightfully long moment of silence. Ciri leaned slightly on the elf as they immersed themselves into stargazing. Streaks of light embellished the black firmament as the meteors rushed through the night sky to reach the end of their existence.

“I’m going to sleep. It's really late. Tomorrow I want to polish my leaping during a sword fight. We will have a lesson in the morning?”

“I will see you in the afternoon. Take your rest. I will stay here a while longer.” He nodded to her reassuringly and poked his staff into the fire. Until now Ciri didn’t know it was fireproof.

She walked towards the hut’s door, embracing her shoulders like she would try to take the warm atmosphere inside, keeping it in stock for the rest of their shared journey. 

All she heard today from the elf meant so much for her. She already made amends with the fact that this wasn’t any pure confession of his fondness, it just had to fit to the level of Avallac'h's obsession over the Elder Blood. Hen Ichaer. The sense of the elf's life. His field and his lost love. That is why Ciri, before walking inside, looked at him once more. In her voice was a soft note of pure compassion.

“I’m sorry she did not love you back.” 

The elf’s smile was joyless. 

“She did.” 

Ciri gazed at him, the unspoken questions painted in her eyes. 

The elf turned his face away, still his voice was warm, but immensely sad.

“Sometimes love is not enough.” 

The wind has returned and Ciri pushed the old door open. She ceased to feed the misery attracted by her clumsy attempt of expressing her solicitude towards his pain. Instead she chose her own confusion.

 It should pass with the night.

The glow from the bonfire was slipping inside through the small window. The elf was playing his music. Ciri felt relieved with his choice of the composition. The melody he selected was sweet and calming. Although unbelievable, it really seemed that recalling Lara didn’t define this evening.

Ciri lied under the fur and caught herself on the fact she didn't remember where she had put her sword. Just now she had realized she sat by the fire unarmed.

She turned back to the wall. This time it didn’t matter.

She was safe. 

                                 ...

The common tits arrived with a sweet morning revenge armed with a dozen of their kin joining them in the vigorous recital. Despite commitment, the little yellow-bellied balls didn't seem to fully comprehend the concept of vengeance. 

Ciri woke up in a good mood. It was sunny already. The charmed logs slowly radiated with warmth. Not moving from her bed she held her arm towards the hearth and moved it encouragingly. The flames strengthened at her wish. It seemed Avallac'h brought the old hearth to order.

Ciri smiled and rolled on her back to lie for a while longer in her furry liar.

What she really appreciated throughout their journey was the fact that the elf simply cared about their warmth. What was puzzling at some point, because Ciri had never seen him shrugging or trembling. She herself was quite resilient to cold, but she had to admit that lately she got spoiled with those hot baths, warm evenings having the potential to turn into even warmer mornings. 

She supposed that the elf was strolling outside. Nothing new, nothing unusual. He disappeared in the mornings as he used to say to scan the area.

“Avallac'h?” She voiced the name. More checking, than asking. 

He didn't reply, either vocally or mentally, so she decided to continue on being lazy. If the Sage had been giving her the opportunity of resting she would use it.

She daydreamed with closed eyes for a good quarter of time and eventually stood up, dressed up in her linen shirt. Walking slowly to the window she wrapped the fur around herself. Not from feeling cold, rather from wanting to keep the trace of the pleasant awakening on her skin. 

Ciri saw the remains of yesterday’s bonfire and smiled to herself. 

Maybe really nothing can separate us? She sighed with affection towards the elf. Above all differences, all awful memories and arguments he has grown in her eyes to someone on whom she can really count. No matter how emotional and unresolved their arguments were, he had always stayed by her side. Like a family would do.

She propped her face on her hand and filled her eyes with the allurement of the valley.

The lake was gorgeous, with its shimmering waters and black swans leisurely circling on its surface. She looked at the pristine sky and unwillingly thought about the Wild Hunt. 

Eredin. That psychotic monster.

If it wasn’t for Avallac’h saving her from his clutching gloves she would probably have been rotting in a dimeritium cell long ago. She never really had the opportunity to test if dimeritium is dangerous for the Elder Blood and she hoped she would never know. Either way, hell only knows what the Hunt’s king planned for her. 

Those were empty musings. All that mattered now was the fact that the Hunt couldn't catch her. Ciri smirked with contentment. 

Without moving through ancient magical passages she still would be traceable for the Navigators, however with every time she had moved by a several portal the Wild Hunt became almost blind on her actual stay. 

Everything was calculated till the last second and there wasn't a single portal trespassing which would not open perfectly on time. There wasn't a single case where the Knower would be mistaken. Sometimes he even opened the portals himself. He was able to smoothly move on shorter distances, but world hopping took some more effort from him. 

On a daily basis Avallac’h wasn’t boasting with his powers. He used his magic like she used her blades. As a tool. It was unbelievable for Ciri how easily and calmly he performed all the spells. 

Ciri suspected he was the most powerful sorcerer she managed to know in her life. He was centuries old and probably through all this time his abilities expanded. 

She saw through him quite quickly and every time he was neatly avoiding answering her curious questions about his powers she was certain he was just evasive, not letting himself to be pulled on a path leading to the most important revelation: he would have never told her to what extent he could tame her power. 

However when the topic reached  the Elder Blood abilities he was very open to answer all her questions, the same followed magic in general, but not so when she inquired him about his caste.

As it happened Ciri was a curious beast, and her curiosity stayed not sated.

During all their lessons and his lectures, through their whole journey where he amazed her with his magical prowess she knew that he keeps the range of his powers secret for a reason. 

“Easy. He just doesn't want to scare me.”

Ciri smiled sweetly. It was an extraordinarily heartwarming thought, fully comprehensible only for a survivor like her. 

“Thanks to Melitele that he does not share the Sparrowhawks methods of handling my person. I would have been screwed then.” 

The careless tone of such reverie coming out of her mouth sounded extremely reckless as for a person in her position, but Ciri was aware that in fact, only the actual stay in these bucolic surroundings and the elf’s stoic demeanor made her thoughts reach and dangerously play with the idea of what might have really happen if Avallac'h’s attitude to her was less humble. 

Few months ago she would think with dread about his laboratory, but not anymore. He was definitely too fixated on her well being. 

“He would have never hurt me.” She said benevolently, still enjoying the sun slipping through the window, spilling warmth on her cheeks. 

Avallac’h was nowhere to be seen, though his bed was right beside her. Ciri couldn't tell why she did what she did. What pushed her to move the neatly stacked covers and lie there? 

There was no other stimulus than the crackling and sizzling of the wood. The girl couldn't find anything to successfully redirect her attention so the erotic pictures came back to her imagination, although now reality combined with fantasy. 

She bit her knuckles.

The desire was just boiling in her when she thought about his eyes just before he claimed her lips. Because that was what he just did then - claimed them as if it was his exclusive right since the dawn of time. Ciri felt then as if he would fill millenia of yearning in this singular act. If he was such a wonderful kisser, what a lover he must be, equipped with those long fingers and perfect cock. 

She stifled a giggle. 

How she missed total privacy. If she could only touch herself a little over her most sensitive spots she would orgasm instantly, but there were limits of decent behavior she wanted to comply with. Nevertheless, her hand wandered to touch her lips. Though it all began from a kiss. 

He will not know. It won't take long. 

It would stay as her little secret. 

She fantasized about him making love sounds, moaning and grunting while taking her body. Even if he would be a bit insensitive, she wouldn't protest that much. She knew she could take him whole. 

It was a call of desire. Wrapped in his covers she felt so lovable. So kissable. 

She overcame embarrassment and reached under the shirt. Being still sleepy and relaxed she didn't even judge the visions taking her to the point of sweet release. She arched her back and played with herself passionately while he was gone, moving away from her.

She touched her cheek gently. 

Did he still get closer while she was asleep? 

Her fingers moved in the rhythm she had denied herself for too long. Not any more. She never promised the elf to join him in his misery, but she could join him in his obsession. 

She whispered through her gasps: “Oh Avallac'h, am I still making you mad?”

Would the madness leave him while he would be taking her? She hoped it wouldn’t wholly. 

Ciri moaned quietly. That was it. That frightening possibility that he could simply abuse his power over her excited her now. He excited her - throwing away that uncategorized rightness guiding him in favor of lowest impulses made her breath quicken. She found that fantasy and she knew she couldn’t give it up.  She felt the warmth under her eyelids, the almost forgotten frenzy taking her into its chasm.

She felt dirty to the bone. In the pictures which were bringing her closer to the edge of petite mort there was pressure in his hands, his muscles straining, the veins eerie blue from the tension she caused in him. But his eyes… His captivating eyes were filled with desperate need – to take her. Act with her in ways dubious, uncontrolled, yet indisputably pleasant. She grabbed his scarf and nuzzled her face into it. A bit of him that he could not refuse her. Her own warm breath mingled with his scent and – demons on fire! – he smelled good. It made her moan wickedly. She came; a fake no mercy! slipping out of her mouth.

It took a while for her to calm her breath before she heard the music and estimated the distance.

She guessed that luckily for her he was in his spot at the lake. Her secret was safe.

Leaving bliss painted a gentle smile on her face. She stood up and smoothed the bed.

No traces were left.

They were both perverts now.

Chapter Text

There is little left from the cold nights. The snow disappears from the mountain peaks.

The Sage tries to identify the season’s model in this world. Zireael is used to four seasons, he has grown up in the blessed rule of the never-ending spring. Here however, nature is rushing with the pace of a falling star.

He would gladly study the local fauna and flora to know more; explore how the plants survive the rapid temperature fluctuation, how they manage to bloom and issue seeds, and how the animals grew up enough to survive the colds.

He chooses not to. The next portal still hasn’t been found. That is why today he focuses on something essential for the mind.

He takes the last inhale and gets himself settled in the dense forest. This is the place of reaching his present goal: to recover self-control.

It was always very easy for him to reach the past. However, now he must empty the mind. Push away what is good and wrong, important and ordinary. He must become exposed to the truth.

The visions are like having a third eye, though lastly he encounters several moments when he feels like a blind man who just received the ability of sight. So he daydreams and prolongs the experience. His back leaned to a pine tree probably as ancient as himself. He is in a state close to a moderate trance.

Controlled regression isn't his showpiece lately, but the first stage is achieved.

Mockery crawls on his spine just to chortle in his ear in a form of laughs and female giggles. The embodiment of the alder perfection, Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal, is lying amongst the silver furs in a silky mauve dress. He remembers that chamber. Located not far from his main laboratory in the capital. Additionally, he recalls her bitter comment almost from a century ago: about his alleged thoughtfulness concerning the order to furnish an alcove, close to the laboratory. She thanked him then, for shortening their way from the act to investigating its effects.

It had sounded like a manifestation of her great dark humor in those days. How could he not notice that she reached the point of being simply jaded with the whole procedure?

How could he not know from the beginning?

Lara was perfectly aware he would find out the truth, sooner or later. Still, she continued to allow him to be stuck in the image of their eternal love. His heart still aches over the possibility that he might have overlooked the first sparks of rising aversion towards his person in her gazes.

It just sounds impossible.

She must have stifled it really neatly. However, if it was evident how good were the chances that he ignored it?

Avallac’h cannot tell if he would be able to act the same today; to choose procrastination instead of reaching for the truth?

Maybe then yes. However, now? Certainly not.

Lately he experiences unforgivable states and the thoughts that follow make him stiffen. Maybe Lara knew it all already. Saw it all back then? The truth about him that was yet to come; the human admirer, the betrayer of his kind, a weak elf.

He pushes away the questions that will never be answered, in order to focus on the present.

As it happens, the present bears a human name and tends to skip their lessons lately. He needs to talk to her. These are serious issues. The most serious. How could anything be more important from controlling her powers?

The elf is aware he is dragging a bit with this issue. He has a peculiar premonition he shouldn’t take her from that path she has just stepped on. Whatever it is. Moreover, deep down, he simply doesn’t have the strength to fight with her.

He takes a deep breath.

Compared to Zireael, Lara was an oasis of serenity. A real master of creating distance.

On the elf’s face confusion smoothly shifts into fascination. The smell of resin fills the forest. Leaves are bathing in the sun. There is no wind playing with his loose hair. This day is too hot. His veins are strained and his senses are warped.

Zireael.

He wonders if she ended her sword practice. How tireless she is, and limber.

He leers at the pictures in his mind.

She lures him with her scent. He should feel guilty that he even allowed himself to remember it.

The Knowing One’s beautiful face turns into a gentle, dreamy smirk.

Lara-on- the -silver- furs throws her head back and laughs elegantly.

“Well, well Crevan, look at you, though I should not be surprised - you have always considered yourself open-minded. And that love of yours to little things.”

Phantasmagory. So dear to his heart, though still only a phantasmagory.

“As if you have any right to judge me.” He very rarely speaks to her in a similar way. Yes, this is astounding, but his perfect creation makes him feel irritated sometimes.

Despite this, the longing stays the same. He will probably never stop missing her.

If only fate could lend them one more piece of time. He could ask her so many questions.

He could beg her for her forgiveness. He would like to have the chance to say farewell, to split without regret.

It is unbelievable that the feeling of rejection, almost dutifully flowing through him every day, no longer devours him so painfully.

He knows why and the knowledge subjects him to an engrossing frenzy, erasing that void he bore within for a million days and nights. But at least he isn’t miserable. The fire in him does not allow him to put himself in the role of a victim. A progress bought with a price.

He takes a full chested breath. Lara’s voice disappears.

He looks at the silly woollen bag in his hands. The calming herbal infusion includes many ingredients, helping the girl to fall into a peaceful slumber. It does not work exactly the same for him, maybe if he drank a small sea of it. But he can manage, as for him sleepless nights used to be an almost fundamental part of his life for many decades. Even in this aspect a change occurs; for some time, not often of course, he is just physically tired.

How different his life has become with this ferocious child of destiny by his side…

She is all around: so fierce, cursing at her imaginary enemy while spinning in her witcher dance or screaming with joy when she catches a fish; throwing her sword into the water like a deadly needle.

Above all responsibility and the importance of their great mission, she unconsciously causes a rise in him that could be found precious little in different circumstances. It's astonishing how his sadness fades partially when nothing helped earlier. Nothing, and more importantly - no one.

He involuntarily invokes the fond gazes that she used to bestow on him in the long evenings when they conversed by the fire.

He hates the evenings. He waits for the evenings.

The nights have become a great unknown for the Knowing One.

For the last months Cirilla’s nightmares almost entirely disappear. Taking other people's trauma isn't anything groundbreaking performed by Aen Saevherne, but here it has a clear purpose. And a beautiful effect - Avallac'h will not inform her that he slowly blurred some of her memories, additionally overshadowing the most painful ones with a melodic humming of the raven haired sorceress.

But nothing comes for free. He pays the price for embracing her darkness, but tries not to show the side effects. By knowing her horrors he starts to feel for her even more. The nonsensical amount of hurt she suffered would never let her unleash her incredible potential. Even now she is making little progress, so he decides for her. She will remember the situations that took place, though some of the pictures will be devoid of sharpness, the vicious voices will lose their distinctiveness, the cruel faces losing their features.

It works, though not perfectly. His personal failure is the unsuccessful trial of dulling the memories of physical pain.

However, there is a way. A simple solution of tilting of the scale, of pushing the pain away into the abyss of oblivion.

One does not need the Aen Saevherne title to have this knowledge. Even the street prostitutes know it.

Pleasure against pain.

She needs pleasure. Touch. Affection. Protection. She needs to feel taken care of.

‘She needs you, Crevan.’

One more time the sweet voices are sipping glaze.

But he cannot! He just cannot… He clings desperately to the lasting remains of his pride. So he cares for her, like a friend or a member of a family would do.

Aren't closeness and intimacy pleasure’s sisters?

So he sends her dreams. After those with Geralt she trains a lot and smiles to herself gazing in the horizon. In turn, after dreaming of Yennefer she reads more, and also, is more eager to talk with him about her feelings, her thoughts. She sheds a tear sometimes too. Always when she thinks he cannot see her.

In doing so, he objects to the unjust past and its overwhelming mark it has left in the Swallow’s heart. He leaves her anger, powering her voracious need to deliver justice to those who thrive in sadism and evil.

He grunts softly.

She wouldn't let him take it away even if he tried to.

However he can still take as much fear out of her as his skills allow.

It is still not enough in his opinion, but must be sufficient for now. Her sleep, so shallow before, has led her to constant sleep deprivation. It is the first thing that he is willing to change and even this alone has an enormous influence on the girl. When the horrors partly disappear she starts to sleep like a pup. More than once she closes her eyes after the first twilight and is woken up by him, spread out like a starfish, when the sun is already sky high.

It sometimes amuses him; his abilities, expanded and polished through millenia, are being brought down to a role of a successful sleep giver.

And then comes the unknown. The surprise.

When the process of a partial healing is working as he planned, she spontaneously gives him something instead - completely unaware. And this makes her even more special in his eyes. Many elves would want to feel it after living for so many centuries as he did. How multifaceted her gift is. How it puts the body aflame and influences the mind, and the mind is the most important sphere. His mighty weapon. The real place of power. And as for the mind, reading hers is a true delight.

Her morals are interesting and he is certain the good-hearted witcher would be proud of the girl. Many times when the shared moments between them become careless and light hearted he feels the impish urge to mock a bit of that vengeful white knight in the body of a small human girl.

Lately he significantly limits the peering into her head, at the very least not because she doesn’t like it; the reason is much more pragmatic: If he hadn't done it they would have long since been lovers.

Avallac’h knows the universe envies him her closeness. He is fascinated by the process of how she embraces her nature; blooming into a gorgeous woman, becoming more beautiful with every sunrise. Overtaking the right steps in her caring fills the elf with pride, but also reminds him how fragile she is. How easily Eredin could have broken her.

But he won't. Not a single star shines for the Sparrowhawk’s luck.

First he would have to break me.

It's unbelievable how the eventual thought of the girl’s hurt draws his ire.

He is going down the wrong path.

The real purpose of the trance is accumulating the emotions and throwing them out. He needs to stay calm and focused.

He releases the air from his lungs, and begins to slowly pass into the phase of release, but so many things are not right. He notes his clenched fists with surprise.

He spreads his fingers and lets the power pulse through his veins. The heritage of his bloodline is coursing through his loins, so perfectly compatible with the magic of the Elder Blood.

Let it be.

No love for him, no child, no family though he knows what is his fate. If he was created to be the wall standing between the Swallow and the blasphemous hands of her oppressors, then he will endure. Enough of suffering. The Swallow needs to thrive in her legacy. She has the whole right to bask in the glory of the alders. She deserves eternal love. Passionate devotion.

She deserves… him.

She would enjoy him like this, strong and virile.

When the pictures come into focus the temptation is irresistible. He ventures into the dimmed chambers and secluded schlosses. He didn’t expect her to look like this in his vision, but once she appears… Here she is; murmuring pleadingly, sweetly bonded in ropes, magical ties, in a trap of her own needs, looking like the most promised gift. A special gift for the Sage. And then, oh then - she is moaning wildly.

He groans in his hands.

The ritual is ruined.

He isn’t in a state even close to placidity.

He brushes his forehead from the sweat and takes a breath.

He thinks about the lavender fields in the southlands of Tir na Lia. An idyllic setting: so calm, only the wind and the sun, feeding the ground to bloom.

The aforementioned elements aren’t selective, playing with the hair of the humans working there. Holding their baskets filled with violet spikes they pass the good Sage with a respectful gaze or eyes struck in the ground. They whisper about him quietly in the shadows, that he is indifferent, not paying attention nor lifting a hand at any of them. Never. The softest whispers say that he is beautiful and sad.

Silly little humans spinning stories about their perfect elven masters.

Nonetheless some of those who like to whisper steal a glance or two under their straw hats. Even dare to smile after passing him. An unthinkable behavior. Still Avallac'h cannot lie to himself that he lets them do it. Justifies them. But why?

He knows why.

What he treats as their naturality simply feeds his vanity.

Deep inside he knows there are many elves who would like to have such a lavender field like the one from his memories.

He re-focuses on the projection. The landscape opens before him once more.

It is so easy to come back to Tir na Lia, if only in his mind.

Physically he is still in the forest, however there is no pine, no amber in the air. Nevertheless he can literally feel the herbal scent. He did it. His spirit is partially and successfully relocated.

Still, not everything is how it is supposed to be.
There is someone amongst the abundance of flowers.

Well look at her. Daringly shooting glances at him.

A green-eyed rebel. A powerful one. Of course not too powerful for the acclaimed Aen Saevherne.

Aen Elle rule in this land. Indivisibly and absolutely. Like they should rule everywhere. A fair universe it would be.

So he takes her to the side.

The rebellious one protests. She demands her rights!

To what?

To everything!

An idealist she is. How charming. Almost as charming as her failed slaps and insults that occur after taking her to a more isolated, better suited to her tantrum spot. She puts all her heart in it, all her bravery. Someone else would react with anger, but he takes joy in being the first line witness of this nonsensical outburst, so pure in its naivety.

Anyway, isn't her behaviour a metaphorical plea for the Sage’s attention?

Her eyes blaze with anger and defiance - at the beginning of course. The good master is known for his calm and gentle nature. He is persuasive.

Just a little magic and soon she knows her place. She is persuaded, with legs spread and hands squeezed on his skin.

‘Ciri. Forgive me.’ He whispers and takes the hand away from himself.

He cannot explain this. Comprehend this. He doesn’t even have to touch her or feel her close to be ready to make love with her until the next full moon.

How could it reach such an extent? He isn’t like this. He is not some brute. He shakes his head away with indignation.

Eris? Isilira? Painted dolls. All so similar to each other that he can mistake their names. But if they would be in his reach he could have been close with them, they would bring him back the clarity of mind.

Would they? He sighs with resignation.

He stops over a small pond and notices how out of place he looks. With his eyes closed he senses the witcher girl.

She isn’t far enough; resting, lying on the edge of a small beach. Round stones don't bother her. She is not usually complaining about conditions which they have to endure. All the more he would like to spoil her with comforts; take off her boots and massage her feet, feed her with sweets, bathe her and rub her with oils.

Ciri takes off her boots and steps playfully into the stroking waves of the lake.

Her face has a healthy color and her heart beats in that beautiful pace of someone pleasantly tired.

It is already late afternoon, a blindingly hot one.

He recalls the silk beige hosiery she took from that strange world they passed some time ago. Not her usual attire at all. She probably does not even wear it. Or maybe she does. He could just take a look at it without her awareness, just to imagine how smooth it would feel, wrapped tightly around her appealing legs.

The elf feeds himself with those little details like an addict until the potential savior of the worlds stretches her body, lets her hair down and begins to undress.

He cuts the observation and throws off his scarf like a disgrace. His clothes bother him.

He spends a long while washing his face and hands in the pond. Cooling down. Today the water gushing from the underground veins is his only ally.

He needs to go to Lara’s altar. Bring new flowers. Clean the stone. Fall onto his knees.

He does not delay any longer.

The path is placed amongst gigantic ferns. The Knower takes deep breaths, successfully putting on the mask of full composure. Suddenly, he swallows the air rapidly.

The girl.

He can sense her unusual state. Her breathing is uneven. She is getting dazed.

Has something poisonous bitten her? Has the illness returned?

Without making a proper mind connection he dashes through the forest like a real fox would; silently, smoothly. Unnoticed if he only wants to.

And he stops.

The final view can in no way be described as a calming one for Avallac’h.

Ciri seems to feel much better than fine. Lying on her back, with her eyes closed she looks drunk from happiness.

It's not an empty comparison. Near her lies the bottle with the rest of the wine he made not so long ago.

She really made herself comfortable here. Just as he advised her to do. She chooses a mocking way to show him that in the end she is such a good girl.

Something disturbs his next step. Her smallclothes lie recklessly thrown next to his boot. He notices the lingerie he wanted to touch before, but now he just wants to squeeze it.

He has seen her without her clothes numerous times before: in his visions and during their shared days and nights. However the images in his memories were never so inviting like the picture in front of him. Her flushed cheeks and that indecent rose on her inner thigh urge him to come closer.

All the composure he had regained before is smudged out with a single, but how unfairly exquisite moan escaping from her mouth.

Though a similar situation happened before in a reverse arrangement, Avallac'h is nothing like Ciri. He does not take her vigorous sexuality as a surprise. The thought of moving back into the ferns shadows excites him. He considers this. Shortly.

This kind of behavior simply does not suit the mighty Knower. Nor the respected Aen Elle.

His head is filled with many example sentences that could pull the girl deep into the well of embarrassment, but the impudent smile which is rising on his lips disappears.

Ciri still doesn't notice him. On the contrary, she is getting more devoted, more precisely - to her nipples. She moans and again Avallac'h finds that moan enchantingly indecent. The feast for his eyes changes with a wicked overtone when Ciri turns on her fours and, completely unaware, presents the beautifully toned rear view of her body to her forest voyeur.

The elf just loses all his poor prevalence, his last chance to move back or to strike with confidence in her weakness.

He casts the sight enhancing spell almost intuitively. He can see that her fingers are wet. Yes… Thoroughly wet, and he… He is doomed by that wetness.

The decision is made. He stays. And wipes the tiniest drop of saliva from the corner of his mouth.

The fabric movement followed by an impatient gasp betrays him.

Ciri’s face pressed into the moss is cut through by a disturbed frown. Her senses, selectively clouded until now, sharpen abruptly.

She scans the surroundings and calms herself lying down on her back. Without lifting herself up she takes a stone and throws it into the bushes. She guesses it’s probably the ubiquitous lynx that has become audacious enough to wander around her. What other animals would dare to disturb her in such a crucial moment?

There are no monsters here, no other people besides her.

Her - and him.

She holds her breath and returns to sit on her bottom.

The enormous serrated leaves part with an eerie rustle. From the lush greenery appears the Sage. The sun rays emerging behind his back make him look divine. His tall form casts a shadow. It spreads over the grass and stops growing until it reaches the girl’s toes.

Ciri lifts her shame drenched eyes.

The black outline retreats to his master as he takes a step forward. His moves do not carry the slightest element of surprise and Ciri instantly realizes that he was observing her for a while. She quickly becomes perplexed. Her hands spread on her breasts in a silly attempt of coverage. Her back pressed into the undergrowth like in a mattress.

“It's you.” She throws at him reproachfully; for ruining her secret, for spoiling everything with his damned omnipresence. 

“Yes. Me. I felt your rapture.”

“Rapture?!”

“My mistake. I couldn't know that you are giving yourself to a primal heat.”

“You couldn’t know?” She snorts. “And I have not… Turn yourself away you… creep!”

Avallac’h lifts a brow in a manner of studied indignation and sighs.

“Why the anger Swallow? Have you already taken possession of the whole valley?”

There is a dash of resentment in his voice and Ciri knows he is giving a pun to her kind. Second time in a row. She rushes to grab her breeches. Fortunately those are close to her. She leans down for the belt, and the boots. Her foot knocks the empty bottle.

“A thief caught in the act.” Avallac’h smiles at his own comparison and clasps his hands back. “And I am the one being called names?”

She shoots her eyes at him daringly and notices him taking her panties on the point of his boot.

“Lost something in the action?”

“You really are a filthy hypocrite.”

“Harsh words. Why would you call me that?” He asks with a low voice, being a parody of genuine unfairness, only to shamelessly scrutinize her from head to toe.

Ciri winces, and her nerves quickly change into a blaze of anger when the elf swiftly throws the panties away into the thorny blackberries.

“What are you waiting for? Apologize for the insults.”

He voices his wish only as an elf could - it's a patient demand, topped with a subtle note of condescension.

It doesn’t matter, he gets nothing. For the first few seconds.

Ciri lifts her chin up, throws her trousers away and approaches him. She is furious and with the same fury she grabs him by his clothes.

“Gimme your robe.”

A lenient laugh straight into the naked girl's face.

“Gimme it!” She presses on him.

“Apologize. I will forgive you at once.”

“I’ll take it myself then!”

Ciri pulls at his clothes, an irritated fool, hot from embarrassment.

Avallac'h shows no intention of repelling her flimsy assault. Truth to be, he is simply beguiled by her wild ministrations. So he lets her do it all; not taking his eyes out of her for a flinch of a second.

Ciri, however, despite acting with premeditation, looks like someone who clearly doesn't know what she is doing. She curses under her breath. Taking off the cloak would be so much easier, yet today the elf decided to wear linen robes. Not to mention he looks in them deadly fine. Either way, taking off the first layer of his outfit is truly challenging - seems even impossible! - when all that her frustrated fingers are able to do now is to chaotically tug and pull.

The slightly mocking smile stays plastered on the elf's face. She has to rub a lot on him if she wants to undress him.

It's a perfect arrangement, really.

Having her so close makes him feel even more infatuated with the girl. He senses her initial fluster drops when he is so passive to her behavior, while she is still desperately trying to rip the robe out of him.

Finally Ciri stops tugging at the snaps, feeling his hand on hers. She looks at him and becomes unmoved.

No matter how far they differ, touch is the first language they have learned.

“Let me.” He says silently and his voice sends shivers all over her skin. Enveloping her with the vast fabric is effortless. When she is fully wrapped in it, taking her into his arms seems just natural. Ciri crosses her hands on her breasts. A shallow sigh gets out of the girl's mouth when the elf tucks her in even more.

The discomfort of being caught is still painted in her furrowed brows, still she is not moving away. It means a lot for Avallac’h.

“Don't think I will allow you to have fun at my cost. You are no better.” Her voice becomes softer than before.

“In truth I am not.”

Ciri feels her mind turning into a burning flame. Is this his confession? Does he know? And if he does; from how long? Should she tell him she saw him? She wants to, but at the same time she notices her underwear.

Of course he aired it. Of course he gazed at it smugly.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.”

Ciri takes the panties in her grasp not having the slightest clue what to do next.

But Avallac’h does. She won’t need underwear in the moments to come. He caresses her hand resting at his chest and finally says: “If the situation were the opposite, you would probably run away, wouldn’t you?”

Their eyes met, but only for a length of a gaze. His fingers slip into the hair behind her ear. Ciri lips lightly part under the gentle magic touch.

“Is there something else I can do? In order to fix my misdeed. To make you feel comfortable again?”

Ciri trembles. He is playing with her. He should go away. She should at least tell him to leave her alone. And yet, she knows no one of them will move from here like they came. She feels the waves of desire rushing through her and does something unexpected. She presses her face into his chest, clinging to him, and closes her eyes for a flash of time. Hidden in his embrace she savours his scent.

“Do you feel tense sometimes?” The words spill out of her. She is surprised with her openness, but the uncertainties go away quickly. Avallac’h’s embrace becomes even more tender, he rubs her back. The girl melts under that tenderness.

She has no idea that the elf immediately sees the potential of her question. She is expressing her needs to him, framed in an innocent sweet tone. Looking through a shutter of her insecurities he sees the smuggled permission to have his way with her. He knows that in her way of thinking, asking him about this is so much safer from an open declaration of what she is aware of, of what she saw and how it makes her feel. But what is the most unfair part is that belief of this gorgeous young naive woman that they are similar.

They aren’t. He is so much worse.

He takes her palm, not accidentally choosing the one with which she touched herself and kisses it languidly.

“I do. Verily.” He says with a throaty voice and touches her neck. Streaks of magic run down all over her. It pulls the girl into a light haze.

“The tension…It makes me feel uncomfortable.” She answers in a whisper and arches herself under his spell. His lips touch her cheek and she knows he won’t leave her now. Not like this.

She fleetingly wonders about all those moments before coming here.

The nights when they sleep so close to each other.

That one time when he wiped out a dozen monsters as they blocked the entrance to the closing portal.

She recalls that day when he snatched her from the paws of Wild Hunt.

She thinks about her baths and his disappearances.

Their kisses.

When he claims her lips Ciri gasps into his mouth. After immediately kissing him back she lifts herself up on her toes. Her knees become weak, her breasts are teased by his fingers.

She is sure: they will make love here, today. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Even if she would leap galaxies away from him now, the first thing she would do next would be satisfying herself and dreaming about him.

The elf frees her mouth and sends her a falsely sympathetic look.

“Sounds so unfair.” He lifts her up in the air. “That tension you mentioned must be exasperating.” Ciri becomes naked again. “Tiring.” He tosses her a bit. “Unacceptable!”

A snatched nervous laughter coloured with excitement releases from her lungs when he steps with her to a tree. She delights with the lecherous expression painted on his face and rubs his lips with her fingers.

“For the sake of your well being you wished me to be good for you, didn’t you?” He slowly lowers her down, pressing her to the moss on the tree bark. Her neck is constantly showered with fine strokes of his tongue.

“Avallac’h…” She purrs. The excitement makes her wet.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?”

“Don’t you know?”

He presses his forehead to hers.

“I do. Everytime. Believe me.”

Ciri flushes red at first, but it's a short moment. In different circumstances she would process that for days, however now, close to him, hearing this confession, fuelled with the passion he must be dealing with day by day, an overwhelming feeling of weakness traps any rests of inhibitions that burn faintly within her.

“Kiss me.” She throws her arms around him.

The reunion of their lips is gentle. Not at all reflecting the craving ruling over their mind and bodies. The pleasant tingling in Ciri’s lower abdomen is very foretelling, carrying a promise of drowning in pleasure. She hangs in his arms in a comfortable frenzy. There is little left from the timid girl who was hiding her face in his chest. She is turned on to such a level that now - or maybe: once more? - she wants to be the watcher.

Ciri takes her mouth away, giving him a sign she wants to be released from his arms. He obeys, but with visible reluctance. And however difficult the parting is, the sight is worth holding back.

She moves away to the spot where he saw her pleasing herself.

He cannot find words for the lightness in her moves. When she throws the robe on the forest ground and spreads herself on it he looks at her encaptivated. His beautiful features don't betray the animalistic urge he feels, however his pupils do. They are dilated.

“I want you to kiss me.” A gentle wind plays with Ciri’s hair. “I want you to take me to that place.”

He arches a brow questioningly. She says nothing, only smiles at him, sending a gaze under her lashes.

He gets the suggestion, but still chooses to read her.

“Take me to that place. Where you sneak out at night.”

Avallac’h throws his gloves away rapidly. If the unicorns mercilessly trampled his weak body and the black holes of the spiral would consume what would be left from his bones he still wouldn’t give up leaving her untouched.

When he gets closer he looks down on her, narrowing his eyes. He is tremendously appealing like this, so she shows off her body deliberately provoking him. The arteries of his inner thighs become strained at her request. He wants to be naked like her.

She devours him with her eyes while he undresses. He never does that much in front of her. Hell. He doesn't even go further than staying in his shirt. She wants to touch his chest, feel the body so different from hers, but it is the sight of him unbuckling that she hasn't even imagined to be so arousing. She begins to touch herself.

He stays up naked. Looking god-like. Seeing him like this unleashes in the girl pure shamelessness.

Ciri lies her head on the ground - waiting, offering herself. She murmurs out her desire.

“Mmm… Those eyes of yours Avallac'h. Make me crazy. Make me feel like a slave. And nothing, no one can save me.”

She cannot see the literal heat flushing the elf's face and body, but she can hear his words in which promise and power mingles with insanity.

“I will kiss you now Zireael, so honestly, so madly you will scream to your gods.”

He gloats at her with ardour leaving a wet trail from her lips to her breasts. He massages her lower abdomen and unceremoniously lifts her hips and thrusts his mouth between her legs.

Ciri is a bit perplexed with the pace, but she touches his head eagerly.

It takes no more than a while when she becomes convinced of the literalness of his words. Oh the girl feels it, with her legs wrapped around his shoulders and her palm squeezing the moss.

The desire builds in her. Ciri doesn’t suspect that this kind of love making can be so vague. She doesn't know how he gives the act a perfectly measured context of force. She wants to kiss him so badly, but it seems there isn’t such power that could tear his lips off her cunt.

His behavior changes, he is literally merging his handsome face with her, and still -he looks just like he did from the start - divine.

Ciri cannot tell exactly how, but all of this frees her from the past, from the responsibility, from everything. The last thing she could do is to act. To decide. To defend herself.

All that is left for her is to receive his favour.

“Yes, Zireael.” He adds his fingers. “Let’s instil pleasure under your skin.” His eyes are glowing, and his whole face is glistening from her.

Ciri wants to feed her eyes with him touching her so improperly, so she lifts herself up on her elbows. The black patterns on his back seem to move in a mesmerizing unisono. With her blurred gaze Ciri manages to see a familiar shape.

She gasps.

An arched little flier. A Swallow tattoo, a bit above his shoulder blade.

She touches his face and looks at him - her most devoted cultist, the obsessive elf rubbing her clit gently, and at the same time holding her hips in a steady grip. It takes her to a totally different dimension of closeness.

She inadvertently moves, but he continues. Ciri gives herself to the sensation.

“Ah… Ahh!” She starts to come and falls into little pieces.

“You will be satiated for ages you little…”

“Oh gods!”

She screams into the air, her loud outburst carries all along the valley, but he doesn’t react - he is too engaged; satisfying her and stroking himself with his hand. Sweat appears on his temples.

As Avallac'h was excited before, now he just wants to push himself into this amazing tightness and fuck her until she begs him for more. Her orgasm being the long-awaited proof of losing all of her defences is indeed a wild melody. The screams turn into passionate sighs and he delights in those final notes of sweet surrender. He knows it won't be the last time. An ugly, primal side of him tells him he will never have enough of her voice changed by the ecstasy. He stops licking her, leaning his wet face on her rosy thigh.

“For Dana’s sake, you are so narrow. I cannot let you feel any pain. But stay calm my dear, do not fret.” He holds her shaking, pressing his face into her abdomen while she is messing with his hair.

He gives her a break.

Ciri, not losing excitement, flushes a bit. She hides her face behind her palm, but again - he knows. She is ashamed of her screams, of the emotional reaction which he finds so beautiful.

Avallac'h smiles. He is perfectly aware he is gifted in this particular art of sex. Sweet Zireael, despite wanting him that much, simply couldn't expect to be brought to such an extent of pleasure.

“Please do not hide from me.” He gently touches her cheek.

“Oh my, I got completely carried away.” She laughs nervously and trembles. The state he led her - And he did it only with his tongue and hands. Having my needy cunt, my naked tits all in front of his eyes, - was something otherworldly.

It was never like this with anyone else. People hide their faces, close their eyes, pursuing their own pleasure. They were not literally feeding themselves with her - experiencing lust.

“Ciri…” He speaks softly, bringing one of his legs between hers. There is a single tear of confusion in her. “One word and I will stop. You are in control here.”

Ciri nods and bites her lip. What he says it's not true and she knows it. What is more, she is certain he knows it too.

Still saying this seems appropriate. And strangely sexy.

It is ridiculous how he can get to her so easily.

She laughs smugly not having the slightest idea how tempting she looks right now.

“I will love you in a while my lady.” He cooes fondly over her. And he continues to do so while gazing at her greedily. She likes every single word he says. Damn. He can say whatever he wants with that deep baritone.

And he does. While kissing her neck and caressing her he speaks in Ellylon. Ciri knows it for sure and she will be damned - she loves it.

Does she understand him? Not at all. She wouldn't even if she wanted to. Not now. She only mutters: ‘Yes, yes, please’ not being aware that she confirms to all the obscene content he voices in regards to her libido.

He lifts himself over her, aligns himself and strokes his cock.

Ciri gasps even more, her heart beats crazily.

He smiles at her as he goes inside, locking his eyes with hers.

“Relax Ciri.” He says slowly. “Your existence is such a wicked joy for me.”

She gives herself with initial reserve, but after being properly warmed up she looks so ready to please him that he cannot wait any longer. It is insane. The same act that infuriated him, was the root of his shame morphed into his own soul gripping need.

To be wanted by her.

To be her pleasant dream.

He falls on her, just to be closer. The sun rays on his back, the hot girl under him, that sweet entrapping cunt make him feel so redeemed.

Their lips met and whatever binds restrained them earlier now it disappears like dust in the wind.

“I want you.” She whispers through her gasps, pulling him into her arousal, mercilessly filling his already twisted obsession with the fire of her sexual aura and now Avallac’h knows that fire has a taste of her cunt.

He bites her neck lightly and speaks to her.

She hears him in the back of her head. He slipped even there: to a place she so rarely opens for anybody and yet, he makes it soft and wet.

“You are my lover Zireael.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want more?”

“Yes. Yes, talk more.”

A soft grunt.

“I’m delighted with your thighs.”

His moves reflect his words. Ciri feels the lust taking her over.

He shamelessly stares at her- losing her mind and body to him once more - and plans to have sex with her in all the ways known to him.

He wishes to feel her wet lips on his cock. To let her ride him in the pursuit of her pleasure solely. To have her in his arms after every sunset.

Ciri wraps her legs around him, pressing her feet to his buttocks and moans his elven name, fulfilling his fantasies. He instantly starts to come with her. With the last remnants of sanity he pulls himself out and spills on her.

The girl isn’t abashed. She is exhausted and smiles with her eyes closed.

Time slows down when its mistress stretches herself with contentment.

Avallac'h looks at her genuinely and hides that picture deep inside, even deeper than the roots of the always-fruiting apple tree reach.

Here she is. His destiny.

A Swallow bathed in pleasure.