#cast her as yennefer of vengerberg

[stromuprisahat]

Why can’t they even keep fucking black-white dresses for Yen? Is it so hard?!

Probably yes, with lack of colours, they might need to be creative in cuts, layers or patterns... 

[chaosandorder46]

Master fic list

I decided it was time to make a master list. 🤷‍♀️

Witcher

Tissaia/Yennefer centric

1. I’m OK, You’re OK (6108 words; uni AU)- Tissaia's anxiety is not under control. Yennefer totally gets it, and Triss is a therapist, because of course, she is.

2. And Then There Were Three (26,290 words; domestic fluff)-Tissaia and Yennefer are happily married, and want a child to complete their family. The process won't be easy, but they have each other and their ride or die friend group. Some fluff, some angst, and shenanigans arise on their journey.

3. Self Control (1,149 words; fluff and smut)- Dr. Tissaia de Vries has legendary self control. Unless Yennefer of Vengerberg is in the room.

4. Come to my Office, Please (3,123 words; Eventual smut)-A private message gets sent to the entire group and puts a series of events into action.

5. Stars Fell on Aretuza (1,210 words; hurt/comfort)-It's the first Ascension Ball since the Thanedd Coup, and the first in decades not coordinated by Tissaia de Vries.

6. You Mistake the Stars (31,647 words; whump)- Yennefer saw Vilgefortz as a way to get off of the pig farm, but ended up in a worse situation. When she casts an errant portal and ends up on the Isle of Thanedd, she meets a cast of characters that will change her life.

7. Such a Good Turkey (2,606 words, crack fic)- It's close to Thanksiving on The Continent and no one has any chill.

8. I Might Love You More than Coffee (46,484 words; fluff)- Yennefer is intrigued by a mysterious new regular at her coffee shop, The Lodge. I'm no barista, so I'm relying on my extensive coffee consumption experience for the details on this one.

9. Le Tits Now! (3,939 words; crack fic)-It's the holiday season and everyone is in various states of festiveness. Shenanigans to follow...

10. And I Swear My Breath Turned Silver the Day Your Hair Did (4,942 words; angst with a happy ending)-I've never really written a real fix it for the Thanedd Coup before. I pretty much just ignore it by writing modern AUs or insinuate that everything turned out ok.

This is a somewhat canon compliant (until it's not) fix it for the Thanedd Coup fall out. I've had it in progress for a while and seem to be having trouble working on my other fic until this one is done.

11. What’s Lost is not Lost…Keep Looking! (1,380 words; crack fic)-Ciri's beloved stuffy is missing. Tissaia and Yen are ready to go all Liam Neeson from Taken, but the answer may be closer than they think.

12. Now the Air I Tasted and Breathed (Has Taken a Turn) (WIP; angst with a happy ending)-Ok, so....remember the musical episode of Grey's Anatomy (Song beneath the song)? Um...this is the Witcher version of that. Kind of, though (in my imagination) the characters aren't singing, it's just a montage of scenes with the song playing. If you aren't familiar with Black by Pearl Jam, listening is a good pre-reading activity. :)

13. How did we get THIS way? (3,933 words; crack treated seriously) - An alternate version of Rinde if Tissaia had shown up a bit later. OR...Tissaia de Vries accidentally crashes an orgy.

14. Nothing Sweeter Than a Bitter Cup of Coffee (13,681 words; light angst and crack)-More coffee shop shenanigans ensue when Rita shares some news with Tissaia.

15. More Indelible than Ink (WIP, fluff)- Tissaia is the proprietor of deVries Ink and Paper Shop and leads a very quiet, normal life...that is until a stunning raven-haired tattoo artist walks into her store.

Sabrina/Triss centric

1. The Kids are Alright (5,399 words; mutual pining)-Sabrina breaks her arm badly teaching novices non-magical self defense. Rita and Triss help her and Triss uses her chaos. The healer becomes the patient and Rita is sick of their shit.

2. Downtime (1,034 words, PWP?)- Sabrina's office has a network downtime and she needs something (or someone) to do.

3. What We Lost at Sodden (8,858 words; hurt/comfort)- This is another Sodden Hill story with a focus on Sabrina and Rita's experiences. I feel like Sabrina was too OK, too soon after Sodden, and I would love to have seen more of Rita's experience being charged with holding down the fort, knowing her friends were fighting for, and losing their lives.

4. The Things I Regret (2,036 words; hurt/comfort)- Written on the the one year anniversary of my mom's death. We had a very complicated relationship and I've been surprised at how I've felt since she died, vs. how I thought I would feel. I also had lunch recently with a friend who has gone no-contact with her mother due to her refusal to acknowledge her childhood trauma. These human experiences are always so interesting to me...if a bit painful. So, why not write about it? 😁

So, once again poor Sabrina gets to be a stand in for therapy. I mainly chose her because of her conduit moment, we know she has some issues there. 😁

5. Put Out the Fire in Your Head and Lay With Me Tonight (2,226 words; fluff and smut)-Sabrina is exhausted and stressed. Triss helps her relax. This is all fluff with a little bit of smut and nearly no plot. Just like I like to write. 😈😍

6. Burnout (10,501 words; hurt/comfort)-Sabrina is burnt out and coping as only Sabrina can, which is to say, not at all.

7. Aretuza (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair) (1,465 words; tooth rotting fluff)- This is a snapshot of an Aretuza where they all live happily ever after, even if the novices are a bit ...incapable.

8. The world was on fire (and no one could save me but you) (22,760 words; angst with a happy ending)-IMO, this is the angstiest thing I've written, so be warned. None of the major characters die (I could never) but there is some death.

9. The 14th on the Hill (8,985 words; angst with a happy ending)-Another spin on Sodden, but this one pulls from book lore as well as Netflix lore and HCs.

Group shenanigans

1. Icks (1,116 words; crack fic)-Tissaia learns a new term. Everyone shares an ick in their relationship.

2. Triss’s Greenhouse (429 words; crack fic) -Tissaia needs to relax and Triss has something for that.

3. Beige Flags (770 words; crack fic)-Tissaia is slowly learning tik tok. She needs an explanation of beige flags.

4. Another Fic Where Triss is Stoned, but with Pokemon (965 words; crack fic)- This is a crack fic, but based on a real life conversation. No need to take this seriously. :) This is based on a video game called pal world That is essentially a rip off of pokémon... And they have guns.

5. Hanging Around (5,593 words, crack treated seriously)- Ok. I was inadvertently sent on a side quest to tell an important, and very serious story. It is based on the delightful video below which gave me several much needed laughs. This is set in the AUMC universe where Tissaia is a pathologist, Yennefer and Rita work in the hospitals PR department, Triss is a nurse and married to Sabrina, who manages the lab. The slides in question are stained blood and bone marrow which are used to microscopically diagnose blood disorders, such as leukemia. I think that is all the pre-reading needed.🤭

6. After Sodden (29,044 words; modern AU; slow burn?)- Ciri is an environmental activist, but accidentally commits a bit of eco-terrorism. She's now a fugitive and turns to Yennefer for help.This was inspired by a Tumblr prompt...I have taken a LOT of creative liberties here. (Read: I don't follow instructions well).

Wheel of Time

• I (Critically) Care A Lot (7,677 words; Hospital AU)- Moraine and Siuan have a tense working relationship. Or do they?

• You’re Going to Make Me…Late (8,493 words; hospital AU)-Siuan applies for a new job.

• I’d walk to the depths of a world down below (and demand to get back what some circumstance stole) (1,867 words; crack)-Siuan is dead, like...dead dead. And Moiraine has to go to The Underworld to get her back.

[bumblesimagines]

you were wrong about everything.

we were never meant to be together.

Yennefer

you were wrong about everything.

we were never meant to be together.

pronouns: they/them, gender neutral

"And what did we learn today, Kaspar?" You asked the boy teasingly as you wrapped bandages around the cut on his forearm. His dirt-covered cheeks puffed out and reddened with embarrassment. By far your favorite patient, Kaspar had a habit of getting into all sorts of trouble that always ended with him sitting in your shop seeking treatment for a bump or cut. 

"I shouldn't take Father's horse without permission." He muttered and you chuckled at the dejected look on his face. He'd managed to get away with falling off a horse with only minor bruises and a cut, but the scare had frightened his poor mother. Nodding with a smile, you straightened up and dipped your hands into the bucket of water, rinsing it clean of dirt and smudges of blood. You dried them off with a rag and fetched a basket of baked goods. His eyes lit up and he eagerly took it from your hands, shuffling through it until he found the pie. 

"Remember to share!" You called out him as he shoved some of the pie into his mouth and scurried out of your shop. With a soft laugh, you began collecting things off the table and putting them back in their rightful place. The front door creaked loudly, signaling someone else had entered the shop. You ensured everything appeared tidy before rounding the corner and putting on your best smile, only for it to drop immediately at the sight of the raven-haired mage. 

"(Y/N)," She greeted softly, unusual for the coldhearted woman who'd taken your heart and shattered it without thinking twice. She looked the same yet different all at the same time. Her vibrant violet eyes looked softer, gentler. The furrow in her brow that had once seemed permanent had vanished and she even appeared to seem... meek. 

"Why have you come crawling back to my doorstep?" 

"I wanted to see you again. I... I wanted to prove that you were wrong about everything. I've- I've changed." Yennefer spoke, her warm and hesitant voice unnerving. The last time you'd seen the mage, she'd been a force to be reckoned with, even without using her powers. Every move Yennefer made had always been calculated. Every word she uttered, every insult she spat, every spell she casted. Calculated and planned. And yet, standing there before your door, she looked out of place in her own body. 

"You've changed? You, Yennefer of Vengerberg? The same woman who told me I'd been a hopeless fool to believe there'd ever be a world where she ever loved me? The same woman who looked down on me for choosing to help people over slithering around a court?" You scoffed softly and her head bowed in shame and regret. "What was I wrong about, Yennefer? Are you no longer a heartless, selfish bitch who's going to die alone and forgotten?" 

"(Y/N)-"

"I don't believe for a second you've come here to prove anything. We were never meant to be together. Anything between us has long died along with any affection I held for you. If you've come here because you need something, I suggest you go looking elsewhere, Yennefer of Vengerberg."

[savethegrishaverse]

Hello Third Army members! By now, you’ve probably seen our twitter party adverts on how each day we will celebrate a different piece of the Grishaverse - And now, we are bringing this party to Tumblr!

We at the ‘Save Shadow and Bone’ Coalition are going to spend each week giving out prompts and boosting content about our Grishaverse, and we need your help! Come join us, send us your fanfics, post your art, and make sure to use hashtag #Third Army so we can see each post!

This week (January 7th to January 13th) we want to talk all about parallels! Between Shadow and Bone ships like the slowburn of Kanej, to other fandoms ships Like Locklucy or Wolfstar. Let’s compare characters like Kaz Brekker to Yennefer of Vengerberg, and draw parallels between Alina Starkov and She-ra! I want to hear all you have to offer on the subject! Under the cut are more prompts for you to check out!

Writing prompt: “As the cut sliced through the heartrender with such ease, with an efficiency that she had only seen from the Darkling’s own hands, Alina wondered if she had actually destroyed the Black Heretic - or merely become him.” Continue the story! Write what you think would happen to Alina, now that she has used merzost and can summon shadows!

Writing prompt: Suddenly, your favourite Grishaverse character is stranded in another universe! How do they adapt?

Art prompts: Many Saints in our culture have stained glass windows depicting their stories - Saint Michael, Saint Agnes of Rome, Saint Peter, etc. Draw up your own stained glass window for our Sankta Alina!

Art Prompts: draw chibi or anime style SAB characters! Cross them over with popular shows like Jujitsu Kaisen or Death Note!

Photoshop Challenges: Edit the Grishaverse cast to look like they're in another fandoms show! Or, throw your favorite characters from other sources of media into the Grishaverse!

Photoshop Challenges: Let’s play a round of ‘Say Yes to the Dress’: dress up a Shadow and Bone character in costumes from other shows/movies!

Video Edit Prompt: Do a Shadow and Bone or Six of Crows spinoff intro in the style of another show?

Engagement prompts: Analyzing Alina’s story, we see several moments where she shows true compassion, but also true anger and grief. She shows that there cannot be light without darkness, but there also cannot be darkness without light. Hope has no weight without fear, but fear cannot extinguish hope. This seems to be the theme of how Alina and the Darkling exist throughout the bulk of the story, and once he is gone the balance is taken with him. How would this affect Alina going forward?

Just as Inej has her knives, what other characters stand out when picking their weapons?

Share your happy or hopeful stories about Grishaverse as a fandom space, and tell us how the campaign has effected you! Tell us all about the friends that you've made, and the kindness you’ve seen within the fandom!

[flowers-shouldnt-die]

Tochter aus Elysium - Vol. 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Vilgefortz of Roggeveen/Tissaia de Vries

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Vilgefortz of Roggeveen/Tissaia de Vries, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Sabrina Glevissig/Triss Merigold

Characters: Tissaia de Vries, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold, Sabrina Glevissig, Philippa Eilhart, Margarita Laux-Antille, Stregobor (The Witcher), Artorius Vigo, i could just tag the whole cast individually

Additional Tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Hurt/Comfort, One Big Happy Family, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Happy, hands down my fav tag, Vilgefortz isnt evil in this bc Tissaia deserves happiness and a good dick, okay he starts an evil but like i couldnt care less

Series: Part 3 of Is This Happiness?

Summary: My contribution to the teeny tiny Tissaia bang this year. It's a full circle now, guys.

Original shitsow: The only thing worse than being betrayed by the man you loved is realizing you are carrying his child and almost losing it because of the pain he caused.

Okay, so forget that. She is still pregnant, but this is the totally, i swear to God, not au ooc happy family version:)

In another life, Tissaia had a dream. Such an unbelievable, heartbreaking dream. She turned in her bed and curled up to Vilgefortz. He had returned after she had fallen asleep. She heard in the back of her mind what was whispered in her dream. She had no idea why, but she made her decision. She planned to wait until all the craziness calmed down, but now she knew, felt it in her bones what she had to do.

In the morning, after he woke, he was greeted with a radiant smile from her. She kissed him, and he wondered what got her into such a mood. He would have never guessed what Tissaia said next.

“Vilgefortz… I’m pregnant.”

-

In countless years, centuries even, time loses its meaning. She let them fly by, and not even the changing of the Continent made it feel real. Until she came. Now, every day felt like it was going too fast, and she couldn't get enough of every single second. Life used to be banal; one way or another, everything was the same: the kings fought, people died, politics were played behind the shadows, and she knew how it would end before it even began. 

She did have her bright spots in life, however passing and painful. As their mentor and friend, she cherished her memories with them, with her especially, but sooner or later they were all gone. Gone with the wind, if they were lucky. She refused to get too attached, or at the very least, refused to show it. That was until everything crumbled, the world as she knew it burned, and from the ashes of the past came a future so bright she feared it might blind her.

Life became a drug, and she was addicted. She had a lust to live, to experience it, and not just watch it from her Ivory Tower. It was so cliché. She never wanted this; she went out of her way to prevent it for all of her girls for a reason. She has heard the saying that her heart would beat outside of her body from the first time she held the life she made in her arms. No one could ever accuse her of being sentimental, and yet she felt the slow and steady shift in her soul. When she looked back at what was and who she had been, it felt like watching a stranger with her face and voice. All the pain that led her to this point was a necessary evil, and for the first time since she was a girl, she chose to be happy.

-

As shock was overthrown by panic and panic was overthrown by something he never felt before, he smiled, let out a shaky breath, and kissed her. This would definitely change things. So many things he couldn't even begin to imagine. But Tissaia was still looking at him with a shy smile and uncertainty in her eyes.

Vilgefortz murmured softly, “This-this is wonderful. Are you certain?” 

Tissaia nodded and let her fears surface. “What are we going to do? If the council finds out-” He cut her off and shook his head.

“We’ll worry later,” caressing her face, he pressed his forehead against hers. “This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life.”

And it really was. He felt something he never thought he was capable of. It scared him but cleared his mind. He decided to do as he said and hugged his beloved, caressing her back gently and kissing her hair. The worries could come after they got out of bed, or even after that. Right that moment, only they existed. He would make the appropriate changes to his plans. He refused to lose Tissaia now and refused to lose their child. Even he wasn’t sure why, just the previous night he was ready to let it all go. How a small thing changes everything. Or maybe this wasn’t small; maybe this was bigger than they could ever comprehend.

-

Elysia blew the sand from her hand and it turned into tiny butterflies in the wind. Their wings carried them higher and higher, until they disappeared between the trees. The young girl laughed in that special way only children could. Her voice still had the innocence and wonder people lost while growing up. She was still full of life and curiosity, her uncontainable energy clear as day as she ran around in the forest, yet mindful of never getting out of her mother’s sight. She was barely five years old and already just like…

“Just like you.” Tissaia turned to face Yennefer, her eyebrows arched instead of voicing her question. She didn’t notice when the young sorceress arrived and she had no idea how long she had been watching them. “She scolded the birds for being too loud. Already a little control freak.” She smirked, then added, “Although a sweet one.”

“In her defense, they were loud.” The brunette turned back to her daughter and let out a shaky breath. Yen followed her gaze, and smiled softly as she saw the little firecracker trying to reach for a mushroom that grew on a tree. It was just out of her reach and when even jumping couldn’t help, she called for her mother to help her. Tissaia picked her up and let her examine it but didn’t let her get it off of the tree’s trunk. The little girl made a disappointed face that was so much like her mother’s, Yennefer found it almost uncanny. So many things about them were uncanny, if she was honest with herself. But over the years, seeing the two of them so happy together made her forget about all the uneasy feelings she had, most of the time.

Even when her father came back with the druids and the little girl ran into his arms. Vilgefortz picked her up and threw her high up in the air. Elysia was laughing, and Tissaia scolded him to be careful. Yen had a hard time getting over everything, and she figured the ex Rectoress had an even harder one. Maybe time does heal all wounds; maybe she shouldn't let it get to her so much, maybe-. She didn’t know and just huffed. 

How could Tissaia just act like this? The girl was fine; she got over that, but Vilgefortz… She put up with him for the sake of her mother, and to be fair, Tissaia never asked her for anything more. She had Ciri and Geralt so she understood to a degree even though so many lines were crossed, the purple-eyed sorceress wondered if they were even there in the first place.

She watched as the druids knelt down and touched Elysia’s hand. The girl definitely were odd, Yen could relate to that. They both stood out for reasons beyond their control. Her little sister - it was still strange to call her that - clearly was born with a magic that was similar to the druids. No one had a real idea where that came from, but considering that Vilgefortz’s bloodline was mostly a mistery, Ely might have gotten it from him. He was raised by druids after all.

Nature or nurture - Yen wondered. She didn’t think Ely would become like her father was before she was born. But then again, who would have thought that young little Vilg would become that.

“Yenny, look,” she ran and gave her a small brach with cherry blossom on it. “Pretty, pretty flowers.”

She thanked her and ruffled her hair. The girl made flowers bloom from a dead tree branch.

-

The day she decided to enter the world was a blur of pain and blood. In the late morning hours she felt the first sensation of pain in her lower abdomen. She paid it no mind, it wasn’t unusual for her to feel uncomfortable during the late stages of her pregnancy. However, by noon she needed help to get back to her room. Tissaia never imagined her birthing experience would be witnessed by so many, but then again, she never imagined having one at all. All of her friends, who have truly become her family in the last few months, were there, supporting her. Despite the looks he got, Vilgefortz stood next to her, holding her hand. Tissaia and he had a talk, and while agreeing that the possibility of another unplanned pregnancy was real, they decided to have only one baby. It was one more than they planned anyway, so he refused to not witness the birth of his only child. 

When her water broke, it surprised her that it’s not only the water that comes out. Blood also poured from her and if it weren’t for her friends reassurance, she probably would have panicked. He helped her get into any and every comfortable position she requested, whispering encouragements and telling her she was doing so great. Minutes turned into hours and her baby refused to show its face to the world. Tissaia was screaming in the end as sweat glistened on her body. Her face was flushed and breathing became difficult amidst the jolts of pain. The sun disappeared a long time ago and she wondered if their baby and him were playing tricks on her. Their child was already as stubborn as he was and it terrified her.

The moment she felt her baby leave her body was a relief but despite the end of her torment, she felt oddly empty.

“It’s a girl!” Yennefer beamed with joy. It was a rare sight and Tissaia couldn’t take her eyes off of them, as she walked up to her with the baby safely wrapped in a blanket in her arms. When she finally held her daughter she couldn’t help the tears that escaped her eyes. The little girl had a shock of black hair and when she opened her eyes for a moment Tissaia’s breath got caught in her throat. The same eyes she had fallen for in every sense of the word looked back at her. Her sweet little baby girl had her father’s eyes and she felt this was his final act of capturing her heart. “She looks just like you!” Yen continued smiling like she never did before. Tissaia slowly shook her head but her raven haired friend insisted. “She has your face, your nose, her mimics already… she looks like you, Tissaia.”

Vilgefortz agreed, despite the baby’s soft tan, dark hair, and deep eyes. “She truly looks like you, my love.” He sat next to them on the bed and kissed her, then gently caressed the newborn’s face with his fingers. He embraced Tissaia as she was holding their baby, and she leaned back onto him.

She looked down at her daughter once more, and she had to admit, she saw some resemblance between them. The baby made a soft sound and she couldn’t help but smile. Her fear evaporated the longer she looked at the tiny bundle. She kissed the top of her newborn’s head and gently caressed her face. The love she felt for her while pregnant multiplied and in that moment, Tissaia de Vries never felt more at peace, more at home.

This one for my sweet lil sis @mtg-is-life-frf

[asoiaf-fancasts]

Ashara Dayne - Fancasts

Age: Unknown [12/21 - 14/23]

Appearance: Young,beautiful and tall with haunting violet eyes and long dark hair that tumbles around her shoulders.

Character: Clarice Orsini

Actress: Synnove Karlsen

Show: Medici [2016] [Season 2 & 3]

[She was around 21 - 23 during this show so the perfect age for Ashara during and after the Tourney at Harrenhal. She’s not tall but she’s beautiful with dark ish hair that falls around her shoulders. She wears 15th century Italian clothes.]

Character: Vanessa

Actress: Jessica Alexander

Movie: The Little Mermaid [2023]

[She was 21/22 during this filming of this movie so is good for Ashara during the Tourney and after.She is beautiful but not tall and has dark hair that tumbles around her shoulders. She does have a bit of a “I know what a phone is face” but I still thing she’s decent enough to cast. She wears a fantasy purple dress.]

Character: Catherine de Luton

Actress: Bruna Marquezine

Show: God Save the King [2018]

[She was 22/23 during the show so good for Ashara near the end of Robert’s Rebellion. She is beautiful and is slightly above average height but still not tall. She was dark hair the tumble’s down her shoulders. She wears fantasy medieval ish clothes.]

Character: Rosa de Vargas

Actress: Nadia Parks

The Spanish Princess [2019] [Season 1]

[She was 23/24 during the first season of The Spanish Princess so around the right age for her at the end of Roberts Rebellion. She is beautiful but isn’t tall. She has somewhat dark hair, it depends on the lighting that tumble’s around her shoulders. She wears Tudor ish clothes.]

Character: Kenna de Poitiers

Actress: Caitlin Stasey

Show: Reign [2013] [Season 1]

[She was 22/23 during this show so good for Ashara near the end of Roberts Rebellion. She is beautiful but is short and her hair is only kinda dark but it tumble’s over her shoulders. She wears modern clothes that are vaguely historically inspired.]

Character: Lilah Black

Actress:Megan Fox

Movie: Jonah Hex [2010]

[She was 23/24 during this movie so she’s around about the right age for her at the end of Roberts Rebellion. She is beautiful but is short and has dark hair that falls around her shoulders. This movie is mainly okay for closeups since Megan mainly wears western fantasy undergarments in this movie.]

Character: Yennefer of Vengerberg

Actress: Anya Chalotra

Show: The Witcher [2019] [Season 1]

[She 22/23 during the first season so good for Ashara at the end of the war. She is beautiful but is only of average height but she has dark hair that tumbles over her shoulders plus she has purple eyes. She wears fantasy clothes.]

Character: Sibylla

Actress: Eva Green

Movie: Kingdom of Heaven [2005]

[She is a couple of years too old for Ashara but could be good if you believe she escaped to Essos. She is beautiful but not tall with dark hair and falls over her shoulders. She wears 12th century clothes.]

[skylarkdevries]

Prompt: Practical Magic Yennaia AU. Tissaia and Rita are sisters with magic and a family curse where any man who fell in love with a woman in their family is doomed to die. Not wanting to die of a broken heart like their mother did, Tissaia creates a love spell as a little girl for her to fall in love with a raven haired violet eyed woman who didn’t exist.

Years later as adults, Tissaia and Rita accidentally kill Vilgefortz and the man comes back as undead after casting a necromancy spell, bringing raven haired and violet eyed detective Yennefer Vengerberg to their doorstep.

[rainandandy]

Found Family Oneshot (Witcher Tv Series)

Geralt of Rivia, the renowned Witcher, sat in his study, surrounded by dusty tomes and aged manuscripts. Yennefer of Vengerberg, his powerful sorceress companion, sat nearby, her eyes intently scanning the pages of a spellbook. They had settled down in a humble cottage, nestled in the heart of a peaceful forest, creating a home for themselves and a sanctuary for Ciri, the young princess with extraordinary powers.

Ever since they had found each other, their lives had been filled with adventure and danger. But now, in this little corner of the world, they reveled in the simple joys of everyday life. Yennefer's magic adorned the cottage with enchantments, making it warm and welcoming. Geralt, despite his gruff exterior, found solace in the mundane tasks of chopping wood and mending fences. And Ciri, their beloved ward, brought light and laughter to their lives.

On this particular day, however, Ciri had grown restless. The walls of the cottage seemed to close in on her, and her heart yearned for exploration. "I'm going for a walk in the woods," she declared, eyes shining with excitement.

Yennefer looked up from her book, concern etched on her face. "Be careful, Ciri. Don't wander too far."

"I'll be fine, Yen," Ciri replied, flashing a mischievous grin. "I've got the best protectors in the world."

Geralt nodded, his golden eyes filled with fatherly affection. "We'll keep an eye out for you, little one. But remember, danger can lurk in the most unexpected places."

With that, Ciri set off into the sprawling forest, her footsteps light and full of anticipation. She roamed among the trees, listening to the songs of birds and the rustle of leaves under her feet. Time passed quickly, and as the sun began to set, a feeling of unease crept into Yennefer's heart.

"She's been gone for quite a while," Yennefer murmured, her voice filled with worry. "What if something happened?"

Geralt stood up, his sword strapped to his back. "I'll go find her," he said firmly. "Stay here, Yen."

Yennefer nodded, her anxiety growing by the second. As minutes turned into what felt like hours, her imagination conjured up countless dangers lurking in the forest. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Ciri, the precious girl they had come to love as their own.

Just as despair threatened to overtake her, a sound broke through the silence—a triumphant, joyous whoop that sent Yennefer's heart racing. She looked up to see Ciri swinging down from the trees, her face beaming with a mixture of exhilaration and relief.

"I'm back!" Ciri exclaimed, landing gracefully in front of Yennefer.

Yennefer's eyes filled with tears of both relief and joy. She pulled Ciri into a tight embrace, unable to find words to express her relief. Geralt appeared soon after, his stoic expression melting away into a rare smile.

"Ciri," Geralt said, his voice filled with both relief and reproach, "You had us worried sick."

Ciri's cheeks flushed, and she cast her gaze downwards. "I'm sorry, Geralt, Yennefer. I didn't mean to worry you. I just wanted to explore and have an adventure."

Yennefer knelt down, placing a gentle hand on Ciri's cheek. "Oh, my dear child, we understand. But you must remember, you're not alone anymore. We love you, and we'llalways worry about your safety."

Geralt stepped forward, his voice filled with warmth. "You're a part of our family now, Ciri. We'll always be here for you, no matter what. And adventures are best when we face them together."

Ciri's eyes welled up with tears, but this time they were tears of happiness. She threw her arms around Geralt and Yennefer, hugging them tightly. "I love you both," she whispered.

"We love you too, Ciri," Yennefer whispered back, her voice choked with emotion.

In that moment, surrounded by the love and warmth of her found family, Ciri realized the depth of their affection. She no longer felt alone or adrift in the world. With Geralt and Yennefer by her side, she had found a home—a place where she was cherished and protected.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the cottage, the three of them stood together, their bond stronger than ever. And as the night settled in, they returned to their cozy home, their hearts brimming with love, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 69

Masterlist

Chapter 68

Slight warning for anxiety attacks and cannon character death.

-------the Wall: outside Castle Black----------------

The moment she stepped out of the portal, the moment she caught Eredin in her sights, Yennefer quickly cast a spell to disorient the elf king. Geralt followed in disarming the elf before he could come to his senses. Before the witcher could have a chance to sever off Eredin's head, Imerlith stepped in and blocked the attack with a clash of his club against Geralt's sword.

Aemma and Jace stared at the two with wide eyes as both witcher and sorceress stood their ground against the two Aen Elle who were defending their leader. Yennefer cast a flurry of snow at the Red Riders before before gathering more snow around her to form spikes of ice and direct them at Eredin. Caranthir was quick to step in and cast a force field around him and the other two. Yennefer quickly recited incantations to move the Red Riders in the force field and  shove them against the Wall. Catching her breath from the power it took, the sorceress then rushed over to the prince and princess.

"Aemma Targaryen?" the sorceress addresses. Left speechless, Aemma nods in confirmation. "Who...who is she?" Jace asks Aemma. "My name is Yennefer of Vengerberg," Yen answers, helping Aemma up on her feet and handing her sword, "your mother sent me to help you."  "My mother?" "Her mother?" Jace asks confused as he gets back on his own feet, "Aemma, how did your mother-" "Aemma!" Geralt calls out, approaching her, "Are you alright?" "I'm fine," Aemma nods.

Jace had a visceral reaction at the sight of the witcher. He quickly recalled the vitriol Aemma had for this man, the villain in her mother's story. The prince drew his sword, "get back!" "Jace stop!" Aemma steps in, "he's a friend."  "How...how is that even possible?" "Jace-" "What is going on?" Jace demands, "what did this...witch mean about your mother sending her? Your mother is dead. And those creatures, they...why did they call you that name? Silverlark? How do you know them? How do they know you?!" 

Meanwhile, Cregan groaned as he started coming back to his senses. As his blurred vision started to clear, he recalled what transpired earlier when those mysterious invaders appeared at the Wall from out of nowhere, save through a portal. Why they came to this place, or even how, the young lord did not know. All he had known was this was a threat to the Wall and it needed to be stopped.

Cregan also remembered the one being he was fighting before, the one who manipulated ice from a steel staff. He remembered the bite of the ice when he took a direct hit from the staff. He never imagined in his whole that one of the greatest threat to the integral structure of the ancient barrier of ice would be those pointed ear, wraith like creatures. 

When Cregan looked up, he had to shake his head a little, but the moment he saw the white hair and gold eyes of the human skinned wolf from his childhood, the one who saved his life from the monster in the woods.  He also saw one of the ice monsters sneaking up on the man and the woman next to him.

Cregan gathered what strength he had left and grabbed his sword. He rushed at the ice dog and slayed it before it had a chance to ambush. Geralt and Yennefer were taken by surprise by this young man's quick action.

Making sure the beast was good and dead, Cregan turned to face the witcher, giving a certain look that neither Jace nor Aemma could decipher, "...I believe I have repaid the debt I have owed after so many years." Geralt raised an eyebrow at that statement; he did not recognize this man, and yet...the scent he carried was vaguely familiar. "...Lord Stark?" Jace speaks up, "how do you know this man?" "He saved my life many years ago," Cregan explains, "when I was a boy. A strange monster prowled the Wolfswood, and if he wasn't there, I wouldn't be here today. I once thought it was nothing more than a dream from my childhood. A white wolf in the skin of a man...but now I see it was not a dream."

"Geralt?" "I remember now," Geralt says, answering Aemma's question "when I first came to Westeros 16 years ago. The fiend that came through the portal, it was a parting gift from the sorcerer who wounded me back on Thanedd. I killed the monster despite still recovering from my injuries."

Before anyone could ask anymore questions, commotion from the Wall got everyone's attention. Eredin and his men had come back to their senses and were back on their feet and armed as soon as Caranthir lowered the force field. Eredin, in particular, had a look of seething rage, especially when he caught Aemma in his sights along with Geralt and Yennefer. 

"SILVERLARK! WITHCER! MUTANTS! ABOMINATIONS! PREPARE TO DIE!" 

  The Red Riders prepare to charge, but the roars of Vermax stopped them. The green dragon got in front of Jace and the others and released a jet stream of fire towards them. Caranthir countered with an ice beam, but Cirillia stepped in and added to Vermax's fiery onslaught. It became too much for the Navigator, forcing him to cast another shield around his men. Yennefer took this as her cue to join in and cast fire magic, adding to the dragons' prowess.

With no hostages, and currently being outmatched due to many of his men being wounded from Yennefer's earlier icy barrage, Eredin had no choice to call for a retreat. He orders Caranthir to cast a portal so the Riders could escape. Both Vermax and Cirillia roared in unison and in triumph that the threat their bonded riders was vanquished.

  Those of the Night's Watch who were not dead or wounded cheered in triumph, realizing the threat to the Wall had been defeated.

Now that there was no longer a need to keep up defenses, Aemma turned to Yennefer, "how is it you know my mother, exactly?" "I should like to know that as well," Jace interjects, giving his stepsister a certain look, "you have a great deal of explaining to do, sister. What were those beings? What did they want with you?" 

"I"m sorry, who is this boy?" Yennefer asks, somewhat impatient with Jace's tone of voice. "Jaecerys Velaryon," Jace says like it's obvious, "Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne, my mother is Rhaenyra, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." "...my apologies then for not knowing, your Royal Highness," Yennefer says with an air of sass, making a mocking curtsy.  "Yen," Geralt scolds.

"Jace, it's alright," Aemma calms her stepbrother down. She looked at Jace and to Cregan and then turned her gaze back to Geralt and Yennefer, "...I suppose it is time I've explained what happened during my time on the Continent."

--------------King's Landing: the Red Keep-------

Aegon was outside in the gardens, looking back and forth for his oldest son. After seeing Jaehaerys was not in the solar of his apartments with his siblings, Aegon had inquired his sister-wife of where his son was, as he had plans to take the boy to the Small Council with the intention of starting Jaehaerys on his education as heir to the Iron Throne.

Helaena had told Aegon that Jaehaerys was in the library, tending to his lessons. She had also told her brother-husband of her fears of the rats, something Aegon brushed aside rather quickly, not giving a second thought as to what Helaena possibly had to be scared of. They had nothing to fear so long as Vhagar was close by to protect King's Landing from whatever attacks Rhaenyra may try and plan, especially when his half-sister was likely seeking revenge for the death of Lucerys.

When Aegon went to the library, the Septon who was tutoring Jaehaerys earlier had informed the king that the prince was now in the gardens. Apparently, the boy was in the middle of his lessons when the Lady of Larks had deigned to visit the library at the time. Jaehaerys saw her, and wanted her to sing to him. When he heard of this, Aegon honestly couldn't help but smile to himself just a little. Jaehaerys clearly adores the Lady Lark, much so that the boy wanted to spend whatever free time he had in the day just to hear the woman sing her ballads. Not that Aegon could blame his son for his infatuation; the Lady of Larks did have a beautiful voice...one that the larks would stand silent just to listen.

So, here Aegon was now, wondering the gardens, looking for his son. Sure enough, Jaehaerys was sitting under a tree, right next to you as you tune your lute in preparation of another song. You had just finished your own rendition of "Song of the Seven," and clearly it was Jaehaerys' new favorite as he had you repeat the same song at least ten times already. You had managed to convince the boy to listen to a different song, promising him a Dwarven inspired jig.

"Jaehaerys, there you are!" Aegon calls out. You restrain yourself from sighing, half expecting Aegon to encourage you to play a few more extra rounds for his son. Jaehaerys got up to greet his father. You got up as well and curtsy to the king, "your Grace." "Are you here to listen to the Lady Lark?" Jaehaerys inquires as Aegon picked him up. "Much as I would love to, I can't right now," Aegon tells him, "there's a meeting with the Small Council. You are my heir now, Jaehaerys, it's time you sit in on these things so you'll know what do when you ascend the throne one day. How does that sound, Jaehaerys? It'll be lots of fun."

You stood there, somewhat awkwardly. It wasn't your place to tell someone how to raise their children, but you felt Jaehaerys might be a little too young to be sitting in on council meetings. The kid's only like five or six years old, he's not going to take much interest in economics or politics right now; not to mention it was unlikely the boy would be able to sit still long enough to even participate. "Can the Lady of Larks come with us?" Jaehaerys nods towards you. Again, you stand there; it was a tad bit demeaning that your next actions were at the mercy of a young boy and his ability to persuade his father to fulfill his request.

"I suppose so," Aegon gives in, turning to you, "Lady lark, will you accompany us to the Small Council?" "Far be it from me to turn down the prince's request, Your Grace," you say, "but I'm not entirely sure the Small Council will accept my presence there, particularly the Hand and the Dowager Queen." "Worry not about them," Aegon lightly huffs, still keeping Jaehaerys in his arms, "my mother and grandsire cannot override the words of a king. And right now, the king wishes to fulfill his heir's request. So, will you walk with us, Lady Lark?"  Despite it being formed as a request, you knew there wasn't such a thing as a choice when it came to the commands and requests of a monarch. So, you nod in response, "of course, Your Grace."

You follow Aegon and Jaehaerys to the Small Council chambers for the meeting.

During this time, you take note of the way Aegon was interacting with his oldest son, from the way the young king laughed along with Jaehaerys to the way Aegon just looked at his boy with adoration and love in his eyes. Clearly, Aegon loved and cared for his children, and he cares very much for his heir, but you also take note that Aegon seemed to be acting like less of a parent and more like the boy's friend, or at most, more like he was an older brother rather than a father. 

You had done the math, and estimated how old Aegon probably was when the twins were first born, he had to still be in his early to mid teens during that time. Helaena, being at least two years younger than Aegon, may have been too young to start being a mother, but Aegon was also too young to be a father, so of course he wasn't going to act like one, he wasn't anywhere near the maturity level required to be parent.  

Alicent, you recalled, wasn't much older than Helaena when she became a mother, and then here she had her two oldest children wed when Helaena had barely started having her moon's bloods. You had a feeling that, assuming Aegon actually establishes his rule as the true monarch, he would continue the cycle by betrothing Jaehaerys to his sister Jaehaera, and you predicted both kids will probably be wed at a similar age as their parents were. They would wed and probably have their own children when they were still barely children themselves. 

The more you thought about it, the more you were actually grateful that Aemma's betrothal to Aegon was called off years ago; if she had remained in this place, she would've been married off the moment she started her first monthly cycle. Hell, she would've probably had at least two or three children already by the time you saw her again. You didn't even feel like you were old enough to be a grandmother just yet.

Why couldn't children in this part of the world have a chance to actually grow up and fully mature before they were even put through the ringer of marriage and parenthood? It wasn't exactly too different from kingdoms on the Continent, but at least in places like Nilfgaard, they would wait at least until a child was 16 before even considering marriage proposals.

-----------------------

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Holdfast, your brother Jaskier leaned against the wall, placing his ear against it, keeping silent as he tries to listen in for any squeaks, scratches, or the pattering sounds of rat paws. Jaskier lightly tapped the wall with a spoon, seeing if maybe he'll elicit some kind of reaction from whatever varmints might be lurking behind those same walls. Earlier, Jaskier was tasked with following Aegon so as to entertain the young king when it suited his fancy. To Jaskier's luck, Aegon wasn't too interested in being entertained today as he was more focused on finding his oldest son so as to take him to the Small Council meeting.

When Helaena informed Aegon of Jaehaerys' whereabouts, Aegon had Jaskier dismissed for the time being. Before his departure, however, Helaena expressed that she was afraid. Not for the dragons that might invade King's Landing, but for the rats that lurked in the halls of the Keep.

Aegon had dismissed his sister-wife, brushing it off as Helaena being mysterious and difficult to understand as usual (insert eye rolls). Jaskier, on the other hand, recalled the night when he ran into Helaena the first time, how she was relieved that he wasn't a rat.

"I don't like rats," he remembered her saying, "they frighten me."

This time, Jaskier stayed, wanting to get a sense of where this fear was coming from. Jaskier had spent enough time around this family, he knew Helaena enjoys a hobby of watching and collecting insects, and this was a particular hobby most highborn ladies wouldn't find much joy in. It seemed a little unusual for someone who had an interest in creepy crawlies to possess this phobia for creatures that were not much different. 

Jaskier had also noted the look on Helaena's face, like she wasn't exactly there, but at the same time, it felt like she was on the lookout, expecting something- or possibly someone- to jump in and scare her.

"If I may, your Grace, what is it about rats that scares you so?" Jaskier had inquired. Helaena only gave the bard an indecipherable look in response; she could see the man wanted to help her in whatever way he could, but she wasn't sure how to properly convey her fears for the near future in a way he could understand.  So she had given him this answer instead, "I fear they will break through the walls and...take the boy."

 Jaskier didn't know what the meant, but the way Helaena had made that vague statement, it almost sounded like a prophecy. Was Helaena some kind of seer? Did she possess the gift of foresight? He did recall that night he first ran into Helaena, how she told him of Aemma's whereabouts, how an elven sage had told Aemma to fly North to stop the Wild Hunt from invading. Whatever it might be, it was clear that Helaena was still at unease from the thought of rats in the walls. It wasn't an average phobia of these creatures, this was something else entirely.

 So, the bard took it upon himself to listen in against the walls to determine where these rats might be coming from. Truthfully, Jaskier wasn't even sure why he was doing this. There are a myriad of ways rats or the like could sneak into these walls. And there were also rat catchers employed to keep said rats from overpopulating and decimating the Red Keep. Perhaps he was doing this as an excuse to get away from his jester duties.

Still... there was something in the way Helaena talked of rats that was deeply unsettling.

Still no response when Jaskier tapped on the wall again. He wished Geralt was hear right now to help him solve this rat mystery...actually he wished Geralt was here right now to help both him and you get out this situation in the first place. 

Being so focused on this little side gig of his, Jaskier didn't hear the sounds of a cane tapping the floor as Larys Strong approached him. "Settling into your role as the court fool I see, Viscount," Larys speaks, causing Jaskier to jump in shock, "one might argue you might be settling in a little too well. If anyone else caught you in this state, they might genuinely take you for an imbecile." "Okay, seriously, Lord Strong, you really need to start wearing a bell! You're going to give someone a heart attack one of these days," Jaskier scolds. 

"I have a task for you," Larys says, ignoring Jaskier's comment, "one that requires discretion." "Right, of course, not like I have much of a choice," Jaskier mutters, "so, what is it you'll have me do, my Lord? Waltz into whatever meetings or petitions His Grace will be holding? Maybe lean in close when I do tricks so I don't miss whatever it is he'll have to say? Probably more crude and vulgar jokes that punch down at other's expense."

"I need you to go into town," Larys tells him, to which Jaskier frowns a bit. It was no secret Larys had his own network of whispers in the Red Keep. And now having some access to the man's circle, Jaskier knew Larys had recently spent the last several weeks cleaning house, following Aegon's coronation; essentially, purging the Keep of any would-be spies that might possess even the slightest bit of sympathy for Rhaenyra's cause. This was also the first time Jaskier had actually received any tangible assignment from the lord of Harenhal, save for keeping his eyes and ears open during court for any whispers of dissonance or treason. "I'm probably going to regret asking, but whatever for?" "There is...someone who may still be lurking," Larys explains, "particularly somewhere in the bowels of Flea Bottom...or possibly somewhere on the Street of Silk." "Well that narrows it down tremendously," Jaskier states with sarcasm, "any chance you can give me some kind of specific description? And say I do find this person, what am I supposed to do then?" "The person I am seeking is known as the White Worm," Larys tells him, "she has her own web of spies in King's Landing and beyond. Now, I have gone to great lengths to rid these walls of her ilk, but the head of this beast still remains at large." 

"Whoa, wait now," Jaskier's eyes go wide, "you're not expecting to...you know...do away with this White Worm?"  "You have your task," Larys ignores Jaskier's concern and turns to walk away. Jaskier knew he didn't actually need the man to elaborate, but the fact his first task was to potentially assassinate some stranger really didn't sit well with him. Jaskier wasn't one for spilling blood, and this was something he had been grateful that he didn't have to worry about during his stint with the Redanian and even the Temerian spy networks. Westeros was a different place entirely compared to the whole of the Continent.

Gathering his bearings, Jaskier headed back to his rooms to prepare for a day in town to look for this elusive White Worm. One thing the Bard had retained from his spy days was that one of the best places to start when looking for information was at the local tavern. One would be surprised the kind of things people will reveal when they have been drinking.

---------------Small Council Chambers---------

You walk into the council chambers, trailing behind Aegon and Jaehaerys. When you enter the chambers, you see Alicent was already seated at the table along with Otto, Grand Maester Orywle, Lord Tyland Lannister, and several others whom you didn't quite recognize or remember. You kinda remembered Tyland to some extent, as he has had earned his seat at this council during your three year imprisonment, and you remembered Tyland also has a twin brother who once vied for Rhaenyra's hand during Aegon's second nameday celebration.

As expected, you presence was noted in this council by the lords as well as Alicent and Otto; Otto, in particular, made his disdain visible. Needless to say, the feeling was mutual.

"I know it has been some time for you, Lady Lark," Otto says, "but I believe you are aware you do not have a seat at this council." "I was requested here at the behest of His Grace," you offer for an explanation, "it was the heir to the Iron Throne's request, actually, and the king did not wish to disappoint his son." Otto continued giving you a stern look as Aegon guided Jaehaerys to his seat.

You take your place over at the prince's side. You look to see Criston Cole was also present for this meeting, which made sense since he is the new Lord Commander. You see several other members of the Kingsguard stationed at the doors, one of them being Ivan. You subtly gaze over to the half-elf to see he was looking a little more relaxed then he had been the last few days.

You didn't notice the way Ivan was staring at Criston, the inh'eid having yet to disclose to his lord commander that he had caught Criston breaking his oath by proverbially taking a big shit where he eats with the dowager queen. He hasn't caught Criston and Alicent since then (he didn't catch Criston giving head to the dowager queen earlier that day before the meeting), but the scene was still fresh in his mind, and he would use that against Ser Cole when the time was right.

"Good morrow, my lords! Mother," Aegon greets as he takes his seat at far end of the table where he had a view of his son, "shall we begin?" "In a moment, Your Grace," Otto says, "before I even say anything, I don't believe everyone present in this meeting actually have a place at this council," he narrows his gaze at you. If there weren't a child present, you'd have half a mind to flip Otto the bird; it's not like you had much of a say in the matter. "Prince Jaehaerys insisted the Lady of Larks attend with him," Aegon says in a dismissive tone, "besides, I trust she'll keep secret what we disclose in this walls. Both for hers and her brother's sake," Aegon gave you a certain, warning look to appease his lords, "Even little song birds know when to stand silent."

You ignore that comparison as best you could, restraining yourself from even reacting. Definitely not trying to think about the times Daemon would liken you in a similar manner when he referred to you as his 'Little Lark'. Gods, you could practically feel the bile rise to your throat as you recalled how much you loathed being called that.

As you expected, Jaehaerys went about a minute or two after Otto began the meeting, before he started wiggling in his seat and decided to seek ways to entertain himself. Unfortunately for Tyland, as that meant taking the man's marble orb and playing with it like a toy ball, which the Lannister lord didn't appreciate. You note the smile Aegon had on his face as he watched his son entertain himself at Tyland's expense. Even you couldn't help but let a small smile escape.

Clearly Aegon was more focused on Jaehaerys' antics, but you kept silent, despite the distraction, and listened to the meeting as subtly as you could. Letters from King's Landing to the Eryrie and Winterfell have gone unanswered, and it was safe to assume the Lady of the Vale and the Warden of the North are siding with Rhaenyra in this conflict. Prince Aemond's success in brokering a marriage pact to Floris Baratheon have given the Greens allies from the Stormlands. Tyland's brother Jason was currently amassing an army from the Golden Tooth to aid their cause and the Hightowers were raising their own army as well from Oldtown. But there was still the blockade closing off King's Landing from the Gullet to deal with.

To your surprise, you overheard that Alicent had sent letters of her own to Dragonstone which have gone unanswered. It was possible, you surmise, that the dowager queen was hoping to appeal to Rhaenyra by invoking the friendship they once shared when they were still girls, and possibly with the hope of resolving this conflict before more blood was shed. Those chances weren't looking so good, given that one of Rhaenyra's sons- whom you've never met- was dead now thanks to one of Alicent's sons.

You wouldn't exactly begrudge Rhaenyra at this moment, if she was indeed not in the mood to be seeking amends when she was probably in the middle of grieving the loss of her child. You understood that grief better than most in this room.

Aegon now chose this time to disrupt the meeting as he watched Jaehaerys play 'keep away' with Tyland's orb. "Is the heir to the throne bothering you, Tyland?" the king inquires with amusement. Tyland stop and answered the king, almost stuttering, "No-no, no, not in the least, Your Grace." "Because I think he wants a ride," Aegon suggests, mischief in his eyes, "a pony ride. Wouldn't that be fun, Jaehaerys, should the Master of Coin be your noble steed?"

Jaehaerys made a small nod as Aegon laughed. Tyland forced himself to laugh along, only to stop when he realized the king was actually serious about that suggestion. There was a moment of awkward silence before Tyland moved about with the expectation that he was to going to unwillingly humiliate himself before the king and council just to satisfy the whims of a pampered prince whom the king loves to spoil. Luckily for the Master of Coin, Alicent spoke up, "your Grace," she speaks with an almost scolding manner, restraining herself in the knowledge that even though Aegon is her son, she cannot admonish the king before his own council, "there are important matters to discuss...despite Ser Tyland's interruptions."

"Very well," Aegon concedes, heeding his mother's advice, "no time for amusements, Tyland," he turns to address his son, "off you go, Jaehaerys. Good boy." Aegon nods toward you, meaning that was your cue to escort the little prince out of the council chambers. Jaehaerys took your hand as you walk him out. 

You wished you could've stayed, find out what was going to happen next. Aemma was still part of this conflict, and you wanted to stay in the loop; any information might help when it would come time for you to rescue your daughter once again. Lucky for you, you just happen to remember there were ways of sneaking into those chambers without getting caught. And lucky for you, you see a nursemaid close by, ready to accompany the prince. "I believe prince Jaehaerys was in the middle of attending his lessons before this," you say to the maid. You were about to hand Jaehaerys over, but the prince refuses to let go. "Please stay with me," he pleads.

You sigh a bit, and ruffle his hair, "I'll come back after your lessons and sing ballads to your heart's content, sweet prince. I promise. But not before you finish your studies for the day. You want to be good king one day, yes? Much like your namesake."

Satisfied with this compromise, Jaehaerys nods and lets go and allows the maid to escort him back to the library to finish his lessons. Looking to see no one was watching, you take the secret passageway back into the council chambers and listen in on the rest of the meeting without anyone noticing.

At this time, the council was going over what should be done to break the Blacks' blockade. Some ideas where tossed around when you spot Aemond walking in. "Aemond," Alicent greets, "what is your business here?" "The king summoned me," Aemond simply answers. "You do not have a seat on this council." "Aemond is my closest blood and our best sword. I welcome him," Aegon says with assurance.

From behind your hiding spot you now listen in on the council formulating plans to establish some kind of defense in the Riverlands as the path to King's Landing was through that region. Aegon, starting to grow impatient, seemed to already have a plan in mind, "the river lords will either declare for me, or meet Vhagar and Sunfyre...and we can burn the blockade while we're at it."  "Rhaenyra has dragons as well," Alicent points out. "Mine are bigger," Aegon says back. "If we loose the dragons to war, there will be no calling them back," Alicent reasons, "We need to proceed cautiously and-" "No," Aegon dismisses his mother's concerns, "fat, old Lord Tully will either raise our banners or see his burn! We should fly to Riverrun."

You tilted your head slightly. Alicent seems to still believe peace could be achieved without more blood being spilled, but Aegon would rather just stamp out the threat before it even starts. One thing you also noticed was how much alone Alicent seemed to be in this council of men, even though two of them were her sons and the other was her father; there seemed to be a certain level of frustration in being the token woman in this room, all while being ignored at best and dismissed at worst.

"You are the king, Your Grace," Criston speaks up, "you must not put yourself at risk." "And Vhagar is needed here to deter Rhaenyra from attacking," Alicent adds before turning to her other son with a certain look, "in retribution for the death of her son." Aemond kept a neutral face at that jab.

"Errors were made in the hours following king Viserys' death," Otto brings up, "we mustn't compound that." He turned to his king grandson, "you've already demonstrated your might, Your Grace. We must now favor patience and restraint." Aegon practically groaned with impatience and boredom at the mere thought of that. "I send ravens by the hour," Otto continues with assurance, "many and more houses will declare for you in time. History and precedence will be on your side."

From this interaction alone, you could see Aegon was not at all well versed in politics and strategy. It was sort of confusing to you, as you would've expected Aegon to have some kind of knowledge base in such things; if he was indeed expected to be the one to succeed his father, shouldn't he have received the proper education for it? Clearly not. Only explanation you could think of was that Aegon was only meant to act as a figurehead, a puppet to conduct his grandfather's bidding. You wouldn't have put it past Otto to view his progeny as such, given the way he had used his daughter to curry favor with the last king to the point where Viserys took Alicent to wife, thereby giving the Hightowers more political influence on the realm.

Although...another thing you've also noticed about Aegon was his reluctance to act as the puppet for his grandfather. You recalled when the king brought you to his chambers to talk with you, right before Aemond returned from Storm's End. Something had happened during the 16 years you've been absent; something that led Aegon to believe neither of parents really loved him. Here, there was clearly no love loss for his grandfather either...

Maybe this is something you should take advantage of. You already held some kind of sway over Aegon thanks in part to his son's adoration of you, but maybe you could expand on that a little more.

Seeing that the meeting had concluded, you sneak out with the intention of finding Jaskier to tell him your idea. Unaware that your brother was off into town already with a mission of his own.

------------a tavern somewhere in Flea Bottom-------------

Ana downed the last mug of ale before she went for the next one. On the opposite side of the table was a man, her opponent, trying to drink her under the table. The same man had just finished his own mug, but was struggling to start the next one as Ana effortlessly downed hers. The woman has had lots of practice over the years since first coming to King's Landing. 

It wasn't the first time strange men have come up to challenge her to a drinking contest, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Ana has yet to be bested in this field. She did take note of the man's silver white hair as he began to slur his speech. He didn't seem that old to be have a full head of white hair, maybe some grey here and there at most, but not this. If she didn't know any better, Ana would've mistaken him for one of the Targaryens. Perhaps he might actually be one of the dragonseeds.

As expected, the man nearly fell over. His friends laughed at his defeat and gave him a good ribbing before dragging him away to nurse his pride. Ana couldn't help but have a smirk of pride. No one has been able to best her at this game.

Meanwhile, Jaskier  had just walked into the tavern. He wasn't exactly sure where he should start or who he should ask about this White Worm. So, he decided to start with the barkeep. "What it'll be?" the tender asks as he wipes down the counter. "Just a pint of whatever you have on tap," Jaskier casually answers, "Uh...I would also be in need of some...information." "We're not selling  any of that here, young master," the barkeep says as he works on the tap.

"I...I would like to know the whereabouts of a certain someone called the uh...the White Worm."

Jaskier flinched when several patrons from the closest table turned to stare at him. The barkeep handed the man his mug, giving a hard stare like he was observing him. "You're not from around are you?" he asks, though it sounded more like a statement, "what does a foreigner in this part of the world want with the White Worm of all people?"

Ignoring the lingering stares from the nearest table, Jaskier steels his nerves and answers, "I uh, I have a message to deliver to her." The barkeep gave Jaskier a suspicious look before he makes a small nod, "wait here then." 

Jaskier instinctively and subtly checked for the exits in case he would need to make a quick escape. 

When he turned around to casually sipped his beer, pretending that he was calmer then he actually was, he saw a serving girl in one corner of the tavern; she looked young, possible in her mid teens. She was double over, looking like she was hyperventilating as if she were having a panic attack. It reminded Jaskier of the many times his sister had been in similar positions when something would trigger those reactions seemingly from out of nowhere.

Jaskier fast walked over to the girl so as to help her out. "Hey, what do you see?" he asks, causing the girl to yelp. "Sorry," he says, "didn't mean to scare you. What do you see?" "What?" "You're having a panic attack," Jaskier tells her, "look around the tavern and tell me what you see." "I don't understand." "Just trust me on this," the bard assures. "Okay..." the girl looks around, "I uh, I see people...so many people...men, they're laughing and some of them are spilling their beer." "Keep going," Jaskier encourages, seeing the girl was starting to calm down some. "Uh, I see several tapestries decorating the walls," the girl continues, "and there's a mural on the far corner. I see the band playing a jig. There's a lute, a tambourine, and some other kind of instrument I don't quite know. And...there's dust on this barrel, I'll need to clean it at some point." 

"Do you feel any better?" Jaskier asks the girl. "I...I do, actually," she answers, feeling calmer and her breaths feeling normal again. She looked at Jaskier; even though she didn't know him, she found on some level she could trust him, given that he actually helped her out, which was something she didn't think she could've done again after what she's been through.  "Thank you." "Think nothing of it." "How- how did you know what was happening to me?" "Ah...my sister, she used to have similar incidents," Jaskier explains, "a kind friend of ours gave her some techniques to essentially ground herself during moments like this."

The girl looked at Jaskier once more, "your sister...was she hurt by a man as well?" Jaskier had a shocked look from that question, realizing his hypothesis actually might on point. "A man...though sometimes I think he might be more of a monster," he answers. The girl nods in understanding, "thank you for helping me...do you have a name?" "I go by Jaskier," he tells her, "and yours?" "...Dyana."

"Nice to meet you, Dyana," Jaskier gives a small smile.

Before more could be said, Dyana looked over Jaskier's shoulder to see an older woman approaching. "You, Bard," Ana addresses. Jaskier turned to face the woman, "Me?" "You said you had a message for the White Worm?" "I, uh, I do."

Ana motions for Jaskier to follow her to a more secluded area where they could talk. When they walked to the other side of the tavern, the silver haired man that Ana beat in the last drinking contest saw the same woman walked past by along with Jaskier. He frowned a bit when he got a good look at the Bard; he had a feeling he's seen him somewhere before. ...well maybe not Jaskier exactly, but more like someone who's played Jaskier as a character in a play that was based on a story from the Continent... But the man, being Ulf the White in case that wasn't clear just yet, brushed it aside when he saw another strange man walk into the tavern and order a beer from the barkeep. At first he thought it was his drunken mind playing tricks on him, but the dragonseed could've sworn the scarred man's eyes were an unnatural gold. He also noted the medallion hanging off his neck depicting the symbol of a wolf.

Where had he seen that before?

At the other side of the tavern, Ana finally spoke to Jaskier once she knew no one would be eavesdropping on them, "I regret to inform you the White Worm is not here." "Not here...I don't quite follow. Where is she? Will she come back here at some point?" "She's not in King's Landing," Ana elaborates, "she left two days ago." "Where exactly did she go?" Jaskier asks. "She didn't say," Ana admits, "but if you wish, if you feel the dire need to pass your message to her, I will be more than happy to relay it."

On one hand Jaskier actually some relief that the mysterious woman was nowhere in King's Landing presently, as it meant he wouldn't be placed in the awkward position of making the decision to let her go or follow through with Larys' implied command. But on the other hand, he didn't know what Lord Strong was going to say or do when he finds out. Was the man known for shooting the messenger in a manner of speaking?

The bard would have to cross that bridge when he gets there. For the time being, he gives Ana this cryptic answer, "just...tell her there are people out there who may wish for her demise." 

-------------The Wall: Castle Black------------

"And when I learned of what Daemon had done...the damage he inflicted upon the Lady of Larks...that's why I came back," Aemma concludes her story as Jace sat at the other side of the table. The prince was left speechless at the end of the story. 

When the Night's Watch were working on rebuilding their defenses and tending to the wounded, with Cregan Stark overseeing the process, Aemma and Jace- as well as Geralt and Yennefer- were escorted to Castle Black. The Lord Commander of the Watch allowed the prince and princess use of his office so as to have their talk. 

Geralt and Yennefer closed the door, allowing Aemma the space she needed to explain her story to her stepbrother.  She told Jace about her time on the Continent, the bits and pieces of her mother's story she picked up during her travels. She told him about Kaer Morhen and Vesemir, of her time in Upper Aedirn with the Scoia'tel, with Saskia, her first meeting with Geralt, meeting Uncle Jaskier and Triss, and many others whom once called her mother a friend. She told him of Loc Muinne, of Ciri, of rescuing her mother from the Wild Hunt. And she told him what the Lady of Larks told her in regard to her relationship with Daemon and with Geralt.

She did not tell Jace of her tryst with Aemond back in King's Landing nor did she tell him of what happened back on Dragonstone when she caught Daemon choking Rhaenyra, as she was not certain what Jace could even do if he were to learn his stepfather has been cruel to his mother in a manner that Daemon had been cruel to hers. 

"I'm sorry, Jaecerys," Aemma says, "I should've told you sooner." "Does...does anyone else in our family know?" Jace questions. "Baela and Rhaena know," Aemma tells him. "What about Luke or my mother?" "I told Rhaenyra what Daemon had done...but I think she already knew to some extent the damage he caused."

Jace made an exhausted sigh, as if having to take in all this information had wore him out, "Daemon can be unpredictable and...reckless at times. But I never expected anything like this from him." "He needs to answer for what he has done." "I already tried that," Aemma shakes her head, "he'll never be held to account. Especially now that he is king consort." "Well maybe we haven't explored all our options," Jace brings up, "I can speak to mother, maybe she can-" "Rhaenyra is not going to do anything about it, Jace, I've tried!" Aemma insists, "there's nothing that can be done. My mother made her peace with that years ago...now I have to make my peace with it as well. I hate it...I hate Daemon for what he has done...but there's nothing I can do about it."

Jace resisted the urge to scoff at that declaration, but he held his tongue. He still didn't want to believe there was no other recourse to be had, especially where his own mother was concerned.

"And this Wild Hunt...these elves from some other world-" "The Aen Elle." "They're were coming for you, since they couldn't get their hands on this Ciri. Why? Who is Ciri?" "Do you remember the stories Rhaenyra used to tell us? Of the Lioness of Cintra?" Aemma asks to which Jace nods, "Ciri was that queen's granddaughter. Geralt took her to ward when she escaped from Nilfgaard's siege. The witcher had taken her to Kaer Morhen by the time my mother arrived, when my mother still was carrying me in her womb."

"But what did they want with you?"

Crashing sounds from outside the door got both Jace and Aemma's attention, pulling them from the conversation. The two go to investigate. Aemma opens the door to see Yennefer and Geralt hastily picking up weapons that were on display before they fell off the mantles. "Were the two of you eavesdropping?" Jace accuses the two.

"No!" "Yes," Yen and Geralt answer simultaneously. Aemma crossed her arms, feeling like she was about to scold a couple of children instead of two grown adults who were at least decades older than she was.  But then she looked down to see something sticking out of Geralt's leg, "oh my gods!" she gasps. Jace looked as well to see a knife stuck in that spot, "uh..." "Geralt," Yennefer nods in that direction. Geralt looks to see the knife sticking out of his leg, "must've happened when I disarmed the king of the Wild Hunt," he surmises, "probably from one of his men."

"I'll get it," Yennefer says. "I should do it," Jace insists, "looks like it's in deep." The prince knelt down, "this might not be pleasant," he warns, "you might want to brace yourself." Jace grabs the hilt of the knife, bracing himself for the witcher to scream in pain. But when he pulled out the knife, Geralt did not react the way Jace was expecting, "...uh, most people scream at that part." "I'm not people," Geralt says with a shrug.

"Did that even hurt?" Yennefer asks. "Not anymore than it usually does," Geralt casually says, "I have Vilgefortz to thank for that after all these years."

"I believe I owe you an apology," Jace addresses the witcher, "We...I was told similar stories my sister was told during our childhood. I now know those stories were false. I apologize for the way I reacted. You have the gratitude of the crown for coming to our aid, Master witcher. You as well, Lady Yennefer." "I didn't get to fully express my gratitude earlier for the two of you coming to our aid," Aemma adds, "but I must confess I have some confusion as to why my mother saw fit to send the two of you to aid us when she could have known about the Wild Hunt intending to invade close to the Wall."

Before Yennefer or Geralt could say anything, the doors opened. Cregan had walked in, a certain look on his face. "Lord Stark?" Jace says, becoming concerned when he saw that same look, "What is it?" "A message has arrived, my prince," Cregan informs in a somber tone, "from Dragonstone...I'm sorry."

At first, Jace and Aemma were confused as to what the Lord of Winterfell was talking about. But the moment Cregan told them, the moment the two read the message to see for themselves, when they learned what befell Lucerys at Storm's End- at the talons of Vhagar and her rider- Jace could only falter to his knees and weep. Aemma did not falter, but she stood there as the damn burst forth with her own tears. 

As Yennefer pulled Aemma to comfort her, the princess couldn't think what it was exactly she was mourning for. Was it for the death of her Lucerys...

Or was it for the fact that her stepbrother's death came at the hands of her beloved Aemond?

Chapter 70

[nottivaghes]

FULL NAME: Cassandra Rosalind Hawthorne SPECIES: Witch AGE: 39 BIRTHDAY: December 12th GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis-woman she & her FACECLAIM: Janet Montgomery OCCUPATION: Head Librarian at the James Family Library (Coven Elder in training)

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: Morrigan (Dragon Age Origins), Prince Zuko (ATLA) Rosa Diaz (Brooklynn 99), Yennefer of Vengerberg (The Witcher), Tasha Ozera (The Vampire Diaries), Morgana (Merlin), Claudia (Dragon Prince)

Cassandra makes you think of... black lace laid with tiny pearls, lilac & gooseberry perfume lingering in a hallway, biting your tongue so hard it bleeds, elderberry wine, a frosted over window pane, the scent of old parchment and the leafing of pages, the long night of the winter solstice, eyes rolling back in your head, a silver pendant against a racing pulse, hatred sewn in every line of your brow, warm wild berry pie on samhain morning, chant-casting for so long you lose your voice, walking barefoot into a lake at midnight, feeling so hungry you could devour the world whole.

And it's my whole heart weighed and measured inside, and it's an old scar trying to bleach it out.

The old house up on Hawthorne hill has a folklore all its own. The elements-stained stone statues seem to be weeping in the sprawling garden, ravens sit vigil atop the lilting stone walls behind the vast metal gates. A historic house, fallen somewhat into disrepair, perches atop the hill like a gnarled beast daring human teenagers to wander up its winding path to touch the terrifying brass hobgoblin doorknocker, fangs and serpentine tongue included.

A witch lives there, they say, it's a witches house. Wryly to herself Casssandra thinks: The witch's house. The Hawthornes have been in town as long as anyone can remember, including the first rise and fall of Brant Hacke, they have several relics from the war that are in prized cases in dark woods giving the air of a museum, deep in the bowels of the house that eats you up in its labyrinthine corridors.

The matriarch resides in the West Wing, ground floor, as the stairs are a thing long past for her. Dianthe, a guardian, 96 years old and blind... in the scientific sense. Though Cassandra would swear her grandmother were lying The Hawthornes were said to be descended from the Brahan Seer, there sits a hagstone pendant around Cassandra's neck. Dianthe can see people as clear as day, or what she says are their auras, though she goes tight-lipped when Cassandra asks what hers looks like.

Dianthe never has a kind word to say about her granddaughter and orders her around like a servant.

Unbenkownst to those bar the most unfortunate of intruders upon the house Dianthe is quite paranoid and there are magical and non-magical traps all around. The portraits will snitch on you and doors will jam you inside of rooms, plus the literal pitfalls of the areas where the floorboards have rotted away in spots.

There is a large greenhouse vivarium at the very centre of the house where the family keeps poisonous and venomous animals whilst also growing exotic plants for spells.

The vampires have their version of events and the Hawthornes keep theirs. A huge tome, inset with an eye with a trap set to immolate any vampire it sees. She loathes and is drawn to vampires in equal measure, absolutely fascinated by them as she has been conditioned to respond with disgust. Almost the entire family was decimated during the war aside from two survivors, though local legend reports they made an equally devastating blow to the vampire ranks.

Three days ago in the family crypt, Cassandra discovered books of blood magic, hundreds of years old and kept by her family to this day. Every spell requiring a devastating cost on a sole caster... or a proxy. Then it clicked, that's why the family had been suffering so much in recent years, they'd been doing sacrifices to ensure prosperity and Dianthe was too ill to carry it on without involving other coven members. Or Cassandra. Is that what awaited her in a few short months when she became an elder?

To be burdened with such a curse, even by a guardian who had the secrets of the universe and as such, knew better and were always above reproach.

She couldn't... could she?

And it's my whole heart: deemed and delivered a crime. I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out.

Cassandra was an only child to a mother who left the Cove to teach History at Oxford, causing a bristling scandal amongst the coven ranks and besmirching the Hawthorne name forever. Cassandra is still paying for this of course. Her father was a very minor noble in England who never had a job or an interest in her but a bottomless wallet in exchange.

Cassandra herself taught History at Crestle Cove High for six years. Age 25-31. Known to be stern and sometimes cold, she had a reputation for being extremely fair.

Raised by her slightly unhinged grandmother in the middle of the woods, her grandfather lived until she was fifteen but all he ever did was read the newspaper and mind his own business or give her a slightly linty toffee candy now and then.

A bit of a revolutionary in the coven, caused some problems by having ideas 15 years ago when she was young and naïve about how things should be done and that tradition sometimes had to evolve. Cassandra has nary spoken up once since.

She isn't actively planning a coup but...

In recent months Cassandra has started dreamwalking. She can't control it at all and it feels akin to sleep paralysis yet as tiring as being awake, she feels as though she never sleeps. All she does is very slowly float on random paths around the town with no direction or pattern in the dark, confirmed when she saw a tourist's car had dented a lamppost during the night and it was damaged in the same way when she walked down there that morning. It's probably just vivid deja vu... deja vu that gives her nosebleeds every time she wakes up.

Who's a heretic, child? Can you make it stick, now?

[dukeofdogs]

Keira Metz (don’t get fooled this tree lore is just about Yen and Triss)

Chest 1: Many accused Yennefer of deceitful behavior. Admittedly, on a number of occasions the sorceress manipulated, twisted the truth, and made habit of quickly switching her allegiances. Yet in the end, it was revealed that she acted on behalf of a higher purpose. That is, on behalf of those she loved.

Chest 2: The childhood of famed sorceress Yennefer of Vengerberg was never destined for happiness. The very fact that she was a quadroon – the daughter of a half-elf and a human – meant that she often fell victim to the contempt of her peers. What's more, Yennefer was born a hunchback, which proved reason enough for her own father to disown her – his little girl a monster in his eyes. Though later, as a pupil of Aretuza, she could at long last remove her aesthetic imperfections... Alas, her memories remained as vivid as ever.

Chest 3: Yennefer was a distinguished expert in the magical arts. Yet, unlike her colleagues, she didn't shy away from the darkest corners of magic. If one believes the rumors, Yennefer even dabbled in the strictly forbidden practice of necromancy. However, any criticism was met with a glowering stare and the same, cold reply: "The ends justify the means."

Scroll 1: Mages and sorceresses are individuals who possess incredible power, knowledge and, as is often the case, great ambition. Alas, their aspirations are rarely limited to the forbidden and arcane magical arts. Mages and sorceresses often indulge in political control through the monarchs they advise. For centuries, the most powerful court mages worked behind the scenes, exercising enormous influence on the Continent's political balance. However, everything changed with the ascendance of King Radovid V, the Stern, of Redania. Schools of magic were closed, and countless scrolls were cast into the flames, their contents forever lost to history.

Scroll 2: When King Radovid V began his murderous hunt for mages, Triss Merigold – like many of her colleagues – sought refuge in Novigrad, a neutral city. In place of a haven, however, she and the others found themselves cornered into a trap. Before long, the bodies of magic-wielders began to pile, their lives extinguished by the fanatical priests from the Church of the Eternal Fire. Those few lucky enough to be spared a gruesome death owe their thanks to Triss – not to mention a certain white-haired witcher.

Scroll 3: Yennefer of Vengerberg was a similarly famed sorceress yet, unlike the more amiable and sociable Triss, she followed no path but her own. She joined the Lodge of Sorceresses, true, though not altogether willingly. What's more, the kings she was to advise she instead habitually treated as mere tools in service of her own goals. And Yennefer's lovers, well... She's always enjoyed her playthings.

Scroll 4: Yet all changed for Yennefer when she met Geralt of Rivia with whom her destiny became intimately intertwined. He was the first person she ever truly loved. Though, of course, that did not mean their relationship wasn't without a few bumps in the road...

[okruchlodu]

yenofberg asked:

❛ i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that. ❜

krwioholik answered:

"Your competence was never in question." He assured, taking a small step back, a physical manifestation of letting Yennefer take over the situation fully, as she clearly desired. "I offered help for the sake of our friendship and not a doubt of your skill." He smiled in his usual close-lipped manner.

"And it is that same friendship that compels me to point out... The beast is beginning to wane. If we wish to harvest the ingredient from the live creature, as is the stipulation of the recipe, we should hurry and do so." He added, pointing at their catch, which despite its wounds, magic and vampire claws induced, was trying to crawl away.

Yennefer scoffed, a bored, aloof sound, and a sharp curling of her upper lip into a sneer as she furiously turned her back to him, knowing full well he was right ( already, the creature's body was disintegrating from the inside ) but neither willing nor in any mood to admit or even acknowledge it. Pride screamed louder than reason, and Yennefer of Vengerberg was saturated with it: unbridled power and pride, every last inch of her body thrumming with her Chaos.

Concentrating on the matter at hand, now, the sorceress extended a hand, chanting a spell, and sent a lightning bolt of light to sap the monster off every last ounce of its energy, draining its life with tendrils of magic spilling off her fingers. Gvaed, gvaed uncym, cym'morth, she whispered fiercely, and a small, bright sphere of green light floated from her hands like a butterfly, casting shifting mosaics of shadow on the stones and the grass (damp and red with blood) around them. Moving her hand rapidly, she stabilised the sphere, guiding it so that it was hanging in front of the creature, as it began to ravenously sup up parts of its blood and venom into the sphere, magically drawing out and collecting the ingredients they would be needing for the potion. The creature, magically mutated, and thrumming with strange, unnatural, ancient energies, lifeless as it had been, stirred, and Yennefer gasped sharply, a sharp, cold little No! spilling off her lips as she furiously maintained her spell. "Regis! Yellow flask! In my satchel!" she demanded, shocked that something in the dead creature was fighting off her magic.

@krwioholik

[kayte-overmoon]

Daisy Chain - Part 4

Previous Part / Next Part

Alpha Geralt/Omega Jaskier

Rated E

Pregnancy AU

Full tags on AO3

They don’t hear from Yennefer for nearly a fortnight, and Triss is the only one who seems concerned. 

“She said she only had a few things to wrap up then she would contact me so I could help her portal.” She keeps her voice low so only Geralt can hear. She’d pulled him to the side after dinner while Jaskier was entertaining their party with songs he deemed too bawdy to sing in public—which is certainly a feat, Geralt thinks, though he doesn’t disagree when the bard pulls out a whole series of ballads about seamen with horse cocks. “I haven’t heard from her, and she’s either ignored my fire messages or she hasn’t gotten them.” She bites her lip, leaning in closer. “I’m worried, Geralt. She only goes off the grid like this when something’s wrong.”

Geralt frowns. “There was something off about her when we met outside Oxenfurt. I assumed it was the bloedzuiger attack making her edgy. Has she been… getting involved in things she shouldn’t be, lately?” Aside from Geralt, Triss is probably one of the only people on the Continent who truly knows Yennefer of Vengerberg. And considering Triss is a great deal less hotheaded than him, she’s usually on better speaking terms with her fellow sorceress. If Yen’s involved with something she shouldn’t be, Triss would know.

Triss shakes her head, then pauses. “Well, perhaps. I don’t know how much she told you about…”

“She said she’d given up on trying to regain her fertility,” Geralt says.

Triss nods once, looking grim. “She has. And I believe her. But it’s Yen. She needs something to pour all her energy into. Her search to restore her womb was a long and misguided one, but at least it kept her busy. And believe you me, there is nothing worse than a bored Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Geralt snorts but can’t help but agree. “So, you think she’s taken up something else? She told me she’d tried hunting, but it… didn’t suit her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Last time she came to visit, she gifted me a pair of enchanted knitting needles. She said she didn’t need them anymore. They didn’t do what she needed them to do.”

“Which is what?” Geralt snorts. “Disembowel a man from thirty paces?”

“Gods help us if I’m right, Geralt, but I genuinely think she’d tried knitting with them.”

“Fuck. We need to find her.”

Triss nods and looks like she’s about to say something more when Geralt’s medallion thrums against his chest. It’s faint, and brief, but it’s enough to set him on edge. At once, he and the other witchers are rising to their feet, weapons drawn as they face the doors to the Great Hall.

As they turn, an unseen force begins lifting the latch from the other side.

Geralt casts out for Jaskier (safe, huddled by the fire with his lute and approximately three dozen blankets as Vesemir, Lambert, Aiden, and Eskel bristle before him) and edges in front of Triss. She hadn’t felt the surge of magic like the witchers had, but she’d certainly noticed when they all fell silent and drew their swords. She has her hands out, ready to defend if necessary.

The latch on the door rises out of the way smoothly, then a lone figure pushes the doors open and saunters in, their slight frame dwarfed by the massive wooden doors—

“Yennefer!” Triss’ hands fall, then she’s rushing across the room to embrace the other sorceress, whose appearance has left all of them aghast. 

To Geralt’s utter shock and dismay, she looks like shit. She’s in casual leather traveling clothes under her heavy cloak, far less put-together than Geralt’s ever seen her. Her hair is in a braid that’s falling apart. There’s dirt and blood and gods know what else streaked across her face. Her cloak is torn and she’s struggling under the weight of a bag that’s nearly half her height strapped to her back.

But she’s grinning, widely and madly, as Triss rushes to hug her. She drops her bag to the floor and catches Triss about the waist, nearly lifting her off the floor as she returns her embrace.

Geralt spares a glance to the other witchers, who look just as perplexed as he is. 

“Who is that,” Lambert hisses just loud enough for them all to hear. “And what has she done with our Yenna?”

“Oi!” Yennefer cries, setting Triss back on her feet. “I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.” Lambert steps forward, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms, drawing himself up to look more imposing. “I’ve never seen you with a single hair out of place. Lose your magic, perhaps? Or just your marbles?”

Yen rolls her eyes and flicks her hand. The rug Lambert had been passing over slips at her beckoning, sending the witcher tumbling to the floor with an undignified “augh!”

“Magic, no,” she declares. “Though the state of my marbles has yet to be determined.”

“I’ve been worried sick about you!” Triss cries, the shock of seeing her friend giving way to anger. “And here you are, a week late with no notice, and you look—well, I’ll be honest, you’ve looked better, Yen.” 

“Apologies,” she says, first to Triss, then to the rest of them. “Truly. I decided at the last minute I didn’t want to portal all the way, so I set out on foot. Took longer than I thought it would.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows. “You… climbed the mountain? On foot? Alone?”

Yen grins wider and nods. “Got a bit lost on the way and fell down a cliff—don’t worry!” She interjects at Triss’ cry. “It was a short one. I’m fine. Nothing I couldn’t fix on my own.” She rolls back the sleeve of her coat to show the long, jagged line she must have knit together using her own magic. The skin is pink and wrinkled—it’s likely to leave a horrible scar. Yen doesn’t seem bothered by it in the least.

Triss frowns at her for a long moment, cradling Yen’s wrist as she inspects her work. “I think I can fix this,” she declares. She turns to the rest of them, who have merely been watching in dismay. Her eyes light on Eskel, softening when she sees him already stepping forward. “Take her bag, will you? Let’s get you cleaned up, Yen.”

Eskel hoists Yen’s discarded bag onto his back and follows the sorceresses into the corridor. 

“Ah,” Jaskier chirps at Geralt’s elbow, nearly startling him. He hadn’t noticed the bard rise and make his way to Geralt’s side, so rapt he was in Yen’s perplexing appearance. “Well, now I see why Triss was asked to be our healer instead of dear Yennefer.” He lifts his eyes coyly to Geralt’s, trying and failing to hide his laughter. “It appears she is, perhaps, short of a marble.”

⚘⚘⚘

Triss delivers a clean bill of health for Yen, both in body and mind. She managed to fix Yen’s shoddy healing magic, so now the scar will likely only be noticeable if one examines her arm closely.

It’s Yennefer herself who explains to Geralt what possessed her to take one of the most perilous journeys known to man. On foot. In the middle of winter. Alone.

“I am, gods help me, Geralt,” she mumbles into her fourth mug of ale later that night. “Soul-searching.”

Assuming she’s joking. Geralt frowns and sips his own ale carefully. “Who are you looking for?”

She snorts, unladylike and more than a little tipsy. “Myself.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It means, you daft old man—” She elbows him, spilling both their drinks in the process. “—that I’m turning over a new leaf. Trying to find what pleases me.”

“And what pleases you is hiking?”

“As it turns out, no.” Yen wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think I’m built for it.”

Geralt hums. “That’s the one thing you’ve said since you got here that makes any sense.”

He expects a rebuff for that, perhaps a wayward spell thrown his way, but Yennefer merely sighs. “I know. Not much is making sense to me these days.”

“Yen,” he begins softly. “You know no one expects you to change who you are.”

“I know, but I do.” She rises from the bench they’d been slouched on and begins pacing in front of him. Their companions, who had been chatting and singing snippets of songs back and forth in front of the fire, fall silent at her movement. She doesn’t seem to care. “I’ve done it twice now, changed who I am and what I want. Who’s to say I can’t do it again? I wasn’t suited to be a court mage, so I went rogue, started doing what I wanted. Then when that failed, I began searching for a way to undo the enchantments after my ascension. Now I’ve decided that particular dream makes no sense anymore. It wasn’t even that I wanted my womb back—I don’t know what I’d do with it if I managed to get it back. It was all about taking back control of my life. I’d never been able to make decisions for myself until now. I won’t tie myself to another lousy king or half-baked rebellion just because I’m bored and need something to keep me busy.”

Triss joins Geralt at his table, sliding into the spot Yen had vacated. “And what have you decided to do? You had a shop for a while. You could go back to that. You’ve made a name for yourself, and not just among the mages. I’m sure there are people all over the Continent who could—”

“Bugger that!” Yen throws up her hands then sets about rolling up her sleeves. She’s in another rugged set of trousers and a linen shirt, though they’re a touch nicer and a great deal cleaner than the ones she’d arrived in. At least these don’t have holes in them. “I was bored out my skull the whole time, waiting for something exciting to happen. I need action. I need adventure.”

“You could become a poet,” Jaskier adds, not at all subtle about the fact that he’s been eavesdropping from half the room away. “The pay is good, and I’m sure a woman such as yourself has stories to share.”

Geralt makes a face at that. “If you’ve heard her singing voice, you’d regret suggesting that, little lark.”

“Oi!” Yen snaps at him, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “But no, you’re right. I’d be a lousy bard.”

“Then what’s taken your fancy?” asks Triss.

Yen stops her pacing and sets her hands on her hips. She lifts her chin, violet eyes blazing in determination, and Geralt is reminded once again that this is not merely a woman having a crisis of faith, but one of the most powerful mages the Continent has ever seen. A force to be reckoned with, even soused and half-mad. If he were standing, he would take a step back.

“I’d like to be a witcher.”

Geralt blinks at her for a long time.

Triss sputters before finally getting out, “I beg your pardon?”

Yen meets Geralt’s eye and pushes on. “I’ve been thinking about it since the dragon hunt. I was misguided in my pursuits, but I enjoyed the process, nevertheless. And when we met on the road, with the blood—the blue—oh, what the hell is it?”

“Bloedzuiger,” all the witchers in the room reply at once.

“Right. Anyway, I nearly had it handled when you intervened—”

“You were about to poison an entire acre of woodlands and yourself along with it.”

“Perhaps.” She crosses her arms. “But it was nearly dead.”

Geralt can’t argue with that, so he huffs instead.

“And that’s not the first time I’ve fought beasts,” Yennefer goes on. “You and I fought together no fewer than a dozen times.”

“Only because you happened to be with me when trouble came.”

“And,” she presses on, ignoring Geralt’s remark. “I saved a young man from being eaten by a wyvern outside Kerack some months back.”

“Yennefer,” comes Vesemir’s reproach. Geralt relaxes when his father ambles up to their table, looking gruff and mildly concerned beneath his usual blank stare. “Our ability to make new witchers was lost decades ago. That knowledge died with our fathers. Surely you know this.”

Because it was the mages who brought about our end.

Yen uncrosses her arms and faces the old wolf with a straighter spine. “Of course I know that. I mean no offense, Vesemir. I don’t mean I want the mutagens. I’m aware the trials have been laid to rest.”

Aiden snorts from a table over, where he’s propping up a sleepy Lambert. “Thank the gods for that.”

Yen plunders on. “What I mean is I’d like to take up your profession. Join your ranks, if you’ll have me, train under you, learn all you know about monsters and the things that go bump in the night. Teach me how to fight.” A muscle flexes in her jaw. “How to protect people.”

“A witchering witch…” Jaskier muses from his nest of blankets. He taps his chin then scrambles for his notebook that’s been lost amongst his furs. “It sounds lovely, at least.”

“Mages have fought monsters before, out of necessity, but there’s a reason they always call us in to do the dirty work, Yen.” Geralt leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees. “And it is dirty work. It’s painful. Dangerous. You’re bound to lose more than a few nights’ sleep.”

Lambert, who is apparently not asleep, grunts, “And a limb or two, mos’ likely”

“I’ve weighed the risks,” says Yen. “I’ve traveled with you before, Geralt. I’ve fought alongside you. I’m strong and quick and capable, you know that. If you would only share with me your wisdom, imagine what could be done!” 

Geralt’s confusion about Yennefer’s motivations fades. There’s that wicked glint in her eye he remembers well. It’s the same one she’d worn while chanting over a jinn’s vessel and trying to take down a whole bloody dragon: she won’t stop until she gets what she wants. What she wants, this time, is apparently exactly what she’s saying. She wants to help people, to kill monsters, to bring things back into order. She wants control over her own life.

“I’ve never taught a woman before.” Vesemir says it as a statement of fact, not as an insult or a diminutive. He’s pondering the idea. He knows Yen is plenty capable. “It would be different from the training you lot did in your youth.”

Eskel speaks up for the first time, then. “I’ve trained women before.” He shares a look with Triss, who had left him at their table with a handful of cards and a raised brow that tells Geralt exactly how their game ended. “Or, one woman. Miss Merigold asked for some information on the gargoyles that kept infesting her garden.”

“Nasty little things,” she agrees quietly from beside Geralt.

“I taught her how to get rid of them,” says Eskel. “It wasn’t any different than when you taught us in the past, Ves.”

“Geralt’s taught me plenty over the years,” Yen says.

Geralt frowns at her. “I have?”

She merely rolls her eyes at him. “Do you really think I dealt with you for that long without picking something up?”

“It’s true!” Jaskier chirps. “You’re a very good educator when you want to be, dear heart.”

Geralt blushes at that, though no one without witcher senses can tell. He speaks before any of them can comment on it. “Forgive my bluntness, Yen, but how am I supposed to know you’re not going to get bored after a couple months? Decide you need some other occupation to fill your time? I heard how your foray into the arts ended.”

Yen sends a glare Triss’ way. “Yes, well it appears I haven’t found favor with the muses the way some have.” Even from across the room, Geralt can tell how flattered Jaskier is by that remark. “But I do have a knack for finding trouble. I wasn’t lying to you when we met weeks ago, Geralt. I was earnestly hunting for deer when that blue—blow—oh, give me a moment, I’ll get there. Bl—bloedzuiger. Ha! Yes, the bloedzuiger. It found me. I wasn’t looking for it.”

“That does make sense,” Vesemir muses. “Many monsters are drawn to chaos the same way others are drawn to large populations of people or animals. Everything preys on something.”

“So, they’re trying to eat my magic?”

The old witcher chuckles. “No. They merely see you as a potential source of energy. A guide, if you will.”

“Ah!” Jaskier heaves himself out of his chair and waddles over to Geralt, who makes room for him on his lap without question. The bard slips onto his favorite perch and wraps his arms around his witcher’s shoulders. “Like the little fish that hang on to bigger predators so they can eat the plants and whatnot that grow on them.”

Everyone blinks at his observation, save Triss, who snickers and shakes her head at him.

Geralt looks up from where he’s been watching Jaskier exchange a smile with Triss to find Vesemir looking at him. “Up to you, wolf,” his father tells him. 

“Me?”

Ves shrugs. “You know her the best out of all of us. She trusts you. I’ll bestow whatever wisdom I have, but her training will be yours to oversee.”

Geralt thinks it over for a long moment as Jaskier snuggles back into him. Some time ago, he would have said no straight away. But things have changed in recent years, he thinks to himself as Jaskier settles his head on Geralt’s shoulder and sighs, perfectly content where he is. And not just in his own life. Yennefer is a wholly different person than the one who left him on a mountain however long ago. Her motivations, her desires, her view of the world—they’ve all changed.

He looks at Yen. She’s already watching him, her brow furrowed and her hands clenching into fists at her hips. She’s nervous. She thinks he’ll say no.

He has every right to. She has a history of getting him into trouble. She never listens. She abandons him without notice.

Jaskier sighs again and presses a sleepy kiss to the underside of Geralt’s chin.

Geralt himself has changed since the mountain. He’d still been wallowing in his self-doubt and guilt over the situation with Yen, even though years had passed, when a rowdy little omega cornered him in Posada. He’d nearly forgotten about his heartbreak in the whirlwind of emotions Jaskier brought into his life.

If Geralt can change this much in a span of half a year, how much can Yennefer of Vengerberg change over a period of a few years if she set her mind to it?

“Fine,” Geralt says. He can tell by the way Yen’s spine relaxes and her scent—usually fruity and floral—spikes sweetly that she’d been preparing to be disappointed. “But I’ll only do it if you agree to trust me.”

She squints at him for a long moment before agreeing. “Alright. I trust you. You’re in charge.”

Eskel huffs softly. “Never thought I’d hear those words coming from you, Yen.”

She whips her head to glare at him, rankling once more. “Only in the manner of my training.”

“Not just that,” Geralt corrects. “If you’re going out on the Path with me, I need to know you will listen to me when I tell you something isn’t safe. I don’t need a liability, Yen, but I will take a partner.”

“Great,” Yen says. “Fine, I agree.”

“Well, now that’s all settled,” Jaskier butts in, lifting his head from Geralt’s shoulder. “I’d like to go to bed.” He turns wide, pleading eyes to Geralt, unsubtle in his seduction.

“I think we could all use some rest,” Vesemir declares. “It’s been an eventful day.”

Everyone makes vague sounds of agreement and begins making their way to the corridor.

“So,” Lambert pipes up from the back of the pack where Aiden is doing his best to drag him up to their room. “How much you wanna bet she wakes up with a hangover and absolutely no clue what she agreed to?”

⚘⚘⚘

“I’m just saying, dear heart,” Jaskier complains, his voice relatively even considering what Geralt’s up to. “If you were getting bored of traveling with me, you could’ve said so. You didn’t have to invite Yen to join the f-fun.”

“Yen’s getting nowhere near the fun,” Geralt growls, knowing when he does it makes Jaskier whine. Not that the omega needs much encouragement to whine, what with three of Geralt’s fingers inside him and his mouth gradually making a mess of his cock. He’s challenged himself to see how many times he can make his bard cum before he taps out—or passes out… whichever comes first. So far, he’s up to two, and Jaskier’s only trembling a little bit.

“There will hardly be time for thi­-this with her on the road with us.”

“There will be plenty of time for this,” Geralt insists, lifting his head to watch Jaskier’s eyes roll back when he crooks his fingers and strokes right up into his soft spot. He gushes around Geralt’s fingers. “Yen knows how to make herself scarce.”

Jaskier makes a vague sound of agreement through his moaning—though Geralt could be mishearing and that’s just another moan. He’s a bit distracted.

“And there will always be someone to watch the pup,” he adds, absently tipping his head to kiss the underside of Jaskier’s belly. “She’s surprisingly good with kids.”

“Sounds like you’re—you’re trying to sell me on her.”

“You brought it up.” Geralt travels back down and nudges the leaky head of his omega’s cock before slipping it into his mouth.

Jaskier’s hips jerk at the sudden sensation and his hands fly to Geralt’s hair, pulling him down until the tip of his cock is in his throat. “Ah! Fuck, Geralt.”

Geralt growls again in approval. He could genuinely spend all day here, listening to Jaskier moan, tasting his desperation, feeling his thighs shake beneath his hands. It would hardly be a chore to stay here. His cock, on the small side as omega cocks tend to be, barely hits Geralt’s throat even when his nose is pressed into the hair at the bottom of Jaskier’s tummy. His scent is stronger here, headier—not that Geralt needs help finding it. He’s not sure if it’s the bond between them, so strong even without a bite, or Jaskier’s hormones, but Geralt can quite literally sniff him out blindfolded and deaf.

It doesn’t make the effect here any less enthralling. Geralt finds his eyes fluttering shut as he takes Jaskier into his mouth again. The bard’s knees draw up as he does, fighting the intensity of his touch, but Geralt pins him back down and aims a nasty jab at his prostate as punishment.

Jaskier’s back snaps into a deep arch and he lets out a keen like a wounded animal. If anyone in the keep hears him, they’ll think something awful has befallen them.

Geralt can’t bring himself to care.

Let them come, he thinks. Let them see what I do to Jaskier, how I can please him better than anyone else ever could. Let them see he’s mine.

Geralt growls again. He can feel his baser instincts rising like a tide at the back of his mind, but he can’t tamp them down. Why would he? Here, in his nest, with his omega whining for his knot, he has nowhere he’d rather let his alpha side take over.

Jaskier yanks on his hair, panting, “Enough, enough. I need a moment.”

The alpha considers ignoring his request—he’s supposed to be taking care of his omega, giving him what he needs whether he thinks he needs it or not. But then he relents, lifting his head and gentling the crooking of his fingers. He’s glad he does, since the purr Jaskier huffs out is nearly soothing enough to make Geralt go cross-eyed.

“Gods,” Jaskier sighs, lapsing into a laugh at the tail end of his exhale. “You make me dizzy when you do that.” He lifts one hand from Geralt to run shaking fingers through his own hair, pushing the sweaty strands from his forehead.

Geralt eyes the head of Jaskier’s cock again—it twitches as he watches and lets out a little blob of translucent slick. He nearly ignores the omega’s plea and takes it back into his mouth again to taste it, but he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh instead. The bard gasps but doesn’t stop him.

“Do you trust her?”

Geralt hums around the flesh in his mouth at the question.

Jaskier chuckles and tugs his witcher’s hair again, making him release his thigh. “Yennefer,” he clarifies smoothly. “Do you trust her? With me? With the pup?”

Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier, pressing his cheek to his stomach. He can feel their heartbeats against his face like this—both Jaskier’s and the pup’s. They’re steady, even. Healthy.

“I do,” he says. “When we first met her on the road, I protected you from her because the last I’d seen her, she would do anything to have a child. Anything.” He doesn’t specify, but the tightening of Jaskier’s hand around the back of his neck is telling enough. “But that’s not this Yennefer. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s… searching for meaning, I think.” He turns his head to meet Jaskier’s eye again. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it before I agreed to train her.”

The bard is shaking his head before he can even finish. “No apology necessary. I knew you would say yes the second she asked.”

Geralt blinks. “You did?”

Jaskier nods, letting go of his own hair once again to stroke a finger down the bridge of Geralt’s nose, across his lips. His face is still flushed, his pulse still thrumming with arousal. But there’s something soft in his gaze Geralt was unused to in bed before Jaskier came along. Lusty stares and heated gazes, he had those. But not this—a wide-eyed look of adoration. It unlocks something inside him, nearly makes him want to weep.

“You are not a man who is meant to be alone, Geralt,” the omega says. “I know there’s history between you and Yennefer—don’t.” He stops Geralt when he goes to protest. “You don’t have to explain. I can see it. I know whatever affection you have for her doesn’t go beyond friendship. I could feel it if it did. It’s not the same way you feel about me.”

Geralt doesn’t have a response to that. It’s true, every word of it. He loved Yennefer, once. He loves her still. But even when Yennefer was the embodiment of all his desires, when her scent turned his head and set his pulse thrumming, it was never like it is with Jaskier. She didn’t steal his breath like Jask does. She was never the center of his world the way Jaskier is.

“You have history,” Jaskier repeats. “She knows you. You know her. Your brothers are too independent to work with you long-term. Vesemir has the keep to look after. You need someone by your side, Geralt. To fight on your team, to watch your back. And gods know I’m useless in a fight.” He pinches Geralt’s chin between his fingers, making sure he’s listening. “I need the father of my pup in one piece. And if that means we take on a stray who can watch your back and make sure you always come back to me, then I’ll do whatever I can to make this work.”

Geralt swallows. There’s a thought he’s been having, one too big and scary to spend much time on, one he’s afraid to even consider himself. It’s been nagging at him for months, since he left Jaskier in Oxenfurt and went back onto the Path. He’d been miserable. He’d been slow and distracted and itching for danger. He knows life on the Path isn’t suited for a child. He knows he will only be more distracted until one day, his love for his family costs him everything. He knows there are only two ways to keep them safe, to let them live normal lives.

One, he could leave them. Let them live out their days without him. Geralt would miss Jaskier, miss the pup like he’d miss a limb, but he would be fine. They would be fine. They would live and breathe and be far, far away from the kind of danger a witcher attracts.

Or.

Or.

What happens when a witcher decides he doesn’t want to be a witcher?

What if he decides he wants a home, a house, with a little garden and a stable and a lake nearby where they can swim and fish and take their child on walks? What if he decides to hang up his swords? To leave behind his creed, his brotherhood, for a man who will age and die while Geralt remains whole for decades more?

It's too much to fathom.

Geralt ducks his head again, taking Jaskier down his throat again with purpose.

Jaskier’s hands clench in surprise before finding Geralt’s hair again. Right where they belong.

Geralt doesn’t want to think about the future. He only wants this, right now. Jaskier’s hands in his hair, his ankles knocking against his back, his cock throbbing against his tongue every time he strokes his fingers against the spot inside him that makes him keen Geralt’s name like a one-word symphony.

Jaskier doesn’t press the conversation further.

Geralt gets two more orgasms out of him before the bard is fighting to keep his eyes open and pulling Geralt into his arms.

⚘⚘⚘

The snow returns in force the morning after Yennefer’s arrival.

Now solidly stuck for the winter, the occupants of Kaer Morhen settle into a new routine. They all rise whenever they please; though for Vesemir and Eskel that’s sometime around dawn, and for Jaskier—and Geralt, by extension—it’s closer to midmorning. Geralt ignores his brothers’ pointed looks when he and Jaskier make their appearance after everyone else has gotten up and dressed and eaten breakfast. He can’t be bothered too much, since Jaskier has taken to apologizing for keeping Geralt in bed with his mouth around the witcher’s cock.

So what if he has to lay awake for a few hours before Jaskier finally unsticks himself from his side?

After they’ve all eaten, Triss and Jaskier take to the library and the witchers—which now includes Yennefer, bizarrely—take up residence in the Great Hall, where they make use of the empty space beyond the tables to spar.

Geralt dives head-first into Yennefer’s training. She’s halfway competent with a sword, but she’ll need much more training to handle herself against any monsters. But she’s quick and hard to hit. She manages to land a few blows with a blunted blade to Aiden’s side before he can spin and put her to the floor.

There’s no use in teaching her signs. Her magic is plenty enough help in a fight. But she insists she learns how to fight without her magic, which her sparring partners readily agree to. Witchers are strong, and their signs are powerful in their own right (Eskel’s especially so) but if Yen decided to unleash all the chaos at her disposal, even Geralt would have issues keeping up with her.

“I’ve been separated from my magic before,” she explains one day, with a grim look on her face that keeps Geralt from prying. “I’d like to know how to defend myself if it ever happens again.”

Geralt doesn’t argue.

Yennefer is just as stubborn a student as he thought she would be. They learned quickly that she only responds well to criticism if it comes from Geralt, who knows her well enough to know she’s capable of more, and Vesemir, who she respects more than Geralt has ever known her to respect anyone—save, perhaps, Tissaia de Vries.

Her aim in life may have changed, but her temper is exactly as Geralt remembers it.

“Perhaps you should reconsider taking her under your wing,” Jaskier tells him several days into her training. He’s frowning hard enough for a line Geralt’s never seen to appear between his eyebrows and he’s practically in Geralt’s lap on one of the benches in the Great Hall. Yennefer had headbutted Geralt and split his lip. Jaskier had nearly fainted when he saw it. He frowns as he dabs the blood from Geralt’s face. “If this is her response to criticism.”

Geralt snorts and doesn’t mention the fact that Yennefer quite literally stabbed him once when he questioned her methods of gathering intelligence. “It’ll be fine,” he assures Jaskier. “I’ve known Yennefer longer than you’ve been alive. Trust me, if I think it’s too much, I’ll back out before she can cause any permanent damage.”

He can tell by the quirk of his lips that Jaskier knows he’s kidding about the permanent damage bit, but his scent is still sour.

Geralt tips his head forward to knock his forehead delicately against the bard’s. “Trust me, little lark,” he purrs. “It’ll take more than an angry sorceress to take me from you.”

Jaskier’s eyes flash and his scent turns smoky in an instant. He drops the cloth he’d been using to wipe off Geralt’s face on and crushes their lips together. Geralt grunts in surprise and at the sting from his split lip, but he wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist, holding him as he returns his fervor.

“Perhaps I should have chosen another teacher,” a miffed voice declares somewhere nearby. “If my current one is so distracted.”

Geralt merely releases Jaskier with one hand to show Yennefer exactly where she can shove her remark, but Jaskier pulls away with a red-cheeked snort. “My mistake! Simply wanted to ensure the father of my child is unharmed by your lessons.”

Yen rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “I’ll go easy on your old man,” she tells Jaskier, then nods at Geralt. “You ready to go again?”

Geralt nods before pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek and rising. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

Jaskier nods and lets him go.

Once they’re out of Jaskier’s earshot, she points to Geralt’s lip. “I am sorry about that.”

“It’s already closing. Witcher healing, and all that.”

“But still.” She picks up her practice sword and tosses Geralt his own. He takes it, tests its weight in his hand. It’s not as well-balanced as the swords he uses, but it’s close enough. Besides, it won’t make any difference sparring with Yen. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

Careful. Geralt nearly snorts at the idea until he catches the scent of her worry. Careful and worried are not two words he ever thought he would associate with Yennefer of Vengerberg.

“You’ll see worse if you stick to this, I’m afraid.” He raises his sword and plants his feet. “Remember what I said about keeping your core tight. Your lunges are messy and poorly aimed. If you pivot from the hips—”

There’s a soft thud back at the tables and Geralt bristles at once. Yen’s eyes go wide as she gazes over his shoulder, and she’s moving past him before he can even fully turn.

Jaskier has collapsed in a heap of furs half a step from the bench Geralt left him on.

And he’s not moving.

Previous Part / Next Part

[ao3yennaia]

storms (ill shelter you)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/sxXHPjm by lil_sis24 Tissaia is devastated. After casting Alzur’s thunder, Yennefer finds her on the top of a tower, outside in the freezing rain in the middle of a storm. As the lightning and thunder rolls around them, they share an important moment and Tissaia realises a few things. A “what if?” fic, stemming from a new headcanon about the black coat/cloak thing Tissaia is wearing in some of the promo pics. Words: 4300, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F Characters: Tissaia de Vries, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Additional Tags: Angst, trigger warning: suicidal thoughts, not a lot or for very long, but given canon it is a theme i suppose, softness after the angst, Hurt/Comfort, Chaos bonding, Yes you read that right, their chaos will bind them, how? Who knows honestly, It just happened read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/sxXHPjm

[emma-ofnormandy]

TAG GAME: EIGHT SHOWS TO GET TO KNOW ME

@fireflyxrebel-writes had an open tag and Im bored between meetings so, why the hell not!

1. Vikings: Valhalla- If you’ve been around that last year+, this one is a give in. As a fan of period dramas, I never really ventured into shows this early in history until VV, but my husband got me into it and now these characters have grabbed me and will not let go. The investment in this story is quite high and has now given me a wonderful fandom to be a part of as well.

2. The Witcher- A fantasy genre indulgence that I was initially hesitant of since I don’t enjoy GoT but do like LOTR, but has since stuck in me. I will forever be a simp for the found family trope and add to that the amazing woman that is Yennefer of Vengerberg and you have me sunk. The strong females as a whole draw me in and keep me invested. With a change up of the lead after season 3, I will struggle to stick with it, but I will watch enough of 4 to see if my husband notices there is a different actor for Geralt.

3. Shadow and Bone- As a big fan of the crows duology, when I knew they would be in the series I had to watch. I continue for that story and for the hopeful spin-off. I also watch just for the cast- they are such an inclusive and lovely bunch of people that I do it for them.

4. Miss Scarlet and the Duke- Victorian England, unapologetically independent and smart lady, handsome police detective reluctant counter part, mutual pining and slow burn, enjoyable supporting cast- what isn’t to love about this show? Hits all the notes for me and I think more people would fall in love with it if they knew about it.

5. The Office (US)- It is one of those comfort shows for me. It plays in the background while I do stuff or I watch it if there is nothing else on or don’t have the mental capacity to get invested in anything. It’s my TV security blanket.

6. NCIS- I will preference this with I do not watch past Ziva’s exit (so season 11 onward I have not seen). It’s the first show I think I actually got invested in. It creates stories outside of drama related plot lines, fleshes our characters and allows slow builds and character arcs to truly shine. I think streaming media needs to take notes and revert back to this type of story telling rather than cram everything into 8 episodes.

7. After Life- Perhaps not one that most people would peg for me, but the way it deals with a significant loss and the surviving person coming to terms with that while simultaneously intertwining additional heavy subject matter along side normal life BS is just amazing. It is some of the best dark humor out there and, in my mind, is flawless in every way.

8. Law and Order- The show that probably started my true crime obsession and the reason some true crime podcast is always playing or I’m watching some true crime documentary. I enjoy the (usually) single episode stories and the original show had some amazing cast members. It is a basis for inspiration in some of my AU fanfic writings and has so many seasons that there are probably still episodes I haven’t seen.

Tagging @something-more @witch-and-her-witcher @shelivesinhermind @mercurygray @naps4bats and @lafiametta but not pressure lovelies!

[lucius-the-sinful]

Feather Dance

Rating: Teen and Up Relationships: Yennefer of Vengerberg/Original Male Character Tags: Yennefer of Vengerberg, Original Witcher Character, Royalty, Pre-cannon, Ballroom Dancing, Flirting Description: Amateur dancing in a stuffy ballroom.

read here on ao3 (account only), full fic below the cut

Zafir enjoyed many benefits during his time in Aedirn, from a room in Vengerberg’s castle to the finest meals fit for a king. Certainly, he traveled within the kingdom’s borders in confidence knowing its people would actually give him due respect. While in Vengerberg in midsummer, the monarchy invited him to a court ball. It felt odd, like he was living a life completely different from his own. Being treated as a knight would, while still tiptoeing around the complicated relationship Aedirn shared with its surrounding kingdoms. All together, it was like he was both a spectator and a participant. He was still unsure what to make of it all, even though he had been a resident for about a decade now.

Zafir arrived at the ball on time, adorning his newest set of Griffon armor, crafted by some of the finest dwarven smiths in Vergen. He also kept his medallion and swords--while they were more than likely unnecessary, it was a symbol of his status as a witcher. He had changed his hair to befit the occasion, fancifully braiding it away from his face, while leaving the rest of it down to fall into white waves around his shoulders. The black streaks on the left side of his face were also pulled back into the braid. He adorned a cloak gifted to him by Aedirn’s monarchy, and a few rings along both sets of fingers. The guards let him through without even asking for invitation, and he was welcomed by the castle’s servers, who gave courteous bows to the witcher before them. Arriving in the main ballroom, there were already dances taking place. Nobles and politicians gathered along the sides, exchanging conversation and sipping on expensive drinks. Music echoed beautifully from all around Zafir, as he made his way deeper in. He found the royal family sitting at the very back. He kneeled before them, as was the proper etiquette for Griffons. The king and queen stood, bowed, and greeted Zafir. The king stepped towards the witcher. 

"Welcome," He smiled widely. "The festivities have barely begun. Come, I want you to meet someone." Zafir nodded. Of course, he respected the family and the king, but over the years he grew weary of the ruler. There were many instances where the king tried to draw Zafir into political matters, in which the Griffon made it clear on multiple occasions it goes against his code and purpose. His suspicion only grew as he was led through the crowd, where a woman in black and white stood, mostly isolated. Her hair fell in black waves past her shoulders, and Zafir couldn’t help but admire her figure from the back. She turned, and Zafir was faced with one of the most beautiful women he's laid eyes on. He was caught up in her violet gaze, but remained completely composed. "This is our new advisor from Aretuza, Yennefer of Vengerberg. Yennefer, I introduce you to the Griffon of Aedirn, Zafir of Spalla." 

Zafir bowed, while Yennefer stood with a more or less bored expression. He offered his hand. "May we dance?" 

Yennefer's lips twitched in a smirk, and she laid her hand into his. "A witcher at a ball, perhaps Aedirn isn't as boring as I thought it would be," The mage said. 

Zafir hummed, and now that they stood next to one another closely, her scent filled his senses, and he was even more drawn to her. Yet, as they formally danced, her dangerous aura engulfed him completely. After a few heartbeats of silence, Zafir spoke in a hushed tone. "You are not fond of this place, why?" 

Yennefer cast her eyes down, swallowing. "It's… a bit complicated." 

"Everything is complicated in the world of politics," Zafir twirled her, catching her in his embrace and locking their contrasting eyes. "As I am certain you have come to realize." 

"I was originally assigned to Nilfgaard," Bitterness seeped into her tone, she stared up at Zafir with clear resentment. 

"Then you dodged a jugular bound arrow," Zafir said, plainly. "The south grows more menacing by the hour." 

Yennefer gave a slight nod, focusing now on where she placed her feet. While a graceful dancer, she felt amateur compared to Zafir, which came to her surprise. All this time she thought witchers were nothing more than men of indignant strife. And yet, this witcher showed humble nobility rivaling that of knights and lords. Perhaps it had more to do with his training, and that all but confirmed it when she glanced at his medallion that took the form of a griffon's head. Of course, she heard few things about witchers to begin with other than what was whispered at Aretuza, but she knew a few basics. Witchers did not all come from one school, for example, but seven. She had not memorized any of them, for she had no need. Zafir caught on to her staring at his medallion, and, while still keeping in step, lifted her chin with a gloved hand. She swallowed thickly as his eyes searched her expression. Caught up in the moment, Yennefer misstepped and began to slip, Zafir caught her by the waist, hand pressed to the small of her back. The mage felt heat creep up her neck, embarrassment plain in her expression. The edges of the witcher's lips twitched upwards. 

"Bite me," She attempted a growl, but it came out with less bite than she intended. Zafir parted his lips, guiding her back upright. 

"I meant no offense," He said. He twirled her a final time, before leading her off the main floor. Yennefer took a moment to straighten her dress, feeling flustered and yet, bristling at the prospect of this witcher attempting to show decency. She picked up another drink, and downed it. Zafir watched, allured but also reeling himself back. In the few moments they spent, tangled in elegant dance, his mood shifted from intrigued to enraptured. Yet he felt he stared at something unattainable, making her even more appealing. 

"How has a witcher found himself in the company of nobles and royalty?" Yennefer asked after a moment, she began walking towards one of the side doors that led out of the main hall and onto a balcony. Zafir trailed behind her. 

"The School of the Griffon prides itself on etiquette and service to those that are helpless. Unlike other schools who are more focused on the sword and brute strength, we are very appealing to kings and kin for our vast knowledge and strict code," He said. "I am not, however, a political advisor. That goes against everything the Griffon teaches."

As they stepped out into the cool air, they found themselves mostly isolated from the rest of the ballroom's guests. Yennefer leaned forward on the railing, Zafir taking up a similar position next to her. "So what is it you do, exactly?" Yennefer narrowed her gaze at him. 

"Kill monsters and help people avoid such threats, as most witchers do. My payment usually comes from the royal family, however," He looked over the city of Vengerberg below them. "And not from the commoners who can barely afford a meal, let alone a witcher." 

"I suppose they house and feed you too, like you are one of them." 

"And why would they not?" Zafir smirked. "You have some very odd, but understandable, misconceptions about witchers." Yennefer let out a laugh. Zafir turned to face the ballroom so as to not be drawn in closer, leaning back against the railing and crossing his arms. “In reality, I despise these sorts of events. A ballroom is no place for a witcher, no matter how courtly he may be.” 

Yennefer glimpsed up at him, straightening. “I’m still used to getting invited in the first place.” The witcher raised an inquiring brow, but nothing more, the sorceress lightly scuffed the brick below with her heel. “So maybe I will agree with enough time.”

Zafir hummed. “Honestly, this is probably the longest I have ever stayed.”

Yennefer scoffed. “Can’t have anything to do with me,” She said sardonically. 

"If you resent it so much here," Zafir offered his elbow again. "Why not walk out?" 

Yennefer eyed him. She shrugged and accepted his offer, if not begrudgingly. "Fine, witcher, impress me."