#feralt

Jaskier: It's lovely that you want to write me poetry, but rhyme alone does not a masterpiece make. Where are we going next?

Geralt: Wintering at Kaer Morhen.

Geralt: Wanna come?

Jaskier: GODS, YES. What does a pack of wolves do to keep busy over winter, anyway?

“Get outta here, Witcher!” an old woman scowled. Her grandson, a fine young lad who would grow up to be just as calloused and jaded as she, lobbed a rather large rock in Geralt’s direction. He dodged it on instinct, not even thinking about the very fragile human who was being shielded by himself and his armor.

“Ah!” Jaskier cried out. Geralt spun to face the bard and found the palm of his pale hand clutched against the side of his head. Blood dripped from between his fingers to stain the apples of his cheeks and the collar of his doublet. His eyes were wide and watery, “G-Geralt I’m-”

“Hush, bard,” the Witcher soothed, backing them and Roach towards the woods and away from the angry mob that had gathered at the edge of town. Let the drowners have them. Let the forest swallow these people up, Geralt glared. “Let’s get some distance and set up camp. I need to take a look at that before you to go sleep.”

Another rock struck the bard on the shoulder, tearing the material of his jacket. Geralt snarled and pulled the steel sword from its scabbard without thinking. He took a few quick steps towards the gathered villagers and heard gasps of shock. 

The Witcher was seeing red and he stormed forward again. A low growl continued to filter from the center of his chest and push the crowd back. He backed towards Jaskier again and gathered him beneath the arm that wasn’t carrying the sword. 

“Geralt?”

“Let’s get you bandaged up. Then you’ll need to distract me so I don’t come back here and burn this place to the ground.”

Jaskier nuzzled against him and some of the rage faded away. 

I think Jaskier Pan would be delighted by Fairy Jaskier. They’d get along like a house on fire. Shenanigans out the wazoo. Dangerous levels of chaotic potential here.

Witcher Geralt and Jaskier Pan would warm up to each other after awhile, I’m sure. It’d definitely take a minute.

Fairy Geralt and Fairy Jaskier have a tenuous truce, since neither of them want to give up their Taller, Human-Shaped Person. They won’t actively spend time alone together but they can get along as a group.

Geralt chirped. 

Wait, what? He tried to call Jaskier’s name again but all that came out was the same, sing-song chirp. His wife appeared from around the corner of the pillow and immediately doubled over in laughter. 

“Silly ass!” he jingled brightly. Geralt could understand him. Geralt was...he was... “You’ve gone and let me shrink you on accident!”

“Huh?”

“You...oh it doesn’t matter how it works. What matters is that you’re my size now,” the fairy flitted forward and laid his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Well...almost my size. You’re still huge.”

“Hmm.”

“And I like you that way.”

“So...now what?”

“I say we eat our fill while we’re this size and then maybe build a very small pillow fort. I’d like to spend at least four or five hours today being hugged and petted,” the Witcher’s wife demanded. “And I won’t hear any complaints or we’ll never get back to normal.”

Oh, him? You mean