i'm such a sucker
via https://ift.tt/3hoarNa
[[uh spoilers for, uh, everything]]
whoooo here is ready for some Terrible Dad Feels from everyone’s favorite
urcheon-made-good??? (For context: neither Ciri nor Yennefer knows who
Emhyr used to be.)
“We appreciate your favor,” Yennefer nodded gravely. “Your Imperial
Majesty?”
“Yes?”
“Please, as far as possible, don’t harm my daughter. I wouldn’t want to die
with the thought that she’s crying.”
Emhyr was silent for a long time. A very long time. Leaning against a
window. With his head turned away.
“Madam Yennefer,” he finally answered, and his face was very strange. “You
may be certain I shall not harm your and Witcher Geralt’s daughter. I’ve
trampled human bodies and danced on the barrows of my foes. And I thought I
was capable of anything. But what you suspect me of, I simply wouldn’t be
capable of doing. I know it now. So I thank you both. Farewell.”
He went out, quietly closing the door behind him.
[…]
At first [Ciri] put on a brave front. Erect, with head haughtily raised and
stony-faced, she pushed away the gloved hands of the black-cloaked knights,
looking boldly and defiantly at the menacing nose-guards and visors of
their helmets. They didn’t touch her any longer, particularly since they
were stopped from doing so by the growl of an officer, a broad-shouldered
soldier with a silver braid and a white heron-feather plume.
She walked towards the exit, escorted on both sides. With her head proudly
raised. Heavy boots thudded, mail shirts clanked and weapons jingled.
After a dozen paces she looked back for the first time. After the next few
the second time. Why, I’ll never, ever see them again. The thought
flashed with terrifying and cool clarity beneath her crown. Neither Geralt
nor Yennefer. Never.
That awareness immediately, all at once, wiped away the mask of feigned
courage. Ciri’s face contorted and grimaced, her eyes filled with tears and
her nose ran. The girl fought with all her strength, but in vain. A wave of
tears breached the dam of pretence.
The Nilfgaardians with salamanders on their cloaks looked at her in silence
and amazement. Some of them had seen her on the bloody staircase, all of
them had seen her in conversation with the emperor. The witcher girl with a
sword, the unvanquished witcher girl, arrogantly challenging the imperator
to his face. And now they were surprised to see a snivelling, sobbing child.
She was aware of it. Their eyes burned her like fire, pricked her like
pins. She fought, but ineffectively. The more powerfully she held back her
tears, the more powerfully they exploded.
She slowed down and then stopped. The escort also stopped. But only for a
moment. On the growling command of an officer iron hands grasped her by the
upper arms and wrists. Ciri, sobbing and swallowing back tears, looked back
for the last time. Then they dragged her. She didn’t resist, but sobbed
louder and louder and more despairingly.
They were stopped by Emperor Emhyr var Emreis, that dark-haired man with a
face which awoke strange, vague memories in her. They released her when he
gave a curt order. Ciri sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Seeing
him approaching, she stopped sobbing and raised her head haughtily. But
now– she was aware of it– it just looked ridiculous.
Emhyr looked at her for a long while. Without a word. Then he approached
her. And held out a hand. Ciri, who always reacted to gestures like that by
pulling away involuntarily, now, to her great amazement, didn’t react. To
her even greater amazement she found his touch wasn’t unpleasant at all.
He touched her hair, as though counting the snow-white streaks. He touched
her cheek, disfigured by the scar. Then he hugged her and stroked her head
and back. And she, overwhelmed by weeping, let him, although she held her
arms as stiffly as a scarecrow.
“It’s a strange thing, destiny,” she heard him whisper. “Farewell, my
daughter.”
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