NOVEL NEXT Chapter 43: Bonds!
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"Yes, well," she continued, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I wish for you to heal my reproductive system, if it is at all possible. I wish for you to… to make me fertile again." She finally said it, the words hanging heavy in the air between them.
There was a moment of complete silence as the man, Harry, just looked at her, and for the first time, Yennefer could tell that he was genuinely surprised.
"You wish to have a child," he said, his voice softer now, his expression one of genuine curiosity. "Why?"
Yennefer's heart skipped a beat. "Why?" she repeated, her voice rising in an almost frustrated tone. "Do I truly need a reason to want to try my hand at being a mother? Most women, it is simply expected of them. Why should I, of all people, be denied that chance, that simple, fundamental experience?"
Harry once more just looked at her, his green eyes seeming to see right through her, to the deep, aching void she had carried within her for so long.
He sat silently for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable as he seemed to be contemplating something deep within his own head.
"I… I am afraid I can, unfortunately, not give you what you ask for," Harry said finally, his voice filled with a quiet, sincere regret. "I am truly sorry."
Yennefer felt her body fill with a white-hot, blinding rage at his words, a wave of bitter disappointment so intense it almost made her physically sick. But she quickly, ruthlessly, calmed herself, pushing the rage down, locking it away.
"May I ask why you will not help me?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm. "If it's a matter of money, of payment…" she tried, her mind already calculating what she could possibly offer him.
"It is not about money," Harry said, shaking his head. "It is simply about me… not being able to meddle in certain specific matters. Matters that might… affect certain things down the line. My hands are tied on this particular issue, my lady. I am truly, deeply sorry." He sounded so genuinely sad, so regretful, that it almost made her anger falter.
Yennefer looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, and did her absolute best not to let the hot tears that were burning the backs of her eyes escape.
Not now. Not in front of him. All these years, all this desperate hope, thinking that he, this mythical, all-powerful Black Mage, would finally be the answer to her deepest prayer, only to find yet another dead end, another slammed door.
Perhaps she really was just stuck in this cruel lot in life. Maybe, she thought with a fresh wave of bitterness, she just deserved it.
"I cannot heal your organs, Yennefer," Harry said softly, his voice gentle, pulling her from her dark thoughts. "But… I dosee a child in your future."
Yennefer's head shot up, her violet eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief. "What… what do you mean?" she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Are you saying there is something, someone else, that can heal me?"
"No," Harry said, shaking his head again. "But I do see a child. A girl. You will love her very, very much, and she, in turn, will love you. An unexpected child, at that. She will be quite the surprise, I am sure. Remember to keep your eyes, and your heart, open for possibilities, Lady Yennefer. They present themselves to us every day, often in the most peculiar, unexpected ways." He stood up then, and looked as if he was about to leave the room.
"Wait, hold on!" Yennefer exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. "What does that mean? A child? How?"
Harry smiled, that same infuriatingly enigmatic, yet somehow comforting, smile. "I must leave now, but perhaps I should leave you with some parting words to ponder. Always remember, Yennefer, that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."
"What does that mean?" Yennefer asked, completely bewildered.
"It means," Harry said, his green eyes seeming to pierce right through to her soul, "that the family that YOU choose, the bonds you forge through love and loyalty, will always be more important, more real, than the one your blood simply chooses for you. Goodbye, Lady Yennefer. And enjoy the rest of your Beltane." And with that, he was simply… gone.
Yennefer just stood there, staring at the now-empty room, her mind reeling with a mixture of surprise, frustration, and a tiny, treacherous spark of renewed hope.
The man had not used a portal to make his exit, she realized with a jolt. He had simply… warped, and then disappeared into thin air. She had never seen anything like it before in her long life. It was… impossible.
Yennefer sighed to herself after spending a few more long moments in the silent, empty room. She finally went to her bedroom and prepared for bed, her mind still a whirlwind of confusing thoughts and emotions.
That night, she dreamt of Geralt. A wonderful, vivid dream, full of passion and longing.
It was Beltane, after all.
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1262, Cintra
Harry's POV:
Harry stood silently, a shadow among shadows, on top of one of the highest towers in the sprawling city of Cintra, and watched the northern horizon.
He could see the approaching Nilfgaardian army from here, a vast, dark, inexorable tide of black and gold, and there seemed to be thousands upon thousands of them, marching relentlessly towards the doomed city.
He watched as the terrified townspeople below scrambled for cover, their panicked screams a faint, distant chorus on the wind.
He watched as they tried to flee the city, clogging the southern gates, while the city guard, and what little remained of the once-proud Cintran army, prepared to defend their home to their very last, dying breath.
They were probably only a thousand men strong, at most, if Harry's quick, experienced estimate was correct.
Even if he didn't already know, from Ciri's stories, exactly what was about to happen here, he could have easily guessed the outcome. Cintra would be crushed. It was no longer a matter of if, but simply when.
Ciri had not told him exactly how long Cintra had managed to last against the Nilfgaardian onslaught, but if Harry had to guess, based on the sheer size and discipline of the approaching army, he would say that this would all be over in less than twenty-four hours.
Nilfgaard was coming from three sides the north, the west, and the east leaving only the southern road for people to escape.
Sadly, there was a wide, slow-moving river, the Yaruga, that significantly slowed down the escape of the desperate townspeople, creating a bottleneck of chaos and fear.
Harry wasn't concerned about that, though. Not really. He was only concerned with the fate of the royal family.
It seemed that the formidable Queen Calanthe was not going to let her city, her kingdom, go down without a bloody, desperate fight.
And, true to her fierce, warrior nature, she seemed to want to lead that fight herself, from the very front lines.
Harry watched, a silent, unseen observer, as the two opposing forces finally met, just outside the city walls, with a great, deafening roar of steel, fury, and dying men.
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