EVENT #3: AN EXECUTION OF SORTS

[abraxasmods]

THE EXECUTION

As if performing a vicious mockery for what should be a somber day, the sun shines brightly in the sky. The rays of sun catch the iron brackets that hold up the gallows that have been erected overnight for the occasion, the gentle breeze causing the noose to swing ominously. Public executions do not happen frequently in Thorne, so a crowd gathers in strained anticipation of the grim sentence.

The welcome guests, who have up until this point been free to come and go within the confines of the castle, have been mandated to view the execution. It is meant to serve both as an example of Thorne’s power as well as a lesson to those who might think to try the same. The courtyard, which was buzzing with quiet murmurs, turns silent as Ambrose strides up the wooden steps of the gallows, flanked by two guards and a haggard-looking Jonathan Sims, arms bound behind him. As the guards march their charge to the trapdoor that will serve as executioner and position the noose around his neck, Ambrose turns to address the crowd that has gathered- willfully or not.

“Citizens of Thorne, our esteemed welcomed guests, it is with disappointment and a heavy heart that we’ve gathered to see to the execution of one of the very guests we sought aid from in our time of need. In a selfish and distrustful act, I was attacked, an action I cannot abide.”

He turns halfway toward his charge. “Jonathan Sims, you are charged with assault and intention of lethal harm. The punishment is to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”

Ambrose raises his arm to signal the executioner to pull the lever to release the trapdoor beneath Jon’s feet, steely expression locked on the prisoner’s face one last time.

MEANWHILE

Several miles away, atop a hill in the forest, two figures meet between portals. Oliver, tall and lithe, steps out to stand next to a petite waif of a woman who looks at him with a familiar smile. Her voice is lilting like a songbird’s when she speaks up, turning her gaze back over the city.

“Find out anything good?”

He hums softly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Two dozen prisoners, give or take. The one I met was very grateful for our assistance.”

“That’s good. Perhaps her gratitude will endear our cause to them.”

With a nod, he takes a deep breath and then sighs. “It’s time, Elizabeth,” he says, lifting one hand to open a new portal.

She nods and raises her arms above her head, eyes closing in concentration. Her arms begin to glow green while the grass around her begins to ripple in rings. The very ground seems to surge with power that radiates outward from her, and it isn’t long before the castle and the town are engulfed in a heavy air of intense magic. It courses from her in shockwaves.

Satisfied, Oliver steps through the portal.



In the wake of the magic flood, the walls of the dungeons seem to shudder for a long moment, and the doors suddenly clink open. No guards come rushing in to shut them, and in fact, all ambient noise in the dungeons seems to stop as the whole of the people of Thorne freeze in place. The hall becomes lit by daylight as a portal opens at the end of it, showing them the crowd of welcomed guests and Jon alone on the platform.

In the portal, alone stands Oliver, hand offered to the prisoners in welcome. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though this seems to be by nature rather than intention.

“Please come with me.”

CHOICES

Everything is happening quickly.

Once through the portal to the execution yard there's a moment of chaos and confusion at the sudden arrivals and then it stops. Everything and everyone has stopped, save for the guests, the prisoners, and the two mages who have come to their aid. Guards freeze in place. The attended mages are still as statues. Banners lifted by the wind remain where they are and even the noose hanging from the gallows stills.

"Time for them is halted." Oliver addresses the assembled, his voice projected to be heard but his tone calm. "It will remain so for one hour, no more. An hour is all you have to make your choices. Remain here in Thorne, or take a portal to either Solvunn or the Free Cities. The portals cannot be traced by the Thorean authorities, so no need to fear them giving chase.”

Elizabeth emerges from a portal behind him, which closes as she enters the yard. They both raise an arm and two white circles spread through the air, showing new towns in the distance on the other side. There is an ethereal glow around them.

“The Free Cities are martially powerful and seek to destroy the Singularity,” Oliver narrates, gesturing at one of the portals. “Solvunn is reclusive and claims neutrality, both in politics and in regard to the Singularity. I advise that you think hard about your choice. Travel between cities is not exactly easy."

He turns back to the crowd with an almost apologetic smile. “I'm sorry you don't have more time to make this decision. We’ll meet again.”

Opening a third portal with the wave of her arm, Elizabeth, who has not spoken a word, gives the group a wink and leaves with Oliver. Their portal closes behind them, leaving everyone to begin making moves.

Now is the time to make serious choices. Two portals stand in the courtyard, one courtesy of Oliver and one of Elizabeth. The Free Cities and Thorne are enemies, Solvunn watching both to see where the cards end up falling. None trust one another, none work with one another beyond trade through middle-men in Solvunn. The clock is ticking.

Someone should probably get Jon out of that noose.

Comments

[wiedzminka]

[ Everything is a flurry of motion, shouting, an urgent rush to get out, get upstairs, figure out what is happening. Something inside her seems to slot back into place, a certain energy and weight, familiar and yet not... exactly. Ciri doesn't have time to dwell on it immediately, but she knows, instinctively, that there's still something missing. There's something wrong.

For now, she runs after Yennefer (of course she blows the door off its hinges, and Ciri loves her for it), their immediate goal being Geralt. As expected, he'd been on his way toward them, and then they're all rushing out into the brightness of the sunlit day, with its fresh air in counterpoint to the stillness of all the people frozen in time.

After Jaskier manages to join up with them too, it doesn't take long to figure out the best course of action. In truth, Ciri relies heavily on Geralt's judgement over her own for this; there's too much she doesn't know about this world and its politics, and too much she doesn't want others to find out about her. They can't talk openly. They don't know if their unexpected liberators are to be trusted, but it's not as though there's much other choice. Oliver's brief explanation is all any of them have to go on, and while Ciri's visceral first reaction is firmly against the idea of destroying the Singularity just as much as she's against trying to use it, Geralt quickly convinces her that that's precisely why they should go to the Free Cities. Lie low, keep an eye on their plans as well as they're able, try to learn what they can.

She understands the logic. Some part of her knows that the same thinking extends to Thorne. That she herself had advocated for Yennefer's abilities and persuasiveness in court not long ago.

It still doesn't brace her for the dizzying dread that presses hard into her chest, the way her stomach drops when Yennefer pulls her aside. She sees it in the sorceress's eyes. She knows there's only one way this makes sense.

Ciri swallows, her throat so tight it hurts. ]

I know.

[ Her hands grip both of Yennefer's tight, green eyes desperately searching her face, silently pleading with her not to say what she thinks Yennefer is about to say. ]

I want to get far away from here. All of us.

[vixening]

[ the grip on yennefer's hands just nearly make her question it - even though it's been something she's been going over for days now, since she first heard about the possibility of a jail break. from the very first day she'd been in that yard. yennefer had known that thorne would be her best option - a man with a thirst for power is easily manipulated, and with something as drastic, as chaotic, as two new individuals showing up to separate a large collection of the people that ambrose had brought through? yennefer can see the pieces of the board falling into place.

it also means, though, that when they're presented with the options - a city that wishes to destroy this unbelievable source of magic, or a place that thinks neutrality is possible on the budding of war - yennefer knows, just as well as she knows her own magic, where she needs to be. and it makes sense, for ciri's sake, that they have someone present to keep watch. to know for sure if they have any inclination to the power within her.

ciri grips at yennfer's hands and yennefer squeezes in return, her eyes falling to where their hands are tight within each other's. the desperation in ciri's voice is clear when she speaks, so much that yennefer almost wonders if she needs to say it as well. ]

Ciri. [ she both corrects herself and cuts ciri off with a single word, unsure what to do with this feeling creeping up inside her chest. it's only been days, barely weeks, and yet she holds ciri's hands like she's saying goodbye to someone far more important than the time would call for.

and she is, in many ways, but yennefer chooses not to dwell. instead, she looks back to catch ciri's eyes with her own violet ones, holding them with a look that lets her know the decision has been made. her decision has been made. ]

I am not going with you.

[wiedzminka]

[ There it is. She cuts right to what she means to say, clean and precise as a scalpel.

Ciri takes a sharp, quick breath; it catches in her too-right throat, stuttering out unevenly. There's no surprise in her expression. She'd already figured it out. ]

Please...

[ Ciri's thumbs rub anxiously over Yennefer's knuckles, calloused from the sword, holding on so tight it probably aches.

Despite the confusion and frustration, even though it's taken effort and pain to become used to the idea that Yennefer isn't exactly the woman she knows yet, Ciri has still cherished the time they could spend together. The circumstances be damned, she'd missed Yennefer, and only just gotten her back.

Now, Ciri has to let her go again-- into uncertainty, a world unknown, for a span of time none of them can even begin to guess at. She has to let Yennefer go, and with her, the idea that their escape would mean salvation. The hope she'd been clinging to, in quiet desperation, that as soon as the sorcery keeping their magic locked away, Ciri would simply be able to get them all home. Back to where -- and when -- they belonged. Somehow.

But she can't.

The certainty is there, cold and heavy as an iron lock. It's not a matter of controlling it; it simply can't be reached. Some part of her had known, even in the cells. A simple power-dampening spell, no matter the caliber, shouldn't be able to control what is inside her. If it were that easy, she'd have searched for a similar resolution to her problems with controlling it long ago.

No, there's something else. Something much, much bigger. (The Singularity? A problem with her?) Ciri doesn't know. She doesn't know what will happen-- to any of them, to Geralt or Yennefer or Jaskier or her, not in the future and not in the past. Whether being here has set everything in their own world on some unrelenting path to chaos and destruction. Whether this is how it's meant to be, or whether it's impossible, bending or shattering the rules of time or space, which may be arbitrary or rigid and are impossible to conceive of no matter the answer, no matter how she tries to understand. In all these years, nothing she has learned is of any use.

And neither is she.

Once again, all Ciri can do is run.

The tears spill over, stinging her eyes, hot on her cheeks. The magic of the portal nearby feels hot and metallic in the air, a suffocating inevitability and a necessary compromise. Is this Destiny? Is any of this right? Was there ever truly a choice at all? ]

Promise me--

[ Ciri leans in, pressing her face into Yennefer's shoulder. ]

Promise me I'll see you again. Promise me we'll find a way to set things right. Together.

[ Even if it's a lie. Even if none of them can really know, and it's a promise Yennefer has no way to keep. It will be their promise, all the same. ]

[vixening]

[ it's a bit maddening, in some secretive way, how quickly a single word from ciri can sear through yennefer's chest like that. all she says is please, and it feels more like a hot iron than a request. in the grand scheme of things, truly, yennefer knows that what they have is fragile. ciri still looks to her like she's searching for someone else, and yennefer - despite their days together - has had to put effort into figuring out who that woman ciri looks for is supposed to be. she's used to fitting an image, used to working others expectations of her to her own advantage, but this - this is different. and yen still isn't sure what to make of it. (and ciri is not someone yennefer has to work, not someone she wants to. she is a girl, not a witcher, not a sorceress, not a princess. just someone who looks to yennefer like she means something, like she matters, and a simple echo of a nearly-forgotten dream tugs at the back of her head.)

and of course there is ciri's power - a source of magic that can rival the singularity, if not surpass it - that ambrose can not know of. yennefer isn't sure, entirely, what the limits of ciri's power are meant to be or how she can be used, but yennefer refuses to let that be something at ambrose's disposal. refuses to let ciri be at anyone's disposal. she regrets the simple fact she won't be there to help ciri learn about her abilities, but geralt knows enough about chaos. jaskier too, even now, has dipped into the art. most of all, ciri will be safe, and the intensity at which yennefer needs that to be true almost startles her.

promise me- ciri is crying now, and yennefer remembers their first conversation here. remembers chiding ciri for the tears. she does not do this now, and instead lets ciri tuck her face into yennefer's shoulder. there is a tension in yennefer at it, if only for even to this day she is not entirely sure what to make of this sort of intimacy. unsure what to do about the way it makes her feel like she's being pulled apart at the seams. yennefer turns her face to press her lips to ciri's temple, tucking close to her, in a sort of encouraging embrace. ]

I promise. [ she whispers the words against ciri's hair, holding her tight and close for a moment and then another moment more, before she pulls a hand from ciri's grasp to lay at the back of ciri's head, pulling away from her but only far enough to find her eyes.

there is no way for her to know if that promise had been a lie, but the expression at which she looks at ciri is nothing but determination. there's a sense that even if it were not possible, that would hardly stop her. ]

This is not where our stories end.

[wiedzminka]

[ Yennefer folds her arms around her, and Ciri leans into the embrace with a choked-back sob, hugging Yennefer back tightly. She clings there for a few moments, holding on hard enough that Yennefer can feel it in her ribs.

Yennefer's lips are soft and warm, and her voice is steady. They both know that the promise is contingent on too many things to make it a guarantee, but Ciri doesn't care about that; she cares about the intent behind it, and the fact they're all going to do their damnest to make it true. ]

Take care of yourself. [ she whispers back, giving Yennefer a squeeze before slowly drawing away, knowing their time is short. Her voice is soft. Her hands linger on Yennefer's. ]

I love you.

[ She doesn't care if Yennefer doesn't return the sentiment yet. She doesn't want to see the look in her eyes, too frightened it will be too much to bear. She doesn't say good-bye.

Ciri turns away, heading toward the portal. ]

[vixening]

[ yennefer hugs ciri through the course of her sobs, feeling her own arms grow more tightly with it. it's a strange feeling that she had, then, of what this means. of how this feels, beyond the rush of adrenaline to get here, the promise of danger, the loss of a goodbye. what tightens around yennefer's chest is the same thing she's been struggling to find the shape of since she first spoke to ciri and even now, she's not entirely sure of it. ciri hugs back so tightly that yennefer can most certainly feel it in her ribs, but that is not what makes it hard to breathe. that is not what pushes down on her.

i dreamed of becoming important to someone.

ciri pulls back, and yennefer recognizes the feeling. of something being ripped away from her. of the pain associated with it, that she'd been chasing to set right. yennefer hates how visceral it feels. her body is still healing from the guards and the cell, from wounds that have yet to close, but this? this is worse. so much worse.

and that is when ciri whispers - i love you - and the words freeze yennefer to the spot. really and truly force her into that moment, into the slow movements of ciri drawing away. she really and truly considers, reconsiders, if this is worth it. if this is the right idea at all. but she is not quite able to respond. not verbally, in any real way, but yennefer does not let herself so much as blink as ciri turns and moves towards the portal. does not let herself look away, does not let herself cry, even if her eyes do burn.

( she is going to regret this, in some form or fashion, later. some aspect of this, something she could have done or said. but she doesn't do anything. she just watches her go. ) ]