Chapter 12: Colourful Rats and Contracts

POV Ciri, 1267

Ciri groaned and opened her eyes. After blinking out the haze, she looked around. She found herself in a small room, with two other people. On her right was a slender, blond-haired man with an angular face. He was awake, but his green eyes looked to the floor and didn't notice her awaken.

To her left was a much larger man, though that might be because of his armour. He wore a long, thick gambeson under a few steel plates and leather belts. He had dark hair that reached down to his shoulders. He was facing away from her, but shifted in his sleep, turning to face her and Ciri saw a face she longed to see for a very long time.

"Jon!" she cried, though in her groggy state it sounded more like JA-nn.

He groaned and she crawled over to him, too groggy and hurried to walk properly. Once she reached him, she put her hands on his chest and started shaking him. She called out to him, trying desperately to wake him.

"You should stop doing that." the other man said, she looked to see the evil sneer on his face.

He was about to say more when the sound of footsteps and muffled voices interrupted him, "Hell of a catch, finding that witcher." one of them said, a young man by the sound of it.

The other grunted and said with a deep voice, "More trouble than he's worth, should'a just killed the mutant. We even have ta' keep him hidden."

"But think about the money if we sold him to some sorcerer, or a menagerie, or Houvenaghel to fight in his arena!" the first said excitedly.

The older man grunted again and the door was pushed open showing Ciri what the two looked like. The older man was fat and with a weak combover, the younger man was just that... young with dirt brown hair and skinny limbs. Each were holding a tray of food.

The older man walked over to the bound one and placed the food in front of him, along with some insults. The younger place his tray where Ciri woke up. Once the trays were out of their hands, they went to leave, but right when the older man opened the door. Jon moved, his eye lids twitching as he shifted again.

"Damn witchers, that's the third time today." the older man growled as he lumbered over to Ciri and the waking witcher. He put a hand into the pouch on his hip and pulled out a vial of purple liquid.

"What do you think you're doing!" Ciri demanded, which only earned her a sharp backhand and a "Shut up, girl!"

The young man came over and grabbed Ciri by her hair, she tried to use some sort of magic. Anything, but nothing came out, she couldn't even use the smallest force spell. So, all she could do was writhe against him and watch as the older man forced open Jon's mouth. Then poured the fluid down his throat, which he instinctually swallowed.

"Fuckin' mutant," the older man said, kicking Jon in the thigh, "shit's pricey... an' we have to give 'im enough to kill a few horses."

As Ciri watched, Jon slowly stopped moving and the veins in his face and hands turned black. Ciri struggled harder and the young man threw her to the ground. She quickly crawled over and checked Jon's pulse and breathing pattern. She let out a relieved breath when she felt a strong, if very slow, pulse and his even breathing.

Their captors left the room without another word. Once she could no longer hear their footsteps, Ciri rushed over to her food tray and looked for anything sharp. She found an old metal spoon.

Spoon in hand, she started going back to Jon when the blond man spoke up, "Cut mine instead, girl. They have the witcher drugged up to his eyes, won't be of much use."

"Wait, I have to sharpen it." she hissed and grabbed Jon's arm. She put the side of the spoon's handle to his smooth vambrace and started sharpening.

Ciri knew the man wasn't wrong, but didn't trust him not to leave without them. It seemed he read her mind when he said, "I won't be able to escape alone, there are too many of them. My comrades are coming, free me and you free yourself." he finished by bringing up his wrists.

Ciri bit her lip, hands still going over the same motions and she thought it over. Then told him, "We aren't leaving Jon."

"The witcher?" he looked down and scowled, "Fine, we take the bastard."

Ciri nodded and checked the spoon handle. It was good enough, so she moved over to the blond man. As she sawed through his robes, he asked her, "So, how does a little girl like you... know a witcher."

She hesitated in her answer, yet continued sawing. Ciri didn't want to give this man anything, but it would be suspicious if she didn't say anything. So, she went with a harmless answer that wasn't wholly wrong, "He's my brother." she said.

He nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. Probably because of their appearance, "He takes after our father." she explained.

His binds finally snaped and Ciri passed her quasi-knife to her fellow captive. He took it and started the process of freeing her wrists. The ropes soon fell from her hands and she rubbed the numbness from her joints.

Ciri stood and walked over to her unconscious Jon, then tried to sling him on her shoulders. "Out of the way." the blond man said, pushing her aside. She was about to make her annoyance known when he took Jon by the arm and pulled the much larger man onto his shoulders. Putting an arm between the witcher's legs to keep him stable.

"Fuck he's heavy." he grumbled, as Ciri snuck over to the door and pressed an ear against the wood. She listened, straining her ears for anything that would tell her there was a guard. Nothing, no talking, no mumbling, no breathing. Nothing. "No guards." she told him and pulled the door open.

Ciri slowly poked her head out and saw that the hall was empty. She passed through the doorway and into the hall, always looking out for anyone. The blond man stumbled behind her. "To the main room," he said, "that's where my comrades will attack."

She didn't want to go to the main room, where those... those bastards that took her here were, but she had to get Jon to safety. So, she nodded and crept towards the sound of voices.

"Fuck your prefect. We're paying for your drinks and you're denying us some fun? Hey, Skomlik, don't be a cheapskate! And you won't get into trouble, never fear, nor will you miss out on the reward! You'll deliver her in one piece. A wench isn't a fish bladder, it doesn't pop from being squeezed!" she heard a rough voice yell. The following laughter strengthened the shiver running down her spine, stopping her in her tracks.

"What are you doing!" the blond behind her hissed.

"We can't risk it, let's go a-" the sound of smashing glass, followed by something big and heavy hitting a table interrupted her.

After some more thuds Ciri heard a man yell, "It's the Raaats!"

Sounds of men dying, doors slamming open and the ring of steel erupted from the room ahead of them.

"They're here! Mistle!" the blond shouted, dropping Jon to the floor and running into the room. "Giselher! Reef! I'm here."

Ciri cursed and grabbed Jon by the shoulders, then dragged him over to the wall and laid his back against it. Once she was sure he wouldn't fall over, Ciri followed the blond man.

She came in just to see the end of the fight, a young woman with close cropped blond hair in a red doublet cut open Skomlik's throat with a savage slash. She swiped the blood off the fuller with a finger and turned to face the man who dropped Jon. "Kayleigh, good." she said, then yelled to the others "We're getting out of here! To the horses!" Ciri saw the blond man, Kayleigh, whisper into the leader's ear. She looked at Ciri, sneered and shook her head.

"Sorry little one, you and that 'brother' of yours are on your own." Kayleigh said, smiling slightly. Then the whole group rushed out of the inn, ignoring Ciri cries of "You bastard! Liar!"

Once they were all gone, Ciri cursed and quickly went back to Jon's immobile form. She put his arm around her shoulder and used all her strength to lift him off the floor. She half carried, half dragged his much taller form into the main room. Ciri tried her best to avoid the many corpses of her captors, none of whom she felt any sympathy for, along with any dropped blades and broken glass, but their pooling blood stained her shoes along with Jon's boots and the tail end of his gambeson.

Reaching the inn's front door, Ciri used her body to push open the large, wooden door and passed through. Hearing the sounds of raging villagers and galloping horses in the distance, Ciri dragged her Jon in the other direction, towards the nearest of the small cottages. Once she reached one of them Ciri started crying for help and slapping her hand on the door.

Only a few short seconds later, it thankfully opened and revealed a woman who was near the end of middle aged. Ciri channeled what Triss used to call "Her inner helpless princess" and said "H-help... my b-brother and I w-were in the i-i-inn w-when it happened. Jon won't wake up!" the act was perfect. Yes, all an act. She convinces herself.

"Oh, poor dears. Come in, come in." the older said, her voice filled with sympathy.

Ciri dragged the witcher, which was still hard to believe he accomplished so quickly, into the cottage with nearly sobbed "thank you"s.

"Set him down here deary." she instructed, pointing at a pile of old furs near the weakly glowing hearth.

Once he was laid down as comfortably as Ciri could manage, she started removing Jon's armour. She started with his vambraces, then his greaves and slowly peeled and wiggled him into his smallclothes. Ciri then covered him in some of the furs.

"You can sleep in my daughter's old room, child." The older woman said kindly.

"Here's fine." Ciri said, smiling up to her from next to Jon.

"Alright, have a good night then."

Ciri thanked her and watched as she walked out of the main room. No longer hearing the woman's footsteps, Ciri looks to Jon's face. She gazed at him fondly and put a hand to his cheek, still getting over her surprise of him being here.

She shook her head free of thoughts, laid down next to his unconscious form and curled up to sleep.

POV Jon

Jon was standing in only his shirt and underclothes, near the furs where he had woken up. He tucked in his medallion and looked to her

"So, you're a witcher then?" she asked... coyly?

"I started on the path only a week ago." he answered, his cheeks warming.

The princess of Cintra slowly walked over to him, hips swaying. "There's a story there... for later though. Now's not the time for talking."

Jon was just about to say something when she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down to her level and melted his brain with a searing kiss. Jon's hands instinctually found her waist, earning pleased sound.

Ciri's finger found their way to his hair and he felt something warm touch him lips. They opened on their own and the warm, wet something invaded his mouth. He quickly realized it was her tongue, the muscle excitedly explored everything it could: his gums, pallet, teeth and fangs. Then found his, prodded it into action and their tongues started to dance with each other.

Jon let out a growl, his hands moved down to her cheeks and gripping them hard, drawing out a moan from her.

Ciri pulled away with a gasp. Seeing her with her cheeks flushed and lips red, Jon could only call her beautiful.

"I love your new teeth." she breathed, while playing with the ends of his hair.

His words failed him, so instead he chose to show his feelings through action. Jon kissed her on the jaw, then trailed down her neck and down to her collarbone. Her hands left his head and slid a path down his back. One stopped on his ass and the other continued to his front. Then gripped his rock-hard length and forced out another growl from deep within him.

He was about to rip open her shirt and bring his lips lower when they heard a sound from nearby.

They both froze and glared at the source, it was a middle-aged woman. One of her hands was on her mouth, the other between her legs.

"We should go." Ciri said.

Jon hummed in agreement.

"Arctic... l-like the region?" Ciri laughed, her hand trying desperately to smother the sound.

"No, like the winds." he corrected.

"Don't pout, Jon." she said, slapping his shoulder.

"I don't-" he tried to defend

"It's good," she interrupted, "suits you too."

Jon kept himself from grumbling as they neared the inn where he and Ciri had been held captive. Ciri had told him, as he blushed furiously at her (and the older woman) watching him dress himself after their interruption, that both his and her weapons were still there.

Ciri stopped at the main door, Jon a half-second after her. He looked to her, Ciri's hands were trembling slightly and her brow was furrowed. He put a hand on her back, she looked to him and he gave her a nod.

She nodded back and took a breath before walking forward and slamming open the door. When Jon walked in after her, his eyes widened slightly at what he saw. Blood all over the walls, pooling on the floor and even some on the ceiling.

Everyone who had been in the room was cut down, even what seemed to be the innkeeper.

Jon followed behind Ciri and couldn't help but investigate. Under the overpowering smell of blood, he could pick out more scents than people in the room. Other than his and Ciri's, there were six others: four men, one woman and a female elf. Likely the perpetrators. Jon filed the information away; in case he was attacked by the group or he found a contract for them.

By the cuts and stabs on the corpses, Jon could tell they all had a similar level of skill, which was higher than average, but not quite what he would call good. He was wondering how only six, of their level, could have killed so many. The he saw the stump and he understood, it was the element of surprise. The attack must ha-

"Jon, quit analysing. We're here for a reason." Ciri called from the hall entrance, then mumbled something about witchers and getting distracted.

Jon acquiesced and swiftly walked over to her. When he did, Ciri told him that the trappers had all of their extra gear in one room and that she knew which one it was. So, she would go there while he would search the other rooms for the things of the men who held him.

It was in the third room he found his captors' stash. A few saddlebags and his greatsword and dirk lying on one of the beds. He quickly belted on Cerbin's half-scabbard and his dirk's sheath. Then searched the saddlebags: finding five marks, a few of his potions, a lock of braided red hair, an iron key, throwing knives, a plain golden ring that felt oddly enticing and a well-made silver chain.

He took the coin, chain, key, knives and potions. Then left the room.

POV Ciri

Ciri patted her new, white mare's neck, thinking on a name for it as she and Jon rode away from the village. "So, where do you want to go?" she heard Jon ask.

She looked over at him with a question in her eyes.

"We can go wherever you want, from Povis to Rowan. Anywhere we can ride or sail to." he said, reminding her of what she had told him so long ago. It seemed like that day was a hundred years ago.

Ciri thought on her answer for a moment, then told him "Toussaint and anything interesting we see along the way." she finished with a beaming smile. Which he returned with his own small one.

Jon kicked his large black mare, who was also unnamed, into a quicker walk. Then Ciri matched his speed, then he went faster and before they knew it. They were racing to the horizon.

_ One week later

A half-day away from fortress Sarda, Ciri heard the piercing screech of an eagle. Looking up, she saw a brown and blue mark in the sky. As it came closer, she saw who it was.

It had been such a long time since she'd seen the bird and, like Jon, he had changed a lot. Gwyn had grown nearly twice his previous size, his tail and flight feathers, along with a few scattered around, had turned the same pale blue of his beak.

The eagle circled around her and then swoped down from behind to perch himself on Ciri's shoulder, she almost giggle when he nearly fell off due to his size.

"He's happy to see you." Jon informed her, Gwyn bobbing his head in agreement.

Look at us, all together again.

POV Rhegen, Three weeks later

Rhegen shifted in his crouched position, earning a slap and a hissed "Quit it!" from his brother Dernar. He was about to hit him back when something caught his eye, that damn bird again. He could see it through the leaves and had half a mind to just shoot it down, but couldn't give away his position.

Rhegen looked back to the road and sighed, he was getting tired of waiting for the bitch.

His legs were going numb when Dernar tapped his arm, then pointed to the road.

There she is. The girl was just as Bonhart had said earlier, young and skinny with ashen hair. She didn't even have a horse. Rhegen looked left at Bonhart and saw that he noticed her too.

The three bounty hunters waited until she was in position, but right before she passed them... the girl stopped and turned to look at the bushes they hid in. Then she raised her hand and whistled

The piercing noise was followed by the sound of screams and the rending of flesh from the other side of the road. They only lasted a moment before falling silent and a man left the treeline.

He was tall, dark and splattered with blood. He came to stand next to their target while she crossed her arms, "You can come out now, I know you're there." the girl finished with a smirk. The young man remained stone faced.

The two brothers looked to Bonhart, unsure of what to do. The more experienced man hunter only smirked and stood up. Then left the brush, "Ah, a witcher. Tell me, recognise these?" he asked, pulling up his chain to show his medallions.

Rhegen focused on the mutant's face and only now noticed the telltale cat eyes.

The witcher said nothing at Bonhart's taunt, he only unsheathed his claymore and readied a stance. The girl doing the same.

Bonhart grunted and pulled out his longsword, prompting Rhegen to heft his mace and Dernar to ready his bearded axe.

He looked to his brother and Dernar nodded, then they both rushed the witcher. Dernar swung at his shoulder, which the witcher easily dodged. Right into the path of Rhegen's mace, forcing him to hop backwards.

The witcher sent a quick sweep of his enormous blade at the brothers' legs, Dernar ran back and Rhegen jumped. Suddenly all he could see was grey and pain erupted from his nose with a crunch.

Rhegen stumbled back and barely blocked the next swing, his foe's smoky blade slamming into the wooden shaft of his mace and sending him to his knees. Through blurry vision, Rhegen could see the witcher readying his next strike. Before parrying Dernar's axe, then countering with a cut to his brother's chest that ripped through the gambeson.

"Shit" Dernar cursed, "Get up already, brother!".

Rhegen pulled himself up to his feet and charged the witcher, using both hands in his swing to the mutant's head. He swiftly dodged and whipped his blade around his head. The claymore blurred and warm exploded from Rhegen's side, quickly followed by a searing pain. He looked down and saw that the witcher's blade had bitten deep into him, cutting halfway through his chest.

"Fuck..." he said, while the coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth.

POV Jon

On to the next, Jon though as he pulled Cerbin out of the mace wielding man's gut, letting his blood fall out of him in a flood of crimson.

"Rhegen!" the axe-man yelled as the dying one, Rhegen, fell over.

Jon readied himself for the impending rage filled charge, but it never came. The remaining man's eyes brimmed with tears, but his face was resolute and his long-shafted axe held firmly in both hands. He calmly approached until he was in Jon's reach and swung down at him in a barbaric arc.

The young witcher dodged the strike and swiftly countered, but his sword was parried away. Then the axe head came back, this time from the side. Jon ducked under it and pulled his dirk from its sheath, then sank it into the axe-man's thigh.

The man yelled and struck at Jon with the butt of the axe, missing, but also forcing him to leave his silver blade in his leg.

Jon stood parrying another strike and struck back with a spinning counter that sliced through the axe-man's right arm, cutting it off just below the elbow. The man growled and clumsily swung with his remaining hand, missing wildly.

The witcher finished the fight with a downward swing that split the man head to upper chest. Jon ripped his greatsword from the corpse and retrieved his dirk.

Cleaning the blade, he looked to Ciri's fight. What he saw shocked him, the man was still alive and as he watched he realised. He's playing with her.

The bounty hunter was middle-aged with oddly familiar dead eyes and a thick grey mustache, his footwork was perfect and his sword easily parried Ciri's every attack. Yet never lashed out.

Jon quickly sheathed his dirk and pulled out a throwing knife. He sent a though to Gwyn and waited for an opening... the moment it came he quickly threw the blade and ran right after it.

POV Ciri

Fuckfuckfuck. Her foe parried another one of her strikes, his mouth still curled up in the same sneer he had when they started. Ciri danced backwards and heard the soft whistle of one of Jon's knives, followed by quick, light steps.

The ambusher's brow twitched as he turned and deflected the knife, but that opened him up for Jon's attack. It was a frenzy of circling blows, each one using the momentum of the last. So that each strike was harder and faster than the one before. The man slowly stepped backwards, Jon following and sending attack after attack. All of them were barely pushed away from their mark.

As the two fought, Ciri circled around them and watched for any weakness from either of them. Ready to jump in at any moment.

Jon's sword was getting so fast she could only see a dark blur, but suddenly the ambusher parried just right and Cerbin slammed into the dirt. The failed attack let Jon open for their foe to brutally smash his blade onto Jon's plated forearm, denting the metal and forcing the witcher to drop the large weapon.

Ciri ran at him as silently as she could, hoping he'd be too distracted by his victory to notice her, but looked at Jon. His eyes told her to wait, so she skidded to a stop and shortly after,as the man raised his blade, there was an eagle's cry. All three looked up to see a bird dropping a waterskin at their ambusher. The man grunted and quickly cut the flying water holder down. "That's your plan?" he said, his voice full of contempt, "Distra-" he was interrupted by an icicle sprouting from his back.

He coughed and yet readied his sword again, but then the ice sunk into his body and then he shook violently. The man fell over and Jon stood, pulling off his damaged vambrace. As she walked over, sheathing her sword, he retrieved his knife and Cerbin. Sheathing them both quietly.

Ciri quickly reached her Jon and put her arms around his neck, giving him a passionate kiss. Ever since finishing their first monster killing contract some weeks ago, Ciri discovered that watching Jon win a fight always, always got her going.

POV Jon Arryn, 294

As Jon prayed on his old knees, he could hear the screams of his wife from beyond the door. It was the seventh hour of labour and the Lord Hand felt it was a good sign. The others had lasted under two and Robert eight.

Only moments later, Lysa's cries weakened and he feared that the worst had come to pass, but soon he heard a babe's high-pitched wails echo and Jon smiled.

Jon stood as quickly as his old bones would allow and eagerly opened the door to see his wife and child. Lysa's, admittedly pudgy, face was drenched in sweat and her auburn curls matted to her forehead. She held the small bundle with a blank, almost disbelieving face.

As he cautiously approached, their babe's cries were slowly replaced by gurgles. Jon leaned against the bed post at Lysa's side and looked to the maester. "It is a girl." the maester softly informed him. He nodded and looked to the child. The first thing that struck him were her eyes, she had the same sky blue he did. Then it was her hair, the same sandy blond that used to cover Jon's own head. Finally, it was her size, almost twice as big as Robert when he was born.

"Alyssa." he named, as she gummed her little fist.

When he saw Lysa's arms start to shake, he took his daughter into his own and she gave a big, toothless smile. Jon chuckled and left the room.

_14 months later_

"Papa!" Alyssa yelled as she stumbled over to Jon's chair and his open arms. "Almost there, my dear. Just a little more." his words seemed to spur her on to go faster and she quickly reached him, falling into his hands.

Jon lifted her off the floor and onto his knee, showering her with praise. His little girl giggled in response.

For the past year, two months and four days, Jon has only done two things other than sleep and eat. The first was his work as Robert's Hand, which took far too much of his time, and the second was spend time with Alyssa, which he would much rather do instead.

Other lords would find it strange that he would spend so much time with her, but Jon didn't care. She would most likely be his last child and he didn't spend much time with his son, the boy didn't like him much. Besides, he was an old man and knew he didn't have many years left.