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Es sniffled and blinked back tears. It had been almost three months since Grandpa Jas's passing, but their heart was still a bit raw, and going on this particular trip wasn't exactly helping.
"You can't drive if you're going to be crying," Vix said sternly, nipping at Es's hand, though her scolding was undermined a little when she followed it up by coiling part of her sleek body around Es's wrist and laying her head in the palm of their hand.
"'M not crying," Es said thickly, rubbing their thumb over one of the pale markings behind Vix's eye. "Yet."
Which was true. Tears just seemed to constantly hover around them, omnipresent and always a little threatening, since Jas had died. It was still hard to believe he was gone, sometimes; the old man had been a force of nature right up until the day he died, always taking up as much space as he pleased, bending the world around him with nothing more than his words even when he lacked the strength to leave his bed. Es kept finding themself reaching for their phone to text him before remembering he wouldn't answer - not ever - and feeling grief crash like a wave through them all over again.
Vix bit them again, harder this time. "You're dwelling," she said. "It's not gonna help. Just focus on the road."
Es took a deep breath, then another, clearing their head. Their free hand tightened on the wheel; Vix uncoiled from their other hand and eeled up their arm to drape around their neck, peering out at the world from under their hair, leaving that hand free to rest on the shifter instead. Soon there was nothing in their head but the road, the hum of the engine, and the trees whipping past on either side, a little of the tension bleeding away.
It came back in force as soon as they parked and got out, almost strongly enough to make them turn back. Why had they thought they could handle coming here, of all places? Es had been the only one of the grandkids to ever get an invite to come with him on any of his yearly trips to visit this place. They'd never been here without him, and the very air was thick with memories. Grandpa had loved this place.
And now, walking the path out to the cliff with a saovan, an ancient necklace, and a letter in their pocket, feeling the weight of grief turning their bones to lead with every step, they finally understood why.
Es, my dearest,
Forgive me for asking this of you. I'm sure you will have more than enough burdens to carry in the days after my passing, and I hesitate to give you another - and yet you are the only one I could ask. The only one who will know where to go. And in truth, the only one I feel I could entrust this to, secure in the certainty that you will understand the gravity of my request and will see to it on my behalf rather than giving this piece over to a museum (where it probably belongs, but I feel I've earned a little selfishness where this is concerned).
Enclosed with this letter you will find a second saovan I had made, and a necklace, a disk of silver with a wolf's head on one side and an etching of a great cat on the other. I doubt you will recognize it - few outside of academia would - but it is an artifact over a thousand years old: a genuine witcher medallion, forged in the early thirteenth century for one Geralt of Rivia, of the Wolf School. It came into my possession under rather unique circumstances when I was only a little older than you are now, and has been unspeakably dear to me ever since.
I have never shared much of my past with anyone here in Cintra - not even your grandmother. Much as I loved Pris, I never quite lost the paranoia that the RSS might still come after me, and I feared to endanger her with unnecessary knowledge. But now, I am beyond their reach, and as ruthless as the RSS is they are also quite pragmatic; they would gain nothing from attacking my descendants after I am gone, so I am confident they won't waste the resources on it.
You are likely asking yourself right now what the fuck the Redanian Secret Service has to do with an elderly Cintran writer and musician, which is a very reasonable question indeed!
However, I am not actually Cintran. I have lived here, made a career for myself here, raised a family here, but I am Redanian by birth. I was recruited into the RSS as a young man studying at Oxenfurt, though all that changed when my career with the RSS - and indeed, my entire life in Redania - ended rather abruptly and dramatically after I leaked state secrets and mounted an extremely effective campaign of public opinion against a top secret government project. After that, to avoid a rather painful reckoning with the RSS for my actions, I fled to Cintra, placing my faith in then-Queen Calanthe's fierce isolationism to keep the RSS at bay. Safely out of their reach, I began my life anew on the coast of Cintra.
The project in question was an attempt to rediscover the secrets of creating witchers - altered men many times stronger, faster, and more durable than ordinary men - in hopes of giving Redania the edge over other military forces on the continent. But in an ancient notebook that contained the knowledge we sought, I also found something else - a letter, wrapped around the medallion you now hold, telling of the true cost required in order to turn men into witchers.
Geralt told his own story in starkly unflinching terms, and it was horrifying and heartbreaking in equal measure. I wept, reading it, and had to fight to keep my stomach down.
Firstly, the process must be performed on children. Not adults who may freely decide to undergo such torment, but innocents who have no other choice.
Secondly, the process is deadly more than two-thirds of the time. Only three in ten survive it, on average.
Thirdly, the reason the process is so deadly is because it kills the boy's daemon. The daemon dies, and the shock of separation kills the boy as well. Those who survived it were bonded to false daemons instead, to keep them from breaking down and dying shortly thereafter.
Imagine being a child, waking from unspeakable agony only to find two-thirds of your friends dead, and worse, the other half of your very soul gone and a doll set in its place. Imagine trying to live like that.
Once I learned that, I could not in good conscience allow the project to continue. I knew, however, that merely telling the higher-ups of my discovery would do nothing to stop them. The kind of men who run the RSS wouldn't be stopped by mere horrors, by the thought of torturing and mutilating children. They would decide it was a necessary sacrifice for King and Country, and continue right on anyway.
So instead, I took the information to the public, resulting in such an outcry that the King himself had to step down in the face of the scandal and mounting public pressure.
(I will admit, it was extremely satisfying.)
I did it because it was the right thing to do - but also because I found myself so moved by the pain of a man centuries dead that I could not help but do whatever I could for him. I couldn't go back and undo what he went through, but I could at least ensure it would never be done to anyone else again.
I kept the medallion, after. I couldn't bear to let it go into the hands of curators who would look at it only as an archeological find and not care about the man who wore it - who, in his loneliness and grief, carved a rough likeness of his lost daemon into it, the only way he could keep her near. Such loss - such mourning - I felt, deserved to be honored by more than a display case in a museum.
But now, I am gone, and there must be another way to honor his memory, since I am no longer there to do so.
So I ask you to do me this last favor and bring the medallion and my saovan to the sea-cliff I used to visit, to the spot under the cypress tree. Your mother has my saovan that was commissioned as a set with Pris's some time ago, and that one will be placed with Pris's in the park where we met, as she and I agreed before her passing. But I would like for you to take this second one, along with Geralt's medallion, and hang them from the cypress tree on the cliff, that my spirit may rest with both of the great loves of my life.
Why, I can almost hear you ask. Why that cliff, that tree?
It is not simply because it was a favorite spot of mine. Rather, it became a favorite spot of mine because of what happened the first time I visited that spot, wearing Geralt's medallion around my neck.
I came, remembering what Geralt wrote in his letter about Lia wanting to see the ocean, that he intended to visit the coast himself 'before the end'. I suspect he took his own life after that, though I have no proof - nothing but the unfathomable weariness in his words, the exhaustion of a life that had stretched on for far too long. To have endured so much, for so long…I can only imagine the strength it took to carry on for a century or more despite it all. He must have been quite a man. I have always wished that I could have known him in life - although I must admit I prefer modern plumbing to what we know of the medieval standard of living!
At any rate, I remembered what he wrote of coming to the ocean, and came to the coast myself, with his medallion. I spoke to him - to them - needing whatever might remain of them in the currents to know that his warning had been heeded, that their suffering was not in vain.
And I know I was heard, for the Dust-shadows of Geralt and Lia appeared to Dandy and I there on that cliff. They didn't speak, but there was a feeling of gratitude and fondness so powerful that I have never forgotten it in all my life since that day.
I set it aside, of course, after that. Set aside my irrational yearning for someone who had died centuries before I was born, and set about building a life for myself here. I met your grandmother, fell in love, married and had children. I wrote my books, composed my songs, raised our children and welcomed our grandchildren. My choice to expose Project Sentinel cost me my life as I'd known it up til that point, but the life I was able to have here was a far better one than anything I could've had as an academic and sometime spy in Redania, and I have never regretted it. Even centuries gone, Geralt managed to change the course of my whole life - a priceless gift.
And thus, my request. Saovan were not a common custom in the thirteenth century, but no one knows the historical funerary customs of witchers, and so the best I can do is honor his memory as I would anyone else in my life after their passing. And the medallion is close enough to a saovan that I think it will be fitting nevertheless.
Forgive an old man his ramblings, dearest Es. It's only that I think you, of all the members of this ever-growing family, might understand how I could adore your grandmother and our family more than life itself, and yet still hold someone else in my heart, dear enough to want my spirit to rest alongside theirs in death. How I could love both, and neither love be diminished by the other. I fear if I had shared this story with the others, it might tarnish their memories of Pris and I, and I would never want to take that from them - but I didn't want the knowledge of Geralt, and what he meant to me, to pass entirely from the world with me.
So I ask you this last favor: take the medallion and my saovan out to my favorite spot by the ocean and place them there, in honor of the other love of my life.
Know that whatever remains of me will always watch over you, Es. I know you will do great and wondrous things in the world, no matter what paths you take. I wish you and Mia and Leo every happiness, and if anyone dares to challenge that, tell them I'll come back and haunt them - and that includes your father. Especially your father.
All my love,
Jas
"A whole secret past and everything," Es murmured, re-folding the letter and stuffing it back in their pocket before leaning back against the bench. "It's like something out of one of your novels."
The mention of Grandpa Jas' books, coupled with the letter still in their hand, made something else click and Es barked out a startled laugh. "Oh, gods," they gasped. "Your Knight and the Bard series. Nobody ever really understood why a successful literary novelist would have a queer fantasy romance series as his sideline under a pen name. Even I always thought it was a little weird. It was about him, though, wasn't it? Your witcher. A different world in which you did get to know him in life, the way you always wished you could. No one knew it, but those were self-insert romances about a historical figure. Only you, Grandpa."
Laughter turned back to tears, then. "I know it's the way of things. The circle of life and all that shit. But I wasn't ready for a world without you in it." They sniffled again, scrubbed the sleeve of their jacket over their eyes.
"Mia's pregnant," they whispered, staring out at the waves. "We just confirmed it yesterday. It’s Leo's and mine, genetically, and she's carrying it. I wish you could've held on longer. Wish you could be there to meet your first great-grandbaby."
Vix slithered into Es's jacket and curled up against their chest, a cool weight against their heart. They reached up and pressed a hand gently over her. It was an old, old gesture of comfort, so ingrained that words were wholly unnecessary.
Es took a deep breath, hauling their shaky self-control back together. "Sorry," they said. "I know this wasn't supposed to be for me to say goodbye to you, it's supposed to be helping you say goodbye to him, but - I just miss you, so much."
"He'd understand," Vix said softly. "You know he would."
"He always did," Es agreed. When they'd decided they didn't want the pressure of Carrying On The Family Legacy by going to art school and trying to become a famous artist, Jas had been the one to step in and tell their parents that the family legacy - which had started with him and Gramma Pris, after all, so it was their legacy more than anyone else's - was not a weapon to be used to bully his grandchildren. When their father had decided that graciously allowing them to be queer and trans had strained his patience to the limit and polyamory was an unacceptable third strike against them, Jas and Gramma Pris had hosted the family's solstice celebrations that year and deliberately invited both of Es's partners, making a point of welcoming them and all but daring their father to say something about it.
Yes, if anyone would understand the tumultuous space between grief and closure, the struggle to carry out the final wishes of someone you haven't fully laid to rest in your heart, it would be Grandpa Jas.
Somehow, that thought settled them. Es swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and stood, waiting a moment as Vix resettled herself around their neck. Moving slowly, feeling as though their very bones were creaking in protest, they stepped around the bench to reach the old cypress that sheltered it.
There were a couple of saovan hanging there already, one from a nail, another on a cord tied to a branch. Es smiled a little sadly and reached out to brush their fingers over the nearer one. They weren't superstitious like some people, believing that it was bad luck to touch someone's saovan - they didn't believe it was good luck either, like some weirdos did, but they'd always thought that if the point of a saovan was to honor the deceased and keep their spirit near, it was only polite to acknowledge them, to say I'm here, and I see you.
Carefully Es drew the saovan and medallion from their pocket. They'd already threaded Grandpa Jas' saovan onto the medallion's chain; the two discs clinked together gently as they dangled from Es' hand, stirred by the sea-breeze. Choosing a branch that hung within reach but seemed sturdy enough to last, they looped the chain over it, drawing the two pendants back through the chain after it was wrapped around the branch to keep it secure.
Vix moved then, winding her way down Es's arm. Es paused, holding their hand steady a few inches away from the swaying pendants. Tail wrapped around their wrist for balance, Vix extended herself out until she could gently nose at first Grandpa Jas's saovan, then the witcher medallion behind it. She didn't speak - didn't need to - but something settled in Es's chest at that silent gesture.
"Bye, Jas," Es whispered. A tear broke away and rolled down their cheek. They let it go. "I hope you find them both in the currents out there somewhere, Gramma and your witcher." Swallowing hard, throat aching, they drew their arm back, bringing Vix against their chest again, though she remained wrapped around their hand. "I'll bring the baby to see you, when they're old enough."
They stepped back. "I love you, Grandpa Jas. Bye." Vix flicked her tongue out and gave a soft hiss, her own goodbye.
"Stop that. You're going to hurt yourself."
The amber outline of Jaskier's figure flickered alarmingly for a moment, then steadied. "Why isn't it working? We can manifest to each other like this without a problem. And you were able to show yourself to me when I first came here, so clearly it can be done!"
Dandy bounced around in the currents at his feet, agitated, until Lia reached out one heavy paw and gently squashed them.
Geralt sighed. "It's possible, yes, but it's not easy. It takes a tremendous amount of energy and focus. Besides, I've had a few hundred years to practice. You've been in the currents for barely a season."
"But…" Jaskier slumped, watching sadly as his grandchild turned and began to walk away. "You can see how much they're hurting, Geralt. I just - I just want to give them what comfort I can."
"Hm." There was a pause. Lia looked up at him. "I can't manifest your shadow for you, but maybe…"
Geralt reached over, tangling his energy with Jaskier's, and extended his other hand toward Es. He tensed, bracing himself; Lia let Dandy up and came to lean solidly against Geralt's thigh instead, lending her support.
Es would've taken the odd golden gleam in the corner of their eye as nothing more than sunlight fractured through tears, if not for Vix, who reared up suddenly with a hiss. "Es!"
Broken from their reverie, they stopped and turned to look where Vix was looking. "Wh-"
A tendril of…something, like light made liquid, twisted up from the ground for a moment, then faded.
"What the -" Es stared, wide-eyed, at the place where it had been. Was it their imagination, or were there little golden sparks flashing in and out of sight there still? They stepped closer, reaching out a hand as though they could catch the there-yet-not-there sparkles of light. Vix's coils were tense around their forearm, her narrow triangular head lifted and swaying back and forth slightly, tongue flicking out repeatedly, as if she could scent whatever was happening.
Jaskier leaned closer into Geralt's other side, twining their energies even further, and reached his own hand out in a mirror of the other's, focusing as hard as he could. Dandelion bounced over and sat on his foot, whining slightly as they added themself to the effort. Lia rumbled a quiet encouragement.
All at once the air around their hand lit up with glowing swirls of amber and gold. Es gasped. Vix made a soft sound of astonishment. The light coiled around them in a rush of warmth and love that was almost dizzying, like the squeeze of a familiar hand: I'm here. I've got you. You're not alone.
"Grandpa Jas?" Es whispered. The radiance grew brighter for a moment, so bright it almost hurt to look at -
-and then it was gone.
Slowly Es drew their arm back again. Vix slid from their hand to their shoulders, twining around their neck and reaching up to rub her face against theirs.
"It was him, wasn't it?" Es's voice was quiet, as if they feared to break the lingering awe that had settled over them both.
"Yes," Vix agreed.
Taking a deep breath, Es let the memory of that moment and the feeling of grace settle into their bones where it could never be forgotten. With a last smile, they said, "Thanks, Jas. I love you too."
They walked back to the car feeling, for the first time since he had passed away, like everything would be all right.
"Thank you," Jaskier murmured. The effort had taken its toll on all of them, but he still found the energy to turn his head and press what would have been, in their proper bodies, a kiss against Geralt's shoulder. Like this, it was a gentle tingle as their spirits touched.
"Hm," was all Geralt replied, but Jaskier felt the fondness in it - the love.
They watched for a moment as Es walked away.
"So," Geralt said. "What was that about a book series? About a knight and a bard…?”
Jaskier made a strangled sound and buried his face in his hands. Dandy squeaked and leaped away, Lia gently chasing after them as Geralt laughed at Jaskier’s reaction.
It wasn’t the life they might have had, but it was theirs, and it was enough.