Chapter 19: Healing
"Put her here Geralt!" Yennefer snapped, waving her hand to a clean and ready bed in the medicine wing of the castle. The room was well stocked with potions and different ingredients, as well as bandages, tools, and everything else one could imagine in a healing room. A roaring fire burned in the corner of the room, casting an orange glow on their frantic expressions as they rushed into action.
Geralt lay Ciri down as carefully as possible on the bed, trying not to look at the ugly wounds which marred her pale skin. Her head was oozing blood out sluggishly, matting in her thick blonde hair. Blood coated his arms and shirt from having carried her. Her chest and arms looked utterly destroyed, the skin black and charred, the skin taught from the severe burns.
Yennefer immediately began opening the storage chests and cabinets, looking for different items that she crushed and mixed in a glass bottle. All her training was running through her head, as she recalled the quickest potions to make that would heal the young girl. Her magic poured into the contents of the bottle, causing it to smoke for a quick moment before cooling instantly; she didn't have time to cook it all using the fire like one normally would. "Lift her head," she ordered. Geralt obliged quickly, lifting Ciri's head up tenderly as Yen poured the concoction down the girl's throat.
Ciri instantly spluttered, coughing as the vile liquid slid down her throat, forcing her awake. Pain, searing hot pain like she had never experienced before, in her arms and chest was the first and only thing she was aware of, after the intrusion of being forced to drink whatever was just shoved down her throat. "Geralt," Ciri moaned, her head turning to look blindly as the pain seemed to worsen. Her mind sought out for Geralt, her magic rippling weakly under her skin, spreading like tendrils out until they came in contact with the Witcher's calming presence next to her.
Yennefer was using her magic to heal the skin, the potion only able to speed up the process with it's healing properties. The skin was severely damaged, and the mage wished she had killed Vesemir when she had had the chance. Ciri should never have been wounded in such a way; there were other ways beside torture to awake one's magic. The extent of the injuries sapped at Yennefer's strength, the need to be healed obvious in the way her energy was being pulled out of her.
"Geralt, it hurts," Ciri whimpered, her eyes wide open but unseeing. Her hands automatically lifted to the blackened flesh on her chest, moving to claw at the skin, which was beginning to flake off from Yen's magic as the skin was being repaired from the inside-out. Geralt felt his heart clench at her quiet pleas, and he grabbed her hands to keep her from hurting herself. She was no match for his strength, though she still struggled at his grasp.
Looking up, Geralt could see that Yen was getting tired, and he put Ciri's two hands in one of his, before holding out his other to Yennefer. "Take my strength, you can't do this alone," he murmured, his eyes looking into her beautiful purple ones with obvious fear.
Yennefer nodded; there was no time for pride in this matter, and took his hand to draw strength from him, as she finished knitting together the burned flesh. She was replacing the charred dark skin with new, healthy pale skin, and weaving new muscle tissue. The head wound was easier to fix, and within mere minutes the wound was shut with not a mark to be found.
Yennefer was certain that Cir would bear no scars from today, thanks to Geralt's extra energy, as she used his strength to ensure there would be no marks left behind. This would be an unpleasant memory for all of them, and Yen did not want Ciri to carry around a permanent reminder on her body.
Ciri's whimpers quieted completely as the skin healed, and sleep took her again. Geralt was grateful that the worst was over with and that the young girl was no longer in any pain. Yen released his hand, and she leaned back against the wall panting hard, sweat dripping off her face. For the first time, he noticed that Jaskier was watching from the doorway with a worried expression. "I'll clean her up," Yennefer said after her breath returned. "You guys go deal with Vesemir."
Geralt's eyes darkened as he thought of his old teacher whom he very much wished to kill, but he nodded. With one last look at Ciri's now peaceful face, he left the room with Jaskier at his heels, to go deal with the man that caused this.
Yennefer called one of the servants to bring a bucket of water and cloth, and she slowly set to work washing all of the blood and old black flesh off Ciri. She had to remove the girls destroyed shirt, and quickly cleaned up her torso before working at the blood matted into her hair. The process was long and arduous, but she took the time to ensure that the girl was completely free of the grime and body fluids.
By the time she had finished, Yennefer felt like she was going to pass out from the exhaustion. She pulled a spare shirt onto Ciri, just before the boys re-entered the room. "Did you kill him?" Yennefer asked curiously, looking at Geralt, who was now cleaned of Ciri's blood and dressed in a different shirt.
"No," Geralt growled, sounding very disappointed and angry. "But I told him if he ever pulls a stunt like that again with her, that I would ensure he dies the slowest and most painful demise I can imagine."
"So, you're going to tie him up and let the bard sing to him until he dies of starvation?" Yen asked, a grin lifting at her lips. The mood was dark and heavy, and she wished to lift it and ease their minds that the worst was hopefully behind them.
"Why do you all seem to hate my singing?" Jaskier gasped, looking between the two with a hurt expression. "Most people love the sound of my voice, and yet you guys act as if I have the voice of an old dairy cow."
"Jaskier, don't insult the cows. They have more rhythm then you," Geralt stated bluntly, looking at the bard with humour in his eyes.
Jaskier spluttered and looked shocked, his hand flying to his chest in hurt. "Oh, oh, oh, somebody forgets that my song made him famous! It's thanks to me that you even get paid for jobs, instead of getting spit on and kicked out of taverns and towns."
Geralt hid back a grin at the defensiveness in the bard's tone, while Yennefer chuckled quietly.
"I think you have a lovely singing voice," came a hoarse voice from the bed. Their eyes all darted to Ciri, who was sitting up and looking at them with bleary eyes. Her hair tumbled around her in waves, still damp from having been washed out by the mage.
"See? Her opinion matters more than either of yours' anyways," Jaskier quipped gently. "She is a Princess after all."
"How are you feeling, Cirilla?" Geralt asked, ignoring Jaskier, as he moved his hand to touch her shoulder gently. Her blue eyes turned up to look at him, and he felt his heart stutter for a moment in its slow rhythm before continuing its normal pace. How weird, he thought.
"Alright," she replied, a small smile lifting at the corners of her lips. Her brows suddenly furrowed as she thought of something. "Is Vesemir alright?"
Geralt's expression instantly soured, and he removed his hand from her shoulder in order to stand up straight. "Unfortunately, the man will live. Though whether he deserves too, is still to be decided."
"You didn't know he was planning to do that?" Ciri asked curiously.
Geralt shook his head. "No. I would have never allowed it, had I known he was going to force your magic out so quickly and in such an aggressive way."
"Why did he do that so aggressively?" Jaskier chimed in, coming to stand next to Geralt.
Geralt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as his shoulders dropped. "He wants Ciri to become a Witcher, and believed that once her magic was released, she would be able to start the process. He thought he could convince me to allow it, but I will never condone it. The trials could kill her, and with her magic alone, she could learn to hold her own against any opponent."
Jaskier looked at Ciri before back at the Witcher. "Will we stay here then?"
"Yes, we will remain here. Vesemir will not try anything more with her, as he knows both Yen and I will kill him if he so much as thinks about it," Geralt growled.
Ciri glanced down at her hands, wondering what her training would bring now that she was aware of the powers she possessed. She did not want to become a Witcher, and she was grateful that Geralt was not going to allow it to happen. Yet, she still couldn't help but worry about what her time here would bring. Things would no doubt be tense between the Old Witcher and their group, and yet they planned on remaining here for the months to come.