Evening found Geralt crouching at the edge of a small stream. It meandered through a forest gorge not far from the clearing where he and Jaskier had made camp. It was a quiet spot, a good way from the road, and the water was fresh and clean. Methodically, he rinsed his canteen in the flowing water before filling it and setting it aside to reach for Jaskier's waterskin. Beside him, Roach nickered contentedly as she drank her fill.

It had been his first day in the saddle after weeks, and now that the day drew to a close, he felt exhaustion deep in his bones. When they had started out this morning, he had felt well enough, his injuries healed to the point where even the scars barely throbbed anymore, but it had become clear pretty soon how far he still was from his former strength. The slow pace he had initially set out of consideration for Jaskier had become a necessity pretty soon, and he had been forced to take a break every so often just to catch his breath. Thankfully, the bard hadn't seemed to mind, and if Jaskier indeed had noticed anything off, he hadn't voiced it. It had been a relief when the shadows finally grew long, and it was time to settle in for the night.

Still, Geralt didn't regret the trip in the slightest. Jaskier's company had been surprisingly pleasant, his constant chatter a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that had plagued him. To his surprise, the bard had actually kept his promise and had not brought up Celaena again. Instead, he had relayed what news and stories he'd heard in the past months, and Geralt, who was usually not interested much in gossip or politics, had been happy to listen. Once or twice, the tales had even brought a smile to his lips, and when Jaskier had run out of things to talk about, he had brought out his lute, and that had helped too.

When they had finally made camp, Geralt had felt more relaxed than in weeks, and now that he was crouching by the stream with nothing but the soft gurgle of the water and Roach's occasional snorting to keep his attention, he could feel himself drifting. The scents of the forest lulled his mind, the earthy smell of decaying leaves mingling with those of mushrooms and damp wood. It was nice. Peaceful. He shifted to rest on his knees, reacting instinctively to the fatigue that weighed his limbs, and dipped his hand into the stream, enjoying the brush of the ice-cold torrent against his fingers as he refilled the waterskin. When it was full, he ran his hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes. Gods, he was drained. He hoped that he would get some sleep tonight.

Geralt.

His name sounded like a whisper on the wind, so soft that he wasn't sure if he had really heard it. Warily, he cast a brief glance over his shoulder to scan the trees behind him, half suspecting to see someone standing there, but the forest was quiet and there was no movement in the dense shadows that swallowed the shrubs. Shaking his head at himself, he returned to the task of refilling the last container.

Witcher.

The voice was louder this time, clear and sharp, and an icy tension crept up his spine as he recognized it at Celaena's. He was alone, he knew that. Jaskier had stayed behind at camp to get a fire going and prepare a meal. There had been nobody else nearby. There was no magic either, at least none that he was aware of, as his witcher medallion lay quiet and heavy against his chest. Still, Geralt had the overwhelming sensation of being watched.

There you are, witcher. Did you really think you could escape me?

It was close, as if a presence was taking shape right behind him. He could almost feel her lips brush against his ear as she repeated his name, felt her hand hover over his shoulder just shy of touch, and when he caught the flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, he whipped around, ready to fight. Roach flicked her ears, dancing nervously at his sudden movement.

There was nobody there. Heart pounding, his eyes darted across the trees and underbrush, traced over moss-covered rocks and knee-high weeds, but he couldn't find anything out of order. He was alone. He was safe.

Yet, he didn't feel like it. His breath came in harsh gasps, adrenaline surging through his veins as he looked for her. He could see and hear no one, but still, his witcher instincts were screaming danger, and he had learned to trust them. They had saved his life more than once.

"Where are you?" He mumbled, veering to scan the area around him. "Stop playing games. Show yourself."

A cracking sound in the woods made him whirl around, reflexively thrusting his hand forward to cast Aard. Magic burst from his fingers and ripped through the underbrush, leaving a swath of broken branches in its wake. The blast was followed by a squeal, and something small and furry shot out of the thicket of briar to seek refuge up an oak trunk. Geralt suppressed a curse when he recognized it as a raccoon.

He exhaled a sharp breath, trying to let go of the coiled tension in his muscles. The sense of danger still prickled his neck and set his teeth on edge, but the more he waited, the more he came to realize that indeed there was nothing to be feared. He had been mistaken, just like this morning when he had seen Celaena in the street.

Willing himself to calm down, he closed his eyes, letting go of another long breath. He was uncomfortably aware of the cold sweat that soaked his shirt, the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears. It had to be the lack of sleep, he told himself. That, and the exertions of the day. It really was about time to get some proper food into his stomach, drink a cup of the medicinal tea Triss had mixed for him and lie down. Get some rest.

Accepting the explanation for the time being, Geralt sank to his knees beside the waterside to splash some cold water into his face and waited for the shaking of his hands to abate. This wasn't the first time his imagination had played tricks on him today, and he found the experience deeply unsettling. Luckily, the target of his attack had been just a raccoon. Disquieted, he realized that it might as well have been Jaskier in the underbrush.

He still pondered on the matter as he sat by the campfire, Jaskier's face glowing like a lantern in the wavery light of the flames. The bard was happily chewing on a piece of apple cake while Geralt had his hands wrapped around a cup of Triss's tea, blowing on it every now and then as he waited for it to cool down. As it turned out, Jaskier had brought a varied supply of delicacies along, apparently determined on spoiling the both of them, and though Geralt hadn't been able to eat much, he had still thoroughly enjoyed it. It had been a pleasant surprise, one that Geralt appreciated in a way he couldn't put into words.

Still, it wasn't enough to detract his attention from the worry that had planted itself firmly in the back of his mind. What if it wasn't merely exhaustion that had triggered whatever had happened at the stream? What if Celaena had damaged him more than he'd thought? He realized that things might get worse from hereon, and this time, Triss wasn't here to help. It would be another couple of days at least until she returned to Vizima, and until then, he would be on his own. It was a thought he was less comfortable with than expected.

His eyes strayed to the bard, who had pulled the lute into his lap, pensively plucking the strings and turning the pegs. Next time, he realized, it might not be a raccoon. It might be Jaskier, and he would never be able to forgive himself if the man got hurt because of him. As hard as it was, there was only one thing he could do to keep him safe. He would have to send him away.

It wouldn't be easy though. Jaskier would undoubtedly want to know why, and Geralt wasn't ready to put the story into words. Hell, he could barely admit it to himself.

He let go of a soft sigh.

"Everything alright?"

Jaskier looked up to gaze at him across the flickering fire. It was a casual question, an instinctive reaction to the perceived discomfort of a friend, yet Geralt felt his hands inadvertently wrap tighter around the cup he was holding.

"No."

His voice was so low that he could barely hear it himself, and Jaskier tilted his head, brows twitching in surprise. Apparently, it wasn't the answer he had expected.

"That's a first." He put the lute down and Geralt shifted subconsciously when the physical barrier between them disappeared. "So, would you like to tell me what's wrong?"

Geralt wanted to, but confronted with the question, he didn't know where to start. Because what was he supposed to say? That he was on the verge of losing it, seeing and hearing things that weren't there? That he had just sent a blast of magic after something as innocuous as a raccoon because it had startled him? He wasn't ready to admit to any of that, least of all to the events that had caused all this.

Jaskier tilted his head, eyes unwavering as he waited for him to answer, and the more time passed, the more Geralt realized that he couldn't just stay silent. He had to say something. But it was as if his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth.

"Geralt, please talk to me. I can see something's wrong. Ever since we've left the city, you've been in a spectacularly foul mood, and you look like death warmed over. You've barely eaten anything. Are you ill?"

"I'm fine."

"Right." Jaskier looked doubtful. "But something is troubling you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Geralt sighed, closing his eyes. He wouldn't take it well, he knew he wouldn't. Yet he couldn't see any way around it.

"I'm thinking that maybe it would be a good idea to part ways."

There, it was out. No way to take it back now. Jaskier blinked his eyes in disbelief.

"Why?"

He didn't have an answer to that and Jaskier shook his head, uncomprehending. There was a flicker of hurt in his eyes that was about to tip into anger. Not that he could blame him. After all, the bard had done everything in his power to make this trip a pleasant experience. All he wanted in return was some time with his friend and a story to share with his audience.

"I thought you liked the idea of us going monster hunting. Did I do anything wrong?"

He bit back another sigh.

"No."

"Then why do you want me to leave?"

Geralt shook his head, mind groping for a good explanation and failing.

"I just do. Please don't question my decision, it's not up for debate."

It was then that he felt it again. The feeling of dread creeping up his spine, the sense of being watched. He felt himself tense in apprehension. It's not real, he told himself. She's not there. Yet his senses claimed otherwise. With overwhelming certainty, he felt that if he turned right now, he would see her standing behind him in the darkness, fixing him with her relentless stare. He pressed his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head curtly to clear his thoughts. Not now, he thought desperately. Not while Jaskier is here.

"It's about the execution, isn't it? The one topic you didn't want me to bring up again." Jaskier's voice was taut, and there was not a trace of doubt in it. "What on earth happened between you and that sorceress?"

Geralt clenched his jaw, trying hard to ignore the terror that tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe. Sweat started to collect on his forehead.

"Leave it be."

"The hell I will." He was starting to get truly angry now. "Don't you see what's going on? You're trying to send me away, so you don't have to face this."

"That's not true."

"Of course, it is. It's what you always do. Scare everyone away and brood. But you know what? It's a shit way to deal with things. So stop trying to avoid this and talk to me. I am your friend, for Melitele's sake. What happened?"

Kill him.

Her voice had an icy edge to it, a tone that didn't tolerate any dissent. He felt his hands starting to shake in earnest, his mouth go dry. Panic clutched his heart as he remembered his sword thrusting into the guard's throat, blood spurting as he followed the same command.

Kill him. Kill him now.

"No!"

It was an anguished groan that ripped from his lips, the cup slipping from his hands, its contents spilling on the ground. He stood panting, every muscle in his body taut with tension.

"Get out of my head!"

Jaskier stared at him wide-eyed.

"Geralt, what the - "

"Leave me the fuck alone!"

He hurled out the words and spun around, marching towards the trees. He wasn't thinking really, just reacting. Frantically trying to get away, to escape the voice in his head and the inquiring questions of Jaskier, which only seemed to make things worse. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Celaena standing among the trees, just like he had seen her in the street this morning. A thin smile curved her lips as she gazed at him, eyes assessing him. The wind tugged at the strands of blond hair that had fallen from her tight bun, the stump of her right arm hidden under her sleeve.

I told you to kill him, witcher. Her voice sounded overly clear in his head. Do it. I will hurt you if you don't.

She was close, close enough for an attack, and he thrust his hand forward without hesitation, forming Aard. However, he never got to cast it. A stabbing pain shot through him, sharp and blinding, and he fell to his knees, gasping in shock. His hands instinctively clutched his side. It was where the knife wound had been, the one he had received when he had first killed at her command, and his hands came away bloody. He stared in disbelief. It wasn't real, couldn't be. Yet the pain was terribly real.

He jerked when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. A startled sound escaped him as he half turned to look at Jaskier, who withdrew his hand the moment he saw his face.

"Shit, Geralt." His voice was breathless, hoarse with fear. "Are you alright?"

He forced a deep breath into his lungs, heart racing. Unable to answer, Geralt turned his eyes back to his hands. There was no blood. Agitated, he tugged up his tunic to run his hand over his scar, which was still intact, pink and freshly healed, just like it had looked this morning. He raised his gaze to find Celaena gone.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's voice, uncertain and laced with worry.

It took some time until he could find the breath to answer.

"I'm okay."

"Come on, let's get you back to the fire."

Jaskier all but dragged him to his feet, offering a hand which was much warmer than his own. Under different circumstances, Geralt would have refused it, but right now he was too shaken to give it much thought. He made it back to the fire on legs that were ready to give out, and when he slumped down, Jaskier silently settled beside him. Little by little, he got his breathing under control and he rubbed his face with trembling hands. He could feel Jaskier's gaze weigh on him.

"What the hell was that?"

Jaskier's voice was pitched low, betraying how deeply unsettled he was.

It was no use denying it anymore. Jaskier had seen, and Geralt was too spent to even bother making up a lie to pretend he was fine. He was shaking all over, literally felt like he was coming undone. Fuck.

Again he examined his hands, once more surprised to find the blood gone. The whisper in his mind had quieted. All that remained was slowly abating fear and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

"I saw her," he said tonelessly, eyes unfocused and empty. He felt like a shell. Hollow. A shipwreck at the cliffs after a terrible storm.

"Saw whom?" Jaskier leaned closer, craning his neck to catch his gaze. "Celaena?"

Geralt nodded mutely as another tremor started to take hold of him. He didn't even care to control it, he was too drained. Jaskier quietly reached for his hand, which was ice-cold, and stood, momentarily disappearing from Geralt's view. When he returned, a blanket was being draped around his shoulders. The soft scent of lavender identified it as Jaskier's.

"Celaena's dead," Jaskier said calmly and Geralt exhaled a long breath.

"I know."

"So you saw what? A wraith?"

Geralt stared into the dancing flames, numbed and chilled to the bone.

"No." He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. It was hard to take hold of a clear thought. It took considerable effort to force himself from his stupor, back to the present so he could deal with this. "At least I don't think so." His hands rubbed over his face again. "I don't know what's going on with me."

In the end, it was easier to say than he had expected. Maybe it had to do with the state of mind he was in. He didn't really feel like he was actually saying it, rather watched himself doing it as if through a haze.

"I think I'm losing it, Jaskier."

He whispered the words, his voice almost breaking with the admission. Jaskier creased his brows.

"Since when has this been going on?"

"The first time I saw her was this morning." He looked up, facing Jaskier with tired eyes. "I wasn't sure what to make of it. If I'd known, I would have never allowed you to join me."

"So this is why you wanted me to leave."

Geralt returned his gaze to the flames, knowing he wouldn't have to say it out loud. Jaskier was well capable of reading his silence.

"Great." Jaskier, who had been sitting on his haunches, pushed to his feet, sighing. "If you weren't so miserable, I'd give you a piece of my mind right now. What made you even consider trying to keep this from me? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Geralt sighed. He sensed Jaskier move beside him, and a moment later a canteen appeared in his field of vision. He accepted it without thinking, taking a gulp, then handed it back. They sat quietly for a moment, looking at the flames. Gradually, his shivering started to die down.

"What did she do to you?" Jaskier asked at length.

Geralt shot him a glance.

"She cursed me. A spell of mind control."

It seemed there was no need for further explanation, Jaskier was able to piece the rest together by himself.

"That's why you spent so much time at Triss's. She was trying to help you." Jaskier shook his head at himself. "And there I was, thinking that you two were romantically involved."

Jaskier was silent for a beat. "You should have told me. I have no idea what made you think you should keep this to yourself. And while we're at it, I don't think it's a good idea for you to go monster hunting like this. It's probably better to return to Vizima in the morning."

Only that he couldn't. There were too many people at risk. Geralt had already risked their lives once, back then when he had sought out Triss's help after he'd just been cursed. People had been killed because of his stupidity. He certainly wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, and he wasn't inclined on risking Jaskier's safety either.

"You go back," he said tiredly. "I'll stay here."

"Nonsense. I'm not going back without you. What kind of friend would I be to leave you to yourself when you're not well?"

Geralt suppressed a sigh. He was too damn exhausted to have this argument right now.

"Don't be stupid, Geralt. We'll return to Vizima together, make sure that you get better. Don't worry about my story. We can always go on another trip when you're well again. Agreed?"

He found himself nodding regardless of his worries.

"Great, that's settled then. Anything else I can do for you right now? You look about as played out as I've ever seen you."

Geralt shook his head. "I'll just get some rest."

"Okay, you do that. No offense, but you look like you need it."

It concluded their conversation. Geralt settled in for the night soon after, leaving it to Jaskier to tend to the fire. Exhaustion pulled heavy on him, the exertions of the day making themselves known. He couldn't even keep his eyes open, they were burning too badly with fatigue, and his limbs felt as if they were made of lead. He could barely remember when he had last felt this tired. However, sleep didn't come.

No matter how hard he tried, his mind wouldn't calm enough for him to drift off. It was worry, he realized. Worry about Jaskier who insisted to stay with him although it wasn't safe. Celaena's words still echoed in his head. Kill him , she had said. Kill him or I'll hurt you. He had no idea if part of her soul was still alive in his mind, having become part of him when she had cursed him. Maybe it was some kind of traumatic memory as Triss had said. But whatever it was, he didn't trust himself to resist the command the next time it happened. His mental strength was waning.

At some point, Jaskier lay down as well, and Geralt still hadn't fallen asleep. He listened to the other man's motions as he made himself comfortable, and it didn't take long for his breaths to even out. It was then that Geralt made his decision.

He waited until he was sure that Jaskier was asleep and then quietly rolled to his feet. His body protested the movement, insisting on its need for rest, but he had ignored that demand countless times before and knew how to deal with it. Silently he packed his things. Axii was enough to keep Roach from whinnying, and then he was on his way.

Jaskier would understand, at least he hoped he would. In the end, this was for the best.