Chapter Text
Wylan wasn’t sure how long he’d been stepping through the vast trees of the Kerch timberland; by now he was sure Geels—the court physician—assumed he was spending the day in the tavern. However, when Wylan wasn’t creating all kinds of topicals, treatments and loose leaf teas, he could reliably be found walking through the outskirts of Ketterdam in search for a few herbs. The herbalist’s supplies were running low, and if he wasn’t already soaked up in the greenery of the Kerch gardens, he’d assume there was already a line of patients outside Geels’s door waiting to be cured.
He was right. He’d collected a herb called Hysoppis Officinalis, a shrub that aids in soothing dark bruising around the skin. Wylan was usually on top of his resources but there was that rare occasion somebody needed attending to a not-so-common injury. His patient, the court’s blacksmith was laying down on Geels’s bed, easing his pain with a bit of ether the physician had given him to silence the sound of his Fjerdan groans.
Wylan was a herbalist apprenticing in Geels’ practice. He assisted the physician in obtaining all the medicinal remedies to treat, and oftentimes, cure patients. He also kept his own stand within the castle’s walls and sold a variety of poultices and loose leaf teas.
“You were out for quite some time,” Geels remarked. He paced towards the smaller-framed herbalist and took the shrubs from his hands. “Thought you gave up and went to the tavern.”
Typical, Wylan thought, rolling his eyes and walking towards the patient. “How is Matthias holding up?” He felt the Fjerdan's forehead, checking his temperature. He was on the warmer side; whether that was from the pain, an approaching fever, the ether, or the humidity in Geels’s office was an enigma. Wylan noticed the bruising spreading from his arms down to his hands, chest and along his back. Without looking at the herbalist, Geels searched through the rest of his medical remedies, conjuring up a poultice.
“He’ll be fine soon enough, wake him in one bell.”
Once the time had passed, Wylan saw Matthias off. He then assisted in tending to a couple more patients just outside the physician's office, minor injuries, many exaggerated.
When dusk came upon the skies of Ketterdam and there were no more patients to tend to or topicals to sell, there was nothing Wylan wanted more than to close shop and head home to his small shack just outside the kingdom walls. It had been a full day of treatments; the apprentice would argue it was mostly a day of a lot of complaining. Grabbing his belongings, Wylan locked up his stand and took his leave. He only made it a few steps before a figure approached him from the shadows cast by the setting of the Kerch sun.
Saints, I hope he’s not here to see me…
“I’m told you’re the man I need to see.”
Ugh. Brilliant.
“If you need a remedy, please come back tomorrow. I’ve closed up tonight,” Wylan said, emotionless in his tone, pushing past the knight in visible Kerch uniform.
“You don’t understand, this is serious, I’m in a serious condition,” the tall figure uttered frantically.
“Yes, I’m sure, but might it wait till tomorrow?” he replied. Wylan’s attempt to not give in was clouded by his judgement of being Geels’ assistant. However, he was no longer on the clock, and he definitely didn’t care enough about a Kerch knight to reopen his shop when the dawn would be upon them all too soon.
“Please, I haven’t had a night's sleep in a month's time. I have terrible headaches, they’re especially unbearable at this hour,” he said.
Wylan sighed and stopped in his tracks for a moment, turning to the tall figure. “Especially unbearable at this hour, you don’t say.” He wasn’t going to open his shop back up, that was for sure. At this point, it was easier to lead the knight back to his house where the rest of his fixings and remedies were. “Fine, follow me.”
“Where are we going?” the knight asked.
“To my house.” Wylan didn’t turn around. He was tired, for Saints’ sake, an entire day of dealing with the ill and still it dragged on.
“Taking me back to your house before a first date; not ideal, but I don’t mind,” the knight flirted.
Wylan looked at him with a deadpan expression for a moment, and then continued, “Do you want me to treat you, or leave you stranded in pain?”
The knight stood there, hand on a hip, mouth pursed in amusement. “Tough crowd,” he snickered. Wylan ignored him and continued on.
They made their way just outside the kingdom’s walls to Wylan’s small cabin. There were no pleasantries or exchanges between them, the walk home was silent, and the only cadence that fuelled the air between them was the sound of the night. It was the middle of summer and the night was becoming humid; the humming buzz of cicadas, the smell of harsh soil, and the acrid taste of smoky firewood diffused through the Kerch dusk. Unwelcome flies erupted in a dance around their heads as the unlikely pair followed the trail to Wylan’s home. Arriving at the front door, Wylan motioned for the knight to enter. He set down his things and walked to the small corner that was his kitchen.
Tanacetum Parthenium for the headache… Mandrake and Henbane for his insomnia…
For a long moment, Wylan’s attempt to fix the knight a poultice consumed his thoughts, leaving the uniformed figure to his own devices.
“Sooo… do you just keep a variety of medicines in your home?” the knight said.
Wylan’s focus didn’t stray from the poultice. “I’m a herbalist, it’s my job,” he replied coldly.
“It’s just come to my attention I never asked you for your name,” the knight remarked, clearing his throat.
The trance he’d lapsed into was broken then. “Wylan,” he sighed, looking up at the kitchen cupboard. Then he turned towards the tall figure.
“I’m Jesper. Jesper Fahey. Kerch knight at your service.” He bowed, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Wylan’s face didn’t change, he was expressionless, worn out and tired. A day’s work had gotten the better of him, and he had no desire to flirt with a Kerch knight.
“Okay then, Jesper Fahey, here’s your medicine, come back to the shop at a reasonable time when you’ve run out.” He handed over a small glass bottle fixed with a cork.
“How much do I owe you?” Jesper said, reaching for spare kruge and placing the poultice in his pocket.
“Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.” Wylan’s smile was insincere. “On the house tonight. Now, get out.” He grabbed Jesper by his arm and led him outside.
The knight protested. “Wait, how—” Before Jesper could finish, Wylan had slammed the door in his face.
Whatever it was Jesper had to say, Wylan was sure it could wait, and regardless, the exhaustion had gotten the better of him. Without fixing any supper or washing up, he slumped towards the cot in the corner, coiling in on himself and closing his eyes to the loud world.
Wylan hadn’t realised until the moment he lay there how tense he was. He could feel the sharp pain in his back, travelling down his legs. He’d overworked himself today, spending hours in the Kerch forest searching for supplies and tending to patients (on and off the clock). He was sure it wouldn’t get any easier in the coming days. He tried to turn his mind off, but to his dismay, it took energy he didn’t have to tune the world out. He lay there, fragile, alone, stuck in his thoughts, waiting for them to settle.
As the night wore on, Wylan recalled the name of the knight he’d assisted; annoying, entitled, sarcastic, grandiloquent Jesper Fahey.