Prompts used:
- NO. 11 "911, WHAT'S YOUR EMERGENCY?" - Self-Done first aid
- NO. 15 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE - New Scars
- NO. 19 ENOUGH IS ENOUGH
- Alt. 11 Stabbed

Chapter I

His senses came back slowly. First was the scent or herbs and fresh linen. Second – the damp cloth on his forehead, low enough to cover his eyes as well. Third was the pain. He tried to move and his breath hitched as his left side flared up.

"Ah, finally!"

Geralt blinked as the cloth was removed. The voice was familiar and one he dearly wished to hear in his current situation. Nenneke, the priestess in the temple of Melitele, was the one he had hoped to reach. It seemed he had somehow succeeded, though the last thing he remembered was slow, painful ride with growing dread that he would not make it to Ellander in time. He couldn't recall actually reaching the temple, but is seemed he had.

"I-," he tried to push himself up and felt the last bit of blood drain from his face as the pain returned with all its violence. His instinct was to curl back, arm wrapped protectively around his abdomen, hand pressed to the gaping holes at his side. He felt thick bandages under his fingers, the nauseating feeling suddenly overwhelming everything but pain.

"No, no, don't! It's too-"

"-Geralt? Oh, come now."

He felt warm, plump fingers patting at his cheek. He fought with his heavy lids and blinked, but his mind was too foggy to adjust his pupils. Geralt squinted and saw Nenneke leaning over him, one hand keeping him firmly in place, the other still on his face.

"What-?" His throat felt like sandpaper.

"You back with me? Good. Don't try to move just yet, everything is still so fresh. Here." The priestess raised his head a bit and pressed a mug to his lips. He drank greedily despite the awful, sour taste of the drink. It wasn't worse than his potions and seemed to work just as well.

Once the pain dulled a little, Geralt finally managed to focus his gaze on Nenneke. She looked weary, dark circles under her eyes standing out against her pale face, but her eyes were lively as ever and her cheeks flushed with anger. She gained more weight since he had last seen her, but her movements were swift and energetic as always, despite her obvious weariness. Gone was her long braid and the robes she wore were different shade than he had known. Geralt remembered how she used to wrap her braid around her head to keep it out of her way. Now her hair was shorter, put in an elegant bun. His brain finally supplied him with information where he had seen the robes she was wearing. Oh, he realised. Mother superior. She was no longer one of the priestesses responsible for tutoring healers. She was the head of the temple.

He must have looked even less lucid than he felt, because Nenneke cupped his face again.

"Geralt? No, don't fall asleep just yet, I need to redress the wounds and a little cooperation from your part would be appreciated. Tell me, what was that? Shall I worry about poisoning as well?"

"No," the witcher whispered. "Griffin's claws. I cleaned it."

"Alright, I want you to turn on your right," Nenneke slid one hand under his back. "Don't try to do it on your own, just work with me. You somehow managed to keep your intestines inside you and I would like them to stay like that. A griffin? A mere griffin managed to grab you in half like that? What were you trying to kill it with? A spoon?"

Horizontal change of position didn't cost him as much, but he still sucked a breath as Nenneke touched his side. Glancing down, he could see red spots on the dressings covering the deep puncture wounds the claws had left. He was glad the griffin hadn't managed to tear the whole part of flesh from his side. He wouldn't have managed to patch that up well enough to even hope to reach Ellander.

"I went after one. There were two. And a young one," Geralt explained. "I wanted to deal with them anyway. Be done, go on."

"So you were cocky. Look where it left you." A stream of curses left Nenenke's mouth as she finally removed the bandages. "No, don't you move!" She hissed sharply as Geralt couldn't stop a painful whimper and tried to roll back. "Don't make it worse!"

Even if he wanted to oppose her, he had no strength to do so. Nenneke worked on his wounds, cleaning them and swearing at fresh blood that stained the cloth she was using. Geralt focused on his breathing, trying slow and calm his heartbeat. Both were too fast and shallow for a witcher.

After what seemed like forever, Nenneke wrapped him up again and let him rest. Geralt sighed in relief and swallowed, trying to get rid of the metallic taste of blood from his bitten lip.

"You still awake? Good. I want you to try and eat a bit." Nenneke covered him back with blankets and carefully propped him up with additional pillows. Geralt tried to cooperate, but his head lolled against his will; it seemed impossible to keep it up. Nenneke sighed and sat at the edge of the bed, supporting his head to feed him. The witcher feared his stomach would rebel, but the broth was mild and warm. The process was painfully slow and humiliating. Frankly, he found himself too weak to really care.

A little food seemed to work wonders and at least the nauseating feeling was gone. Nenneke helped Geralt lie down back on his uninjured side and the witcher watched her lazily as she cleaned her tools and picked the bloodied bandages. After a moment of silence she caught his gaze and her expression hardened.

"One more thing, Geralt. What possessed you to take those drugs of yours? You came here quite idiotically high considering your state."

Geralt rasped. "Couldn't bear riding," he admitted. "Had to stay awake somehow."

"Well, you didn't come here exactly lucid," Nenneke scoffed. "A group of merchants you met on the road brought you here two days ago, barely conscious, hanging on your horse like a sack of grain. Don't look so surprised, people around know witchers come here for healing and learning, you're hardly the only one."

"Nice change," he muttered sourly.

"That didn't exactly answer my question."

"Ran out of painkillers," Geralt winced.

Nenneke's nostrils flared dangerously. "What do you mean you ran out of? I don't know about your witcher tutors, but I sure remember teaching you better than that."

Geralt winced. "Had a rough month."

"Yes, I've seen." Nenneke shook her head in admonishment. "What did they stitch you that with? Twine?" She pointed at the fresh scar running a little below his right shoulder blade and down to the ribs. The skin was still pinkish, the edges rough and uneven.

"Nothing," Geralt replied. "I couldn't reach it, and-," he winced again and looked away. The memory still stung, despite everything.

Vesemir had warned him, warned them all before they set off, each on his own. He has warned them people would likely either hire them or spit at their sight. Geralt had quickly learned not to play the valiant knight. Still, so far the people he dealt with were suspicious but civil enough, so it came as an unpleasant surprise when he returned to the village with the head of the wyvern and was told to leave as soon as he was reluctantly paid. Nobody seemed to care he came back bleeding and they refused to help him. Geralt left then, preferring to set his camp in some secluded spot where he wouldn't have to watch his back constantly. He patched himself up, then spent there the next few miserable days before he felt good enough to travel. The wound healed quickly, though not as neatly as it would have, had it been taken care of. Hence Nenneke's obvious displeasure.

"And?" The priestess was clearly waiting.

Geralt told her briefly what happened, finding out that keeping his eyes open was becoming harder and harder. A full stomach, along with pain dulling potion and the warm blanket tugged around him made the prospect of undisturbed sleep irresistible.

"Fools and barbarians," Nenneke placed the mug angrily enough to slosh a bit of broth. She sighed. "Well, I'm not letting you out of here until you are healed. Rest now, I will check on you later."