𝐹𝐿𝒜𝒴𝑀𝐸 𝒯𝐻𝑅𝒪𝒲𝐸𝑅

𝒮𝐼𝒳𝒯𝐸𝐸𝒩

"I brought dinner," Geralt announced.

"More than that," Vesemir grinned, making his way towards Tris. "My child, what a surprise."

"Hello, Vesemir," Tris smiled, hugging him. 

"Oh hell," Lambert mused as Tris let go, "I haven't even had me fill of grog yet and already the women are increasing." He crossed his arms, "Merigold."

"Lambert," she answered, "I see your wounds have improved but your manners have not."

"I wish you had come sooner," Vesemir stated, "We all could've used you."

"Hopefully we still can," Geralt replied.

"I'll go dress for dinner, I assume all of you will want to wash up as well," Tris declared, walking away. She chuckled as they laughed, "Of course not."

They soon sat on tables, eating dinner and chatting. Ashiya sat next to Ciri, mostly quiet as usual.

They lapsed into a silence as Geralt told Ciri that he'd called Tris here for her.

This was her chance to know what was really happening.

Ashiya looked up at Tris, smiling. "So, what's it like in the outside world? I hear the elves have aligned with Nilfgaard."

Tris surveyed her for a moment, smiling back, but then frowning, "Well, the elves are flocking to Cintra now - but because of the alliance the Northern Kingdoms have wholly turned their backs on the elves. There's more hate than ever. Elves are being imprisoned and slaughtered by the thousand..."

Ashiya was dimly aware that Triss was still talking, telling her of the outside world, but she was staring hard at the table and turning her words over in her mind. So it was true. The elves were being mistreated worse than ever.

Flesh tearing like velcro.

Babies swinging by their legs.

Hands in places they shouldn't be.

'A good elf is a dead elf.'

Ashiya could feel bile rising in her throat, she couldn't see, she couldn't breathe. The world was collapsing around her.

She stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me," she managed to stammer out, her voice catching in her throat.

And then she ran out of the room.

She didn't know where she was going, every single corridor looked the same. She couldn't breath, her lungs and throat were burning. It felt like she could die now, like she was being torn apart from the inside.

Screams echoed in her head, reverberating again and again. Blood. So much blood. She was chocking on it. The stench of rotting flesh was stuck in the back of her throat again. It was acrid. She wanted it gone.

Her hands found the edge of a basin.

She was dimly aware of someone screaming. Was it her? She didn't know.

She wanted to tear her eyes out of her head. She wanted the images to go away. All the bodies. all the hands. Screaming. Touching. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Everything was dead.

Chains were everywhere. She was trapped. They were all trapped again. Hanging at the gallows. Arrows raining down. Burned at the stake. Ears cut off and sawed off of dead bodies like trophies.