I'm gratified by the response for this story, but I have bad news. After two chapters in, I realised I wasn't quite feeling it, so I'll try another tack for a Witcher crossover. I already have more than a few ideas.
I should take this opportunity to thank both Beleriond and Acolyte of the Blood Moon for their help. Beleriond actually began some correspondence with me on a Witcher crossover, discussing a couple of ideas that I hadn't considered, and while they won't be used for the fics I have in mind so far, I may yet use them if my current ideas go south. Acolyte of the Blood Moon helped me with some discussion of my initial synopsis of this story.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy...
ŚNIEŻYCA
CHAPTER 2:
CIRI
Ciri left the room to give the two friends time to catch up. She hoped that she wouldn't regret this, given the nature of Harry's powers. She'd heard horror stories about the White Frost from many, to say nothing of the whole bollocks of Ilthinne's Prophecy that, supposedly, centred on her.
But it was one of the reasons she had watched him as he slept, offering to watch him first. She wanted to see how he reacted when he woke. And what she saw in those emerald eyes was someone who was confused, frightened, and scarred…but not the embodiment of a world-devouring winter. It was like looking into a mirror, she felt, especially after hearing about his life from his friends…her friends now, she liked to thin, given the months she had spent on this version of Earth.
In any case, the Wild Hunt wielded the White Frost themselves, using it as a weapon. She had witnessed it for herself too many times than she cared to mention during Eredin's pursuit. She knew Eredin wouldn't give a damn about how much damage he did to the worlds he wielded it on. Only the Aen Elle mattered to him, and even then, she had to wonder whether he would sacrifice even his own kind if it meant domination of everything.
On the other hand, Ciri had heard tales of Harry's misadventures from Hermione, Ron, Luna, and others Harry knew. If any of them held a grain of truth, then Harry had an admirable heroic streak, even if it probably would have gotten him killed back home. Ciri didn't want to compare crappy life stories, but she had gone through worse.
She wandered down to a workshop, where she had her sword Zireael laid out on a bench and some maintenance tools ready. Uncle Vesemir always admonished her to ensure her weapons were in top condition. And she had used the sword quite a bit during their raid on that Unspeakable facility. She had seen and experienced many an abominable thing in her short life, but already, that had made it into the Top Twenty, to use a term from this world.
As she began cleaning her sword, her mind wandered to her loved ones. She missed them. Gods, she missed them. As much as she found staying on this version of Earth to be a relaxing diversion, she still missed her world, her family. Uncle Vesemir, her tutor, always forcing her to read boring books that nonetheless had the information needed for the Witcher's trade. Sharp-tongued Lambert and stolid Eskel, older brothers. Triss Marigold, the crimson-haired Sorceress who, despite a few hiccups, was like her sister. Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz, better known as the bard and minstrel Dandelion, a man who, despite getting her parents into trouble often, was a good and decent man when he wasn't getting into strife. Zoltan Chivay, the gruff Dwarf. The people she was raised by and with on the Skellige Isles.
And then, there were the people she considered her parents. Not the Emperor of Nilfgaard, Emhyr var Emreis. That man was no father. And Ciri had lost her mother at too early an age. Oh, she remembered her, and with fondness, and she would always respect Pavetta. But Geralt of Rivia, and Yennefer of Vengerberg, they were her parents. Despite their many, many differences, and their legendary disputes, Ciri knew that they cared for her, just as she cared for them. It was because of her rescue of Geralt a couple of years back that the Wild Hunt had picked her trail up again, as he had been a captive in their ranks.
Earth was already a world she was familiar with. Soon after saving Geralt and Yennefer from what later became known as the Rivian Pogrom, she ended up in Arthurian Britain, relating her story first to Sir Galahad, and then the other Knights of the Round Table. She stayed for some time before heading off again.
And then, when she teamed up with Avallac'h on her wanderings, especially after rescuing Geralt, she ended up in another timeline, far in the future. About sixty years, going by their calendar. In many regards, it was a horrible, polluted, filthy place, the world teetering on the brink of total ecological collapse. It had many horrors, and yet, it had many wonders. People replacing parts of their bodies with metal and this plastic stuff, small flying ships for transport, automated carriages known as cars, warfare from afar using satellite weaponry or artillery that made trebuchets pale by comparison. And guns, lots of guns.
They'd stayed for some time. Ciri wondered what happened to that group of Edgerunners she had helped out in passing, the ones led by Maine. She liked David, that scrappy little kid with a lot to prove, Lucy, that cool as ice young woman with a grudge against Arasaka, and that short woman, Rebecca, the one who swore like a soldier and yet was nothing but kind to Ciri. Gods, she hoped they were all right.
In many ways, this Earth wasn't as bad, though that was relative. There was still too much pollution in the air. There was still war and conflict over race and ideologies. She remembered Hermione showing her the history of the Second World War, to say nothing of the infamy of September 11. She saw a pair of towers that looked invincible get brought down by those planes crashing into them, all thanks to some religious fanatics.
But the technology was fascinating. True, it wasn't as advanced as that other future version of Earth, that Hermione had dubbed 'cyberpunk', but it felt less visceral. And this world had more potential to be better than that one. At least if they got off their behinds, they could reverse the ecological damage.
As she cleaned her blade, her eye was drawn to the engraved silver ring sitting on her little finger. A gift from Luna and Hermione, one that allowed her to use her powers more often, at least without drawing the attention of the Wild Hunt. It was Luna who did most of the legwork, though she had Hermione help her as a sounding board. True, Ciri hadn't tested the ring as often as she could have, but she didn't want to tempt fate and feel invulnerable. Geralt and Vesemir had certainly beat that lesson into her enough.
After she was satisfied with the state of her blade, for now, she put Zireael into the scabbard, before taking it out with her. It had been the first time she had used the blade in earnest for some time. She was glad she kept up her exercises. As much as Uncle Vesemir chided her for training alone, sword-fighting was a relatively rare skill on this world, and mostly confined to enthusiasts and performers in television and film, to her knowledge. She had no choice here. People stared enough at her hair or her scar, the one marring her cheek. As much as Avallac'h's ointments helped heal it more, the souvenir from Stefan Skellen's 'Orion' (though they called them shuriken or ninja stars here) was still conspicuous, and the one scar she couldn't hide under clothes.
She went into the kitchen, and got herself a glass of water. As she drank from it, Hermione came in. "How is he?" Ciri asked.
"…As good as he can be, under the circumstances," Hermione said morosely. "True, he's glad that we finally rescued him, and I don't think we're in any danger of him unleashing the White Frost. But…he's been through Hell, Ciri. For the past five years, the Unspeakables kept him imprisoned, using him like a guinea pig. And his hair…I don't know whether that was from the trauma or exposure to the White Frost. I haven't told him about the Prophecy yet, what Dumbledore told us when he finally decided it was worth sharing. I'm worried about the reaction that would provoke. But unlike Dumbledore, I'm not going to hold it from him forever."
Ciri shook her head. "Geralt hates portals. I hate prophecies. I'm the subject one myself, remember? At least Voldemort is dead, so that one is no longer hanging over his head. But thanks to Ithlinne, people are obsessed with me. And that's without going into my lineage. I share blood with the Emperor of Nilfgaard, and I am descended from Lara Dorren. People see me for what use I am to them. Few want to see me as a person back home, merely a commodity to be traded, or to be exploited or even killed, and those people are those I know who care about me. Honestly, staying here, where people do not care about my lineage or power, is refreshing."
"But you'd go back there for them, right?" Hermione asked. "Those you care about, I mean?"
"Need you ask, Hermione? I do intend to go back. But while I have the training of a Witcher, I'm not sure I could ever assume the mindset of one. Kill the monster, get paid, and walk away. There's more to saving people than that. I've seen too much, experienced too much. But on the other hand…I know actions have consequences, and even those with the best intentions can backfire. This respite has given me much to think about. And seeing what advances in your world could work in mine…true, some elements are better thanks to magic, but even that is treated with wariness back home. I wouldn't be surprised if some fool or other has started a pogrom against mages…"
Back on a certain world, a mad king and the ruler of a fanatical religion both sneezed. The former began to wonder immediately who was speaking of him behind his back. The latter merely wondered if he was getting a cold…
Before Hermione could reply, they saw Harry enter. "…Sorry, I got peckish," he said quietly, before heading to the fridge. "Anything decent in there?"
"There's some leftovers from last night. Are you okay, Harry? I mean, enough to be up and about?" Hermione asked in concern.
"…I just need something, anything to distract me," he said, running a hand through his messy thatch, which now had a large stripe of white in it. Ciri had seen photos of Harry before his incarceration. The scar had faded too, the lightning bolt one touching his forehead. After rummaging around in the fridge, he pulled out a takeaway container, shrugged, and began eating ravenously. Then, he looked at Ciri. "So…if it's not too much trouble, what's your story, exactly? You said you came from another world originally. I'd like to know more about you if that's okay."
Ciri nodded. "Certainly. I…I will only be giving you an abbreviated account. There's some parts of my life I'm not comfortable with sharing, even with trusted family." She thought back to how Mistle in the Rats chased off her comrade Kayleigh when he attempted to rape Ciri, only to do the same thing. And then, there was Leo Bonhart and his forcing her to ingest Fisstech…and his threat that, if she didn't take it willingly, he would force it into whatever orifice would take it in. The irony is, he gave her the very sword she used.
"In any case, my full name is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, and I come from a world that, according to Hermione, is roughly equivalent to your medieval or Renaissance period of history…"
Harry listened to Ciri as she recounted her story. He was surprised to learn that she was actually royalty, born of Pavetta, who was an heir to one of the many kingdoms of the north of the main continent of that world, Cintra. In addition, her father would also regain his throne and rule as Emperor Emhyr of the Nilfgaard Empire. She even had claims to the nobility on the islands of Skellige. And through her mother, she also had Elven blood, descending from one of the most famous Elves of all, Lara Dorren.
Of course, Ciri did not brag about such things. It was clear to Harry that she despised her status and what it meant to others, much like he despised being known as the Boy Who Lived. And her life was changed before she was born, when Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher retained by her grandmother to keep an eye on matters, invoked the Law of Surprise for his payment. This payment would turn out to be their child, whom he would take to train as a Witcher.
A Witcher, at their most basic level, was a monster hunter, a mercenary that slew monsters for money. Witchers were highly trained and educated, and, until some time ago, subjected to brutal magical mutations that killed more than survived. These mutations left their mark in the form of golden, cat-like eyes. They were, theoretically, intended to be neutral, politically. In practise, more than a few Witchers had also acted as assassins or had taken sides. The School of the Cat were notorious for this.
Ciri only spoke of her life briefly, to tell the truth. She did wax lyrical about training at Kaer Morhen, the place where her own mentor and adoptive father, Geralt of Rivia, was trained in his own turn. She was clearly at her happiest there. But much of her life, she glossed over. Maybe she didn't like talking about it. Or maybe she was worried about Harry's state of mind. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he was worried.
Ciri did mention some things. How she first came to Earth during the time of King Arthur, shortly after saving Geralt's life, along with the life of Geralt's tempestuous lover, the sorceress Yennefer of Vengerberg. She travelled across various worlds ever since, trying to avoid the Wild Hunt, a ruthless brigade of the Aen Elle, twisted Elves who were closer to alien invaders.
She arrived here a few months ago, in Luna Lovegood's yard. Luna took her in and helped her recover. She had been a guest of Harry's friends ever since. And then, someone claiming to be an Unspeakable approached them, someone called Gaunter O'Dimm. Someone who helped them save Harry.
It sounded unbelievable. And yet, Hermione seemed to believe Ciri. There was little reason for Hermione to let a relative stranger into 12 Grimmauld Place otherwise.
"So, what now?" Harry asked. "I mean, when do you head back to your world?"
"I am not in that much of a hurry. After so long spent on the run from the Wild Hunt, I need the respite, I need to feel like I have a normal life, even if only for a little while. True, we rescued you, but…I've tired of running all the time. I want to be ready before I start running again. Besides, I'd like to get to know you, Harry. Your friends spoke a lot about you. I consider them my friends as well now. Perhaps we could be friends."
Harry blinked. Friends, huh? Then again, given what she said about her life, she didn't have many friends. Alive, anyway. Then again, neither did he.
"Maybe we could," Harry said, giving her a shaky smile.
And with those words, a bond began to form between two chosen ones. The Lady of Time and Space, and the Boy Who Lived. A bond that would affect events on another world entirely, for better or for worse…
CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:
So, there you have it. Ciri has explained a little of her past to Harry. Also, Radovid and the Hierarch hear someone talking about them behind their backs.
I also thought it'd be nice to allude to not just Cyberpunk 2077, but the Edgerunners anime spinoff. Ciri never joined Maine's crew, but she did help out on one or two jobs.
No numbered annotations this time.
