To Heal A Lonely Heart

Stupid Curse

The next morning Geralt was already able to sit up on his own. If it had been up to him, we'd leave within the day, but I wouldn't allow it. So, while he was almost going crazy trapped in the small room, I stitched what was left of his clothes back together. His trousers weren't too damaged, but his armour and leather jerkin were, I'd need material to patch the jerkin, and the armour had to be repaired by a professional.

Geralt had finally stopped pacing around the room like a trapped wolf – which he was, somehow – and settled down at the foot of the bed, cleaning and sharpening his various blades, cursing at the dents in his silver sword. When I walked over to the door, carrying a fairly heavy coin-purse on my hip, he called out for me.

"Don't be gone for too long."

I nodded and smiled at him. Was he becoming clingy?

But I did as he requested, hurrying as a bought a new tunic and a piece of leather for the jerkin, both in his favourite colour: black.

Back at the tavern, I noticed the innkeeper missing. In his place stood a middle-aged woman, a bruise still visible on her cheek; she must be the innkeeper's wife. What was also missing was the bard's cheery voice singing whatever annoying song he had about Geralt. Jaskier had really left.

It took the witcher the whole week to heal completely, his strength returning with every passing day. His armour had been fixed in that time, so by the end of the week we returned to the road.

He, uhm, also kept his promise about our wedding night. Once we were in the open wilderness, with no one around but us and the animals living in the forest, he made his words reality. He had me screaming and chanting his name from sunset to sunrise, not stopping until I was a shaking, panting, cum-soaked mess beneath him in the soft grass, and he couldn't possibly go another round. Then he had collapsed next to me, and we had stayed laying on the clearing in the soft grass for the whole day. Just the two of us, bodies intertwined, caressing one another wherever our hands could reach, peaceful, while Roach and Shadow grazed.

Weeks, months, even years passed. We were travelling slowly, going west, passing through Lyria, Rivia and Riverdell, before going north through Sodden, along the foot of the Mahakam mountains. Ever since the incident with the golem, I joined Geralt on his hunts; even though he would rather I stayed behind, in the safety of the various inns and taverns we stayed at. But he needed back-up.

A few months ago, we were hired to slay a rouge witch, who was cursing people, the curses ending in a horrible death after weeks or months of torture. We managed to kill her, but not before she had a chance to lay a curse on me.

Her curse was evil, for both Geralt and me. It activated the canine part of my witcher-blood, making me feel like a dog in heat from sunset to sunrise. I was in pain, my abdomen clenching and yet feeling like somebody was ripping it out of my body - and only one thing could relief me from my suffering. But, if I even did so much as pleasure myself, I'd die. Sex with my husband would kill me.

And it almost killed Geralt to see me like this, knowing that if he tried to help me, he'd kill me. My smell, full of pheromones, was driving him crazy, to the point we slept in separate rooms at the inns, neither of us trusting our sex-crazed brains caused by the curse. There was no way to lift the curse, it would wear off; but how long it would take no one knew.

It had been three months, and it still hadn't gotten better. Knowing the witchers' high sex-drive, and not wanting my husband to be in even more pain, I encouraged him to hire a courtesan from time to time. At first he refused, but after some time he saw reason; he would be no use on hunts when he all he did was drooling after me, the back of his clouded brain knowing that it would kill me if we sated the need within both of us.

Currently we stayed in Maribor, in separate rooms. Geralt was with a whore; I could feel his guilt through the walls. He didn't like our arrangement one bit, but we both knew it was for the best.

All the while I was stocking up his potions, a task I had taken upon me during the years with him. Most of the time he'd help, having brewed his own since he had left Kaer Morhen. It distracted me from the cramping in my lower stomach. The sun was beginning to set. With routine handles I ground fresh veratum, stramonium, hawthorn and spurge, together with other herbs to a paste, adding it into the kettle with boiling water until the liquid turneda dark green. I filled the potion into small vials and cleaned the kettle. And moved to make the next potion.

I tried my best to tune out the sounds coming from the room next door, but with my elven senses I could also sit on the bed next to them, it wouldn't sound any different. I know Geralt tried his best to keep quiet, but the occasional groan was like a dagger to my heart. I know, I had allowed him, even encouraged him to do what he was doing right now, but it didn't mean I liked it, my husband sharing his bed with some whore.

The potions... Deep breaths...

With a deep sigh, I returned to brewing the potion that would make witchers see in the dark. Mushing banewart berries, eyebright and monk's hood, and adding it to the boiling water, I let my mind wander, remembering what the potion did to Geralt. Skin as white was a sheet, eyes black, glistening with the little light; he hated it when I saw him like that, it made him feel like he was exactly what many people still believed him to be – a monster. To be completely honest, I liked seeing him like this, though. I don't know. There is something about the thrill of him looking like this – a merciless predator. Sure, the first time I had seen him with all black eyes, I was shocked; not at what he looked like, but at what had been done to him that the potions would have this effect on him. For other people his potions would be poison.

Once the liquid had turned black, I filled it into the vials, setting all into his bag reserved for only potions.

The sounds next door had stopped. I heard the woman talking softly, questioning Geralt about his scars. Then she started talking about another witcher, who had passed through on his was to Vizima. I knew what it would mean for Geralt and me, so I packed my stuff. Just in time, apparently.

A knock was heard. It wasn't at my door, though, my senses betraying me, but at the door of the witcher. "It's been three nights. Pay up or get out!" A voice shouted; the innkeeper. After no reaction from inside the room, he shouted again while repeatedly banging against the door, "You hear me? Witcher!" The man surely had had enough, because the next thing I heard was the door bursting open.

It was time that we looked for a new job, our coin was running low - let's just say the whores that he hired weren't cheap. So I left the room, joining my husband outside.

He was whispering to Roach, "Don't judge me." The mare snorted. It seemed like nobody was happy with the arrangement, not even our horses. I left Shadow in the stables, the horses surely would be a guarantee for us to return.

Geralt turned towards the innkeeper. "I'll be back with payment in a few days. Anything happens to my horse..." he said, an unfinished threat.

The innkeeper chuckled. "You don't scare me."

Geralt just looked at him, stepped closer to the man until only a few feet separated them and stared him down menacingly.

"Point me to Temeria," he demanded and the innkeeper complied, pointing in the direction of said kingdom.

We set off in the direction we were pointed. Geralt tried to convince me to stay behind, but when I only smirked and handed him his bag of potions, he chuckled.

"You'd be lost without me, Minne," I stated.

"Maybe you're right, my love."