bialy_wilk | { pfsb } The Isle of Mists

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{ pfsb } The Isle of Mists

He'd had to force himself to slow down, to take their time as they traveled. First to Novigrad, to speak with Zoltan and Roche; then to board a ship to Skellige, where Ermion agreed to assist without hesitation and where Queen Cerys offered the aid of her finest knight – her brother, Hjalmar. He gets a message to Triss, does his best to do the same for Keira and Letho, somewhere in the wilderness.

Geralt sends them all to Kaer Morhen, and knows it won't be enough.

Lan Wangji is a quiet, reserved traveling companion. Geralt feels a pang at separating him from his husband, but it's not enough to make him want to send the cultivator back. Selfishly, he wants the man here, in case Ciri is in trouble. In case he needs to send her with her friend while he himself holds the path behind them.

They rise early, travel all the day, and camp at dark. On the ship to Skellige, Geralt meditates, his only other option to prowl the decks like the wolf of his name. And once they've reached the islands and found their allies, Cerys gives them a small sailing dinghy and sets them on their way.

Geralt steers them to the very edge of the archipelago, past looming, jagged rocks and endless tracts of gray, wavering sea, until they reach a place where the mists curl ethereal fingers along the edge of Lan Wangji's robes. The witcher heaves the little boat to, then reaches for the bottle he's stored in the qiankun bag Lan Wangji had gifted him what feels like a lifetime ago. "This had better work," he mutters, and uncorks the glass bottle to free the firefly spirit which Avallac'h had conjured. It flutters into the air, then describes a slightly wobbling path into the gray, hazy depths of the mists which stretch before them.

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Tears fill his eyes and he blinks them back with desperate determination. "And you," he whispers, rough and strained. "Very much so."

Whatever reason for her previous torpor, her own gifts are restoring her now, he thinks. Still, he sends a cool wash of energy into her meridians all the same, as he has done before, reasoning that it cannot hurt and may help.

She gasps as blue light flows from Lan Wangji's fingers and into her wrist, her arm tightening around Geralt as the energy floods her.

The witcher waits until the glow subsides, then clears his throat, gruffly. "I'll build a fire," he says, and makes himself release Ciri, who watches him with fond amusement. "Lan Wangji, keep an eye on her for a minute."

"Yes, qianbei," he says, and settles into a more formal kneeling position beside Ciri's bedside. Lan Wangji gives her a narrow-eyed, assessing stare.

"You were dead," he informs her. "Do not do that again."

She pushes herself up with slow movements to a sitting position, and considers him with a faint smile. "Was I?" she marvels. "I shall try to avoid it from now on."

If she had in fact been dead, it certainly explains a good deal about how she's currently feeling, which might be generously described as terrible.

But she can't focus on that, not when she can see Geralt kneeling by the fireplace, not when Lan Wangji is here, watching her. "You're in my world," she murmurs. "You came."

"Of course." It is perfectly matter-of-fact. "Wei Ying, also. He waits for us at Kaer Morhen."

She blinks back a sudden sting of tears, gratitude filling her in a rush. By the fireplace, Geralt makes the sign of Igni and coaxes cold, dry wood into flame. "Kaer Morhen," she whispers. "You've been at Kaer Morhen?"

"Time for all that in a minute," Geralt says, coming back over. He leans down to put a strong arm around her waist, helping her to her feet. She can stand, but her legs are weak and wobbly and it's good to lean on him as he helps her over towards the fire, then coaxes her to sit before its warmth.

He follows as Geralt helps Ciri to settle on a deerskin rug before the fireplace and sinks into a cross-legged position nearby, leaving the wooden seat for the witcher. His many layers of robes protect him quite comfortably from the stone floor.

She crosses her legs beneath her and reaches to undo the belt which straps Zirael to her back, then unsheathes the bright blade to check it over for any damage.

Slouched on the wooden stool, Geralt grunts. "Guess not all of Vesemir's teachings've receded into oblivion," he says, offering her a soft cloth with which she carefully polishes the blade.

"'A witcher can forget to eat, to drink, to breathe, even, but a witcher must never, ever forget to care for his blade,'" she recites, a smile on her lips as she glances at Lan Wangji. "You've met him now, I suppose?"

"I have," he confirms. "Vesemir-laoshi and I have been discussing the possibility of adapting cultivation practice for use by witchers. He is very thoughtful, clever, and kind."

Ciri beams at him, while Geralt looks faintly skeptical. She looks back at him, marveling. "What creature was it?" she asks, and elaborates when he looks at her, confused. "One that gave you the scar over your left eye. It's new, I don't remember it."

"Souvenir from the cockatrice of Spalla," he tells her. "Another addition to the collection, nothing special." He studies her like he can't get enough of seeing her features. "Yours has healed beautifully, though."

"Avallac'h," she murmurs. "He prepared some special ointments for me. But... that was before the curse gripped him." Her face falls. "Wonder where he is now."

It has been years since they have seen each other, he knows. Even if he did not, it would be obvious in the way they each examine the other, taking stock of changes small and more pronounced, becoming reacquainted with the person the other is now.

A quiet happiness fills him. No matter the trouble that yet awaits, this time is to be cherished. Lan Wangji discreetly regards the stone floor, considering if perhaps he should withdraw - until Ciri, dispirited, wonders about Avallac'h's fate.

"Recovering," he says, and leaves it at that.

She glances the question at Geralt, who picks up the thread and runs with it. "We lifted the curse," he says. "With Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's help. He's at Kaer Morhen, waiting for you."

A huff of disbelieving laughter escapes her. "Are you serious? You must be. You'd not joke about something like that, neither of you. She laughs, giddy relief washing through her. "A nice thing to wake up to."

Edited 2022-06-06 01:16 (UTC)

"Mn," he confirms. Avallac'h is important to her, he knows... just as he knows from Geralt what the elven sage had tried to do.

"He is strong," he settles on. "He told us to seek you here."

"He is," she agrees. "Very. I'm so happy to hear you've helped him."

Geralt grunts and shifts, slightly. "You trust him?"

She gives him a quizzical glance. "Avallac'h? He's not let me down to date. Not once."

The witcher glances at Lan Wangji, then looks back to her. "Why exactly is Avallac'h helping you? Sages've never been fond of humans."

"He doesn't do it for me," she admits. "It's about my power." Ciri stares into the flames, her voice lowering. "As if it could ever be about anything else."

She looks into the fire, and he casts a swift, eloquent look back at Geralt before turning his regard back on her.

"You are more than your power, Ciri," Lan Wangji says, quiet and steadfast. "And you are deserving of help and care, power or no."

She looks over at him and smiles, faintly. "Thank you, my friend," she says, low, then takes a breath. "Avallac'h tried to teach me to control my ability," she tells Geralt, having already explained this to Lan Wangji. "He was also making sure I didn't fall into Eredin's hands."

He listens quietly. Perhaps Geralt, with his more complete understanding of the nuances of the factions in this world, will be able to discern that which he himself overlooked.

Lan Wangji also manages to keep a neutral expression as she speaks of Avallac'h's aid. Privately, he wonders if the elven sage had his own motives. It seems plausible.

"What's Eredin after?" Geralt asks. "What's he want from you?"

She shrugs. "What everyone wants: control of my powers. His home world faces annihilation. Eredin's decided to invade ours. Brilliant, wouldn't you say?" She shakes her head. "Can't achieve much on his own, so he needs to bring an army. Except, his navigators can't possibly move him and thousands of Aen Elle between planes. Their abilities won't allow it."

"Whereas yours will," Geralt realizes, and she looks grim. "Exactly. And if I die in the process... well, that's a necessary sacrifice."

"Neither necessary nor acceptable." His tone holds no room for argument.

She casts a small, grateful smile at Lan Wangji. "No," she murmurs. "I expect not."

Geralt pins her with another look. "How'd you even start traveling with him?"

Ciri looks back into the flames, remembering. "As soon as I'd left you and Yen on the Isle of Avalon, I found myself pursued, Eredin and his Red Riders on my heels. I fled through many worlds, many times... they came very close to catching me, once. It was then that Avallac'h appeared, out of nowhere. He found a portal and took us to a world where Eredin couldn't find us for... oh, perhaps half a year. Not as secure as the inn," she adds, looking to Lan Wangji. "Just.. far from Eredin's search."

He nods in understanding. Very few places would be such a refuge as the inn offers, he suspects, especially given what she had described before.

It briefly occurs to him to wonder if Avallac'h might have deliberately delayed until Ciri's need was desperate, in order to make himself appear more favorable in her eyes. It would not be unlike how Jin Guangshan had delayed his arrival during the Sunshot Campaign, conveniently maintaining the strength of the Jin where the other sects had suffered greater losses in the war.

But such suspicions are not kind, he reminds himself, and truly the man had suffered and has aided her; he must remember that.

"Did he find you, after that?"

"No," she admits, and sighs. "We should have stayed there." She looks back at Geralt. "I thought the Hunt had lost my scent for good. I thought I was safe. And, I... I wanted to find you and Yennefer," she finishes, rueful.

Geralt looks at her, his yellow eyes gleaming in the firelight. "You were looking for us, we were looking for you," he points out. "Times I thought you were just a step away. Like when I kept missing you at the inn."

He tips his head towards Lan Wangji. "Made some good allies there, though."

"Friends," Ciri says, firmly, and smiles warmly at Lan Wangji. Now that the first rush of his worry has dissipated, she's sure he would prefer not to be touched, but she very nearly reaches for his hand anyway.

"Friends," he agrees, softly. "And allies. Both."

"Both," she agrees, smiling still.

Geralt nods. "I know some of what you've been through, thanks to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian," he tells her. "But how did you get to Skellige?"

Ciri shakes her head. "I'd tried once more to find Avallac'h in Velen," she tells them. "Ran into a bit of trouble, had to portal away. Found myself on the shore of Hindersfjall – the first pleasant place that came to mind. Hjalmar and I used to swim there."

The witcher frowns. "So you wound up there by accident? I thought you and Avallac'h had arranged something."

She shakes her head. "No, he simply sensed my power. Just as Eredin can sense where I am, where I travel." Ciri sighs, thinking of sweet Skjall, who had helped her. "In fact, Eredin arrived soon after I did, his riders in tow."

Lan Wangji nods. "We heard," he says, as gently as he can. There is no need for her to relive what Geralt has already learned and shared with him and Wei Ying. "Of the village, and your escape."

And of the spell that Avallac'h had cast on her, knocking her into sleep, before rowing away. Understanding sets in, and with it a deep, simmering anger.

No wonder Avallac'h knew where she could be found. He had left her here in spellbound sleep, for any to stumble upon, and further stolen her spirit into his globe-spell so that even if Eredin and his riders found her it would not benefit them... not without Avallac'h himself.

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