the string that leads to home — a yenntriss fanfic
Yennefer grew up knowing about the Strings. The Strings of fate, the village children would call them, laughing behind their hands until they saw her. The Strings of fate. Strands of the soul connecting two soulmates. Not everyone had them, of course. And they were invisible to everyone except the two.
Yennefer’s String was red. A rich, gorgeous red that reminded her of the marigold flowers that bloomed near her house. It wrapped around her wrist, and led her somewhere . To someone . Her soulmate.
She kept it a secret. The first time she had tried to tell, when she was still a child, hopeless and naive, her father had locked her in the barn and told her to stop lying.
She never told anyone after that.
But she was still curious. Whenever she heard the others talking about the Strings (she hid, of course she did, because once they saw her their conversation would change- it would change to freak, useless, monster- ) she listened, intent on knowing everything and anything she could about her String.
In her darkest moments, when everything simply became too much, she lay on the hay and curled up around her wrist, playing slightly with her String. It was reassuring. It felt warm , like the cider her mother had snuck her when she was young, like truly belonging somewhere, like her dreams.
She could see it leading her out of town, down the road and going away from Vengerberg, away from the town she was trapped in. She longed to follow it, to wander the Continent until she found her One, until she found happiness.
A silly dream, perhaps. But it was her dream, and she would do anything to make it a reality.
The day that Tissaia de Vries came to her house was the day Yennefer swore to herself she would never feel so helpless again.
Her time at Aretuza was harsh, and yet Yennefer would not have traded it for the world. She would make her dream come true, she thought, in her chambers late at night, the candles long burnt out and her eyes tired from reading in the dark. Aretuza had many books about the Strings, the knowledge of soul magic was common, and Yennefer could never know enough.
Sometimes she felt a small pull on her String, when she wandered the halls. It always vanished. It left an ache in her heart, a feeling of loss she could not describe.
The day that Yennefer met her One was one of her last at Aretuza. And it happened quite on accident. She was never again so grateful for an accident.
She had felt another pull on the String, a feeling she was familiar with, and yet this one was different. It was more insistent, and she found herself following it. A part of her told her it was madness, that the String could be leading her thousands of leagues, and that she couldn’t just leave. She firmly told that part of her to shut up.
She walked.
She walked until the sun set, and the moon rose to its peak.
She walked until the rain fell, the air becoming humid.
She walked until her feet were tired, and then she walked some more.
Her String led her to a village, so alike the one of her childhood she gasped. It led her through the heart of the town, through fields and woods and even a small stream. It led her to a house.
She knocked, a flutter of something eating her up inside, a nervousness she had not felt since she was a child, her heart beating wildly in her chest.
The door opened.
And there she was. Her One. Her soulmate.
She was beautiful .
Her hair, dark and curly, fell down to her shoulders. A stray curl had escaped from where the rest of it was tucked behind her ears, and Yennefer had to fight the urge to tuck it back. Her eyes were brown, and Yennefer could have looked at them for hours.
Her One was staring at her, and Yennefer stared right back. The woman in front of her moved, and Yennefer barely had time to look down before she felt a soft, gentle grasp on her wrist. Right where her String was.
“It’s you.” Her voice was just as stunning as her beauty.
“Yes.” She said, barely recognizing her own voice over the ringing in her ears. This was happening. She had met her One.
Yennefer’s voice seemed to shake her soulmate from whatever trance had held them both, and she started slightly, reaching forwards as if to pull Yennefer into her home.
“Forgive my manners,” she said. “Please, come in.”
Belatedly, Yennefer realized she was standing in the pouring rain, her dress plastered against her body.
Her soulmate’s home was not what Yennefer expected, and it was delightful. She had always imagined some sort of grandeur, a palace or a mansion, decorated with the impersonal yet tasteful furniture that the wealthy always preferred. The house she was standing in, though, was nothing other than cozy. It was warm, a fire raging in the fireplace, and Yennefer relished the warmth. There were flowers on the table, a vase full of lilacs, and furs lined the chairs.
It looked like a home. Yennefer had never truly had a home before. She hoped that now she would.
Her One had vanished somewhere, as Yennefer had examined her surroundings, and had returned with two mugs of some steaming liquid, and a blanket. She handed Yennefer the blanket and a mug with an expectant look, and Yennefer wrapped herself in the blanket, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fire or the blanket.
She looked at her One, taking in her every feature, and wondered how she had gotten so lucky.
“Yennefer.”
Her soulmate started, putting down her own mug and looking at Yennefer with an expression that Yennefer could not place.
“Pardon?”
“That’s my name. Yennefer. Of Vengerberg.”
“Oh.” said her soulmate. “My name is Triss. Triss Merigold.”
Yennefer had heard of Triss Merigold, of course, and knew she was one of the brightest from the graduating class above her. To think that they had spent months, years, in the same building, only to never have met.
“Well, Triss, it is nice to finally meet you.” Possibly the biggest understatement of the century. She could have said something… more eloquent , one of the flowery poems she had learned in preparation for life at court, or something, anything more than this. But a part of her rebelled fiercely against the idea, wanting nothing more than to finally be as true to herself as she could.
She reached out before she could stop herself, and took Triss’ hand.
And as she sat there, wrapped in fur, holding the hand of someone she knew she would come to love more dearly than anything in the world, Yennefer felt at home.
