To Heal A Lonely Heart

Monsters and Money

It took three days for the wounds to heal, for the bleeding to fully stop. Triss and I worked day and night. It had taken almost two hours alone to clean Geralt from all the mud, so that the wounds wouldn't infect.

While Triss mixed potions, tinctures and salves, I washed my husband's hair and stitched his wounds, especially the ones on his face. In all the time I've been with him, this must be the worst he's ever looked after a hunt – even the golem-incident was only a minor injury to this. The striga had barely missed his artery when she bit his neck. If we hadn't been there fast enough, he would have bled out.

We had tried to wake him, leaning over him and saying his name. To no avail. All he did was mutter one word, over and over. Renfri. There must be something more about her except the guilt he still felt for killing her.

After the second day, Triss and I took turns watching over the sleeping witcher, applying tinctures and changing bandages. Triss often used her breaks to run errands for the princess, organizing for her to stay at the nearby temple.

At dawn of the third day, I, exhausted from being awake for two days, worry keeping me awake, finally collapsed on the bed next to Geralt. Even in my sleep, I heard him mutter the name over and over – Renfri.

I woke up a few hours later, Geralt next to me still asleep. His face was grimaced in pain; sweat a thin layer glossing his skin. The bandages had bled through again. I changed them, cleaning his wounds while Triss mixed another tincture.

"He heals nicely," she mentioned as she glanced over my shoulder, taking in the extent of the injuries to adjust the amount of medicine needed.

"But not fast enough," I mumbled, worry still prominent in my voice. He'd be fine, I knew that, but it would take a while. "Usually he heals faster."

"Nienna," the sorceress said, her calming voice serious as she held my shoulders, turning me around to face her. Her chocolate stare held mine. She had a reassuring smile on her face. "He is strong. You must know that better than anyone else. He will be fine. The fact that he's alive must be proof enough. A human wouldn't have survived."

I sighed. She was right. But I couldn't help but worry. It had been long since he had been injured that heavily. The last time had been the golem. That was three years ago. But still, seeing him like this hurt. Though his heartbeat and breathing told me otherwise, from how he looked he could also be dead.

There was only so much I could take. Tears welled up in my eyes and I pulled Triss closer, crumbling against her, as she understood. She hugged me tightly, whispering reassuringly. She didn't judge; only let me cry my heart out. All the bottled up fear for my husband, still lying unconscious in the blood soaked bed, bursting out.

When I stopped crying, Triss helped me sit down on the bed, next to Geralt, as she applied the tincture onto Geralt's wounds and bandaged his chest again. His wounds had stopped bleeding. From time to time, he'd cough up a little blood in his sleep, and I'd wipe it away. And over and over he muttered the name of the princess he couldn't safe.

With one particularly loud mutter of 'Renfri', followed by a gasp, Geralt opened his eyes, struggling to find focus. He stared straight ahead, fixed on the sorceress with her back towards him.

He groaned and grunted in pain and confusion, his hand touching his bandaged neck. I rushed to his side, cupping his face and caressing softly, calming him.

"Shh. You're safe, minne. You're fine. Everything is fine," I whispered soothingly, softly kissing his forehead. Triss gave us some time before she spoke up.

"Your scars. You heal quite nicely. Your will to live is strong. I can see why." She glanced at me when she said the last sentence. I nodded a 'thank you', a grateful smile on my lips.