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The Witcher 2: The Whisper chp36

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Chapter 36

“I’m thinking of making Iorveth my king,” Saskia said seriously, but there was a happy spark in her eye as she looked at Yennefer.

Sitting back in her uncomfortable stone chair, Yennefer lifted her brows in surprise. She and Saskia were in the council chamber of The Castle of the Three Fathers, where Saskia had asked to speak to Yennefer. They had shared a bottle of Cintrian Faro for several minutes in silence before Saskia spoke.

With her forearm resting on the table, Yennefer’s fingers twirled her glass and she stared at Saskia thoughtfully from her mass of black curls. It had been a long day – made even longer by arguing with Iorveth – and she wanted to go to bed, where she could curl up content in Geralt’s arms and sleep. But now, looking at Saskia, she knew she would never sleep.

Yennefer didn’t know what to say. Make Iorveth king of their free state? The girl was mad. He was a war criminal. And a terrorist. Notorious across the land! The other kingdoms would never recognize such an arrangement, especially between a human and an elf. It wasn’t even legal for humans and elves to marry.

“I am beginning to realize it was a mistake,” Yennefer said slowly, “helping you and Iorveth come together . . .” She frowned and stared at the Cintrian Faro in her glass.

Saskia nodded and glanced at her own glass. “I know what you’re thinking, Yennefer. Iorveth and I were always destined for unhappiness. I am a dragon. And I can only take a human form. . .” She sighed. “I’m starting to think things might be easier if I could become an elf.”

Yennefer snorted and took a sip.

“I know,” laughed Saskia sadly, “ironic, isn’t it? Elves have it so difficult in this world. And yet, if I could become one, it would be easier to instate myself as queen, with Iorveth as king. He is still young enough to produce eggs. He has a couple hundred years left before it’s too late . . .”

“Heirs,” Yennefer corrected, still looking dully, tiredly at her glass.

“What?”

“You meant heirs, not eggs.” Yennefer took a drink.

“Oh, right . . .” Saskia smiled. “I keep forgetting your kind produce live young . . .” She took a drink too and cleared her throat, sitting up straighter in her silver armor. “But I asked you here because if Iorveth is to rule at my side, he and I will need an advisor.”

Yennefer glanced up.

“You were an advisor to King Demavend for years, Yennefer,” Saskia said, smiling. “It is, no doubt, where you learned to spar so expertly with those as passionate and ruthless as Iorveth.” She tilted her head, admiring. “What’s more, you are Aderinian. You know this country, you grasp its peculiarities and customs far better than Iorveth and I ever could. You could aid us in negotiations with Stennis, who is likely to turn his gaze upon us once the war with Nilfgaard has ended. You and the witcher are the best thing to ever happen to Iorveth and I. My father thought very highly of you, and he was right.”

Yennefer swallowed, still not quite knowing what to say. “Pass me that bottle, girl.”

Saskia laughed and slid the bottle of Cintrian Faro across the table.

Yennefer refilled her glass, but before either of them could speak again, Geralt entered the room, with Dandelion and Yarpen Zigrin on his heels. Geralt’s face was hard but Yennefer could instantly see the strain in his cat eyes. Beside him, Dandelion looked worried and Yarpen Zigrin sheepish.

Yennefer narrowed her violet eyes on the dwarf. “What has happened to my daughter, dwarf? What have you done?”

“And it’s instantly my fault,” Yarpen growled, tossing his short arms.

“Yes, your fault,” Yennefer hissed. Her hand balled into a fist on the armrest. “Ooo, I could --”

“Let’s put aside the many ways you could hex Yarpen, Yen,” Geralt said calmly, “and focus on finding Ciri.”

Yennefer swallowed, relenting. But she still glared hatred at little Yarpen, who looked as if he was going to step behind Dandelion at any moment. “Ciri is wearing a tracking device in her hair,” Yennefer said, pushing her stone chair back from the table. “It’s a simple matter of finding her. Once I locate her, however, she will feel it. Perhaps she’ll hide.”

“Mm,” said Dandelion thoughtfully. “But you’re good at freeze spells.”

“Good at them, yes,” agreed Yennefer, rising from the table and brushing off her black dress, “but I am also very tired, Dandelion.” She and Geralt avoided each other’s eyes, and everyone in the room suddenly knew why Yennefer was tired.

Dandelion coughed.

“Well, how far away could she get?” Yarpen growled after a pause. “She’s just one girl.”

Thinking of Ciri’s ability to accidentally time-jump, Geralt and Yennefer said with one voice, “Pretty far.”

Geralt looked at Yarpen. “If you had to guess, Yarpen, where do you think she would have gone? Where were you when she took off?”

***
“So you and Gwynbleidd are tied by destiny?” Ehrendil said curiously. He was propped up on one elbow, his head in his hand, listening to Ciri with genuine interest. His bare skin seemed to glow in the warmth of the candlelight, as did his pretty cyan eyes as they reflected the flames.

Ciri lay beside him, her skin also bare. They were cuddled close in a very narrow bed, on soft fur blankets, in the stillness after lovemaking. His skin still glistened with sweat and so did hers. She hugged the blankets to her breasts and looked at the young elf, and each time she did, she felt happy and content.

“Yes,” Ciri answered him. “When we are separate, we dream of each other. He’s tied to Yennefer too. If he dies, then she dies . . .” Ciri blinked sadly.

Ehrendil nodded. “Yes, I know the story. It’s something of a fairy tale in Dol Blathanna: the legendary White Wolf meeting his fate in Rivia, the death of his lover – and both whisked away by a beautiful girl with ashen hair.” He playfully flicked the hair from Ciri’s eyes and smiled his slow, sweet smile at her.

Ciri wanted to kiss him. She was surprised when he leaned down and kissed her slowly, tenderly on the lips. She loved the way he always kissed her. He did it as if he was tasting her. When their lips came apart, he playfully rubbed his nose against hers and her eyes crinkled up with laughter.  

“Ehrendil . . ?” she whispered breathlessly, happily.

“Hmm?” He stroked her hair behind her ear, and the back of his finger touched her cheek. He looked as blissful and content as she felt.

“Can you read my thoughts? Like other magicians?” she asked.

“Only sometimes,” he answered honestly. “My powers are not yet so developed. I left my training, after all . . .”

“So that’s how you knew . . . what I wanted when we . . .”

He smiled slowly again. “Mhm. Such things you think about me . . . it makes my heart . . . and other places . . .”

She giggled when his pretty cyan eyes became a little glazed.

“Ciri,” he whispered, pushing his fingers through her hair, “why didn’t you tell me who you were?” He frowned. “Didn’t you trust me?”

“It’s not important,” she answered glumly. “And you could have guessed. I told you my name.”

Ehrendil shook his head, smiling. “Every girl from here to Nilfgaard calls herself Cirilla now. Because of your legend. As I said, you are a fairy tale.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll change my name to Geralt.”

Ciri laughed.

“What?” he said in mock offense. “It’s a good name.”

Ciri pinched his chin. “I like Ehrendil.” She kissed him, and he whispered against her lips, “I noticed.”  

He lay on his back, and Ciri felt a thrill of happiness when he wrapped his arm around her and drew her close. She rested her cheek on his bare chest, and when he kissed her head, she found herself thinking of Geralt. They had lain this way together that night at Vidort, she and the witcher. And as they lay there, Geralt assured her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Since taking that cut to her face, she had never felt anything but deformed. But now? Ehrendil made her feel beautiful. Ehrendil really made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

As they made love, there were plenty of times when she clumsily tried to hide her face, hide the scar, this disfiguration that everyone stared at in disgust. She was frightened of disgusting him. He noticed this right away, and frowning, he pulled the barrette from her hair. Her ashen tresses spilled everywhere, finally falling back from her face, and when he finally saw her scar – clearly and completely – he did not look disgusted but sad. He kissed her left eye, kissed her scar to her chin, whispering as he moved inside her that she was beautiful and that she should never be afraid . . . never be afraid to let him look upon her beauty.

Remembering her hair barrette, Ciri picked it up from the nightstand and looked at it. It sparkled in the candlelight. Ehrendil looked at it too.

“Yennefer gave it to me,” Ciri said to his unspoken question.

“Ah,” he answered softly, “your mother. I saw her during the battle with Henselt. Her powers could rival that of Enid an Gleanna, and she wasn’t even at full strength. Had she been fully energized . . . I shudder to think what would have befallen those Kaedwenis.”

Ciri smiled sadly. “She tried to teach me spells. I have problems casting because . . .” I’m a Source, she thought glumly, and she knew Ehrendil heard the thought when his fingers curled soothingly in her hair.

“But you fight like a demon,” Ehrendil said. “I saw you come out of the portal. Your eyes were like flames, and blood constantly rained around you. It was as if a spirit of vengeance had manifested. I thanked the gods you were on our side.”

Ciri laughed when he pretended to shudder.

“Ehrendil?”

“Hm?” He put his hand behind his head, and regarded her, smiling.

Ciri frowned. “Why’d you leave Dol Blathanna? It’s safe and you could have been happy. It’s the one place Nilfgaard isn’t going to raze.”

Ehrendil sighed. “I wanted to know what my brothers were going through, living out here like bandits as they are. I wanted to know and understand and to help them. More naïve was I to think they would welcome me with open arms. But I will help them. I must.” He sounded adamant and frowned at the ceiling. “It is the right thing to do,” he whispered to himself.

Ciri gazed at him with large green eyes, admiring. Ehrendil was nothing like Eredin: he was sweet and gentle and seemed devoid of the bitter hatred the King of the Wild Hunt carried for humans. But deep down, Ciri knew it was because Ehrendil had never faced persecution as an elf. Ehrendil had spent the last ten years in Dol Blathanna as the Scoia’tael fought for Nilfgaard during the last war. He’d never seen battle or faced true hardship until now. What would happen to Ehrendil, she wondered, if – like Eredin – he was forced to watch his world taken from him? For all Ciri knew, Eredin was old enough that he was there when the humans entered the world of the Aen Seidhe and conquered it.

“If I didn’t leave Dol Blathanna,” Ehrendil added after a pause. He smiled at her, “I would not have met you, Ciri.”

They kissed again. Ashen hair tumbling around her, Ciri rolled on top of Ehrendil as they kissed. Her forearms and breasts were pressed to his chest when they pulled apart again. The fur sheets clung to her hips, covering them from the waist down. He peered up at her, his cyan eyes bright with affection.

“How could you think you are not beautiful?” he whispered, shaking his head. He sat up on his elbow and kissed her, running his fingers through her hair. She touched his face and kissed him back eagerly. Her heart fluttered when she felt him stiffening under her. He wanted to again.

“It will be eight times in two hours,” Ciri whispered in amazement.

“Nine,” he corrected, his lips brushing her neck. “You were too tired to remember the last . . .”

Ciri laughed. “Oh, Ehrendil . . .” she whispered, frowning when he touched her under the blankets.

Ehrendil pressed her on her back, kissing her carefully down her neck and breasts. Ciri arched her back under his kisses, twisting as his hidden fingers worked their magic.

“But . . .” she whispered. “I have to go back soon. They’ll start looking for me . . .”

“A last time,” he whispered between kisses. “Elaine beanna . . .

Ciri glanced around at the small, one-room cottage. Their clothes were strewn across the floor. Across the room, an oven loomed beside a counter and a small wooden table. On the shelves were small ragdolls and toys. Ciri frowned. Toys?

“Whose house is this anyway?” Ciri wondered.

Ehrendil lifted his face from her cleavage and smiled. “I have no idea.”

They laughed.

“Once more?” he whispered, kissing her cheek. He looked at her.

Ciri nodded and felt her blush come on strong. “Once more.”

Ciri hugged his neck and her trembling thighs wrapped around him. He kissed her as he filled her, and they were panting and gasping as they twisted together under the sheets when Ciri felt something click in her mind. She froze. Yennefer.

Ehrendil frowned. “What is it, Ciri?”

“We have to get up!” Ciri cried, frantic.

Ehrendil backed off. He sat on the edge of the bed with the sheet over his lap, watching as a naked Ciri scurried to get her clothes on. He slowly started to dress as well, pulling his light blue tunic over his head. His black hair fell in his eyes. “But what is it?” he repeated.

“Yennefer,” Ciri said in a muffled voice. Her tunic was over her face.

Laughing, Ehrendil rose and helped her dress. She shook her head, insisting he must dress as well.

“Dress,” Ciri insisted, stepping into her trousers. She buttoned them up and secured her belt. “And then hide, because if they catch me with you . . .”

Ehrendil frowned as he secured his own belt. He adjusted his trousers and picked up his boots. “But you are an adult, Ciri,” he said, sitting on a chair and pulling the first boot on.

Ciri scoffed. “I’ll never be an adult,” she said, “to anyone. Until I have a child, I’ll have the prophecy hanging over my head, with Yennefer and Geralt protecting my virtue, and the rest of the world trying to rob me of it --”

Ciri froze and they looked at each other. Her mind went into a sudden panic as she tried to remember whether or not Ehrendil had climaxed inside. He looked just as horrified.

“I didn’t,” he said adamantly, as if to convince himself. He pulled on his second boot, “Not once!”

Ciri nodded, also trying to convince herself. “I remember you backing out,” she said, and that was true. The problem was, did he back out every time? Pushing the thought aside, Ciri buckled on her scabbard, then hastily started to wind her hair into its chignon again. Ehrendil came to her and handed her the diamond barrette. She clipped it on.

“Will I see you again?” He frowned. “Or was this . . .” He looked at her hopefully.

Ciri smiled. He was cute. “Maybe in your own place next time.”

He laughed. “Can you blame me for breaking and entering? I was frantic.”

“We were frantic,” Ciri said fondly.

A happy silence fell between them.

“I live with some Scoia’tael who hate my guts,” he said with a smile. “On the corner near the Old Gate. They let me stay because I cook for them. I can cook for you some time.”

“That would be wonderful,” Ciri said, heart fluttering.

They stared at each other.

Va’faill, Ciri.”

Va’faill.

Neither of them moved.      

Ehrendil drew close, his eyes intense. Ciri swallowed hard. He was going to kiss her. He did.

They were moaning and had embraced when the door burst to fragments. Ciri screamed and clung to Ehrendil, who held her protectively as moonlight filled the door, falling across the floor in a pale square. Geralt stepped into the square of light, and Ciri suddenly realized he had blown the door apart with Aard. Seeing Ehrendil, he lifted his hand again.

“Geralt, don’t!”

Geralt ignored her and blew Ehrendil back with Aard. The young elf staggered through the room and fell over, smacking his head against the oven. Ciri ran to him and fell to her knees. He was dazed but still conscious. She helped him sit up, and he moaned, rubbing his head where he’d hit it.

“Oh, Ehrendil . . .” Ciri whispered apologetically.

“Come on, Ciri,” Geralt barked. “Now.”

Ciri got to her feet and glowered at him. “No! You didn’t have to --”

“Now,” Geralt repeated and turned from the room. He marched out into the street, and Ciri realized Yarpen and Dandelion were standing there. Geralt brushed past them without even looking at them.

Dandelion stepped into the room, looking sympathetic. “You best do what he says, Ciri.” He jerked his head in the direction Geralt had gone. “I’ve never seen him this angry.”

Ciri nodded miserably. She glanced back at Ehrendil, who was standing there rubbing his hair, his face twisted with pain.

“I’ll look after your elven stud, girl,” Yarpen said, adjusting his belt. “My fault we’re in this mess . . . if I hadn’t been smoking – and if you hadn’t run off!” He pointed an angry finger at her.

Ciri rolled her eyes. Dandelion rubbed her back, and it was supposed to be soothing, but it just served as a bitter reminder: she was still a child to all of them. The bard put an arm around her and guided through the door. As she was passing out into the moonlight, she glanced back at Ehrendil. Their eyes met and he smiled.
About Iorveth Being "King"
I believe Geralt asks Iorveth in the game if he wants to be king, and Iorveth answers by referring to Saskia. No, Iorveth does not become king in this fan fiction, though Saskia wanted him to. They both become regents of Adeirn later. It's a shame people don't read chapters based solely on the first few lines. =/

They Can't Live Without Each Other . . . Literally.
Ciri mentions here that if Geralt dies, then Yennefer dies. This was true in the novels. 

In The Last Wish Geralt makes a wish that he and Yennefer's fates will always be connected.

Later, in Sword of Destiny Geralt comes to what he believes is Yennefer's grave on Sodden Hill. Death comes for him. When they both realize Yennefer is alive, Death leaves again. 

And finally, in Lady of the Lake, Yennefer dies soon after Geralt is murdered. It's said over and over in the games that she died from trying to save him, but she died because their fates were forever linked by the wish.
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