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“Master Geralt, I must insist…”
Geralt did his best to ignore Mererid. He’d done so for the better part of the past ten minutes and the man just wouldn’t stop talking at him. Right when Geralt was at a rather crucial step in his alchemical experiments. He was so close to reducing the toxicity of White Raffard’s decoction. All he wanted was a potion that’d give him a bad headache, instead of turning his blood black with poisons.
Geralt watched the liquid in his borrowed cauldron come to simmer. It’d need to be kept like this until most of the water had evaporated and he could dry the remaining paste in an oven so it became powder. Then, all that was left would be to mix some of it with water and try the decoction. It’d keep him busy for another day or two, if nothing happened.
And Geralt badly needed the distraction. Being a witcher in residence was a lot less fun than he’d hoped. Ciri had no time for him. Emhyr refused to have time for him if he could at all help it. The only person who occasionally actively sought Geralt out was Mererid, but that was mostly to complain about something Geralt was doing.
Thinking of the man, he noticed that Mererid had gone quiet. He hadn’t left, not yet, but he’d stopped chiding Geralt. In alarm, Geralt looked away from his cauldron.
Mererid was staring intently at a trinket he’d picked up from Geralt’s workbench. This particular one was something Geralt’d brought back when he’d explored the ruins the Nilfgaardian palace had been built on. Some of them dated back to a time even before the elves had arrived in their world. He was almost certain this artifact was that old, it definitely had been imbued with magic, and he had yet to figure out what it did. In other words, someone like Mererid should definitely not be handling it.
“Hey, give that back,” Geralt snapped, reaching for the trinket in Mererid’s hand. To his surprise, Mererid tried to keep holding onto it. “Stop that, that thing’s bound to be something dangerous.”
“I was merely looking, Master Geralt,” Mererid insisted, clutching the trinket to his chest. He struggled when Geralt attempted to take it from him again, but Geralt wasn’t about to give up so easily. In hindsight he should have. Just when he thought he’d finally pried it from Mererid’s grasp, the trinket dropped. Geralt and Mererid both watched in horror as it fell and then broke, releasing a little puff of greenish smoke.
“Shit.”
“I shall send somebody to clean the fragments up,” Mererid said. He’d gone very pale.
“Hey, no, it’s okay, I can do that myself.”
Mererid coughted.
Belatedly, Geralt realized that whatever the smoke had been, there was a chance they’d breathed it in. “But help me open the windows. ...or do you need to sit down? Here, let me...”
Mererid pushed him away as if he’d been burnt when Geralt tried to guide him into an armchair. “I assure you, Master Geralt, I am fine,” he insisted, but the tremor and pitch of his voice made it obvious that he was lying. Geralt didn’t even have to listen for his increased heart rate.
“You are not,” Geralt insisted. He pushed Mererid in the chair, holding him down by his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “Stay here. I’m getting you a healer.”
“But…” Mererid tried to protest, but he stood no chance against the strength and weight of Geralt. “But His Imperial Majesty…”
“I’ll tell Emhyr I got you… sick? Injured? Something. But it was my fault. Don’t worry about it.” Geralt gave Mererid’s shoulders an encouraging squeeze before he let go. “Rest. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“This is my own fault,” Mererid said, still trying to escape Geralt’s concern for his health. “You should not be forced to take the blame for my misjudgement.”
“Yeah, but, you know, I don’t get punished for that shit.” Geralt shook his head. “At least not the same way everybody else is. Er… please, can’t I just order you to stay here until a healer’s checked you out?”
Mererid sighed deeply. He clutched his chest. “Very well.”
Worried, Geralt still opened all the windows to his rooms before he left Mererid alone to find a healer. And to tell Emhyr he’d accidentally broken his chamberlain. Fuck. That wouldn’t be fun.
Emhyr took Geralt’s confession better than expected. He listened with an unreadable expression, called for a healer to be sent to Geralt’s suite immediately and then followed Geralt back to see Mererid for himself. It was a surprisingly quiet and gentle moment when Emhyr asked Mererid about his wellbeing. Mererid answered equally quietly. Eventually, when the healer and his two apprentices arrived, Emhyr stepped around the armchair. Hovering over Mererid’s shoulder like that, expression dark and watchful, he looked like a death omen to Geralt. When their eyes met for a moment, it wasn’t a question of whose death Emhyr was plotting.
When the healer asked Mererid to take off his shirt, Emhyr pulled Geralt into his bedroom without a single word. With how hard Emhyr was gripping his arm, Geralt thought better than to talk back at him for it.
“What in the world were you thinking?” Emhyr hissed once they were alone.
“I didn’t force him to pick up that damn artifact,” Geralt snapped back. “It was an accident. My fault. But still an accident.”
“If there are any lasting consequences to his health, Geralt, I swear I’ll make you regret this day for the rest of your life.”
Geralt stared at Emhyr. He’d said this in his usual tone and with his usual expression, but the words hinted at deeper emotion than anything he’d thought Emhyr capable of.
“Stop gawking at me.”
Geralt shook his head to get rid of the thought. Emhyr had feelings for nobody. Maybe for Ciri, if Geralt wanted to be generous. But definitely not for a servant, not even for one so dedicated and loyal as Mererid. ...right?
“Emhyr…” Geralt began, caution losing the battle against curiosity by a hair. “Are you and Mererid… you know…” He shrugged, faltering under Emhyr’s intense glare. It felt like if he’d say another wrong word, not even Ciri could save him from the gallows.
“You better find a way to fix this if the healer doesn’t,” Emhyr growled. Now that Geralt was really looking, he could see that Emhyr was worried.
“Er… that might be a bit… difficult. The thing we broke was really old.” Geralt scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll probably need help.”
“Whatever.” Emhyr relaxed just slightly. “Whatever you need, Geralt.”
“Any old books on gnomish or dwarven magic, and any expert you can think of,” Geralt quickly explained. If he wanted to survive the coming hours, he’d better give Emhyr another course of action. “And maybe some help putting the artifact back together.”
“You shall have all of it.” Emhyr nodded grimly. “I will help you myself with the reconstruction.”
Geralt snapped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t protest.
“You don’t happen to have an educated guess whether it’s dwarven or gnomish?” Emhyr asked, gentler this time.
Geralt shook his head. “It’s too old.”
“Bloedde sheyss,” Emhyr cursed.
Before either of them could elaborate on their frustrations, there was a knock on the door. The healer’s apprentice who opened it at Emhyr’s prompt whispered to Emhyr for a moment before he led him back to Mererid. As the healer stepped back, they could see Mererid still had his shirt open. Out of his chest… Geralt squinted, then had to look over Emhyr’s shoulder because Emhyr had decided that he needed to take a closer look. Mererid flushed. There was a tiny sprout growing from his chest. When Geralt looked up at his face and then down again, the sprout flapped its tiny leaves. It seemed to grow under his gaze. Mererid’s flush grew, spreading down his chest.
“This is… certainly unusual,” Emhyr said as he stepped back, allowing Mererid to quickly rebutton his shirt. “Does it hurt?”
Mererid shook his head, eyes still fixed on Geralt.
“You are not to exert yourself until we find a solution for this,” Emhyr said sternly. “Your duties will have to be taken over by somebody else. For now, I want you to rest.” He put a hand on Mererid’s shoulder and whispered something to him.
“Sorry again,” Geralt murmured as Mererid stood to put himself back together. He couldn’t even look Mererid in the eye anymore.
“It will be alright,” Mererid said smoothly, but without conviction. “I should not have disturbed you, Master Witcher. Your Majesty. If I could be excused.”
“Get some rest,” Emhyr ordered.
As Mererid left, the healer and his apprentices followed him. Emhyr watched, sinking into the armchair the moment they were alone. “Did you know that Mererid served me before my parent’s deaths? So, to answer your earlier question: yes, I have a personal interest in his well-being and an emotional attachment. There is nobody who could replace him.”
Geralt pulled a second chair up and sat down as well. “Does he know you think this about him?”
“He knows he’s invaluable to me.” Emhyr shrugged. “Beyond that, I don’t like advertising my sympathies.”
“Well, that raises the number of people I know you like to a whole three people.” Geralt grinned. When Emhyr raised an eyebrow, he elaborated: “Ciri, me and now Mererid. And don’t even try to deny you like me.”
“Right now, I pretty much hate you,” Emhyr sighed. “For endangering Mererid’s life. I might never find it in me to forgive you should something happen to him.”
“Ouch.” Geralt feigned hurt. “Me neither, though. Er… I’d… I’ll collect the fragments now.”
“Let’s just hope putting the trinket back together will help us fix this.” Emhyr leaned back. “I really wouldn’t know what I’d do without Mererid.”
Geralt swept the pieces of the ancient trinket up. Luckily, the stone hadn’t splintered too badly. It would be a jigsaw puzzle, but at least not one with finicky little parts. “You sound like he’s really important to you.”
“He’s a dedicated servant.” Emhyr sighed. “I wouldn’t insult him by implying he could be anything other than very good at his job.”
“Cold, Emhyr, very cold.”
“Shut up, Geralt.” Emhyr coughed. He rubbed his chest. “You don’t think this might be contagious?”
Geralt looked down the front of his loose shirt. “I don’t think so.”
“Good,” Emhyr sighed. “Do you need help with the relic?”
“Nah. But I like the company.” Geralt smiled at Emhyr. “You don’t usually want to talk to me like this.”
“I’m a busy person, Geralt, I can’t just keep you company all day.” Emhyr coughed again. “But today you’ll keep me from making mistakes. So I’ll stay.”
It took Geralt most of the afternoon to put the artifact back together. At some point, Emhyr had sent for a list of books from the palace library and handed two letters off to servants. He’d spent his time reading, occasionally demanding Geralt show him the relic so he could compare it to one of the books. They hadn’t gotten anywhere with that by the time the sun started to set.
Geralt had snatched one of Emhyr’s unread books to go through it himself after he was done rebuilding. He was leaning against the armchair, subconsciously searching for the comfort of proximity to Emhyr. Meanwhile, Emhyr had moved while he had been reading, from one leg over the armrest to both, so that by now he was lying across the armchair, with the second armrest supporting his neck. Geralt had no idea how Emhyr could hold that pose for hours without seriously hurting his back.
Not that Geralt was about to complain. About halfway through his current book, Emhyr had started to pet his hair and scratch his head between pages, as if Geralt were his pet. It felt good, so Geralt let him. He even feared the moment Emhyr would realize what he was doing and stop it for good.
Sadly, none of the books yielded any information on what was going on with Mererid. The expert on Gnomes had gotten back to Emhyr that he had no idea but would look into it further nonetheless. Emhyr had been furious at the letter, mostly frustrated that there was no quick and simple solution. He sounded a lot like Ciri’s outbursts when she’d been younger and couldn’t solve a riddle fast enough for her own liking.
Ciri herself came by an hour or two into the night. The way she grinned at Geralt, she’d noticed what her father had been doing before he quickly pulled his hand back from Geralt’s head. She was soon followed by servants who set up dinner on a table they carried in specifically for this reason. When Geralt tried to complain, Ciri informed him that she didn’t miss eating off alchemy tables with strange stains and wasn’t in a hurry to pick that habit up again. She also made her fathers put down their respective books and have dinner with her. Emhyr looked peeved, but he didn’t complain out loud. Ciri rewarded his good graces by touching his arm and telling him she did it out of love.
“So, what exactly is going on? The healers told me Geralt got Mererid poisoned,” Ciri asked once they were alone with their food.
“He did,” Emhyr confirmed the same moment Geralt protested: “I didn’t.”
Ciri laughed. “Tell me what happened.”
“He picked up a trinket I meant to inspect, I tried to get him to put it down, it dropped and shattered.” Geralt shrugged. “Whatever had been trapped inside dissipated into the air and now Mererid has a sprout growing from his chest.”
Ciri bit her lips. “I...checked in on him before I came here. It’s not a sprout anymore. It’s a vine. Whatever caused this, it’s growing fast.”
Emhyr’d gone pale. He reached for his wine to stifle yet another cough.
“Father? Are you alright?”
“I’m merely worried,” he assured her. “My throat had been hurting before this afternoon. This cannot be the same ailment that befell Mererid.”
Ciri squinted at him. “Take off your shirt,” she ordered, imitating the exact cadence Emhyr used when he didn’t want to be disobeyed.
“You distrust me?” Emhyr protested.
“When it comes to your wellbeing? Especially when you don’t feel well? Yes. I don’t want a repeat of last winter, when nobody noticed you had the flu until you passed out at your desk from your fever.” Ciri crossed her arms. “Shirt. Off. Now. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, if that’s what worries you.”
“I will not bare myself at the dinner table,” Emhyr objected, leaning slightly away from her.
Ciri sighed. “Geralt? Do me a favor and help me take off his shirt.”
“You got it,” Geralt grinned. He was out of his chair and behind Emhyr in one smooth motion, holding Emhyr’s arms in place so Ciri could undo the clasps and buttons on his jacket and the shirt below.
A thin vine had wrapped itself around Emhyr’s chest, it’s tip waving at them in time with Emhyr’s breath. The leaves it had sprouted reminded Geralt of the heart shaped ones of beans. In general, it looked like a happy little plant that just happened to grow in entirely the wrong place.
“That’s… almost cute,” Geralt murmured.
Before their eyes, the vine grew a bright red flower like a runner bean.
Emhyr set his jaw. “Are you satisfied?” he ground out, glaring at Ciri.
“If it helps, I think it looks good on you,” Geralt said. The vine grew another two flowers.
“It does not,” Emhyr snapped at him. “Unhand me, you brute. I suffered this indignity long enough.”
“Hmmm.” Ciri leaned back with a thoughtful expression. “I think I… let’s say heard about this before while I traveled to other worlds. Geralt, can I have a quick word with you?”
Geralt followed her to a corner of the room. The moment he’d let go of Emhyr, he tried to button his shirt back up. “Leave it,” Ciri ordered. “I want to test something in a minute. If I’m right, the cure is really simple.”
“So, what’s your idea?” Geralt asked.
Ciri shrugged. “I want you to look into my father’s eyes and tell him he’s pretty. Or smart. Or some other compliment.”
“Why?”
“To see if it adds more flowers.” Ciri grinned. “If it works, I’ll tell you both why.”
Geralt shook his head. “Still full of mischief, huh? Alright, let’s do this.”
He walked up to Emhyr.Without missing a beat, he dropped to his knees in front of him, took his hand and looked him deeply in the eyes. This close, he could see the hint of a blush below Emhyr’s panic-wide eyes. “I really enjoyed this afternoon in your company. You give really good scritches.”
Emhyr was stunned speechless. He didn’t have to say anything, though. The vine wiggled itself free between two buttons and grew another handful of flowers.
“I knew it!” Ciri cheered. “Hah! Father, it feeds off your unspoken feelings. Namely romantic feelings.” She grinned broadly.
Emhyr looked down at the vine. “I can see what your proposed solution will be and I think I’d rather not.”
“You could die from this!”
“I am aware.” Emhyr pursed his lips. “Still.”
Geralt sighed deeply. “There’s a much easier solution. But, Ciri, you gotta promise me you’ll make sure I won’t get executed for this.”
“For helping my ornery old father against his will?” Ciri waved a hand. “I’ll never let that happen.”
“Good.” Geralt took a deep breath. He surged forward. His lips pressed against Emhyr’s. His hands held Emhyr’s shoulders. For a moment, Emhyr struggled against him, but he eventually relaxed.
“I love you,” Emhyr whispered when Geralt finally eased away.
The vine drooped. The flowers were the first to fall. Next, its leaves curled in on themselves and became yellow, before they tumbled to the floor. Finally, the vine itself dropped away.
Emhyr cursed softly.
Suddenly self conscious, Geralt stood and took a few steps back. “I… er… could forget you ever said that.” The thought of acknowledging what Emhyr’d said actually terrified him, moreso since the magic seemed satisfied with his admission. He was barely ready to think of Emhyr as a friend. Thinking of him as a potential lover was… not all that bad if he thought about it for a moment instead of panicking. A lot of it would probably just involve sitting close to each other in companionable silence. And if Emhyr wanted to continue petting Geralt’s head a lot, that would be far from the worst that could happen to Geralt.
“Wait, what about Mererid?” Geralt suddenly blurted out.
Emhyr’s eyes narrowed.
“Well, I can’t just let him get strangled by a cursed vine just because you’re a little too possessive,” Geralt growled. “Or jealous. The fuck do you think you are?”
Emhyr wrapped himself into his jacket so he could busy himself with redoing the clasps. “Not the one holding your heart, that much is obvious. Which is why I didn’t want to say anything. Or subject you to my company. Go on, do what you have to do.”
“You do realize that Mererid could just as well have unspoken feelings for you, father?” Ciri sighed. “Honestly, that would make far more sense.”
Emhyr huffed softly.
“Father, there are people who know you and still like you.” Ciri rolled her eyes. “And Mererid is very devoted to you. He’d fight monsters empty handed, if you asked him to.”
“Fine,” Emhyr sighed. He very much looked like he didn’t believe a word Ciri said. “We can both try. And if we fail, I can still order him to confess the subject of his desires to me. It would be a little cruel, but far less cruel than letting him succumb to this ridiculous curse.”
“What are we waiting for?” Geralt grumbled. “C’mon. Let’s harass your poor chamberlain for his own good.”
They went down passages Geralt had never seen before on their way to Mererid’s rooms. Geralt had never much thought about the way the chamberlain lived. All things considered, if somebody had told him Mererid simply powered down at night like a golem, he'd have believed it. Emhyr finally stopped in front of a door in the better part of the servant’s quarters. He knocked.
“Go away,” came Mererid’s voice from the inside. He sounded like he was in distress, enough so that Geralt shouldered past Emhyr and simply opened the door. Mererid actually squeaked when he recognized them. He quickly tried to hide under his blanket, but Geralt had already seen the little blue flowers sprouting all over Mererid’s torso like little suns.
“We found the cure. Solution. We know how we can make you better,” Geralt blurted out. “It worked on Emhyr, so please, trust us.”
Mererid’s eyes widened as he slowly turned to Emhyr. “Your Imperial Majesty, I am so infinitely sorry…”
Emhyr cut him off with a gesture. He’d closed the door behind them. “The solution is simple, yet not easy. Apparently…” Emhyr let out a deep, resigned sigh. “Confessing a love long kept secret removes the curse. No more flowers, no more spreading corruption.” He pinched his nose. “I will not hold it against you if you think this price too high.”
Mererid’s eyes darted over to Geralt and back to Emhyr. His face fell. “And your Imperial Majesty already did that?” he asked softly.
Geralt took pity. He sat down on the edge of Mererid’s bed and took his hands. “Chances are… well, with how the plant grew from the start, chances are you’re… you carry a torch for either of us. And neither will hold it against you if you speak it out loud. Trust me. We both want you to survive this curse more than anything.”
To Geralt’s surprise, Mererid threw his arms around him and hugged him close, shaking with tears. “Forgive me, Master Geralt,” he sobbed. “I know I should not desire you. I should not. I have failed his Imperial Majesty so badly with this. You should be happy with him and I shall do my utmost to support it, I promise…”
Stunned, Geralt wrapped his arms around Mererid to hold him while he wept into his shoulder. He furiously tried to figure out what he’d done to not only charm Emhyr, but Mererid as well. Not that he disliked either of them. Most of the time, he even enjoyed their company, in a weird way. However…
“I have one demand,” Geralt said suddenly, without letting go of Mererid. “If you start fighting over me, I’ll leave and never come back. I’ve dealt with jealous sorceresses before. I am not doing something on that scale again. But if you’d both be willing to share, I think I could be happy here.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Emhyr.” Geralt kissed the top of Mererid’s head. “Be nice to Mererid. He’s been through enough.”
For a couple of moments, Emhyr didn’t even move. Geralt figured he was seething and already wondered how fast he could get out of Nilfgaard without having to kill more soldiers than strictly necessary. But when Emhyr moved, he came to the bed instead of leaving. “The distress I have put you through is inexcusable,” he said. “If my options truly are that I should have you both or neither, I’m gladly ready to have you both by my side.”
Mererid slowly looked up, wearing an expression of pure wonder. “You mean that, your Majesty?”
Emhyr rolled his eyes. “If this is supposed to work, you’ll have to call me by my name.” With a sigh, he dropped down on the bed. Gently, he took Mererid’s chin in his hand and turned him around so he could kiss him. “I have wondered how this would feel like for decades,” he murmured when they were done.
“I…” Mererid swallowed. “I shall try my very best. E-Emhyr. Geralt.” With a sigh, he sunk back against Geralt’s chest. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
Geralt brushed a hand down his back. It was surprisingly nice to hold Mererid like this. Definitely something he could get used to. Just another perk, in addition to quiet company and pets from Emhyr. “Here, let me, too.” He carefully tilted Mererid’s head back. His lips were soft against Geralt’s, much less chapped than Emhyr’s. There was less of an edge to the kiss, too. Danger and safety. With Mererid and Emhyr, he could have it both.