Archive of Our Own ^beta

You’d walked these woods a hundred times, gathering herbs and using them as a shortcut to go see your friend in the next village. It should have been fine.

How were you to know that a cockatrice had migrated into the woods, claiming the territory for its nesting grounds?

You were deep in the woods when its hateful cry caused you to freeze in your tracks. You panicked and ran, but you didn’t get more than a few steps before its heavy weight tackled you. You squeezed your eyes shut and struggled, trying to get out from beneath its talons and gagging at the putrid stench of its breath as it screeched in your face. You felt its talons piercing your skin, felt the baleful heat of its glare scorching you, and you dared not open your eyes for fear of being turned to stone.

Only when there was a heavy thud and a sudden lack of weight pinning you down did you dare to peek your eyes open. You were stunned by what you saw.

Geralt, the famous White Wolf, your sometimes-lover when he could come to town, clashing with the beast, silver sword flashing brilliantly as he moved like a work of art, speed and deadly grace and power. You felt your heart start to pound as you shakily sat up.

“Geralt,” you breathed, awestruck. You’d never seen him at work before, it was….incredible.

Of course, he heard you, damned heightened witcher senses. Solid black eyes met yours for an instant, cold and unreadable and causing your breath to freeze in your lungs.

His moment of distraction cost him, the cockatrice’s tail whipping around with blinding speed, the sharp tip tearing through his armor and leaving a jagged cut in Geralt’s side that immediately began to ooze blackened blood. Geralt swore nastily as a scream tore from your lips. You staggered forward; you didn’t have a plan in mind, but you were desperate to do something, anything, to help.

It was a deadly dance they were engaged in, Geralt leaping nimbly and always staying behind the creature, slashing at it before it whipped around to face him again, neither seeming able to gain the upper hand. You swallowed hard and waved your arms around, yelling in a voice hoarse with terror, “Hey! Hey, look at me!”

Amber eyes and black locked onto you at once and you shivered in terror, swallowing hard. “C-come and get me, ugly,” you dared the cockatrice, flinging a rock at it.

It bounced harmlessly off the cockatrice, which watched you with predatory malice for a long second before leaping at you. Another scream tore from your throat as it tackled you and pinned you down, all the breath knocked from your lungs as your back hit the dirt. Its talons tore through your skin and you squeezed your eyes shut with a weak whimper as its beak neared your face, not wanting to have to look your demise in the eye. You only hoped you’d managed to give Geralt the advantage he’d needed–

There was a horrible crunching sound of sword sliding through muscle and bone, a hot spurt of blood spraying your face and burning pain as the beak that had been heading or your eye instead cut the side of your face, warm streams of sticky blood starting to trickle into your hair. The beast collapsed on you and you couldn’t breathe, you scrambled out from under it, tears of pain and terror mixing with the blood spilling down your face as you gasped raggedly for breath.

You forced your gaze up to meet the wild dark gaze of Geralt. The two of you locked gazes as your head spun, before he suddenly swayed and collapsed. You yelped, a fresh surge of adrenaline bursting through you as you scrambled over to him on your hands and knees.

“Geralt?” you turned him over carefully, mindful of the injury to his side. His breathing was shallow and the cut was bleeding sluggishly. Nausea curled through you and you tapped his cheek gently until onyx eyes weakly fluttered open and focused on you. “Hey, look at me,” you pleaded. “Thank the gods. I need you to stay awake for me, alright?” you whispered.

Geralt grunted, but he kept his eyes steadily on yours and you decided that was answer enough. You frantically cut his shirt away so you could see the wound, trying to wash it with water from your flask.

“My mutations,” he muttered through gritted teeth. You snapped your eyes up to meet his, trying and failing to decipher his guarded expression.

“What?” you asked faintly.

“My mutations. Give me advanced healing abilities.”

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, and it wasn’t a question. Relief swept through you with such force it left you dizzy. Your head dropped down to rest on his chest as tears overflowed from your eyes, your breaths shuddering out of you raggedly as you tried not to sob.

“Y/N,” he murmured uncertainly, and you felt a hand tentatively come up to rest on the back of your head, “what–?”

“I thought you were going to die,” you whispered, knowing he would have no trouble hearing you. “Sweetie, what were you thinking?” you demanded, lifting your head just enough to look at him with teary eyes.

His eyes narrowed at you, and with what looked like great effort he heaved himself up to a sitting position, forcing you to realize exactly how close the two of you were. “I didn’t think you’d care,” he muttered, and you gaped at him indignantly.

“Didn’t think I–you didn’t think I’d care?” you repeated shrilly. Geralt winced, his gaze sliding away from yours, and it was only because he was still healing from injuries that you restrained yourself from punching him. “How could you possibly think that?!”

“Why should it matter, what happens to me, when you have someone else?” he challenged, tone sharp and brittle as shattered glass as he glared off to the side.

“What are you talking about?” you demanded, bewildered.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed, “I can smell him all over you.” Geralt ran a hand over his face.

“What–who–oh.” Realization and exasperation dawned on you as one and you snorted. “Geralt–”

“Don’t bother,” he muttered. “I always knew this would happen.”

You were hurt for a split second before it transformed into anger, and this time you did punch him, sharply hitting his arm and glaring when he met your eyes, angry and confused as he stared at you with a clenched jaw. “You’re a fucking idiot. And if you thought I was unfaithful to you, why did you save me?” You crossed your arms.

Geralt stared at you with eyes of liquid night for a long moment before speaking in a soft voice that didn’t quite hide the anguish in his tone. “You being done with me doesn’t mean I could live with myself if I allowed anything to happen to you.” His hand came up as he spoke, hovering hesitantly by your face and studying your features before tentatively tracing your cheek back into your hairline. The featherlight touch forced you to remember the cut the cockatrice’s beak had torn through your skin, fresh pain stinging and making you wince and tear up. Geralt dropped his hand as though scalded and you fell onto your ass abruptly, adrenaline crashing and leaving you woozy and light-headed. You realized distantly that you were shaking.

Geralt sighed deeply. “We should get you to a healer,” he muttered, getting to his feet with a grunt. “Can you walk?” he asked you, looking down at him.

Looking up into the unfathomable abyss of his gaze, you wordlessly held your hands out to him. He grasped them carefully in his own and pulled you to your feet. Your knees shook and gave out, but he caught you in his arms before you could hit the ground again. “Guess that’s a no,” he sighed, gingerly hefting you into his arms. Your stomach lurched at the abrupt motion and you clung to him desperately.

“Relax,” he said softly, arms tightening around you as he began to walk. The slight rocking motion did nothing to settle your uneasy stomach and you squeezed your eyes shut, letting your head flop onto his shoulder. “I’ll see that you’re tended to, dove. You can rest.”

“Geralt,” you murmured. “I….”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted resignedly. Your heart clenched.

“I do. You need to know, Geralt, I never….I don’t want anyone else.” Your words were slurring together, you weren’t entirely sure you were even making sense, but this was so important. “That scent, it’s not….not a lover. You’re the only one I need,” you insisted. 

You forced your eyes open to meet Geralt’s gaze. He regarded you, steady and silent, and something shifted in his expression, a softening of tension around his eyes that made him look….calmer. He sighed and kissed your forehead. “We’ll have time to talk later, dove. For now, you need rest and to conserve your strength.”

“You believe me?” you asked, fingers curling around his shirt.

“I believe you, dove,” he promised. “Get some rest. I’ll see you safely to the healer.” You wanted to argue more, but he was right, and your eyes slid shut once more, the gentle rocking motion of his walk lulling you into sleep as the blackness claimed you.