The contract to hunt what the locals of Posada referred to as the devil came with a promise of a hundred and fifty ducats.
This mysterious creature had been causing havoc, stealing grain and livestock, and striking terror into the hearts of the local farmers.
The anticipation of the hunt hung heavy in the air as Geralt and Nefeli rode on their horses, watching the landscape transform into dusty rock as the hills unravelled before them.
Fenrir made no sound as he walked slowly over the rock.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain.
The rhythmic clip-clop of their horses' hooves echoed through the open expanse, a steady cadence that matched the pulse of their quest.
Dust trailed behind them as they ventured further down, the landscape unfolding in a series of craggy ridges and hidden valleys.
Geralt, ever the stoic figure, walked alongside Roach down the dirt path, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
The evening breeze tousled his hair and stirred the dust beneath his boots.
Nefeli rode beside him, her eyes scanning the rocky landscape for any signs of the elusive devil.
"He wasn't good-looking," Geralt suddenly muttered gruffly, his words cutting through the quiet.
The unexpected comment drew Nefeli's attention, and she shot a curious glance in his direction.
The Witcher's features, typically unreadable, seemed to carry a hint of something more beneath the surface.
The surroundings were filled with beautiful rolling hills and meadows of flowers.
Ancient rocks covered in moss stretched as far as the eye could see.
"Hm," Nefeli mimicked Geralt's characteristic sound of disagreement and frustration. She had no idea what he was talking about.
She couldn't help but relish the opportunity to engage in a moment of banter, a brief respite from the tension that often hung between them.
Ignoring Geralt's annoyed expression, Nefeli turned her attention back to the breathtaking view unfolding before them.
The rocky landscape stretched into the distance, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
The hues of orange and red painted the terrain, transforming it into a canvas of natural beauty.
"Hey, wait!" a familiar voice called from behind them, disrupting the quietude of their journey.
Nefeli turned her head, her gaze searching for the source of the interruption.
Nefeli turned to see the young bard trailing after them, a bag slung over his shoulder.
His enthusiastic approach and the lightness in his step hinted at an eagerness to be part of the unfolding adventure.
"Need a hand? I've got two. One for each of the um, devil horn," he laughed, his words carrying a playful tone as he ran up to Geralt's side.
The young man's eyes sparkled with the thirst for adventure, a contagious energy that seemed undeterred by Geralt's gruff exterior.
It was clear he wasn't merely asking for permission; he intended to follow them regardless.
The prospect of a devil hunt seemed to ignite a fire within him, and his presence added an unexpected dynamic to the unfolding quest.
"Go away," Geralt grumbled, his annoyance evident in both his tone and expression.
The young bard, however, seemed undeterred by the Witcher's dismissal.
"I won't be but a silent backup. I heard your note, and you were right. Real adventures would make better stories, and you, sir, smell chock full of them," the young man declared, taking a dramatic sniff of the air before scrunching his nose.
"Actually, you smell quite bad. What is that, onion? Never mind, it doesn't matter. You smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak," he continued, casting a brief glance at Nefeli before clearing his throat and redirecting his attention to the Witcher.
"It's definitely just onion," Nefeli interjected from atop her steed, a mischievous smile playing on her face.
It was a lie.
Geralt smelt like the mixture of herbs and smoke that always clung to him, a scent that stirred a strange flutter in her stomach.
The young man's theatrical observations added a layer of humour to the situation, momentarily lightening the atmosphere.
The young man's smile, directed at Nefeli, seemed to only intensify Geralt's annoyance.
The Witcher shot her a look, a silent message of disapproval for the bard's persistence.
"I could be your barker! Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the... the Butcher of Blaviken!" the young man exclaimed, his arms spread wide in a theatrical gesture.
The enthusiasm in his voice echoed through the landscape, creating a momentary ripple in the air.
Nefeli winced as Geralt's fist connected with the man's stomach, the impact causing him to collapse to the ground, coughing and wheezing in pain.
Butcher of Blaviken.
Geralt had made her leave before he acted. Made her fetch the horses.
When he'd walked from the town he'd been covered in blood.
It made sense now.
Nefeli refused to look at him as the thoughts crossed her mind.
"Bit of a touchy subject," Nefeli commented quietly, slowing Fenrir to approach the fallen bard.
The young man, his eyes squinted in pain, looked up at her.
"I can tell you about it on the way," Nefeli offered, extending her hand to help the young bard up.
She was tired of travelling alone with a man who rarely spoke and hated her.
The prospect of a lively companion seemed like a refreshing change.
And he reminded her so much of Rhys.
"No," Geralt said sternly, not even bothering to turn and witness the exchange.
Nefeli rolled her eyes at his predictable response and redirected her attention to the young man still on the ground.
"C'mon," she said gently, her voice carrying a touch of warmth.
The man's blue eyes lit up with delight. He seemed full of adventure and spirit.
With their hands still connected, she hauled the man to his feet and helped him onto the back of Fenrir. It tugged at the wound on her side and she winced.
She'd have to fix it soon.
"I'm Nefeli," she introduced herself, a warm smile gracing her face.
The man's smile fell for a beat as his eyes flicked up to her hair. He clearly knew what her name meant.
"Jaskier," he replied softly as a sympathetic look crossed his face.
Ignore it.
Nefeli couldn't contain her chuckle, and it burst forth, causing her wounded side to throb with each jostle.
"Like the flower?" she chuckled, her amusement evident as Jaskier winced and bowed once again, acknowledging the playful jest.
"Better than Cursed," he said softly and her smile dipped. Her feelings weren't hurt but something ached in her chest.
He was right.
YOU ARE READING
the angels hidden blade
FanfictionNefeli, or "Cupid", as the infuriating beast likes to call her, has never been wanted at anyone's side, and she sure as hell has never been loyal to a single soul. The stoic and fierce Vesemir bled the ability out of her, just as he tainted her blo...
