To Trust a Witcher

Late Night Talks

I can tell he's surprised at first as he hesitates, but after a second, he returns the hug. Warmth radiates out of him; I can nearly hear the hiss when my freezing hands touch him. Must be those stupid superior Witcher genes of his that keep him warm, yet here I am, with my inferior human-ish genes that let me freeze.

My heartbeat starts to slow down now that I know for sure he is alive. This is also around the time regret trickles within me. What am I thinking- hugging him out of nowhere! Now he's going to ask questions!

I let go suddenly and take a step back, trying to wipe my face free of tears before he notices. "Geralt." I curse in my mind when the sound of my voice sounds off. "What are you doing here?" Only after the words leave my mouth, do I realize how stupid I sound as I stand in front of his room.

"I heard your fast heartbeat. Is everything alright?" 

Screw my stupid heart, giving me away like that. I have forgotten how sharp a Witcher's senses are.

"Why do you smell like blood?" he asks after I fail to answer fast enough. 

"I- what?" I pause, sniffing the air and smelling nothing. "I don't smell like blood."

He snatches a torch that stands next to his doorway, grabs my arms, and pulls me into his room, shutting the door behind him.

He places the torch on a latch on the wall and turns, scanning me for any injuries.

That's when the pain from the wound I have received earlier today makes itself known. I feel a small trickle along the side of my leg. It must be bleeding again; probably having reopened when I fell off the bed.

"It's just my leg. I bumped it on the way over here." I settle for a half-truth. 

"Why are you here?"

"Actually, I was on my way to the dining hall. Those late night cravings really hit me," I lie, wringing my hands in front of me. 

He blinks at me, unimpressed. 

I sigh, kicking the floor with the edge of my shoes. "I had a bad dream.  It's nothing serious."

He nods over to his bed. "Sit down."

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," I say as I take a seat, starting to feel awful about it. He anyways rarely sleeps. The last thing he needs is a 13-year-old child-rooster. I get a funny picture of my mind of a hybrid between a child and a rooster, before I realize we are having a serious conversation and this is not the time to laugh. I push it aside, to laugh about later. 

"You didn't. Here, drink." He hands me a cup. I remember his warning regarding drinking alcohol, so I smell it to make sure it's water. He reassures me, "It's water."  

I sip it while he crouches down before me, placing his elbows on his knees. I watch him as he surveys my face, most likely noting the tear-stricken cheeks and my reddened, glistening eyes. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"About the dream?" I confirm, even though I already know the answer. 

He nods. 

I avoid looking him in the eyes, choosing to stare at the corner of the room and watch the shadows of the fire dancing instead.

After a moment of hesitation, I decide I don't want to worry him anymore than he already is. "I just saw some people dying; that's all."

I remember the spear that impaled him in the middle of the chest, and the person who had swung it. I rub the goosebumps that have risen on my arm, trying to get them to recede. I am going to kill the black knight, before he kills everyone important to me. I swear on it. 

"Are you okay?" he asks.

The question nearly causes me to lose control on the next round of tears I've been keeping ahold of. "I'll be okay." Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I hope eventually I will be okay.

He stays crouched for a few seconds longer, before he stands up. "Ciri, it's okay not to be okay. Emotions and feelings are normal."

I bite the inside of my mouth. Somehow, though, he is able to remain indifferent at all times.

He takes a seat next to me. "I also wanted to apologize."

Apologize? To me?

I frown. "What for?"

"Last night, it was not my intent to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you understood to be careful, but I could have done it in a much more calm manner," he explains.

I shift on the bed, remembering how the way he was speaking to me and the fire flickering caused me to be thrown back to Cintra, and the next back to the dining hall of the keep. "I was just being overly sensitive. It's not your fault." And it really isn't. It's not his fault I am coming in with a chariot full of emotional baggage. 

"No, Ciri. You have every right to feel the way you do."

I know we're just talking about last night, but it feels as if he is telling me that everything- the nightmares, the flashbacks, the flinching- are not happening because I am weak, but that every person who would've gone through what I have, would feel the same.

"Thank you, Geralt." I stand up, handing him the cup. "I should go back to bed." And let him go back to sleep. 

He stands up, too. "Remember, if you need anything, I'm right here."

I give him a small smile. "Thanks." I turn and walk over to the door, pushing it open. I take a last glimpse behind me before I step out of the room, and I see him still standing, watching me leave. I can't read his expression well. It's almost as if he wants to do more, but doesn't know what. I don't ponder about it long, though, closing the door behind me and making my way to my room.

The blanket around me collects dust as it slivers along behind me on the ground. I close the door behind me and drop down to my bed, causing dust to spring up.

After a sneeze, I stare up at the ceiling, knowing I have no intention to go back to sleep again.

I am officially nightmare-d out. 

So, for the next hours until the sun comes up, I think. 

And like I've said before, that's never good.