I know this a repost of the same story that I put up in March, but I've rewritten it so many times that it is quite different from when I first wrote it - hence the repost. Dialogue has been retouched and inconsistencies fixed.

Before you begin reading, you might wonder why this story is Elder Scroll/Game of Thrones instead of Witcher/Game of Thrones, as Ciri is the protagonist. Simple reason: I find her interesting and her ability to travel between worlds made her perfect to use. The Daedra can function as both hero and villain and fit quite well into the lore of ASoIaF.

A more cynical reason is that I would get less hits if it was categorized under the latter.

When it comes to romance, I haven't decided and I'm not sure I'll do it, unless it is something that you my dear readers truly want.

Ciri is not the Dragonborn, but it is tagged to give you an idea of her as a protagonist. The fact that there is no Ciri tag under Witcher, renders it moot either way.

I answer review questions through private messaging so if you are confused, you can always pm me.

Rating is for violence, language and mature themes.

Anyway here is the story, I hope you'll enjoy. :-)

Reign of Fire
Chapter 1: Lone Hound and Cub

"The Wolf's Blizzard approaches, the time of the sword and axe. The Time of the White Frost and White Light, the Time of Madness and Disdain, Tedd Deireadh, the Final Age. The world will perish amidst ice and be reborn with the new sun. Reborn of the Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed. A seed that will not sprout but burst into flames!" - Ithlinne's Prophecy

"Awake Child of Prophecy," a pleasant voice whispered like it was carried with the wind. "Wake up Cirilla."

Ciri awakened with a gasp, trying to satiate her lungs craving for air, her heart beating at an unstoppable rate. She was lying down, on top of something soft and slightly squishy. Rain was falling around her, drenching her clothes. It was dawn and the early rays of the sun fought a valiant battle to break through the ranks of thick storm clouds. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. A rank smell with a tinge of sweetness hang in the air, lightly masked by the downpour.

She felt exhausted, as if someone had given her a good beating, then challenged her to a drinking contest and thrown her in a ditch when the contest inevitably turned to a fight. Her throat was sore and parched, and her chest ached as if she had been punched there repeatedly.

From her perspective, she could see she was lying in a great ditch and the rain slid down its sides, muddying the earth. She lay there for what felt like minutes, gathering her strength and trying to gain her bearings. She coughed and tried to get up, only to jerk back and slide down when she became aware of her surroundings. Ciri let out a groan as she raised her upper body, brushing wet hair out of her face. She was in a mass grave. The corpses of men and women lay around her in various states of decay and twisted positions.

It was as she looked up that she saw what had served as her cushion. A great hulking beast, its fur marred with blood and stab wounds, and rotting flesh hanging out of where its head should have been. It had most likely been a wolf, but far larger than any she had seen for a long time.

"Where the hell am I," she spoke to herself with a whisper. The howling wind her only response as the rain served as a melancholic companion in the somber surroundings.

She lost her footing as she tried stand up, slipping on a pauldron, rolling down several corpses before hitting the muddy ground, front first, coming to a stop before the body of a pregnant woman. Lifeless eyes gazing upon the cloudy skies. She was pretty with dark hair and eyes that once held warmth, she would likely have been a beautiful mother. Ciri closed her eyes, lay a hand on her stomach as she kneeled before her. Mumbling a small prayer for her and whatever child or children she might have had. She did not herself believe in gods but it felt appropriate. She closed the deceased woman's eyes and kissed her on the forehead. As she finally stood up it was with a cold expression in her eyes.

This was no grave for men who fell in battle, it was one for a massacre, one where none were spared. Men and women slaughtered like common animals. Ciri was no stranger to war and she would hardly describe herself as a saint, but atrocities like these where not even unborn children were spared, were even beyond her capabilities of evil and as she climbed out of the grave, her fingers itching with the desire to kill once again.

The Inn Between the Worlds
Two Hours Earlier
The tavern was vibrant with music and raucous laughter from its patrons. Voluptuous barmaids snaked their way through the labyrinthine mess that was tables, drunkards, other employees and the occasional groping hand from both men and women. All the while a burly man with long red hair and a full beard tended the bar. His name was Ted Truconis and he was known far and wide in the cosmos as a man one could always trust to offer you a stiff drink. As long as you behaved within the confines of his tavern.

In a corner of the tavern, lit up by a massive chandelier, was an elaborate wooden table relatively secluded by the cacophonous sounds of the patrons and musicians. Snow could be seen falling outside, through the window at the table end, painting the landscape white as the wind howled.

Three characters were sat at the table; a young woman with two older individuals adjacent to her, both indistinguishable in age. A few thick candles burned slowly in the window-sill and their flames danced softly as they illuminated the old wood with warm colors.

One of these individuals was a sultry woman with a mane of curly black hair and a pair of eyes the color of honey, each with a mischievous glint in them. She was clad in a teal dress, that hugged her curves and displayed an ample amount of cleavage. Able to make all but the most resolute of mortals go mad with desire. This was a female form of Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Hedonism.

The other person, sitting closest to the tavern floor, was a man clad in much more conservative attire. Hand at the ready for any new order. He was dressed in a purple three-piece suit with golden threads and a double-breasted waistcoat. He had a big bushy handlebar mustache that matched his grey hair. A monocle rested in his right eye, placed on his head was a black top hat and a pair of white gloves fit snugly to his hands. This was Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness and the one who had gathered the two others.

The last of the table's three occupants was a human female known simply as Ciri. Notable among the patrons of the Inn for her travels through the cosmos, exploring new worlds and spending considerable time with their inhabitants. Nevertheless, no matter how much she quenched her thirst for adventure. She would always return to the Inn Between the Worlds, order a drink and sit for hours at a table, staring out into the nothingness as if she carried a great burden that never lessened.

She was dressed in fine, if travel worn attire. A cotton cream white shirt tucked into a dark brown leather underbust corset. A shiny silk stripe ran horizontally above an adequately sized bust with a simple bow knot holding it together. Ensuring that her loose shirt did not slide down her shoulders. She wore a pair of dark brown leather pants with brass studs and her feet fit snugly into a pair of light brown leather boots with sturdy heels. Her sleeves were held up by a pair of thick leather garters and on her hands she wore dark brown suede leather gloves that went to her elbows.

A silver belt with turquoise blue gems fit tightly around her waist, adding additional tightness to her corset and beneath it was a simple dark blue snakeskin belt with a gold buckle. Two travel bags were secured firmly to it; the smaller one resting on her left thigh with the larger hanging at the small of her back.

She stood tall at five foot seven with a body made for combat; athletic yet appealing with soft curves met by taut muscle. She had hair the shade of silver with streaks of white and a beautiful face with clearly defined features that made for a smoldering look that commanded attention. Her lips were full and red. Light freckles ran across the bridge of a straight nose and her somewhat smeared eye shadow only helped make her eyes stand out.

Despite her obvious beauty. It was her eyes that always caught attention as they were like no other. Her irises were a vibrant emerald green with flecks of gold surrounding the pupils.

The only thing marring her features were two straight scars on her right cheek and a large curved one on her left, running from beneath her eye towards her earlobe, which she halfheartedly tried to cover it with a strand of hair.

Just another piece in the puzzle of her life and one she longed to solve. Who was she? Why could she travel between the worlds? No matter how far she scoured the cosmos she never found what she was looking for. Left only with broken memories she did not understand. Haunted by flashbacks of people she could not recall. As if the answer to all her question were right at her fingertips only to disappear in smoke. The only thing she knew for certain was her name and that she could fight and survive.

Maybe that was why she walked from world to world. A futile attempt at compensating for a lost past, and no matter how much time she spent in each of them, she would always return to the astral planes. Doomed to wander the cosmos as a woman barely past her twentieth year. A stark reminder of what she would never have.

Ciri stretched her arms and took a swill from her tankard. Intently studying her two opponents as they all tried to outwit each other in a game of Wicked Grace. None of them had managed to gain the upper hand. A common problem when equal minds thought alike.

Sanguine was the first to break everyones concentration as she spoke in a seductive tone. "Friends! Tell me...what is a game of cards without a wager?"

"A most splendid idea my buxom beauty!" Sheogorath ejaculated loudly, throwing his cards on the table and fixed his monocle. Sanguine sent him an alluring look and a wink as the Prince of Madness signaled for another round of mead.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..." Ciri smiled faintly, speaking in a subdued tone as Sanguine began to reshuffle the deck.

"Come on!" Sanguine exclaimed, putting a hand around Sheogorath's shoulder as they both looked at her with waiting eyes. "Live a little, we'll make it worth your while."

Ciri leaned back, letting out a breath of air and waited for the barmaid to serve their new order of drinks. "Ah, what the hell...I only got an eternity after all."

"As for the prize..." Sanguine let the words roll off her tongue.

The Daedra leaned back in her seat, running a hand through lush curls, seeming to ponder the subject. She suddenly leaned sideways towards Sheogorath, a hand before their faces as they began whispering in each others ears and shooting Ciri a glance now and then. It felt like several minutes had passed before they pulled away from each other, giggling like little schoolgirls.

Sheogorath fixed his hat and took a sip from his tankard, waiting to speak until Sanguine had returned to her original seating. "My dear Ciri, we have the perfect prize for this wager."

"And what would that be?" Ciri eyeballed the daedra, she did not like how they both looked at her, not one bit.

"There is a place we've heard of, a far and distant world," Sanguine told her with a sultry smile as she caressed the handle of her tankard. "If we win. You'll go there willingly...on a grand adventure...and report to us your findings...especially ones concerning...artifacts of power."

"And if I win," Ciri asked, tapping her fingers on the wooden tabletop.

"Let's say we've heard a little bird sing about something of yours," Sanguine singsonged, smacking her lips and continued as the silver haired girl leaned forward, "We would be willing to assist you in acquiring this...something...if and only if you win.

Ciri bit her lower lip and glared at the Daedra. "You found something that belonged to me? Something that might shed light on my past and you won't divulge on it unless I win a fucking game!"

Sanguine crossed her arms with a haughty smirk and spoke as if what she said was the most obvious in the universe. "I'm a daedra, Darling. Everything's a game to me."

"Would it lift your mood if we helped you out even if you lose?" Sheogorath cut in, placing his fist against his lips before suddenly pointing a finger in the air, "and I'll see to it that you'll get a years worth of cheese! How about a nice camembert to begin with?"

Ciri inhaled deeply and calmed down, you could never truly stay mad with Sheogorath as company. "Fine, but you better not be lying."

"Darling, how could you think such things of us?" Sanguine held a hand on her breast, seeming taken aback, "when have we ever lied to you?"

Ciri let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh there was the time..."

"So what'll it be, Sweetheart?" Sanguine cut in, resting her head in both hands as she leaned over the table, "if you win. We'll help you find out about your past, but if we win you'll have an exciting adventure in a new world. And we'll help you out with this thing of yours."

"Sounds like a win win to me!" Sheogorath exclaimed as he popped his monocle back in his eye, "and hey, maybe you'll even find out something along the way."

"It sounds to me, like losing is already set in stone," Ciri commented before she downed the last mead in her tankard.

"A lot is set in stone, My Dear," Sanguine laughed heartily as she dealt their cards and both of them snickered as their human friend made the first move. Obviously eager to win.

"Seems like we found ourselves a loser and you were so cocksure," Sanguine giggled as all three had thrown their cards down an hour later. She looked at the girl before her and leaned across the table, getting a good look at the cards, while Sheogorath held his fist before himself and proclaimed, "yesh!"

"Too bad, Sweetie," Sanguine gloated as she slid back, "I guess your soul searching has to wait till after you've returned."

Ciri wore a stoic expression and stared emptily across the table, she then exhaled and shook her head. Adjusting her sight on the two daedra. "What can you tell me about this world?"

"Newly discovered, backwaters, though one of the few we're able to play with as it has an inert connection to Mundus," Sanguine informed and straightened her back, placing her hand on top of Ciri's. "What we can't do yet is take on a corporeal form within it. Not enough magical energy flowing through or some such..."

"What my sister is trying to say is that since you're not bound to a realm like we are, you are free to enter it without repercussions!" Sheogorath cut in, gesticulating wildly as he began explaining. "Magic is returning to that world and your presence will only hasten its arrival, thus strengthening its connection to Mundus."

"And you want me to just what? Walk from place to place, meet people, go on adventures, change the world until I find something that might interest you?"

"Oh, Darling. Haven't you learned by now?" Sanguine deadpanned and pointed a finger at the aforementioned person, "you either change the world or it will change around you."

"My good woman!" The Prince of Madness, adjusting his monocle, "the world you'll fast travel to will be one of...ICE AND FIRE!"

"Certainly something to write a song about," Sanguine commented with a faint giggle, placing her legs on the oak table while rolling a silver amulet between her fingers.

"Now, Cupcake! You look absolutely ready for an adventure, you always do, but you lack weapons," Sheogorath spoke loudly, gathering their empty cups and placing them on the tray carried by a passing barmaid, "and I'm not talking about those little spells of yours, though effective they are."

"Hey, those spells have helped me through some of my best adventures," Ciri grinned, speaking with faux annoyance. Barely managing to catch the medallion that Sanguine threw at her. It was shaped like a wolf's head and made of solid silver with two small rubies making out its eyes.

"It's called a Witcher's medallion," the Daedra explained, folding her arms. "It is sensitive to magic and will vibrate and heat up in the presence of supernatural energies. A good warning and tracking system."

"A Witcher's medallion," Ciri repeated as she turned it around in her hand. It was as if she had seen one before, but she could not for the love of her, remember when or where. She put an end to her introspection and pulled the leather cord, attached to the ring at the medallion's top, over her head. Letting it rest just above her cleavage.

"And you'll need this map too," Sheogorath spoke, pulling forth a sturdy scroll of vellum from beneath the table, handing it to Ciri.

"A map of the world?" She enquired as she rolled out the scroll, studying the numerous landmasses drawn upon it.

"It will show you, your exact location and can even increase and decrease the areas it depicts. Except for interiors, caverns and underground structures for some reason. Anyway, they're all the rage in Tamriel.

"You said something about weapons, did you not Sheo?"

"Yes, dear sister," Sheogorath groaned.

Ciri cracked a smirk as she held up her hands. "I do have these."

"My Dear! Were you so taken by my beauty that you didn't listen? Magic or hand-to-hand combat simply won't suffice, you'll need weapons with a bit more bite to them," Sanguine spoke with indignation, followed closely by a mumble only she and her brother could hear, "Especially with the enemies you'll face."

Sanguine reached beneath the table and procured an exquisitely crafted sword in a red leather scabbard, its locket and chape made of finely hammered steel together with a curved dagger in a similar sheath. The Daedra slid the two blades across the table. Placing them before the woman.

As Ciri took hold of the sword's hilt a jolt of energy shot through her and she released it with a gasp. Jumbled images came to her mind, depicting weapons identical to the ones before her, had she used it before?

Gathering herself she grasped the sword and pulled it from its sheath. It was of fine make with a silver colored, vaguely leaf-shaped blade that tapered into a spear-point. The blade was pattern welded with alternating bands of light and dark running along the fuller in intricate contours, forming what appeared to be a celtic knot. Two-thirds of the grip was covered in black leather before giving way to naked steel blending into a pommel that took the shape of four wolf heads. The crossguard was upswept with the chappe rising to form a triangle with a blue sapphire on each side.

Ciri let out an appreciative laugh as she read the runes inscribed along both sides of the crossguard. "When they seek to oppress you. And when they try to destroy you," she whispered, tracing the runes with her fingers. Turning the sword around to continue, "rise and rise again and again. Like The Phoenix from the ashes. Until the Lambs have become Lions and the Rule of Darkness is no more."

Ciri beamed as she sheathed the longsword. She knew Maitreya and the Holy Book of Destiny well, and the inscriptions on the sword were a play on one of its quotes.

"Words to live by, especially if you carry a big stick," Sanguine commented, offering Ciri a playful wink.

"A silver sword!" Sheogorath clapped his hands and chuckled as Ciri remained silent in thought from the earlier influx of memories. "Best suited for monsters...and humans!"

"Technically it is made of an enchanted steel silver alloy, thus the pattern welding," Sanguine said out loud as the human woman came to her senses. The Daedra summoned forth a baldric and attached the silver sword to it. "The blade will never chip and the edge will never dull."

Ciri awarded them with a smile and drew the dagger. It was a foot long curved seax, with a sharpened clip point, its appearance reminiscent of a bowie knife. The handle was of dark lacquered rosewood decorated with gold, the blade like the sword was pattern welded with the characteristic bands of light and dark running along both sides, like vines twisting and turning towards the point.

Ciri stood up, fastened the dagger to her belt and slung the baldric over her right shoulder, after the Daedra handed it to her. She fastened the belt strops, making sure everything was in order and placed Sheogorath's map in the her small travel bag.

"In the world you're going to they have something called Valyrian steel. Which is better, faster, harder and stronger than regular steel," Sheogorath notified her, pointing at the silver sword. "Your sword not only resembles it. It is better because it has one major improvement. It can slay monsters!"

"Now! Everything seems to be in order." Sanguine said jovially as she stood up together with Sheogorath, rubbing her hands while walking around Ciri. "You got weapons, you got pouches and bags of holding..."

"All set to go?"

Sanguine gave her a warm smile, placing herself before her, gazing into her eyes. Placing a finger on the Witcher's medallion. "Keep that amulet close to heart."

"Will you at least tell me where I'll be landing?" Ciri asked.

She never got an answer as Sheogorath gave her a salute moments before Sanguine activated whatever spell she had been preparing. Ciri disappeared in a flash of blinding light followed by a minor shockwave that knocked all in the vicinity, but the daedra down.

Ted Truconis simply stared at them with a none too amused expression as the screaming died down, wagging his finger at the two daedra, before turning around to clean some glasses.

"You think we should've told her that the silver sword and medallion were hers to begin with?" Sanguine asked as order fell upon the tavern and the musicians began playing once again.

"Our darling girl will discover a great many things on this journey of hers, least of all the truth of her past, and I fear that when it comes to its inevitable end. It will be the last time we'll ever see her," Sheogorath replied in a surprisingly balanced manner. "No, your concern is unfounded."

"So the swallow has finally left the nest," a voice spoke behind the two daedra, coming from a lithe, majestic woman with dark hair and piercing amethyst eyes. "That has truly been long overdue."

"Of course. Who would've thought that gathering two trinkets in the vastness of the multiverse would be so time consuming, Nocturnal." Sanguine snickered as she and her brother acknowledged their sister.

Nocturnal let out a huff of air as she placed herself between the two. "You believe the plan will work? The magic that has been awakened has drawn not just our interest, but the interest of outside powers too."

"Dark tidings are on the horizon and if all do their part...we might weather the storm." Sheogorath spoke, returning to his seat. "The events about to unfold will be most interesting...and sooner or later our heroine will realize...that there is a difference between knowing ones fate and choosing ones destiny...and the decision she makes then will have considerable consequences for not just the multiverse, but the life of our dear fledgling herself."

"I don't even know what that means?" Sanguine added.

"She's just a girl, barely a woman..." Nocturnal spoke softly, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "How could she possibly weather this coming storm, you talk about?"

"That is why we must guide her and set aside our personal squabbles," Sheogorath replied, picking up a wayward card and turned it around, the image of a white haired girl clear on its surface. "We can only hope she will live up to her legacy, not only for our sakes, but for hers too...isn't that right, Cirilla."

Westeros
Present Time
Ciri brushed the dirt off her clothes to the best of her abilities as the rain continued to pour down around her. She refastened her weapons and positioned her medallion so it rested in the valley of her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to look at the mass grave. The bodies had been stripped for valuables and thrown in with absolute disregard for the dead.

She took a deep breath and focused her magic in her right hand. She could feel the arcane energies coursing through her veins as her hand lit up with holy fire. Letting out a yell she focused it all in the palm of her hand and threw it at the grave. Lighting it up in an all consuming fire, allowing if not the dead then herself some closure. Satisfied with her work, she tied her hair up in a loose bun, turned around and walked towards the dirt road leading into the forest, the flames framing her figure.

She was in Westeros from the looks of it. Sheogorath's map displayed her position with a silver arrow that she had zoomed in on. She folded the map together, put it back in her leather bag and took out a grey cloak with a brooch formed like a green leaf with silver veins. Wrapping it around herself, she moved out from the tree crown that had provided her shelter. The heavy rain had lightened and as the sun rose further into the sky, the clouds gave way and animal sounds filled her ears with music. A pleasant change from the drumming of falling rain.

It was not long before Ciri felt the all too familiar rumble in her stomach, magic was just as taxing on the body as physical work and the only food she had consumed lately was mead and some crackers with cheese. It was no surprise that she was hungry already, the fact that she might have vomited upon some rotten corpses most likely played a factor too.

It was upon rounding a curve in the road that her hunger truly got the best of her as her nostrils caught the faint smell of roasting meat. She could hear laughter too and her legs subconsciously moved faster down the muddy road. She rubbed her parched throat on the way, the few raindrops clinging to a few large leaves had proved inadequate in quenching her thirst.

As the laughing intensified, she finally got a good look at where it came from. Four men dressed in ragged clothes and dirty armor sat in a rough circle, talking jovially and drinking from a shared leather sack while a rabbit roasted above the glowing embers of a humble fire. Their horses tied to a tree a few feet away and their weapons and shields resting against the trees.

"I'm telling you, that's what she did!" One of the men, the only one standing, spoke jovially followed by him trying to imitate what Ciri could only describe as the sound of a cow in heat. This was of course followed by the raucous laughter of his friends.

"Sounded like a cow in heat!" The standing, now sitting man, added. Confirming Ciri's postulation.

"Aye, not for long," one of the other men commented.

"That's right. Black Walder shut her up right quick," the third man in the group continued, taking a swill from his canteen. "None of the Starks had much to say about the end of that meal."

As the laughter died down once again, the first man, having helped himself to a piece of meat began talking again. "I tell you what though. The hardest thing was getting that wolf's head to stay on the body."

"You sewed it on?" The fourth man spoke skeptically.

"I did."

"I bet there were a thousand men claiming they were the one."

"It was me," the formerly standing man said confidently. "...and Malcolm and Talbott..."

"The thing was so heavy..." the man defended himself over the laughter of his friends, but stopped as it was only now he became aware of the female figure approaching from down the road.

Ciri was not one to smile without reason, but she did try to put on a friendly facade. She raised a hand in greeting. No need to kill anyone for a morsel to eat and something to drink, though with what she had already seen of this world, it might well just be necessary. They were all leering at her with hungry eyes.

"Eh, greetings gentlemen!" Ciri enunciated loudly, "I was just out on a lovely stroll through these picturesque lands, when it dawned on me that I had failed to prepare the necessary sustenance for such an endeavor. Alas, fortune seems to have favored the bold as I came upon the lovely aroma of a sturdy meal and what appears to be...friendly company."

"And who might you be stranger?" The man who had imitated a cow stood up, studying the woman before him with scrutiny. Ciri fought the urge to retch as his eyes lingered on her curves. His face lit up with a nasty smile as he pulled a long blood smeared knife from his belt. His three compatriots too had risen, their swords at the ready.

"Why don't you fuck off!" One of them spat.

"HEY!" Ciri snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the men. "You watch your fucking mouth! All I desired was to enquire if you...upstanding gentlemen...would spare some of your meal for a weary traveller. I was being overly polite and what do I get? Insults slung in my face."

"Well little girl, what are you willing to pay?" one of the men asked suggestively, giving her a toothy grin. All of them were either oblivious to the sword on her back or they seriously underestimated her because of her looks.

Ciri sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. Maybe her choice of words should have been simpler. People could be so uncooperative, especially ones from such a backwater world. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. They stood like that for a few seconds until she broke the silence.

"Then I guess I just have to kill you."

The men looked at each other and let out a collective laugh that seemed to go on forever. Ciri rolled her eyes and simply waited for them to finish. It was the man with the knife, their de facto leader, who seemed the first to compose himself. He looked at her and then his men and bellowed, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET HER!"

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" Ciri hollered, signaling for the men to stop with a hand, miraculously halting their charge. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Dead quiet hung around them, as four pair of eyes contemplated each other before setting on the fifth. A nasty smile on each dirty face, allowing one a good look at fine examples of subpar dental hygiene.

The man with the knife let out an evil chuckle. "We're gonna have fun with you girl."

The man let out a battle cry as he lunged towards Ciri, knife zooming towards her abdomen. Ciri let out an exasperated sigh and set her eyes on her opponent. Just as the knife was centimeters from her body, she stepped aside. Sending a hard kick downwards. Hitting her opponent on the knee. The kneecap gave out with a nasty snap as the man's leg bend backwards. She drew her dagger swiftly and drove it upwards, with her left hand, and through her enemy's trachea. Lifting him up, as he gurgled blood and threw him in the dirt. Finishing him off with a hard stomp to the throat. Making the blood explode out his throat.

She quickly bend over backwards, avoiding a swipe from one of the three remaining men. Making him stumble as he overextended his reach. Letting out a laugh she got up and pulled her silver sword from its sheath. Swapping aside a thrust from a second hostile with her dagger. Redirecting the sword in her right hand so it travelled below the soldier's arm and sliced his stomach open. He let out a gurgling sound, dropped his sword and walked a few steps forward before collapsing as his intestines spilled out.

Ciri turned around, letting out a satisfied huff, studying her two remaining opponents, both gasping for air, struck speechless at having just seen a "little girl" cut down their two friends like it was nothing. The aforementioned girl smirked and pointed her sword at the man to her right. Sheathing her dagger to place both hands on its grip.

The man to her right let out a roar and swung at her, closely followed by his ally. Ciri blocked a downward swipe, closely followed by a parry to the left. Working in tandem the two men managed to drive her back. The sound of metal against metal echoing through the woods. The three of them moving in a flurry of moves. But if one studied them closely, only Ciri did not seem out of breath.

Digging her left foot down in the dirt, she stomped on her right opponents foot, making him howl in pain. Twisting her torso, she avoided a lunge from the man to her left. Grabbing his wrist and twisting his joint. Breaking it. Making him drop his sword. She then smacked him in the face with the flat side of her blade. Cutting through his ear as she directed it over his head and drove it towards the throat of the man to her right. Slicing through his carotid artery all the way to the cervical vertebrae. Bathing his friend in a shower of blood as the former clutched the side where his ear should have been.

Ciri threw the man aside as he drowned in his own blood. Using the distraction to drive her knee into her last foe's nether region. He let out a strangled noise as he was grabbed by the throat and thrown into the ground.

"I told you I didn't want to fight!" Ciri spat in the downed man's blood covered face. "And now you're going to die over a fucking rabbit."

"NO WAIT!" the Frey soldier begged, holding up a hand as Ciri positioned her sword above his breast.

"All because you couldn't keep it in your pants," she spoke coldly. "Now squeal like a fucking pig!"

The Frey soldier let out an ear-piercing scream as Ciri drove her sword through his gambeson and chest cavity like it was made of paper. She pushed it down as slowly as possible as the man's screams echoed through the forest. Only to be replaced by the most uncomfortable of choking sounds as he coughed up copious amounts of blood.

"Enough of this shit!" Ciri exclaimed, pulling her sword out and moved to kneel above him, placing her right hand to hover above the man's face. Ciri closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opened them again and leered at her victim, softly speaking, "goodnight."

Those were the last words the hapless man beneath her heard as his head exploded in a shower of skull fragments, blood and grey goo. Forming a nice half circle around Ciri's hand.

She dried off her sword with the dead man's clothes, stood up and placed it back in its sheath. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms. Letting out a satisfied moan as she placed herself on one of the tree trunks surrounding the humble fire. She took out her dagger, wiped it on her pants and cut off a leg on the long forgotten rabbit speared on the rotisserie. Fat still sizzling from its meat.

"Hmm, still warm," She commented and munched down on the leg. "Could've used some seasoning."

Never fight on an empty stomach, an old friend had once told her, it leaves you in such bad humor. She shook her head and cut off another piece. Eating in content bliss till she had satisfied her hunger and quenched her thirst with one of the discarded canteens.

Ciri washed her hands with the water from a bota bag hanging from one of the horses and dusted herself off. Sitting down in front of the fire to dry her hands and thought about the men she had just killed. She should feel bad for taking four lives without a second thought, but then again, they did insinuate that they were going to take her against her will.

Sometimes she longed to return to worlds where all problems could be solved by the goodness of ones heart and a happy ending was within reach for all. However she could never talk herself into going back. Living in such worlds as an outsider was taxing on her mind. For the happier she had been. The harder were the effects of returning to the astral planes on her psyche. The reality of her life a stark contrast to the joy she had experienced. It was not all bad though and she would never trade the friends and loved ones she had gained throughout the years for all the power in the multiverse.

As Ciri sat there reminiscing, hands in front of the fire, she did not sense the forest growing dead silent, as if even the insects did not chance to venture forth. A black smoke snook upon her. Moving from tree to tree. Each time gaining a more visible corporeal form. The foliage in its vicinity seeming to retreat into non-existent shells. It was only when it was almost upon her that she froze, her medallion vibrating at a superfluous rate, its warmth almost burning her skin.

She pulled her arms back as if to warm herself, as she felt the towering presence looming behind her. The air smelled like ash and a cold chill ran along the forest floor. Her left hand slowly moving towards her dagger, ready to strike. Letting out a roar she jumped up, spinning around with her dagger in a reverse grip, ready to drive into the face of this unknown attacker. She was stopped dead in her tracks as an armored fist closed around her throat, lifting her into the air. Glowing red eyes, belonging to a massive figure clad in black spiked armor, looked straight into her own. The segmented plates on its armored hand digging into her flesh.

It was a wraith raider, tall as a mountain with a helmet resembling a spiky crown, its face covered with a metal mask taking the form of a human skull. Red eyes shining through its holes like burning embers. It let out a deep rumbling laugh as it tightened the grip around Ciri's throat.

It drew her near to its face and spoke calmly with a deep thunderous voice as the wind whirled up the fallen leaves around them. "Child of Prophecy! Heed my words. The comet has been sighted. It is an ill omen. A harbinger of disaster and war. Resistance is futile. My King beckons for your soul. There is no escape from the Wild Hunt."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ciri wheezed, having dropped her seax as she tried to pry the Wraith's hand open.

It simply chuckled at her. "All will soon be revealed, Zireael!"

The Wraith's eyes seemed as if they were peering into her soul as it drew her nearer. It let out a bellowing roar as it squeezed its fist shut around her neck. Placing its other hand on her head. Ciri cried out in pain as the feeling of ten thousand volts coursed through her veins, burning her body from within as she was shown images beyond her comprehension. Shadows of a life she did not recall. She was running. Wounded. Hunted. Scared out of her mind.

The pain only intensified as the Wraith dug its fingers into her skull and her mind gave way to the sensory overload. She could feel her essence flow through her as if the Wraith was draining the very life from her body. It felt like hours had passed before it was satisfied with whatever it had done. The Wraith released a deep muffled laugh as it raised Ciri further into the air and slammed her into ground. Her head hitting the tree trunk she had sat on. She let out a pained groan and rolled over. The Wraith gazing upon her broken form.

"You've ventured beyond the map, Princess, here there be dragons!" The Wraith chuckled and turned around. Its movements seemed slow as Ciri's vision began to darken.

"Your life and this world belongs to my king. None can escape the Wild Hunt!" Those were the last words she heard before darkness enveloped him in its cold embrace.

Vale of Arryn
The Eyrie
Petyr Baelish stalked through the long corridors of the Eyrie, stronghold of House Arryn, at a steady pace, heading towards the former study of the long deceased Lord of the Vale, which together with his title had become the former Master of Coin's.

The careful orchestration of the former Hand's killing, still brought a wave of joy to Baelish's otherwise cold facade. Witnessing his schemes play out perfectly was one of the few things that brought him delight in life, other than pining for a woman he now could never have. The Lannisters and their lackeys had made a grave mistake by killing his love Caitlin and they would pay dearly for it. Petyr already had plans set in motion for the coming royal wedding. The Lannisters would be one family member less and Sansa would finally be free from their clutches. Together they would accomplish great things.

The ancient oak door leading into Jon Arryn's study was sturdy and the hinges whined and groaned as they turned. Row after row of bookshelves hugged the stone walls and piles of parchment littered the floor. Lit candles illuminated the room from their candelabras and in the far end, near the stained glass window, stood the monolithic wooden desk where the new Lord of the Vale usually spent most of his day.

It was raining outside and the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the castle walls made for a cozy if dull atmosphere. The soft rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Petyr closed the door behind him and turned around, only to stop immediately as he noticed a figure sitting leisurely in his chair. If it was not for years of schooling his emotions and performing similar tricks, the former Master of Coin would have had quite the startled expression on his face. Never before had anyone attempted nor succeeded in surprising him.

He folded his arms behind his back and moved slowly, but steadily towards the figure, his lips pulled up in the usual vague smirk that he always sported. The figure before him was clad in black with a cloak thrown over his shoulders and a hood covering his face, framing it in darkness. His fine black leather boots were placed firmly on Baelish's desk, whoever or whatever he was, afraid was not one of them.

"I must commend you, stranger, rarely has any man managed to sneak into my personal quarters without my knowledge," Baelish spoke softly, his dark eyes fixed on the man before him, or was it a man? The folds in the strangers clothes hinted at something else.

Petyr's query was answered as the stranger pulled the hood back to reveal a feminine face and a mop of wild black hair that looked as if it had been hit by a lightning strike. What surprised him most though where her yellow cat like eyes with matching slit pupils and her ash grey almost black skin.

"I can assure you Lord Baelish. That I am not just a man," the stranger spoke in an almost mocking tone, sporting the same kind of smirk that Baelish wore. Her eyes studying him like a tiger contemplating whether to kill or toy with her prey.

"I see that you know my name," Baelish replied. In any other situation he would have his men throw this strange woman out of the Moon Door, but something about the stranger and her looks told him that choosing that course of action would be foolhardy. Something about her demeanor, even the air around her emanated of danger and deceit.

"Of course I do, who does not know of the meteoric rise of the once lowly Lord Baelish," the woman spoke, resting her hands on her legs, each fingertip touching each other. "I must say, your machinations have been most delightful to witness."

Petyr quirked an eyebrow slightly. What did this woman know?

"Convincing Lady Arryn to poison her late husband, borrowing money from the Iron Bank, framing the Lannisters, running the realm's treasury into the ground, provoking a war between old families...oh I could go on for hours," the stranger let out a satisfied moan and leaned further back in Baelish's chair. "Let's just say that you have brought me great joy in these dull times."

"I am pleased to find you satisfied," Baelish answered remaining calm despite the stranger revealing knowledge that only he was privy to. "But I fear you have made a grave mistake in revealing yourself."

"Come now Mister Baelish, you enjoy this just as much as I do," the ash skinned stranger commented, waving her hand nonchalantly as if the unspoken threat of death had gone unnoticed. "However, I can assure you that what I can offer you is far more worth than troubling your guards with killing me."

"Tell me then what you have to offer?" Petyr enquired, his eyes narrowing slightly as his mind worked overtime on how to deal with this stranger if the information she had was inadequate. She knew far too much about him.

The stranger simply smiled and replied, "Knowledge is power Mister Baelish and I can offer that and much more...like information on certain events that will unfold in the future and of course the necessary manpower too."

Baelish eyes lit up vaguely as he schooled his expression perfectly. Information was never free but if this woman before him knew things that he did not, then hearing her out could prove fortuitous. "Say that I accept your offer," Petyr spoke, folding his hands before him. "What do you desire in return?"

The stranger leaned back and gave the current Lord of the Vale an evil grin, "Chaos, Mister Baelish, I desire nothing more than chaos. To see the world burn, so to speak. Whether you rule the ashes is beyond my concern."

Baelish looked the woman in the eyes, already deciding on a route of action when the time came where she was of no value to him. He then reached out his hand, offering it to the stranger. "I believe we can come to a mutual arrangement."

"I knew you would see reason and I can assure you, I won't leave you disappointed," the woman spoke as she got up from the ornate chair and shook Baelish's hand, quite more firmly than he expected.

Baelish bowed his head slightly as he let go of the woman's hand, suppressing the urge of nursing his own. "Tell me then, what information is it you possess?

"All in due time Mister Baelish," the stranger spoke softly, moving around the desk to stand before him, eye to eye. "Now, before I tell you anything, I believe proper introductions are in order. A mutually beneficial agreement is hardly mutual if one party is not privy to the name of the other."

"You seem to know all there is about me," Baelish replied. "So, may I enquire to your name, my lady?"

"That you may," the stranger said, turning away from Petyr to study the map of Westeros lying on the sturdy table. She looked up as Baelish placed himself adjacent to her, a sardonic smile on her face as she prepared a rhetorical question. "Have you ever heard of something called...an Elder Scroll, Mister Baelish?"

Petyr gave the woman his usual smile. He was a bit frustrated that she had yet to reveal her name. "Can't say I have."

"Then let me start from the beginning and do not worry, you will get your information and soldiers too," the woman informed, holding up a hand to make the Lord remain silent. "As for my name, I am called...Boethiah."

Westeros
Riverlands
"You think she's alive," a voice most likely belonging to a young girl or maybe a boy spoke.

"Who cares, just take whatever valuables she has, Girl..." a gruff older voice replied, each word interrupted by what sounded like chewing.

"You think she killed those Frey men?"

"Does it look like I give a shit?" the man spoke, emitting a belch and continued. "Chances are these men captured her and got into a fight over who deserved the first turn."

"And then they miraculously killed each other?" the young voice commented with a good deal of skepticism. "Besides, her clothes show no sign of damage and she still got her weapons."

"Why not?" the older voice answered and spat out something. "She sure as hell couldn't have done it."

"You think she's a Targaryen?"

"Ha, dream on," The older voice simply harrumphed and returned to whatever it was doing.

Ciri was breathing lightly, slowly getting her bearings, her head was throbbing and her eyelids heavy. She felt different. As if distant memories were just at the edge of her mind, waiting to be remembered. Pain was coursing through her body and just moving a finger was close to unbearable. She continued to lie still as the girl or boy at her side seemed to search the ground around her. It was when she felt fingers tracing the leather string leading to her medallion that she finally gathered the strength to react. Just as it was lifted from the confines of her shirt.

Her hand shot up. Grabbing the wrist of the offending hand in a tight grip. She opened her eyes only to come face to face with the dirt smeared visage of a young girl or boy, who in return let out a gasp. "Don't do that."

Ciri immediately let go as the young child stumbled back. She sat up with a groan and brushed fallen leaves out of her hair. The child before her was dressed in ragged clothes, with oily brown hair and looking like she or he had not eaten well for days.

Ciri stood up on shaky legs and tried to catch her breath. Whatever that wraith had done, it had left her exhausted and she could feel her magical reserved had been drained. It would likely take days before they were at their optimal levels once again, if ever.

"Who are you!" the boy demanded. No, girl. She realized as she looked closer at the hard face before her. The man who was with her was standing in the distance, having finished eating the leftovers of the rabbit, sword resting against his shoulder.

"You a Targaryen bastard?" Arya Stark snapped, she had picked up one of the discarded swords and was pressing its tip against her leather corset.

"I have no idea what a Targaryen is?" Ciri spoke, holding up her hands, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. It apparently did nothing to discourage the girl who seemed unsatisfied with her answer.

Drawing her sword would take too long. The best she got was her fists but the odds of these newcomers not running her through were obviously not in her favor. The Wraith had done something to her and she was not ready to try out if she was still at the top of her game.

Taking a few deep breaths, Ciri spoke calmly. "I'm not a Targaryen, whoever that might be..."

"You sure look like one, Girl," the older man commented in the background, emptying what appeared to be the last canteen of alcohol among the dead men. It was only now that she could see that he was heavily scarred with what looked like third degree burns.

"Well I'm not," Ciri spoke sharply.

"If you're not one of them, then tell us your name!" Arya snapped, adding pressure to her sword.

"My name..." Ciri suddenly stopped, her eyes vacant as the spark of a memory came to her. Hidden at the bottom of a crevasse in her subconscious only now retrieved. It was the meaning of her name.

"Cirilla, in our tongue it is Zireael, a swallow."

Ciri's lips formed a lopsided grin as she reminisced, even if she could not recall who had told her this, it was one of the rare comprehensible memories she had received in a long time. "My name...is Cirilla but you can call me Ciri."

"Ciri..." the girl seemed to roll the words in her mouth, trying it out a few times until she was satisfied with the pronunciation. Her face lit up in a smile as she dropped her sword and offered her hand. "Ciri it is, I'm Arya and that big hulk over there is my...my...father."

The Hound simply spat on the ground, sheathed his sword and stalked towards the horses. Although he wore his usual grumpy expression, thoughts did run through his head. If this girl truly was a Targaryen, how much could she be worth and if she was not. There was always a reward for run of the mill bastards, especially ones who could threaten the throne. Only downside to this plan was that the Lannisters wanted him dead. Of course this could be remedied if some other lord was willing to fork over the gold.

"Your father huh..." Ciri mused, running a hand through her hair that had come loose during her encounter with the wraith. "You must take after your mother then."

Arya laughed halfheartedly, sitting down on a tree trunk as Ciri picked up her discarded dagger and adjusted her weapons, retying the ribbon holding up her hair in its messy bun.

"Are you sure you're not a Targaryen?" Arya asked instead of commanded as she studied the beautiful yet deadly woman before her.

"That's the third time you've asked that question and I still don't know what you're talking about," Ciri laughed softly as she sat down on a rock adjacent to Arya and pulled her cloak around her. Removing the leaves tangled in the wool. "What exactly does a Targaryen look like?"

"Pretty with violet eyes and hair as white as snow," Arya informed, pointing at her own hair, "though if you truly are one of them. You at least look like you've done some honest labor."

"Thank you," Ciri laughed as she absentmindedly traced the scar on her cheek.

"How did you get the scar?" Arya suddenly asked. Pulling Ciri out of her reverie. Though as she saw the look in the older girl's eyes she swiftly dampened her inquisitiveness. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked."

Ciri smiled and replied non-perturbed. "It's okay, I don't truly remember."

"Hey, Girl!" The Hound yelled from atop his horse. Putting a stop to whatever path Arya and Ciri's conversation could have taken. "Grab a horse, we're leaving!"

"Coming, Father!" Arya replied in a mocking tone and rose up, glancing at Ciri who had seemed to return to her thoughts. She looked back and forth between the tied up horses and the woman before her, who gazing into the embers of the dying fire.

Looking at the Hound for advice, he simply let out a grunt and kicked his horse impatiently, obviously eager to move further down the road they had originally been traveling.

Arya huffed and returned her attention to Ciri, she bit her lip and made up her mind. "You know, traveling alone can be dangerous and a friendly face is always welcome...if you want to come with us..."

Ciri looked up, regarding the young girl. "You really want a complete stranger as a companion?"

"Why not?" Arya shrugged her shoulders and gestured towards the dead bodies surrounding them, "you seem like you can handle yourself. Besides, you can always leave if you want to."

"It has been a long time since I've travelled with friends," Ciri beamed as she got up, following Arya towards the horses.

"Not you, Girl!" The Hound pointed at Arya. "You ride with me!"

The young Stark, rolled her eyes and walked towards the scarred man. Leaving Ciri to choose a horse for herself as the two were already moving down the dirt road.

The ashen haired woman shook her head lightly and chose a horse with brown fur. She cut the bindings of the remaining horses with her sword. Sheathed it, jumped on her horse and followed Arya and the Hound at a brisk pace. Smiling as she found herself surprisingly hopeful of what the future might hold for her and the puzzle that was her past.

Long after Ciri and her two newfound friends had left the abandoned campsite and the long dead Frey soldiers had become carrion for the scavengers of the forest. A small ember in the long dead fire seemed to glow anew. Spreading to form a ring of fire so bright it was visible from miles away. A female figure slowly rose from it, clad in a red dress that hugged her every curve and displayed enough skin to make even Dibella blush.

She had red hair that seemed to dance like flames and a pair of warm eyes that glowed like aurorae. She took in her surroundings, studying it with disinterest evident on her face.

"You are late," she spoke with a voice that dripped like honey as a tall figure clad in black armor covered with spikes materialized at her side.

"And you're always on time, Meridia," the armored figure spoke before changing into a more human form.

"You did not have to scare the girl like that, Clavicus," Meridia commented, nonchalantly waving a hand at the rotting corpses around them. Making them burn from the inside out.

"It's called 'method', Meridia and the only way to be sure." Clavicus Vile jested, "Sheogorath and Sanguine played their part splendidly. Her arrival has disturbed the magical balance of this world and I simply helped it and her along."

Meridia smiled vaguely. "Yes, who would think that such a little girl could possess such raw magical power and now it has served its rightful purpose, strengthening the connection between this world..." the daedra gestured towards the surrounding lands. "and ours."

"Allowing us greater freedom within it," Clavicus finished, his eyes twinkling in the dark, "and the side effect of an awakening ritual might have helped her remember."

"You dream Clavicus," Meridia replied snidely, "the only side effect are more intense flashbacks."

"Of course that could wreak havoc on her psyche, but she's a big girl, what's a little more trauma matter?"

"Big girl or not. Don't forget why she is truly here, my dear siblings!" A deeper female voice spoke behind them. Its owner, a tall woman of considerable beauty, clad in a white chiton, with hair black as night but with the occasional twinkle as if it represented the cosmos itself.

"And you say I'm late?" Clavicus directed towards Meridia.

"Yes, the Wild Hunt," Meridia spoke as Azura moved around the fire to stand in front of her siblings. "What I fail to understand is what makes her so special, aside from her magical potential?"

Azura laughed at her sister. "Oh, Meridia, still so much you fail to comprehend."

Meridia sent Azura a glare as she continued. "Our dear Ciri has something locked within her, something that enables her to travel the cosmos. It is because of this gift that she is hunted and though she has managed to shake off her pursuers they have been picking up her trail, inching ever closer each time she has returned to the astral planes."

"But why...why put our faith in a mortal girl?"

"Only she is able to defeat the Wild Hunt and it has been hunting her for a very long time," Azura answered.

"So the hunted must become the hunter and by fueling this world with her magic we have drawn her enemies out," Clavicus finished to himself.

"And you believe a mere mortal girl can halt the charge of the Wild Hunt?" Meridia enquired, her gaze shifting between her two siblings. "Not all of us are participating in this scheme, Azura. At this moment Mehrunes Dagon is worshiped by fools as a Lord of Light. Namira plans to plunge this world into eternal darkness and who knows what Boethiah is up to!"

"Whatever game our brothers and sisters are playing matters little in the grand scheme of things," Azura replied, sending Meridia a cold stare, "not even we are immune to the Wild Hunt, despite what Hircine might say."

"Eredin the Sparrowhawk wants what the girl has locked within her soul," Clavicus chuckled in a melancholic tone, "and when his Red Horsemen descend upon the world, even daedra may die."

"Unless our dear girl succeeds that is," Meridia added, "and you believe she can?"

"She must, dear sister," Azura spoke without condescension. "It is her destiny."

"Let us hope she can triumph," Clavicus near whispered as he stared into the dying fire.

Azura moved close to her siblings and put a hand around each of them, trying to reassure them both before they all returned to their realms in a cloud of smoke. "That is why we must make sure she does."

The clothes Ciri wears are identical, with only minor changes, to what her character wears in Witcher 3. I based the blade and crossguard of her silver sword on Glamdring and her dagger on Aragorn's hunting knife. At least that's how they look in my mind.

I know this fic might require knowledge of three different franchises, but I'm quite sure it's nothing that a quick visit to each respective wikia site won't solve.

One last thing though. If you expect this to be some Stark Fuck Yeah! story, then I must disappoint you. For I have neither the idea for a reunion nor the desire to make one.

If you want that kind of entertainment I suggest reading Of Kings, Draugr, and Dragons or Wild Wolf, a crossover featuring Ranma and little to no connection with the manga, making him Robb Stark in all but name, it is well written but horrendously boring. The same can be said for basically all GoT/ASoIaF crossovers with Harry Potter.