The portal's violet light hadn't even fully faded before Yennefer stepped through it, Geralt a half-step behind her and before either of them could so much as offer a proper greeting, she crossed the hall in a handful of long strides and pulled both Ciri and Seb into a single, fierce embrace.
It was so entirely unlike her that Seb froze mid-motion, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides, uncertain whether he was even allowed to hug back. Ciri looked equally stunned, blinking over Yennefer's shoulder at Geralt, who only shrugged helplessly.
"I'm sorry," Yennefer said, muffled slightly against them both, her voice carrying none of its usual cool composure. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. For both of you." She pulled back just far enough to look Ciri over properly, hands framing her face for a brief, searching moment. "Are you hurt? Truly hurt, anywhere?"
"I'm fine, Yen," Ciri managed, still faintly dazed. "Really."
Seb, for his part, simply stood there, utterly at a loss for words until Ciri, recovering first, put a steadying hand lightly against Yennefer's arm. "Easy, Yen. Seb's the one who is hurt. Go gentle."
Yennefer stepped back at once. "Oh.. right. Geralt filled me in." Her violet eyes cut sideways toward him. "I've decided I'm not currently speaking to that particular fool." She pointed a single, accusing finger at him without even turning her head fully.
"I take it he told you everything," Seb said, finding his voice at last.
"He did," Yennefer said. "A tad too late for me to have done anything useful about it before now, unfortunately."
"You know he meant well," Ciri said, glancing between the two of them.
"This is not the moment to feel sorry for his decisions," Yennefer said crisply, already stepping closer to Seb, tilting his chin slightly to examine the dark lines climbing his neck. Her expression didn't change, but something behind her eyes sharpened considerably. "So. This is it, then."
"You should see his chest," Vesemir said grimly, stepping forward. "It's spread across most of his torso by now."
Yennefer's mouth thinned. "It's a curse, that much I can already tell from here. Not poison... poison would struggle to keep pace with whatever concoctions the lot of you drink on a weekly basis."
"Can you help him?" Ciri asked, the words coming out tighter than she'd intended.
"Of course I can," Yennefer said, without a flicker of doubt. "I'll need a proper look, and time to try a few approaches. And I'll need everyone's help there'll be things to fetch, quickly, and I don't intend to run back and forth myself."
"That's fine," Vesemir said at once. "You can boss anyone in this keep around as you please, Yennefer, and I'll allow every bit of it. His life matters more than anyone's pride."
"Very well, then." Yennefer straightened, all business now. "Geralt mentioned this was the work of an elven sage."
"That's right," Seb confirmed.
"Given what he described," Yennefer said, "I imagine untangling this will drain my magic nearly dry before we're through. It'll be worth it regardless." She turned briskly. "We shouldn't waste any more time talking. I'll need a long table cleared, clean cloth, and spirit. Eskel, Lambert, if you would please."
"Of course," Lambert said, already moving. "Need wine as well, while we're at it? Fair warning, we're a bit short there, vodka's about all we've got stocked."
Yennefer recognized the sarcasm without missing a beat. "Vodka will serve perfectly well for spirit."
"Come on, then," Eskel said, clapping Lambert on the shoulder as they headed off. "Let's get to it."
"And what exactly should I be doing?" Seb asked.
"You," Yennefer said, already gesturing toward the cleared table, "will be lying right there."
"You're certain this'll actually work?" Geralt asked, stepping closer.
Yennefer didn't so much as look at him. "Tell that idiot," she said to Ciri instead, pointedly, "yes, it will work."
Ciri glanced between them, fighting down a smile, and simply looked at Geralt with faint, sympathetic amusement.
"She'll come around," Seb told him quietly.
"Hold on a moment," Vesemir said, raising a hand before Yennefer could turn fully back to her preparations. "You've taken one look and you're already moving to try something. What exactly is this curse, Yennefer? A little explanation would put me, no, all of us considerably more at ease before you start."
Yennefer regarded him a long moment. "I'd rather not make everyone in this hall more uncomfortable than they already are."
"We're witchers," Vesemir said, flat and unmovable. "We've dealt with every manner of filthy curse this Continent has to offer. So tell us. This one concerns one of our own."
Yennefer was quiet for a moment, weighing something behind her violet eyes, before finally exhaling and answering plainly. "This curse is extremely potent. My guess is the sage responsible knew full well he likely couldn't beat Seb outright in combat so he cast this instead, as a way to guarantee victory regardless of the fight's outcome. Even in death, he'd still win. He found Seb's one true weakness, magic, and exploited it fully." She paused. "I've only ever read about this particular curse once. Never seen it firsthand, until now. It's called the Cursed Heart or the Petrifying Blight. Ein a'geas corras, in Elder Speech. Purely elven in origin, old enough that it requires no spoken words at all to cast, which tells you something about how deeply set the magic behind it truly is. Given a sage was the one who cast it, we should assume it's operating at its full, most dangerous potential."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "Which is precisely what's strange. Geralt told me Seb's shown almost no real symptoms beyond the veins themselves. By every account I've ever read, he should already be severely weakened." She turned, studying Seb directly now. "The dark veins are only the first sign. They begin at the heart and spread outward from there, following the bloodstream, as though something beneath the skin is actively crawling through him. There should be nosebleeds by now. Blood in his cough. Constant weakness, unrelenting fatigue. These aren't separate symptoms, they're all expressions of the same curse, working together. They should already be happening. Unless I'm mistaken about something..."
Ciri burst out before she could stop herself. "No! no, you're right. All of that's already happened. Seb's been hiding it." Her eyes flicked guiltily toward him. "I saw it myself." She looked at Seb properly. "I'm sorry Seb."
"It's fine," Seb said quietly. "No point hiding it now."
"So you are in pain," Vesemir said, something hard settling into his voice.
"Why in every hell didn't you say something?" Geralt demanded, stepping forward. "That's not caution, that's foolishness, this concerns your own safety, Seb."
"Perhaps," Yennefer cut in coolly, "he didn't want to send this entire keep into a panic. Panic accomplishes nothing except making an already difficult situation considerably worse. I'd have thought that much was obvious to all of you by now, especially you Geralt!" She turned back to the matter at hand without waiting for a response. "As I was saying, it's feeding on him from within. Slowly consuming blood, flesh, strength, all of it. As it spreads, the veins will continue darkening, multiplying, until they cover the majority of his body. His organs will begin failing. His bones will harden. His flesh will grow cold to the touch. Eventually the curse begins altering the very nature of what he's made of, replacing living flesh with something far more rigid. Stone, perhaps, though I can't yet say with certainty." Her expression didn't waver, though something grim had settled into it. "If my suspicion is correct, this is precisely what ein a'geas corras does. It doesn't just kill victims, it transforms them. And once the curse completes its shape fully, whatever remains of the man underneath becomes little more than a vessel for whatever it's building in his place. Left unchecked, he weakens until he can no longer stand. The veins blacken across the whole of his body. His lungs fill with blood. His flesh petrifies by slow degrees. And by the end of it, there's no man left worth saving. Only a monster wearing his body."
"This is far more serious than we realized!" Ciri said, voice tight with horror.
"One more thing," Yennefer added, almost to herself now, studying Seb with open fascination. "If he weren't a witcher, this would have already consumed him entirely by now. Actually.. no. Even accounting for witcher mutations, it should have consumed him by now regardless.. This should be much further along than it currently is."
"First I've ever heard of this particular curse," Vesemir admitted.
"I read of it once, in an old text back in Aretuza, years ago," Yennefer said. "Whatever this thing actually is, it's likely as old as the Conjunction itself."
"Good thing, then," Vesemir said, "that we have you."
"I know," Yennefer said, entirely without modesty.
Seb let out a short laugh from where he sat. "So the bastard was trying to turn me into a monster this whole time. And here I actually thought he'd gone soft with regret, right before I put a sword through his neck."
"Like you said," Ciri said, taking his hand. "Never trust the Aen Elle."
/-\
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