The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt fanfiction

A Different Path Taken

Chapter 4: Inside the Vipers' Nest

The sun's glow had just appeared on the horizon, its rays barely piercing clouds and casting shadows throughout Tir ná Lia. Yet Ciri had remained lost in her sleep, her back turned to the source of light, her breathing steady and calm. She did not dream. She did not rest so well either, and yet, the recent incidents had left her fatigued.

A sudden, loud thud came from the door, startled her from her sleep, her eyes snapping open, and she contemplated turning over to face the entrance. It sounded as if someone had just kicked it open, and for a brief moment, Ciri felt a flicker of hope grow inside her. Maybe Geralt—

"Your training starts today, girl." A familiar, harsh and disdainful voice grated her nerves. She sat up and glared at Imlerith—and at the guards following close behind him. Apparently they'd just burst into her room without as much as a knock, not that Ciri expected much in terms of manners from him of all people. No, not people. Monsters, she corrected herself.

But Imlerith responded with a glare of his own, one so filled with contempt, malice, and cruelty that it sent a shiver down Ciri's spine… She had never seen him without his helmet before. His battle hardened features, the scars that marred his chin, jaw and left cheek told her he had served the Wild Hunt for a long time, or at the very least, that he was nowhere near short of experience…. Red paint in a pattern of three long streaks, stretched vertically from his forehead to his chin, dominating his features. He did not look too different from what she'd imagined when she thought of the day he would finally get the fate he deserved, the face and eyes she would stare at just before delivering the killing blow…

That day, however, much to her dismay, was still far.

Though both the guards and Imlerith were armed, Ciri risked glancing at the Aen Elle General's armor...armor that was much heavier than she was used to seeing. The Witchers and Geralt never wore armor as consuming, as demanding as that of the Wild Hunt members. Her gaze quickly attempted to find a weakness, anything…alas she did not have enough time, for he was almost entirely focused on her. She met his eyes once more.

Unlike Eredin, he exuded raw hatred and wrath, and a kind of cruelty that told her he was only obeying the orders of the only one who had somehow been able to keep him in check…or perhaps Imlerith himself enjoyed serving Eredin—after all, he was almost never denied killing, and as much as it disgusted her to think of it, torture….

Her hands balled into fists, but then her gaze then traveled over to an elf, one without armor, dressed in flowing, grey robes with intricately sewn navy blue designs and an amulet hanging by his neck. A mage. He started muttering something, his voice quiet, and shortly after, Ciri felt an even worse stinging sensation spread over her already red wrists.

He approached, his boots clanking loudly against the floor. She braced herself. Imlerith was the main reason she had ended up here. He was the one who'd almost killed Vesemir. Anger stirred within her, her hands clenched into fists, yet there was nothing she could do. Her shackles suppressed her power, but the way the mage focused on her, so intensely, so…forcefully made her wonder if the dimeritium bindings could truly keep her power from manifesting.

Numbness overcame her minutes later and her body turned heavy, her reflexes slow as she struggled to stand. That was why the mage had looked so focused.

Imlerith only smirked knowingly.

"Damn!" She thought. He had come prepared.

There was little she could do when he gathered the chains and yanked her wrists, the spell was taking its toll on her—and it seemed to do the same on the mage, whose heavy breaths did not escape her notice—but she was sure she'd lose control had it not been for the shackles.

Without the slightest hesitation, Imlerith began dragging her by the chains he held so tightly, as if she were a slave or less—an animal going to slaughter.

He took her through a series of halls, descending stairways and, for a moment, Ciri thought he was taking her to the dungeon when they passed by its entrance. Especially when she saw Imlerith hesitate. She had planned to study her way out, to find something she could use in the palace, any opportunity, any chance…but with Imlerith around, her only instinct was to watch her back and wait for him to let down his guard. If only for a moment…she eyed the sword sheathed at one of the guards' hips. Her chains—at least the way Imlerith held them—did not allow much movement, which meant she would have seconds at most…

He jerked her chains, eliciting a yelp of pain as the dimeritium dug into her skin. She glared up at the cruel general, only to see him smirking sadistically.

And as she glared into Imlerith's hard amber eyes—only for brief seconds before he seemed to decide she was not even worth his glance and looked ahead—she couldn't help but think of the difference between now and the first time she had been here. The chains had not existed. She had not been dragged through the palace by a monster. She had been used by all, treated like a piece of meat, forced into doing things she had never wanted to do, but…Auberon had never been cruel. And somehow, that thought only made her despise Eredin even more than she had when he had used Vesemir's life to blackmail her. Her fists clenched as she narrowed her eyes—newfound determination coursed through her veins…

She would not let them get away with this!

Eventually they descended into a courtyard, open and wide—so much to the point she could not see it in its entirety, paved—so flawlessly that there was barely a patch of grass sticking out even next to the tall, imposing, seemingly impenetrable walls of the fortress. A lone, old tree's long branches, rich in rustling leaves cast its shades upon one of the few benches scattered near the walls the courtyard. This…was not quite what she had expected to see on her first day of training. Yet the warriors dressed in skeletal armor that now turned their attention towards her were no surprise. Some were stationed in groups of three at somewhat regular intervals, while others trained with an unusual amount of fierceness for a simple training session—as if they fought an enemy, rather than one of their own.

Still, when she entered they all only stood and watched. As if she was some exotic attraction, some kind of specimen, or an abomination that they strived to understand the secrets of—and destroy her in the process.

Imlerith too, stood and regarded her, with contempt and disinterest at the same time. But he did not seem even slightly worried that she may escape…as if his only task had been to drag her to this courtyard.

"Zireael." She turned to the one whose distorted voice commanded, broking no argument; Caranthir. Avallac'h's former apprentice, and apparently, the one who'd train her. He wore his full armor, his staff at the ready, his helmet concealing his face—he was a mysterious individual. Avallac'h had warned her of his nature. Thinking back of the elven sage, she did not find it surprising in the slightest, Avallac'h too was an enigmatic presence, secretive, silent…and dangerous. In this way Caranthir had borrowed some things from his mentor, but the cruelty, the lack of any emotion…that seemed to be a trait common in all of the Wild Hunt, one unmatched by most, even by monsters…

And her battle-honed instincts told her that unlike Imlerith, Caranthir was the kind of unpredictable danger…

She then noticed there were two others with him, one lean, with long brown hair that slipped so loosely from underneath the helmet, wearing Wild Hunt armor, but much slimmer and elegant—a woman, the first she had seen in their ranks—but she held a staff that glowed with white light, the kind that reminded her of frost… The other was clearly a male, not quite as sturdy as most warriors, but then, he was not just a warrior. Neither he, nor the woman. Navigators, she realized.

"Are you prepared to begin?" Caranthir asked, a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Are you just going to stand there talking?" She shot him a harsh glare...and in response, the shards of ice in his staff glistened with unnatural light. She felt the weight of her chains diminish, almost disappear, though the stinging remained. She risked glancing at her wrists…which now bore only shackles, but not chains—what—

But upon taking a closer look, she saw them. The physical chains were now ghastly bindings, unrestrictive of movement, but at the same time frighteningly reminiscent of the specter forms of her captors… Still, she refused to show surprise. Refused to show anything that would give Caranthir any form of sick satisfaction. "Get on with it." A challenge—for she would not show fear, and they would not kill her. That she knew—they needed her.

"So be it." Caranthir replied coldly. "I shall guide you to open a portal, it won't be much, you cannot reach further than these training grounds so do not even think of attempting." The navigator explained. It had been his suggestion to test just how much she could do, and how well she could control it—after all, she was young and unpredictable in too many ways for them to risk another failure. His King had agreed to it, particularly because Avallac'h had always seemed to have his own hidden agenda, besides the one all of the Aen Elle had been so invested in. It was the reason he fled, Caranthir assumed. He did not have the strength to stand against the Dearg Ruadhri, nor was he a fool to try on his own. He found it amusing—how he had managed to convince the naïve Swallow he was on her side when he too dreamt of using her power. Harnessing Elder Blood. Or perhaps it had something to do with his past with Lara Dorren? Caranthir had never cared much for that, save when it came to the occasions to spite his former mentor. Much of what he knew had been from what Eredin had told him, and the tales the Aen Elle spoke of Lara Dorren, a traitor to their race and her bloodline. But there were things about the descendant's practices with Avallac'h that he did not know. He did not know how far he had pushed her or what her level of skill truly was.

And neither did Eredin. Though he did not look in his King's direction, Caranthir knew he watched them, just as they'd agreed. Whatever Crevan had taught the girl and whatever her performance had been, they did not know. Yet there were ways to find out….
Eredin has insisted on him testing her skills, her capabilities. He had told him to punish her insolence and break down her hopes of escaping. Caranthir did not deny, at least not to himself, that it was the latter part that he knew he'd most enjoy.

And The King of the Wild Hunt was indeed watching…he stood in the shadow of the tall fortress walls, observing the Child of the Elder Blood ever so carefully. He knew she had not seen him. To his surprise, she had not tried to find him with her gaze—perhaps too busy with those who stood closer to her…

"I suppose Caranthir is lucky her stare alone can't kill…" He thought to himself as he watched the young Swallow glare hard at his best Navigator. And somehow, his thoughts drifted back to the time they'd first met…She had been just a girl back then. A feisty one whom he had often caught staring at him, sometimes with a glare, other times with admiration she had tried so hard to conceal. It had been pathetic and amusing at the same time, it was then he had realized just how easily she could be manipulated. But he had not done enough. He had been careless, he had underestimated her.

Not this time. Never again. He turned his attention to her once more…

Ciri stood still, willing herself to activate her power, willing herself to use her ability…her curse.

"A portal, Zireael." Caranthir repeated sternly, darkly…almost menacingly. But she did not pay attention to him. Her gaze was distant, yet determined…this was it.

In a blink of an eye she was out of his sight—leaving nothing but a brief green flash to remind of her presence.

Caranthir forced himself to recover from his surprise, raising his staff, his keen senses attempting to pick up on any sign of her presence, of where she'd appear. She could not go far, but—

"Aaaarrgh!" A scream ripped through the training grounds, capturing the attention of the Red Riders—and their Generals.

Caranthir recognized the voice of one of the warriors, and he recognized the foolish girl yanking a sword out of the soldier's stomach as he stumbled back, blood gushing out of the wound she'd just inflicted.

Pathetic dh'oine, he thought to himself as he glared hatefully at the girl—who was now surrounded by four of the nearby soldiers. Her power was diminished—that he knew…and he couldn't help but find amusement in the thoughts of what would happen to her once she'd get caught. There was no way she could stand against so many-

But the elven sword Ciri wielded suddenly clashed with one of his warrior's before she twirled and dodged another's incoming blow, taking advantage of the small opening to slash at the small of his back. He groaned in pain, yet as he abruptly turned, as if pain only strengthened him, his axe cut into Ciri's shoulder just as she stepped sideways, forcing her to move back as blood slipped out of her wound.

It wasn't deep though. That she could tell.

The sounds of clanking armor coming from behind her warned her of a presence, and she wasted no time before she summoned the power inside her—and she was gone in a flash of green.

She had to get far away, she had to—

"Arrgh!" She stumbled back onto the training grounds of Tir ná Lia, forcing herself to shake off the dizziness and numbness in her limbs. The spell…she realized as she looked around…only to see more warriors of the Wild Hunt. "So be it," she mumbled as she took a deep breath, moments before breaking into a sprint, her sword at the ready—and they lifted their blades to parry her strikes, their swords on guard—then she was out of sight.

The two warriors glanced at each other, yet neither got the chance to say anything…

One of them screamed as he fell forward, his legs giving out from under him as a the sword Ciri wielded stabbed through the opening in his armor right at his knee. And she paid no heed to his roars of pain, turning her attention to his comrades instead. They were closing in, one with an axe, one with a sword. One approaching fast, the other more slowly.

Ciri deflected his incoming blow, the years spent training at Kaer Morhen returning to her as she twirled out of another blade's way…and slashed at her opponent's exposed side.

He growled and stumbled sideways, clutching at his side—rage radiated off of him, as did malice…he charged.

"A witcher has equal chance of encountering sentient opponents as he does mindless beasts. In the case of the latter, they will charge blindly—which gives you a valuable advantage…." Vesemir's lesson echoed in her mind and flashed before her. She thought of him. Thought of Geralt. Thought of Yennefer. Newfound strength bubbled up inside her….

Ciri's eyes widened as the warrior raised his sword in an upward strike she knew she'd not be able to block….the Hunt's warriors were too strong. For her, and perhaps for most men…

She shut her eyes tightly as his sword descended….the glistening of his blade in the sun. Geralt's face.

"Jump, little star," The memory of the only friend she had made in this world…

And a flicker of light sent the warrior stumbling back, confused, annoyed. He looked around…

In less than a second she reappeared, and she did not give him time to as much as lift his blade—she slashed hard at his waist, and he let out a cry of pain as he stumbled and fell forward, blood gushing out from the opening in the mid-section of his armor.

He would get no mercy for her. Only the treatment a monster would get—that was what they all were. She slashed at the wounded warrior again, taking advantage of his slowed movements before she stepped sideways and kicked him, sending him staggering back, losing his balance… yet she had no time to revel, for something else, a movement, a noise caught her attention….

And just barely dodged an incoming strike of a warrior wielding yet another slightly curved sword…still he lunged again. She parried, putting all her strength into blocking his attacks as he forced her to step back, his attacks strong and furious. She did not dare look behind….nor did she close her eyes, yet in a flash of green she was gone. She had no time to recover from the sudden use of her suppressed power—she eyed the warrior who had turned around and was charging towards her….he seemed to be quite expectant.

Damn, she thought as she assessed her surroundings. There were four more warriors approaching, yet he was the closest. She took her fighting stance, eyeing the nearest soldier, summoning her power….

An angry, yet pained cry suddenly echoed through the courtyard as the Child of the Elder Blood slashed at the warrior, her attack unseen, her speed increased by the Power…. He fell to the ground, his armor and the ground below him now stained with blood.

She took several safe steps back, watching the soldier—he would not move anytime soon, if ever again. She had expected the others to lunge at her, yet they stood still. Something wasn't right…she raised her sword in guard.

A rush of cold air that blew past her sent a shiver down her spine, and she halfway turned in its direction, her weapon ready to cut into flesh…but she was unprepared for the sheer force at which her sword clashed with another's. A longsword with protruding spikes countered her blow with such raw strength that it took her by surprise, sending her stumbling back as the weapon flew from her hands, grinding across the paved ground before a strong hand tightly grabbed her throat, lifting her up enough for her feet to no longer touch the ground. She gasped, her hands clawing at his gauntleted hand.

"Now now, Cirilla, this won't do." He was angry. The sneer in his voice was clear, much like the rage on his face—one that reflected in his murderous gaze and icy eyes. There was no mercy in those eyes. "You will cooperate." The Aen Elle King told her darkly before he tossed her—and she was ready. Even as she gasped for air, she was prepared to jump to her feet. Yet her back hit plated armor as two strong, brutal hands gripped her arms painfully. She felt as if her bones would be crushed—and even the slightest movement sent a jolt of pain through her entire limb. "Unless you wish we bring someone to motivate you during our next raid?" He asked darkly, a subtle menace in his tone as the corners of his lips lifted slightly in a sly smirk.

"Don't you dare, you—"

"Do not dare attempt to escape again, luned." His expression was hard and cruel, his words cutting and promising. "This is your last warning."

And then without another word, he abruptly turned and strode away, denying her the chance to speak to him—to irritate him once more with her insolence.

"You won't get away with this, Eredin! Not this time!" She shouted after the King of the Aen Elle, but it was as if he couldn't hear her. She glowered after him—if only her gaze could have burned holes in his back….he had cut her off as if she was but a servant. He had threatened her, threatened her loved ones once more…as if he owned her life.

Then without a warning, her captor dug his fingers into his arms before he roughly tossed her to the ground as if she was nothing more than a piece of cloth. Nothing more than a damned object again. But one that they needed.

Ciri leaned on her arms, her teeth clenched, her palms pressed against the ground.

"Get up." A deep voice, cold as ice, suddenly ordered.

"I'm not your dog, Caranthir," Ciri retorted.

The navigator chuckled, darkly, mockingly. "Perhaps you can be something else…" He trailed off, casting a glance behind the Child of the Elder Blood, at Imlerith—who only stood there glowering disdainfully.

Before Ciri had the chance to speak again, the mage pointed his staff at her, and before she knew it, coldness crept through her bones as she fell into blackness—a portal. He had opened one right underneath her.

"What did you do with her?" Imlerith growled at him. "I do not wish to waste any more time retrieving this girl." He glared at the navigator hard as his hands balled into fists.

"I've simply…forced her to use that power of hers. Lest she drowns." Caranthir replied vaguely, yet so arrogantly.

Ciri did not have time to take a deep breath. She did not have the time to prepare—it was fast and lacking in hesitation on Caranthir's side—her vision blurred as her eyes stung at the sudden contact with water.

She did not know what lake Caranthir had deigned to drop her in. She did not know where she was, or what else was with her…no ray of light penetrated the water. No glistening could be seen above her.

She didn't have much time. She did not have Geralt's abilities. She needed to act fast—swim as fast as she could…

So she swam up—the lake was very deep. Too deep... There was still no ray of light, yet she continued. She had to reach the surface. Her tired muscles ached at the frantic swimming as the breath in her lungs ran out.

Her arms suddenly hit something above her….something hard. Unyielding. She tried again, slowly, but she could not see what it was, only that it was hard, too hard. She swam sideways—she had little left, there had to be a surface. She tried again, a short distance away. The same hard, ceiling kept her underwater. She swam sideways again, until she felt a rocky point digging into her side. She attempted to swim up—and once again, she hit something hard. Rock hard.

No, she realized….there was no surface! This was no lake. It was a cave…

A gasp escaped her lips as the remainder of her breath ran out, her eyes stung, her lungs screamed for air she desperately wanted to give them as her heart beat feverishly, vibrating through her ribcage… her mind reeled for a solution as she frantically looked for a way out. A crevice, anything!

But there was nothing! She looked below, only to see what appeared to be a column, then another. Some ruins.

She was trapped, somewhere with no escape, no air!

I'm sorry, Geralt. Sorrow choked her more than the lack of air when she thought of him… of Yennefer. Of their faces, smiling at her when she had returned to Kaer Morhen after all those years. She would never see them again. Not them, not Vesemir…

Not unless…she used her power. That was exactly what Caranthir wanted! Her eyes widened in realization, yet her eyelids grew heavy… She felt herself slipping away, slowly…perhaps this would be her end indeed.

She contemplated remaining there, in the water, maybe—just maybe their wicked plans of invading her world would no longer have a chance at happening, but then she remembered Avallac'h's words. Her world was in danger. The White Frost was approaching and she was the only one who could stop it. The only one who could save Geralt, Yennefer…everyone.

Ciri closed her eyes.

*********{[-(-)-]}**********

"Stupid girl must've drowned in whatever lake you sent her." Imlerith said grumpily. "It is a pity since she never learned her place—" But he stopped short when a flash of green light flared at the other side of the courtyard… The familiar Swallow lay on the ground, soaked, panting, but alive.

He looked to Caranthir, who seemed overly pleased with himself as he strode towards the girl. Clearly, she had been about to drown—her panting was desperate, frequent, deep. Imlerith couldn't help but smirk.

Ciri had been dreading it. Dreading the return, dreading their presences. The clanking of hard armor, closer and closer, warned her of the approach of one of her enemies, her captors.

"See, Zireael? You can use your power in a…wiser way." Caranthir's voice dripped with venom and arrogance as he stood next to her, so much that Ciri wished she could watch him suffer…and die the slow death he deserved.

She'd not let him get away with that.

With a deep breath, Ciri stood up and latched onto him, gathering her strength…and they were gone in an instant, before Caranthir could push her away.

Eredin tensed and glared, but remained composed as his gaze searched for the Navigator and the Child of the Elder Blood. While he did not doubt Caranthir's skills, this had not been what they'd agreed upon. And he intended to make it clear to his Navigator that he did not want any unexpected incidents.

His fists clenched and his eyes narrowed; he would wait for Caranthir's return, lest he took too long, in which case…His gaze traveled across the courtyard. There were only two soldiers and Imlerith left nearby.

"Ysgarthiad!" He cursed under his breath.

Ciri had taken a great risk, but she had seen her chance at a possible escape…one that she would not miss. She could travel, at least to some extent—and she hoped it would be far enough. She focused her power as well as she could, and yet she suddenly felt as if she had no control over the trajectory. The frost crept in her very bones. Caranthir—

Then it came, swift, hard, like a an icy blade—Caranthir unleashed a wave of magic just as they were about to jump to another world, enough to weaken Ciri…

And then they were in the middle of an icy landscape, a cold world still marred with traces of lives that had struggled, only to come to an abrupt, untimely end…

Ciri grunted in pain, her ribs, her bones ached, and she laid on her back against something soft and cold. Snow? She quickly stood up, her hand reaching behind her back instinctively. Reaching…for a weapon that wouldn't be there.

That thought dispersed, however, as she gazed upon what appeared to be…a village? Or perhaps a city, buried beneath snow, yet its architecture somewhat resembled Tir ná Lia…she frowned.

"You see, Zireael?" A deep, knowing voice came from behind her. "This is the fate that awaits us all…lest you cooperate and do as you are told."

"No." Ciri turned to look at him, attempting to conceal the emotion, the thoughts, the turmoil that rose inside her at the thought of the countless lives lost in this place…and the ones that would be lost.

"You've no choice, Zireael." He told her. "No choice but to watch your loved ones die—if they aren't dead already." His attitude, unlike Eredin's, was a mix of taunts and arrogance. In some ways, worse than that of the King of the Hunt, in many ways bringing out the worst in her. Pushing her. Not as much as Imlerith did, but still…

Her power bubbled up inside her, ready to be unleashed even as her skin froze…then a weakening sensation began taking hold of her, her power evaporating, as if it was shattering, as if it was suppressed. She glared at Caranthir, then her gaze fell on his staff. Its usual glow had been diminished by the cold landscape to the point she had not noticed the orb of icy crystals had started glistening and shining. He swiftly twirled his staff, yet she dodged just in time for the icy blast to miss her.

She could feel him glaring, watching her—and somehow it unsettled her. Then he was gone in a flash of white light and ice, as if he had never even been there.

Ciri looked around; of all things she had expected, him disappearing like this had not been one.

She turned, paying attention to her surroundings; everything was empty. Deserted…white mountains that just barely reminded her of the highest peaks Kaer Morhen stood, imposing in the distance, blotting out an unnatural cold light...that was no sun. Or was it? White as snow itself, but it held no warmth. Just like the world itself...a world...where there was no life anymore. The wind howled, the ground beneath her was slippery, frozen...unsafe. And somehow not earth? She risked a glance down… only to see a chimney just below…

Which meant….most of the village had been buried!

A gasp escaped her lips as she snapped her head back up and scanned the horizon. All was the same! Buried in insurmountable snow, and not a soul in sight! Still, she forced herself to keep her instincts sharp in spite of whatever spell Caranthir had cast on her, but her movements were slow—or at least not fast enough to match one of the Wild Hunt's best.

And it turned out true.

A sudden, powerful cold wind blew past her and before she could react—dodge or even jump—the magic unleashed from Caranthir's deadly staff, sending her flying into the snow on her back.

Once more the frost entered her very bones, yet her head throbbed with pain—from Caranthir's magic, a hit, or the cold, she did not know. Caranthir's form loomed above her, the darkness in his eye sockets making her wonder…did he, like Imlerith, have any intentions to do something other than what Eredin had ordered? She grunted as she tried to jump, tried to move, but she wasn't fast enough. She had nearly managed to roll away when Caranthir's gauntleted fingers roughly wrapped around her arm, hoisting her up before he was gone in a flash of ice and cold wind.

Everything was dark, everything was cold. She could not see much, it felt… too rapid, or perhaps she was too weakened… Geralt had told her once, so briefly, of the Wild Hunt's chase through worlds. Had he felt like this? Was this what he had meant then?
Her limbs froze, numbed…

Caranthir had been careful this time, he had increased the spell enough to keep her under control, to suppress her power, but not enough for her to lose consciousness. She was too unpredictable, too…naïve, to still think that she could evade Tir ná Lia once more.

He chuckled under his mask before he appeared, rather effortlessly, back to the private training grounds of Eredin's Dearg Ruadhri, with Ciri in tow. It didn't take long until he saw his king, who nodded to him in acknowledgement and started to approach, his steps firm and proud. But the navigator averted his gaze to the Child of the Elder Blood.

He threw her to the ground, his movements disdainful and arrogant as he came to stand in front of her, watching as she panted and shivered in spite of her hardest efforts not to show her discomfort.

Pitiful, he thought.

"Let this be a lesson for you, Zireael, and a gentle one at that…you cannot escape. You never will." Caranthir said, his tone laced with arrogance, malice and satisfaction. As if he mocked her for her desire to escape them.

"Don't be so certain, Caranthir. You don't know me." Ciri retorted as she gathered the strength to push herself up. She would not show weakness in front of them, she would not give Caranthir the satisfaction of seeing her weakened by his spells.

"I know more about you than yourself, Child of the Elder Blood." Caranthir replied arrogantly, as if he held some sort of knowledge that would grant him great power over her.

"I seriously doubt that." She replied.

If you knew me, you'd run while you still could. But instead of voicing that, she stood up, measuring his hidden gaze with hers…provoking him. There would be consequences for what she'd just done-that was for sure. But she didn't care. Eredin had forced her to come with him, but she'd never submit to him. No matter what.

To her surprise, however, Caranthir only stepped back. She frowned, but before she could speak, the familiar name all of the Aen Elle called her by echoed in her ears…

"Zireael," His deep rough voice—impossible to mistake as belonging to another-called her, his tone harsh, but controlled nonetheless...yet something in it sent shivers down her spine.
She did not even need to look at him to know who he was. That word and his voice brought back memories, words he had once said to her the last time she had been at Tir ná Lia…. Was he still thinking of that lesson in discipline he had so wanted to give her?

She looked up towards him; just like earlier during the training session, he wore no helmet, only his armor, one so different from those of the other Wild Hunt members, the unique shape of the upward pointing ribcage, the dominant dark red color of the main armor pieces that made him stand out from the rest almost as much as the helmet he usually wore—but much to her dismay, it too lacked vulnerable points. Yet now he also wore a long red cloak, whipping behind him in the breeze, clasped firmly in place by the seal on his shoulder. She could only recall seeing him wear such cloaks in his own world… the world she was now trapped in once again.

And though so much had changed since she had last been to Tir ná Lia, his appearance was one of the few things that had stayed the same… his tall, solid frame, his sleek black hair, flowing over his back and shoulders, the hardness of his facial features, his pale face, and those blue eyes, mesmerizing, piercing…and frighteningly cold at the same time. They had not been like that last time…they had not been this cold… Or maybe he had simply concealed it?

She found herself wondering, had he truly changed? Or had he just pretended then, in order to gain her trust?

Which he nearly did, and that was a thought that filled her with both anger and shame. She had been so close to falling for his tricks—and perhaps a lot had escaped her noticed because she had felt—no. That wasn't true. None of it had been true. And it was all in the past. Never to return, she refused it, as she always would…

A mix of conflicting emotions filled her, yet she pushed them back. She couldn't let him see anything. Couldn't let him see lest he take advantage of any feelings he'd sense inside her. For a moment she feared he might have just perceived it… but there was nothing to suggest he had…not on his face, which remained void of any emotion, not in his demeanor….

"First you injure my troops, now you attempt to escape. This will simply not do." Eredin told her darkly as he approached, his stride firm and confident, his sword hanging at his hip—Ciri eyed it for a moment before she forced herself to meet his icy gaze. "So from now on you will do as you are ordered…" He narrowed his eyes.

"Screw you, Eredin!" She spat at him, glaring.

"Or one of your friends pays the price." He stood in front of her, towering, unyielding, dominant, and she could not help but stare. Which did not escape his notice, she realized when the corners of his lips lifted slightly in a faint grin.

For a few moments, the thought of reaching for his sword tempted her, then it dissipated…dissipated, because the confidence in his eyes told her that she'd have no chance. Not now.

"The sorceress…or maybe the witcher?" His tone was disdainful, and as if that was not enough, a mocking, satisfied smirk appeared on his lips. As if he knew what she feared...as if in spite of her efforts to conceal any sign of fear, to deny him the satisfaction-he knew regardless. Knew...and used that knowledge to blackmail her once more. And though she longed to deny him even that chance, the chance to use her, to threaten her...she could not do so, not without risking Yennefer and Geralt's lives. A risk she was not willing to take. She steeled herself and met his gaze.

"You'll not succeed." She said sharply, wishing so much she had a dagger nearby…

"Are you so certain, luned? So certain that you would provoke me to take their lives?" His challenge, cold, persuasive… and his malicious gaze bore into hers. She gritted her teeth and glared as hard as she could, yet the conviction glistening in his icy stare sent shivers down her spine.

"So be it." He tilted his head back and turned to walk away, his red cloak billowing behind him. "Imlerith!"

The Wild Hunt general started towards his leader, with those long strides of his and sadistic look upon his face. He seemed….eager.

Eager to kill. Eager to harm, It was a thought she did not voice, did not say aloud. A truth she had always known…and half denied, half feared.

Tears of pain and anger clouded her vision, but she held them back-even as he walked away, he was waiting for her to break. That was his way. That had always been his way, and yet...what if he did indeed managed to capture her friends? What if…. She closed her eyes to hold the tears back. No. She couldn't let them suffer such a fate...the Wild Hunt had come to Kaer Morhen because of her. But this time she'd make sure they'd not touch her friends...again, because of her.

As he walked away, the King of the Wild Hunt perceived her anguish. So strong...he found it rather amusing, how the simple thought of her loved ones could evoke such emotions, such feelings in her. Pathetic, true, but amusing nonetheless…and rather useful.

He did not look back as he walked away. Sooner or later she'd give in, this time she-and her friends, were at his mercy. He had none, for anyone, much less for dh'oine...and she knew it. He gestured to Imlerith, a simple flick of his wrist, pointing two fingers towards a host of warriors standing on the other side of the courtyard. The General nodded, and Eredin quickened his pace. He was done…for the time being, until Imlerith returned, or until….

"Wait!" As soon as the hesitant shout reached his ears, the King of the Hunt stopped in his tracks, smirking to himself, knowing he had won. There was a hint of fear and desperation in her voice—and as always, he knew her weakness would be her loved ones.

Pathetic, he thought to himself as he slowly turned around, regarding her with a triumphant yet icy gaze.

Ciri gulped and clenched her jaw, glaring at him to see him raise an eyebrow—perhaps at her hesitation, perhaps as a warning that he would not wait for long.

Either way there was no choice.

"I'll do it." Ciri told him. "But if you as much as touch them—"

"See? You can be a good little swallow." He strode arrogantly toward her, taunting her so easily.

"Just don't say you didn't get a warning, Eredin." Ciri glared at him.

"You would do well to remember, luned, that this is not like last time." He stopped right next to her, turning his head sideways to regard her with his cold, arrogant and intense stare. "Your friends' lives depend on you. They can live, while you do what you are destined to do… or you can be the reason of their untimely demise." With that, he walked away, heading in Caranthir direction—the Navigator had been standing there motionless, carefully watching their exchange.

But Ciri remained silent. Words could not dissuade him from his decision, while threats did not reach him. He disregarded them—a foolish mistake on his part, Ciri thought. One that he'd come to see eventually.

She glanced down and closed her eyes; until then, she would have no choice but to obey him and his Generals.

Only for the time being. That was a took a deep breath and opened her eyes, firing Eredin a sharp glare.

The King of the Wild Hunt nodded towards her before Caranthir started approaching, his staff in his hand, his demeanor telling her they were nowhere near done with her for today…

Not that she'd expected any less of them. She braced herself for whatever would come, her thoughts briefly drifting to those she had left behind…

"Your training resumes from this moment, Zireael." Caranthir's cold voice did not allow her thoughts to take shape. "And it seems that in spite of having spent so much time in Avallac'h's presence, you are…disappointing. Undisciplined. You do not know your purpose." He spoke with such disdain that Ciri would have thought he was speaking of his worst enemy, of someone who had brought him pain, someone he despised….then perhaps he did. But why, Ciri did not know. Nor did she care too much to begin with.

She gritted her teeth. "I know my purpose well enough…I know it's not to open your gateway." She retorted, and the look in her eyes would have sent shivers down the spine of any man. But not them.

An image flashed before her.

The striking of a lightning, a dark figure standing on the bow of a boat. His hateful, arrogant gaze as he dueled her before her sword pierced his thigh. Before he tumbled into the water, wounded, bleeding, washed up on the shore…and still he had not screamed, he had made no sound. They knew neither fear, nor pain.

Then she faced Caranthir once more as a strange kind of frost rippled through her.

"You cannot escape your destiny. It seems you shall find out the hard way." There was an eagerness, a dark edge in his tone that made her feel sick. As if he wanted this….as if he looked forward to it. Elder Blood stirred in her veins. Her power rose inside her.

"It would be a better choice if you surrendered now, Zireael…you waste your gifts attempting to stand against us." Had she not known him, she'd have thought it was a warning. Just a warning. But no.

"I wonder whose power is a greater waste. Mine, or yours?" He stopped in his tracks as she held his stare. "Elder Blood can stop the White Frost that threatens all worlds…while you…bring a few soldiers who can only raid isolated villages." She gestured in his general direction.

He took a deep breath as an icy shiver forked down her spine. She had touched a nerve. Badly. The shackles burned her skin—so much that she barely resisted the urge to look away from him, at her wrists, which she was sure were bleeding by now. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

"Avallac'h's filled your head with nonsense." When he finally spoke, his tone was impassive, yet it held the slightest tint of irritation there. She couldn't help but wonder if total impassiveness was a necessary trait of the Wild Hunt warriors. "His views on the Dearg Ruadhri have always been….narrow. He did not see the future for what it could be." Once again his voice was laced with disdain and arrogance. "It proved to be his downfall—remember that as well, Zireael."

For a moment, Ciri contemplated telling him about Avallac'h. She considered telling him that his king's plan had failed…but she decided against it. It was better if her friends had the advantage of surprise. Better if they thought Avallac'h was still a mindless creature….

"You owe him everything, Caranthir, including your life." She told him sharply, meeting his invisible gaze with strength and a challenge. Yet she gave him no indication that Avallac'h was well.

"Naïve girl. He taught you just enough to use you." He replied as he readied his staff.

"Take us to the royal stables, where we arrived from those ruins." It wasn't just the words he used to refer to her home, it was also the disdain in his voice that made anger boil in her veins.

She fought the urge to snap at him, fought the urge to use her power in a different purpose. It would only give Caranthir—and all those like him—the perfect opportunity to mock and blackmail her. Again. She could not let that happen. Not now….

She gulped hard, clenching her fists, meeting Caranthir's gaze. "You'll have to step closer," she told him.

He tilted his head back, as if regarding her suspiciously, before he came to stand next to her, tall, expectant…ready.

The spell's intensity decreased—it was no opportunity to escape, but perhaps, perhaps the destination could be different…their armory, maybe?

No. It would be too obvious…and too risky to do when she didn't know for sure where it was. It had to be nearby.

"Now, Zireael," the powerful Wild Hunt Navigator ordered.

Ciri took a deep breath and thought back to the dreaded arrival at Tir ná Lia. Her memories were hazy, yet…she knew the place. In a flicker of green light, they were gone.

Not even a second appeared before green light flashed elsewhere in Tir ná Lia—but it was not where she had been told to teleport.

The frantic neighing of horses split the air as they landed, the scent of hay and stable entered her nostrils… Her eyes quickly fell on locked stalls, on bars from behind which frightened and curious eyes stared at her…and at the mage next to her.

"Pathetic. I expected far better from a Child of the Elder Blood." Caranthir's tone was half filled with disdain and half filled with a disguised challenge as he spoke.

"It's the spell, it's weakening me. I couldn't teleport where I intended," she replied, assessing her surroundings.

The royal stables of Tir ná Lia….they were unlike any other stables she had seen before. Not only was it very large and wide, containing a great number of horses, its structure also looked uncanny to Ciri. It seemed to be made entirely of stone, with white columns at the entrance, clearly well cared for—there was not a speck of dirt on the floor, nor was there fallen hay laying in the open area. And though the horses too seemed well cared for, Ciri could not believe they were happy. Not when she remembered the foam trickling from Eredin's stallion's mouth as his rider yanked the reins….

"Do not make excuses, Zireael. And try harder this time—lest you wish I bring you motivation." Caranthir's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to look at him with narrowed eyes, not even bothering to conceal her contempt…once again he threatened her for not rising to his expectations because of his spells.

She took a deep breath. "Weaken the spell and I'll teleport where you want me to." She told him.

"No. It is just as weakened for you to take us where I tell you to…if you choose to cooperate." His voice expressed a warning. Her last one, that much she knew.

"Are you going to keep berating me or can we move on?" She frowned.

The navigator tilted his head back and inhaled sharply—the girl was getting on his nerves.

"Take us…to the eastern borders of Tir ná Lia." It was a simple order—he did not even make sure she knew the location.

And indeed, Ciri was not quite sure where that was. All she knew was that she could not afford to fail again. Swallowing her disgust, she moved closer to him and closed her eyes, disappearing along with the powerful Navigator in a flash of green light.

She stumbled back a step or two when they landed, feeling a rush of cold air slip through her clothes—which did not offer much protection against coldness. Dried grass lay at her feet, the earth a dark brown shade—and a short distance away, snow. Far ahead, a great portion of land covered by snow.

A world that faces the threat of annihilation, she reminded herself. The Aen Elle were conquerors, Eredin's soldiers in particular…and yet, as she stared once more at the barren land, as she remembered the village where all life seemed to have ceased so soon….she no longer thought of the Red Riders. She thought of people, whose lives depended on…what? Invading another world? Her facing the Frost and destroying it?

She felt eyes on her, felt what she'd learned to recognize as a gaze of disdain…or one that regarded her as an abomination. As she looked around, her eyes fell on several soldiers, wearing skeletal armors specific to the Wild Hunt. Six soldiers.

"See, Zireael?" His voice grated her nerves. If only he had left her here. Six soldiers of the Wild Hunt were still better than him being there. "Things could have been so much simpler."

She chose not to reply. Not to react. Only now did she understand how different Caranthir was from Avallac'h. He was secretive, mysterious, and powerful—but that was all he had in common with the Sage. He was just like Eredin and Imlerith in everything else—cruel, malicious, arrogant, taking pleasure in the suffering of others, no matter its nature. Yet, unlike Imlerith, he did not provoke her through violence. He was calm and controlled, with no need to impress, no vanity to put him at a disadvantage. He was dangerously calm…

"You have six seconds, Zireael, to take us to our next destination: the grounds of the Palace of Awakening." Ciri's eyes widened, and if Caranthir said anything else, she did not hear it. Memories of her time at Tir ná Lia, of Auberon…of all that had happened returned to her as if it had been only yesterday…she squeezed her eyes shut, a green light enveloping her—and against her will, Caranthir as well.

Her thoughts were focused on the shore of the river Easnadh. Or a lake, anywhere! She had to get there, she had to—no…she was going there and yet….her trajectory changed, her power diminished. Her wrists burned.

She gasped and grunted when she landed, the sudden unnatural coolness sending shivers through her entire body, yet it was a welcome change for her seared wrists. Several voices mumbled around her, while a displeased growl came from behind...

"Once again, Zireael, you choose to disobey." Caranthir said darkly.

"You took us here!" Ciri shouted angrily, attempting to mask the pain, to keep it from showing in her voice…this was not the place she had intended to reach. It was a garrison of soldiers, all wearing red cloaks, all whose gazes were fierce and disdainful.

"You brought this upon yourself, Zireael…." He pointed his staff at her. "And should you disobey one more time…your friends will feel the consequences." There was an eagerness in his voice that frightened and angered her at the same time, but she had no time to react. Ice crept in her very bones, as if it cut her, as if splinters of frost ripped through her. She couldn't hold back from crying out as Caranthir came closer and the pain intensified.

Then suddenly it stopped, and she fell to her knees, panting heavily. And though his helmet concealed his face, satisfaction radiated off him. As if the simple fact that she was shackled and at their mercy amused him, as if he took pleasure in it…her lips twitched in anger and disgust. She was determined to deny him that triumph.

With a loud cry and determination, Ciri charged at him, in spite of the way her power started diminishing—Caranthir's doing, no doubt—yet she thought of the barren land filled with dangers she had crossed the last time she had evaded from Tir ná Lia… If she lost him there, if his attention was caught by some dangerous beast, maybe she would escape, maybe he'd be injured enough to buy her friends time…time to prepare.

They were gone in a flash.

But coldness crept into her very bones once more, everything around them was spinning, and she knew they should have reached the forest by now…

No, she thought desperately as her power weakened and her wrists burned underneath the shackles—which somehow, seemed even tighter than before.

She let out a gasp of pain when they landed, her body shivering as her bare hands touched paved ground…and when she looked up, her suspicions were confirmed. Once more they were in a different place than the one where she had tried to land. Once again the Wild Hunt navigator had somehow manipulated her power. She looked around—there were fewer warriors here, clearly, it was not a garrison…in fact there seemed to be nothing to do here, yet six armored warriors stood, some with axes, some with swords, all watching her. As if they had been waiting for her.

Ciri's eyes widened. They had been waiting….they had known…

She glanced at Caranthir, clenching her fists, drawing her brows together as she glared at the Wild Hunt General.

His only noticeable response was a subtle nod of his head—perhaps an order to the soldiers that surrounded them? She glanced back and around them; they made no move.

"Do you understand now, Zireael? There is no more escape for you this time." His voice held arrogance and triumph, to such an extent that she too was tempted to give in—only for a moment, yet the temptation had existed.

And as she stood there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the warriors of the Wild Hunt, she thought of home. Of Kaer Morhen, of the siege…back then she had been surrounded too, by more warriors, more magic….and three of the most powerful members of the Wild Hunt. And as she glanced down at her wrists, at the shackles and the burnt skin underneath, she understood even better than before why no slave dared to resist. Why their eyes held no hope, almost no life….why they dropped to their knees even at the sight of her.

But she did not let her sadness and grief take hold of her—she couldn't. That was what they wanted. That was something she would deny them from the very beginning.

Caranthir watched the Child of the Elder Blood, seemingly lost in her thoughts for a few moments, as if she contemplated something. Another attempt to escape? He wondered. If that was the case, he was determined not to waste any more time in showing her the error of her ways. Grief appeared on her face, sorrow…and then she looked back at him. Instead of pain and despair, as he'd expected to see, he saw strength. And perhaps doubt too…but it was almost overshadowed by her determination.

He tilted his head back. Was this what had made Avallac'h betray them? Was this why he had taken an interest in her? Or was it just her Elder Blood that he too had plans for? Eredin had mentioned Avallach's ties to the girl's ancestor, Lara Dorren—and her rejection of the Sage for a mere dh'oine. Perhaps that too had something to do with it…

Caranthir did now know. Yet he was determined to fulfill the task with which his king had entrusted him. And determined to teach the girl who were her masters.

He stepped towards her, meeting her glare with his hidden gaze. He was nowhere near done with her for the day…

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and sorry for the long wait, but I really wanted this chapter to be as good as it can be. And it was a busy time for me, lots of projects—most Witcher related, though…so this time, along with the chapter, I am posting the links to the 3 Witcher fanvideos I made :)

Eredin and Ciri – Phantom of the Opera: watch?v=XpEWpwUaVLw - this one is the hardest video I have ever made in 8 years, but working on it was very enjoyable and I am happy with how it turned out. I wrote a short story in the description of that video too, if you'd like to check it out. I'm actually thinking of eventually making into a longer fanfic :D

Wild Hunt (fan)trailer - watch?v=93tn92HCXR0 - this is my second trailer which I wanted to focus on the Wild Hunt, to show who they are, with a different perspective: powerful individuals with ranks and duties of their own, expert swordsmen with a vast knowledge of magic arcana; united, a deadly force from another world, known and feared by all. The video was challenging, but I loved working on it, so much that I still miss it :D I hope you will enjoy watching it :)

Witcher 3 main storyline (fan)trailer – watch?v=sqafWyNo8sw - my first trailer ever, I tried my best on this one, as with all else.

I would love to read your opinions on the videos and this chapter—not only are reviews a great motivation for me but they also help me improve, plus, I am always curious and enjoy reading them :) So any would be much appreciated, regardless if you prefer sending them in comments or privately—here, on Tumblr, DeviantArt, YouTube.

And speaking of DeviantArt, I finally got an account there :D I will post fanfic cover photos, photo edits, video screenshots, maybe even modding screenshots if you want. Here's the Deviantart link to the newest cover photo for this chapter: challengeofthedark/art/Witcher-3-A-Different-Path-Taken-Cover-part-2-786994391 (I'll also put it on my profile since fanfiction net hates links)

Last but not least, I would like to thank (in no particular order),

The awesome beta readers:

Elainezireael, for all her advice, suggestions, theories and ideas—A Different Path Taken started out as an idea that I was not quite sure which way would go, it is a lot thanks to you that it now has a clear direction. Your help in developing this fanfic and your support is much appreciated! Also nice choice of title for this chapter, credit for it goes all to you :)

Celticbabs13, for her patience, advice, teachings and help—thanks to your careful corrections and very helpful writing advice this chapter is so much better! Thanks a lot, for all the help and support you have given me, I appreciate it very much :)

I am grateful to you both and consider myself lucky to have such wonderful beta readers for this story :)

Rosenazair and WholeLottaTiffy, as well as a very kind reader who preferred to stay anonymous (you know who you are!) for their continued support. It truly means a lot to me.

And of course, I would like to thank each and every one of you wonderful readers, for your time, support, for staying around and for giving this fanfic a chance :) Thank you for the continued support, as well as to those who let me know their opinions of the previous chapters. I was happy to read them, reviews and opinions are the best thing any writer can get-they help with the improvements greatly!

The disclaimer of Tir ná Lia: I do NOT own anything, it all belongs to their rightful owners. I have only written this fanfic out of love and appreciation for the wonderful, complex universe of the Witcher. I make no profit nor do I intend to, I am simply happy to write my fantasies within this universe and happy that others find this story enjoyable. Many thanks also to CD Projekt RED for the masterpieces Witcher games, as well as to Andrzej Sapkowski for the masterpieces his books are.