Chapter Three

~ Eliana ~

The remaining ride had been excruciating on my back and fraying to what remained of my nerves. Geralt, as the letter from Petra had named him, had kept a tight hold on my midsection, so the entirety of my back was flush against his chest and torso. It was to restrict bumps against one another as his horse cantered the wild, twisted terrain. My mind had skittered around and around, doubting his intentions, questioning Petra's letter.

When he reined the mare in, declaring we'd reached camp, his rough voice like the throaty rumble of a Brokolin forest wolf, an exhausted sigh of relief gushed from my lips. Sliding from the horse, before he could make a move to touch me, my knees buckled, eyesight darkening, head buzzing. I'd forgotten the material of my shift had dried against my injuries. Hands were at my biceps in an instant, keeping me from falling further. No matter his intentions, I still flinched at the contact, despite the barrier of the heavy cloak he'd given me earlier.

"Come, sit over here, I'll start a fire." Transferring all his support to my right arm, he steered me beneath a pine, where its needles lay thickest upon the earth. Bone-weary, I sank to my knees, dragging the cloak more securely about myself, and flopped to my side, closing my eyes to the constant pull of pain each time my ribs expanded and contracted. If he came for me now, I had no strength left to fight him.

~Geralt~

If it were not for the shallow breathing causing my cloak wrapped about her to shift, or wisps of fog vanishing into the air upon each exhale, I would have feared her dead.

Making quick work of a fire and setting a small pot over the flames to heat water from the nearby stream, I prepared everything to treat Eliana's injuries. I'd smelt far worse things in my time, but she was desperately in need of a bath. So was I, but that could wait.

The stream was my best chance of removing the grime from her and loosening that bloodied shift from her injuries. Getting her to agree would prove the bigger challenge. The girl didn't trust me, and the water was freezing. Petra, the woman who had raised her, was a healer. As I walked the hidden camp area to stir the sleeping girl, I hoped she had enough healer sense to understand what I asked of her.

Despite her exhaustion, she startled awake at my gentle touch of her shoulder, scrambling around hisses of pain to sit up. I sat back on my haunches, giving her breathing room. "I need to treat your injuries; we don't want infection setting in. First, we need to get that shift off, and you need to bathe." The firelight reflected the fear widening her eyes. "There is a stream, if I give you a knife, soap, and one of my clean under-shirts, do you think you can cut the shift off and bathe by yourself?"

"Yes." Her reply came without thought, driven by pure fear.

"The water is like ice."

"I'll go." She began trying to stand, stumbling on the soft bed of pine-needles. A hand shot out, grasping my arm for support, before her fingers tore away, realising what she'd done.

"Follow me." I walked slow, so she could keep up. If she'd have let me, I would have carried her, and carried out the tasks myself, but I was a Witcher. I knew injuries would heal and scar, but those inflicted upon the mind remained there as memories forever. Sometimes the cost of freedom was pain. I let her have her freedom.

~ Eliana ~

Once I was certain he'd abided to his promise, and was not within sight of me, I stepped into the shallow stream. Cold! I gasped, my bare feet numb to the rough sand bottom, as the icy water bit at my legs. At least, I countered, it would numb the pain of my back and soothe the inflammation.

When Geralt had advised I needed to bathe before treating my injuries, I had agreed without question, despite knowing it would prove difficult on my own. I was filthy from the conditions the slave trader had kept me in, and the only chances I'd had to bathe, were the rare times I was left out in the rain in a cage.

Gasping again as I sank to my bellybutton in the shallows, I cupped my hands, splashing water over myself, drenching the rest of the bloodied shift. Within moments my teeth were chattering, cold shivers wracking my body, but I persisted, using the knife Geralt had leant me to cut away the soiled shift.

The way his golden gaze had held mine when he'd pressed the hilt into my hand, I was sure it had been his way of saying he knew I feared him, he knew I'd feel a little easier for a blade at my side. He'd said nothing, only to call out if I needed help, or when I was done bathing.

Crimson and brown swirled in the waters, washing away grime and blood, but it wasn't enough. I didn't feel clean. Facing the chill and possibility of chipping a tooth a little longer, I used the sand of the stream, rubbing it hard against my arms, my legs and my front. I relished the abrasive texture, imagining it removed the fingerprints I sometimes thought I could still feel pressing against my skin. I used the soap last, washing away the sand, the remaining blood, hissing as it seeped into my injuries, unwanted touches, and finally my hair and the undergarment I still miraculously owned.

When I left the stream, I could only crawl, too exhausted, and shaking too hard to stand. Fumbling, I pulled the sage green undershirt Geralt had lent me over my head, the material soft and comforting against my skin from wear. Chancing to stand, using a nearby tree trunk for support, I felt better knowing the undershirt fell to brush against the tops of my knees. Wringing out my underwear, and with awkward tugs, I re-covered my modesty. They were hardly pleasant, being wet, but they would dry, and I was clean.

~ Geralt ~

The silly girl had lingered too long in the stream. Her lithe frame shook as if taken by a violent fit when I returned at her call. She was clean at least, smelling of the sweet mountain water, cinnamon and honey from the bar of soap, and something else which was entirely her, but I could not yet decipher.

Retrieving my cloak, I threw it over her shaking frame, and picked her up before she could utter a protest. She did anyway.

"Put me down, you monster!" A growl rumbled up from my chest, where her words had cut it like a blade. She wasn't afraid of me because of past trials, she was afraid because I was a Witcher. A monster in her eyes. With a foul taste in my mouth, I carried her back to the fire, and deposited her on the sleep-roll I'd set out.

"The lights fading, and I need it to work. Wrap the cloak around your hips and lie on your stomach."

"I'll sit, if it is all the same to you." Had the mountain waters frozen her heart, and sharpened her tongue? When I'd taken this contract, I didn't expect to be retrieving a Witcher-hater.

"Fine." I waited, crossing my arms over my chest as she shrugged off the cloak, wrapping it about her waist and thighs. She stilled, and I took it as my cue to approach, kneeling behind her. I grasped the edge of the shift, noting she was still shaking, and began to pull it up— "Wait!" My hands froze. "Please, just tell me everything you will do before you do it." Had I been wrong? It wasn't hate lacing her words, but an anxious fear. I blew out an ill-contented sigh, my breath shifting the strands of her drying hair. It was a knotted mess, another thing to be dealt with after.

"Of course." I conceded. "I'm going to remove the shirt over your head. If it makes you more comfortable, you can hold it to your chest."

"Okay." Her strained consent told me she was on the verge of breaking. In all my years, I'd never had close dealings with a girl, no, a young woman, in this kind of abused situation. It had been a while since I'd felt out of my depth.

~ Eliana ~

He was careful, the way he eased the shirt up. Lifting it over my head, he sucked in a breath at whatever he saw of my exposed back. I knew some areas still bled by the smattering of fresh blood on the clean shirt I grasped from him, pulling it tight against my chest.

"I'm going to wash down your back with a warm tincture. It will sting." I nodded, and after a moment, he spoke again. "I'll start at your right shoulder and work down." Warmth infused my skin, the tincture running rivulets down my back, and then the warmth erupted into an inferno.

I jerked forward, biting back a cry, but a hiss still escaped between my teeth. My fingers crushed the shirt at my chest, and when he wrung out, re-dipped and applied the cloth to my left shoulder-blade, I cried out, tears stinging. This was nothing like the wound cleansing tinctures used in Verden, they stung yes, but this was a hundred times worse. This was as if I was being lashed by that whip all over again.

"Nearly done." His low voice barely registered through my own memories. The last word I heard him utter was, "fuck," before my vision blackened.

Toss a coin to your Witcher, questions and comments welcome.

From last chapter:

XxXLIFEafterDEATHXxX - Thankyou! Yes, I hope to keep them coming regularly between this, my lotr fic, and working on my original wips.

blasttyrant - Ah hahaha, that song is permanently on replay in my brain! I've decided to torture the world with it, have set it for my morning alarm! At least I'll wake up grinning! I have a horrible feeling short will become long. I suck at writing short stories! I've tried, it hurts my brain! :D