Chapter 5 - Love and Separation

"Enough," she said, her voice calm yet commanding. The room fell silent. Tissaia stepped forward, her robes trailing behind her. "Lord Gerval, Count Ilsreth, your quarrels are beneath the dignity of this court."

Gerval glared but said nothing, his fists clenched. Tissaia turned to Ilsreth. "You claim mismanagement, yet your own ledgers show inconsistencies. Explain how you plan to address this before throwing accusations."

Ilsreth sputtered, his face reddening. "I—well, my steward assured me—"

"Perhaps your steward requires retraining," Tissaia interrupted, her tone icy. She turned to Gerval. "And you, my lord, must address the delays with your merchants immediately. This kingdom cannot thrive on excuses."

...…

Tired from the day's battles, Tissaia portaled home, where the warm, inviting scent of roasting game greeted her. Alaric sat by the fireplace, tending to the fire with casual mastery, his magic ensuring the flames stayed just right. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, resting her chin on top of his head.

Alaric smiled. Turning around, he lifted Tissaia effortlessly into a princess carry. She shrieked playfully, her earlier stern demeanor melting away.

Months had passed since Tissaia and Alaric first arrived in Ard Carraigh, their lives settling into an unexpected rhythm. The pursuit of the Witcher who had assassinated Rosalind had gone cold, and with it, the urgency of their earlier days. Now, their lives were bound by the quiet hum of court intrigue, and local witcher contracts.

...…

Alaric lounged in an armchair near the hearth, his hair falling messily around his face as he recounted his latest adventure. Tissaia, now in a comfy gown instead of her usual sophisticated attire, sat across from him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. She held a cup of tea delicately, her expression that of a mother humoring a child's enthusiastic retelling of an oft-repeated tale.

Alaric's amber eyes sparkled with excitement as he gestured wildly.

"So there I was," he began, leaning forward, "face-to-face with the biggest forktail I've ever seen—bigger than a horse, I swear. Its scales glinted like obsidian in the moonlight, and its eyes, Tissaia, were like molten gold, filled with malice and hunger. It had spotted me before I could even draw my sword!"

"Mm-hmm," Tissaia murmured, "If you ever get bored of witcher duties, you'd make a fantastic storyteller." She grinned, a playful twinkle in his eye."

Alaric just ignored her slightly snide remark and continued his tale. "It dove at me, wings whipping up a storm of dust and leaves. I rolled out of the way, and that's when the real fun began!" He leapt up, nearly toppling his chair in the process, to act out the next part of his tale.

"I reached for my blade, but it was too close! So I summoned a barrier," He flexed his fingers, conjuring a flicker of golden energy that formed a small shield in the air before dissipating. "Its claws bounced right off, and I swear I saw it blink, all confused, like, What in Melitele's name was that?"

Tissaia raised a single brow, sipping her tea. "Clearly, it underestimated you...."

"Exactly!" Alaric pointed at her with mock seriousness. "So, I'm standing there, shield shimmering, and I think, Why not go on the offensive? I blasted it with force—just a swish of my hands—and bam!" He clapped his hands together loudly. "The beast crashes into a tree, wings flailing. Probably broke a few bones. But oh no, it wasn't done yet."

"Of course not," Tissaia said dryly, setting her cup down.

"It lunged again, this time with its tail whipping around like a scorpion's sting. I ducked—barely—and decided to go for the legs. I dashed in close, sword glowing with flames—"

"You set your sword on fire again?" Tissaia interjected, her tone exasperated. "How many blades have you ruined with that trick?"

"Only a few!" Alaric shot back, grinning. "And it worked! The heat made its scales brittle, and I sliced through its foreleg like a hot knife through butter. It roared, staggered, and that's when I sprang my trap!"

He mimed throwing something to the ground. "Yrden—well, my version of Yrden—lit up the clearing, binding it in place. It thrashed and spat fire, but it couldn't move. That's when I leapt onto its back—"

"—risking your neck, as usual," Tissaia cut in, though her smirk betrayed her amusement.

"Risk is part of the job!" Alaric said, puffing his chest out dramatically. "Anyway, I drove my blade into the base of its skull, right where the spine meets the head. Instant silence. The beast toppled over like a sack of potatoes."

He sank back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. "And that's how I saved a merchant and his cart full of exotic spices. He was so grateful, he gave me a whole pouch of saffron!"

Tissaia shook her head, a small laugh escaping her lips.

"Admit it, Sky," he said with a boyish grin, "You're impressed. You'd miss these stories if I stopped telling them."

She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You have a remarkable talent for courting death."

"It's a living," he quipped, though his tone softened as he added, "But it's nice to come back to something worth living for."

"Yes," Tissaia admitted quietly, her gaze warm as it lingered on him. "It is."

...…

The chamber they shared overlooked the city—a sprawl of stone buildings and winding streets, lit by the pale glow of lanterns. The room was warm, a fire crackling in the hearth. Tissaia sat at her desk, poring over parchments with furrowed brows, while Alaric lounged nearby, sharpening his silver sword with methodical precision.

"You'll dull the blade if you keep at it like that," Tissaia said without looking up.

Alaric smirked, pausing his work to glance at her. "And you'll blind yourself squinting at those scrolls all night."

She set the quill down with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. "I suppose we both have our vices."

"Yours is trying to fix a kingdom that doesn't want to be fixed," Alaric said, standing and crossing the room to her. "Mine is keeping you alive while you do it."

"Always so gallant," Tissaia murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips as he leaned against the desk beside her. She tilted her head, studying him. "And what would you suggest, oh wise Witcher? That I abandon my post?"

He shrugged, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just for a night."

Her lips parted to retort, but his hand reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The touch was soft, lingering, and it silenced her better than words ever could.

"You're impossible," she muttered, her voice softer now.

"I'm yours," he countered, his voice a low rumble. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, drawing her close. She let him. The kiss was gentle at first, a reassurance that quickly deepened, pulling them both into its warmth.

Tissaia pulled back slightly, her breath hitching as she met his gaze. "You're going to distract me."

"That's the idea," Alaric said, his tone unapologetic. He straightened, offering her a hand. "Come on. Leave the scrolls for tomorrow."

For a moment, she hesitated, but as his fingers curled around hers, steady and sure, she let him pull her to her feet.

...…

It was a quiet afternoon when the news came. A magpie, its feathers glinting like polished coal, landed on the windowsill of Tissaia's study in Ard Carraigh. The bird carried a small scroll tied to its leg, sealed with the familiar insignia of Aretuza.

Tissaia untied the scroll with steady hands, but as her eyes scanned the words, her fingers trembled. The scroll dropped to the floor.

Alaric, noticing her silence, approached her cautiously. "Sky?" he called, his voice soft but concerned.

She looked up at him, her face pale and her eyes glassy. "Mistress... She's dead," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alaric frowned, stepping closer. "What happened?"

"An experiment went wrong," she said, her voice breaking. She more than a mentor to her.

Alaric didn't anything, he just held her in a gentle embrace patting her back as she sobbed softly on his shoulder.

...…

The journey to Aretuza was quiet, marked by Tissaia's silence. She spent most of the trip lost in thought, her face a mask of grief. Alaric stayed close, offering quiet comfort when she needed it. At Klara's funeral, Tissaia stood at the front, delivering a short but heartfelt eulogy. Her words carried the weight of her loss and the deep respect she held for her mentor.

After the ceremony, Tissaia retreated to her chambers.

Alaric found Tissaia standing by the window, the vast sea stretching endlessly before her. The room was dim, lit only by the silver glow of moonlight reflecting on the waves. Her hands rested on the windowsill, gripping it tightly as though the cold stone could anchor her turbulent thoughts. She didn't turn when he approached, but her voice carried to him, soft and wistful.

"Klara had her faults," Tissaia began, her tone edged with both fondness and frustration. "She demanded perfection from everyone around her—her students, her peers, even herself. It was exhausting sometimes, trying to meet her standards. She could be...unyielding. Unforgiving. I've seen students crumble under the weight of her expectations. Some hated her for it."

Alaric stood silently beside her, letting her words flow without interruption. He knew she needed this moment, a chance to voice the tangled emotions in her heart.

"She believed in results above all else," Tissaia continued, her voice tightening. "Even if it meant alienating allies or making decisions that hurt others. She wasn't heartless—far from it—but she couldn't always connect with the struggles of those around her. It made her seem cold, distant. And yet…" She turned to Alaric then, her tear-filled eyes meeting his. "She always believed in me. Even when I didn't believe in myself."

Alaric stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "She saw how strong you are, Sky."

"She trusted me, and she'd want me to lead Aretuza now."

Tissaia looked back towards the sea, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's the only way to honor her. I'll take her place as Headmistress." Her voice was steady now, laced with determination.

Alaric's jaw tightened, and he hesitated before speaking. "You don't have to do this, Sky. You know—"

"You have your own path Al" she interrupted gently, turning to face him fully. "And I have mine. This is my choice, but it doesn't mean…" Her voice faltered as she searched for the words. "It doesn't mean we have to say goodbye. Not for good."

He reached out, taking her hands in his. "I don't want to part with you."

She smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of her lips. "Then don't think of it as a parting. We'll meet before every winter, here on the cliffs. Just as we are now. That's my promise to you."

The weight of her words settled heavily in his chest, but Alaric could see there was no swaying her. She was resolute, her conviction as immovable as the stone cliffs below them. "You always find a way to convince me," he murmured, a trace of humor in his otherwise somber tone.

Tissaia led him out to the cliffs of Aretuza, where the sea winds howled and carried the memories of their time together. They walked in silence, their footsteps crunching softly against the rocky path. They lingered there until the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon.

When the time came to part, Alaric pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around her as if to shield her from the world. He rested his forehead against hers, the closeness speaking volumes that words could not. "I'll be here," he whispered. "Every winter."

"I'll hold you to that," she replied, her breath warm against his skin.

As they pulled apart, her hand lingered on his for a moment longer, fingers brushing as if reluctant to let go. Then, with one last glance, Tissaia turned and walked toward the tower, her figure growing smaller against the rising sun. Alaric stood there for a long time, watching her until she disappeared into the distance, the promise of their next meeting keeping the ache of separation at bay.

-x-x-x-

A/N:-

That was the end of Tissaia's memories. The title of the first volume is 'A Trip Down The Memory Lane'. As you can guess, it will mostly be memories that set the background for our main character during his journey to Kaer Morhen.

A trip (to Kaer Morhen), down the memory lane—clever, I know! (Pats himself on the back.)

As always, if you have any questions, feel free to comment. I will do my best to answer without spoiling too much.

I've just started writing the story, so if you have any ideas about the plot or characters, please comment below. If I like it and it fits the criteria, I'll include it in the story.

Clear skies to all of you! ✨