The garden behind the temple was white with frost.

Geralt sat on a bench in a wind-shielded corner close to the main building, cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and watched the sunrise. It had been a struggle to get out of bed this morning, especially without waking Jaskier. Despite Geralt's assurances that he would be fine, the bard had insisted on staying with him throughout the night, and this morning, he had found him fast asleep in the chair, head tilted back against the wall and snoring. It hadn't been the first time he'd had to get dressed using one arm only, but he had managed while keeping quiet. Actually, he was kind of proud of that. It felt like a small victory.

As he gazed at the fallen leaves dancing in the breeze, he wondered how many conscious days he had still left. Maybe this would be his last fall. He wondered if he would still live to see the new year, or if he would lose his mind before that. Triss had made her point, and he had no reason to doubt her assessment. The past days had made it pretty clear what he was to expect.

He hadn't slept much this night, having spent hours pondering on her suggestion. He was surprised himself how much he had mulled it over, considering that there really wasn't much to think about. Of course, he wanted to get better, was desperate to get his life back. But not at this cost. It meant that he'd better come to terms with the consequences, and they frightened him more than he had thought possible. Being a witcher, he had never expected to die of old age. Most of his brothers had died before even completing the trials, and quite a few had met their end soon after. They had died in violent ways, all of them, and he had always known that this was his fate as well. It was not the concept itself that scared him. He had just never pictured to go like this.

The mind-meld was his only chance, he knew that. However, it went against everything he believed in. Witchers had been created to serve humankind, to keep them safe from monsters in whatever form they appeared. It was not the other way around. Allowing Triss to put herself at risk – for someone like him? It was the wrong thing to do.

"I see you're up early."

He lifted his head, surprised to find Triss standing only a few feet away, her features shadowed against the light of the rising sun. Wind tugged at her dark hair. She had her arms folded across her chest, trying to keep her fur-lined cloak together. She didn't look like she had slept much either.

"Mind if I sit?" She pointed at the free spot beside him, and he shifted to make room for her. Her shoulders touched as she settled beside him, eyes following his glance. He could feel the warmth of her body even through the layers of fabric.

"It's quite beautiful, isn't it?" She paused as if giving him a chance to answer, and when he didn't, she went on. "The sunrise. I love it when the light pours across the frosty landscape like this. It's almost like things are glowing from inside."

It was an odd way to start a conversation that was bound to become uncomfortable. She obviously hadn't come to admire the scenery. The casual way she spoke reminded him of the night she had caught him on her balcony, offering her support in a similar way. Quiet, unobtrusive. She didn't look at him, merely remained at his side, inviting a response.

He didn't feel much like talking though. Truth be told, he rarely did. He had mainly come here because the confines of his sick room were stifling him. Staring at the ceiling could become daunting after a while.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she said at length. "Coming out here all by yourself. How's your arm?"

There was no point in lying about it.

"It hurts," he answered truthfully. "But it's healing. You've taken good care of me. Thank you for that."

He had checked on his injuries earlier, and there had been no signs of infection. Whatever spells she had laid on his wounds were working nicely. As far as his arm was concerned, it was nothing short of a miracle. The way it looked, he had a fair chance that it would heal completely, despite the extensive damage he had taken. It looked like he would still be able to hold a sword. Not that it mattered, given his mental issues.

"Have you thought about my proposition?"

He felt her glance weighing on him but couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. She had done so much for him, siding with him against Celaena, letting him stay at her place until he had physically recovered. Now she had even saved his arm. He could only guess at how much time she had put into trying to remedy the aftereffects of the curse, to find a cure. It made it all the harder to turn her down because he was well aware of what it would look like. It would seem like he didn't appreciate her efforts, which was simply not true. He was grateful for everything she had done.

"I've thought about it all night," he admitted hesitantly, taken aback by how broken he sounded. "And I appreciate what you've done for me, but the answer is still no. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." She sighed, sounding just about as miserable as he felt himself. "You know, at first I thought I'd just chosen the wrong moment to tell you. It had been your first lucid moment in days, and you were still in so much pain. Exhausted. I thought, maybe you just needed some time to get used to the idea. Now I think that maybe I should start all over again. Although, frankly speaking, I'm not sure if we have the time."

He nodded mutely. He doubted they had much time either. Not that it changed anything.

"Are you sure you don't want to give it a try at least?" She asked tentatively. "We could start slow, you know. A simple, lose connection. You could see how much control you have, see if you feel safe enough."

He ran a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes that stung with exhaustion.

"This is not about me feeling safe," he clarified. "I do feel safe with you. But I've been so unfocused lately, I don't think I could protect you."

"What makes you think I need protection?"

"Fuck, Triss." He let out a tortured groan. "My life has been a real shit show at times. You have no idea what it takes to be a witcher, least of all become one."

"I've heard the stories."

"You think that's the same?" He knew he sounded angry but couldn't help it. Her naivety was infuriating. "Stay out of my mind, Triss. I mean it. I know you want to help, but I'll never agree to put yourself at risk like that. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in misery."

"Geralt, please. You are constantly putting yourself in harm's way to save others. What makes you think you're the only one entitled to sacrifice? Maybe it's time someone returned the favor."

"I'm a monster hunter," he argued stubbornly. "It's my profession to put my life on the line. I've been trained for it."

"And I'm a healer and a sorceress. Sometimes that means taking risks as well."

His objection died on his lips, and he snapped his mouth shut. There was no way to argue with that. Still, he felt there was a difference, even if he couldn't pinpoint it exactly.

"Well, this is still my decision, and you're not taking this risk."

He hoped that she would catch the finality in his words. Frankly, he had thought that he had made himself clear the day before, and the whole debate was irritating him. Part of him wished that she would just leave him alone.

"God damn it," she whispered, "you and your ridiculous idea of heroism."

She wiped her sleeve across her face, the movement sharp and impatient as if she was angry with herself, and it took him a moment to realize she was crying. His anger evaporated instantly. Something clenched in his chest, and he stared at her, completely lost.

"Triss -"

"I care about you," she burst out. "You probably think it's mighty chivalrous of you to refuse my help. You'd rather die than let anyone risk their hide for you. But have you ever thought about the people around you? How it will make me feel if I have to watch you slowly go insane? How it will make Jaskier feel?" She broke off, glaring at him with glistening eyes. "He risked his life for you, trying to find you in that monster-infested forest. Are you really going to tell him that it was all for nothing?"

He gazed at her mutely, not knowing what to say. She had a point there, of course. On the other hand, he had never asked Jaskier to come to his aid. In fact, he would have preferred if he hadn't.

"You haven't even told him about it, have you?" She read the answer in his eyes and shook her head in disdain. "Of course, you haven't."

"Triss, this is unfair. I just want to protect you."

"Then protect me. For Melitele's sake, protect me. Guide me to the places where the curse is anchored in your mind and keep the bad stuff away from me. But allow me to help you. And don't worry about whether I will be able to take it. I can deal with this. I am not as weak as you think."

If only he could believe it.

"I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me."

Something melted in her gaze and she leaned towards him, her fingers wrapping around his hand. They were cold from the biting wind, almost fragile in his strong palm.

"You realize I feel the same way, right?"

Something ached in his chest, something he couldn't put a name to. He felt his throat constrict at the sensation of her hand curled around his, the sight of her face so close to his. The pain in her eyes. It was the same feeling that made him refuse her plan so vehemently. Now he felt torn in two opposite directions. He didn't want to hurt her, yet he felt there was no way not to.

"Geralt, please say something."

"I don't know, Triss," he said helplessly. "What do you want me to say?"

"You know what I want you to say. Say yes. Say that you'll at least let me try." She searched his eyes, pleading.

"I can't."

"Why?"

He opened his mouth to reply but found himself unable to spell it out for her. The only thing he could think of was Triss being trapped in that mental prison he had just escaped from. Black walls too thick to break, spiteful voices whispering in the darkness. The feeling of utter and complete desolation. It was nothing he would wish on her.

"Don't worry about me, please." Triss's voice barely registered, her hand resting on his forearm. He realized that she had caught on to his thoughts, probably had started to read them when he had zoned out. Three days ago, it would have made him unspeakably mad, now he was almost too tired to care. "I can help you, Geralt. Please, let me do this for you before it gets worse. Before anyone else comes to harm."

He tensed at her words. The image of Jaskier came back to him, crouching on eye-level, one appeasing hand stretched out towards him. He had almost killed him back there in the woods, simply because he didn't know where he was and who was talking to him. He had been like one of the creatures he always hunted, acting on instinct alone, incapable of conscious thought. Who could tell how much damage he would do if he didn't act now, how many people he would hurt? Innocent people. The thought made him physically sick.

If only there was a way to make it go away. One that didn't include Triss putting herself at risk.

But there was a way. It was a thought that had come to him at some point during the night, one that he had done his best to ignore. Now it came back with a vengeance. He was a witcher, after all, and it was his job to kill monsters. Sure, he lifted a curse when he could, just as he had done with the striga, but if a creature was beyond his help, he would take its life without hesitation. To end the suffering, to keep others from harm. It was as simple as that.

Only this time, he himself was the monster. So, really, the solution was obvious.

He swallowed drily.

"I won't let it come that far."

He didn't have to elaborate, she understood his meaning perfectly well. Her expression dropped at his words, and she shifted to sit on the edge of the bench, trying to catch his gaze.

"Please tell me you don't mean that."

She peered at him, eyes wide, and he felt her hand cup his jaw, prompting him to look at her. He didn't even bother to hide the hopelessness that he felt. It was the right thing to do. The responsible thing. He knew that without doubt.

She must have realized that as well because her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm sorry, Geralt," she said softly, the look on her face one of utter devastation. Her fingers brushed against the side of his face and he closed his eyes. "I know I promised."

He didn't get to ask what she was sorry for. He was gone before that.

When he came to, he found himself slumped on a bench in the temple garden, his face cold from the wind. The air was crisp, morning light gleaming on frost coated flowers and trees. Bewildered, he sat up a little, rubbing his face and groaning at the lingering pain in his arm and ribs. He must have dozed off. Slowly, memory returned – Jaskier fast asleep in the chair, his struggle to get dressed by himself. Damn it, the brief walk outside must have tired him out more than he'd thought. However, he couldn't have been out long. The sun had barely climbed above the horizon, and he didn't feel hypothermic. Thank the gods for small mercies.

Crunching footfalls sounded in the gravel. When a shadow fell on him, he lifted his gaze to look at Triss, who was approaching in a leisure walk. Wind ruffled the fur that lined her cloak and tugged at her hair. Her eyes and nose were slightly reddened. He wondered if she had been crying or if it was just the cold.

"Good morning," she greeted. "Mind if I sit?"

He frowned at the weird sensation of deja-vu, then shook his head at himself. In the past days, he had spent such a huge amount of time tangled between illusion and reality, it probably didn't mean anything. At least, he knew she wasn't an illusion. He made room for her, inviting her to join him.

"I see you're feeling better," she said casually as she perched beside him. "Out here all by yourself. How's your arm?"

"Still hurts," he replied truthfully, bewildered by the familiar taste of the words on his lips. "But it's healing thanks to you."

She returned his smile, but there was something off about it. Something he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the way she didn't hold his gaze for long, the nervous tension in her shoulders. If he'd known any better, he would say she was ashamed. But it didn't make any sense. What would she be ashamed for?

"Have you thought about my proposition?"

The question sounded odd in his ears, as if he had heard it before.

You have, he reminded himself. She asked you just yesterday. He remembered thinking about it all night, and he had planned to tell her that he was sorry he couldn't take her up on her offer. However, now that she was sitting beside him, he couldn't remember why he had been so adamant about refusing her help. She was a sorceress, after all. She'd never suggest this if it wasn't safe. Besides, it wasn't like she hadn't been in his mind before.

"I have."

Her smile was encouraging, and if there had been any doubts left, they would have vanished this very moment. The way she looked at him, eyes warm with reassurance, he had no idea why he had doubted her. It would be okay. He could trust her.

"I think you're right." For once the words passed his lips easily. "I think we should do this."

"I'm glad you've changed your mind."

He nodded, a load falling off his chest. Only now he realized how much strain he had been under, how much the decision had troubled him. It was a relief to finally be at ease.

"I'm glad too."

It concluded their conversation, as simple as that. They sat quietly for a while, side by side, enjoying the relative silence of the morning, the noise of the city almost distant behind the high temple walls. A gust of wind brushed through the fallen leaves, lifting them up in a rustling swirl of brown and yellow. Streaks of orange bled into the blue of the sky. It was peaceful in a way he hadn't experienced much in the past weeks. When her fingers hesitantly curled around his hand, he adjusted his grip to warm them, squeezing them gently. They were cold from the biting wind.