A/N: this.....was supposed to be a one-shot....and this isn't even the part I originally meant to write and post. It just...got away from me so there will be a couple more parts to this.
Warnings: none, I don't think
Summary: being different doesn't make you a monster, but people can be cruel to those they don't understand
You've always been…..different. More in touch with the world around you. From a young age, you were able to discern the thoughts and feelings of people and animals alike.
It started out innocently enough. Helping the alley cat get a thorn out of its paw. Running an errand for your mother before she had the chance to tell you it needed doing. Assuring the butcher's boy that his feelings for the innkeeper's daughter weren't as unrequited as he feared.
You always kept quiet about the nature of your abilities. You had grown up in this village, but that meant you knew exactly what the people thought of those who were….different. You'd heard the rants in the tavern while you were serving drunkards and travelers for hard-earned coin you squirreled away in the hopes of traveling far from here someday. Your abilities were too similar to sorcery, you knew they would look at you with fear and hatred if you were discovered.
So you kept your head down, did your work, and tried to make what small differences you could. Your mother thought you were just particularly clever, with a gift for women's intuition. When bar fights inevitably broke out, you were able to soothe the drunken men with a few soothing words and a touch to their arms, allowing you to project your calm demeanor over their anger with a small mental push that no one need ever know about.
Things continued on, safe and same as always.
Risuld, the barkeep, came in one night, bleeding from a gash on his temple with an ugly bruise blossoming in a shape awfully like a hoof print. He was raving about an awful creature that had attacked him, trying to convince the men to go hunt it down with him.
Frowning, you focused your attention on Risuld enough to brush over his memories.
The creature was tall and ghastly, it was true. But it had done nothing until the barkeep had thrown a stone at it in an attempt to chase the thing away from the gardens it was sniffing around.
You sighed deeply as you withdrew from Risuld's memories. The thing was thin as a skeleton, probably starving. You pitied the thing, listening to the growing hysteria of the townsfolk. The growing panic of their voices, the cloud of fear and anger like a miasma tainting the air, it was giving you a headache, making it hard for you to focus.
You closed your eyes and set down the tray of drinks you'd been carrying, taking a deep breath and withdrawing until the only thoughts and emotions you could sense were your own. It made you feel cut adrift, isolated and unmoored, but the throbbing in your temples subsided a fair bit.
You opened your eyes in time to see the man who'd been brooding in the corner all night rise from his table. He finished his ale in one swig and, eyes locked on Risuld, announced "I will take care of your creature problem" in a voice whose low rumble traveled through the room like a roll of thunder, silencing everyone as they turned to gape at him. He stared back calmly, unfazed by the scrutiny.
You narrowed your eyes, taking in the white hair and amber eyes, the musculature and - most importantly - the swords strapped to his back over heavy armor. A witcher. A monster killer.
Edging backwards, you slipped into the kitchen as Risuld spat a hostile "we don't need your help, damned mutant". You didn't stay to hear the rest of the confrontation, hastily stuffing some bread and apple chunks into your apron and fleeing out the back of the tavern.
You'd seen Risuld's memories of the creature fleeing, you could guess which way it had headed. You jogged into the woods as the dusk air swept coolly around you. You shivered, took a deep breath, and forged on, trying to watch for broken branches or tracks, anything to keep you going the right way.
It wasn't long before you encountered a cave by a stream, hearing quiet snorts and snuffles inside. Pausing to catch your breath - in your apron and dress you weren't exactly dressed for a trek in the woods, but time was of the essence - you reached out with your mind, searching for the creature's thoughts with your own.
You were right - when you made contact, you became aware of hunger so bad it made your belly twist with nausea, dizzying and harsh. Breathing deep to ground yourself, you asserted your own thoughts. As the creature senses your presence a low growl was heard, and you caught sight of amber eyes studying you from the gloom of the cave.
Staying calm, you thought of the crunch of a crisp apple, and the taste of fresh bread. When you shared these thoughts, the growling ceased, replaced by a low whine. The eyes moved closer as the creature moved hesitantly towards you, nose snuffling hopefully.
You knelt down, placing the food from your apron in the grass, never taking your eyes off the beast. Its nostrils flared and it lunged forward. You sensed no ill intent, no malice, but you still couldn't help the small shriek of alarm when the beast knocked into you in its haste to get to the food, knocking you into the shallow water of the river bank. The shock of cold water wrenched a yelp from you, and you leveled a glare at the creature devouring the morsels you'd provided.
"This is the thanks I get for feeding you?" you grumbled, pulling yourself out of the water with a huff.
"She's a simple creature, you can't expect much else," a deep voice rumbled behind you.
Gasping, you lurched to your feet and stumbled to face the Witcher, putting yourself between him and the creature that was now snuffling in the grass for more food. He raised an eyebrow coolly, arms crossed as he leaned against the tree.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, voice like a growl, pushing off the tree and splashing through the stream towards you. His brows furrowed and his amber eyes looked stormy. You took note of the swords on his back again and, after hastily looking around, snatched up a somewhat-sturdy-looking branch, brandishing it in front of you.
"Stay back!" you warned rather than answering him. He halted in the shallow riverbank, eyes narrowed to slits. You shivered - partly because you were still wet, but mostly because he was much bigger and stronger than you, and you were in his way, and you'd heard the stories about Witchers not having emotions, and you certainly couldn't sense anything from him so maybe that was true, oh gods be merciful he was probably going to kill you--
"I'm not going to hurt you," he huffed, scowling, interrupting your panicked thoughts. He crossed his arms and you huffed. Thinking quickly, you sent a ribbon of thought out, contacting the creature and trying to impress upon it the urgency that it run, flee, get far away right now.
Instead, it came by your side and shoved its snout in your apron's pocket, snuffling for more food. Its large head pushed you off-balance and you once again fell on your butt in the dirt with a yelp, your meager defense knocked from your grasp on impact.
The Witcher huffed and took another step towards you--
"I said stay back!" you cried, and unthinking you formed the warning into a thought, hurling it at the Witcher like a rock as you flung out a hand towards him, as if you could somehow keep him at bay.
You saw the moment the impact hit him, his pupils narrowing to slits like a snake's as he inhaled sharply.
Had he been anyone else, you knew, he'd have frozen, eyes glazed over as he obeyed the command. But to your dismay, he seemed unaffected beyond a tensing of his muscles. He approached you and the creature crouched over you. In your desperation, you scrambled out from under it and flung yourself on top of the beast, hugging it and trying to shield it with your body.
"It's done nothing wrong," you insisted,eyes squeezed shut as you braced for the agony of a sword piercing you, or perhaps a spell would be how you met your demise-- "It was simply hungry, it meant no harm, leave it be!"
There was a quiet scuff in the grass, then a cool touch to the back of your neck and you sucked in a sharp breath and went rigid, braced for pain--
"I already said I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to kill the Hirikka either," the Witcher growled. "They're harmless, and have already been hunted to near-extinction by idiot humans. I've no reason to harm her."
"....her?" you asked in a small, timid voice. Daring to lift your head, you glanced over your shoulder at the Witcher up through your lashes; he was glowering at you impatiently. You noted with relief that his sword was still sheathed, relaxing marginally.
"Yes, she's a female. And harmless, as you said." Slowly, you released the creature - a Hirikka, he'd called it - and sat up. A large hand gripped your arm above your elbow and pulled you to your feet and you yelped, squirming and struggling and glaring at the imposing man holding you tightly.
"You have magic," the Witcher said, appraising you intently, amber eyes hard to read. "Earlier, you used it to try and influence me. Is that why you came after the Hirikka, you thought you could handle it yourself?"
You felt all the color drain from your face, leaving you abruptly light-headed. But you lifted your chin and met his gaze as you said, "I came to protect an innocent creature from the cruelty of those who don't understand it."
An odd expression flickered over his features, there and gone before you could decipher it, and he released you abruptly. You stepped away from him, rubbing absently at where his fingers had left red marks, sure that they'd bruise.
"And you….understand this creature, do you?" the Witcher asked quietly, regarding you steadily, face stoic.
Most people, even without trying you could sense their surface thoughts and feelings with no effort. The constant chatter and hum, while overwhelming at times, was a soothing background you were used to. This man, however….it was like slamming up against a wall; there was nothing you could sense, and the silence was unnerving. It made you shiver, and he noticed the tremor with a slight frown.
"I understand it enough to not be afraid," you muttered, hugging yourself. Why were you defending yourself to him? You made to move past him, wanting to go home and warm up.
"What's your name?" he asked quietly when you were shoulder to shoulder with him, making no move to stop you, but his eyes were fixed on your face intently.
Turning slightly to meet his gaze again, muttering "Y/N. And yours, Witcher?"
"Geralt, of Rivia." His gloved hand suddenly traced your cheek and you jerked at the unexpected contact, eyes going wide-- "You're hurt," he informed you.
Frowning, you touched your own cheek. Sure enough, there was a thin cut and your fingers came away gleaming with blood when you pulled your hand back to look. Nausea made your stomach churn again and your knees went weak.
Geralt sighed deeply. "Sit down. I'll start a fire," he said quietly, and began walking off, presumably to gather wood.
"What--why--I don't need--" you sputtered, watching his retreating figure in bewilderment. He turned and fixed you with a stern glare that made your weak knees buckle dangerously, so you heeded his advice and sat on a nearby log.
"You were injured doing what was meant to be my job," he growled. "So you will sit, and I will start a fire, and then you will let me treat that wound with a salve."
"But--!" He ignored your protests, vanishing into the thicket. Heaving a frustrated sigh, you made eye contact with the Hirikka. "What have I gotten myself into?"
She blinked at you and had no wisdom to offer. Instead she came and laid on the ground at your feet. Sighing, you patted her head and settled in to wait for Geralt's return.
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