Broken Heart (Geralt of Rivia x Reader)

Chapter 18

You awoke with a pained gasp and sat up only for multiple hands to suddenly grab your shoulders pushing you back down. You thrashed in the people's grip, your mind racing a thousand miles a second as you stared up at the strangers above you.

"Easy, Witcher. Easy. Your friend the sorceress bought you here." The dryad woman said calmly. "My name is Eithné. You are safe, but you are severely injured."

At the mention of Triss, you stopped trying to fight the strangers. The mage wouldn't bring you to them if they weren't trustworthy, and you trusted Triss.

You dropped back down against the makeshift bed the dryads seemed to have put you on. Your head was pounding and ribs aching, but it was nothing compared to the pain in your left knee. Vilgefortz's staff had done some serious damage and you were almost afraid to look and see the extent of it.

You glanced between the strangers above you. One was stitching the gash on your forehead while the others were trying to fix your knee. You looked past them and scanned your surroundings realising that you were in a wooden hut before your eyes landed on familiar white hair on a bed across the room.

It was Geralt.

Geralt was here.

You were up and out of the bed before any of the dryads could stop you, but the second you put weight on your injured leg, you collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain.

"She just told you that you are severely injured." One of the strangers muttered.

"Milva, easy. The Witcher is in distress." Eithné said, glaring at the woman.

You ignored them both and dragged your body across the ground to Geralt's bed. Your hurt leg burned in pain, but you gritted your teeth and kept moving until you reached his side.

"G-Geralt." You winced, pulling yourself up until you were sitting on the edge of his bed and let out a gasp when you looked at him properly.

Geralt's skin was paler than you had ever seen it. His face dotted with angry red gashes and cuts that were surrounded by darkening bruises. Even with his elixirs Geralt was never this pale. If it wasn't for his laboured breathing, you would have thought he was dead.

The dryads had wrapped his thigh, covering the broken bone but you could still see the dark bloodied stains on his pants from the injury.

"Fuck." You gasped taking it all in. "Heal him. Please-please just fix him." You glanced over your shoulder to Milva and Eithné.

"N...no." Geralt's gruff voice murmured.

Your head snapped back in his direction instantly, the sudden movement making your bad headache worse, but you didn't care because Geralt just fucking spoke. He was awake. His eyes were closed but he was conscious.

"Geralt. Hey, hey, it's me. It's Y/N. The dryads will heal you and-and everything will be okay-"

"N-no... don't."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear.

He didn't want the dryads to heal him. Why?

"He's refusing to let us help him. Says it's a waste of time." Eithné explained, appearing beside you and looking down at Geralt with a disapproving scowl. "His back is broken, same with his leg and he has... uh, other bad injuries. But we can't do anything until he lets us help him."

"Jesus Christ." You swore softly under your breath before turning your attention back to Geralt. "Why don't you want them to help you? Geralt? Hey, talk to me. Why don't you want to heal?"