Epilogue

Triss Merigold sat in silence, watching the orange glow of a small campfire cast flickering shadows on the rocky, barren soil around her. The wind had picked up after dusk, whisking though the mountain pass in intermittent gusts, swaying the dancing flames in a mesmerizing assortment of dips and turns. She glanced up through auburn wisps of hair at the face across from her, hoping to see some sign of change, some crack in his steely facade… anger, grief, exhaustion… anything. There was nothing. The weathered face of the witcher remained as it had for hours. Stoic. Emotionless. Unreadable.

Triss was accustomed to her companion's taciturn tendencies. Geralt was a man of few words; it wasn't unusual for him to avoid conversation, but this… this was different. The Witcher had uttered precisely seven words in nearly as many hours since the two of them left the smoldering ruins of Loc Muinne. "We should make camp." "Getting more firewood." She'd memorized them. Beyond the usual grunts, sighs and "Hmmm's," those were the only words the weary warrior uttered. Yes, Triss was accustomed to quiet, but as the hours accumulated, the silence became increasingly heavy, as if she had escaped a harrowing fight for her life only to trade the intense pressure of peril for the insidious stranglehold of dread.

Geralt was upset. She knew that much, though she was uncertain why. She had no idea whether he'd killed Letho in the square or released him. She didn't even know whether the kingslayer was there at all.

If I'd killed a former friend, I'd be somber, too, Triss reasoned to herself, feeling a pang of sadness as her mind replayed the deaths of Assire van Anahid and Síle de Tansarville. There had certainly been plenty of death, and that would certainly explain Geralt's mood… but then again, it may have had more to do with her, which inspired dread and worry in the pit of her stomach.

Triss's last conversation of note with Geralt hadn't ended well - she confessed to hiding her involvement in the Lodge of Sorceresses from him, tried to convince him she could still be trusted - but that was in a cave, and she was only halfway salient at the time. They agreed to table the rest of the discussion for another, safer date. The solitary campfire on the mountainside seemed to fit the description, but after hours of waiting, the only sound to be heard was the arrhythmic crackling of the burning wood. The specter of that impending follow-up hung in the air like a noxious fog, and Triss was suffocating in it. She'd promised Geralt (and herself) months ago that she'd respect his privacy and stop reading his thoughts, which was no small sacrifice. To an expert sorceress, mind-reading came as naturally to conversation as shoulder shrugs and eyebrow raises. To her credit, she'd held to that pledge diligently. After all, what was a relationship without mutual respect and sacrifice? As the silence deepened, though, the urge to take just a peek was swelling inside her, pressing on her will like an itch in her mind. Just one glimpse, Triss told herself. Just to put me out of my misery. Maybe he won't notice…

She knew he'd notice. Witchers are far more perceptive of magical auras than ordinary men. She had to try, though. Without stirring an inch, the sorceress closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose, arms crossed tightly. He was resisting. She relented for a moment, opening her eyes to search his face. Unchanging as ever. Triss steeled her resolve and tried again. She could probe harder than he could defend, and they both knew it. She closed her eyes and pushed more urgently this time. The Witcher's medallion jingled against its chain, resonating with the magical energy as she pressed through the fog and looked into his mind. In an instant, she saw his thoughts - and escaped from the image just as quickly. A cold pit opened inside her, nearly stealing her breath away. Raven-black locks. Piercing violet eyes, and a harsh expression of blame and condemnation.

The silence wasn't about the Lodge, or the massacre in Loc Muinne, or the duel with his friend-turned-enemy, Letho. It was about Yennefer.

"Triss-" He exhaled, slowly, with a distinct nuance of warning in his tone.

Triss gasped unwittingly, trying urgently to purge the stern image of her friend from her mind - without success. Those violet eyes burned like hot irons in her soul, as waves of guilt and panic rushed over her.

"You remember…" she said in astonishment, more to herself than to Geralt.

"Don't," he said stroking his forehead, wishing desperately to avoid the emotional discourse that was about to unfurl. There was a pleading in his tone this time, as though he knew it was inevitable. He was right.

"It's back? … Your memory-"

"Yes," he cut her off with a heavy sigh. "Everything. I remember everything."

"Oh."

The heavy silence went from unpleasant to unbearable.

"Geralt, please… talk to me. Please-"

"What do you want me to say?" He replied gruffly, face still resting in his hand.

"Anything! I get it. You're angry, okay? So, fire away. Yell, scream, whatever you have to do, just… just say something."

"Fine," he said coldly, looking her squarely in the eyes. "You wanna talk? Let's talk. You lied to me, Triss."

"Geralt, listen…" She rebutted, trying to hide the quivering in her lips, "The Lodge isn't the kind of-"

"It's not just the Lodge," he cut in. "The plots, the assassinations… Síle, Yennefer, Ciri… you lied, Triss. For months."

"I did no such thing," she answered firmly. "I admit, I kept some things to myself, and I should have been more transparent… but I never lied to you."

"It's the same thing."

"No, it's not," she said, gritting her teeth as anger joined the fear in her mind.

"It is to me," Geralt fired back, cold as ice. She'd seen that look in his eyes before. Hard. Stern. Menacing. She'd seen it before, but never pointed at her. It wounded her. Scared her. He truly was angry. At her.

Triss searched for the right words, for an explanation that would calm things down. She came up with nothing. Geralt continued.

"Six months, Triss," he said, standing as his tone sharpened further. "Yen's been out there for six months. For all I know, she's been chained up, raped, tortured…" he gritted his teeth, visibly seething, "alone at the mercy of Nilfgaard's interrogators… all while you kept me under your silk sheets in Vizima."

Triss's crystal blue eyes widened incredulously. "That's not fair!" She fired back, standing defiantly and closing the space between them. "I had no idea that Yen was a prisoner. I had no idea she was even alive! By the gods, Geralt! Do you really think I'd turn my back on her? Do you think that little of me?"

He leaned in, eyes narrowed. "I think you'd do a lot to have me to yourself."

She'd had enough. Triss slapped him in the face, angry tears starting to spill over onto her cheeks. He didn't budge. "You arrogant ass!" She hissed. "How dare you say that to me! I love Yen. She was my best friend long before she was your… whatever she is to you. If I had any indication of where she was, anything to go on at all, I would've moved heaven and earth to find her. But Geralt, I didn't know. Don't you understand? I didn't know, and neither did you. Don't you dare blame this on me."

"You sure as hell could've tried, Triss," he said, annoyingly calm. "You never even mentioned her name."

She huffed and pursed her lips, eyes darting back and forth, as she seethed. "Did it ever occur to you that nobody else did, either?" She roared back, her voice echoing through the rocky mountainside. "Vesimir, Eskel, Lambert… we all knew Yennefer, Geralt. It wasn't just me."

"So you all conspired to hide my past from me. Why?" Something changed in his golden eyes. Accusation was replaced with the look of betrayal, of genuine searching.

"Because we care about you!" She blurted out, trembling from the emotions fighting for supremacy in her body. Her tone shifted as the tears continued, less angry and more vulnerable. "You… you were nearly dead when you just appeared outside Kaer Morhen. I nursed you back to life, and… and it wasn't the first time, as you well know now. We talked about it, Geralt, while you hung onto life. People who know you. People who love you. We knew you'd rush off as soon as you could walk, chasing what we all thought would be a ghost, and… and you'd get yourself killed. We couldn't…" She trailed off, quieting down and reaching out for his hand. "I… couldn't let you go. Not after we'd just gotten you back." Her watery eyes searched his as she struggled for the right words to say. "I was there when you died… in that riot… or, nearly died. And you know what? A part of me died that day. I wept for you both. I wept for days. And… to see you again… alive? It was selfish. You're right, it… was selfish, I know, but Geralt, I couldn't… I just couldn't risk it."

Triss grasped his hand. He didn't hold hers in return, but he didn't pull away. The witcher was silent for a moment.

"It wasn't your decision to make," he said, the harsh edge gone from his voice.

The tears came more liberally, as anger subsided and guilt took the forefront in Triss's mind. She lowered her eyes.

"You're right," she said meekly, "and… I'm sorry. For the Lodge, for Yen, for Ciri… I'm so sorry…" her tears crescendoed into sobs as the truth sank in. Yennefer had been alive and in need, and maybe… just maybe she could have been found, had it not been for Triss's fear of losing the only man she'd ever truly loved.

There were no words for en excruciatingly long time, but eventually Geralt broke the silence, a hint of tenderness in his soft baritone.

"What's done is done." Triss looked up to see his eyes, finally warm again. "But I can't waste one more day, Triss. I have to find her. Even in Nilfgaard. I'll find her… or I'll die trying."

"I know," she answered, looking down again, hopeful that the worst of the conversation was past her. "And I'm going with you."

"No you're not," he replied firmly.

"Yes…I am!" She said with sudden intensity in her eyes.

"Triss-"

"I can help," she insisted. "You know it. We'll stand a better chance together."

"I need to do it on my own," he countered methodically.

"Please, Geralt… give me a chance to make things right. I'll help you find her, help you rescue her, and I swear…" Triss paused, reining in her emotions before they ran away with her again, "when we find her, if you want to be with her, I…"

"Triss, listen…"

"I won't… stand in your way," she continued, forcing a pained smile.

The look on her face disarmed Geralt more than he expected. A tinge of guilt stung him as he studied the bruises and cuts, still fresh from her own trials at the hands of the Nilgaardian secret service. He knew she'd go to the ends of the earth for him, that she wouldn't stop short of giving her life, if it came to that. And that's why he couldn't allow her to join him.

"…it's late," he said after an uncomfortable pause. "We're both exhausted. Let's get some sleep. Things'll be clearer in the morning."

"Take me with you," she said again, unwilling to relent. "Promise me."

"I'll put another log on the fire," he replied, having neither the heart nor the energy to keep saying "no."

The flames subsided momentarily as another tree limb thudded onto the bed of coals, gradually returning with hisses and crackles as the branch succumbed to the heat. Triss laid on her side, facing the fire. Geralt eased himself down with a grimace and rested on his back, opposite her. Before long, the wind picked up again, rustling the sorceress's clothes with dry, frigid air. She tried to ignore it, but it cut through, chilling her to the bone. She could warm herself with magic - she knew the spell well. Tired as she was, she could cast it… but she had a different idea.

"Geralt?" She said softly, hoping he wasn't already asleep.

"Yes?" He answered after a moment.

"It's so cold. Would you… could… you lie next to me?" Triss's voice was awkwardly hesitant. She felt foolish for asking, certain he would see her true motives. She could sense the change, the sudden shift when Yennefer returned to Geralt's memory in full, vibrant color. She knew that this season with her lover may be at an end, and as shameless as it felt, she was desperate to feel his closeness just one last time, to cherish whatever interaction she could get. "I'm not… asking for anything more," she continued, blushing despite the cold, "just…"

He turned to look at her. The distrust hadn't changed. Geralt would forgive her in time - he knew that - but he was still angry. Initially, his thought was to stoke the fire and tell her to cozy up to it, but when he saw her face, her pleading eyes and shivering lips, the anger melted. He had a feeling the request was about more than staying warm, but despite everything, Triss was dear to his heart. He couldn't stand to see her that way. Without a word, he rose up, circled the fire and laid his body down next to hers. She nestled into him, shuddering strongly before they both settled on the unforgiving ground. Her nearness was soothing - he was immediately thankful for the invitation.

Geralt breathed in slowly and deeply, taking in the scent of Triss's beautiful chestnut locks. Despite all she had been through over the past few days, the notes of cinnamon, bright bergamot and warm honey still emanated strongly - at least, to a witcher's senses. He drew the sweet fragrance in, bringing with it memories of a simpler time. A time before child surprises, before endless wars, before the Wild Hunt. A winter in Kaer Morhen when he fell asleep peacefully every night, treated to those comforting scents. The flashbacks grew stronger as Geralt began to drift off to sleep, and for a moment, he had a powerful desire to return to those days, if only in a dream… but just before slumber took him, he had an epiphany - identical to the one that marked the end of that wistful winter. Triss smelled delicious - like family, like home - but she did not smell like lilac and gooseberries.

Triss could feel the slowing cadence of breaths as Geralt fell asleep next to her, drifting off in a matter of minutes. Good for you, Geralt, she thought, rolling her eyes as she stared blankly into the fire. Doubt I'll be joining you anytime soon. Triss's body was sore and weary, but her mind was still racing. She replayed the conversation over and over in her head, shuddering at the memory of his menacing glare, wincing at the sound of her hand striking his unflinching face. She knew his reflexes well - he could've stopped her had he wanted to. He knew he'd overstepped the line with that comment, and in spite of her aggression, he'd remained calm. I'll apologize in the morning, she reasoned, envisioning a wholly different conversation to come once the sun was up. When we're both less emotional. I'll convince him that he needs my help. I'll chain myself to him if I have to, I just…

Her thoughts shifted abruptly as she felt his arm wrap around her. An unexpected rush of tingling comfort swept over her. He was fast asleep, she knew that, but she didn't mind it. She placed her arm over his, clutching his tightly between her breasts, and sighed.

"Oh, Geralt," she whispered. "Please… please don't leave me."

His embrace soothed her senses, and soon her mind gave way to the sleep that her body yearned for.

—

Triss's vision was blurred as she awoke groggily, moaning as she rolled off of her now-aching hip. She could smell Geralt's endearing-yet-pungent aroma next to her, but somehow she was still cold. With effort, she forced her eyes open, squinting in the blinding light of a sun that was far higher in the sky than daybreak.

And then her heart sunk. Geralt wasn't there.

Immediately her pulse started racing, as she pulled Geralt's jacket off of her with quivering hands. No… no, no, no, no, she pleaded mentally as she sprang up, desperately searching the horizon. There was no sign of him. Witchers wake before dawn, she reasoned as her breath quickened, and it's… damnit! It's nearer to noon than to dawn. Any shred of hope remaining escaped when her eyes landed on a folded note laid with care next to the fire.

Need to do this alone. Knew you wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

Try to understand.

Her eyes darted back and forth across the parchment, searching through the blur of tears that began to accumulate.

"You selfish… whoreson!" She blurted out. "You coward!" Her fury quickly gave way to heartache, as the realization set in. He was gone. Gone without a word. Just like at Kaer Morhen. The tears came, and this time, there was no one to keep up appearances for. She wept loudly, as the memory of his sleeping embrace now jeered at her agonizingly, like the rung of a ladder that was just out of reach.

He's made his choice, she thought bitterly, again. Damnit, Geralt! He'll go right back to her cold embrace, to her condescending words and emasculating control. And they'll make love passionately… and the next morning be back to clawing each other's eyes out. All because of that damned djinn. Oh, Geralt! Why did you have to make that wish? The sorceress cried and cursed… and then she became furious again. Pull yourself together, little one! Her thoughts chided. You're no schoolgirl anymore. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! She rose to her feet, squaring her jaw and speaking aloud.

"I'm a surviver of Sodden Hill. I call down hailstones and bend flames. I have no need of the Lodge… or a lover… I am Triss Merigold, damnit! I'll go to Novigrad… where it's safe… I will start over and leave all… this behind."

She crumpled the note in her hand, extending her arm over the coals which still glowed faintly. She held it there for some time, but she couldn't release it. With a deep sigh, she flattened it out, carefully folding it and placing it in the pouch on her belt. Then she stamped out the fire, gathered her things, and set off toward Novigrad with head held high.