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Something rapped against the door, shaking Merlin from the tossing and turning he was doing instead of sleeping. He groaned, heart speeding up. That was it. The monster killer, the witcher, had found him. Uther was going to have him executed.
The rapping continued, more like slamming now. Merlin braced himself.
Now that he listened to it, more aware than he'd been before, he noticed it sounded more desperate than threatening. That was what made him stand and move to open the door. Gaius was still fast asleep. Sometimes Merlin envied him for the ability to sleep through all kinds of annoyances, no matter how loud they were.
In the door stood the witcher, clad in black armour, swords on his back, white hair reflecting the light of the lanterns in the hallway.
He carried his companion in his arms, his entirely black eyes giving him a wild look.
"You're a mage," he rasped. "Save him."
Blood dropped to the floor, both from the witcher, and the motionless bard.
It was an understatement to say that Merlin panicked.
Something was in the woods. Merlin had snuck away from the castle in the night, trying to find the source of the fear that seemed to spread over Camelot.
At first it was peasants, a servant who’d been sent to gather wood, a man coming to find work in th castle. Then a merchant. He lost his wares in his haste to escape the clutches of whatever was poisoning the woods with its presence. Then a nobleman, an aquaintanceof the Royal family.
They all came to Gaius for remedies. The old court physician offered draughts that helped with sleeplessness, and helped with wounds, but there was nothing he could do against the fear that seemed to have settled in the very bones of the ailed people.
King Uther sent out for knights, brave enough to roam the woods and kill the beast. Gaius and Merlin agreed on leaving the slaying to them. If Merlin killed it, using his magic, Uther would definitely start asking questions. These questions would lead to Merlin’s inevitable demise.
So the young warlock said nothing, nodded along when Arthur complained about the incompetence of travelling knights, and whatever else left his royal highness’ mouth. He assisted Gaius in healing. At night he would read the beastiaries and tomes, trying to find an answer to the question of what was haunting the people of Camelot. He heard of more knights arriving, eager to earn the hefty sum Uther had promised the one who slayed the beast and brought forth his head.
None of them returned.
And then Arthur went and almost got himself killed.
“You’re an idiot, sire,” Merlin informed him while changing his bandages.
“Thank you, Merlin, for your gentle and supportive care.”
Sometimes Merlin wanted to smack Arthur up the head. But he didn’t want to end up cleaning chamberpots all day. Again. So he did’t.
“Father hired a witcher,” Arthur continued. Merlin froze. Shit.
“Did he now?”
It was common knowledge that witchers weren’t entirely human. They didn’t have real magic, at least not the kind Merlin was capable of, but they were deadly nonetheless. Uther had to be very desperate to allow a witcher into Camelot. Maybe he hoped to be advised in all things magic. Witchers were said to be able to sense magic.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from his evil claws,” Arthur sneered, mistaking Merlin’s fear for peasants’ superstition.
“I’m not scared of the witcher.”
“Of course not, Merlin. Now, I believe my sword needs sharpening?”
Sometimes Merlin wondered if he’d get away with regicide.
“Gaius,” Merlin whispered, shaking his mentor awake. “Gaius!”
“What is it, Merlin?”
Gaius sat up slowly, blinking in the low light. Merlin knew they had to be quite a sight, him frantic and confused, the witcher as close to panic as a mutant was capable of, cradling the bard’s broken body close to his chest. Blood was still dripping on the stone floor.
Gaius assessed the situation quickly enough. He told Merlin to clear the bed (several scrolls and books had found their place on it during Merlin’s search of the monster’s origin) and allowed the witcher to lay Jaskier down carefully.
“What happened?” he asked, slipping into his role of court physician as easily as Arthur slipped into a robe in the mornings.
“Kikimora got him. Not a normal one, though. It’s wrong, twisted.”
“We need to get the dirt and blood off first,” Gaius instructed. The witcher took one of his knives and carefully started cutting open the colourful green doublet the man was wearing. It was almost black with all the grime that stuck to it.
“Merlin, get some hot water.”
He didn’t bother with hanging the pot over the fire. The words came to him easily. He’d practiced for over a year now, he was getting better at summoning his powers. Soon, the water was close to boiling.
When Jaskier was free of clothing, the witcher wiped away the dirt with a bandage, the hot water quickly turning black.
Gaius worked on sewing, packing, and covering the wounds with clean bandages.
“He’s been poisoned,” the witcher said, his unnatural eyes locking on Merlin. “It’s of magical nature. The longer he stays untreated, the more his mind will wear away.”
Dread filled Merlin’s stomach. He’d liked the bard well enough, but he didn’t know what to do. He’d never healed someone from magical poison before.
Gaius looked up, suddenly alarmed.
It was Merlin who said it out loud, though.
“He’ll die.”
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please – The witcher’s head turned over the assembled court and his unnatural eyes found him, glaring at him with a piercing stare. Merlin suddenly felt very sick.
Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything. Please – A gloved hand rose up to a kind of necklace the monster hunter wore. He frowned, white brows drawing together. Merlin forgot how to breathe. He’d hidden in plain sight for over a year, and now all of it was going to be for naught.
The witcher lowered his hand, and nudged his companion. The young man looked up and when the witcher muttered something Merlin couldn’t make out, the man’s eyes lit up, his shoulders shaking in quiet laughter.
“Your Majesty,” he said, falling into a courtly bow, “I present to you the White Wolf, witcher of Kaer Morhen, Geralt of Rivia.”
The witcher inclined his head, his face impassive.
“We are glad for your presence, witcher. Something is hiding in the woods outside the castle, killing my subjects, traumatising them when they manage to escape alive.”
“Hm,” the witcher said. The two swords on his back were more than intimidating. Merlin wondered if the witcher had used them to kill magic users before.
“Bring me its head, and you will be well paid.”
There was another oppressing silence, the whole room holding its breath before the witcher sighed.
“Fine.”
Merlin could almost taste the feeling of relief on his tongue. His stomach churned.
“I know the words,” the witcher said, his eyes not leaving Merlin. “But I have no power. You’ll have to save him. Please.”
Merlin stared at him, eyes wide. Yep, that was no pressure at all. But he did as he was told, moving to hold his hands over the bard’s torso, muttering the words the witcher had told him. There was a faint glow that originated from his hands, and then Jaskier tensed. His back arched and he spasmed, a purplish white fluid leaving his mouth as he coughed. Shocked, Merlin took a step back, but the witcher grabbed his hands and kept them where they were. His hold was firm but surprisingly gentle.
After a minute all poison had left the bard, and Merlin sank back against one of Gaius’ desks. He felt like he could sleep for a week. Arthur was going to be pissed if he nodded off tomorrow when he was supposed to polish the armour.
It was not a good idea to try and needle the witcher’s companion for information. Merlin did it anyway.
“So … he’s off into the forest?”
The man turned and smiled at him.
“That he is. Don’t worry, Geralt is very good at what he does. Your threat will soon be eliminated.”
“Oh,” Merlin said. “Yeah, that’s – that’s good.”
“Is there something else troubling you, dear? You look a little pale.”
“No, no I’m good.”
“Please,” said the witcher’s companion. “Have a seat. I must insist.”
Merlin sat. He couldn’t well tell this man that he was afraid of the witcher’s detecting powers.
“There we go,” the man said, offering Merlin a cup of what looked like tea.
“Thanks, euh ...”
The man’s blue eyes widened comically.
“I’m being rude, aren’t I? I’m Jaskier, Master Bard, the best on the Continent.”
He bowed theatrically, the long feather on his hat sweeping the floor. When he looked up, there was a cheeky smile on his face.
“And you are …?”
“Merlin,” Merlin hurried to say.
Jaskier winked. “It’s a pleasure to make your aquaintance, Merlin.”
He raised his own cup and took a sip, humming contentedly. Merlin hurried to try the tea as well. For some reason Jaskier gave him the need to be polite, as if the bard’s disappointment at his rudeness would affect him.
The tea tasted surprisingly well, some herb that seemed to not grow around Camelot. Merlin forced himself not to think about what this herb might do, other than warm him up and calm him a little.
“So,” Jaskier said, balancing his cup on his knee, hands waving through the air, “as much as I enjoy our little meeting, you haven’t come here for my company, have you?”
Shit.
“It’s alright,” the bard continued. “I understand he’s a little intimidating when you meet him for the first time. I myself was certainly nervous around him for a long time.”
Something told Merlin he wasn’t quite telling the truth.
“But I promise, Geralt’s a good guy. You really don’t need to be anxious. Unless you’re the one terrorising these folks, in that case you should run.”
He smiled easily. Merlin swallowed.
“Is it true what they say? About his abilities?”
Jaskier took another sip of his tea and hummed.
“You’ve got to be a little more specific, dear. There’s a lot of rumours about witchers.”
There was that smile again, like Jaskier was in on a joke that Merlin hadn’t understood yet.
“Is he, you know, a mage?”
“A mage? No. Witchers aren’t capable of real magic. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Merlin was hot and cold at the same time. He’d been found out. Jaskier would talk to Uther, and he’d be executed. He should have stayed away. He should have waited, just like Gaius had told him, but no, he was just too curious for his own good.
“Merlin. Merlin!”
Jaskier looked worried, sympathetic even.
“Breathe.”
Merlin breathed.
“Your secret is safe with me. As is it with Geralt. You have nothing to fear from us.”
Jaskier had moved from his seat, crouching next to Merlin’s chair, hands hovering close but not touching.
“Why are you doing this? Shouldn’t you tell Uther?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask.
“Geralt once came across a vampire who didn’t hurt a soul. She fed on wild animals, and stayed clear of cities. On a particularly harsh winter, she attacked a farmer’s sheep. The farmer saw her, and hired Geralt to kill her.
The witcher went, and when he realised she could be reasoned with, talked to her about relocating. The farmer’s stock was safe, and Geralt hadn’t killed a starving woman.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I think you know why.”
“Humour me.”
“You’re not a bad person, Merlin. I haven’t witnessed you using your magic for bad, and neither has Geralt. The king … is the king. I don’t need to tell you to be careful around him. But know that just because you’re capable of magic does not mean you’ll use it to hurt people.”
He sat back on his haunches and grinned.
“We can talk again if you start killing people. Then Geralt will definitely come for you.”
Merlin shuddered. He very much did not want to be hunted down like a monster.
“Thank you, Jaskier,” he said. “But I really think I should go.”
The witcher didn’t stray from Jaskier’s side. He sat, stroking the bard’s hair, his eyes glued to the pulse that beat in his veins. Or maybe he was listening to the heartbeat. Witchers were said to have better hearing than humans afterall. His eyes had gone back to their just as unnatural yellow colour. They snapped up to Merlin when he quietly came to take the last tools back to their original place.
“Merlin,” he said, voice scratchy. “Thank you.”
“Oh, euh,” Merlin smiled helplessly. “I didn’t really do much, so …”
The witcher inclined his head.
“You did. You risked being discovered to save his life. He would have died without your help. So thank you. Name your price.”
Merlin blinked. Price?
“I’m not going to take your money for doing something every decent person in my shoes would have done.”
“There’s not many decent people out there.”
Merlin sat down next to the witcher and regarded him carefully. A scar bisected his face, fainted from age, but still visible enough. Lines cut into his skin, not from age. Those were from frowning, from stress and pain.
“There’s more decent people than you’d think,” he finally said. The witcher huffed. His eyes fell back onto the sleeping bard.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Merlin said.
There was no reply, and that was answer enough for Merlin.
“You should tell him,” he said, standing. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be up at dawn. Have a good night.”
The witcher was still there in the morning when Merlin went out to see Arthur.
They watched together as the witcher and the bard left the castle that night. They seemed in good spirit, or at least Jaskier did. Merlin couldn’t read the witcher. The bard was humming a song, though.
“He’s a fool,” Arthur said. “Running after a warrior with no regard for his own safety.”
He threw a glance at Merlin. “Sound like someone I know?”
“I do regard my own safety!” Merlin protested.
“Oh, really?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, really.”
“So the whole witchfinder business was just … nothing? Or the time you got between the frontlines in that village. Or when you decided to prove that father’s betrothed was a troll?”
Merlin shrugged. “I was right, though, wasn’t I?”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“He’s in no state to travel, witcher.”
Gaius’ voice reached him before Merlin entered the room in the evening. The old physician stood between the witcher and the bed that Jaskier was sitting in, a little pale, but looking better than the night before.
“We need to get going. Been staying here for too long already.”
The witcher was tying a heavy bag of coin to his belt, his eyes sweeping around the room, probably looking for other things he might have left here at some point. Jaskier smiled weekly.
“Thank you for your concern, Master Gaius, but I do feel well enough to travel. Geralt will take care of me.”
There was that glance, the one that Jaskier seemed to only adopt when he was talking about the witcher. It was sweet, tender even.
“Stubborn fools, the both of you,” Gaius grumbled, but began packing a bag with healing utensils.
“I know, I know, you have enough of them on your own. Take these anyway.”
The witcher accepted the bag with a grunt. Jaskier smiled.
“You’re too kind, Master Gaius. You have our thanks.”
They saw the strange pair off together. Jaskier walked very gingerly, the witcher’s arm securing him around the waist, until the witcher could carefully lift him onto the back of a beautiful bay mare in the courtyard.
“Goodbye, Merlin dear. It was lovely to meet you,” Jaskier said, waving down at him.
“Goodbye, Jaskier. Safe travels,” Merlin replied, a smile tugging at his lips. The bard was clothed in a doublet of such an outrageous red it made his eyes water.
“If the wounds start bleeding again nobody will notice,” Jaskier had joked, earning him a growl from his witcher.
“Goodbye, warlock,” the witcher said quietly. Merlin stiffened, but nobody seemed to take notice of them. If someone was eavesdropping they’d need supernatural hearing to get what was spoken between him and the white-haired witcher.
“If you need me, call my name into the winds. Call, and I’ll come.”
The witcher didn’t wait for an answer. He corrected the straps of his scabbards and swung himself into the saddle behind Jaskier.
“Thank you, Geralt. Safe travels,” Merlin said quietly, sure that the witcher could hear him.
Soon, the two of them, bard and witcher, were mere a speck in the distance, and as the sun set, they disappeared into the dark shapes of the forest, now once more safe to travel.