One boring little chapter. I kinda wanted to keep it for myself or delete it but here we are :D

Not much of rest was granted to the witcher before the dawn came. It wasn't only the fever that kept him awake. The medicine he was given helped and his shivers calmed. But wild dreams hunted him, and the anticipation of the morning tormented him too. Every time he opened his eyes and saw darkness around, he felt relief, thankful that the morning still hadn't come. But it was harder and harder to immerse back into sleep. Sweat kept his skin wet, including the bedsheet he was lying in, his shoulder throbbed and felt wrong. All in all, he was held in a high level of discomfort.

One time he woke up and saw the first light pushing through the dark blue sky. He sighed, the trepidation of what was ahead of him left heaviness in his gut. He did try to find the bright sides as he was reminded there always were some. He found a few. First, he wasn't dead. Second, the tormenting night might finally come to an end. And a third, even if it meant more pain to get over the feverish state, he might get some peaceful sleep after that.

"What is the time," Geralt rasped. He didn't see the student, but he felt Rhimi's presence as she moved on the wooden floor.

"It's one hour till dawn, you can still try to get some rest." The student whispered and she appeared at his bed.

"Hmm."

Geralt didn't want to fall asleep again. He was tense. Tense in muscles, as he tried to avoid even the slightest movement, and tense in nerves.

"Your sleep was calm the last twenty minutes. Just try."

A cold rug was gently placed on his face, washing away the sweat and cooling his hot skin. It offered a few seconds of salvation, but it warmed up too quickly.

"Are you enjoying watching others sleep?" Geralt's voice was slow and weary more than reproachful.

"I…" the student faltered. "It's part of the task."

Geralt snorted. Rhimi kept cooling his neck and chest with the cloth until he shivered. She put aside the cloth then and just watched him.

"I don't enjoy it, but I don't mind it."

There was a long minute of silence.

"Aren't you tired?" the witcher asked, sensing her eyes on him.

The student spooked, thinking he was already asleep.

"Or is Nenneke punishing you still?" It didn't go unnoticed, that the girl spent the day and night at his bedside.

Rhimi laughed shortly. "No."

"You're a human, you need your sleep. Nenneke should let you have it."

"I wished to stay."

The witcher hummed and looked at her. "Why do you care?"

"I am a healer, care is what we do. And you've gotten worse under my watch."

"You are just a student."

Rhimi sighed, stood up and walked away to the back of the room where Geralt couldn't see her.

It wasn't Geralt's intention to offend the girl at all. The opposite, he wanted a conversation. With her previous resistance to his moods and to his not very great social skills, he didn't even expect her to take the offense. All he wanted was to blow off his thoughts. Well done, witcher, Geralt thought and sighed too.

"Rhimi," the witcher called and suppressing a grunt he stirred in her direction.

"Do you need something?" came in Rhimi's reply as she stepped into his vision.

Even though she tried to hide it and even though his vision was unusually blurred by the effects of his fever, Geralt could see the exasperation on her face

"It wasn't an insult."

"I didn't take it as such." The girl lied, obviously. "I thought you needed peace. To sleep."

He wasn't going to admit that he was in desperate need of a companion, not more disturbed sleep. So, he simply said: "No."

Rhimi stared at him awkwardly, then cleared her throat and sat down next to him.

"Imagine that the girl you brought here, Ella, snuck out of her room last night in pursuit of you. She wants to hire you to kill her father."

Geralt frowned. "That's… sad."

"Indeed. She's barely 10 years old, no child should deal with this burden. But would you? Take her contract?"

"Witchers can't accept contracts to kill humans."

"Even if they are evil?"

Geralt would gladly make an exception, but what would that make of him? "Yes."

"So, what can be done for the little girl?"

Geralt didn't know yet and before he could start looking for an answer, the door opened and Nenneke came in with Stelle and a basket of supplies.

The time had passed quickly and the witcher didn't even notice the sun was now shining through the windows. His gut twitched at first sight of the priestess as he knew she would bring him more pain.

Nenneke hoped that maybe his body would fight off the infection without any invasive intervention. He looked a tad better than during the night. His eyes were more alert, and his body less shaky. But after examining him closer, she had no doubt he was still very much ailing.

"Feeling any better?"

Geralt faintly shrugged.

Nenneke felt his forehead and peeked under the bandaged shoulder. Studying the wound, she grimaced.

"Any improvement?" Geralt asked.

"None, I'm afraid."

The witcher slowly exhaled, a distress evident on his face. His body tensed and new beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as the priestess pressed her fingers slightly at his inflamed shoulder.

"Don't worry, Geralt," Nenneke ran her hand through his disheveled hair that kept clinging to his face. "Let's get it over with." Nenneke stood up and began to work, mandating her students.

They moved a large table under one of the windows, boiled cauldrons of water, sanitized tools, prepared bandages, and mixed herbs. The witcher watched the scene with unpleasant anticipation and tight chest.

"Geralt. I need you to move onto the table. The light is better below the window and your bed sheet needs to be changed anyway. Can you sit up?"

The witcher grumbled and started raising his body up from the mattress. Nenneke came to help. Sit up was as much as he could go just by himself. His thigh was healing, but the process was far from finished and he couldn't put his full weight on it.

The leg wasn't the only obstacle. His shoulder was protesting against any change of position too. He held his right arm close to his body, trying to prevent any movement but that effort was not enough to keep the arm stable. He attempted to stand up, then cursed. As if it wasn't enough, his blood pressure dropped, and he had to fight the black dots in his vision.

"Just sit for a bit, Geralt," the priestess advised, watching his face go a shade paler.

"I'm fine," Geralt retorted, trying to balance the dizziness.

"You were lying in bed for two days now, you have to take it slowly."

"Fuck," Geralt growled. He felt pathetic.

Nenneke sat next to him and waited for him to get some color back into his face.

"Come now, you look better," she said.

Second attempt went well, and Geralt stood straight on his good leg. He swayed a bit and held onto Nenneke to stabilize himself. Once confident enough, he nodded at her that he was ready to walk.

Even with the support of Nenneke from one side, every single step meant putting some weight on his torn thigh muscle. Geralt had to bite his lip to conceal grunts of pain that wanted escape with every step. So pathetic.

Midway, he had to stop.

He was sure he would buckle down if he made another step. Gritting his teeth, he bent over, hand crossing his stomach as it burned with fresh pain.

Nenneke patted his back and guided him forward. "Halfway there."

If his shoulder wasn't in such bad shape, the process of walking would have been much easier, with a supporter on each side, but he couldn't handle being touched near his right arm. So, the journey across the moderately large room was longer than anyone would expect. Geralt basically dropped his body onto the table when they reached it and lay down on his back with a curse that just came out as an exhausted groan.

"Come on, on your side." Nenneke commanded and helped him find the right position. She put a small pillow under his head and gave him a thin blanket to make him more comfortable.

"What now?" Geralt asked when his breathing was almost normal, and the world stopped swaying.

"Now just stay still like this and relax."

As if that was an option, the witcher thought and grimaced.

"The first part won't be that bad," the priestess said, reading the qualm from his body. "We will just place some hot compresses over the wound."

"Hot?"

"Yes," the priestess replied. "It will help to open up the wound."

"Sounds splendid," Geralt rolled his eyes. "Can you give me some of those good trunq herbs of yours?"

"Of course, I will." Nenneke retreated from the table and was soon back to give him a sip of some distasteful concoction. "Although you already sound like you're on drugs."

Geralt recognized the taste, he had been given this the first night. He knew it wouldn't send him into sleep. There was no harmless herb that would safely sedate a witcher. This had to be enough.

His whole body already felt three times heavier than usual when they placed the first compress over the entry wound on his back. He hissed, surprised by the actual heat of cloth. It hurt for a second, but it faded quickly, and the warmth actually felt nice.

They refreshed the cloth with new, hotter ones every few minutes and although that the compress itself wasn't much painful, Geralt noticed that his shoulder was more and more sensitive and tender as the blood flow around the wound was quicker.

The current compress was removed and instead of a new one, there was a touch of a hand.

"That's enough," said the priestess.

Geralt braced himself with a deep breath. He couldn't see what was happening behind him, but all three women were stacked there. But he expected that the next part wouldn't be this pleasant. He turned his head and had to squint his eyes as the sun blinded him. He caught a glimpse of red edges of the wound and saw pus oozing out.

"Don't look and don't stir."

He laid down back onto the pillow and waited. His hand clenched into a tight fist as Nenneke started poking around the sensitive wound. She stretched it, pressed, rinsed it with water, prodded it with a stick with linen at the end of it. He had to flinch with the last jab.

"Geralt! I need you to stay very still."

Of course, she would scold him. A thin and sharp instrument slid into the wound, inevitably poking the sensitive nerve endings. His body tensed and he pressed himself into the table to steady himself. To keep the pained noises to himself, he held his breath. The wound, provoked, hurt relentlessly even when Nenneke stopped.

"Most of the dirt is gone. Now I have to flush the wound."

Geralt smelled the vinegar and his stomach turned. He hated vinegar. He hated the smell and hated when it touched damaged skin. He took some deep breaths, but it was only making him sicker. The priestess tilted so he could see her from the side and removed a few strands from his face.

"Just relax, Geralt."

He groaned, annoyed. "It is not like you are… giving me a massage."

Nenneke raised her eyebrows. Geralt knew he just set the ball for her. "If you hadn't been such a reckless idiot, I could have. You are the architect of your destiny. Now hang on."

There it was. This time though, more than stern and scolding, she sounded amused. Geralt released a breath and buried his face into the table. He jerked at the ice-cold touch of the vinegar water and then groaned into the wooden desk as his shoulder was flooded by acidic pain. When the flow stopped, it still burned, spreading down to the bones. Before he could recover, Nenneke repeated the process.

It felt like gallons of vinegar had flowed inside the wound and out and Geralt had to whimper as first unexpected shivers ran through his body. He shook and his arm moved with it, sending familiar waves of deep, blunt pain.

"I will just use water now, to ease the burning, just hold on," Nenneke said softly, running a hand through his wet hair.

Water was better, although at start it meant no difference and it hit his flesh with the same sting. And his feverish body shivered further, leaving Geralt no choice but to withstand it with grinding teeth and rolled up eyes.

Eventually, the priestess let the wound dry. She pulled the blanket a little higher, and while it gave a little comfort, it didn't help with the shivers. The fever was fighting its way back up from where it was buried, and Geralt was exhausted. Unlike the morning, he wished for blissful sleep.

"Is it done now?" he asked, letting his eyelids close. The sharp pain raging though his shoulder slowly subdued down to quite annoying but manageable throb.

"Not yet. You will not like this, but we will do the same as with your leg, place a fiber dipped in the healing salve inside the wound and change it every few hours. If needed, more vinegar or alcohol."

Geralt suppressed a whimper and rolled his eyes under his eyelids. Few more seconds, and the fiber nipped the oversensitive flesh and left stinging trails of pain. He reached his good hand to his shoulder as if to help contain the pain inside, to make it smaller. It provided no help.

"Soon done," said Nenneke in a comforting voice. "We have to pray for this to help. And you must not move with that arm at all. That swelling is dangerous to tendons in your shoulder, dangerous to the joint. You have to stay lying on your side."

Nenneke walked to stand in front of him and let her student bandage the wound.

"I won't make it onto the bed," Geralt said with unease.

"I will get you a blanket then. You can move there after you feel stronger."

Geralt was already trying to fall into blissful sleep.

"Get some rest," Nenneke said, squeezing his hand. "I have to leave you now. Rhimi will stay and change the fiber in a few hours."

Geralt nodded, only half listening to what she said. He tensed as a blanket was tossed over him and made him shiver. The table was hard and uncomfortable but exhausted from the constant pain and lulled by the warmth the blanket provided, he fell asleep.

Rhimi spent a lot of time with Geralt the past three days. Most of the time the witcher was sleeping and she tried to study, read books and recipes for medicine. Or watch the moonlit sky. This time, her eyes were tired from the lack of light though, and even when the sun pushed the darkness out, she couldn't get anything else into her focus except the witcher. She watched his restless sleep with concern. He probably wouldn't approve, but she didn't care.

Even when she was told, it wasn't her fault, and even though she knew it deep inside, it really was not her fault, she felt like she should have done more for him. She was given a mutated, faster healing patient to tend to, badly injured but still an easy task. Easier than most humans. And he had gotten worse. It only made sense to her to take responsibility for it. He seemed to be on the mend again, but the fever was still persistent, and his sleep was disturbed by it.

The first day she spent with him, Geralt slept with only a sporadic moan of discomfort when changing a position. When the fever came, it changed. His eyes wavered under the closed eyelids, his forehead was glowering, and his fists clenched tight every now and then. The young student was sure that the witcher got no peace in his slumber. The opposite. This was the third time he seemed to be dreaming vividly.

She hesitated whether to wake him from the unpleasant dream.

Nenneke said he needed the sleep, it allowed him to heal, and it kept his pain away, but… He would have to be woken soon anyway.

"No," the witcher cried out in his sleep and his body twitched. A nightmare now. The girl sat closer and touched his muggy face, ready to call out his name and wake him.

"Don't," came from the door before she could call out his name. Rhimi jumped away, startled.

Nenneke stood in the doorway.

"Don't wake him."

"He's having a nightmare." The girl tried to explain.

The priestess stepped in, watching the restless figure on the bed

"Never try waking up a witcher in the middle of a nightmare."

"But-"

"If you want to keep all your teeth and pretty face."

"Hm," Rhimi replied, not at all convinced. She thought Nenneke was exaggerating. She had to wake him up dozens of times and the witcher had never attacked her even when he was restless. His face was many times confused, or angry or even scared, but he had never thrown himself at her. Nor Stelle, who switched the shifts with her.

"Quite likely, he is dreaming about an enemy, do you understand? No, it is not good for him to trash around, but if you need to wake him, you must keep your range. You can't cure his injuries when you alone acquire some."

"Understood."

Nenneke nodded at her and looked over at the witcher again. Their silent voices seemed to calm the agitation and Geralt breathed almost at ease and without twitching.

"See? Sometimes even voices help." Nenneke commented, checking him over. "Fever is dropping. You did a good job, Rhimi, but you should go to bed or you'll fall with a fever as well."

Rhimi bit her lip and stood up. "Please, mother Nenneke, don't send me away after telling me words of approval. It only reverses them. I am not tired and I want… I need to see him get well."

"And you will." Nenneke hasn't had many students who defied her, and she didn't enjoy it. At least this time, Rhimi learned her lesson and was cultivated about it. "You and I both want to see him get well. But it won't be tonight, or tomorrow, you cannot keep yourself up that long."

The student looked dejected but nodded.

"Come back in the morning, it is not so long from now."

"Of course."

Rhimi turned to leave. Before she opened the door, Geralt's alarmed eyes snapped open. He sat up in the bed and shouted the name Ella.

TBC