Of Blades & Buttercups

Chapter One: Venomous

Jaskiers POV

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."

The Witcher's venom filled words rang through his head, long after he had left. The sun was setting, spending nights alone in the mountains during winter was a death sentence alone, yet the bard felt he may die from some other aliment. A broken heart. Sure, him and Geralt never really got along, the man even refused to call the poet his friend. Yet, his heart still longed for him. At least it would have if it were still in tact. Yet, here he was in the middle of no where, freezing, his heart in pieces. A loud rumble rustled through the sound of chattering teeth. Right now he really wished he had brought something with him. He was starving.

   He felt tears prick at his eyes but he refused to let them escape. He wouldn't cry over some great oaf. In the end, Jaskier knew it was his fault. He couldn't help that he was so talkative and endearing, and dare he say, annoying? The bard hadn't intended to be such a burden, all he wanted was to write ballads about the great and mighty, Geralt of Rivia, the 'Butcher of Blaviken'. But all he got was yelling. And the occasional threat thrown his way. But he never took them to heart. This time was different. He saw something different in the Witcher's eyes. The raw uncultured fury raging through him. He feared he may have overstepped his boundaries the moment he'd turned on him. Malice and venom laced through his voice. The way he flashed his fangs...he never did that.

   No. Jaskier knew that today he had lost his only companion. His only friend...And it was his fault. He let the dam break, tears fell into the dirt. He stopped, knees falling to the ground with little force as he screamed. Heart wrenching sobs racked throughout his body. Fog formed around  his lips, dispersing in the air. He collapsed in a cold cloud of dust. His tears slowing, making a salty muddy mixture in the dirt.

   His sobs slowly turning into violent shivers. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks starting to freeze. This is really how I'm going to die... he thought. The bard sighed, willing to accept his fate. His once blue eyes dulled to a dark watery grey. Maybe he wasn't meant to be Jaskier, the little dainty flower who fell in love with everyone and wrote songs about wild adventures. Maybe there is only Julian. A humble man. A loyal man. A heartbroken man. He let out a chuckle.
"Well Geralt. Here's your blessing." He spoke through chattering teeth.
He closed his eyes and welcomed death graciously, laughing as he heard a howl off in the distance.

Geralt and Yennefers POV
-Next Morning

"Okay that's everything, we ready to go, Geralt?" The sorceress spoke, obviously annoyed at having to talk to the man.
"Hmm."
"You know that is a very compelling argument." She snickered, flashing her violet eyes. She looked around, confusion plastered on her face. "Hey Geralt? Why is it so quiet?" She looked over at Jaskiers tent, untouched. That confusion turned back into annoyance. "Ugh, where is your bard? He's not packed or anything. May as well leave him here." Geralt looked up from where he was tying his bedroll.
"Fuck."
"What?"
"He actually left." The Witcher flicked his eyes to the ground, baring his teeth in anger.
"What? What do you mean he left?" Yennefers voice laced with genuine concern.
"We had an argument yesterday. I said some pretty fucked up things to him." He looked away, regretting his words. He was tired, angry, slightly cock blocked, and Jaskier was the closest thing he could take his anger out on. "I didn't mean it."
"What did you say to make him want to leave? I mean, it's Jaskier. Takes a lot to get him away from you, he's like a damn puppy." Geralt closed his eyes.
"I called him a shit shoveler and the cause for all of my problems. And then." He paused. "I told him if I could have one blessing it would be to have him taken off my hands." Yen huffed.
"Well that's fucking stupid. Yes, the little shit is annoying as all hell but you were out of line. And knowing him, Geralt, he's probably halfway down the mountain, dead. Being scavenged by some animal!" Geralt grit his teeth. "Look, I never really liked him, but still. I know what it's like to be looked down upon and hated. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even him." Silence. "Look. Maybe he made it down to the village and he's alright. If we happen to find him, I will personally castrate you if you don't apologize to him." Geralt never felt fear from a woman. Then again, a very powerful witch just threatened to cut his balls off. That's enough to make even a Witcher gulp. The two finished packing and started there trek down the mountain. For once, Geralt hoped he'd run into the bard. Hoped he would come up and slap him for being such a dick. Yell at him and tell him off. He needed to see if he was alright. Deep down, though he will never admit it, Geralt loved the bard. He thought he had a beautiful voice. The way he played his lute and sang blissfully was enough to lull him to sleep. He just wanted to see him, to run into him and know he was alright.

    They didn't.