WARNING: there will be spoilers for the Hearts of Stone DLC (sorta) and references to it, because I expect people to have played it. If you don't understand who a specific character is, check the wiki.
Lucy, I would love to say that your suspicions are right, but I know myself too well… I sometimes write in a character and obviously expect him to play a certain role but end up completely changing what he does and who he is. So what Nathiel will or will not do for Alyra remains to be seen!
Guest (anonymous), very glad to see that you like what I write! One of my main reasons for writing this story is that I too was unable to find something similar out there. Glad to see people were of an opinion with me!
Bolondka, you're not wrong but you're not right. Thing is, I kind of have an idea where this is all headed and how it's going to end, but truth is it might change along the way because that's how writing happens sometimes. I'm glad you enjoy it nonetheless and truthfully, pretty much anything is a better love story than Twilight XD
Importchic, here you go!
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They stepped through the portal, with Eredin dragging her and she felt her stomach heave unpleasantly as they were thrown through the vast expanse of time and space towards a distant location.
The first thing that hit her, before she could even see or hear, was an oppressing feeling of dread.
Then, as she stepped out of the portal, she at once noted the odd reddish hue of the world around her. Eredin let her go and she gazed up, trying to gather her bearings: it was night and the sky above her was full of stars, none of which she could recognize. The moon shone, unearthly and full, but it seemed alien in this somber sky, casting a frigid light upon the world. Around her rose trees and bushes, through which a milky fog was lazily sneaking and before her appeared a stony path, worn and battered by years of use. The air was full of strange whispers that made her feel unwell and raised the hairs on her arms… wherever they were, it was not a place she wanted to visit for long.
She turned slightly towards the Aen Elle king, wondering what was going to happen now.
He stared at her coolly. "This is a very peculiar place." Eredin said in a soft voice that broke through the still air like the crack of thunder. "It belongs to a being that is even beyond my own grasp… this place has quite the effect on the psyche of creatures left here, twisting their memories and awaking their deepest, darkest terrors… the being who rules here, he feeds on the darkness he causes. And you, lucky little bird, are going to get to stay here for a while."
Horror gripped her heart. Panic threatened to submerge her. A distant feeling was closing in on her: the feeling of being ready to trade every ounce of integrity she had left just to be able to escape the upcoming promise of terror. It was awfully hard, knowing that keeping silence, that refusing to play into Eredin's hands, meant she would inflict unknown distress on herself… every fibre in her body begged for her to give in, to fall on her knees and beg for security, for an end to this torture…
And every other fibre in her being ordered her to clench her jaw shut tightly and stare him right in the eyes without wavering.
Alyra would not fold. Not yet.
Eredin bowed his head mockingly and backed towards his unclosed portal.
"Perhaps I'll even see you again, half-dh'oine with the eyes like green fire." He whispered softly, vanishing from her view and from the world as the portal swirled shut behind him.
Alyra turned away, facing the worn path she had been set on. She had no idea where she was, but she knew she was both exhausted, unarmed and in danger. Knowing she could only presently remedy to one of those three problems, she rummaged through the small pouch at her waist and pulled out the Thunderbolt, taking a tiny swing of it, which caused her stomach to lurch unpleasantly and threaten to empty itself at once… she breathed in deeply, calming herself and felt the nausea pass slowly. She wondered how long she'd still be able to chug the Witcher brews without lasting adverse effects, knowing that even if she was part Aen Seidhe and they were diluted, she could not take them daily much longer…
The girl stared walking. The worn stones were uneven under her feet, but she marched on soundlessly, gently stepping on the ground and keeping a sharp eye out for any movement.
For the longest time, she traveled through the same, unchanging scenery of eerily familiar soft hills covered in low trees and bushes… every now and again, she'd see the distant remains of a destroyed house's stone base and perhaps a toppled shrine, but they all seemed so… similar… she found she had no idea how much time she'd spent here, but instead of being distraught at that notion, she found it started to lull her into losing herself in her thoughts…
Her mind strayed as she walked. She reminisced about her past, swirling through her old memories with surprising clarity. She remembered the keep in Toussaint, where she'd been born and raised for many years… she remembered many of her chance encounters of the road with various personages who taught her a lot of the things she knew… she remembered her mother, gentle creature which lived within Novigrad, at the mercy of evil men… she remembered…
Ahead, a roar broke through the still air with monstrous cruelty, shattering the silence. Alyra's heart nearly leapt out of her chest as she instinctively fell into a battle pose, grabbing for the blades on her hips…
Which were not there, of course…
She'd let them fall in the sand arena in Tir Nà Lia.
Where a moment ago there was nothing but familiar hills and twisted trees, there now stood a crumbling, small barn, harrowed by endless years of neglect. The roar repeated itself from within, angrier this time. She recognized it, because she had heard it once before…. It was a long time ago, many years pass, when her arrogance had almost cost her her life….
Alyra looked around but found no weapon to use: it frightened her, because she knew what lay within the walls of the decrepit barn. The beast within was furious and dangerous and much, much faster than she had anticipated it would be…
She saw claws appear out of the inner darkness of the barn, emerging into the pale light of the moon to grasp slowly at the half-torn door that led into the ruined structure. The paw was grey in color, sickly, and the claws were so sharp they sliced into the rotten wood upon contact… Alyra saw this with frightening precision, her eyes widening as her breath grew short and panic threatened to submerge her…
The beast pushed itself out of the barn and into the soft moon's light with a hungry growl, its shiny red eyes glowing as it stared avidly at her.
Alyra saw only the long muzzle, filled to the brim with teeth as sharp as razors, as it emerged from the darkness, before turning with a swift motion and rushing off in the opposite direction.
Behind her, the striga howled.
The girl's feet hit the ground as fast as she could muster as, behind her, she heard the enraged monster bound out of the collapsing building as it crashed deafeningly around it. Her breath was short in her tight throat as she tore through thorny trees, sharp bushed grasping at her almost like hands… she stood no chance against the striga without a weapon!
She could hear the monster coursing after her and closing in fast, its enraged snarls become steadily louder…
Alyra screamed as she jumped down into an uneven, shallow ravine, the Thunderbolt giving her wings, narrowly avoiding being beheaded by the furious striga as it went sailing over the opening through which she'd slipped. The girl hit the ground with a grunt and kept running without pause, glancing over her shoulder.
The striga had backed up and jumped down into the tight ravine after her and was giving chase: its large body was hitting the sides of the narrow passage every few steps, but that was not slowing it down much. The grayish monster sent rock flying as it tore after her.
Alyra jumped up on the left side of the ravine, digging her fingers into the stone and grabbed some dry roots, pulling herself up through a tight section, back out into the reddish world.
The beast, unable to follow through the tapered stone, howled angrily and ran further off to find a way out of the gulley.
The girl set off once more, running at full speed towards a broken elven structure of some sort a short ways off, figuring she might as well make a stand on higher ground, where she would be better able to see the striga approaching.
The first few steps up the dilapidated structure were intact, allowing her to climb them quickly, before she reached a point where the steps had crumbled completely: she leapt over the gap that had formed and landed on the floor of whatever remained of this forgotten construction…
Behind her, the striga clambered out noisily from the ravine, bellowing.
Before her, laying almost carelessly across the lap of a half-crumbled, seated marble statue of a woman was a sword.
Alyra did not think twice: she rushed to the blade and grasped it deftly, testing the weight in her hand. It shone brightly in the light of the moon, sharp as a razor, reflecting the very stars in the night sky and she understood it was made of silver… she glanced at the pommel and saw a serpentine design ensnaring the place where a hand would normally grasp at the blade. It was a Witcher's blade, no doubt about it.
The girl pivoted as the snarling beast reached the structure. She heard it claw its way up angrily, razor claws tearing into the stone with a sound that made shivers run down her spine. The striga scrambled over the low balustrade that circled the elven construction and faced the girl, baring its mouthful of fangs.
Alyra grasped the sword with both hands, as it was meant to be held, and tried to get used to the excess weight, which she did not have to deal with when using her two small blades. Her heart beat like fury and she held her fear at bay…
"I've killed you before." She growled at the striga as it circled her.
It seemed almost as if the beast was smirking at her…
Many years ago and a world away, she had faced this creature. It had been hiding out in an abandoned barn, just as it was here, in this strange world. It had murdered many villagers in the vicinity and as she'd been passing in the area, the elders of a settlement had hired her to take care of it: in their own words, she was as close to a Witcher as they were like to get in their distant dwelling. Full of arrogance and hoping to show these simpletons that not only Witchers were worthy fighters, Alyra had set out to face the striga…
She'd returned three days later, after an arduous fight with the savage creature that had left her lying, dying on the side of that barn, blood seeping copiously from a wound beneath her armpit, where the beast had easily stroke and tore through her very chainmail with those razor-like claws. She'd been able to finish the monster off by some near miracle before collapsing in the dirt, feeble and ill from her loss of blood.
Alyra owed her life to the last few dregs of a Swallow potion she'd forgotten about in her pouch. Had she not had it, she would have bled to death and would have perished with her heart filled to the brim with shame and regret.
She learned from her mistakes that day and, even though the memory of that fight haunted her nightmares, she knew not to underestimate her foes and let conceit blind her.
The striga leapt.
It crossed the few yards that separated them in a single, powerful bound, jaws wide open and snapping, every claw extended and glistening as they plunged towards her heart…
Alyra tensed, lips pulled back in a snarl.
The beast was upon her and before it had a time to even brush up against her skin, she pivoted like a tiny bolt of lightning, evading it.
The striga sailed past her. Alyra pirouetted again, using the heavy Witcher's blade as a counter-weight as she brought it around in a large arc, screaming, slipping her hands over the handle as to bring it down upon the disoriented beast.
The blade came in contact with the monster and it vanished into a puff of smoke.
Alyra struggled to regain her footing as the sword sailed through thin air and surprise painted itself on her face.
She recovered her balance and raised the sword high, glancing around herself rapidly, searching for the striga, wondering what had just happened…
But there was nothing but silence and the distant, creepy whispers riding on the wind.
The girl slowed her raging heart and began breathing normally, utterly confused… but she remembered what Eredin had said when he'd left her here and she was starting to get an idea of what was gong on…
This was no ordinary world… at least not like the one she had lived in her whole life, or even like the dying, dried up one Eredin had showed her during their first fight. She had a feeling this world was somehow… constructed… as if it was built by the being the Aen Elle king had told her about. What surrounded her was real and also not real and she was starting to get the feeling that it truly was analysing her, conjuring up her doubts and fears…
That was not good. Why had Eredin dropped her off here, of all places? He could have done to her what Imlerith did: humiliate, rape and hurt her both physically and mentally in hopes she'd snap. He could have done anything and he had chosen to bring her here.
Why?
To let her wallow in her own terror for an indefinite amount of time? To learn what made her tick? To face off against the owner of this strange world? Did the king had contact with that being, did they have a deal of some sort?
Alyra was weary, but curious.
She glanced down at the Witcher sword she was still holding loosely at her side, examining the intricate handle. The thing she'd always liked most about these swords was the work that went into decorating them not just with magical runes, but often with the insignias of the schools of the Witchers to whom they belonged. This one was adorned with a coiling snake that held the cross guard and part of the handle in its twisting, shiny body, the open-mouthed head being the pommel, full of tiny metal fangs that caught the moon's sickly light.
"School of the Viper… strange coincidence…" The young woman whispered, twisting the blade as to let the pale light reflect all over the coiled reptile.
She remembered a certain Witcher from the school of the Viper…
They'd met amidst a large bandit raid. She'd been hired to defend a village from hooligans and had found herself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of rogue thieves that had banded together to raid the area… the villagers had failed to mention just how many bandits rode in that peculiar gang and she had found out the hard way what that number was: too many.
The Witcher had burst through their ranks like a mountain, his steel sword ringing through the air faster than anything she'd ever seen. Just in time too, because she'd gone down on one knee, a crossbow bolt piercing her thigh as she tried weakly to defend herself against a charging, howling bandit.
The Witcher cleaved him in half with a blow so powerful it left her speechless.
He was built like a bull, easily large as two men side by side, with arms like the trunks of young trees and tall enough that she wondered for a moment if he was not part giant. And yet he moved with unmistakable grace and speed, betraying years of hard training and an inhuman lineage. There was no mistaking his eyes with pupils like a cat's.
She remembered the moment as she stumbled up and joined him to fight, seeing he was fighting on her side. Screaming, she twisted deftly and used one of her blades to deflect a flying arrow that had been aimed right at the giant, bald Witcher.
He glanced at her, expressionless. "Haven't seen that often."
She'd given him a rueful smirk. "Stick around and I'll show you plenty more."
He'd sneered and they kept on fighting until all the bandits were either dead or fled. She thought he'd leave once the fighting was done, but he stayed behind and started tending her wound, noticing how rapidly the blood was flowing out of her leg. He'd been the one to teach her how to brew the Swallow after learning she was half Aen Seidhe and willing to try using it to help her body. They'd spent several weeks together afterwards and she had greatly enjoyed the company of this taciturn, threatening beast of a man that was more gentle and nimble than his physique could ever let on.
He'd been the first Witcher she spent time with and she'd learned more than just potion brewing from him: he's taught her a great deal about all sorts of monsters, their weaknesses and strengths, as well as several combat techniques usually reserved only for his kind. Alyra hadn't believed him at first when he told her he was of the School of the Viper, as he looked like he would belong more in Bear. But his absolutely unearthly grace soon made her change her mind, along with the twisting medallion representing a snake that lay from a chain upon his chest.
The girl shook her head, escaping her reverie and glanced up, blinking.
Before her stood the Witcher she'd reminisced about.
"Letho…" Alyra whispered, grasping the sword more vigorously, unsure.
His eyes fell on the motion and the corner of his mouth twitched up ever so slightly.
"I'm not here to fight you." He said in that deep voice of his, like the growling rumble of a distant earthquake.
She frowned. "Then why are you here?"
He did not answer, only turned, glancing over his shoulder as if to invite her to follow him. Hesitating for the briefest moment, she did, still carrying the sword. She felt safer with it hand, even if she wasn't quite used to its heaviness.
They dismounted from the crumbling elven structure and walked a bit through the strange, reddish world, with her at his side. It felt like the good old times she'd spend with him, a little while back, before they'd parted ways. She'd always liked Letho: he was stable, strong and silent… everything she wanted from a man and more… and he'd been quite the passionate lover, considering Witchers were supposed to be devoid of all feelings. They'd spent many a night, and day, just enjoying one another…
Alyra did not blush, only smile at the memory. But she understood why her thoughts were coursing in that direction: this world was trying to lull her into forgetting that this Letho was not real…
"I know, you know." She said gently, stopping and placing a hand on his big arm to stop him with her.
"Know what?"
"That you're not real. You're not Letho."
He turned lightly towards her, raising a hand slowly to touch her face and she let him. His fingers were hard and calloused, just as they had always really been, and his touch was infinitely more delicate and tender than his hands could have let on.
"Does it matter?"
She sighed, shrugging. "I don't know… I… I don't know what this place is, or what you are, or what I should even be doing… I wish you were the real Letho, I kind of miss him…"
She stopped talking, refusing to confide in this spectre. She had to remember that he was just a construct of this world, nothing more than illusion…
But it was so hard to do that as his gentle fingers ran from her jaw and into her hair, light and kind. She'd really enjoyed the few weeks she'd spent with the giant Witcher: she would not have called it love, because neither of them had the emotional palette or time for such an ordeal, but there had blossomed a… a mutual enjoyment, of sorts. They'd met up a few times again over the years, sometimes out of chance, other times because they sought one another out. Until he'd vanished from known existence recently… he'd last contacted her to mention he was undertaking a very perilous contract, of which he would disclose no detail, before becoming one with the void of the world, seemingly impossible to find.
It had hurt, not knowing what he'd become. Had he died? Succeeded in his undertaking? What had become of Letho of Gulet, that mountain of a viper that had flashed through her existence like a burning flame?
Perhaps all that mattered now was that she had this Letho…
He bent down towards her, being much too tall for her and cupped her face tenderly to pull her into a kiss. She shut her eyes and moved towards him. Their lips met like two hungry sparks and she dug her fingers into his huge arms, loving the warmth of his mouth on hers… an altogether different fire awoke between her legs and her kiss became deeper, more passionate.
Out of breath, Alyra pulled back with a soft smile, opening her eyes to gaze into his.
But instead of finding a cat-like gaze of yellow, she was met with the cold, amber eyes of someone else…
Imlerith was smirking at her, his hand suddenly hard and unyielding in her hair, where just a moment ago there had been tenderness.
"I knew you'd learn to love fucking me, dh'oine whore." The general hissed, amused cruelly as she cried out in confusion, pain and panic.
Without thinking any further, the young woman thrust her still-clenched blade at the smirking Aen Elle, aiming to pierce his midsection, but met no resistance as he simply vanished into a puff of dark smoke as the striga had, his twisted grin burning into her mind's eye to remain there even after he had disappeared.
He was gone, but the damage he'd done was not: feeling terrible disgust at herself, Alyra fell on all fours, retching and gasping for air, torn between exhaustion, despair and confusion. She felt hatred and disappointment at herself for having given into this cruel game and having been played so very easily… she knew this was all an illusion, damnit! How could she have been so weak?
The girl glanced up, expecting to still be in the barren, red world, but found herself smack in the middle of a Novigrad street, staring at the entrance to a very familiar square. She stumbled up as faceless people not unlike specters walked past her, whispering too low for her to hear what they said, pushing past her with fingers like ice.
Coming from the Hierarch square she could hear the loud, howling voice of a herald screaming some message as a crowd massed in front of him.
"… and whosoever shall be seen dealing with inhumans shall be burned at the stake alongside them…"
She stumbled forward, hand still holding the Viper sword, into the square. The crowd in front of the herald was dense and she had to struggle past it, pushing ghostly beings aside… every time she touched one, it felt like touching a glacier.
There was a mounting feeling of distress rising in the back of her throat like bile, compressing her chest all the while. It felt as though there was no more air around her, as though something as big as a stampeding fiend was closing in on her rapidly, from an unseen direction.
The herald was still shouting.
"… be known that all witches, sorcerers, be they human or elven, will be burned at the stake alongside all inhumans, be they half-bred or pure…"
She pushed past the first line of spectral people in the crowd and nearly fell as she suddenly met no more resistance… she was shivering, but not just from the cold contact of the illusions…
Alyra looked ahead at the burning stake and let out an anguished howl of horror as she saw who burned on it.
"FAMAU! No!" She felt her knees buckle beneath her but staggered to stay upright, tears of pain and anger flooding her sight. "Mother!"
Alyra did not think, she folded her fingers into Aard and projected the wave at the bottom of the brazier, dousing the flames and sending the charred logs flying up against the building behind the pyre. There were shouts around her but she ignored them all, rushing forward to clamber onto the still hot, blackened platform upon which, tied to a thick upright log, slumped an unmistakable woman, her wrists chafed by the rope that bound her…
Her clothes, which Alyra knew to have been delicately embroidered in motifs of nature, had burned away to ash. Most of her body had been ravaged by the flames, the skin sloughing off like melted candle wax, revealing the muscles underneath and all of her thick, curly hair as black as jet had been seared away to reveal a naked head, blackened by soot. The one thing that had not been damaged was the necklace she wore, made from a chain of meteorite ore and set with a tiger's eye stone, for luck, which Alyra had given her many, many years ago in the vain hope of keeping her safe…
The young girl dared not touch the woman, from fear of seeing her crumble to dust before her.
"Mother…" She gasped for air, chocking on her sobs as tears streamed down her face, unstoppable. "Eliaine… no… please, no… mother…"
She reached out, but stopped her movement, consumed by the swirling agony that threatened to devour her as the flames had her mother.
The Aen Seidhe seamstress of Novigrad known as Eliaine, burned at the stake for being inhuman, mother to a half-blood elf, suddenly jerked morbidly and stood up straight. The howl that escaped Alyra's mouth was a whole new level of despair as the animated corpse straightened its head with sickly twitches and planted her burned, consumed eyes upon her daughter.
"This is your fault…" She rasped ghoulishly, her ravaged mouth moving like something out of a nightmare.
"No!"
The girl wailed, backing up until her feet touched nothing but air and she went sailing backwards, landing harshly onto the stone square below, bruising her back. Her eyes never left the animated ghoul that was her mother and the creature's eyes never left hers…
"This is your fault!" It repeated, screaming this time. "You left me here! You left me with these monsters in skins of men and you left me to burn! How could you?!"
"No, no, no! I didn't… I always… I couldn't… I told you…"
The corpse laughed humorlessly and it sounded like ravens croaking.
"I died because of you. I burned because of you!"
"No, no, no…" Alyra curled up on herself, hiding her face from the accusing monster as if it could protect her, as if it could make the pain stop… she shut her eyes and covered her ears but she could still hear the corpse, screaming with her mother's voice, its words penetrating her heart like icy spears…
"You killed me, Alyrethielle."
Alyra let out an anguished howl and suddenly, everything stopped.
She was alone in the silence, panting heavily and sobbing, curled up on the hard ground. For the longest time, she did not want to move, did not want to get up… as if laying there would protect her from any further illusions, from the rest of the pain in store for her…
For the first time since she'd been dumped in this hell, she wondered just how long she would be a prisoner here and if she'd be able to make it through this ordeal. With what had just happened, she really, truly wondered if this was not going to be too much, even for her… was she going to shatter here? Would this place be the end of her?
Alyra even, for the briefest moment, asked herself if she should not have just accepted Eredin's offer to ride at his side… but that though vanished as soon as it appeared and she rose slowly, gingerly, wiping her face with a hand to erase the tears that had stained it. She no longer felt confident in her ability to survive whatever was thrown at her, but she knew she was still a while from reaching her limit. She could do this… she had to.
She had to remember that this horribly realistic place was chock-full of illusions and that they were not real, no matter how real they might seem…
Sadly, she no longer had the Viper blade. She must had dropped it when she pushed through the crown and to her mother's burning pyre…
Shaking the image from her head, the girl turned on herself, anew in the reddish world. At once, she felt she was not alone. The trees around her grew morbidly, reaching for the sky and became so dense they let through almost no light. Strangely, they were no longer mangy, scratchy things but rather tall pines and full oaks, dark and menacing. Alyra kept turning on herself, a feeling of anxiousness gnawing at her as she tried to pierce the shadows, searching for… for what? She did not know, but there was something here with her and she had to be afraid of it! She remembered this… these trees, this clearing… there was a stream nearby, she could hear it even though she could not see it… they were out hunting and she…
She'd followed one of her father's soldiers who told her he'd spied a fawn in the thicket during the pause in their hunt…
Where, just a second ago there was nothing right next to her, now there stood a tall, armored man with a gaze as hard as stone. This was a memory and she knew exactly what was going to happen, but she was frozen next to him, paralyzed and unable to act…
She saw him reach for her slowly with this mailed hand, his other hand grasping a sharp hunting knife at his side, which he pulled slowly from its scabbard. She saw everything in excruciating detail, incredibly aware of every tiny aspect of what she was seeing, as though she could simultaneously focus on absolutely everything around her. She knew who he was: he was the hired killer her father's wife had taken into her service to get rid of her… he was there to end her life, to butcher her like some animal…
Alyra twisted out of his grasp nimbly, but just a moment too late: his razor-sharp knife flashed towards her, catching her on the cheek and drawing a long line of fire along her face, neck and all the way to her shoulder.
She was screaming in terror as the soldier tried to grab her anew, tried to finish what he had started…
Suddenly, just like that, the clearing was gone, he was gone and she was panting again, hands rapidly running up and down her face and the long, ugly scar that had been left there by that encounter…
"This has to stop…" She mumbled, rushing off along the stone path in the reddish world, stumbling as she went. "This has to stop…"
She heard a resonating neigh to her left and glanced, her panicked gaze landing on a very familiar piebald gelding that stood nearby, pawing at the ground impatiently, saddled and ready to ride. A sound somewhere between a sob and a distraught moan escaped her lips as she recognized her beloved mount…
"Oxon…" Alyra felt new tears threaten her eyes. ""Oxon, no… no I know you're dead… I remember you dying… you're in Velen, you're not here… Oh, Ox…"
She stumbled towards him nonetheless, hands extended as she reached for his warm muzzle, pressing her palms to his soft fur and pulling her arms around his neck to hug this beast that had traveled through hell and high water by her side for several years… she felt him wrench out of her grasp and she cried out, looking up as he reared, screaming, a spell devouring him as he kicked his front legs wildly, howling from the pain…
The great horse collapsed into a heap on the ground and became naught but bones and rotten flesh, raven pecking out his innards as she backed away, tripping over rocks. The ravens turned their beady eyes to her, their beaks shiny with blood and bits of meat and took flight with an angry caw, aiming their piercing talons at her face…
There was a sudden, sharp sound like the clap of two hands together and it tore through the world with deafening resonance, silencing everything, even the whispers on the wind. Alyra looked up and saw that the flying ravens were frozen mid-flight, angry eyes still fixed on her, where she had fallen square on her ass. Slowly, she rose to her feet, eyes straying from the unmoving birds to look around and find the source of the clap. She did not have to look far: to her right, just a few yards away stood a man, leaning casually against one of the mangy trees with his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smirk playing on his lips, his very dark and terribly dangerous gaze fixed curiously on her.
"I'm away for less than a day and already I have a little bird trapped in my world…" His voice was soft and amiable, but she sensed an undertone that promised he was an extremely dangerous being. Alyra immediately feared him more than Eredin. "How is it you strayed here, lovely little thing?"
She swayed slowly on her shaky legs, wondering briefly if he was just another illusion… but somehow, she knew he was not. So far she'd only seen things and people that she knew, with which she was familiar… and she had never seen this man before. Besides, there was something about him… something that made him terribly real, much more so than any of the apparitions she'd seen so far.
And yet he looked so very ordinary… hair cropped was so short it was as though he was bald, dressed in simple linen and leather clothes with no jewels, adornments or visible weapons… then why could she not shake the feeling he was not to be trifled with?
"Because that feeling is right, lovely girl." He said, answering her unspoken question. Her stomach constricted painfully when she understood he could read minds. "I'll skip to the introductions then, Alyra, known as Alyrethielle Eatebleidd, song of the summer wolf, because I find it awfully unfair that I should know your name and not you mine. I am Gaunter O'Dimm, merchant of mirrors, at your service."
The man bowed lightly, his gaze never leaving hers and she curtsied awkwardly in response, in a daze.
"Pleasure…" She rasped before clearing her throat somewhat. Gaunter smiled an enigmatic smile.
"That we shall see. Now… tell me how it is you stumbled into this realm?"
"E… Eredin, he… he opened a port-…"
Gaunter raised a hand, scowling. "No more. I understand. That sorry excuse for a king thinks he can drop off whatever he pleases here whenever he so wants… he and I are going to have to have us a little chat. Unless…" He gazed at her more intently, frowning. Alyra was assaulted by a feeling of vertigo, as though she was staring straight down into a gorge so deep she could not see the bottom. "Unless you and I can work out a little deal that would benefit the two of us. Hm? What say you, Summer Wolf?"
She gaped at him like some fish, her mouth working wordlessly for a few seconds before she found her voice again. "What? I don't… I don't understand. Who are you? What are you? Where am I? What the fuck is going on?"
Maybe this was just another torment, meant to drive her over the edge… she did not know anymore…
The strange man had a look that indicated he was losing his patience. "I am Gaunter O'Dimm, as I told you. Don't play the dim-wit; you are a clever girl and Witcher-taught to boot: you can work out the rest."
She swallowed heavily. "Alright… alright…" Her voice was shaky. "So… Gaunter… I get I'm in another world, in your world… but I don't get what you are… you're clearly no ordinary merchant of mirrors… are you a mage?"
He laughed heartily at her comment, as though she'd made a famous joke. His smile never reached his eyes and she found it was making her hairs stand on end.
"Don't be silly." He shook his head. "I'm no mage and you know it, just as I am no simple merchant of mirrors. Deep down, in the confines of your little, fragile being, where you hide all your deepest, darkest fears and desires, you know exactly what I am. However, if you so choose to prod at that knowledge, you will find that what Imlerith did to you last night was pure bliss compared to what I will do to you."
Alyra knew he was not kidding. The ravenous darkness in his eyes promised her that.
"You spoke of a deal…" She chanced slowly, changing the subject. "Can you help me get back to my world?"
"Is that what you want? Truly want?" Gaunter asked eagerly and she felt uneasy.
"Yes." She said after a brief moment of hesitation. "Yes. I want to go back to my world. I want to be free of Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir and return to my world."
The strange man moved away from the tree against which he'd been leaning, striding casually towards her with an extended hand. Gingerly, she took it to shake it, expecting his skin to be freezing cold but finding it surprisingly warm to the touch.
"What do I have to do in exchange?" She asked cautiously, trying to pull her hand away. It was locked in his iron-like grip, however, and she stopped struggling, knowing very well she would not be able to break free until he himself decided to let her go. His dark gaze sunk into hers and she felt almost hypnotized by it…
"You will go back to Eredin and keep resisting him and his two lackeys." Gaunter ordered in a strange, frightening voice. "When the times comes, I will come to you and tell you to do certain things. Do those things and you will be able to go back to your world."
"I…" Alyra swallowed heavily, her mouth full of cotton. "Can't you just send me back? Now?"
Again, the man chuckled, but his eyes remained as cold as snow. "No, little wolf. There are certain events that must unfold before I can interfere with them, and if I let you go back now, they might play out very differently. You will do as you're told and help me speed them along so that this chain of events happens exactly as it is supposed to. Afterwards, you will get what you desire… but only if you obey me, is that understood?"
She nodded vapidly.
"Good girl. I know you want the torment to end, but sadly there is no easy way out of anything, no black or white in this world, or in any world for that matter and I can only say this: you must endure through the path laid out for you because you have become entwined in something much bigger than yourself… something beyond even my touch… something that has been in the making for many, many years and is finally coming to a close. As such, you must endure, or perish in the attempt…
"Because the world… well, it's all just shades of grey."
(0)
Roll credits! Just kidding (if you watch Cinema Sins on YouTube you might get that reference). I hope you like the more complex path this story is taking; I know I'm having loads of fun writing it. It's crazy how a chapter can elaborate itself into something… I started this with the idea that she should meet Gaunter in this weird world we saw in the Hearts of Stone DLC and knew I wanted her to rummage through some painful memories… the only one I could think of putting her through was the fear of losing her mother and the others just… came along. Hadn't planned to have her meet Letho, but that also kind of happened, and to be honest, I have a thing for guys with huge arms, so I enjoyed writing that too!
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