Imagine if Geralt sleep-talked. If he was a certifiable chatterbox as he snoozed, one to rival even Jaskier's rambling on his best days. It's practically a dream come true for Jaskier (pun intended), except that the insomniac bard can't seem to get the witcher to talk about anything except for...gwent?
...Jaskier has no clue what gwent is. But Melitele help him, he's going to learn.
It takes him an annoyingly long time to realize that it's some sort of card game. However, he realizes this is mostly due to the game's obscurity, and the fact that, well, he doesn't want the witcher to know what he's doing. For one, he knows the witcher will be embarrassed. It's no mistake that it took Jaskier traveling with Geralt three years before the man started sleep-talking, right around the time that Jaskier physically dragged him to a healer when the witcher almost bled out after a hunt. He understands that Geralt falling asleep deep enough to sleep-talk is a sign of trust, and that if Geralt had any clue he was doing it, he likely would refuse to sleep around Jaskier for, well...ever, likely.
Plus, and he'll admit this is selfish, he likes listening to Geralt talk on the nights he can't sleep. The witcher's voice is an amazing distraction from the scratchiness of his eyes and the pounding of his head and the urge that creeps up to just try to knock himself unconscious somehow. It's not...truthfully, he would still take being able to sleep over listening to Geralt most nights, but it makes the exhaustion better in a way that scented oils and the softest of blankets never could.
So maybe Jaskier gets a little carried away, and finds himself buying his own deck in a remote village while Geralt is away on a contract. Maybe he has a bit of fun playing the roll of "Lambert", whoever that is, and occasionally "Eskel", "Vesemir", and "CoĂŤn". And at first, he doesn't even mind losing to Geralt, if only for the little smile the witcher gets every time he wins, before turning or humming and falling into an even deeper, silent sleep. It's worth it, honestly, if only for that small glimpse into a side of Geralt Jaskier will never get a chance to see.
But then...well, then he gets better. He gets, dare he say it, good. To the point that Geralt will be grumbling under his breath, eyebrows scrunched, muttering out cards he is playing from a clearly memorized deck that Jaskier has never actually gotten the chance to see. And Jaskier has to be careful not to laugh, knowing from experience that if he doesn't speak in a low, steady voice, Geralt will be sure to wake up.
It's hilarious. Truly one of the best, completely unforeseen results of his brain refusing to be shut off most nights. Jaskier finds himself thinking one evening, after letting Geralt win just to see that small smirk, that he could live with the insomnia for the rest of his life if he could just keep having this. This small piece of happiness, all to himself.
Jaskier should have known better.
Jaskier is a fool, and an insomniac.
He does not get to have dreams.
So two years later, when he finds himself on a mountain with only a few of his belongings, he's sorting through his well-loved deck in a cold room at a keep he doesn't belong. It's not the same, will never be the same, but it helps him remember the other nights. It's so nice, he can almost hearâ
Jaskier frowns, realizing that he's not imaging the sound of laughter and slamming hands and...wait.
He can have some fun with this.
When Jaskier comes stumbling down the stairs into the main hall, he is not surprised to find the eyes of every witcher sitting at the table suddenly on him. Usually, he would find it daunting. If he was a decade or two younger, the stares would probably have been enough to have him turning on his heel, tail between his legs as he ran right back to his cold room.
But tonight, physically and mentally exhausted as he is, with a goal in mind to boot, he merely puts on his best performer's grin.
"What's all this, then? A midnight party of sorts?"
The witcher he's come to realize is Lambert snorts, shaking his head as he turns back to his cards. "Not a party, bard. And nothing that you'd have picked up in your fancy courts, prancing around like a peacock."
Jaskier tilts his head as some of the other witchers laugh, making sure to maintain the smile on his face despite the way his blood is boiling. He'd honestly just come down to see what playing a real game would be like, to figure out if he was any good playing against someone who actually knew they were playing.
Lambert doesn't even look up from his cards this time, though the witcher he's playing against, Eskel, is good enough to at least give him a pitying smile.
"I'm sorry, Jaskier. You need to have a deck to play and, well...it's a rather complex game. But maybe Geralt could teach you, and next year..."
Jaskier glanced at the White Wolf, who was watching the game. Who didn't actually look up except to humm, which, knowing the witcher as well as he did, was little more than an acknowledgment that he'd heard his name.
And that was, quite frankly, the last straw.
"Ah, I see. You don't want to lose to a bard, not in front of all your fellow witchers. Makes sense, I suppose, I can't blame you for being embarrassedâ"
Jaskier has to hide his smirk at the way Lambert is suddenly in front of him, sneering something fierce with his fist gripped in Jaskier's tunic.
"You shut your mouth little peacock, or I'llâ"
"âbite my head off? Just because I want to play Gwent with you?" Jaskier held his hands up, raising his eyebrows. "Honestly, it's not a big deal. Maybe one of the others willâ"
Jaskier bit back a yelp as he found himself practically thrown into Lambert's seat, the temperamental witcher pushing Eskel farther down on the bench to take over his spot.
"Give him your deck, Eskel."
"No, no, the little peacock wants to play with the big bad wolves, then he's going to play, with the big. Bad. Wolves." Lambert snarled as he rearranged his cards with a gentleness that belied his words.
"He doesn't even know theâ"
"Then he should have kept his mouth shut!" Lambert hissed, finally turning to face his pseudo-brother.
Eskel looked like he wanted to say something more, but sighed, gathering his own cards before placing them in front of Jaskier.
"You're not playing for keeps, right?"
Lambert snorted. "Of course not. If I earn your cards, I'm going to do it fair and square, not because some peacock felt the need to strut around where he isn't wanted."
Jaskier would have been more offended, but he was too focused on the first bit that Lambert had said to really focus on the rest.
Lambert sneered meanly, but Eskel gave Jaskier a small smile, saying, "It's how you get a better deck. The winner earns a card or two from the loser's deck, which the loser can only earn back by trying to beat them another time."
Jaskier nodded slowly, mentally adding this to the rules he already knew of the game. "So then, if you keep losing, and the winner keeps winning, how is anyone ever supposed to beat the person with the amazing deck?"
The bard blinked, more than a little surprised to find the other witchers turning to look at Geralt, who almost seemed to be...preening? But why wouldâ
Jaskier struggled not to cackle like a maniac.
He suddenly felt a lot better about his odds.
"So, if I wasn't using Eskel's deck, we'd be playing for keeps?" Jaskier asked, tapping his chin.
"Of course, bard, now would you justâ"
"Well, that's handy, then," Jaskier pulled out the deck he'd had hidden in his pants. "Because I just so happen to have a deck of Gwent cards right here! Isn't that great?"
Lambert blinked, scowl lessening seemingly against his will.
Jaskier put down his first card.
The witchers who had gone back to their own games had all stopped placing cards, their eyes fixed on the match between witcher and bard. Still, it was only Eskel who pointed out what the others had missed in the heat of the moment.
"We didn't tell you what the game was called."
Jaskier couldn't stop his grin this time, enjoying quite a bit the way it made Lambert sit up a little straighter.
Jaskier played. And he won. And he played again, Eskel this time, and he won. He played again, and again, and again, until finally, when the grey of dawn was just beginning to light up the large room, he found himself facing his final opponent.
Adrenaline rushing through his veins, he didn't feel the least bit tired as he examined the terrific deck he now had. He didn't bother looking up from his cards as the white-haired witcher sat across from him, unwilling to give the man the courtesy he'd denied the bard only hours ago.
"Where did you...when, did you..."
"Oh, here and there. You learn so much on the Path, even when you don't realize it." Jaskier laughed at his little joke, even though he knew no one else would understand his words.
Geralt grumbled, clearly displeased with the bard's answer.
"I'm not going to go easy on you," the witcher warned.
Again, Jaskier laughed, though it was definitely more piercing this time.
"Oh Geralt," he crooned, finally looking up.
"I could beat you in my sleep."
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