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Your eyes they tie me down so hard
I’ll never learn to put up a guard
So keep my love, my candle bright
Learn me hard, oh learn me right
Early in the brisk morning, just before daybreak, Armin emerged from his hut and set forth into the woods. He followed an unmarked path - unnoticable except to those who already know of it - his lanterned staff lighting his way in the semi-darkness. A short distance into the forest was an area of open wood in which Armin grew his herbs; a patch protected and warmed by his own magic, an invisible greenhouse. Every so often he would go to tend to his plants and gather ingredients to replenish his stock at home.
About halfway up the path, Armin heard the snap of branch to his left. He turned quickly, grasping his staff in a defencive position, its glow shifting from a warm sunlight to a menacing red. A young man, dirty and weak, leaned against a tree not but 10 feet from him. Stunned, he stood stiff on the path, staring at the man.
The young man stared back and broke the silence with a dry cough. “Ugh, hello,” he said roughly, his arm clinging the stump of where a low-hanging branch had just been.
“Hello,” Armin returned the greeting cautiously. It was unusual to see anyone this deep in the forest, and this close to his magic herbs. “Are you lost?”
“I am, actually,” the man laughed humorously, as if the current situation was amusing. Did he not know the dangers in the wood? Or of who he was speaking to? “Would you, uh, happen to know the direction to the nearest town?”
Armin studied the young man further. Tall, lean, but well built - a traveler, perhaps? Regardless, he was weak and most likely injured, as the scent of drying blood waifed from him. Armin sensed honest intentions in the man, he was no threat. He loosened his grip on his staff and lifted his hand. “Stohess is about three miles southeast of here,” he pointed past the man.
The young man turned his head to follow the direction of Armin’s finger, and nearly fell to the floor in doing so. Armin blew caution to the wind and ran to the man, helping back to his feet. “You won’t make it in your current state,” he grunted as he gathered him up and slung an arm over his neck in order to support the larger man’s weight. “Come, I’ll take you to my hut, it’s not far.”
The man sighed audibly, and Armin sensed relief and gratitude lift from his center. “Thank you,” he breathed, suddenly well aware of his exhaustion. “You’re a kind man, uh-”
“Armin. I’m called Armin,” he huffed out, grateful he had his staff to help him carry the man down the slight hill.
“Thank you, Armin,” the man limped and swayed, but made great effort in keeping himself as upright as possible. “I’m Jean.”
A light sweat gathered on Armin’s forehead, dampening the lining of his hat. “Well, Jean,” he grunted, leading the traveler over a log, “I hope you don’t have any plant allergies.”
Jean turned to look at the shorter man quizzingly as they slowly made their way back down the unmarked path.
Though I may speak some tongue of old
Or even spit out some holy word
I have no strength from which to speak
When you sit me down and see I’m weak
It was warm inside the hut. The sun was now peeking through the trees and lighting the open roomed cabin. Herbs, plants, and flowers of all sorts hung from the ceiling of what looked to be a kitchen area, and it smelled heavily of incense and lit candles. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books, packages, and jars, some of which held unidentifiable content.
Jean laid drowsily on Armin’s bed his stomach on the mattress and head turned outward. His dirty and torn clothes had been removed and placed in a bin, leaving the young man in his underwear with his wounds exposed. Armin inspected the cuts, blushing as he also took notice of Jean’s built physique. Luckily none of them were seriously deep, making Armin’s work easy as he moved to his table to prepare healing bandages.
Jean watched him work with lidded eyes. “What are you doing?” he groaned, now fully aware of his aching body.
“Making a healing solution,” Armin replied without taking his eyes away from his work. “Please, don’t try to talk. You’re weak and it’s distracting.” He began mumbling quietly as he ground multiple herbs into a powder, adding oil before mixing. Then he dipped strips of cloth into the mixture, all the while chanting something under his breath.
That freaked Jean out, but he couldn’t exactly do anything about it in his current state. He had to trust the golden haired boy - after all, he did help him out of the woods, and he was laying on his bed. What other options did Jean have but to trust him? If there were any, he missed his chance as Armin made his way back to the bedside, carrying a bowl of moist cloths.
“This might sting a bit at first,” Armin warned, lifting a cloth from the bowl and placing it over a gash on Jean’s back, “and the smell won’t be very pleasant, either.”
Jean winced audibly. The cloth was hotter than he expected, and it made is wound sizzle and bubble under it. But a soothing sensation washed over him immediately after, making him sigh. The process went on - heat and sizzles, soothing relief - until all of Jean’s wounds had been covered over. By the end Jean’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He slipped his head to see Armin looking down at him, a kind smile on his lips. He saw the golden-haired boy stand and move back to his desk before his drowsiness overcame him.
When Jean next awoke it was dark, the hut dimly lit with candles and a hanging lantern. A large pot hung in the fireplace, the stew inside letting off a tantalizing aroma. Jean turned and sat up in the bed, the bandages fell off his back and arms in doing so. He lifted his arms to inspect his wounds, only to find faint scars in their stead. His legs were the same, any gash he once had now looked as if it had been obtained long ago. He looked up and scanned the large room for Armin. The boy’s hat and coat hung by the front door, and his staff was leaning against the table on which he had made the bandages, but Armin himself was nowhere in sight.
Jean stood from the bed and stretched his back, surprised to be pain-free. His clothes sat folded at the foot of the bed, cleaned and stitched. He put on his pants and shirt, and walked around the inside of the small cabin, exploring its contents. He scanned the walls and shelves, eyeing the books. Picking one off the shelf, he flipped through it. There were diagrams and figures, but the notes were written in no language Jean could recognize. He placed that book back and picked up a second. This one had hieroglyphics. Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.
“Glad to see you walking,” a voice came from behind Jean, making him jump and nearly drop the book. He turned on his heels and found Armin, sitting heavily in a colorfully quilted armchair. How long had he been there? Did Jean just not notice him?
“Oh! uh, yeah, I feel much better. Thank you,” Jean stuttered, embarrassed that he was caught snooping. “Um, how long was I sleeping?”
Armin simply smiled. “Close to eleven hours,” he answered, then he lifted himself from the chair with a grunt and moved to the fireplace. He knelt to mix the stew then lifted the ladle to his lips, blowing on it lightly before tasting. “Ah, perfect,” he grinned childishly. Then he stood and gave the pot a satisfied nod, and the fire instantly dwindled into embers. Next he went to a cabinet to fetch two bowls and brought them back to the pot. He held the bowls out in front of him and the ladle lifted itself from the pot and poured stew into a bowl, dipping back into the pot and adding more until both bowls held a generous amount. At last he moved to the table, and the books, candles, and plants that were laying on its top moved themselves out of the way, making two open spots to eat. Armin set the bowls down and a stool slid under Armin as he sat. He began eating, and nodded at Jean to join him.
Jean could only watch in awe. His mouth hung open at what he just witnessed. What had he just witnessed? Still greatly bewildered, he found himself moving to the table and sitting across from the boy. He also found himself wanting to ask questions. He cleared his throat, stammering, “How, uh, h-how did you d-do that?”
Armin raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the question. Mouth still full, he replied bluntly. “Magic, obviously.” He returned his attention to his bowl like none of it was a big deal.
Jean leaned forward over his bowl, his amazement outweighing his hunger. “So what are you, a witch or something?”
“I prefer ‘druid’, or ‘pagan’, but yes.”
This was all new territory for Jean. “And I guess that means all those Grimm’s fairy-tales are real? Did the wolf really eat Red Riding Hood?” he couldn’t help but laugh, more out of hysterics than humor.
Armin frowned across the table at him. “Legends have lessons, Jean, and there’s truth behind every myth.”
Jean slumped back in his seat, calmer, but no less confused. He stared at Armin, looking at his features in detail for the first time since he startled him in the forest. His face was thin, yet flushed with youth. His hair, though long, showed no signs of graying. He was short, clearly, but he definitely wasn’t frail, seeing as he managed to carry Jean half a mile through the woods. Without his coat on, Jean could make out defined forearms and large slender hands, which sported painted nails. “Aren’t witches supposed to be, like, super old?”
Armin returned Jean’s gaze, making him shudder. His eyes were the deepest blue and full of both knowledge and wonder, like they knew the answers to the earth’s greatest secrets then went on to investigate the sky. Jean had to look away.
“When you’re finished, please clean up after yourself,” Armin stood up the table and carried his bowl to the sink. He washed and dried the dish, then placed it back in the cabinet. He moved silently across the through the cabin and rested himself back on the armchair. “You can use the bed for the night.”
Jean finished his meal in silence and cleaned up as he was told. He walked toward the bed but stopped behind Armin. “Hey,” he started, unsure of what he wanted to say. Armin was peering up at him, waiting. It made Jean blush and scratch at his undercut. “I, uh, just wanted to say thanks. Again. For everything.” His blushed deepened, and he hurried into the bed to bury his flushed face in the pillow.
From around the corner, he heard a soft “You’re welcome.”
We will be who we are
And they’ll heal our scars
Sadness will be far away
The morning sun gleamed through the window, stirring Jean. He rose drowsily, taking a moment to register where he was. The sight of Armin sitting over his table snapped him awake. He removed himself from under the covers and the took the opportunity to approach the blond, who was fixated on the items in front of him. Standing at his side, Jean watched as Armin ground vines and flower petals into a powder. He wanted to learn more about this witch, and his curiosity got the better of him “What’s that for?” he asked as he leaned his head over Armin’s shoulder.
Unsettled, Armin picked up another flimsy twig from the stock he had on his desk. “This promotes protection and safe travel,” he handed the twig back to Jean for him to inspect. He picked up a small yellow flower, “this one is for strength and happiness,” he smiled faintly, out of Jean’s vision, and set the flower back on the table. He went back to the mixture he had started, grinding into a fine powder. He turned to face Jean, who stopped twirling the plant with his fingers. Smiling, he pointed to a drawer on the other side of the room, “I forgot to grab a pouch, can you fetch it for me, please?”
Jean returned the smile and nodded, moving from behind Armin to retrieve the item. There were many small empty pouches in various colors. “Any bag in particular?”
“Any that you fancy is fine,” the blond called from the table. Jean returned with a dark blue pouch. “Open it,” Armin directed, and Jean obeyed. The witch took the powder and dumped it into the pouch, then Jean tied it close.
Jean investigated the pouch in his open palm. “What are you going to use it for?”
At this point Armin stood to face Jean. He grabbed the young man’s resting hand, and placed it to enclose the pouch in both his hands, keeping his own hands over Jean’s. “It’s for you,” he said, smiling up at him. Keep it on your person, and you will always be protected on your journey.” He removed his hands from Jean’s, both noticing the cold of each others’ absence. “If you ever find yourself lost, take a little bit of powder out and put it in a flame. The light will point you in the right direction.”
Jean grasped the pouch and held it to his chest. He felt a hope radiate from it, like the light of a candle in the dark. He looked down at Armin, who was watching him with a sort of sadness. Gratitude swelled through him, and he leaned in and hugged Armin tightly.
Armin reached around to return the embrace, smiling. He wiped his eyes when they broke apart, hoping Jean didn’t notice. He walked Jean out of his hut and followed him a few steps down the path, reminding him to stop by if he ever found himself in this part of the world again.