Imagine Elf!Jaskier who wears a glamour, because he ran away from home when he was a kid and elves don’t actually reach maturity until around 70 to 80 years old. But he doesn’t want to be recognized, so he ages himself up considerably, and uses a bit of magic to get an education at Oxenfurt. Inevitably though, he gets bored of learning and sitting around all day (as children often do), so he decides to become a traveling bard.
And Jaskier is a little surprised that no one actually notices he’s a child disguised as an adult, but he has always been called mature for his age. Plus, part of the reason he left his home in the first place was because he wasn’t allowed to be a kid, so it makes sense in a way that he’s so good at playing his part. It helps that he’s able to use his magic to give himself an image of a human with very strong…carnal, desires. That part was actually a lot easier than he’d thought it would be, as memory-altering magic was one of the first things he’d learned from his tutors with his former family.
The biggest problem he’d come across was that his glamour didn’t seem to hold if he used his magic. Which had been a fun little bit of information to learn when he’d saved a mother and her child from a group of robbers at 17 and promptly had to run away in the night when they wouldn’t let him leave. Something about him looking no older than four years old, which Jaskier at the time thought was silly as he hadn’t been an infant for years.
So he’d been sure to never use his magic around anyone he didn’t plan on spelling, after that. He’d been a little concerned that Geralt would notice he doesn’t age, due to the simple nature of the glamour, but it seemed as long as he changed his hair and clothing often enough he could mimic the effect of growing older. Sort of. It probably helped that the witcher just…didn’t care all that much what the bard did as long as he wasn’t causing trouble or making noise.
Which was fine, really. Jaskier wasn’t looking for a family when he decided to follow Geralt around. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him when he was sick or to fawn over every scratch and bruise. He just—just wanted someone to want him, to want Jaskier, and told himself that would be enough. To be wanted, if not cared for or loved.
Which made the current situation of traveling with Ciri, Yennefer, and Geralt more than a little painful. Not only did the witch not seem to want him around, but Geralt seemed to care more about keeping the peace than defending the bard from the witch’s cruel barbs. Which was fine, really, he could handle a few mean words. He wasn’t a child—in their eyes, at least.
And maybe he was a little jealous of Ciri, of the way that she was practically showered in the care and kindness that he’d so desperately craved and never seemed to find. He found himself wondering, at night, why his parents hadn’t seemed to view him as Geralt and Yennefer viewed Ciri. Considered that maybe he was the problem, if the way the witch and witcher treated him in comparison to the princess was any indication.
But even though he didn’t favor Ciri the way his other traveling companions did, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t risk anything to save her. Jaskier was a little surprised at how easy it was to come to the decision to break his cover when the group found themselves captured by Nilfgaardian soldiers, the other three in demeritium cuffs. There was no true reason not to, he realized as his form shrunk due to throwing the nearest soldier into a tree with a crack. Yennefer was part elf, Geralt didn’t have any prejudice against other races, and Ciri seemed to actually favor non-human beings if her choice in bedtime stories/songs was any indication.
And the Nilfgaardians? Well, he didn’t plan on leaving any alive to spread rumors.
Thus, when the bard finished his rampage, he found himself rather glad that he’d been wearing red already as he wandered around, looking for the keys to the cuffs. He could hear his traveling companions asking him questions, but honestly, he was feeling rather tired after using so much magic at once, and was not at all in the mood for an interrogation. So he threw the keys to Geralt, shivered a bit as his glamour reformed itself, and said something about finding Roach as he stumbled away.
He must have looked truly awful when he came back with the mare, because Geralt insisted he ride Roach as they left the bloodied clearing. Which was…very strange, as only Ciri had been allowed to ride the horse in their travels the past few months. Not to mention that even before Ciri, riding the witcher’s mare was an occasion saved for when the bard was actively dying, or close to it.
But Ciri and Yennefer didn’t seem upset by Geralt’s offer, and Jaskier wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth (he mentally chuckled, too tired to actually laugh at the irony), so he climbed onto her before anyone could change their minds. And Jaskier must have been a lot more exhausted than he thought, because the next thing he knew, he was lying on his bedroll next to a roaring fire, with Geralt handing him a rather large portion of rabbit and bread.
Which Jaskier would have loved to eat, but the intense stares of his traveling companions made his stomach twist in on itself in painful knots, so he found himself setting aside the food as he explained…well, everything. He glossed over the bit about why he left his home as a child, not exactly wanting to go into the details, but explained about the glamour and why it had temporarily dropped.
To his surprise, the first question after he finished talking was if maintaining the disguise had any negative side effects. Jaskier just kind of…blinked, at Yennefer, his head tilted as he tried to figure out the motivation behind the inquiry. But the witch seemed oddly sincere, so Jaskier shook his head, explaining that it just didn’t work due to the two separate magics canceling it out for some reason.
And then there were a lot of other strange questions that left Jaskier even more confused. Yes, his form earlier was his true age. Yes, he was aware that he looked to be around nine or ten years old in human years. No, his mentality didn’t change between forms. No, his glamour wasn’t attached to his body, it was maintained through wearing his ring. Yes, he could remove the glamour if he wanted to do so temporarily, though he didn’t see the point. No, his glamour didn’t change based on if he slept, ate, etc., not unless he wanted it to do so. And no, he’d never actually spent the night with anyone, Melitele help him Geralt, he hadn’t even technically hit puberty yet, gross!
The witcher and witch looked far more relieved at that than Jaskier thought they should, but whatever. At least it seemed to signal the end of the weird line of questioning, which Jaskier was thankful for, as he was rather hungry and tired.
Jaskier woke up the next morning, thinking that would be it and everything would go back to normal, but it…didn’t? Because Yennefer stopped being…well, mean, for lack of a better word, Geralt didn’t yell at him like usual for sleeping in, and Ciri was strangely insistent that he ride Roach again today.
It was bizarre, though not as strange as Yennefer and Geralt’s insistence that he not wear his glamour when they were traveling between towns. He tried to point out that he wouldn’t be able to travel as fast with his shorter legs, and that he might attract unwanted attention, but they waved away his concerns easily, claiming he could always ride Roach and wear a cloak.
Needless to say, Jaskier was so busy reeling from those words that he missed their explanation for why he shouldn’t always have the glamour up. Something about not being able to tell if he was eating enough or wounded, which was even weirder, as just two days ago they seemed fine trusting him to take care of himself. And when he tried to point this out, they both looked so painfully sad that Jaskier just took the ring off, deciding it wasn’t worth the headache of analyzing their reactions.
If Jaskier thought that the weird change would last a day or two at most though, he was sorely mistaken. It seemed that even though Jaskier hadn’t actually been de-aged overnight, that didn’t stop the others from treating him as the child they now knew him to be.
Which was…nice, in some regards. He got to ride Roach more, for one, and when he asked if they could take a break, or complained about being hungry, tired, cold, hot, Yennefer and Geralt didn’t just roll their eyes like usual.
Honestly, the first time he whined about his feet being sore, a common complaint due to his fabulous boots that weren’t necessarily made for traveling, he’d expected to be ignored. Or for Geralt to once more say something about spending his coin on practical footwear rather than a new doublet. But the witcher had looked between where Ciri was napping on the mare being led by Yennefer, back to Jaskier, and asked if the bard wanted to be carried. Jaskier’s jaw had practically dropped to the forest floor at that, and it took Geralt lumbering forward to see if he was okay to break the elf out of his daze. He waved the witcher away, muttering something about being fine as he hurried to catch up with Yennefer, not ready to even try to process whatever….that, was.
But Jaskier couldn’t deny that it was…nice, being carried, when the bard slipped and twisted his ankle while washing in a river a month later. Weird, and definitely foreign, but nice nonetheless.
Still, he didn’t need Yennefer to waste her magic fixing his ankle, not when it would be fine in a day or so. He rolled his eyes at the way she insisted he join her and Ciri for magic lessons, ignoring how pleasant it felt to be included. He tried and failed to reject the larger portions of food Geralt and Yennefer kept forcing on him, something about how he looked too skinny in his true form.
However, not all changes were so pleasant and unobtrusive. Both Yennefer and Geralt had nearly had a fit when at the next town he’d said he was off to the market to try to earn some coin while Geralt took a contract and Yennefer and Ciri stayed at the room they’d acquired. It took the bard pointing out he’d defended himself fine for 25 years, and that they needed the money for supplies, for them to reluctantly let him go.
Not to mention how they kept stealing his ale, doing their best to keep him from alcohol in general as if, again, he hadn’t been drinking for the last quarter of a century. He found more than a little pleasure at the way the witch and witcher could do little more than glower when a particularly adoring fan would give him their own drink. If they didn’t like it, than they shouldn’t look, it’s not as if he needed someone to babysit him through his set at every. Single. Tavern.
Though it was…a little nice, he’d admit, how they’d drag him away from any admirers that got a little too handsy. He appreciated how Yennefer would keep up his rouse, pretending to be interested in spending a night with him so that he could maintain his reputation.
It was all weird, and confusing, but as the days, weeks, months passed, it became a new normal. Jaskier got used to a calloused hand ruffling his hair, goodnight forehead kissses when he was on the verge of sleep, and waking up to an extra blanket covering him on particularly chilly nights.
It wasn’t like anything he’d ever known before, and he wasn’t sure how long it would last. But it was nice, and it was his, and that was really all that mattered to him.
All he’d ever wanted, really.
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