(I'M SORRY I COULDN'T HELP IT, THIS ONE-SHOT CAME OUT OF ME JUST LIKE THAT)
Unaccounted Variable
The air in Tissaia's study was rife with tension. The air seemed heavy under the constant clashing of her two - uninvited by her - guests.
Yennefer lounged on a chair resting close to the fire, her demeanor an attempt at projecting a relaxed, predatory grace, but her eyes were narrowed, showing the tension in them as they stayed fixed upon Philippa.
Taking a sip of her wine would require breaking her concentration, which wouldn't do; not while the owl-woman had a proprietary hand settled at the back of Tissaia's chair and was bending over her shoulder to read the missive Tissaia had been working on.
“Really, Philippa,” Yennefer’s voice was laced with barely concealed venom, “Must you hover? The Rectoress is perfectly capable of doing her work without your shadow over it.”
Philippa’s eyes found Yennefer’s, and a sharp smile rose on her lips, unbidden. “One can never be too prudent. With the recent political climate, one must get better at guarding what is important.” Her fingers brushed an invisible piece of lint from Tissaia’s shoulder.
Tissaia, her posture a mirror of perfect composure, did not look up from the correspondence she had been writing, but Yennefer saw the subtle tensing of her jaw. The quill kept on moving on the paper, the sound stifled in the middle of the simmering tension.
Yennefer scowled, petulant. “She doesn’t need your brand of guarding.”
“Says the woman who fled Aretuza the first chance she got,” Philippa countered, smooth in her repartee, eyes shining with triumph. “I, on the other hand, remained a constant.”
Yennefer’s eyebrows rose, incredulous. If Philippa wanted to go low, she could too. “Is that what we call a coup attempt against her and everything she ever worked for, now?”
Philippa straightened under the barb, “I admit that particular event was… ill-advised. I did see the errors of my way, if you noticed how all mages are now engaging in reform discussions. Including you, despite knowing that associating with you is a liability at the best of times.”
“You deal with nests of vipers, Philippa, playing king bootlicker most of the time. Tissaia needs someone who acts and gets results, something you might have forgotten how to do from the political… sewers.”
“‘Act’? You mean the flailing between emotional crises? Gallivanting with a Witcher, trying to get a baby and letting dear Tissaia, here, deal with the fallout alone?” Philippa aimed to maim. There was something about the wounded look blooming on Yennefer’s face, caused by Philippa knowing too many of her mistakes - a network of spies had its uses. She would wound all she could, and try to bury her own faults under Yennefer’s to keep the upper hand. “Or maybe it is adopting a supposedly dead princess? Or better! Breaking her heart in Rinde? That acting? No. Tissaia requires stability and control, not the Chaos you weave.”
Yennefer was outraged. None of it had been done with the intention to hurt Tissaia. The result had, of course, been different, but laying it all on her without the context felt inappropriate. It was easier to spit the venom back at Philippa, though. “She requires someone who isn’t constantly trying to use her to their own advantage!”
Philippa scoffed. “This sudden fierce protectiveness is touching. Truly. Almost believable."
That finally made Tissaia sigh. She set down her quill, the sound of it a call to silence more effective than a shout could have been.
“Are you two quite finished?” She asked, voice as dry as the Korath desert. “Posturing and puffing your chests out like a pair of prized wyverns over a single piece of shiny gemstone is quite beneath you.”
As Yennefer opened her mouth to retort, Tissaia fixed her with a look that could freeze the sea before turning her gaze to Philippa.
“While this display of primitive territorialism is undoubtedly entertaining to you both, I feel I must remind you of certain facts.” With each word she spoke, her frame seemed to expand with the authority she wielded. This was the Rectoress, cold and intractable, in a way neither sorceress had seen in a long time. “I have taught mages three times your age and with bigger egos than yours. I am one of the last standing members of the Chapter of the Gift and the Art. I can yield Alzur’s thunder and I control the Chaos I imbibed in the stones of this institution. As such, it should come as no surprise that I am quite capable of knowing what I need by myself without all the... posturing.”
She picked her quill back up, her movements fluid and with a finality in them. “I am not a bauble to be squabbled over with barbs of past misdeeds. Now, get out, the both of you. I have a Continent to try and save from self-inhalation and all your squabbling is ruining my concentration.”
The silence lingered in the study, twin looks of stunned disbelief appearing on the faces of the chastised sorceresses. A few beats passed before they moved to file out with lingering looks towards the woman they had been trying to impress. Noting the impassive mask on her face, Yennefer shot a glare at Philippa. “This is your fault we got kicked out.”
Philippa raised an eyebrow, disappointment written over her features. “No. This is a variable we hadn’t accounted for. It will be far more complex than we imagined.” she explained, ever the cunning strategist. Her plan had lacked finesse, had lacked information, and now she had to find a new strategy. If she could take the other player out at the same time… “This is not over, Vengeberg.” She finally added with a curl of her lips.
Yennefer’s eyes glinted at the challenge. Oh, how she would make sure to win. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Eilhart.”
Behind the door of her study, they both could hear the long-suffering sigh of Tissaia, likely asking any gods willing to listen to grant her the patience to deal with the two menaces that decided to saddle themselves to her.
