Jaskier has been alive for a long time, has met his fair share of witchers and sorceresses and even Princesses. Some were dumb, some were smart, and some were somewhere in the middle. However, none were so completely dense that they didn't realize he wasn't human by the end of a five-year friendship.

He's known Geralt for twenty years.

Geralt still hasn't caught on.

Now, Jaskier isn't saying Geralt is dumb because the man is obviously very intelligent, but Geralt is…. Well, he's dumb. Jaskier loves him, would sacrifice immortality for him, but his witcher is very stupid.

Yennefer catches on when she and Jaskier run into each other ten years after the Djinn debacle, taking his face in her hands and looking him over with such intensity that he's tempted to run. She gives his cheek a pat when she's done, smiling.

"Does Geralt know," she asks.

"Not a clue."

"How long have you known him?"

"Nearing twenty years now." She's incredulous, no doubt remembering their head-strong buffoon with his knowledge of supernatural beings. "You're the first to really guess correctly in a while. Most just call me fae."

"They aren't entirely wrong." Geralt comes up behind them with Roach saddled and an ugly twist to his lips. That twist means he's suspicious, so Yennefer and Jaskier slip back into the familiar roles of hating each other.

That night, camped out under the stars in some forest or another, Jaskier and Yennefer decide to make a game of this.

Ciri catches on surprisingly fast, not with them even a year before she realizes that Jaskier is fae. The giggle she lets out when she learns Geralt still doesn't know is like sunshine after a month of gray skies, a wonderful sound that makes her look less hard and more like the child she really is.

She joins in on the game

There is a werewolf chasing Jaskier through the woods, its claws tearing through the earth as it propelled itself forward. He can hear Geralt somewhere far off, screaming Jaskier's name, begging him to run. Jaskier just faces front and holds out a hand, pressing it to the werewolf's head. There's a burst of magic, thunder without the sound, and the wolf is dropping to the leaves with a weak growl.

When Geralt reaches them, Jaskier is helping a teenager to his feet and combing leaves out of his hair with pale fingers. Geralt doesn't ask why Jaskier isn't dead, but there's a light in his eyes like he's finally starting to realize that his companion is something other.

Later that night, when Geralt is asleep, Jaskier tells Ciri that most werewolves can't control their shift. Jaskier hadn't cured the boy, had just granted him the knowledge he was lacking. The boy sleeps through the night, curled up close to the fire with Ciri sitting nearby to make sure he has no nightmares.

Jaskier can sense the magic in her, the silver tendrils that reach out towards him because there's a sameness about them. Tendrils of his own magic intertwine with Ciri's, a braided line of silver and blood red. The little Source doesn't know it yet, but she's got a lot of power hidden away inside of her.

Jaskier vows to keep her safe.

They're at an inn when Geralt catches Jaskier talking to Yennefer, no catty retorts or insults thrown around as was the usual. They're laughing together and Yennefer even pats Jaskier's cheek like she's fond of him. It's unnerving and he's just about to clear his throat when Jaskier turns and gives him a smile.

"Did you need something," he asks, arching his brows. Behind him Yennefer is smirking like she's daring Geralt to say something insulting. She wants him to start drama so she can stoke the flames. A few years ago, he'd say she just wants to torment Jaskier, but now she spends most of her free time tormenting Geralt while laughing with the bard.

"Yes, Geralt," she says. "Did you wish to speak with Jaskier?" There's a challenge in her eyes and Geralt is tempted to take her up on it, but he just shakes his head instead. Jaskier and Yennefer shrug in unison and head up the stairs, picking up their earlier conversation.

Hm.

It's dark out and they're alone for the first time in two years, they've just dropped Ciri off with Yennefer so she can learn to control the chaos inside of her. Jaskier and Geralt are in an old cave, a low fire burning that casts their faces in shadow. Jaskier can see Geralt's face plainly; the glow of his eyes, the hard lines of his face, the crystalline tear dripping from his chin to his armor.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he grumbles, voice a deep growl that's become so familiar to Jaskier after all these years. Geralt is scowling, but Jaskier can see right through it to the hurt under the surface.

"Tell me." Geralt's eyes flash dangerously, but the bard is too exhausted to play at being scared. "Come on, grumpy. Let it all out."

So Geralt does; he tells Jaskier of the years before he met the bard, of a wizard with malicious intentions and a young woman with all the confidence in the world and a price on her head to match it. Jaskier writes a song that very night about the Black Sun Princess, creating a hero for little girls everywhere. Renfri quickly becomes a fairytale and a warning all rolled into one.

Stegobor, on the other hand, is soon run out of Blavikan with an angry mob at his heels and he won't get any patronage for years to come. Don't trust that wizard, the people whisper. He's the one that killed the Black Sun Princess. Geralt smiles whenever he hears the song playing in taverns, and he even brags about it at the grave of a long dead priestess.

Jaskier considers it a job well done.

Jaskier's known Geralt for nearing fifty-seven years when the witcher finally catches on. He doesn't reach this conclusion on his own, Ciri helps him. It starts at breakfast one morning; their food is cold and Jaskier's complaining about the lack of wine for his birthday.

"Happy birthday," Geralt says in the usual rumble-growl that means he's pleased. "How old are you now?"

"You don't know," Yennefer asks, mock scandalized. If she weren't a sorceress, then she'd make a damn fine actress. "He's been traveling with you for years and you can't even remember how old he is? Shame on you, Geralt."

"How old is he?" Geralt looks to Ciri because she's the sweet one in their bunch and is less likely to lie. She gives him a sweet as honey smile and promptly smacks him on the hand with her fork. "What the hell was that for?"

"He's older than you are," Ciri yells at him, throwing her arms in the air. "I've been waiting years for you to figure it out, but you're just so dense! It's like when Grandmother was trying to teach me how to use a sword!" The teenager gets up and storms out of the room, leaving a flabbergasted Geralt behind. He looks to the other two at the table, shaking his head a little.

"I already know that Jaskier's a higher vampire, I just wasn't sure how old he is. For the love of Melitele, I'm not stupid."

I can't find the 'throw a rock at that wizard' post on Tumblr, but that's where the song about Renfri comes from.