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Krystof was nobody, the fourth son of a baron from the middle of Nowhere, Aedirn. Their specialty was sugar beets. He even looked utterly average, with his dark hair and blue eyes, medium height and build, and lightly tanned skin. Not particularly handsome or plain, no distinguishing features to speak of. He was quite happy with that, to be honest. He didn't want to inherit land, and be tied down to a single place all his life. No, he wanted to see more of the world. Certainly his bastard father and asshole brothers offered no incentive for him to stick around.
He wasn't a romantic bard, and had no talent for acrobatics, but he wrote a beautiful hand, and he had the education of a baron's son. It would be easy enough for him to find work as a scribe. So when he was sixteen he endeared himself to a group of traveling merchants, and they let him travel with them to the next town over. There was safety in numbers. He saw a fair chunk of the continent that way, from the poorest farmlands to the grandest of royal courts, from coastlands to mountains.
Then, when he was nineteen, the White Wolf took Kaedwen. Every country on the continent immediately started recruiting more spies. As a traveling scribe, Krystof was ideally placed. It wasn't long before he was approached, and he figured why not? It was extra income, and a bit of excitement. Nobody ever actually got close to Kaer Morhen, but Krystof passed through Wolvenburg every few months, and passed on what little he was able to learn. It certainly didn't stop the White Wolf from continuing to expand his empire, one country at a time. It didn't bother Krystof much. He was never in one place long enough for it to really matter who was ruling it, and from everything he'd heard the kings which were killed had thoroughly deserved it. At least the warlord didn't seem to be interested in massacreing conscripted peasants, or pillaging villages. Gradually, quality of life seemed to improve across the wolflands.
Krystof was nearing forty years old when his life got a little more interesting than usual. He was in Wolvenburg's main inn, writing a letter for his current client while three more people waited patiently in line behind her. A small bell over the entrance door chimed as a Witcher walked in. There was nothing remarkable about that, not in this town. No, the remarkable part was that the Witcher walked right over to his table and sat down next to him.
Krystof didn't panic, there was no point. Either the Witcher wanted to make use of his services as a scribe, which he'd be happy to offer, or he was about to be arrested for spying. If it was the latter, there wasn't a damn thing he'd be able to do about it, and at least his execution would likely be swift. Everyone knew that Witchers don't torture. Certainly his other employer wasn't going to negotiate for his safe return. He'd be disavowed and left to his fate, like any spy unfortunate enough to be caught.
He finished his client's letter and addressed it for her, then turned to his unexpected companion. The man was tall and leanly buff, with long strawberry blonde hair and pale green eyes. He had an abundance of scars, but only one on his handsome face. A thin silver line cut through the light stubble on his shapely jaw. He wore a medallion as every Witcher did, with a hissing cat's head beautifully rendered on it. Truly, the craftsmanship was impressive. His ichor black light-armour was in the style common for longbow archers, which was a little unusual for a Witcher. Especially one that wasn't a Crane. He introduced himself as Tola, and asked to speak in private.
That was how Krystof became a double-agent for Kaer Morhen. It paid much better than being a single agent, okay? And it came with a lot of extra benefits. He was pardoned for any past spying, given harmlessly useful intelligence to pass along to his first employer, and had access to Kaer Morhen's marvelous hot springs. Krystof would give his firstborn for those hot springs. He was also given a ring with an enchanted crystal set in it, which was to be broken "in case of an emergency". He knew what that meant. If he was caught, it would give him a swift death before he could be tortured for information. It was far more subtle than carrying around poison.
Krystof stared at his ring as he sat, silently seething in a Cintran noble's dungeon. He hadn't even been arrested for spying, which would've at least made sense. Oh no, it was far worse than that. He'd been accused of stealing some priceless keepsake, after refusing the Lord's proposition. It was ridiculous. He was a middle-aged man with streaks of silver at his temples, not some pretty young chambermaid. He didn't expect to be tortured, for a wonder, but he certainly wasn't looking forward to being hung for a crowd's entertainment. He'd thought to take control of the situation, and go out on his own terms. He'd smashed the ring's crystal. And nothing happened. Faulty maybe, or perhaps it was never enchanted to begin with. Maybe it didn't do what he'd thought it did. Whatever the case, he had only hours left to live, and nothing to do but dread his nearing end.
A young maid brought him his sole daily meal. Usually a dungeon guard brought it. She was short and plump and plain-looking, utterly unremarkable, but something about her felt vaguely familiar. He could've sworn he'd seen her somewhere before, he just couldn't put his finger on it. He put it out of his mind and started in on his last meal. It wasn't much, a small loaf of bread and a bowl of thin broth. He nearly broke a tooth on the key which had been baked into the loaf.
The guard was passed out on his stool, sprawled lopsidedly against the wall, his chest just barely rising with each breath to show that he still lived. There was a spilled cup of sweet tea at his feet.
The maid was waiting for him at the exit with a change of clothes. She looked away while he quickly re-dressed, then casually led the way through the manor to a servants' side-enterance. Nobody looked twice at him, and why would they? He was dressed as a servant, with black boot polish hiding the greys and the unwashed greasiness of his hair. Within minutes they were on the road leading away from the lord's lands, into the nearby forest. They were nearly at the treeline when the shouting started, and guardsmen came pouring out of the manor behind them. When a large group of them split off in their direction, the maid broke into a sprint, and Krystof took off after her. Thin lines of blue light streaked overhead, arching towards their pursuers and knocking several off their feet. They took off down a well-worn deer path, soon slowing, but not stopping to catch their breath. They kept walking until they reached a small stream, then followed it uphill.
As they walked, one by one, a four-man troup of Witchers joined them from out of the shadows of the undergrowth. A Griffin carrying a pack which Krystof recognized as his own confiscated belongings. A black-eyed Manticore, a tall burly Bear, and Tola. The handsome Cat smiled at him, a subtle quirk of his lips and a brightness in his eyes, and every muscle in Krystof's body relaxed. He was safe, by some miracle. His legs gave out, weak with relief from days of terror and near-starvation.
The young maid came to his rescue, calmly declaring that they'd be able to move faster if the Witchers carried the humans. The Bear picked up the maid with one arm, as though she were a toddler, and Tola gently lifted him in a bridal carry. Krystof was too exhausted to be embarrassed.
After nearly an hour of brisk walking, they reached a small cavern in the hillside, and the Manticore pulled out a xenovox. Seconds later a purple portal appeared, and the Witchers calmly stepped through into Kaer Morhen. Tola carried him all the way to Mage Triss' infirmary. He was asleep by the time Tola lay him down.
Krystof woke to the sensation of someone washing his hair. He blinked his eyes half-open to find himself in a small sitting room. He was laying on a large padded bench near the fireplace, with one of Tola's big hands holding his head up over the edge. Tola was pouring a small jug of warm water over his hair with the other hand, rinsing out forest-scented suds into a wide bucket on the floor.
The heavenly scent of Marlene's cooking drifted over from a tray on a nearby table, still steaming slightly with heat. Tola dried Krystof's hair with a soft towel before helping him sit up and bringing him the tray. It was a struggle not to eat too quickly, but he didn't want to make himself sick and waste such excellent food. When he grew too tired to even lift his fork, Tola took over until he was full.
There was an extensive collection of bows displayed on every wall. Longbows, crossbows, recurve bows, short hunting bows, solid ones and collapsible ones, wooden ones and silver ones, plain ones and ornate ones. Either they were in a strange offshoot of the armory, or they were in Tola's own personal suite. To Krystof's knowledge, Tola was the only Witcher in all of Kaer Morhen who used a silver bow. His precision with Aard was such that he could fire it like a flaming arrow, and he discovered that he could increase the range tenfold if he cast it from a silver bow. He didn't even need to carry a quiver, which was handy. He never needed to fear running out of arrows.
Krystof remembered the streaks of blue light which had covered his and the maid's retreat into the woods. Tola.
There was no interrogation about what had happened in Cintra, no debriefing. That could wait until the morning, apparently. For now, there was just an offer. Did he want to spend the night in a guest room, or here? The answer came to him easily.
"I want to spend it with you."
There was no kissing that night, and certainly nothing more energetic. Just a warm embrace, the comfort of bare skin against his own. Soothing caresses. Whispered promises of safety. A slow heartbeat beneath his ear.
The next day there was a meeting with Spymaster Treyse and his apprentice, Lady Lilliana (aka Mouse, and also the maid who had rescued him).
The ring was a rescue beacon, not a swift death. It was a promise no other country's spies were given. "We'll come for you. You are one of ours, and we protect our own."
Word of the Cintran lord's indiscretions was sent to Eist, for the King Consort to quietly deal with.
Krystof's recovery was swift, since he hadn't been a prisoner for more than a week when he was rescued. But he found himself reluctant to leave Kaer Morhen. He'd seen everything he'd set out to see when he wasn't much more than a boy. He was ready to stay in one place, at least for a while. Maybe the urge to go wandering would strike again someday, but he was content to remain at Kaer Morhen until that day came. After all, the keep had those hot springs. And it had Tola, too.
Over the decades his crows-feet mostly smoothed out again, but the silver at his temples remained. Krystof didn't mind. He loved the way Tola's hands were drawn to it, the way his thumbs brushed over the shining streaks. His lover talked him into growing his hair out down past his shoulders, and spent quiet evenings making thin braids with his greys.