Chapter 2 - Tissaia

Alaric returned to their room at the inn, shutting the door behind him with a soft creak. The scent of lavender and a faint hint of old books filled the air—a scent he'd come to associate with her presence.

By the window, Tissaia sat with a book in her lap. She glanced up at him, her dark eyes sharp and curious, sensing the unease in his usually composed demeanor.

He moved deliberately, setting his swords by the bedside. Without a word, he walked to the adjoining bath.

When he returned, Tissaia was brushing out her hair, her movements as precise as ever, but her eyes followed him in the mirror's reflection. He approached, settling behind her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist in a gentle embrace. She placed a hand over his, fingers intertwining, and he felt the steady reassurance of her presence.

"Sky..." he murmured, his voice a hushed, uncertain.

She turned slightly, her gaze steady, searching his eyes. "What did the oneiromancer show you?"

For a moment, he couldn't speak, the flood of images crowding his thoughts. He finally managed to recount what he'd seen—his past life, the violence and desolation that haunted it. He spoke of the pogrom, his voice grew tense. He tried to control himself, yet she saw it, the slight tremor that betrayed the fear he kept hidden even from himself.

When he finished, a silence hung between them, heavy and unbroken. Tissaia took a deep breath, and without hesitation, she rose, pulling her cloak from a hook by the door.

"Are you just going to sit there?" she asked, her tone soft but firm, her expression resolute.

A faint smile touched Alaric's lips, "Always so fearless, Sky."

"Better fearless than lost," she replied, though there was a gentleness in her voice. She adjusted the clasp on her cloak, preparing for the journey ahead without another word of protest. He stood, meeting her gaze with a depth of gratitude he couldn't quite put into words.

Crossing the room, he embraced her, their foreheads touching. They shared a gentle kiss, both a promise and a reminder. Pulling back slightly, he looked at her with a renewed resolve.

"We'll need more help. Ban Ard first - There's a man I need to find," he said. "An old friend."

"Then to Ban Ard, first," she replied with a small smile.

...…

Tissaia POV -

Tissaia felt his presence long before he stepped into the room, the slight shift in the air unmistakable. She glanced up as Alaric entered the room. She could see the storm brewing in his eyes before he even crossed the threshold, the way he set his swords down with that slight extra care, as if by softening his actions he might silence the turmoil in his own mind.

And for all his Witcher mutations, to be unfeeling, relentless, and detached, he was utterly, unfailingly sentimental. A sentimental Witcher, she thought, almost incredulous. What a ridiculous combination.

She tried to focus on her book, but her gaze kept wandering back to him, that brooding, impulsive man who had somehow managed to entangle her heart over the years. It was absurd, really, that she—Tissaia de Vries, disciplined and composed, the woman who could command an entire school of magic without breaking a sweat—had fallen for this impulsive soul who wore his heart so close to the surface.

As he moved toward the bath, she heard the door close softly behind him. She sighed, setting her book down. They'd been together long enough that she'd come to know this part of him as well as any of his Witcher instincts. Tissaia had seen enough of him to know how to wait out his silences. She wouldn't pry, but she wouldn't let him shut himself off, either.

When he returned, she was brushing her hair, her movements slow and deliberate, giving him the chance to speak if he wanted. She could feel his eyes on her through the mirror, studying her in that thoughtful, almost hesitant way he had, as though she might vanish if he looked too closely. A slight smile tugged at her lips—how many times had she caught him watching her like that.

He came up behind her, settling onto the bed, and she felt his arms wrap around her waist, warm and solid, anchoring them both. Tissaia leaned back into his embrace, letting her hand rest on top of his. She waited, giving him a quiet space to share whatever was on his mind, and when he finally spoke her name—"Sky"—she could hear the uncertainty there, like he was searching for words he wasn't sure he could say.

"What did the oneiromancer show you?" she asked, her voice soft but steady. She knew he'd gone to face something from his past today, something that had been bothering him for years.

When he began to speak, she felt the old ache of empathy rise within her, listening as he described his memories of violence, betrayal, and the scars of a life that wasn't his yet lingered all the same. His voice was calm, carefully controlled, but she felt the quiet tremor beneath it, saw the distant pain.1

When he finished, she squeezed his hand gently, standing and pulling her cloak from the hook near the door. She'd learned that when he brooded this way, he needed a sense of direction, of purpose. She wasn't about to let him sit and steep in his own fears. "Are you just going to sit there?" she asked, her tone warm but unyielding.

Alaric's mouth curved into a faint smile, a rare warmth lighting his eyes. "Always so fearless, Sky."

"Better fearless than lost," she murmured, echoing words she'd said to him countless times. She watched as he stood, a look of deep gratitude in his eyes, one that still caught her off guard after all these years. When he pulled her close, she felt his forehead rest against hers, their breath mingling in the quiet space between them.

She lifted a hand to trace his cheek, a tender, familiar touch, and when they shared a gentle kiss, it was as much a promise as it was an anchor.

She couldn't help but shake her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. Alaric had always been a contradiction. Here was a Witcher—trained to be cold, efficient, someone who'd been through hell and back in both his lives—yet he could be so recklessly open in his emotions, so maddeningly sincere in his attachments.

She'd met many Witchers, and not a single one was anything like him. None of them had that stubborn, defiant heart that Alaric wore like a mark of rebellion. It was infuriating. And endearing. And—gods help her—she had fallen hopelessly for him.

Memories surfaced, unbidden, of that night in Kovir when they had first met and how she fell in love with him. She'd been young, full of ambition, always trying to prove herself, and he'd been… well, intriguing. She'd thought he was like every other Witcher at first glance—cold, pragmatic, emotionally distant. But as the night went on, she'd noticed things about him.

The way he'd laughed softly at her wry remarks, the surprising warmth behind his quick, intelligent, feline eyes, the way he seemed more alive than anyone she'd ever met, as if every word, every gesture, mattered to him deeply. He'd carried himself with this rare humility, a quiet resilience that had struck something in her, something she hadn't even realized she was missing.

...…

Lan Exeter,2

December 3rd 1142

The tavern was thick with the scent of stale ale and wood smoke, the air clinging like a worn coat. Alaric pushed through the doorway, the firelight casting shadows over his face and drawing a hush across the room.

Eyes followed him, some curious, others wary, and a few outright hostile. One older patron leaned in to mutter to his friend, voice dripping with disdain. "A Witcher here? Not the sort we want around…" Alaric ignored it, his eyes sweeping the room for an empty seat. He was used to being a curiosity—or a target.

But tonight, he wanted nothing more than a quiet corner and a strong drink. "Witcher," came a voice from the far side of the tavern, smooth and surprisingly warm, rising just enough above the noise to catch his ear.

He turned toward the sound, finding a woman seated at a table in the corner, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she held up her goblet in greeting. She was striking, her dark hair pulled back neatly, her robes unmistakably those of a sorceress. Her expression held a glimmer of curiosity.

"Seems your arrival's causing a stir," she continued, her tone friendly yet amused.

Alaric arched a brow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Oh, my. Such a gentleman," she teased lightly, her gaze meeting his with a playful spark.

Alaric let out a soft grunt, giving her a sidelong look as he lowered himself onto the bench across from her. "What—you expect Witchers to be rude?"

"An expectation only, not a rule," she replied, "Most Witchers come off… a bit less polite."

"I'd rather sit with someone who doesn't mind a monster. Besides, I imagine most people don't expect a sorceress to be drinking alone in a tavern, either," he replied, nodding toward her nearly empty goblet. "Not unless there's some trouble brewing."

She tilted her head, considering him for a moment, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "Let's just say… war is an exhausting affair, even from the sidelines. Though I may have had a hand in tipping the scales for Kovir."3

Alaric raised a brow, interest piqued. "So the rumors are true? Aretuza involved in the fight?"

"Some rumors hold a grain of truth, Kovir and Poviss hired me, actually. Well, technically, they hired Aretuza, and my teacher sent me."

Alaric nodded slowly, a faint respect growing as he took in her words. "Wouldn't have guessed Kovir would bend the knee to mages. Seems they're bolder than most."

She shrugged, a glint of pride in her eyes. "Bolder or just more practical. Either way, it worked."

They spoke about war, the madness of it all, and the uncertain road ahead. Alaric found himself relaxing, more than he had in months. She was sharp, witty, with a disarming way of piercing through his usual defenses. They shared another drink. And then another. Hours passed by -

-x-x-x-

A/N:- 

If you have any questions go ahead and comment, I will try my best to answer without spoiling too much.

I have just started to write the story. So, if you have any ideas about the plot or characters comment below. I like it and it fits the criteria I will include it in the story.