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“Geralt… Where is he…? We must…” Ciri shook her head, trying in vain to clear her mind of the haze that had overtaken it. The final blow that had destroyed the gates, their last line of defence, had been punishing. A deafening bang had echoed through the courtyard of Kaer Morhen as the gates had flown so hard they had smashed against the stone walls. A thick wave of frost had come rushing through like a hurricane, freezing everything in its path and covering the grounds in a thick white mist.
Vesemir didn’t answer her question, he instead gripped her arm even tighter, dragging her along behind him. She tried to resist, tried to pull away from the almost bruising grip on her arm, but she was no match for the Witcher’s enhanced strength in her weakened state. Her eyes roamed the battlefield as she tried desperately to see a flash of white hair through the fog.
Her search was cut short by a sudden blow from the side. The impact was enough to send Vesemir flying and she cried out as her hair was snagged ruthlessly in a freezing metal gauntlet. A shiver ran down her spine as she heard the guttural growl from the one holding her.
“You shan’t escape me this time.” Eredin. She struggled against his hold but was unable to free herself. He kept her bent over backwards, almost falling over as he dragged her towards the portals flickering in the distance. She couldn’t break his grip and she couldn’t reach her sword.
She could hear swords clashing not far away from her and she knew it was Vesemir, fighting to get to her. A flash of panic went through her. She knew Vesemir, she knew that he would stop at nothing to save her. The image of his broken body lying on the ground flashed through her mind and the very thought of the old Witcher breathing his last made her eyes sting with tears.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Reaching for the side of her belt, she quickly drew her dagger. It was a tiny thing, a gift that Vesemir had given her years ago when she was still just a child. In one smooth movement, she reached up behind her and the dagger sliced through her hair. Eredin stumbled, the sudden lack of weight in his hand momentarily catching him off guard. In that split second, she teleported away, appearing at Vesemir’s side just in time to block a blow from Imlerith that had threatened to knock his sword from his hand.
Eredin regained his footing and stared down at the ashen locks he held in his hand. He slowly opened his hand, letting the hair fall to drift gently to the ground. As he turned to face her, he reached up to remove his mask and the sight of his face almost made her recoil. A terrible rage was etched in every line of those sharp features that she so despised.
The very sight of him sent both terror and hatred coursing through her.
“Zireael…” She bared her teeth at the sound of that name coming from his lips. It was a name that Avallach had used frequently, usually as a fond nickname. The sound of it passing Eredin’s lips felt wrong in so many ways. “You’re surrounded Zireael. It is over.”
His warriors moved closer, closing in around them. She took a step back, moving closer to Vesemir as she raised her sword in a clear threat.
“You cannot possibly win this battle Cirilla. Your fortress is in ruins, your pathetic allies are useless to you now.” He said, his smug voice echoing across the courtyard. “I offer you a choice. Come with me now, and some of them might yet live. Or…”
He didn’t need to continue. Geralt and Yennefer were already flashing through her mind. Snow white hair and warm yellow eyes. Violent black curls and soft hands that smelled of lilac and gooseberries. Her sword wavered as she thought of them.
She had spent so long thinking of them when she had been travelling from world to world, longing to be with them again, to see that they were safe. The last time she had truly seen them before the Isle of Mists had been in Rivia. That memory still haunted her to this day. Geralt still and cold, blood pooling around him and the fire gone from those yellow eyes. Yennefer beside him, chest still, curls splayed around her, perfect but for the tears staining her cheeks and the blood on her clothes.
The very thought of losing them again almost knocked the breath out of her. She almost dropped her sword right then and there. But she then remembered the stories she had heard from the others. How Geralt had travelled half the world looking for her, refusing to give up no matter how many leads died or how hopeless it seemed.
She remembered sitting with Yennefer when she was young, the Sorceress brushing her hair, while doing her best to remind the little girl to always be brave, and to never give in. If she gave in now, it may save them for now, or it may not. But eventually, the White Frost would overcome this world, and they would both be lost to her anyway.
The best chance she had to save them was to stand and fight.
She took a deep breath and levelled her sword in front of her, steeling herself for the fight to come. “I’m going nowhere with you Eredin. I’ll die before I help you!”
The Aen Elle stared at her from across the courtyard before he straightened, a strange look on his face that she couldn’t figure out.
“Very well Zireael.” He said, before he turned and walked away.
Confusion filled her at first. She had expected a fight, for the Aen Elle to come charging towards her and try and take her by force if he had to. She knew that he would never give up this easily.
Something was wrong.
She soon discovered what. The mist in the courtyard was finally beginning to clear, allowing her to see where Eredin was going. He wasn’t leaving, he was walking towards something. A form was frozen in front of the smashed gates, sword in hand, body turned away from the gates and arms raised in a vain effort to shield itself from the oncoming blast of ice. That ice rushed through her veins as she realised who it was.
Geralt.
Every part of her cried out in denial and she made to run towards them. She was only stopped by the warriors that stepped forward to block her way, swords drawn and ready.
Eredin had reached Geralt, and with a short spell he broke the hold on the Witcher. Frost and ice cracked and fell from his body, shattering as it hit the ground. The Witcher began to follow it towards the ground before Eredin caught his body by the hair, a sick imitation of what he had done to her.
Dragging him up, he grabbed the Witcher and slung him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Her heart pounded in her chest. Geralt looked so small hanging over the Aen Elle’s massive shoulder. He wasn’t supposed to look small.
“If you shall not come with me willingly, I shall simply have to make you.” He threw over his shoulder, before covering his arrogant smile with his mask.
There was a crack as Caranthir opened several portals and the Hunt’s warriors began to retreat through them. Ciri cried out as Eredin moved to leave. She wouldn’t let them take Geralt. She wouldn’t . Not again .
A body slammed into hers, forcing them both to the ground and sending her sword skittering across the stones. She let out a shriek of rage as she fought against the arms holding her. She tried to gather her power, to teleport out of the arms holding her back, but only weak wisps of power answered her call. She had used too much.
Eredin disappeared through the portal and the last thing she saw of Geralt was a sweep of white hair hanging over the Aen Elle’s shoulder before the portal finally cracked shut and he was gone.
Ciri screamed.
The harsh noise echoed through the now silent fortress. She kept screaming as she writhed in the arms holding her, kicking and punching for all she was worth. She had to go after him!
“Ciri, stop child! He’s gone!” A voice demanded from above her.
“No! I have to go after them! I have to save him!” She cried. Why didn’t they understand? Why wouldn’t they let her go!?
“He’s gone Ciri! He’s gone!” The voice trembled and the arms around her loosened. She got one arm free and her fist impacted with the voice’s face, but the strength was gone from it now, the blow barely even turned his head.
She looked up and saw Vesemir. His face was filled with the most emotion she had ever seen on him. Anguish was written in every deep line on his face. She took one look at him and burst into tears, burying her face in his armoured chest. His arms wrapped around her in return and he buried his face in her hair.
“He’s gone…” Vesemir said again, his voice trembling and broken. The old Witcher shed no tears, but she could feel his body shaking in her arms.
“Ciri! Vesemir!” A shout echoed across the courtyard, soon joined by others. Boots pounded on the stone and they were suddenly surrounded.
The state of them was indeed as pathetic as Eredin had claimed. Covered in blood and filth, her allies stood before her. Eskel stood hunched over, hands grasping at his side where Caranthir’s staff had hit him.
Yennefer stood at the front, face pale and legs barely holding her up. She dropped to the ground next to them and her hands grasped desperately at Ciri’s face.
“Ciri! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?!” She demanded, eyes searching her form for any obvious injuries.
It just made Ciri cry harder.
“Where’s Geralt?” She heard Lambert from the back of the group, his voice low as he searched for his fellow Witcher in the crowd.
Yennefer froze, her hands still grasping Ciri’s face. Her violet eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared at Ciri before her head turned so quickly she almost sent herself tumbling to the ground. When she could see no sign of her lover she turned back to Ciri and grasped her shoulders tightly in her hands.
“Ciri, where is Geralt?” Ciri couldn’t find the words to answer and with every second that passed Yennefer grew more frantic. “Ciri, where is he?!”
Vesemir unburied his face from her hair and turned to face Yennefer. “Eredin took him… He’s gone.”
His words seemed to leech the last of the strength from the Sorceress and she fell back to sit on the ground. She stared at the two of them, searching desperately for any signs that this was all just some jest made in bad taste. When she was met with nothing but fear and sorrow she buried her face in one gloved hand, muffing a quiet sob.
“Ciri! Ciri, stop!” She heard from behind her as she slammed through the main door to Kaer Morhen.
It had been hours since the battle, time used to rest and bind wounds. Time wasted.
With every moment that passed, her skin crawled even more. She itched to get moving, to search, to find Geralt even if it killed her.
“Ciri!” A hand grabbed her shoulder and she span wildly, knocking the hand from her shoulder with a violent smack.
“What!” She spat. Avallach gazed at her, disapproval clear in his eyes. That may have bothered her, before. Now however, his approval meant nothing.
“You cannot leave.” He told her, that ever calm voice getting in every last one of her nerves.
“The hell I can't!” She spat, eyes flaming.
“You are not ready to face The Wild Hunt.”
“You don't understand! None of you do!” She implored. “The more time we waste, the longer they'll have t-to….”
She couldn't bring herself to continue. She didn't even want to think about what could be happening to him right now.
If she had learned one thing over the years that she had been running from The Hunt, it was how ruthless they could be. All of the world she had fled though, they had pursued her relentlessly. She had gone back a few times, to find people in villages who had helped her, to see if she could help them. Many a time she had been confronted by only grief, families and widows sobbing over the corpses of their loved ones, if they weren't missing altogether.
After a while she just stopped returning.
When she had first heard that Geralt and Yennefer had come into contact with The Hunt, that they had been driven from the Isle of Avalon, her heart had leapt into her throat. She had spent months searching for them, eventually finding out that Yennefer was safe, but Geralt was now in their hands.
Hearing that Geralt had made a deal with Eredin had enraged her. However angry she was with Geralt for being so self-sacrificing, she couldn't blame him for doing what he had to to save Yennefer. No, she was far angrier with Eredin. It wasn't enough that he wanted to use her power, to take her life in the process, he had to threaten her family too. To give Geralt no other options than to deal or die.
She had decided right then and there that she would not leave him in that place. She had spent weeks watching The Hunt, every moment agony as she watched Geralt suffer under their hands. Until finally, she had her chance.
Taking out the few soldiers on watch in the woods surrounding the village they were attacking, she had then run to Geralt. He had been standing at the edge of the village, watching the slaughter with dead eyes.
The look had sent a chill through her but it was Geralt. He would never hurt her.
She had grabbed his hand and lead him away, and as much as she had wanted to cling onto him and never let go ever again, she had told him to run and sent him to the safest place she could think of.
Kaer Morhen.
Home.
Seeing him again on the Isle of Mists, waking up to those familiar arms wrapped around her, she could have stayed there forever.
Coming back to Kaer Morhen had been like a dream. Everything had looked just as she remembered, the crumbling walls, the green grass, the training dummies in the courtyard, and the people .
Uncle Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, Triss. But by far the best part had been Geralt and Yennefer. Watching Yennefer pull Geralt in for a passionate embrace had made her want to jump up and down like a child. Watching her parents come together not in a desperate, stolen moment before a battle, but in a moment of sheer joy . It was everything she could have dreamed.
Yet another thing The Hunt had ruined.
Ciri came back to herself as Avallach spoke once more.
“I know Zirael. Believe me, I know the cruelty The Hunt are capable of. But you cannot charge in just yet.”
“I can't just leave him there.” She said, her voice breaking.
“And you shan't Ciri. We will get him back.” He said, gazing into her eyes with determination. “But if you want to get him back, you must be smart about this.”
She itched to fight against what he was saying, to refuse to listen and run after them like she so desired to. But a voice that sounds suspiciously like Geralt told her that she would be no use to anyone dead.
She gathered her strength and met Avallach’s gaze. “What would you have me do?”
Yennefer had not left her room in the tower since she had fled there after the battle. Whether they thought she was sobbing her heart out in there, she cared not.
She sat in the middle of the furs on the floor, eyes closed as she remembered the last time they had lain together on them. She remembered that pale, scarred skin beneath her hands, that snow white hair gliding through her fingers, those golden eyes gazing up at her, filled with such love .
She almost choked on a lump that suddenly rose in her throat before she shook herself. Feeling sorry for herself would not help Geralt.
Rising to her feet, she made her way out of the tower and down the staircase. Eyes were on her as she entered the hall, several of them filled with pity that made her feel sick. No matter. She had eyes for only one person.
Seeking out the head of flame red hair in the hall, she stopped behind Triss. Her fellow Sorceress turned to look at her. Triss looked just as upset as she did, and for a moment something cruel rose in her. What right did she have to feel like this? Before she battered that feeling down with unforgiving hands. What Triss had done, how she had betrayed them? None of that mattered right now.
“Triss.”
“Yenna.”
“Gather The Lodge. It's time.”
Geralt opened his eyes to a wall of ice.
For a moment he was frozen, unable to comprehend where he was and why he was here. He attempted to raise a hand to his aching head, but something wrapped tight around his wrist stopped him.
Looking down, he finally saw the leather wrapped around his limbs, binding him to the cold metal table beneath him.
He stopped breathing. Eyes wide and mind numb. No. He couldn't be here. Not again.
A heavy door creaked, and heavy footfalls echoed around the room before finally, he stood over Geralt.
Eredin.
The Aen Elle was as tall as he remembered, sharp metal armour glinting in the light as the coldest of blue eyes gazed down at him, hateful and smug.
“Hello again, Witcher.”
Geralt didn't respond. He couldn't. His breath came in small, shaky gasps. His body trembled against the table.
He remembered how he had been the first time that he had found himself belonging to The Hunt. He had been so full of fire, so prepared to fight Eredin every step of the way. Until the torture had begun. He told himself that he would never give in, but in the end, that became just another lie. After months of being torn apart again and again he had finally given in, willing to do anything if only the pain would stop.
Geralt didn't have the luxury this time of feeling so sure that he would be able to get through it. He knew this time what was going to happen. What was coming.
He struggled in vain against the straps as Eredin smiled, and Caranthir and Imlerith appeared behind him.
“Let's begin.”