Chapter 10: Trials One and Two

POV Triss Merigold, 1267 mid-June

Triss didn't expect to be back in Kaer Morhen so soon. It was little more than a year since she left, but... Jon had asked for her. The message he sent said that he was ready for his trials. It was full of nonsense, saying that her proficiency in potions was the reason why, but Triss could read between the lines and what she read warmed her heart. He trusted her, a thing the boy so rarely did with anyone, to perform his trials. So, she quickly accepted, even if she disagreed with the practice.

The old witcher castle hadn't changed in the slightest since she was last here, but Jon had. Thanks to the witcher herbs accelerating his growth and all his bone breaking training, he had gained nearly a foot in height and passing Triss by a few inches. All the baby fat on his face had melted away, revealing a long, yet handsome face.

Jon welcomed her with a small smile and a kiss to her knuckles. Which he had told her years ago was a habit he could never break, even though he didn't remember quite how it started. The only witchers present, Vesemir and Eskel, greeted her with polite nods.

"Lead the way." she said and could tell that Vesemir wasn't pleased that she was going to see and use the witcher mutagens. She understood, of course. Triss knew what he feared, but for Jon's sake he let her and gave her the coded method for the reaction, which had been sent with the letter. Which she read and understood easily, the mages who wrote it were thorough and the code wasn't that complex.

Jon's trial would take place in one of the keep's only remaining underground cells. It was the only place both large and private enough for the trial's alchemical reactions. Everything was already in the perfect place for her; the table that would keep Jon in place: the various mutagens in their beakers: the grasses, corn lily, nightshade, speargrass, wildrye, wolfsbane: the virus.

Jon, having already drank the far less painful, and invasive, grasses followed her down, his intentions clear. "Jon are you su-" she tried, knowing he would have this done now, but hoping she could push it back and convince him not to go through with it.

"I'm sure." he interrupted.

Triss nodded and led him to the table. He laid down and place his limbs and head over the leather bindings, letting Triss tighten and buckle them.

She spun around to the alchemical table and carefully prepared the virus by diluting it and then pulled the mixture into a syringe. Triss then moved back to Jon and quickly injected the virus into the veins in the crook of his arm.

As the virus took hold of Jon's body, Triss prepared the grasses. Their essence was already extracted for her, all she had to do was mix them in the proper groups and proportions, then inject them in the right order. She did so, mixing them into three elixirs: Mother's Tears, Wildrye Juice and Speargrass Sap. Triss poured each fizzing mixture into their own containers that hanged above Jon's head. The connecting tubes hanging limb from their ends.

She took up a scalpel, gave her patient a small warning and cut into the veins in his forearms and his exterior jugular vein. Then carefully pushed the ends of the tubes into their respective entrances in Jon's body. Triss looked at Jon, his face hid the pain of the virus burning through him, his determination unbroken. After a moment, she unleashed the Mother's Tears and the very moment she saw the fluid enter his arm, Jon gritted his teeth to keep his scream in. Then came the Wildrye Juice and he let out a strangled growl. Finally, she let the Speargrass Sap flow into the boy... and he screamed.

It felt like it would rip through her, his obvious pain hurt her more than she expected, yet she refused to leave. Triss would watch over him until the very end, no matter how it finished.

She watched as he struggled against his bindings, his muscles shaking against his will. He soon started coughing, slow at first, but as the hours passed, they became more violent and frequent. When he started sweating, she added the mutagens. Triss poured them into his veins the same as she did the elixirs and it seemed that his pain doubled with the additions. He thrashed in place, Jon's impressive musculature contracting violently. Making the table shake and making Triss fear for the bolts that kept it from moving around the room.

Not only did the boy's pain increase, his screams themselves changed when the last of the mutagens flowed into him. They started sounding... unnatural, becoming more and more bestial. The sounds even seemed to echo differently in the room and cut at her soul.

His state held for the rest of the day, Triss spend the time counting the hours and wiping the sweat from his brow. She knew it helped him little, but it made the sorceress feel less helplessness.

Triss hadn't slept that night, how could she? Her dread and hope warring in her heart, as Jon's screams, only broken by violent fits of coughing, echoed in the room and her mind. The time passed quickly for her, every time the sand in the hourglass would all fall to the bottom Triss would leave the boy's side to flip it and scratch a line in the table.

The witchers had tried to bring in food and water, but she would not let them in. Chaos would help sustain her through the process. She would not leave the room, nor let anyone in. Until it is done.

After the thirty-eight-hour mark, Jon's pained seemed to lull. If only slightly: his screams were quieter, his thrashing less violent and his coughing softer. Or maybe... maybe they were only delusions her mind built for her to stand his suffering a little more. She sighed sadly and wiped his shaking head. Then scratched the thirty-nineth line.

At the seventy-second hour, Triss nearly wept. Jon's screams slowly quieted into nothingness and his eyes turned glassy. For a moment, the sorceress thought she had killed him and dreaded over telling Ciri... and over finding a way to live with herself after.

But then she felt his hand, grabbing at her lightly blood-stained apron. His breathing returned, loud and heavy. It sounded as though someone had poured sand down it.

His sweat turned from the blazing hot of exertion, to a feverish cold. It smelled terrible; her nose was forced to wrinkle as she breathed in the odor.

She knew it was time to give him his second dose. Triss had hope, he had lived past the point where most had died, and she knew he would hold strong till the end. So, she readministered the three grasses and quickly added the mutagens once more.

The effects were almost instantaneous and just as the notes described. First were the seizures, so strong that she could hear the leather bindings groan. Jon then started bleeding from his nose, it wasn't a very heavy leak, but it was steady and gave Triss another thing to wipe away. He started coughing again, more violently than before. Triss loosened the binding on his head and turned it to the side, she had to push with her whole body to get it there and retighten the strap. After a dozen hacking coughs, he started vomiting.

It dribbled at first, then gushed, then dibbled again. It rose and fell like the tide, easily reminding her of a man who had drunk far too much. Once he started dry heaving, it slowly stopped. It all did: the blood, the thrashing and the grasping hands. Jon stopped moving entirely, the only sight of visible life was the rise and fall of his chest. So, Triss undid all the restraints and positioned him in as comfortable a way she could, before putting a hand to his forehead.

His skin quickly turned hot under her hands, vaporizing the clammy sweat on him quickly and Triss knew they were in the final stretch.

By the seventy-seventh hour, Triss had taken to cradling Jon's head in her arms. The logical side of her mind could tell that he couldn't feel her, but the other side didn't care. It was her turn now and trying to comfort the boy made Triss hate herself less. Besides, she could feel his heartbeat in her arm. It was slow, so very slow, but strong as it ever was.

As Triss was going to scratch the hundred and sixty-first line, she heard a gasp and quickly spun around. She looked to Jon, who still laid on the table. His breathing was heavy and his eyes wide open. They were now a bright silver, and slitted.

He turned to her and gave a small smile, saying, "It worked then?" his voice hoarse.

Triss gave the boy a tight hug. Letting her stress and worry escape her, they took whatever was keeping her awake with them. The sorceress felt herself going limp in Jon's arms and let sleep take her.

POV Jon

"Ready to spar Jon?" Eskel asked.

The newly mutated witcher responded by unsheathing his claymore, the blade blurred before stopping. Its tip hovering an inch above the dirt. His mentor smirked while he slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard and gave it a flourish.

They both assumed their preferred stances; Jon, his hands by his left hip and Cerbin's length angled down behind him: Eskel had his hands on the right side of his head, his longsword following the line of his scar.

The two witchers stood and stared at one another, their breathing even, heartbeats slow and let a moment pass. Jon acted first, his claymore swinging up and bringing the dirt with it, a move taught to him by Albin, throwing dust into the air. Then he rushed forward and swung horizontally through the brown cloud. Hitting nothing, he redirected the blade's momentum around his head and swung down in a barbaric arc.

This time, Jon heard the hoped-for ring of steel and a grunt. The wind chose that moment to move the hanging dust away, revealing a kneeling Eskel. He was holding his sword by both the blade and hilt, a scowl on his face. Looking to his shoulder, Jon saw why. He had swung with enough force to push the elder witcher's sword down and for Cerbin to bite into his gambeson.

Eskel, taking advantage of Jon's surprise at his newfound strength, pushed his sword tip up quickly. Forcing the claymore away from him, switched into reverse grip, and smashed his longsword's pommel into Jon's diaphragm.

Jon stumbled away, trying to give himself space to recover, and he did far quicker than he expected. Just in time to stop the deadly edge of Eskel's longsword from giving him a new mouth. Jon pushed the smaller sword away, but with far too much force. Which Eskel used to spin around to attack the younger man from the other side.

He knee-dropped under it and pulled out his silver dirk, swiping at his opponent's ankles. Eskel jumped away and Jon put his silver blade back into its sheath on his left hip.

Jon leapt from his kneeling position, thrusting his claymore towards Eskel's gut. The more experienced warrior pirouetted, something Jon was never good at, and kicked out his legs at the knees. Jon felt the cold touch of steel on the back of his neck and immediately dropped Cerbin.

"That was good." Eskel told him, pulling back his blade.

Jon grabbed his sword and pushed himself to standing. "Not good enough." he said, to both himself and the witcher beside him.

He saw Eskel nod in understanding, then move to where he was in the beginning of their spar. Jon was determined not to stop until his standards were satisfied.

_Two Days later_

Jon stared at the lake near Kaer Morhen, its surface was still and reflected the sky like a mirror. He liked to come here and use the usually calm water and the multitude of animal who lived in and around the lake to practice his magics. Or simply to think, like he is now.

His spars had ended late last evening, having gone through the night the day before. Witcher stamina, he supposed. Along with his new strength, speed and stamina. Jon discovered many... unexpected changes. Such as his teeth and nails; Eskel had pointed out, after Jon had snarled in one of their bouts, that his canines had grown larger and ended in sharper points than before: in one of their clashes, when the blades would meet and they both pushed against one another, Jon saw that his nails were pushing into the leather that wound around the hilt of his claymore.

Looking at them now, Jon saw that they were nearly white, and he brushed the pad of his thumb on the edge of one, almost cutting himself. Triss told him that she hadn't noticed when his old ones popped off with theses growing in their place, but when they searched the cell... there they were. All twenty of them.

When he looked back to the lake, the young witcher saw Gwyn dive for a fish. The white-tailed eagle had been affected as well, his flight and tail feathers had all been growing back as pale a blue as with his beak and claws.

Jon looked down to the water close to him, his mind lost. Then he had an odd feeling and brought his hand to the lake's surface. He sent a wave from within himself and into the water. The ice spread from his fingers, first only a small half circle the size of his head, then a door, then a gate. This was the biggest he could get it before his trial.

He pushed on and found it easy, until it reached the diameter of a mid-sized house. Jon slowly lifted it out of the lake. As it rose, his arms started to shake, and his teeth chattered. When it was halfway out, he lost feeling in his fingers and his ears burned. Then, finally, it left the lake and Jon let out a gasp.

It was enormous, big to put a hole in Kaer Morhen's outer wall. Jon let a weak smile curl his lips and passed out.

POV Triss Merigold

Triss and Jon were in her room, it was late in the night and moon was hidden by an overcast sky. The only light was the hearth in the center of the room.

Triss had the boy kneeling before her, his face level with her hips. The sorceress put her hands on the boy's head, her fingers combed through his hair and her nails lightly scratched his scalp.

"Are you ready, Jon?" she breathed.

Said witcher's cheeks, even with his slowed heartrate, quickly turned a bright red. "C-can we start already?" he said.

Triss gave him a smile and... started the spell. She mumbled under her breath and slowly sent a part of her mind to his, but something took hold of her. She tried to break free, but it held her spirit like a vice.

Then the world turned dark and for a moment, there was nothing.

Then blurry colors faded into sight and Triss blinked quickly to clear her vision. When it did, she looked to her hands and noticed that they were much smaller than they were only moments ago.

Looking up, Triss saw that she was now on the edge of a forest. It sprawled before her, she looked to her left, her right and behind her. Other than the forest, all there was... was snow, ice and the most beautiful night sky she had ever seen. It was a deep, royal purple and filled with white stars, clustered in a line down the middle that went from north to south. She stared for a moment, transfixed, then looked back to the trees.

The forest was both full of grace and foreboding, the trees were like none she had seen or read of before. They had the same general shape of oaks, but their bark was bone white and their leaves red as blood.

Something in the forest called to her, it felt like the same one that took her to this place, but this time it was not as forceful... it was gentler. Though she knew that if she didn't heed its call, it would be again. So, the redhead walked into the woods, feeling like something was watching her. I hope there aren't any wolves, Triss thought in passing.

The first thing the shrunken sorceress saw in the woods, other than snow and more white trees, were three weathered statues. In the center was a large man, he stood stark and grey against the white background. He wore heavy furs and held a large sword, it was easily six feet long and as wide as a man's hand with a smoky rippling pattern. The man's face was long and grim and wasn't what she would call handsome, although, it wasn't ugly either. Even with the slight differences, the resemblance to Jon was almost painfully clear.

To the statue's right was a young, curly haired boy, most of his features had eroded, Triss could barely even see his nose. To the man's left was a small stone girl and, like the boy, most of her face was gone, but her long hair was carved in startling detail.

Triss moved on and walked further into the forest. The next thing she saw was another statue, this time a woman. It was carved from a paler stone than the last three, but that wasn't the only difference. This statue's dress, height, build, hair, face and even her pose were all constantly changing. The only constant was the plaque on her feet, on it was painted a purple shield with a white sword under a star.

It hurt her eyes to look at the statue, so she moved on. Triss walked deeper into the woods and as she did, everything around her slowly darkened. She tried to summon a flame in her hand, but there wasn't even a spark. She quickly gave up and kept walking, though with more caution. It was nearly pitch dark when she saw a glow.

The glow grew stronger and stronger, until she found the source. It was a statue of Ciri, a torch in one hand with the other on her hip. An impish grin lit up her pale stone face, it practically forced Triss to smile too. The carving was perfect, if a little outdated. It looked as though someone had gone over it every day. Triss' smile wavered as the statue moved its arm, yet it steadied when she saw it was merely offering her its light.

The sorceress reached out hesitantly and grasped the base of the torch, right above the stone hand. When she did, the statue released its hold.

Triss, unsure of what to do in this situation, nodded in thanks to the statue and continued on her path into the woods.

She walked further and Triss was quickly plunged into darkness with only the torch to give her light. She felt dread creep up her spine and held the flame so tight she heard her knuckles crack. Her steps quickened and she soon found more statues, two men standing beside a seated woman.

The man on the right was of middling height, bearded and dressed like a druid. The man on the left was much taller, with a dour look on his face and a claymore resting on his shoulder. The woman sat on a throne, her stony gaze seemed to boar into Triss, commanding her to obey. All three were made from the grey stone of the first trio.

As she stood there, the flame on her torch grew brighter. Now, with a stronger torch in hand, she left feeling safer than before.

Triss walked slower now, no longer quite so frightened by the darkness around her. Suddenly though, her flame waned and started flickering, but soon stabilized. She walked quickly again, until she saw the next set of statues. Ones she could recognise.

From right to left was Eskel, herself, Vesemir, Geralt, Lambert and Coën. All had different expressions; Eskel looked tired and trying to hide it: she had a warm, almost motherly, look on her face: Vesemir seemed to be explaining something, or giving a lecture: Geralt's face was perfectly neutral, like when you made a lame joke: Lambert had a wide grin, something Triss had rarely seen: Coën had his usual smile, the one that helped his bead hide the scars.

The flame seemed brighter when she resumed her path. Slowly, like before, she started to see a glow through the trees, and it slowly brightened. Eventually revealing itself to be... a campfire, with a cloaked man sitting across from where she stood.

"Ah... Triss... you're finally here, good." she heard the man say, his voice sounded like he hadn't spoken in years.

"Don't just stand there. Please, sit." he said, motioning to a log in front of him. "I won't bite." he continued.

Still getting over her shock, Triss came closer and sat down. Only now realising that the torch was gone. "Triss, before you ask any questions, I need to tell you something. Do you understand?"

She nodded dumbly, staring at the man. He dwarfed her and still would even if she wasn't shrunken down. Looking at him, Triss could easily tell he was taller than Geralt and wider too, though not by much. She couldn't see much of his face, only a chin covered in a short beard and black curls hugging his muscular neck.

"You can't try the spell again, or any like it. I won't be able to protect you then."

Her mind cleared, taking in the information. "Why?" she asked the man.

She was answered by a pale blue eagle, easily the size of an average man's torso, landing on the man's right shoulder with a cry and a silent... beast the size of a horse and made from fog stalking behind the man, then lounging on his left side with its head on his boot.

"Them, they won't let you come back in without a fight and I won't be able to stop them." he said, as the eagle started fluttering its wings and the beast started squirming.

"You need to go." he said quickly. He rose from the stone he was sitting on, forcing the eagle to fly away, and walked over the fire to her. He grabbed her by the arm, gently, and pulled her up. He led her away from the flame and to a nearby stream of pitch-black water.

"One last thing," he said, turning to her and knelt down to her level "don't tell anyone what happened in here. Even Jon. If he should ask, tell him the trial failed. Which is the truth, vague as it is. He is unchanged from what happened here." as he finished, Triss managed to see more of his face. Grey eyes, slitted like a cat's.

She gave him a nod and she could feel his small smile. Then he threw her into the water, and all went dark again.

POV A Young Boy

It was cold, so very cold and he couldn't move. The wind howled around him, and the snow covered his vision. The boy didn't know what was happening and he shivered, but not only because of the cold.

Only a few seconds later, he felt something pull at him. Ripping his body up and to the right, he flew and flew, then suddenly stopped. The snow faded away and he saw something.

It was an enormous stone wolf, truly colossal in its size. It was snapping at a one-eyed, red kraken. Trying to bite it in half, but the wolf was slow and clearly lacking energy. Then, the boy saw another kraken, this one smaller than the other and grey, behind the stone beast.

When the wolf almost had the red squid's head between its jaws, having already taken two tentacles, the grey one quickly started wrapping its tentacles around the wolf's hind legs, entrapping them and pining them together. Then the red kraken started wrapping around the stone forelegs and snout, but the wolf managed to bite off another one of the red squid's tentacles.

The great stone wolf struggled and struggled, until both krakens had too firm a hold and it could struggle no more.

The boy thought it was over, but then he felt the pull again and the snowy land under him blurred as he sped away. The white snow changed to green trees and muddy water. He was pulled down to ground level, where he saw a great many beasts. These ones much smaller than the wolf before, but much more numerus.

It was a pack of pale grey wolves, the boy couldn't count high enough to know how many, but there were enough to cover the road they traveled on with a grey carpet. They were led by a giant white wolf, a slightly smaller, dark grey wolf, an ashen lioness and a brown bear.

They ran through the swamp, all of them panting. The boy watched them pass and disappear.

Then he fell to the ground, passing through it and falling into a cavern that smelled heavily of rotting fish. The cavern was brightly lit with torches along the walls, jolly music bouncing throughout, in it he saw another pack of wolves, with other animals. Like bears, fish, eagles and moose mixed in. They all danced around together, then the lights dimmed and half the wolves suddenly shrunk. Their tails lost all their fur, their bodies grew fatter, and their eyes turned small and dark. The boy quickly realised what they had become. Rats. With more pouring in from holes in the walls.

The rats swarmed the unchanged wolves and the other animals, pulling them to the floor and ripping into them. They eventually reached a much larger wolf and a trout in the middle of the other animals. Just as the rats were about the reach the pair, the boy heard a roar and the cavern disappeared.

His vision went dark, then three colored rocks faded in. They shined like jewels, each was a different color: green, black and cream. They simply floated in the darkness, then faded again.

In the darkness, the boy heard something. It sounded like a name, it kept repeating. Over and over again, the same name that he couldn't quite hear.

The boy woke up to red.

Notes: Jon is NOT sterile. The second trial is the one that does that, and it failed.