Geralt clung to consciousness with all that was left in him. He had encountered mages in battle before, knew perfectly well what nasty spells they were capable of, and under different circumstances, he would have protected himself with Quen before attacking the sorceress. He would have let the magical shield absorb most of the damage and responded with a physical attack after her first strike, playing it safe. But this time he'd had to consider Triss, and since he needed to avoid another hostage situation at all cost, he had attacked the man guarding her first.

As Geralt lay bonelessly on the floor, nearly senseless with pain, he wondered if his strategy had been the right one. The magical attack had felt like lightning, pure chaos ripping through his body, and his insides were still screaming in agony. His strong heartbeat was reduced to an arrhythmic flutter and his breathing was shallow and fast. Darkness gathered at the edges of his vision. It would be easy to just give in and let oblivion claim him, but he needed to make sure that it hadn't been in vain. That at least, he had saved Triss.

Unable to move, he gazed ahead with heavy-lidded eyes, the world blurred and askew from his prone perspective. Finally, his eyes zeroed in on a slumped form that lay crumpled against the whitewashed wall across the room. Blood flowed from a wound in the man's stomach, drenching his tunic and collecting on the floor around him. Even in his dazed state of mind, Geralt recognized the rattled breathing and sheen of sweat on the white face as telltale signs of a fatal injury. The man was dying. It must have been Triss's doing, he realized with some bewilderment. It just didn't seem like something she would do.

He started to shiver, and with the curious detachment that came with the onset of shock, he wondered just how much damage he had suffered. Somewhere to his left, a body hit the floor with a thump. From the direction of it, it had to be Celaena. He wanted to see for himself, tried to lift his head enough to get a good look, but failed even at that small task. He was hurting too damn much, and he was tired, so very tired. His eyes closed of their own accord.

He would have just passed out then if it hadn't been for the approaching footfalls and someone calling his name. The sound was followed by the touch of a hand brushing his hair from his face. Fingers pressing against his neck, seeking a pulse.

His eyes flickered open once more to catch a brief glimpse of Triss's panicked face, pale amidst its frame of dark curls and the blunt gleam of the heavy collar around her neck. So she had made it. She was okay. The realization filled him with a relief he hadn't thought possible. She disappeared from his line of vision and a moment later, he felt her take hold of his shoulder and hip and he was rolled over to lie on his back. He groaned brokenly as the jostling of his body brought on a whole new experience of agony and the world retreated into shadows.

Dimly, he was aware of a gentle touch on his shoulder that was accompanied by soft words.

"Hang in there."

It was the last thing he heard before his grip on reality slipped, and when darkness claimed him, it was all-consuming and complete.

***

For the first time in days, he was comfortable. He did not know where he lay, was too exhausted to even attempt to open his eyes, but the pain that had been a constant companion lately had finally disappeared. He was lying somewhere soft, his head cradled by clean pillows, and the acrid smell of sweat and sickness that had clung to his skin had vanished completely, replaced by the scent of soap and medicinal herbs. It was quiet, the only sounds being the slow beating of his heart and the regular intake of breath. His breath and that of another. He frowned.

To his left, he heard a chair creak as someone shifted their weight and a moment later a hand touched his shoulder.

"It's alright," Triss's voice told him, pitched low as if she was afraid to disturb his rest. "You're safe now. Take it easy."

His frown deepened. The last thing he recalled was an overall sense of danger and the stench of blood. The image of her face swimming above him, out of focus, her lines taut with worry. What had happened? Where was he? He tried to turn his head and open his eyes but found the movement incredibly difficult. Fear clutched him at the realization and he wanted to tell her but was unable to manage more than a weak moan.

"Don't try to move. You are heavily medicated and I have laid a powerful healing spell on you. Are you thirsty?"

He was. There was no way to tell her though, his lips moving without a sound.

"You don't have to speak, Geralt. You know that. Save your strength."

So she was reading his mind. Which meant she had regained her powers. He was pondering on that as he listened to her moving about the room. She wasn't gone for long, but when she returned, he already felt himself drifting. He felt his head tipped up by a gentle hand, a cup held to his parched lips, and he managed a few sips before his energy left him. Gently, his head was guided back against the softness of the pillows.

"It's alright," she repeated her words from earlier. "Go back to sleep. You need it."

Her hand came to rest on his brow and he felt her magic wrap around him, permeate his mind, and just like that he was gone.

The next time he woke, awareness returned slowly, his senses almost reluctant to transmit information. It was as if his body was intent of staying asleep, but there was a small part of his mind, the witcher part that was trained to stay alert even when he was resting, that sensed something unnatural about his prolonged sleep and insisted he wake up now. Listening to that voice had saved his life more than once, and so he sluggishly fought his way back to the waking world, ignoring the protests of his body.

Remnants of pain registered to his fogged mind, which was strange because up until now his sleep had been painless. Slowly, it dawned on him that this was probably due to the effects of drugs and magic wearing off, and he was able to identify the source of his discomfort as the ache of barely healed injuries. When he blinked his eyes open, he glanced at a vaguely familiar ceiling. It took a while for him to connect the irregular shadows that flickered across the vaults above him to Triss's laboratory. He had woken here before, after he had been injured in the striga fight. Back then, Triss had been waiting at his bedside, but now he realized with mild confusion that she was nowhere to be seen.

He turned his head to confirm his assessment, letting his eyes wander across the candles that were set up in small groups to illuminate the dim place, a measure that was necessary even though it was daytime, and noted the arrangement of bandages and pastes on a narrow table nearby. In the far corner of the room, he spied his swords and bag. It was then that memory returned. The curse. Triss's abduction. The fight with Celaena. Despite his weakness, he managed to sit up and paused to take a deep breath before slowly maneuvering his legs over the edge of the bed. What the hell had happened? The last thing he remembered was lying helplessly on the floor of that run-down tower room.

Looking down his chest, he noticed that the various bruises had faded completely, the extensive bandaging reduced to a simple dressing that covered the stab wound in his side. Curious, he peeled the fabric away to find the formerly gaping injury closed and freshly scarred. The abrasions around his wrists that he had sustained from the manacles while in jail had also vanished. Frowning, he shook his head to himself. How long exactly had he been out? Even with the help of a witcher potion, it would take a couple of days at least to make progress like that.

His gaze fell on a pitcher of water on the table and the sight made him realize just how thirsty he was. Cautiously, he pushed to his feet and when he was sure his legs would support him, he padded over to the table and sank into the chair next to it. He had just finished pouring himself a cup of water when footfalls sounded in the corridor, and a moment later Triss walked in, stopping dead in her tracks when she caught sight of him. She looked well-groomed and rested, wearing a dark blue dress he had never seen on her. As she approached, the familiar scent of white jasmine wafted over him.

"Geralt," she greeted him with a surprised smile. "Looks like you managed to get up by yourself. I guess that means you're feeling better."

He nodded. "Thanks to you, I suppose." He looked at the steaming bowl in her hands. "Is that food?"

"Chicken broth." Her smile widened when she saw the disappointed look on his face. "It's easy on the stomach, so don't complain. You can have something solid later."

She sat down across from him, placing the food on the table before him. Now that he saw her up close, he had to correct his previous impression. Sure, she had taken the time to bathe and dress her hair, but the dark smudges under her eyes and her pale skin betrayed her exhaustion. He vaguely recalled her sitting at his bedside, tending to him. Guiltily, he realized that she could have used some rest herself.

"I'm glad you're hungry. That's a good sign." She paused, studying his face with that small crease between her brows that he had come to know so well.

"How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. Thank you."

Geralt raised the bowl to his face and breathed in the complex smell of various herbs before taking a tentative sip. It was delicious, richly flavored, and considering how long it had been since he'd had any food, it went down easily.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost a week," she said gingerly as if she wasn't sure how he was going to take it, and indeed his heart skipped a beat at the revelation. He set down the bowl.

"What?" His voice sounded hoarse.

"You were already injured when you were struck by Celaena's combat spell and it wreaked havoc in your body. You almost died, Geralt. Actually, when the guards finally arrived, I thought - " she didn't finish the sentence, but the torn expression on her face told him all he needed to know. He realized that she must have been through a lot. "I had to put you in a prolonged healing sleep to save you."

"What about Celaena?"

She gave a slight nod, having expected the question.

"You severed her hand. I guess you remember that?"

"Vaguely," he admitted.

"Well, she passed out from the shock and I took the opportunity to rid myself from that god-awful collar. I was able to save her life. Her companion, however, was beyond any help."

"You saved her?" He frowned, uncomprehending. "Why?"

After all that Triss had suffered by her hand, the decision couldn't have been easy. He wasn't sure himself if he would have allowed Celaena to live after what she had done to him.

"So she could stand trial. And to exonerate you. I wasn't sure if my testimony would be enough." She paused. "You have been pardoned by the way. You're free to go."

After waking up at her place, Geralt had figured that much. Still, it was a relief to hear the words out loud. There was only one more thing that he needed to know, although he was quite sure that Triss had taken care of that too.

"What about the curse?"

She hesitated, averting her gaze for a moment only, but it was enough for Geralt to tense in alarm.

"Triss?"

"It's okay." She raised her hand in an appeasing gesture. "The curse is broken and I destroyed the ring just to make sure. The thing is," she kneaded her lip, choosing her next words carefully, "Celaena has deviated from the traditional spell, making some changes. I can only assume that she feared her magic would not suffice to subdue the strong will of a witcher. The way she anchored the curse in your mind was – brutal, to say the least. Imagine the mental equivalent to barbed hooks." She made a vague gesture to illustrate her point. "Something like that. I was able to remove the spell that bound you, but to remove the anchoring points would have meant to cause mental injury. Permanent injury."

She looked at him apologetically, the crease between her brows deepening.

"That said, I don't want to rule out that there is actually a way to remove the last remains of the curse. But it is beyond my skill and knowledge. I am sorry."

He stared at her, letting that revelation sink in. After all, they had been through, he had hoped to be finally rid of Celaena, to have broken her power over him at last. Knowing that part of her chaos was irreversibly buried inside his mind was a thought he found hard to bear. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"What exactly does that mean?" He inquired hoarsely. "How will this affect me?"

Triss shook her head. "It's hard to tell. I doubt that it will interfere with your daily business. However, part of her chaos is still linked to you, so you will feel it when you meditate and it will almost certainly affect your sleep. What's more, it makes you vulnerable to any attempts of mind control, because the anchor points are still there. In my experience, things like that tend to become a problem when it is most inconvenient."

"I hear you." Geralt sighed audibly.

"I am so sorry," she repeated. "I wish I could have done more."

He shook his head, meeting her gaze.

"No, Triss. You have done more than enough. I wouldn't even be sitting here if it wasn't for you." He reached to gather her hand in hers, wetting his dry lips. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "Thank you for everything."

A small smile touched her lips.

"And here I was thinking that you'd be mad at me."

He furrowed his brows, uncomprehending. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because I let myself get abducted. I knew Celaena back from the old days at Aretuza and I shouldn't have underestimated her."

"You couldn't have known that she would show up there. I was surprised myself."

"I'm glad you see it that way."

She was quiet for a moment and Geralt, feeling uncomfortable at being confronted with Triss's emotions, took the chance to steer the conversation back to less complicated issues.

"I remember Celaena talking about a customer," he said conversationally, reaching for the water he had poured for himself. "I wonder, did he eventually show up?"

Not that he expected to hear a familiar name, but he was still curious who was willing to go through such extreme measures to get his hands on a witcher. Probably more important, to what purpose. There were easier ways if one was merely interested in an assassin.

Triss hesitated and finally shrugged.

"Well, I don't see why this should be kept from you." She met his inquiring gaze. "I am not allowed to tell you any specifics, so please don't ask for his name."

"Alright." Geralt raised his brows, his curiosity piqued.

"But I can tell you this much. He is a man of some standing and charges against him have been dropped by order of the king himself. There won't be any further investigations. According to the official version, Celaena wanted you for herself."

His lips twitched slightly. Considering what little information he had already gained about the man in question, he probably shouldn't be surprised. Apparently, he was not only wealthy enough to pay for the illegal services of a sorceress but also had enough influence to get away with it. Geralt remembered that Celaena had referred to him as his Excellency. There were several positions that Geralt associated with that title, but only one that struck him as especially fitting.

"Who is he?" He asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "An ambassador? Don't tell me he is protected by diplomatic immunity."

"As I said, I am not allowed to tell you."Triss looked unhappy, but by the way she set her jaw, he was sure that pressing on would gain him nothing.

"Well, in that case, I'd better watch my back because he might want to try again."

"He won't."

"What makes you think that?" He looked at her expectantly and realized that he wouldn't get an answer to that question either. "Right. I get it. You're not allowed to tell me."

"I'm sorry."

He sighed in frustration.

"Fine."

He finished the broth in one go, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and pushed to his feet. His boots and shirt were lying at the foot of the bed and he crossed the distance in a few shaky strides. Lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress, he let out a grunt and reached for his footwear.

"Geralt, what are you doing?"

"Well, what does it look like?"

Triss had slowly tagged along and stood nearby, watching him with her arms crossed in front of her chest. He didn't have to look into her face to know that she was wearing that frown again.

"It looks like you're getting ready to leave."

There was no heat in her voice, just sadness, and the realization caused him to stop and lift his gaze. She was standing before him, frail and miserable, the worry on her face going way beyond the concern of a healer over her patient. The anger that he had felt before fumed away. It really wasn't her fault. He reminded himself of her position at court which of course came with certain obligations. It was wrong of him to demand that she place him above the vows she had made. He didn't know what he had expected.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He was grateful for all she had done for him and he didn't want to get into a fight with her. If her loyalty lay with the king, he would have to look for the man himself, it was as simple as that. And he'd better leave before the trail went cold. "But I really should be on my way."

"You want to go after him, don't you." It wasn't a question. "I already told you that he won't try again. I can promise you that."

He sighed. He knew Triss wouldn't knowingly lie to him, but given the number of intrigues and gossip at royal courts, it was quite possible that Triss had been lied to herself. "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not. I've made sure of it."

There was something in the way she said it that wiped out his doubts, and when he looked into her eyes there was a darkness that he hadn't expected to see. It was clear she had done something she wasn't proud of. Was it possible that she had taken the law into her own hands? The moment the thought took shape in the back of his mind, he knew that this wasn't the case. It wasn't like Triss. But as sure as he was about that, he knew that she was telling the truth. Whatever measures she had taken, she had succeeded. There was no need to go after the man. He didn't pose a threat anymore.
Tentatively, she stepped closer, hand extended to touch his shoulder, and stopped herself when she saw the look on his face.

"You really want to leave now, don't you."

He didn't reply.

"Alright. I won't stop you." She smiled sadly and gave a slight shrug. "I guess you have to get back to your horse."

It was the line he had used the last time he had left, after she had treated the wounds he had sustained in the striga fight. He realized what she was trying to do and sighed, running a tired hand across his face.

"Roach should be fine."

He had left the mare at the livery and paid the stableman for a week in advance. Even given the widespread hatred against witchers, he doubted that the man had neglected his duties. But there were other things he had to consider. He doubted that it would reflect well on Triss if he stayed, and then there was still the long journey home.

"I need to get back to Kaer Morhen before the snow falls," he told her finally. "The mountain passes can close up quickly."

"Is that your home?"

He nodded.

"Well, if that's your only concern." She moved to sit down beside him, and he turned slightly to face her. "I can always open a portal, there's no need to hurry. If you want to, you can stay. Rest. Make sure that you are truly healed before you hit the road again."

He lowered his gaze, not sure what to say.

"You look like you might like a hot bath too."

It was tempting. Although his injuries were healed to a degree that would allow travel, he felt the exertions of the past days deep in his bones and the prospect of sleeping rough again was little inviting. It would be nice to enjoy the comfort of good food and a warm bed, at least until he was back to his former strength. He felt her eyes rest on him, watching him patiently, waiting for an answer.

Finally, he sighed, having made up his mind.

"Alright." He looked up to meet her gaze. "I guess a few days won't make a difference."

She smiled at him, relief written all over her face. "I'm glad you see it that way."

There it was again, the feeling that this was not just a healer talking to her patient, that there was something else that he was failing to see. But he was too tired to ponder about that now. Her offer was genuine and right now, that was all that mattered.

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it with all his heart. "I don't know how to repay you."

Her hand unexpectedly came to rest on his and he looked at her, startled at the simple gesture.

"You don't have to." Her eyes were warm. "It's what friends do."