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Chapter Text

Again, and again flashes of green passed before her eyes just to fade back into darkness. Was this death luring her with the colours of the forest?

She gasped for air with a sudden need to speak to the man dragging her through the undergrowth. Perhaps he knew which death awaited someone of her descent. Instead, only a pitiful noise escaped her, and the man let loose a string of horrible curses. Then her vision went black again.

Sometime later a shout jolted her back into consciousness, not a cry out of pain, but rather frustration and anger. Yet her vision was too blurry, and over the ringing in her ears she could only make out more swearing from the man.

“Damn that elf and his traps.”

Her knees hit the muddy ground as the man let her down to struggle with an object on the floor. As soon as he wrung himself free from what was holding him, he produced a flask and gulped its contents down. She would have been offended about him drinking while she was dying on him, had she possessed the presence of mind.

“Shit, last one,” he said. “Hold on, we’re almost there.”

Indeed, if she squinted, she could make out some sort of structures ahead. The stranger was about to pick her up and finally carry her to safety when the unmistakeable sound of nekkers swarming in on them took his attention. He grabbed her shoulder firmly.

“Don’t move.”

If she hadn’t been slowly losing all feeling in her limbs, her first instinct would very well have been to move and crawl into a bush. However, despite being injured himself the man seemed to know what he was doing, and before she could even think to move, he had disposed of most of the attacking monsters. All but one creature that had escaped his vision long enough to charge towards her barely conscious form on the forest floor. She faintly registered a third person shouting a warning, but her body would still not react. The man next to her spun around, yet before he could reach the creature an arrow pierced through the air and embedded itself in its neck, slowing it down enough for him to finish it off.

“Witcher!”

After this ordeal she did not have any strength left to turn and see who was approaching. The last of her muscles went limp and she felt her body slump to the side, but before she connected with the puddle of mud a new shoulder was there to offer support. She gladly accepted it and went as far as to lay her head down, while the new person checked her over. There was a hand on her neck and forehead, and then soft patting on her cheek.

“Stay awake.”

Both people were now working together to hoist her up and carry her away. Despite the command it was hard to stay aware. Black spots were clouding her vision again. She tried to focus on the green tunic of the man to her left. Her saviours were now hastily conversing with each other, resulting in one of them shouting:

“Raenn, get Anzeka!”

It was too much, too close to her ear and she winced. The green clad one shushed her by stroking her hair and repeating his earlier words. This time though, she did not have it in her to remain conscious, and finally the darkness took over for good.

These days not many unbidden visions could conquer the walls of liquor Cedric enclosed himself in, safe the occasional sensation he got. Like when he‘d seen Seherim troubled with guilt, for his friend sometimes wished that someone would finally find the dead body of his lover to end the uncertainty’s torment over him. But the big spectres, the ones of fate and of doom, of significant and cataclysmic events could not reach him so easily. In the past week there had been two exceptions.

First there was the arrival of the Witcher in company of the Blue Stripes. That was bound to cause a stir, such events never evaded his sight. Then, two days later, he foresaw the Witcher drag a wounded woman out of the woods. That one differed in a notable way from what had then actually transpired this morning. Instead of the woman now lying on his bed, in his vision it was Cymoril, not stony and cold like her statue in the gardens of Cáelmewedd but alive and breathing, whom Gwynbleidd was bringing to him.

Cedric had learned long-ago to differentiate between trivial premonitions and the truly important visions. Then again, he had also learned that it was not his duty to understand the meaning of them all. But this one had occupied his mind for days. It felt personal. Why else show him the face of a legend that was so close to his heart? Whether it was important because the woman was now in his hut, or if she was in his hut because he’d thought the vision to be important, he did not know. Nevertheless, he had kept watch and he had stepped in when needed. And now that she was out of the woods, he did not care. A life had been saved, and that was all that needed to be understood.

Anezka wiped her hands on a rag.

“The amount of venom was too low to be lethal. She’ll make it, but it will take some time for the cure to set in. ”

She motioned Cedric to stand up and approach the patient. He grimaced. He’d sat down as far away as possible from her. The woman was practically seeping out visions for him to have, and he did not like it one bit.

“Show me your hands.”

“What?”

Anezka fixed him with an unyielding stare. “Hands, Cedric. Now.”

He lifted them, palms up, and Anezka mustered them for a second.

“Alright, steady enough. Stitch her up while I go and prepare the brew.”

Cedric cast a glance to the Witcher, who was still tending to his own injuries. Anezka was right, it would be him who’d have to do the stitching. She passed him the tools and turned to leave. Gritting his teeth, Cedric went to work.

The woman had suffered a nasty bite to the thigh from an endrega, and, according to the markings, quite a big one. Anezka had done quick work with neutralizing the venom, but still, the woman was lucky the Witcher had happened upon her when he did, or else the beasts would have torn her to shreds. The gash on her leg looked bad, and Cedric resolved to do what he could to prevent unnecessary scarring but knew even his best would not suffice to make it disappear completely.

Before he even came close to touching the patient’s blood, he already had to fend off an onslaught of images trying to creep through his defences. Whatever the spectres tried to reveal to him about this woman, he did not need to know. He did not want to know. Her blood coating his hands did not help with mental distance, though, and seemed to attract yet more unwelcome thoughts. He had never dealt well with blood on his hands. Not for the first time that day Cedric regretted that he had refrained from drinking as much as usual to have a true aim when the time came to shoot the nekker.

“Who do you think she is?” he asked the Witcher.

“Thought she might be Scoia’tael.”

That hadn’t occurred to Cedric. He studied her closer then, even tried to sneak a look at her ears without being too obvious.

“If that’s true, bringing her here might be the final provocation Iorveth needs to come for the village.”

The Witcher only hummed in response before he settled on a new topic.

„I wondered,“ he began while assessing the damage of Cedric‘s traps on his boots. „How does one leave the Scoia‘tael?“

„By being mad enough, they let you walk away without a fight,” Cedric replied with a cynical huff.

He then gave the woman’s thigh one last once over and set down the tools.

“She’ll wake within the hour,” he declared.

Ignoring the curious side-eye from the Witcher he went to open a bottle of vodka.

“Let’s have a drink while we wait.”

Chapter Text

Something was off. Terribly off. She was not supposed to hear voices. Really, no one should ever hear voices in the dark. The rising cacophony of whispers swirled around her, pulled her in and enclosed her, until one emerged above all else.

Voe'rle!

The others heeded the command of this female voice and died down one by one, to the point where all movement ceased.

Me bloed.

Blood. That much she understood of the tongue of the elders. There had been blood and lots of it. Did she bleed out after all?

Cáemm aep caed.

Unable to understand nor respond she thrashed around in the darkness. She was drifting, without orientation, and her body was nowhere to be found. She felt disconnected, her mind seemingly loose from her body. And there was nothing else. A void, consisting only of darkness and a single voice.

Darganfod te cáerme, it spoke then more insistently, as if suddenly in a hurry.

The darkness then slowly gave way to more lively colours. Greens and browns, a speck of white and some sunlight. Another female voice emerged, this one angrier. Was that the place where she needed to go to get her body back?

Va vort a marw, the ethereal voice said, and it felt as if her words gave her a shove towards the angry one.

Upon impact, she felt her body immediately. With it came a raw feeling of pain in her limbs and the burning of a substance coursing through her veins.

“I leave you alone for only a short while, and you decide to get drunk?”

So, the angry voice turned out to belong to an actual human being. “Men,” the woman spat. “You could at least have covered her up.”

There were touches on her form now. When they neared the wound on her thigh, memory came back, of the endregas, the blood and the venom.

“If she doesn’t wake soon...”

“She is awake,” a soft swaying voice interjected.

She tried to confirm but only managed to croak. Instead, she opened her eyes, though not really seeing, and the angry woman rushed to gather her in her arms and prop her up.

“Alright, alright, take it slow now.”

A cup was lifted to her lips, and she gladly accepted the water.

“There. What’s your name?”

“Aerinn,” she answered followed by a hearty cough.

The other woman smiled kindly, not so angry anymore.

“I’m Anezka. You are in Lobinden, near Flotsam.”

“Flotsam?” Aerinn croaked. “Well shit, should have rather stayed dead then.”

A chuckle and a scoff from two figures in the back prompted her to try to focus her vision. Those must’ve been the two men who’d saved her. There was an elf, slumped in his chair, eyes stubbornly trained on something in his lap he was fidgeting with. Next to him sat a white-haired man, who looked just as badly hurt as herself, only somehow less affected by it. He was still grinning about her comment.

“Flotsam isn’t exactly welcoming, but I wouldn’t go that far,” the man said.

The woman, Anezka, handed Aerinn a vile-smelling concoction, but she took it without protest. After all, these people seemed trustworthy, having selflessly helped her so far.

“I’m sorry,” she said after gulping down the brew. “I should be grateful instead of jesting.” She looked between the two men. “You have my thanks, uhm...”

“Geralt,” the human prompted. “Of Rivia.”

Aerinn acknowledged that and looked to the elf, who was now glancing up at her hesitantly and immediately seemed to regret it. He scrunched up his face and directed his gaze away from her eyes to Aerinn’s forehead.

“And I am Cedric,” he said then, in a haughty way, typical of the Aen Seidhe, and inclined his head.

Aerinn would have admired how he pronounced his name - so unlike the city-dwelling elves and Aerinn herself - in a proud and assertive way, if he’d not looked at her like he was somehow bothered by her. He then followed his words by bypassing his cup and reaching directly for a bottle of booze.

An outraged gasp from Anezka interrupted their exchange, and Cedric looked relieved for a second before he realized Anezka’s ire was directed at him.

“What do you think are you doing with that?” She pointed to the various materials in his lap.

He took a long swig of his bottle before giving her an exhausted look. “Devising a bomb for the Witcher, for the nekkers,” he then said matter-of-factly.

“I swear, Cedric, one day you’ll kill us all. Making a bomb and drinking vodka on the same breath!”

The other man gave the elf a strange look, and now that her eyes had adjusted back to the land of the living and upon closer inspection, Aerinn was able to register his features, and she could see that this Geralt must’ve been said witcher. Remembering the Scoia’tael she gave him another once over while he went back to checking on his equipment. It was never mentioned how the Kingslayer looked while she was at the Scoia’tael camp. But then again how high were the chances of two different witchers in the same area and mingling with the Aen Seidhe?

Anezka handed Aerinn some more water and scurried around the bed to gather two buckets just to promptly shove one into Cedric’s arms.

“We’re going to the well,” she proclaimed in response to his questioning look.

Carefully the elf set his crafting aside and got up, slightly swaying on his feet, before he gave Geralt a curt nod and followed outside.

“You’re a witcher?” Aerinn enquired as soon as they were alone. “So, you must be the one who killed the beasts attacking me.”

Geralt only hummed in response and continued his mending work.

“I wish I could repay you, but I fear all my coin has been stolen.”

His eyebrow quirked up ever so slightly. If not for the scar over his eye moving along with it, Aerinn wouldn’t have noticed.

“Endregas and nekkers are not known to be pickpockets,” he remarked, expression neutral again.

“No, but there are other critters.” She kept an eye on his scar. “Squirrels in particular are fond of the things that fill my pack.”

The scar remained still. “Squirrels usually don’t let anything out of their sight.”

Still watching for that twitch, she decided to boldly cut to the chase. After all, if Geralt was indeed the Kingslayer, he was likely interested in bigger fishes than Aerinn. Instead of being a threat to her, he could rather be useful to get close to her brother.

“They were a bit preoccupied, preparing for your return,” she told him.

His eyebrow did not twitch, instead, he tilted his whole body towards her, an interested look on his face that told her to continue.

“You are the witcher they spoke about, aren’t you? The assassin.”

“What do you know?” The Witcher demanded. His eyes twinkled grimly in the dimming daylight. He seemed to not appreciate being called an assassin.

Aerinn immediately knew this had been the wrong course of action and felt the tables turn. Now she was the one being questioned. She lifted her hands from under the blanket.

“Nothing more, just deducing. A witcher...an elf...” she nodded towards Cedric’s abandoned chair. “An unlikely pair at best. But with what I heard while at the Scoia’tael camp...”

Geralt’s posture visibly relaxed, and he leaned back running a hand over his face while thinking something over. Then a grin emerged behind his hand.

“Thing is,” he said. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

She stared at him, unyielding. Anyone could claim that. She waited until he sighed and continued.

“It seems neither of us is currently working with the Scoia’tael, yet we both have some dealings with them, so we should have a chat.”

“Alright, and what if the information I have is not useful to you? What happens then?”

Aerinn thought the witcher was widely overestimating the knowledge she had about the Scoia’tael. But his answer had to wait, as the door opened again, and Anezka heaved two buckets of water into the room.

“Alright, let’s get that muck off of you,” she said and gracefully set everything down without spilling a drop. “Out with you, Witcher.”

Geralt, not even trying to argue, got up and out the door, but not without giving Aerinn a meaningful look over his shoulder. “Helpful or not, either way, you have my word I will try to help you along with whatever it is you are trying to achieve here.”

With that, he was gone as Anezka firmly closed the door behind him.

“You’re in no position being interrogated like this, full of medicine and tired. You’re practically drugged,” she mumbled while starting to clean all the blood and mud off of Aerinn. “No, he can talk to you as soon as you have your wits about you.” She gave Aerinn a lopsided grin. “While it might not be wise to lie to a witcher, I want you to have the freedom to be able to do so if you wish.”

As grateful as she was to Anezka Aerinn could only manage to listen with one ear. She was still mulling over the Witcher’s words.

...whatever it is you are trying to achieve here.

If asked five days ago, her goals would have been clear. Meet Cadann five days outside of Flotsam. Then rejoin the family on their ship in Flotsam. That had spectacularly backfired when the Scoia’tael captured her instead of the welcoming she had anticipated. It was pure luck that she had been able to sneak away. If she went back, she was sure this time they would do worse than just tie her to a tree.

She was still pondering the possibilities in how Geralt of Rivia could help her with that problem when she dozed off. Under the influence of Anezka’s remedies, her nap was calm, unbothered by the voice scrambling to take up space in the back of her head, trying to communicate to her, that she was seeking the entirely wrong things.

Chapter Text

The moment his feet hit the first level Cedric could feel the tell-tale prickling of his skin just there at the nape of his neck. As swift as he could muster he ascended the remaining steps to the top platform, his shaking arms making it harder rung by rung. Shivers started chasing each other down his spine in fast succession as he pulled himself up on the walkway and staggered to his storage chest. Apart from arrows, it was empty, and there was nothing to douse what would follow.

Cedric had often thought that perhaps he could have lived with the visions better if not for this moment where he could feel it creeping up on him. Desperately he clutched at a nearby tree to ground himself. This was the worst part. When his body was spiralling into a state of high alert, every nerve on fire and a simultaneous crushing numbness overcame him. In the end, he could not even perceive himself sliding down the tree to sit with his head between his knees.

With no sense of self, he was reduced to a silent spectator as two cloaked figures hiked up a plateau in the forest and came to a halt there. Lovers, no doubt, as their intertwined fingers showed. They conversed in hushed whispers before deciding on ‘yes, this is the right place’. Hen Llinge, Cedric noted, and indeed when they dropped their hoods he saw the two familiar faces of Eldan and Cymoril.

Even if at times in his life Cedric seemed to be a cynical and hopeless elf, in truth through it all he had always remained a romantic at heart. Yes, he had memorized the faces of the eternal lovers well from staring at their statues but he also knew the legend behind it. Eldan, the Wanderer, though quite highborn, before being the lone survivor of an early pogrom had him disgraced among the Aen Seidhe. He had done everything he could for the beautiful and intelligent Cymoril before he had even laid eyes on her by daring to speak up at a council deciding on her fate. It was a privilege watching part of their journey unfold before his eyes now, although he knew what sad end awaited them.

The pair settled there on that hill, starting with a small camp. Over time Cedric watched them build a home away from where their love was objected to, and where instead it was the foundation for something greater, a safe place. They danced, they laughed and they loved. Other Seidhe joined them, and not only homes were built but families and kinship. It was a timelapse of a community raising itself from the ground up, and all in the forest he himself loved so much. For a moment Cedric forgot that this was nought but one of his dreaded visions and he could feel the unburdened happiness and joy emanating from the scene. Yet, he could not help but fear. The visions were seldom that simple. There must’ve been something to learn that he did not already know, something not commonly known as part of the tale.

A single leaf twirling in the autumn winds diverted his attention as the surrounding forests of Flotsam blurred and his vision focused on Eldan carving a runestone for his beloved who was playfully trying to take it from him.

“It is beautiful. And it is enough.”

Undeterred, he kept on carving even as she extended her hands to him.

“Your enchantments are a work of art and so should be the vessel that holds them,” Eldan explained with serious voice although a sly smile was playing on his lips. Clearly, it was not the first time they’d had this discussion.

Not one retelling of the legend had ever mentioned Cymoril as magically adept, but Eldan had clearly said ’enchantments’. And thinking about it, it made sense that she might have been a mage. It was said that Cymoril had had a strict upbringing and education, which was unusual for the Aen Seidhe, and - at utmost - thrust upon children that showed potential for magic.

The woman was still holding out her palms, until at last her lover seemed to relent, took her hand in his and allowed himself to get pulled into an embrace. He slowly started to sway them side to side, which Cymoril quickly took upon herself to speed up to a more joyous pace. Soon they were spinning in circles, the plants and winds around matching their ever faster movements until their surroundings melted into a distant blur and the runestone lay forgotten on the bench. Only when their twirling gradually caused a whirlwind to form, did the surreality of it all dawn on Cedric. He then knew this was not one of his usual visions. Then Cymoril slowly turned her head and fixed him with a knowing look.

Abruptly, the whole world tilted over and everything - including Cedric - got hurled out of his vision. His perspective shifted as a cold hand grabbed his own and saved him from falling.

“Come, we do not have much time.”

Cymoril pulled him back up and guided him to continue the dance with her, keeping the whirling vortex around them going.

Her grip on him was unsteady and she looked at him with sad blue eyes.

“She cannot understand me. She cannot listen to me,” she lamented.

Cedric wanted to respond but he was unable to. He could not do anything but hold onto the person in front of him. His movements were not his own and his voice would not work. She was leading their dance and controlling the conversation. As if he was the ghost in this long-dead woman’s domain and her the corporeal being.

“However, I can speak to you. And you can speak to her.”

‘No,’ he thought with all his will. ‘I will not. No good ever comes from meddling with spectres.’

“She needs to know,” Cymoril continued, and Cedric found she was speaking Common now.

When he searched her eyes for answers on whom she even meant him to speak to he found they were all of a sudden the colour of a deep green.

“The Rune will save her. And it will save much more.”

The winds picked up and he was now struggling to keep his hold on her amidst the spiralling. Cymoril’s appearance shifted further, her frame growing smaller, hair darkening into a rich brown colour and the updo changing to cover her receding eartips.

The face of the woman named Aerinn only stared at him for a moment in time mirroring his confusion before their fingertips slid over each other and she fell out of his reach. He jumped to catch her, but as the ghost he was in this realm he could not do anything. Aerinn tumbled out of his view into the swirling vortex.

And then he was alone. Still in the woods, but it was quiet now, unmoving. The whirlwind had disappeared along with the woman it had swallowed. Cedric bated his breath. This was surely where the vision would end. Yet, nothing happened and the forest stood still as if trying to give him time to contemplate.

‘I won’t get involved,’ he conveyed his thoughts to whoever would hear. ‘I won’t.’

At long last, a fresh breath of wind carried the images away and him back to reality.

An involuntarily pained sob escaped from his throat as Cedric supported himself on his forearms. Another pitiful noise when he scrambled to his legs. Night had fallen on Lobinden and the only person around was the Witcher who was using Cedric’s kettle outside his house to brew something. Likely something very toxic. Cedric made a mental reminder to scrub the kettle five times over before using it again.

As soon as he made his climb down Anezka was just leaving his house and exchanged a few words with the Witcher. They gave each other a wave in passing as she left around the corner and Cedric took a seat at a sensible distance from the brewing.

Worldlessly the Witcher handed him a flask and Cedric took a generous swig of the strong liquor. A glance at the White Wolf confirmed that he had likely heard the whole episode.

“That did not sound pleasant up there,” he remarked with all the empathy the common folk believed them not to possess.

Cedric handed him the now considerably lighter flask. “It never is.”

Instead of offering unhelpful advice like so many others would Gwynbleidd only leaned forward to stir his potion. Cedric caught a faint sniff of endrega venom.

“I keep expecting to see Iorveth. But it’s not him.”

The Witcher turned back to him. “What then?”

“Something long past. And…” He nodded towards his house.

“Her?” the Witcher asked bewildered. “Then we should find out why as soon as possible.”

Cedric stopped him. “Let her rest first. And tell her she is welcome to stay with me until she recovers.”

“Careful, Cedric. Wouldn’t want you to get involved in matters you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” Cedric replied grimly. “Tell me, Gwynbleidd, have you noticed her appearance?”

The Witcher shook his head. “Not closely.”

“Protecting people from coming to harm is what I do around here. And for a half-elf, there is much trouble to run into in these parts.”

Chapter Text

With a nice river and forest just outside it was not easy to endure the confines of a stranger’s home. Aerinn had only been there for half a day and an evening but she already longed to get out again. With one person inside the cabin was already small and stuffy, and with a person like Geralt, it felt positively cramped. Not because of his size or anything. She had expected witchers to be even larger and burlier based on how the Scoia’tael had described the Kingslayer. But Geralt had a presence that filled the room just as well. Right now, his presence had a bit of impatience added on top of it.

“Why can’t Anezka take me in?”

Sure the witcher and the elf had saved her. But since then Aerinn hadn’t seen them do anything but drink. They were drinking before she was awake, while she was awake and then they had continued outside while she had slept some more. Geralt seemed quite unaffected, she had to give him credit for that, but Cedric could clearly be heard slurring outside as he talked to a passing patrol. Aerinn did not look forward to being left alone with him and Geralt was just done announcing that he was going back to Flotsam.

“Look, trust me,” he was rubbing his brow in exasperation. Aerinn knew saving her had already taken the better part of a day out of his plans. “If anything moves in that forest Cedric will be the first to know. It is safest for you here.”

“Alright,” Aerinn conceded. “And you’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Midday,” he promised.

“Would it be too forward to ask you to do something for me in town?”

“Depends.”

“A merchant vessel,” Aerinn spoke quickly upon his admission. “Remont family. See if it ever arrived in Flotsam and if they are looking for me.”

“That all?”

She couldn’t help but give him a cunning grin. “Yes. Do that, and I promise not to run off.”

The Witcher laughed heartily and fastened both his swords to his back.

“Merchant family, huh? That where you learned to bargain like that?”

Not waiting for her answer he vanished into the night, although Aerinn doubted she would be left alone for too long.

Still, she had almost nodded off again, when the door creaked back open and Cedric ducked inside, clearly trying not to wake her.

“Squaess'me,” he apologized when he saw her startle upright.

The rest of his words Aerinn could not understand and she could only stop him at what she guessed were about three sentences in. Mainly, because he had his back turned to her to empty his pockets and place his equipment on a table.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to interrupt. “I do not speak…”

Only then did he turn around and Aerinn noticed how tall he was, almost too tall for his home, barely not brushing the ceiling.

“Forgive me, I thought you did. You were mumbling quite a bit Hen Llinge while unconscious,” he said stunned. “But I should not have assumed.”

To hide her embarrassment about her lack of linguistic proficiency Aerinn busied herself with rearranging the blankets around herself.

“It’s quite alright. I know most like me do at least understand basic Elder. I just felt obligated to stop you, before you wasted more words on me,” she said sheepishly. “Strange though, I must have picked some words up somewhere and repeated them in my sleep. You’re not to fault for that.”

He gave her a small grateful nod, pulled up a chair to the table and started to unstring his bow.

“I have heard what you said to the Witcher,” he continued after a moment, and now that he was speaking Common Aerinn could hear the drawl in his voice. “Should you feel uncomfortable here, I might be able to find a dh’oine willing to take you in,” he said with an emphasis that somehow bothered Aerinn. However, she could not yet tell why.

His demeanour had gotten more tense, his jaw set and - despite the drunkenness - his tone was reserved. Aerinn could not quite decipher his meaning. His eyes were fixed on hers, indicating that whatever reasons he thought her to have for not wanting to stay with him lay with her alone. He seemed almost defiant.

“What…? Oh!” she sputtered as she thought back on her earlier words. “You thought that was because -” She sat up a bit straighter to better look at him and winced at the pain that shot through her wound. “No, oh no, that’s not -”

Cedric raised a curious eyebrow but otherwise waited for a more precise answer. Aerinn cleared her throat and took a sip of the tea Anezka had left for her and thought that he must’ve thought her completely inarticulate in every language on the Continent now.

Then she took a deep breath and tried again. “Gods no, I did not mean I wanted to stay with a human rather than with you.”

Cedric said nothing to that, instead calmly stood up to put away his bowstring. His shoulders had partly relaxed but he still turned back to her with an expectant look about him.

“It’s just … I’ve not had the best of experiences with drunk men in the past.”

The elf froze in his tracks as his hand stopped mid-air where he was reaching for a shelf.

‘Great,’ Aerinn thought. ‘Well done, stupid, offending your host like that.'

“I see,” he said then slowly, and Aerinn could tell he was now trying to hide his slurring.

He pondered something for a bit then turned towards her fully and took a step to the foot of the bed. Coincidentally, it gave her a good look at his face for the first time, which was always good for building trust.

He evidently had had a hard day, the braids on his temples were coming loose and there were lines on his face only a good night’s sleep could mend. Of course, she had noticed the tattoo earlier, which had her believing he was Scoia’tael in the first place. Not that that worried her, she did not fear people who associated with the Scoia’tael. After all, she did, too. But unlike herself, Cedric seemed to be a fighter and not an inactive one, judging by his build. Then there was the scar that stretched the bridge of his nose. A well-dodged blow to the eye, perhaps? There were a host of humans out there out to harm the beauty of the Aen Seidhe. Which lead her to his eyes, which were not the eyes of a fighter at all…

“Aerinn.”

Cedric looked not in the least bothered by her blatant analysis of every detail of his face, but he seemed to need her undiverted attention.

“Let me swear to you, you have nothing to fear from me,” he said earnestly. “I do the things I do for reasons of my own. And you would thank me in the morning. For the sounds I make while I dream sober would have you wide awake all night.”

She gave him a small nod of understanding even though she did not in the slightest know what he meant. He was probably just explaining with too many words that he suffered from nightmares.

“If it helps, I will keep my drinking in check for the time of your stay here.”

She gave him a wide smile knowing how uncomfortable this conversation must have been for him.

“Thank you. That is very considerate.”

He returned her smile with a short albeit guarded one of his own before he turned serious again.

“Understand that Gwynbleidd was right. If the Scoia’tael were to come for this settlement I would be the first to know.”

“How so?” Aerinn couldn’t help but keep wondering what his ties to them were exactly. So far, he sounded to be no more loyal to the Scoia’tael than to Flotsam.

“Even if I’m not watching the woods myself, if someone sees anything they come to me first. And Iorveth…” He paused and sighed. “Let’s say I am particularly attuned to him.”

Obviously not interested in getting questions about that he bent and pulled something out from under the bed.

“Now for sleeping arrangements…”

Sometime later and despite the limited space he had to work with, Cedric had managed to install a hammock for himself to sleep in. It blocked the majority of the free space in his hut, and Aerinn felt bad about taking someone’s bed but also saw the necessity of her resting in a comfortable position. All that she could do was thank him over and over again for his hospitality while Cedric got ready to sleep. At last, he hopped gracefully into the hammock and vanished in the fabric. Then he blew out the last candle and everything was still. In the dark and quiet Aerinn felt even more guilty for taking up so much space in another’s home. She tried to calm her breathing, keep it shallow and lie still to let the man at least sleep in peace.

Just when she’d found a comfortable position that eased the throbbing in her leg, Cedric roused her with a question.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she whispered, wondering what he wanted to know. So far, he hadn’t shown nearly as much interest in questioning her as Geralt had.

“The merchant vessel you asked about. What’s with it?”

“Oh that,” Aerinn chuckled. “It’s mine.”

She could practically feel the elf’s confusion pierce the darkness.

“We usually pretend it’s my nephew’s ship. Saves trouble and tolls are much lower when I hide under deck. My mother’s family are known merchants, and even though the ship is mine, officials find it suspicious when the half-elf is in charge.”

“Then why come through the forest despite owning a ship?”

She had to give him credit, tired and drunk and he’d still had the presence of mind to ask his actual question in second place, because of course he mainly wanted to know what she had been doing in the forest and - as a consequence - with the Scoia’tael.

She decided to give him the short answer. “To see the other side of my family. They would likely not take it well if I had my human relatives in tow.”

The silence in the small hut stretched for a long while before Cedric spoke again.

“Sounds like you have to hide parts of yourself wherever you go.”

Other than a contemplative hum she had nothing to add to that. She had long accepted that there was nowhere she would ever fully fit in and not even the undertone akin to pity in Cedric’s voice would not make her rethink that. Her parents hadn’t endured the hardships they had for their daughter to complain about having to make such small sacrifices.

She tried to peer over into the hammock but it was stock-still and Cedric said nothing more. Exhaustion was knocking at the door again, but she firmly waited until she heard the elf’s steady breathing indicating that he was asleep before she gave in and let sleep claim her as well.

Chapter Text

Before Aerinn had even stirred in the morning, Cedric had already cleaned up, eaten and lastly brewed tea. When there was nothing else left to do to occupy himself with, he counted his money and decided to see if he could get a hold of some lighter drinks, like mead or cider. He had made a promise, after all. Before he went out, he left some more food and tea where Aerinn could reach it from the bed.

People were as busy as they could be in a place so small as Lobinden. Yet, Cedric found opportunities to chat with some friendly faces, lots of them curiously inquiring about the woman from the woods. Some were concerned about her wellbeing, most merely wanted to know if the Scoia’tael were to blame. The alderman took the fact that Cedric was personally taking her in as a sign the woman would attract danger, and Cedric had to promise to get back to him when they knew more.

However, in the same household, he found himself in luck, as the alderman’s wife was happy to provide him with all the drink and food he needed in return for a share of what his snares would yield in the next days, which was as good a favour to owe as it could get for him.

With an armful of clinking bottles and some fruit on top of it, he made his way back when around the first corner he ran into Malena, who caught him in such awkward situations more often than not.

“Cedric,” she stated, her eyes immediately taking inventory of the bottles.

Despite generally being wary in her presence, he gave her a polite greeting.

“I went by your home. Quite the collection of dh’oine you have there.” Her eyes narrowed and she spoke lowly. “I have a message that is to be relayed to you only.”

As a sign to continue he bid her to follow him to a more secluded spot.

“Tell your half-blooded guest that as regretful as the misunderstanding resulting in her capture was, she is greatly thanked for the supplies. Regardless, she is advised to not roam the woods any further. And to you, I shall give the message that there seems to be some trouble at the ruins down south.”

“Trouble? What trouble might there be?”

“Scouts are reporting restless wraiths and it seems some thieves have gained an interest in the statues.”

“And why, Malena, is this a message for me, exactly?”

The woman languidly drew her eyes over the bottles he was carrying and shot him a dry smile.

“Your former brothers agreed that - with being retired and spending your time rather unreasonably - it’d do you well to have something to do.”

There was no intention on her part to give away who the message was from, then. But there was no need. It could’ve only been Iorveth, his decade-long friend, who never could give much thought to saving ruins or restoring things from the past. Which did not mean his former commander completely neglected the past, but he was forced to omit such things and focus on present matters always. No, Iorveth was interested in the future, any sort of future he could secure. Cedric on the other hand had always had a soft spot for the past. How could he not, since the future tormented him so?

Without a parting word, Malena left him to his thoughts, and he made his way back home where Anezka was already waiting to berate him some more.

“There you are!”

The herbalist was just finishing up redressing Aerinn’s wounds, who was standing up albeit still heavily leaning on the bed. Now that the woman was awake, it was much harder to ignore the lurking flickers of visions waiting to seep into his head. The sobriety was not making it any easier.

“I know you have better manners than this,” Anezka said and gestured towards Aerinn. “Treating her like some wounded animal.”

“Wounded animal?” Aerinn laughed. Though still dishevelled and relying on Anezka to help her get around, she seemed in good spirits.

“Yes, avoiding you and leaving you to lick your wounds alone. He even left out food for you as he does for the woodland creatures sometimes.”

Aerinn had the sort of laughter that, even when it passed, would linger on her face and leave her eyes gleaming and mouth upturned. At Anezka’s last words something far softer replaced the look on her face.

“You do that?”

Cedric nodded, yet she continued to look at him like she had just found something worthy of notice, something that amazed her even. Not a look he’d gotten often in recent time. Anezka in the meantime had swallowed down any more criticism and guided her patient to sit back on the bed.

“You needn’t protect me so fiercely, Anezka,” Aerinn chuckled. “So far, I have experienced nothing less than the utmost kindness here.”

The other woman’s grumbled answer was indiscernible over the sudden heavy knocking at the door.

“Ah,” Cedric proclaimed dramatically. “Time for your interrogation, then.”

To his surprise, Gwynbleidd was not alone. In his company was the sorceress Triss Merigold, whom Cedric had already met some days ago.

“Cedric,” she greeted immediately. “A word outside?”

Thus Geralt and he exchanged places over the doorstep before Triss lead him a few paces away.

They had only gotten as far as what she had already told Cedric the night before, when said elf returned inside accompanied by the red-haired woman Aerinn had briefly glimpsed through the doorframe earlier. A sorceress, as it turned out, and she briefly introduced herself as Triss Merigold. She looked friendly enough yet somewhat discontented. Cedric was tense again and crossed the room to stand with Anezka, a slight frown on his face.

Geralt for his part was eager to get on with the story.

“So, you are not Scoia’tael. But your brother is?”

“Half-brother,” Aerinn corrected. “But we are close. When I know where he is, I bring him supplies.”

“Why would they capture you?” The sorceress mused and took a seat, fully invested in the conversation.

“They must have been on high alert. With the assassination and then Roche already on their tail,” Geralt surmised.

The implication was clear, they both thought she was lucky to not have been shot dead at first contact, part-elf and supplies in tow or not.

“Yes, well, it was not the first time I have appeared at a Scoia’tael camp. Only this time Cadann wasn’t there, and delivering supplies out of the good of my heart proved to be too wild a story for the guards present.”

“The story is quite - let’s say - uncommon,” Triss Merigold said. “How did you escape?”

Aerinn did not know if it worked in favour of her credibility that her escape in a moment of inattentiveness was rather unspectacular, but everyone in the room looked to be satisfied with the explanation. Still, she could feel some tension while Geralt and the sorceress exchanged silent looks.

A floorboard creaked as Cedric adjusted himself to lean on the wall.

“She is telling the truth,” he declared.

“You have seen it?” Triss asked eagerly, whereas Aerinn thought that was a strange question to ask.

“No. I have been approached by someone this morning,” the elf said and gave Aerinn a sympathetic look.

Relief flooded Aerinn as she heard Cadann had made it back to his camp and confirmed her identity. Less nice to hear was that she was apparently not welcome to return. Then Geralt topped the bad news off by telling her that her family’s ship had never arrived in Flotsam’s harbour. He did not sugar-coat that the best outcome to hope for was that they had turned back before encountering the Kayran.

Face buried in her hands realization quickly set in that between a river monster on one side and the forest on the other, she was effectively trapped in Flotsam.

“I am injured and have nothing left. I lost all my possessions on the run. Even dropped an important family heirloom when the endregas scared me.”

“The Kayran might be the least of your problems. There is a Witcher on the case, after all,” Triss then said with an undertone Aerinn had no interest in deciphering.

The following dense silence was broken by a person outside shouting for Geralt, who cursed and quickly went to usher the man inside.

“Ah Geralt, here you are,” the man said and removed his extravagant hat. “Roche nor anyone at the inn has seen you in two days. Didn’t expect to find you out here. Who are you?”

Aerinn wasn’t sure who he’d meant as he was looking between Anezka, Cedric and herself. All of them must’ve indeed made an odd gathering.

“Whatever this secret meeting is, it could certainly use a bard,” the man chattered on. However, Aerinn had noticed that he had looked right into her gloomy visage before he’d spoken.

The Witcher released a long sigh, and Anezka showed no interest in spending time with the bard.

“Time for me to go,” she declared and squeezed Aerinn’s arm gently. “I have other patients, you know. Have Cedric check your bandages in the evening, he knows such things.”

According to Triss, the bard was a rather famous one and despite Geralt’s protests, he had quickly extracted the whole story about what was going on from the people present.

“Same problems as everyone then,” he had said while Geralt took Cedric outside to ask him about some plant for his monster hunt. “Iorveth, the Kayran and the general unpleasantness of Flotsam. Nothing we can’t handle.”

He had managed to lighten the mood significantly, Aerinn had to give him that.

“Tell you what, tomorrow I’ll return with a walking stick and a cloak and take you to the market to replace your shredded garments. I have a favour left with a seamstress.”

“Do not ask him how he got it, though.”

“Charm and skill, dear Triss. Charm and skill.”

With their familiar banter, Aerinn soon found herself laughing and joking along until she’d almost forgotten all about her worries. The rest of the afternoon had been spent with her rounding up all the information she could remember that would be in any way useful to the Witcher. All the while Dandelion and Triss lounged about uselessly but still provided good company. Even the tension between the elf and the sorceress had largely dissipated. Save for when Cedric said he didn’t know who pulled the strings between Iorveth and the kingslayer, and Triss somewhat prickly said that he would know if he only wanted to.

After more conversation, food and drinks Aerinn had told Geralt all she could, and exhaustion was quickly setting in. When the trio departed, Geralt had promised to get a message to Aerinn’s brother if he found a way.

“Till tomorrow,” said Dandelion.

From Triss, she even got a hug while Cedric only got a stern look and was asked to reconsider whatever they had discussed. The firm ‘goodnight’ she received suggested he would not.

"You will need to stand up if we are to redress your wound.”

“Right,” Aerinn said absentmindedly and made no move to stand up at all.

“Let me help you.”

Carefully, she took Cedric’s offered elbow and let him steer her to lean on the bedframe. As he knelt next to her and went about his task of undoing the bandages something tugged at his awareness, not the usual uneasiness but something warmer that made him feel like for once he ought to be optimistic and let the images in.

He was rewarded with the sight of a mansion’s sprawling garden, and a younger Aerinn walking within accompanied by a woman with the same brown hair, who pointed out flowers to the young girl. No less beautiful were the flowers Aerinn was picking on a mountain. She was older then and in company of an elven man, their eyes meeting and reflecting each other’s green tones and unbridled joy from time to time. Cedric knew better than to wallow in other people’s memories. Sadness and pain would not be far. Conversation was a good anchor to reality and so he spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“You are still troubled.”

Not a question. It was apparent. Her muscles twitched at every light touch of his. In an attempt to ease the tension, she cracked a joke, a thing he had observed was becoming an anxious habit of hers.

“I am.” She exhaled sharply at the cold feeling of the salve, he was applying now. “Not to insult your village… but it is the worst place to be stuck.”

Despite himself, he huffed out a small laugh.

“Do you think if not for the threats it poses I would not rather live in the forest than here?”

He watched the goosebumps fade as the salve settled on her skin, and reached for the new bandages. Aerinn turned around and grinned down at him.

“You might be in luck then, I heard the squirrels are looking to relocate and I’m very positive you can handle everything else in that forest.”

“If Iorveth succeeds, the next time you’ll see your brother he might very well have a permanent home.”

“Permanent?” Aerinn mustered him with that fascinated look of hers again. “You do know more than you let on, don’t you?”

“I know more than I want to know.”

At his chagrined smile she turned back and left him to work in peace. Yet, peace was far from his mind. The mention of Aerinn’s brother brought forth the spectres of sadness and pain, and they crept ever closer. Unsurprisingly. He had lowered his guard after all. What he wasn’t prepared for was the sudden surge of his own old regrets that bubbled up and rippled over him because of the images he was receiving.

There was the Aen Seidhe from the mountain, not picking flowers but packing weapons as Aerinn wept fearful tears and clutched a small black stone in her hands. A stone Cedric vaguely recognized but couldn’t place at the moment. Another man joined them, and one would be forgiven to mistake them for brothers, but the first one laid a fatherly hand on the other’s and Aerinn’s shoulders as they tightly embraced.

Long suppressed memories of his own tugged at his heart as Cedric watched this farewell before war and the frightened woman left with only a stone to remember her loved ones.

“What are you-” came the muffled voice of present-Aerinn. “Cedric?”

He could not tear away from his memories. They held fear, too, and tears, so many tears, but anger and bitterness as well.

Through the veil, Aerinn snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hello?”

Whatever she saw in his features must have spurred her into action. The next thing he knew was that she was crouched before him, not touching him but her hands were hovering over his shoulders. Then his name again, over and over.

However, he could not break free, not yet.

“Hear my voice?” Aerinn said low but firm and close to his ear. “Don’t focus on what you're seeing.”

One last call of his name and he doubled over. Her hands finally grabbed him if only to redirect his slumped form away from her injured leg.

Strangely enough, whereas it had been her presence that conjured the visions, it was her too that settled him. Either way, he’d have some explaining to do.

Chapter Text

What quickly became apparent was that Cedric was a popular elf in Lobinden. Before the middle of the morning, four people had already sought his aid with something. The fifth was standing at the door now.

“Ah, this must be your…. guest,” the Seidhe gave Aerinn a polite smile and Cedric an entirely different one.

“I am more of a patient than a guest, I fear,” Aerinn chuckled. “I don’t know what Anezka is giving me, but it sure makes me want to lie here and sleep forever. Not a guest you’d want to have if you ask me.”

Unlike the four people before, Cedric invited this one in.

“Have a drink, my brother.”

The other elf raised his eyebrows at the offered beverages. Nevertheless, he did take some tea and introduced himself as Seherim.

“Where are you from then?” He asked Aerinn, as Cedric half-carried her to sit with them, while she’d already started to ramble all about her situation.

“That would be Hagge,” she told him. “But I’m not seen often there.”

“And Cedric treats you well?”

“Too well, I would say,” she laughed. “He lets me sleep in his bed and brings me everything I want to the bedside. Can’t remember ever having been treated better.”

“Is that so?” His visible eye flicked between Cedric and Aerinn. “In any case, I am glad you are on the path of recovery, and I hope you might join us for the festivities tomorrow.”

“Fest-” Aerinn grasped at a strand of her loose hair. “Is it already Imbaelk? I spent entirely too many days in that forest…”

“No worries,” said Seherim, although he kept glancing at his friend who made a bit of a sour face. “You are invited to spend the savaed with us.”

‘Again with the friendliness of those people of Lobinden’, Aerinn thought as she gladly accepted.

“And you, my friend?” Seherim nudged Cedric lightly. “Will you join us this year?”

Cedric took a deep look into his empty mug.

“You don’t celebrate?” Aerinn was mildly surprised. She had pegged him as very respectful of traditions so far. Perhaps he did not like this particular day.

“Is it because of your…” she made a vague gesture towards his eyes and rolled hers.

Cedric looked taken aback for a second before his friend’s laughter made him grin slightly.

“Yes, it is a bothersome time of the year. But I will attend,” he declared with a teasing twinkle in his eye. “Someone will have to help the lady to the bonfire. Is it not so?”

“Alright, that’s fair. I deserved that,” Aerinn admitted. He had every right to make fun of her affliction as she had of his.

As it turned out, even Cedric’s closest friend had visited him not only for tea but to ask for his help. To let them plan their hunting in peace Aerinn experimentally tried to walk a few paces on her own limping from furniture to furniture until Dandelion arrived with her walking aide.

It took them a good while to get to the market in Flotsam. Some of the shops were already closing for the afternoon. Luckily, Dandelion’s seamstress friend had waited up.

She eyed Aerinn up and down several times before she asked: “So, what sort of garments can I get you?”

“I’d like some trousers if you’ve any that fit me.”

“Right,” said the seamstress slightly perplexed. “I meant; you might want to decide on a style first.”

Aerinn felt like she was missing the point somehow until her companion pulled her away a few steps.

“She wants to know if you usually dress more elven or more like, well…” he waved his hand towards a group of women nearby.

“Oh.” Aerinn turned back towards the seamstress with a tight smile. “Just some trousers, doesn’t matter in which…fashion they are made.”

The woman produced some nice, hard-wearing trousers from a chest and handed them to Aerinn along with a simple blouse and a thicker overshirt more suited for spring.

“This is leather,” Aerinn remarked for the trousers. “And that shirt is really well made and dyed. Are you sure you want to use your favour with this talented woman on me?”

The seamstress left the bard no time to reconsider and shoed Aerinn towards her house to change.

“That and a pair of boots and we’ll be even.”

Stunningly, with the built-in straps and a belt around her waist, the clothes fit quite well. The others seemed happy with the result, too.

“Wonderful.” The seamstress immediately took hold of Aerinn’s old clothes. “If you let me keep these, I can craft some more fastenings.” Seemingly forgetting that she was only required to do the bare minimum she was already planning out more adjustments. She also handed them a slip of paper to pick up a pair of boots at the shoemaker’s at her expense.

“I hope ships can get in soon,” Aerinn said as they exited the shoemaker’s shop sometime later with a new pair of boots on her feet. “Then I can pay you back for all of this.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re more comfortable than before, that’s all that matters for now,” Dandelion waved her off. “You know, that was an interesting question, about how you dress like. What do you usually dress like?”

“Like someone working on a ship?”

Idly, they browsed a few other stalls, occasionally stopping so the bard could talk to people he’d gotten to know in Flotsam so far.

“I’m curious, though. Who is the human?”

“What?”

“Your parents.”

“Oh. You know, out of the blue that is a strange question,” Aerinn smiled over a plate of baked fish. “My mother.”

In the late afternoon, after picking up the tailored clothes and finishing some of Dandelion’s errands they found themselves back at the village square. There Dandelion ran into a dwarf, whom he introduced as a good friend, and who promptly dragged them to the inn. The presence of others did little to quell the now constantly flowing stream of questions from the bard, but he had allowed Aerinn to take her first bath this week in his rented room, which in turn made her more willing to put up with his questions. Only when two men Aerinn thought to be mercenaries joined them for a few rounds of cards did he loosen up on the questioning. Watching the men closely, Aerinn noticed their armour to be a tad too good and coordinated to be simple mercenaries and concluded that they must’ve been members of some specialised force.

Even Geralt popped in quickly in the early evening, only to reprimand Dandelion for asking Aerinn if she had any idea of how long half-elves lived. Then he went downstairs not to be heard from again. Aerinn watched the people around her playing cards as the tavern quickly filled with townsfolk. Soon, she had an inkling to try the game herself, if only to hopefully manage to pay for at least one drink herself.

“So, anyone willing to teach me this game?”

“Cedric! Back for another round?”

“Not today, Chivay. I am looking for Gwynbleidd’s bard and a woman who is with him.” Cedric looked around the tavern and easily spotted Aerinn sitting in the back. “I’m here to escort her back to Lobinden.”

“You’re responsible for this lass? Just wait, if she continues to play cards like that, she might just earn board in this very inn. And she started with no money at all, mind you!”

Indeed, Aerinn was merrily participating in a simple card game, which was played in pairs of two, and according to the content look of her partner, she was doing none too bad. She was also wearing a new thin shirt, which Cedric hoped was not the only shirt she bought, or she was sure to be cold in the coming spring mornings and evenings. As he made his way over to her table, he also noticed that at some point in the day someone had presented her with the opportunity to have a bath. Her hair was now free of everything bloody and lumpy but instead neatly braided in the back and shining in the lamplight. When she spotted him, she waved him over with the enthusiasm only a halfway-drunk person could possess.

Before he could sit down Cedric found himself intercepted by a fisherman and an offered tankard. Not that he made a habit of taking payment for his advice, but the man insisted on him having a drink while he informed him on the Kayran situation. However, he had to tell this one the same as anyone else: The safety of the waters was currently in the hands of the sorceress and the Witcher.

All said what he could, Cedric took a seat next to Aerinn so he would face the door and gave the room a quick once-over. There were only townsfolk present and none of the commandant’s men. Which was the preferred setting. The local militia usually had to be in the same room as one to get the idea to start something. Still, he kept being watchful, just in case.

Oblivious to his tension Aerinn grabbed his arm as soon as he was seated.

“Can you believe this? I’m winning!”

She tried to direct his attention towards her cards, but Cedric was still hung up on her fingers around his arm. What had happened the night before was still fresh on his mind and what he had seen… Neither spending the day in the forest nor being apart from Aerinn had helped to keep his mind off it. Old, painful regrets never quite dealt with had been simmering in his thoughts all day. Rusted wounds as they were, but never rusty enough to finally dissolve to let him have peace.

Oddly, nothing foreign slipped behind his eyes when Aerinn touched him tonight. The only thing he perceived was a very fleeting feeling that he already knew the message he was supposed to pass on.

Gloating, Aerinn’s partner distributed his winnings and gave her her share prompting her to let go of Cedric.

“You already have a drink,” she pouted then. “I saved up to buy you one.”

“Don’t fret, if you can count on anyone to have more drinks, it’s Cedric,” boasted Zoltan in his stead. The bard and Aerinn gave a cheer to that, and Cedric couldn’t help a benign smile about what merry company he found himself in tonight.

About an hour later, Aerinn, at last, got her wish and decided to use her coin on a shared bottle of liquor. Soon, Cedric felt a good enough haze grip his conscience to be able to relax without the threat of collapsing in a fit of visions again.

“Are you feeling better today?” Aerinn smiled at Cedric and bumped his shoulder with hers.

“I am,” he confirmed. “I spent the day in the forest. That…helps.”

“Good,” she answered, however, her eyes were unfocused and roaming the table. “I know my presence doesn’t help. Which makes me even more grateful that you still seem willing to let me stay with you.”

So, she had picked up on that, which should not have surprised him. Cedric knew himself to be bad at hiding anything and Aerinn had struck him as a bright and very perceptive person.

“It is not your fault. It’s not something anyone can control,” Cedric reassured her.

“But why me?”

“Likely, because I have just met you.” That, he felt, was most certainly a lie. There was something specific that spectre of Cymoril wanted with Aerinn. But Cedric had no intention of clearing that mystery up.

“Will you tell me if it gets worse?”

He hesitated. Never before had he even considered talking to someone about these things in more detail than necessary.

“You are so kind, Cedric. I have seen you help people all day. Tell me if it gets worse. I might be able to help you, too, in return.” She said this with such compassion that Cedric could only nod in a daze, which earned him a bright smile from the woman. However, as quickly as it appeared, it melded into a grimace.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Aerinn said feeling her neck and temples. “I feel strange.”

“Unwell?”

She hummed miserably and put her head in her palms. “Perhaps, I should stop drinking.”

“You’re still healing. You should take it slow,” said Dandelion.

“Well, you know, my mother always said: ‘What doesn’t kill you, you should have aplenty’,” lamented Aerinn.

The bard had to laugh at that. “I think you mean: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’”

While Cedric had to admit that as a poet Dandelion was certainly well-versed in words, he believed Aerinn meant another saying of the Aen Seidhe he was familiar with.

“What makes you finish the day happy, you should have aplenty, is how it goes,” he corrected.

Aerinn groaned through her fingers. “Am I confusing sayings I heard from my mother and father again?”

“Looks like it,” said Dandelion. “Say, what about them, your parents? Their story must be a ballad in waiting.”

Next to himself, Cedric felt Aerinn shift nervously on the bench.

“Oh, enough about me,” she coyly averted the question. “You have asked me questions all day.”

Sensing her uneasiness Cedric gently tapped her shoulder. “Perhaps we should give it a rest for tonight.”

Well past midnight, they finally crossed the town gate into the forest stretch leading to Lobinden. Barely out the gate, Aerinn leaned against a tree to rest. Cedric could not blame her. Her leg was now actively plaguing her, she was drunk and tired, and on top of that, something else was making her feel ill.

“You were right,” she said as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and strained her neck towards the treetops. Cedric could not keep from noticing how at peace she seemed in comparison to the last few days, despite the state she was in. “It’s nice out here. Why am I in such a hurry to get back to endlessly travelling between cities?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, matching her slow pace of speaking. “Is that what you want to do?”

“Sometimes it’s not," Aerinn admitted so quietly that an overhead flying bird rustling some leaves almost drowned her voice out. Cedric kept a watchful gaze on their surroundings yet stayed close enough in case she needed him to steady her again.

“What would I even do?” She asked herself and turned her head towards a howling sound coming from afar. “Traipse around the forest for a week then return to my family in shame because I couldn’t make it.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Cedric argued. Deeming the immediate surroundings safe he joined her. “You made it through these woods alive. Escaped one of Iorveth’s units, of all things. Not many can say that.”

Aerinn gave him a long look, but unable to formulate the question beneath it, she pushed herself away from the trunk to continue down the path.

“Wait,” Cedric called. Without thinking his hand shot up to grasp hers. Aerinn tripped up - whether upon roots or her own feet - and toppled over before Cedric regained the presence of mind to catch her at the shoulders.

“I mean it,” he tried to clarify the meaning of his assault on her.

Her eyes, likely untrained to see in the dark, watched him with trepidation in the sparse moonlight.

“You only know yourself as you are in the context of your family. I only know you as you were these past days. Whom I have met is a resourceful and capable person. You’d do well at anything you set your mind to.”

Aerinn carefully uncurled her fingers from where she had dug them into his lapels and shifted to look at his face. A sharp inhale suggested she’d put her weight on the wrong leg. But her voice came out soft and unstrained as she spoke.

“Thank you. I’ll consider your words sometime when I’m less…inebriated.”

That should have been his cue to let go of her shoulders. But something lingered on his mind, something he should be alarmed about. Not the way her green eyes filled with worry when he didn’t react. Something else was off.

“Cedric?” Cold hands placed themselves around his elbows to put some space between their bodies. “Is it happening again?”

He shook his head as frustration was setting in. Why could he not pinpoint what was striking him as strange?

“We should go…” Aerinn took another step back, the scent of beeswax and floral oils leaving Cedric’s vicinity with her. She blended well into the dark woods with her new clothes, brown leather pants and the green overshirt. She was…

Heat. It hit him like a blow to the head. Her hands had been cold on him, but their proximity had betrayed how she was emanating warmth. He stepped towards her again, hands flying to her neck and forehead this time. She was burning up. Aerinn was having a fever.

Chapter Text

While not her favourite holiday, Imbaelk had always held a special place in Aerinn’s heart. For it had been on exactly that day fifty-six years ago when she’d first met her half-brother, Cadann.

Her twenty-year-old self had been brimming with excitement all winter, a constant source of frustration for family and tutors alike. When news of thawing snows and clear weather finally arrived, Aerinn had been packed and ready to depart in hours. Then, a small contingent of guards had taken her across the country and to the mouth of a small valley just beyond Berg Aen Dal where she’d finally met her father. Which in itself was the happiest memory of Aerinn’s life.

No one ever quite understood why Yosepha Remont sent her daughter to live with her father without any kind of reservations. But the woman had sternly silenced all who questioned the trustworthiness of the father of her child.

It had taken Aerinn only a two-day trek along the narrow, meandering river deeper into the valley to her father’s homestead to understand that her parents had once been deeply in love and to that day held a lot of trust in each other. As a person unacquainted with nature, being helped by him over snowbanks, steep rocky slopes and other unpleasant terrains, had caused Aerinn herself to develop the same trust in her father in that short period.

Aerinn’s father was quick to mention his son. Her half-brother, whom Aerinn would soon call brother. Back then, she could not have anticipated how close they would soon grow. It had worried her for the remainder of the hike, how she would ever get along with an over seventy-year-old man who would surely only ever see her as dh’oine, an intruder at worst, or a visitor who did not belong at best.

As it turned out, Cadann was just a boy, in age among his people, but, most of all, in spirit. He was a charismatic rogue and a chaotic presence to anyone who met him. When he’d spotted Aerinn ascend the crest of the hill, he’d sprinted to meet her, and hugged her as tight as no one had ever done before. To this day, Aerinn could not suppress a grin at the memory of how flustered she’d been as the auburn-haired elf had flown at her to bury her face in his long tresses, while she struggled to pull a breath in.

Indeed, Cadann was a troublemaker and he had always wanted a partner in crime, and his hugs had only gotten stronger over the years.

While common in their father’s generation, for Aen Seidhe of Cadann’s age it was rare to have siblings, which made him want to be all the closer with his half-sister. It wasn’t that they spent every holiday together since then. But this year, Aerinn had allowed herself to hope. It was clear the Scoia’tael were involved in something; depending on the outcome, it could be years before she would see Cadann’s stupid reckless face again.

And as for her father… No one had heard from Auron aep Eoghan in years. Scoia’tael were unlikely kept as prisoners, Aerinn was told. The possibilities for his whereabouts were limited.

Aerinn quickly shook that train of thought off her mind and circled back around the Lobinden village square towards Cedric’s friend from the day before, who had made sure Aerinn never left his presence without some food or drink today.

“Please break this apart before they start a brawl.” He pointed a wooden spoon towards the side of a house where Anezka and Cedric were having an agitated discussion.

“Why me?”

“Because as much as Cedric thinks he is always right, I feel to you he will listen.” Seherim gave her a pointed sideways glance then shooed her away. “Va!”

Cautiously, Aerinn approached the arguing pair. Anezka was just finishing up a long string of explanations.

“… I tell you that is not how the venom affects the body.”

Cedric’s long form was casually leaning on the wall, seemingly casual, as he was clearly irritated. His arms were rigidly crossed, and he sported a glare that could scare a nekker away.

“I don’t even have a fever anymore and yet you two continue to bicker about it.”

She felt the elf’s glare swipe over her, not that it impressed her all that much. He had been moody all day. First worried sick about her fever all night, then quiet and contemplating when he’d sobered up, and since he had gotten his hands on liquor again during the festivities, he’d been standoffish bordering on belligerent.

“You’ll miss the bonfire!” Aerinn teased them to ease the mood. “How else will you know how the spring will be this year?”

“By experiencing it,” Anezka muttered dryly and shuffled away, and Aerinn turned her expectant smile on Cedric.

“What would make you think I of all people enjoy divination rituals?” He rolled his eyes, but Aerinn had already caught how they had softened before he did so.

In truth, Aerinn had no idea how these weather divinations worked. There was usually some construct lighted on fire, filled with something explosive. Apparently, if it exploded fast enough then spring would be coming soon and bring mild weather. As they approached the fire, Aerinn learned that Cedric had no right to be grumpy about it, as he had been the one to build the damn thing this year.

Together, they found a sitting log among a group of Seidhe, and Cedric pulled out a pipe.

“For your earlier enthusiasm, you seem awfully gloomy,” he remarked as he puffed smoke into the air.

“I’m just missing my brother,” Aerinn admitted and decided to quietly recount the tale of their first meeting for Cedric, to which he gave a wistful smile.

Really, Aerinn noted, they both had no interest in finding out about the spring weather, yet the bonfire burned, and they remained seated close together, basking in the warmth, and engaged in sporadic conversation. Most folks soon lost interest, too, and preoccupied themselves with other activities.

“You said you know Iorveth…” Aerinn prompted when Cedric finally stowed away his pipe and pulled out a flask.

He nodded, not betraying any other feelings.

“What is he like?”

For a long while Cedric did not answer, only took several gulps of what smelled like whiskey.

“He’s like me,” he said then. “Tired, once an idealist, circumstances have turned him into a realist. Except he still has the heart to continue fighting. Whereas I…”

He took another long swig of his flask and let himself slump forward onto his elbows. By now Aerinn knew him well enough to know he was not a dangerous drunk. However, somewhere along the way she had started to care, and if she allowed herself to think about it, it worried her how dejected Cedric often was.

Carefully, she took the flask from his slack hands. It was already empty.

“What do you mean by that?” She asked him.

“Iorveth fights for a future he will have no part of. He gives himself up for people like you. And what do I do?”

“People like me?”

“Yes, young Aen Seidhe,” he said impatiently.

“You really see me as one of your people, do you?” Aerinn wondered.

Instead of answering, Cedric asked how her leg was doing. She had barely felt it all day.

With renewed energy, he pushed himself to a stand and offered her a hand to do the same. “Do you think you can handle a little physical activity?”

Not hesitating to pull her along with him, Cedric started to weave through people and houses as soon as he had a hold of her fingers, not minding her leg in the slightest.

“Cedric, wait. What are you-” Aerinn could barely keep up and had to rely on him pulling her out of the way of a group of children barrelling right at her.

“Cáelm,” he called back and dragged her along even harder until he came to a halt at the bottom of his observatory platform.

Aerinn made a mental note for future reference that in Cedric’s books climbing trees counted as a light activity. His inconsideration came at the price of having to do most of the work in getting Aerinn up into the trees, a task almost fit to make them both forget why they’d come up there in the first place. That was until Cedric started in an uncharacteristically theatrical manner:

“See that?” He spread his arms out in a wide circle along the dusky horizon. “Flotsam is a relatively large trading post, and there is the forest.”

Aerinn was not following him at all, her own consumption of booze and the exertion of the last two days catching up with her.

“I live in between,” Cedric continued and fixed her with a questioning eye. “Now what do you think has brought me here? The fact that I am aen seidhe or my own personal - if at times regretful - choices?”

“Did you really drag me up here just to tell me to focus more on who I am than what I am?”

Since Cedric had left her to stand at the edge of the walkway, Aerinn felt very unsafe on her unsteady leg at such heights.

“Makes the lesson more memorable,” Cedric slurred as he placed himself facing the woods.

Deciding to just let him be for a while, Aerinn tried to minimise the chances of falling to her death by supporting herself on a tree. Which might have been the same one as the night before, just three stories higher. Meanwhile, Cedric had fallen into another monologue, reciting a melodic and rhythmically pleasing verse in Elder. A poem.

“Beautiful,” Aerinn praised with a grin, making him turn around. “But I think you got the part with the raven wrong.”

She had seen many sides to Cedric over the past days, but loud, unrestrained laughter was new. She was almost worried he’d fall off the platform as hard as he threw his head back, until he calmed down and stepped forward in her direction.

“Neén qu’aé dice, Aerinn.” He couldn’t quite shake the smile from his lips. “You really don’t understand a word I say, do you?”

Usually, Aerinn was not that insecure about her lack of Elder Speech. But with Cedric… Even her own name sounded nicer coming from him than herself.

“I understand some basic sentences,” she explained. “Cadann has promised to teach me for decades. But you know, he’s busy.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” Cedric was yet moving closer. So close, in fact, Aerinn could see the playful glint that graced the corner of his eyes sometimes. “And yet… it excites me.”

Seemingly forgetting his usual reservations about being near her, Cedric stepped, no stumbled, into her space bracing himself with one hand next to her head, effectively caging her in.

“I could say anything to you and you would be none the wiser,” he drawled and Aerinn had to crane her neck upwards to decipher in his expression if that was him simply being drunk or trying to sound alluring.

“We could make a game of it. Guess correctly and you’ll get rewarded.”

Whatever words he wanted her to guess, Aerinn could have sworn were not spoken in any language known to anyone. Then again, she had a hard time focusing as he ducked his head to murmur lowly into her ear. The way her face erupted in heat; she could have sworn her fever had reappeared.

“No guesses?” He asked oblivious to the way his conversation partner failed to get breaths in. Still, Aerinn could feel his nose at her neck, inhaling deeply.

Suddenly, the thousands of years old tree at her back was not enough to keep her steady anymore. She lifted her hands, every little move was arduous, but she needed something safer. They landed on Cedric’s chest, who turned his face to look at her in slight astonishment. Nevertheless, he seemed to get her intention and tentatively steadied her with both hands at the waist.

And gods, with the dizziness that spread in her mind, she needed the support. Her very being felt too heavy to hold upright all on her own. Perhaps climbing platforms was still too much for her. Almost imperceivably slow she parted her lips to say something, explain herself, but the way Cedric’s eyes had fixed on the movement had all words dying right on her tongue. The thing she was supposed to do was tell him that she felt weak and feverish again, but her brain only had the resources to send the command to lean further into him.

“Aerinn…” he whispered and for a fragment of time it looked as if he were doing the same. But then he abruptly pulled back.

“Has Anezka given you any of her concoctions today?”

“Plenty,” Aerinn frowned. “You urged her to, remember?”

The elf let out a strained sigh and took half a step back. “Then I should not…”

“Wait.” With her head spinning and her vision blotting over Aerinn tightened her hold on him before he could back away fully. “I understand. I just need to hold onto you, please.”

Another sigh. “Let us sit down, then.”

Gently, and with great care, he manoeuvred her to sit on the wooden walkway.

“I never told you what the poem was about,” he tried to fill the following silence.

At her unresponsiveness, he chanced a worried glance at her, and Aerinn could see how colourless his eyes had become. Thinking of it, he hadn’t looked as pallid before. She swiped her eyes over his clothing. All grey.

“Shit,” she cursed weakly as the blots of black and white overtook her vision completely, turning the woods into a dreary tangle of shapes. The last thing she could hope for was that Cedric would catch her before she hit her head on the floor…

Chapter Text

The cup got snatched from under his nose before he could even attempt to take a sip.

“None of that,” said the sorceress and set it down on the windowsill, before taking a seat opposite him to stare him down inquisitively. “I need you sharp. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Without the focus of a drink in his hands, Cedric’s eyes involuntarily drifted over the unmoving form of Aerinn. Thanks to the sorceress’ work, she was now releasing slow and even breaths.

The sorceress had been fetched quickly enough. While she had managed to still the quivering woman and proceeded to cast a deep sleep upon her, it was still a mystery what had made Aerinn so sick in the first place. Cedric didn’t dare imagine what would have happened were Merigold not staying in town by chance. He knew for certain that they couldn’t have counted on the help of the other one.

He swallowed deeply to ease the tight and dry feeling in his throat and tried his best to recount the night’s events. For a long unbearable moment up there in the trees he had been sure that Aerinn was dying right in his arms. And now, he couldn’t shake that grave feeling that somehow, he was to blame for all this. He was careful not to omit anything of importance all the while keeping the details of their conversations to himself.

“You were just talking? Both evenings?”

“Yes.”

“Quite intimately, by the looks of it, I might add,” came Seherim’s voice from behind. Up until now, he had been silent, calmly listening and releasing billowing trails of smoke from his pipe.

The sorceress had only a mildly intrigued reaction to his words. Nevertheless, Cedric shot his friend a warning glance. Despite her friendly and helpful disposition, he didn’t like how Merigold had immediately sniffed him out upon her arrival in Flotsam and had been pestering him about his abilities since.

“Anezka claims it’s not the venom. But something must be affecting her,” Cedric gritted out. Somewhere in between, he’d started fiddling with a loose bowstring. It was tightly wrapped around his knuckles now, up to the point of pain.

“You’re right. The venom is long neutralized and gone. It makes no sense…” Merigold was now pacing the walls, and honestly, Cedric could not tell if she was worried about or more intrigued by the mysterious sickness.

At long last, she let them in on her thoughts. “As far as I can tell, Aerinn seems to be suffering from a curse of sorts. And it’s getting worse by the day…”

Both elves stared at her in numb silence. Without any need to finish her reasoning, the implications were clear. Curses often could go as far as an untimely death for the affected.

Setting down his pipe, Seherim spoke first. “Do you think she knows?”

“Remains to be seen. Curses come in all shapes and forms, including to one’s face and behind one’s back. If she’s unaware, she’ll need to find out who cursed her and why.”

Cedric was hard-pressed to imagine anyone hating someone such as Aerinn so much as to place a curse on her. Then again, people wronged each other all the time, and Aerinn might just have made an enemy of the wrong person somewhere along the way. He couldn’t help but wonder how often others had thought of cursing him. Be it as a soldier or not, one could fill a forest with all his various misdeeds in life.

But that reminded him…

“Both nights we were close to the woods -”

Merigold interrupted him instantly. “Could be a factor. Has she mentioned any ties to the forest?”

He shook his head but had to conclude, that he couldn’t in good conscience keep his run-in with the ghost of Cymoril to himself any longer. “Not her. However… there are ruins south of here. I feel she has a connection to them somehow.”

“You feel…” The sorceress halted her pacing and turned to him. “You’ve seen something and kept it to yourself.”

“It was different, not like I’m used to,” Cedric swallowed down the need to defend himself to get to the matter at hand. “There was this ghost, talking about a rune, and that it would save her. She must have meant Aerinn, she showed me her face.”

“She?” The other elf inquired. “You can’t mean Cymoril?”

Deep in thought, Cedric did not respond, instead thought back, trying to connect the dots.

“A black engraved stone… I’ve seen it. With Cymoril, Aerinn, and her father. It connects them all. Though I don’t know in what way.”

“You should have told her,” Merigold said sharply, but her voice turned soft when she stepped back to the bedside. “This rune could function as a ward. She mentioned losing something important in the woods. It would explain the sudden sickness. We need to talk to her.”

This time, Aerinn effectively steered herself away from any voices. That seemed like the reasonable thing, and like something Cedric would advise her to do. In her sleep, she didn’t care if she should listen to the advice of a concerningly heavy-drinking elf or that her mother would tell her to do the exact opposite. That what your subconscious tells you is important and needs to be paid attention to. Aerinn also didn’t care that she should rather worry about how she found herself in this dark and cursed void again so soon.

And yet, something was impatiently tugging at her awareness, trying to coax her. She brushed it off. Waited. The presence left in an irritated huff to be replaced by something calmer. Not urging and pulling but offering a helping hand.

She knew before she opened her eyes.

They had a particular feel to themselves, Cedric’s hands, strangely gentle and soft for an elf always crafting and climbing. Which likely was to be attributed to the paste she’s seen him make of crushed leaves and oil. He always kept them busy, Aerinn had noticed in the past four days. But now, his hands were idle for the first time since she’d met him. Resting in her own palms. Silently, she squeezed them in thanks.

Breathing out her name in relief the elf crouched down next to the bed, although Aerinn soon let go of him to assess the damage on herself.

“You caught me after all,” she laughed softly when she found no new injuries. In fact, she felt quite well-rested. Cedric’s face took on a serious note, looking like he was about to admonish her for her light-heartedness. But then, he seemed to decide to let it go, and his eyes passed over to the sorceress next to him, giving her the word.

Triss, without any further ado, took it upon herself to update Aerinn on their findings.

It took a while to process all of it. Wide eyes flitted between the three present people, pleading for more explanations, though they had none to give.

“Who would do this to me?”

“I know that troubles you,” Triss said and stepped closer to place a comforting hand on Aerinn’s arm. “But most important right now is that you find that warding stone. I did stave off the curse for now, but I can’t promise you for how long. Geralt is preparing to slay the Kayran as we speak. I could leave here any day now.”

“If I find the stone or not, I’ll have to break the curse anyway…”

“Three ways are commonly known,” Triss explained, and Aerinn realized that she indeed had a vast deal of knowledge, as fast as she recalled the information. “Make things right again, gain forgiveness, or…” She paused, contemplating if she should give the advice.

“Kill who did this to you,” said up-until-now silent Seherim from the back, his face set like stone. “All require you to find the one responsible.”

Aerinn gave him a cautious look, voicing what everyone must’ve been thinking. “You sound so sure that I am not the responsible party…”

“If you know it in your heart that you’ve done nothing to warrant this, do not doubt yourself. Do not let yourself get tricked into blaming yourself. You wouldn’t be the first to suffer a cruel fate they do not deserve, and neither will you be the last.” The weighty tone of his voice gave no room for further talk.

“There’s more,” Cedric broke the heavy silence after his friend’s words and rose to stand. “What do you know of Cymoril?”

“What’s that?”

He mustered her shortly from above, then nodded. “A Seidhe, she lived in these woods, centuries ago, however.” He paused to see if he could find any recognition in her face but found none. When Triss raised a demanding eyebrow at him, he sighed wearily.

“Cymoril appears to be the original owner of this runestone, and she has tried to pass a message onto you through me. I had not deemed it important back then. But now…”

“Pass a message through you. How is that even possible?”

In unison, all present raised an eyebrow at her.

“Right.” With a bashful flush across her face, she glanced at Cedric, who was pointedly biting back a smile. “What did she say?”

“That the stone would help you. That’s all I know.” He turned his head to look out into the night. “Retrieving the stone is what you need to do. We should not delay, leave at first light.”

“You might not have to,” insisted Triss and moved towards Cedric, but the elf stepped out of her way. “If you use the hours in between wisely. Accept my help and locate it from here.”

“No.”

“Cedric, be reasonable.” The sorceress was just short of throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You have a talent. Use it to help.”

Aerinn nor Seherim had a chance of getting a word in as they rapidly started bickering.

“No, Triss, it’s never worked like that.”

“Because you have not tried!”

They went back and forth until, at long last, Seherim had enough and stood from his seat. “You might want to listen to Aerinn’s thoughts on this,” he calmly said on his way out and left the scene.

As if only remembering her presence, the arguing pair turned to her. With their endless discussion, they had given Aerinn long enough to come to a decision.

“You have offered to help me, and I am gladly putting my trust in you, Cedric,” she declared and turned to the sorceress. “It’s not dreams and unsure futures that are his domain, but rather the woods. That’s where we need to go. We’ll do it his way.”

“Well then.” Triss, at least, was content leaving Aerinn her agency. With the promise of being back as soon as they had the stone, she was out the door and vanished through a portal.

In the silence after, Aerinn’s mind had trouble settling down between thoughts of illnesses and curses, all on top of the problems she’d had up until yesterday, which she hadn’t even dealt with.

Meanwhile, Cedric wandered around the room, gathering supplies, and readying his things. He seemed agitated and deep in thought, too. Only when he felt her eyes on his back did he still, but not return her gaze.

“I want to thank you, Aerinn,” he then croaked out. “For what you said.”

He moved to the window, grabbed a mug from the sill and contemplated its contents.

“I should thank you,” Aerinn said earnestly. “Hearing that someone out there resents me enough, to make a curse of it… It makes your heart and kindness seem even greater to me.”

Unsure if he’d even heard her quiet admission, frozen as he was, still looking at the mug in his hands, Aerinn moved to lie back down. Cedric stirred, finally looking at her with a long glance over his shoulder as a soft smile replaced the tense lines on his face. Then, he quickly turned and emptied the mug out the window.

Chapter Text

There was a rustling in the bushes. Despite her very much still injured leg, Aerinn jumped into action. Something was moving towards her. Immediately, she called for Cedric while hopping in his direction hoping the elf would shoot the attacker first before something could attempt to chomp off her leg again.

Instead, the bastard only laughed.

“Aerinn, you’re more skittish than any fawn we’ve encountered this morning.”

Cautiously, she relaxed her stance to shift onto her good leg. “You’ve seen a fawn? Where?”

“Multiples,” the elf grinned. “You just need to ease up a bit.”

“How? This forest is a death trap.”

“You will be fine,” Cedric waved her off and trudged ahead. “The Kayran is out and when the vatt’ghern will engage it today everything else will stay in its nest. Or don’t you trust me?” Well, Aerinn supposed she could if everyone else in Flotsam did, and - surprisingly - she found she did. She watched the elf weave a path between trees and rocks, sidestepping puddles and his own traps here and there and wondered if this gracefulness was a result of his heritage, or rather necessary training for Scoia’tael. She was inclined to put her coin on the latter because if it were due to genetics, she herself shouldn’t have been half as useless in the woods as she was.

“Is that one of your gifts, too? Being friends with trees?”

The elf smiled down at her as he lifted a branch for her to pass under if only to mask the fact that he had to stop and wait for her to catch up.

“Bonding with nature is a much more palpable gift. Anyone can achieve it if they are willing to engage with the world around them. The visions? Not so much. No one would consider that a blessing.”

“I’m sure there’s many. Have you never met anyone like you?”

Making use of his hesitation, Aerinn stepped up to try to get ahead for once, but Cedric quickly overtook her again even while talking.

“There are many ways to see the future. But no, none do it quite like me. My elders wanted me to see a sage when I was young. I chose another path. Perhaps if I had listened…”

He trailed off, lost in thought, leaving Aerinn to stumble after him until he stopped near the waterfall.

“This is where Gwynbleidd found you?”

Aerinn nodded and pointed down a beaten path. “Yes, I dropped my belongings down this way.”

They closely wandered along the tracks until Cedric, bent over to look at the old footprints, snorted.

“You tried to run?”

Aerinn pointed to the small stream leading back to the shallow lake and waterfall.

“I thought the water might keep them off me. What else could I have done?”

Eventually, they reached the spot where Aerinn was certain to last have had her things. Noting that they weren’t far from the closest of Iorveth’s outposts, Cedric took up position to keep watch.

And Aerinn searched, well over an hour in a wide radius, tracing back her frantic footprints to the waterfall until Cedric advised her to search the water first as long as the sun would reach them to dry off later.

Just as frustration about wading through a damned cold lake was settling in, Cedric shushed Aerinn’s curses and gestured her to retreat closer to the bedrock edge of the lake.

For his usually slow and calm manner, the elf was quick when it counted. Before Aerinn could hear what he’d heard, he had gathered their discarded cloaks and equipment, then grabbed her by the arm with his free hand to rush her through the waterfall into a cavern beyond.

From above, voices descended towards the water, and despite being concealed well, Aerinn held her breath and stepped further back. As was to be expected, she was about to trip, but Cedric firmly grabbed her at the waist and pressed her close to the wall in front of him.

“Have no fear,” he whispered. However, Aerinn could see his other arm go behind his back, where she knew he’d stashed a dagger.

Through the curtain of water, they could make out two Seidhe patrolling around the lake. They conversed in Elder. As one of them stepped into the water, Aerinn gasped at the sight of his long copper hair shining in the morning sun.

She murmured her brother’s name, ready to make her presence known, but Cedric still held her in place. He shook his head and bid her to remain silent.

After she’d let him listen to the two Scoia’tael scout’s conversation for a bit, Cedric ducked his head closer and translated in a low voice.

“They are searching, likely for the same as we. Your brother is angry with the other one.”

Aerinn narrowed her eyes in an effort to inspect the other elf and concluded that he might’ve been one of those who had tied her up.

“Very angry,” Cedric said under his breath with a tinge of amusement. “For giving up the chase at the first sight of trouble. Leaving his sister alone in the forest.”

If she listened closely, Aerinn could indeed make out some choice words from Cadann.

“He must be livid,” she grinned.

“The other one argues that the girl was very stupid to run off into the woods instead of waiting for him to confirm her identity.”

Aerinn tried to turn her head to get a chance of defending herself, though their awkward huddle brought her impractically close into Cedric’s neck, and so she left him in silent agreement.

Both Scoia’tael moved away then, and with his body, Cedric manoeuvered Aerinn closer towards to entrance until water was splashing her skin.

“I know you want to see your brother,” he said even quieter. “But we need to wait. His companion is not at all in favour of you.” And although he seemed very unconcerned with the presence of two diversely armoured fighters, he added: “Neither could I follow where they would take you.”

For all the indifference he’d presented only days ago, Aerinn had to smile at how protective he’d revealed himself to be. He confirmed the notion with a sharp intake of breath at something the stranger was saying now, and how his fingers inadvertently tightened the tiniest bit around her.

“What’s he saying?”

She could practically hear Cedric trying to think of a way of paraphrasing. Unfortunately, she could recognize the colourful descriptions of her dh’oine blood very well.

“Tell me.”

“He is saying your father made a mistake in giving you the heirloom. He thinks your brother should have opposed more.”

‘Poor fool,’ Aerinn thought and waited for the inevitable. Cadann had started brawls for less. No one would get away with insulting father and her on the same breath.

Her brother stepped out of the shallow water, and she could see him assessing his companion. Just when Aerinn was sure he’d start on him, Cadann did the opposite, nodded his head in a westward direction, and walked off without another word.

The other scout let his eyes wander around the lake one last time and followed.

And Aerinn was left to stare at the empty spot in disbelief.

They bated their breaths inside the cavern in silence for a long while, listening for any more movement, though Aerinn could feel Cedric’s second hand hover around her, not making up his mind if an attempt at consolation would be appreciated.

“You were right,” she admitted quietly. “Making my presence known would have been a disaster. He is not at all in favour of me.”

The hand settled on her shoulder.

“Do not let this question what you know about yourself.”

“What I do know…,” Aerinn gritted out and stepped out into the open, “is that I foolishly got myself cursed and am now looking for a magical solution I neither know the use of nor am entitled to use! I should just own up to the fact that I have done something to deserve this and let the damn squirrels have the rune.”

Seconds ago, Cedric had looked like he was about to just let her run off to wallow in self-doubt, but then he perked up, swiftly caught her again, and effortlessly steered her to stand under a large-trunked tree some ways back into the woods.

“You could not be more wrong. About all but one thing.”

He moved about without further explanation, seemingly gathering what vaguely looked like a trail mix, then sternly ordered Aerinn to stay put and started a practiced climb into the foliage above.

Minutes passed, and slowly Aerinn stopped seething at the edges from disappointment in her brother and started to get worried instead. She looked about, mulling over if she should shout out when someone dropped from the branches and grabbed her from behind.

“You were about to call out,” Cedric tsked and removed his hand from her mouth. His wry smile at her glaring response did nothing to ease the tension, so he lifted his fore- and middle finger, a small pouch pinched in between.

Delicately, Aerinn grabbed it from him and fished out the familiar, obsidian stone.

She almost dropped it again with a squeak when something furry landed on a branch beside her head.

“Ah, back for more?” Cedric asked fondly and started to feed the squirrel with the gathered food.

“Now,” he said and fixed Aerinn with a sidelong look. “I ask you to not do as you so loudly proclaimed before and give the rune away. I had to bribe the local squirrels to give it to me. And as you know, they are a dangerous bunch.”

“Sorry.” Aerinn looked away sheepishly, yet could not help to outstretch a hand for the small squirrel to inspect. “For yelling. I’m just not having a good time right now. I wouldn’t suppose you have a good solution to deal with that, as well?”

Cedric watched her knowingly as she started to feed the animal some of her own packed rations.

“Not if you don’t want to get drunk in the forest with me.” He paused, apparently to make a decision. “Though, I might be able to show you something to take your mind off things.”

“Cedric, I swear, if this involves climbing a tree again, I will leave you in this forest and find my way back home alone.”

Laughing, he tossed the remaining nuts to the squirrel and bade it goodbye.

“Didn’t I tell you to ease up?” With a wink, he grabbed Aerinn’s hand, as if he’d never had any problem with doing that before.

“You’ll just have to follow and see.”