Lucy, you're about to find out if your suspicions were right or wrong! And yeah, Caranthir was always the creepiest for me too, but that may be because we see and hear so little of him during the game. I read about him on the wiki, as I haven't read the books to that point yet.

Davs, you said it!

Beespoken, welcome amongst us! Glad you enjoy the story.

Guest, keep on reading, it might just get better… or not…

Bolondka, I know I was rough last chapter… but somehow I couldn't bring myself to have Caranthir have sex with her, it seemed out of character for how I had imagined him. He's more snobbish, and feels it is beneath him to sleep with a human, or a half human. And yeah, I know people sometimes skip a chapter or so in their reviews, but call me an attention whore, I love seeing new reviews and love reading them!

Importchic, not a problem, I'm just glad you still read and enjoy the story. I have loads of time to think about it and plan ahead during my work hours (it's a very boring job). And… keep it a secret, but I have at least one sequel already planned and perhaps another one after that. I'm having a lot of fun writing this story.

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Alyra had to be carried out of Caranthir's dungeon when he was done with her. It was not quite morning, so a rider took her with him on a horse and they rode through the city, all the way to the infirmary. The girl was limp and wordless, her hands woven into the horse's mane in front of her, her gaze lost and vapid. At least they'd had the decency of dressing her before she left and she did not have to ride naked…

He'd pushed her to her breaking point, but dared go no farther, as his king had specifically asked the girl still be whole when he was done with her. Truthfully, he was amazed at her resilience: he'd never before met a being so adept at staying obtusely silent during some of the worst torture he'd ever put anyone through. He'd forced her to revisit more painful memories tied to her scars, but none were quite as vividly brutal as the one tied to the spear wound, although it had permitted him to rip a few names out of her as she dipped in and out of a panicked haze of agony and despair. For one, she'd cried out after her mother (she did not remember saying her name, but in truth she was sure of nothing) as she re-visited the moment where one of her father's soldiers had tried to kill her and Caranthir had also finally learned that it was a Witcher of the name of Lambert who had removed that spear from her belly and she had also been saved by another Witcher, one named Letho, from the bolt she'd received through her thigh. He'd mocked her for laying with these dh'oine mongrels in exchange for their knowledge in combat, magic and potion making like some common whore, but his words did not reach her as much as he'd hoped. For one, Letho was much more to her than some Witcher she'd fucked just to trade for his techniques and even Lambert had become somewhat of a good friend after their ordeal, allowing her to almost overlook how much of a prick he could be at times. She did not expect someone like Caranthir to understand the complexity of those relationships, so she stayed silent as he made mock of her, secretly thankful that she'd been able to so vividly relive those brief moments with both Witchers. It was almost a balm on her torn soul, because after delving into her memories, he put her through spells that targeted various parts of her body with different sorts of pain and the night had just dragged on…

What truly terrified her was that Caranthir now knew the names of those important to her. She knew very well that, should they be found, they could be used to make her sway in her decision not to join the Hunt… it was for that reason that she had initially told Ge'els that her mother was dead, even if she was not: they could not go after a dead person. She hoped she hadn't contradicted that statement sometime during her blinding agony. Alyra tried in vain to reassure herself that both Lambert and Letho were skilled Witchers and would be able to handle the Hunt should it come after them… but she was worried all the same. Truthfully, she did not know where Lambert was and if he was even alive: she'd met with him a couple times after the spear incident as he'd been working contracts near her and grudgingly accepted her help, but the last time she'd seen him was well over two years ago. Letho she'd seen a couple of months past, but he'd recently sent her a note saying he was undertaking a dangerous mission and would contact her again once it was done… she'd had no news, so she assumed the worse had happened. Even if it saddened her greatly to think him dead, she was glad that the Hunt could not reach him.

As for her mother… she only prayed they still thought her dead. Alyra had no idea what she'd do if Eliaine was brought to Tir nà Lia and threatened with hell knows what unless her daughter joined the Hunt… in truth she had no idea what she'd do if the same happened with Letho or Lambert… would she bend her knee and join Eredin? Or would she resist?

She chased the thought from her mind, having no desire to deal with something like that.

She was carried into the infirmary and laid in one of the soft, white bed, where the Aen Elle healer immediately approached her with a very grave look on her face, hand over her mouth as she assessed the girl's state.

"Is she…" Alyra heard the woman ask the soldier who had brought her. "Is she…?"

"No." He answered curtly. "I don't think she's…"

"I'm right here, you know." Alyra whispered, her raw throat in absolutely agony. She coughed slightly and grimaced at the pain. "Don't talk about me like…"

"Hush now, child." The medic interrupted, pressing a hand to her forehead as if to take her temperature. She grabbed the girl's wrist and searched for her pulse. "She spent all night… all night with him?"

Alyra saw the soldier look away. He stayed silent for a moment.

"Yes. We heard her screaming until dawn."

The healer rounded on him like some angry animal and Alyra saw the soldier flinch. "And you let him do this to her…" The Aen Elle woman snarled very quietly.

The soldier shrugged. "We do not interfere."

The healer stared at him, but Alyra could not see her expression.

"Get out of here."

Her voice was curt and cold as ice. The soldier bowed his head stiffly, turned and walked towards the door, his greave boots clanking against the stone floor like a death march. Before he exited though, he stopped and turned slightly.

"I have never seen anyone survive a whole night with the Navigator. Never."

With that, he was gone and the healer started fluttering about the room, mumbling to herself angrily as she grabbed for vials and bandages, although Alyra wondered what for: she was physically unharmed, as far as she knew, save for the damage caused by her magic outburst the day before, which had most obviously not been fatal.

Almost as if reading her mind, the elven healer stopped what she was doing and glanced at her. "The sort of torture Caranthir can put a being through does more damage than one would think… often damage that cannot be seen. Besides, I take it you have been neglected and strongly… abused.. .these past few days. I'll give you something that will help your body recover."

"I don't want it to recover…" Alyra whispered, but her voice was so tiny that the healer did not hear her.

She busied herself some more and was starting to gently feed the girl spoonfuls of various, oddly smelling, oozing liquids, when a soft knock at the door interrupted her. Both Alyra and the medic glanced at who had come to disturb them and while the elf was annoyed by the visitor, the girl was somewhat glad to recognize Nathiel, the human sorcerer that rode with the Hunt, draped in a dark cloak and carrying a wrapped bundle under his arm.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Essea." He bowed lightly and came in. "I have something for Alyrethielle."

The healer grumbled something and resumed giving potions to the girl. One that was red and quite viscous and tasted something like a mix between fire and cool mint went down Alyra's throat and removed all the raw pain that had settled there. Another potion, very liquid and very black, went down without any taste but immediately filled her with a generous wave of peace. The healer had been right: something within her had greatly been affected by the trauma Caranthir had caused and she had not even realized it until this potion dulled the hollow agony that still hid within her soul. She suddenly dreaded having the brew's effects dissipate…

Nathiel stood at the girl's side and waited patiently for Essea to finish giving her everything she thought was needed, staring at his feet the whole time. Alyra studied his face, trying to understand the emotions painted there, but was unable to decide if it was guilt, fear or regret. In the end, the healer mumbled something about going to fetch some food for her patient, before gathering up her vials and leaving the room, shutting the door with more force than was probably necessary.

There was a long moment of silence as Alyra stared at the mage and he kept his eyes resolutely fixed on his boots, refusing to meet her gaze. Eventually, he sighed softly and deposited the wrapped bundle on her bed, right beside her hand.

"I brewed the Witcher potions you asked me for." He said softly, clearing his throat and glancing up at her. "You should know that it was Eredin who authorised me to do so, even encouraged me. All in the hopes of torm-…"

"Tormenting me longer, yes. You've said so already." Alyra cut him off with a low voice. Her throat hurt her no more, but she did not have to do more than whisper: the room was dead-silent. "If he can keep me in good shape longer, he buys himself more time to make me bend to his demands."

The silence was heavy between them. It was Nathiel who broke it.

"He made you the offer… he asked you to ride with him. It means he values your strength, sees potential in what you can do… he made you the offer and you refused… did I not warn you? Did I not tell you it was best if you accepted?"

The gaze she sent him was so cold and furious that he fell silent again.

"I will never ride with the Wild Hunt." She snarled under her breath, but the mage heard her very clearly. "Take your potions. Take them and leave. When I asked for them, I thought I was going to fight. But now I know. Now I understand. I'm not going to fight anymore. I'm going to… I'm going to die. I will die before I join him. I do not fear death; I have faced it many times before and many times before I have accepted it. Caranthir helped remind me of that. So I will welcome death with open arms and without fear."

"It is not your death that should worry you." Nathiel said so softly that she almost did not make out his words. He glanced at her briefly, with a look akin to worry, before grabbing the wrapped bundle and turning on his heels to leave the room.

Stunned, she pushed herself up on her elbows. "Nathiel!"

Her cry made him freeze right as he was about to open the door.

"What do you mean by that?"

She saw him sigh. "I've already said too much, I cannot…"

"Answer me." She snarled, struggling out of the bed, her body still aching.

Nathiel glanced back at her. "You may not fear death, but… but you do fear that someone else could die… because of you." He opened the door slowly. "Trust me, Alyra… accept him now… before…"

But he bit back his final words and was gone with a whirl of his dark cloak and she did not follow him, somehow knowing he would not answer her, no matter how much she insisted.

But she understood… yes, she understood. She was right to worry about the ones that were dear to her, apparently: Nathiel was clearly letting on that Eredin could and would go after them to persuade her to join him… but all those she loved where either dead or, as far as the king knew, were considered dead, no? They were safe… no?

Alyra felt cold dread seeping through her soul slowly, spreading through her body like progressing, freezing icicles. She had a terrible feeling about all this…

Essea returned to the room and was starting to protest the fact that the girl was up and out of her bed, but Alyra interrupted her.

"Take me to the arena. I have Aen Elle to fight."

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The healer tried to persuade her to stay, but Alyra was adamant: she did not want to eat, she did not want brews that would heal her… she wanted to go to that arena and fight. No matter how Essea tried to explain that she stood no chance unless she rested, Alyra pushed her aside and made for the door.

What the healer did not understand was this: Alyra did not want to delay the inevitable any more. Healing… eating… sleeping… it was just consumed time that filled the existence between now and when it would all come to an end… to when she would finally die.

So she left the infirmary, stumbling ever so slightly on wavering feet and made her way through familiar corridors, all the way to the heavy double doors that led into the sandy arena. The two guards standing watch at it glanced at her and she saw a glimmer of… was that respect? Fear? Did they think her utterly insane? She did not know… but they stood aside, pushing the doors open and let her through without a word.

She stumbled in, her legs threatening to buck beneath her.

Her green eyes were full of fire and hate and determination… they set, unwavering, on the only person present in the large, circular room.

"Imlerith…" She growled.

The large Aen Elle stared at her, an amused, cold smirk playing with his lips.

"Observant of you."

"Where are the king and… and his mage?" She asked, the violent pain from her night with Caranthir still so vivid that the very thought of him made her flinch.

Imlerith shrugged. "They had… other business to attend to, in another world. Couldn't join you today."

She made a noise that was half-scoff, half bark of wild, mad laugh. A servant came up to her with her twin blades laid down neatly on a silk cushion, but she ignored him altogether, staring intently at Imlerith, who had grabbed for his own blade.

"All for the best, I suppose…" She sneered humorlessly. "We can stop pretending this farce of a game was ever for me to choose my fate and somehow survive any of you… we can stop pretending I'm actually in control of anything that happens to me."

"Caranthir went hard on you, didn't he?" Imlerith scoffed softly, coming slowly closer. She still hadn't taken up her blades and the servant was beginning to look anxious. "Has he broken you yet? Because that would make everything so much easier…"

"I'll die before I break."

"We'll see."

Imlerith moved towards her faster than she could have imagined… or perhaps her exhaustion was slowing her very senses… the servant leapt back, crying out in alarm as she braced for impact… at the last second, her very instincts took over and she found herself lashing out, lighting-quick, bashing the general's blade aside as she tried to slip past him…

But her body was beyond fatigue… it could not keep up…

He moved faster than she did and grabbed her by the arm, swinging her around like a rag doll, sending her flying into the sand. She rolled over herself a few times, trying to reduce the impact and started to struggle up, coughing with a mouthful of dirt, but her was on her in an instant, pinning her head back down into the sad with enough force to make her see stars. His blade lay a way off, long forgotten as he had understood that he did not need it to subdue her.

Alyra howled out ruefully, pushing at his arm, but he batted her feeble attempts aside and grabbed the front of her leather pants roughly, ripping the ties that held them up and pulling until they slipped down her hips, scratching at her skin all the way. She was snapping and snarling, a wild, wounded animal making its last stand, but the elf atop her was far too big and too strong for her to even hope escaping… she tried to wiggle out from under him, but her pinned her legs open with his and she felt him struggling with his own pants, undoing the ties that held them up.

Alyra howled anew, but Imlerith slammed a hand against her chest and she fell silent at once, all air escaping her lungs. He grabbed her body hard and before she could do as much as gasp, his hard member was up against her womanhood. He pushed into her like he had the first time, rough and without warning, drawing a pained cry from her lips.

"You are… nothing more… than a … dh'oine whore…" He snarled into her ear as he mounted her, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh as he held her down. There was pain between her legs, but also a… a growing laughter was filling her throat… she pulled her head back and there was something like a scream of agony, something like a yowl of mirth that escaped her, beyond her control.

She wrapped her legs tight around Imlerith and grabbed at him with her pained hands, pulling herself closer and up to him… she opened her mouth wide and bit him as hard as she could manage, right at the juncture of this neck and shoulder, her teeth sinking angrily into his white linen shirt, all the way into the tender skin beneath.

The general snarled, pushing her off roughly and her head snapped back, mouth full of blood, hitting the ground so hard the world went dark for a moment…

When her sight returned, all she could see was the ceiling of the arena, curved outwardly and… she had not noticed this before, but it was a painted fresco depicting various glorious, violent knight-like battles between numerous enemies… her eyes wandered over it for a moment as she found herself unable to gather her bearings, her mind buzzing and blank… then, she felt a panting, grumbling Imlerith rise from her extenuated body and shout something. She could not make out his words. There was something warm spilling from her cunt, but her brain refused to let her acknowledge what it might be.

In an instant, there were powerful arms grabbing her and lifting her up… her unresponsive feet dragged through the pale sand as she was clumsily carried from the arena, through a pair of wide doors and down a relentless corridor. It seemed to take ages, but when she was finally set down, it was on a dank, damp stone floor in a room that had bars for a door and no light to bring it warmth or life…

There was a distant sound like mad laughter, and it took her quite a while to understand that it was coming from her own lips…

Good. She thought. Good. Let me the darkness come. Let death come. Let it all end.

I've had enough.

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NOTE: I am so sorry for the short chapter. I have lots of ideas still going for this story, but am working long hours of late. 68 hours this week alone… I want to give you guys something to read, so this is all I can write for now. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless and follow Alyra's slow spiral into madness.

Please review, it's what gives me motivation and passion to keep going!