Chapter Text
Tissaia de Vries has always received many letters a day. Most of them revolved around political messes and showcased the gross incompetence of her colleagues in or around her precious academy. They were dull, incredibly so, but she straightened her back, lifted her chin, and fulfilled her duties with iron will and the knowledge of her role and its importance. However, in recent years there is one kind of letter that has been arriving with increasing frequency, one which has nothing to do with either of the aforementioned matters.
No, these letters are personal. They are delivered to her chambers late at night when she is just about to undress and get ready for bed. Tissaia knows that the servants and maids are too scared to say anything about the correspondence, but their poorly-disguised curious looks are enough to justify the use of a forgetting spell as a precaution.
She shakes her head when she receives yet another one. It’s only been – what? A week at most? Never underestimate the Lioness with her insatiable impatience and unrelenting fury, Tissaia muses as she looks at the insignia. She shuts the door after the servant scurries off, and puts the letter next to her perfume on the vanity. She doesn't like disorder in her routine, which is why she slips into her silken sleeping gown and finishes doing her hair first, each well-practiced twist of her fingers through brunette waves grounding her with a sense of comforting control.
When she is done and slightly wet hair is neatly arranged in a tasteful braid, she takes the letter and opens it. The parchment is expensive and of the best quality available on the Continent, the golden seal in the shape of a lion's head keeping the content unknown, yet revealing who the sender is to everyone who cares enough to look. Calanthe has always been bold, even though one would like to think that the woman has learned the subtle art of propriety in all her years as queen. The fact that she hasn’t, is way too uncaring of a possible discovery, is another reason for Tissaia's safety measures.
Tissaia regards the letter. She already knows exactly what it's going to say, doesn't need to read it. Still, she does, as always.
"Tomorrow night."
Calanthe, the woman of lengthy monologues. Tissaia is glad that she never writes more, doesn’t beg pathetically or adds a personal signature. The Lioness is too proud for that, and while her arrogance is infuriating most of the time, Tissaia appreciates it when it comes to her notes.
The words are written in black ink, the scripture surprisingly elegant considering who sent them. Tissaia has read this line innumerable times before and huffs anyway. She wants to be exasperated at the sheer audacity, but she knows it's warranted. Tissaia will accept the invitation – demand, really – just like she has accepted each one before. Calanthe knows her answer. It's why Tissaia doesn't send a reply, instead sets the letter on fire with her finger and lets it vanish into thin air. Better to get rid of the evidence. Neither of them needs to look weaker than they already are, at least for each other.
Because that's what this is. Weakness.
And for what? For the primitive pleasures of the flesh, for steamy sex and wonderful orgasms, breathy moans and wanton cries in the middle of the night, the two of them tangled between sheets.
It's a coincidence that the thought about the covers occurs as Tissaia is stepping into her own bed, but she lets her mind wander down that road anyway. It would be a lie to say that she doesn't indulge in those reveries embarrassingly often – she unfathomably likes recollecting their trysts, especially the very first one.
Of course their initial encounter wasn't supposed to end the way it did. If the Brotherhood had had its way, Tissaia would have returned with the triumphant announcement that Cintra will, at long last, allow an advising sorceress into its court. Tissaia had only reluctantly agreed to go in the first place, but Stregobor and Artorious had made the argument that maybe Tissaia, from woman to woman, would be able to convince Calanthe. Pricks, the lot of them. The logic wasn't entirely faulty, not at all, but the way it had been delivered made Tissaia's blood boil in hot fury. It was obvious that they expected her to fail, and while Tissaia was used to being underestimated, the anger never ceased. She didn't act on it however, as tempting as it was. She hardly needed the word "emotional" to be attributed to the list of thinly-veiled insults which got thrown her way.
Her colleagues had made the mistake of requesting a meeting and, after that request was inevitably denied, showing up on the queen's doorstep anyway. Tissaia needed to be more clever than that. She had always been quite fond of good manners which is why she considers it tasteless behaviour to barge right into a place, foregoing all pleasantries, but she had the notion that the queen, with all her impudence and boorishness, would appreciate it. So that was exactly what she did. The idea was a dangerous gamble, but seeing how her fellow sorcerers had conducted themselves, Tissaia was willing to wager that she would make it further than they had. She was correct about that, at least.
Tissaia de Vries will never forget the first time she saw the Lioness of Cintra.
When she entered Calanthe's throne room, Tissaia didn’t curtsey, only offered a slight nod in greeting – not in deference – which the queen returned without breaking eye contact. The hard gaze would have been more appropriate for seizing an opponent in battle than for greeting a guest, but Tissaia's demeanor expressed the same confidence.
Calanthe appeared to be a woman of contradictions. The first thing Tissaia noticed about her was the oddly dark eye make-up. It felt like a warning, a foreshadowing of what she is capable of. The feral smile was what caught Tissaia's attention next. She knew it was meant to look threatening, but it seemed practiced, like a mask. The corner of Tissaia's mouth quirked up. An elegant blue gown and matching jewels were befitting of a queen, even though the high collar of the dress resembled armour. Her hair could have compared to Tissaia's had it been put into an elaborate updo completely, but her long brunette waves fell wild and freely. And despite the crown, golden and imposing, she didn't fit into the picture of her throne room.
Calanthe swallowed the grape in her mouth and clicked her tongue, done with her scrutiny. Tissaia was aware that the queen immediately knew who was standing in front of her, regardless of never having been introduced formally. Tissaia's pendant had a reputation of its own. Calanthe didn't say anything, instead silently tipped her head in the direction of where the two of them were going to go.
It was no surprise that Calanthe didn't want the entirety of her guard and courtiers to be privy to their conversation, all too well acquainted with the unhealthy habits involving gossip which people so often tend to engage in. It wasn’t like Tissaia could begrudge them their fun, seeing as they had no interesting life of their own to speak of. They walked to the Lioness’ chambers in tense silence, ignoring the side-long glances Calanthe’s royal household threw at them.
Tissaia had sensed a minuscule amount of Chaos when she first entered the castle, but was unable to find its exact location and hence foolishly swept it under the rug. Something at the back of her mind had tingled, telling her that this wasn't all there was to the story. She hadn’t been able to pinpoint the missing piece of the puzzle, but then, in front of the queen's door to her rooms, stood a rather unassuming man. His power – or lack thereof – was easy to miss, but not for the Arch Mistress. It was weakly radiating off of him, his magical prowess unremarkable. His blonde hair had a few grey streaks, making him look older than he was, though he was handsome if that was where one's tastes lay. His fine clothing revealed his standing further – definitely more than a simple guard. An advisor, perhaps? The queen nodded to him once they passed wordlessly, but Tissaia could feel his watchful eyes on her until the door closed behind them.
The chamber was surprisingly bright. Long windows in the walls allowed light to tinge everything in a warm glow. Underneath one of the windows was a desk, its shiny wood freshly polished, with letters, ink and a quill strewn across the top haphazardly. Tissaia had imagined the Lioness to be quite eccentric. She was proven right by the lion’s head hanging above a wooden structure on the wall to her left, housing an enormous amount of weapons. The fire in the hearth to her right was burning merrily, two deep blue settees facing each other in front of it.
Tissaia took her place on one when Calanthe pointed to it, deciding not to comment on the lack of proper decorum. As she took in her surroundings, the queen busy taking off the various swords and daggers she kept on her body, the missing piece of why Calanthe and her father have always been so wary of mages finally fell into place.
Calanthe wasn't afraid or avoidant of magic, otherwise the last person she saw before she went to bed wouldn't be a Druid. If it wasn’t magic itself, it was the entity, the Brotherhood, that was the problem. It was widely known that Druids are not members of the organization. On the contrary, they were heavily looked down upon and mocked. The question was which part of the Brotherhood Calanthe was bothered by.
Tissaia thought that this realization would work in her favour, was quite optimistic even. How uncharacteristically naive.
"I would have expected you to be taller considering your status,” Calanthe started speaking as she sat down across Tissaia, a smirk on her face.
"You will find that lack in height does not equal lack in capability,” Tissaia countered. She had grown tired of jabs at her size centuries ago.
"Let me guess, you make up for it with power and magic?" The queen scoffed. "And yet, here you are. Arch Mistress and Rectoress Tissaia de Vries bending to the will of men, sent by her fellow sorcerers to mend what they broke. Powerful indeed." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and, unfortunately, the truth.
The Chapter had discussed the queen quite regularly, but the descriptions still couldn’t live up. Tissaia had the intelligence not to underestimate Calanthe, unlike her male counterparts. That had been their first and biggest mistake, one she was keen on not repeating, but she wouldn’t cower either. "Mh, I see marrying worked out well to secure your position."
"It did, actually. I wouldn't get the pleasure of meeting you now otherwise, would I?" Calanthe had learned the fluency in sarcasm from her father, Tissaia was sure of it. It’s the reason she never bothered with the man. But coming from Calanthe’s mouth it had a different effect on her, one she didn’t like at all.
"I hardly think you are pleased to see me," Tissaia said, raising her eyebrows.
"How could I? I know why you’re here. However, I must say that I do appreciate that for once I'm spared the sight of your pathetic colleagues." The queen bit her lip, raking her eyes over Tissaia’s form ostentatiously. While being looked at like that was no unusual occurrence for her, this time Tissaia found herself reacting to it grudgingly flattered rather than annoyed, but didn't let on.
"I take it that my pathetic colleagues didn't make compelling arguments, did they?" Stregobor and Artorius never admitted more than they needed, so Tissaia wasn’t familiar with the specifics of exactly what they’d said to Calanthe.
"They didn't make any arguments at all. They left the second I called them out on their idiocy." A smug smile made its way to Calanthe’s face. Tissaia found herself thinking it suited her and immediately tossed the thought aside. She was not surprised by the sheer stupidity of her colleagues. In fact, she would have been surprised if they had managed to get this far. “What idiocy? Humor me."
"They are fools for believing that I need a witch in my court. I have advisors, I know how to wield a sword. My men lick the ground I stand on. What use would I have for a mage?"
"A sword will not help you when you find yourself confronted with magic," Tissaia stated simply, her expression remaining impassive. Another unfortunate truth, this time for Calanthe.
“See, with anyone else, I would think this was a threat.” Calanthe leaned forward then, sneering. “Tell me, does it bother you at all? Upholding the system which allows neither me nor you to possess any actual influence? You're too intelligent to believe in the illusion of power men deigned to give you. You may be able to do magic, but magic doesn't let you escape the way the world spins."
Years ago, when Calanthe was still princess, Tissaia had told the Chapter that she was even more unyielding than her father was. Tissaia remembers being equally amused and annoyed when presented with the evidence, the queen’s ill-advised bullheadedness and unnecessary pride. "I’m well aware of our standing in the world. Just like you, I’ve arranged myself, secured my position by surrounding myself with those who fight the same battle as I. So tell me again how allowing a sorceress in your court is contradictory to your goal, otherwise I will continue thinking you’re just stubborn."
The following silence was filled with tension. Tissaia knew very well that angering the Lioness could end fatally. Not for her, but still. And then Calanthe started laughing, throwing her head back like it was the funniest thing she ever heard. When the queen was done she smiled at Tissaia with the same feral smile she had worn earlier, only this time it seemed real.
"My stubbornness is what got me where I am, in a room with a mage who is too high and mighty for her own good. Maybe you should become my court mage, I'd love to see how that works out. You, listening to my orders. Would it apply in the bedroom too, I wonder? Because that's part of the deal, isn't it? Sorceresses fucking their kings and queens to get what they want? Would you let me fuck you or would you try to seduce me, or are those the same thing?"
Tissaia was all too aware of how sorceresses use their bodies. She even encouraged her students to do it, knowing exactly how effective the method is. For a second she could imagine how her fellow sorcerers must have felt when they left Cintra without so much as a proper conversation. She didn’t appreciate it one bit, but she swallowed the rising anger. Calanthe was just pushing back, the glint in her eyes clearly expecting Tissaia to take the bait. Tissaia had enough practice to deal with such behavior.
"I would have you act on my every whim before you even knew it. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking you could handle me." Tissaia didn’t care to admit just how attractive the idea was, having the woman underneath her fingertips, listening to her commands.
At that, Calanthe paused for a second before she left her place and sat down beside Tissaia, the smirk on her lips strangely unconcerned, as though she had forgotten about the political aspects of this discussion. Tissaia found herself frozen by the predatory look in her eyes, unable to react as strong hands cupped her face none-too-gently. “Well? Let’s find out.”
And suddenly Calanthe’s lips were pressed against hers. There was a moment of nothingness, both of them waiting to see what the other would do, looking right into each other's eyes. Neither pulled away, so Tissaia let herself be dragged into Calanthe’s lap, groaning as the kiss deepened. She could taste the other woman’s anger on her lips, found herself wanting to taste what was underneath.
The kiss was utterly thrilling, as was everything that followed.
It was the reason Tissaia came back after Calanthe sent the first letter. She told herself that it would be the second and last time, that she simply wanted to – what, exactly? She still doesn't know, and it's aggravating. It was out of character, an act of terrifying, exciting unpredictability. But maybe that's exactly why it happened. It felt good. It felt good to be in Calanthe's arms, to come and come and return the favour until neither of them could think of anything other than pleasure. Tissaia was genuinely surprised by how talented Calanthe was. To her knowledge, the queen only ever had one relationship, her marriage, but from how this tongue and those hands felt on her body, Calanthe was either an eager masturbator or had explored the fairer sex before getting married. Well, maybe while being married. Tissaia didn't care, all she could focus on were the mind-blowing results. She has tried to find a word that's less grand, less dramatic, but it's true. Calanthe has consistently, inexplicably blown Tissaia's mind.
Things went on the way they began.
It's not hard to tell that Calanthe is angry every time they see each other – it's written all over her features, shows in the harshness when she fucks Tissaia. Tissaia doesn't complain, and frequently feels the same way. Sex with the Lioness of Cintra has become a way to find release. Not fully, never fully – Tissaia will not give up that last bit of control she wields. But it comes close, and that's enough. To this day, whenever their anger becomes unbearable, Tissaia will show up at Calanthe's invitation, they tear off their clothes and then eat each other until the rage which is devouring them isn't hungry anymore.
Occasionally, Tissaia shows up unannounced. After the Chapter overruled her decision to send Yennefer to Aedirn, for instance.
She will never forget Stregobor's sardonic smile. He had worn that grin fairly often in all the centuries they’ve been alive, but it has never lost its effect. He knew it all too well, had a gleeful glint in his eyes when he saw the curling of Tissaia's fists. It made her burn with fury, and she ironically became angry at herself for having to use such a considerable amount of strength on keeping her magic in check. Tissaia took deep breaths to pull herself together because she knew that her expression was anything but impassive.
She tried to calm down in her study, read a book while smoking her pipe. It did pathetically little to soothe her nerves, because there was a truth she couldn't escape from. She is the most powerful woman in the world and still couldn't protect her charge, all in the name of diplomacy and politics. Of course the realisation reminded her of Calanthe, her unapologetic hatred for all things male, and for once Tissaia thought that maybe she was right in her intransigence.
When Yennefer stormed into her office, Tissaia was glad the girl was too focused on her own emotions to see the flicker in Tissaia's demeanor when she mentioned the treatment of women in Nilfgaard's court. Yennefer was right, each of Nilfgaard's emperors were known to treat their sorceresses like possessions, like useful objects for their pleasure instead of knowledgeable advisors. Tissaia has never grown numb to that ache, tries to bury it as well as possible anyway. What point is there in arguing with men?
She felt a tugging in her heart when she had to tell Yennefer that she had gotten betrayed by the only person she ever fully trusted. Tissaia had seen such a hurt look quite often over the course of her life, and, as a matter of self-preservation, it had ceased to have an impact on her for the most part. Not this time though – Yennefer's schooling on manipulation wasn't supposed to end the way it did. Tissaia wasn't sure what her own lesson from this experience would be, but surmised that it would be unsatisfying. She scolded herself for not having foreseen the interference of Stregobor and his little personal project, but she couldn't have changed it anyway. Perhaps that was the lesson – that even after all these years, she still wants to hope that a woman's fate isn't tied to the vagaries of men. She should know better.
After the girl stormed out, rightfully upset yet with an unbecoming agitated expression, the tugging in Tissaia's chest set the fury aflame all over again. Tissaia found herself being ravished by Calanthe an hour later.
Anger is a fickle thing, Tissaia muses as she dozes off. It gives drive and steers at the same time, has too much control over where she goes, however much she tries to resist. But maybe, just maybe, it's not too bad when she ends up in the bed of the Lioness of Cintra. The thought is romantic, but Tissaia is asleep before she can start to feel disgusted.