To Heal A Lonely Heart

The Witcher

I stood there. Gaping at him like a fish on the shore. "I- A-a w-what?" I stuttered out. Sure, I had known about witchers; magically enhanced humans, mutants, emotionless killing machines, and other stuff humans told about them. But I've never met one, at least not that I knew about.

"I said: why do you have a Witcher's sword?" the man growled again.

I looked at him, dumbfounded, blinking at him a few times before answering. "I, uhh, my father left it here, decades ago. I, uhm..."

"Your father? How did he get a witcher's sword, then?" the stranger pressed.

"I don't know. I honestly don't know anything about my father. He... my mother raised me on her own. During the Great Cleansing he found me, got me out of Dol Blathanna and brought me here. He visited every now and then, checking up on me, but he never stayed for long." I took a break, looking at him, intently, thinking. "Can I trust you?" I asked.

The stranger opened his arms in an inviting gesture. "If not, you'd be dead."

Wow, this man really did know how to speak with women...

"Hm," I huffed, "follow me then." I led him inside and mentioned for him to sit at the table, pulling out my dagger in the process. He sat and I went into my kitchen, pouring a pint of ale for each of us. Then I returned to him, set the ale down with a thud and took the chair opposite of him.

"So, how do you know my father's sword is a Witcher's, huh?" I asked him, feeling confident within my walls.

The stranger looked at me as if I was stupid. "Because," he started, "I carry a similar one." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the hilt of his own sword.

Now I really felt stupid. The dark armour, that almost dance-like fighting style, even the golden eyes... it all came together. "You're a Witcher," I breathed out in realization.

To my defence, it is hard to figure out who another person is, while you are fighting them, or fear for your life.

He only nodded.

I just stared at him, my mind reeling. He was handsome. A face crafted by the Gods. Piercing golden eyes, as he stared back at me. Tall, muscular. That armour and those swords. And... that necklace. A wolf baring his fangs. I've seen that before.

"Your necklace, where did you get that?" I snapped out of my trance.

"Every witcher has one. Why?" he simply said.

I blinked a few times. "M-my father had- my father had one too," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

"Hold up a second! You father is a witcher?" the handsome stranger almost yelled out.

"Shhh," I hissed at him, nearly leaping over the table to cover his mouth with my hands.

"But, witchers are sterile." He looked confused.

"Well, obviously not," I pointed out, gaining an annoyed glance from the witcher sat in front of me.

We sat in silence for a while, each of us deep in thought as we drank our ale. It grew dark outside. Hours had passed when he looked at me again.

"Why do these people hate you so much that they hire me to kill you?" he asked, his eyes sincere and compassionate.

I laughed humourlessly. "They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I'm half elven. They're scared of me, even though almost everything I do is to help them."

"Well, that makes two of us." I looked at the witcher, confused. "What? Did you really think witchers are celebrated like white knights?"

"N-no," I stuttered, "I guess you're right." I reached out for his pint. "here, let me..." but he snatched it from in front of my hand and followed me into the kitchen, where I poured each of us a new one.