"He was her dark fairytale and she was his twisted fantasy. And together they made magic."
A retelling of Snow White and The Huntsman
Based on the Netflix series
This is a little fluffy and a little smutty so read if you're into that
Geralt Of Riv...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Night had fallen and with it went Geralt's health. The darkness around his eyes had disintegrated into nothingness, meaning the potion used to reserve his strength had worn off. Now, it was up to him and him only to fight off the poison in his bloodstream. Although Atticus's herbs were helping to flush out the toxins, they weren't doing enough. The poison had been more serious than they'd thought, causing Geralt to enter an almost sleep-like state where his heart rate was so low it almost wasn't there. Although his breathing had dropped, his temperature had skyrocketed, putting even more stress on his body and on the minds of everyone taking care of him.
Anaya sat next to Geralt on the bed, holding his hand tightly. She'd been sitting there for hours watching over him, worrying like a new mother about the slightest thing. She didn't want to leave him in case something happened to him, in case the poison won. Atticus had said to give him his medicine every hour on the hour and she didn't plan on messing that schedule up, even if it meant staying up all night. Although Atticus had suggested taking shifts watching over him, Anaya had politely declined. She needed to feed him the medicine herself. It wasn't that she didn't trust that Atticus wouldn't give him the medicine on time, she just knew she wouldn't be able to sleep knowing there was a possibility he could have forgotten.
"Alright, my child. It's time for me to retire," Atticus said just as he finished cleaning up his shop. "You should get some rest too."
"I can't," Anaya said, placing her hand on Geralt's forehead to check his temperature for the hundredth time that hour.
"I know," Atticus said. "He is strong, he will make it."
"He better or I'm going to kill him."
"Goodnight," Atticus chuckled, heading up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. "If you need anything, I'll be right upstairs."
"Goodnight," Anaya said. She reached over to the nightstand, into a bowl of cold water, and took ahold of the small washcloth before wringing it out and carefully placing it over Geralt's forehead. It was supposed to help lower his temperature, which had gone so high his body had developed a thin layer of sweat.
Suddenly, the door to the shop opened and Garrison walked in with a flask in one hand and a bag in the other. He didn't seem too drunk, which was good.
"How is he?" Garrison asked, walking over to the bed where Anaya sat.
"It's hard to tell with the fever," Anaya said.
"He'll be fine. Much weaker men have survived much worse."
"I hope you're right."
"I'm always right," Garrison said. "Have you been here all day?"
"Yes and I'm not planning on moving the entire night."
"Then I will wait with you," he said, taking a seat near the end of the bed and resting his back against the wall. "If we're going to be here the whole night, might as well get comfortable."
