Chapter 5

A small noise of protest escaped Rowan's throat as strong hands gripped her under her arms and lifted. It hurt. She could feel the warmth of a weak winter sun on her face, but her eyes would not open. She found her breath short, but when she tried to take in more air, her chest burned. She thought she could hear the sound of a woman speaking. Her words were gentle. Elven. It was hard to understand what she was saying. As though every third word passed through the druid's ears like wind. Familiar, the way dreams sometimes can be. But was she dreaming? She could feel the wind, the sun, the bitter cold. The cold had surely taken her hands by now. There it was again. Rowan was unable to feel a line of connection between the muscles in her legs and her feet, but she could feel her hips open and pressure from her tailbone as her body faded in and out of weightlessness.

"There's gold in every sunrise, Rowan," her mother whispered. "Each one you watch makes you wealthier."

"I know," Rowan tried to answer. She was so tired. "I'm tired, mum."

A hand pressed to her forehead. Rowan once more tried to open her eyes. Her ribs felt as though they had been kicked repeatedly. The pain was unbearable. She wanted to cry out, but her breath would not return properly. She was just too tired.

"I know," the voice answered. Or was it her own? Her ears refused to focus and her heart pounded, making it even more difficult to breathe or hear.

"I...I don't know where I am. Mum, I don't know where I am..." Rowan tried to call out. Her words fell flat, a series of meaningless moans that barely escaped her lips.

Rowan felt the world tip and slide behind her useless eyes. Her hips began to ache as a strange warmth and ambling motion crept into her legs and back. Her bones protested with more pain, stinging, jolting, sobering pain, as her body refused to leave her mind in the peaceful haze where she now drifted. Where her mother's voice faded in and out. The druid could see her, smell her, but she still felt so far away. The pain and the warmth was dragging her further from…where was she? Her ears hummed, sore and bleary.

Another hand pressed hard against her sternum as her body slumped forward. Rowan protested with another moan as her head rolled and finally came to rest back on something rigid and flat. She couldn't keep still the way her body kept being jostled. Motion tethered her. All she wanted was to be still. She wanted her mother back. She wanted her home back. She wanted the pain to stop. She wanted to slip away. Rejoin the earth quietly like the melting snow. The warmth against her legs and back was starting to itch terribly, not to mention the new pain in her neck. What was this? Why was her head bent so far back?

"Rowan?" her mother whispered.

"I'm here," the druid tried to answer. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving freezing trails as they passed. She still could not open her eyes. Strands of damp hair brushed her neck and face, and Rowan despaired as she heard her mother's words dissolve in the wind. The dusty smell of horse was strong.

"Rowan,"

The hard lip of a saddle front dug into her lower back and she could hear the shuffling beat of hooves beneath her. How she wanted to lie down. An arm was wrapped around her middle, steadying her, but the pain of sitting up was terrible. She cared so little for where she was. All that mattered was the pain. Her Elderwood. Her mother.

With nothing else, Rowan worked to force her eyes to open. They too, were unbearably tender. The light of that late winter sun stung and blinded the green slits that strained beneath frost-laden eyelashes. She let her head roll forward away from the light. A swath of dark wool that smelled of horse and melted snow, engulfed her body like a nest. So much so, she couldn't even see the horse beneath her. Rowan tried to get a better look, letting her head fall back and to one side again. Her cheek collided with cool leather and the smell of wood smoke and sandalwood. A strand of white hair brushed over her face before everything went dark.

Rowan gasped awake. She lay in a large bed under several heavy quilts. The room was dark and smelled of damp wood, linens, ale, and old candles. Light filtered in around a small window and its heavy curtains next to her. The bed's four wood posts were tall and lined with carvings. Rowan caught her breath after a moment, but shock still held her body still.

She had no notion of where she was, what day it was, nor what hour. Though by the light around the curtains, it had to still be day. She certainly didn't trust her own mind or memories. She tried to go back, searching the wild pool of hallucinations and frost-bitten delusions she could recall from the last 48 hours, she supposed. A wave of nausea hit her hard, and she fought to sit up, to no avail. Neither her hands nor her feet worked. She wiggled until she could see what was pushing into her sides beneath the sheets. Her body was lined with large, hard, round, mounds wrapped in towels. Warming stones, she thought after a moment putting it together.

Next to her, a small bedside table sported a wash-bowl, a pile of rags, and several pitchers of water, one steaming. The footboard was laden with towels. Rowan experimented more with moving her fingers and toes. Her hands felt as though every bone inside them were broken, but she could force her fingers to move a little. She couldn't feel her feet at all.

Rowan jumped a little as the door to the little room suddenly opened. A ruddy woman holding a steaming bucket and an armful of towels yelped when she saw Rowan. Sighing, she gathered herself and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Oh, you gave me a start," she laughed lightly. "Glad to see you're awake."

"I'm sorry, where am I?" Rowan tried. Her voice was barely there.

"Oh, of course, pet." The woman answered. She roughly began turning the sheets down and replacing the cooled wrapped stones for new ones that steamed in the bucket she'd brought over to the bed.

"Yer in Dunwich tavern. I'm Beth, one of the owners. You got 'ere three nights ago in a terrible way, but my good husband William and I brought you 'round. Keenly knocking on death's door, you were. Like a frozen kipper. But I know a trick 'er two. Warmed you up right fast here." Beth reported softly. Rowan sank back into the bed with wide eyes.

A long silence passed as Beth worked. The woman didn't try to hide her smile in response to Rowan's astonishment.

"How...did I get here?" Rowan asked, trying to clear her throat. Beth paused and helped her guest sip some water from a cup on the bedside table. Beth then finished her work and covered the druid back up with the many quilts again. She smiled warmly.

"Yer Witcher friend," Beth beamed. "Must say, he's certainly drawn lots of business this past week 'er so. 'Gor he's pretty, too." Beth exclaimed, letting out a hardy giggle. The tavern woman sobered slightly when she met Rowan's dazed eyes again.

"Comes by every day to check on you, he does," she finished. Rowan nodded, still a little stunned.

"Here, pet. This little number'll get those poor spindly fingers and toes of yours workin' again in no time at all." Beth moved on, producing a small dark green vile from her apron pocket. She unstopped the thing and tipped its contents against Rowan's lips, helping the druid tilt her head to drink. It tasted like rotten milk, but Rowan recognized the signature bitter punch of some magic additive, so she stifled her need to gag.

"That's it. Good girl." Beth coached as Rowan swallowed painfully. The druid nodded her thanks and turned her head to stay the nausea. The pillows felt ridiculously soft on her ears and within seconds she began to feel drowsy. The potion must've contained some sleep aid as well. Her ears!

Rowan gasped, fighting the potion's effect as she tried to touch her head with useless fingers. Her ears remained uncovered. Beth was still collecting old towels when she noticed the druid's distress. The innkeeper moved back to the bed quickly, easing Rowan's arms back down to the covers.

"Oh, easy. Easy little thing. S'alright. Don't have to worry about any of that 'ere. Payin' customers are payin' customers. Yer Witcher's seen to that. And no one'll ever 'ave t'know you're 'ere," Beth soothed. "Rest now, pet."

Rowan didn't even have time to thank the woman before the potion's heavy influence had dissolved her body and mind into a deep sleep.

Rowan sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. Four days of bedrest. Plenty of time to think on her losses. Next steps. Beth came by twice a day with a meal and a hasty examination of the druid's injuries and progress. Her fingers had regained almost all their natural colour and she could once again wiggle and flex her toes comfortably.

She stood, wrapping one of the great wool quilts around herself, and drifted over to the window. The moon shone high and full in the crisp night. Stars spilled across the boundless face of it, and Rowan realized just how vast the sky appeared outside the canopy of trees in the Elderwood. She was nearly made dizzy by it, when the door startled her out of her daze. Beth had already been by with the evening meal. It was late.

Rowan held her breath, bracing herself for the possibility of being discovered.

Geralt stood in the doorway, his eyes uneasy.

"Geralt,"

"I'm sorry," he said low. "I thought you'd still be resting."

"I was," Rowan turned and studied the Witcher with somber eyes. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled to the elbow and his wolf pendant rested on his chest. He must've been about to retire. Rowan summoned her courage.

"Geralt, help me understand..." she stammered.

He frowned. Closing the door, he waited a moment for her to continue.

"...Why did you go back to the Elderwood? How did—,"

Rowan was cut off as Geralt suddenly crossed the room in two strides, grasped her face, and crushed her lips with his own.

The druid froze for a moment, stunned. Geralt instantly withdrew when he felt her stiffen in his grasp. It was the first time Rowan had seen fear in his eyes. The Witcher searched her face, a little startled with himself.

"I'm sorry," he began with bated breath, releasing her. But Rowan slowly shook her head as her gaze fell to Geralt's mouth. The druid's eyes suddenly glazed over with a deep well of understanding, and she looked back up into Geralt's own eyes with it. Her lips parted. Geralt's eyes flashed with amber haste, and his lips met hers again, this time with a carefully tempered hunger.

Rowan melted into Geralt's grasp. Her recently healed hands couldn't get enough of the feel of his form moving beneath his tunic as he drank from her lips. His calloused hands were large but gentle as they enveloped the nape of her neck or travelled up her spine. His breath moved tendrils of her loose hair easily. He was gentle and careful with her at first, his tongue brushing her lips as he deepened the kiss. His mouth was warm and comforting. Rowan grew almost dizzy as she encouraged him. She couldn't remember the last time she had been kissed. And certainly not like this. Geralt explored her slowly, letting her set the pace, the rules, with a carefully throttled momentum. His thumbs traced her throat, her collarbone, her jaw. A happily drowning man.

Rowan completely surrendered. Pressing herself to his frame, she gave into every tiny aspiration she could think of, flooded with more as she progressed. She raked her hands through his white hair, traced the strong shape of his jaw, peaked at the pleasure that ghosted across his closed eyes, and let her nails graze across his back. When she ventured to gently nip at his lower lip, Geralt inhaled sharply through his nose and pressed her harder against his own frame. The growing stiffness that pressed against Rowan's abdomen was unmistakable.

Now and then, a muffled growl would rumble from Geralt's throat, reverberating into the druid's own mouth. This sent chills up her spine and warmth into her middle that flowered staggeringly quickly.

Then, just as suddenly as it had all begun, Geralt sharply withdrew. He panted for a moment, holding her shoulders.

"Rowan, I'm...I'm sorry," Geralt stammered, pressing his head to hers. "I shouldn't have…"

The druid searched his face desperately for answers.

Geralt kissed her softly once more, then turned and hastily left the room.