Geralt drew her to himself, put his arm around her. We are standing in the ruins of her palace, by the fountain whose waters she listened to in the evenings. They followed Aelirenn, the White Rose of Shaerrawedd. And practically all the elven youngsters had followed Elirena. Elves live for a long time, but only their youngsters are fertile, only the young can have offspring. You remember what Yarpen told you? Those who rule the world and those who die out? He explained it to you coarsely but truly. They saved their honour but they brought nothing but ruin as a result, condemned their own race to annihilation. Just as she promised them, they died with dignity, heroically and honourably. 'Repeating her challenge, her cry, they died for Shaerrawedd. 'They died with her name on their lips,' the witcher continued quietly. Mercilessly massacred.'Ĭiri did not say anything, staring at the beautiful, still face. They took up arms and followed her into their last desperate battle. They wanted to weather out the storm but Elirena. They decided to destroy their towns and palaces, amongst them their pride - the beautiful Shaerrawedd. They thought humans were something that would pass, like a drought, like a heavy winter, or a plague of locust, after which comes rain, spring, a new harvest. By our time scale they are almost eternal. They decided to destroy their towns and retreat to the inaccessible, wild mountains. They wanted to save their people, wanted to survive. That they would not be able to pick themselves up after the defeat. The elders of the elves were against it, they knew they had no chance. She led them into battle two hundred years ago. He stared at the sculpture and was far away, far away in a different world and time. 'She's beautiful,' whispered Ciri, grabbing him by the hand.
"'Aelirenn,' said Geralt after a long silence.
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