Imagine half-merman Jaskier, who never told Geralt what he was.
At first, it was because Jaskier didn’t want the witcher to have yet another reason to push him away. It was bad enough the man didn’t think a human should be with him on the Path, that Jaskier wasn’t able to keep up with a witcher. Knowing Geralt, if he found out he’d probably try to drop him off at the coast in some misguided attempt to return the bard where he belonged.
And then years passed, and well, the bard thought it was actually kind of funny. How had the witcher not noticed how much water Jaskier drank, or how often the bard would throw himself into a river or lake to wet his unnaturally dry skin? Better yet, how had Geralt not realized that Jaskier didn’t age?
So, it became a sort of a one-sided game, after a while, to see how long it would take Geralt to notice. Surely he’d figure it out before someone pointed it out to him, honestly, it’s not like Jaskier was being secretive about it anymore! He had even started singing in Mer at their campfire some nights, and yet, Geralt never even looked up from skinning the animal he’d hunted or sharpening his sword.
It was absolutely ridiculous, and part of the reason he’d suggested going to the coast. It seemed he would have to transform for the first time in years, just to show the witcher, because at this point Jaskier was convinced even if he told him Geralt wouldn’t believe the bard without visual proof.
The very thought of it filled Jaskier with a nervous sort of energy, and had him rambling, and then—
Then Jaskier had been too focused on making his way down a very dangerous, very dry mountain, before he died of dehydration, starvation, or preyation. And yes, he knew that last one wasn’t a word, but he was very pissed off right now and—
Jaskier wasn’t sure why he went back to Oxenfurt instead of just going to the ocean by himself. It would have been simpler, surely. But noooo, he had to get involved in helping elves, and then being…being burned, which was, well, also very, very bad. While dimeritium was dangerous for a witcher, fire was a mermaid’s worst enemy, a fact Jaskier had forgotten somehow with how often he spent the night next to one.
And the wound wasn’t healing nearly as well as it should have, but there wasn’t anything Jaskier could do about it, not without transforming somewhere to help along the process. But he was on a freaking mountain, in a witcher’s keep, and it was winter now and he couldn’t leave—
And then, while eating the rather horrid stew that had been dinner for the last four days, he heard a witcher mention hot springs. Underneath the keep. That apparently were so deep even a witcher couldn’t hold his breath long enough to explore the underwater cave system they connected to.
And Jaskier had a horribly wonderful idea.
Because honestly, no one seemed to care if he was there or not. And maybe he could just sneak away, at least for a few hours, in the middle of the night. If he was very, very sneaky. It would help heal his hand, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about being so terribly cold in his room that didn’t have enough blankets, and maybe he could even find something to eat that was palatable for someone who wasn’t a witcher.
(Seriously, how was it fair that Yennefer and Ciri somehow ended up with honeyed kasha and hot rolls! If Jaskier was in his other form, his fins would be flared as he hissed at being so obviously slighted.)
So Jaskier waited until he thought everyone was sleeping, and then snuck downstairs the best he could in the pitch dark, following the call he had to any body of water large enough to transform in.
And oh, Jaskier had found heaven on earth, and he was not going to give it up anytime soon. The witcher who had spoken was right, and there were twists and turns, with one cavern being filled with the most delicious bluegills Jaskier had ever tasted, and another displaying jewels that sparkled from their place in the ceiling like little stars, and yet another being shaped just right that when he sung it echoed so beautifully—
So, maybe Jaskier had spent a while longer down in the caves than he thought he would.
A few days longer, actually.
Which really wasn’t his fault, honestly, had he mentioned the bluegills? The delicious, not tasting like horrible witcher stew, fat, juicy bluegills?
Still, he knew he couldn’t stay here forever, if only because it would look very strange if he just…popped up come spring, like his namesake, after being absent all winter.
So it was with extreme reluctance that he used his hearing, better as it was in this form, to check if anyone was at the springs before grabbing his clothes and making his was to the surface. He wished he had a shirt and pants that weren’t sopping wet, but was still grateful for having something to wear, and that he’d had the forethought to bring his clothes with him so that no one would get rid of them while he’d gone for his “swim”.
Still, he was very grateful when he made it back to his room and he found the clothes he’d stashed under the mattress, stolen from some unused part of the keep. Jaskier didn’t like stealing, especially not from his fearsome hosts, but it’s not like the bard had anything else up here besides what he’d been wearing when he arrived, so honestly, it wasn’t his fault. If anything, his hosts were the ones—
Jaskier shrieked as the door slammed open, quickly pulling his head the rest of the way through his shirt, turning to glare at—
The air was pushed out of his lungs in a small oomph as he found himself pulled into a very tight hug. Which lasted…well, a lot longer than he thought a hug from Geralt ever would, if he’d ever gotten one from the man, which he hadn’t. So this, this barging into the room he’d claimed in the middle of the night, almost knocking him to the ground with his….enthusiasm, was, well, weird. To say the least.
And then Geralt was pulling away, and checking him over for injuries (which, unfortunately, was not quite so weird) and stuttering something about following his scent (and oh, Jaskier hadn’t even considered that) to the hot springs only for the scent to—only for Geralt to find—
Jaskier pursed his lips, this time pulling Geralt into a bruising hug, as he did his best to explain he’d gotten a little carried away when he went for a swim. Which, with the way Geralt was now looking at him in disbelief, clearly wasn’t going to suffice for an excuse or explanation.
That was fine. Honestly, the bard was a little tired of the game.
(And the stew. Definitely the stew. Honestly, what were they putting in it—)
And it turned out that, half-human or not, Geralt was still more focused on the bard finding trouble than anything else. The witcher blinked once, twice at his mer form, before launching into a lecture about exploring underwater caverns that could be filled with monsters by himself and not telling anyone where he was going. The words had Jaskier’s fins plastered flat against his skull, and before he could too heavily debate the merits of just swimming down to get out of the scolding, he found himself yanked out of the water, a knowing look directed at the bard from the witcher’s scowling face.
Rolling his eyes with a huff, Jaskier whined about the jewels and the acoustics and the bluegills—
(seriously Geralt, I cannot eat that stew one more time—)
—as the bard turned back, not even noticing he was fully in his human form until Geralt was motioning for him to lift his arms and gently tugging his shirt over his head. Blushing fiercely in the dark cavern, he snatched his pants from Geralt before the witcher could get any ideas, getting dressed and then letting himself be corralled back upstairs and into the witcher’s own room.
Which was, blessedly, much warmer, even if Jaskier found himself keeping a wide distance from the fireplace. The bard barely noticed he was still being manhandled, until he blinked and realized he was somehow lying on Geralt’s bed, which had a lot more blankets, and was quickly heating up with two bodies in it, and—well. Jaskier was fast asleep before he could even question why he wasn’t freezing the night away in the bed he’d claimed, not that he he would have complained.
The next morning was…well, awkward, to say the least. At breakfast, Geralt made up some excuse about Jaskier getting lost that the others clearly didn’t believe, but didn’t bother to question. Not that the bard noticed much, busy running his spoon through yet more stew, and wondering if the witchers would let him help in the kitchens. Honestly, he wasn’t a great cook, but anything he could pull together was better than this.
No matter what though, he was done eating the stew. He didn’t care what Geralt said, or if it earned him yet another scolding, if his choices were between stew and that delicious, flaky fish, there was no way—
Jaskier blinked, surprised to find the bowl in front of him being replaced with a plate of oladyi, the same as Yennefer and Ciri had. Jaskier watched as Geralt placed the bowl of the horrid stuff in front of himself instead, giving Jaskier a look that had the bard wondering if it was only Yennefer who could read minds.
Grinning unrepentantly, the bard hummed under his breath as he cut himself a bite, the tune one he’d sung enough for the witcher to remember, if the way he titled his head was anything to go by. Jaskier munched happily on his new meal as Geralt’s eyes widened, before he groaned under his breath, rubbing his forehead.
The bard struggled not to choke as he bit back his laughter, finding it hilarious that Geralt had finally realized what language the bard had been singing in for years.
Better late than never, right?
