Geralt stared at the double standing before him. The double stared back, yellow eyes sweeping over Geralt analytically. It was like looking in a mirror. Not a perfect mirror; the other Geralt's armor was a different style, less bulky at the shoulders, and his hair was held back with a leather band around his forehead rather than hanging loose. Not a dopler then. But what else could explain there being two of him?

Jaskier scrutinized his own double. The differences between them were far less subtle. "That hat–is that an egret feather?"

Dandelion tossed his head vainly, making the feather dance. "It is."

"It's stupendous."

"I know." The other bard looked over Jaskier approvingly. "That suit matches your eyes well. I'm partial to red outfits myself though, blue seems too…innocent."

"Innocence has its place." Jaskier brushed a piece of lint from his velvet suit.

"Fates have mercy, there's two of them…" Geralt muttered.

Other-Geralt laughed. "I wonder if their repertoire is the same."

"I'd wager my lute that mine is better." Dandelion strummed a chord. Jaskier puffed up at the challenge and played a complementary chord.

"You'll lose that wager, my befeathered friend. Sit back and hear my finest piece–"

"NO." Geralt snapped, a growl rising in his throat. "It's bad enough listening to one of you, I refuse to hear two!"

Other-Geralt raised an eyebrow. "You don't like his singing?"

"It's like opening a bottle of wine and finding it's turned to vinegar." Geralt ignored Jaskier's offended gasp.

Other-Geralt shrugged. "Clearly your Dandelion is inferior."

Jaskier let out an indignant squawk. "You–how dare! Geralt, defend my honor!"

"No."

"How can you stand there and do nothing while your very best friend in the world is insulted?!" Jaskier huffed.

"You're not my friend."

Dandelion leaned on his witcher's shoulder with an infuriating smirk. "It seems your Geralt is inferior as well."

Geralt's amusement vanished. He glared at his double. The man had a competitive glint in his eyes now that Geralt knew was mirrored in his own. They approached, shoulders squaring. They circled one another, sizing up their opponent.

"Shall we compare accomplishments then?" Other-Geralt proposed. "One of my finest was curing a striga–"

"In Temeria, yes, Foltest's daughter." Geralt interrupted. "One of my hardest fights. The battle felt like hours. Did you escape unscathed?"

Other-Geralt self-consciously touched a scar on his neck. "...No. She nearly killed me after she was cured. I let my guard down."

Geralt grunted, touching his own scar. "We're even there, then. What about the devil at the edge of the world?"

"Devils don't exist." Other-Geralt rolled his eyes. "It was a faun making trouble, trying to get supplies for his elf friends. They'd have killed me and Dandelion both if their goddess hadn't intervened."

"HA! My Geralt convinced them to spare us all on his own!" Jaskier gloated.

"Is that so?" Other-Geralt eyed his double. The competitive fire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something Geralt couldn't quite describe. "...Were you also able to convince Renfri to abandon her vengeance?"

Renfri's bloodstained face flashed before Geralt's eyes. He stopped his pacing. "...No," he murmured, scarcely audible. "She wouldn't listen."

"...Nor did she listen to me," Other-Geralt said quietly. Their eyes met again and Geralt finally recognized the emotion on his double's face. The pleading for empathy, for understanding. The yearning to know whether he'd been in the wrong, to know what he should have done instead. Geralt had felt that ache many times.

"...And Yen?" Geralt asked. His heart ached just thinking of the question, but he needed to ask, needed to know. "Were you and Yen…?"

He couldn't bring himself to finish it. He didn't need to; the Other Geralt understood anyway. The double shook his head, eyes clouded with the pain of past heartbreak. Geralt made a noise that was either a sigh or a snarl, he himself didn't know.

"Some things can't be changed, I suppose…" He muttered.

"Destiny isn't enough. Something more is needed."

The witchers looked at one another, silent. Then in unison, they embraced, and all animosity was forgotten.

"Let's get drunk," Geralt suggested, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulder. "Your bard can serenade us."

"Maybe your bard can learn a thing or two from him," Other-Geralt smirked.

They headed for the nearest pub. Jaskier pouted. He turned his glare on the far-too-smug Dandelion. "It's just between us two, then. Sing your best piece; I'll sing it twice as well."

"We'll see." Dandelion linked arms with his grumpy counterpart and they traipsed after their witchers.