This is a follow-up piece that deals with the aftermath of "Cursed" and will tie up some loose ends. It will explore the relationship between Geralt and Triss as well as the friendship between Geralt and Jaskier. Though it is not absolutely necessary to read the stories in the correct order, it might help :-)

A big thank you to Sammys_Girl for beta reading this. They are the best!

It had been a while since a crowd that big had gathered in the marketplace in Vizima but considering the occasion, it wasn't surprising. After all, the public execution of a sorceress was something that didn't happen every day.

The square was so packed with people that some had been forced to stand in the adjacent street where they couldn't see the scaffold at all. They would have to content themselves with a brief glance at the procession that would escort the convict to the gallows, and gaze at the corpse after everything was over. The luckier ones clustered around the stage that had been erected in the center of the square. Beneath the pale autumn sky, the place was a sea of colors, the richly decorated robes of merchants and nobility mingling with the plainer clothes of dayworkers and craftsmen. Children were lifted onto the shoulders of their parents to get a better look, and the place was alive with the clamor of a thousand voices.

Geralt was watching from a distance, purposefully staying in the shadows of an overhanging balcony as he kept his eyes on the crowd. He was grateful for the autumn chill which allowed him to pull the hood of his cloak deep into his face without drawing any suspicious glances. Despite his acquittal in court, he was sure that some of the people still held a grudge against him. After all, the Alderman's son and one of the city guards had died by his sword, and there was a lot of mistrust against witchers in general. Not everybody would be willing to accept the simple truth that Geralt hadn't acted on his own free will.

Under different circumstances, he would have avoided the hanging altogether. Beyond the risk of being met with hatred and causing a scene, he simply had never been able to grasp the appeal of public executions. However, this time it was different. He had suffered greatly by the hand of the sorceress they were about to hang, and even though her power over him had been broken, the experience still haunted him. He had found it hard to admit, had hesitated quite a bit before coming to a decision, but he felt that he needed the satisfaction of seeing his tormentor meet her end. Maybe it would finally bring him some sense of closure.

He let his eyes drift across the crowd, wondering how many of them had traveled to Vizima just for this occasion. It was obvious that it wasn't just the inhabitants of the city who had gathered here but peasants from the suburbs as well. Some seemed to have brought their whole families. In a corner of the square, he spied some men in brown robes who were probably monks from the monastery up in the hills, and a bunch of unattended children perched on the pedestal of Ostrit's statue - street children, judging by the ragged state of their clothing. Excitement was written all over their faces. Geralt suspected that they didn't even know who was being executed today. They had just come for the entertainment.

After long moments, the crowd parted. From his position, Geralt couldn't see the procession as it made its way towards the scaffold, merely watched the tips of halberds bobbing across the sea of heads, but the sound of insults and catcalls directed at the convict made clear what was going on.

He set his jaw as Celaena finally emerged from the crowd, her face gaunt and pale. The shouts from the crowd grew louder as the sorceress was shoved up the wooden stairs, urged forward by the guards. She looked different than the last time he had seen her, haggard and starved, her usually meticulously bound hair hanging around her shoulders in a straggly mess. Her arms had been tied in front of her, joined by what could only be dimeritium manacles and a good amount of rope to keep them from slipping off her right wrist. Even now, a cloth bandage covered the stump of her lower arm, revealing that the injury she had sustained by Geralt's hand had not healed yet. Given her impending execution, it never would.

Geralt felt a chill creep over him as she raised her eyes and her glance swept over him without recognition. He swallowed hard, and with annoyance, he realized that he was afraid. It was an instinctive reaction, involuntary and completely irrational. Obviously, the crippled sorceress, deprived of her powers and guarded by several swordsmen didn't pose any threat. Yet he couldn't help but shift uneasily as she straightened her back and faced the crowd.

He didn't know the man who followed her onto the stage, but his ornate clothes and self-assured gait revealed him as a man of importance. Geralt suspected that he was the magistrate who had been put in charge of the execution. It was not uncommon that on an occasion like this, the crowd was addressed by the king himself, but important political business had kept him away. It was the same reason why Triss couldn't attend. Apparently, Foltest had been right in his priorities as the people didn't seem to mind at all. The only remarks he caught from the spectators around him were hateful comments against witches in general, and some morbid speculations about the time it would take her to die.

The magistrate exchanged some quiet words with the guards, then stepped towards the edge of the stage and raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. A hush fell on the crowd.

"People of Vizima," he spoke into the silence, "we have gathered here to witness justice be done. This sorceress, Celaena von Than, has caused great harm to the citizens of our city. She has been found guilty of murder in multiple cases. Among her other crimes are arson, removal of a prisoner from the city jail, and the abduction and imprisonment of our esteemed court mage."

Geralt was relieved when his name wasn't mentioned, just as it had been agreed upon. It was a favor that he had been granted after his innocence had been proven, and he hoped that it would help to keep a lid on this particular story. After all, it wouldn't do his reputation or that of his trade any good.

"Her deeds were especially despicable as she used witchcraft to force another to execute the murders on her behalf in order to avoid punishment. It has been a while since Vizima has seen such a number of heinous crimes, and as such -"

"Geralt!"

The word was spoken in an excited half-whisper and the witcher whipped around, startled at being addressed by his name. He raised a surprised brow when he recognized the colorfully dressed man who had managed to sneak up behind him. An elven lute was secured on his back.

The bard smiled in greeting while Geralt cast a nervous gaze at the people standing closest to them. He feared that they might have taken notice, but to his relief, their attention on the gallows seemed to be unbroken, their eyes latched onto the magistrate as he continued his speech.

"I hadn't expected to run into you here," the bard continued. "But it is great to see you again. I haven't seen you in – what? It must have been months at least. Let's see -"

"Jaskier." Geralt interrupted, voice pitched low. The way he was chattering, the bard was bound to attract attention and right now, it was the last thing Geralt wanted. "Keep your voice down, will you?"

"Right." Jaskier smiled and put a hand to his lips. "You don't want to miss the magistrate's speech. He's doing quite a good job, isn't he?" He cast a jealous glance at the man on the stage who flourished his hands to emphasize a point. "He does have the crowd."

Geralt returned his attention to the scaffold. Celaena stood unmoving, her face carefully controlled. Only the stiff way she held her shoulders betrayed her fear.

"It's still strange to run into you like that," Jaskier continued, undeterred by Geralt's obvious attempt to end the conversation. "Somehow I expected you not to be interested in public executions. I mean, you being a witcher and all, you doubtlessly have seen your fill of dead bodies, so what is one more corpse to you? Besides, I believe I've heard you say once that you didn't want to get involved with the petty affairs of humans." Geralt felt the young man's curious gaze weigh on him. "So, what brings you here?"

Geralt cast him a brief glance and made a guttural sound of dismissal. He really wasn't interested in sharing the latest events with the bard who undoubtedly would jump at the chance of turning them into a song and spreading the tale to half of the civilized world. He was slightly surprised that Jaskier hadn't heard about the events already, but then again it was hard to tell how much had actually become public. Whatever the reason, Geralt would rather cut out his tongue than inform a chatterbox like Jaskier about what he'd rather pretend never happened.

"Giving me the silent treatment, huh?" Jaskier crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Well, suit yourself. Since I have been your travel companion and loyal friend for such a long time, I feel like I know you well enough to figure things out by myself. There's nothing you can hide from me. I can read you like an open book."

Geralt shot him a dark glance. "Shut up, bard."

"Rude, as usual. Well, at least one of us has manners."

Jaskier fell quiet then, following the witcher's gaze. The magistrate apparently had finished his speech and Celaena stepped forward, squaring her shoulders as she positioned herself at the edge of the stage. Tradition required that the convict receive a chance to say some final words. It allowed them to admit their guilt in face of the crowd and publicly accept their punishment in order to redeem themselves in front of their community as well as the Gods. Geralt wondered if she would actually ask for forgiveness. Somehow, it didn't seem like her.

The sorceress stood in silence for a long while, gazing at the people, her face unreadable. There was not a sound to be heard, everyone's attention focused on her and her alone. The air was thick with expectation. What would she have to say? Would she renounce her deeds? Would she pray to the Gods to forgive her? Some convicts put up quite a fight, struggling for their lives until the last second. So far, her behavior had been disappointingly composed. Maybe she would be one of those who faced their punishment with their heads held high.

Celaena stood still as a statue, rigid as if she were in a trance. Minutes passed without her saying a single word, and when the magistrate was beginning to become restless, obviously eager to proceed, she finally spoke.

"F*** you."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet somehow it carried into every corner of the square. The words elicited a murmur from the crowd and Geralt saw the magistrate shift uncomfortably. There was a hard glint in her eyes, and she lifted her chin, raising her voice.

"You dimwits, you know nothing of the world! How dare you pass judgment on someone mage-born? You are beneath me!"

Catcalls sounded from the crowd, but she went on, ignoring the response of the people.

"Do you think killing me will solve anything? I'll prove you wrong. I curse you!"

Fearful murmurs mingled with angry shouts, and as she continued, they swelled into a solid roar. The magistrate had paled at her words, realizing just too late that things weren't going according to plan, and gestured at the guards who stepped up to her, taking hold of her arms. Furious, she steeled herself against being manhandled towards the gallows. Her voice was shrill now.

"I curse you and your miserable town! You'll never get rid of me!"

Her gaze, which had been darting back and forth across the audience, settled in Geralt's direction. Geralt knew it was impossible, yet he had the uncanny impression that she was actually looking at him.

"I will haunt you until the end of your days!"

The last words were a cry that pierced the air, clearly audible despite the roaring crowd. Geralt watched the guards lift her onto the platform and slip the noose around her neck. She continued shouting, working herself into a fit, trying to drown out the crowd but unable to so.

"Kill that witch!" The woman next to Geralt shouted. "Kill her already!"

More people joined the call which turned into a chant. "Kill the witch! Kill the witch!"

Geralt felt Jaskier bend closer. The bard was apparently excited by the unexpected turn of events.

"Oooh, that's unusual, don't you think? Might even be material for a song. Tell me, do you by any chance know some details about that sorceress?"

Disturbed by the events, Geralt clasped the bard's wrist without averting his gaze from the sorceress, who had finally stopped shouting and stood still, her face contorted into a grimace of hatred. The magistrate raised his hand and the guard at the lever executed the command. Geralt saw the rope tighten as she fell and he could swear that he heard her neck snap, which was impossible of course given the overall noise, even with a witcher's heightened senses. The audience jeered, an almost deafening storm of excitement and glee, and Geralt stared at the dangling corpse for a long moment before making his exit.

As he left the noise of the crowd behind him and entered a narrow alley, he could hear Jaskier's pursuing footfalls clatter on the cobblestones.

"Wait!" The young man called. His lute banged against his back as he jogged. "Aren't you glad to see me again? Come on, Geralt."

The bard caught up and fell into stride alongside him. "That was quite something, don't you think?" He paused, obviously expecting an answer. "Geralt?"

The witcher stopped and glowered at him. "I'm really not in the mood, Jaskier."

The latter raised his hands and flashed him a disarming smile. "That's okay, you don't have to tell me anything. In fact, you don't need to talk at all if you don't want to. Let me do all the talking, how about that? Because I can't shake the feeling that you knew the woman that they just hanged."

Geralt started to walk again and Jaskier smirked. "I knew it. So, who was she? A friend?" He paused. "Possibly not judging by the expression on your face. Maybe an enemy? Ah, that's more like it. See? You can stay all grumpy and unapproachable, not a big deal."

Realizing that there was no way to get rid of the bard, Geralt turned a corner and stopped, forcing the young man to do likewise. He let out a long breath before facing him.

"Fine," he said. "What do want, Jaskier?"

"I just want to reunite with an old friend," he replied lightly, "who seems to be in need of some cheering up, if you can forgive me being blunt. By the way, where are we heading?"

"We are heading nowhere."

"Okay," Jaskier acknowledged, "let me rephrase that. Where are you heading?"

"Back to the castle."

"In employ of the king, aren't you?" Jaskier sounded excited. "What monster are you hunting for Foltest? A bruxa? A werewolf?"

"Nothing of the like. I'm just staying there."

Jaskier frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Foltest invited you to stay at his castle?"

Geralt sighed. The conversation was getting rather tiresome, and his patience was wearing thin. Right now, all he wanted to do was hole up somewhere and rest. Think. Try to figure out how to proceed from hereon.

"No, Triss did."

"Triss Merigold? The sorceress?" There was a sparkle in his eyes that made Geralt regret his words instantly. "The king's adviser? Oh-ho, Geralt! My deepest respect! Here you are, claiming that you want nothing from life, and you're taking a vacation in the bed of a beautiful sorceress. How long has that been going on, huh?"

Geralt frowned at him. "It's not what you think."

"Yeah, right."

"It's not."

Jaskier looked pensively.

"Would make for a good song though. The famous white wolf and the dark-eyed witch of Vizima." He intoned an improvised melody. "Entranced by fair Triss Merigold/ The white wolf left his winter lands/ his frozen heart was thawed by love/ and melted in her gentle hands -" He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the expression on Geralt's face. "Alright, I get it. Not a love story." He sighed regretfully. "Would have made a great song though. Actually, the old songs are starting to become a little unfashionable and the people are asking for new tales about you. I was hoping that maybe you could fill me in on your latest adventures. Maybe even take me along on your next one, just like in old times."

Geralt shook his head to himself and resumed his way back to the castle. The streets were deserted, with almost everybody gathered at the marketplace, and his footsteps echoed hollowly among the buildings.

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. You don't have to tell me about Triss if you don't want to. I respect your privacy."

"That would be a first."

"Now that's not true and you know it."

From the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier rummaging around in the pockets of his jacket and a moment later, a sheet of parchment was waved in his face. Annoyed, he stopped dead in his tracks and snatched it from Jaskier's hands.

"What is that?"

The bard smiled. "I took it off the notice board at the marketplace. It's a request for a monster hunter. Seems some woodcutters in the forests up north are experiencing trouble with a terrible beast that has already killed three of them."

Geralt scanned the writing which confirmed the bard's words. "five hundred ducats is quite a lot," he murmured to himself. "I wonder how simple woodcutters have come up with that much money."

"The village is a two days' ride from here," Jaskier pointed out.

Geralt looked at him skeptically. "And why on earth are you walking around with a note like that in your pocket? Please tell me you haven't started to loot notice boards around the country as inspiration to your ballads?"

An expression of outrage formed on Jaskier's face. "Who do you take me for?"

"A desperate musician."

The bard scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, well. You might be right about that. But I'd never deprive people in need of help of the services of a monster slayer. That would be immoral. Not only that, it would be downright cruel."

Geralt raised an inquiring eyebrow. "So?"

"When I heard that you were in town, I thought a job offer might convince you to go on another adventure with me." Jaskier smiled apologetically. "Come on, Geralt. Just for the sake of old times."

Geralt sighed. It was late autumn already and usually, he would be on his way home to Kaer Morhen by now. The only reason why he was still in Vizima was Triss's promise to open a portal for him once he had healed. Physically, he was fine by now, and he would have left already if it hadn't been for the nightmares that still troubled him. He had hoped that watching Celaena's execution would bring him some peace of mind, but now that he had seen her die, he realized with disappointment that he didn't feel any different at all.

Maybe Jaskier's suggestion wasn't such a bad idea. Triss had reassured him that the traces the curse had left in his mind wouldn't interfere with his daily business, and physically he was fit for monster hunting. Maybe getting back to old routines would do the trick. Occupy his thoughts with something else. Stop brooding.

He realized that Jaskier was looking at him hopefully, flashing him a boyish smile.

"I'll think about it," he grumbled.

"Great! You won't regret it, I promise. It'll be just like in the olden days." Jaskier beamed. "I'm staying at the Emerald Tankard by the way. Come and see me as soon as you're ready."

"I didn't say yes," Geralt muttered, but the bard was already too far down the street to hear him.