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It hurts. Everything hurts, ashes clog her lungs, blind her eyes. Unable to see or hear a thing. Desperately, her hands close around burnt grass, incapable of doing anything but grasping and releasing, grasping and releasing in rhythm with her increasingly sparse breaths. Her heart races, pumping blood through her veins. Warm blood trickling from the myriad wounds, from her nose, her ears, the cuts and scratches she suffered on the battlefield of Sodden.
She is tired, exhausted. The battle is going on, she doesn't know how many are still alive. Whether Tissaia... No, she's here!
She must be here, she can feel her. This strange sensation that has no name, indescribable, featureless except that it flares up in her whenever Tissaia is around. When she hears her voice, the rustle of her long dresses in the cold and damp stone corridors of Aretuza. When she smells her scent in the air, like vanilla and almond, a bit of tabacco, the lavender blossoms from her drawers, the clean, dull odour of the soap she washes her hands with. And sometimes it's her signature of chaos the warmth, the almighty power, telling her that everything will be alright, that shes safe and protected and the world will still be there when she closes her eyes. A gleaming light surrounding her, even though her eyes are closed and she knows she lies on the cold, hard ground, mortally wounded, in a field of ashes and death.
Something of Tissaia is with her, she knows it, even though her hands only get hold of withered grass.
"Tissaia?" Telepathy costs strength. Strength she doesn't have. The life she feels draining from each of her wounds, the way everything around her grows darker and muffled. But she has to find her! She cannot die, not now! Tissaia is here! Tissaia is with her, she cannot die if she is with her and sees it. Hoping for her to be well, to live.
"Yennefer." A soft voice. A light touch. A small, gentle hand light as a feather brushing a few strands of hair from her face, cooling her hot forehead. Exertion, fever, fire...
"What happened?"
"We won, Yennefer. Because of you." The voice grows fainter, but she clings to it. She can't die. Not now! "You bought us the time we needed before the armies of the northern kingdoms reached Sodden."
A soft rustle tells her that someone has dropped into the charred grass beside her, mere seconds later hands slide over her cheeks, her neck, her arms. "You saved the continent. The people of the world. I am so proud of you."
"But I..." She falls silent. Her voice fails.
"Go to sleep if you can't hold on," Tissaia whispers, soft fingers caressing her palms. "Just let go."
"I can't." It hurts to speak. So incredibly painful. Tears trickle from her blind eyes though Tissaia catches them, wipes them away, quietly, gently. As if she were not kneeling on a battlefield, holding her dying in her arms. "Tissaia?"
"I'm here, Yennefer," she whispers to her. "I am with you and I wont leave. Never." Her hand gets hold of her, her fingers entwine hers, clutching tightly, clinging to her.
"I don't..." She swallows. If she had enough breath left, she would sob. But now she merely thinks she must be choking. On ash and dust and the stench of burnt flesh in the air. How can it be that Tissaia is not bothered by all this?
"I... I don't want to..."
"Die?" She nods. Whimpers as Tissaia rests her head on something softer. Her lap? Her cloak? Her dress? What she would give to be able to see it. But though can open her eyes, everything is dark, all-consuming black.
"I... I can't..."
"Your sight will come back, Yennefer," Tissaia explains to her gently, still stroking her cheeks. Her voice is heavy. She pauses between words, hesitates now and then. It is not the Tissaia de Vries she met in the cold corridors and classrooms of Aretuza. But what is the way it used to be, now? Which of her friends would she have seen 10 years ago, or 20, or 50, on a battlefield in the dirt, desperately fighting, bleeding and dying against Nilfgaard's superior forces? Some of them weren't even 'friends' back then. A friendschip forged in battle and fight, a bond cut too soon by the sharp knive of merciless death.
"You will be fine, Yennefer. You'll have your eyesight back. Be able to hold all those in your arms, who...." A quiet sob rips through Tissaia's words. She wants to extend a hand, put it on her cheek, comfort her, but she cannot. Her body is heavy as lead, an invisible force pulling it down. Away from the world, away from Tissaia.
"And you?" Her hand closes even tighter around Tissaia's. Even though she can barely return its pressure. There is no stopping it now. The darkness, the weariness. The quiet that envelops her, like a warm blanket. A blanket she will never unwrap herself from, a bed she will never rise from.
"I'm fine, Yennefer," Tissaia murmurs, her head bent low over her so that she can feel her breath. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."
"But... but..." Her voice fails completely. She struggles for breath, takes a few deep gasps, tries to ignore her dry throat, the taste of ash in her mouth whenever she swallows.
"The dimeritium? Do you think someone who has walked this world for so long, who has lived as long as I have, is going to let a little metal dust defeat her?" She shakes her head. Or rather she would, if she still could. It comforts her to know that Tissaia is well, that she will live. Albeit without her. Without knowing...
"I... I... I..." A sob. A cough. Blood fills her mouth, spills over her lips, drips down her chin as Tissaia carefully lifts her from her lap, leans her head against her shoulder. Her cheek is immediately against her neck. Carefully she closes her eyes, trying to listen for her pulse, her heartbeat, her breath. Proof that Tissaia is telling the truth, is really healthy, happy except for the tears she forces herself to hold back. She searches desperately, but in vain. Nothing more an illusion, a play of wind and madness in her dying mind. And yet she wants to say she loves her, because she suspects it will be the last chance to do so.
"You don't have to say it," Tissaia's soft voice rings out, this time in her head. So bright and warm that it fills her completely. Radiant and powerful, like the fire she rained down on Nilfgaard's army as they stormed the hills. The same power, yet not a hint of the anger, the urge to destroy. Tissaia is not destructive. Only ever building, creating, protecting. "You don't have to say it for me to know." She suppresses a sob as Tissaia's breath hits her cheek. She is so close to her. She would only have to reach out a hand to touch her, lift her head so their lips meet....
She doesn't have to lift her head.
She doesn't have to do anything but lie there, eyes closed, feeling the warmth permeate her entire body. "I love you too, Yennefer. I love you too."
Magic flows through her. Power. Strength. Two signatures of chaos form luminous ribbons, playing with each other, entwining, knotting in too many places to ever be separated again. Woven together, for eternity.
"I will always be with you, my love," Tissaia's voice resounds as if from far away, swallowed by the weakness, the loss of blood and the warmth of the kiss that still permeates Yennefer, driving away all chill. The rage, the anger, the defeat. All the strong emotions that helped her save the world on that hill are erased in an instant. Replaced by joy, by love. By the feeling of going home, to a place where she can be happy. Where no war will come, no hunger, no cold, no pain or fear. Where they can only be together for the rest of their lives. "Whenever you feel lonely, all you have to remember is that I am always with you. And one day, Yennefer" She sighs softly, pressing one last kiss to her forehead, then her voice fades, as if she is moving away. "Promise me not to give up. Promise me to be happy, knowing that one day we will be together."
"When?" Her last words. She knows it. It costs her immeasurable strength to say them, but it is what she wants to know before she leaves this world. How long she must be lonely in whatever comes before they meet again. Knowing it will be a reunion forever.
"One day." Tissaia's voice falters in the distance. Nothing more than an echo of a word spoken long ago, a fading memory. "One day."
It dies away in the darkness, in the warmth enveloping her, taking away all pain, filling her with infinite peace. Rest. Is this what death is like? Is this what it feels like to die? Then she doesn't understand why people are afraid of it, as calm and peaceful as it is. It is indeed like falling asleep, closing her eyes and leaving all hurt, all fear behind. Knowing that Tissaia loves her. That she is with her. Forever.
Yennefer does not die that night although some part of her is gone forever. She lives and breathes, rising and roaming the high halls of Aretuza in search of something she can no longer find because it is nothing more than the memory of a lost love, lost warmth, a lost scent in the air, desperately clinging to her bedsheets at night, when the darkness scomes closer and closer and there is no magical aura to protect her anymore.
Weeks later, as the monument for the fallen of Sodden is unveiled and Stregobor, Vilgefortz and Artorius Vigo wipe theatrical tears from their faces, she sits on one of Aretuza's cliffs and stares at the sun, sinking blood-red into the sea. Behind her, the branches of a small pine tree sway in the wind, salty with the sea air and the drying tears on her face, moving over a small hill. She had hoped to find comfort in this place, in her presence. But she cannot. For there is no comfort as long as the peaceful branches sway over a stone decorated with artificially carved runes, with symbols unknown to her, sparkling with gold and precious gems. Not as long as she only has to glance over her shoulder to see the golden letters embedded in gleaming white marble, shimmering as red in the setting sun as the fire she brought raining down on Sodden, the last display of magic Tissaia de Vries saw before she closed her eyes.