nilfgaard had invaded efficiently. ravka had its army of mages, but nilfgaard had its own as well. better trained. better fed. not wrung dry by the oppressive wall of darkness that had been trying to snuff out the lantsovs and their lot for generations.
ravka is a lost cause, but the rest of the continent need not be — because destiny had put the boy from the two mills directly in yennefer's path, and although he insisted that his friend might still be saved, yennefer was not burdened like he was by an excess of compassion.
this is how she drags him over the fjerdan border. hair and skin singed. dirt smeared through the sweat on her face and neck. they are both black spots of soot and soil against the ice, but they are alive — because he is too important to fall into nilfgaard's hands. because if fringilla touched him, as yennefer had, it would have been ravka turned to ash, not nilfgaard's twelfth battalion.
she hurls him into the snowdrift, breathing hard, the portal closing behind. leaving the graveyard of os alta behind. ]
You are an exceptional kind of idiot. [ she seethes it out, dropping her hands to her knees, breathing hard, swaying. whatever he was had amplified her chaos, but it had also felt like siphoning out a piece of her soul. when they find a place to stop, it will be for days. they need to get far enough away first. yennefer's not sure that anywhere is far enough.
she squints up at the trees, bare of leaves. skeletons raising their hands, flagging her and malyen's graves. annoyance snaps sharply through her expression. she has come too far to die here. ]
[ The snowdrift is a mercy, after all that heat and flame.
Or it would be, if Mal was thinking of anything other than Alina, vanishing into the churning chaos of the battlefield. She'd been within arms length and then in the midst of smoke and blood and fire—
He'd been screaming after her. Mal's throat is raw with it, or with smoke, or both. He had no magic, nothing but the sword in his hand among sorcerers, but what was the risk if Alina was in danger.
They'd only just found their way back to each other. It had hardly been a day.
And now here he is, thrumming like a tuning fork in the snow. He feels scalded, and not because of Yen's scathing tone. ]
Take us back, [ is the very first thing out of his mouth. The first thing he's said to her properly.
Mal can still feel where her fingers had wrapped around his wrist. It had felt as if all the blood in his veins had turned molten, as some force rushed to meet her hand. He is clammy with sweat and smeared with ash and his ears are ringing, but he staggers to his feet regardless.
This woman is shorter than he is, but Mal has no illusions that his height gives him any advantage. ]
We have to go back.
[ Alina beats over and over in his chest, an agonized thing. ]
[ as soon as he's on his feet again and nearer to her, yennefer raises her hands as if to ready herself to push him back. he's a soldier. this is the only language they understand.
but he doesn't close the distance. only insists. her hands drop again. ]
Were you any less important, I would gladly hand you over to die with your friend. My life would be easier for it. [ there's no faking the kind of contempt in her voice. she has no love for destiny tethering her to another. she had no love for it when it was geralt, and less for this boy. ] Unfortunately for us both, I want that less than I want to see Nilfgaard fall.
What does Mal do with that? He has seen magic at a distance, and knows it is not something to be compelled. It is not a weapon he can wrest from her hands and use himself. It is something only she can grant.
And somewhere, miles and miles from them, Alina is—
In danger. Maybe dead. Every moment he spends here arguing with this woman is another moment in which the latter becomes closer to truth. ]
Then we should be there [ is a stubborn protest, Mal's jaw tight, feet planted in the snow. ] I saw what you can do. You could take them apart.
If you were aware enough to see what I can do, then you were aware enough to recognize there is only one of me, and no reinforcements coming to Ravka. It is a loss. It is a tomb.
[ she should be more sympathetic. those she cares about had gone down defending ravka, too. believing in it. she smothers that sentiment in its crib. unwelcome, unwanted. out of this world before it could properly be in it. ]
They will not kill your friend. Not right away. She has the dubious honor of being more valuable as leverage.
How long does that keep Alina alive? How long does it keep her out of the hands of people who would see her turned into a specific kind of weapon?
Or perhaps Nilfgaard will do that now.
Mal's jaw works around protests and pleas, before he turns from Yen to survey where they'd landed. Frost and snow and emptiness, while somewhere far from them Ravka burns and Alina suffers. ]
How are we going to get her back?
[ This is not really a question for Yen. Instead, it is spoken into the frigid air. Mal's breath frosts over as he speaks, this impossible, hopeless sentiment aloud as he feels the humming buzz of the earth beneath his feet and Yen behind him and distantly, Alina, so far she is muted to nothing but a direction in which to walk. ]
We aren't. Not yet. Not until we stand a chance of pushing them out.
[ she looks around. they're in a clearing, inasmuch as one can call a thick layer of snow a clearing. the trees are sparser here, at least. she gestures towards the thicker line of the wood. ]
You're a tracker aren't you? Find us something to eat. I need to think.
[ strategize which way to head. in fjerdan territory, they're unlikely to meet any allies. the ice court would sooner allow invaders to push up against its borders than support the strategem of a witch.
they're around the fold, now. north enough that they could seek the coast, and novyi zem, ketterdam, the wandering isles. but these do not have the military forces to support reclaiming ravka, and making for shu han would mean passing through occupied territory once more. ]
[ The urge to dig his heels in, shout, shake her until she reconsiders—
Well. It flares hot and dissipates. Some part of him balks at putting his hands on her again. Will it be the same as it was on that battlefield if he wrapped his fingers around her wrist? Mal is not anxious to find out.
So he takes all that sullen fury with him into the snow. If he returns to a fire, or some sort of shelter, all the better. If not, he'll manage it himself. His first impression of this woman didn't give him the sense that she had much experience living rough.
Out of her sight, there's room for worry to set in. What is he? How had they done that together? Even the familiarity of tracking game through the snowdrifts doesn't crowd out the inescapable reality that he has uncovered part of his nature that is wholly alien to him. It persists throughout the hunt, through the passing stretch of time between his departure, his hunt, and his return, gossamer threads of awareness drawing him back to Yen as much as the signs he'd left himself to guide his steps back to their makeshift campsite. ]
I hope you eat rabbit, [ is the flat announcement of his return. Dinner is not quite served, but it's on the way. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
accept these vibes.
watch me set up the weirdest crossover ever
nilfgaard had invaded efficiently. ravka had its army of mages, but nilfgaard had its own as well. better trained. better fed. not wrung dry by the oppressive wall of darkness that had been trying to snuff out the lantsovs and their lot for generations.
ravka is a lost cause, but the rest of the continent need not be — because destiny had put the boy from the two mills directly in yennefer's path, and although he insisted that his friend might still be saved, yennefer was not burdened like he was by an excess of compassion.
this is how she drags him over the fjerdan border. hair and skin singed. dirt smeared through the sweat on her face and neck. they are both black spots of soot and soil against the ice, but they are alive — because he is too important to fall into nilfgaard's hands. because if fringilla touched him, as yennefer had, it would have been ravka turned to ash, not nilfgaard's twelfth battalion.
she hurls him into the snowdrift, breathing hard, the portal closing behind. leaving the graveyard of os alta behind. ]
You are an exceptional kind of idiot. [ she seethes it out, dropping her hands to her knees, breathing hard, swaying. whatever he was had amplified her chaos, but it had also felt like siphoning out a piece of her soul. when they find a place to stop, it will be for days. they need to get far enough away first. yennefer's not sure that anywhere is far enough.
she squints up at the trees, bare of leaves. skeletons raising their hands, flagging her and malyen's graves. annoyance snaps sharply through her expression. she has come too far to die here. ]
*best
Or it would be, if Mal was thinking of anything other than Alina, vanishing into the churning chaos of the battlefield. She'd been within arms length and then in the midst of smoke and blood and fire—
He'd been screaming after her. Mal's throat is raw with it, or with smoke, or both. He had no magic, nothing but the sword in his hand among sorcerers, but what was the risk if Alina was in danger.
They'd only just found their way back to each other. It had hardly been a day.
And now here he is, thrumming like a tuning fork in the snow. He feels scalded, and not because of Yen's scathing tone. ]
Take us back, [ is the very first thing out of his mouth. The first thing he's said to her properly.
Mal can still feel where her fingers had wrapped around his wrist. It had felt as if all the blood in his veins had turned molten, as some force rushed to meet her hand. He is clammy with sweat and smeared with ash and his ears are ringing, but he staggers to his feet regardless.
This woman is shorter than he is, but Mal has no illusions that his height gives him any advantage. ]
We have to go back.
[ Alina beats over and over in his chest, an agonized thing. ]
no subject
but he doesn't close the distance. only insists. her hands drop again. ]
Were you any less important, I would gladly hand you over to die with your friend. My life would be easier for it. [ there's no faking the kind of contempt in her voice. she has no love for destiny tethering her to another. she had no love for it when it was geralt, and less for this boy. ] Unfortunately for us both, I want that less than I want to see Nilfgaard fall.
no subject
What does Mal do with that? He has seen magic at a distance, and knows it is not something to be compelled. It is not a weapon he can wrest from her hands and use himself. It is something only she can grant.
And somewhere, miles and miles from them, Alina is—
In danger. Maybe dead. Every moment he spends here arguing with this woman is another moment in which the latter becomes closer to truth. ]
Then we should be there [ is a stubborn protest, Mal's jaw tight, feet planted in the snow. ] I saw what you can do. You could take them apart.
no subject
[ she should be more sympathetic. those she cares about had gone down defending ravka, too. believing in it. she smothers that sentiment in its crib. unwelcome, unwanted. out of this world before it could properly be in it. ]
They will not kill your friend. Not right away. She has the dubious honor of being more valuable as leverage.
no subject
How long does that keep Alina alive? How long does it keep her out of the hands of people who would see her turned into a specific kind of weapon?
Or perhaps Nilfgaard will do that now.
Mal's jaw works around protests and pleas, before he turns from Yen to survey where they'd landed. Frost and snow and emptiness, while somewhere far from them Ravka burns and Alina suffers. ]
How are we going to get her back?
[ This is not really a question for Yen. Instead, it is spoken into the frigid air. Mal's breath frosts over as he speaks, this impossible, hopeless sentiment aloud as he feels the humming buzz of the earth beneath his feet and Yen behind him and distantly, Alina, so far she is muted to nothing but a direction in which to walk. ]
no subject
[ she looks around. they're in a clearing, inasmuch as one can call a thick layer of snow a clearing. the trees are sparser here, at least. she gestures towards the thicker line of the wood. ]
You're a tracker aren't you? Find us something to eat. I need to think.
[ strategize which way to head. in fjerdan territory, they're unlikely to meet any allies. the ice court would sooner allow invaders to push up against its borders than support the strategem of a witch.
they're around the fold, now. north enough that they could seek the coast, and novyi zem, ketterdam, the wandering isles. but these do not have the military forces to support reclaiming ravka, and making for shu han would mean passing through occupied territory once more. ]
no subject
Well. It flares hot and dissipates. Some part of him balks at putting his hands on her again. Will it be the same as it was on that battlefield if he wrapped his fingers around her wrist? Mal is not anxious to find out.
So he takes all that sullen fury with him into the snow. If he returns to a fire, or some sort of shelter, all the better. If not, he'll manage it himself. His first impression of this woman didn't give him the sense that she had much experience living rough.
Out of her sight, there's room for worry to set in. What is he? How had they done that together? Even the familiarity of tracking game through the snowdrifts doesn't crowd out the inescapable reality that he has uncovered part of his nature that is wholly alien to him. It persists throughout the hunt, through the passing stretch of time between his departure, his hunt, and his return, gossamer threads of awareness drawing him back to Yen as much as the signs he'd left himself to guide his steps back to their makeshift campsite. ]
I hope you eat rabbit, [ is the flat announcement of his return. Dinner is not quite served, but it's on the way. ]