Morning finds Geralt among the party of survivors on the shore. Corpses are lined up along the waterside, the cloudless sky mocking the previous night's events. There are fewer casualties than Geralt would have thought, but everyone has lost someone. The captain is among the dead. So is Mike.

Jaskier is still missing. Geralt has stayed on the ship as long as he dared, checking all possible hiding spots, searching among the bodies on deck – without any luck. Geralt knows what that means, he can put one and one together. Drowning is a slow and painful death and that knowledge makes it worse. As he helps retrieve the few things of value from the wreckage, he feels a numb kind of guilt growing in his chest. He might have prevented this if he had stood watch on deck. Or if he had stayed with Jaskier instead throughout the fight. Sure, he couldn't have known things would turn out the way they did, but it doesn't silence the voice in the back of his mind that says otherwise. He knows it will stay with him for a long while.

As they set up an improvised camp, he starts considering searching the river for Jaskier's body but then discards the idea. The current is too strong here. There's no telling how far it will be washed downstream, or if it will resurface at all.

The more time passes, the more he feels the rage that smolders below the surface of survivor's guilt. Rage at the man responsible, the mage who tortured his friend, who deliberately broke him and brought him several weeks of living hell before finally taking his life. It eats away at Geralt's heart, and while he would do everything to bring Jaskier back, he wants nothing more than wrap his hands around that fucking mage and squeeze until his eyes bulge. Geralt doesn't take pleasure in causing pain but this is different. This man has no right to walk this earth. He's gonna make him pay.

And while he doesn't know where Rience is at the moment, his instincts tell him that he is still close. After all, the mage is after Ciri, and he can only get to her through Geralt. He is sure that he'll try again. The pirates' camp will be a good point to start. It's probably a way into the woods, so their campfires aren't visible from the river. There is a fair chance that Geralt will find him there, and if he doesn't, the surviving outlaws might be able to point him in the right direction.

It's a plan, and Geralt feels himself calm at the prospect of taking action. He finds some soaked venison in his bags and forces it down, knowing he'll need the energy. Then he says goodbye to the sailors and heads off into the woods.

The bandits' tracks are easy enough to find, and Geralt follows them to a clearing with a ruined manor. It must have been an impressive estate once, but now it is just a few stone walls covered with moss and a decrepit building in the center. The smell of campfire and horses hangs over the place.

To his surprise, he discovers that the bandits have abandoned their camp. There is nobody there to guard the perimeter, and he finds just a single horse tied in the front yard. Disturbances in the soft ground speak of crates and barrels that have been recently removed, and he comes across traces of several carts. The hoof prints are still fresh. It seems like the outlaws have left in a hurry, probably expecting trouble after their failed ambush from last night. They might have lost just too many men, and a rampaging witcher is scary. Geralt feels a grim sort of satisfaction at the thought.

His eyes sweep the place, wandering over an old well and a makeshift hut at the far end of the courtyard, then settle on the building. Part of the roof has come down and the walls are overgrown with ivy and woodbine. His lips tighten as he catches movement behind one of the windows in the upper story.

There you are.

Geralt heads for the door with determined strides, drawing his steel sword. He doesn't doubt for a second that it's Rience who hides inside, probably even waiting for him. He wants to talk with Geralt just as much as Geralt wants to have word with him, that much is certain. Too bad that this time, he won't have any robbers to protect him. He will have thought up another way to defend himself though, some magical trap maybe, or some kind of poison. It's not the first mage Geralt bumps heads with, so he has an idea of what to expect.

Cautiously, Geralt advances into the entrance hall, senses sharp and ready to react instantly. The space is dim in contrast to the bright light outside, only illuminated by the sparse sunlight that seeps in through dusty windows. Geralt's eyes adjust fast though, eyes traveling up the broad flight of stairs that curve up in front of him, leading up to a balcony. He is not surprised to see Rience standing at the top of the stairs. Then his gaze falls on the figure that he is holding before him like a human shield, and his heart skips a beat.

"Jaskier."

For a moment, joy and fear war in Geralt's chest. Jaskier looks pale as a ghost and he is in the hands of an enemy, but he is alive. He is alive.

It takes a moment for Geralt to piece together what must have happened. Rience must have captured him after fleeing the fight with Geralt and decided to use him as leverage. How he had known that Jaskier was on board is a mystery to Geralt, but then again, maybe he just ran into him and took advantage of the situation. With a portal, getting off the ship would have been easy.

Jaskier looks like he is frightened out of his mind. Geralt can smell his fear from where he stands. It is sharp and sour, and it makes him want to break every bone in Rience's body. Jaskier's hands are tied behind his back, and he is craning his head back as far as he can, avoiding the blade that is pressed against his throat.

"Are you alright?" Geralt asks, hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier shakes his head incrementally. "I'm alright." His voice is hoarse.

Geralt's eyes zero in on the mage, who looks unfazed. "If I find that you so much as hurt a hair on his head, I swear you'll regret it."

Rience huffs a laugh. "First you'll have to get your hands on me. And right now, I don't think that's gonna happen." He yanks at Jaskier to prove his point and the dagger catches the light. Geralt recognizes it as his.

"What do you want?"

Rience twists his lips into something resembling a smile. It looks crooked, the burn scar on his face pulling his skin tight.

"First of all, you're going to lay down your swords."

Geralt casts a quick glance at Jaskier then back to Rience, and decides he is not willing to take any chances. He has seen what this man is capable of. Slowly, avoiding any fast movements that could be misinterpreted, he bends down and does as requested.

"Good. Now put your hands where I can see them and step forward."

Geralt spreads his arms to either side and approaches slowly. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, Rience tells him to stop.

"That's far enough."

"What now?" Geralt feels himself crawling with impatience. He needs Jaskier out of here, so he can take care of this bastard once and for all.

"Now," Rience says pleasantly, "we're going to have a little talk. As you have probably heard, I'm looking for the whereabouts of your child surprise. Princess Cirilla."

"What do you want with her?"

"That's none of your concern, really. Where is she?" He must have done something to Jaskier because he lets out a sharp gasp of pain. Probably squeezed his injured hand behind his back. "I've been very nice to your little bard so far. But it can turn nasty for him pretty quickly. Your choice, witcher."

"Geralt - " Jaskier's voice breaks on the last syllable. His eyes are shining with unshed tears, but he is holding himself together for now. Geralt can only imagine what it must be like for him. To find himself in Rience's hands once more after all that has happened.

"Let him go." Geralt's voice sounds steady despite the rage that burns inside of him. "Take me instead. I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Rience smiles thinly. "Yeah, I don't think so. He's my life insurance, and after our fight last night, I think I might need one."

You have no idea, Geralt thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud. It won't do Jaskier any good.

"So, the way I see it, you don't have much of a choice. If you want him back in one piece, you'll tell me where I can find Cirilla. If not - " Rience doesn't finish the sentence.

Geralt clenches his jaw. He has no doubt that Rience will deliver on his threat. But he is responsible for Ciri as well, and he won't pull Jaskier's neck from the noose just to replace it with Ciri's.

"She's in Skellige," he says evenly. "Staying with Clan Tuirseach."

Rience shakes his head in disdain.

"Don't lie to me, witcher. It doesn't bode well for your friend."

Magic sizzles down Rience's hand and along the dagger, making the blade glow red hot. Jaskier makes a small sound in the back of his throat, twisting his head back as far as he can, but Rience holds him fast.

"Don't." Geralt bursts out sharply. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, the terror of the situation finally sinking in. Jaskier is going to get hurt. But he can't sell Ciri out. There's no telling what Rience will do to her.

Geralt considers using his signs, but there's no chance that Axii will work on a mage, and Rience uses Jaskier effectively as a shield, so Igni and Aard are also out of the question. He won't be able to get a blow in without hurting Jaskier. As much as he wants to do something, he can't. It really boils down to a terrible choice between Jaskier and Ciri, and he cannot possibly do that. Sweat forms on his brow. He is feeling like a cornered animal. There's no way out of this.

Jaskier is panting, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Geralt, do something," he pleads softly, eyes wide and glistening. It's like a stab into Geralt's heart, hurting worse than any sword thrust could. Jaskier has to be out of his mind from fear, and Geralt has promised to protect him. He has promised that Rience would never lay his hands on him again, and he has failed him.

Geralt clenches his jaw. He'd willingly give his life to save Jaskier or Ciri, but that's not an option right now.

"Novigrad," he says, helplessly groping for another lie, and once more, Rience shakes his head.

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth."

"You're a bad liar, witcher." His lips twist into a dark smile as he moves the dagger incrementally closer to Jaskier's face. Jaskier lets out a desperate sound, his lips bloodless and thin. He is shaking all over, probably only held up by Rience's grip around his injured hand. The mage lowers his lips to Jaskier's ear. "Maybe I should burn your eyes out," he whispers, "show him how pretty you scream. What do you think, my little songbird, would that sway him?"

The tip of the dagger lowers, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut.

"Don't!"

Coldness clutches Geralt's throat, and he barely manages to keep himself in check, trembling with rage and fear, and desperation. He wants nothing more than to pick up his swords, to slay this monster, rip him to pieces, but he can't. He can't.

The tip of the dagger glows red and hot, and Jaskier lets out a taut whimper, tears streaming down his face. Geralt feels something inside him snap.

"Ellander." Geralt almost chokes on the word. "The Temple of Melitele."

The dagger halts and Rience shoots him a glance that is a mixture of surprise and triumph.

Geralt has said it. He never thought he would, didn't even consciously decide. It just came out, and now that it has, his heart is racing at the consequences. He has just betrayed an innocent child. His ward. His daughter. And he hates himself for it.

He has to take it back, undo this somehow. But he can't.

"See, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Rience withdraws his dagger and at the same time gives Jaskier a push, sending him toppling down the stairs. It's a bad fall, made worse by the fact that Jaskier's hands are bound and he can neither brace himself nor regain his balance, and Geralt reacts without thinking. He lurches forward, catching him as best as he can.

For a beat, his world is narrowed down to the shaking form in his arms, and that alone. He presses his lips into the mess of dark hair that is damp and salty with sweat, feeling the flutter of Jaskier's heart under his palms. Jaskier makes a sound that is half sob and half groan.

"Are you alright?"

Heart pounding, Geralt gently maneuvers him into a sitting position, slicing his ropes with the knife from his boot. He is surprised when Jaskier pushes him away.

"Go." Jaskier's voice is taut. His face is pinched with pain, but the look in his eyes is serious. "I'm okay. Just get him before he escapes."

Geralt hates to leave him, but he is right. If he doesn't act now, it'll be too late. He gives a quick nod and gets to his feet, discarding the thought of going back for his swords. There is no time. He hurries up the stairs, eyes darting about the corridor and the series of doorways. Rience has disappeared but he can't have gone far. Geralt can still smell him, can still hear him moving about, and it takes only a second until he knows where to find him.

Pulse racing, Geralt heads for the open door at the end of the hallway, feeling his medallion tug on his chain the moment he bursts into the room. The space is unfurnished, sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the roof and dancing across the floor. Rience is standing amidst the rubble, hands stretched out in a gesture that Geralt knows only too well. Before him, a gap of light forms in mid-air. A portal.

"Rience!"

The mage whips his head around, eyes widening at the sight of the witcher. He barely has time to utter a surprised shout and then, Geralt is upon him.

Geralt doesn't think. Rage flares in every fiber of his being, blazes in every corner of his mind. This man has caused so much misery, and finally, he gets to lay his hands on him. There is no way Geralt will let him escape again.

A burst of Aard blasts from Geralt's fingers, carrying the mage off his feet and sending him crashing into the wall. Plaster crumbles from the decrepit ceiling, and Geralt leaps at him before he has a chance to collect himself. He grabs his shirt, yanking him up, and closes his hand around his throat. Panic flashes on Rience's face, and he clutches at Geralt's hand.

"You bastard," Geralt snarls, squeezing. He feels an overwhelming satisfaction at the way Rience's eyes widen, the way his fingers scrape frantically across Geralt's hand. Mortal fear is written in his lines, and it feels good. "I should string you up face down and skin you alive. Make you feel every ounce of pain you dished out. Hurting Jaskier like that. Coming after my daughter." Rience's nails draw blood but Geralt barely feels the pain. If anything, it spurs him on. "By the time I'll kill you, you'll have run out of screams. But before that, you'll tell me who you work for and what they want with Ciri."

Flames burst from Rience's fingers, and Geralt growls with blind rage rather than pain, although he can smell his skin blister. He strikes the mage across his face once, twice, and when his skull connects with the stone wall on the third strike, the flames die. Rience groans, spitting blood.

"Try that again, and I'll forget myself."

"Go on, then," Rience croaks, a trail of red running down his chin. "Kill me."

Geralt bares his teeth.

"I will. But first, you'll tell me what I want to know."

Rience huffs derisively. "I know less than you think. Don't know why Cirilla is so important."

"Who is after her, then?"

"I don't know."

Geralt lets out a growl of frustration.

"Then tell me what you do know."

Rience's eyes flicker with something that Geralt can't quite place, a twisted smile forming on his lips. "Fuck you," he grounds out. "You and your pathetic little bard. If I'd known you'd come running, I would have stayed in Oxenfurt. Would have enjoyed myself a bit longer."

"Careful," Geralt warns, baring his teeth.

"Or what?" Rience snorts. "You're gonna kill me anyway."

Geralt unceremoniously strikes him across the face, whipping his head sideways before tightening his fist in the mage's shirt again.

"There's a lot of ways to go, Rience," he growls. "Don't tempt me."

Rience laughs, blood trailing from his split lip and dripping from his chin.

"You should have seen him," he slurs wetly, malice shining in the depth of his eyes. "The way he screamed, the way he begged me to stop. Makes me wonder. Does he scream for you like that when you fuck him?"

Geralt lets out a snarl that is barely human. There is so much anger built up inside of him, so much hurt, and he is not in the right mind for this. Jaskier has suffered so damn much, and this bastard is mocking him. There is no remorse, no regret. When the mage starts laughing, he feels a dam break inside of him and he slams his fist into Rience's grinning face, feeling teeth break. He hits him again. And again. And again.

Blood splatters, droplets hitting his own face, but he doesn't care. He doesn't fucking care anymore.

He drives his fist into the pit of his stomach, slams it into his chest, his ribs, his gut. He doesn't count how often he strikes, his mind filled with one thought only. That finally, this bastard is getting what he deserves.

"Stop."

The word is spoken quietly from behind Geralt's back, and it wouldn't even have registered if it hadn't been for the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder.

"Geralt, stop. He's had enough."

Jaskier.

Geralt lets go of Rience's shirt, and the mage slumps bonelessly to the ground. For a long moment, Geralt stares at his bloody knuckles, then turns around to the bard standing behind him. He looks shaken, pale like death, and there is a fresh bruise on his cheekbone where he has hit the stairs.

"You got him."

Jaskier raises a hand and gently cups Geralt's face. It's all it takes to make him come apart. Just like that, the rage that has taken hold of him evaporates, and it makes place for a lighter feeling that sifts through him like warm sunlight. Jaskier is here. He is alive and it's going to be okay.

He swallows tightly, eyes searching Jaskier's face.

"Are you alright?"

Jaskier nods. "Are you?"

Geralt lets go of a long breath. He doesn't know. Physically, he is fine except for a blistered hand, but mentally, it's a whole different matter. Jaskier has been in mortal danger because of him, and he has betrayed Ciri, telling her whereabouts to one of the most malicious people on the continent. Regardless of the circumstances, he can't forgive himself for that. Jaskier looks at him intently, as if he could read the thoughts on his face.

"You told him the truth, didn't you?" He says quietly. "About Ciri. She really is in Ellander."

Geralt nods mutely. Jaskier's brows furrow and Geralt feels his thumb trace his jawline.

"I'm sorry he made you." The words are barely audible, and Jaskier looks so sad that Geralt can't help himself but pull him against his chest. Jaskier pushes his face into the side of his neck and Geralt shivers at the soft puff of breath that tingles against his skin. "Melitele, I'm so fucking glad that you're here."

"I thought you were dead."

"You mean you didn't know -?"

"No."

Jaskier's arms tighten around him in silent response.

"Fuck, I thought I'd lost you," Geralt mumbles into Jaskier's ruffled hair and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Jaskier's scent fills him and it's the best thing in the world. "Don't ever do that to me again, you hear me?"

"I didn't mean to."

"I know. Shit, I fucking know that. I should have stayed with you. I should never have left you alone on that ship."

"You couldn't have known."

"Still, I should have -"

"Shush, Geralt. You couldn't have known." Jaskier pulls from the embrace and Geralt reluctantly lets him go. "You hear me? You couldn't have known. And I'm okay. Because of you."

"Are you?"

Geralt regards him worriedly, pushing his tousled hair back from his face. The hint of a smile tugs on Jaskier's lips. His nose is still reddened and his eyes are swollen from crying, but he's obviously enjoying Geralt's touch. It reminds Geralt of what Jaskier has told him back on the ship, and it occurs to him that he has never responded. Maybe this is not the right moment, but he's so fucking glad that he gets a second chance, his heart is brimming with relief that he got him back.

"Yeah, I'm okay. A few more bruises, but besides that -," Jaskier gives a vague shrug. He grimaces at the movement, but the happiness doesn't slip from his face. "You caught me."

He looks at Geralt as if he's expecting something, and it takes a moment for Geralt to realize what he is waiting for. Their eyes meet, and yes, Geralt can be stupid at times, but he knows when to oblige.

Gently, Geralt cups his jaw, silently asking for permission, and Jaskier's eyes flutter shut. Their kiss is soft, the barest brush of lips, but it is enough to send sparkles of delight down his spine. He hums in approval when Jaskier wraps his arms around his waist, allowing his own hands to wander as well, scraping through Jaskier's hair. When he pulls back a little, he has barely enough time to take a breath until Jaskier catches his mouth again.

It's a deeper kiss this time, not the tentative question Geralt has posed, but a statement that is confident and reassuring. It's a kiss that says I want to be with you. I forgive you. Please hold me and never let go.

There are promises as well, filthy promises that Geralt doesn't feel they should explore yet because as beautiful as this is, Jaskier is in no condition for anything physically demanding. Besides, there are still things that need to be taken care of. Jaskier seems to have had the same thought, as he pulls back with a soft sigh.

"Geralt -," Jaskier's eyes wander past him to settle on Rience, and Geralt follows his gaze.

The mage lies curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. His breath is shallow and his lips are covered in bright red froth, a sure sign of a punctured lung. It occurs to Geralt that he's slowly drowning in his own blood. Not that he gives a damn.

"He's dying, isn't he?"

Geralt nods. He wonders if this has been Rience's intention, pushing all his buttons, provoking him like that. He must have known how Geralt would react. Maybe he thought it would be the easiest way out.

"Why don't you end it?"

Geralt feels something bitter on his tongue. "He doesn't deserve a quick death."

"Maybe." Jaskier sighs, shaking his head. "But I need this to end. And no matter how long he suffers, it won't undo anything of what he did."

Jaskier indicates Geralt's knife, his face suddenly wrecked with exhaustion. "Would you?"

Geralt bristles against the thought of making this easy on Rience, but there's a look on Jaskier's face that makes him give in. This is not his call. If Jaskier wants it like this, he won't stand in his way. The man needs closure.

"Alright," Geralt nods. He sees Rience prying his eyes open. His face is a swollen mass of open cuts, blood, and bruises, but all Geralt feels is contempt. This is a monster, not a man. He doesn't deserve compassion.

"Is there anything you would like to say to him before I finish him?"

Jaskier shakes his head.

"No." There's a finality to his words that doesn't leave any room for doubt. "He's not worth it."