Chapter Text
“Focus, Zireael. Patience.”
He said it in the way he always said it, in that calm, simple tone that made her feel anything but patient, feel the very opposite of patient. She hated when he said it. He must have seen her reaction to his words, the tiniest furrow of annoyance in her brow, or sensed it somehow, for he stepped closer and leaned forward to study her. She knew the way, had watched him watch her many times - slow, meticulous, like an artist appraising his work. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel him near, sense the shadow cast by his body pass over her, and she could smell him. The scent was unfamiliar, in that she had never experienced it prior to meeting him, yet it was familiar now, as it unfailingly lingered about him and seemed more intrinsic to him than a perfume or some other derived scent. It was earthy, herbal, pleasantly aromatic, and there was something else, something within it that she swore she almost recognized. She tried to focus, but the effort it required seemed to only drive concentration further from her reach. She felt him lean closer still, and her thoughts scattered helplessly before she could check them. Suspicious, he pressed two fingertips to her forehead, and she gasped lightly, his mind probing hers.
A burst of white light. The sun on her arms. Laughter, his laughter, so rare that it sounded strange, and hers, too. She was running, faster and faster, gaining momentum as she sprinted down the hill, almost too fast to control or to stop. A twinge of fear.
“Ciri!”
There was a note of alarm in his voice, and she soon discovered why. She could feel the moment her balance was lost, sensed her feet depart from the ground as she slipped into a tumble. A whoosh of air. Strong arms closed around, securing her, locking her in an upright position. Safe. She turned her head against his chest, her heart thumping inside of her, wild but fiercely, unceasingly alive. She tilted her chin up, her bright green eyes meeting his frightening yellow ones. Though they were not frightening at all, truly, not to her. Her lips twisted into a grin of relief, an expression he mirrored. They both laughed.
He released her. The sudden lapse back into the present sent a jolt through them both. Ciri had thought she would be used to the sensation by now - to her dismay, he linked their minds easily and often - but each time, the connection and disconnection sent a small, not entirely unpleasant shudder through her. The hint of pleasure the feeling left her only served to sharpen her temper further. She felt his fingertips fall away from her forehead.
“You’re not focusing, Zireael.”
“And you’re not helping,” she snapped, her eyes flicking open to meet his gaze with an indignant glare. “You know I hate it when you do that! You have no right!”
Avallac’h smiled faintly, vaguely, but did not respond, far too familiar with her combative nature by now to take the bait and argue with her. It was a game they had played many times, one she turned to out of boredom. Flustered by his silence and refusal to rise to the challenge, she unlocked her crossed legs and dropped her arms to her sides with a soft groan.
“Anyway, we’ve been at this for hours. My legs are growing numb. Can’t we take a break?”
To her surprise, Avallac’h actually seemed to be considering her plea, and Ciri was even more surprised when, after a moment, he nodded in assent.
“Truly?” Her vibrant green eyes widened slightly in disbelief.
“Yes. But we must be cautious and cannot stay for long. And you must be the one to take us.”
Ciri jumped to her feet and leaned forward to dust the dirt from the knees of her breeches, eager to act immediately lest he change his mind.
“Where to?”
“Somewhere familiar, or somewhere new,” he mused, slowly and pensively turning his staff in his hands. “Your choice.”
He offered her his arm in an unusual display of trust, and Ciri seized it with a grin, instantly whisking them far away from their secluded camp in a flash of brilliant, blue-green light.
-----
Child of the Elder Blood. Daughter of Lara Dorren. The Lion Cub of Cintra. Hen Ichaer . Those who knew her well had the audacity to simply call her ‘Ciri’, a small fragment of the gradiose, ridiculous string of names and titles bestowed upon her for her human lineage. To him, she was Zireael.
Avallac’h watched her trace a path along the shore, dancing in and out with the motion of the tide, never letting the waves get too high up her boots. She laughed as a particularly strong push of the current nearly knocked her off balance, and danced backwards towards solid ground. He followed slowly and far from the water’s edge, content enough to observe her antics and to enjoy the crisp sea air. She loved the ocean, he knew, loved the sight of it, loved the power she sensed in its never-ending tide. The coast in their world was far too harsh for her to enjoy, the narrow beaches too rocky for swimming, the water too cold. She longed to travel more frequently, he knew, to flex her growing skills in a more practical way, but it was quickly becoming too dangerous to be worth the risk, even for these short trips. Avallac’h frowned, his eyes unconsciously turning to the horizon and to the setting suns that burned so many brilliant shades of red. Dearg Ruadhri . Eredin Bréacc Glas and his Riders were closing their circle, tightening their noose in their long pursuit around the Spiral. It had been two months since Avallac’h had snatched her from Eredin’s closing grip, denying him the prize he sought so furiously, and Eredin had not slowed his chase for a moment since. Ciri remained safe when in their world, but Eredin and those who stood beside him were uncovering their tracks more quickly and easily with each new plane they moved through.
Our world , Avallac’h reflected on the nature of his own thoughts with quiet amusement, the corner of his lips twitching into the faintest trace of a smile. He returned his gaze to Ciri, who had since lost her balance, or surrendered it, and was seated, shoving her now-bare feet deep into the wet sand, the waves creeping up around her and lapping against her hands. A few softly-curling tendrils of wild, ashen hair had fallen loose from the knot she kept it tied in. They fell around her face, partially obscuring her long, curving scar. She laughed in delight as the waves rolled in stronger, threatening to knock her arms out from under her. The sound cut through air, high and sweet like a musical note and mingled with the cries of the gulls that circled overhead, and for a moment a different scene of a different time flashed before his eyes.
“You’re wrong!”
“I don’t think so, m’hlaith,” he smiled, though he kept his head bowed to keep her from seeing it.
“You are!” She insisted with a laugh, a beautiful, magical sound. “Look, it says right here!”
She extended a long, delicate finger and tapped the page of the book that lay open before them both.
“Where?” He leaned in closer, pretending he could not see what she was referring to. His arm brushed against hers, then his hand. She smiled softly, her eyes locked on the book, but she did not move away. She cleared her voice gently and read to him.
“‘ Arxinia amaratus is best harvested on the third new moon after its first blossom, as to most completely preserve its many delicate magical properties.’ I told you.”
Her thumb ran along the edge of his hand, ever so softly. Avallac’h blinked in surprise and lifted his gaze to meet hers before he could stop himself. She was staring at him with her wide, beautiful, seemingly bottomless green eyes, and he could not look away.
“You did,” he replied, but his voice sounded distant, as though the words were spoken by someone else. He could not look away.
“Avallac’h…”
He blinked, the light of the setting sun harsh against his eyes.
“Avallac’h?”
She was just a few feet away, the gold enmeshed around her pupils catching fire in the sunlight. For a moment, his heart clenched in his chest. Lara . But the past ebbed away, replaced by the present, and Avallac’h felt a deep disappoint wash over him as he recognized her, swiftly tailed by shame. Through no fault of her own, she did indeed bear Lara’s eyes, along with more than traces of Lara’s other features. Their resemblance was striking, eerie at times, and a source of subtle but constant torment. Ciri’s resemblance to her ancestor, to his Lara, was like a haunting - each time he looked at her, he saw a ghost first, and not the girl she truly was. Ciri knew it, too. She saw it in the revulsion in his eyes, and when she saw him looking at her and remembering Lara, she looked him at just as she was looking now - with defiance. With anger. With pain. Avallac’h averted his gaze, his fingers tightening around his staff.
“Apologies, Zireael, my thoughts wandered to another place.”
She said nothing, though no doubt she wished to. Instead, Ciri turned to the sad state of her feet, which were caked in sand. She set about cleaning them off as best she could, dancing from foot to foot on the beach, before nimbly pulling her boots back on.
“We should return.”
She looked at him sharply, a frown tugging at the edges of her lips. “Return? We’ve only just got here!”
“The longer we are away, the more time Eredin has to find us. He’s getting better at tracking us. Or rather, Caranthir has,” Avallac’h’s brow furrowed at the recollection of his protegee, but he swept the thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on past wounds, though they were many. “Let’s go.”
Ciri’s shoulders fell slightly in defeat, but she argued no further. He extended his arm to her once more, and she took it, her fingers pressing hard as the air began to fizzle around them. There was a sharp crack , then silence. The two suns sank beneath the horizon, giving way to the twin moons casting their pale light down along the empty shore.
-----
He left her to her own devices for the remainder of the day. Ciri set out on her own without complaint, content to wander their world with only Kelpie to keep her company. His mood always darkened when he thought of her , and he thought of her often. Ciri had learned it was best not to ask him, not to coax him into talking about the memories that encircled him. He never shared, and Ciri had begun to understand it was mostly for her own sake that he kept his thoughts to himself. When he was like this, she felt more alone at his side than without him, and so she wandered. Kelpie trotted through the deep forest effortlessly. The mare wished to run, longed to feel the wind in her mane. Ciri felt the same. She guided Kelpie to the edge of the forest to the narrow path they often rode across the open, rolling meadows and let her fly. She leaned against the mare’s muscled neck, squinting her eyes against the cutting wind, and cried out, urging Kelpie on. They ran for a long time, ran until Kelpie’s coat grew slick with sweat. They ran until they were both breathless, then stopped. Ciri clutched the mare’s neck, her heart pounding as though she too had run, as fast as she was able. She felt like screaming. She felt like crying. She felt like fading away, dissipating into the cracks between times and places and running far away from their world. Instead, she took a minute or two to recover, then they turned around together, woman and horse, and ran back.
It was after dark when Ciri finally urged the mare to return to their secluded camp. When they arrived, Avallac’h was nowhere to be seen, but Ciri spent little time searching. Instead, she saw to Kelpie, then took the liberty of quickly washing in the small, cold stream that flowed nearby. She returned to the camp, damp and teeth chattering, and sunk into the pile of blankets that marked her place by the fire. Her muscles felt tense and restless, but she ignored them as best she could and retrieved a handful of fruit they had collected earlier in the day. It was a poor excuse for a meal, but it quieted her clamorous stomach long enough to give her some respite from her hunger. Ciri shivered against the cool night air and pulled a blanket more tightly around her shoulders. She stared absently into the fire as her eyelids grew increasingly heavy.
She did not notice him appear, so softly did he move, like a wraith. It was his eyes she noticed first. His strange, pale eyes. His face was inexpressive but kind, as it almost always was, but his eyes - they glowed strangely in the firelight and reflected a dangerous, molten shade that made his gaze even more piercing than normal.
“Avallac’h?” She spoke his name softly, her voice rough with fatigue and sleepy alarm.
“I’m here, Zireael,” he reassured her, his own voice low and soothing.
Ciri sat up slowly, realizing she had sunk exhaustedly into her bed at some point. She wished to speak to him, wished him to speak to her, wished to converse with him in a normal way, not about training or duty or destiny. She often they talked of nothing else, and the monotony maddened her. He was the only other living person yet to be seen in this strange world they had taken up refuge in, and she knew very little about him. He seemed to sense her desire, or he had thoughts of his own, for he continued to watch her from where he sat across the fire.
Her brow furrowed, the strangeness of his mannerisms beginning to worry her, “Is everything alright?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head doubtfully as he continued to watch her. She was not certain if it was a trick of the flickering light or if it truly happened, but for a moment, Ciri thought she saw his gaze drop from her face to her chest, which was partially visible beneath the low neckline of her shirt now that she was sitting upright. The thought sent a rush of blood to her head and colored her cheeks. To her sudden surprise, she felt a twinge between her legs.
“Are you sure?”
Her question trailed off as he stood up and drew closer, stepping around the fire to lower himself into a seated position right beside her. Her heart began to beat a bit more quickly, and another question, or perhaps a series of questions, began to form on her lips, but his eyes flashed with something strange and new, and she lost the words she had been reaching for altogether. After a moment, he spoke.
“You desire me,” he noted, a statement rather than a question.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she quickly looked away, searching desperately for anything to say, “I...it has little to do with you. We’ve been trapped here so long, just the two of us, and I…,” she exhaled a slow, shuddering breath from between her teeth, her defeated gaze returning to his.
His expression remained unchanged, but from this close, she could better see it. Strangely, the look seemed akin to one of want. Her heart began to beat faster still, and Ciri felt her throat constrict with an unusual nervousness. Slowly, Avallac’h removed the travel cloak he was wearing. He placed it aside, neatly, methodically, and removed his gloves as well. She did not dare ask, found she could not speak at all, so she waited, uncertain of what could come next. She did not have to wait long.
“Lie back.”
“What? ”
“Or remain seated, if you wish - whatever is your preference.”
Her eyes narrowed in a glare, her temper flaring at last and instantly overcoming all else. “Avallac’h, what are you doing?”
“You expressed that you have a need. One that has little to do with me, as you’ve stated, but a need nonetheless. And we are alone, in this world, as far as we know. If it is a need you cannot satisfy yourself, then I shall help you. If you wish.”
His frustratingly mechanical answer drove her back to speechlessness. Struggling to comprehend what he was telling her, she continued to glare at him in disbelief. He waited, ever patient. As the silence began to grow and stretch, an itching thought worked its way into her mind. Why not? What would be the harm? Why shouldn’t he tend to you? He needs you, after all. He needs your blood, needs the power that it holds. Isn’t it fair that he do something for you in return? Her stomach roiled at the wickedness of the thought, but she slowly lowered herself onto her back nonetheless, her eyes glinting with wariness. Avallac’h inclined his head, acknowledging her mistrust. She fell back completely and waited. For a long moment, she waited, eyes trained on the stars, but nothing happened. It was not long at all before impatience took over.
“So what does your proposal entail, exactly? What are you planning to--ah!”
The sensation had started so gently, crept in so gradually, that at first Ciri had not noticed it all. But the feeling seemed to cross a threshold and suddenly made itself apparent in the form of an intense, warm vibration that centered itself on the sensitive peak between her legs and radiated outward and over her body. She flashed a wide-eyed look at Avallac’h. He was watching her with that same, unfaltering expression, but when her gaze locked with his, she was certain she caught just a glimpse of a grin tug at the corner of his lips. Ciri glared venomously, but another, sudden pulse made her cry out again with delighted surprise, and any impending argument instantly dissipated. One of his hands was raised slightly, his fingers pointed upwards. It was not visible, but she could feel it. From his palm emanated a strong, familiar energy. Her energy. She realized, suddenly, that he must be drawing from her own power, conducting it, and focusing it back at her.
“Exactly so, Zireael,” his tone was oddly smug and patronizing, like a teacher congratulating a dumb pupil with praise.
She gritted her teeth, but before she could even begin to form a thought this time, the energy pulsed again, and Ciri moaned, her forearms trembling so intensely that she could no longer hold herself up. She sank back into her blankets in surrender. He seemed to approve of her decision, as the pulsing flowing through her grew stronger still, honing in on the most sensitive points of her body. It throbbed between her legs, warmed her abdomen, kissed her nipples, her neck, gently bit at her lips. Though still almost completely clothed, Ciri felt as though she was surrounded by attentive lovers, crawling over her, touching all of her at once. She moaned again, louder, and spread her legs beneath her blankets.
The intensity of the sensation felt as though it was pulling her in every direction. She was overwhelmed with pleasure, lost in it, so absorbed by it that she felt as though she would drown. Her vision darkened, and the sounds in her ears - the soft noises of the forest, the gentle hum of the magic he was directing at her, the piercing notes of her own moans - began to grow distant and faint. Through it all, his voice cut like a knife, low and gentle, but commanding.
“Focus, Zireael . Patience.”
He said it in the way he always said it, in that calm, simple tone that made her feel anything but patient, feel the very opposite of patient. She loved when he said it.
Ciri did as he instructed, forcing the pleasure into a honed point and directing it to where she desired it the most. For a moment, it felt as if every muscle in her body trembled from the force of it, quivering, building, and then releasing. She shuddered hard, almost violently, and screamed, her cry piercing through the near-silence of their reclusive camp and the forest around them.
Ciri awoke with a start and instantly sat up in her makeshift bed. A dream? Her eyes flicked across the fire to where he usually slept, but the brightness of the flames obscured her sleep-ridden vision. She blinked a few times and focused. He was there, in his bed, turned away from her. Asleep . She gave a quiet sigh of relief and tried to collect her thoughts, which remained scattered and agitated. Her body felt equally as restless and, Ciri noticed with a mixture of surprise and indignation, aroused. There was an undeniable wetness between her legs, and an ache. An ache so powerful that she felt helpless to do anything but push aside her annoyance and address it. Ciri glanced across the fire once more, her teeth tugging anxiously at her bottom lip. Avallac’h remained motionless, other than his outline, which rose and fell steadily beneath the furs piled on top of him. She eased herself back down into her bed, drew the blankets over herself, and slipped her fingers between her legs.
Her lips parted slightly, and her fears were confirmed. She was extremely excited, shamefully so. For some time, she had toyed with the idea that she found Avallac’h attractive in some way, but Ciri had refused to address the thought directly. After all, it was his fault she was here. He had lured her to his world, had held her there against her will, had forced her to lay with the Alder King. It was because of Avallac’h that she had met Eredin, that Eredin had seen her, touched her, and was now able to track her through time and space. But he also saved me. From Eredin and his Red Riders.
Ciri’s eyes remained locked on his shadowed, slumbering figure, alert for any movement or sign of stirring. Her fingers pressed down, circling slowly in a steady, persistent pattern. She sighed softly, allowing her thighs to fall outwards, and her body relaxed into a pleasurable rhythm. She focused on the feeling that still lingered from the dream, concentrated on the details that had made it so vivid, and moved her fingers faster: the buzzing vibration of the energy he had directed to her, the sensation as it swept over her skin and settled onto her most sensitive areas, the look in his eyes as he watched her…
Her breath shuddered, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. Her back arched sharply and pressed into the ground. For several long moments, her muscles remained locked in place as a rush of pleasure swept through her, granting her the much-needed release she had been hoping for. Ciri fought to control her unsteady breathing, a trick she had learned and used often in quite another context, but it worked just as well now as it did on the battlefield. She released her breath with a slow, long exhale, and let her shoulders fall back as her body relaxed. Her head was still reeling when reason began to return, bringing with it a whole host of conflicting thoughts and feelings, the most prominent of which was embarrassment. He was Aen Elle, born of a race that, Ciri had learned first-hand, despised humans. He had been and still seemed to be almost fanatically obsessed with Lara Dorren, from whom Ciri was descended. He was secretive, strange, and older than she could comprehend. Logically, there was very little that she should find appealing about him at all. She should hate him, in fact, and perhaps she did. But she wanted him, despite all else.
Ciri withdrew her hand and closed her eyes, struggling to silence the multitude of thoughts and arguments rushing through her mind. Focus, Zireael . She could hear the words - his instructions, his voice - so infuriatingly appropriate, even now. Silencing an impending groan of frustration, Ciri turned her back on the fire and on him, and shut her eyes harder, demanding her uncertainty to subside and for sleep to take its place. Eventually, it did.