Chapter Ten

Geralt trod down the uneven dirt toward the village, letting his legs carry him forward, his mind so far away.

At first, a few scattered heads lifted to see the incoming visitor, most quickly becoming uninterested and returning to their various duties. However, as Geralt got closer and closer to the main village, where the hustle and bustle of trade was fully underway, hushed whispers haunted his passage. The boisterous chatter died in waves around him, replaced with murmurs and sidelong glances.

Geralt was oblivious to it all. The fog he had fallen into was impenetrable and left him single-minded in focus. He would head for the tavern. He figured that if anyone knew where Tesrin was, that barmaid would. The two seemed to have a certain rapport. If nothing else, Tesrin had found Geralt at the tavern the first time. There was no reason he wouldn't do so again.

More and more eyes locked onto Geralt as he made his way down the path, though he stared only at the dirt in front of his feet.

Soon enough, Geralt's feet had carried him to The Split Oak. He was almost to the door before he even realized he had arrived. It was that stupid cat that wrenched Geralt out of his stupor, hissing and spitting as it was at Geralt's feet.

"Get," Geralt shooed. Blinking back the haze, Geralt ducked inside.

And there, seated at the very table Geralt had claimed on his first visit, was Tesrin, saving Geralt the trouble of having to track him down. Tesrin was alone in the tavern save for Geralt, even the barkeep absent from the room, probably off in the storeroom or around back. Tesrin's appearance shocked Geralt. He was haggard and unkempt, his normally cheery demeanor full of despair. His pale face revealed tear tracks down his cheeks, dark circles shadowing his red-rimmed eyes.

Tesrin hadn't even noticed Geralt enter, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts. It wasn't until Geralt sat himself across from the man, placing his cloth bundle by his feet, that Tesrin glanced up.

"Geralt!" Tesrin exclaimed in a stunned whisper. "It's been nearly two weeks. I feared you were dead."

"Not exactly." Geralt didn't know where to begin. Speech seemed to elude him.

Luckily Tesrin was not at a loss for words. "Did you find Mikel?" he probed apprehensively. He wasn't a stupid man. If Geralt had returned without Mikel, it didn't bode well.

Geralt merely nodded.

Reading the truth in Geralt's eyes, Tesrin turned somber. "I see." Though he seemed to understand that there was more to the story than Mikel's death. "What happened out there? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Finally Geralt found his voice. "It's a long story. And it's not a very pleasant one."

Tesrin was perplexed by Geralt's comment. "What do you mean?"

It took a moment for Geralt to commit himself to the telling of his search for Mikel and the subsequent events, but once he started talking, the words flowed out of him of their own accord, like they were eager to share the story. And maybe just a bit of the burden it had imparted on Geralt.

Tesrin didn't interrupt when Geralt finally got to the part about finding Aela, but tears flowed freely down his cheeks, sorrow and love and longing all fighting to transform his face. He listened in horrified silence as Geralt described what Kallis had done to Mikel and himself, then in awe as Geralt spoke of breaking Aela's curse and the battle with Kallis.

When Geralt talked about Aela sacrificing herself for him, he couldn't hold Tesrin's gaze. Geralt knew it had ultimately been Aela's decision, but he still felt somehow responsible for her death.

It wasn't until then that Tesrin spoke, hesitantly at first. "A few days ago, I was making my rounds through the village when these flashes came to me, stopped me dead. It was my memories. Of Aela. Of Kallis and what he did to those who lived on that estate so long ago. All at once, they came flooding back. All of the emotion, the passion, the pain. It overwhelmed me." He raised his eyes to Geralt, a sad smile breaking over his face. "But, after the initial shock, I realized that I didn't care. That I would take the pain if it meant I had Aela in my life, even if only in my memory. Like the final piece of a puzzle snapping into place, I felt like…like I was whole again. Like I had finally found something I hadn't even known I had been searching for, something dangling just beyond my grasp." Tears welled in his eyes. "And now I find out, it was only by her death that I even know she was alive."

Geralt twitched anxiously in his seat. "I'm so sorry. I tried to stop her. I—"

Cutting off Geralt's guilt-ridden apology, Tesrin gave him a pitying smile. "I don't blame you, Geralt. Not one bit."

The honesty of the words cut right through Geralt. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

"What she did was her decision. And it was the right one. Her selflessness and compassion were why I loved her so dearly. I would have expected nothing less from her." Tesrin lowered his eyes sadly. "It just hurts that she's gone."

Figuring it was a good moment to do so, Geralt reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, proffering it to Tesrin. "She gave me this. She wanted you to have it."

Eyes wide, Tesrin took the ring, staring at it in his palm reverently. "I gave this to her when I asked her to marry me." A slight laugh shook Tesrin's chest. "It was just some old nail I found in the stables. I didn't have money to buy a ring, so I made one myself. And she accepted my proposal. It was the happiest moment of my life." He looked back to Geralt. "Thank you." Then, more quietly, more heartfelt. "Thank you."

"It was the least I could do."

Tesrin stared at the ring for a few more moments before closing his hand around it. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, settling himself. When his eyes opened once more, there was a peace illuminating them that hadn't been there when Geralt had entered.

"Thank you, Geralt, for letting me know what happened. It may be hard to hear, but at least I know what happened to her. At least I have some closure. I can take solace in that."

Geralt dipped his head sincerely, then said, "There is one more thing I need to ask."

A look of polite curiosity crossed Tesrin's face. "Oh? What is it?"

"You said Mikel had a family?"

Geralt could tell by the change in Tesrin's demeanor that he knew exactly where this was going.

"I did," Tesrin answered tentatively.

Geralt clenched and unclenched his jaw several times. "I need to speak to them."

Tesrin gave Geralt a sympathetic look. "You don't have to do that. I'll talk to them. I'll explain what happened."

"No." On this, Geralt wasn't going to budge. He needed to do this. If not to assuage his own guilt, then because he had promised Mikel he would. Geralt had known what Mikel was asking even though he hadn't been capable of speech. He had wanted his family to know the truth about how and why he had died. And only Geralt could give them the full story. "I need to do this. It's my fault Mikel is dead."

Eyes hardening, Tesrin said sternly, "It is not your fault, Geralt."

"You don't understand." The truth was, Geralt had been struggling with Mikel's death. In hindsight, he felt like he could have done something, could have done more. He stared without seeing at the tabletop, drifting back to Kallis' dungeons. "I should have gotten him out. I should have done anything to get him out when I had the chance. I made the wrong choice. I thought I could outsmart Kallis, but he had played me from the beginning. I was so stupid," he said, kicking himself.

Recognizing that Geralt needed to vent, Tesrin didn't interrupt, content to be a sympathetic ear. But, once Geralt was done, he quickly quashed Geralt's self-doubt. "It was Kallis that killed Mikel, and Kallis alone is to blame. Do not carry a burden that was never yours. That man…he did terrible things. And for none of them are you responsible. Besides, you likely saved my whole village from the same fate that befell my adoptive home. Think of them." Tesrin made a sweeping gesture out the window. "Think of the lives they will live, the experiences they will have. All because of you. You gave them a future. Don't let this weigh on you, Geralt. Don't let Kallis' deeds fill you with unwarranted guilt."

Not fully convinced, but slightly appeased, Geralt said sheepishly, "I still need to do this. I made Mikel one promise I couldn't keep. I won't break another."

"Very well, it's your choice. I won't deny you the right to talk to them. But should you change your mind, know that I will do it."

"No, they deserve to hear it from me."

"Then I will take you there myself."

"Just point me in the right direction. I'm sure I can find it." If Tesrin went with him, it would feel like he was hiding behind the man. Geralt needed to do this on his own.

Tesrin seemed to understand. "Alright. They live on the outskirts of the village, in the northwest corner. Just keep following the path. It will lead you straight to them."

"Thanks," Geralt said as he stood to leave. But Tesrin stopped him before he stepped away.

"Meet me back here when you're done. You look like you could use a good meal."

Stomach gurgling as if to accept before Geralt could refuse, Geralt nodded. "Fine." He was starving now that he let himself think about it. He hadn't eaten in almost a day. A hot meal really would be nice. Even if it was only a front to allow Tesrin to question Geralt more about Aela.

Grabbing the jar of Mikel's ashes, Geralt swept out the door without another word. He didn't mean to be rude, but he was afraid that if he had stayed, he would have taken Tesrin up on his offer and Mikel's family deserved more than that.

So he wended his way through the dense village, heading northwest until he came to a solitary path that led away from the village and into the trees.

Long before he even saw the house, Geralt knew he was heading in the right direction. The smell of tanning leather wafted through the trees on a wayward breeze that also carried with it the sound of children's laughter. Two young girls were playing nearby. Tesrin had said Mikel had two daughters.

Now that he was getting close, Geralt's feet seemed to fight against him at every step. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk away, but, at the same time, he knew it had to be this way. Though he would rather face that fiend again than this.

Taking a deep breath to bolster his courage, Geralt came around a final bend that opened up to a small clearing, a quaint cabin situated in the middle. Smoke trickled from the chimneys of the main house and a smokehouse to the side, the smell of salted meats adding to the woody aroma. Mikel's daughters chased each other through the trees and around the yard with pretend swords, giggling and squealing at their game. And there, with her back turned to him, hanging hides out to dry, was Mikel's wife.

Geralt approached, allowing his boots to crunch over the loose rocks and dead leaves to announce his arrival. The girls spotted him first and it was their silence that had Mikel's wife looking up, wondering at the sudden quiet. She looked to them and followed their gaze to Geralt, then raised herself up to meet him.

Unthinkingly, she shuffled to place herself in front of her daughters, shooing them as she moved. "Go play around back, girls."

Without question, the younger of the two girls, who looked no older than five, turned and left. "Yes, Mama," she replied, turning and skipping away.

The older girl didn't budge. Geralt estimated she was just shy of being ten. If Geralt had had any doubt that he was in the wrong place, he didn't now. She was the spitting image of her father.

"Nellie, go and keep an eye on Agnes for me, please," her mother bade.

Still Nellie didn't move. She held Geralt captive with a gaze that suggested she knew exactly why he was there, her eyes flicking once to the bundle under his arm before returning to his face and pinning him once more. There was such a depth of emotion and comprehension in her eyes that Geralt couldn't look away. He almost started talking then and there, directly to her, like she was the one Mikel had bade him come see.

But, before Geralt could start, Nellie's mother softly, but sternly ordered her away. "Go on now."

It seemed for a second that Nellie would disobey. Then, with one last glance leveled at Geralt, she left, trotting off in the direction of her sister.

Her bearing left Geralt a little flustered. He stared after her for a moment before turning his attention to the woman waiting expectantly in front of him. She was thin and lithe, and hardworking judging by the calluses on her hands. From the well-practiced way she had been working, Geralt could tell she had treated a lot of Mikel's kills in the past. It didn't seem as though they would be any worse for wear with Mikel gone. At least, not physically. She seemed more than capable of taking care of things in his absence.

A long braid of sandy blonde hair dangled over one of her shoulders and her chestnut eyes bore into Geralt. He was already finding it difficult to hold her gaze.

Easing into the imminent discussion, Geralt began with a simple question. "Are you Katrina?" Tesrin had given him her name.

She wiped her hands on the dirty apron flowing down her front. "Aye."

Silence hung heavy between them, Geralt struggling with how to begin. He had always been much better with swords than with words.

Katrina spared him the necessity. "You're Geralt, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Tesrin told me about you when you left over a week ago. It's been so long, I didn't know if you'd come back."

"A lot has happened," Geralt answered simply.

Katrina's gaze softened. "And now you've returned…alone…." Her words faltered as tears pooled in her eyes.

Her eyes drifted down to the cloth bundle in Geralt's hand. He noticed her attention on it and held it out in front of him, unwrapping the jar hidden within.

Katrina's lip started quavering at the sight of it. "No. No," she denied, shaking her head, unwilling to accept the truth.

"I promised him that I would bring him back."

The jar glistened in the morning light as if it contained Mikel's spirit along with his remains. Katrina numbly accepted the makeshift urn, then hugged it to her chest as she fell to her knees, sobbing.

"I'm sorry. I...I couldn't—" What Geralt was trying desperately to say was that he couldn't save Mikel, but the words died on his lips. He just didn't feel that they were entirely true. In that moment, to Katrina, they would have been meaningless anyway. So he just repeated, "I'm sorry."

Utter silence was broken only by the sound of Katrina's sniffling sobs. A slight flicker of movement behind the house caught Geralt's eye. The girls had returned. And their shouts of laughter were conspicuously absent. They had probably heard everything.

Shuffling his feet, Geralt stood in awkward silence, not knowing where to go with the conversation. Consoling had never been a word used to describe him. What could he possibly offer them? Nothing would bring their husband and father back. And nothing would ever replace him.

Geralt started trying to explain what had happened. "Mikel, he tracked down some wolves that were prowling the woods, killed them. But he was injured in the fight and—"

"Just go," Katrina ordered through a sob. "Leave us be."

Geralt didn't know whether to respect her wishes or attempt to offer her some sort of comfort. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, continuing, "He was taken by—"

"Go!" barked Katrina harshly, burying her face in her chest.

Halting immediately, Geralt paused for a moment. There was clearly nothing more he could do for her. And there was nothing more she wanted from him.

It was time to leave.

With silent resignation, Geralt withdrew and padded back down the trail, his soft footsteps his only farewell. Behind him, he could hear the girls running up to their mother, Agnes' little voice asking what was wrong. He could feel Nellie's gaze on his retreating back.

He had done all that he had set out to do. Lingering would be of no benefit to anyone.

With a deep sigh, Geralt returned to the village, heading back to the tavern as he had told Tesrin he would.

What had happened at Kallis' hands still weighed heavily on Geralt, but after bringing Mikel's ashes home, he at least felt a certain relief, small as it may have been.

Feeling marginally less glum, Geralt hit the main thoroughfare and was immediately accosted by a throng of eager supplicants and well-wishers. Clearly word of his deeds had spread. Tesrin's doing, no doubt. The congregated swarm crowded around him, offering him spare coins, bread, wine, pelts, and family heirlooms. Geralt even heard a shouted marriage bid from the fringes of the horde. Most just wanted to shake his hand, offer their gratitude. Geralt tried to avoid them, rejecting all that was offered as he shoved his way through them.

He never did like to be the center of attention.

After jockeying his way through the mass of people, he finally reached the end of the market square, backing away from the last person to seek him out, a woman who had grabbed him by the hands. Gently, he extricated his hands from her grasp. Then he was free.

Swiveling toward the tavern, Geralt found his way blocked. A little girl, with two braids parted around her shoulders, held up a golden flower toward him. She looked to be about five years old.

"This is for you," she said sweetly, an innocent grin on her face.

Geralt didn't know how to respond. The flower was just some weed, blowball it looked like, yet she held it out like it was a bouquet of white roses. Geralt may be gruff, but he couldn't refuse her. "Why would you give this to me?" he asked curiously, but not unkindly.

"Whenever I'm sick or feeling sad, Mama always brings me a flower to make me feel better." The girl lowered the flower to her chest and ran her other finger over the soft petals sticking out in a sphere. "The yellow ones are my favorite. I saw you walking toward Ms. Katrina's house before and you looked sad. So I went and got this for you! I hope it makes you feel better!" The girl extended the flower once more, beaming.

Lowering himself to one knee, Geralt accepted the flower, giving the girl an appreciative smile. "Thanks. It does."

Giggling, the little girl ran off, calling over her shoulder, "Goodbye, Mr. Witcher!"

Humbled, Geralt stood. That little girl had shown him a kindness that he had rarely seen from adults. She had looked at him without fear, without hate. She had seen his pain and tried her best to relieve it. Everyone else was simply trying to commend him for something he had done. Gracious as they were, not one of them had cared what Geralt felt. But this girl had seen through to his core, had offered something from her own.

Still processing the effect the tiny gift had imparted, Geralt glanced up and saw Tesrin's face peeking out of the window of the tavern. Annoyance stirred within Geralt. He stormed over to the tavern, still gingerly clutching the blowball by his side.

Stomping his way through the front door, Geralt located Tesrin at their usual table, an infuriatingly innocent look plastering his face. A face that had lost its gaunt affectation in the time Geralt had gone to see Katrina. Color now filled Tesrin's formerly pale cheeks and his eyes weren't quite as puffy as they had been.

"I suppose you had nothing to do with that," Geralt accused, gesturing out the window then crossing his arms.

Straight-faced and unflustered, Tesrin met Geralt's accusation with polite denial. "Me? No, of course not."

Geralt sat down across from Tesrin, not buying his innocence for one second. "Mmhmm. You know, one of them offered me his daughter's hand in marriage."

Tesrin chuckled. "Did he now? Well, I'll leave it up to you as to whether you accept. Just know that you have my blessing either way."

A scowl flattened Geralt's face. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell your people to hound me in the street and offer me their prized possessions."

"I never once told them any such thing."

Not at all placated, Geralt retorted, "Right."

"Truly," Tesrin said defensively, but clearly pleased with himself. At an unconvinced look from Geralt, Tesrin continued, "I simply told them that you had saved our village from a horrifying fate. And the rest of the world too."

"Is that all?" Geralt asked sarcastically.

Dropping his pretense of innocence, Tesrin grew more serious. "I honestly didn't tell them to do anything. I just spread word of what you had done. What they chose to do with that information was up to them. I'm curious though. What did Maya give you?"

"Who?"

"The girl. I couldn't see her gift from here."

Bringing his gloved hand up on top of the table, Geralt twirled the little flower in his fingers.

The sight brought a heartwarming smile to Tesrin's face. "A sweet girl, that Maya. Born with a heart of gold."

Geralt certainly couldn't deny it. And a part of him couldn't fully understand how such a small gesture had affected him so. But he didn't really want to get into it, so he changed the subject.

"Remind me why I bothered coming back here?"

"To feast, of course. You must be famished." Before Geralt could confirm or deny Tesrin's claim, he was waving over the barmaid.

Geralt had been in too much of a huff to realize when he came in, but the tavern was full of hungry patrons now, waiting noisily for a hot midday meal. The barmaid, Bertha, Geralt remembered Tesrin calling her, finished setting down a round of laden plates at a table nearby and ambled over. Tesrin ordered them both a hot meal and a mug of ale which Bertha quickly produced from the kitchen. As she set down the food and drink, she eyed Geralt with a withering look that Tesrin seemed content to let stretch on uninterrupted. Geralt supposed he hadn't been so kind to Bertha the first time they had met.

Feeling like he needed to say something, Geralt awkwardly, but with genuine honesty, said, "Thank you. The food was quite good last time."

Expression softening a bit, Bertha nodded her thanks and turned to leave. Though Tesrin stifled a snort when a murmured, "Damn right it was," floated back to them.

Grumbling at Tesrin's obvious amusement, Geralt tucked into his food without further ado. Just as it was the last time, it was delectable, and it didn't take either of them long to inhale the considerable amount of it.

With stomach full to bursting, Geralt leaned back in his chair. Across from him, Tesrin reached under the table.

"Of course, eating wasn't the only reason I wanted to talk to you again. I also needed to give you this." A large sack of coins appeared on the table and Geralt spied two more at Tesrin's feet. There had to have been three or four hundred crowns in those sacks. "Your coin, as promised. Let it not be said that I don't pay my due."

Taken aback at the sheer amount, Geralt protested. He had honestly forgotten about the rest of the money they had agreed on. And this was certainly more than that. "No, Tesrin. I can't take that. For one thing, I cheated you in the first place. Three hundred was already a ridiculous price. I was just hassling you. I never thought you would agree."

"And yet I did. So I shall pay the agreed upon price. Plus a small bonus, for going above and beyond any reasonable expectations. And many unreasonable ones."

Guilt-ridden once more, Geralt thought back to those he had lost. To those he had failed. "No, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve your generosity."

A proud smile beamed across the table. "Geralt, it is for that very sentiment that you do."

"Keep it. Keep it for your people. They need it more than I do."

"Oh, I have plenty enough for the village. Take the coin. You've earned it and then some. I owe you so much more for the news you brought me of Aela." Tesrin's mood grew somber, apologetic. "I've been out of sorts these past couple of days, but I would rather live having lost her than die thinking I had never known her. I only wish I could have been there for her the way she was for me. She spent a century alone and forgotten. I would give anything to have spared her that fate. But there was nothing I could have done then, and there is nothing I can do now to change what happened." A sad smile lit up Tesrin's face. "I know she wouldn't want me to dwell on it. So for her sake, for my people's sake, for my sake, I need to move on. At least try to. I can't go on moping. And neither should you, Geralt. You have been through hell and back, but you are alive. And you have done this village and the world a huge service. Don't take that lightly. Don't act like you're worthless."

Tesrin ensnared Geralt's attention with the sincerity in his gaze. "Take the money, please. I've never met a man more deserving."

Not having any reasonable rebuttal and not caring to fight the issue further, Geralt accepted.

Satisfied that they had brought the issue to a close, Tesrin switched topics. "I forgot to ask, but how did it go with Katrina?"

A heavy sigh. "About as well as you would expect."

An understanding look from Tesrin told Geralt the man knew exactly how it had gone. "Ah. Don't take it personally, Geralt. She just lost her husband and the father to her two children. If I were in her place, I would probably react the same way. Katrina confessed to me last week that she almost wished news would not return of Mikel. That as long as we didn't know, then there was still hope. Hope that maybe he had just left, that maybe he had gone off with some mistress."

"She'd rather believe that he had abandoned his wife and daughters?" Geralt asked incredulously.

Sadly, Tesrin responded, "Than face the death of her beloved husband? Yes. Anger is much easier than grief."

Geralt went to open his mouth to deny it, but found that he couldn't.

Tesrin, for once, didn't seem to notice. "We may be happy here, but we're not naive. We knew Mikel's chances of returning were slim after the first week. I think you merely confirmed her fears. Give her time. She'll come around."

Shaking his head at Tesrin's hopeful tone, Geralt stammered, "Tesrin…how? How are you like this? I just told you that your beloved fiancée has been cursed for that last hundred years and the moment the curse was lifted, she died. To save me. How can you even look at me right now? How can you look at me and not want to kill me?"

Tesrin didn't even seem to comprehend Geralt's question, like the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "Geralt, the only person I harbor any anger toward is Kallis. And you and Aela already settled that grudge."

Tesrin's answer did nothing to satisfy Geralt. If anything, it only served to rile him up further. "How can you sit there like nothing's happened?!" he asked despairingly, his voice rising. "How can you be so calm, so…content right now?" Geralt was trying desperately to understand how Tesrin was coping. The events of the last few days haunted Geralt, pouncing on him in quiet moments of peace. He didn't understand how Tesrin could be so together mere hours after Geralt had delivered devastating news.

It was only Geralt's subconscious that knew it wasn't Aela's and Mikel's deaths that haunted him.

Tesrin seemed taken aback by Geralt's tone, but contemplated the question for a moment nonetheless. "I think it's different with Aela and me. I may not have known it, but I've had almost a hundred years to come to terms with losing her. It was only the other day that she died, but that was not the day I lost her. I lost her the day she saved me, the day she wiped my memory and sent me away. In the intervening time, my body learned to cope without her. That extra time doesn't make it easy to learn of her death, not at all, but it does lessen the blow. And I would not belittle her sacrifice by questioning her judgment or her decision. It's time you stopped questioning it too," Tesrin finished with a pointed look at Geralt.

The words hit Geralt like a battering ram to the chest. Tesrin didn't even know how much he was affecting him. How his words stretched far beyond this single instance.

Like a floodgate bursting open, the memories of Ciri that Geralt had shoved deep down inside himself came rushing back, overwhelming him, drowning him in despair. His heart and lungs constricted. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. The boulder he had shouldered for five years had finally come crashing down on him.

Geralt wasn't well equipped to deal with emotion. Not when it came in such force. Witchers were well known for being emotionless, but that was not entirely true. Whether the witcher mutations had actually stripped Geralt of emotion, the training had beaten it from him, or it was simply that a witcher's life quickly desensitized them to violence, Geralt didn't know. Most of the time, it just came down to the fact that emotions got in the way. Better to cast them aside than let them be a distraction.

But Geralt also knew that sometimes emotions were so powerful that they refused to be ignored. In those instances, his inexperience in the emotional realm made him vulnerable. In this arena, he was the fledgling swordsman trying to spar with the master. It was a position he wasn't used to being in. He was uncoordinated, untrained. Helpless.

Tesrin always seemed capable of reading the exact thoughts in Geralt's mind. Sensing the shift in Geralt's bearing, Tesrin eyed Geralt with concern. His words were slow, soft. "Geralt? We're not just talking about Aela anymore, are we?"

Geralt opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could finally find his voice. He was on unfamiliar ground, uneven footing making him clumsy. "I…I lost someone. Someone who was like a daughter to me." Geralt's throat tightened around his words, leaving him speechless. This was the first time he had spoken of Ciri since that day.

He didn't know why he was opening up to Tesrin when he had held onto his silence for so long. Maybe it was because fate had strung them together with strands of Aela's ebony hair. In that shared bond, Geralt felt like Tesrin would understand, would know how to seek solace and lead Geralt to it. Or maybe it was because Geralt had finally reached his limit. He had never really dealt with Ciri's death. He had covered the wound, bandaged it until the skin had healed over. But inside, the grief had festered and had been eating Geralt from the inside out, hidden, but not remotely healed. The wound had since metastasized, burst open. And now it was consuming him. He couldn't carry the weight of his grief. Not one step further.

Stomach knotting, Geralt added, "She gave herself to save us."

Empathy coated Tesrin's face at Geralt's obvious distress. "It sounds like she loved you. And her death is not the end of that love."

Not really hearing what Tesrin was saying, Geralt stared into oblivion, flashes of that day cutting into his vision—an all-out attack forcing him to yield. With each image, he could feel the pain, the heart-wrenching desperation, swallow him whole. "I would have given anything. I would have gone in her place. But I couldn't. I couldn't stop her. I couldn't save her."

"Maybe she didn't need to be saved," Tesrin offered kindly.

Geralt closed his eyes, a vortex of memories and emotions churning within him. He tried to deflect them, to parry, to mount a counterattack, to do anything to stop the blows raining in. But he failed. His defenses were nothing.

The storm. The tower. The wind raging past him, being sucked into the portal. That blasted elf that had facilitated the whole thing. Ciri, turning away, stepping into the light, disappearing before Geralt's very eyes. Earth-shattering despair.

She never came back. She wasn't coming back.

Tesrin's voice cut through Geralt's pain. "Try as we might, we can't save everyone. And sometimes, we have to accept being saved ourselves, hard as it may be to be the one left behind."

Images of Ciri cycled through Geralt's mind. Of her fighting the Wild Hunt, of her sacrificing herself to stop the White Frost. But then others butted their way in, like small tendrils of lights seeking to break through the darkness. Of an impromptu snowball fight, of sharing stories around the fire, of laughing and smiling and enjoying whatever precious moments they had together. It was as if Geralt had forgotten. And now that he remembered, the memories didn't seem so one-sided, didn't seem so defeating. There was pain and heartache, but there was something else too. Something else he had forgotten, or chosen to ignore. Joy. Pride. And acceptance. The kind that only a father could feel when having to finally let go of his little girl and let her make her own decisions. And then finding those decisions to be of the highest nobility.

The memories might have been battling against Geralt, beating him down, but he had forgotten that they were holding him up as well. He didn't need to fight against them, he realized. Not anymore.

Taking a shuddering breath, Geralt opened his eyes. "I had to let her go." He remembered now. Remembered the strong woman she had become, the capable warrior, the fierce friend, and the compassionate soul. "You're right. She never needed me to save her. She made her own choice…" Geralt struggled to say her name. Why was it so hard to utter two simple syllables? Eventually, he croaked out, "Ciri made her own choice. I just don't know how to live with it."

"I don't think any of us know how to deal with loss until it is thrust upon us. But even then you still have a choice. You can celebrate their life, or you can wallow in their death." Tesrin willed Geralt to meet his gaze. "I don't know this Ciri. But I don't think I need to in order to know which she would prefer you do. She didn't die for you to give up on life. She died so that you could live. Don't waste her death, Geralt. She means too much to you for that."

Heartbroken and now somewhat ashamed, Geralt lowered his eyes and took a deep breath, reining in the emotion that had run rampant through his system. Tesrin was right. But that didn't make it any easier.

Geralt nodded weakly, still staring at the table.

"It will get better, Geralt. I promise."

A sad smile played on Geralt's lips as he straightened himself, raising his eyes to Tesrin. "That's the funny thing about promises. You can't always keep them."

"No, you can't. Not to others." Tesrin leaned forward. "But this is a promise you must make to yourself."

"It's not that simple."

"I didn't say it would be."

Geralt paused for a moment, at a loss for how to implement such a thing, but knowing that he needed to try. If not for his own sake, then for Ciri's. He owed it to her. He had been a ghost of his former self over the last five years, a bitter, hateful coward. She deserved better.

"What will you do?" Tesrin queried, referring to Geralt's plans for the future. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you like. And if you are too proud to accept the charity, then consider yourself the captain and only member of the village guard. Our seclusion protects us, but not from everything. We've been host to the odd bandit attack over the years. You would be the first line of defense against anyone or anything untoward that comes our way. We could use a man like you."

"I appreciate the offer, but I need to move on. I need time to think." Geralt's words were somber, but gilded with a hope that, one day, he might learn to live with what had happened and not be troubled by it. That he might once again feel joy and love. And Geralt had never been one to stay in one place anyway, never been one to sit still. Besides, the memories here were too wrought with emotion to consider Tesrin's offer. He needed to get away from this place. Only then could he sort through the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling through him, sort out what to do next. "I'll leave tomorrow morning if you don't mind me staying the night."

"Of course. And should you ever change your mind, my offer stands. You will always be welcome here."

The sincerity and amiability in Tesrin's face was almost enough to make Geralt reconsider. He knew it would be a favorable place to settle down, should he ever want such a thing. But for now, he needed distance. He needed fresh air and sunlight and a cool breeze. He needed the smell of a campfire and the pounding of hooves beneath him as they carried him as far and as fast as they could go.

He needed to go back. He needed to face the pain and guilt and anger, the sorrow and the despair. He needed to face them head-on and conquer them, slay them like any other monster.

But he couldn't do it alone. He needed his friends, needed to see a familiar face or two; Yennefer's coy smile, Tris' mischievous eyes, and even Dandelion's ridiculously coiffed figure, no doubt bedecked in some gaudy outfit. Geralt had abandoned them as much as he had abandoned himself.

He had been struggling to carry the boulder of grief alone for five years now. It was only when Tesrin had lifted it, had shouldered some of the burden, that Geralt had realized he needed the help. Only with the combined strength of his friends could Geralt finally get out from under the weight, cast it aside once and for all.

The thought of seeing them again, what once would have brought bile to Geralt's throat, now formed a genuine smile on his face.

He had to stop running. He couldn't run from Ciri's death anyway, not if he had gone to the ends of the earth. It certainly hadn't done him any good. He had run for five years and only taken a few, floundering steps. It was time to move on.

Ciri wasn't coming back.

He knew that now. Or, at least, he was ready to admit it to himself. Ready to stop denying the cold, hard truth, heartbreaking as it was to concede.

Ciri wasn't coming back.

But maybe, just maybe, Geralt finally could.

Epilogue

Geralt set out the next morning after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, his saddlebags laden with food enough for a week.

Tesrin met him as he led Roach from the stables. "Take care, Geralt," he bade warmly. "Come back any time. I mean it."

Geralt clasped forearms with Tesrin. "I will." Dipping his head in appreciation, Geralt added, "Thanks. For everything."

Tesrin answered back with a nod of his own.

As Tesrin stepped back, Geralt swung up into the saddle and, with one last glance toward his new friend, trotted off down the path to the West, heading into the heart of Velen.

Spring had descended on the forest. The equinox had come and gone while Geralt had been tracking Mikel. At least that much had worked out in his favor. Even before Ciri's death, Geralt had never been one for parties.

Now, the first vestiges of budding blooms were tipping the branches above Geralt, the wildflowers putting on their own display below.

Passing through their sweet perfume, Geralt decided to head to Novigrad, where he knew Dandelion would be, still managing the Chameleon. Zoltan would likely be there as well, plying his new trade as a card merchant. Once there, Geralt could reach out to Yennefer and Tris. Dandelion was sure to know where they were. He always liked to be in the know.

Geralt actually felt a spark of excitement about going back, seeing his friends. He remembered how much Ciri loved Dandelion, how they would laugh together for hours, Dandelion telling his outlandish stories. And how Zoltan would spoil Ciri any chance he got. Geralt smiled at the thought.

Those memories were the main reason he had left. At first, he couldn't bear to remember Ciri, to think about her at all. It had been too painful. So Geralt had buried all thought of her deep within himself and had fled from anything that might have sought to dig those memories back up. But now, for the first time since he had left, Geralt could appreciate the happiness in those memories. They put a smile on his face rather than a knife in his heart.

That is how Geralt wanted to remember Ciri, for her joy and laughter and kindness. It might take him a while to accomplish the feat, but Geralt didn't want to be pained by her memory anymore. He wanted to think of her and be proud of who she was and what she had done. She had certainly earned as much.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Geralt had fled, seeking the answer to an unspoken question.

It had taken five years, five grueling years, but he finally understood what he had been searching for. It wasn't something out in the world, but something within himself. Something that he had forsaken rather than something that had forsaken him—hope. And only now that it was restored did he feel himself filled with purpose once more.

He had given up, on Ciri, on the world. But mostly on himself. Now he realized that doing so was a disgrace to Ciri's memory, to her sacrifice. And he couldn't live with himself if he let it continue.

He owed Ciri his life and he would give it to her. But not by dying, by living. Living as she would want him to live. Living for the both of them.

It was the only way for Geralt to honor her.

The warmth of spring enveloped Geralt as he made his way through the trees. A small bird flitted past and alighted on a nearby branch, chirping its pleasure at the season's return. After a moment's study, Geralt realized it was a swallow.

He yanked Roach to a stop, his heart lurching as he gazed at the tiny bird. As it stared right back.

Then, with a jubilant chirrup, the swallow took flight once more, fluttering a single loop around Geralt before disappearing into the trees.

Stunned, Geralt paused, closing his eyes and breathing deep the rich aroma of a new dawn. When he finally let out his breath, Geralt stared after the bird, tears welled in his eyes, but a contented smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Goodbye," he murmured softly.

Without waiting any longer, Geralt clicked his heels into Roach's sides and they set off, Geralt pushing her to ever greater speed. The forest blurred past as Geralt rode hard toward Novigrad, toward his friends. Toward hope for a better tomorrow.

Roach's mane billowed into his chest as she carried him forth, a wilting sprig of blowball braided into her chestnut locks.

THE END

Thank you all so much for reading! I've been working on this for several months now and I can't believe how long it ended up being. I've never written anything nearly this long before. And to the think the only idea I had at the very beginning was that I knew I wanted to write something about Geralt breaking a curse. Somehow this story grew out of that. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. And I'm sure this is not the last Witcher story I will write if my past is any sort of indication. Thanks again and please leave a comment with your thoughts on the story!