I Could t care less

by Sashka M

Not only can there be one love in life. It can arrive at the moment you least expect, but ... he is a witcher at the shadow of the fate.

IT COULDN´T CARE LESS

This story is based on the Geralt de Rivia Saga, by Andrezj Sapkowski.

Chapter 1

The day she came into the world, the palace bells did not ring happily as when her older brother was born. Instead, gloomy tolling announced the death of the queen. Maybe if her mother had survived the birth, everything would have been different. Or maybe not.

They called her Deila. Her name meant delicate flower in ancient language, but nothing could be further from reality. From her earliest childhood, she showed signs of a strong and obstinate character.

The king, her father, never worried too much about her, which she used to sneak away from classes in favour of her personal desires. From the time she had the use of reason, she often appeared in the apothecary's offices, and spent whole hours observing him while preparing remedies of all kinds, while classifying herbs, while treating wounds of different kinds.

The apothecary, an old and wise man, explained to her, amused, the processes and the names of the herbs, as well as the purpose for which they were used. Soon she went to help him with his chores, with a predisposition and interest unfit for her age. She had a gift, an innate facility to elaborate all kinds of products, as well as a good eye for diagnoses and the remedies to be applied according to these.

She began to escape from the palace, secretly, to learn how to look for herbs by herself. She knew that if her father found out she would get a good punishment, but her obsession was greater than her fear. She ignored the dangers of the forests and what lived there: she only cared about being able to find and recognize the herbs on her list.

The first times she was lucky. She met nothing and no one noticed her prolonged absence, or her clothes, which was filthy and full of snags. She decided to get pants and a shirt, given the difficulty of moving between the vegetation with her delicate princess dresses.

But, logically, her luck did not last forever.

One day she encountered a boar that pursued her, and had to climb nimbly to a tree in which she spent hours, until the animal gave up, leaving her bag thrown carelessly during the run. But another day she found something worse, much worse: a leshy. She would have died by its hand if there had not been a witcher nearby, casually, stalking the creature for a contract.

The witcher, named Eskel, harsh and without any empathy to her, escorted her back to the palace, simply to collect fees. Deila was frightened by the witcher almost as much as the leshy: his strange eyes, his figure dressed in black leather, his sharp, threatening swords and his sullen and brusque attitude.

His father flew into a rage. Deila was punished, confined in her rooms for a whole month, with an inescapable guard permanently at her door. The confinement would have been the worst of punishments for her, but, stoically, she decided to take advantage of it to train with the sword. If she wanted to continue going out, something undeniable, she had to know how to defend herself minimally.

So, when her only brother went to visit her, she did not hesitate to ask him to teach her how to use it. Niedamir, who adored his little sister, could not refuse. The young man had fun in those classes, watching the girl move a sword almost bigger than her, but soon he was pleasantly surprised by her determination and progress.

Since then, Deila alternated her classes with preceptors with visits to the apothecary and classes with her brother. She did not leave the palace in a long time, cause the vigilance over her was implacable. But when her father died, the following year, everything changed.

Niedamir was crowned king, and the fierce vigilance over her was over.

The first time she saw an elf she was fascinated. Deila observed his graceful movements, his long chestnut-coloured hair and beautiful features as he approached her straight, with a bow in his hand, a quiver full of arrows on his back and a beautiful big sword on his hip. She had just arrived in the forest and assumed that he had been waiting for her.

"Princess Deila," he said, to her surprise, "my name is Eniel and I live in this forest. I will be your escort whenever you come here. This is a very dangerous forest, Majesty, you are not safe wandering alone."

"Don't call me Majesty. I don´t like."

"But you are a princess."

"Do as if I were not. Here I want to be only Deila. If you do me that favour, I will not object to your presence on my excursions."

The elf thought about it.

"All right, Deila," he said.

Over time, Eniel and Deila became very good friends. During those assiduous departures, conversations were commonplace, and she stripped her soul to her only friend as an escape valve that relieved the pressure to which she was subjected. The elf understood that the girl needed those walks to breathe, as a parenthesis in the rigorous and increasingly demanding life she had in the palace, because in the forest she could be herself. She did not conform to palace standards. She could not stand being a damsel. She was not going with her way to be what was expected of her.

Even, sometimes, he would take her to his village and invite her to the delicious tea of the elves. She became friends with other elves and females, and even one day, an ancient female, revered as a fortune-teller, looked at her in a special way and predicted some details of her future, in general and very inaccurate, avoiding some answers, which surprised the princess.

As she grew up and became a woman, things got worse. But the day her brother told her of his intention to promise her to a neighbouring prince, everything exploded.

It was an unprecedented dispute. As her brother did not give in to her rejection and arguments, Deila ended up throwing her golden crown at his feet and reneged on her status as a princess.

"I'm leaving, brother, I'm leaving the palace and this suffocating life. I'm not going to submit one more day."

"Stubborn head," growled the king. "You will not do such a thing! Where would you go alone? You are still a girl. And you are the princess of Caigorn. I won't allow it."

"If you hold me back, I will throw myself out of my bedroom window at the slightest opportunity. Or I'll cut my wrists with whatever I find, or maybe you'll find me swinging on a rope. You will have a guilty conscience of my death, Niedamir."

So, she took the essential and left the palace without Niedamir could avoid it. Her brother did not dare lift a finger, for he saw her well enough to carry out her threats, and let her go, thinking that she would return, repentant and submissive, when she lived in her own skin life outside the protective palace walls. He did not know how wrong he was.

However, he called Eniel and again entrusted him with a new task.

"Only you can help me, Eniel. You are her only friend, she trusts you. Please, I beg you stay close to her, watch out for her safety and keep me informed of everything", he told the elf. "Take this bag of money and give it to her, because the silly girl does not even carry a oren on her. Do not hesitate to bring her if she has problems, whether she wants to or not."

"I will, Majesty".

Thus, Deila left the kingdom and settled in Kovir, in a small cabin very close to the border, where the power of her brother could not reach her. And three wonderful years passed during which the pangs of longing, the disappointment that Niedamir caused her and her ignorance about taking care of herself were left behind. Three wonderful years during which she established herself as a healer among the people of the nearest town, Gynvael, and gained their trust and friendship.

Chapter 2

The young woman was walking, staring attentively to the ground, looking for the strange herbs that only could grow on that mountain. She was carrying a bag crossed on the chest, hanging in front her hips, and a small knife in the right hand. A bubbly hiss did her raise her eyes and look around, adopting a defensive position, but she didn't see anything. She listened: she heard the sound again and tried to discern where it was coming from. The origin seemed to be placed in a group of trees, between the deep foliage.

She extracted the sword of its case and advanced carefully, short and silent steps, because that one was a dangerous forest. Quid pro quo: medicinal herbs that were helping to preserve life and monsters that were snatching it.

She reached the thorny bushes and looked stretching the neck: then she saw them, badly injured, both lying on the ground.

The woman jumped over the shrub with agility, and went first of all to the kikimore. The monster, looked like to a spider of grotesque proportions, was suffering in death rattles; its respiration drowning in its own blood, was producing the sound that had excited her cautious curiosity. She raised the sword over her head and drove in deeply in the body of the monster, and then she took it out. The sound stopped immediately.

She cleaned the blade of the black blood in the grass and kept it in the sheath on her hip, while she was approaching to the man who was lying unconscious. His flaccid hand was still seizing the handle of a silver sword, and a pendant carved in the shape of head of wolf with open jaws was sticking out from the neck of his shirt.

A witcher. Deila did not like witchers since her meet with Eskel.

She kneeled down next to him and touched his jugular. As she supposed, he was alive. The mutations to which the witchers were submitting made them exceptionally strong, because their work was consisting of fighting all kinds of monsters; Deila also knew that he would recover more quickly than any human being. She examined him looking for wounds, and found two: a strong blow in the head and a bite in the thigh. The poison of the kikimore wouldn't be a problem for the altered metabolism of the man, and Deila betted also that before the fight, the witcher would have taken some elixir. Because of this, it was remaining discarded administering any antidote without knowing the nature of the potion that, of course, was not going to know, not even if he was awake. She took his chin and made to turn the head of the man towards the other side. The blood stained the hair prematurely white of the witcher, and was keeping on running from the cut in the parietal area, although slightly now. Also, there was going out a thread of blood from the ear on the same side, and this was not a good sign. After all, the head of the witcher hadn't resulted to be as hard as it had to. The kikimore, by a strong blow or as a result of smash him against a trunk, had fissured his head.

A neighing paid her attention, and imagined that it would be the horse of the witcher. That would put easiest the things. She got up and looked for two long and sufficiently thick branches, that which in a forest was not hard to find; she took out the layer and arranged it between the two branches, used rope and soon she had an unexpected stretcher. Then she went to pick up the horse, attached the stretcher to it and mounted in the direction of her cabin, watching the injured man.

When she arrived with the stretcher, Eniel was waiting for her. The elf approached intrigued and watched the wounded while Deila dismounted the horse.

"Help me, Eniel. I have to take him to bed and he weighs a lot."

"But what the hell happened?"

"I found him in the wood. He has a swipe on the head".

He helped her, grabbing the man by the armpits while she did it by the feet. During the transfer, the elf noticed his medallion and frowned.

They left him on the bed and Deila started to take off his boots.

"Have you noticed what this man is, girl?" Said the elf, alarmed.

"A half dead witcher, that's what he is, Eniel."

"Witchers are dangerous, antisocial and lustful. You have done wrong to bring him to your house".

"Take a look at him, elf: do you think he's dangerous? He is serious injured I will not omit my help to anyone who needs it. When he recovers he will leave, I will not keep him as a pet. And now help me take off his clothes, go. This leather sticks to his skin like a leech, and I almost can´t feel my arms for the fatigue".

The elf cursed in his language, but obeyed the healer. When he was naked, Eniel seemed even more upset.

"Have you seen his body?" She said amazed. "It looks like the doll which I practiced suture ... I've never seen anyone with so many scars ..."

"It does not seem right to me, my lady, this is not right. A naked man in your bed ..."

"I give you the reason. It is quite embarrassing. But I have an idea ... I'll put him a sack of grain, you'll see".

Deila left the house and at once returned with a sack of burlap. She took some sharp scissors from the sewing box and cut a line from top to bottom in the front of the sack. Then she cut three half-moons: one at the top and two on the corners. With the help of Eniel, she wore it to the witcher.

"He'll still have his ass in the air, with your invention," the elf huffed.

"Come on, man, do not be so annoying. He is no longer naked, and that is the matter. And I'm going to cover him with the blanket." She scolded as she poured water from a full bucket into a basin.

"I do not like the idea of him staying here with you. Besides the danger, you also have a reputation to take care of".

"Nobody has to see him, don´t worry" she said as she selected some jars, picked up clean cloths and suture material.

"I have to leave till tomorrow, but I could postpone it. Do you want me to stay?"

"What?" She began to laugh, sitting on the bed, next to the body of the witcher, "are you afraid that he would jump on me, perhaps? Don´t worry, I'll be fine".

"Good. Before leaving, I'll save the horse".

"No, let him eating grass, because I have nothing to give it. I don´t think it escapes. Later I'll take it to the barn myself."

"See you tomorrow, Deila," said the elf, approaching and placing a fond kiss on the girl's cheek.

"Sleep quietly this night, dear: I do not think he wakes up in many hours," she reassured him, kissing the elf's face in turn.

Eniel left and she started cleaning the head wound. It was almost not bleeding anymore. She dragged the traces of blood until it was completely clean and then changed cloth. She poured directly into the cut an ocher liquid, almost black, and wiped the excess with the cloth so that it did not extend beyond the wound. Then she threaded the suture needle.

"I hope you don´t wake up. That will hurt less", she said to the unconscious man.

And began to stitch. The witcher did not wake up. When she finished, she bandaged his head, disinfected the bite of his thigh, and picked up the material from the top of the bed.

When she entered in the cabin transporting in her arms some firewood to support the fire of the hearth that night, she saw that the witcher had his eyes opened. She released her load along to the chimney and cleaned her hands in the apron that was covering her dress.

"You have woken up… I didn´t expect you to be able so soon", she said, approaching the bed where the man was lying. He made a move to sit up. "Don t move. You have a fissure in your head, I'm afraid"

The witcher said nothing.

"I´m Deila, healer, and I meet you hurt in the forest. You were beside a dying kikimore".

"Aren´t you too much young to be a healer?"

"Uh, you talk as my brother… we start on the right foot" she said with irony.

"Where am I?"

"In my house… Oh, you refer to… You are in Kovir, in Dragon mountains. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don´t remember."

"Don't you remember either who are you?"

"Neither".

"Oh, my Gods! What a blow you took, man. All right, behave yourself and the things will get better. If you have nausea, let me know and I'll bring the bucket. How do you feel?

"Dizzy".

"Oh…".

The witcher's hand rose and felt the bandage carefully.

"Don´t touch it. I have stritched up you few more. You're more darned than an old sock, witcher".

The man smiled. He had a nice smile. Mocking and vague, his eyes were more than his mouth what seemed to smile.

Deila sat down opposite to the table and emptied the bag on it. She began to separate the different herbs in little piles, and when she finished, put them in crystal jars that she covered with cloth covers.

The witcher watched her do, he did not sleep. He observed her manicured hands, her elegant movements, her simple, but quality clothing, and the self-confidence that she radiated. He was intrigued. She was small and thin, but with good curves, her wavy and very abundant curl hair fell down her back like a brilliant golden waterfall. But her face was the most attractive in her. Her eyes were of an impossibly green, edged with long dark lashes, her nose, delicious; her plump drew lips, juicy and red, and her eyebrows, well delineated, were the cherry on top. A very attractive girl, without any doubt. But extremely young.

She placed a few trunks in the chimney and hung on a hook a pot to warm its content.

"Here you feel the summer only at day. The nights are cold, witcher. Are you hungry?"

"I am".

"At once the stew will warm up. Hey, wait, don't you try to get up alone, I help you".

The healer offered her shoulders to witcher´s arm so that he makes use of her support and led him up to the table, where he seated on a chair. Then she busied herself with bringing plates, spoons, glasses, napkins and half a loaf of bread. And a jug of water

Then he noticed the sack he wore.

"What the hell is this?" said, taking the cloth.

"Well, let's say it's your pyjamas".

The witcher raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.

"What do you want me to tell you, I don´t have men's clothes".

She served two plates of stew, one for each, but the witcher's one contained little food, and she filled the glasses.

"Eat slowly. I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to eat, but if you're hungry, we can try to see what happens".

The witcher was hungry. However, he obeyed the girl and ate slowly, chewing each bite repeatedly. Then he drank the entire glass of water. And then he vomited everything on the floor.

"Sorry, my lady ..." said the witcher, embarrassed.

"No matter, now I clean it ... It was what I was afraid of. Come on, before I lay you down again, you're not well."

The woman laid down him in the bed carefully, and then went out to the night. She returned with a water bucket and a floor-cloth, and began to wipe the ground. He was feeling even more ashamed seeing her cleaning, she looked so young kneeled down; only the mutation of his capillaries was preventing his face to turn as red as a beet. But in a moment he fell asleep.

He woke up several times, that night. The first one, he saw the woman seated opposite to the table, with a lit oil lamp and a big book. She was reading something so carefully that she did not even notice that he was awake. The second one, she was stirring with a long wooden spoon in the kettle, which was detaching an acrid smell. The third one, she woke him up to make him drink something that had a bitter taste. But he did not resist and drank it all, obediently, because he understood that she had spent a big part of the night producing this medicine for him.

"My lady, I want to... Well, my bladder will explode if I do not relieve it. I must go out".

"Oh, no, now I bring the bucket. Don´t try to incorporate yourself, witcher, please. I don't want you to fall and break the stitches."

Deila went out and returned almost immediately to the cabin, helped the man to stand up and held the bucket for him before his hips. The man looked at her, undecided.

"What?" She said. "I'm not going to look at you, if that's why you hesitate. Oh, for all the demons, I'll face the wall. You don´t have precisely a prudish reputation, the witchers". She said, laughing at the man's discomfort.

"Prude?" It bothered him. "You would not be the first woman who sees me naked, but you would be the first girl. I was just trying to be considerate, my lady".

"Girl? Girl! Well, you know, my lord? I've seen you before, when I undressed you. It was inevitable, I'm sorry. And I have not fainted, not even a fuss, as a girl would. But I'll turn around now, to save us of this stupid conversation. Are you sure you will not fall to the ground?"

The witcher growled, bewildered by the girl's way of being.

"I'll take that as a yes".

The woman changed the bucket hand and turned towards the wall, on the opposite side from him. Soon she heard the sound of a trickle striking the bottom of the receptacle.

"It's done, thank you, my lady", said the witcher when he finished.

She left the bucket on the floor and helped him to lay down one more time. Then she went outside, probably to relieve her own bladder, and entered again with the bucket, now empty, which she left in a corner. Then she pulled two blankets from a chest and made a bed on the floor. The man felt ashamed seeing her sacrifice.

"Now is your time to look at the wall, my lord. I'm going to undress and put on my nightgown".

"Deila, I must be the one who sleeps on the floor," he said, making a move to get up.

"Don´t move!" She scolded him. "That's fine, it doesn´t matter. You're hurt and I'm healthy enough to sleep here".

She slipped between the blankets and began to undress.

"I'm sorry, my lady ... "said the white-haired man. "I mean the way I've spoken to you before. You are very kind to me, not many people would do for me what you are doing. Thank you, my lady."

"No matter. And this is the last time I say not matter. Sleep, witcher."

And the sleep took away all his remorse.

This time, on waking, it was daytime. The little hut was bathed in sunlight streaming in through the windows, specks of dust floating visible through the rays. The fire in the hearth was almost extinguished, and there was no sign of the healer or the blankets in which she had slept. The table was clear up and the pot was clean too.

The witcher realized that the headache was more bearable, and stood up carefully. Not feeling any dizziness or weakness, he put on his boots and left the cabin in search of the latrines. He heard Deila arguing with a man, relieved himself in a hurry and directed his steps towards them.

"Say to your boss to leave me alone!" The healer was shouting. "I'll never accede to his desires; neither will I go out of my house!"

The man saw Geralt and frowned. He laid his hand on the handle of his sword. The witcher did not like that.

"What's going on, Deila?"

The woman turned to him, surprised.

"Nothing at all…" she faced again the stranger, a henchman with rich clothes, boastful and stupid. "There is nothing more to say. Good morning".

The man kept on looking at the witcher as if he were trying to remember where he had seen him before. He gave two steps backwards before turning and mounted his horse. He spurred on it and left, galloping, road away.

"Why the hell have you got up? Perhaps didn't I speak enough clear to you about not to do it?" She told the witcher without mercy.

"I feel much better now, don't worry. Why were you arguing with this man?" He insisted.

"Oh, witcher" she sighed, "Everybody thinks that they can take advantage of a woman who lives alone. But with me they had come up against a tricky. Come on, let's return to the cabin. I have to change the bandage to you, and then you will return to bed as a good boy" she joked.

Once in the cabin, she sat him on the bed and helped him take off his boots.

"My lady, where are my things?"

"I left everything here, I entered it when I took the saddle from your horse. Your swords, your clothes, what you were wearing, is under the bed."

The witcher got down on his knees and took out his things, spread them out on the ground. Deila laughed.

"What happens, my lady?"

"I'll have to make you some clothes. That rear opening of the sack is somewhat disturbing ..."

The witcher grabbed the opening as best he could, trying to keep the two sides together.

The girl brought him everything she recovered from the horse's chair and also put it there. The man took and watched the objects as if it were the first time he saw them.

"You still do not remember ..."

"No, my Lady ".

"Well, then, let's pick up and I'll prepare an anti-inflammatory infusion as soon as I change the bandage. Give your head time to heal, do not despair. And go back to bed."

While she was preparing the infusion, Eniel appeared through the door, still open. He seemed surprised to see the witcher awake.

"Good Morning. Everything right here, Deila?"

"Hello, Eniel. Yes, my patient has woken up, but he does not remember who he is".

The elf raised his eyebrows, surprised. The witcher and he looked at each other, assessing each other. Then he cleared his throat.

"Can you come for a moment?" He said to the girl.

She looked annoyed, but came.

"I'm worried. No, Deila," he said when she opened her mouth to protest, silencing her. "He's a stranger. An adult man, and on top that, a witcher. I'm worried"

"You would be not," the witcher said from the bed, which he had heard perfectly despite the distance and the low voice of the other. "I mean I'm not going to hurt her. In all sense. You have my word."

"And I'll make sure of it, sir," Eniel replied, still distrustful.

Then he gave Deila a light kiss on the cheek and left.

"That elf is very considerate to you, my lady," the white-haired man observed.

"It's like a brother to me. I don´t know what I would do without him. And now, let's change the bandage."

Deila watched the wound carefully. It was better. It had not become infected and it did not ooze, the stitches held well the scar in the way of healing. She put the amber liquid again on the wound and bandaged his head again. Then she brought a cup to the man.

"Now drink this and then sleep for a while."

And he obeyed her without question.

Deila woke him when it began to dusk. The table was ready, roasted with potatoes on both plates, half a loaf of fresh bread and the inevitable jug of water.

"Let's go, witcher. You have to eat", she said, preparing to pick him up. "Do you need help or can you alone?"

"I think I can."

Despite the hesitant steps, he arrived at the table without incident. Deila took her chair and both began to eat in silence.

"You are very reserved, the witchers. You don´t like to talk too much."

He rose his eyes and looked at her, leaving the fork halfway down the plate to his mouth.

"Do you know any witcher else, my lady?"

"A long time ago, one of your companions saved me from a leshy."

The witcher raised his eyebrows.

"A leshy? A miracle you lived to tell, despite having a witcher there."

"It would be a matter of fate."

"Who was the witcher, my lady?" He said, bringing the fork to his mouth at last.

"Someone called Eskel."

"Mmm"

"You know him, I suppose."

"We all know each other."

"He seemed very agile and dexterous, very professional. Even though…"

Now the man frowned.

"Even though what?"

"I was as scared as the monster. He was not kind to me."

"He sure was angry for your carelessness, my lady," he said with a smile.

When they finished eating, picking up and washing the utensils, Deila took out a large patch of dark cloth and placed it on the table. Also a sewing box. She spread the cloth and put a chalk on top. Then she took a cord and approached the man with it.

"I'm going to make you some comfortable pants. You're ridiculous with that sack wandering around here, it served its purpose, but it's not enough anymore. Stand up, I'll take measurements."

"Are not you too young to be a dressmaker, my lady?

"Again, you speak like my brother, witcher. I think I will never introduce you two."

The witcher smiled.

"Where is he?"

"Far away. In Caigorn", she said as she wrapped the man's waist with the cord. With one finger, she held the point where the end met the rest of the string.

"Ah. And your parents?"

"They died, my lord."

Deila spread the piece on the cloth and marked a line with the chalk.

"I´m sorry."

She shrugged as she turned back to him. She put the cord on his waist.

"Keep it strong," she asked.

He did it and she spread the rest to the ground, crouching down. Deila subject the measure and returned to the scrap. She marked another line. Then she took measurements of the shot, the width of the leg, knee and hips. Once the patterns of the front and back of the future trousers were made, she cut the fabric on the marks. Then she fixed the two parts with pins and threaded the needle.

"Where is my horse?"

"It's in my stable, don´t worry. All the barn for it, full of clean and fresh hay and a lot of grain that Eniel brought me, because I did not have any."

"You don´t have a horse?"

"I had one, but a few months ago it died. I haven´t bought another one again."

The needle went in and out of the fabric quickly, leaving regular and strong stitches in its path.

The afternoon went slowly while Delia sewed and chatted with her patient.

Finally, the pants were finished.

"Put on, witcher".

The man did it. He turned around and cordoned his fly, fastened the zipper on his waist and took off the sack.

"Very professional," he said, admiring the girl's work.

"What did you think?" She laughed. "If you let yourself be carried away by appearances, it is that you are a silly witcher".

"Sometimes I tend to be a silly witcher, my lady. Thank you".

"You´re welcome. I'm going to make dinner and then go to sleep, I'm tired," she said yawning.

CHAPTER 3

The witcher was awakened by the sound of the water. He opened his eyes and saw her spilling a bucket in a wooden bathtub, while the vapours rose around her. Deila checked the temperature with the back of her hand and seemed satisfied. Then she looked at him and smiled.

"Welcome to the world again, witcher. This bathroom is for you. I have decided that I am not willing to endure that strange smell that you give off any longer, so inside. Come on, I'm not going to look at you."

The witcher sat up and let himself be helped by the healer. Next to the bathtub, he took off his pants impudently and then introduced one foot first and then the other and sat down. Deila removed the bandage from his head and studied the wound.

"You heal extraordinarily fast. I almost can´t believe it."

"I know, my lady".

"Well, I'll wash your head, first, and then you continue. The wound will inevitably get wet, but I will dry it later. Lean forward and close your eyes, please."

With a bowl, she began to throw water on the witcher's head. When it was soaked, she rubbed the soap over his hair until enough foam appeared, then she left it on the floor and began to rub gently. She felt the man relax under her fingers and she massaged him for a while, satisfied. When it seemed sufficient, she refilled the bowl and rinsed the soap profusely, then carefully pushed his head back and combed the white hair with her fingers, to remove it from his face.

"It´s done. Now you continue. When you finish, there's the towel, " she said.

"Thank you, my lady. Can you give me the soap? I cannot reach it."

"True, witcher, I left it on the ground," she admitted, picking it up and holding it out to him.

"Geralt ... My name is Geralt. Geralt of Rivia ..."

Deila looked into his eyes, surprised, the bar of soap waited in her hand tended to be picked up by the no less amazed witcher.

"Nice name, Geralt, it seems that you really improve. I'm glad."

The witcher finally picked up the soap from her hand. She picked up the witcher's leather clothes and left without saying anything else.

When Geralt had cleaned up, he got out of the tub and took the towel to dry. He looked curiously at the cotton curls of the clothes, marvelling at its soft touch. It was a luxury item, only very wealthy people owned towels. He felt strange again.

Naked, but with the towel around his hips, he approached the bed and crouched down next to it, took out his things and searched until he found a belt with leather strips that surrounded and secured some little jars. He took one and looked at the liquid it contained. Deila then appeared through the door, taking the witcher's black leather clothing, now clean, on her arm.

"What are you doing, Geralt?"

"I have to drink this elixir. I remember its effects."

"Why, what does it do?"

"Heal me, my lady."

She raised an eyebrow, incredulous, while the man uncovered the vial and brought it to his mouth, emptying its contents. He put the empty jar where he found it and waited without moving, on his knees, on the wooden floor.

Deila surrounded him and opened his hair to see the wound. She could not believe what she saw.

The wound closed in a moment, leaving a scar edged by the stitches. The bite of the thigh was also cured. The astonishment almost did not allow her to articulate a word.

"No ... I cannot ... believe it. How is it possible?"

"Recipes of witchers, my lady."

"I see ... Well, now we have to remove those ridiculous stitches that hold a completely closed scar. Come, sit on the chair, Geralt, I'm going for my tweezers and scissors."

The man stoically endured the girl's pulls by removing the sutures, then she picked up the material and put it away.

"I'm going to add grain to your horse. There you have your witcher's clothing, clean and dry, in case you prefer to dress it."

"Thank you, my lady. At the moment, I prefer the shirt and the new pants."

She smiled, pleased.

Deila entered the stable, the horse neighed low. She went to the sack of grain that rested in a corner and took the bucket to fill the feeder with grain.

At that moment, two men entered. Deila looked at them surprised. They looked like two little ruffians, they smiled, showing their gaps.

"Well, well, well," said one of them, who looked worse. "What we have here, the beauty of Gynvael, ... And alone."

"What do you want? she asked in a hard, icy voice.

"We'll take you to the citadel, but before... We can have a little fun."

"Sir Robert warned us not to touch her," said the other.

"Yeah, but it's not necessary to deflower her having that lovely ass, right?"

The man rushed at her, knocking her down. Deila screamed and started kicking, hitting, scratching.

"Hold her, idiot, before she takes my eye out!"

The other man immobilized the girl's arms, while the first drew a knife from his flank and cut the laces of her corset. He tore her dress, stripping her full, round breasts, while rubbing his crotch on the healer's thighs. Then he began to run her body with one clumsy hand, the other one was lowering her petticoats abruptly. The man holding her laughed foolishly, excited.

The girl's kicks were useless, as the ruffian's weight immobilized her attempts to break free. She despaired. She was helpless, at his mercy. He squeezed her breasts painfully and she felt a primal panic grew inside her, she began to cry, to howl with helplessness and pain.

"Come here, little slut. It's about time you know what a man is ..."

The ruffian felt the cold edge of a sword against his neck.

"Take your hands off the young lady. Now."

The two men released her at the moment. Deila crawled into a corner, where she snuggled, trying to piece together the torn front of her dress with her hands.

"Out," the witcher hissed.

Without saying a word, the two men left the barn running. Geralt saw them disappearing through the forest. Then he approached the girl, who was trembling violently, put his sword on his back and lifted her up.

He entered the cabin with her and sat on a chair, with the girl in his lap, facing the embers of the hearth. Deila was crying quietly now, embarrassed, huddled against his chest and surrounded by his protective arms. Geralt began to caress her hair, removing gently the straw that was on it, soothing her. He stroked softly her back and her nape, until, little by little, the healer calmed down and her crying stopped. She lay drowsily against his chest, relaxed now, feeling safe in his arms. She could smell the scent of bath soap on his skin, on his hair, the weight of his head resting against hers. She felt the desire to raise her arms and entangle her fingers in the white hair at the nape of his neck.

"Geralt ... Don´t tell him ... don´t tell Eniel what happened, please."

"You knew those men?"

"No".

Silence again The witcher's hand went up and down her back.

"Geralt ...""

"Mmm?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The man's hand changed course and returned to the golden waterfall, caressing it from head to tip.

"Geralt ..."

"Yes?"

"I like you caress me."

She rose her head and looked into his eyes, then her look went down to his lips. They were very close. Only a little ahead and she could have kissed him. For a while, it seemed the witcher would do it, but he kissed the young woman on the forehead and got up with her in his arms. He took her to the bed and cover her up with the blanket.

"Sleep, Deila. Sleep for a while."

And she slept until the next day, uninterruptedly.

The next morning, she woke up very early and saw the witcher sleeping on the floor, in the blankets that she used the previous days. He was face up, his white hair resting around his head, the blanket around his waist leaving the torso exposed. She remembered the feeling of being in his arms, his comforting caresses, his kiss on her forehead. A wave of an unknown feeling flooded her, strong, blunt, and suppressed the desire to go to his side and lay down beside his body. She felt good, the memory of the aggression was diluted at that new sensation that overwhelmed her. But she didn´t dare to go, she just got up and made breakfast. Later, when he woke up, they did not talk about what happened the day before.

That afternoon, Deila wanted to go to the city, Gynvael, to buy several articles that were scarce. Geralt offered to give her a ride on Roach, his horse. She accepted.

The city's market was famous in all countries. Merchants of the whole Kovir were there every Thursday, on Greyden´s Square, where a labyrinth of ambulant stands congregated with products of all Northern Kingdoms.

Deila, who was mounted behind Geralt, pointed to a stable where to lead Roach, because in such agglomerations rascals often steals the foreign things, including the horses left on any post.

"Gods bless you, miss healer!" A man without a half of his teeth said while both were dismounting.

"And bless you too, Ziben. I was wondering if you would keep us the horse while we go to run some errands…"

"Of course, and not even any oren I will charge you. Cos I do not have to forget that you healed my son, miss healer. Go, don't you worry and run those errands, which I keep the horse and up to grain I will give to it".

"Thank you very much, Ziben. Let´s go, Geralt".

The market was like a sea of bodies, moving like turtles, booths of cloths in bright colours and screams of the sellers and of some women arguing for the turns, the articles or simple desire of bustle. The witcher doubted a moment if to submerge in that madness or not; Deila took his hand, laughing at his apprehension, and dragged him to the crammed corridors. Suddenly the city got him in a bad mood, he didn´t know why.

She bought a heap of things, from eatables to thick brown cloth, supporting pushes, watching the money´s bag, sweating in the sun that was falling down on the square. Geralt was carrying with the goods, overwhelmed and with an enormous desire of finishing at once and leave.

Deila stopped in front of two girls with small and showy clothes that were finishing a circus number with burning torches. A few coins rang on having fallen down inside a very injured metal bowl.

"Hello, Deila" they greeted her, while they were extinguishing the fires on the floor.

Then they dropped the torches and approached them, the ring of the people began to walk on turtle step.

"Azuan, Illea, he´s Geralt, a friend".

The witcher inclined a little as a greeting, trying to hide the nuisance that he was feeling for that stop when he wanted to go out of that damned market. That stop got him in a worse mood, but he tried to hide it. They approached the witcher and printed a kiss on every cheek, making him amazed. Then they focused their attention on the healer.

"Take care, Deila. They do not want you somewhere here, and I don't refer to the villagers… I had heard some rumours" Azuan said.

"But thanks precisely to the villagers, whom hold in great esteem the services that you give them, he has not taken more measures against you" added Illea. "If he did it, the rabble would be capable of burning the castle with him inside, and he knows it".

"With you two leading them, if the question is burning something…" joked Deila.

"Of course. If there is a fire, we embrace the cause".

"Thanks for the warning, my friends. We must go now. See you" the healer said.

"Bye, Deila, bye, Geralt" they answered. Geralt was kissed the same again.

They were mixed once more in the human slow tide.

"What happens, Deila?" The witcher asked, approaching to her ear, to make him hear over the screams of the merchants. "Who wants you out of here?"

"I will explain it to you, witcher, but not here. Let´s go, the exit of the square is close. And, if you are capable of changing immediately this nuisance expression of your face, I will invite you a beer in the tavern".

Geralt changed immediately the nuisance expression of his face, wanting to drink anything that could refresh his very dry gullet.

Advanced enough the way towards the cabin, Deila, looking over the shoulder that was not crossing the sword of the witcher, saw smoke over the trees. A feeling of unease sensation came to the healer.

"Geralt, I see smoke… Could you, perhaps, spur on Roach?"

The witcher looked at the sky and he didn´t like what he saw.

"I can," he said, beating with the heels the horse´s flanks.

On having approached the cabin, this one was burning in a corner, while a group of elves of the forest was fighting against the flames with water buckets and branches. The witcher jumped off the horse and approached the house. The flames hadn't reached yet a long size.

"Move away from here," he said to the elves.

Geralt drew with his right hand the Aard Sign, and at the moment a strong wind asphyxiated the flames. The remains were extinguished with water buckets by the three elves.

. "Thank you, Eniel" said the healer to the handsome elf of chestnut-coloured hair.

Then she turned towards two female elves, one with black hair and another one with hair as white as those of the witcher. "And thanks to you, Wiel, Inia… What has happened?"

"A sabotage, undoubtedly" said the attractive elf. "It has been the destination that just we were coming over in search of your knowledge. We saw one rider going out in a hurry, suspiciously. And then, the smoke…"

"They knew that you weren't in the cabin" said the witcher to the healer. "Then they watch you".

"I know it," said Deila. "But for now they had never dared to act beyond the threats…"

"You'll have to submit to the gentleman, Deila" said Wiel, the female elf of the white hair. "Or ask for help. You don't need to pass through it, if you want you…"

"But I don't want, Wiel" Deila interrupted her. "I don't want and that's all. I don't want either of those possibilities. We'll see what happens".

"Truly, we don't understand you" insisted Eniel. "Wiel is right, if your brother finds out…

"I have said to you no. My brother and I we argued, I will not run now to humble myself asking for his help. I have to solve it myself".

"Are you crazy? How will you go to do it?" Exclaimed Inia, the black haired female elf.

Deila sighed and drooped the look, one eyebrow raised, she seemed to be thinking. Then she glanced the witcher, who was observing her, listening to and was not saying anything.

"I think I have a little idea. And now, enter the cabin. You have come searching my knowledge, not to tangle my thoughts".

And she entered the cabin with firm and bad-tempered steps.

"That damned bad temper…" Eniel said following her.

Inside the cabin, the elves explained the symptoms of a companion. She asked them questions about what they did not know how to answer.

"I'll have to go see him, I cannot diagnose without gathering all the information possible. I will take some remedies, but I need to talk to him to know concretely the one that best fits his ailment."

"All right. Tonight there is a party at the camp, Deila. You can take time to have fun."

"I would love to!" She said, getting up and starting to prepare things. "You come, witcher?"

"If there are no objections, yes, my lady. Why not?"

Eniel thought about it for a moment.

"Okay, you can come."

Only the elves knew how to build like this, even if they were simple wooden houses. The elvish village looked like a fairy tale. When they arrived, some children approached the girl, jumping and laughing, and running over each other trying to explain that there would be a party. Deila, to the delight of the little children, did as she didn't know nothing, she looked surprised and uttered exclamations of joy.

However, the witcher received hostile glances.

Wiel pointed the sick man's cabin to Deila, while the two men sat on a dry trunk of considerable proportions.

"I´m going back soon, Geralt."

Eniel raised his eyebrows, alarmed, on hearing the name with which the girl had addressed the man.

"Geralt? Geralt of Rivia? The White Wolf?"

The witcher sighed.

"Yes."

Eniel got up, cursing in his language, and ran after Deila, who had already entered the cabin with Wiel.

"If your brother finds out, he is able to present himself here with an army! He will cut my head off, but he will lock you in the highest tower and throw away the key!" He shouted, still using elf language, he was so upset.

"What are you talking about, Eniel? What's wrong?"

"Do you know who that man is, Deila? Do you know who you have put in your house? It's the Blaviken Butcher!"

"Did he have a butcher shop in Blaviken? That's good," she scoffed. "Calm down, Eniel. I knew it. But I would like to know what really happened there, because he does not behave like a dangerous man at all. And you know the people, they speak without knowing nothing. Come on, let me work and do not talk to me about it anymore."

"But…"

"Issue resolved I said, Eniel."

The elf came out of the cabin very angry and did not return with Geralt. He lost in the village.

While Delia was attending to her patient, the elven women put on the long tables, which the men had set up, dishes full of meats and glasses next to a beer cask. The musicians prepared and soon began to play.

When the healer came out, the children assaulted her to put a nice wreath of flowers, the same as those worn on her head by young female elves.

She approached the witcher.

"Come, Geralt, let's eat something."

The elves were eating and drinking, some of them dancing. Deila waved here and there, but did not move from the witcher's side. Both served and quickly finished the food, and drank the bitter beer of the elves. Then, the children took the healer to dance. The night had already fallen, and the town was illuminated with dozens of lanterns of bright colours, that delighted small and adults. The music of the elves was delicious in the summer night, and Deila danced, passing from one to another, while Eniel, who had finally appeared, looked at her from the wall on which he leaned with his arms crossed.

Geralt saw that the girl went dancing to Eniel.

"Dance with me" she said.

The elf did not flinch, he looked at her angrily.

"Come on, Eniel, dance. Don´t get angry at me, you know I can´t stand it."

Deila gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed his hand and dragged him into the clearing. The elf gave up and danced, but he did not smile even one time.

Geralt watched her jumping, turning, moving to the rhythm of the music, laughing funny, all with innate grace, from the trunk on which he was sitting. Her lifestyle was enjoying life at every moment. Her passion for everything she did pass on him, because she enjoyed to the full, even the smallest things. He envied that passion. "It's because of her extreme youth," he told himself. He took a long drink of his beer.

Deila suddenly appeared in front of the witcher.

"Dance".

It sounded like an order.

"I don´t dance, my lady," he refused.

"You Don´t? Are you going to deny me the only thing I've asked for?"

The witcher looked at her and snorted.

"Are you blackmailing me, my lady?"

"A little, I think".

Geralt laughed.

"All right, Deila, I will dance with you."

She took him by the hand and dragged to the clearing. They began to move in synchrony. The witcher had not danced for years, but he knew how doing it, much to Deila's surprise.

The girl's hair floated around her with each jump, her firm breasts rose and fell sensually, the skirt of her dress was hollowed out. Her eyes were not separated from those of the witcher, smiling almost provocatively. Geralt was attracted, unable to avoid, by the magnetism that radiated the healer.

Finally, the piece ended. She sweated and snorted, tired. They sat on the trunk.

"You dance very well, witcher."

"Thank you, my lady. You too."

People were starting to get tired and everyone was looking for seats when the music was silent. Then, the children came to look for her and took her hand, pulling to the music's place, repeating in elvish a word: sing. Then they went to find Eniel. The elves began to applaud and cheer when the two were together with the musicians, and they prepared to play.

The sweet sound of a flute rose in the air, tearing the night with a melancholy melody. Soon the other instruments accompanied it, and finally, Eniel and Deila sang. The song was calm and slow, the voices of the couple were intertwined in different scales complementing, creating a beautiful union that made shudder. Their voices were powerful and clear, sweet and sensual, hypnotic. It was a song of heartbreak, of sad lyrics in elvish. The couple not only sang, their expressions and gestures made them interpret the song as if they were really the main characters. The people looked at them enthralled, without blinking. Geralt found himself imprisoned, too, in their magic.

During the song, Deila's eyes searched for the witcher's ones on more than one occasion, and their eyes met. A warm feeling flooded him, Delia was beautiful in the light of the lanterns. He felt like pressing her against his chest. Then he looked away and shook his head, leaving the trance.

When it was over, the night was silent for a few moments, and Geralt saw Deila wiping away a tear. Then the applause broke out, thunderous. The witcher also applauded.

It was already very late. Deila said goodbye to the elves and approached Eniel.

"It's time for me to leave, Eniel. You don´t have to accompany me, the witcher will be enough escort. And don´t be angry with me, my precious elf: trust me."

"I just want to protect you, Delia. All this has me very worried."

"I know, Eniel. But you don´t have to, I assure you. I have good judgment for people, and the witcher is a good person."

"It's fine, my little girl. Goodnight."

"Good evening," she said, kissing his cheek.

Geralt waited a few steps away from the couple.

" Good night, witcher. Take care of her."

"Always, elf. Goodnight."

CHAPTER 4

They arrived at the cabin without mishap. Deila lit an oil lamp, threw wood on the dying fire and filled a basin with water. She picked up a cloth, dipped it and wrung it out; then she began to wash her arms slowly, her neck, her face, the beginning of her breasts... The witch looked at her as he took off his boots.

"Geralt," she said. "Eniel told me you're Blaviken's Butcher. That's right?"

"Yes, it is, my lady."

"What happened in Blaviken?"

Geralt remembered at once. Renfri. The ultimatum. His departure from Blaviken between stones that crashed against the shield of the Sign that he conjured, thrown precisely by those idiots he had saved from a massacre. He looked Deila in the eyes, hurt, tired of his unfair legend preceded him wherever he went.

"I chose the lesser evil. Apparently, it was a bad decision. I should not have interfered, after all, it was not my skin that was threatened. Why do you ask me that? Are you afraid of me now, Deila?"

"What nonsense... No, I don't fear you at all. I already know how people are. I know how the stories are distorted. It could be that things don´t be as they sayl, that you are not guilty of what they accuse you. Are you guilty, Geralt?"

The witcher kept looking at her scowling. She left the cloth in the basin, picked up a towel and began to dry as she sat on a chair in front of him.

"What do you think?"

She looked at him, troubled and beginning to blush for no apparent reason. Suddenly, as if she had just made a resolution, she pushed forward and kissed the witcher awkwardly on the lips. He, caught by surprise, took a few seconds to return the kiss.

"Now you know what I think", she said as she separated, even more disturbed, her cheeks burning.

The witcher said nothing, looked at her without knowing very well how to act next. She was very beautiful in every way, and he liked her; he was tempted by desire, but his conscience prevailed: she was too young. She was not a woman yet. He should not do it.

She looked into his eyes, waiting for a reaction that did not come. Then she tried to repeat the action, but the witcher, raising his arms and grabbing her shoulders, held her back.

"No, Deila."

"I know what you think. I see it clearly as if your forehead were glass. You think I'm a girl. You think it would not be ethical, less after your promise to Eniel."

"And so it is, my lady."

"No, Geralt. It is not like this. I'm young, but it's a long time I´m not a girl. And you promised Eniel that you would not hurt me, not that you would not let me love you. Because yes, I'm not ashamed to say it, I love you. I feel something very strong for you, and I think it's love, Geralt ... I've never felt anything like this ..."

The witcher looked embarrassed and annoyed.

"Don't keep talking. Tomorrow when you´ll wake up you will hate yourself for telling me that."

"I would never hate myself for telling the truth."

"Only a few days ago you know me, you can´t love me. It's your age, that age that is fascinated by the unknown, by the different things, what drives you to believe that you love me."

"Stop looking for arguments to convince yourself, Geralt. I know very well what I feel. And I know that you feel something for me, I've seen it. I've seen it in your eyes, and I see it now."

"What you see is a man who is not made of stone. You know that I think you're very beautiful, because you are. Any man would be attracted to you, Delia. But you're not a woman yet."

"Well, then make me a woman. Make me a woman, Geralt..."

She again approached the witcher. He doubted. When she was already very close to his mouth, he rejected her again.

"Stop it."

It was as if he had slapped her. Deila blinked and withdrew, while the blush returned to cover her cheeks. Her eyes let see her anguish.

"Excuse me, without a doubt... without a doubt I have crossed the line... I had forgotten how prudent you are."

At that moment he saw her vulnerable, like a sparrow in the rain, same way as when he caressed her curled up in his lap. Her safety had been shattered. The desire to hold her came back to him strongly, with the force of a cyclone.

"Now don´t start crying, for all the Gods." The witcher thought.

Almost at once, he heard a sob. He felt his determination breaking into pieces.

Deila stood up, unhappy and looking like she did not know where to get, and took two steps toward the cupboard. But the witcher also got up, grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him with a jerk. The healer was in his arms, close to his body, and when she raised her head, she found his lips, looking for hers. He kissed her hard, and Deila felt the witcher's mouth open and his tongue caressing the closed teeth and the inside of her lips, and her eyes widened in amazement. It was her first kiss, her truly first kiss. At the same time, Geralt's fingers trailed down her back, sending shivers down her entire being. Then, a hand travelled to her breast and cupped it, kneading its tender flesh. Deila gasped and closed her eyes, letting his tongue finally enter her mouth.

The witcher was then overwhelmed by a wild desire.

"She's too young, what's happening to me? I must not ... He's too young ... "But it was too late.

In the cabin, only the crackling of the flames and the soft touch of the caresses broke the silence; and then a few steps, dragged, to the corner bed. Only the sound of the kisses, of the clothes falling carelessly to the ground, of the rubbing of the sheets against two bodies, filled the cabin.

She let herself be carried away by the witcher's experience, which immersed her in a totally new world of sensations. He explored her body with skillful and tender hands, kissed her making her skin shudder, responding to her touch with new caresses that raised even more the degree of her arousal. Always soft, gentle, careful. Then he stood over her and stopped, hesitating at the decisive moment, but she moved her hips in protest, encouraging him. When he finally entered, Deila felt a pang of pain and turned, tense, and the witcher stopped again. He licked her neck, and she shuddered, then moved slowly again, his tongue tracing softly the curve of her ear, until there was no longer any resistance or pain.

The silence was broken definitively by breathy whispers, sighs and gasps, she clung to him and he to her, together, united in that intimate moment with the intertwined glances, the interlaced hands and the intertwined souls. And both exploded in a maddening delightful ecstasy.

Then the calm returned.

The witcher laid down beside her, still panting, and she looked at him knowing that it was him, that it would always be him, that there would never be anyone else. She was really in love.

"I made a mistake," Geralt tortured himself. "I should have restrained myself. She is not a woman yet. "

Deila broke the silence.

"What are you thinking, Geralt? Are you already regretting?" she said, stroking the witcher's scars with a finger, curled up in his embrace.

"Damn girl... Can she really read my mind?" He thought.

"I was wondering about your problems, those that this evening referred the elves, those two men yesterday, what your friends told you in the market ... it's all part of the same trouble, is it not?" He lied. "What's happening, Deila?"

She raised a little and put his arm in a straight angle on the pillow, supporting the head with it.

"I always touched unicorns, Geralt. The unicorns approached me and even they let me pull out some hair when I needed it for a remedy. The lord of Rakverelin, the king's legal representative, found out. He is a big hunter, if the fact of killing animals in cold blood can do to someone big… And collects its heads, which he exhibits hung in the big hall of his citadel.

"Do you mean that he tries to force you to help him to hunt a unicorn?" The witcher asked her, amazed.

"Yes, he was pressing me to do that. Of course, I've always refused. I've never taken too seriously his threats. But it seems that he is getting impatient… He will explode in anger when he finds out that I´m not good any more to him. Now, the problem is solved".

"I don't understand you…"

"Sometimes, you are smart as a bag of rocks, witcher… Do you know at least the relation between the unicorns and the… mmm… virgin girls?"

The witcher nodded.

"Geralt, have you realized of… well, that I…?"

"Yes, Deila, I've realized" said him softy pulling her against him a little more, feeling a storm of contradictory emotions about this fact.

"So, witcher, I'll not see unicorns again! Now, although I wanted, I cannot help him. He will have to fit his threats wherever they fit".

"Wait a moment… Perhaps you have used me? Was this the little idea that you had to escape from the problem, as you said to the elf?" The witcher said angrily.

"No, I have not used you. Yes, Geralt, it was the idea. But not to escape from the threat, although it is a collateral benefit. If my intention had been only that one, any man would be good to me. And that was precisely, witcher, what I wasn't willing to sacrifice for the caprice of such an idiot. It is my privilege. It was my privilege to which I didn't want to renounce. Of all the women, Geralt, to offer it in the moment we want and whom we want to. Today, and not earlier, I have chosen; because today, and not earlier, I have met someone… for whom I feel … and who is valuable to me".

The witcher opened his mouth to say something, but she silenced him depositing two fingers on his lips.

"Don't say anything, not now. Don't spoil it".

Then, she withdrew the fingers and brought her lips over to the ones of the witcher, and kissed him.

A few knocks on the door startled them, and Deila got up like pushed by a spring and got dressed at a vertiginous speed.

"Wait a moment, please!" She shouted while she finished dressing herself.

She opened the door and met face to face a girl who was wrapped in a thick layer.

"Good night, Deila" greeted, slightly inhibited seeing Geralt chest nude on the bed.

"Good night, Nel. What happens?"

"Oh, Deila, my sister… her water broke! My mother has sent me to pick you up…"

"Let me finish getting ready. Wait here, please".

The healer closed the door and ran to arrange her curled hair, took the haversack that she always had prepared and put on a layer. Then she approached to the witcher, who was laying in the bed, watching at her.

"May I borrow your horse?"

"Sure, take it. Do you want me to go with you?" He offered.

"No, no. It's sure that it goes for a long time. Don't even think to wait for me awake. But please, change that bloody sheets…".

Then she went out quickly and closed the door.

The baby was screaming angered, filling with happiness the crowded house. After cutting the umbilical cord, the healer cleaned the newborn baby with a cloth, wrapped it in a little blanket and delivered it to Nel while she returned to the mother.

"You have been a wonderful nurse, Nel" she said to the anxious young woman, who was already going out the door to show the new member to the rest of the family.

"Very well, I've already finished. Stay in bed today, and don't sleep. Watch you don't bleed very much, if it is so, then send for me immediately".

Deila approached to the washbowl and began to wash her arms. Out, in the dining room, a strange tumult was heard, and the door of the bedroom opened suddenly. Two soldiers burst in, ignoring to the screams of protest and pushes of the family.

"Come with us, healer. This is Lord Robert of Rakverelin command".

"And if I refuse?" She asked them, haughty.

The soldier raised the arm and a strong slap with the reverse of his gloved hand hit her. She felt the heat of the blood sliding down her nose; she cleaned it with the fingers and looked the blood with anger. Then, she glanced up to the soldier.

"You are lucky this is not my house, son of a bitch. Don't you dare to touch me again!".

"No mercy for you this time, you understand?" The soldier shouted her on bad way.

Pushing her, they took Deila out of the room. When she passed next to Nel, who was pressing the baby against her body, scared, Deila, looked at her with imploring eyes.

"Give back him the horse…"

"Shut up and walk, woman!"

But Nel had understood.

Geralt heard Roach whinnying and stretched his neck to look out the window opposite to where he was seated having breakfast. A hooded figure jumped off the horse and ran towards the door. It was not necessary for her to knock, because the witcher opened it before she raised the fist.

"Sir…" said Nel, distressed. "They have taken her, the soldiers from the citadel, and they had beaten her… She sent me to tell you…"

"Have they taken Deila? Where?"

"Sure to the Rakverelin citadel…"

Geralt ran for his steel sword, secured it to his back and then hid a dirk in his right boot shank, and went out. He mounted on a jump on Roach and took the reins. The girl approached and grasped them, preventing his departure.

"Sir, don't you go alone! You must let know to the elves… The elves, they know what doing… You will find them through the way of the forest, approximately four miles, you will see to the sentries… Ask for Eniel."

"The elves? Too many problems have already to get in more, at the citadel…"

"Take my advice, for God´s sake, I know what I mean… The elves can help much more than you believe".

The witcher looked at her eyes while he was thinking about her words, but he decided to do as she told, and nodded to her. The girl released the reins and separated from the horse, which ran out towards the way of the forest.

The elves saw him first. Geralt stopped the horse because of the threat of the arches aiming at him straight to the chest.

"I'm looking for Eniel" he told them. "Tell him that the lord of Rakverelin has taken the healer".

The elves lowered the arches and one of them ran towards the thickness. He was not late in returning, accompanied by Eniel and the same two female elves that the witcher had seen with him the previous evening. When they were close, Geralt went down the horse.

"Welcome, witcher" greeted Eniel.

"Greetings. I come to ask for help for Deila. They have taken her to the citadel".

"In the end it has happened. We warn her, but she is so obstinate…" said Wiel annoyed, the white haired female elf.

"It is not necessary to wait anymore" Inia added, moving his black hair in a denial, talking to Eniel." Let's warn him. Niedamir must know it, only he can put Lord Robert in his place…"

"I agree. Although, probably, when Deila knows that we have warned him, she will pursue us kicking our ass for the whole forest" Eniel said.

"To warn, whom? What the hell do you speak about?" The witcher exploded.

"About her brother, king of Caingorn. Deila is, in fact, a princess. Rebel, unruly, but a princess. Niedamir of Caingorn and she discussed, and she left the kingdom. He sent us to look after her, but she doesn´t know that... or Ithink so.

Geralt was astonished. A princess. Now he understood everything... So he had deflowered a young marriageable princess… The king certainly would run him through the forest, but with swords. The twinge of regret intensified, no doubt he had harmed her with his lack of control.

"And are you sure that he will come, if they don't even talk to themselves?" The witcher distrusted.

"Of course. She is his only sister and, in spite of everything, he loves her. And with pleasure he'll kick the ass to Lord Robert; since I know, he doesn´t like him" Wiel laughed.

"Let´s go. Wiel, write a few lines and send a bird" the handsome elf urged them.

"It will not arrive on time" Geralt affirmed.

"His castle is very close. He no longer lived in the capital, he moved with his court to be closer to her, so for the fresh news about her. Cause we are on the same border, King Niedamir will know what happens in ten minutes, if we send the hawk. The king can reach the quarterdeck in a surprisingly fast time," said Wiel.

The witcher mounted again on Roach, stretched the reins and the horse turned around to facing the way in the opposite direction.

"In any case, I will not wait for him. I go forward for whatever may be happening in the citadel".

"Wait, witcher, I go with you!" said the elf jumping up the horse.

Chapter 5

The guards put her in a cell under lock and key. Deila sat down on the floor, against the wall, and waited.

More than an one hour later, other guards came for her. They led her, holding her arms; they passed by corridors illuminated with torches to a big hall. At the back of the hall, opposite to a big table of polished wood of ash-tree, a solitary figure was drinking from a gilded glass with precious stones incrustations. On the table, a copious breakfast with select food was spread for him.

They took her to the man. Lord Robert of Rakverelin raised his eyes and looked at her with arrogance, cleaned his mouth and his hands with a serviette and stood up. He was a tall, dark-haired man; he sported a mustache and a beard, so black that it was almost blue. His eyes were two cruel viewpoints were his dark soul showed.

"Welcome to my humble dwelling" Lord Robert said making fun. "You two, clear off!"

The two guards made him a little bow, turned round and went to the door which they had come a short time before.

"Come with me, healer" said Lord Robert. "I want to show you my hunting trophies"

Deila didn't say nothing but threw an angry glance at him.

Aligned on the walls, the stuffed heads of around a hundred animals of different breeds were hanging on. Their eyes of glass were reflecting the candle lights.

The man pulled her back gently, forcing her to walk. Then they started going round the hall, and now and then Lord Robert stopped to explain her the difficult haunting of the strangest specimen in front of them.

The last place was empty. On the label on the wall was written a word: unicorn.

"You will help me now, healer. You'll do it. Because if you don't do it you'll bear the consequences", he threatened her.

Deila started laughing. Her guffaws resounded in the entire hall, multiplying her mockery.

"I can´t help you, now. I will never see unicorns again, sir, do you understand what I mean or must I explain to you?" She laughed at him.

The man turned pale visibly. His features contracted with pure rage.

"I understand. What a pity," he said with a calmness that put Deila hairs stand on end. "Come on, I want to show you something more".

Lord Robert took her up to a point on the wall where there was a door hiding with a big skillfulness, impossible to see if its location was not known in advance. The man opened it and pushed her inside.

Seven heads of women, supported on seven stone pedestals, were looking at the gap from the left wall of the small room. The air smelled of dust and taxidermy, of chemistry and of death. Deila noticed suddenly what those were: authentic heads of women, dissected just as those of the animals from the hall.

"This is my best collection" Lord Robert said proudly, accompanying his words with a gesture that included the seven lecterns. "The seven most beautiful women, healer, the seven wives that I have had. The last one almost escapes from me; she suspected what happened to her predecessors and tried to flee. The most intelligent, the most beautiful, sweeter and softer than any of my other wives. Blue Beard, she used to call to me… And now, they are mine forever".

Deila was looking at him terrified. She realized that she would not go out alive of this room, that's why the lord of Rakverelin was showing her it. He enjoyed her terror, was his revenge.

"Why do you show it to me?" She said, trying to feign a serenity that she was not feeling.

"Because I'm going to have my trophy after all. Instead of the unicorn, I'll keep your beautiful head. Perhaps you believed that you would laugh at me? Perhaps you believed that I would allow it to you, an insignificant girl?"

"I´m not an insignificant girl, I'm the Caingorn princess!" she yelled, her voice full of panic.

"Of course you are," he laughed at her.

Lord Robert began to draw slowly the sword that was hanging by his hip. Deila felt a lump in her throat, backed a few steps and ran towards the closed door. She opened it just when the man was rushing forward, raising the sword towards her. He knocked her to the ground, Deila was with half a body out of the room, turned herself and looked at the sword, implacably going down in search of her body. Deila held her breath, waiting for the fatal blow, but then another sword intercepted it, stopping it.

"Geralt!" the healer yelled relieved when she saw the witcher almost over her, holding with his sword the one of the other man.

"Go out, get away!" He shouted to her.

She kneeled, but Blue Beard grabbed her by the dress in a very rapid movement and pulled her towards him. The woman was on his hands for a moment, but the witcher, still blocking his sword, pulled Deila´s arm and took her away. Lord Robert burned with anger at having seen his intentions frustrated.

"Perhaps is this the scum who had fucked you, you damn slut?" Each of the offensive syllables beat to the healer. She remained behind Geralt, looking at him with fear and disgust, holding her tears back.

"Deila, go away from here, now!" The witcher shouted her again.

She startled and began to run towards the door to exit of that horror hall. On having opened the door, another battle was fighting there. Eniel was battling with three guards; on the floor were lying two guards more, both dead. Without thinking it, Deila pick up a sword and put herself next to the elf.

"Are you fine?" Eniel asked her between sword-stroke and sword-stroke.

"What a shit of luck I have!" She complained throwing a tremulous thrust. "I just jump out of the frying pan into fire…"

"Don't lose hope, your brother is on the way…"

"What?" She roared. "Later I'll settle accounts with you, elf!"

Her struggle way of fight changed to an irate, forceful offensive, because now she was angry, very angry. The elf forced a malevolent smile.

Blue Beard got away from the Geralt blockade and launched a very rapid attack, but the witcher was waiting for it and raised the sword; the blade slipped on the edge with a rasping sound, an enervating sound. He quickly turned round and attacked, but Lord Robert was a good swordsman and he foresaw the sword- stroke, stopping it with skill. A series of rapid blows happened then, now one, now the other; but the witcher was attacking with more frequency and was advancing while the other was backing, entering both men in the dismal room. The gentleman gave a wide slash that the witcher avoided with a twirl, they crossed the blades again, and, at the second assault, Geralt raised the leg, reached the belly of Lord Robert and threw him against the wall. While was falling, the evil gentleman knocked down two of the lecterns, and its heads rolled macabre over the floor. Geralt put the end of the sword against his neck. Blue Beard released his sword and said a terrible blasphemy, when he saw those two heads spoiled because of the fall.

Eniel and Deila were still measuring with fury against the two soldiers that remained. Suddenly, in the vestibule some knights appeared in silver armour and red cape on their shoulders, carrying the coat of arms of Caingorn on the chest.

"Stop in king Niedamir´s name!" Shouted one of them, stretching out his big sword.

The citadel´s soldiers stopped fighting. Deila not even waited to say hello to the Caigorn knights; she held Eniel´s sleeve and pulled him along to the hall of the hanging heads. Geralt was leaving the hide room at this moment, pointing his sword against the back of lord Robert of Rakverelin.

The four knights came too into the hall, plus a fifth; this one was carrying a thin crown over the brown hair. Walking with a firm step, he placed close from the healer.

"Are you fine, dear sister?" King Niedamir asked her, worried, caressing Deila´s cheek. She looked at his eyes and released the sword. The sound of the steel against the stone floor resounded in the silence that fell in the hall after that simple question.

Sir Jacob, sir Nevail, sir Sansbury and sir Durrell held their breath without realizing of it, expecting for their princess reaction, wishing that this family dispute that would last so long, would end. And then, Deila throw herself into his brother arms and sobbed against his shoulder, touched and relieved. Those four knights relaxed visibly; two of them took down the visor, discreetly.

On occasion of the conciliation of the princess Deila and her brother king Niedamir, and in honour to the witcher who saved her life, in the gardens of Creyden castle was celebrated a big party. Anybody who wanted to come, were welcome. There were not lack of bards, either meal or drink, desire of celebrating was not also lacked by the guests.

The witcher was walking up and down in the ground floor hall of the castle, in front of the staircase. Before Deila and he separated three hours ago, she arranged with him to meet here. Geralt was wearing his own clothes, because he refused the opulent clothing they offered him.

At last there were footsteps at the top of the staircase. The witcher looked up and found ... a princess. The healer wore a nice long dress of green silk. Over her curls, brushed backward, rested a thin gold crown with three encrusted emeralds, matching her dress and her eyes.

She went down the stairs with elegance, until she reached him. Geralt looked at her in astonishment, for she was nothing like the healer he knew.

"Wow... " the witcher said "now you look like a real princess. You are very beautiful in that dress, Deila."

The young princess's eyes gleamed, reflecting the light of the torches. She smiled, pleased with Geralt's admiration, and took his arm.

"I look like a woman now, witcher?" she asked him, smiling.

"You do, your majesty" Geralt laughed.

She didn´t like his respectful form.

"Don´t be fooled, witcher. I couldn´t care less about all this. And don´t dare to call me majesty again, for you I am only Deila, the healer. Come on, I have a terrible thirst."

They went out to the gardens, looking for the big tables where fresh beer and good wine were awaiting.

"Promise me that you will dance with me again, witcher."

He looked at her reproachfully.

"Come on, promise me. I will not stop tormenting you until you do..."

The witcher's eyes smiled.

"I can´t deny you anything today. We almost lost you, Deila. If I get to delay a second more ..."

"Geralt! Geralt!" Someone was yelling, while advancing with elbow jabs to him.

"Jaskier…" whispered the witcher when he saw him. His memory was almost totally restored.

"I´ll be damned if I thought you were so far to the north, witcher" said, surprised and happy, clapping the other´s shoulder. "What are you doing here, in this party?"

"He´s your friend, Geralt?" asked Deila with a smile, still holding the witcher´s arm.

"He is"

"Then enjoy, drink and eat all you want to honour your friend. He saved my life." Said proud of him, with an evident look of love that the poet noticed immediately.

Jaskier looked at Geralt mischievously and winked at him.

"Well, well, it seems to me or finally someone had conjured the d´jinn third wish…"

"What do you mean, Jaskier?"

"I´m talking about Yennefer…"

When the name came out of the mouth of the poet, Deila realized the soft change on the witcher´s face. She noticed the stress on the arm she was holding.

Because the witcher remembered. To his mind came the reminder of lilac and gooseberry smell, the storm of black curls over her beautiful face, those violet eyes that became all for him. Yennefer.

"Yen…"

"I´m happy that you sever of that shameless and selfish sorcerer. I didn´t like her at all. Drink a toast to that!" Celebrated Jaskier, happy, going to the table where the drinks stood. "Come, princess, and I´ll tell you the terrible fight against the d´jinn and such a fool were Geralt."

The bard told her all, adding funny mentions in the story, but Deila didn´t find it funny at all. She knew what it meant. She knew and felt a sudden weakness spreading on her body, because she understood that the witcher has remembered and, because that, he was a prisoner again of that last wish.

"So… Do you still love her, Geralt?"

Geralt looked Deila in the eyes, very serious. She looked at him with those eyes, that impossibly green eyes, oozing hope, the hope and optimism of the extreme youth. But the witcher's gaze slid little by little down the woman's face and she fell to the floor, unable to keep it.

She did not need more. She released his arm and retreated a few steps, still looking at him intensely, in her eyes written the deepest disappointment and pain; and then she turned and walked away, passing between the people, with firm and serene steps, without looking back. The witcher saw her leave with sad remorse, but he did not move. He couldn´t do it.

"Where is the princess going, Geralt? I have not finished telling your stories..."

"Yes, you have. And you have also finished our story, bigmouth."

The evening leaded to the night, a sleepless night for both. The castle was silent now, the laughter was gone, the music was over. And, although each of them thought of the other, none left their rooms. He, because anything he said would only do her more pain; she, because was expecting him to take the step. And the night gave way to the morning, a morning of dark circles and hangovers, of dark clouds in thought, of remorse and pain.

Deila saw him from her window, she saw he was saddling the horse, loading his short luggage. And she ran downstairs, out of control. She continued running outside, till she arrived nearby him. She stopped, reached out her arm and touch the witcher back. Softly, as if she didn´t dare to.

Geralt turned to her silent, depressed.

"So you leave…" she whispered.

The witcher said nothing.

"Geralt, listen to me a moment, I´ll not waste too much of your time."

The witcher listened to her.

"Geralt, your life… can change here. Here. You know, I saw your scars…Stop risking yourself for some coins, stop going through that suffering… When your life ends, when the death finds you, could you say you were happy anytime? Could you say that it was worth going through what you have gone through? That all this has been for good? And then, in the end, for what? Stay with me. I offer you a new life, by my side… I know I'm not that Yennefer, but I'm sure I'd know how to make you happy ..."

"I can´t, princess. I´m only a witcher. A witcher at the shadow of the fate."

"I see. You are a witcher, I am a princess. It's not possible. What a sad excuse. I'm still the healer you met, the one who took care of you, witcher. I am not, nor will I be, the princess of Caigorn. I told you that all this does not matter to me."

"You knew that sooner or later I would leave. You knew I was a witcher, they warned you."

"I don´t want you to leave ... I don´t want to be another broken heart that you leave behind."

"Not everything is so easy, you don´t know nothing, princess."

"Don't call me princess."

"You are too young. You think you're in love, but one day ..."

"Don´t you dare to say it," she said in a deep, broken voice, holding back the tears. "Don´t you dare pretend to know about my future or what I will find on my way. I will never love another. I know. The old seer elf told me: only one man in your life, until it ends ... And it's you, Geralt."

"I´m sorry. I feel so sorry. I wish you had listened to me when I told you not go on."

"You told me, yes. But if I had listened to you, I would not have been in your arms. Despite what may happen today, I don´t regret it."

"I don´t want to hurt you, Deila. It´s for your own good that I can´t stay."

She didn´t insist. In fact, she didn't say nothing more.

Geralt got on Roach and shake the reins. She was looking at him standing still on the ground. He couldn´t look at her. She saw him going out the wall doors without a move, breathing fast. King Niedamir appeared at her side and follow the look of his sister, finding the witcher riding in the distance. Then he looked at her. Deila´s lips shook.

"He´s a witcher, what did you expect? "He said softly.

A single tear crossed her face and crashed on the ground, drawing a tiny star in the dust. Niedamir held her waist and pushed her close to him, In the silence that brother and sister held, looking at the fading figure of the witcher on the distance, Deila sigh deep, gloomy.

"I leave, Niedamir. I can´t stand that castle, not now."

"But… I thought you would stay… You are a princess, sister."

"I am for the simple fact that there is royal blood running in my veins. But you will never make a princess of me. Do you understand me, brother?"

"I do, I do…" he said sadly.

His sister gave him a soft kiss on his royal cheek and then, holding their hands strong, walked together to the castle.

The Hierophant was waiting in the middle of the clearing, in front the big oak. His eyes were closed, like if he were meditating, but really he didn´t: he was awaiting her.

Deila advanced to him making all the noise as possible. She was dragging her feet, making rustle the leaves, beating with her boots the ground every step. She wanted the Druid opened his eyes. It upset her the serenity that the man radiated, because she was very nervous and sad.

At last she arrived at him. Only then he opened his eyes, looking straight at her.

"I had come to make you a question, only one question." She said with no preambles.

"Do it, Your Majesty."

"Let the Majesties outside, Sethedor, don´t annoy me with this nonsense."

"I´m listening to you," said the Druid with smiling eyes. He loved to pester her with her status.

She dropped her look and bit her lip before to talk, like if she feared do the question for what she had walked several miles on foot on the dangerous mountain.

"Will he return to me?"

"Is very difficult to see, very difficult."

"Yes or not is enough", she loses patience.

"We can help the fate" said the Hierophant, taking a little blue bottle off his tunic.

Making a scene, he delivered it to the woman.

"What the hell is it?" She asked, looking at the seal, which had some runes, of the cap of the jar.

"It´s a bottle."

"Don't play the fool, Druid. I can see it for myself."

"This is the solution for your problem."

She thought about his words.

"What have it inside? "she went on interrogating.

"A d´jinn"

"What?"

"A genie. It will give you a wish. Only one wish."

"A d´jinn… For what, Sethedor? To tie my destiny to his one, just like he did with the sorcerer?"

The Hierophant looked at her severe now.

"But think twice what you do. Don´t behave lightly, cause the life of another person will be on your hands. And so yours, Deila. Will you stand to know that your joy is the product of something imposed?

She looked at him, strength, and then to the little bottle. She put it into her bag and looked again to the Druid.

"Thank you, Sethedor."

The man looked her moving away smiling good-naturedly, engrossed in his thoughts. Then he sighed.

"I bet she will do the right thing, don´t you agree, Eniel?" Said to a group of bushes that suddenly moved in reply. An elf, who had been crouched behind them, stood now a little angry cause the hierophant had found out him.

"Of course," He said while was shaking the dead leaves of his clothes. "She always does the right thing."

She was sitting on the floor, her back on the wall, surrounding her legs with her arm. On the other hand, she was holding the d´jinn blue bottle. She stared at it while was turning over in her hand, indecisive. She was thinking but didn´t dare to make a decision. It would be so easy to do it. But how difficult to live with the doubt. She wanted he really were in love with her, not for a wish, but the wound in her soul hurt too much, so much that she couldn´t stand it. She was missing him with all her soul.

Finally, she stood up, went out the cabin and approached to the wood. Suddenly she raised the arm which was holding the blue bottle and throw it far away into the darkness with rage, she watched with her heart full of anguish how it was disappearing on a parabola, a blue shine that faded quickly. Then she turned back and went in again, feeling like a fool that had through to cesspool her own happiness.

Not too far from there and not long after, a handsome elf of chestnut-coloured hair was heading home blowing the empty interior of a blue bottle, which produced a low sound. The elf looked taciturn. He would never tell Deila that he used the d´jinn who tie her destiny to the witcher's, because he could not bear to see his beloved so sad and depressed. The witcher is a good man, he told himself, together they will be happy.

She blew out the lamp in a soft breath and climbed into bed. She had been depressed for two days, without leaving the cabin, without leaving her bed. Her beautiful eyes were swollen from crying, she did not eat, she felt sick with melancholy. Not even Eniel and her paternal tenderness comforted her. After a long time tossing and turning, she fell into a kind of drowsiness in which conflicting thoughts followed one another. You should have used the d´jinn, he told herself. You did well not to using it, she thought later.

She wanted to forget him, but she couldn´t. And his memory hurt her. Oh, how it hurt.

She seemed to hear a horse hoof, a soft neigh. Some knocks on the door. She woke up with a sacrifice, sure an emergency, she thought. I´m not in the mood for emergencies, she said to herself. She opened the door with calmness, yawning, very tired. And there, in front of her, was him.

They looked each other in the moonlight, being unable to say a word.

She waited for him to decide to speak, and he did not know where to start. But he did not need words, so he just hugged her. That said it all. He pressed her hard against him, and she threw her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers in the snow-white hair, unable to believe it.

"I'm still not Yennefer ..." Deila whispered, with some fear, in his ear.

"Yennefer ... I couldn´t care less about her. I can only think about you. Forgive me, forgive this silly witcher" he said separating a little and looking at his beautiful eyes, impossibly green, now swollen.

"Don't ever leave me, Geralt, do not leave me again ..."

"I will never leave you, Deila."

She could not help smiling, feeling a joy she had never felt before. The witcher kissed her in that way that drove her crazy, stroking the girl's mouth with his tongue, spilling his taste and perceiving her. They did not stop the kiss as they entered the cabin, while they closed the door, while fumbling for the bed. And they loved each other on those sheets that still smelled of melancholy and tears, tears that dried up in the heat of their love.

Those were the best three years of the witcher's life. Next to her, he knew stability, love back and full, the happiness that until then had eluded him. Always together, inseparable, consumed by a passion for each other that thrilled the very King Niedamir. The best three years of both lives.

But he was truly a witcher at the shadow of the fate. And destiny is unavoidable, inescapable, it can´t be contained, nor cheated.

Deila contracted the typhoid fever that struck Kovir, and died in the cabin next to the forest, holding hands with Geralt. She was buried in Creyden Castle, in the burial place of the royal family. She was only nineteen years old.

That same day, the witcher left Caingorn to Cintra with the promise of King Niedamir that he would always be welcome in his kingdom. But Geralt of Rivia never came back there. Never. He did not talk about her neither, because it hurt too much.

He took with him the tender memories of that love and kept them to himself, to comfort him in the harsh winter nights, when he camped alone in any sinister forest.

Strangely, after a time, he thought again of Yennefer as he once did, the third wish returned to impose itself. But he never forgot his love for Deila, because it was real. And, despite the pain, he knew it was worth it.

EPILOGUE

The scoia´tael attack could have been their end, but one elf had recognized him and command to stop the fight. But the witcher and Jaskier were wounded, as the elf.

He woke up in a shack that served as an infirmary. He looked around and saw the elf in the next bed, watching at him.

"Geralt ..."

"Eniel ..."

Upon seeing him, it returned. The ghost of that memory. The one he did not want to face, the one who was still too close and bit, and hurt and killed like another enemy that faced him, one that was immune to his swords.

The memory of that time, that time he tried to bury in the depths of his mind, which he kept in parentheses, which he tried to keep at a distance. That memory of an impossibly green eyes, that hurt, that tore inside, that made him want to scream with a furious, desperate, rage cry. That same one, which also filled him with tenderness, warmth, atrocious longing. That memory, went out with impunity from its cell as if the bars were smoke, and ran straight to his heart, vengeful and cruel.

But his face did not reveal those emotions, perhaps his tense lips betrayed him.

"What are you doing in Temeria? What are you doing with the scoia'tael? Precisely you, with the scoia'tael?"

"I left Caigorn the day after you did it. I've been here for two years, and I joined the cause. This is not the Dragon Mountains. Here they chase my brothers, you must know."

"I know."

The silence fell then. A long silence.

"I did not think to see you again, witcher."

"Me neither. And I din´t want to".

The silence nested in the hut again. They were both physically there, but their minds had gone on a trip, they were in a cabin next to the forest, far away in time. Eniel was the first to return.

"I have not got it, Geralt."

"What?"

"Forget. Drown that pain. Continue as if nothing. I envy you."

The witcher fell silent.

"I see her constantly, witcher. I see her picking up celandine when I go through the woods, I see her dance when I hear music, I feel her hand on my face when I'm sad."

Silence.

"I loved her. I loved her, but I gave her to you, meekly. I put her in your hands because I loved her. Because she loved you. Sometimes I regret it. Sometimes I wonder, I wonder if ..."

"Maybe. Perhaps. Because the sword of fate has two edges. One is me, and the other is death. And I know it, elf, I know that death haunts me. I naively believed that it had stopped following. And death mocks, because I don´t die, those that I have with me does. That's why I left her, that's why I left Caigorn that day, breaking her heart. That's why I did not want to look her in the eye, or I couldn´t go away."

Eniel sighed, it sounded like a moan.

"I'm going to tell you something, witcher. Something that I have not confessed to anyone until today."

The witcher turned his head and looked at him, but Eniel avoided his gaze and put it on the ceiling.

"The hierophant gave an d'jinn to Deila. One wish, he said. She was suffering because of you, oh, yes, how she was suffering, and the d'Jinn was the solution."

Geralt sat up a little, his wound bit him, but he ignored the pain. He felt a strange cold spread through his chest, the cold of betrayal. The cold of the rejection of an action that stained the purity of the memory of eyes of an impossibly green.

"She did ... did she?"

The elf shook his head.

"No, witcher. She threw the bottle, away from herself, threw it into the forest. But I was there, always vigilant, fearing that at some point she would do something stupid. She had already threatened his brother once with taking her life, Geralt, and I saw her capable. Her brother too. I picked up the bottle, witcher. I used the d'jinn. I brought you back into her arms. And, from what you say, then I put her within reach of your sword of destiny."

The witcher leaned back on the pillow, let himself fall, empty of the tension that had impelled him to rise, relieved on the one hand that her memory remained unblemished, but on the other, darker and selfish, disappointed. Because, perhaps, the abhorrence to her action would make it hurt less. Maybe. Maybe?

He did not say anything.

"You don´t say nothing. Why are you shutting up, witcher? Your silence is worse than a reproach. Your silence is emptiness. An emptiness like the grave, like the death."

The witcher closed his eyes. The elf's words brought him, unwittingly, to that fateful day. To those days that he wanted to forget at all costs because he didn´t want to relive the deep pain he felt, the loss that left his soul stripped, the incredulity that suffocated him, that oppressed him, wanting to deny the reality. He saw her again in his memories, the eyes of impossibly green closed forever, lovely even in death, as she was introduced to her final resting place of cold grey stone, while he was repressing a cry of horror that gripped his throat, because it could not be possible, not her, she was so young ...

And his blockage broke, leaving him free at last, stopping repressing his feelings.

"My silence is pain, Eniel. Because I loved her too. Because I got used to her presence and adored her, and she was taken from me. Because I adored her caresses, I adored her smiles, her smell, her laughter, her kisses and her passion and they were taken from me. Because I don´t get used to her absence. Because, suddenly, I was expelled from paradise. Because I can´t go back, I can´t do anything other than miss her. That's why I shut up".

The elf felt a lump in his throat. Irrepressible tears flooded his eyes and fell, fast, to the sides. The witcher could not. There were no tears for him, but there were feelings. He let himself be beaten by those feelings, let them reach him again, with awareness of it. He thought of her once more. He relived the good times, he gave himself permission to relive them. He smiled with melancholy.

"Do you regret, Geralt? Had known her."

"Never, Eniel. Not that. That never."

"Me neither. Me neither, witcher."

Is it better to always live under a cloudy sky, or miss the sun when it hides? Is it better to never have seen a sunset in front of the sea? Have not known the colours before going blind? Have not heard the most sublime melodies before becoming deaf? No, he didn´t regret, despite the weight of her absence.

He felt lightened. If he had not known her, his life would have remained monochromatic, without a parenthesis of bright colours. And he realized that, in spite of everything, he had been lucky. And the pain waned, became more bearable.

"Thanks, Eniel. Thank you for giving up all those moments. For having given them to me. Because I know how difficult it must have been for you not to fall into temptation."

"You're welcome, witcher. You made her very happy, and that comforts me."

The silence fell again in the infirmary. Each one was thinking, licking his own wounds. But both knew that it had done them a lot of good to talk about her. Speak at last, without taboos, of what they felt, of what they repressed. Because only they two could understand that pain. Because both had loved her.

Jaskier, with his back to them, seemed to sleep, but in reality he had been awake for a long time. He was thankful to have his back to the conversation held by the two men. Because not all the poetry in the world could have thrilled him as much as the witcher's words did.