Chapter 3 - An Enduring Bond Often Begins With A Misconception

The night deepened, the tavern's usual raucousness faded to a gentle hum. Alaric relaxed into the sturdy wooden chair, easing into his conversation with Tissaia, who leaned forward slightly, chin propped on one hand as she studied him with that steady, bemused gaze.

"So," Tissaia began, swirling her wine. "What brings a Witcher to a place like this? I assumed your kind had better things to do than skulk about in dimly lit taverns."

"Work, mostly," he said simply. "Monsters don't hunt themselves. But tonight…" He leaned in slightly, "Tonight, I needed a break from it all."

Tissaia's eyes softened, a rare moment of vulnerability passing across her face. "I understand." She glanced around the tavern. "Though perhaps a tavern isn't the most obvious choice for a respite."

Alaric chuckled, raising his own tankard. "Maybe I'm just here to enjoy the warm company."

"Oh, you're enjoying my company now?" she teased, an eyebrow lifting as a smile ghosted over her lips.

He grunted, rolling his eyes. "Maybe. It's hard to tell between the smug smiles."

She laughed, a soft, almost musical sound. "Smug? I thought I was being quite the gracious hostess. Not every day I get to entertain a Witcher."

A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that spoke volumes without the need for words. Alaric found himself leaning back, studying Tissaia with newfound interest. "You're not what I expected, you know."

Tissaia raised an eyebrow, "Oh? And what did you expect?"

"Someone… colder. More detached. Sorceresses have a reputation too, not unlike Witchers. It's the reason I sat here after all."

"Reputation or not, we're still human. Well, most of us, anyway." She said, her voice full of melancholy.

"Nevertheless, I am enjoying your company. It's refreshing to meet someone who is both powerful and approachable. Especially not ones who, apparently, helped win a war."

"Flattery," she said, leaning back and tracing the rim of her goblet. Her gaze flickered to the firelight, thoughtful. "But truthfully, I'm here because I was sent to be."

Alaric raised a brow. "Sent to be?"

She nodded, a bit of pride and reluctance in her smile. "It's tradition at Aretuza. The final step to graduation is… a test, of sorts. We leave the academy, enter the world, and prove ourselves. My teacher thought this war would be my chance to do just that."

"High stakes for graduation, I can empathize," Alaric remarked, remembering The Trial of the Medallion, his eyes meeting hers with a glimmer of understanding.

A faint smile played on her lips as she lifted her goblet. "To survival, then," she said softly, "and to the strange paths it leads us on."

"To strange paths." Alaric clinked his tankard against her goblet.

They continued to talk, their laughter blending with the murmur of the tavern as they fell into an easy, unexpected rhythm. One drink became another, and another, until Tissaia's eyes took on a glassy sheen, her laughter more frequent, her usual reserve slipping into soft, unguarded smiles.

Eventually, she slumped back, blinking slowly as she tried to stifle a laugh. "I think…" she began, the words trailing off as she fought to focus on him, "I think it might be time I head back."

Alaric rose, extending his hand to her. "Come on, I'll help you up."

She took his hand with a lopsided grin, wobbling as she stood. He steadied her, slipping an arm around her shoulders, feeling her weight against him as they navigated their way to the tavern's back stairway. The noise faded as they climbed, each creaky step making her laugh softly in his ear.

At her door, she turned to him, her face mere inches away. Her eyes were warm, her breath tinged with the rich scent of wine. She looked at him with an openness that nearly made him look away.

"Alaric," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers resting against his chest. "You too, are not what I expected."

"Really?....." he replied, his voice rougher than he intended. He felt her fingers curl into his baldric, drawing him closer.

Before he could think, she leaned up, capturing his lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, hard, as if she was trying to pour everything into that one moment. The taste of her was intoxicating, more so than any wine. He tried to pull back, to keep control, but her hand slipped behind his neck, pulling him down to her.

In that moment, he lost himself completely.

The door closed behind them, and they barely made it two steps before he pressed her against the wall, his hands tangling in her hair, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him in as if she couldn't get close enough. Her kisses were hungry, matched only by his, their breaths mingling, ragged and full of need. She pressed against him, her fingers trailing down his chest, and he was beyond thought, beyond words—only aware of the warmth of her, the feel of her lips, the fire that neither of them could contain.

When they finally paused, breathing heavily, Tissaia looked up at him, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. She smiled, a little dazed, her fingers still gripping the fabric of his cloak.

"You're… full of surprises, Witcher," she whispered.

He leaned his forehead against hers, catching his breath. "You've no idea."

...….

They weren't sure who reached for whom first, but by the time the tavern was quiet and the fire burning low, they were tangled together, fingers tracing lines over old scars, breath mingling as one.

The morning came too soon, a pale light filtering in through the dusty windows. Alaric blinked awake, the familiar heaviness of reality sinking back in as he saw her sleeping beside him. She looked so serene, a world away from the sharp-tongued sorceress he'd met last night. A pang of guilt struck him, heavy and unexpected.

As he sat up quietly, she stirred, opening one eye to peer up at him. "Leaving already?" she asked, her voice still laced with sleep, yet somehow carrying that same edge of humor.

He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his face. "I… didn't mean for things to go that far." He looked down, feeling an odd mixture of regret and shame. "I didn't think…"

"I also didn't think a Witcher could feel guilty." she said, sitting up slowly, studying him with an unreadable look. "I don't mind it, Alaric. I don't think you should either."

He sighed, scratching his head with a wry smile. "I… didn't mean for this to happen. Not like this. I'm not…" He paused, the words caught in his throat. "I didn't want to take advantage of you."

A flicker of understanding crossed her face, her smile slipping into something more serious. "Alaric," she began slowly, "there's something I didn't tell you."

He looked over at her, curious but wary.

"As part of our graduation at Aretuza, there's a… tradition," she continued, choosing her words carefully. "They believe sorceresses should shed all attachments before stepping into the world. Including," she hesitated, "including innocence. They say it makes us stronger, detached. More focused on magic."

Alaric's brow furrowed. "So… last night…"

She shook her head, a faint touch of regret in her eyes. "It wasn't just tradition," she said softly. "I wanted to be with you, Alaric. But I'd be lying if I said that wasn't part of it. I….I used you..Alaric."

He sat up slowly, the weight of her words settling in.

She looked down, biting her lip. "I didn't mean to, but… I can't ignore the fact that this was something I was supposed to… fulfill." Her voice softened, regret woven into her tone. "I'm sorry, Alaric."

He looked at her for a long moment, processing what she'd said. "Well, it didn't feel like you were using me," he murmured. "But… it's good to know the truth."

...…

Tissaia stood by the window, fastening the clasps of her robes with meticulous precision. Her gaze flickered briefly to the bustling street below before returning to the mirror. She worked swiftly, her movements practiced, almost ritualistic, though a faint tension lingered in her usually serene expression.

Behind her, Alaric leaned against the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with quiet intensity.

"The final negotiations for the war are over. Kovir is now independent and grateful to Aretuza. I'll be heading back to Aretuza soon," she said without turning, her tone calm but firm, as if bracing for his response. "I need to report on my task. Officially graduate."

Alaric straightened, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "So you're leaving," he stated more than asked, his voice carrying a subtle weight of emotion that he didn't want to be surfaced.

Tissaia glanced at him through the mirror, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Not forever, Alaric. It's necessary."

"And I suppose you're planning to make the trip alone?"

Her brow arched, though there was a flicker of amusement in her gaze. "I am perfectly capable of managing a journey to Aretuza, you know."

"I didn't say you weren't," he replied, stepping closer. "I'll come with you."

Tissaia turned to face him fully, her expression softening. "That's sweet, Alaric, but it's not necessary. I'll only be gone a short while."

He crossed the distance between them in a few strides, his presence grounding and unwavering. "It's not about necessity," he said quietly. "It's about... me wanting to go with you."

Tissaia studied him for a moment, then shook her head, a touch of exasperation mingling with affection. "Fine. But don't complain if the journey proves tedious."

Alaric chuckled, the sound low and brief. "Never."

Turning back to the mirror, she resumed fastening her robes. "We'll need to leave soon, then."

"Agreed," Alaric said, already moving to gather his gear.

But as they packed their belongings, a soft, melodic chime echoed through the room. Tissaia froze, her gaze snapping to the small crystal ball resting on the table. It glowed faintly, the intricate veins of light within it shifting and pulsing like a heartbeat.

She moved to the table and waved a hand over the sphere, muttering a quiet incantation. The surface shimmered before the image of a stern yet familiar face came into focus.

-x-x-x-

A/N:- 

Did it move too fast? Whatever.

Before anyone asks, yes, he's a simp. But only for Tissaia. He's a caring protagonist not an edgelord.

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.