15 years old. That was the age at which Andrew met his first monster, and by a following of events, his first witcher. It was an horrible creature- the monster not the witcher. The boy, around his age, was actually very handsome. But that wasn't the point. There were disappearances around the kingdom of Caselta lately and so an innkeeper had put on a notice for a witcher to come to town. And you appeared, all sharp edges and hard glares. The prince was in town that day, and because his crown was made of gold, it had catched the dragon's eye- because that was what the creature was, a black dragon, the rarest kind. Though before the monster could bite, you'd slain it. Then casually just asked for your money and walked away.

He escaped his knights quickly and catched up to you. As any polite and thankful prince, he invited you to diner- and to be a guest at the castle. Which you'd accepted, for a while. You grew closer to Andrew. Very, physically close. But there wasn't any illusion on either part, witchers were lone creatures, especially you.

Ten years later, the kingdom of Ervind.

You'd passed in his kingdom again- he learned so two days after you left from talking villagers. You'd been welcome in their city to kill the monster there, but as always, were chased by rocks and insults as soon as the job was done. Mutant. Abberation. The monster who hunted his kin. Unoriginal at this point, you'd heard them all. Still, he was offended, in his own unserious way, that you didn't pass by the castle.

So here he was, in Ervind, asking an innkeeper where you stayed. Some people chimmed in as soon as they heard the word 'witcher'. Names fused, insults, laughs, mockeries.

"The butcher of Karakal."

"The white wolf."

"I heard he killed some humans. Must be crazy."

"Or stupid. Or maybe the mutant's finally chosing his side?"

"Heard he's got a kid with him- a pretty little girl.."

"He's friends with mages and elves... Monsters, if you ask me."

More laughter over all the talking, loud, drunk, not knowing who they were speaking to. The innkeeper just grumbled about drunkards and rolled his eyes before giving Andrew the indications he needed towards an annexion of the inn, where the rooms were situated.

Andrew tought for a moment before deciding against barging into your room. He stepped outside, spotting your horse, Spider, and walking over to it. Gods, it was a cute as he remembered, and it still loved pets just as much. Though next to your mare was a smaller stallion. So you were accompanied.

The prince watched as you stepped out of your room, only to stop and stare- or rather glare- at the familiar man petting your loyal- or treacherous, it was to be decided- horse. He watched as you sniffed the air, picking up on the sweet perfume of lilacs, belladona and something else no one could really make out. A scent that made witchers go crazy, like they couldn't get enough of it. Sweet, addictive and utterly sickening. That specific scent. On him. Andrew could only watch as you glared even harder at him.

Gods, it was hot. If glares could kill...