Light unraveled around them in a slow, silver spiral, and the roar of battle and frost gave way, all at once, to a stillness so complete it felt almost unreal. Cold stone met Ciri's boots instead of scorched earth, and the unicorn's presence beside her guttered out like a snuffed candle, gone as suddenly as it had come, leaving nothing behind.
She blinked, and the familiar shapes of Kaer Morhen's courtyard swam into focus around her, the worn stone walls, the crooked old well, the mountain wind carrying the first bite of true winter down off the peaks. Home. She hadn't let herself believe, not fully, that she'd actually see it again.
Near the stables, Vesemir stood with a hand resting on the flank of one of the horses, mid-motion, and went utterly still the instant his eyes found them.
Ciri didn't think. She simply ran, closing the distance in a handful of strides and throwing her arms around him before he'd even fully turned, and Vesemir's arms came up around her without hesitation, solid and sure, one weathered hand cradling the back of her head the way it had a hundred times in her girlhood. She felt the tears break loose the moment his arms closed around her, silent at first and then not, her whole body shaking with everything she'd held back across months in another world.
"Easy now, girl," Vesemir said against her hair, his own voice rougher than usual. "Easy. You're home."
Behind them, Seb sank down onto the courtyard stones without any particular grace, every ounce of strength finally spent, and Geralt lowered himself down beside him a moment later with a low, pained grunt, both men simply sitting in the cold for a long moment, chests heaving, past the point of caring how it looked.
Vesemir held Ciri a while longer before easing back to look her over, checking her with a swift, practiced eye for anything worse than exhaustion, and then turned that same assessing gaze on the two men slumped against the stones nearby. "You two look like hell," he said, though there was real relief buried under the gruffness. "Welcome home. You'll tell me everything that happened, and I mean everything, starting from the beginning."
"I take it you already knew about Ciri," Seb said, tipping his head back against the wall, eyes half-shut.
"Received a letter from Geralt explaining the whole business, long ago." Vesemir said, crossing to stand over them both, arms folded. "Seems it all worked out, in the end." His eyes narrowed slightly. "What became of the elven sage? Did he at least pay for what he did to her?"
"I killed him," Seb said, flat and without any satisfaction in it.
"Good." Vesemir's voice carried no hesitation at all. "That's what happens to anyone fool enough to lay hands on one of our own." He reached down and offered Seb an arm up. "Come on. Let's get that shoulder seen to before it festers."
Seb took the offered hand and rose unsteadily and the moment he was upright, Vesemir's medallion, hanging plain and quiet against his chest, began to shudder violently, the old silver wolf's-head trembling as though it had been struck.
Vesemir went still, brow furrowing hard as he stared down at it. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.
"Just tired," Seb said, swaying slightly on his feet. "Feels like I ran the length of two continents tonight. Probably did."
"Tired," Vesemir said slowly, "and cursed, by the look of that reaction."
"Cursed?" Seb's eyes opened fully now, confusion cutting through the exhaustion.
Ciri's head snapped up, and Geralt pushed himself up onto one elbow, both of them going tense at once.
"Possibly the elven sage's doing," Vesemir said, circling Seb slowly, eyes narrowed in the particular, careful way he studied a fresh wound before deciding how bad it truly was. "Did he cast anything at you during the fight? Anything at all that felt strange, out of place, different from the rest?"
Seb's jaw tightened, trying to sift back through the blur of fire and violet light and pain. "I was too busy staying alive to notice much of anything, honestly."
"Which is precisely why I've told you, more times than I can count, to keep your head clear in a fight, no matter how hot it runs." Vesemir's tone carried the particular exasperation of a teacher who had said the same warning too many times to too many stubborn students.
"Is it bad?" Ciri's voice cracked out, worry sharpening every word as she crossed toward them both. "Avallac'h.. he was dangerous, his magic, I've seen what he could do."
"I don't know yet," Vesemir admitted, and the honesty of it did nothing to ease the knot forming in Ciri's chest. "No symptoms beyond the fatigue, which is natural enough given the state the three of you are in. You all look like you've been dragged through hell and back, Seb and Geralt worst of all."
"I'm fine," Seb said.
"Like hell you are," Vesemir said, not unkindly, but with absolute finality. "We'll know more in the next few days. Until then, you rest, and I keep an eye on you."
He turned, sweeping his gaze over the three of them one final time, something worn and genuinely warm settling into his weathered face despite everything. "For now.. welcome home, all of you. First time in longer than I can remember that you've beaten Lambert and Eskel back to the keep." He glanced up at the darkening sky, at the first fine flurries of snow beginning to drift down over the mountain. "Winter's here. Come inside, all of you, before you freeze on top of everything else."
He led the way toward the keep's heavy doors, and Ciri fell into step close beside Seb, one hand hovering near his arm as though she might need to catch him at any moment, her earlier relief now tangled through with a fresh, cold thread of fear she couldn't quite shake not after what Vesemir had just said, and not after everything else this night had already cost them.
.
.
.
The chamber was small and plain, exactly as Seb had left it months ago a narrow bed, a scarred writing desk, a window that let the mountain wind slip in through a gap in the shutters and Ciri eased him down onto the mattress with both hands, careful of his injured shoulder, while he sank into it with a low, exhausted groan.
"I missed my bed," Seb murmured, eyes already drifting half-shut, one arm draped loosely over his face. "Not exactly how I pictured coming back to it, though."
Ciri huffed out something close to a tired laugh, pulling the blanket up over him despite his half-hearted attempt to wave her off. "How did you picture it, then?"
"On horseback." His mouth curved faintly beneath his arm. "Good haul of monster trophies strapped to the saddle. A few decent stories to tell Lambert and Eskel over the fire once winter really set in.. the kind that get better every time you retell them.."
Ciri went still for a moment, understanding settling over her slowly. She reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his without quite meaning to. "You went through hell to get to me, didn't you." Her voice caught. "I'm sorry, Seb. All of this.. it's because of me."
"No." His hand tightened weakly around hers. "Most of the bad things that happened were my own doing, not yours.. I only found out you'd been taken a little while ago, and I didn't waste a second after that, tried to reach you as fast as I possibly could..." His voice was thinning now, words slowing, trailing soft at the edges. "Didn't think twice about it. Never even considered not going..."
"Seb?" Ciri leaned in closer, brow furrowing as his hand went slack in hers, his breathing evening out too suddenly, too completely. "Seb!"
He didn't wake up. She shook his shoulder, gentle at first and then not, panic climbing fast and sharp in her chest. "Seb!" She was on her feet a moment later, bolting for the door. "Geralt! Geralt, something's wrong!"
Geralt appeared in the doorway within seconds, already reaching for his sword out of pure instinct before his eyes settled on Seb's still, breathing form, and something in his shoulders eased almost at once. He crossed the room, laid two fingers briefly against Seb's wrist, and straightened. "He's just asleep, Ciri. Not unconscious. Not whatever you're picturing right now."
Ciri stood frozen in the doorway, both hands pressed hard against her mouth, chest still heaving. "Vesemir's words terrified me," she said, voice cracking. "I thought whatever's wrong with him had.. taken him, or worse, and I.."
"I know." Geralt's voice softened, and he crossed to her, resting a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Vesemir knows what he's talking about, and what he's doing. He's pulled worse curses off worse men than Seb. If it comes to it, if things take a turn.. I'll send for Yennefer."
Ciri's eyes sharpened through the last of her tears. "You haven't told her any of this. Any of it."
"No."
"She'll find out eventually," Ciri said. "She always does. I don't understand why you didn't just tell her from the start."
Geralt was quiet a moment, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on some point past her shoulder. "You were my responsibility," he said finally, low. "And I failed to keep you safe. Wasn't exactly eager to explain that to her before I'd actually fixed it."
"And yet you still came for me," Ciri said, softer now, some of the fight draining out of her voice. "And now I'm back,having left the royal palace of Tir na Lia in ruins behind me, more or less." A faint tired smile touched her mouth despite everything. "I know she's going to be furious about all of it."
"Fair," Geralt admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching despite the exhaustion carved into his face. "She's always furious about something, though. We'll deal with it properly once she's actually here." He glanced back toward the bed, toward Seb's still, sleeping form, something quieter and more worried flickering behind his eyes before he let it go. "For now.. get some rest yourself. You've earned that much, at least."
/-\
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