In the Palm of Your Hand (pt 1)
Based on This Prompt from the lovely @major-trouble
no trigger warnings necessary (1.4k words)
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In the aftermath of the Great Shrinking Spell Incident, Geralt is endlessly glad that Jaskier was there to keep him safe.Â
In the moment when both sorceresses scream a loud spell and launch their magic into the air with no consideration for the Witcher standing between them, however, Geralt wishes that Jaskier were standing in nearly any other room on the Continent. As the two opposing walls of chaos close around him and slam together, Geralt watches the world go wrong and wavy and odd around him. Everything inside him feels like itâs being compressed beneath two fully-grown wyverns. Heâs being crushed. Heâs being compacted. Heâs being squished in on himself.
In the pain and confusion of two fully formed spells taking hold, Geraltâs body blesses him with sweet unconsciousness.
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When he wakes up things feel...wrong.Â
His body is pillowed against something soft and warm and heâs covered from shoulder-to-toe with a huge, heavy blanket. When he sits up, his head spins and he groans, clutching at it with both hands and blocking out the light with the heels of his palms. âJaskier?â
âGeralt!âÂ
The thing heâs laying on shifts and suddenly Jaskierâs scent is overwhelming. He drops back against the pillow (because that has to be what heâs resting on top of) and cries out in real, legitimate fear. His best friend and traveling companion is towering over him, looking nervous. âFuck! Jaskier, what the fuck!?âÂ
âDonât panic,â the bard soothes. His own lip is being bitten to shit between his front teeth and he holds up his hands as if surrendering. âI think it was those two crazy witches. After they did, uhm, this to you, they told me how to break both spells. It shouldnât be too hard; weâll just have to find our way to Yen sooner rather than later. Weâll get you back to your dangerous Witchering in no time.â
âWhy do we need to see Yennefer?â Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier hated Yen. The two of them couldnât be in a room together for more than five minutes before they started tearing each other apart either physically, verbally, or both at once. Then Geralt remembered that he was sitting down on the pillow as if it were a great bed. âOh...right. She can probably undo it with some kind of counter-spell or something.â
âNot exactly,â Jaskier shrugs. âBut close enough. The spells got kind of...twisted together, apparently. Youâre stuck being pixie-sized until your true love can get her lilac and gooseberry lips on you.â
âOh.â
âMhm. Iâm just glad your clothes shrunk with you. Iâve already started sewing up another suitable change for however long youâre in your current form. These need to be cleaned soon, anyway. I hope to be finished with your sleep-shirt by nightfall,â Jaskier rambles nervously. âBut clothes arenât that important now, are they? You see, my plan is to deliver you safely into Yenneferâs loving arms at that magically hidden manor house of hers and head to Oxenfurt for the remainder of the season. I figured that you two might want to have some nice alone time before winter arrives and chases you off to Kaer Morhen.â
âSounds like a good plan.â
The Witcher is thankful that his small size hasnât seemed to change the pitch of his voice. If he had become a squeaky, pixie-like creature in all regards he would have died of shame long before getting toâŚ
Well why had Jaskier assumed that Yenneferâs kiss would break the spell?
âWhy do you think Yen can break the spell?â
âItâs True Loveâs Kiss, Geralt. Try to keep up,â Jaskierâs voice is high and teasing but thereâs an undercurrent of resigned sadness that the Witcher doesnât understand. He breathes in deeply again, trying to find a clue, and notices that his companionâs usually bright and sunny scent has changed. Rather than the bardâs signature whirling notes of rose and lavender, the bard is surrounded by a cloud of bitter, acrid disappointment. Jaskier suddenly squares his shoulders and shoots Geralt a grin that doesnât reach his eyes at all. The bitterness hasnât disappeared from the air, either. âSurely nobody else will be able to break the spell, dear Witcher. Youâve been chasing after our good Lady Yennefere for nearly a decade, now, at least.â
âHmm.â
âEloquent as ever, Thumbelina.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â Geralt huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest in an attempt to look menacing but he surmises that he must look rather adorable like this because Jaskier doesnât look properly chastised at all. In fact, he looks about two seconds away from picking the minuscule Witcher up and nuzzling him like a kitten. Jaskier had referred to his behavior around small animals and children once as cute aggression.Â
âI just canât help but pet these puppies so ferociously, Geralt, theyâre just too sweet and little!â
âHave you never heard the tale of Thumbelina and her handsome Prince? Or in this case, sorceress?â
Geralt crosses his legs underneath him and pats the pillow invitingly. Jaskier lays down and turns to face the Witcher, whoâs reclining back against the bedding once again. The bard tells his tiny friend the story of Thumbelina and the Prince who gives her wings, adding in some extra cute bits that he knows Geralt will sigh about later when heâs alone.
By the time heâs finished telling his Witcher a bedtime story, Geralt is dozing lightly. Jaskier pulls a few of the nicest scraps of velvet leftover from re-trimming Sexyâs case a few weeks ago and layers them atop his tiny Witcher. He runs the tip of his finger up and down his companionâs tiny, delicate spine with the utmost care and focus.Â
As Geralt slips into a relaxed and heavy sleep he thinks: Iâm not sure Yen will be able to break the curse after all, Jaskier; but how do I tell you how I feel without losing you completely?Â
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Jaskier appears back in the room the next morning at dawn, having already gone and gathered up a large silver punch bowl and some other odds-and-ends. Mostly sewing supplies, it looks like. He pours a pitcherful of steaming hot water into the silver dish and gives his companion a sincere apology, âSorry, Geralt, but this was the closest I could find to a fairy-sized bathtub. Hereâs a sliver of my almond soap. I hope it doesn't smell too strongly. Uhm...yeah. Iâll leave you to it, then.â
Geralt looks between Jaskier and the âtubâ heâs been offered. âI wonât be able to get out by myself.â
âHuh?â
âI can climb up just fine but donât think Iâll be able to get out of this thing without some assistance,â the Witcher clarifies. Jaskier blushes furiously Geralt cannot fathom why. Theyâve seen each other (and other people, he imagines) in their bare skin plenty of times. Usually the bard went about his usual business but now he looked like a deer caught in the light of a hunterâs disorienting lantern.Â
âDo you need my help?â
â...Yes. If you donât mind, of course. Iâm afraid I might slip and fall headfirst off the table. Otherwise, if you donât mind dampening a cloth, Iâll just wipe myself down in my smalls and consider it done with.â
âOh no,â Jaskier insists. âI didnât make up the worldâs weirdest lie about moonlight druid rituals to borrow this ornate punch bowl bathtub for you, my little Witcher.â
âFine. But turn away while I undress.â
Jaskier does, but wonders why. Geralt has never asked him to look away before. Has he offended the Witcher somehow? He hears a quiet, contented sigh and turns back to see that Geralt has managed to clamber his way into the punch bowl just fine. âWould you like me to wash your hair?â
âYouâre likely to squish me.â
âYouâre probably right,â Jaskier sighs. He moves across the room and lays back down on the bed, curled in around himself with his back to Geralt. âCall when youâre ready to be lifted out. Donât want you slipping and dying doing something silly.â
âHmm. Thank you again, Jaskier.
âOf course, dear heart. Anything for you.â
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When Geralt has been dried and dressed in the new, somewhat clumsy nightshirt Jaskier sewed for him, the bard lays him back down on the pillow.Â
âGoodnight, little Witcher.â
âHey!â
Jaskier smirks and covers Geralt up with his many layers of soft velvet.Â
âGoodnight, Geralt.â
âGoodnight, Jaskier.â
And if Geralt feels truly and unarguably safe for the first time in years, tucked in tightly and wrapped with scraps of material that smell so sweetly of his bard, then thatâs nobodyâs business but his.Â













