#im going to excuse that decision by saying that Geralt's theme on the soundtrack is played by a hurdy-gurdy

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1 /  part 2 /  part 3  /  part 4  / part 5  / part 6  / part 7/  part 8   /  part 9 /  part 10 /  part 11  /  part 12  / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 /  part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 belongs to this

content warning: metion of past character death, a grave

(Still not the final chapter)

His stomach twisted into knots and a lump sat heavy and thick in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He didn’t want to do this. He had avoided it for months now, as much as he could. The loud laughter and clapping coming from the tavern almost made him flee as he had done embarrassingly often before.

One look at Roach made him reconsider. Her head hung low and her fur was matted with dust from the road. She deserved some rest in a nice stable.

As much as Geralt didn’t want to admit it, he needed the rest just as much.

The dread turned into an ache as the cheering from inside died down and the bard stroke up a new song. The only consolation he had was that the singing wasn’t accompanied by a lute.

The notes that drifted to him as he put Roach in the stable, whispering in her ear that he would be back in a moment to take her bags off once he had secured her place here, had a strange quality to them.

With a pounding heart and tense shoulders, he pushed the door open, his eyes scanning the crowed room in an attempt to find someone who could tell him the cost for a box in the stables.

Instead, his eyes found the bard as if they were drawn to them.

He froze and his breath got stuck in his throat.

Someone shoved him from behind to close the door, but Geralt didn’t care. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who had been Jaskier’s student not so long ago.

Sera.

As suddenly as his body had stopped moving, he was overcome with the urge to move, to leave.

This was the first familiar face he had caught sight of since he had left the coast.

It was suffocating and filling his mouth with the taste of bile.

He should never have come here. There was a reason why he avoided taverns and bards.

Still… it had been so long since Geralt had been surrounded by music that didn’t stem from his own pathetic attempts at playing, and it wasn’t the painful sound of a lute being strummed.

A powerful yearning took hold of his heart, rooting his feet to the spot and making it impossible to flee.

Maybe…. maybe there would be no harm in staying, only for a bit to ease the bruising grip the music had on his heart. There was no need to speak with Sera. It had been a long time since she had last seen him. The chances of her recognising him -  grimy and unkempt as he was - were slim and even if she did, there was no reason for her to approach him.

He could just stand here, hidden in the shadows in the corner of the pub room and listen for a bit.

Only one song.

One song turned into another.

With each note Sera teased out of the heavy looking instrument Geralt could understand a bit better what Jaskier had meant when he had said she was better than him. The idea was still outrageous, of course, and perhaps it had just been too long since Geralt had heard any music to compare it too, but Sera was good. Great, even. She was charming the audience with easy smiles and winks that rivalled Jaskier’s.

Though the invisible hand choking him had eased its grip on his throat as the songs progressed, it came back in full force as she took a bow in the same sweeping manner as Jaskier had always done.

It was too much. Geralt couldn’t stand to watch any longer. He had to escape the acidic guilt of enjoying another’s performance when it had taken him so long to show any appreciation for Jaskier’s music.

He stormed out of the tavern, uncaring of the patrons he shoved to the side.

Blindly, he stumbled into the stables, where Roach’s ears pricked up at the noise he made.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and opened her box. “We have to go a little bit further. I promise I’ll find a nice stable for you.”

“Isn’t this one nice enough?”

Geralt didn’t flinch at the amused voice behind him, but it came damn close. What a pitiful excuse for a witcher he was, if a simple song sufficed to get him so distracted.

His shoulders slumped and he turned around, facing the bard who was leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a cocked eyebrow.

“Thought you could leave without giving me a review?” She pushed away from the wall and came closer, a teasing smile on her lips that was so unfitting to how Geralt felt that he almost drew back. “Or maybe my singing was so bad that you left because of it? The most scathing review of all.” She left a pause and huffed when Geralt didn’t seize the opportunity to correct her. “Jaskier wasn’t lying when he said you had no appreciation for a good performance.”

Knowing that the words were untrue didn’t sooth the ache in Geralt’s chest. There had been a time when Jaskier truly had believed Geralt to be unimpressed by the music he offered him. He couldn’t allow the thought that maybe he had never given up the belief, to fester.

The thought alone was enough to take away all ability to speak.

“Don’t think you could escape unnoticed,” Sera said, still so lightly, so carefree. She had no way of knowing what had happened. If only Geralt was so lucky. “I have to tell you even if the white hair and the swords weren’t a dead give-away of who you were, the dramatic exit would have been enough to draw anyone’s attention. And you know how much we bards love drama.” Her expression grew a tad annoyed and if Geralt’s mind wasn’t screaming at him to leave and never turn back, he might have been impressed at how patient she was to the unresponsive man who was little less than an old acquaintance. After a brief pause filled with awkwardness that even the most confident person couldn’t ignore, she was openly grasping at straws. “You are still doing with witcher business then?”

Geralt’s fingers twitched. “Not still. Again.”

Sera’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Why did you go back to hunting?” Geralt flinched. There hadn’t even been a moment of confusion as to what might have made him give it up in the first place. He prayed she figured out what him hunting again meant as well. It would hurt to see the realisation flash over her face but anything was bearable, as long as he didn’t have to say it.  “Talkative as ever. Care to come back inside for a talk with an old friend? It’s been forever since I last heard from home. How’s Jaskier?”

This time, Geralt was unable to repress the finch. Even in the dim light of the stable, it couldn’t have escaped Sera’s notice.

Her eyebrows drew together and she made a step forward as if to steady him, when her eyes fell on Roach and the bags she was still carrying.

“Oh.” The sound was soft, almost apologetic. Geralt didn’t have to look to know her eyes were locked onto the lute Geralt had been too weak to leave behind. There was no mistaking as to the reason why he had it with him. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

For some inexplicable reason the voice telling him to go quieted down. Everything did. His pounding heart, his staggered breath, the nervous scrape of Roach’s hooves. The words spoken so plainly, saying so directly what no one else had dared to say the way it was shifted something in Geralt.

His shoulder’s sagged, as if a weight he had been carrying with him had finally been taking off. No, not taken off, but shared.

Geralt nodded brusquely, before repeating the words that should burn his tongue but for some inexplicable reason soothed his heart. “He is dead.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. It was almost ironic, a bard not finding the right words. Or maybe it was her knowing when to be quiet.

After what felt like an eternity, she spoke up again. “I think he would have liked that you carry the lute with you.”

Geralt grunted. “He would have mercilessly mocked me for it.”

“Of course he would have,” Sera said with a half-smile. “And then he would have sighed over how romantic it is that you keep it around.”

“It’s not romantic. It’s-“ Geralt cut himself of. He didn’t know what it was. His tongue wanted to say ‘pathetic’. A word he had used more and more often lately to describe himself, but something about the way Sera looked at the lute, so similar to how Jaskier had done it, made the words taste like ash on his tongue. “I just didn’t want it to rot somewhere. I’m just taking it with me until I find better use for it.”

His heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened unnoticeably for a human. He cleared his throat, but couldn’t get rid of the rapidly forming lump that made his voice raspy when he choked out, “Do you want to have it?” Say no. Please say no. “I think…out of anyone, he would have wanted you to have it.” And in contrast to Geralt, she would actually know how to play more than one song so simple and pitiful that it was a shame to force such an instrument to sing it.

Something strange happened with Sera’s face. “I think it’s right where Jaskier would have wanted it.” Her tone was flat, but something sincere and soft resonated in it. “I was never allowed to even hold his lute, always practicing with my old one. And he was right about the lute not really being the instrument for me anyway.” Her smile became full. “I am far more happy with my hurdy-gurdy.”

A heavy sigh of relief rumbled through Geralt’s chest. He didn’t care that Sera saw. If she judged him for his reaction, she didn’t show it.

Instead she cocked her head to the side. “Speaking of which, I’ll have to get back on stage soon. Come back with me. If only until my break is over.” Her eyes narrowed and roamed about his face. Geralt felt strangely self-conscious under her scrutiny. “Have you eaten yet?”

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

The calculating look didn’t leave her eyes, but without waiting for Geralt to take the chance to leave, she stepped past him and started to unload Roach. “Well, I am. And I would really appreciate the company.”

Entering the tavern for the second time, this time without the tension but instead with a smiling bard guiding him to a table in a corner, the room seemed more welcoming somehow. Less suffocating and constricting.

Sera gave the barmaid a disarming smile, when she brought her some stew and complimented her on her singing.

Geralt shifted in his seat. “It all worked out for you then? With Oxenfurt and seeing the world?”

A wistful expression flashed across Sera’s face before it was replaced by a small quirk of her lips. “It did. It’s not quite what I expected, but it’s wonderful.” There was the barest hint of hesitation, before she added, “I couldn’t have done it without Jaskier.”

A smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. “You seem to be doing fine on your own.”

Sera seized him up in contemplation and Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that she chewed longer than necessary on the chunks in the stew to give herself some time to figure out what to say next.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not nice to have support.” With a nod at Geralt she added, “Or to meet a friendly face every once in a while.”

Geralt snorted at that, but he couldn’t hope to mask the sting Sera’s words sent through his heart. As much as he wished it weren’t so, he couldn’t deny that there was truth in her words. Geralt didn’t want company. He didn’t need it. Clearly, he was better off on his own.

But there was no denying that this was the first time since he had been with Jaskier that he sat in a tavern like normal people did, no rush to find the next contract, no anxiety spiking up about hearing music.

Though he did his best to hide his thoughts behind an impassive mask, some of it must have slipped through, for Sera put the spoon down and leaned forward, taking in the details of Geralt’s face.

“What about you? How are you doing on your own?” She didn’t let Geralt’s non-comital grunt deter her. “Looks like you had some rough hunts.”

She didn’t even try to conceal the way her eyes raked over his torn and dirty clothes and lingered on the new scars adorning his face, some of which were still fresh and burning pink.

Geralt felt strangely exposed and vulnerable under her gaze.

“Witchers have a rough life.” It sounded more defensive than he had aimed for. Geralt resented the hint of bitterness and remorse that hopefully slipped Sera’s notice.

She looked at him a little longer, before leaning back with a sigh. Almost dismissively, she pushed the still half-full bowl of stew towards him.

When Geralt raised an eyebrow, she cracked a smile. “I’m already full and it would be a shame to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Geralt glowered at her. He would be an idiot not to see what she was doing. Still, when fake-innocent eyes looked back at him, he relented and picked up the spoon.

He wished he could say the stew wasn’t doing wonders. He wished it wasn’t filling and warm and delicious with spices that Geralt hadn’t used when roasting his own meals over a fire somewhere in the woods.

A smug smile danced across Sera’s lips, but it softened before Geralt had the chance to feel stupid because of it.

When Sera didn’t comment on Geralt wolfing down the meal, Geralt was overcome with the burning need to fill the silence.

“It’s nice to be with a bard who doesn’t try to steal my food for a change.” As soon as the flat joke left his mouth, he tensed up, the all too familiar guilt digging its ugly claws into his chest.

He shouldn’t joke. Least of all about Jaskier. It was disrespectful and wrong to laugh about him, even if Jaskier had made many a joke on Geralt’s expanse. Even if Jaskier would have gasped in mock outrage only to prove Geralt’s point by stealing more of whatever Geralt was eating.

Still, when Sera let out an undignified snort, the guilt receded the tiniest bit to make place for an unexpected warmth.

Geralt could do nothing to stop it. Talking about Jaskier like this felt good, better than it had any right to. It wasn’t a grand speech about Jaskier’s big accomplishments or a solemn reminiscence of some defining moments of his life. Remembering the way he used to steal Geralt’s food was something small, barely worth mentioning. Yet it was something so fundamentally Jaskier that Geralt yearned for more.

But it was wrong. He had no right to smile and waste time sitting in a tavern.

Geralt hadn’t noticed the way he tensed up, his grip on the spoon turning his knuckles white, until Sera laid her hand on the table next to his, not touching him, but close enough that there was no way for Geralt not to notice her presence.

“It’s alright to miss him, you know,” she said in a tone that was painfully gentle. “You are allowed to feel things.”

A huff escaped Geralt. “Heard that one before.”

Sera lifted an eyebrow and the corner of her lips turned up. “Are you accusing me of unoriginality?”

Her tone was so full of mock indignation that Geralt couldn’t stop his own smirk. “I would never. I’m just saying that you are the not the first person to tell me that.”

“Am I the first person you are going to listen to?”

Geralt’s heart missed a beat, but his smile didn’t drop. The reply that he was good on his own lay on his tongue. He just had to say it. It would be so easy. He had said it before, whispered it to himself time and time again when the road got too long and the nights too quiet.

The words didn’t come; they were supplanted by a voice inside him – quiet at first, then insistent and growing louder with every passing second that he didn’t deny Sera’s words – telling him to listen to her, to Eskel and Kris and anyone else who had told him that there was nothing wrong with what he needed. Above all else, it told him to listen to Jaskier.

Slowly and with what felt like inhuman strength, Geralt nodded.

Immediately, shame rose in him. He knew it was irrational, it must be when so many people had told him it was alright to admit to needing them, but after spending so much time with the freedom of only relying on himself, it felt restricting.

He lowered his eyes to the stew before he could see Sera’s face transform into a relieved and proud smile, no doubt.

She let him be for a while, only speaking up when Geralt got too tense, getting lost in his darkening thoughts, to reminisce of something Jaskier had once said or the way his descriptions of life as a travelling bard had helped her find her footing.

It was soothing. Often Geralt wouldn’t know how to respond, only answering with hums and the occasional nod, but Sera seemed content to let her own voice become calming background noise.

It was nice to have someone talking to him for a reason other than giving him a contract.

After another stretch of silence, Sera spoke up again.

“Have you visited his grave since you left?”

There was no judgement in her tone, no hidden accusation, but Geralt still flinched.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the shameful truth out loud or even shake his head. His silence was answer enough.

Sera didn’t press, didn’t tell him what he already knew himself.

Instead Sera sighed. “I miss the sea sometimes.” Her eyes snapped to Geralt. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret leaving. Life as a bard is wonderful, but sometimes I just think it would be nice to go home again. Only for a little while.”

Geralt cleared his throat and before he could think better of it, he reached into the saddlebags that had been standing beneath the table and dug in deep, searching for what he had buried with no intent of digging it back up any time soon.

His jaw worked as he held the sea shell out to Sera.

“It’s… you hold it to your ear.” The words were clumsy and awkward and nothing like the loving instruction Jaskier had given him when he had presented the shell to Geralt.

It did nothing to dim the smile on Sera’s face as she listened to the sounds of her home with closed eyes. There was something about the way her expression softened. Perhaps she finally understood what she hadn’t when she had written her first song.

She must be thinking the same thing, for when she put the shell down, she exchanged it for her hurdy-gurdy and played a few notes of a vaguely familiar song about home.

“Jaskier would have loved to hear you play that song. On that instrument,” Geralt said, the hints of a smile dusting over his lips.

“Maybe I should go home again. Play my song for him.” Sera looked up as her hands stilled, letting a note that so clearly demanded to be followed by others ring through the air. “If I remember correctly, Jaskier once told me to get myself a witcher? We could travel together to the coast, if you wanted to?”

Geralt’s mouth went dry and something stirred in him. The note begging for the song to be continued echoed in his mind.

When Geralt took too long to answer, Sera stood up and gripped her hurdy-gurdy tighter.

“Listen, Geralt, I’ll have to continue with my set. I promised the barmaid that I would sing a ballad for her after my break. How about you think about it and tell me your decision when I come back.”

Geralt’s eyes followed her as she took up her place at the centre of the tavern again and slipped into the light-hearted persona of a performer.

Her offer repeated in his mind over and over. She had left it up to him. Had asked if Geralt wanted to.

He didn’t.

But his mind drifted to Eskel’s offer of travelling together. He thought of how Kris had told him that he didn’t have to be alone when he had knocked on their door in the middle of a storm and drenched to the bones.

He thought of a different bard seeing him all on his own and deciding that he needed a friend.

--

A hurdy-gurdy was no lute. Its music had none of the light playfulness or solemn clearness of a plucked lute. It was heavier and could not easily be played while walking.

But the soft humming next to him, when Geralt and Sera started their journey back to the coast – back home – brought a smile to Geralt’s face, not big enough for Sera to recognise it as such, but sincere enough for Geralt to know that he had made the right decision.

Travelling with the bard was different than being on his own.

She told him to take breaks far more often than he would have if it were just him. She refused to sleep outdoors more than necessary and always made him order a decent meal when they took a break at a tavern, allegedly because she was uncomfortable being the only one eating.

Geralt might be stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw what was going on.

Unwittingly – or more likely with full intention – Sera got him to take care of himself.

Though Geralt grumbled when the breaks they took or the nice beds made him restless and filled him with guilt, he felt lighter than he had in a long time.

--

Geralt had never heard the song in its entirety. Of course, Geralt knew that it would be good. After all, it had secured Sera a place in the Academy of Oxenfurt.

But as he was listening to Sera sing it now, Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that no one had ever truly heard the song, not the way it was meant to be played.

As the hurdy-gurdy wept and Sera sang of a lonely old lighthouse that would shine brighter when a traveller came by and shared a piece of the world with it, the waves that sounded like home provided the harmony.

As the melody dimmed and spoke of the traveller leaving again to face the storm-tossed sea and stony roads, a witcher stood next to her, roughened up from months on the road.

And as her voice soared as the lighthouse’s shine reached even the darkest path despite the distance, keeping the traveller company until its light would beckon him home once more, a breeze ruffled the flowers on a grave, colourful and wild and straining towards the sun.

There was no doubt, no one had ever heard the song quite like Geralt did in this moment. Though the metaphors and intricacies of the melody were lost on him, Geralt felt something in him shift as he listened, his eyes fixed on the place where Jaskier lay buried and that looked far too bright to be a place for loss.

When the last note of the song faded away, it took Geralt a while to find his voice.

“He would be proud of you.”

“As he would be of you.”

Geralt’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t do anything worth being proud of.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” When Geralt didn’t reply, Sera gave him a long look, before she finally said, “Remember what he told me about never selling myself short? Just because he isn’t here to tell you that he is proud of you doesn’t mean you are any less worthy of his or your own pride.”

Never forget I love you. How often had Jaskier said it? How close Geralt had come to forgetting.

A lump formed in his throat, making it hard to breathe. His chest grew tight and a something sharp stung in the corners of Geralt’s eyes.

He turned his face away from Sera, as the first tear fell. No human should have to see a witcher cry. No witcher should know how to do it in the first place.

Geralt hadn’t known. For months, he hadn’t known how to let go of the emotions that had built up inside of him and that he had tried to hold back, building the dam higher and higher with each contract he took to lessen the hurt.

Now he learned it again.

His shoulders didn’t shake, no audible sob left his mouth and his legs didn’t crumble beneath him.

And yet he cried, as he hadn’t been able to in a long time.

He barely registered how Sera told him that she would head over to her parents’ place and left him to his tears.

He was alone again, but this time it was different. This time, he allowed himself to let the tears fall freely, the feelings he had tried so hard to repress flooding him alongside memories of smiles and gentle touches and wrinkles and youthful ambitions.

He didn’t speak to Jaskier’s grave, not in the way he had heard of other people do. Nothing he could say would be something that Jaskier would have liked to hear.

Geralt hadn’t looked at the sunrises or taken note of the wildflowers’ colours.

Instead of the guilt that he half-expected a determination took hold of him. He would do better, be better. Next time, he would come back with stories that would have lit up Jaskier’s eyes and made him reach for his quill.

For now, there was only one thing he could say to Jaskier that would have made him smile.

A call was all that was needed to get Roach to lift her head in curiosity and trod over to him.

A smile flickered over Geralt’s lips as he reached up to pat her on the neck.

“This is Roach,” he said softly. “She likes music and getting scratched behind the ears.”

There was nothing more to say, but Geralt thought it would have been more than enough to make Jaskier coo over Roach.

The image of Jaskier’s brilliant smiles whenever he managed to win over one of Geralt’s horses made a warm fuzzy feeling grow in his chest. Without thinking much about it, Geralt reached out to brush his fingers over the petals of a bright blue flower.

With a soft snort, Roach leaned past Geralt and bit the flower off.

Geralt shouldn’t have laughed. He should have gotten mad and made sure Roach stayed well away from the grave, but he didn’t try to quench the laugh that welled up in his throat.

Too close were the similarities to the time when Jaskier had offered a different Roach flowers to be braided into her hair only for her to eat them straight out of his hand.

Jaskier had laughed then and Geralt had the feeling that he would do the same now.

Oh, he would definitely have loved this Roach.

Still, when Roach took Geralt’s lack of reprimanding as invitation to eat more of the flowers, Geralt gently pushed her away.

As much as Geralt was sure Jaskier wouldn’t have minded her feasting on the flowers, the garden had been his pride and joy and Geralt couldn’t watch it get ruined before its time once again.

Especially when not only the grave but the whole garden was in bloom. In fact, it looked as if someone had taken good care of it, as some of the plants were cut back as if to help them grow.

The frown that creased Geralt’s forehead smoothed into a tiny smile.

--

He wandered somewhat aimlessly through the village. The strange and vaguely unpleasant feeling he got when he met other people’s eyes without glowering or turning away himself, lingered, but it wasn’t as strong as it had been, when his old neighbours now greeted him with a smile and nod.

Finally, his feet carried him to the market place. It was less busy than oft times before, but the smell of recently cut flowers that whiffed his way was strong as ever. The only thing that contrasted his memory was the lack of enthusiastic calls, praising the flowers or offering them up for free.

When the vendor’s eyes finally found his they widened in surprise before the skin around them crinkled with joy.

“Geralt!” Kris called out, setting aside the flowers they had been rearranging on the table. There was neither discomfort nor pity in their voice. “I did not expect to see you here today.”

The ‘today’ that was added not as an afterthought but as naturally as if it had always been a certainty that Geralt would return one day, made something in Geralt soften.

“And I did not expect you to pick up my old business.” It was true. If Geralt had ever thought about what Kris might be doing now, this was not something that had ever crossed his mind, but seeing them like this felt strangely right.

Kris shrugged a bit sheepishly, but not without a proud smile. “What can I say, I always liked taking care of people. So why not take care of your garden as well and continue what you and Jaskier started here?” They rubbed the back of their neck a bit uncertainly, leaving a smudge of dirt on their cheek as he brushed the skin there. “I am not very good at it yet, but I like doing it and I’m learning.”

“It took us three tries to get the flowers to survive more than a week the first time around.” When Kris’ expression lifted at Geralt’s words, he added, “Jaskier had a book about gardening. It should still be in the cottage somewhere… You could have it if you wanted to.”

“I would love to! It would make this so much easier. It’s been so hard to figure out how to grow the garden. Don’t even get me started on the damage the last storm left.” Their voice drifted off. “But I can see why you two continued doing it.” They picked up a small white flower and twirled it between their fingers. “Handing out a little happiness with each flower, you know?”

They held the flower out for Geralt.

Geralt hesitated, before taking it. “Don’t tell me you too give flowers away for free.”

Kris let out a chuckle. “Only to old friends.”

--

After talking with Kris some more, Geralt kept strolling around town. He had to force himself to slow down and every once in a while he had to follow the urge to go into a shadowy alley to breathe deeply and close his eyes until the restless feeling that made his fingers twitch and told him to go do something, to find a distraction and hunt until exhaustion made his mind fall into emptiness, receded enough to let him continue.

It was hard, but he gritted his teeth and thought of Jaskier and of how Geralt hadn’t had anything nice to tell him about what he had seen.

As he turned around a corner, something barrelled past him in a flurry, followed by cheerful cries of “Don’t go!”

Geralt stepped aside, just in time to let more children run past him. He watched them with furrowed brows as they shouted at each other in voices that almost seemed like an imitation of the over the top players Geralt had seen in the theatres Jaskier had dragged him to.

“I’m having none of it!” The first child screamed as she dashed into the next street.

Something about it felt strangely familiar, but no matter how much Geralt wracked his head he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Geralt watched the horde of children disappear around the corner, when the smallest one of them stumbled.

Without hesitation, Geralt went over and helped the little girl up.

She gave him a toothy grin, before her eyes widened.

“You are the White Wolf!” Geralt was taken aback by the sheer amount of glee in her voice. When Geralt nodded, too perplexed to do anything else, her face split in the biggest grin. “Do you want to play with us? If I tell the others that you’re here, maybe we can play ‘Monsters run and Witchers hunt’ again.”

Geralt’s heart leaped at the words and he let out a startled laugh.

“I don’t think I would be any good at that game.” While the girl assessed him critically, Geralt threw another look at the other children who were still shouting theatrically at each other. “What are you playing now?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Right now, the little siren is swimming to the deepest, darkest part of the ocean.”

Geralt drew back when the pieces finally shifted into place. He only hesitated a moment, before saying, “To find the sea witch?”

The girl nodded. “Yes! The sea witch is evil, but the siren isn’t, even if the adults say all sirens are bad. She falls in love with a pretty prince and saves his life.”

Geralt’s insides twisted into a knot. “Maybe the prince saved her as well.”

For a moment the girl’s eyes grew wide, before she pulled a grimace. “No, I don’t think so.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, when a call cut her off. “Piwonia, come on, we need you to play!”

The girl threw Geralt a toothy grin, before running off to where the little siren was just meeting the prince.

Geralt watched her go and the knot in his chest unfurled as the name Piwonia jogged some distant memory he had almost forgotten, of a baby named after a flower Jaskier had grown and that Geralt of all people had held in his arms years ago – a child too young to have ever heard Jaskier tell the tale of the siren and that still found joy in it.

When Geralt finally tore himself away from the story he had heard so many times, it was the tiniest bit easier not to let his mind fall back into the familiar emptiness.

--

There was one more old friend Geralt had failed to visit here. Something he couldn’t wait to make up for.

He stood to the side and watched in amusement as his old Roach carefully approached his new one.

The difference between the two horses couldn’t have been more obvious, the old girl huffing in much the same way she had often done when Jaskier had skipped ahead on the road, while the younger horse dashed around her and threw her head back in excitement.

Geralt watched them get to know each other and once the novelty of meeting the other horse wore off and new Roach got more interested in the grass and flowers she was allowed to eat, Geralt approached his old companion and stroked her nostrils.

“We’ll come visit you more often, Roach.” His lips quirked up when the new Roach made a snorting noise at the sound of her name. “And you’ll learn to love her too, I promise.”

--

It didn’t take Sera long to answer the knock on her parents’ door, as if she had been expecting it. Geralt suspected, that possibility wasn’t as unlikely as it might have seemed to him some weeks ago.

She looked at him expectantly, her eyes trailing down to what Geralt was holding in his hands.

“I needed to find a book,” he said and shifted his weight to one foot while holding up the notebooks in his hand. “and found these. I don’t know if they would be of any use to you, but… they have some new songs Jaskier had written in the past years and …” he broke off, suddenly unsure of how to explain the need to get them out into the world when just a few months ago, the thought of parting with any of Jaskier’s possessions had seemed like an impossible feat.

“And it would be a shame if they would be unsung?” Sera supplied for him.

She took one of the notebooks from him and thumbed through it.

“I don’t know if you can use them,” Geralt repeated. “They are…Jaskier wasn’t at his best when he wrote them, but those were the notes that were the most legible.”

“I do. I could absolutely use them.” She cocked her head to the side. “What about the other notebooks? The less legible ones?”

“I thought I could bring some of them to Oxenfurt.”

Sera snorted, a grin splitting her face. “And let the scholars wrack their heads trying to decipher it?”

“Something like that.”

He didn’t need to tell her about his plans for the other books. The ones he would take to Kaer Morhen, where Eskel could appreciate the poetry about life on the path like no scholar ever could and Vesemir could chuckle to himself over the horribly inaccurate descriptions of monsters in the verses.

Least of all did anyone have to know about the one notebook Geralt intended to keep for himself. The last one Jaskier had ever written in; the only one that wasn’t filled until its last pages.

Geralt had no delusions about his unskilled hand and his lack of fitting words to describe what he saw, but maybe, by filling the pages himself he could give Jaskier some of the world back that he had gifted to Geralt.

It was a silly thought, but one that wouldn’t leave Geralt alone, until he grabbed the notebook and put it on the top of his bag, right next to the seashell that would no longer be buried in the depths of Roach’s bags.

“So when are you planning on leaving for Oxenfurt?”

Geralt lifted his brows. “Are you asking to be polite or is there a different reason you want to know?”

A sly smile stole onto Sera’s face. “For someone who claims to know nothing of the art of words, you are far too good at reading between the lines.”

“I had a lot of practice listening to bards trying to trick me into agreeing to stupid ideas. So, what is your stupid idea?”

If Sera was offended, she didn’t show it. “We could continue to travel a bit. Only until we reach Oxenfurt.” She pointed a finger at his face. “And just so you know, it’s a brilliant idea.”

The twitch of Geralt’s lips wasn’t strong enough to be noticed by anyone who hadn’t known him for years, certainly not enough for Sera to recognise it as the amused smile that it was, for she continued talking. ���Did you know that when I left for Oxenfurt, Jaskier told me to find Valdo Marx’ plaque of honour and defile it?”

Geralt folded his arms in front of his chest. “You didn’t do that.”

“Maybe not. Maybe I did. But if you came with me, I could show you where the plaque is and you could find out for yourself. Or do the job yourself.”

Geralt huffed and made sure to make his smile show this time around. “You really are following in Jaskier’s footsteps, aren’t you?”

“Not really.” Sera’s brows knitted together and she turned the notebook in her hand in contemplation. “I’m not doing this out of some sense of obligation or wish to be exactly like my teacher. I am not looking to steal his muse ether. It’s not my fault that you are such good company.”

Geralt huffed, but strangely enough, he didn’t feel the need to correct her.

As if sensing that she was close to victory, she smiled. “So, when did you say we were going to Oxenfurt?”

--

No matter how carefully Geralt scanned the walls of Oxenfurt Academy, he couldn’t find a single sign that there was or ever has been a plaque of honour for Valdo Marx.

Geralt’s lips twisted into a tight smirk and he was sure the students that heard him curse that damn bard that tricked him hurried past just a little faster, unaware of the humour in his voice, while Sera wore a horribly self-satisfied grin when Geralt finally gave up looking for the plaque she had either made up or managed to make disappear, before she scurried off.

She didn’t say where she was going and Geralt didn’t ask. Maybe they would find each other again in a tavern later. Or maybe Sera would go back to the friends she undoubtedly had here and forget all about Geralt being in Oxenfurt.

Then again, he had thought the very same thing was going to happen multiple times with Jaskier and every single time he had been proven wrong.

Only this time, when Geralt walked the streets of the place that Jaskier used to call his home, no one would call his name in excitement and tell him to wait up for them so they could pack their things before heading off together again, hurrying to gather all of his oh so necessary quills and notebooks.

Sera was to stay here for however long she pleased and Geralt would be off once he had done what he came here for.

A fond but heavy feeling lay like lead in Geralt’s stomach. Here he was, resolute to give away Jaskier’s notebooks that he had worked so long on.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt entered the academy building, the one winding labyrinth that Jaskier has had to guide him through for a change, until he reached the library.

Until the moment he laid eyes on the librarian, he hadn’t been sure whether or not he had hoped that the library would be empty and he wouldn’t be forced to watch another person hold Jaskier’s possessions in their hands.

For a moment, Geralt stood rooted to the spot, until he pulled himself together and marched forward with determination, though his heart beat painfully in his throat.

The librarian eyed him with disdain as he got closer and Geralt could feel his heart sink with every step, his hold on the bag which held the books tightening, until finally he stood in front of the librarian.

He wished Jaskier were here. He wouldn’t just stand there silently and so obviously out of place. Geralt needed to leave, to get out of this room, this building, this city he didn’t belong in. But first he would have to face the impossible task of explaining himself.

He steeled himself to speak, but the words never left his mouth. Instead, he thrust the bag out, holding it out to the librarian. When they didn’t react, he shook the bag a little.

Finally, the librarian reached out, their curiosity or drilled-in manners winning out.

It was almost like handing over part of Jaskier himself. Geralt wanted to hang on, to not let go. Slowly, painfully, his hands loosened their grip on the bag.

“Careful with that.” The words escaped Geralt without meaning to. Without the bag to hold, his hands felt too empty.

The disdain on the librarian’s face turned into incredulity at his words and then when they chanced a glance at the contents of the bags into firey outrage.

“That is no way to carry books!” They took one out of the bag as carefully as if it were a delicate butterfly.

Geralt kept his face impassive, but if Jaskier were here, he would have grinned at the librarian’s boldness, reprimanding a witcher in full armour.

Maybe there was something about Oxenfurt that made its scholars lose all self-preservation. Though more likely it was Jaskier’s influence seeping through his other home.

Geralt watched as the librarian thumbed through the book, the crease on their forehead growing with every passing second.

“What is this?”

Geralt leaned forward to see which book they held in their hands and this time he couldn’t hide the grin.

“Those are Master Jaskier’s.” When the librarian’s eyes widened, he added, “You’ll have to sort through that one. A storm messed up the loose pages and who knows in what order they truly belonged.”

As he left, he almost could imagine Jaskier’s glare at the back of his neck that he had actually dared to make good on his playful threat to publish his works in messed up order. On the other hand, there was no doubt that once Jaskier had an ale or two he would have cracked up about the thought of the professors wracking their heads over trying to get his notes in order only to find out they were children’s stories. If he were here, he probably would have even spread false rumours about the correct order and sit back to watch in delight as the professors debated over his work.

But Jaskier wasn’t here. Geralt had to make do with telling Sera about it.

She grinned and toasted to him, but she wasn’t Jaskier. No one was.

Oxenfurt was a city of arts, of stories and of music. Geralt should have known that sooner or later, under the cheering of the crowd, a bard would make their way to the middle of the tavern and strike up a song on their lute.

Sera didn’t try to stop Geralt when he stormed out of the room to get Roach and escape the tightness in his throat that threatened to choke him, the sound of the lute haunting him like a wraith.

He was grateful that Sera didn’t push him to stay. But as he left Oxenfurt behind, he found himself already dreading the lonesomeness of the path ahead of him.

#and thus the healing begins #the librarian is not amused with Geralt walking in in full armour probably making a lot of clanky noise #so when i wrote that the lute wasn't really for sera i fully intended to make her play the hurdy-gurdy because i think the name sounds funny #i kind of regret that now that the story has gotten far more serious than i intended #im going to excuse that decision by saying that Geralt's theme on the soundtrack is played by a hurdy-gurdy #also hurdy gurdies are amazing #im going to move tomorrow and who even knows how bad the internet will be at my new home #so maybe there won't be an update tomorrow #geraskier #but lets hope for good internet #geralt #witcher #witcher fanfic #fic #my writing #grief #accidental multichapter #Birds still sing when they fall from the sky