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wertyurt123 · 2 months ago

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The Witcher and the Borrower

Witcher 3, first meetings, 1858words

"I saw your contract." Geralt growled, the farmer starting and whirling around with a gasp. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Guess them tales of Witchers movin' silently was real. I'm, ah…I'm Stanley." There was a flicker of uncertainty as he clocked the eyes and the swords, slowly nodding. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, shaking slightly, seeming ill. Same old thing, new client.

"Please, master, you have to help me! I'm at my wit's end! I'm after burnin' the place down!"

Geralt grunted, folding his arms. "What's the issue?"

The farmer took a breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "There's somethin' in my house. Nobody believes me, nobody can see it. Scratchin' at night, things goin' missin', scuttlin' in the walls!"

"Sounds more like rats than monsters." Geralt murmured, leaning to look at the house behind the man.

"Oh, no, sir! Sometimes I hears a voice. It whispers. Whispers to me…" He began to knock quite hard on his forehead, then tangled his fingers in his bedraggled hair. "Tells me to leave my own home, speaks horrid lies!"

"Hm. I'll have a look." The Witcher moved past him, steps silent as he put a hand on the door. "You'd best leave me to it."

Seeming satisfied, if not still anxious, the farmer nodded slowly. "Yes, yes…I'll just…tavern…" He mumbled, and dragging his feet, started on the road toward town.

Finally alone, Geralt peered into the house, closing the door behind himself. The place was messier than other peasant houses he'd been in, some food rotting by the window, a smashed chair half-burnt in the fire. Focusing, he noticed the smell first, tart and strange. "Hm. Non-human smell, but it's strongest on the tables, only traces on the floor are along the edges, like mice." He bent at the waist, seeing an almost invisible track in the dust. "Not a mouse footprint. Bare foot." Looking around, he leant closer to the table, humming with thought. "This apple has a small bite - no - it's been cut. Tiny circle… Not browned yet." Picking up the apple, he thumbed over the circle, then put it back.

"What's this?" He leant down, pulling a thread free from the side of the table. A hook was attached to one end, stuck in the grain of the wood. "Not removed yet. Seems I interrupted something. Or someone."

A noise, much too faint for human ears, made Geralt turn, eyes trained to the wall. A soft patter, one that sounded awfully like rodent feet. But rodents didn't cut perfect circles from fruit.

"I know you're there." Geralt said, and the noise immediately stopped. "I just wanna talk." He listened. No response. "Come on out."

"Damn mutant… Just piss off…" A voice said, almost imperceptibly quiet, undetectable by human standards.

Gaze locking to the spot the sound came from, Geralt stalked toward it with light steps. "Listen. Farmer who lives here knows there's something in his walls - let's say you're a brownie for now - and he's spooked enough to be considering burning the place down."

"What…?" The voice was barely audible. "Oh, Gods…"

Geralt leant on the wall, the resulting thump making the voice cry out. "Ah, sorry, didn't mean to hit the wall that hard." Indeed, it was only a tap, which made him wonder what he was dealing with. "You're best coming out now. One chance." The lilt of silence gave him a pause to sigh. "Or I'll get you myself." He didn't want to condemn something to die in fire, especially since he wasn't sure what it was.

Pattering feet began to scuttle away through the wall and Geralt sighed. "Dammit." Though normally he'd keep his help to himself if it wasn't accepted, he was curious to see what this thing was. Taking out his knife, he followed the sound, waiting for the opportune moment to pry a hole in the plaster.

oOo

A witcher. The bastard had hired a damn witcher. And all borrowers knew that his kind delighted in using their skulls to adorn their rings, using their bones for potions. No, he wouldn't be getting any part of him. His mother had always told him 'Muddy, you must stay unseen, as being unseen means safety'. Thus, he ran from the snarling voice that shook his joints, made his head pound with fear.

As he sprinted across the stonework, he gasped a breath of relief, sure he'd left behind the awful situation. Humans were liars, humans were evil, and if witchers were badly spoken of by evil men, they must be truly abhorrent. Muddy would hunker down in that knot in the floorboards and wait. He could out-wait any man.

The point of the knife exploded through the wall only a few steps in front of him and he screamed as he collided with the sheet of metal, falling back and rubbing his head where it had struck. Dazed, he was aware of rumbling, of light, particulates of plaster stinging his nose. Coughing, a rush of air signalled the knife's exit, and he wiped dust from his eyes, groaning and blinking blearily at his surroundings.

A gigantic yellow eye focused in on him, the narrowing slit of the intent pupil squeezing his heart like the claws of a wraith. Seen. Breath heavy in his chest, he forgot how to inhale. Forgot how to move, how to speak. The eye, tracing his form in a way that made him sick, blinked with a muted thump, the wave of the silver lashes sending a light breeze through the hole.

"There you are." Those words, lips just on the other side of the thin layer of plaster shaking his chest cavity. Muddy tried to will himself to move, even just to stand, but every attempt led to desperately infuriating disappointment. "A Little? No, no tail. Borrower? Makes sense with you living in the wall."

Upon hearing that the witcher knew what he was, Muddy sprang to his feet, about to run for his life. Then, a flash of light, and suddenly his heart slowed. Calmness, like sinking into bed after a long day's toil.

"There. Come on out." All instinct was suppressed, and Muddy couldn't even make a thought coherent enough to keep him from stepping straight through the hole. A gloved palm caught him, and he thought he should've found it more remarkable than it was. He wasn't even together enough to ponder his indifference.

"I'm gonna have hell on when this Axii wears off, but at least I've got you out." Truthfully, Geralt had never seen a borrower before. Vesemir had taught him about them, but he didn't actively hunt them down. After all, what harm were they? "Do you have anything you'd like me to bring along?"

Muddy pointed absently at a spot on the wall. "M-My…My sword. Pa's sword."

Geralt made another hole with a stab and a twist of his knife, and peered inside it. "My. Quite a cushy set-up here." He hummed. After a second's thought, he began to pull at the plaster, making the hole larger. He supposed if he were a secret people, he wouldn't want anybody having a room as proof of his existence, so he practically scooped every item into his bag. "There. Now I'm gonna just slip you into my pocket under my breastplate." He used one hand to make enough room for the borrower, then let him slide down his chest and into his pocket. "Try to get some rest."

The command was instantaneous, and Muddy felt his body growing weaker as sleep began to creep up on him. He wasn't capable of resisting. Within moments, he was unconscious, the witcher carrying him and all his possessions from the only home he'd ever known.

When the borrower came to, his head ached with the thrum of noise; voices and glasses and music, punctuated by the loud, slow heart of the man who had captured him.

"House should be quiet now." The growl seemed to come from everywhere, Muddy feeling his nerve endings quivering with fright.

The other voice was that damned Stanley. "Truly?! What was the blighted thing?"

Muddy's breath grew ragged, knowing the witcher would reveal his nature. Or worse, drag him out into the tavern to be poked and jeered at.

"Ghost. Had to do a little superficial damage to the wall to get rid of it, but it's nothing a bit of spackle won't fix." The pressure around the tiny man increased slightly, and he was sure the witcher was crossing his arms over his chest. "You mentioned lies earlier. What sort of lies?"

Stanley's tone grew sour. "Never you mind! Take your coin and be gone, sir."

A shift of movement, and Muddy heard the music growing quieter, his entire world being a tight room of fabric.

"Ass." Geralt mumbled to himself, the borrower swallowing hard as he tried to shift the lump that blocked his words.

"So, you got a name?" The giant asked him, pausing for a response that didn't come. "I'm Geralt. Of Rivia."

"The Geralt of Rivia?!"

The steady sway and shift stopped suddenly, a questioning grunt causing shivers to tickle his neck. "Huh. You know who I am?"

The borrower only then realised he'd spoken, twisting his hands painfully. "Y-Yes. White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, Killer of Kings. The humans talk…"

"Word does travel fast. I reckon they only praise my deeds when my sword hits something they don't like." Geralt didn't begin walking again, but the borrower heard a gentle tap on the outside of the armour. "Not going anywhere else 'til you tell me your name."

It sounded like a threat. Was it a threat? Or did everything this man say seem laced with danger? "M…Muddy."

"Pleasure." The thudding footsteps and moving prison began again, his strides sounding long and purposeful. "Kinda curious; what 'lies' were you telling the farmer?"

Muddy bristled slightly, quiet for a moment, but the witcher didn't press for an answer. "He was a bad man. I'd say his wife was fortunate to die, but I'd rather she'd have managed to leave him." The borrower barely made a noise, but he was rather sure Geralt could hear.

"And you used it to try get him out of the house. Spilling his worst secrets and regrets in the hopes he'd crack." Geralt hit the nail on the head, as though Muddy had told him everything. "So, new home. Where's best for you? Abandoned house? Somewhere with kids, or old ladies?"

Choice. Muddy had never had choice before. His kind moved into the first suitable dwelling and made do, but being able to actually pick… "I don't suppose you know any blind people?"

A slight huff of a chuckle made Muddy shudder. "I do, actually. Day's travel. Maybe you could give me that coin you were using for a tabletop? Don't work for free, y'know."

"Witchers…" Came a disgruntled whisper.

"I heard that." Geralt said, wondering if he should pull the tiny man from his pocket, or if he'd be better staying put. He seemed comfortable, no need to upset him just yet. They had time.

#giant tiny #The witcher g/t #g/t writing #g/t #giant/tiny #the witcher #geralt of rivia

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