The Witcher's Apprentice

A Witcher/Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice & Fire crossover

…

Chapter 1: The Wind Howls

Essos. The Disputed Lands.

Flags fluttered in the wind followed by the sounds of cheers and the clattering cacophony of hooves hammering earth and splintering crashes of wood and metal. Aegon wheeled his horse, a charger black as sin, around as he took up another tourney lance offered to him. Hefting it in his arm, getting a feel for the weight of it, Aegon looked over at his opponent.

It had been a few weeks since Aegon and his teachers/family had joined up with the Golden Company. They had recently received word from the Spider that war had now engulfed Westeros following the death of the Usurper Robert Baratheon and the trial and execution of Lord Eddard Stark at the command, or more accurately the whim of the newly crowned Joffrey Baratheon. The Quiet Wolf's eldest son and heir Robb Stark had rallied and mustered his bannermen and levies and marched south from the North and had earned the epithet the Young Wolf after smashing a Lannister host led by the Kingslayer Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard in the Riverlands and captured the Lion in chains. There were other claimants to the Iron Throne such as the Usurper's younger brothers, Stannis, and Renly Baratheon.

Renly didn't last long despite him having a vast number of soldiers and support from the Stormlands and the Tyrells on his side, but he'd been killed all the same in his own tent. There had been many rumours of how Renly had been assassinated, the most common and popular belief was that his newly appointed Kingsguard, Lady Brienne of Tarth had murdered him for rejecting her advances. With Renly dead, the Tyrells had retreated back to Highgarden in the Reach and the Stormlanders had merged with Stannis' host, making him by far the largest and strongest contender for the Iron Throne.

With the chaos that had been happening in Westeros, Varys had sent word to Aegon's mentor and father-figure, Lord Jon Connington, to join the Golden Company and have Aegon learn the life of a soldier. A couple of months of drilling and a few skirmishes later, Aegon had been learning what it meant to be a soldier. It was then Captain-General Myles 'Blackheart' Toyne had called for a squire's tourney, for a variety of reasons; one was to reveal Aegon to the Golden Company captains, the second being to give the squires in the Golden Company a chance to show off their skills and give them a chance to earn their spurs.

After being introduced to the Golden Company, Aegon had then taken part in the Tourney. He'd faced off against other squires, riding hard and sure, knocking a few off their horses. Some his lance broke off their shields earning him a point. His opponents had given as good as they got against him, and a few had come close to knocking him off his horse. But whether it was through luck or skill (Aegon liked to think it was skill), Aegon had prevailed and was now facing off the next squire, a pimply dark-skinned Dornish boy that rode a horse that was as foul tempered as him.

Aegon's charger snorted and pawed the ground with one hoof. It seemed like to charge before the herald could even sound his trumpet, and in all honesty, Aegon couldn't blame his steed for its eagerness. He'd have liked to charge out and meet his foe too instead of waiting. After a torturously long moment that felt like an hour rather than a minute, the herald blew his horn and Aegon hardly needed to kick his horse into a gallop for it did so as the horn was called. Setting his eyes firmly on his opponent, Aegon couched his lance, aiming for the chest. His opponent seemed to be aiming his lance at his head. As the lance neared Aegon's head, he twisted his head to the side, narrowly avoiding the blunted tip of the lance and lunged with his own lance. The Dornish boy gave a strangled cry and fell off his horse as Aegon's lance smashed and shattered against his chest, knocking him backwards through the force and inertia.

The crowd of assembled knights, lords, ladies, magisters, and the like cheered wildly as Aegon raised his now shattered lance in triumph while a maester and a team of stretcher bearers carried the dazed and winded squire off the field to be treated.

The next two squires made their passes at each other, giving Aegon a chance to rest his charger. Ser Rolly Duckfield helped Aegon off his horse and helped him pull of his helmet. "You're doing well, lad. I've taught you well it seems," the shaggy-haired knight proclaimed proudly as he offered Aegon a skin of water.

"I like to think so, ser," Aegon replied with a smile, but then his smile faltered as he said, "My pardon, but for a moment when I'm tilting against the other squires, it almost feels like they're letting me win."

"How do you mean, my prince?" Rolly asked.

"I don't really know," Aegon replied. "It feels as though when I come nearer to them, their aim isn't quite as sure or they slow down as they ride closer," he said uncertainly.

"Perhaps you're seeing things," Rolly said easily. "I mean, you were revealed to everyone as the lost son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen," he added. "So, mayhap the other squires don't intend to harm you too much?" he offered.

"I'd rather they did intend to, Ser," Aegon said sternly. "How else will I win the respect of the Golden Company captains if the other squires go easy on me?"

"As you say, my prince," Rolly said with a nod of his head. "Anyway, best get your helmet back on and onto your horse. You're up against the last squire," he advised.

"Good," Aegon said with a nod of his head as he put his helm back on, fastening it before climbing back onto his charger. Flicking the reins, Aegon had his horse trot out and he picked up a tourney lance. He looked over at his opponent and spotted the three castles on a field of orange on his shield. House Peake, Aegon thought vaguely, a house that had lost two of its castles in their numerous rebellions. Ages before during the Dance of Dragons, the patriarch of House Peake had tried to have his daughter wed to the then King Aegon III but had failed spectacularly to do so. A wry smirk passed over Aegon's lips under his helm as he thought of denying a house of rebels another victory.

Readying himself, Aegon waited for the sound of the horn and quickly enough, the trumpeting sound of the horn blew. With a kick, Aegon's steed charged into a gallop same as the Peake's did. Aegon and his opponent made numerous passes at each, breaking their lances off each other's shields. One pass, Aegon was nearly knocked off his horse, but he quickly caught himself and pulled himself upright and grabbed another lance and charged again. Again, his lance broke off his opponent's shield, but the same was for the Peake squire.

Soon after, Lord Jon called it a to halt and bade them to present themselves and asked for Blackheart to make the final judgement. Aegon tried not to let his tiredness show as the Blackheart stared at him and Peake in a calculating manner with hard eyes before speaking loudly for all who were present to hear.

"Both of these young men performed admirably. They've both shown great skill at lances and horsemanship. A true show of chivalry," he said slowly before adding, "But from what I'd seen with my own eyes, it was Prince Aegon who couched his lance more skilfully throughout this tourney. Let it be known that the prince has won!"

The crowd cheered and clapped wildly. Aegon raised his helmet high and gave a beaming smile, elated that he'd won his first tourney. The Peake boy scowled and left the field, muttering curses under his breath.

"Prince Aegon. Approach, please," Lord Jon said, his face stern but proud. Aegon dismounted his horse and stood before his mentor. "Kneel." Aegon did so as Lord Jon drew his sword and spoke, "Aegon Targaryen, do you swear before the eyes of the gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, to fight bravely when needed and do other such tasks, no matter how hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

Aegon looked up at Lord Jon and nodded his head. "I do, my lord," he said bravely.

Lord Jon then rested the tip of his sword on Aegon's right shoulder before moving it to his left and spoke the words. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be diligent. In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be wise and serve as a guiding force for all those who come after you. Arise, Ser Aegon Targaryen!"

Aegon rose to his feet and if he had thought the cheering before was loud, this was colossal. "A knight, a knight!" one woman cried out. One man shouted at the top of his lungs, "Ser Aegon Targaryen! The Conqueror Reborn!"

Myles Toyne stepped down from his seat as servants rushed forward, carrying a chest of cedar wood and polished copper. Myles bowed his head as the chest was opened.

"Blackfyre!" Aegon breathed out as he gazed upon what lay within. The fabled sword of Aegon the Conqueror and used by many Targaryen Kings until it was given away. The sword of kings and pretenders. It was beautiful; the blade was all Valyrian steel, dark and smoky, almost black in colour with ripples all along from there metal had been folded a thousand times over. A gleaming red faceted ruby was set in the pommel, beautifully and elegantly cut into a diamond shape while the hilt was fashioned out of smooth and polished dragonglass and the ends of the crossguard were wrought into roaring dragon heads of cold black iron.

'The sword that was lost has now returned to its rightful owners' Aegon thought to himself. He smiled bowing his head in thanks before taking up the sword and was given an ebon wood and leather sheath for it and tied to it to his belt.

Lord Jon then spoke to Aegon in a whisper. "Well done, my prince." Although the exiled Lord of Griffin's Roost face was stern, his pale blue eyes shone with pride and joy.

"Thank you, Lord Jon. I won't let you down," Aegon whispered to him before turning to the crowd and raised his gauntleted hand high and everyone cheered.

Soon, a call for refreshments was announced and Jon said to Aegon, "You'd best get out of that armour for the feast now, boy. I'll see you there." Aegon nodded at this and headed into the camp where his tent would be, intent of taking off his armour and changing into something more suitable for the feast. As he neared his tent, Aegon spied dark cloud growing on the horizon.

"A storm? That's unfortunate," he muttered to himself as he entered his tent where he began to take off his armour and set it aside in a neat pile.

Some servants had drawn Aegon a bath, something he was grateful for. He had worked up quite a bit of sweat and dust in the tourney, so a hot bath was certainly a welcome sight. After spending almost an hour in the large wooden pail, scrubbing his skin until it was pink and raw, Aegon climbed out of the bath, drying off before dressing himself.

Dressing himself in black trousers, a lambswool shirt and leather jerkin and fine but plain leather boots, Aegon looked at himself in the looking glass. His reflection stared back at him with a small smile present on its lips.

"I'm a knight," Aegon murmured to himself before giving a chuckle. "Still can't believe it," he added before he looked at his sword, Blackfyre, propped up against the table. His smile widening, Aegon tied the sword onto his belt and looked at himself once again in the looking glass.

"Did the Conqueror ever feel this way?" Aegon asked himself. And then there came a rumble of thunder and wind began to blow. The tent flaps began to flap and ripple as wind blew into the tent.

"A storm? At this hour?" Aegon asked himself with a sigh of frustration as he prepared to exit his tent. Then there came a fizzing, hissing crackling sound and a strange scent hit Aegon's nose making it wrinkle as he tried to identify what the smell was. Then a burst of light filled the tent, blinding Aegon forcing him to cover his eyes with his hands and a shockwave knocked him to the ground. Fumbling for his sword, Aegon drew it out and uncovered his eyes to see a bizarre sight before him.

A young woman with ash blonde hair done up in a bun with a few loose strands waving about her face. She was quite pretty Aegon observed, although the scar that started from the bottom of her left eye and curved down her cheek did diminish her beauty, but she was still lovely to behold. Her eyes opened to reveal bright emerald orbs. She wore a white tunic with elbow length leather gloves, form fitting trousers that showed of her long and toned legs. A metal belt hung low on her wide hips and Aegon spotted the hilt of a longsword poking over the young woman's shoulder.

Aegon locked eyes with the young woman who stared. "Umm, hello?" Aegon said awkwardly. "Are you alright? How did you get in my tent?" he then asked.

"Where am I?" the young woman said ignoring Aegon's query.

"You're in the Disputed Lands of Essos," Aegon said to his seemingly otherworldly guest. "Who are you, my lady?" he asked.

The young woman looked at him for a long moment before she smiled politely and gave her name. "Ciri. My name is Ciri," she told him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Ciri," Aegon then said letting the strange name roll off his tongue. "I am Ser Aegon Targaryen, recently knighted," he introduced himself before going back to his earlier question. "How did you get here in my tent?" he asked her.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Ciri said with a smile.

"Try me," Aegon said with a smile of his own.

"I have the power to move between time and space to other worlds," Ciri said matter-of-factly.

"Time and space? Other worlds?" Aegon echoed. "How can such a thing be possible?" he wondered out loud.

"Magic. Very powerful magic," Ciri said as though it were that simple.

"I see," Aegon said with a nod of his head. "Can anyone do what you do?" he enquired.

"Not quite. My power is… unique," Ciri replied.

"I see," Aegon muttered. Before he could say or ask anything further, a sudden gust of cold freezing wind blew through the tent making him shiver.

"Seven Hells! Has Winter come already?" he said with a curse. Ciri on the other hand froze up, a look of fear on her features.

"Oh, no. They've found me!" she said in a hushed voice. "I thought I'd shaken them off?" she asked herself.

"Who's found you?" Aegon asked Ciri in confusion. Ciri did not answer as she ran out of the tent. Curious as to what his guest had referred to, Aegon ran out after her and when he saw what was happening outside, he could not help but gape like an utter trout.

It was utter bedlam outside as a blizzard raged all around the encampment. Even more disturbingly, massive horses bearing armoured men of a size that Aegon would wager that rivalled Gregor Clegane rode about. Galloping alongside the riders they caused chaos and carnage were what Aegon thought looked like hounds but were covered in icicles and crystal growths.

"What in Seven Hells is going on?!" Aegon exclaimed as he prepared to unsheathe his sword. He soon spotted Ciri who was looking at the confusion with horror in her emerald eyes. "Lady Ciri? What the bloody fuck is going on?!" he asked.

"The Wild Hunt!" Ciri quickly said. "They're after me!" she added and she looked at Aegon and asked, "Do you have horses?"

"What?" Aegon squawked in confusion.

"Do you have horses? I need to draw them away from here!" Ciri shouted.

"This way!" Aegon said as he began to lead Ciri over to where the horses were hitched. The horses whinnied in fear and were trying to break free of their bonds. Aegon grabbed the nearest two and handed the reins of one to Ciri. "Do you know how to ride?" he asked her.

Ciri easily swung herself up into the saddle and flicked the reins. Aegon shrugged his shoulders and mounted his horse and with a kick, he spurred his steed into following Ciri's.

The pair then galloped through the encampment and sure enough, the Wild Hunt spotted them and gave chase on their massive warhorses.

"Faster! Go!" Aegon urged his steed who huffed and snorted as its hooves pounded the earth. The wind filled the air like the howling of wolves. Aegon heard guttural snarls and huffs and looked to see the strange hounds catching up towards him and Ciri. Drawing Blackfyre, Aegon prepared to swing the Valyrian blade at the closest one to him when it suddenly lunged and dug its claws deep into the horse. The horse gave a scream of pain and fell over and Aegon went flying out of the saddle and hit the ground, landing on his back. The wind driven from him, Aegon gasped his vision filled with stars and it was sheer luck he still gripped his sword as one of the hounds came bounding up to him.

But before Aegon could recover his breath and lift his sword in time, Ciri leapt over him and swung her own sword at the hound, slicing it in half. The ashen-haired girl twirled her sword almost theatrically, her emerald eyes burning fiercely.

Then a deep growling voice spoke. "Cirilla…" The sound of heavy armour clinking as it moved was heard and Aegon managed to sit up and see what he could only assume was the leader of those that hunted Ciri walking towards them. A massive sword with a jagged blade was in the monstrosity's gauntleted hand as the skull-faced helmet stared at them balefully.

"You cannot run forever, Cirilla!" the leader of the Hunt said in his deep menacing voice. "Wherever you go, we shall hunt you!" he threatened.

"You haven't caught me yet!" Ciri bit out as her frame suddenly glowed with bright green-white light. She whirled around and grabbed a hold of Aegon and in a flash of light, they disappeared.

…

The next thing Aegon felt was his back hitting something solid with a loud thump. The wind driven from him for the second time around, Aegon stared blankly up at what was the night sky. Wheezing in pain, the young knight tried to regain his breath. After a few moments, the wind was back in his lungs and he slowly and painfully sat up, propping himself on his elbows as he looked at his surroundings. It appeared he was in a forest of some kind, but he hadn't the slightest clue if it was a forest in Westeros or not.

Sighing to himself and he then realised that Ciri was nowhere to be found. "Ciri?" the young knight called out in worry. There was no answer. He called out for Ciri again and there was nought but silence save for the chirps of crickets and caws of birds. Standing to his feet and feeling his bones creak and pop as he did so, Aegon looked around for any sign of human life.

Looking at the night sky, Aegon suddenly spotted a column of what appeared to be smoke. Perhaps from a campfire? Relieved that he was perhaps near a village or settlement, Aegon walked in the direction where he saw the smoke rise from. Leaves and twigs crunched under the prince's feet as he marched through the wilderness. Soon enough, he saw the single glow of a fire through the leaves and branches of the trees and bushes. And there were voices too.

Trading quietly, Aegon held his sword ready in case the owners of the fire weren't a friendly sort and hid behind a tree as he saw what looked to be a river harbor village situated near a river.

A dozen men wearing a motley assortment of leathers and armour, all seated around a large fire, feasting and drinking together. A few were singing songs in a strange foreign tongue and seated on a wooden chair was what Aegon thought to be a knight wearing black armour and helmet with wings on his head. Aegon watched the men apparently enjoying themselves when a loud cough came from behind him.

Spinning around, Aegon saw a rough looking fellow wearing dirty stained leather armour glaring at him with brown eyes. "What do we have 'ere? A fucking spy?" he asked coarsely.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, Aegon made a run for it. He shoved the man over and ran helter skelter as a horn was sounded. Aegon got perhaps a dozen yards when something punctured his shoulders. Shock overcame him before he screamed in pain and saw that a crossbow bolt had been shot into his shoulder. Falling over, Aegon collapsed as his mind went blank. Then the men from the camp surrounded him and hauled him away.

Aegon was then brought before the camp leader and shoved down onto his knees. The camp leader spoke with a strange accent to his voice. "Who are you, stranger? Are you a spy?" he demanded.

"I'm not a spy!" Aegon gasped out as the bolt was still lodged in his shoulder.

"Why you come near our camp?" the leader demanded. He then spoke some strange garbling word directing it at Aegon.

"I found myself here! I was lost! Didn't know where I was," Aegon replied through tears of pain.

"Found this on him," one of the men said to the leader holding up Blackfyre. "Lordly thing. Wonder why he has it," he muttered.

The black knight's eyes looked at the Valyrian blade, a smile of greed on his lips as he took the sword before looking at Aegon. "Where did you get such a fine blade, huh? Little boys shouldn't play with swords!" He laughed mockingly which was followed laughs of agreement from his followers.

"It's mine! It was given to me!" Aegon shouted. "Give it back!" he demanded.

The leader sneered cruelly before barking out an order to his men. Aegon was then dragged away to a nearby house where he was taken inside then shoved in a caged area where another man and a corpse of a man sat.

Aegon hit the wall of the enclosed space and slid down onto the floor, blood from his shoulder smearing the wall.

"You got caught too, eh?" his cellmate asked in a tired voice. Aegon looked at him; he looked to be in his thirties with dark brown hair in a ponytail and he wore what looked like a blacksmith's apron and clothing.

"Where am I?" Aegon asked.

"Swamp Bint Harbor, Peet's Landing, or what's left of it before those whoreson deserts swept in," replied the blacksmith. "Name's Ulrich," he introduced himself. He then indicated the dead corpse next to him. "That there is or was Piotr," he explained. "Who are you then, lad?" he inquired looking at Aegon.

"Aegon… Aegon Targaryen, recently knighted," Aegon said through the pain of his bleeding shoulder.

"Knight, eh? You with Temeria? Redania? Or those fucking Nilfgaardians?" Ulrich questioned.

"Don't know who any of them are," Aegon said honestly as he gritted his teeth.

"You alright?"

"Bolt… in my shoulder," Aegon said as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Shit. Better get it out then or else you'll bleed to death," Ulrich muttered. "C'mere. Don't fancy having another corpse in here. One's bad enough," he said as he shuffled over to help Aegon.

Aegon painfully turned around to show his cellmate the wound. Ulrich tutted thoughtfully. "Not an expert, but I think you're damn lucky. Don't look like it's hit any bone," he remarked.

"Can you get it out?" Aegon asked.

"Don't know, but I can try," Ulrich said grimly as he grasped the shaft. "Ready?" Aegon nodded weakly. "One… two… three!" With a forceful yank, the quarrel was ripped out and Aegon gave a meek cry of pain before slumping over, his mind a blank.

Ulrich worked quickly. Ripping some strips of leather from his apron, he wrapped them around the wound tightly. "Hang in there, lad. You're not dead yet," he encouraged the young knight.

Helping Aegon to sit up, Ulrich looked at him and asked him, "You alright? Feeling any better?"

"Not sure," muttered Aegon in response. "I suppose I'm still alive," he joked weakly.

"Yeah, but whether you'll last the night is another matter and I don't fancy sharing this cell with another dead person," Ulrich said with a grim smile. "So, where are you from, lad?"

"Westeros, by way of Essos," Aegon stated.

"Westeros? Essos? Never heard of them," Ulrich said with a shake of his head. "Where abouts are they?" he inquired.

"Where am I to start with?" Aegon retorted.

"Peet's Landing as I told ya before, but to be more exacty, we're in Norther Temeria in the Grayrocks region, north of Lindenvale and Southwest of Mulbrydale."

Aegon looked at Ulrich in confusion. "Temeria? Is that somewhere in Essos?"

"No, the Continent," Ulrich replied. "What's your story? How did you get here?" he asked.

Aegon sighed as he prepared to tell his fellow prisoner what had happened to him. A hour later, Ulrich looked at the prince with disbelief and confusion in his eyes.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to pull one over me," he said slowly. But after a moment, he added, "But you got an honest look about ya, so I'll give ye the benefit of the doubt."

"So, who were those men? The ones who've taken over this village?" came Aegon's question.

"Deserts and layabouts from Temeria, Redania and Nilfgaard," Ulrich said with a look of contempt in his eyes. "Ploughing bastards all joined up for protection and swept through Peet's Landing and took over, killing and looting everything they saw," he added. "They kept me alive 'cause I'm a blacksmith, so they need someone to keep their swords sharp and their armour dent free," he stated with bitterness in his voice. "They mostly raid military and merchant caravans, making off with any loot and prisoners they can find," he explained.

"So they're bandits," Aegon commented.

"Aye, but better equipped than most since most of 'em were soldiers," Ulrich replied.

"I don't suppose you've got a plan to escape?" Aegon asked weakly.

"I've tried to escape a few times, but I get caught quickly after I try and brought back here with a few new bruises," Ulrich said sadly. "I'm lucky I've got a trade they sorely need, otherwise they'd have killed me long ago," he added bitterly.

The doors to the main interior of the house opened and a rough looking thug walked in with two bowls of gruel in his hands. "Eat up and enjoy, lads," the man told them as he shoved the bowls through a space in the cage bars before turning around and leaving.

Ulrich picked up his bowl and began to eat slowly. "Best eat to keep up your strength," he advised Aegon as he ate.

Aegon reluctantly picked up his bowl and began to eat, grimacing in distaste at the bland almost sour taste of the gruel. "No camp cook of their own?" he wondered aloud a he set his gruel aside.

"Aye, you'd think they'd have the sense to have a camp cook," Ulrich said with a sardonic smile. "They mostly eat what they take from merchant caravans," he added. "We, however, get the scraps they don't want anymore," he stated.

"Is there anyone who could help get us out and kill all those men?" Aegon then asked.

"Well, that depends which country you follow, lad," Ulrich said. "There's either Redania or Nilfgaard, both bad as each other," he clarified.

"Which is the lesser?"

"Couldn't rightly say, if I were being honest."

Aegon shifted and clutched his wounded shoulder with a groan of pain. Ulrich noticed this and said, "You need a doctor and the closest one is leagues from here."

"I'll be fine," Aegon muttered stoically in response as he lay down on his side. "I just…need to rest," he said.

"If you say so, lad," Ulrich said not looking optimistic. "Try not to die on me, yeah?" he asked. "Don't fancy having two corpses in here to talk to," he joked darkly.

Aegon didn't reply as he fell unconscious and slept dreamlessly. Ulrich sighed to himself as he rested his head against the wall of the hut and prepared to wait for morning.

…

Fingers of morning sunlight crept through the windows, slowly encroaching on the cellroom. Ulrich woke up and looked at his cellmate Aegon. Giving the young man a gentle nudge, he asked, "Hey? You awake?"

Aegon awoke with a very weak groan. "Well, that's something, at least," Ulrich said wryly. "Feeling better?" he asked dryly.

"Still weak," Aegon mumbled as he attempted to sit up but fell back down on his side. Ulrich pursed his lips and helped the prince sit up. The blacksmith took a look at the makeshift bandage wrapped around Aegon's shoulder; it was near soaked through with blood but didn't look to be bleeding anymore.

"Hm. Wound's sealed up. That's promising," the blacksmith said with hope lacing his voice. "We'll need to change that bandage though," he added.

"Do… what you have to," Aegon replied weakly as he rested against the wall of the cell.

Ulrich prepared to say something in response when the sounds of shouting, followed by the clanging and clashing of steel on steel. "Gods! What's going on out there?" he asked in wonder.

"Soldiers?" Aegon asked his voice weak and tired.

"Maybe?" Ulrich offered uncertainly as the screams of men dying were then heard, then some loud explosions of sound were heard then more screams. Someone was shouting orders or encouragement or insults before the sound of metal sliding against flesh and bone was heard. More clashing and clanging of steel then some a few last screams and then silence reigned.

Aegon and his fellow prisoner stared at the door of the hut, waiting if someone was going to enter and either free them or kill them. The door swung open and walking inside was a tall man with pure white hair, wearing a mixture of leather and mail, a bloody sword in his right hand and the hilt of another sword poking over his shoulder.

Aegon didn't know if it was his wound making him hallucinate, but he would swear to the Gods that this stranger had cat eyes. Amber gold eyes with vertical pupils that narrowed upon seeing him and Ulrich in their cell. Thin lips set in a hard line, the unknown warrior approached the prison cell and put a key in the lock and turned it. With a metallic click, the door to the cell swung open.

"You two alright?" the stranger asked them, his voice harsh and raspy, almost bestial.

"I'm fine, my friend here isn't," Ulrich told the man. "You're a witcher?" he asked him.

"Mhm," came the terse response.

"Who hired ye? Redania? Nilfgaard?" Ulrich asked.

"No-one. Did this of my own free will," replied the stranger. He then looked at Aegon appraisingly and asked, "Who's the kid?"

"Aegon… my name is Aegon," the young man weakly replied.

"Aegon? Funny name," the warrior remarked dryly. "How long has been like this?" he asked Ulrich.

"Since last night. He were nabbed by those deserters, got shot in the shoulder by a crossbow," Ulrich replied. "Bandaged him as best I could, but he needs proper medicine," he said. "Don't suppose you could stich him up?" he asked the witcher.

"Maybe, but I've only ever stitched myself up," the witcher stated as he knelt down in front of Aegon who looked at him with unfocussed eyes. "Purple eyes? Silver hair?" he remarked as he took note of Aegon's features. "Where do you come from, kid?"

"Westeros…" came Aegon's answer.

"Westeros…? How did you get here?" the warrior asked.

"A girl… said her name… was Ciri," said Aegon.

This got the warrior's attention. "Ciri? You know Ciri?" he asked in interest.

"She… appeared… in my tent," Aegon replied. "Wild Hunt… came after her… we fled, ended up here," he said through pants of exhaustion.

"Don't talk. You can tell me more later," the warrior told him. He then looked at Ulrich and asked him, "Are you going to be alright?"

"Aye. Me home is in Mulbrydale, ain't far from here," Ulrich said. "Got a forge there. Come by later and I'll have something for ye," he added. "What are you going to do with him?" he asked looking at Aegon.

"Take him to a healer," the warrior replied. "Need to ask him some questions," he then said as he then sheathed his sword over his shoulder and lifted Aegon into his arms.

"Wait! My… sword," Aegon blurted out weakly.

"Sword? What sword?" the cat-eyed warrior.

"Leader took it from me," Aegon heaved out. "It's mine. Only one like it," he panted.

"Alright. I'll put you on Roach and I'll grab your sword for you," the witcher said to him in response. "Think I did see the leader of these men wielding a sword," he added absently.

Aegon nodded before falling unconscious again.

…

Off the beaten path to the village of Midcopse, in an old herbalist's cottage, Keira Metz, former advisor to King Foltest, sorceress and member of the infamous Lodge of Sorceresses, was communing with a ghost. Using the magic lantern she and the witcher Geralt had recovered from the mysterious Elven Sage's hideout, she was using it to commune with the ghost of a servant from the tower on Fyke Isle.

As she questioned the ghost, the door to the cottage rattled loudly as someone knocked on it urgently.

With an irritable sigh, Keira shouted out, "I'm not in the mood for visitors today!"

"Keira! It's me! Open up!" came a familiar voice. Keira's eyes went wide with surprise followed by elation.

"Geralt?" Turning off the magic lamp, Keira hurried to open the front door to see the White Wolf Geralt standing at her door with a young man in his arms. "Geralt? What is this? Who is this?" the sorceress asked the monster slayer as he walked inside carrying the unconscious boy in his arms.

"He's injured. Needs medicine and healing," the Witcher said tersely in response to Keira's questions.

"And what makes you think I know anything about stitching up wounds and healing salves?" Keira asked acidly, a little annoyed by what Geralt was asking her to do.

"He met Ciri. He might know something more about her," Geralt said bluntly.

"He met Ciri?" Keira repeated in surprise. "Put him on the bed. I'll look him over," she ordered the Witcher who quickly carried the young man over and laid him on the bed. Keira then worked quickly; calmly she peeled off the leather strips that were wrapped around a wound, giving a grimace as she did so. "Who did this to him?" she asked wryly.

"Bandits, deserters shot him and imprisoned him," Geralt answered as he watched Keira work. "His cellmate tried to treat his wound. It was lucky I came the very next day and I learned he knew something about Ciri," he explained.

Keira pursed her lips and said, "Well, it's not too bad, in all respects. He's lost a bit of blood, but infection hasn't set in." With a sigh, the sorceress looked at the Witcher and spoke to him, "Bring me what I ask from my stores. I'll be able to brew a healing potion for him and stitch him up properly."

The witcher nodded in response and obeyed as Keira gave him instructions on what herbs she needed.

An hour later, Keira washed her blood stained hands in a bowl of water, washing away the blood and herbal residue. The patient was sleeping soundly in her bed. Keira looked at Geralt and said to him, "He'll be fine. It was a good thing you brought him to me, otherwise he might not have lasted another day."

"Thank you, Keira," Geralt said simply.

"You can thank me by helping me with a few matters," Keira said instantly. "I have something I need a witcher for and what luck you happen to be here." She smiled engagingly at Geralt who sighed at this.

"What do you need me to do?" came the tired cynical question on the witcher's lips.

Keira's smile only grew wider as she prepared to tell Geralt exactly what she needed.

…

TO BE CONTINUED…

A/N: Felt creative. Might delete later. I don't know. It was a plot bunny hopping around in my head, thought I'd give it a try and see if it gets any traction. Let me know what you think so far.