#phileala

As it happens I’m on another witcher/Philippa kick atm. so pls take this from me. (I haven’t read the books in a little bit, some of this might not be strictly canon but like, we will all just deal with this for The Lesbians) 

                                             All The World’s Escapes

The evening was quiet, peaceful, precisely the way that Sheala liked it. There were many reasons that she chose to live at the very top of a very tall tower, and the silence was just one of them. All that could be heard was the soft scratching of her favourite pen against her favourite parchment, and the crackling of the fire she had lit in the background for warmth. 

All of it was shattered by the sound of smashing glass, and instant cursing. She recognised the cursing at once as Philippa, naturally, as there was no-one else present in her tower, save the ghosts that would never leave it, and they rarely made sounds. Though she thought she might hear them now. 

Getting to her feet and leaving her present research, she moved into Philippa’s study. 

The moment she had known they were simply perfect for each other, was the moment Philippa had requested the construction of her own space. 

Sheala couldn’t abide living on top of other people all the time, even a person she happened to be very much in love with. It was simply too much. 

Everyone needed their own time, and their own space, in Sheala’s view. The mistake other couples made was believing they had to live in one another’s pockets all day, every day, in order to somehow prove their devotion to each other. 

She was, frankly, too old for that bullshit. And Philippa was simply too frank for it. 

Pushing open the door she found her partner with both hands braced on her work bench, with a grip so tight Sheala was quite impressed it hadn’t splintered beneath it. Glass shards were littered across the floor, and Philippa was shaking, her teeth clenched to hold back the further stream of curses Sheala was quite certain were on the very tip of her tongue. 

Moving into the room, she placed a gentle hand on Philippa’s shoulder. It was thrown off almost at once, with enough force that, had she not known better, she might have thought indicated hate. 

Philippa would not look at her, let alone speak to her, but she did not really have to. Sheala was quite sure she know what had happened. 

“You’re expecting too much from yourself far too soon,” she told her quietly. “Come to bed with me now,” she offered.

She was not in the least bit tired and, if truth be told, was itching to return to her research. But this was a time she judged Philippa most certainly did not need to be alone. She needed someone. She needed Sheala. 

“Come on,” she coaxed, when Philippa neither moved nor answered her. 

“I cannot come to bed,” she gritted out, between clenched teeth. She turned on her, her expression twisted with fury and frustration. 

She had left her usual band from her face, and the empty pits of her eyes seemed to condemn her, and threatened to drown any who looked into them for too long in the hatred Philippa herself was bathed in these days. 

“I cannot see,” she hissed, “I cannot restore my eyes. I cannot perform a spell to rid myself of the pain of them,” she went on, and Sheala flinched slightly at the venom in her voice. She moved a little closer to her as she spoke, clawing her way along the bench like a feral cat stalking its prey. “I cannot mix a tonic for sleep as I used to. I cannot even cast a basic spell to light a candle, which a five year old could master, because I cannot do a thing in the state that he has left me in, and you wish me to come to bed?”

“Philippa-” Sheala began, though without any real hope of stopping her. There was no stopping this, and Sheala’s heart broke for her, and broke again with every word she spoke, but there was nothing to do but let her speak them.

“Is that supposed to fix everything, Sheala?” Philippa spat, viciously, “If I sleep tonight, will I wake tomorrow with my eyes? If I rest, will my hands stop shaking, the way they’ve been shaking since I left that place? The way they’ve been shaking for a week, so badly that I cannot work a single somatic spell? If I come to bed will I be myself again? Or will I be stuck this useless, powerless, weak creature that I have become until death takes me?”

Her voice rose to a shout with her last words, and she lashed out blindly. Bowls, mortars, delicate glass tubes, vials, and instruments were flung across the room as though tossed by a sudden hurricane, shattering, and causing Sheala to cover her ears from the sudden, deafening sound.

When Philippa spoke again, however, she would happily have lived the rest of her life with that unendurable noise, rather than the haunting silence left in the wake of her words.

“Because if so, she cannot come for me soon enough.” 

Sheala opened her mouth, to say what, she had no idea, but she never got a word out before Philippa had shifted into her owl form and bolted for the window. 

She had spent more time as owl than human, since she had returned. The owl did not have eyes, any more than she did, but the rest of its senses were far keener than her human ones, and there was no pressure to cast spells, no pressure to speak, no pressure to eat, or to sleep, or to care for herself, while she was in that form. It had become her crutch, and there was little Sheala could do to stop it. 

Sighing, she used magic to clean up the mess that Philippa had made. She repaired the instruments she could, and destroyed the ones that she could not. 

It would be some time before she saw Philippa again. She had become quite used to this, to Philippa fleeing this tower in a futile attempt to flee her frustration, and her problems, and had developed the perfect routine for it. 

She returned to her studies for as long as she could. When she judged it would be a little less than an hour before Philippa’s return, she used magic to begin warming their bed, went to select one of her favourite books from the library, before returning it again, cursing herself, then began to make Philippa’s favourite tea, infused with some lavender. 

Just as she was pouring that into two cups for them, a bright flash of light in Philippa’s study announced her return. 

She walked in, trembling from the cold now, not just her injuries, soaked to her skin. Sheala stood without a word, and helped her out of her clothes, and into the soft, dry ones she had looked out. Then she guided her towards the fire and sat her down. 

Her head was lowered in shame, and it was that, more than anything else, that showed Sheala how low she had sunk this night. 

She pushed the tea into her hands, but Philippa would not drink it. She simply sat, holding it between her frozen fingers, staring into a fire she could not see, but could no doubt feel the warmth of it upon her face. 

After a long moment, she spoke. 

“This world is so large, Sheala,” she said, her voice rasping a little from exhaustion. “It is so big, and getting bigger all the time. Yet no matter how far I fly, no matter how fast, or for how long, I can never escape the things he’s done to me.” 

“No,” Sheala replied, briskly, and brutally, as was her way. Philippa turned away from the fire, back towards her, frowning slightly. “You cannot run from your ghosts, Philippa, any more than you might run from your shadow, or your bones, or your soul. You must carry them with you, as must we all.” 

She reached out and took Philippa’s empty hand in her own, “The only place you can run is to your home. To me.” She squeezed her hand gently, “Where you will be reminded that all of your burdens, all of your demons, and all of your ghosts have a home here, too. They all belong to me as well. And you do not have to carry any of them alone.” 

Philippa was silent for a long moment. Then, more surely than Sheala had seen her move since her return, she set down her cup of tea, got to her feet, and held out her hand. 

Sheala took it. 

“Come to bed, Sheala,” Philippa said, softly, turning and leading them towards their rooms without another word. 

Philippa smiled softly and followed her without a word. 

THIS IS SO LATE, I’M SO SORRY, THERE HAVE BEEN MANY THINGS HAPPENING IRL, BUT I JUST HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THEM. I HOPE IT’S OKAY!!!! 

Music blended with the gentle murmur of talk in the dim room. Low-burning candles cast an intimate light over the room and its occupants. In the beginning, The Lodge had been purely practical in its design and set-up. Powerful women coming together to protect the single, eternal, enduring force that would always connect them where politics, alliances, and country borders failed. 

In the years since it had been established, however, it had evolved. It had been a gradual thing, that had taken a lot of time, but had reached the place it found itself now almost accidentally. Somehow, none of them were quite sure who had begun it, or how it maintained itself so smoothly with virtually no previous arrangement or set-up, but there had become a tradition now for the ladies of The Lodge to meet at least once a month for a casual get together. 

The rules of The Lodge still applied. No politics, no arguments, no outside strings attached. They left their baggage at the door. Unlike the official meetings of their Lodge, however, these traditional gatherings were far more informal, and generally far more fun.  

Philippa stood on the fringes of the room, almost completely swallowed by the shadows, taking a small break from flitting amongst the others, socialising and scheming in equal measure. 

She sipped at the drink in her hand, the alcohol a pleasant sting to the back of her throat, while her sharp eyes darted around the room. The women had broken up into small clusters now, Yennefer, Margarita, and Triss were in the centre of the room, talking animatedly together. Assire and Sheala were talking together in a quiet corner. The others had fractured off and slipped into other, smaller rooms, to conduct matters of their own. 

Philippa was sure, however, that she was the only one alone. It didn’t bother her. She enjoyed being able to stand on the outside, looking in, observing the others, drinking in the scene and all it told her. 

She took another idle sip of her drink, closing her eyes for a moment and letting herself indulge in the odd sense of calm peace that always settled over her during these parties. She didn’t have to scheme here. She didn’t have to be assassin, or conspirator, or adviser, or politician, or enemy, or friend. She only had to be. It was a liberating feeling, and she let herself enjoy it. It had been so long, so long since she had felt this...Free. 

Sensing someone behind her, she opened her eyes again. She didn’t have to see them, to know who it was. Sheala’s warm arm slid briefly around her waist, startling her with, what she would no doubt consider, an overt display of public affection. Philippa had no qualms whatsoever about being perfectly open with her lovers, no matter where they happened to be. Sheala however, Sheala preferred to keep things more private, which was why the sudden contact was surprising. 

Before she could comment on it, however, she felt the warm brush of Sheala’s lips at her ear. “I’ll see you at home,” was all she said, before sliding out of the room. 

Sheala was typically the first to leave these events. She consented to dress herself in fine clothes and accompanied Phil to them with little complaint, but always slipped away at least an hour before anyone else. 

The whole encounter had passed in a few seconds, all of it contained within the shadows and yet....Yennefer caught her eye over the rim of her own glass as she sipped delicately at it, allowing her attention to wander from Margarita for a moment to raise her eyebrows suggestively at her. Triss winked. 

Philippa tugged the shawl she had around her shoulders a little tighter and resisted the urge to either frown, or roll her eyes at them. They could think whatever they liked, they would hear neither confirmation nor denial from her lips, and she refused to be ruffled by their prying. 

Stalking over, she inserted herself into their conversation with practiced ease, and within a few minutes, had turned it smoothly to a topic of her choosing, directing any potential prying questions or teasing remarks in another direction. 

Though she tried to remain focused on her conversation, however, her focus kept slipping. Her mind kept drifting to the tower room where Sheala would be waiting. To the feel of her arm around her waist. The soft warmth of her breath against her ear. 

She closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together, but the memory continued to tug at her, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach, demanding notice, demanding attention. 

She should remain, she should maintain the illusion she and Sheala had set-up, hiding their relationship from the others, keeping it private, contained. An intimate secret that was for them, and them alone but...Fuck it. 

Turning smoothly, with only a vague attempt at an excuse and warning of her imminent departure, Philippa moved towards the open window. Her strides were long, smooth, and easy. She transformed mid-way across the room, and took flight, soaring into the waiting velvet darkness of the night sky without once breaking her rhythm. 

Honestly you n a i l e d it this is perfection, just the right amount of fluff while staying ic. Love it. Also your ship names are great don't change a thing lol (me and @detancarville used pheala but phileala is cuter?)