The Witcher, the Tailor and the Unicorn
Stribog, the wandering storyteller is in town again and the village children gather around for some nice, exciting entertainment. Of course, Nimue and her older sister Orla are among them. Will Stribog tell them of witchers again, or of Ciri, the lost Princess of Cintra? Or will it be an entirely different story today?
For the Witchery Yuletide Calendar Door 20 "Unicorn" and the Fluffcember prompt 20 "Fairy Tales"
"Stribog, Stribog, we want a story!"
"Please, Stribog, a Witcher story, please, please, please."
"Of Ciri and the Unicorn!"
"Nah, of Geralt killing monsters! Ciri is so boring! And everybody knows unicorns don't exist, Squirt. And if they existed, they'd be boring, too!"
"Stribog, tell them unicorns exist and aren't boring at all, pleeease?" Little Nimue, also called Squirt because she is the youngest and smallest of the children, looks up at the old, wandering storyteller, tears welling up in her big brown eyes. How can the other children not see that Ciri is the main protagonist of the story, not Geralt? It is infuriating, and especially Bronik, the miller's son, is a real pain. He always wants to hear about the Rats and nothing but the Rats a-robbing and plundering and getting killed.
"But we want a love story, too, Stribog, of Geralt and Yennefer!" Orla pleads, her eyes as big as her younger sister's. Nimue nods vehemently. The love between Geralt of Rivia and the beautiful Yennefer of Vengerberg is also one of her favourite parts of the saga, and Milva, the amazing archer.
"Hmm, let me see," Stribog mumbles, "Geralt and Yennefer and a unicorn. There's definitely a story there, but it's not for little nippers like you who aren't even knee-high to a grasshopper."
"What? I'm not a little nipper, old man!" Connor, the blacksmith's son and oldest, strongest and bravest of the children protests. "We don't want your romance anyway, tell us about Geralt's Hansa and the vampire, Stribog!"
"What about you fetch me some buttermilk from the cottage first, to moisten my throat? And, as you little buggers can't decide and my ears are already ringing from you yelling and shouting and whining at me, here's what I'll do. I'm going to tell you a fairytale, and that's that."
"Nooo!" the children whine almost in unison, but they know that once Stribog has made up his mind, there is no arguing with him. And a fairytale is better than no story, right?
"Once upon a time," the old storyteller begins not much later, noisily slurping at his buttermilk, "in the Black Forest, an evil unicorn dwelled, causing destruction and devastation."
"What? Are you drunk, Stribog?" Connor interrupts. "Unicorns are good and fluffy and pink, something for little girls like Squirt. You make it sound as if it was some kind of monster!"
"Silence!" Stribog roars, brandishing his stick. "I'm telling the story, not you, smartypants. Have you ever been stabbed through the chest and impaled on the horn of a unicorn? No? Let me tell you, unicorns are fierce and wild and dangerous, and anybody who tells you otherwise is a dumbass and a fraud, mark my words!" He takes another sip from his buttermilk. The children have all gone dead quiet, afraid the storyteller will send them home and to bed. Darkness is already falling. They huddle in a ring around the old man, for warmth and because, suddenly, the bushes and shrubs and trees around them are beginning to look sinister.
"Where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?" Stribog asks himself. "Ah yes, the unicorn. Wild as it was, it drove away the woodcutters and charburners, the hunters and trappers, the peasants who wanted to collect acorns and beechnuts, and the children yearning to pick wild strawberries, blackberries and blueberries in the forest, like they used to do. Nobody dared to set foot between the trees, and everybody who wanted to go to town, had to take the long way round to avoid the forest and the deadly beast. One day, the king had enough of it. He put up a message and promised his daughter in marriage and half his kingdom to whoever slew the pest that was haunting his forest. There must be a brave and valiant knight somewhere who would do it or die trying, right?
Nobody came and summer turned to autumn and autumn into winter. Then, one day, a young man was brought before the king. He did not exactly look like a knight in shining armour, as he did not wear any armour and neither anything that could possibly shine. But he looked strong and healthy and determined.
"Are you a Witcher, perhaps?" the king asked, having heard of the legendary monster hunters. Not many are left on the continent, but they are said to be good at what they are doing. If the young man is one of them, he will get rid of that blasted unicorn in a jiffy. The embroidery on his belt saying 'Seven in one blow' is very promising. And about his daughter and half his kingdom, the king does not worry. His advisors will surely find a way how to trick the witcher out of the promised reward once the beast is dead.
The young man does not answer but simply bows his head. Maybe not too proud of his trade? Or not used to finding himself in a palace surrounded by a score noblemen and women? Well, as long as he is not shy in the face of the unicorn, the king does not mind. He personally hands the young man the contract and his daughter sends him on his way with a smile. Whether to his death or his glory, they will soon find out."
"Is he a witcher, Stribog, tell us, please!" one of the children shouts when the storyteller pauses for a moment.
"Is it the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia?"
"Pleeease, go on, what will happen to him? And to the unicorn?"
"But where is Yennefer?" Orla asks. "Geralt can't marry a princess!"
"Patience, patience, all will be revealed in time!" Stribog says. "But it's getting cold, as cold as in the Black Forest of our fairytale. And what would a witcher do when he's freezing his butt off in the middle of a forest in the dark of December?"
"Igni! Igni!" the children yell, making the sign with their fingers. Unfortunately, but not much to their surprise, nothing happens.
"Good try," Stribog chuckles. "But I fear we'll have to do it the non-magial way. Fetch some wood from the shed, will you? Chop-chop!" The children jump up and, as quickly as they can, run to the close-by shed, grab a few logs and drop them in front of the storyteller's feet.
"What now? Don't you know how to build a proper campfire?" he asks, raising his brow. "Connor, your father must have taught you, hasn't he?" The boy nods and, with the other kids help, he soon has a nice fire going.
"Good, well done. And that's exactly how the young man from the story also did it. Because, as it turns out, he had no idea how to cast igni. For he was not a witcher, just a poor tailor who had killed seven flies in one blow. Can you imagine? But do not tell the king!" Grinning broadly, Stribog wags his finger at the children.
"Not a Witcher! This story sucks!" Bronik grumbles, but he stays anyway.
"So, the young man, whom we'll call the valiant little tailor from now on, is sitting by his fire eating a nice piece of pie he has nicked from the palace kitchen and warbling away at a merry tune as he is doing so to keep himself from growing afraid. Never in his life has he seen a unicorn and he only has the concept of a plan how he will capture it, but he trusts his instincts, his ingenuity, and his lucky star. He always finds a solution, or the solution finds him.
Suddenly, the young man hears a sound. A rustling between the tall fir trees growing so densely in the Black Forest. A rustling from something much bigger than a mouse or a squirrel."
"The unicorn!" Nimue breathes, holding her hand before her mouth with excitement.
"He jumps up and draws his knife, the only weapon he owns." Stribog goes on, lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper. The children are hanging on his every word. "It is probably not of much use against a wild unicorn, but better than nothing, he thinks. And if push comes to shove, he can always climb one of the trees, can't he? Swift is kind of his second name after all.
The rustling comes closer. Now he can see the branches of a nearby fir move. He holds his breath, ready to run.
"Are you totally daft, man," a gruff voice breaks through the silence of the wintery forest and a dark figure steps out from between the trees. "There's a wild unicorn in the vicinity!"
"I know," the young man says, taking a deep, steadying breath. "I'm here to slay it!"
"What? You? With that butter knife?" the stranger says, guffawing. "You'd be dead before you can say unicorn."
"And you? What about you?" the valiant little tailor asks. "How come you're allowed in the forest, but not I? Because of your bushy red beard?"
"Ha, do you want me to show you, whippersnapper?" The man steps closer to the fire, an evil grin playing upon his lips. He reaches for something on his back. A huge axe. The valiant little tailor takes a step back from the fire. Even with his usual luck, it might not have been such a good idea to challenge that man. He looks tough and mean and like nobody who would take shit from anybody, and definitely not from someone who is more than half a head shorter than him."
"Is it, what was his name?" Nimue interrupts. "Lamboy? Lambird? Geralt's grumpy witcher friend?"
"Well done, little squirt, it is Lambert indeed. I see you're following my stories very attentively. I didn't even remember that I had mentioned him before," Stribog chuckles. "So, what does Lambert do, do you think? With his axe?"
"He'll chop off the tailor's head! Like Bonhart did with the Rats!" Bronik yells enthusiastically.
"What? Lambert would never do that, he's a witcher, not a butcher!" Nimue protests. "He won't kill the unicorn either, will he, Stribog? Pleeease, don't let him kill the unicorn."
"We'll see, my little one, we'll see. But you're right, he does not kill the young man by the fire. But he deserves to be scared a little, doesn't he?"
"Yes! Scare him!" the children shout. "Go Lambert, go!"
"Right. Where was I? Yes, Lambert weighs the axe in his hand, giving the not-so-valiant-anymore little tailor a death glare. Then, with a loud roar, he swings the axe in the air with incredible speed, so fast, it is impossible for the human eye to follow the movement. The metal gleams deadly in the light of the flickering flames from the campfire.
The young man's heart skips a beat. Will this be the end? His end? Not impaled by a unicorn but his head chopped off by a crazy woodman or something?
Suddenly, the axe flies through the air directly above the tailor's head. With a thud, it inserts itself in the tree behind him. A lock of his brown hair that was cut off by the sharp blade sails toward the forest floor and lands in the snow.
"Fuck, I almost pissed my pants," he groans and sinks into the the snow. Lambert holds his stomach, laughing. Then he walks toward the tree to collect his axe. He grabs the handle and, with a loud grunt, pulls.
"Fuck!" he curses when the axe does not come loose. "Give me a hand, will you?"
Together, and after copious amounts of more colourful curses, they finally manage.
"Thanks," Lambert pants. "You're a bloody moron, but craven you are not. I like that. Name's Lambert."
"Jacob Wilhelm," the tailor says, no less out of breath than Lambert. "So, what're you doing here, Lambert, besides scaring the shit out of me?"
"I'm here for the unicorn, like you. But, unlike you, I'll catch it." Lambert grins. "I could use some help though. Me and my companion have already tracked down the beast's lair. I just came here to check because I smelled smoke. We'll wait until morning to lure the unicorn out and then, bang!"
"Sounds like a plan. But what will I get if I help you?" As a tailor, Jacob Wilhelm has learned that it is very advisable to negotiate these details before you agree to do any work, whatever it may be.
"We already have our own princess and I'd rather cut off my dick than get married to one. Princesses spell trouble, I tell you."
Suddenly, something white hits Lambert's face.
"What did you just say?" a female voice asks from between the trees and a young woman appears. Her ash-blond hair shines golden in the glow of the campfire.
"Ciri, Ciri, Ciri!" the children cheer, happy to hear about another familiar character from the Witcher saga they love so much. Maybe this fairytale is not that bad after all.
" "Speaking of the devil," Lambert mutters, wiping the snow from his face," Stribog continues his tale. " "May I introduce, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen something of somewhere." Jacob Wilhelm gapes at the girl.
"Don't listen to that twat, I'm a witcher, not a princess," she says, extending her hand. Utterly perplexed, the young man breathes a kiss onto the back of it.
"Melitele's tits, are all men fucking idiots? Don't kiss, shake it!"
Jacob Wilhelm flushes crimson. But then he properly shakes Ciri's hand and they all laugh.
All through the night, the three take turns watching the entrance to the cave that seems to be the home of the dangerous unicorn. Then, the sun rises.
"Time for the showdown," Lambert says, rubbing his hands. "You want the princess, you're the bait. Fair, right? Or are you too scared, Jacob Wilhelm?" The young tailor swallows. But he does want the princess. She looked marvellously beautiful when she smiled at him, and half the kingdom is nothing to sneeze at either. He takes a deep breath. It will work. Lambert is great with his axe and Ciri has a sword that does not look as if it is only there for decoration's sake. They will kill the unicorn before it can harm him, no doubt about that.
"Fair," he says. "What do you want me to do?"
Ciri explains the plan she and Lambert have come up with during the night. It is quite simple, actually, but ingenious. Exactly a plan after Jacob Wilhelm's fancy. Yes, it will work. He takes up his position next to a huge tree. Lambert waits hidden behind another one nearby, while Ciri has climbed a tree closer to the cave. She yells loudly and throws snowballs into the cave's mouth.
It does not take long and the unicorn appears, prancing and snorting with fury. Jacob Wilhelm hollers and waves. At the speed of lightning, the beast charges at him. For a split second, the young man is so amazed at the surreal, even beautiful sight, that he almost forgets about the plan.
"Now, idiot!" Lambert hisses from behind his hideout. And he remembers. Swiftly, he ducks behind his tree. And just in the nick of time, too. The unicorn, unable to stop the attack, stabs the tree trunk with its horn instead of the man. Lambert leaps at the creature, swinging his axe and Ciri jumps down from her tree, her sword Swallow at the ready. But it is not necessary. The unicorn is so dazed from the impact, it just stands there, meek as a little lamb.
"Oh, poor you," Ciri says and cautiously approaches the mythical animal. Its fur is of a shimmery dappled grey, the mane and tail inky black. A young mare, Ciri's expert eye determines without difficulty. It is easy to see that she is scared. And how would she not be with her horn stuck deep in the tree trunk and three humans circling her with keen weapons in their hands. Well, two witchers circling her, to be more precise. Jacob Wilhelm is still behind the tree and they told him to stay there at all cost, no matter what happens. Very tentatively, Ciri tries to reach out to the mare via telepathy. It had worked with Ihuarraquax, her friend Little Horse, but not all unicorns are able or willing to communicate with humans. It does not matter whether or not the young mare understands her, though, as long as she feels that they do not want to harm her. At least no more than necessary.
The unicorn snorts angrily when Ciri touches her silky fur with her hand and begins to gently rub her neck. It will take a while for her to calm down and begin to trust the human. Lambert takes a few steps back to give Ciri space and not scare the animal. Slowly, the unicorn seems to get used to her voice and touch. Her flanks stop trembling and her brown eyes lose their expression of crazed fearfulness.
Why are you here? Don't you want to go back to your world? Ciri asks when she has the impression that the unicorn is ready. Instead of words, an onslaught of images hits her mind, images filled with anger, blood and dead bodies, but also with sorrow and longing.
The unicorn neighs in a way that Ciri takes for a yes. Don't worry, I believe I can help you. We only need to get you out of this tree. And to do it, we'll have to cut off your horn. I'm sorry, I know you won't like it, but it'll grow back. There is no other way. Will you allow it?
The unicorn neighs again, the same way as before.
"Lambert, I think it's safe to do it now." Ciri keeps on stroking and soothing the unicorn while Lambert takes aim. One blow of his keen axe is enough to cut right through the smooth, spiralled ivory. The unicorn rears up and whinnies. Ciri holds onto her desperately, talking nonstop in as soothing a voice as she can muster. Eventually, it works.
"Let's get you home to your family," Ciri says, pressing a kiss onto the unicorn's silky fur. Concentrating as hard as she can on her memories of the world of the Aen Elle, she melds her mind with the unicorn's. A strange shimmer begins to emanate from the creature. Then the unicorn vanishes into thin air. Only her horn is still stuck in the tree.
"Wow. This- This was surprising, I must say," Jacob Wilhelm stammers, reappearing from behind his tree. "If not for the horn, I'd swear I was dreaming the fucking whole time."
"It's lucky we have it. Now you only need to take it to the king, and his daughter's hand and half the kingdom will be yours. That's not too bad for the few seconds of fear, right?" Lambert says. Then he raises his axe. It is not easy and takes a while until, with the help of axe and sword, they manage to get the horn loose, but they do.
"Here." Lambert hands the precious horn to the young tailor. "And good luck with your princess. May she be less trouble than ours!"
"And you really don't want anything?" Jacob Wilhelm asks, still not quite believing what has happened.
"Nah. Just leave us out of it. We came to save the unicorn, not to make a fortune. Now go, before we change our minds."
Jacob Wilhelm does not need to be told twice.
Not long after his adventure with the witchers and the unicorn, a royal wedding is held, for when the young man appeared before the court and laid down the unicorn horn in front of her feet, the beautiful princess fell head over heals in love with him. And they lived happily ever after.
Lambert and Ciri, however, returned to Kaer Morhen just in time for the big Yule dinner, and with a brand new story. They all laughed their heads off at the thought that Jacob Wilhelm, a simple tailor, would soon become king. The end. Now off to bed with you, children, before your parents believe I have kidnapped you all, or barbecued and eaten every single one of you, even the smallest squirt." He smiles at Nimue.
"But what about Yen and Geralt?" she wines.
"And the Hanza?"
"And the Rats?" "And the bard and the other Witchers?" the children yell.
"Those are stories for another day. Now, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite. And always remember, with a litter luck, even a tailor can become a king." Stribog winks at the children. Then he shoos them away.
For a little while longer he sits by the fire and enjoys the quiet of the evening. The sky is decked with stars and the crescent moon casts the surrounding trees and bushes in a soft, silvery light. How he loves to have these curious, cute little buggers around on a day like this. And how he loves to see them gone again. Will they remember his stories and tell them to their children when he is long gone? Probably not. But for this one day, his stories came alive in their minds. It is enough.