DECLINE INTO DISORDER

This never gets any easier. The cold and dark months they share together are never enough. Stay, Cerys always longs to say. Every year they stand on one of the docks in the harbour, arms wrapped tight around each other while sailors and passengers mill about, paying them no mind, and every year she wants to plead with her lover to stay with her. And every year, the words refuse to come. No matter how much it hurts to say goodbye each spring, as the isles thaw and the first hardy snowdrops begin to emerge, she knows it would hurt even more to part on bad terms. Because, in the end, she knows that the lure of the path is strong, and that her beloved witcher is not yet ready to abandon it, and there is no use in making her feel any guiltier about it than she likely already does. One day we need not part again, she reminds herself. The promise that they have often shared. A promise that, in every waking moment, she prays will never be broken.

The queen draws back enough to gaze up at her lover, amber eyes meeting emerald, both pairs swimming with tears. Cerys swallows, with some difficulty, and roughly grips the leather-clad forearms that cling to her still (to steady herself or Ciri, it’s impossible to tell). “ Don’t lose any limbs, you hear me? I want you in your entirety when next I see you. That’s a command from your queen.” The weak offer of humour pulls a shaky laugh and grin from the blonde, which is all she could have hoped to achieve in the circumstances. 

A bell is furiously rung in the distance, and someone cries from the ship’s deck that they are soon to depart. Neither of them look away. Ciri silently raises a hand to Cerys’ scarred cheek, brushing against the wind-flushed freckled skin with her thumb. Tears threaten to fall freely, and only by burying her face into the cloaked shoulder of her lover can she keep them at bay.

Don’t leave me. “ Go … ” I won’t know peace with you away. “ You’ll be in my thoughts. Always. ” I love you. “ I love – ”

The fabric she had been mumbling into disappears, and a finger gently set beneath her chin guides her upwards, to meet the tender kiss that awaits her. There is no flame in it, no passion, and there doesn’t need to be. The memory of it will have to stay with the pair of them for the longer days ahead, sustain them while the seasons turn. Cerys tries to memorize everything about this moment, but her mind soon fades to nothingness. Lost entirely in the warm embrace of her love. It is only the bellowing of last call that rouses her, that tears them apart all too soon. 

I will come back, Ciri whispers, trying to disguise how choked it sounds. Cerys nods, darting forward for one more swift kiss before stepping away entirely, as much as it aches to do so. “ I know you will. Don’t keep me waiting. ” Cerys tells her, not near as collected as she had hoped. She watches the witcher pick up her bag with only some hesitancy, sling her two swords over a shoulder, and continues to watch, in absolute silence, her turn towards the gangplank in spite of a strong desire to scream. And she waits until Ciri’s feet hit the desk, for her ash-blonde head to turn back and wave (she waves back, of course, fighting those stubborn tears all the while), to force herself to turn and walk towards the shore. She will only succumb to her urge to weep when safely within her study, where no one will see her heart break for what will certainly not be the last time.