He was cut adrift in a dark place somewhere between waking and dreaming. Pain registered clearly on his over-exhausted mind, entwining with fever-bright visions that haunted every conscious moment. Gray eyes staring at him from the darkness. Claws slashing, digging into his flesh. Something vicious sitting on his chest, crushing his lungs and gnawing away at his arm.

A helpless moan trembled from his throat as he tried to push it away, but something clamped down on his right arm to keep him still. His left arm didn't want to move at all, seemed to be glued firmly against his chest. It was wrapped in hot agony that pulsed in time with his racing heart. For a moment, his eyes fluttered open to the hazy vision of Jaskier leaning over him, his usually cheerful face overcast by worry. His lips were moving, but Geralt was unable to make out the words. All he heard were his own labored breaths, the blood dinning in his ears, the hammering of his heart. Tremors shook him. Dimly, he was aware of a blanket being pulled tighter around him, a soft touch on his shoulder, and then darkness claimed him.

He opened his eyes to a battlefield. Shrouds of mist hung over the open space, lances protruding from the ground, a flock of crows circling over the dark heaps of slumped bodies. Wind tore at his hair as he started to walk, his steps heavy and slow. He noticed a weight in his hands and looked down at his bloodied sword. He had fought this battle, that much was clear to him. He had killed and survived. However, the details escaped him. How long had he been here? Who had he been fighting?

A sense of foreboding in his chest, he approached one of the corpses, turning it over with his booted foot and his breath caught in his throat. Triss. Her head was caved in, blood coating her face, a deep sword wound in her chest. He recoiled at the sight, stumbling over the body behind him and looked into Vesemir's face, burnt almost past recognition. His eyes had burst from the heat, his hair was scorched to the scalp, his skin blistered and black. No, he thought desperately, panting. No.

He tumbled over to the next fallen form and fell to his knees when he came upon Eskel, badly dismembered. Lambert. Jaskier. A sob wrenched itself from his throat. The bard's body was slashed open, his ribcage cracked, a dagger still stuck in his throat. It was a witcher's dagger. His own. They had all died by his hand.

Laughter wafted towards him, and he raised blurred eyes to the slender form that perched on a rock overseeing the battlefield. Her pale hair was neatly pinned up, a few loose strands streaming in the wind.

"You."

He swayed as he tried to get his feet under him, fury drowning the helpless pain in his heart.

"You made me do this."

He raised a shaky hand towards her, intent on wiping that haughty smile off her face, to set her on fire, burn her to ashes until nothing was left of her. But before he could cast the sign, his hand was caught in the warm grasp of another.

"Easy." Jaskier's voice sounded from far away. "Take it easy. Let's not do that witcher spell thing again, okay? You're safe. Relax. I got you."

The darkness shifted. With some difficulty, he managed to crack open his eyes and blinked into the bard's worried face that was mere inches away from his own. His whole body was ablaze with pain.

"Jaskier."

Speaking took an enormous effort, but he was rewarded with a relieved smile.

"You know where you are?"

Disoriented, Geralt's eyes wandered past the bard and onto the clearing. The shapes around him were morphing, feeling frighteningly surreal. There was a fevered glow over things, the densely spun fabric of his blanket scraping like burlap against his skin. The trees stretched into the night sky like spidery giants, grotesquely warped out of proportion.

"You've been dreaming." Jaskier's words were followed by the light touch of a hand on his shoulder. "Lie still now, okay? I don't want to splint that arm again."

Geralt frowned in confusion, momentarily letting go of Jaskier's hand to reach for his arm, which was secured tightly against his chest with straps of cloth. It throbbed in a deep and agonizing pain that radiated all the way to his shoulder. Touching made it worse, and a low groan wormed its way from his throat.

Jaskier winced in sympathy.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Are you thirsty?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Wait, I'll get you some water."

Jaskier disappeared from his view to return with a canteen in hand. Geralt gazed at him from under swollen eyelids, strangely transfixed by the way he unscrewed the lid. His eyes zeroed in on the rust-brown half-moons under the bard's carefully manicured nails, traces of blood that hadn't washed off.

"Can you sit up?"

He nodded weakly, starting to push upright, and when the pain took his breath and his vision wavered, he found a steady arm wrapped around his shoulder. He slumped against the chest behind him, and before he knew it, he felt the opening of the canteen touch his lips. He drank clumsily, raising his good hand to steady the container, and when he felt his throat close up, he pushed it away. He coughed, choking on the last drop, and squeezed his eyes shut when his ribs screamed their protest.

"Enough?"

A weak nod.

"Alright, let's get you settled back down again."

There was a sureness in Jaskier's ministrations he hadn't expected. The unwavering hands that guided him back onto his bedroll, the gentle tug of the blanket around his shoulders. The bard was actually kind of good at this. In some way, it made him feel safe, and he was grateful for that.

"Thank you," he mumbled, and that conjured a smile on Jaskier's lips.

"You're welcome. I take it that means you're not mad at me anymore? I know you didn't want me around."

Geralt shook his head, too sick to think of a proper response. He felt a wave of heat wash over him and pressed his eyes shut to deal with the feverish pain that followed in its wake. For a long moment, his awareness narrowed down to that sensation alone, the bone-deep ache that pulsed in time with his hammering heartbeat. From nearby, he heard the splashing of water which was followed by something cool touching his forehead, and he sighed at the blessed feeling.

"Try to rest," he heard Jaskier say. "And let me know if you need anything, okay?"

He nodded mutely, drifting. Sinking.

When he opened his eyes again, Jaskier was gone.

Instead, it was her who knelt in the darkness by his side. Serene, silent, an angel of death. The campfire gilded her hair, the glow of the fire like a halo around her head. Her eyes were dark as she gazed at him, her lips parted in a dreamy smile.

Not real, his frantic mind instantly blurted, adrenaline flushing his fever-wrecked body once more. He had no energy left; he was so fucking tired. All he desperately craved was rest. But here she was, her mere presence kicking his heart into a flight of panic again.

She is not real. I have watched her die.

"Do I look dead to you?"

She didn't. In fact, she looked every bit as alive as she had back then, from the silky gleam of her hair to the sharp scent of herbs and smoke on her clothes.

"I cannot die. As long as you live, I live."

He shivered as she extended her hand, trailing down the side of his face and down his chest until it came to rest on his splinted arm. The wound burnt as if on fire.

"Poor witcher," she said softly. "Does it hurt badly? Show me."

He didn't want to, but still found himself moving his injured arm for her to see. He even undid the bandage for her, hands shaking, revealing the gaping wound that lay beneath it. The flesh was dark and discolored, the smell nauseating. Red streaks spread from the ragged edges, winding beneath his skin like poisonous snakes. He swallowed at the sight, knowing exactly what he was looking at.

"Looks like you're gonna lose that arm. I'd tell you how sorry I feel about that, but frankly speaking, I find it quite satisfying. After all, I lost my hand because of you. So, it's kind of fair, don't you think?"

His gaze fell on the sleeve that hid the stump of her right arm.

"Why are you here?" He asked hoarsely.

A smile blossomed on her face, loving and almost warm, and her hand gently caressed his face. He would have recoiled had he been able to move.

"I've come to take you home, witcher."

The laboratory was dimly lit, illuminated only by candles and a brazier in the corner. Their light reflected on countless flasks and vials that were lined up on the shelves, picked out an occasional gold lettering on the spine of a tome and cast flickering shadows about the vaulted ceiling. The room was reminiscent of Triss's workplace, except for a slight warp of dimensions, a twist to the angles that suggested that not everything was as it should be.

"What is this place?"

Triss's voice echoed strangely, as if in a cave. Pensively, she ran her fingers over a pile of books, fascinated by the realistic feel of their leather bindings. She raised an inquiring glance to the brown-haired sorceress who watched from a small distance, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was smaller than Triss, her clothes plain and without the luxurious embroidery often seen at court. Still, she held herself with the natural confidence of one aware of their power.

"This is what the Aen Seidhe call cyntedd," she said matter-of-factly. "The entry hall. It represents the outer layer of your consciousness. Usually, it is modeled after the part of your life that you most identify with. I guess this is your workplace?"

"My laboratory, yes," Triss confirmed. She opened a book she had acquired just recently and frowned when she found the pages filled with nonsensical scribbling. "At least it is close enough. It feels a little odd though as if something is amiss."

"Well, it's a representation only. If you take a closer look, you will notice quite a few deviations from the real place. Things that wouldn't normally be here. Other things missing instead; things that don't define you." She paused, studying a rag doll on one of the shelves that seemed very much out of place. "Then, of course, there are some things you'd rather keep secret. Your subconscious would never put them on display here, but rather hide them away. It's a natural defense mechanism against intruders."

Triss frowned, bewildered. "But I invited you in."

In fact, she had asked for her help. After her first attempts at this particular spell had failed spectacularly, she had requested the assistance of someone familiar with this kind of magic, and Tissaia had referred her to Corinne Tilly. While Corinne was primarily an oneiromancer and specialized in clairvoyance and prophetic dreams, she was one of the few mages who were familiar with the human mind on its deeper levels. It had taken some convincing, but in the end, she had reluctantly agreed to show her the basics.

"Well, you can always decide to show me," Corinne explained patiently. Triss noticed how the sorceress carefully kept her hands to herself. "But the architecture of this place, the exact shape of this reality is - for the most part - beyond your control."

"For the most part? So, I do have some kind of influence on what things look like."

"Every dreamer has the ability to change their dreams to some degree. However, there is a limit to things, and usually your subconscious will get in the way if you become too bold. You'd be wise to remember that it's not you who is in control here."

Triss nodded. It was a concept she was familiar with. Like most mages, she had experienced lucid dreams before, but her control had usually been limited to her own actions. Who to talk to, how to react. She had never been able to shape her surroundings according to her imagination, hadn't even been able to use her magic. She wondered if it was even possible.

"It is," Corinne answered her unspoken question, and her smile widened at Triss's startled expression. Of course, she knows what you're thinking, she chided herself. She's in your head after all.

"It just takes a lot of practice."

"Alright." Triss nodded, taking in the information. "So how do we get to the deeper levels?"

"Well, first of all, we need to form a proper connection." The sorceress extended her hands in invitation, and Triss hesitated, a little bewildered. Corinne was in her head already. What was she talking about? Corinne's lips tugged upwards. "As I said, this is the entry hall. To go deeper, our minds need to merge." She gently collected Triss's hands in hers. "Let me show you what an elven mind meld really feels like."

Closing her eyes, Triss heard her murmur something under her breath, words barely identified as the melodic language of the Aen Seidhe, and felt her reach out. She expected the gentle brush of a mind against her own, the selective touch of thoughts one experienced during telepathic connections, but this was different. This was frightening. She felt her mind opening like a bud in spring, petals curling backwards, layer by layer, responding to the caress of first sunlight after a long winter. Bathing in the light that had sprung from the spell, she opened wider, and when she thought she had reached her limits, she opened wider still, until her very core came apart. She could sense her then, feel their souls touch with every fiber of their beings. Thoughts not yet fully formed. Memories long forgotten. It was all there, within reach.

She opened her eyes to see her space suffused with a different reality. Where there had been a wall of dusty shelves before, was now a fireplace with a striped rug in front of it. A collection of wooden figurines was lined up on the mantelshelf, each one a masterpiece of craftsmanship. As Triss turned, she noticed a cushioned armchair, worn but comfortable with two cream-colored pillows. A simple bed in the corner, covered with a brightly colored patchwork blanket. Even the contents of her shelves had changed. Some of the books were her own, others she had never seen before. Curious, she picked up a small ebony box from the table, turning it in her hands. When she opened it, she found a bundle of dried flowers. The scent of lavender filled the room, mingling with rosemary, poppy, lilacs and roses.

"I didn't know you liked gardening," she said softly, bewildered by the sudden understanding. These were the first flowers that had grown in the garden behind Corinne's cottage, and she had kept them. A happy memory of the first year in a new home. She wanted to ask about it but found she didn't have to. She knew already. The labor the other woman had put into it. The endless hours of pulling up weeds and preparing the soil. Watering the plants when the summer got dry.

She raised her gaze to meet Corinne's.

"This is amazing," she said softly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of the insight. If this was the entrance hall, the outer layer of consciousness, she wondered what the deeper layers would contain. What other memories would be stored there, easily accessible for both of them. All of a sudden, she wasn't sure if she still wanted to go there.

"I see you understand." Corinne's eyes were serious. "This demands a great deal of courage – and respect."

Triss watched the other woman stroll around the room, hand skimming over scrolls of parchments and handwritten notes, each touch like a brush against her soul. Her hands finally came to rest on a silver pendant. Triss recognized it at once. It was nothing she had ever kept in her lab, but this place was inside her head, she reminded herself. Watching Corinne run her fingers along the delicate engraving felt like someone playing the strings of your heart. It brought back memories of her mother. Mending socks by the fireplace. A bedtime story told at candlelight. The smile on her round face at a bunch of flowers, picked from the fields behind their house.

"Mariam." Corinne uttered the name at the same time it took shape in Triss's head.

"She died in childbed when I was six. The pendant is the only thing I have left of her."

Corinne nodded. "I know."

Triss felt infinitely grateful when Corinne put the pendant back on the table. It was a memory she had not been prepared for and she felt the same old hurt well up in her chest she had felt all those years back. The candles flickered as if disturbed by a gust of wind and it grew cold. Triss inadvertently slung her arms around herself to fight off the chill.

"What is happening?" She asked, unsettled by the sudden change.

Corinne followed her glance, expression unreadable.

"That's the manifestation of your emotional response. Take a deep breath and calm down. We don't want this to turn into a storm."

Triss shivered, trying to do as she was told. It was difficult though, bordering on the impossible. The hurt was fresh in her mind. She remembered standing at her grave, her name carved into the stone. Fresh flowers on dark soil. The wind picked up, and as she turned, she saw the candles being snuffed out one by one.

"We don't want to be caught here in darkness," Corinne said sharply. "You are a sorceress. Control yourself."

Triss took a deep breath and looked around the room. Think of something else, she told herself. Something beautiful. Something happy. It was strange how the place looked so different now as if all her bright memories had suddenly been washed away. Behind her, a window burst and a gush of water streamed in, flooding the room. Panic started to take hold of her.

"I can't," she cried out in frustration. "Corinne, get us out of here!"

"Control yourself." Her voice was firm. "You're planning to travel a traumatized mind. What chance do you stand of helping him if you can't even control your own pain? You'd just end up drowning him in your grief, adding your hurt to his injuries. Do you want that?"

Triss cursed under her breath, knowing her to be right. Again, she tried to focus, this time turning her attention inward, away from the mess around her, the rising water level, the books floating with the current. Slowly, she let go of a long breath, counting the exhalation. One.

The water reached up to her hip now, cold and dirty. Seawater, a part of her mind provided, but she let go of the thought. She breathed out again. Two.

The wind died down at three.

She stood still, remaining in her trance until she reached ten, then raised her eyes to meet Corinne's gaze. An approving smile played around her lips.

"Well done."

"I didn't think it would be that hard," Triss sighed, feeling drained. "Why didn't you help me?"

It would have been easy for Corinne to summon one of her own memories to help control the situation. Something happy to anchor them both in the face of hurt. Yet she had chosen to hold back, purposefully allowing the events to unfold.

"You know why."

Triss sighed, rubbing her face. Of course, she did. Even without the spell melding their minds, she would have known.

"To prove a point. You don't want me to carry through with this."

Triss pulled up her dress as she waded through the muddy water and made an effort to sit on the edge of a table. When Corinne approached, she gave her a hand up. Together they watched the contents of the shelves float on the surface as the water level slowly decreased. Empty vials, old letters. A dark green piece of clothing which at second glance turned out to be a girl's dress.

"It's insane," Corinne said at length. "You have no experience when it comes to this kind of magic. All I had to do was pick up the wrong item, touch a painful memory, and things went to shit. The human subconscious is ruled by emotion. If you can't control your feelings, you're lost. And the deeper you go, the more likely you are to stir things that are best left alone."

Triss nodded, letting that sink in.

"Is it always like this?" She asked at length. "When emotion overwhelms you. Does the environment just burst in on you?"

Corinne tilted her head to study her, her dark hair falling over her shoulder like a curtain.

"In some way or another."

"So, what would have happened if I hadn't been able to stop it? Would I have drowned?"

"Yes," she said simply. "And then you would have woken up, the grief fresh in your mind. We weren't down deep enough for you to be in any real danger."

So it was different when you traveled deeper. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought.

"Can you die here?" Triss asked tentatively. "I mean, really die. Physically."

"No. Your body won't die from what you experience here. Your mind, however - " Corinne raised her shoulders. "That's a different matter. You might face things that your mind simply can't handle. Doors can fall shut for good. You can get trapped here."

We have lost some good mages that way. Tissaia's words still rang clearly in Triss's mind, and having experienced it firsthand, she was starting to understand what exactly that meant. Still, Triss wasn't one to be discouraged easily. With an experienced guide, she might be able to prepare sufficiently. She raised her head to cast Corinne a questioning glance.

"Not today." The sorceress shook her head. "You've been through enough. We both have."

The water was almost gone now, leaving a mess of damp books, scrolls and bottles on the floor. When Triss hopped down, her feet landed on something long and hard, and when she reached into the dirty water, she was surprised to pull out a silver sword, its blade carved with runes. It felt strange in her hands, unfamiliar, with none of her memories attached. Stranger still, it didn't elicit a gush of Corinne's memories either. This item, wherever it had come from, stayed curiously mute.

Puzzled, she turned it in her hands, watching the blade catch the light of the few remaining candles, and noticed smears of dried blood.

"Where did this come from?"

She turned to look at Corinne, who wore a weird expression on her face. With their minds merged, Triss could feel the other woman's bewilderment as if it were her own. Tentatively, Corinne took the weapon from Triss's hands and ran her hand down the blade, eyelids drooping. Focusing. Reaching out.

Something bright flashed before them, too short for Triss to make sense of, but Corinne's eyes widened slightly.

"You've been in his mind before."

"What?"

Corinne shot her a look that was challenging, almost judging.

"You have been in the witcher's mind. Otherwise it would be impossible for his sword to be here."

So, this was Geralt's sword. Strange, how she had not noticed it at once. Then again, she had never bothered to look at it up close.

"What does that mean?" Triss asked carefully, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"I don't know," Corinne admitted thoughtfully. "But I sense something dark. Confinement. Desperation. Do you have the means to check in on him? Because if you do, I wouldn't waste a breath."