Chapter Text
Ciri, once again, found herself in the depths of solitude, her mind a chaotic whirlwind of frustration and regret. The weight of her stubbornness and the growing uncertainty of her circumstances bore down on her heart, making it heavy. It all began innocuously, a few weeks ago, with a disagreement with Geralt. She had dismissed it then, but the repercussions had morphed into a labyrinth of complexity she hadn't anticipated.
It hadn't even been a real argument. Just a difference of opinion while they were on the road, which might have seemed trivial to anyone else. But Ciri felt like her mentor was underestimating her capabilities—like he was still treating her as a child. They were travelling together when Geralt, in his usual cautious manner, told her to stay at the campsite while he hunted a particularly dangerous monster. It was his way of keeping her safe, but Ciri, desperate to prove she could hold her own, was annoyed. Why was it that Geralt's instinct was to shield her every time danger loomed as if she hadn't been training for years?
Despite Geralt's warning that the monster was beyond her capabilities, Ciri was resolute in her determination to prove him wrong. As he departed, she seized her sword and ventured into the forest, ready to demonstrate that she was a capable witcher in her own right.
Yet, the forest, with its labyrinthine paths and deceitful shadows, quickly swallowed Ciri. As time ticked by, panic began to claw at her. She possessed a Xenovox, a magical communication device gifted by Yennefer, but her pride shackled her from using it to call for aid. The thought of admitting her need for rescue was a bitter pill she couldn't swallow.
After wandering through the woods, Ciri emerged in a small village at the forest's edge. She hoped Geralt would discover her there, but her intuition warned her that remaining in one place for too long might attract unwanted attention.
Driven by her unwavering determination to find Geralt, she couldn't bear the idea of him arriving only to find her vulnerable and waiting. Consequently, she kept travelling from village to village, always keeping an ear out for any indication of Geralt or any news of his whereabouts.
After a long journey, she arrived in Kerack, a bustling region famous for its vibrant port. Eventually, she ended up in Lettenhove, a place she had never visited. Whenever Geralt was asked about the town, he seemed melancholy, and now that she was there, she understood why. Lettenhove had an air of sorrow that hung over it, like a story half-told. Ciri couldn't help but feel empathy for whatever had left its mark on Geralt's heart.
As she wandered through the narrow streets, Ciri felt the weight of her decision pressing down on her. She knew she should have trusted Geralt and used the Xenovox to call for help. However, as she stood in this unfamiliar place, she only hoped that her stubbornness hadn't caused a rift too deep to mend.
The road ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, and she could only hope that Geralt was somewhere out there, searching for her just as she was searching for him, adding to the suspense and anticipation of their reunion.
Ciri moved stealthily through the shadows, her footsteps as light as a whisper. She had been wandering through the town's labyrinthine streets for days, and her sense of direction grew fainter with each turn. Hunger was gnawing at her belly, her legs were aching, and her usually sharp senses were dulled by exhaustion. What had seemed like an adventurous escape now felt like a dangerous mistake. She was alone, disoriented, and dangerously close to getting caught.
The narrow streets were like a maze, with dark alleys and overhanging eaves. The buildings looked old, tightly crammed, with shutters closed against the cold night air. Ciri moved swiftly between them, scanning the ground for scraps or anything useful. As she ducked behind a stack of barrels, she heard the distinct clinking of armour and the shuffle of heavy boots approaching.
"Hey there!" A voice shattered the silence. Ciri's heart skipped a beat as two guards carrying torches approached. "What are you doing here? This is private property!"
Ciri was frozen, her mind racing with fear and confusion. She knew the guards had caught her, but she wasn't sure what to do next. She could try to run, but they had already seen her.
She could try to fight them off but was exhausted and outnumbered. As the guards advanced towards her, their torches casting harsh light across the cobblestones, Ciri felt a surge of panic. She knew she had to act quickly, but before she could even react, one of the guards grabbed her by the arm with an unyielding grip.
"Let's see what the Viscount has to say about this," the guard grumbled, pulling her toward a large manor house that loomed at the end of the street.
Ciri's instincts screamed at her to fight back, to escape, but her energy was depleted, and the guard's grip was like iron. As they dragged her up the steps to the manor's grand entrance, she tried to think of a plan, but her mind was blank. Inside, the manor was warm and well-lit, starkly contrasting to the chilly night outside. The guards escorted her through a series of ornate hallways and into a spacious hall where a young man sat at a large wooden table.
He had a gentle face framed by brown hair and striking blue eyes that seemed to catch the light. However, his cane stood out, and he leaned on it heavily as he stood to greet her. His movements were slow and deliberate, but his gaze was sharp and curious.
"What have we here?" he asked, his voice calm and steady.
The guards straightened up. "We found her sneaking around outside, Viscount," one said. "Caught her trying to break in, I think."
The Viscount studied Ciri for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to everyone's surprise, he smiled. "Release her," he said, his tone gentle but authoritative.
The guards exchanged puzzled looks. "But, my lord—"
"Release her," he repeated, tapping his cane on the floor. "She's a guest, not a thief."
The guards released Ciri's arm, and she rubbed the sore spot where they had held her. Relief washed over her, but she was also perplexed. How did this Viscount know who she was?
The Viscount seemed to sense her confusion. "I knew Geralt once upon a time," he said. "He mentioned you. You're Ciri, right?"
Ciri nodded hesitantly. "Yes, that's me. I didn't mean to cause trouble—"
"No need to apologize," the Viscount interrupted, waving her off. "It's not every day we have visitors at this hour, but you're welcome here." He turned to the guards. "You can leave us now. I'll take it from here."
The guards, still wary, exited the hall, casting suspicious glances at Ciri as they left. The Viscount gestured for Ciri to follow him, and she did, albeit cautiously. He led her down a corridor adorned with tapestries and rich furnishings.
"You must be tired," he said. "Let me show you to a room where you can rest."
Ciri followed him, her eyes scanning the opulent surroundings. It was a far cry from the wilderness she had been wandering through. "Why are you helping me?" she asked, unable to hide her skepticism.
The Viscount glanced back at her with a hint of sadness. "Because I know what it's like to feel lost," he replied. "And because I don't believe in turning away someone in need." He stopped at a door and opened it, revealing a small but comfortable room with a bed and a fireplace. "You can stay here as long as you need."
Ciri stepped into the room, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. Relief that she was safe, and guilt for leaving Geralt and the others behind. As she thanked the Viscount, he nodded and told her to get some rest. He'd talk with her in the morning about what she might need or where she could go next.
As he left and closed the door, Ciri sat on the edge of the bed, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. Running away had seemed the best option then, but now she wasn't so sure. At least, for the moment, she had a place to rest, a roof over her head, and a chance to figure out what to do next.