Did I potentially make up several things about this world for this story? Yes. Did I do as much research to make it fit the best I could? Also yes. I hope y'all enjoy :) This fic is inspired by two artworks of Spielzeugkaiser on tumblr. The artwork is theirs. We aren't the same person! It was also inspired by a post from bamf-jaskier on tumblr.

One of the many things Jaskier has learned over the years was that Geralt of Rivia was a curiously oblivious individual.

He'd come to this conclusion within moments of meeting the infamous Witcher. How could he not smell the teeming Old Magic that Jaskier knew was a permanent fixture of his own scent?

And secondly, how was he so blind to the fact that Jaskier had been flirting with him? Somehow, this managed to offend the bard even more. On the rare occasion that his looks hadn't been the center of attention, at least his more troublesome talent had been.

Except, apparently, in regards to this Witcher.

Common sense tried to tell him that this was a good thing, seeing as the last Witcher who'd discovered his talent had held a sword to his throat until Jaskier's...friends had helped him flee. His heart cried out that Geralt's obliviousness needed to be remedied at any cost.)

His common sense won out the first time he slipped up.

It was on the way back from Dol Blathanna that he first had the need to feel worried of how Geralt of Rivia would react to his supernatural talents. The fields surrounding them had seen bloody and hate-filled days, once. Jaskier knew this– he was even including it in every chorus and the later verses of what would be his most celebrated success.

Perhaps part of him had expected it. Jaskier saw the movement from the corner of his eyes and instantaneously his thoughts went Oh shit, not again!

There was a body reaching out to him from where it was half-submerged in the dirt at the edge of the path. Its skin was withered and gray and its clothing tattered and stained with blood. Dirt flaked off its form and cascaded down to the ground, leaving small piles beside it that were not unlike burial mounds.

"You called for me, master?" It croaked, white eyes staring up at him as it pulled itself forward, fingers clawing at the mud. "The legion of the dead is…"

Jaskier glanced worriedly at Geralt and Roach, hoping they hadn't noticed anything yet. They'd kept walking and were now many paces in front of him. Good. He'd keep it that way. He didn't want Geralt to find out like this, so soon.

"Shush!" He urged hurriedly, swinging his lute strap over his shoulder to rest against his back. He was then free to put his hands on its head and shoulders to push it back into the ground. "Rest now."

The corpse followed his touch and order fluidly, sinking back beneath the ground. Jaskier let out a relieved sigh as he paused with his hands on his knees for a moment before jogging ahead to catch up to Geralt.

He wasn't a moment too late. Geralt and Roach had both paused and turned to wait for him, and while Roach seemed ambivalent, Geralt's yellow eyes staring into him with curiosity. Jaskier felt his eyebrows furrow in question. It was always hard to tell what the Witcher was thinking, and now was no exception.

"Is something the matter?" Jaskier asked, pulling a smile to his face to try and deflect any suspicion.

Geralt hummed. "It was quiet. You stopped playing," he added, his gaze flickering quickly to the lute still strapped to Jaskier's back.

Jaskier found his hand inadvertently raising to brush his fingers gently against his lute's headstock. "Oh." He glanced down at his feet and then back up at Geralt, a truer smile now gracing him. "I'm sorry to have disappointed, then! Would you like to begin again?"

Geralt didn't answer him verbally, but the softening of his brow and miniscule quirk of his mouth was enough of an agreement for Jaskier. And so off they went, Jaskier singing his song with the percussion of Roach's heavy hoofs and Geralt's steady breathing a soothing pattern in the background.

They'd been on the road for quite a while by this point. Jaskier had travelled with Geralt for a few days at first, promising to leave when they reached the next large town. The days had turned into weeks, the next town turned into the next kingdom. Before either of them knew it, Jaskier had been at Geralt's (and Roach's) side for the better part of a year.

On this particular night, Geralt had stopped them at a little clearing just out of sight of the road so they could set up camp. Jaskier had left Geralt behind to tend to Roach while he went to start up a fire. He'd become good at tasks like this in the past months, even to the point that he'd feel comfortable doing so if left on his own.

With the fire lit and a spare bundle of sticks set at his side, Jaskier pulled his lute off of his back and began to hum a tune as he sat watching the fire flicker. He was working on a new song, wondering if certain chords should go up or down, if it should be more joyful or morose. His song in remembrance of Geralt's valor had quickly spread through the patchwork of travellers that crisscrossed the continent, and he was not sure which mood would be best fitting for his next ode.

His wandering mind had distracted him from the exact notes he was playing, and thus he did not notice he had sung words in the Devil's Tritone until he heard a low groan and felt a nudging at his knee. He first brushed it off as inconsequential and opened his eyes to look down at whatever woodland critter had come upon his lap–

Jaskier had to hold in a yelp as he saw the rotted hand that was tapping against his leg. He tossed his lute aside, climbing onto his knees as he tried to force the limb back into the ground. His motion freed the area where he had previously been sitting, allowing a skull to emerge in the spot. Not again...

"Master!" It hissed, almost excitedly. "We heard you."

Jaskier looked over his shoulder, hoping that Geralt was still busy with his horse. Luckily, the man's back was turned, and while Roach had seen him, the horse just huffed lightly.

"You need to go again, Geralt can't see you!" He said in a whisper, his hand covering his mouth as he bent over to be closer to the summoned leader.

It sounded a combination of sad and confused as it slowly responded. "Hide?"

Thank goodness, at least someone listened to him. "Yes, please!"

He watched the skull sink beneath the ground and sat up with a relieved sigh, only to tense immediately at the sound of Geralt calling to him. "Jaskier, did you hear something?"

Jaskier kept his front facing his still-crackling campfire, not wanting to turn and allow Geralt to see the clear panic he was sure he clearly showed. "No, nothing but the fire!" He chuckled weakly, glaring briefly at the dirt as he felt the vibrations of the skull's laughter before the Old Magic left it and it fell still once more.

His hand reached out and patted the ground aimlessly for several moments before he felt the wood of his lute and pulled it back onto his lap. Just in time too, as Geralt stumped over and sat down next to him. The Witcher had a pair of dead rabbits in hand that they had caught earlier, and now with a fire, they were able to be skinned and cooked.

"Everything alright?" The white haired man rumbled as he worked to ready the meat for the fire. Jaskier continued to mindlessly pluck at the strings as he thought, creating a broken tune that hung in the air.

"Fine, thank you! I was just wondering, what you thought should be my next pièce de résistance…"

And so things settled into normalcy once more, and Jaskier allowed himself to relax as he prattled on, with Geralt's interjecting hums and grunts easing the stress from him. It was just another day on the road for the Witcher and his bard.

Jaskier had done well at keeping his use of the Old Magic to a minimum after that, only purposefully calling upon it when he was separated from Geralt. On the occasions that they did part, the first thing the bard would do was head as far away from civilization as possible and bury his toes in the dirt, singing loudly and relishing the feel of the Old Magic caressing his skin. Corpses and skeletons would dance with him under the light of the moon.

He escaped any notice from common folk and supernatural alike for longer than he would've thought possible and eased into a sense of security over his routine. Never mentioning it and always holding it in until he was alone and could unleash the energy safely.

The first time he ever truly worried about being found out by anyone other than Geralt was ten years after they'd met.

It did not end up being the feast Jaskier had agreed to play for. What started as a celebration of a rather brutal battle and of Princess Pavetta of Cintra reaching her majority had turned into the activation event of Pavetta's Hen Ichaer– her Elder Blood.

He didn't have to pretend about being thrown back from the shockwave of her magical release. He did have to make it seem like he was pinned down by the high winds she produced, though he kept a careful eye on Geralt. If the Witcher couldn't break through with his powers, then Jaskier would summon skeletons touched by his greater magic.

Geralt had saved the day though and broken the Princess from her own spell… although of course he'd gone and mucked it up by claiming the Law of Surprise on the unborn heir. He was subsequently banned from the kingdom, leaving Jaskier to gather their things and follow after him.

His hidden identity took its second hit when the Wicked Witch of the East showed up.

Alright, so she wasn't really wicked. Yennefer of Vengerberg certainly was a witch, though, flaunting her powers all over the place. He knew his real dislike for her stemmed from the fact that she knew what he could do.

Well, that and the fact that she was at the center of Geralt's attention whenever she was around. He had enough self-awareness to admit he was jealous.

"I know what you are," she'd murmured in that bedroom where he'd awoken, healed from the djinn's spell. "A bard who weaves Old Magic with his songs. Funny, that." Her eyes glinted a dangerous magenta as she tilted her head to the side, observing him. "Does your pet Witcher know?"

His eyes narrowed in return as he hummed his haunting tritone in warning. They were too far off the ground for it to have summoned anything (unless the mayor had any literal skeletons in his closet), but the Old Magic could be felt swirling in the air around him as a result. "He's known me more than fifteen years and it's never been an issue," he shot back.

That's the conclusion he had come to, at least. Geralt of Rivia was a well-known and highly competent Witcher. There was no way he didn't know of Jaskier's talent. He just assumed Geralt had noticed it and found it unworthy of any mention, seeing as Jaskier had never summoned anything while they were together. So Jaskier had shrugged it off and done his best not to give his Witcher any cause to hunt him.

Yennefer had stopped her approach at his words and song. Even magical users were wary of the Old Magic and its bearers. "Alright, you've made your point," she said with a roll of her eyes and wave of her hand. "Truce. I healed you, so I've held to my end of the bargain. Just say your third wish so the djinn can be free of you, and you'll be on your way."

He'd sighed dramatically, done as she'd asked, and thought that was the last he'd seen of her.

Of course Geralt would bind Yennefer's fate with his own. Now Jaskier, an innocent bystander, would never be rid of her.

He was wondering why he even bothered to keep his powers a secret from the world when a third person brought them up.

Jaskier knew Geralt was destined to be joined by the Lion Cub of Cintra, his Child of Surprise, at some point, but he was nevertheless shocked when he joined up with the two as they headed north. Geralt had gone out to hunt something for the three of them while Jaskier had fallen into his old routine of setting up camp and making a fire. He'd instructed Ciri to gather extra kindling.

When the pale girl had returned, her fingers had brushed against his when handing over the wood and her eyes had flared with light. Something deep within Jaskier wanted to both pull away from the girl and protect her at the same time; everything in him screamed that she was a threat and yet sacred.

She stumbled backwards from him before looking up with wide eyes. "What are you?" She breathed raggedly, clutching her hand to her chest. The wood lay forgotten on the ground.

Jaskier could feel the magic and power crackling in the air between them. "I could ask you the same thing," he scoffed, before scolding himself. She was only a child, an orphan of her family and now of her kingdom as well. She wouldn't understand. He lowered himself slowly to the ground, raising his hands to show he wasn't going to harm her. "I can harness the Old Magic," he explained. "I know your mother and grandmother both have Elder Blood, so I know you do as well. But there's something different there, too."

As Ciri nodded, he felt the active energy between them fade to a tiny, almost unnoticeable vibration. They would definitely need to remain calm around each other. "Geralt says we're going to someone who can train me," she said. "It's not you?"

Jaskier shook his head as he began to regather the kindling, smiling widely when Ciri knelt to help. "No, he never mentions my talent, so I don't either. It works for us." He shrugged as they both stood again. "Oh, you have a bit in your hair. May I?" Once she agreed, he reached out to unwind the twig wrapped in her long locks.

"My grandmother used to brush and braid it," she mumbled sadly. "I haven't… I haven't done it since she died."

Jaskier took the branches from her arms and set them all a safe distance away from the fire. "Well, if you like… I have a comb– sometimes Geralt lets me use it to get monster clumps out of his hair– and I could brush yours. Only if you feel up to it!" He added in a rush, not wanting to pressure her.

Ciri's shy smile was answer enough, but she verbally confirmed it as well. "Yes, please."

And that's how Geralt found them when he came back to camp: Jaskier combing Ciri's shimmery hair in the darkening twilight.

Jaskier hadn't known what to expect when they reached Kaer Morhen, but being slammed roughly into a wall wasn't on his list of possibilities.

"Geralt," his attacker snarled, speaking to the Witcher despite having his face inches away from Jaskier. "Why the fuck would you bring something so dangerous into Kaer Morhen?"

"Vesemir, what are you talking about?! Ciri's not dangerous, she's learning control! Let Jaskier go!" He could hear the simmering rage in Geralt's voice despite the fact that he couldn't see his Witcher.

The sides of Jaskier's vision were starting to fade as the hand around his throat tightened, so he clamped his eyes shut as he managed to sing out the Devil's Tritone, knowing it had worked when the pressure on his neck vanished and he fell to the ground in a gasping heap. He could feel a set of skeletal hands on either shoulder helping support him, and he assumed more had been successfully summoned from the furious swears of his attacker. Jaskier weakly looked up and indeed found two more corpses standing in front of him, swords held in Vesemir's direction.

"Master! We heard your call!" The one holding him exclaimed, sounding proud.

"I meant the bard, clearly," the old man hissed, not allowing his gaze to stray from Jaskier's protectors. "A necromancer of Old Magic."

Jaskier let his head turn to find Geralt staring at him in blatant shock. Ciri was peeking out from behind his back, clearly confused by the situation. To be honest, so was Jaskier. He shakily rose to his feet and stumbled towards Geralt, almost falling again. Thankfully, his friend's reflexes overrode his surprise and he reached out automatically to wrap his arms around Jaskier's waist and hold him upright.

"Thanks," Jaskier coughed, his voice raspy and sore. He looked up at Geralt to find a thunderous expression aimed at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?! We've known each other for twenty three fucking years!" He growled, Jaskier feeling the vibrations more than hearing the actual words.

"What? Geralt, I thought you knew! Can't you smell the Old Magic on me?!"

"What are you talking about?"

His eyes flickered to look over Geralt's shoulder, where Ciri was. "Ciri's not even trained but she could sense my powers!" He met Geralt's gaze again, annoyance beginning to replace his confusion. "You only talk about important things but since you never brought it up, I thought it wasn't important to mention!"

Geralt's anger slowly melted away as he absorbed Jaskier's argument. His grip became loosened and his brow smoothened out as he brought the brunet closer to his chest. Jaskier was sure his soul had left his body when Geralt buried his face in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply several times– perhaps both to calm himself and to scent Jaskier.

"Oh," the Witcher said finally, sounding much more settled now. "Old Magic. And death."

Jaskier wrinkled his nose at that description. "Thanks for the compliment," he said dryly.

"I never noticed it," Geralt continued as he pulled away, eyes wide. Now it was his turn to be confused. "It was underneath the scent of fire and wildflowers."

Vesemir's scoff dragged the two out of the little bubble of their own world. "Young love, these days," he muttered.

"I know, right?" Ciri piped up with a smug grin as she approached the man. "Jaskier, can you call off your magic? I'm not sure how to undo it yet." She gestured towards the skeletons, who were still keeping Vesemir from approaching.

"Oops. Rest now, and thank you," he said, imbuing power into his words. One of the bodies waved as the three sank back into the ground to their original graves.

"Right! Vesemir, yes? Could you show me around?" She smiled innocently as she led the man off into the keep, tossing a wink over her shoulder before she left.

With them gone, Jaskier turned back to Geralt, ready to quip something and lighten the situation. He wasn't given the chance to as Geralt leaned forward in a rush and crushed his lips against Jaskier's. Their kiss was hot, rough, filled with two decades of pent-up passion on Jaskier's end, and a whirlwind of newfound emotions on Geralt's.

Jaskier had to end it sooner than he wanted to, but being choked meant he needed air more quickly than normal. By Geralt's expression, it was clear that he understood but was nowhere near ready to let him go anytime soon. The Witcher gave him a moment to catch his breath before swooping in to captivate his attention once more.

If he'd known this was how Geralt would respond, he would've told him about it years ago. Lesson learned, indeed.