Chapter Text
It's not a new development, exactly. Jaskier has always been what he is. Yes, he's gone through great pains to hide it, but it's not entirely his fault, either — he misleads people, sure, but in the end they are the ones that take him at face value. He never says that he's human, he just doesn't correct people when they say he is.
Yennefer had known from the start, of course. She had to, to heal whatever the djinn had done to him. The magic, or whatever — Jaskier isn't a mage and doesn't really care for the particulars if it won't make a good song — is made for humans and she'd had to adjust it somewhat to work on him.
People make a lot of assumptions about Jaskier and he does them no favours, doesn't make it easy for them not to, but it works in his favour. People assume that he's human, that he and Yennefer hate each other, that he's weak, and life is easy. Well, easier.
When they'd met Filavandrel and his band of Squirrels, Jaskier was sure that they would have seen right through him, right through his glamour and his feigned human stupidity. Thankfully, they hadn't — well, Filavandrel OR Toruviel might have, but certainly not the both of them. He doesn't think a human would have walked away from that with an elven lute, witcher companion or not, but he isn't really sure either. Geralt can be very persuasive.
Jaskier has always been a bit of a bastard, of course, and no one loves reminding him of that fact more than Geralt (and the big softie doesn't even try to hide his fondness when he does it anymore). The thing is, he's more than just a bit of a bastard in the way that he's something of a scoundrel — he's a bit of a bastard in the literal sense as well. He doesn't know which of his parents fucked an elf but he knows that all they got out of it was a mouthy half-breed brat and a potential scandal to hide.
He's not stupid. He knows what life is like for half-elves. The humans don't trust them for not being human, the elves don't trust them for being human. They don't fit in anywhere, and while Jaskier knows he's something of a misfit and tends to use that to his advantage as much as he can, there are no advantages to this that he can see. There's just pressure — pressure to be something he's not, something he can't. He wouldn't make as much money or fame as a bard, especially just starting out, if people knew his secret, and now that he's more well-known it would once again just be a scandal and a headache if anyone were to find out.
His parents have always cared for him, and in more than the usual distant sort of way that the nobility cares for their offspring. There was a type of love there — the type they knew, but not the type that he craved. In trying to make him feel like he belonged, they always made him feel more like he didn't.
His running theory is that they invited an elf to a threesome and he just sort of happened from it, because they both treat him like he's theirs even though without his glamour he doesn't really look like it, even though for one of them it's decidedly untrue, even though he could never be the heir that they needed. They'd always known about his wanderlust, like it was in his very blood — and maybe, to them, it was. Maybe it wasn't a personality trait so much as it was an elven thing in their eyes.
His parents are human, completely and fully, and even though they love him they can't know what it's like to be a mutt. They can't know what it's like to have to hide something like that from everyone for their entire lives, to never be able to stay in one place for long because someone will notice they aren't getting older, to never be able to take down that glamour in front of anyone. He never even felt comfortable taking it off around his parents because even though they love him he's always known that he's the product of an affair and he never wanted to remind them of it, never wanted to remind one of them that he wasn't really their son, that he was different.
Leaving home was as sad as it was freeing, at first. He does care for his parents and he always will, will always be grateful to them for everything they've done for him — the education they provided, the upbringing, the care, even though he can never be what they pretend he is. He is grateful that they didn't toss him into the woods when he was born, that they fitted him with a glamour so he wouldn't be seen as a freak, an outsider, other. Glamours aren't cheap, and they could have tried for another child instead, but they didn't. It doesn't matter which of them is his parent, really, because they both always will be. And maybe that was the point, maybe that's what they always tried to make him feel, maybe that's why they did so much for him. He doesn't know, but he loves them and he appreciates them. It's just... he can't stay with them.
They send him to Oxenfurt and he is grateful, but now it is time to make his own way in the world.
And he does. And he doesn't. He sometimes feels like he's gotten his success by feeding off of Geralt's work but at the same time, he knows that's ridiculous. Humans never appreciated Geralt like they should, like he deserves, because he's other and unlike Jaskier there's no hiding it for him. Without Jaskier's songs, the man wouldn't even be paid what he's worth, would be spit on and reviled. And yes, sometimes that still happens but damn it, Jaskier has done what he can to make sure it happens less and less. He is not some bottom feeder, some leech fattening itself on the blood of Geralt's fame, they are partners. It takes him a while to truly believe it, but it doesn't stop him from telling it to himself at night.
When he was younger, he had been taught Elder. His parents never explained why, but he has a few guesses. It could be that they want him to have some connection to his elven half. It could be that they want him to have the opportunity to live amongst the elves if he were ever to choose. It could be because they simply value education. Hell, it could be because they just think that elves are supposed to know Elder. He doesn't know, but education is education, language is a vital tool of his trade, so he takes the knowledge and holds it close to his heart, hoards it like a dragon does gold. And sometimes, when he whispers the language of his people to himself at night, it's a comfort, a soothing balm on that part of himself that he so rarely acknowledges, let alone indulges.
Yennefer knowing, at first, was something he hadn't known what to do with. She saved his life, she knew his deepest secret, she fucked his best friend — how was he supposed to feel? Admittedly, she hadn't even told him that she knew, not at first. No, she held that card very close to her lovely chest until she decided the perfect time to play it.