Witcher and Skyrim Crossover
"Go! Now!" Avallac'h yelled as he pushed Ciri through the portal. He hoped the destination he'd chosen would cover her tracks sufficiently.
Ciri landed hard on the dirt. Dazed, she looked up to see the canopy of trees around her. She automatically assumed that this was a different world, based on the nature of the portal Avallac'h opened. She slowly rose to her feet, grabbing a low lying tree branch to balance herself. There seemed to be path leading to a main road, so she followed it, hoping to find shelter. Ciri walked on, struggling to stay on her feet. She was exhausted, hungry, and lost. She didn't know how long she'd been walking when she heard the sound of wood being chopped. Ciri walked a bit faster to discover the source of the noise. She could feel her strength draining as her vision blurred and she stumbled. She finally traced the noise to a large clearing with a huge house in the middle of it. Ciri looked for the owner with the last of her strength. The last thing Ciri saw was a shirtless man with an axe in hand.
Ciri woke up sweaty and hot. Instead of the hard near frozen ground she'd collapsed on, she was now resting on a soft down bed. Her eyes darted around, registering her surroundings: a rustic room with some chests, candles and lots of swords mantled. She feebly tried to sit up, but was stopped by the sharp pain in her gut. She laid back down for a moment, then attempted again. She cried out as pain shot through her abdomen once more. A voice responded to her groans.
"Woah now, not so fast," Ciri looked to her side to see a smiling face. The man was very attractive, with long black hair tucked back into a ponytail, sky blue eyes, and a nose that reminded her of Geralt's. She propped herself up on her elbows.
"W-where am I?" she asked.
The man chuckled. "Well I guess you did seem a bit lost. You're in Skyrim, just west of Falkreath."
Ciri cursed internally. She'd suspected the portal Avallac'h opened would lead to another world, anywhere where the Wild Hunt couldn't track her.
"Great. And your name is?" She asked.
The man smiled again. "The name's Brynjar, though some call me Bryn," He looked at Ciri's ragged clothes. "You must've traveled long and hard, passed out right in front of me."
"Longer and harder than you've likely done," She felt the pit of her stomach grumble, no doubt from the wafting smell of cooked meat. Brynjar noticed the expression.
"Oh yeah, I've made some stew, in case you were hungry," Brynjar stood up. "Are you hungry?"
Ciri reattempted to sit up. She doubled over in pain. "I am, very much so. But you may have to help me up." Brynjar stretched out his hand and Ciri gripped them. He pulled her up effortlessly and held her up. Ciri noticed he smelt like pine needles. Once she gained her footing, she merely leaned on his shoulder. They walked into a large room, highlighted by a long table that was mostly empty. Ciri sat at the table, as Brynjar took a bowl and ladled soup into it. She hadn't noticed until now that he was still shirtless, flaunting his ripped abs and biceps. He took the bowl and sat in front of Ciri, along with several buttered loaves of bread and cheese. He sat across from Ciri, but hardly was seated before Ciri began slopping down the soup.
Brynjar chuckled. "I was right, you are hungry!" He poured her a tankard of mead. "Here, wash it down with this."
Ciri swiftly chugged the mead down, hardly stopping eating the stew. Brynjar held back a laugh as she drained the rest. "Thank you, I'd not eaten in… I'm not even sure how long," Ciri wiped her hands on a cloth. "And the stew, I'm surprised, didn't think a man could cook anything halfway edible."
Brynjar smiled again. Ciri thought his smile made him even more attractive. "When you're out here by yourself, there's plenty of time to learn," He poured mead for himself. "But you, you have not told me your name nor where you're from. So go on, then."
Ciri caught herself staring at his chest. "Um, right. I'm Ciri, and, as I'm sure you've noticed, I am not from these parts."
"That much is clear. Alright, I won't pry," Brynjar crossed his arms. "So what can I do, Ciri, to make you as comfortable as possible in these strange lands?"
Ciri leaned back a bit. "Well, you could do me the small favor of gathering some water for a bath. More of that stew would suffice as well."
Brynjar chuckled. "As for the soup, not an issue, but the bath, well, I'm afraid the only thing in the way of that is the lake."
"I suppose that's better than nothing," Ciri sighed. "I could do with more of that stew." Brynjar grinned as he took her bowl to refill it. Ciri took the liberty to pour herself another drink, admiring the back muscles of her host. She wondered just who he actually was. She found it hard to believe that he was just a random logger. No, he had the build of a warrior, a naturally gifted man. But what was he doing out here, clearly in the middle of nowhere?