Chapter Text
Tissaia rests her head on her desk, willing herself to lose consciousness. A storm rages on outside, reminiscent of the gale she’d summoned days ago that upended the careful order kept in her bedroom. The dark wood of her bureau is now approaching black, still quietly smoldering from some stray fireball or another. She lost track. She’s aware her face is inches from the latest plate of food poor Triss had attempted to bully her into eating, and she closes her eyes to ignore the rather shameful setting of her inglorious defeat.
She had foolishly thought that returning triumphant from Sodden would create a narrow window of opportunity to make demands of the council, increase her influence, and try to save the pompous fools of Aretuza from themselves. She had been mistaken. Or perhaps she’d simply made the wrong demands. That tends to happen when one appears in a council meeting semi-hysterical, demanding resources to hunt down a lost mage.
Not just any mage, of course. That might have been granted. But when the woman in question has vaporized an entire army, may very well have sacrificed herself to do it, and terrifies a good portion of the room, success is unlikely. Stregobor had insisted she stay in Aretuza to “recover,” but it was clear he was attempting to limit her opportunities for further unsanctioned action. The only action she wanted to take was painting the council room red with his-
Bang!
She looked up, surveying her crumbling quarters to identify just what she’d destroyed this time. Maybe if she was lucky the entire tower would collapse, and she wouldn’t need to deal with this anymore. If it crushed that man on the way down, it would be infinitely worth it.
The tower, as evidenced by the fact she is not falling at a great velocity, had not collapsed. However, the woman at the center of her room looks as if she’s about to. Long dark hair, matted and plastered to her face. Dress an unidentifiable color under streaks of soot and blood. There’s blood on her face, too, and she can’t determine if it’s fresh or not.
Tissaia is prepared to collapse again, accepting her visitor as just yet another magical outburst, when the barely-standing figure finishes looking about and speaks.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Tissaia’s head whips off the desk. There’s no way. The voice she is hearing is impossible. Its owner is very likely dead, as is Tissaia’s career, sacrificed trying to find her. She must finally be going mad.
“Yennefer?”
“I really thought,” the woman in question wheezes out, doubled over in what may be pain or exhaustion, “...that you'd be more organized. This is a pigsty.” She smirks at the irony of the statement, eyes settled on Tissaia as if this is just a friendly meeting between colleagues instead of the crumbling of the Rectoress’s remaining mental stability. With that, Yennefer stumbles over a pile of books spilling from a collapsed shelf, the casualty of an unintentional earthquake, and falls to the floor in a dead faint.
Tissaia launches herself at the unconscious woman, tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste. She grasps at any part of Yennefer she can reach, running her hands over her face and throat, desperately searching for a pulse. A hysterical laugh burbles out of her throat as she feels Yennefer’s heart beating beneath her hands. She’s real. She’s here. And why not? She always was good for a portal in mortal peril. Tissaia can feel her body slumping, days of not eating finally taking their toll, the faintness in her head and buzzing in her limbs becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. She straightens. This is not the time. Tissaia is less than willing to leave an injured woman on her floor but recognizes that she is clearly in no condition to care for herself, much less her errant student. She staggers out the door, a ghost emerging from a tomb, and lurches towards where they’ve stuck the mages that made it back from Sodden. She is going to fix this. She is going to get her girls, and they are going to fix this.
It takes approximately five seconds for Sabrina and Triss to look at each other and rush Tissaia back to her room, whispering back and forth in a manner they must think is discrete but that she can definitely hear, and would be offended over if she didn’t look quite so terrible. The fact that her goal in the first place was to get them to her room as soon as possible may have helped form this conclusion.
“Tissaia, what the fuck?” Her two slack-jawed accomplices could be referring to the state of the room, the massive pile of untouched food, her general appearance, or the unconscious woman lying on her floor. Tissaia had been in no condition to lift her, regrettably, and now she makes quite the alarming picture in the epicenter of the wreckage.
“Yes. That’s why I went to fetch you.” She can see on their faces that this is in no way a suitable explanation. Removing herself from her position propped up between the two alarmed sorceresses, she walks as steadily as she is able to Yennefer, who has not moved an inch but appears to still be breathing regularly. “Yennefer has decided to grace us with her presence. I think she might require medical assistance. Due to the nature of her reappearance and her popularity here, I thought it best to maintain a certain level of...discretion.” She does not need to say how precarious Yennefer’s safety would be if the council should catch wind of her survival and current vulnerability. No, it’s a far better idea to keep this in-house, with people she can more or less trust.
“She looks dreadful.” Sabrina inches forward, fingers fluttering about Yennefer’s face as if afraid her ailments might transfer should she make contact.
“So did you, after the battle. Are you sure we shouldn’t get someone else? Anyone else?” Tissaia shakes her head, and Triss accepts the command. The three of them peel Yennefer’s ruined dress off of her, examining her body for gashes and untreated wounds. However, she appears relatively unscathed, all damage inflicted by her own spellcasting. The only cure will be food and rest.
It’s imperative she remains guarded and safe during her recovery. Tissaia cannot lose her again, she won’t allow it. “Are we going to clean her up, then? Because she smells like fire, and I can’t figure out if that’s because she was on fire or just because she’s been in this room.” Triss’s grin is warm as she speaks, clearly defaulting to teasing Tissaia when presented with the sheer insanity of this situation: the Rectoress who lost her mind and the mage who came back from the dead. She’ll admit it’s not the easiest escapade to be pulled into.
“A bath would be lovely, actually,” Yennefer croaks, shattering any mounting tension. Triss dives onto the woman for a forceful embrace, suddenly unable to be bothered about her state of undress and general level of filth.
“Wonderful. She’s awake. Can I go now?” Sabrina’s eyes lock with Tissaia’s. Tears are pooling, and the girl radiates discomfort. Tissaia sighs and waves a hand, dismissing her before the sheer emotion of it all reaches more irritating heights. There’s only so much upheaval and feelings they can all take in a day.
“Fill the bathtub first.” Tissaia hates to admit it, but she’s in no condition for even the most mundane of magic. “And come see me in the morning. We’ll have to keep her here, and we all know how cooperative she’s likely to be once she’s slept.” Hopefully, between the three of them, Yennefer’s proclivity for chaos will be contained. Right now she seems so peaceful, Triss attempting in vain to get her hair in some kind of order and the blood away from her eyes, but once she has her energy back Tissaia knows she will effectively be playing host and nursemaid to a tornado in her rooms. She couldn’t be happier to have Yennefer back, but keeping her will be quite the challenge if she dramatically announces her presence early to the wrong ears.
“I don’t require supervision.”
“Yes, you do!” The response is simultaneous and fervent, Triss and Tissaia looking at each other with vaguely harried expressions. Triss’s warm eyes beg Tissaia to be the leader, control the situation and Yennefer, and for once Tissaia resents her consistent role as the one in charge.
“The council may not be...pleased at your reappearance.”
Yennefer snorts, throwing her head back at the ridiculousness of that statement. “Of course not. And if they don’t like it I can burn them all.” Tissaia believes it. In a few days, Yennefer may very well become Stregobor’s worst nightmare, but for now, keeping her calm and happy will become hers.
“Heal first, Yennefer.” She places a hand on Triss’s arm, guiding her to the door. “Would you take her tomorrow? I feel as though my own reappearance is long overdue.”
“If you eat.” Triss stands up as straight as she’s able, looming over Tissaia as sternly as is possible for the woman. Tissaia deflates, intent on arranging things as soon as possible.
“Yes, fine, I may as well set a decent example for our guest. Go to sleep, Triss. It’s late.” She can hear a parting shot that sounds something like “You’re the one that woke us up!” as she shuts the door. Which is a valid point, she will admit.
“Does that mean you’re gonna clean me up?” Yennefer has dragged herself up onto her elbows, forehead creasing with the effort. Tissaia would assume asking her to stand for herself would be outrageous, never mind giving herself a bath. She sighs, wondering when she went from Rectoress to a humble caretaker, but nods and drags Yennefer to her feet. It’s an arduous trek to her bathroom, Yennefer’s arm over her shoulders and weight pressing against her side as they stumble forward, mincing around the various casualties of Tissaia’s daily outbursts. She can work on the general state of her room later. Dealing with her new dependant comes first.
Getting Yennefer into the bathtub is a labor of its own. Her limbs don’t seem to cooperate with the rest of her, and she clings to Tissaia tightly enough to almost send them both tumbling into the water. She pulls at Yennefer’s clenched fingers, attempting to remove them from where she’s got a death grip on Tissaia’s nightgown, and is rewarded with a wave of water soaking the front of her dress as Yennefer finally drops her arms with far more force than necessary. Tissaia favors her with a brittle smile. She’s tempted to scold her, but she only has just got the menace back, and she is still quite a wreck from her time abandoned on the battlefield. Tissaia will let her immaturity slide for today.
The first task to start is cleaning Yennefer’s face. Tissaia barely recognized her upon entrance, and the mask of blood and ash caking her skin was likely the reason. The ash comes off with water like cheap face powder, but the blood has had days to dry and is stubborn. Yennefer has no compunctions against complaining loudly each time Tissaia is too rough trying to scrub the remnants from around her eyes, and towards the end, she’s tempted to attempt a magical removal. Only her state of complete exhaustion prevents it.
“This is taking forever,” Yennefer whines. She’s glancing up at Tissaia, violet eyes open wide as her face twists into a pout. She bears an uncanny resemblance to a kicked puppy.
“I am not letting you sleep in my bed while wearing a forest’s worth of dirt.” Tissaia does her best to sound firm in that assertion, but she and most likely Yennefer know that should the younger woman pout enough then Tissaia will have no choice but to oblige her every request.
“At least buy a girl dinner first.” Yennefer’s face has split into a pleased grin, eyes narrowed in an open challenge. It’s probable that she’s chosen to be difficult in response to her house arrest in Tissaia’s chambers, and Tissaia will not be humoring her. “Maybe this is taking so long because you like looking at me.”
Tissaia will insist that she is not blushing. She has no reason to. Yennefer may be lovely, as all her ascended students turn out to be, but she’s also filthy and quite alarmingly thin. Even if her skin is very soft, and her perfume still lingers somehow. That’s not important, because the last thing Tissaia is concerned with right now is her body.
The insinuation still gets a reaction, and while she hates that Yennefer can so easily get under her skin like no one else she’s too ecstatic at her reappearance to be irritated.
Yennefer seems only to be encouraged by the lack of a response. “You could just join me if you like. I could fix your hair for you. It’s a disaster.” It is. Several days of accidentally summoning storms in an enclosed space have that effect. Tissaia realizes slightly too late that is not the part of Yennefer’s ramblings she should have focused on. She is reminded of this as Yennefer turns to face her, leaning against the edge of the tub and beaming. Tissaia locks her gaze on the other woman’s face and refuses to engage in whatever bizarre game she’s being challenged to.
“I think this is the best we’re going to get. Stay there. You’ll have to borrow something of mine.”
“Are you sure leaving me unsupervised would be safe? Who knows, I might decide to portal away and duel Stregobor.”
Tissaia refuses to turn around, somewhat nervous as to what image would greet her if she did. Not that it would matter, because of course, the only important thing at this moment is getting Yennefer to rest so she can recover properly. “Do you require supervision?” It comes out sharper than she’d intended, and she can imagine the wounded look Yennefer has no doubt practiced in a mirror plastering itself on her face.
“I might.” Her voice has dropped into a sultry purr, and Tissaia can hear a splash, then the sound of dripping. She’s just starting to turn to face her annoyance when two damp arms drop over her shoulders, the rest of Yennefer’s body pressing against her back. “You mentioned something about getting me clothes?” She did mention that. She wishes she’d done so faster, as while with the cocktail of annoyance and fear and joy she’d experienced since Yennefer’s arrival has done much to affect her brain, it had done little to mute the more...hormonal aspects of the thing, to her intense regret.
“Right. Clothes…” She lurches forward, throws open her wardrobe and grabs two nightgowns at random, her own quite soaked after dealing with the other woman. Darting forward and keeping her eyes above chest level, she stuffs the first of them over Yennefer’s head. As soon as she’s covered Tissaia manages to relax. Yennefer is no doubt behaving erratically due to all she’s been through, Tissaia reacting in a way she considers undignified as a result of her withdrawal since Yennefer’s disappearance. This was a temporary, if inconvenient, situation. She would resolve it, Yennefer would become her usual self, and then she’d likely portal away never to be seen again. Something deep in her chest throbbed with the thought, but seeing as it had been causing her grief nonstop since Sodden she would ignore it. She waved Yennefer over to her bed, waiting for the other woman to settle in before collapsing herself. It was mere moments before the tendrils of sleep began to drag her away, the image of Yennefer’s face blurring as her eyes drifted shut.