"Let me goooo," the boy and the girl yelled over each other as they were dragged through the forest clearing. They fought, but all their attempts to break free were overpowered by their captors without any big efforts.

"Your father said you would come back, you little brat."

"You son of a whore! He will punish you for bruising my wrists!" the girl screamed from desperation. The men laughed.

"Ha! Let's take you home and we will see who gets punished," one of them said in a sleazy voice. He jerked with her and flung her over his shoulder. "Now stop kicking you spoiled punk!"

She obeyed but after a few more steps, she bit him. Hard. Naturally, it angered the men who carried her, he tossed her back down and pulled his arm to slap her.

"No!" the boy yelled. "Let her be!"

Before the slap could meet the girl's cheek though, the arm of the men flipped in the air and fell on the ground with a bloody splatter. The witcher appeared like a white knight out of nowhere and cut off the man's arm in one mighty swing of his sword. Geralt dismounted and finished the crying men off. The other, larger one reacted quickly, he pushed away the boy and drew his spear that hung on his back. He grazed the witcher's side as he swept it at him. Having no armor, it made a long-ragged cut through Geralt's shirt and skin. Geralt gritted his teeth and stepped back, thinking through the strategy.

Spear was an unfortunate weapon for a warrior with one arm less. Were his other arm free, it would be too easy to grab the long shaft and kill the attacker with one well aimed strike. Like this, he had to test his avoidance and dodge the lashing iron tip.

The spearman showed his crooked teeth as he smiled mockingly at Geralt's defensive moves. Being completely out of the witcher's reach and feeling the winning ground, the men started spinning with the spear in between his attacks, clearly showing off but also making it harder to expect when the attacks would come.

Geralt growled in frustration. It took him too long to find the sweet opening for a killing blow but once he did, he acted, hoping for the best. Gripping his sword tightly, Geralt swung his sword to the side to block the incoming strike and using the momentum, he turned his back to the man. Dropping his sword and then grasping the shaft of the spear in a split second, he thrust it back. It knocked the breath away from the man, which gave Geralt enough time to turn back and stab the pointy end into his opponent's heart.

Letting go of the shaft, he collapsed to one knee.

"Geralt!" Ella called. Rhimi untied both children even as Geralt fought and led them further away so they would be spared from watching the violence. Little did she know that both kids already saw their share of cruelty and as soon as the fight was over, Ella ran straight into the bloody ground, to Geralt. "You saved me again!"

Geralt clenched his teeth. It was a short fight, but his shirt was drenched in sweat and blood. Eyes closed and breathing heavily, he forced his body to stand up. Rhimi appeared on his side and steadied his swaying. He flinched when she pressed at the cut that was still apparently bleeding but then moved his arm away and allowed her to tend to it.

"Geralt, we have to get out of here," Rhimi said quietly.

"Too late for that."

"What?!"

Rhimi's eyes widened, and she looked around. She saw nothing at first, but then she heard the thunder of hooves.

"Fuck" she cursed. "We have to get out of here now!"

Geralt knew that even if all four of them mounted Roach, she wouldn't be able to outrun the six horsemen that were closing on them. He knew the only option for him was to stay and fight them all.

"Geralt!" Rhimi said apprehensively and tugged at him slightly towards Roach.

"Untie the sling, then get the kids and yourself on Roach and run."

"No!" Rhimi exclaimed. "You cannot stay here!"

"Fuck," Geralt fumed and started untying the restraining cloth by himself. She tried to stop him, but he shoved her away. "Ella, boy, take my horse and speed away." If Rhimi was stupid enough to stay, then let it be.

"How are you planning on taking down six men at once? You will die!"

"Do you have any other suggestions?!" he snapped at her.

"Yes." Rhimi said and looked around. Both kids, even though the witcher ordered them to run, still stood their ground. "Look, he wants only you and Ella. You are open targets here, you two need to get out of this clearing. You want to fight them. Fight. Just not here."

Silently agreeing with what the student said, Geralt grimaced and scanned the area quickly. Renaud was close, but they could probably be quick enough to get into the woods and use the trees to their advantage. If he took Roach. He couldn't run fast on foot.

"Fine. Take the boy and run, take cover," he said finally to Rhimi, pointing them in a direction. "Go! Ella, come with me."

The kids looked at each other with sadness, not wanting to be split apart so soon after their reunion but they did what they were told. Geralt picked up his sword and whistled at Roach. He mounted her and held down a hand for the girl to take. He pulled her up with difficulty and galloped toward the woods. Renaud Croenn reached the clearing just as they disappeared between the first line of trees.

Geralt handed the reins to Ella. "Hold tight and let Roach speed as much as she can."

"What about you?" the girl asked.

"I have a plan. Just run, go. Go," Geralt called, getting off the trotting horse. It was a lie. He had nothing. No plan, no strategy. He had to rely on his training and hope his body wouldn't betray him. The anticipation of a battle helped him dull his pains, but the limp was still there and moving his bad arm was agonizing. It would have to do.

From behind a tree and crouched down, he watched Renaud and his muscled, armored puppets reach the forest. Few paces in, four of them dismounted and drew their weapons. Renaud himself, and someone, who Geralt suspected to be his right hand , stayed on horses. Roach, having barely noticeable weight on her, galloped fast and was already out of sight. Rhimi and the boy as well. Good.

"I saw the bastard get off."

"He must be here."

Geralt heard the men talk between themselves.

"Long time no see, Master Witcher!" Renaud called out. "Come out of your hiding, you piece of shit! We have some unfinished business!"

Deep breath and a slow exhale. Then he emerged.

"Let's finish it then."

He made a few steps towards them, then he stood still. Two of them started running down at him, both swordsmen. Geralt fended off their opening attacks easily with a swirl. He managed to cut one of them to the leg, but it was just a graze. The sword felt heavier than usual, and his strikes weren't as precise as he would wish.

Another two were closing in as well. Four would be too much to pay attention to, Geralt had to act fast. He turned sideways to the thinner men and shoved him back with his bad shoulder, full force. It was an unexpected move, and the man lost his balance. Before this one could recover his ground, Geralt thrust his sword up into the other one's face and killed him.

Searing pain spreading from his shoulder to his fingertips stirred up his rage and he snarled at the new coming mercenaries. One of them went down quickly, a dabbler, Geralt thought and was thankful for him.

With a quick glance, Geralt checked the status of Renaud and his right hand. Still on their horses and for now, far enough. He fought the two men frantically. The fever that still occupied his body overwhelmed him and he felt like burning. Lacking any kind of armor, he received several cuts from each of his opponents, some deeper, some only ridiculous scratches that even a child would be ashamed of, if they inflicted such.

When Geralt directed another precise headshot strike and killed his third mercenary, he felt confident. He thought he had it. But then an unexpected hit came from behind his back. A heavy boot knocked him down. He rolled away and turned his head up to see who it was that surprised him. Over the fire in his eyes, he failed to notice that right hand separated from Renaud and joined the fight. Comfortably, from the saddle of his horse.

Getting up from the ground was harder than he thought. His old and new pains weren't enough to drive him, or maybe too much. But he couldn't give up. So, he raised and continued thrusting his sword, continued receiving blows, cuts, and stabs, continued his pirouettes, and unforeseeable side steps that only witchers knew how to perform. He continued his dance, until only Renaud and right hand were left. Alas, by that time, his endurance was gone, his rage depleted, and even Renaud's untrained fist punch sent him to the ground.

"Well, well," Renaud said, looking down at the witcher with a corrupt grin. "Here we are."

Geralt laid there defeated, but with a twisted pride in his expression. Coughing, head spinning, breathing heavily through his gritted teeth, he tried to raise his body. Before he could get high enough, the right hand stamped on his chest, heel pressing onto his injured shoulder. Geralt let out a low, pained growl.

"You are not getting up again, beast," the right hand said.

Geralt snorted over his shallow breaths, indicating he had a reply to that.

"So aren't you," he said and pulled a small dagger from under his vambrace, the only piece of armor he had on him. Then he ran it through the right hand's Achilles. The man screamed so much that it echoed through the forest and back.

Suddenly unprotected, Renaud had to act and kicked the dagger out of Geralt's hand, spraining his fingers. Then kicked again, a blow so strong that it dislocated Geralt's bad shoulder. Geralt cried out with an echo as well and crawled onto his side, protecting as much of his body as he could against the kicks that followed.

Now Renaud was the one with a raging fire in his eyes.

When the kicks stopped, Geralt thought it was over. He thought Renaud would slit his throat, ran a dagger through his heart. He didn't wish to die, but the pain he felt was excruciating. An end to it would be welcomed. At some point he was distressed so much that he forgot where he was, then he recalled his situation again and wanted to puke, then he heard a crowd roaring and thought he had gone mad. But he was still alive.

Renaud was a coward. He had never killed a man; he was too weak and scared to get his own hands dirty. And maybe if he made an exception this time and slit the witcher's throat with his small dagger, as the witcher thought, maybe it would have had a different ending for him. Instead, he kept kicking, satisfied to have a powerless victim at his feet. But in his wrath, he missed that the dwellers of Brillen he had been usurping, over fifty people, men, women, and children, were standing behind his back. Maybe he didn't miss it, maybe he was so over his head, that he thought they were cheering at him. Only in the last few minutes of his life, he realized that they were here for vengeance.

The crowd jogged through the trees with Rhimi and the two children in the lead. The screaming of Renaud's man boosted them into a sprint. Hurrying over to the scene, Rhimi watched Renaud hurting the witcher and was afraid they were too late. A young farmer from the town pushed past her and with a makeshift weapon, he hit Renaud over his head. Then the rest of the crowd came close and dragged him and his right hand aside.

What happened to them afterwards, Rhimi did not see. As she got down to her knees next to Geralt, she had a weird sensory experience recalling a few nights back, when she laid her eyes on the white-haired man for the first time. Back then, she thought a man couldn't be this hurt and still be speaking and walking. Now she thought it was a surreal world.

"Geralt, Geralt!"

The witcher was breathing and he was even conscious, albeit seized by pain. His eyes were unfocused at first, but after Rhimi rolled him onto his back, he looked at her. She wanted to say something but had no words. Losing eye contact, she patted his body down, searching for any life-threatening injuries. She found only a few deep enough wounds that still bled, a swollen knee and fingers and his right arm limp next to his body. No excessive bruising under his shirt, nor tenderness on pressure, there was hopefully no internal damage.

Rhimi smiled slightly.

"You'll live, Geralt. you'll be fine," she said.

"Yeah," he breathed out. "What… where-"

"We gathered help from the townsfolk, people were pissed enough at Renaud that we didn't have to ask twice. We incited a small revolt."

Geralt turned his head and saw the cluster of people around Renaud's - was it a corpse?

"He's dead."

"Good." The witcher said and closed his eyes, dubiously soothed by the vicious sight.

"Here, Nenneke gave me this, will this boost your healing?" She held up a vial with a witcher potion.

Geralt glimpsed at it. "Yes, but…" he swallowed, "wait with it."

"What?"

"Not now," Geralt said, barely a whisper.

A few people gathered around them as well. He didn't want the audience. Ella sat next to Rhimi and beside her there was also the boy Felix staring at him as he shook.

"Will the witcher be alright?" asked a woman who stood above the children.

"Yes, but I need to get him to Melitele. Do you have a cart we can borrow? With fast horses?"

The woman nodded and called at the rest of the people. Little by little, they all left, without any word of thanks. Rhimi thought the witcher deserved more than one. At least they had the cart promised, the boy's family would arrange that. Ella refused to leave, but Geralt seemed not to mind her.

"Did you find any bones broken?" The witcher asked suddenly when it was only the tree of them, carefully trying to move with his limbs.

"No," Rhimi said with a frown. "Only sprains."

"I shouldn't drink the potion with misplaced bones or… You must reset my shoulder before I drink that."

"Holy fuck."

"You ever reset a shoulder?"

"Only seen it done." Once .

"You'll do fine," he said and gritting his teeth, he motioned her to get on with it, basically placing his arm into hers. He wasn't looking forward to the feat. The whole arm was limp, and he couldn't move it. Clear sign his tendons and ligaments were torn apart, the whole shoulder felt like it was shattered to dust. But there was a chance it would render him senseless and that didn't sound bad at all.

Since Rhimi arrived at the temple two years ago, she was facing many challenges in her studies. But not as many as during the last few days of taking care of a witcher. Usually, she had only watched her teacher, or had her behind her back, leading her. Now, she had no one. The witcher seemed to rely on her and she didn't want to let him down. She didn't want to let anyone down. Feeling of unease weighed her down, but there was also something very adult in taking on the responsibility.

She examined the shoulder, then the arm, and turning a blind eye to his groaning, started pulling his bent arm outward. It wasn't on a first attempt but soon the joint popped back into its place. Geralt paled after that and turned away from her, panting.

"I'm sorry, oh gods, I'm so sorry." Rhimi felt sick and she would bet the witcher probably felt even sicker.

"Fuck," Geralt cursed. No senseless bliss for him. "Give it to me." He requested the potion and drank it. He could feel the effects immediately and even with his body still trembling, he relaxed a bit. Quietly, the witcher thanked her.

"No. We should thank you."

Rhimi chatted with Ella as they sat in the back of a large cart that was constantly shaking with them. The witcher next to them slept, or finally fell unconscious. With the quaking it was for the best.

"Have you decided whether you stay in the temple or go back to your town?"

"I think I will stay at Melitele," the girl said. "At least until Geralt leaves." Ella stared at Geralt the whole time.

"That could be a week or two," Rhimi said and noticed Ella's face sadden. "Or three." Rhimi smiled as the girl's lip twitched upwards. It was diverting to see the childish crush on a giant man like Geralt. She understood, he was her savior after all. He was a savior of many women in the town of Brillen and he paid a painful price. Rhimi was glad that he had at least one admirer. Or two.

Nenneke greeted them at the gates of Melitele temple. She must have canceled her usual daily routine again and waited for them. There was concern all over her face when she laid her eyes on the witcher. But she was also relieved. Rhimi almost thought that maybe this time, there would be no scolding, because the witcher slept or at least pretended to be asleep. She was wrong though, Rhimi was the one getting scolded instead.

Questions, curses, reproach, and reasons, more questions. Knowing how Nenneke operated, Rhimi did not mind it though.

They roused Geralt, so he could be brought back into his room. Once he was settled, Nenneke turned to Rhimi and hushed her and Ella away. The little girl listened, but Rhimi stayed and stood out of their way with a determined look.

She watched Nenneke and her schoolmates tend to him, strip him off his clothes, clean and mend his wounds. She saw Nenneke recite a magical incantation to begin the repair process of Geralt's torn tendons. It hurt him because he bolted out and then kept whimpering. He was given some herbal remedies after which he calmed down. The room quieted.

"I told you to leave," Nenneke said to her, standing next to her. "And yet you stayed."

"Yes, I…" Rhimi's eyes were so glued to the witcher that she did not see her coming. "Will he be alright?"

Nenneke studied her for a moment.

"Will you?"

Rhimi shot her a glare then they both looked down at her shaking hands. She shook her head.

"Must be from the cold," she whispered an explanation. Both healers knew it wasn't.

"It's a few cracked bones, bruises, sprains and lacerations. He will be sore, his shoulder will take about a month to heal, might pain him for longer even… but he will be back to his lonely, brooding self before we know it."

"I presume I cannot stay and tend to him."

"You presume correct." Nenneke smiled. "Tomorrow though… A young mother-to-be arrived at the temple today. I expect her to deliver tomorrow. Would you like to join me and help deliver the child, or would you like to continue taking care of our witcher?"

Rhimi was puzzled.

"I'll let you think it over. Get some sleep first, then find me tomorrow."

Rhimi watched the priestess take a seat on the bed next to the witcher, she couldn't shake off the bewildered stare. Why couldn't she do both? Why did she have to choose only one? Rhimi released a hapless breath and with a one last look at the witcher who appeared to sleep peacefully, she left. Her clothes were wet from blood, dirty from the forest mud, stinking of sweat, but she was tired to the bone to care. The moment she hit the bed, she slept.

The night and the following day dragged on. Nenneke had a lot of work around the temple and irritably, she missed all her chances to speak with Geralt. During the day, she gathered all the information about what happened with every possible detail. She was looking forward to that conversation but each time she visited his room, he was asleep. Deeply, as if he hadn't slept for a week, which wasn't so far from the truth. However, the last hour, she knew he was merely pretending it. It was as she suspected, he was avoiding her.

She sat with him in silence, pretending she didn't know about his pretending and wondered how long it would be enough. She could tell the moment he woke up. His breath hitched, eyelids moved but stayed closed, his body tensed, and his face caught the slight line of pain.

He must have been thirsty, Nenneke thought, in pain and uncomfortable, but she knew that unless he really needed to piss or throw up, he wouldn't stop the charade. That was his self-control.

"Geralt, it is almost two hours now. Let's stop pretending."

The witcher's lips tightened and he slowly glared at her.

"Don't be surprised."

Geralt closed his eyes again.

"Back to it then, yes?" Nenneke really tried to not sound accusingly but his evading hurt her. She came to sit at his bed, offered him a drink, but he refused. "Please, Geralt."

"I am all ears." He said, inviting her to start off her typical flood of reasons and reproach.

Nenneke sighed. "You are such a child, Geralt, you know that? I did not come to scold you." He looked at her with disbelief. "Not only."

At last, the witcher smiled, slightly, but a smile it was.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Not that I counted, but we had to put dozens of stitches into you."

"Sounds like a lovely night."

Nenneke smirked. A lovely night indeed. "It may not have sounded like it, but it was not meant as scolding. In fact, I was surprised and… relieved that you came back with just a few cuts and bruises and one a smashed joint. When I saw you coming back on that cart, I thought… you were…" Nenneke trailed off, her voice wavering. "I was worried." She added when she regained her composure.

"I am sorry." Geralt said, reaching his purplish hand for hers. Nenneke took it, almost breaking down again, but she held herself well. "I was worried as well, leaving you here with Renaud and his bastards."

"Oh, please. They would not hurt me."

Geralt shrugged and winced. "Was everything alright then?"

Nenneke nodded. "He played his act of loving father. He told me that a witcher stole his daughter and wants to keep her for himself. He cried, sniffled. It was a really devastating sight."

"Hmm."

"Renaud told the same tale to the people in Brillen before he left for the temple. Half of them didn't believe Ella or Rhimi that you didn't. Some thought you compelled them to lie. Luckily, their hatred for Renaud was stronger than any hatred for you. So, they let you be."

Geralt scoffed. "Words travel fast, you already know more than me."

"I made Rhimi tell me every detail. She said, you massacred all his men. And the townsfolk took their usurper's life. Brillen is free now. A happy ending, one would call it."

"Is it not?"

"Geralt, how many have you killed? Six yesterday, ten in total? You said it yourself, words travel, maybe not fast, but when this word gets around, that witchers are killing humans now… what will happen then?"

Geralt looked at her, resigned. "We are already rejected by them. They already call us monsters. Nothing will change."

Shaking her head. "You shall hope."

They were silent for a while, an uncomfortable tension around them. Nenneke wished that the good townsfolk of Brillen would keep their story for themselves. It was quite possible, they had to deal with their own tragedy, and hopefully the boy and maybe even Ella could stop any bad rumors about the witcher that would harm his guild. More than that though, she wished, the witcher learned his lesson.

"That was it?" The witcher startled her from her thoughts. The priestess glared at him and stood up, her arms crossed.

"No. I will also torment you with my healing salves and tender touch. Let's get on it, there are lots of wounds in need of redressing."

Geralt rolled his eyes and groaned, little over dramatically, but obediently pulled his blanked down and let her take off the old bandages from his chest. Three cuts that he could see. One over his side, from the spearman, he recalled. One over his abdomen, a sword, one over his ribs, also a sword. He squirmed and felt an unpleasant itch on his back as well. He could not recall what or who caused it. There were more in his forearm and bicep, also no recollection. His legs, he didn't even want to find out. If only he had proper armor, he could have been saved from those unpleasantries. And there were lots indeed.

Unpleasant as it was, it was not that bad. What he was unhappy about was his shoulder. He didn't even have to ask Nenneke to know it was going to be out of commission for quite some time. He knew he would have to take it slowly and train pathetic basic arm movements before even taking a sword into his hand. He scoffed, recalling how that shoulder was the initial reason for his visit to the temple. Ridiculous irony, that he would leave the temple with a shoulder in considerably worse shape than it was originally. Oh well, he had only himself to blame.

A week later, Geralt was sitting in the gardens of Melitele, enjoying the view, fresh air and the first droplets of snow. The temperature drop did no good to his injuries, but he needed to adjust to the winter anyway. Sooner or later, he would be within the cold walls of the witcher keep.

"In a week, the mountains to Kaer Morhen will be nasty to cross," Nenneke said, joining him on the bench.

"You want to get rid of me already?"

"No, Geralt, the opposite." She touched his arm that was still bound tightly to his chest. "You may winter here. It's warmer. Your shoulder needs further therapy. And it would make some of my girls very happy." She winked.

Geralt chuckled. "I've made some admirers, indeed."

Nenneke nodded and narrowed her eyes. "Was it worth it, though?"

An irritation flashed over his face. Even though the little girl Ella, and all students that tended to him, saw him as a hero. Nenneke didn't. Not even a bit. And he wanted her approval the most.

"I can't help but feel it was the right thing to do, Nenneke. Why can't you see it?"

"And why can't you? When you were still under the influence of a fever, you admitted your mistake, remember?"

"That's not fair," Geralt said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"You were lucky this time. Lucky to be close to a place where you could receive help. Imagine if-"

"It would have been probably messier, I realize that. But I would go through with this again if it meant saving the girl. Saving lives."

"Geralt, you were meant to fight monsters. Not humans."

The witcher sighed with resignation. As if he didn't know that. But what could he do?

"I agree with you. You did the right thing, but you didn't choose the right path to get things done. Driven by your pride and anger, lust for revenge, you went to fight humans and almost died. If that boy didn't get you out of the town, you could have been dead now. And then again, without the help of the townsfolk-"

Nenneke saw Geralt's expression harden. She didn't mean to anger him, but he had to hear it.

"You saved them, yes. But they had to save you back."

Geralt was silent, his jaw and fist clenched.

"Don't take me wrong, Geralt. I meant well." Nenneke looked at him and sighed. She knew she was walking on thin ice. She joined him to offer him to stay in the winter. Instead, she started on the very subject that irritated him and pushed him to leave even earlier. Inwardly, she slapped herself. "I'll shut up about it from now on. Promise," She shifted closer and stroked his back. "And don't think of leaving here before you are cleared to leave. Or I'll sell Roach."

Geralt didn't really appreciate her witticism after the conversation they shared, but he decided to repress any exasperation he felt towards her now. He wouldn't change her mind and maybe he didn't even want to. That she cared had to be enough.

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me. Now, you may continue your brooding for a bit, but don't be late for your evening treatment."

He took her advice and brooded. He pondered over her words until his bones were frozen and aching joints drove him to seek warmth. By the end of the day, he began to see the reason behind Nenneke's words, but he knew some situations just didn't allow him to not get involved. It wasn't always his choice. Sometimes he couldn't even choose the path, the path chose him. That was how life worked. Like for Rhimi, who abandoned her desire to become a midwife, because life chose healing arts for her instead. Or for Ella, who decided to stay in the temple permanently, because Brillen would always bring back the bad memories. Or for Nenneke, who always chose not to scold, but scolded anyway in the end.

And for himself, who could choose to not get involved over and over, but eventually he would always be pulled into something and one way or the other, gotten involved.

Finito

I hope I wrapped it up nicely and gave someone some good whumpy feels :D I also hope there will be some more gen (or canonship :D ) stories to read or the 2 years of waiting for new episodes will be too loong.
I'd love to read about the time Yen and Geralt met the second time which was skipped in the show, I imagine it could fit quite well into a whumpy setting, haha. Or I'd welcome exploring more about Vesemir and Geralt, I'd guess that Vesemir would be similarly scolding like Nenneke.)) Or even about Visenna and Geralt, that trope is completely lacking and there was such a lovely inspiration in S1. I also love monster of the week stories with Jaskier, unless someone puts the two in bed together :D
I might sound pathetic, but so what. Geralt needs more whump and thats all that matters!

Many thanks to those who read this little thing and liked it!