Arrow

[antimonyschnuck]

Arrow

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Geralt/Emhyr

Rating: mature, not quite explicit

Oh no, Emhyr gets hit by an arrow in an embarrassing place and only Geralt is there to help.

I'm extrapolating on witcher mutations, adding Steven Universe saliva healing powers.

The emperor was bored. He was often bored, usually when people were involved. Now he was bored while being relatively on his own - which meant on horseback surrounded by an Imperial Infantry cohort - and that was somewhat unusual.

He enjoyed travelling. No-one expected him to listen to them, he could drop the facade of 'stern attention' in favour of his actual face (which people always interpreted as 'impending death sentence' - then they froze and became uncooperative). No, on horseback he could let himself be lulled into comfort by friendly horse noises and let his mind roam where it wanted to go.

Today he didn't allow himself that indulgence. The witcher was riding with them. Cirilla had insisted. It made sense, he knew Temeria and its dangers well and was a capable fighter; Emhyr suspected Cirilla saw it foremost as an opportunity to force them to spend time together and become less hostile towards each other.

So now he couldn't let his mind wander because he didn't trust where it would go, or better: he knew exactly where it would go since the witcher's broad back was constantly drawing his gaze, and that seemed wrong. It would be weird. It would be awkward.

Boring.

Then it wasn't boring anymore. The first thing that happened was the witcher suddenly straightened in his saddle, nudging his horse towards the cohort commander who shook his head. Next thing that happened was the cohort commander falling off his horse with an arrow through his throat, the witcher barking "Scoia'tael!"

Their road was leading through a wooded area that grew denser ahead, but just a few minutes ago they'd been riding through muddy agricultural land.

"Retreat!" the emperor shouted. It seemed apparent the squirrels were in the dense forest. But the Nilfgaardians had horses and would be faster than them and once they were back in the open the advantage would be on their side.

"No!" The witcher was suddenly at his side. "It's a trap, they'll be waiting for us back there and-" he'd stopped the emperor's horse but the soldiers had already turned around and were hit by - trees. Falling on them from both sides. "Ride THROUGH the forest!" the witcher shouted.

The emperor confirmed the order without hesitation. "East through the forest!" They were both urging their horses on to leave the road, the rest of the cohort were doing the same. The forest wasn't so dense that riding would have been impossible but of course it slowed them down considerably - and there still were a few Scoia'tael in the trees. They were bested by the soldiers. Two more soldiers caught arrows. Several more arrows hadn't found their targets because the witcher had parried them with his sword.

But it looked like they'd made it - they were in the middle of a Sun-forsaken forest but there were no more Scoia'tael. There weren't many Nilfgaardians either. Maybe more of them had survived and just gone into slightly different directions, but here with the emperor and the witcher was just one more soldier. Eventually the three of them had to dismount, the forest growing too dense for riding through it after all.

"Let's head further East," the witcher whispered, pointing in that direction. "There should be-"

The emperor heard the noise of the arrow right before he felt the pain. Not the 'woosh' (you only heard that when it passed right by your head) but a 'swack' when it grazed a tree. Fortunately there was no 'thwonk' - the arrow had lost a lot of energy from the collision with the tree and although it had still accidentally hit a target, it only buried itself rather shallowly into a large muscle.

The witcher was off like an arrow, too, he flew through the forest and was upon the archer within seconds. The emperor sank slowly down until he knelt on the forest floor. It hurt, but even worse was the injury to his dignity. He slapped away the hands of his soldier, who was trying to offer support but wasn't very clear on the details of what he was supposed to do.

Then the witcher was back. His hands were sure and proficient. He knelt with him, checked the wound and then held him close in what would have looked like a passionate embrace under different circumstances.

"What's your name?" the witcher asked the Nilfgaardian soldier. His deep, mellow voice vibrated through his chest and the emperor allowed himself to rest his forehead against his shoulder.

"Corporal Ailfiagh, Master Witcher." The young man was glad he was about to receive orders instead of having to come up with anything himself.

"Alright Alfi," the witcher nodded. "Take your horse and go East. You won't be in the forest for long. When you get to a river, follow it upstream - there's a Nilfgaardian encampment somewhere in that direction, shouldn't take long on horseback. Tell them what happened and to send help. Don't get yourself killed. Think you can do that?"

The corporal swallowed. "Yes. Your Majesty?"

The emperor sighed against the witcher's shoulder. "Yes, I concur. Those are your orders. Go."

"I'm gonna get some things from my bags, be right back," the witcher murmured into the emperor's ear, the tip of his nose brushing his temple, and carefully helped him prop himself against a birch trunk. Emhyr closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He couldn't remember ever having been treated like that. Kindly. Caringly. Of course he didn't fool himself, he'd seen the witcher talk to his horse like this, too. But the part of him he didn't manage to wrangle in line was begging to have this, even if it meant being shot on a regular basis.

"Don't get startled, I'll cut away the fabric covering, er - the area around the arrow." The witcher had put one of his hands on his uninjured flank - as you did to soothe a horse, yes - and he could hear the sound of his trousers' fabric yielding to the witcher's sharp knife. It wasn't really an enjoyable experience because the arrow got moved and it hurt like bloede pest but he was also very aware of the witcher's eyes on the now exposed area of his body.

"It's not bleeding too much," the witcher explained. "Nothing critical anywhere near where it hit and it isn't in too deep. The arrows the archer still had in their quiver aren't barbed, so I'm going to pull it out.”

Emhyr nodded. "I understand. Go ahead."

"I'll count to-" the witcher said, then he pulled.

Hvren, a d'yaebl aép arse, yes that hurt. The emperor panted.

The witcher cursed, too. His face appeared up close again and a warm hand stroked Emhyr’s hair from his face, tucking it back behind his ear. “We’ve got a problem.”

The witcher’s hand was on his shoulder now and it took Emhyr a second to process what he’d said. He blinked. “What is it?”

Geralt was still touching his shoulder. “The arrow head dislodged. I pulled out the shaft but the head is still stuck in - in your flesh.”

Emhyr nodded. That type of arrow was sinister and of course used by archers of all factions. “What do you propose?” He knew what the answer would be.

“I’ll have to cut it out.” The witcher’s expression was tense and his attempt of an encouraging smile fell a little flat. “I know what I’m doing, have done it on myself. If we leave it until you can see a healer, you’ll get a serious infection.”

Emhyr grimaced. “I am aware. I am just not exalted by the prospect.” He leant his forehead against the birch. “Proceed.”

The witcher’s hand squeezed his shoulder. Then he heard him rummaging around - probably disinfecting a knife with alcohol. Something pushed between his slightly spread legs. He gasped. Geralt was straddling his leg, keeping it between his thighs like in a vice. An arm reached around him, handing him a clean cloth. “You can bite down on that. Now try to relax and don’t fight it, I’ll cast one of my signs on you, to dull the pain. Alright?”

Emhyr hummed a muffled confirmation into his gag. The witcher’s fist appeared, his index finger formed a hook, then his little finger went up twice and just when Emhyr started to think how odd this was, his body felt numb and heavy. He barely sensed the wood touching his arms where he hugged the tree. It felt like being afloat in water, which wasn’t bad at all - then a stabbing pain in his arse ripped him out of the magically induced sedation.

Emhyr brayed into his gag, desperately trying to uphold as much dignity as he could in the current situation. He didn't want Geralt to think even less of him than it must already be the case.

"Alright? Worst is over. Got it out." The witcher’s face was in front of him again. He was so close, his breath tickled his face when he spoke. Emhyr nodded. Geralt pulled the cloth from his mouth and cupped his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

He was definitely going to dream of this day for the rest of his life, imagining a different reality in which the witcher would use his current position to fondle his exposed arse, let his warm hands roam on the expanse of sensitive skin, slip his hands up his thighs, fingers sliding under the remnants of his trousers - Emhyr took a deep breath. He was good at self-control. Now was not the time to lose it. And this was a medical emergency the witcher was taking care of and he was nothing but professional about it, too.

The witcher cleared his throat. "Don't freak out. I'm going to put my mouth on you."

Reality and daydream swirled into each other and left Emhyr dizzy. "What?" he croaked. "Repeat that, I think I did not quite-"

Once again Geralt pushed loose strands of sweaty hair out of Emhyr’s face and tucked them behind his ears. His hand then came to rest lightly on Emhyr’s neck. "The wound bleeds a lot and there’s still the threat of an infection. Right now I'm pressing on it with clean dressings but it doesn't help much. You know the witcher mutations speed up tissue repair in the body? It works on others, too. Not as much as on our own flesh but it helps closing wounds faster. Our saliva also kills infectious processes. So I'm going to put my mouth on your wound now. Don't freak out." Geralt vanished again.

Maybe he already had a fever. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe - ard feainn, tròcair. Geralt's mouth was soft and wet on his skin and although the injury itself hurt more when being touched, the general sensation was overwhelming, and not in a bad way. Geralt's hands were holding his hips, his beard brushed over very sensitive parts of his arse and his tongue licked the skin around the lesion while he probably drooled into the open wound as much as he could. (That last part was not an erotic image per se, admittedly.) It was tantalising and strangely soothing at the same time and Emhyr was so hard he was going to die of that before the injury would get to him. He closed his eyes, hugged his birch trunk and tried to memorise the feeling of Geralt's hands and tongue on his arse for all eternity.

It was over too soon. Geralt applied fresh dressings to the wound, kept in place by a spare shirt Emhyr insisted on tying around his hips all by himself. Geralt put a cloak around Emhyr's shoulders and kept standing close in front of him, holding him by the shoulders. "Think you can sit on a horse?"

The emperor managed to not just lean into the witcher's arms and nodded. His mind was racing and he chastised himself for behaving like some peasant virgin. He was the Emperor of the South and North, White Flame and so on and he was used to dominating every social interaction just with his words and attitude, so - "Thank you," he said.

Geralt seemed to be uncomfortable but nodded. He looked like he was going to let it go but then rubbed his face and started with what sounded like a confession: "Look, I'm sorry. I was worried about you. So - it might have been inappropriate how I treated you. I - like you. Now you know that. But maybe you could do me the favour and just forget about it."

Emhyr frowned. "You said your saliva was going to heal me. I thought it worked, too."

Geralt looked confused. "Yes, that part was just necessary. I meant when I hugged you and touched your face and - well."

The emperor stared at the witcher and then leant against him. When Geralt's arms closed around him he started to tremble, made sobbing sounds against Geralt's chest and eventually groaned. "Laughing hurts."

Geralt snorted into Emhyr's hair. "I'm not sure what just happened but I can hear soldiers approaching from the East, so I'm guessing we're getting rescued now."

The emperor nodded and straightened up. "I feel like I might require more of your medical expertise later when we are back at the palace though." His eyes glinted. "Feel free to be as inappropriate as you want. I am going to be.”