Work Text:
“I take it all back,” was Jaskier’s first reaction upon seeing the wonderful, astonishing hot springs hidden under the basement levels of Kaer Morhen. “All of my complaining as we trekked that horrible trail up the mountain. It was all worth it for this,” he declared with a sweep of his arms. The cavern had the perfect symmetry of mage work, rather than natural formation, but it was no less beautiful for it. There were multiple spring-fed pools of varying temperatures, each large enough for two dozen men, or Witchers, to bathe at once without encroaching on each other’s space.
“And here I thought you, what was it, showed ‘stoic determination in the face of unrelentingly harsh conditions’ for my sake. Because you wanted to spend your winter with me, rather than finding a pack of wolves to tag along with.”
“Well, I suppose I still am, from a certain point of view. Just a different type of wolf. Speaking of, where did Lambert run off to?” Jaskier asked. The tour of Kaer Morhen hadn’t been an extensive one, for obvious reasons, but Geralt’s brother had tagged along, offering colour commentary and complaining about the route Geralt was taking. It was obvious now, though, that Geralt had been working with a plan in mind, saving the best for last.
Geralt blushed slightly, which was a thing Jaskier hadn’t realised he could even do. “He said he and Eskel were going to make sure there’s enough firewood and extra blankets and furs in my room. Because I have a guest who needs to be made comfortable.”
Jaskier narrowed his eyes at Geralt- that wasn’t the whole story. “That’s incredibly nice of them, I’ll have to make sure to thank them later.”
“They’re not doing it just to be nice,” Geralt said with a sigh. “They’re doing it to mock how long it’s been since I mentioned first meeting you and finally bringing you here. And I’d be surprised if neither of them used the chance to set up the opening prank of the season.”
Now was not the time or place to focus on the first part of what Geralt had just said- this thing between them was still too new for Jaskier to feel like teasing him about it would be well received, so he stuck to the second. “Prank?”
“There’s not exactly a lot to do around here for fun, especially when the keep gets snowed in. And there’s only so many games of Gwent or Barrel you can play in a row before it gets boring. Or stories to tell, or books to reread. You get the idea.”
Jaskier nodded.
“I don’t remember now how it all started, but I’d bet on it being Lambert’s idea. He’s the best at it out of the three of us, had a streak of 8 or 9 years going until last winter. Eskel managed to turn all of Vesemir’s small clothes pink when he was on laundry duty. He swore up and down it was an accident, but we counted it anyway since Vesemir still stuck him on latrine duty for the rest of the season.”
“Which means it’s been at least a decade since you won,” Jaskier surmised. “Well, you’ve got a secret weapon this year, don’t you?”
Jaskier had truly intended his offer of help to be more along the lines of coming up with fresh new ideas. But, when Geralt suggested Jaskier impersonate him on those evenings everyone decided to play Barrel, it was hard to say no to the hopeful look Geralt had given him. Plus, he had to admit, it would be hard to come up with a better plan. Barrel was a Dwarven game, which Geralt had never been able to get the hang of, not that that had stopped his fellow Witchers from demanding he play anyway since four players were required. But Jaskier had spent quite a lot of time with Dwarves- case in point the events of the summer- and had managed to become quite proficient at the game.
Which was how Jaskier now found himself borrowing not just Geralt’s appearance, but also his dirty, Path-worn clothes. (Usually when he impersonated someone, his shift was thorough enough, down to the clothes, to be indistinguishable. But Geralt had taken one sniff and declared Jaskier lacked a certain tang that came from spending most of the year without access to proper laundry to deal with the after-effects of those disgusting potions and decoctions. If it had been a continuing part of the plan, Jaskier would have flat-out refused, but Geralt had promised it was only until laundry had been done, to help sell the mimicry to his brothers.)
The way Witchers played Barrel involved some house rules Jaskier hadn’t encountered before, the biggest difference being one person was the sole winner, rather than winning or losing in pairs. It took him a couple of hands to adjust, but he still managed to win the first game. The win was attributed to beginner’s luck by the others at first, but when he handily won for the fourth game in a row, the accusations of cheating began to fly. Which, depending on how one looked at it, were true. A challenge was issued for a fifth round, but Jaskier begged off, citing weariness from travel. Every second of discomfort from wearing Geralt’s stinky clothes had been worth it for the reaction, but Jaskier was more than ready to be done.
Geralt was true to his word- the next time Jaskier had to imitate him was without stinky clothes. It tended to be only once or twice a week that Vesemir agreed to play Barrel, which left many other nights for Jaskier to be present as himself and get to know Geralt’s family. And of course, for Geralt himself to be there, which he couldn’t when Jaskier was taking his place. Jaskier would preemptively make his excuses when he needed to be Geralt, and on some nights when he didn’t. No one thought it odd that a bard needed some uninterrupted peace and quiet to do some composing, and the times that was what he was really was doing were rewarding in their own way. Geralt would return to their bedroom after sharing an evening with just his brothers settled in a way Jaskier hadn’t seen before.
Of course, Jaskier’s imitation of Geralt wasn’t the only prank happening that winter. On that very first day, they returned to Geralt’s room to find that, in addition to being stocked, it had been rearranged. Not that Jaskier could see any difference, but Geralt was quite grumpy about the bookshelf being half a foot to the left, and the armour stand a few inches to the right, and so on. When he started making grumbled threats to throw Eskel and Lambert out the nearest window when next he saw them, Jaskier told him to instead think of how sweet their unexpected victory would be. “It doesn’t matter what they try, there’s no way it can be better than our plan.”
Not that their plan was all smooth sailing. On more than one occasion they had to find a non-suspicious way to switch who was present when plans for the evening changed. Jaskier was as terrible at Gwent as Geralt was at Barrel, and would have been an obvious imposter if he tried- it was one thing to suddenly gain skill at a game, but to have deteriorated so far? No, there was no way Jaskier could be convincing at Gwent.
Geralt, therefore, had to endure a fair few mocking comments about how often he suddenly ‘needed to use the privy’, but it was better than the alternative. Jaskier was just thanking every god he could think of that dice poker was more a game of luck than skill, which meant it mattered little if it was he or Geralt present when that was the game chosen for the evening. It was possible the sudden changes were part of an attempt to catch out how Geralt had managed to effect such a turnaround in skill, but (if that was indeed the case) none of the attempts had come close to pointing to the truth, so Jaskier wasn’t much concerned.
Games in the evening weren’t the only time Jaskier got to have fun impersonating Geralt. He took great delight in becoming Geralt in seemingly impossible situations, like when Eskel and Geralt had been hard at work in the stables. Eskel had come inside to refill their water skins, only to find ‘Geralt’ hard at work in the kitchen, assisting Vesemir with food prep, not a trace of horse to be found on his clothes. Later, Jaskier hadn’t been able to describe Eskel’s befuddlement accurately, and instead resorted to demonstrating it.
(Shifting into Eskel, even for such a brief time, was how Jaskier realised part of what was so strange about becoming Geralt. Geralt was different to every other human Jaskier had shifted into, and Eskel was different in the same way. When he was sure he wouldn’t be interrupted he tried Lambert and Vesemir, and both were also different in a way that must have been common to all Witchers. Or maybe just all Wolf Witchers? He’d never had to try to explain how it felt to shift before, and he had no idea how to do it now. There was something about it, though, something familiar he couldn’t quite place.)
Of course, walking around as Geralt had its occasional downsides. He was expected to help with preparing alchemical supplies, which was one of the most disgusting things he’d ever done in his life- eating raw meat you’d hunted down as a wolf was nothing compared to handling pickled drowned brains. Not to mention the pranks aimed at Geralt which Jaskier caught instead. Mice were an ever present issue, in no small part because of the lack of barn cats, and Jaskier had no real qualms with their existence in his vicinity. Except when someone saw fit to drop one down the back of his shirt. It took real effort to tamp down his initial reaction, which was to shriek, and to just shake the creature loose. Jaskier made a mental note to find a way to get back at Lambert in some way, when he would least expect it.
As fun as the prank war was, however, there was something else that made pretending to be Geralt worth the stress and risk of being found out. And that was hearing what Geralt’s family had to say about their relationship when they thought Jaskier wasn’t in earshot. That they hadn’t seen Geralt smile this often in years. That this was happier than he'd been in a long time. That it finally felt like Geralt was really present this winter, not just going through the motions.
Informing Geralt of what his family had said was quite possibly the single most awkward thing Jasker had done in his entire life, but there was no way Geralt couldn’t be told. Apart from the practical issues it would cause for Geralt to seemingly not remember recent conversations, he had every right to know what had been intended to be said to the real him. Even if it felt like the worst sort of bragging, “oh hey, Geralt, you’ll never guess what I just heard. Apparently I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, isn’t that something?”
In the end he’d just shoved down his discomfort and relayed everything as close to verbatim as he could remember. And Geralt. Geralt’s response had been simply to say “they’re not wrong. I love you, and they can tell.”
The plan had been for Jaskier to reveal the truth at the end of winter by shifting into Geralt and to head down to breakfast with the real Geralt. All winter, Jaskier had been looking forward to seeing the shock on everyone’s faces, but now he’d ruined it just because he hadn’t been able to resist those hot springs.
Vesemir had been much calmer than any other man in a similar position would have been- most would have reached for a sword, or run the other direction, upon seeing a wolf swimming laps in the hot springs. But not Vesemir.
Vesemir had just stood there, watching as Jaskier paddled in place. Jaskier was the one to break the stalemate, shifting back to his usual human guise so he could talk. “I can explain,” he offered sheepishly.
“I think it best if you and Geralt explain it to everyone all at once,” Vesemir replied. “Am I correct in assuming you are a Doppler?”
Jaskier could only nod. Even before he’d come to know these Witchers personally, he hadn’t had reason to fear them reacting badly in the hunt-the-Doppler way he could expect from regular humans, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be angry at him for lying to them.
It took no time at all for everyone to be gathered in the main hall. Geralt was first, so Jaskier quickly explained how Vesemir had found him, because he hadn’t been able to resist going for a nice warm swim in his wolf form. As good as fur was at insulating when it came to icy cold rivers, he’d wanted the chance to be nice and warm while swimming.
“What is it, old man?” Lambert demanded as he came in last. “I was in the middle of something delicate.”
“Quit your bellyaching, that slop you call stew won’t be any worse than it usually is for being left on the fire. Hell, it might even turn out better.”
Their bickering would go on all afternoon if nothing interrupted them, but Jaskier just wanted this over and done with. So he followed through with the original plan.
Two identical Geralts standing in front of them was enough to distract them from the argument. When the stress of being caught out like this wore off, Jaskier was sure it would be a fun story to retell, including replicating their shocked expressions, but for now he decided it was probably best to return to his usual self. They just kept staring at him as he gave the two shocked witchers a quick explanation of how Vesemir had found him out.
Vesemir, on the other hand, had just folded his arms across his chest and looked at Geralt. “I think you’d best explain how it was you came to learn of the bard’s true nature. Given you hadn’t mentioned it at all in the years of knowing him, I figure it must be a recent development.”
Geralt scowled, and didn’t say a word. Clearly, if this story was to be told, Jaskier would have to do it himself. Which was no hardship- weaving interesting tales was the life he’d chosen, after all.
“To tell this story properly, I have to go all the way back to the beginning. When I first met Geralt, it was at a tavern in a little town called Posada. Right at the edge of the map. Geralt had been hired to deal with a devil stealing grain, but it turned out it was a sylvan, and some elves; I’m sure you’ve heard this tale before. Anyway, I started accompanying Geralt, because I was sure he’d be a great source of inspiration, and I was right. But I was wrong when I assumed from the start that he knew what I was. I mean, how could he not?” Jaskier asked rhetorically.
“I was pretty much travelling with nothing but the clothes on my back, so to speak. I thought he knew and was just not bringing it up out of politeness, or something. By the time I realised he really didn’t know, a couple of years later, it seemed too awkward to bring up out of the blue. But then, in the summer just gone, he picked up a contract in Novigrad...”