Author's Notes (March 2022):
Story synopsis: There was roughly one year between the events of The Witcher 2 and those of The Witcher 3. This tale is my take on what happened to some of our beloved characters during that time. It will be a series of short stories, combining action/adventure with lots of character development.
Warnings: This fanfic contains major spoilers of the books and the games. Also, it may not be 100% canon compliant (or game compliant). Additionally, in this tale, the Axii Sign does not exist. While it may be an interesting game mechanic, I simply don't have the talent to reconcile all of the plot inconsistencies that it creates.
Words of Gratitude: I was first introduced to Geralt of Rivia in the spring of 2016, and six years later, I am still intrigued by him and his universe. I believe that is a testament to the incredibly talented and dedicated professionals at CD Projekt Red, who made such an amazing game with such interesting and complex characters. Experiencing their game helped me to discover and pursue this new hobby of creative writing – a hobby that I find both immensely enjoyable and rewarding. And for that, I am incredibly grateful. So, thank you, CD Projekt Red. Thank you for pouring so much passion into your games that it spills over onto the rest of us.
Disclaimer: This work is based on the characters and universe created and owned by Andrzej Sapkowski and/or CD Projekt Red. It was undertaken strictly for my enjoyment.
oOo
The Witcher 2.5: Between the Storms
Chapter 1: Triss - 1
The sorceress from Maribor lifted a shaky hand and gently probed her busted, swollen lip with her finger. It was tender to the touch, but, frankly, it was the least of her injuries. She had been suffering from intermittent seizures for the past day. The cramps would come upon her suddenly, with no warning, and were so severe that they consumed her. In those moments, all thoughts fled her mind. Agony was her only reality. It had been several minutes since her latest episode, but every muscle still trembled from the aftershocks. The seizures had also felled her to her knees. She was now sitting on the ground, her back resting against the high, fortress wall. She closed her eyes and focused on the pain radiating throughout her body, welcoming it.
'Good. After what you've done, you deserve it.'
She wallowed in her guilt until, a few moments later, she heard the unmistakable clip-clopping sound of a horse walking on stones. She immediately looked up to see Geralt heading her way and leading a bay mare by the reins. He was talking softly to the horse and rubbing his hand along its neck. The sight brought a small, wan smile to Triss' face, but she immediately winced as her busted lip split anew.
"Where did you find her?" she asked, now tasting fresh blood – warm and coppery – on the tip of her tongue.
"Roaming around by herself near the Black Ones' abandoned camp."
Triss glanced at the saddle to, sure enough, see Nilfgaardian insignia on the saddle bags. Stitched onto the leather was a black patch adorned with a golden sun. She had no doubt that the mare's previous owner was one of the soldiers that the witcher had recently killed. Killed while coming to her rescue. That reminder added to her guilt.
"But we won't hold that against her," he announced, continuing to pet the horse's neck. Then he made eye-contact with the mare. "Will we, girl?"
The mare neighed and lifted her head in response – eliciting another painful smile from the sorceress.
The three of them were just outside the front gate of Loc Muinne - an ancient, elven city situated high up in the Blue Mountains. The white stone ruins, with its grand amphitheater, had just hosted - in Triss' mind - one of the most disastrous political summits in the history of the Northern realms. Due to the recent assassinations of multiple Northern monarchs, the majority of the kingdoms were in complete chaos. To make matters worse, earlier in the day, it had been discovered that her 'sisters' in the Lodge of Sorceresses were behind the killings. At least, they were partially to blame, for there was no doubt that they were responsible for the death of Aedirn's king, Demavend. Geralt, however, had learned from the Viper-school witcher Letho that the rest of the plot – unbeknownst to the Lodge and everyone else - had actually been hatched by Emperor Emhyr var Emreis of Nilfgaard. It was a convoluted and complicated tale, but the bottom line was that the Lodge would get the blame for it all. Triss feared for what the future held for magic users once the word of their culpability spread. She knew that the innocent many would reap the consequences from the actions of the guilty few. Such was the way of the world – where tribalism and prejudice ran rampant. Had the Lodge of Sorceresses actually ever accomplished anything for good, she wondered. And, oh, yes - how could she forget? An actual dragon arrived midway into the gathering and set fire to many of the attendees. The fiasco of the summit encapsulated perfectly the entire state of the North at the moment. All hopes for peace, order, and solidarity had literally gone up in flames.
She noticed Geralt looking skyward, where plumes of black smoke partially obscured the late afternoon sun. The acrid smell of burning corpses filled her nostrils.
"Come on," he ordered. "We'd best leave posthaste. No doubt all kinds of corpse-eaters will be here shortly. This stench is like a buffet calling to them."
Triss stood and immediately hissed through her teeth while at the same time pressing her arm closely to her side. It felt like the entire left side of her rib cage had been slammed by a rampaging chort. Suddenly, her vision narrowed, filling with stars, and then she felt herself start to fall. An instant later, she sensed strong arms supporting her.
"I've got you, Triss." she heard Geralt say. "Don't worry. I've got you." His voice sounded as if it was echoing up from a deep abyss.
Eventually, her mind cleared, and she blinked several times as the darkness was chased away by the soft twilight. When her eyes finally focused, she saw Geralt's face right in front of hers. He was holding her close, and she swallowed hard upon seeing the tenderness in his eyes.
'Why? Why is he being so nice to me?'
His kindness was killing her.
"Did I…did I faint?" she asked timidly.
"Yeah, but you were only out for about a minute. Maybe you should stay horizontal for a bit."
"No, no. I can stand."
"You sure?"
She nodded so he gently helped her to her feet.
"You know what – that saddle is big enough for both of us," he said. "It'd probably be best if we ride together."
"Okay. If that's what you want."
After assisting Triss into the saddle, he climbed up behind her - their bodies wedged tightly together. He placed both arms around her and grabbed the reins. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed softly.
"Is this okay? You think you can ride like this?"
"Yes. I'll be fine."
"Okay, good. This way, if you faint again, you don't have to worry. I won't let you fall."
"Thank you, Geralt."
"Of course. So, what do you think is hurting you the most? The beating you took from the Nilfgaardians or being magically compressed?"
A week prior, a Nilfgaardian mage had compressed her body into that of a small artifact. She'd been decompressed the day before, which was an unbelievably painful process that left the victim weak and achy for days. In Triss' case, it had also left her magically depleted and suffering from intense, full-body cramps.
"Six of one, a half-dozen of the other."
"Well, let's put some distance between us and here, and then I'll see what I can do."
For the next several hours, the pair traveled in relative silence through the wooded mountainside. Triss wasn't completely sure what specific thoughts were occupying the witcher – though, she had a pretty good guess, and she didn't particularly want to dwell upon that topic herself. So, instead, she spent her time replaying all the events from the past weeks and months in her mind. She couldn't believe how quickly her life had changed in such a short time. When the year had started, she'd been a valued member of King Foltest's royal council. However, now, back in her homeland of Temeria she was persona-non-grata. She had no doubt that she'd be jailed on sight. Since her fellow countrymen believed that Geralt had killed Foltest, with her being his lover, then she'd been forced to flee, as well. She hoped that the truth - that neither she nor Geralt were responsible for the king's demise – would quickly spread so that she might one day return home to help bring stability to the royal palace. Of course, that wasn't her primary concern, she acknowledged, as she thought about the witcher right behind her. She was just glad that they weren't face-to-face. She didn't want to look him in the eyes any more than she had to.
The night's sky was full of twinkling stars, and Triss was slightly shivering before Geralt finally found a small cave where they could bunk for the night. It was autumn, and with the sun below the horizon, the air had quickly turned cold. He took the saddle and bedroll off of his newly-acquired Roach and made a pallet for Triss to lie down on before heading off into the forest to collect both wood and rocks for making a firepit. Once the fire was roaring, he grabbed the large satchel that he'd been wearing and began removing all sorts of paraphernalia. Triss, being a highly trained sorceress from Aretuza, easily recognized the alchemical equipment and ingredients.
"I don't know if you remember," she said softly, "but I'm allergic to magical potions."
She was leaning back against the saddle, watching him as he went through his preparations. And though the heat from the fire had warmed up the rocky alcove, she still hugged herself tightly.
"I remember," he answered, not bothering to look at her. He was completely focused on the multiple concoctions that he was brewing.
"So, your memory has finally returned?"
He nodded.
"Completely?"
At that point, he paused and looked up. He stared into her eyes and nodded again. What she saw on his face made her quickly look away. Was it hurt or disappointment or a mixture of both?
'No, face it, Triss. You deserve whatever he sends your way. So, at least show him enough respect to face it.'
She immediately brought her eyes back to his, and they peered at one another for a moment.
"Don't worry - these will be safe for you," he eventually said, breaking their stare and returning to his work.
After that, the silence hung heavy between them. Or, at least, for Triss it did. Though, in truth, the guilt she felt inside was even heavier.
'He should be furious. Why isn't he yelling at me?'
Eventually, Geralt finished his preparations. He moved the various metal bowls to Triss' side, careful not to spill any of the liquid within. He knelt beside her and lifted one of the potions. It was green and viscous.
"Here, drink this one first. It's a healing potion. Will reduce the swelling and fight off any infection."
She simply nodded and drank it down. She didn't need to ask exactly what it was or what the ingredients were. She trusted both his intentions and his alchemical skills completely. When she was done, he took the empty bowl from her and handed her another.
"This one's for the pain and will help you sleep."
Like the first, she obediently swallowed. At that point, he grabbed a clean shirt that he'd found in the saddlebags. He cut off a strip and dipped it into a yellow-colored ointment in a third metal bowl. As he brought the cloth near her face, she could detect an antiseptic odor.
"This may sting a bit, but we need to treat your wounds."
"That's fine."
As he moved his hand toward her, she gritted her teeth, anticipating the pain. When the rag touched her scraped forehead, she sucked in her breath, for the witcher had been true to his word.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But it's for your own good."
Eventually, the pain lessened, and she opened her eyes. Geralt's face was less than a foot from hers. She watched him intently as he dabbed the medicinal ointment onto her wounds. She could tell that he was trying to be as gentle as possible. He finished doctoring her forehead and her busted lip, and he was just about to dip the rag back into the bowl when she reached out to stop him, gripping his forearm. She couldn't take it any longer. She had to know.
"Why, Geralt? Why are you being so nice to me? Caring for me – after what I did to you?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just continued peering into her eyes. She could tell he was collecting his thoughts, deciding on what to say. In the last year together, she had come to know him so well.
"None of us are perfect, Triss," he finally said. "We've all made mistakes – me, you, every one of us. So, we all need forgiveness."
She furrowed her brow.
"How? How can you forgive me? Because I can't even forgive myself. I betrayed you horribly. You and Yennefer both. I know how much she means to you, and during this entire year when you had amnesia, I didn't mention her to you. Not once."
"I know."
"So, aren't you angry with me?"
He gave a small nod.
"Yeah, I am. But two things can be true at the same time. I can be angry with you and still care for you. To want to help you. My memories may have returned, but that doesn't mean that I've stopped…it doesn't mean that I can just suddenly turn off my feelings. Though, to be honest, my trust-level in you isn't the highest right now."
Triss swallowed hard at hearing those words. They pierced her heart.
"I don't blame you. But please know," she said, squeezing his forearm, "that I'm truly sorry, Geralt. For not telling you everything from the beginning. I rationalized away my silence about Yennefer by saying that I didn't want to influence your decisions in any way. I told myself that, because of what you went through, your mind was too fragile. That it wasn't ready to hear about her yet. But the truth is that it was just pure selfishness on my part. I wanted you for myself. And I'm sorry."
Geralt gave a slight nod of his head.
"It's fine."
"No, it's not. I've been a lousy friend. But I promise that's going to change – today. I'm going to earn back your trust…if you'll still let me."
The witcher gave her a sad smile.
"Of course, Triss. I don't have many friends. I want to keep all I've got."
She let out a small breath. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding it in.
"Thank you, Geralt. You're a better friend to me than I've ever been to you. But I'm going to make it up to you. I know I told you this back at Loc Muinne, but I'm going to say it again. I'll help you in any way I can to find Yennefer. Even if…even if that means you and I won't be together any longer. Do you believe me?"
"Yeah. I believe you. Now, just sit back and relax against the saddle. I need to treat the rest of your injuries," he said. He then pointed to the buttons on her blouse. "Do you mind?"
"No, I don't mind at all," she answered, her eyelids suddenly getting heavy. She didn't remember much after that – for the effects of the sleeping potion had finally kicked in.
oOo
Triss - breathing heavily and with a sheen of sweat covering her bare skin – buried her face into the witcher's neck. She inhaled deeply, cherishing her lover's scent. It was a musky, masculine odor that smelled like nothing and no one else she'd ever known. She assumed that even his pheromones must have been mutated all those years ago during the Trial of Grasses, giving him a scent unlike a normal human male. Of course, that was only speculation on her part. The details of the Trials were a well-guarded secret. The only thing that she knew for sure was that he, in some mysterious way, smelled like both 'danger' and 'comfort' at the same time. It was a scent that aroused her every time he was near.
After leaving Loc Muinne, the two of them had traveled through the Blue Mountains, following the Pontar River as it meandered its way toward the Great Sea beyond the western horizon. Days later, they'd finally arrived in Bergstrom, a small mining town on the Aedirnian side of the river. It wasn't much, Triss had thought upon seeing it, but it did at least have an inn – one that turned out to possess quite pleasant accommodations if truth be told. The smells wafting out from the kitchen had made her mouth water. While Geralt went to the stables to feed Roach and brush out her coat, the innkeeper's wife had brought hot water for the small tub in their room. Triss was still luxuriating in it – letting the heat soothe her achy muscles – when Geralt finally entered. He paused upon seeing her, and then, without ever breaking his gaze, he slowly shut the door and locked it behind him. She saw his eyes drop down to her naked body for a moment or two before coming back up to her face.
"That water still warm?" he asked.
He had a hint of a smile on his face and a deep hunger in his eyes. She knew that look well. She loved that look.
"You're free to find out," she answered, her voice suddenly husky.
Now, an hour later, the sorceress felt his calloused hands on her back, one of them gently rubbing up and down her spine. A few moments before, they had been squeezing her hips so tightly that she knew a few bruises would soon arrive. But she was more than fine with that. A little pain was worth the pleasure. He was breathing heavily as well – she could both hear his deep exhalations in her ear and feel his chest rising up and down against her breasts - and a small smile came to her face when she realized that their breaths were in perfect harmony. 'For the last time?' she wondered, and suddenly, she had to choke back a sob. For Triss knew the end was coming. She'd known it since Loc Muinne when his memories had finally and fully returned.
'If you were stronger, you'd have left on your own. With some dignity.'
But, despite everything that she'd gone through, despite being the 'Fourteenth of Sodden Hill' and one of the most powerful sorceresses walking the Continent, she'd rarely considered herself to be strong – at least not when it had come to him. So, if there was to be a good-bye, she knew that she wouldn't be able to say it. Besides, she'd promised him that she would help him find Yennefer, and she'd be damned if she broke her word. She'd betrayed him enough, as is.
To comfort herself, she began tenderly kissing his neck before moving up to his face and finding his lips. She poured all of her passion into it, hoping that he could somehow sense what she felt for him inside. Her love for him made her feel helpless – like that first moment after stepping into a magical portal, when bright light would fill her vision and her body would be overwhelmed with a falling sensation until she finally stepped through to the other side. But with him, she felt like she could fall forever. Deeper and deeper down into the great unknown, to a place where she had no control.
'I love you, Geralt. I love you with everything I have. I'm forever yours if you'll have me.'
An instant later, she broke their kiss and raised herself up. For, again, she knew. She wasn't capable of reading minds, but even if she had been, she'd wouldn't have needed her magic in that moment. She could tell just from the way that he kissed her. It was different now than it'd been before, with just the slightest touch of reservation.
"You're thinking of her, aren't you?" she asked.
She didn't have to say the name. They both knew who she meant. Instantly, she regretted the question.
'You ruin everything, Triss. Why couldn't you just ignore it?'
He opened his mouth to speak, but only a sigh came out. For the longest time, the two of them simply stared into each other's eyes. Eventually, he closed his mouth and swallowed hard.
"It's fine, Geralt. Just say the truth. I already know."
He sighed again and gave a small nod of his head.
"I wasn't before. Not…during. I promise. But afterwards, just now…yeah, she came to mind again. I'm sorry, Triss. I just…I need to know…where she is and if she's safe."
This time it was Triss' turn to be at a loss for words. Mostly, because she was afraid to speak. Afraid that her voice would break if she tried. So, instead, she simply nodded before moving off of him. She laid down on her side, facing away from him and instinctively pulled her knees upward, hugging them against her chest. A moment later, she felt the mattress shift as he turned towards her. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. She sensed that it was almost tentative.
'We just made love, and now he can barely even touch me.'
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," she lied. "I know that you two…have a special connection. I understand."
Though he was lying right next to her, she felt as if there was an impenetrable wall between them. A wall named Yennefer. A moment later, he removed his hand and rolled away. She glanced over her shoulder to see him sitting up – his feet on the wooden floorboards and his back to her. His head was slightly bowed. She heard him say something to himself, but it was too low for her to discern the words. In the soft candlelight, she could just make out the countless scars crisscrossing his back. They were of every type – claw marks, bites, tears, rips, and cuts. She'd seen them before - many times, in fact. But, now, she suddenly realized that the witcher probably had as many scars on his soul as his body. She knew that life had done its best to destroy him. He was a misunderstood and ostracized witcher, walking a Path filled with loneliness, violence, betrayal, and lies. And it shamed her that she was simply the latest in a long line of people to add to his pain. Even though he'd forgiven her, she hated that her actions had wounded him so.
'So, get over yourself, Triss. He can't help how he feels. He can't help that she crosses his mind. But at least he's doesn't keep it from you. Unlike you, at least he's honest. So, don't make him feel guilty about it.'
She immediately got on her knees and moved across the bed behind him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and gave him a tender squeeze.
"It's alright. Really. I understand."
Geralt didn't say anything. He simply turned his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He let out a soft sigh before giving a nod and turning away.
"Hey, do you want to get dressed and head down to dinner?" she asked, doing her best to sound cheerful. "I can smell the pierogis from here. I'm so famished I bet I could eat a dozen."
"I think you need to go on without me." His voice was low, barely above a whisper. His tone caused her to furrow her brows.
"Well, okay. Do you want me to bring you something?"
He shook his head, and then he bent over, grabbing his trousers from the floor. He quickly stood and put them on, facing away from her the entire time. Once his trousers were buttoned, he collected her clothes and brought them over to the bed. She noticed that he wouldn't look her in the eyes.
"Get dressed, Triss," he said. And for the next two minutes, the two of them dressed in complete silence. Only the muffled sounds coming up from the main dining hall below could be heard in their little room. As she dressed, she stared at him. Not once did he make eye-contact with her. He simply looked at the floor between them, and her stomach was filled with dread.
Finally, he exhaled deeply and slowly brought his eyes up to hers. She saw him swallow hard.
"This is too complicated, Triss."
She couldn't say anything, and she felt her eyes start to well up.
'Hold it together, Triss.'
"I care about you, but I've still got feelings for Yen, too. Now, whether they're real or simply due to that damned wish, I don't know. But whatever there is between her and me…I've got to resolve it, one way or another. I've got to figure this all out. And until I do, I can't give you want you want. So…"
At that point, he shut his mouth and looked away from her. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she knew that he could hear it from across the room.
"Just say it, Geralt."
He looked at her again.
"This is going to be too hard on us. Both of us. I saw the pain in your eyes before" – at that point, he glanced at the bed - "and I don't want to hurt you…day after day. That's the last thing I want. I know you said you'd help me find her. And I appreciate your offer. I really do. But I think it'd be best if we went our separate ways. Otherwise, we're just dragging things out."
'Hold it together,' she pleaded with herself. 'Please, hold it together.'
"Alright," she whispered, nodding her head. A single tear ran down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. She was staring down at the floor, too afraid of what would happen if she looked him in the face. "If that's…if that's what you want, then…of course…"
"You can have Roach. I can walk until I find a replacement."
"No. You keep her. I can teleport."
"Are you sure you're capable? Your magic is back?"
She brought her eyes up to his and gave a broken smile.
"You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
She immediately turned, waved her arms in an intricate pattern and muttered an incantation. When she was finished, a flaming red portal opened inside the room. She was about to step through when his voice stopped her.
"Triss, I…I wish you well."
"Good-bye, Geralt," she choked out, but she never turned to face him because, by then, the tears were flowing.
She stepped forward into the portal, and as soon as she touched solid ground, the fiery oval disappeared behind her – and with it, so did the last of her defenses. She fell to her knees, grief engulfing her as sobs wracked her body. When she looked up, her breath caught in her throat for, through her tears, she saw her father's headstone. She'd teleported to the foot of his grave. She hadn't even meant to. She'd simply wanted to get away from Geralt, and in that moment, she'd been overcome with one desire – to find a place of peace and comfort. An instant later, her vision started to shrink, and her mind became fuzzy. She reached up to her nose and felt the warmth of blood on her finger.
'Papa,' was her last thought before she fainted away.
oOo
Author's Note:
I first met Triss in TW3, and I found her to be a charming character. She was kind-hearted, warm and bubbly, and - despite being a powerful sorceress - emotionally vulnerable. She was also incredibly altruistic. She risked her life multiple times attempting to save the mages and alchemists in Novigrad from the witch hunters. She was willing to be tortured – and possibly killed – to help Geralt get information from Menge regarding Dandelion. She risked her life again helping Geralt face down the Wild Hunt at Kaer Morhen. Those were all very brave and selfless acts. Later on, after playing the first two games and reading the books, I discovered why so many people don't like her. And I'll admit that I can't defend her actions. I won't even try. That said, in my opinion, the Triss in TW3 is a much different person from the Triss in the books and the first two games. So, in my 'head canon,' I decided that she had matured and acquired a new perspective on life after the events of TW2. I firmly believe in the beauty of forgiveness, redemption and new beginnings, and so I want to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe that she actually changed. This short story will be my attempt to explore those changes.
I honestly don't know where this fanfic will go after I complete Triss' tale. I don't even have the other stories outlined, much less written. I do know that I want at least one of the short stories to explore Geralt's time before he arrived in White Orchard. Perhaps there can be others with Iorveth, Dandelion and Zoltan, maybe Letho. I guess we'll see where my muse takes me. Until next time, I wish you well on the Path.