What Lies Beneath

by LJ LaRue

She was Laelithra, a small child marked by Destiny. By chance, unhappy or not, she crossed paths with the legendary witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Pursued by an evil organization, how will they survive? English.

1. Chapter One

Author's Disclaimer/Commentary:The Witcher/Last Wish is copyrighted to Andrzej Sapkowski, translated by Danusia Stok, published by Victor Gollancz, a member of the Orion Publishing Group. The Witcher © 2007 CD Projekt Sp z.o.o. © 2007 Atari Europe. Marketed and distributed by Atari Europe S.A.S.U. Developed by CD Projekt RED Sp. z o.o. The Witcher is a registered trademark of CD Projekt Sp z.o.o. All rights reserved I have received no profit from this fanfic.

Warnings: Child Abuse, Language, Violence, Sexuality

Reviews:I love feedback to my stories. You can either post a review here. I let anonymous reviews. I always answer them if I can. You can find all reviews answered on my twitter account: /#!/DarkSaviorFic. :)

Update: This concludes Book 1 of What Lies Beneath. There will be alittle bit of a wait for Book 2. It will have it's own Fan Fiction URL. Thank you for your support and enjoying What Lies Beneath.

Book One:

Chapter One

She was Laelithra of Vizima, a small child marked by Destiny. Her life was supposed to be simple. She was supposed to be married by the age of twelve, have children by the age of fourteen, and die old and toothless in her bed. Destiny was a fickle mistress. When a particularly powerful bruxa destroyed her father, she was set on the solitary path of the wanderer. By chance, unhappy or not, she crossed paths with the legendary witcher, Geralt of Rivia.

Rain fell in stinging sheets as the young girl walked along the road slowly. The young child was not exceptionally beautiful. Her platinum hair was cropped at her shoulders, unevenly layered. Because of a lice infection, the young girl had shaved her head completely before. The damp hair lay in plastered clumps against her oval face. It never did grow back right. Dark eyes stared out of her pale, malnourished complexion.

Deep forest crowded up to the the road on either side, casting long, reaching shadows. The road was less a road and more a dirt path with patches of grass springing up in the middle of it. Rain made the dirt sticky, grasping at anything that touched it. Once it held her feet, it would not let her go. She stumbled before she caught herself. The oozy mud splattered her dress, making the hem appear a drab brown.

She heard the birds chatter in the trees, and something scurrying underneath the underbrush. Fear did not assault the young child as she continued to walk. Occasionally, she would stop and shake her feet. The mud seemed to get deep into the holes of her tattered shoes. It would stick to her, refusing to let go, cold against any bit of exposed flesh it happened to find.

Stopping, she swore she heard a strange sound behind her. It was a distant plodding sound like a horse coming up the path, slowly. A fear lit into her soul. She remembered once a particularly wicked man stopped the young girl. He must have been in a particularly foul mood because he beat the child to an inch of her life and left her on the side of the road to die. Laelithra was a particularly resilient brat, and she mended. Perhaps, it was this thought that drove her into the woods as she peered nervously at the road in the direction of the mysterious sound.

Touching the trunk of a wide tree, she tried to push the uneasy feeling deep down inside her. Still, it spread its ebony tendrils to every corner of her being. Regardless, the young girl fearlessly listened to the sound of hoof-beats plodding inexorably closer to her position on the road. She did not know how long she stood there with her hand on the tree trunk listening ot the sound of the beast getting closer to her as terror consumed her.

Rain ran in rivulets down the sides of her face and trickled over the wolf's head pommel of the delicate silver sword strapped to her back. She felt the cold wetness penetrate deep into her skin, making her shiver. Crouching low and hiding amongst the underbrush, she watched the road in suspense, drawn tight like a spring. Not knowing what she was waiting for, she held her breath.

A dark mare moved slowly down the road into the Laelithra's view. The horse's delicate head swung from side to side, shaking the reins, her hooves sticking in the mud, making her steps difficult to take. The young girl could see the rain bead on the horse's coat and trickle down the mare's sides.

A lean man perched on top of the mare caught her attention instantly. She surmised that he must have been an older gentleman as white hair hung down over his face, blocking it from her view. Soon, she realized her mistake. Although deep creases lined his face, the man could not have been older than thirty. His lips were set in a thin line. A black coat was thrown over his shoulders, hiding the beige bandage wrapped around his neck. "Come now, Roach. If we move at this pace all day, we won't reach the temple for a few more days. You know, Nenneke has warm oats for you. She always does," he said quietly. His voice was neither pleasant nor disturbing. It was neutral, having a rumbling undertone.

The small horse snorted at the inflection in his voice. She lifted her foot higher with each step. It looked like she was prancing.

Laelithra's thighs burned from the crouching position she was in. Her eyes watched the man on the horse warily as she wondered what reason such a foul looking fellow would have for traveling the road. Surely, he was a bandit or worse. Perhaps, he was a rapist or murderer. She shifted to alleviate the pain in her legs and one of her knees creaked in protest. The sound seemed to echo in the forest.

He snapped his golden gaze to her direction. The young girl did not know any human who held eyes such as his. He held a weary look to him as he rose his hand in a friendly gesture. The metal studs on his dark brown gloves glinted. "Greetings."

She did not move, cursing silently. Laelithra did not want this strange man to notice her. Her dark eyes followed his movements sheepishly. Again, she wondered at his intent. Standing there, she looked like a surprised deer. Part of her wished to run away or to hide from the glint in his golden depths. Shifting on her other foot, she weighed the thoughts of flight versus fight in her head. His voice was not unpleasant to her, and she felt perplexed. Reaching up, she gripped the leather wrapped guard of the sword strapped to her back.

"According to the direction of the sun in this dismal weather, I would say it is little past noon. I was just about to stop for lunch. Would you care to join me?"

The little girl stood there, looking at the man on the horse. She was still unsure of his intentions. Her stomach growled at the mention of food, and the pains of hunger washed over her.

"I have crusty bread, cured meat and a little dried fruit and nuts."

Her dark eyes peered at him, and she held her breath. How long had it been since she had eaten? Three days? Four and a half? The thought of meat made her stomach rumble. As a result of thinking of food, cool saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. The young girl held reservations about taking anything from the white-haired stranger. What would he wish in return? Perhaps, the food would be poisoned.

The strange man gazed silently at the young girl. She watched him study the sword sheathed on her back. His facial expressions did not betray his thinking. An emotionless mask appeared across his features.

As a direct result, the young child felt uneasy. The distress spread its oily tendrils, grabbing hold of the pit of her stomach. Why did he watch her with an intensity rivaling a charging striga? Shifting to the other foot, she felt twigs snap. The sounds seemed to echo in the edge of the forest.

Opposite of the warnings, something pleaded inside of her. A calmness soothed her fears and concerns. Clearly, he would have hurt her already if that was his intentions. Despite her other fears, something deep within the depths of his eyes assured her. Her father held the same look when he sought to calm her. As a result of thinking of her father, bile rose in the young girl's throat, and a slow ache spread to her body.

Silently, he sat upon the mare as rain slid down his grizzled face. The white-haired man waited on her answer. His golden gaze penetrated her soul.

She longed for conversation, and the man was offering to feed her. Once more, her stomach growled with hunger. The thoughts of dried fruits and nuts clouded her judgment. Starvation washed away all doubts, building false courage within the child. Driven by the thought of the goodies hidden in the mare's saddlebags, she forgone her position by the tree.

At the same time, he dismounted the brown mare. His feet sunk in the mud of the dirt road. While the horse shook her head once again, he transferred the reins into his right hand. His gaze remained fixed on the tiny wraith of a girl.

She appeared small next to him. The young girl studied the man. A heavy blush appeared on her cheeks when she realized how his stance resembled the way her father carried himself. Also, the scars dotting the white-haired man's body reminded her of her father's own. The painful ache rose once more. Because of the sensation, she hated the agony she was in. Shame spread through her body, and she tore her eyes away from his.

Immediately, he lead the horse off of the road. The young girl walked beside him. She remained sheepish as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. There was something unusual about him, and she could not name what it was. Normally, she was keen on being able to read people. While she pondered on the situation she found herself in, her gaze settled onto the medallion bouncing against his supple, leather jerkin with his stride.

As the two ventured through the forest's brush, they looked for someplace dry to have their afternoon meal. Both studied the other in quiet thought, and neither said a word.

…...

The canopy spread overhead, interlocking the branches together as if a skilled thatcher worked there. A musky smell permeated the air around them. Occasionally, droplets of rain escaped and landed on the traveling party with thick plops. The wet grass clumped together and refused to spring back up where the three treaded. Various animals scurried out of her eyesight. A cold wind overcame her soul, bringing forth a sharp shiver. The shiver wracked her tiny frame.

In fifteen minutes, their brief trek came to a halt.

The young girl sat down with her back against a wet tree stump. As he looped the mare's reins around a thick tree branch, she watched his every movement. Was this the fates' cruel joke? She knew the man's type. He looked at her with his penetrating gaze, asking questions silently. Why was he studying her with such intensity? Did destiny send this lone stranger as her savior? "Who are you?" she asked, inquisitively.

"Geralt. A witcher." He carried a few items in his arms as he returned to her side.

The spread of food was very minimal. For starters, there was a loaf of bread concealed by a wrapping of cloth. Next to the bread, he sat a jar of repugnant, cream-colored paste. Another jar sat between them containing fruits and nuts. He produced another container filled with long, brown strips of dried meat and placed it next to the bread.

Geralt did not say anything else. There was an uncomfortable silence hanging over them, much like the low, dark clouds blanketing the sky from one horizon to the other. Immediately, he poured a small amount of Temerian Rye into a wooden cup. The brim of the goblet was chipped in several places. After he poured the drink, he walked over to her and bent down.

The silver flash of his medallion caught her gaze once again. Reaching out, she grasped it in her hand lightly as she studied it. To her amazement, it was not as heavy as it looked. An immortal wolf was captured in time, snarling and baring its fangs. In essence, it reminded her of her father's medallion. "Is this a symbol of your trade?"

He continued to watch her as he held the cup out to her. "It is," he stated simply.

"Hmm." The young girl took the cup and sat it on the ground beside her. Next, she reached for a piece of the hard crusty bread. The top crunched as she grabbed it, crumbs flaking off between her fingers.

Geralt stood up slowly, his eyes still watching Laelithra's movements. There was something different about the man now. It appeared he was more relaxed. He threw the coat off of his shoulders and dropped it on a rock next to him. He had a sword strapped to his back. The steel pommel and grip peeked over his left shoulder. "What is your name, girl?" he asked monotonously.

"Laelithra," she replied softly. The young girl took a bite of the crusty bread smeared with lard. Her stomach growled, cutting through the silence of the forest.

"It is dangerous on these roads. Where did you acquire your sword, Laelithra?" He eyed the sword resting against the rock beside her.

Reaching in the jar, Laeilthra took out a piece of dried meat. Immediately, she placed the end between her teeth and pulled hard. The meat was tough and tasted bitter. Next, she rose her gaze to his. She sat the piece of meat beside her and reached for the sword. Laelithra ran her hand up the hilt, feeling the cold, rough leather. Thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to come up with an explanation. Yet, she did not answer him. As she closed her eyes, it appeared as if she was trying to avoid the question, as if she was purposely ignoring the existence of the man before her.

"Laelithra, where did you get the sword?" he asked again, calmly. The man seemed to be eternally patient as he waited on her answer.

Opening her eyes, she found herself met into his golden stare. She sipped the rye slowly, allowing it to warm her stomach. "It was my father's," she stated sadly. Her stomach twisted again as if someone jabbed her with a dagger. Immediately, the bile rose in her throat. Laelithra tore her gaze from his and stared into the surrounding forest.

The witcher said nothing.

Her lips trembled as thoughts assaulted the young girl. She felt her eyes well up with tears. Yet, she refused to cry before the stranger. The leather wrapping slid beneath her fingertips. Memories of her father washed over her. Once more, she felt the bile in her throat.

Next, Geralt tore apart the bread. Still, he said nothing. It was as if he was patiently waiting for her to continue.

Once more, she looked back at the witcher. Her heart pounded in her chest. She did not know why he was so interested in her father's sword. It was a normal blade, and her father had used it to provide for them, she thought. Was there harm in telling him? The young girl narrowed her eyes at the white-haired man. He looked like he had not shaved in a few days, and she could smell horse on him. Yet, her father's old saying came to her mind. My child, not everything that looks foul is evil. For instance, this man, this witcher, had shared his food readily. Moreover, he did not expect anything in return.

He picked up the bottle of rye and took a long pull from it. It appeared to her that he had lost interest in the conversation. Yet, his golden gaze remained fixed on the child.

Once more, the memories came to Laelithra. There was so much blood as her father laid in her embrace, wheezing and gasping. Her ivory gown was still stained with his blood. Make towards the river Buina. Then follow the Gwenllech. Stay off the roads, child.Laelithra remembered her father's last words as he pushed his silver sword into her grasp. The old man closed her fingers around the handle. Fear assaulted her heart as she wondered what waited for her by the Gwenllech. As she asked her father, he did not respond. He lay limp in her embrace as he passed to the next world.

A shudder came to the young girl again as she remembered, her body shaking as if she was cold. Laelithra never followed her father's advice. Fear had clouded her judgment, and she did not want to face what awaited her near that river. Again, she thought she was going to vomit. The child lapsed into silence as thoughts swirled around in her mind.

After the make-shift feast was completed, the witcher stood beside the horse. Geralt placed the containers of food, utensils, and cups into the travel bags before adjusting them. Next, he secured the bed roll, horse blanket, and his silver sword strapped to the blanket.

Laelithra stood next to him, watching the actions keenly. "Where are you going?" she asked him, quietly. Although she did not want to admit it, the young child felt a kinship to the older man. There was something about him which reminded her of her father.

"The Temple of Melitele in Ellander."

The young girl watched him lead his horse out of their clearing.

The sunlight streamed down at a low angle, making his hair appear milky. His gait was slow and deliberate. The mud clung to the soles of his boots and the horse's hooves. A cold wind blew, surrounding the man and his mare.

For a brief moment, she gaped after him. For a year, she had been on her own. For a five year old girl, it was a dangerous, hard life to be on her own. Often, she was taken advantage of. She was the weaker sex. Wrapping her arms around herself, she still stood staring after the witcher. In her eyes, he was strong and capable of defending both of them. Also, she did not want to admit it, but she enjoyed their lunch. "Geralt, wait!" she called after him.

The ivory-haired man slowed a bit, but he did not stop.

Immediately, Laelithra broke out into a sprint to catch up with him. There was nowhere else for her to go. She had never been to the Temple of Melitele, and she loved discovering new things. Besides, it gave her an excuse to avoid what was near the Gwenllech.

The two plodded on towards the Temple of Melitele.

…...

The rain stopped at mid-day, giving way to a brilliant, azure sky. Ivory clouds rolled and billowed in the distance. Occasionally, a warm gust of wind would blow across the dirt road. Puffs of dirt and dust would dance in its wake, swirling around the man's worn boots, the girl's little legs, and the horse's hooves. Animals scurried unseen in the forest on the sides of the road. This caused Geralt to snap his head and peer into the dimly lit woods from time to time.

Laelithra walked beside the witcher. When he would look into the woods, she would too. Yet, the young child could not make out any creatures. How long had it been since they stopped to rest? She did not know. Her thighs began to ache in protest to the never ending trek. A dull ache started in her lower back and proceeded to spread to her entire body. Immediately, she began to rub the small of her back.

Geralt placed his hand over his eyes and gazed off into the distance. For a moment, he was quiet. The witcher studied the layout of the land before him.

She watched his eyes squint as he stared into the setting sun. Briefly, she was reminded of a cat looking directly into a lit candle. "If our trip goes as smoothly as it has been, we should arrive at the temple in two days time."

The young girl started to fidget on the road beside the brown horse. She smoothed out her dirt stained dress. She looked down at the ground and kicked a small dirt cloud up. It spiraled around her, causing her to cough slightly. Laelithra was starting to become bored like any child her age. While he continued to watch the horizon, the young girl spread her arms wide and started to twirl.

"You're going to make yourself vomit," he warned, coolly. The male witcher did not turn his head to view her. Yet, it seemed like every noise she made he was aware of. As the wind blew, his shoulder-length ivory hair danced.

His words brought the young girl to halt her actions that very moment. Besides her father, she did not know of anyone whose voice held such authority. True to his words, the little girl felt the burning bile in her throat. A soft gag came from her. Immediately, she bent over and threw up by the horse's hoof. The mixture of meat, nuts, and sandy dust gave forth a hideous stench. Specks of the globular liquid stuck to her chin, the bottom of her dress, and between her toes.

He did not judge her as normal adults did, nor did he look in her direction. His gaze sudied the terrain before him. Geralt watched two large birds circle in the air with a frown on his thin lips. Quickly, he turned towards her. He placed the reins of the horse in the little girl's hands, went to the saddlebag, and retrieved a heavy, ebony coat. Dirt, dried blood, and sweat stained the coat. His eyes were not kind; they were calculating and penetrating. "You can wear this until we get to the temple. Nenneke should have a frock for you."

She took the coat and hugged it to her chest. Laelithra hated throwing up because the sick feeling stayed with her afterward. Her stomach rolled like a ship in rough seas. Once more, she felt the bile burning her esophagus. Immediately, she gagged again. Laelithra tried to hold down the vomit. Heat turned her cheeks red. She breathed deep, held her breath for some time, and released the air slowly.

After he handed her a container of dark water, a square bar of soap, and a light piece of cloth, he took the reins from her. Again, he looked towards the sky and watched the raptors circle. "Go and clean yourself. I will wait for you here. Laelithra?"

Instantly, she lifted her gaze to his. The ends of her platinum hair swayed with the movement. She clasped the container, coat, soap, and cloth to her chest. Why was he being kind to her? she asked herself again. Laelithra did not answer him aloud. Instead, she tilted her head towards him, shifted on her feet, and raised a slender eyebrow.

"Don't venture too far. If you were to injure yourself, I need to be able to hear your cries."

Without waiting for him to speak again, Laelithra ducked into the forest. For the most part, she wanted to get out of the smelly rag she had worn since her father was murdered. Of course, there were times when she would wash it as best as she could. She looked towards the road and kept the man and his horse in sight.

Reaching up, she unbuckled the thick strap crossing her chest. Laelithra sat the sword and sheath on the ground beside her. The sword and sheath were the only thing that remained of her father. She remembered how he spent hours polishing the weapon. When she was three, he taught her how. Then, she would sit at his feet as he regaled her with tales of various creatures, women, and booze. Of course, the young girl did not understand most of the problems in his stories. It kept her mind off of the clenching pain which wracked her belly, bones, and muscles.

She scrubbed her body feverishly with the gritty soap and rough cloth Geralt provided. The wet piece of cloth clung to her skin, making washing a chore. In fact, the fabric and soap caused her soft skin to become red and irritated. Yet, she continued to scour herself. She did not know when she would be able to wash herself.

Her lunch threatened to resurface as her stomach heaved. Once more, she thought of her father. Despite the laughter of the other village men and children, he insisted that she bathe every day. They would imply that he was raising a princess. The children would remark sarcastically that Laelithra should not do any women's work because she may get dirty. For this reason, the child did not have any friends.

"Are you ready?" he called to her. His voice held a slight quality of impatience to it. She could see him as he waited at the edge of the road. To her surprise, he did not fidget as most did. Geralt held the reins in his hand, looking up at the birds circling in the sky with a scowl on his face.

Laelithra ran her hand through her fair hair, parting the strains with her fingertips. She threw the coat over herself. It was much too big for the small girl. The sleeves hid her hands, and the hem dragged along the ground. She held the front close by hugging the used washing items and the coat's fabric to her chest.

As she walked to the horse and witcher, the coat's bottom dragged along the ground and collected leaves, dirt, and various insects. The frock's scent turned her stomach. However, she did not have any complaints because the man was taking care of her without any compensation.

Once more, she wondered what the white-haired man wanted with her. From her experience, no-one did anything out of the goodness of their heart. It would only be a matter of time before he would ask something from her, and she hoped it would not be too steep of a price to pay.

Geralt did not say anything to her as he turned to her. She could feel his eyes take in her appearance, and she felt self-conscious of it. Again, he went to the saddlebags. He produced a thick, tightly braided rope and tied it around the small girl's waist. It bit into the sides of her waist, and she yelped slightly in pain. The witcher gazed intently into her eyes, parted the waist of the coat, and swore softly.

A three inch, black bruise tarnished her pale skin. She avoided his eyes in embarrassment of the situation she was in. Unless someone touched it, the wound did not hurt. Immediately, she hoped he would not ask her about it. After all, it was none of his business.

"What happened to you, Laelithra?"

Of course, the fates were not with her. An exasperated sigh erupted from the small girl. "A merchant." It was the only thing she would say because she did not want to relive the horrible situation again. The merchant's plump face haunted her nightmares, and she knew he would never leave her.

"Come. We have to make up time since your washing delayed us." He changed the subject as if he sensed her reluctance to talk about it. She was relieved within, and she thanked him silently. Immediately, the witcher's gaze slid down her body. "You can not walk in that. It will slow you down even more."

"It will not. I can walk fine, Geralt."

Next, his hands went around her waist, gently. It amazed her that one such as him could be tender. He hoisted her up and placed her in the saddle of the brown mare. At one point, his fingertips touched her exposed wrist. A sharp, vibrating sensation spread from her wrist to her elbow. It did not cause her pain, but she looked sharply at him. Her father's touch felt the same.

Once more, he took the reins of the horse and led the beast.

Laelithra leaned down, holding onto the mane of the animal. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, not speaking to one another. The silence did not bother Laelithra as it would most young girls. She was used to the quiet because her father was much like Geralt. He taught her that silence could be as enjoyable as conversation. She listened to the animals scurrying out of their way, the horse's breath, and the gruff ramblings of Geralt as he talked to himself. "Do you travel much?" she asked.

"Only during the working season," he replied simply.

The answer raised more questions. What exactly was a witcher's work? She watched the sword sway in the sheath on his back. Perhaps, he was some kind of mercenary. Once more, the grip bounced against the witcher's back. "What is your work?"

He did not look back at her. His hand shielded his eyes as he looked up into the sky at the circling raptors. "I kill monsters for coin."

"Is that why you are going to the Temple of Melitele?"

"No. I'm going there to heal."

His answers to her questions fed into her inquisitive nature raising yet more questions. What kind of monsters did he kill? Her father killed monsters for coin. It was how they lived until a creature killed him. Once more, the bile started to rise in her throat. The man she knew as father was a good man, and he was ripped from her life. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. Immediately, she wiped the long sleeve across her face. She hoped the fabric muffled her sobbing.

Geralt did not give any indication that he heard her. The man continued to lead the horse and child.

Once the tears stopped, she watched the sword swing with his gait. "Where do you go when you are not working?" she asked, wiping the remnants of her sobbing from her flushed cheeks.

"I return to my kin in Kaer Morhen-Witcher's Settlement. It is a fortress. Well, it was a fortress. Not much remains of it. Now, be quiet. I hear voices on the road ahead." His eyes were riveted on a point on the road ahead, not deviating even when he spoke to her

"Geralt-" She shifted in the saddle, gazing down at the white-haired witcher.

"Shh!"

The two journeyed onward. Geralt still was fascinated by the birds in the sky, and Laelithra wished to know why. Yet, he had told her to be quiet. In fact, he shushed her every time she spoke. How did he hear anything besides the animals scurrying in the underbrush? Laelithra considered herself to have good hearing, but she could hear nothing.

The two rounded a large bend in the road. Immediately, Laelithra could see the cause of Geralt's apprehension.

Four bulky, sandy-haired peasants sat by a broken cart at the edge of the road. All of them argued over the livestock that pulled the cart. Upon looking up, the fattest of the three spoke, "We don't want you nor your kin on our roads, Whitey." He slurred the words, reminding Laelithra of someone who was drunk.

Laelithra watched Geralt's shoulders square and the hilt of his sword shifted upward. However, the witcher made no sign of the emotions going through him, nor did he show what he was thinking. If he had to defend the two of them, she was sure he would. "We're passing through," he retorted, neutrally. There was no hint of anything in his voice, and the young girl wondered how he could stay so calm.

"We do not want witchers, here," the man growled, spitefully. Next, the peasants stooped and grabbed a handful of rocks each. One by one, they hurled the tiny projectile at the horse, witcher, and little girl.

She watched the rocks fly past Geralt. A few hit his leather-clad shoulder, bounced off, and landed on the ground. The witcher made no sign of pain as the rocks continued to be thrown at them. In fact, Geralt looked straight ahead and led the horse past them.

Laelithra was not so lucky. Five rocks hit her in her side and shoulders. One particularly large rock smacked into her right cheek, cutting the flesh deeply. A thin, long line appeared, and it was followed by the flow of blood. The blood spiraled down her cheek, slid down her jaw, and dripped off of her chin. Immediately, she held her breath in pain. Her eyes narrowed, and she cursed softly.

"Go back to the hells you came from!" one of the fat simpletons shouted at their backs.

Yet, the witcher and child ignored the peasants. Blood dripped off of Laelithra's face, landing in thick plops on the coat she wore and the saddle of the horse. Laelithra held her hand up to her face in an effort to staunch the blood flow, but the liquid pooled beneath of her hand, spilled through the spaces between her small fingers, and landed on the neck of the horse. She knew she would need it mended.

"We'll get off the road, have dinner, and rest for the night," Geralt said after a few moments of silence. He did not wait for her answer before he started to look for a place to rest.

…...

The witcher had his right hand clamped around her chin, his fingertips biting into the soft flesh. His auric amber eyes flared slightly, staring into the young girl's gaze.

If the look was suppose to keep her from moving, it did not. Sharp pain radiated from the needle passing through her cheek. Each time the twine went through the flesh, she would pull away and whimper. Despite the agony, she refused to cry before the man. "Why did they throw rocks?" she asked him. Another pass of the thick string and another wincing shudder from Laelithra prompted Geralt's hold on her face. Because of the death grip, he made her lips pucker. Her eyes flashed in anger and annoyance.

"Because they did not need me. It is the same at every village. I look for postings at crossroads, gates, and notice boards. If there is witcher's work, I take it. If there is not, I am met with stones." Geralt explained it in such a matter of fact manner that Laelithra would have doubted the validity of it, had she not just witnessed it firsthand. If he was angry, he wasn't showing it. His left hand looped up, piercing her flesh once again with the needle. Once more, he dragged her face forward and swore softly.

Again, she held her breath against the pain as the twine pulled the wound close. She shut her eyes tight, willing the witcher and his needle and threat to go away. With each stitch, a brilliant, white light flashed before her eyes.

"It wouldn't hurt as much if you held still," he murmured, roughly. If it was possible, his voice was calm, soothing, and almost gentle. In fact, the tone surprised her and forced her to open her eyes. There was warmth in his golden gaze. It was the only time she had seen emotion in his face. As quickly as it appeared, it melted once more into his emotionless mask.

She curled her fingers around the edge of the large boulder she sat upon. Another pass of the needle caused Laelithra to jerk away once more. Again, she heard Geralt's rough sigh. To her credit, the young girl was trying her best to sit very still, yet, the thick twine felt like it was cutting deep within her cheek. It needed to be done. If left untended, the wound could become easily infected and cause her death. "They..used to throw stones at Father too," she admitted, quietly.

"Who was your father?" Geralt asked quickly, speaking with her suddenly showing more interest in speaking with her than he had since he asked about her sword.

Immediately, the young girl regretted speaking. She did not want to talk to the white-haired witcher about her father. The memory of him was still as raw as the wound on her cheek. However, it surprised her that he did not ask about her father sooner. The pain of remembering equaled the pain of the needle and thread. Sadness submerged deep within the depths of her eyes.

"Villagers used to call him Viktor of Vizima," she answered quietly, trying to keep the sadness threatening to burst forth. " We would travel from town to town, and he would take notice postings about slaying a monster. When I was three, we found a small village on the outskirts of Cidaris. Father was weary from traveling with me. We settled there."

For a long moment, Geralt did not answer her. He kept at his task, moving the needle gracefully in his fingers. "Laelithra," he spoke slowly, making sure he had her attention completely. "You are saying that your father was a witcher like me,and that his name was Viktor of Vizima? Has someone been telling you stories?" Geralt pulled away from her and gazed into her eyes, his catlike orbs unreadable as he searched her intently.

She rubbed her upper arm, roughly. The only thing running through her mind was that she did not like his look then. He looked ugly with his lip turned up in a scowl. "I am telling you what the villagers called my father." Laelithra stated defiantly. It was clear Geralt did not believe her, and she felt offended by the notion. "He had unusual eyes, white hair, and killed monsters for coin,"

"It is impossible. We can not have children, and Viktor was slain when Kaer Morhen was assaulted."

How long ago was Kaer Morhen assaulted, she wondered to herself. Brief images of her father flashed through her mind. Of course, he survived because he was heroic and defended the other witchers there. Laelithra idolized her father, and there were no other thoughts that could explained how he survived the attack. The young girl blinked slowly. "I can only say what I know. Everyone called him Viktor. He was not my real father."

"Child of Surprise," he muttered in disbelief, barely audible. It sounded like a combination of a half groan, snort, and laugh. He set the needle and thread down on the small rock. Running his hand through his hair, he looked into her eyes.

"Geralt?" Laelithra said, turning her dark gaze up at him. She rubbed at the stitches that held the flesh of her cheek together. The wound stung and itched at the same time. She sighed roughly once more.

"Don't pick at it, or it'll scar worse," he warned. He stood, picked up the girl, and put her on the ground.

Immediately, she dropped her hands to her sides. The wound still itched and burned, and it took all of her willpower not to scratch at it. She wished to listen to the witcher. It seemed like he had her best interests in mind. Why did he care, she puzzled to herself. Laelithra did not trust anyone. "Geralt? What is a Child of Surprise?"

The man's thin lips turned downwards into a scowl.

She felt small and insignificant in Geralt's golden gaze. Why was he so quiet? Her small lips curved into a frown a she stared back at him. People had always said that Laelithra was foolishly brave. There was very little that made the young girl flinch. "What is it? A Child of Surprise?" she asked again, slowly. Laelithra reached up and tried to scratch her face again, yet, she suddenly remembered the words he had spoken mere moments ago. Immediately, she dropped her hand to her side again.

A rough sigh erupted from the witcher. His eyes narrowed, and he chewed on the inside corner of his lip, coughing slightly. "The Law of Surprise," he began finally, "is an old custom in which as a reward for saving the life of another, one would request something that belongs to the rescued, but is not known to them. a...lover..or, in your case, a child. This oath creates a permanent and powerful bond between the two people. A child of surprise is destined for great things and plays a very important role in the life of the person who invoked the Law of Surprise. Although the tie of destiny is strong between the two, the child must choose to go with the invoker of their own free will."

Laelithra plopped down on the ground and held the coat tightly around her. Her mind reeled from the information Geralt had shared with her. Lifting her dark gaze to him, she tried to see if there were lies in his eyes. The young girl could not be destined for great things. She was alone in the world, set adrift because of her father's murder, and she met this witcher by chance. After he left the Temple of Melitele, she would be alone in the world again. Would the priestesses force her to stay at the temple? Her future began to look dismal.

Once more, the witcher stood shifting uncomfortably. "In any case," he continued, coldly, "I do not think you are a Child of Surprise. As I said, Viktor died when Kaer Morhen was assaulted. The only one who survived was Vesemir. Your father was probably someone claiming to be someone they were not."

Laelithra was an astute girl. She noticed the change in the witcher. He had become cold, and it angered her slightly. Yet, she enjoyed his company when he was not like this. What had caused the change in him, she wondered, bitterly. Laelithra leanred to speak of neither destiny nor Children of Surprise anymore.

Geralt still gazed at her, coldly. She felt like she would freeze in place, and she still did not know what cause the change in him. "I do not know if I have enough food for dinner tonight. I will go hunting and see if I can catch anything." He avoided the questions that were unspoken in her gaze. "Do you know how to set up a camp?"

"Yes, my father Vik-" She paused as she saw his iron stare, causing her to swallow hard. "My father taught me to set up camp while he went and killed whatever monster he was hired to kill. I can also cook. If you find some rabbits and have vegetables in your saddlebags, I can fix us a stew."

As she was talking, Geralt started to walk off. "We'll see," he called over his shoulder at her before disappearing further into the woods.

After a few hours, the white-haired man returned, carrying with him two thin, lean hares. The lifeless animals dangled limp in his left hand. Their brown fur looked paler in the dim light cast by the setting sun. Dull, glassy eyes stared unblinking into the beyond.

The death of animals or monsters did not bother Laelithra. She was not a shrinking violet, frightened of what stalked in the darkness. She knew the creatures, both natural and summoned from the sins of man. The young girl knew the difference between life and death. Beasts harassed innocent people, and her father slew them for enough coin to buy supplies for his himself and his daughter.

No, death did not shock her like would have shocked others of her age. Ghosts, murder, and violence haunted her dreams. In a way, the young girl had grown accustomed to it. On the other hand, she woke up almost every night terrorized, seeing people she loved die in nearly every way imaginable. Except the one who really mattered, her mind whispered to her. Guilt washed through Laelithra's being. Could she have prevented her father's murder if she had known, or was there no way of stopping it? If she had known, she could have warned him to not accept the fiendish contract that night. Once more, sobs stuck in the young girl's throat.

Geralt sat down, placing his kills on a rock beside him, and ignored the sobbing girl. Immediately, he took the first rabbit and placed it on a smaller rock before him. Reaching down, he pulled a long, thin serrated knife from his boot. He raised the knife, brought it down sharply, and severed the head and feet of the rabbit. "There are vegetables in a pack on Roach," he said, bringing Laelithra out of her thoughts. "They aren't fresh, but they have to do."

She wiped the coat's sleeve across her cheeks and eyes again, ridding herself of the hot, shameful tears. She stood, feeling an ache in her backside. How long had she been sitting there, wallowing in her self misery while he was hunting? Would the pain from her father's death ever leave her? Opening up one of the saddlebags, she peered inside and took inventory of the contents: a medium sized wooden chest rested on the bottom, a smaller chest emitted a minty smell, a mortal and pestle with trace amounts of plant material, and a few bottles of alcohol wrapped in thick scraps of cloth.

As she reached in for the smaller chest, Geralt's voice startled her. "No, not that one," he warned. "Those are poisons." She heard the wet, tearing sound of skin being removed from muscles by force. When she gazed over at him, she could see the blood from the animal slipping down the edges of the rock, the pink, fleshy form of the skinless the rabbit, and Geralt's ivory hair hiding his face from view. The ends dragged through the liquid, dying it a pale pink hue.

Once more, Laelithra returned to rifling of his saddlebags. How could he have see her taking out the chest, she wondered. His attention seemed fixed on preparing the hare. As thoughts rushed through her mind, she ascertained that he must have been watching her carefully. This infuriated the young girl. She was not, nor she ever, be a thief. Even though her situation had called for it many times, Laelithra had never resorted to banditry to survive. Her dark eyes flared with latent fury. "Where the f-"

"Watch your language, Laelithra. Those words are unfitting for someone your age and gender," he chastised her, softly. She watched him squeeze the creature softly, moving his hand down the ribcage to the hindquarters. Again, he repeated this movement. The young girl could not see his face as it was still masked by his long hair.

Laelithra felt the heat rise to her cheeks as a result of the lecture the stranger had given her. Anger, disbelief, and stubbornness reared up within her, mixing together and coating her insides like a black, sticky ooze. Who did he think he was? He was not her father. To keep from crying again, she turned her attention to the horse. "Where should I be looking?"

He held the skinless rabbit by its front legs and slapped it down with moderate pressure. She heard a soft plop as the hare's gray entrails landed on the rock above the body. "There is a bag hooked to the horn of the saddle on the right side of Roach. The vegetables are in that one. There should be an onion and carrots."

Laelithra found the large bag. Immediately, wondering how she could have missed it in the first place. Thick leaves of a beet stuck out of the top. A strong earthy smell assaulted her senses.

"There is a container of lard in there, also," Geralt commanded. " Bring that to me, please."

After retrieving the items he requested, Laelithra returned to him. His coat hung off of her like the flesh hanging from a very old woman's bones as its ends dragged along the ground, collecting debris from the forest floor. The musky scent of the witcher did not leave the coat yet, and it penetrated all of her senses, causing her stomach to churn. The pot in which she stored the food felt heavy to her small hands, yet, she did not complain. In reality, there was not much she could complain about. She would be grateful to Geralt for a long time. He had allowed her to accompany him, shared his food, and given her clothing. The only thing she could not understand was that he did not wish anything in return. No one did things out of the goodness of their heart, and she was convinced that Destiny did not exist.

"Here," Geralt said, handing her an empty waterskin. "there is a stream beyond that hill, there." He pointed through the trees behind him. "Fetch some water while I finish preparing everything else."

Before taking the skin, she reached up and scratched the stitches on her cheek. The wound itched and burned, irritating her skin and spirit. How could she have been so foolish and let herself be hit by a rock? Worse yet, she felt a hatred towards the people who had done it. Geralt did not deserve it, and she knew it. Fury assaulted her, coiling deep inside her stomach like an ebony snake.

Laelithra turned around and listened to the babbling of the stream to find the direction it which it was. For once, she willed her thoughts to cease. It was a problem with the young girl, and her worries kept her awake far into the night. Then, when she did drift off to sleep, the nightmares came.

As she entered the edge of the wooded land, she heard him call behind her, "Remember, do not venture past the stream. I need to be able to hear you if you need my help. Oh, and Laelithra, stop scratching that wound. I meant what I said about it scarring worse if you don't leave it alone."

Once more, her hand stopped against her cheek. Immediately, the young girl bristled. "You are not my father. Stop ordering me around," she murmured, softly. She was sure he could not hear her because she said it underneath her breath, letting out a mere whisper. If he had heard, he made no mention of it.

Down by the stream, Laelithra set the skin on the ground, hiked up Geralt's worn coat, and placed her feet in the cold water. At first, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. The frigid water shocked her system. She could feel the mud oozing between her toes, and she giggled with childish delight. It was not long before her body became accustomed to the coldness and the prickly numbness passed quickly.

She wondered at how her life could take such a turn. Surely, her father's death was not the catalyst for her to be with Geralt now. What made her chase after the witcher like that? It was fine being alone. Yet, she craved his company. He was aloof, quiet, and observant. Why did he give her his coat? Was he providing for her? A rough sigh was slipped from within her. Suddenly, she felt older than she was.

The stream babbled next to her, lapping against the rocky shoreline like lovers gently kissing. Light streamed through the canopy, making the clear water sparkle. Two large toads splashed in and out of the water a short distance away.

As she bent down and picked up the skin, she filled it with water. The young girl was not quite as observant as she used to be. There was one reason for it, and he was in the camp. With someone like Geralt there, she did not think of her own safety. He would, and she knew it deep inside.

Because of her lack of awareness, Laelithra did not see the figure step out behind her. The pallid, wrinkled creature was completely naked, stringy, crimson hair covering its breasts. Blood dripped from its mouth, making the ivory fangs sparkle amidst a ruby river. Yellow, glowing eyes settled maliciously on the young girl. An extravagant A wreathed in flames was seared into the cadaverous flesh between the hair covering its breasts. Long, taloned fingers twitched with anticipation.