The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Forty-One

Vizima, 1243

Robin's eyes snapped open at the sound of a bell. She'd fallen asleep on Triss' windowsill waiting for Geralt.

She stood and gazed out upon the vast expanse of snow. She couldn't see anything, but she could hear yelling in the courtyard below.

She closed her eyes and focused, then realized that it was Jaskier's voice.

"Get him to Triss Merigold's tower! Now!" he was screaming.

Robin turned and ran, holding her skirts up so she didn't tumble down the stairs.

****

Triss sat with the witcher, washing his wounds. She had purposely sent Robin away for more supplies. She was trying to get her out of the room as much as possible. It was clearly taking a toll on her to see the man this way.

While Robin had explained to Triss that Geralt had been injured plenty of times before, it had clearly never been this bad. In fact, Triss still wasn't entirely certain how the witcher had escaped death. His kind were clearly hardier than she'd been led to believe, or at least he was.

Either that or he had a very compelling reason to live. And after several days in her tower with him, she could easily guess what that reason was.

As she changed his bandages, his brow furrowed. "Robin..." he whispered.

Triss mixed herbs to speed his healing and prevent infection. It was not the first time the witcher had said the mage's name during his recovery. Triss had initially written it off to the woman simply being in the room, but he seemed to say her name more when she was gone, like he could sense that her presence was farther away and didn't like it.

He had yet to wake up fully, but she assumed he would soon.

"Robin..." he whispered again.

Then his eyes snapped open in alarm and he groaned, looking around him in distress. When he tried to sit up, he didn't quite make it.

"Your scars," Triss observed calmly. "You heal quite nicely. Your will to live is strong."

"Robin?" he demanded, taking as deep a breath as he could. "Where is she? I can smell her."

Triss nodded. "She'll be back shortly. I sent her for some things I need."

He relaxed slightly. "The princess?" he wondered.

Everything he had gone through would hardly be worth it if he hadn't saved her.

"I've arranged for her to stay a while with the Sisters of Melitele," Triss explained.

"But... I..." He paused and shook his head to clear it. "Her neck?"

"She'll heal too," Triss assured him.

He leaned back against his pillows. He had succeeded, despite his horrible odds.

"You should know Foltest issued a statement," she told him. "The honorable Lord Ostrit gave his life to slay the vukodlak. Miners are gathering ore for a statue."

He grunted and forced himself to sit up. He was covered in sweat and blood, every single one of his muscles ached, and he could feel that several of his wounds were stitched, because the movement pulled at the threads.

Triss knew better than to try and dissuade him. "Anyone else would have killed the princess," she pointed out. "You chose not to."

He didn't offer any explanation as he hovered on the edge of the bed, willing his head to stop spinning and hoping he wouldn't be sick.