So, here we go - my first fic in the witcher verse. It's set during the first season of the Netflix show after episode 3 "Betrayer Moon". Thank you to the lovely Sammy_Girl for her beta work. They are the best :-)

If you'd like to give me some feedback or share your thoughts, I'd be glad to hear from you. Anyway, happy reading and hope you enjoy!

Triss Merigold opened the chamber door after her second knocking had remained unanswered. She lingered in the doorway for a brief moment and gazed at the white-haired witcher who was sitting on the edge of his bed, facing his back. He had a bandage wrapped around his torso and was busy securing it in the front. She was just about to say something when he turned around to nod at her, acknowledging her presence.

"Triss."

His gaze met hers across the room.

"I'm sorry." Her cheeks blushed, embarrassed at having caught him only half dressed. Court decorum was so ingrained in her that she cast her eyes to the floor before it occurred to her that the witcher was used to behavior a lot less polite.

"Your note said it was urgent, and when you didn't call me in, I thought…," she interrupted herself and pushed a lock of dark hair from her face, lifted her gaze. When she continued, the embarrassment from her voice was gone. "I'll wait downstairs in the taproom. Come and join me when you're ready."

She turned to leave but was interrupted by his gravel voice.

"No, it's okay. Please come in."

She hesitated, then closed the door behind her.

"Thank you for coming."

Her eyes wandered across the small bedroom, furnished with a plain wooden bed near the window and a simple wardrobe. There was a nightstand with a washing bowl and pitcher, a small table and a set of chairs. The lack of flowers or paintings at the wall fit the impression she had gotten of the inn from the outside. Its standard of comfort was far below anything she would have rented for herself, but then again, she was a sorceress and in employ of the king. Her resources exceeded that of a traveling monster slayer by far.

Her gaze fell on a bundle of cloth next to the foot of the bed, which at second glance turned out to be a heap of bloodied bandages. Geralt had turned his back again and she stood for a moment, indecisively, then walked across the room and sat down at the table, facing him.

"You're wounded." She stated the obvious.

Geralt had apparently finished tying the bandage in place and reached for the bowl to rinse the blood from his hands. Only now, she noticed the collection of glass vials scattered near his bag, most of them empty. His two swords leaned within reach against the wall near the headboard.

"Hmm."

"Monster?"

Her inquiry was met by a tired glance of his yellow eyes.

"Knife."

Triss raised her eyebrows. "Must have gotten you deep." She nodded towards the soiled bandages on the floor. "How did it happen?"

"Bar fight."

"Want me to have a look?"

Triss remembered how fast he had recovered after the striga fight. Considering the number of empty vials, the wound had given him some trouble. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Geralt?"

He reached for his shirt, ignoring her question, and winced slightly as the movement caused him pain. She watched as he pulled it over his head with a barely suppressed groan. He looked paler than she remembered him. Exhausted. She noticed that his left hand was bandaged, too but decided not to address it.

"Well, apparently you didn't send for me to treat your injuries."

His behavior was starting to irritate her. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and seized him up.

"Geralt, why am I here?"

He hesitated, apparently not knowing where to begin. The way he slumped forward, elbows resting on his knees while bowing his head, he looked as if an invisible load weighed on his shoulders. The crease between Triss's brows deepened.

"I need your expertise," he finally said.

He nodded towards a paper on the table next to her and she reached over, held it up for him to see.

"This?"

He nodded again.

It was a diagram drawn with charcoal, a symmetrical layout of runes with the sign of binding in its center. The kind of drawing a mage would use in a ritual. The layout was familiar to her, she had seen it in the black books of curses at the library of Aretuza. Some of the runes had been replaced by others, the shape of the lines of power had been altered slightly but the purpose of the spell was inherently clear. It was a spell of slavery.

Suddenly she realized why Geralt had sent for her.

"You've been cursed," she said quietly, looking up to meet his tired gaze and for the first time, she noticed another emotion in his eyes. Fear. Grey tendrils of chaos weaved through his aura, like a cobweb tying a helpless insect to its inevitable fate. She wondered why she had not sensed it when she had entered the room. "This is black magic. How did it happen?"

"Long story," Geralt sighed.

"Indulge me."

He grimaced, pressing a hand against his injured side. "Turn the paper."

Triss complied and skimmed through the text on the backside. It was a common request you could find on many notice boards across the land. The call for a witcher. This one offered a substantial sum for ridding a graveyard near Vizima of a pair of wraiths.

"My guess is you took the contract," she said. "What happened?"

He shrugged as if it was of no importance.

"I talked to the local priestess, who paid me half my coin in advance and pointed me in the direction of the graveyard. Took care of the wraiths easily enough and returned for the rest of my payment. Met her at the chapel nearby."

Triss tilted her head, noting the slight shaking of his hand as he reached for the pitcher on the nightstand to take a swig.

"But something went wrong," she prompted.

His lips twitched into a mirthless smile.

"She had already been waiting for my return. Handed me a pouch of coin and I counted the money. Well, I wanted to. Last thing I remember is the smell of mold and copper when I opened the pouch. When I came to, I was lying on the floor of the chapel, alone. There was a circle of runes drawn around me and there was a cut on my palm."

He held up his bandaged hand and Triss pressed her lips together. This was bad. Blood magic enhanced the power of a curse considerably, rendering the bond near indestructible. In this case, the victim's mind was bound to the caster of the spell and forced him to execute his master's will. Whoever had performed the ritual now had a witcher at his command. Triss shivered at the thought of what this woman might make Geralt do. What he might have done already.

"What happened next?"

Triss looked at him with great intent, expression serious.

Geralt's voice sounded brittle as he continued. "I could feel the curse in my bones, but at first I didn't know how it would take effect. And I wasn't intent on waiting to find out. So I made a copy of the diagram just in case and tried to get a hold of that priestess – fake priestess as it turned out. But she had disappeared without a trace. Nobody even remembered her."

He shook his head in frustration, angry with himself.

"When I stopped at the local tavern that evening, there were some young men playing cards. One of them looked at me and, I don't know, it must have been something about his face because all of a sudden I felt the overwhelming urge to kill him. Before I knew what was happening, I had drawn my sword and struck him down. His friends were at me in a second and I defended myself, tried not to hurt them as I realized what I had done. Then all hell broke loose. There was a lot of shouting, other people joining the fight. One of them got me with a knife. I don't know how I managed to get out of there without killing anybody else..."

She could hear the barely concealed desperation in his voice.

"Triss, you have to help me," he said quietly and he sounded downright scared. "I have killed an innocent man and there's no telling what else this curse will make me do. Right now, I'm a danger to myself and others. Someone is using me and there is nothing I can do about it."

Triss lowered her head, brows furrowed in thought.

"You know how curses work, Geralt. In order to lift it, we'd have to find the person who did this to you."

"Actually, I was hoping that you could think of a different way of breaking the spell."

She shook her head, knitted her brows in sympathy when she noticed the disappointment on his face.

"I'm sorry, Geralt. You are bound by blood."

"Alright," he sighed. "But maybe you can help me find her. Isn't there some magical way to track her down?"

Triss didn't respond right away, giving it some thought. There were ways a mage could locate a person, but it was not without difficulty. Even if she had an artifact to aid her – which she didn't – she had no idea where to begin. The mage could be hiding anywhere. Sure, there was the magical signature of the spell but Triss didn't have anything that belonged to that woman, did not even know her name.

"Triss?"

She hadn't noticed how long she had been silent. Geralt looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Well, I can try to track her down," she said slowly. "No promises though. And I would need more information on her. Anything you remember."

He nodded, relieved at the prospect of progress.

"Well, I can show her to you."

Triss needed a moment to understand what he was suggesting.

"You want me to read your mind."

Triss stared at him, unsure whether he was serious about this. Most people didn't like the idea of a mage prodding their thoughts, and she wasn't sure herself if she wanted to get inside his head. The human mind was a chaotic place, a torrent of emotions and memories, and even if he was capable of calming his mind enough to show her immediately what he wanted her to see, there would always be a fraction of unwanted thoughts that would go unfiltered. Private thoughts that he didn't want to share and she wouldn't want to see.

The look in his eyes told her that she didn't have to explain that to him. Yet he seemed determined to try.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded mutely, jaw locked tight.

"Alright then," she said softly. "I take it you'd rather do it now."

She pushed to her feet and moved her chair opposite of him, sitting down so that their knees were only inches apart. She could feel him tense when she reached for his hands, gently collecting them into hers. There was a moment of silence between them.

"This will be easier if you close your eyes," she told him. "Try to relax. I promise you I won't go in places you don't want me to."

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a lopsided smile.

"I expected no less."

Her expression softened. "Just close your eyes."

He complied and Triss watched his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. The tension eased visibly from his shoulders and she felt his hands relax in hers.

"Take your time," she continued softly. "Go back to the chapel. Show me her face."

Triss let her eyes slip closed and extended her senses. Reached out. The first thing she felt was a warm swirl of energy, a vortex of life that was him and she let its torrent pull her towards his center. She sensed the corrupted strings of chaos that laced him, fibers of black magic that connected to the core of his mind like strings to a puppet. Felt the sharp, hot pain of the stab wound in his side like it was her own. Bruised ribs. The puckering slash across his palm.

She felt the guilt of having taken the life of an innocent, the shock of having lost control completely. The fear that it might happen again.

She felt the desperate trust he placed in her to make it all go away. The gratefulness to a woman who had come at his request, when he didn't know any way out. Whom he trusted instinctively because he knew her to be kind.

Something inside her stirred at the insight but she had learned to quiet her emotions if need be. This was neither the place nor the time.

Show me. She projected the thought into his mind, gently shifting his attention to the task at hand.

Show me her face.

Sunlight streamed onto her face, blinded her, and she had to shield her eyes to make out the landscape that stretched out before her. Wind-swept fields under a too-blue sky, bright like a fever dream. Thatched cottages grouped together, a sandy road curving up the hill. The silhouette of a chapel in the distance.

The chapel up close. White paint crumbling from its wooden facade. She bent her neck to gaze up to a raven perching on its roof, ruffling its feathers, moving to glance down at her.

A flash of an entirely different place. The ice-cold presence of a specter advancing, eyes glowing bright white. Her hands curled around the hilt of a sword slashing across its chest.

The image of a young man hitting the floor of a tavern. Blood spurting. Brown eyes staring in shock before rolling up in his head. Guilt clutching at her throat, choking her.

Focus, Geralt. Show me her face.

The scenery changed back to the image of a chapel, dark against the orange light of the setting sun. A wing door swinging open under her hands. A gust of cool, musty air from inside. Candlelight. An altar. A cloaked figure kneeling in prayer.

"The wraiths are dead. I'm here for my reward." Geralt's voice, a deep rumble.

A small pouch handed over, coin weighing heavy in her hand. The scent of mold – acremonium and mucor – as she opened the pouch to count the coin, the metallic stench of pig's blood. She glanced up at the woman before her - eyes of steel in a narrow face, a straight nose, a pointed chin. Hair the color of sand tied back into a tight bun.

"Thank you for your services, master witcher."

A voice that made her skin crawl because Triss remembered it. The grey-eyed woman smiled at her in recognition and all of a sudden, Triss realized that this was no memory anymore. This was real.

"Triss Merigold," the woman crooned. "What a surprise. Messing with my work again, aren't you."

Triss's eyes flew open and she let go of the witcher's hands, stumbling backwards and sending the chair to the floor. Geralt slowly raised his glance to look at her. The blank look in his eyes made her chest tighten with fear. This was not Geralt anymore - this was someone else.

"Geralt, snap out of it," she ordered. "Wake up!"

She backed against the wall, raising her hands protectively as Geralt reached for the pitcher on the nightstand. She ducked just in time to hear it crash against the wall, exactly at the spot where her head had been a second ago.

"Stop it, Geralt!"

Panic made her voice shrill. She tried to think of a defensive spell but her head was completely empty except for an immediate, all-consuming fear for her life. She wasn't trained in combat like Vilgefortz, didn't have the reflexes needed to counteract a sudden assault. The witcher towered above her, mouth twisted into a snarl, grabbed her by the lapels of her dress and slammed her into the wall with a force that made her yelp in pain.

"Geralt, please..."

Hands pressed against her throat and choked her, turning her pleading into an incomprehensible wheeze. She clutched helplessly at his hands, tried to loosen his grip. Frantically stared into his eyes blind with rage, tasted his ragged breaths on her lips, and as darkness started to collect at the edge of her vision, she finally remembered. She shoved her hand flat onto his chest, fingers spread, and a burst of magic thrust him across the room and into the wardrobe. Wood burst from the impact and he slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Triss leaned against the wall on shaky legs, panting, holding her throat. When Geralt didn't move, she stumbled over to him, dropping to her knees next to his shoulder. Slowly she extended a hand to feel for a pulse, then turned his face towards her. He was out cold. The smear of blood under his head told her why.