"Disgyniad – the great descent." Tiassaia's voice was low, but in the silence of the library, her words sounded unnaturally loud. "One of the oldest rituals of the Aen Seidhe. Is that the reason why you've requested access to the restricted part of the library?"

Startled from her work, Triss looked up to find the rectoress of Aretuza standing directly behind her, gazing with barely concealed interest at the collection of books and notes that were scattered across the worn desk. The one Triss had just been studying was opened at a page that contained an essay about the ritual in question.

"Among other things," Triss confirmed, rubbing her eyes, which itched with tiredness. Only now, she realized how dark it had become already, and that she probably should have lit the candles hours ago. In the sparse light of the setting sun, the letters on the page were barely discernable.

Triss had spent the greater part of the day here at the archives, sorting through a variety of spell tomes, scrolls and essays in hopes of finding a way to help Geralt. So far, with little success. To her dismay, she hadn't even found conclusive proof that Geralt's condition was due to the remains of the curse. When she had finally stumbled across an account of the great descent, it had seemed to be an option at least. As far she understood it, the ritual would grant her access to the deeper levels of his consciousness, where the curse had been anchored.

"Well, I hope you're not planning to try it yourself."

Triss didn't answer and Tissaia's curved brows quirked upward by a fraction. "You do realize that human minds are very different from elven ones."

"I am aware of the risks," Triss answered with a sigh. "But I admit I am a bit at a loss. I feel like I'm running out of options. Here, look at this."

She put the books aside to make room for a scroll of parchment, which she unrolled on the desktop, smoothing its edges so it lay flat. The drawing was a precise copy of the diagram that had been used to curse Geralt, consisting of several overlapping geometrical shapes and a set of elder runes surrounding the outer circle. Tissaia pursed her lips as she realized what she was looking at.

"That's a spell of mind control, and a very proficient one at that."

"Blood magic," Triss affirmed wearily. "I have managed to lift the spell itself but haven't been able to dispel the last traces of chaos."

"May I?"

Tissaia gestured at the drawing, and Triss helpfully moved her chair backwards. As her former mentor, Tissaia was far more experienced than she was and her input was greatly appreciated. She might even know some of the answers that Triss had been unable to find.

Tissaia turned the drawing to face her and lit the candelabra on the desk with a small opening of her fingers. Sudden candlelight flickered across her finely chiseled face and reflected in her eyes as she bent over the diagram. Slowly, her fingers started to trace the intersecting lines of the pattern as if to determine the way it would harness the chaos once activated. Her brows creased in thought.

After a moment of silent contemplation, she mumbled a word in elder tongue, and a pattern of luminescent lines rose from the parchment. Suddenly, the center of the pattern burst open, tendrils of light stretching outward, twisting, searching for something to connect to. Triss sensed the poisoned chaos coiled in the groping cords of light and stood, taking an instinctive step backward while Tissaia extended her hands, her face frozen in concentration. Runes manifested like ghostly shapes in mid-air. The glowing forms brightened and vanished.

Slowly, Tissaia lowered her hands and the last flicker of light disappeared. For a moment she just stood, shaking her head to herself in bewilderment.

"No wonder you've had trouble with this," she finally said. "This is a very powerful spell. It has obviously been intended to subdue a strong will, and whoever designed it, put in a great effort to make it stick. Look at these," she pointed at the runes in question. "Usually you would find these signs in goetia, when trying to bind a greater demon or a djinn. I have never seen them in a context like this." Her eyes flicked upward to meet Triss's. "Whose work is this?"

Triss gave a mirthless smile. "Celaena's."

"Celaena von Than?" Tissaia's lips firmed in disapproval. "Why am I not surprised? Her fascination with the dark arts had been a problem from the beginning. In the end, it was the reason why she was expelled."

Triss huffed, irritated by the remark.

"Well, maybe you should have turned her into an eel instead. It would have spared the world a lot of suffering."

She didn't even try to keep the bitterness from her voice. Ever since she had learned about the curse, not a day had gone by without her loathing Celaena, and she had come to silently blame Aretuza for not taking more vigorous action back then, especially since it had been clear right from the start what kind of person Celaena was.

If Tissaia felt anything at the accusation, she didn't let it show.

"That was out of my hands. But I've heard she has met her end anyway."

"Yes," Triss affirmed quietly. "Her execution was yesterday."

"Did her death sentence have anything to do with this?" Tissaia's hand indicated the drawing, and Triss nodded. News traveled fast among mages, but apparently, this detail had escaped her so far. "May I ask who the unlucky victim of the curse is?"

Triss hesitated, surprised that the sorceress hadn't guessed already.

"Geralt of Rivia. You might have heard about him."

"So she managed to enslave the mind of a witcher," she murmured to herself, obviously impressed by the revelation. "Was she able to control him completely? Make use of his sword skills and magic?"

"I don't know about the magic," Triss said tersely, "but she made him kill for her repeatedly. I managed to lift the curse itself, but the anchors remained in his mind."

"And you can't remove them without hurting him," Tissaia concluded. She resumed studying the layout, brows creased in thought. "Has he suffered any after-effects? Nightmares? Hallucinations?"

There was no reason to keep it from her. If Triss wanted her expertise, it would be best to be open about it. She just hoped that Geralt wouldn't reprimand her for it.

"Nightmares, yes. Irritability. But I've been able to aid his sleep with the help of the right herbs."

"Then he got off lightly." Tissaia nodded thoughtfully. "It is unfortunate that he isn't here though. A thorough examination could help determine how deeply the curse has been anchored in his mind, how much damage has been done. Do you think he might agree to a screening here in Aretuza?"

Triss gave a wan smile. Geralt had been very clear about that, and she couldn't even blame him. Thanks to what Celaena had done to him, his trust in practitioners of the magical art was currently slim, bordering on non-existent.

"I have already asked him, but he refuses."

"That's too bad. It would have made things a lot easier."

It probably would have satisfied Tissaia's professional curiosity, too, but Triss was careful not to say it out loud.

"I'm sure that's true, but maybe you can help me anyway. Do you have any experience with magic like this?"

Tissaia exhaled a soft sigh, shaking her head.

"Well, it seems that this curse has been created specifically to control a witcher. I admit I have never seen anything like it. The only thing I can say with certainty is that the anchors of the curse need to be removed, otherwise he will never recover completely. Those anchors are a foreign matter, not unlike an arrowhead in a wound, and now that the curse is lifted, his mind will recognize them as such. It will try to reject them."

Triss shifted, disquieted by the information.

"So, what does that mean exactly?"

"Well, you are a trained healer. What do you think it means?"

It was a rhetorical question. Triss had dealt with arrow wounds before and knew from experience what happened if part of the projectile was failed to be removed. Memories formed in the back of her mind, the putrid smell of festering wounds, the discoloration of rotting flesh. She knew how quickly blood poisoning could lead to death. With discomfort, she wondered what the mental equivalent would look like.

"How long until it gets worse?"

She unsuccessfully tried to keep her voice level. Maybe Geralt's condition had deteriorated already, without her noticing. After all, she had kept him medicated to aid his sleep, so it was hard to tell. With regret, she remembered his worries about the lingering nightmares, and how she had tried to downplay them, saying that he needed to be more patient. It seemed that his instincts had been right.

"Honestly, I don't know."

The answer was not exactly comforting.

"Well, do you have a suggestion on how to proceed? How to remove the remains of the curse?"

Tissaia fell silent, her eyes drifting toward one of the narrow windows to gaze into the darkening sky. The way she was hesitating, Triss could tell that there was no obvious way to do it.

"Well," she said at length, "it is difficult to give advice since the witcher isn't present. Have you managed to determine where exactly the curse has been anchored?"

"I have tried," Triss admitted with barely concealed frustration, "but Celaena planted her curse in the deepest layers of his consciousness. It's impossible to locate the anchor points exactly, not with any spell I know."

"Well, that would be the first step. Anything else would make removal a game of chance."

"I know." Triss sighed. "It's the reason why I started to look for an advanced form of telepathy, some sort of mind-meld that might allow me to probe deeper. To actually go there. See it with my own eyes."

"To dispel the chaos from within." Tissaia nodded thoughtfully, her eyes unfocused as if she was trying to take hold of a memory that was too old to remember clearly. "Actually, it has been tried before. I remember a case some hundred years ago when a healer tried to cure the paranoia of his patient by entering his mind. He was successful, too. Claimed he had revolutionized his field of medicine. It wasn't until he tried to use the same method on a different patient that he lost his mind. He spent the rest of his days in a cell, screaming his voice out." Her gaze settled on Triss, who sat with her arms crossed in a reflexive effort to shield herself from the image. "You see, this ritual is of the Aen Seidhe. It is not meant to be used on humans. We are not made for this kind of mental connection, and attempting it is dangerous, both for the healer and the patient."

She knew what Tissaia was talking about. There were places in the human mind you weren't supposed to go, thoughts that weren't meant to become conscious. Dark places that consisted of raw, unchecked emotion – guilt, humiliation, fear. There was no telling what she would encounter in Geralt's mind if she decided to actually follow through with this, or how it would affect her.

"I know."

"Do you?" Triss shifted uncomfortably under Tissaia's gaze. "There are good reasons why this ritual is not taught at Aretuza, why there are no instructions in your book. The world has lost good sorcerers that way, and I certainly wouldn't recommend making your first attempt with a mind that is broken."

"He is injured, not broken."

Tissaia discarded the comment with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"It doesn't matter how you call it. Considering what you have already told me, he is emotionally unstable and he will hardly be able to control his thoughts. He might hurt you. As soon as you enter his mind, you will be facing a torrent of unchecked emotion, and even if you manage to advance deeper, his subconscious will regard you as a threat and attack violently. You know what he does to make a living. Just think of the images his mind will throw at you."

Triss didn't have to strain her imagination. The terrible screech of the striga had been enough to set her teeth on edge, and though she had never personally encountered one of the creatures a witcher hunted, it wasn't hard to imagine how much worse it would be to face one. Some of the monsters she knew from drawings she had seen in a bestiary, detailed depictions of fangs and claws, and descriptions to match. She also remembered the unspeakable things that a child had to endure in order to become a witcher. She really wasn't keen on finding out about the gruesome details.

The way Tissaia looked at her, she must have read her thoughts. Triss swallowed dryly.

"There must be a way to lower his defenses. To make it safer."

She knew of drugs that slowed the mind, making it easier to relax and enter a trance. It would be the right state of mind to attempt something like this. Maybe he could even guide her, lead her to the places where the chaos was hooked into the fabric of his mind.

"There are a variety of herbs you could use to help form the initial connection, but I know of nothing that will help beyond that." Tissaia shook her head. "Once you enter his subconscious, you are on your own."

Triss fell silent, letting the information sink in. It would be an unpleasant experience, that much was clear, and she certainly wasn't looking forward to it. However, she was confident that she could handle it, and if there was even the slightest chance to ease Geralt's suffering, it was worth the risk. The question was if he would allow it. After all he had been through, he might not be willing to let her into his mind, might not even be able to. With a pang of guilt, she remembered his outburst the night before when she had read his thoughts without his consent. This ritual was far more invasive than that, the connection required far more intimate. It would scare the hell out of him.

"Well, if you know of another way, I'll gladly consider it."

"I wish I did." Tissaia shook her head apologetically. "But if you want to, I can ask around, see if I can find another way."

The offer was genuine, Triss could see it in her eyes, but she didn't want to get her hopes up. Tissaia was one of the most knowledgeable mages on the continent, and if she couldn't help, there was little chance that anyone else could. It was nice of her to try though.

"Well, as long as you don't mention Geralt..."

"You don't have to worry about that."

Triss smiled, knowing she could trust Tissaia to keep her word.

"Well, in that case, thank you. It would buy me some time."

It was time she could use to look up the right herbs, to acquaint herself with the details of the ritual and make sure it was as safe as possible. When Geralt returned from his hunting trip, she wanted to be prepared, and five days wasn't a lot of time for an undertaking like this.

She frowned when she felt Tissaia's eyes rest on her. Her face looked almost compassionate.

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he."

It wasn't a question.

For a beat, Triss was unable to think of an answer, being caught completely off guard. It was an unexpected change of topic and she didn't exactly feel like discussing it, least of all with Tissaia. Not too long ago, she had been her teacher, her former mentor, and she had not yet become a friend. However, it seemed like Tissaia didn't even expect an answer.

"You do realize what this ritual implies, don't you?" She continued gently. "This is nothing like the forms of telepathy you know. You will learn more about him than you asked for, and as you learn about him, he will learn about you." Tissaia held her gaze, looking at her intently. "He will know you."

So he would see her as who she really was. It wasn't all good, Triss was aware of that. There were things she had done, things she wasn't proud of. There were shameful, humiliating experiences she had tried to hide even from herself, things she'd rather pretend had never happened. But that wasn't what Tissaia was aiming at. He would also learn about how she felt for him.

Until now, she had carefully avoided pondering on it too much, and she found herself still hesitant to put a label on it. For some time, she had told herself that her hesitation had to do with her being a healer and the professional distance it required. But if she was honest, part of it simply stemmed from her fear of being rejected. He was a witcher after all, and there were certain things they said about his kind. Their incapacity of emotion was one of them, and it fed the small voice in the back of her head that warned her against truly falling for him because if she did, she would get hurt.

She had never told him about it, and she certainly didn't want him to find out like that. Most of all, she didn't want to be in his head when he did. It might well become one of the most painful experiences of her life.

"I hadn't thought of that," she admitted.

"I know." Tissaia gave her a small smile. "But you should. I won't try to talk you out of it, this is your decision. And if you decide to do this, make sure you are as well prepared as possible. In the meantime, the complete library and archives of Aretuza are at your disposal. Take as much time as you need."

Triss didn't know what to say.

"Thank you."

It was heartfelt. Triss held her gaze, and Tissaia gave her a small nod.

"Good luck. I'll let you know when I have something."

With that, Tissaia turned and left, the hem of her dark dress sweeping the floor behind her. Triss watched her leave, trying to ignore the uneasiness that had settled in her stomach.

When the door fell shut, she just stood for a moment, completely at a loss. Finally, she reached for her bag and retrieved the blackened mirror she had brought from her lab. It was an artifact that could be used to watch others from afar, and it had seemed a good idea to bring it along. Initially, it had been intended to keep an eye on Geralt, make sure that he was alright, but if she was honest to herself, right now she just wanted to see him.

She lowered herself into her chair, resting her forearms on the desk before her, and skillfully angled the mirror so that it caught the candlelight. After a moment of concentration, she saw the mirror image blur, swirling into a vortex of color before taking shape again to form Geralt's familiar face. Her eyes softened when she found him standing beside his horse, patting its neck. She watched him take off the saddle and blanket, then slip the bridle over the mare's head. Somebody must have talked to him because he looked up and a small smile tugged at his lips. She couldn't hear his answer, the mirror was terribly limited that way, but he seemed to be alright, almost relaxed. Apparently, the company of his friend was doing him some good.

Triss continued to watch for a while as Geralt and his friend – Jaskier, she remembered – made camp, laying out the bedrolls and sorting through their provisions. The latter took a bite of what looked like a dumpling and continued talking with his mouth full, while Geralt started to brush down his horse. When Geralt finally trotted off into the woods, probably to gather some firewood, she laid the mirror down.

Now that the sun was setting, she realized that she was actually starting to get a bit hungry herself. Dutifully, she gazed at the pile of books that still needed to be worked through, but her grumbling stomach quickly convinced her otherwise. It was time to take a break, have supper. She would continue her research afterward.