AUTHORS NOTE:
I feel like I re-did this chapter about 5 times, thanks for waiting. It's also fascinating that I've only just picked up that this site isn't letting me format spaces between paragraphs? Good stuff. Still doing regular updates [as of April 2022]. Thanks for the follows and reviews, they make me smile!
Ward of Kaer Morhen – Chapter 8
Geralt woke from a deep slumber, stretching out in a languid haze. The sound of a voice nudged him into alertness. Was that Vesemir? If so, he was being unusually chatty this morning… He slipped on his clothing and made his way towards the commotion.
"Well, if you like we can go together. There's good game in these mountains, and a well-stocked pond nearby." He picked up, walking silently across the keep floor into the kitchen.
"Now do you have much experience in the way of blood sausage? There's always quite a lot of blood left over after we slaughter deer, it feels like a waste…" Vesemir said. "Ah, with wild rice as filler you say?" He continued.
Geralt raised an eyebrow, till now he was unaware that Nym was able to say anything.
"I'd appreciate your help. Everyone seems to think that the food seems to appear out of thin air in the winter time…" Vesemir grumbled.
"Morning. May I ask what the two of you are on about?" Geralt interjected, leaning on the kitchen door expectantly.
Nym gave a start, suddenly aware that her shirt was dusted with flour. She brushed aside the hair in her face and grinned at him in greeting. Vesemir turned around, egg in hand. The two had taken up residence on the long kitchen table and had lit the stone oven in the corner of the room. Clearly he had interrupted something.
"Hmph, preserving meat and fish for the winter. Nothing you'd normally concern yourself with." Vesemir said, turning his attention back to the bowl of cracked eggs.
Geralt smirked, drawing up a chair at the kitchen table and watching as both of them got on with preparing breakfast. Nym was rolling out some sort of dough and lard mixture, her nimble fingers working expertly to even it out. He reached over to a bowl of dried fruit they had left out, his stomach growling at the promise of breakfast. He glanced at Nym as he chewed on the fruit, her head bent in concentration as she gingerly lifted up the sheet of dough and began pressing it into a round tin.
"You're not obliged to do anything for us while you're here, just so you know." He said, eyes searching hers as Vesemir left the table to tend to the oven. She looked up and nodded, then pointed at herself, wishing she could explain to him that certain things helped her make sense of the world.
"If you insist. You won't hear us complaining, but as long as you're aware that it's not an expectation." He said, leaning back into his chair.
Half an hour later, the three of them had made quick work of the savoury herb and egg pie. Geralt ignored the thought of having another helping and instead turned to Vesemir, who was leaning back contentedly.
"Need anything done today?" He asked.
"I was just about to get to that," Vesemir said. "There's some flooding below the keep which we should check on, don't want it reaching the laboratory.."
"Right," Geralt replied, glancing at Nym. "Will you be alright while we take care of a few things?" He asked.
She nodded. Curling up with a book from the library sounded like a good pastime for the cold, grey day.
Geralt made his way down to the basement floor and into the vast laboratory that contained their life's work. Vesemir had already made himself busy identifying spots where moisture had crept into the room.
"Not good, pass those buckets over… Can't have any spores settling in, they'll start turning the ingredients." He said.
Although every school of Witchers had their own methods and formulae, Vesemir was right to be protective of the work that the School of the Wolf had produced here. Their most important tools and information were all held in this laboratory. Various alchemical ingredients, flasks, copper distillation vessels, and empty vials lay scattered around the room. The huge centre workbench was where they autopsied and examined monsters for their properties and uses in alchemy. The bones of some recently slain creature were pegged to a large wooden board by the hearth - a Cockatrice by the looks of it.
Geralt scanned the lab, it hadn't changed much since he had last been at the keep two Winters ago. It echoed faintly of his memories of the Trial - the brutal mutation process he had undergone to become a Witcher. The two began the tedious task of drying and cleaning the areas of the floor and walls which had been affected by the flooding below the old keep.
"Kill anything special lately?" Geralt asked, wringing a damp rag out into a bucket.
"Ah, nothing has been special since that Fleder contract in Oxenfurt." Vesemir replied, examining the lowest drawers in the apothecary cabinets.
"Hmm, that's where you met that woman, no? Mignole?" Geralt prodded. Vesemir grunted and continued rummaging through the drawers.
"All good down here. We should sweep the grounds and make sure water hasn't collected elsewhere." He said.
"Didn't realize that was still a sore spot," Geralt raised an eyebrow.
"You don't realize a lot of things…" Vesemir muttered.
"Was hoping that the lecture could wait a few days," Geralt crossed his arms. "But… let's hear it." Vesemir slid the drawers shut softly before turning to face Geralt.
"No point beating around the bush. What are your intentions with Nymeia?" He asked, pulling up a chair at the workbench.
"Intentions? We've discussed this, it's temporary. We'll get to the root of it once Triss arrives." Geralt replied, leaning on the column closest to him.
"That we will, no about the rest?" Vesemir frowned.
"The rest of what?" He asked.
"She's just a girl, Geralt. You ought to know better." Vesemir clicked his tongue and turned away. "She's a young, mute girl."
"You should really spend some time with her if that's what you think," Geralt said, letting out a dry laugh. "Nym isn't some helpless village maiden I put on the back of my horse and dragged here."
"I can see that, but have you considered that it might be unfair?"
"Unfair how?" Geralt asked, raising his hands in exasperation. "Vesemir, I haven't- we haven't done anything."
"You'd do well to keep it that way, then." Vesemir said.
"Are you that convinced of my ill-intentions?" Geralt asked, quirking his brow at his mentor. Vesemir scoffed.
"I see that look in your eyes, Geralt."
"You're not normally one to interfere in my.. personal affairs. Why now? " Geralt questioned, a low hum of anger beginning to build within him.
"Noblewomen, sorceresses, prostitutes.. They have choices and power," Vesemir explained, suddenly looking tired. "To tangle with Nym before she has a chance at that would be a mistake."
Geralt held in a frustrated sigh, aware that he himself had mulled this over almost every night since he'd discovered her. His anger dissipated. Vesemir wasn't wrong.
"I understand, we don't have to keep discussing it. …In any case, she hasn't shown much interest." He conceded, massaging his forehead.
"Because she doesn't simper like every other lass who meets you?" Vesemir snorted. "That's ridiculous. And a little bit conceited." Geralt bit back a retort, tossing the dirty rag into the bucket.
Nym was two chapters deep into The History of the World by Roderick de Novembre, a book she had started as a child and found too dense. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the hearth. Her head started dipping dangerously into the open pages as she began to doze off among the dusty volumes in the library. A series of images from the past few weeks began to swim through her head.
Her father holding her tightly by the wrist, leaving red imprints on her skin.
Lise, turning to bid her goodnight on the banister of her homestead.
Ryffon tugging at the thick chain that bound her to the attic.
Her horse's head emerging through a thatch of trees.
Geralt wringing out a blood stained cloth by the river.
Nym's fingers tracing the inscription of his silver sword.
Him standing before her in the cavern, bare-chested, skin littered with scars old and new.
His eyes ablaze, inches away from her face in the torchlit glow.
His broad shoulders and large frame enveloping her, pulling her into a seated straddle on his lap.
The tickle of a hand in her hair, then lips beginning to kiss hungrily at her neck.
Hands made their way to grasp her hips and thighs, then her knees, shaking them…
Shaking her knees, he bega-… Wait, shaking her knees…?
Geralt nudged one of Nym's knees again gently, she had fallen asleep reading and was having a bad dream judging by the sound of her heart. She woke with a start, then met his eyes and shuffled upright. He had lessened the fire in the hearth, the room had gotten too warm judging by her flushed cheeks.
"That book would give anyone nightmares, Nym…" He joked, gently taking the volume from her and placing it open on the floor. She hastily smoothed her shirt and hair.
"Vesemir and I are going to track down some game, would you like to ride with us?" He asked. She paused for a moment, then nodded in reply. She desperately needed the fresh air.
Nym pulled her cloak on in the stable, thankful for the chance to be outside. Geralt came down a few moments later, a full quiver and light wooden bow in hand. She took them from him, doing her level best to meet his eyes. The group of three mounted their horses and began their descent into the more densely wooded areas around the keep, riding without haste. She rode behind them, a breeze ruffling the tails of her cloak. Although the sky still hung above them in a grey blanket, the air was crisp and smelled of the coming of Autumn. Nym spared a thought for the poor creatures that would stand absolutely no chance against two Witchers. They rode only with their swords, but Nym was more than aware now of the skill they possessed. Vesemir led the group on a white stallion with a black mane, navigating them through rocky ledges and the thick forest of pines at the foot of the keep.
"Geralt tells me you're a practiced hunter, Nym," Vesemir said, falling into step with her so she could reply. She grinned and shook her head.
"The keep is too high up for boars but we'll have no trouble finding game. We don't spend enough time hunting to keep their numbers in check." He continued.
'Wolves, bears?' Nym mouthed,
"They've learned to keep their distance over the years." He replied with a slight chuckle.
"I think we'd do better on foot once we get closer, we're shaking the ground with three horses." Geralt said. "Especially that one…" He motioned towards Beast. Nym laughed silently, stroking the horse's mane in apology.
They approached a clearing where it was safe to leave the horses. Geralt interrupted her from tying Beast to a tree trunk. She untied the rope curiously.
"You can leave him, I'll whistle for them when we're ready." He said, patting Beast's side. Nym nodded and relinquished the rope, following Geralt and Vesemir into the woods with her bow in hand.
It was odd to watch how swiftly and freely the two Witchers made their way through the forest. There probably wasn't much in these woods to fear, and their gifts made them keenly aware of scents and sounds. She adjusted the quiver around her, feeling rather clunky in comparison. It didn't take long for them to find the animals, Geralt had picked up on tracks she would have never spotted herself. Vesemir stopped and lifted a gloved finger to his lips. They were approaching a small herd of deer, feeding on a patch of tender shrubs. Nym lowered herself into a crouch as they approached the herd, nocking an arrow into her bow. Vesemir and Geralt fanned out around her in case the herd bolted in different directions. Nym picked out a buck right away, staying low and keeping her breathing steady. The Witchers kept entirely still, their swords still sheathed. Were they planning to cast signs? Geralt looked over at Nym through the forest brush, his amber eyes focusing keenly on hers. He tilted his head towards the buck, a sign for her to strike first, she nodded her head in return.
Shaking off the nerves of performing in front of them, Nym took a breath and willed herself into action. A surge of warmth flooded through her body, as it always had when she focused on a target. Blood rushed around her audibly, in her ears and heart and veins as she took aim. She pulled the bowstring taught, conscious of the rising heat in her body and the steadiness of her heart, working like a clock taking time. The buck lifted its head to survey the area. She focused on piercing both its lungs simultaneously. Her head felt as if it were aflame, as it always had in these moments. She waited a half a second, then released her bowstring. The arrow stuck true, the blaze lessening in her as it did. The herd bounded into panicked action, leaping away from the threat, branches whipping as they bolted. Nym rose, Geralt and Vesemir following her to the downed buck. She dropped to her knees before the beast and quickly punctured its heart with her dagger, whispering her thanks to the animal silently.
With the buck strapped onto Roach's back, the group made their way back to the keep. Nym followed on foot with Geralt, stopping now and then to inspect stumps for mushrooms. With winter approaching, the untouched forest around the keep was alive with rosehips, elderberry shrubs and various types of fungi. Nym carefully pried a large hen-of-the-woods cluster off of a log and tucked it happily into her shirt. They returned to the keep stables with their forest harvest and game, Vesemir slinging the buck across his back to prepare it to be cleaned and skinned in another part of the courtyard. Nym watched in awe as the old Witcher walked off with the huge buck across his back. Their gift of strength was quite obvious in certain situations.
"What were you saying? As it died?" Geralt asked, holding the large wooden door open for Nym.
"Thank you," she began mouthing up at him, then shook her head. It was difficult to explain why she had thanked the animal she had killed herself. Geralt clenched his jaw and led them up the stairs.
Nym wandered into the kitchen, still holding the corners of her shirt like a basket. She put the mushrooms and berries aside, then swabbed at a patch of dirt on the shirt. Geralt poured her some water, and took a seat at the table, a frown etched into his brow. Nym tilted her head - he had something on his mind.
"Might sound selfish, but I wish you could speak." He said after a moment, his tone serious. She smiled in return.
"Me too." She mouthed, reaching out to grasp his forearm briefly.
He savoured the fleeting sensation of heat before Nym drew back her chair, then gestured for him to stay seated while she fetched something. A minute later, she had returned with a quill, ink and a few pieces of parchment from the library.
"Of course," he groaned. Why had he never thought of it himself? She smiled sheepishly, then began writing. Geralt drew in closer on the kitchen table, unable to help himself.
'Hello, Geralt' she wrote, underlining his name and then looking up at him quizzically.
"Yes, that's how you'd write it." He said, trying to contain a smile at the first words she had chosen. Her handwriting was unpracticed and a little unsteady, but still legible. She continued on.
'I wanted to tell him thank you, for his life and body.' She explained, referring to his earlier question. Geralt sat back, taking a moment to process that Nym was in the habit of thanking every animal she downed. It made sense, she had likely watched her family hunt for sport for her entire life, killing needlessly for pleasure.
"I understand," he said gruffly, "keep going."
'Thank you for saving my life. It is nice to have a friend.' She wrote.
A friend, he let the word sink in.
"You don't have to thank me for that, Nym." He reassured her, shaking off the urge to do something to make her scratch out what she had just written down. He had to change the topic. She held her finger up before he had a chance to do so, had she noticed his discomfort?
'There's something I have to tell you,' she began writing. Geralt made his best effort to seem impassive. She paused for a moment, looking up at him seriously.
'My horse has a name - it's Bluebell.'
Her serious look turned slowly into a mischievous grin. Geralt lifted a hand to massage his brow then began shaking with silent laughter, his face hidden. She put down the quill and crossed her arms, grinning,
"You named that monstrous horse.. after a flower?" He said in between laughs.
She began to scribble quickly - 'Born near a bluebell field! I call him Blue.'
"Sound logic," he shook his head, 'Blue it is, in that case.'
She bit her lower lip to hide her enjoyment. He was properly laughing - something he rarely did.
Geralt composed himself, his mind swirling with possibilities now that Nym could express herself. He stroked his chin, considering what direction to take the conversation.
"Nym… I've asked a friend of mine to pay a visit. Her name is Triss Merigold. She's a well-traveled sorceress who may be able to help your situation in some way, or provide clarity." He began. It seemed the right time to - approach the topic.
Nym's eyes widened. A fully-fledged sorceress? She had read enough about them to know that they were usually important figures, who worked to counsel or protect notable people. Did her situation really warrant her valuable time?
'Do you mean to find another place for me to stay?' She asked after a moment.
"No, not until it's safe anyway. Unless you.. want to leave?"
'No, I promised to help Vesemir get a few of his recipes right. He's having some issues with his cured venison.'
"Is it not normal for it to turn green halfway through the winter?" Geralt joked.
"I heard that," Vesemir said, entering the kitchen. Nym flipped over the piece of parchment. Vesemir was half covered in blood, but didn't seem to mind. He bit into an apple hungrily. "He's strung up for you Nym, come down when you're ready. I'll fetch the knives." He added.
The group sat down to an early supper as the sky began to darken. Nym and Vesemir had returned from skinning and butchering the buck and had prepared a quick meal. Nym plated up the mushrooms stewed with butter, herbs and wine, also bringing cheese and crusty bread to the table. Vesemir poured three goblets of wine full to the brim, and tucked into dinner voraciously.
"Hrmph, very good Nymeia, very good." He complimented between bites. Geralt barely looked up from his meal, stopping only to let out a grumble of appreciation.
Nym collected the plates and silverware after dinner, placing them in the kitchen basin. She began to mop up crumbs and spilled liquid around the kitchen, feeling slightly unsteady from the wine.
"I hope you're not cleaning up in there," came Vesemir's voice, "we're quite partial to the mess!"
She smiled to herself, then re-joined them in the dining hall.
Vesemir was twirling the quill between his hands, the thin stack of parchment sitting before him. He looked up as Nym sat down, then slid the parchment and quill towards her.
"Geralt explained your situation to me, but may I ask you some more questions?" He asked. Geralt looked at her reassuringly. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. It had been kind of Vesemir to wait before delving into her predicament. She took the quill and parchment in hand, Geralt passing her the inkwell.
"Can I ask your father's name? And your brothers?" Vesemir asked, stroking his beard.
'Auborn Salskin, of Kaedwen. My brothers are named Teruin and Ryffon.' She began.
"Traders and merchants, correct?" He continued. She nodded.
"Geralt told me that your mother passed away, I'm sorry. Is there anything you can tell us about her?" He asked.
'She died having me,' Nym wrote, looking up at the two of them between sentences. 'She had run away with another man - my father took me in after she died.'
Geralt frowned, having never heard this part of the story before. It would have been impossible for her to explain, he realized.
"Did they ever talk to you about her? Were you similar to her in any way? Any of the same skills or interests?" Vesemir asked.
'I wasn't allowed to ask, I'm not sure.' She wrote, taking another sip of wine. There was that familiar void again, when she thought of her mother.
"I see," said Vesemir, "what of your real father?"
'I don't know anything about him.' Nym wrote, chewing on her lip. She had been relentlessly teased about her father being a mute, and being 'slow' like her, but was quite sure that her brothers knew as little as her about him.
"If it's quite alright with you, I'd like to continue your training. Geralt tells me that you're unnaturally gifted." He said frankly, his amber eyes moving between the two of them. Her ears reddened. "You did well with your bow today, but I'd like to see how you fare with a sword tomorrow." He continued.
'If it's not too much trouble.' She wrote simply. It would be useful to find out if she had a talent with weapons, even if it meant making a fool out of herself in front of them.
"Nonsense. There's not much else to do here, anyway." He chuckled
Geralt crossed his arms and sat back, his brow still furrowed. There had to be an answer in Nym's parentage. Time would tell if her skills were truly out of the ordinary, but if they were… Nym might not have need of a regular life. He looked up at her as Vesemir lightened the conversation. Her cheeks and ears were tinged red, probably from the wine. Did it comfort her to know that her father wasn't related to her by blood? Would her mother have had the same honeyed skin? The same luxurious hair or inquisitive olive and grey eyes? Or was she like her biological father? Had he chosen to run from his responsibility and leave Nym behind? He took another sip of wine, his head swimming with possibilities.
He slept badly that evening, tossing the quilt aside in the middle of the night. He dreamt of heat, starting at his fingertips and working its way up to his face. This wasn't his own magic, it was her, something about her that made his skin sear. Her heart ticked away in his head like a clock, just like it had when she had downed the buck. He looked down at his hand, an arrow had been shot right through it. Exactly where she had kissed him. He wrenched it out and it healed, leaving another scar in its wake. She was right there with him, her hands reaching out to soothe the new scar. He growled as his skin burned again at her touch, paying the price for his heightened senses. She smiled in her lopsided way, lifting a finger to his lips to quiet him. She gently pulled his head towards her, then whispered something indistinguishable into his ear. He willed her to repeat what she had said, desire flooding his body as her face neared his. She whispered into his ear again. It was his name.
"Geralt?" Someone rapped on the door loudly. The door flew open. "Oi, Geralt!"
Nym peeked out hazily from under her covers at the wide-open bedroom door. A hulking figure stood in the doorway, two swords on his back and his face marred by a set of long scars running from his temple to his chin. She scrambled up against the headboard, pulling the covers around her. He stopped, his golden eyes regarding her in utter confusion.
"My apologies, but who are you?" Said Eskel.