A Healer's Guilt - The Witcher 3 (F, Triss)

[Oolia]

This little scene popped into my head a few weeks ago and has been living rent free in my brain, so I had to let it out. This is from The Witcher 3 video game, not from the show, when Geralt meets up with Triss in Novigrad and helps her get mages out of the city during a witch hunt. Hope you like it!

 

A healer’s guilt

Geralt was busy sharpening his blade when a knock at the door shattered his focus. His hand faltered, causing the stone to tumble to the floor. With a muttered curse, he tightened his grip on the knife and glanced towards the source of the interruption.

The dancing orange flames of the fireplace illuminated the room, casting flickering shadows across the peeling walls. Geralt's gaze settled on the dagger he had been working on, its razor-sharp edge reflecting the fiery glow. He shuddered at the thought of what could have been had the knife slipped from his grasp and sliced through his skin.

Another knock echoed through the room, this one more forceful than the last. The wooden door rattled on its hinges, the rusty metal protesting against the strain. Geralt rose from the tattered chair he had dragged close to the fireplace, the only source of warmth in the freezing room.

Though only a select few knew of his presence in Novigrad, witchers could never truly remain anonymous in a city. Rumors of their presence spread like the flu, met with a swirling mix of disdain and apprehension.

Geralt knew better than to let his guard down.

He opened the door, feeling the weight of the knife in his hand, ready to strike. But his vigilance wavered as he caught sight of a woman standing in the pouring rain, shivering. It took him a few moments to recognize her in the darkness. The rain had transformed her once fiery-red locks into a dull and lifeless tangle, sticking to her skin like a shroud. He pale face was emotionless, almost hollow.

“Triss,” Geralt said, lowering his knife.

“I need your help.” Triss barged through the door, forcing the witcher to step aside. Her cloak left a trail of water on the rotting floorboards. “Six of our mages were caught by witch hunters last night during a raid.” She spun on her heels, facing Geralt. “That bastard, Kerath. He promised us we would be safe in his mill. We paid him handsomely, yet he still turned us in. We can’t trust anyone in this godforsaken city.”

Rivulets still dotted her face, droplets accumulating at the tip of her cupid’s bow, but she paid it no mind. She turned and paced the small room. Her velvety green dress, soaked with water, clung heavily to her body.

Geralt took a step towards her. “Slow down.”

“There’s no time to slow down. We have to act fast. Amalaine overheard a conversation between the guards this morning. The mages might be held in the dungeon of a castle to the east.”

Geralt frowned. Anger weighted every one of Triss’ words like lead, but something else caught the witcher’s attention. A soft hoarseness, a slight creak at the end of each sound, as if the words kept getting caught in the jagged pains of her throat.

“Triss…”

“If we leave now, we can make it before sunup. I’ll gather a group of mages to help. Whoever isn’t injured.”

She came to a halt in front of the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest. A small tremble shook her frame, so subtle that anyone else in the room might have missed it. But not Geralt. His keen, golden eyes were fixed on her, studying her every move.

"You're shivering,” he growled. He didn’t like to see Triss hurt, and she never seemed to cared for her own health, always pushing through the pain and exhaustion. A healer that strived to heal everyone but herself. Geralt approached her with the intention of removing his cloak and draping it around her shoulders, but she resumed her nervous pacing before he could follow through.

“We’ll need to steal some horses,” she muttered. “We only have three left, but the inn’s stable is full tonight. Some of us may have to ride bareback if we can’t find enough saddles in time.”

Geralt's concern deepened as he watched her. Her steps were heavy, slightly unsteady, as if she was on the verge of collapse. “Triss.” He spoke louder this time, worry turning into frustration. “Sit down.”

She shook her head and walked past him. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have trusted that vile, wretched human. I knew he was untrustworthy, but I was so desperate to find a safe haven that I refused to listen to my instincts.”

Geralt reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, his palm resting against the damp, icy fabric of her cloak. He could only imagine how cold she must be under all those wet clothes. With a gentle hand, he turned her to face him. Her eyes met his, brimming with fear and guilt. The light of the fireplace danced across her sullen features, casting her in a flickering glow.

Geralt softened. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Triss looked away. A flush had crept up high on her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed over, shiny in a dull, aching way that Geralt didn’t like. A fever. He let out a low growl of frustration. “You’re not well,” he said, reaching his palm towards her cheek, but she shrugged him off and kept walking.

“I’m fine, Geralt,” she insisted. “It’s just the rain. We need to…” Her voice faltered as she gasped sharply. A sudden sneeze wracked her body, and she crumpled in on herself, her hand reaching out towards the wall to find balance.

Geralt moved swiftly to her side, wrapping his strong arms around her waist to steady her. "Easy now," he said in a low, soothing voice. Her body shook in his embrace with another breathless, exhausted sneeze, muffled in her cupped hands against Geralt’s chest. The witcher tightened his grip and sighed. “You’re not fine.”

He guided her towards the chair and draped his cloak around her shoulders. She began shivering violently, her shoulder slumping, as if the weight of her illness had finally caught up to her and she could no longer pretend to be fine.

Kneeling in front of her, Geralt rubbed her arms to warm her up. "You need to rest,” he said, his gruff voice filled with concern. Of all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her so vulnerable. So sick.

Triss shook her head stubbornly, her tear-filled eyes pleading with him. "I have to help them," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. "Please."

Geralt shook his head slowly. “You can’t help anyone in this state.”

Triss collapsed into Geralt's arms, sobbing, and he held her tightly. An intense heat emanated from her forehead against his shoulder. He placed a hand at the nape of her neck, then gently moved her back to feel her cheek, his eyes searching her tear-stained face as he moved to her forehead.

“You’re burning up.”

She closed her eyes against the tears and sniffled. Her nose scrunched up, and her sobs turned into a slowly hitching breath. She tilted her head towards the ceiling, her eyes still closed. Geralt noticed the redness of her nose before she buried it into his cloak. Suddenly, she sneezed three times in quick succession, the sound so small and fragile it was almost unrecognizable coming from the powerful mage he knew so well.

“Blessings,” he murmured.

He scooped her up in his arms and laid her on the cot in the corner of the room, where he’d piled fur upon fur to make his bed more comfortable. He removed his cloak from her shoulders and unfastened hers. “I can’t leave you in these wet clothes,” he mumbled. “You’re only going to get worse.”

Triss nodded. Geralt began to disrobe her, carefully peeling away each saturated layer until her body was exposed to the cool, damp air. She whimpered, her skin hot and feverish, her body wracked with shivers as she struggled to adjust to the abrupt shift in temperature.

Geralt's heart ached at the sight of her, his eyebrows creased in sympathy. He slipped one if his clean shirt over her head, then laid her down on the bed and tucked her under the furs. He wished he could give her one of his potions to make her feel better, but he knew she was allergic. She would have to ride the illness through. His rough fingers brushed the hair away from her forehead, trailing over her cheeks. “Now sleep.”

“What about the mages?” Triss said, her teeth still chattering.

Geralt chuckled. “You’re the only one I know that still cares about others in the throes of a fever.” He sighed. “Rest here. I’ll take care of it.”

He got up and put his cloak on, then headed for the door.

“Geralt?” Triss called out weakly from the bed.

The witcher turned around. “Hmm?”

“You’re the only one I know who would help me. Thank you.”

He tipped his head in acknowledgment. "Sleep," he said gently. "I'll be back soon."

THE END

 

[sneezemeister]

This was great!

[MessyOnMain]

Love love LOVE this! You write so well!

[Light]

As a fellow fan of the game I can almost hear the character's voices as I read. 

Very nice story. 

[Secret Sneezer]

I don't know much about the Witcher series, but I always love a healer getting sick. It's definitely one of my favorite tropes! This was so well written though, even though I only know Geralts name, I could still imagine the characters perfectly. This is so soft too omg, like it's tooth rottingly sweet! This is such a nice read, will there be a second part?

[Oolia]

On 3/23/2023 at 10:59 PM, Secret Sneezer said:

This is such a nice read, will there be a second part?

Thank you so much for the compliments ☺️ Unfortunately this was a one-shot (one of the few, if not only one-shot I ever wrote lol), but I may come back to that pairing at some point!

[NoV]

Really nicely done - is it funny that when I read it, I pictured it in my head in the style of an animated cutscene from the game  

[Oolia]

On 5/3/2023 at 1:14 PM, NoV said:

Really nicely done - is it funny that when I read it, I pictured it in my head in the style of an animated cutscene from the game  

Hah! Now that you're saying this, I realize I wrote it with a cutscene image of the video game in my head too, not with the show's actors in mind 😂

Edited May 22, 2023 by Oolia