Ward of Kaer Morhen – Chapter 2

Nym faded in and out of sleep, the burning in her shoulder had kept her from fully drifting off. Images of the previous evening kept playing in her mind, so she had tried to count hoofbeats instead. That had proven to be rather useless in preventing her from imagining the monster that had scrabbled upstairs in the dead of night, knocking out the lamp and tearing into her shoulder. How badly she wished she could have screamed then. Not just from pain, but from fear and desperation. That desperation had helped her reach for the nearest weapon and jam it deep into the creature's neck repeatedly, causing it to screech in a manner that had sent her reeling. Griffins had occasionally been seen by their distant neighbours, their nests high in the Kestrel mountains. Fledgling griffins were known to sporadically attack farmsteads in the area when it came time to leave their nests, often making off with livestock.

She bent her head to lean into the solid surface in front of her. Between bouts of sleep, it came to mind that the surface was in fact Geralt, the Witcher who had unchained her from the attic after the monster attack. She had heard of Witchers, mostly from nasty stories told by Teruin. They were mutants, he had said. Unemotional beasts of made of human body parts, only useful for killing the monsters that plagued the Continent. 'They stink of rotting flesh,' Teruin had jeered.

Nym took another cautious breath in, but there was no such odor. Granted, they probably both needed to bathe, but the Witcher currently smelled like firewood and horse. Altogether not terrible, she decided. Teruin had a tendency to be hyperbolic. It was yet to be seen, but she felt as though her life was in the process of being saved by Geralt the Witcher. He had scared her initially in the attic, but he had been too sincere not to trust for the time being. Nym appreciated sincerity, especially since it wasn't common in her day to day life. The Salskin household had been a tough place to grow up, and was full of harsh realities. Nym had often wondered why her father had taken her in at all, but decided that now was not the time to give it thought. He'd likely think she had tried to run off again, and succeeded this time. Some part of her was starting to become paralyzed with fear at the thought of going back… Or was it just because she was cramping up? She tried to adjust herself, but there were only so many ways to sit behind a man on a horse.

"Awake?" Came Geralt's distinct voice, cutting clear into her fog and jolting her upright.

"There's water in the skin on your right, in the pack." Nym groggily reached for the waterskin, grateful for the taste of cool water. Her throat had a tendency to feel like it was constantly full of straw.

"There's a village nearby, we can be there by morning. We need to stop and clean your shoulder first."

Nym nodded to herself, casting a wary glance at her shoulder. It looked awful, but the thick protective salve needed to be washed off and re-applied. She wished she had thought to bring another shirt, this one was torn and bloody. The linen corset she had on underneath was thankfully intact.

Geralt guided the horses into a wooded embankment off of the road and dismounted. Further into the woods was a tiny clearing surrounding a small pond. Nym held fast to the horse's saddle, feeling the sudden lack of support. He crouched by the water and scanned the area quickly with his black eyes. He offered her his hand, helping her dismount from the horse. She leaned on him, her lungs working hard to keep her conscious and standing. He guided her towards a large fallen log so she could rest. Nym closed her eyes, vaguely aware of Geralt draping another cloak over her.

A few hours later, pink and blue hues had started colouring the end-of-summer sky. A few bird calls sounded in the glade. Geralt sat by the edge of the pond, chewing on a piece of stale bread. He had made an inconspicuous fire in order to heat water as the girl's wound needed to be cleaned and re-dressed before they headed into the village. He'd be able to buy a poultice and some food for her there.

Now that his potion had worn off, he could see her properly in the growing light of the morning. Hood up, and slumped against the log, she looked particularly fragile. Another cloak covered her as a makeshift blanket. Under the hood and cloak, her skin was a rich olive tone. Geralt could see wisps of dark brown hair coming undone from her braid. He wondered about her eyes, which were framed by thick lashes and distinct dark circles. He looked back over at the stallion they had brought with them. The beast was enormous, and its coat was an impressive tan and black buckskin. The two horses grazed side by side as the sun rose lazily over the glade.

"Beast. Hmm..." Geralt muttered to himself. It seemed like a fitting name for the animal.

Nym opened her tired eyes at the sound of his voice. Beast nickered, ambling towards her to snuffle her hair and face. She held his broad cheek briefly, and then winced at the pain in her shoulder.

"Morning," Geralt turned, meeting her fatigued hazel eyes and trying not to stare. She returned his gaze, then did a quick scan of their surroundings.

"I've boiled water, we can clean your shoulder when you're ready," He said, removing the small pot from the fire.

Nym got up awkwardly, testing her strength. Her shoulder felt like hell, but the rest of her was alright, if a little creaky from the nap. The horses seemed content, and had eaten. Her own stomach was starting to growl for a fruit or some bread and cheese. She wondered how long she had until she was discovered and dragged back home. Hopefully long enough to fit in a meal. She slipped off the traveling robe gingerly, her horse following her to the edge of the pond. Bending down, she dipped her hands into the pool and rinsed them in the cool water. She splashed some on her face and wiped it off, reaching back to release her hair from the braid. She stood and stretched out her sore muscles. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Witcher tearing the cloth bandages into shorter strips.

She wondered what she'd ask him if she could. Perhaps, 'Why is your hair white?' or 'Are there any women Witchers?'. Trying to talk in gestures had normally resulted in being ignored, so she decided not to pursue conversation. She had come up with a rudimentary 'sign language' of her own, but her family only used the same handful of signs to tell her what they wanted. Nym often had dreams where she spoke out loud, or held conversations. The dreams helped her feel like she could do it one day if she tried hard enough. Her father usually described her to people as 'simple', which she had started understanding as a compliment. She was simple. She had a place to sleep, work to do and a few basic pleasures in life. One of the pleasures of the last few years however, was running away. She was beaten badly anytime she got caught, but each escapade led to memories she replayed often. Nym felt like she was making a very distinct memory this morning.

"You can sit down here," the Witcher said, gesturing to the spot where he'd gathered all the materials to re-dress the wound.

"Remove your arm from the shirt, if you can." He started soaking a cloth in water, his own sleeves pulled back to expose his powerful arms. Strands of silver hair fell into his face as he frowned in concentration. His startling amber eyes seemed to soften slightly as he began the task of washing her shoulder. Nym very carefully removed her aching arm, tucking the shirt around her to keep her covered. She flinched as he took hold of her, then settled. The water was still quite hot, the cuts ached and bled anew as he cleaned the salve and crusted blood off. Nym looked away, her arm outstretched and covered in goosebumps from the temperature of the water.

Geralt kept a healthy distance between himself and the girl while cleaning her shoulder, gently but firmly rubbing at the skin. The fine bones in her neck and collar were quite evident from this distance, she was too thin. And she had flinched at his touch… She had been treated quite poorly by her 'family'. He frowned, unintentionally rubbing her skin harder. She pulled her arm back at the sudden pain.

"I'm sorry," he stopped rubbing, meeting her eyes. Her gaze didn't waver an ounce, to his surprise. Not even the first time she had looked into his yellow eyes, after the potion had worn off. Most people avoided looking directly at Witchers because of their mutation. Their eyes were too peculiar, too inhuman. Other men seemed intimidated or disgusted by him. The women he bedded seemed to treat it as a passing fancy which they'd revisit out of convenience when he stopped in their cities. He recalled a time where a courtesan had actually moaned the word 'Witcher' aloud. The person in front of him, however, did not seem concerned or intolerant about the colour of his eyes, hair, or the abundance of scars flecking his face and arms. She mostly seemed curious, her head was tilted slightly and her blinks were slow and patient. His eyes traveled down cautiously to her lips, which were full and soft. He drew back at once, feeling his self-control start to waver. He cursed at himself mentally, unsure as to why he was responding this way.

Nym quirked her brows. Geralt stood up and discarded the bloody cloth, turning towards Roach to rummage in his pack. He returned with nothing and methodically completed the task of drying her off, reapplying the salve and fresh bandages.

"The village is close, I'll be able to buy a poultice and some food." He said tersely.

Nym nodded slowly. Had she done something? Perhaps she was staring. Geralt was a difficult person not to look at, especially when he was looking back at her with eyes like live coals. She had little to no experience being around men outside of her family, but she had seen enough of them to know that the Witcher was very different. She was accustomed to men leering at her from a distance and whispering between themselves. Teruin and Ryffon's friends were the worst of the lot. She had been pawed at and cornered a few times before, when he had brought them home after a hunt. She was twenty one now, and although she was of a marriable age, her Father insisted that no one would ever want a mute. She had conceded, this was fair. Regardless, if men were anything like Teruin's friends or the villagers she had encountered, she wasn't very enthusiastic about the prospect of being wed.

Geralt packed up the rest of the supplies and mounted Roach, extending his hand. Nym gave her stallion a rueful look.

"We can buy you a bridle and saddle for the Beast if we see one," Geralt smirked, looking back at her.

Nym patted her horse in apology. She wanted to tell Geralt that she didn't need a bridle or a saddle to ride, but it wasn't worth discussing when she was this hungry. She tugged her cloak on and got up behind Geralt.

The village turned out to be one she'd visited before, on one of the occasions she had run away. She wasn't sure of the name of it, something starting with a B. Breeches? Breezes. No, it was Beeches.

Beeches was barely a village and more of a settlement. It contained one single tavern and an adjoined stable. A few women from the area came to the settlement in the mornings to sell homemade wares, produce and clothing. Nym's inquisitive eyes spotted herbs, apples, honey and fresh farm cheeses on display. Her stomach growled in protest. There was a small crowd milling around the main courtyard, browsing the products on display. They tied up the horses and entered the courtyard.

"Mutant…"

"The Salskin girl..?"

"Deformity.."

"Monster.."

"Fuck," he whispered. Nym knotted her brows, hearing her father's name as they walked through the courtyard. This wasn't far enough from home. She pulled the hood up tight around her. Why were they calling Geralt such ugly names? She scowled into the hood. He was a stranger, but he was not a monster. She had encountered one recently enough to know that. She had a sudden urge to grab his hand, which she resisted.

"Is your family likely to come after you?" Asked Geralt, under his breath. She nodded.

"Do you want to go back home? Do you have any friends or other family nearby?" She shook her head.

"Are they the violent type..?" She nodded hesitantly. Teruin was a few inches shy of Geralt's towering height and was very fond of his axe.

"I'm assuming you don't want me to kill them?" He asked, a hint of a joke in his eyes.

She nodded, then quickly shook her head. Geralt chuckled at the miscommunication.

"Let's make this quick. We'll have to set up another camp farther away from the more frequently travelled roads." She nodded firmly.

"We can figure out a safe place for you after that…" He said, his voice trailing off.

Nym raised a brow under her hood. What did that mean? A cabin in the woods? A cloister of some sort?

They entered the tavern, Nym watched hungrily as Geralt purchased some meat pies. She followed him like a shadow as he visited a few vendors to purchase apples, carrots for the horses, some potatoes, barley and onions to cook with. They located an older woman selling herbs and tonics who made up a few sachets of herbs to grind for poultices. Nym idly picked up a few small tonics in amber glass vials as Geralt paid. Something for pain… something for a sore throat...

"You can just keep that one, dear," the woman said, smiling at her reassuringly. Nym read the handwritten label and quickly stuffed it into her cloak pocket. Geralt glowered at the older woman, registering the source of Nym's embarrassment. He strode away towards the horses, Nym behind him.

"Here, buy yourself some more clothes if you like," he said, passing her some coins. Nym looked over at the woman selling simple dresses and shirts. She couldn't remember the last time she had had a dress. She picked up a beige flax shirt, a belt, some simple trousers along with a needle and thread so she could alter them.

"I'd be careful with that one if I were you," came a voice from behind her. It was an older man, balding, with slightly crooked teeth.

"That's no ordinary Witcher. That there's the White Wolf."

Nym must have looked confused, because he kept going.

"You're better off without his company, girl. He's an emotionless brute, the worst of them. He'll use you as his playth-"

He was interrupted by a shadow looming above the two of them.

"Fascinating story. Any chance you're nearing the end?" Geralt bit out. Nym smiled lopsidedly as he ushered her back to the horses. A few villagers had stopped to admire Beast, who looked as though he was ready to kick them into oblivion at any given moment. Geralt cleared his throat as he packed the clothes away.

"I say we take the route South as planned," he said a little too loudly, biting into an apple. He handed Nym one as well. She bit into it hungrily, savouring the crunch.

"We'll reach Lyria in a few days time, there are plenty of places to stop in Aedirn." He glanced at the villagers who were pretending not to listen. Nym nodded curtly and began to untie the cranky stallion, feeding him the rest of her apple.

They mounted Roach and made a show of riding South towards Aedirn. Nym took off her hood so the villagers could confirm that it was her they had seen. Once there was a fork in the road, Geralt turned the horses around entirely. Nym assumed that they were heading North again, judging by the vast mountain ranges that sandwiched Kaedwen. They were setting a quicker pace now that they had been seen by the villagers. Nym shifted in her seat now and then, her shoulder beginning to sting again due of the movement. They stopped only to eat briefly, making short work of the meat pies.

"There's an abandoned encampment a few hours away. Has it started bleeding again?" He turned to check her shoulder. She shook her head, the bandages had held fast but her she felt increasingly stiff, and was worried that his horse would tire sooner carrying the two of them. If the poultice worked as described, the wound would knot itself closed within the next few days so she could ride alone again. The stallion seemed happy to ride beside Roach but Nym knew that they could both travel faster and further once she was healed.

The afternoon sunlight drifted away into a hazy dusk as they neared their destination, reaching the encampment before nightfall. It was nothing more than a collection of aged shacks with thatched roofs, and there was a well in the centre of the compound. Geralt tied the horses up and scanned the area, checking the well too.

"It's not much, but we won't be seen," he said, starting to gather kindling for a fire. Nym helped him, picking up edible mushrooms and some wild thyme she saw along the outskirts of the encampment. They had a roaring fire going by the time the day faded away into dull purple. By the light of the fire, Geralt helped her remove her bandages and apply the herbs which he had ground into a wet paste. The two of them sat in silence, enjoying the sounds of the fire and night.

Nym looked over at her travel companion, bathed in an orange glow by the fire. His hair and eyes were incandescent in the warm light.

"What is your name? I wasn't sure if you could answer that but-" Nym nodded reassuringly. This, she could easily spell out with her hands. She rubbed the letters into her palm.

"Nymeia Salskin. Hmm…" He considered the name. It seemed a little flowery for someone who didn't like dresses. She crossed her palm and shook her head, spelling out the letters 'NYM' beside him.

"Nym, is that what you prefer to be called?" She nodded in answer, smiling at Geralt's use of her name. He said it differently, maybe because it had never been in his mouth before.

"Nym…" he murmured, "it suits you." The hairs went up on the back of her neck and on her arms. She looked away, hoping that he hadn't noticed her ears starting to colour. She had never felt that her name suited her, mostly because it wasn't said very kindly. Hearing Geralt appraise it now, like that… Well, she could do nothing but meet his golden eyes, drink in the sight of him and engrave the image into her mind.

Geralt was finding it difficult to sit still. The girl… Nym, was looking up at him from under her dusky lashes with the familiar fixed gaze he'd come to know and fear. Still, she couldn't hide that blush that had crept up into the side of her face and ears. He wondered if she knew what she looked like, sitting there in that luminescent warmth. No, it was clear that she was she was not a practiced seductress. It was disarming, her presence. He was in the habit of carrying two swords across his back, and had little to no experience in feeling disarmed. He took one last look and relinquished the moment, getting up to fetch ingredients for dinner. It had been a while since he'd had a hot meal, and it would likely take the edge off of the other type of hunger that had started growing within him.

"Boiled barley..? Or fried onions?" He asked into the night, turning to catch her response. She shook her head.

"Neither?"

Nym pointed at herself, and then showed him the collection of brown and white mushrooms she had gathered in the woods.

"Ah… You should know that I'm a horrible cook. You can thank my mentor for that. He'd be happy to serve us wet sawdust for groats."

She smiled, and pointed at herself, nodding reassuringly. She gestured for a knife and begun preparations for dinner. Within the hour, they had a simmering pot of mushrooms, onions and barley flavoured with the wild thyme she had gathered. Geralt ate appreciatively, the food was simple but flavourful, and it was clear that she was a skilled cook. He realized that she was probably tasked with most of the cooking in her household and had been made to do it often.

"How old are you?" He suddenly thought to ask her as they readied the horses for rest. She stroked Beast's wide belly and flank, combing his coat with her fingers absentmindedly. She gestured the numbers and he nodded, she looked to be in her early 20s.

"Have you always been unable to speak?" She shrugged and then nodded, her eyes drifting as she struggled to recall her childhood. There had been a lot of talking around her, and the voice of her father came in strong and clear. There were hazy memories of her own screaming and crying but she overlooked those. Most children cried and screamed at that age.

"Why did they keep you chained up?" He looked over at her, removing Roach's stirrups and saddle so he could brush her down for the night. Nym smiled a little wistfully and made a running gesture.

"You tried to run away? Were they hurting you?" He furrowed his brows, starting to feel murderous again. She hesitated, leaving the question without an answer. It wouldn't be so terrible to be discovered if it meant that he could knock some heads. Witchers were famously neutral regarding the ups and downs of regular society and politics, but he was feeling anything but neutral at the present moment.

"Tomorrow we'll ride further north. I have some acquaintances there that may be able to help, or at least offer us some beds for the next few days while you decide what you'd like to do." She nodded, taking a moment to understand that this journey would likely end within the next week. A cabin in the woods didn't sound so bad. She could sew, cook, forage, make fires and tend to all manner of animals. She'd survive being alone. She had to admit that she was enjoying Geralt's company, but Witchers had difficult jobs, bringing her along would likely hinder him. Nym resolved to enjoy each day as much as she could and take the memories with her, wherever she ended up. She rinsed the paste of herbs off her gently and left it to dry. The cuts had changed colour slightly, and looked less raw.

"There's a dry pallet here. Would you like to sleep inside?" Came Geralt's voice from inside one of the encampment homes. She peeked into the abandoned structure and shook her head. There had been enough of small, dark spaces.

"You can take my bedroll then," he said, shaking it out and placing it a comfortable distance away from the fire. He watched from against a tree opposite her as Nym settled down to sleep for the night. Beast ambled over to snuffle at her in her traveling cloak, and she turned onto her back to hold his head. He watched as she slowly fell asleep, her slender form rising and falling gently with her breaths.

Geralt was keenly aware that Nymeia Salskin would likely choose to stay elsewhere within the week. She wasn't of noble descent, but traveling like this wasn't something that he wanted to subject her to, and it probably wasn't her preference either, especially not with her injury. He kneaded his temples. Her sleeping form turned towards him, her alluring face illuminated by the glow of the dwindling fire. Geralt decided then and there that it could only be a week, and no more.

Notes:

Thank you for the follows and views. Apologies for any repetitive notifications, been slowly getting the hang of this site. This is my first Fanfiction! The OC's name is pronounced Nimm-Ay-Ah. I'll be doing my best to update frequently. Apologies in advance for her ridiculous sense of humour… She gets it from me. No pressure to review, but I'd love to read some if you have the time.