Back to Aretuza | Chapter 1
A/N: I just wanted to say english is not my first langage, i write first in french and then, i do my best to translate but even if i'm used to read in english i can still do some mistakes! i'm sorry for that ♥
Pairings: OC x Tissaia (Tissaria ♥)
Summary: The first face to face, after all this time
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The wet echo of her footsteps resonated through the silence of the corridor. The redhead had pushed the heavy door open, her heart pounding wildly. She felt kinda like a stranger to these halls but also, strangely, as though she were coming home. A grimace crossed her face at the thought, as she kept walking, leaving behind a dark trail where water dripped from her clothes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the bounty huntress was surprised she had managed to get into the castle so easily. They had simply opened the gate for her, asked her name, and let her in. Either security wasn’t what it used to be, or she was expected.
Aria honestly didn’t know which was more dangerous. She sniffed. A small movement stirred beneath her hood, which she still kept on. Instinctively, she raised a hand and scratched the chin of her marten, who had done her best to shelter from the rain. Nymeria’s place was on her shoulders, but even well tucked against her neck, after today’s downpour, her little companion was just as soaked. Still, the warmth compared to outside, and the simple fact that they were no longer under the rain, was already something to be grateful for.
The bounty huntress focused on her breathing and heartbeat. She couldn’t, and most of all, wouldn’t, let anything show. She was anticipating her next encounter more than she cared to admit. What words should she choose? What tone should she use? Would she even have the time to speak before being turned away? Her hand slid down from Nymeria’s chin, to rest on the pommel of her sword. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
Luckily, it was late, and the corridors were deserted. Her steps guided her automatically through the maze she had once known so well. She felt strangely taller, probably because of all her gear, but also simply because she was indoors after so many days outside. The open air had always had that effect on her.
Her steps halted when, finally, around a corner, the familiar large wooden door came into view. The redhead felt her blood run cold, and she drew a deep breath. Childish reaction, she told herself. Slowly, she moved forward again until she stood before the door, a flood of old memories crashing over her. Her knuckles met the wood with a firm tap.
Honestly, Aria couldn’t remember ever knocking before entering this office, or maybe she had, once, the very first time. Her heart tightened. A low familiar grumble came from the other side, inviting her to come in. The young woman swallowed hard, obeyed, and gently pushed the door open, stepping inside.
Her gaze quickly swept across what lay before her. Every detail was neat, meticulously arranged. A strong scent of tea, mingled with parchment and the faint trace of candles that had likely burned all day, filled the air. She had forgotten that smell. How could she have forgotten it? Finally, her eyes settled on the desk at the far end of the room and locked on a single point.
She was there, as she had always been. As if nothing had changed. The rectoress’s eyes were fixed on her parchment, straight and motionless behind her desk. She was annotating a document with her usual cold precision, the silence broken only by the methodical scratching of her quill against the paper. Time itself seemed to stop, and the redhead realized she was holding her breath. Only the faint curl of smoke from the pipe resting on the corner of the desk, and the steady motion of the quill, gave life to the scene.
Aria swallowed hard, trying to compose herself. For a moment, she felt like the child she once was, always tense, always anxious about how she was perceived, about the gaze of others, but most of all, about her gaze. The Archmage didn’t lift her eyes, there was no need. She must have felt her presence the very second her boots touched the soil of Thanedd. Her chaos was unique, even when contained, and Aria liked to believe that her former mentor knew it by heart.
Finally, Tissaia set her quill down with exaggerated care, accompanied by a faint sigh, letting the silence stretch before turning her head toward the source of the disturbance. Her icy blue eyes landed on the redhead. Outside, the strom was still raging and the wind screamed against the wall of the room.
Everything had changed. Aria’s heart skipped a beat. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, and her jaw clenched.
-“You could have sent a raven,” Tissaia continued in a neutral, almost indifferent tone.
Her eyes moved slowly over her former student’s figure, standing in the doorway’s shadow, examining every detail like a master craftsman inspecting a piece of fine jewelry. She straightened, smoothing imaginary wrinkles on the sleeves of her robe. The rectoress’s expression was impassive, yet there was an intensity in her gaze that couldn’t be ignored, one that burned through Aria’s armor.
The mage stayed silent, outwardly composed as ever, though inside, she felt as if she had just taken a sword to the chest. It was the first time she had returned since officially abandoning the kingdom that had once been entrusted to her, and since she had embraced the life of a bounty huntress, finally following the path of witchers. The first time she stood again before her former mentor, the woman who had taught her how to control her first threads of chaos.
-“If you crossed half the Continent to come here,” Tissaia said, folding her hands before her with feigned patience, “I suppose your reason must be worth my time. I’m listening.”
Aria hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but she hadn’t expected this, such cold, professional detachment from her former teacher. A shiver ran up her spine, but instead of grimacing, her lips curved into a fake confident smile.
She took a graceful step forward, moving into the dim candlelight toward the desk. Gently, she let her hood fall back onto her shoulders, revealing Nym, who had been hiding beneath it. The marten glanced around briefly but didn’t move, her small black eyes fixing on the rectoress. A faint twitch of curiosity lifted one of Tissaia’s eyebrows at this unexpected sight. Ten years had passed, and Aria knew she hadn’t found her, or even worse, perhaps hadn’t tried to.
Aria sighed, raising her chin. She was no longer a child, but a powerful mage whose mastery of the sword now matched her command of chaos. Her blue eyes locked on her former mentor, studying her in return. She was startled by how little she had changed, almost exactly as she remembered. The undeniable advantage of being a mage.
Her hair was still the same deep brown, pulled back in that same severe style. For a fleeting second, Aria wondered just how long they might be, now. Her gaze was as piercing as ever, not a wrinkle had marked her face. Perhaps her eyes were slightly shadowed by fatigue, but that was nothing new. She had always been known for her devotion to her work. The rectoress wore one of her signature long blue robes, with a high collar that gave her a natural elegance.
Aria’s hand returned to the pommel of her sword, it gave her courage, somehow. Facing Tissaia de Vries was far more daunting than facing monsters. The rain lashed against the windows in a steady rhythm, she focused on it a little.
-“ Ravens are not reliable enough,” She replied softly. “I needed you- your expertise.”
She took a few more seconds to study the expression fixed upon her, the cold, detached stare that the sorceress offered. She mustn’t start justifying herself. That bad habit only surfaced when she was impressed or intimidated, and Tissaia surely remembered that. Aria drew a quiet breath and continued.
-“I… just came back from Kaer Morhen. I found an artifact, and I can’t translate a single word of it.”
Tissaia watched the redhead in silence, though a faint tension flickered at the mention of the witchers’s stronghold of the School of the Wolf. Every detail was noted, analyzed. Yet her expression betrayed nothing. She remained still, fingers intertwined on the desk, a pillar of composure amid the tension thick in the room, devouring the bounty huntress from within.
The words were factual, neither warm nor reproachful, but the shadow of an unreadable emotion flickered in her gaze. Aria’s blood ran cold, those two words struck harder than any blade. She swallowed. The rector rose with deliberate slowness, her dark robe gliding across the floor like a whisper.
-“So you still remember the existence of Aretuza’s libraries.”Her tone carried a faintly acidic note, though it seemed directed more at herself than at Aria.
She took a step toward her. Close enough that the mage could feel the subtle authority that still radiated from her.
In one smooth motion, she extended her hand, perfectly composed, though a glimmer sparked in her eyes. Tissaia’s curiosity hadn’t betrayed her former student, that small, familiar sign rekindled a fragile sense of reassurance in the young mage’s chest. She knew that even if the Archmage wasn’t warm, she was intrigued, and that, more than anything, made her talkative. The redhead looked down at her for a brief moment, not in judgment, but simply taking the time to observe the rectoress while standing tall.
The sorceress lowered her gaze to the pouch strapped to her belt, unfastened it, and handed it to Tissaia. On her shoulder, the marten stirred at the movement, her tiny claws digging into the leather of Aria’s armor with a faint squeak of protest.
-“Tell me,” the rector said, tilting her head slightly as she took the pouch from the bounty huntress’s hand. Her fingers brushed against the redhead’s for a fleeting second. “Has Kaer Morhen lost all its scholars, for you to be forced to come back here?”
The bitterness in her words was subtle,almost imperceptible,but it was there. Tissaia never truly lowered her guard. She turned her eyes away from the young woman, focusing instead on the object now resting in her hands, breaking the moment with calculated grace. Aria let out a small chuckle, lowering her gaze.
- “You know as well as I do that there are only a handful of witchers left who still care about the work of a scholar. I was just passing through. The artifact came from a monster I killed there, and after spending days with no real progress, I decided to come to the only person capable of helping me.”
The corner of the rectoress’s lips twitched faintly at the remark.
-“You almost flatter my ego, Aria,” she said, slowly opening the pouch. “And yet, I doubt it’s merely my expertise that brings you back here after all these years.”
-“I don’t flatter equals. I’m looking for answers. I noticed the artifact is made of the same material as the monoliths scattered across the Continent. It’s important.”
She crossed her arms, studying the rector’s every reaction with keen interest. She wouldn’t admit that part of her had simply wanted to see her again after all this time. A dull ache lingered, Tissaia had never tried to “set her back on the proper path of the mages,” unlike the efforts she had made for Yennefer. Aria’s gaze fell to Tissaia’s hands as she drew out a blackened piece of metal. The artifact was etched with complex runes that seemed to pulse with a faint dying light. The brunette examined it beneath the room’s soft glow, her brows furrowing slightly as she studied the markings.
As Tissaia’s blue eyes moved over the artifact, she broke the silence that had fallen, snapping Aria out of her current contemplation. The redhead blinked.
-“Why not use a portal to come here? You’re perfectly capable of forming one, or at least, you were the last time i’ve seen you.”
A sigh escaped Aria before she could stop it, and she rolled her eyes. Nymeria, still draped around her neck, finally decided to move. The marten stretched lazily before leaping onto the backrest of the nearest chair, to start grooming herself. The bounty huntress followed her companion with her eyes before replying.
-“For several reasons. I wanted to remain discreet and avoid alerting anyone through the flow of chaos.” She lowered her voice a little. “especially members of the council… Besides, the witchers tolerate me among them, but they prefer no portals near Kaer Morhen. And… I’ve grown rather fond of traveling on horseback.”
She refrained from admitting the real reason, that she’d needed time to mentally prepare herself before facing Tissaia again after all these years, and didn’t want to simply appear unannounced after a decade away from Aretuza. But still, she was not lying, especially concerning the fact she was not trusting anyone else.
-“And yet, the situation seems rather urgent, doesn’t it?” the rector replied. “Your artifact is intriguing… Ancient work, likely predating even the Witchers’ age. These runes are no common language. You were right not to try to decipher them alone. A single mistake could have…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she lifted her gaze to meet Aria’s, this time with a more personal glint in her eyes. Carefully, Tissaia set the artifact down on the desk before her, her hands gliding along her sleeves to smooth them, an almost nervous gesture, though she masked any visible emotion.
-“And here you are, back at Aretuza, as if no time had passed.” Her voice was calm, but a note of reproach ran beneath her words. “Tell me, Aria… Did you think I would be pleased to see you return like this, after everything you abandoned here?”
Her words were sharp. Tissaia’s gaze held her in place. Aria froze slightly, lowering her eyes for a moment before lifting them again with a calm expression, fighting the rectoress’s gaze with a fierce intensity.
-“No, I didn’t expect as much. Truth be told, I had no idea if I’d even make it to this office before being thrown out. So I’ll take it as a small victory, to be standing here.”
The mage shifted, leaning casually against the back of the chair Nymeria had claimed, the soft clink of her chainmail echoing against her light leather armor. She drew a steadying breath, forcing down the pressure rising in her chest. Her former mentor could sense weakness, there was no way she’d show it. Gently, she reached out to scoop Nymeria back into her arms, the marten allowed it, though not without giving a small, playful bite to one of her fingers.
Tissaia remained silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on her former student, observing every motion, every word, like a careful study. Her lips pressed together slightly, not in anger, but in thoughtful scrutiny. It was clear she disapproved of Aria's casual stance against the chair.
-“You’re right,” she finally said, her tone neutral, though slightly softer, as if she had accepted an intellectual challenge. “The monoliths are indeed a rare material. But their origin remains a mystery to us all. Their power is… elusive. You seem to have a knack for detecting connections where others fail to see them. But at what cost, Aria?”
The rectoress let the words escape softly before pausing, her gaze fixed on the artifact as though she could sense in it both danger and necessity. Then her eyes returned to Aria, a spark of irony flickering behind her piercing gaze. The bounty hunter exhaled quietly, surprised once more by the weight of those words. A small shiver ran through her, feelings tangled and clashed inside her mind.
-“It seems you’ve grown since you left.” Tissaia let out a breath so subtle it was barely audible. “Not only in power, but in… independence. That, I admit, surprises me. You did not seek to flee the violence of this world, you chose to embrace it.”
There was a cruel truth hidden in her remark, and yet, the tone held something else. The faint awareness that Tissaia might have, somehow, kept an eye on her former student from afar warmed Aria’s heart more than she cared to admit.
-“Yes, I’ve changed over the years. I’m no longer that fragile little mage I once was,” she replied with confidence, rolling her shoulders as if to reassure herself of her own strength.
-“But there is a difference,” her elder sighed, “between understanding magic and manipulating it.” A flicker of concern crossed Tissaia’s eyes. “You cannot grasp everything you handle, Aria. Not without risk.”
She rose slowly, moving toward the window, thoughtful. For a while, she gazed at the stormy horizon before turning back to Aria, arms crossed, as though trying to contain something within herself. The redhead clenched her jaw, a wave of frustration washing over her.
-“I am aware of the dangers,” she said finally, her tone formal, deliberate. “That is precisely why I came here, madame.”
The title was intentional, my lady. Aria tilted her head slightly, studying the older woman’s movements. Tissaia turned her gaze back toward her, eyes sharp as blades, though something unspoken glimmered within them when she heard the word madame. A faint smile ghosted across her lips, not one that reached her eyes, but one that betrayed a quiet acknowledgment.
It was a timid game that had just begun, a silent challenge, one that hurled them ten years back in time. She inclined her head slightly, as though accepting the unspoken rules of this new battleground.
-“Madame,” she repeated softly, before straightening to her full height, embodying power and composure. “You are no longer the woman I once trained. But perhaps, there is something left to reclaim.” Her voice dropped, more intimate yet still distant, “ What do you want from me, Aria?”
The word reclaim echoed in Aria’s mind, sharp and uncertain. What did she mean, an abandoned student, a solitary sorceress, or a fleeting chance to recover what once was? Her brain started to work even faster. She cleared her throat and straightened up from the edge of the armchair.
-“I’m requesting you to work with me on this artifact, to uncover its secrets.”
Her voice was steady, though she knew full well what that entailed, staying at Aretuza for a time, giving up her life as a bounty huntress. Time stretched as Tissaia measured the request. At last, she spoke.
-“Very well, Aria. You are far from the girl I once knew, yet it seems you haven’t forgotten the art of making requests, however indirect.” Her tone shifted, growing colder, more professional. “But it would be reckless to engage in such an undertaking unprepared. Magic like this is not mastered in a matter of days. The risk of being consumed by what one does not understand is… considerable.”
She moved back to her desk and took her seat again, one hand resting on the scrolls before her, eyes glittering with icy focus. Aria’s heart quickened. She was not surprised, the rectoress had always been that way: analytical, cautious, unrelenting.
-“You will need patience,” Tissaia continued. “And I have no intention of doing your research for you. But I am willing to work with you on it.” Her gaze settled once more on the artifact, as if weighing the consequences of each word. “That does not mean I will make concessions. You will accept the terms I set.”
Her expression hardened, her stare a reminder of all the unspoken laws of power. The redhead nodded silently while she felt the excitement run through her veins.
-“I am willing to help you,” Tissaia concluded, her voice low, almost a warning. “But know this: whatever it is you seek here, you will pay for it, one way or another. Magic always demands a price,and it is not always gold.”
A wide smile curved Aria’s lips while the archmage folded her arms, the air between them thick with tension. The game of power had begun again, and for the first time in years, it felt as though their old dynamic was not entirely lost.
