Witcher Femslash February - Swords
Day twenty-one of @bamf-jaskier’s Witcher Femslash February isn’t technically about swords, but it does involve a dagger! This is more of the Yenfri partners-in-crime AU that nobody asked for! Previous ficlets here:
Apart, Burned, Battle, Wound, Visions, Together, The Lodge, Adore, Frenemies, Transform, Blind, Nilfgaard, Graves, Disguise, Water, Lightning, Music, Beauty, Hands, Aretuza
No real warnings for this one, I don’t think.
Renfri has been in a strange mood all morning. She’s been stalking around Yennefer’s workshop since breakfast, touching things she knows better than to touch, apparently unable to settle down.
“If you’re going to stomp around like a spoiled princess,” Yennefer says, without looking up from the ingredients she’s preparing for a spell, “I’d prefer you did it somewhere else.”
Yennefer regrets the words even before she’s done speaking. Alluding to Renfri’s royal upbringing is one of the easiest ways to draw her ire, and it works like a charm. “Fine,” she snarls, and leaves through the door that’s enchanted to let out into the forest, slamming it behind her so hard the vials on Yennefer’s workbench shake.
Nohorn pokes his head in from the other room and says, “Any casualties?”
Yennefer shoots Renfri’s second-in-command a poisonous glance. Now she’s going to have to run after Renfri and apologize, all because she can’t stop herself for going for the throat, even when she doesn’t really mean it.
She finds Renfri by the river, crouched down to check the fish traps Nimir and Vyr set up there.
“I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me,” Renfri says, without looking up from the swirling current.
Yennefer sighs. Renfri really is such a child sometimes—though Yennefer hardly has room to talk, given her own trouble controlling her temper. Still, someone has to be the bigger woman, and she supposes this time it’s going to be her. “You weren’t really stomping around all that loudly,” she says, and, well, it’s not her best apology, but it’s a start.
Renfri, however, chuckles, and gets to her feet. “Yes, I was.”
“So are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Yennefer hates this. She much prefers it when the two of them work in almost uncanny harmony, and they don’t have to have unseemly conversations about their feelings. She suspects Renfri prefers it that way, too, but nevertheless here they are.
“Nothing.” She closes the distance between them. “It’s stupid.”
“I’d believe that from Nohorn, but not from you.”
Renfri rolls her eyes. “It’s just …” She blows out a breath. “It’s been a year, and I thought I should do something to mark it somehow, so …” She’s holding out a parcel, Yennefer realizes, long and narrow and wrapped haphazardly in rough cloth.
Only Renfri would think to commemorate their murder of Stregobor with a present. Yennefer bites her lips to keep from smiling, not wanting to insult Renfri any further but unable to quell the warmth that unfolds in her at this brave and bloody-minded girl.
“Oh, fuck you,” Renfri says. “I told you it was stupid. I’ll take it back.”
“You will not.” Yennefer takes the parcel from Renfri, dancing back from Renfri’s half-hearted attempt to grab it away from her. When she unwraps the cloth, she finds she’s holding a dagger, its scabbard delicately engraved, and a little amethyst set into the pommel. She draws the dagger to admire its blade, narrow and gleaming bright. The grip fits beautifully in Yennefer’s palm, and the balance is impeccable even to Yennefer’s unschooled senses. On closer inspection, Yennefer realizes the pattern on the scabbard is little sprays of blossoms and small round berries, and she feels tears spring to her eyes. “No one will ever take it from me,” she says, meeting Renfri’s gaze. “It’s mine now.”
