Long delay, I know. I've hit some rough times. I lost one of my dogs to cancer and it just… sapped the life out of me. Didn't feel much like writing. I'm back and true to my promise, I will see this story through.

NightRowenTree, my pleasure!

Kateskates, you'll see!

Kittypawswrites, you'll see!

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Alyra did not know what to except when she rose the next morning, after a long night of twisting and turning, worried about the future. She'd seen wars, yes… but they had been human wars… they had been wars against disorganised, rogue elves and bandits. She had never ridden amongst soldiers and, even though she had just spent over a year amidst them, she still did not know what to expect…

She was left speechless at the ordered, military precision with which the Aen Elle legion could mobilize.

The camp was abuzz with motion and speech, but there was no screaming, or chaos in the movement around her, as she rounded up her own squadron. Alyra admired the passage of several regiments of fully armored elven warriors, who walked with ground-shaking steps, bearing shields, swords, maces and lances. Her own fighters had donned their light, leather and chainmail armor, their steps light and quiet, so unlike those of the rest of the warriors.

With utmost precision, everyone fell in formation outside the camp, where Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir awaited them, mounted and armored. Alyra left her soldiers at the back, knowing their charge would be one of the last to leave and found her place next to the other generals, sending a glance at Nathiel, who sat atop a horse nearby, visibly ill at ease in this context.

Caranthir raised his iced staff high and slammed it into the ground. A portal opened with a growl next to him and Imlerith spurred his horse forward, raising his immense mace high above his head.

"Dearg ruadhri with me!" He roared, a sound that seemed to shake the very air around them all, and all the armored warriors answered with intense fury, raising their weapons high, slamming spears into the ground, hammering swords onto shields. They followed him as he plunged into the swirl of the portal, vanishing from this world.

A whole squadron managed to push through before the portal abruptly closed, obviously shut from the other side. Alyra nodded slowly, knowing that the Witchers and their allies had indeed been expecting them, as she had supposed the night before. They had prepared for the assault, arming themselves with methods to shut the passages that spewed Wild Hunt soldiers to Kaer Morhen.

Caranthir swore, conjuring another portal as quickly as he could, which allowed a few more soldiers through before being forcibly shut as well. Nathiel came forward and assisted with opening more portals, working much slower than Caranthir, but managing to allow more fighters through, Eredin amongst them.

"Go with them. The sorceress has put up defences that prevent us from entering directly from here. Portal soldiers into the keep from over there." Caranthir ordered Nathiel dryly, conjuring another gateway. The human mage nodded and rode through without glancing back, gone with another few dozen fighters and hounds.

At last, it was her turn. Twenty fighters from her squadron, including Edrick and Ghevir, marched forward to meet her as she dismounted from her steed and turned to face the portal Caranthir had just opened before her. She understood he would be the last to go through, right after her, accompanied by a few of his own combatants.

Alyra charged through the gateway in silence, both her swords bared.

(0)

They appeared amidst pine trees, under a cloudy sky, their breaths steaming before them in the frosty air. It took Alyra a moment to gather her bearings and asses their environment: they seemed to be on the northern side of the keep, in the dense forest that bordered its walls, just a few feet away from said walls. This was where she'd told the generals the breech was located, but as she looked left and right, she found nothing but tall, stone structures that seemed uninterrupted.

Almost as if he read her mind, Edrick walked forth and placed a hand on the thick wall, looking at it carefully.

"This was recently fixed." He realised as he noted the fresher stones and hardening adhesive that had been used to keep it all in place. She nodded gravely, hearing the muffled sound of a fight coming from within the keep. Alyra was unable to say who might be winning at this time, but judging from the harsh clang of metal, the whistling of fireballs falling from the sky and the dying howls of hounds, she figured that the Witchers were not doing so bad…

She turned to her warriors, all of which were patiently awaiting her command.

"We can't go through here, so we'll flank the walls towards the west, until we reach the front gates. Hopefully, someone has smashed through them already…"

They moved out, remaining under the cover of trees; they were meant to be a surprise attack, after all. Fire rained around them, but they were lucky: the meteors sailed well past their sneaking squadron.

Within a few moments, Alyra heard the long, heavy howl of a war horn, but did not know what it could mean. The sound was cold and mournful, so she suspected it belonged to the Hunt… they pushed through the thicket as fast as they could, rounding the moat that barred the way into the keep, before scrambling up to the front gate, carefully observing the crenellations that rose along the entire length of the road to it: no arrow or magic shot out towards them as they appeared, so she understood they were not manned at this time. As she had assumed, the front gate had been smashed to bits, as had the second gate beyond… Alyra suspected she knew the brute responsible for this damage. Few warriors remained within the first courtyard, but she noticed that a great many deal of them now lay strewn across the ground, either dead or dying. As she charged across the yard, stepping over corpses and keeping her eyes sharp for traps or enemies, she could not help but feel a strange sensation: she remembered the last time she'd come here with Lambert, and the month they'd spent training and bantering between these very walls… it contrasted harshly with her vision of the place now, all in shambles and covered in flames.

Alyra cleared her head, maintain her fast pace, trying not find herself praying that none of the corpses she stepped over would belong to Lambert or Letho…

The second courtyard was barred by a heap of stone and wood. Alyra charged up a mighty Aard as she folded her fingers into the sign, howling as the energy drained form her body and sent the rubble flying out of their way. Edrick had to momentarily support her as she wavered on her feet, feeling light-headed after the sudden effort. Her fighters waited with her as she steadied her feet, before following her onward.

They passed Nathiel as he conjured portals to push the warriors further into the keep, his horse long lost in the fray.

Alyra looked towards the steps that led into the final, inner courtyard and saw Caranthir there, just as he released an overpowering burst of frost energy at the sealed gate which protected the Witchers, sending it flying open with a bang. At the same time, the bubble of magic energy that was shielding the keep seemed to flicker and vanish as whomever was casting it obviously ran out of strength to do so.

Her throat tight, her stomach in knots, Alyra rushed up the steps after Eredin, Imlerith and Caranthir, hoping against hope that she would not find those she cared about dead beyond…

Just beyond the gates, they passed a frozen figure that she recognized as the famous White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia himself. He stood there, oblivious and covered in frost and she made no attempt to harm him as she rushed past. Her soldiers did not touch him either: she'd given them strict orders to kill no one, only put them out of commission temporarily. Thankfully, no one had questioned her choices… she felt that if she'd had to explain why she didn't want the Witchers and their friends butchered, she would immediately be betraying the Hunt.

The king and his generals stood ahead in the courtyard. Alyra let her eyes wander over the soldiers of the Wild Hunt, brow furrowed as she searched for the others… up on a ledge, she saw one of the Wolf School Witchers, frozen in place with his hands held up as if to shield himself from the terrible magic of Caranthir's staff. She recognized him from the time she'd been here… what was his name? Erkel? Eskel? She could not seem to remember…

Alyra's breath caught in her throat as she spotted the figure that stood just beyond the first Witcher, long sword held firmly at his side, gaze turned with fury at the courtyard's door, frozen like the rest of the Hunt's enemies… it was hard not to recognize the massive man that was Letho of Gulet.

She was infinitely thankful that he could not move, or see her… what would he have done if he had recognized her? Would he have felt betrayed, spotting her as an enemy, before charging her down to kill her? Would he have understood, from what he knew of her, that she would have never agreed to join the Wild Hunt of her own, free will?

Alyra gathered her bearings, pretending she did not know any of those in the courtyard, knowing that if the king or his generals noticed her emotions, they would make sure the Witchers died.

She let her gaze glide over another figure, frozen in ice… she recognized Lambert without a doubt, standing next to a woman. She was clearly a sorceress, her extended hands still glowing faintly from the light of the spell she'd been casting as the Hunt broke through their last defences.

Alyra moved towards the king, who now stood near a young woman with ashen hair… she recognized Cirilla at once. Imlerith was holding another Witcher, this one unfrozen, up against a wall with a single hand. Alyra realized she knew him as well: it was the kind, old mentor of the School of the Wolf, who had trained Geralt, Lambert and the other Witcher here. His name Vesemir… he had always been kind to her during the time she'd stayed here, and had even taught her a thing or two about how to fight certain beasts more efficiently.

Suddenly, she wished the others were not encased in ice… she knew they would have understood her ploy, and perhaps she would have been able to get a message through to them, asking for their help in saving her mother from the curse that bound them both.

But it was too little, too late for that now… Alyra watched as the girl Cirilla dropped the sword she had held, and hung her head low as she stepped towards the king's extended hand, whose face was alight with a victorious glare. Alyra found she couldn't blame the girl… she had done the same thing when her back was against a wall and the Hunt made her chose between those she loved and herself… Cirilla cared too deeply for these people to let them die for her.

Vesemir called out to her, but she ignored him, stepping ever closer to the king. Alyra's unblooded soldiers stood behind her, watching the scene carefully, ready for anything. Someone stepped right up to her and she glanced sideways, recognizing Nathiel.

Then, everything went to Hell in a bottle.

The Witcher Vesemir, not about to give in and die without a fight for the child he loved so dearly, unsheathed a blade and plunged it into Imlerith's flank. The general howled in pain and rage, and as much as it caused Alyra immense pleasure to hear the great brute screaming, she had no doubt as to what would happen next. She shut her jaw tightly and muffled her cry of despair as she saw Imlerith twist the Witcher's throat with such force that his neck snapped audibly and he fell limply within the mailed grasp.

Her eyes closed painfully, but opened almost at once and she found Cirilla, who staggered sideways, shocked into silence by what she had just seen. Alyra's hard gaze found Eredin, who was moving towards the girl, coaxing her without a single thought for the being that she had loved and watched die by Imlerith's hand… she found hatred grow in her belly at the carelessness with which he acted, having just murdered one of the Elder Blood's closest friends, oblivious to the hurricane of dangerous power he had just prodded…

Alyra knew what was going to happen long before it did. She turned to Nathiel and grasped his arm harshly, forcing him to look at her and snap out of his surprise.

"Get us back. Now."

Her voice was so hard and quick that he nodded at once, regaining his composure. Behind her, she heard a woman's scream, which rose with the shrillness of pure agony, before slowly morphing into something more powerful, more deadly… she felt a strange sort of power fill the air around them, and knew at once that they had but mere moments to act.

Nathiel focused as he had never focused in his life, brown furrowed as he ignored everything around him, steading the magic in his hands as he mouthed words to a spell that would conjure a portal.

Not a moment too soon.

A hungry sort of gale rose around them just as the portal opened with a growl. She leapt through without thought, dragging a drained Nathiel along. Edrick and Ghevir followed without question, every fighter of her squadron knowing that she had predicted the danger that was about to unfold around them with excellent timing.

Just as they passed the portal and it closed behind them, a furious gust of power swept the courtyard, vaporising those that could not defend themselves, originating from the child of the Elder Blood, who knelt amidst the litter of corpses around her, arms spread wide as an unfathomable sort of power coursed through her, blanching her eyes and decimating anything it touched.

Eredin would have pushed to her, possibly killing himself in the process, were it not for Caranthir who pulled him back and threw both of them into a rapidly conjured portal.

(0)

Back in Tir nà Lia, it took a while to assess the damage they'd sustained. The only squadron that hadn't lost almost all of its soldiers was Alyra's, as they had been re-routed along the keep when they met with a solid wall instead of a breech. They'd arrived late to the fight, and it had saved them. The others were not so lucky: the combined strength of several Witchers, mages and sorceresses had cleaved through the Wild Hunt like a sharp axe through young trees, and the number of dead soldiers was far greater than the number of survivors. Eredin had sustained severe damage as he tried to brave the storm of chaotic energy that Cirilla had conjured and Imlerith was bleeding profusely from the dagger wound he'd taken from Vesemir. Both had to be rushed to the infirmary.

This left only her, Caranthir and Ge'els to discuss their next move, and none of them seemed ready to put forward any sort of idea. The Witchers had been few, but had decimated them. Cirilla had been alone, but the death of Vesemir had unleashed from within her the full extent of her dormant power. They'd tried for surprise attack and had failed. Terribly.

"Meeting them head-on would be suicide." Caranthir stated, pacing in the command room.

"No." Ge'els replied, his gaze lost. "What was suicide was going in for an assault on a strongly fortified position. It's nothing new that those who bunker down and fortify their keep can outlast and out kill most attackers. We should have drawn them out, pulled them away from Kaer Morhen…"

"They would have never left. Not with the girl under threat."

"We could have sieged them. Starved them out. They were surely not prepared to hold that position for more than a few weeks. I told Eredin as much…"

"He wanted the girl at once."

"A rash decision that cost him a large part of his fighting force." Ge'els snapped. It was the first time Alyra saw him lose his temper, and to Caranthir nonetheless.

The mage was livid.

A crushing silence filled the room and Alyra barely breathed from fear of attracting attention to herself. Both Aen Elle seemed to size each other up, their hard gazes shooting daggers at the other, neither ready to step down and admit they were wrong.

In the end, it was Ge'els that broke the heavy silence.

"Regardless." He swept his white hair over his shoulders. "We need a new strategy, some new way of tracking them down and attacking them. With a greater force and more magic support. They'll protect the girl with all they have, but they cannot hide for ever. All we have to do is find them."

"That won't be necessary." Alyra said softly and both elves' gazes snapped to her as they suddenly remembered she was in the room with them. She shrugged. "After what Imlerith has done to that Witcher… you can be sure they'll be the ones coming for us."

Her words sounded much more ominous that she thought they would be and as she glanced across the room and into the large mirror that hung over the fireplace there, Alyra could have sworn she saw a certain merchant of mirrors grinning at her enigmatically from the dark depths of the room's reflection.

(0)

Here we go for now! I know most of this was a re-tell from the scene in the games, albeit from a different point of view, but I hope you enjoyed it as well.

NOTE: to my readers that were hoping for a bigger confrontation between Alyra and the Witchers, I hope you're not too disappointed. I wanted to stay as true as possible to the actual game, as if you could play through it anew and imagine her in the background somewhere. Of course, that goes only if you make the pre-battle choice of fixing the wall instead of arming everyone with better blades. You may have noticed, but I'm too much of a goodie two-shoes to have not saved and recruited everyone during my actual gameplay, so this reflected in the story as well! So, I suppose: hurray, everyone is safe! For now…

Please review!