Work Text:
”You reek of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak!” chirped the strange young man who’d started following him.
”It’s onion,” Geralt said, mostly to get the guy off his back.
What Jaskier didn’t realize at the time was that as much as he was messing with him, Geralt was also being completely serious.
Geralt wasn’t sure what all had gone into his second round of mutations. No one was, really, except for the mages that performed it. Which was why he was stalking down the hallway six months later, catching hold of one of the mages and shoving him against the wall. (Carefully, didn’t want to upset anyone. As a recently Grassed trainee, he had some leeway when it came to his instinctive reactions, but actually letting himself turn violent without a good reason wouldn’t end well for anyone.)
The mage simply quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Geralt paused, breathing harshly through his nose, trying to work out his thoughts. He had a specific reason for this confrontation, and intimidating the man to learn what he needed to know wasn’t likely to work. Once he’d gathered up his words, he spat them out.
”Why do I smell like onions?”
The mage blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
”The other trainees. They said I smell like onions. No one else smells like onions. Means it’s just me. What did you do?” His voice dipped into a growl as he finished speaking. Geralt recognized that he was, perhaps, being a little more dramatic than the situation really required, but it was disorienting not knowing what to expect from himself—not even being able to base his expectations on the other Witchers, what with the extra grassing.
The mage paused, then snorted. “Ah. That.” He chuckled wryly. “We weren’t certain what was going to come of that particular experiment, but I assure you it’s nothing to worry about.”
That meant that it was related to his extra mutations, at least, but it still wasn’t a proper answer. Geralt growled low, getting right up in his face. “What. Did. You. Do?!”
The mage snickered at him as if this was all some big joke. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you, just back off you big lug.”
Geralt released him and backed away, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway, his arms crossed. He grunted, hoping to get his point across that it was time the mage started explaining.
The mage smirked. “Right, so, a couple decades ago, when we first began developing the experimental mutations, someone—I think it was Hames?—had the idea that if we added some plants into the Grasses, perhaps we could make Witchers that wouldn’t need to eat as often, and could subsist on sunlight. Most of us were a bit drunk at the time, and we all came to an agreement that it would be a good trait to add, if it worked.
Well, once we sobered up a bit, we realized it was probably a stupid idea, so we scrapped it at the time. But the further we got into the experiments, the more the idea just wouldn’t leave us alone, and—we were curious. You know how it is, you get some ridiculous idea, but the longer you think about it the more interesting it seems, and-“
Geralt interrupted him. “Are you saying, what—I don’t just smell like onions, I am an onion?”
The mage grinned. “More or less. Emphasis on the less, of course, it’s not as though it was a primary feature, and we added a couple other plants besides—the onion was just the one that predominated during the experiment. We’re fairly certain it’s what really turned your hair white, you know—that’s where the smell tends to be the most…pungent.”
”Hmm.” Geralt wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore, but…”What other plants did you use?”
”Oh, let’s see…dandelion, for hardiness, common grass for collecting energy from sunlight, a bit of hemlock to make your potions more potent…”
Jaskier gaped at Geralt in disbelief. “You mean to say that when we met, and I told you you smelt of onion—“
”Hmm.” Geralt dragged the bathing cloth over his shoulder and down his arm.
”And then you told me it was onion-“
”Mhm.” Geralt dipped the cloth back into the water to rinse, then went over his chest and neck to collect the sweat left from his most recent fight. “Sometimes the best way to lie about something is to tell the truth.”
Jaskier stared for a long moment, then shook himself and sat back on his heels. “Well! It’s not every day you find out your friend is part plant. What ever shall I do with this knowledge? I can’t put it into a song, certainly—no one would ever believe it, and I’d rather not be laughed out of the inn-“
”Jaskier.”
”And what would I even say in such a piece? The White Wolf stood in the sun, and so regained his strength, then dug his roots into the earth and rested at great length? No, no, that’s terrible, it’s not even a good rhyming scheme…”
”Jaskier-”
”Besides, I don’t even know if you can gain strength from standing in the sun—you never exactly mentioned whether or not that stupid experiment actually worked-”
”Jaskier!”
”Yes, Geralt, what is it?”
Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but found that he had forgotten what he was going to say. He huffed. “…pass me the hair oil,” he grumbled instead.
”Ohhhh, no, no I don’t think so.”
It was Geralt’s turn to stare at Jaskier. “What? Why?”
Jaskier reached out a finger and poked him in the chest. “This is a rose oil! It won’t pair well with your natural scent! I mean really, roses and onions? No, no, you’re far better off with rosemary oil.”
”We don’t have any rosemary oil.”
”So we’ll get some! But I won’t have you going around smelling of things that don’t complement your natural scent. Honestly, what sort of a friend do you take me for?”
The kind I’ll never deserve, Geralt thought. The sort who would worry about whether the scents I’m using work with the scents I give off naturally, instead of trying to cover them up.
He kept this observation to himself, however, reaching for the hair oil himself just so he could see Jaskier squawk and hold it away from him.
And if there happened to be a bottle of rosemary oil tucked into Geralt’s pack when they left town a few days later, well.
It was only practical, wasn’t it?