in which destiny brings two bonded lives together, but alas, neither of them gave a fuck.
until a bard started writing songs of the two of them.
❝whom the fuck?❞
─ book one of the ❝curse of onyx❞ series
(catching up :P )
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|slight blood warning + really badly written fight scene|
It was a strange feeling, having someone who seems to be similar to yourself and yet they seem to be such an asshole. But don't get Aelin wrong, Geralt was helpful on the hunt but there was something about him that just made the she-wolf want to stab him multiple time in the spleen with a blunt object.
Could it be that he has barely said anything more than a sigh or fuck? Maybe, or perhaps was it the fact that the man would not explain to her that damned feeling that felt as if a string or something of the sorts was connecting them. It was obvious he felt it and knew what it was.
But maybe the Stark girl was getting ahead of herself. Why would this man tell her, a woman he had only known for a minimum of a few hours his secrets? Even if it effected her own self. Not to mention she was suppose to kill him for bounty money.
But for now, she appreciated the slight uncomfortable silence between them.
The dusk painted the land in a fiery hue, the spring breeze smelt of honeysuckle and thyme, it blew though the rider's hair drying them of the river water that dripped off their skin. The flowers that bloomed washed in golden light giving the flora a celestial visage. It was almost peaceful until Jaskier fell asleep.
The bard was out cold halfway to the inn. His soft snores rang through the evening and caused small vibrations through Aelin's back. Jaskier was slumpes forward behind the brunette soldier. His forehead resting upon her damp leathers and the bard's arms where placed loosely and respectively around his friend's waist.
It didn't bother Aelin very much, she knew he deserved at least some form of rest.
She and Geralt did use him as bait after all.
Speaking of the broody man, not a word was shared between the hunters, Jaskier had done enough talking for the both of them, besides the quick glances his way making sure he was still there.
Aelin, though being an observent woman -did not notice the once overs Geralt gave her, checking for any injuries that she might have not noticed or hid, and not that he would admit yet, any discomfort she might portray from Jaskier's arms around her waist.
It was almost peaceful, until Aelin's foreign accent broke the ice around them, "You know, for an old man you did well talking down that kelpie."
Her eyes stared straight at the worn path ahead, her lips quirked in the beginning of a playful smirk.
Geralt on the other hand sent the woman riding next to him a scathing glare, "You think I'm old?"
The woman bit back her smirk, this is going to be fun.
"Who wouldn't? You have the grumpy nature, the white hair, the ever present frown," Aelin trailed off, looking back at the man, she locked eyes at him. His eyes have that look in them. Her father had it, her uncle, the soldiers she had trained gained that look. Hell, Aelin herself had that look in her stormy eyes. Sebastian had it as well.
