Of Blades & Buttercups

Chapter Two: Frost Bitten

Jaskiers POV

   Jaskier cracked his eyes open, shocked that they were frozen shut. He was met with dark blue hues, barely able to see in front of him. He lift his head, sniffing the air. Smoke. A campfire. Food... He was quick to his feet, swaying a bit as he learned his bearings. Snow began to fall. Sniffing the air again, he started his journey towards the inviting smell.

   In a matter of minutes he could make out the faint glow of a cottage. Jask this is by far the most stupid thing you will ever do. He was answered by a growl. The bard clutched his aching and empty stomach as the sensation shook through him. He pressed on. Here he was, at the door step of some strangers home. He stared at the door, transfixed by the delicious scent flowing out from the chimney.

   His fist rose to the door, about to knock when the cry of a horse made him jump.
"There there girl, no need to worry." Jaskier froze, his eyes locked on a small hunch-backed woman. Her hair, long and white. She looked up from where she stroked the mares muzzle. "And who might you be? Here to intrude are ye?" She made her way over the the bard with a surprisingly fast pace.
"Um No..n-no ma'am. I'm sorry to im-impose." What is he doing? I don't know her. He thought. "I..I'm-"
"Oh deary, you're blue. Come, come inside before you catch your death." He's blue?

   The old woman rushed him inside. Instantly, heat from the fireplace flooded his senses making him lightheaded. The woman grabbed his pale hand and led him over to the fire, forcing him to sit at its front. He put his hands out, the flames lapping at his frosted fingers. He looked down and gasped. He really was blue...

   "Frost bite no doubt." The woman stated. "What's yer name, sonny?" He smiled.
"J-Jaskier." She chuckled.
"You definitely strike me as a flower. As for a buttercup... I don't know." She sipped her tea. "Tell me. What's a young handsome lad like yourself doing out here. Dangerous these mountains are. Deadly when the sun sets." Another sip
"I was traveling... I got lost."
"Lying is a sin, boy. Why do you fear the truth?" He looked at her dumbfounded. Why does he?
"How did you...?"
"Someone like yourself doesn't travel alone, I take it. You look like a bard."
"That I am." He gave a small smile.
"Then where is your instrument?" Shit. How could he have left his lute! "And you have nothing on you."
"Okay fine, I was with others." He looked back towards the fire. He gulped as he remembered Geralts words. His eyes looked like the fire before him. He tore his gaze away.
"You stray away?" He sighed.
"I left."
"For heavens sake, boy. Why would you do that?" Silence. He refused to cry, not in front of this woman. What she said next broke him. "You're hurting." He gulped and looked up into her old grey eyes.
"How did..."
"I see it in your eyes. In you're actions. Whos broken yer heart, love?" He closed his eyes and looked away with a huff.
"A Witcher."
"Ah, I see. Foolish to fall for a mutant. Oh to be young and in love only to have yer heart yanked from yer chest." He gave a half-hearted laugh.
"Yeah. I guess. I never got your name?" The woman chuckled.
"Bethelda, darling." He opened his mouth to speak but his stomach did it for him, Wincing as he doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. "Heavens, why didn't you tell me you were starving?" He blinked as she hurried into the other room.

   Bethelda lit the fire and began to re-heat her dinner. Rabbit stew. Jaskiers mouth watered as the warm smell hit his nostrils. "Jaskier?" She called from the furnace. He looked up. "Would you like me to take away the pain, love? I can if you would like." Now  this question made the bard think. He was in pain. It fucking hurt like hell. It felt as though Geralts sword pierced his very own heart. He just wanted it to disappear...
"You can...? I just want it to stop...
"Of course love." She grinned, fixing him a bowl. Something changed in her eyes. She reached over to a drawer and pulled out a vile filled with thick murky liquid. She uncorked the bottle, pouring is contents entirely over the stew. She then went over to a window. A cold breeze rushed in as she opened it, flinging at its hinges. She reached down and plucked a small yellow flower from the ground. A buttercup. Plopping the flower into the stew, she gave it a stir, making sure everything was evenly mixed before she made her way back to the bard.

   "I can make it all go away." She repeated, handing over the bowl. Without thinking, Jaskier eagerly gulped down the stew. "That's it, love. All of it." She gave a laugh, smiling widely. The bowl left his lips and he sighed.
"Thank you, Bethelda. That was delicious." She looked at him, smiling. She opened her mouth and spoke, but...what is she saying? He didn't know this language. Shit.

   He felt a sharp pain in his chest, his hand instantly clutching at his shirt. "Bethelda, what was in that?!" He was pissed, the pain wouldn't stop. Her words grew louder. It felt as though his body was on fire. He was going to be sick. Jaskier doubled over, blood falling from his lips, splattering to the wooded floor. "What did you do!?" He screamed in agony as his body convulsed on the floor. Her rhythmic chanting ceased. She walked over the the bards limp body, his eyes fixated on her grin.
"I took the pain away, deary." She chuckle, bending down, now face the face with the man. "No more dainty little flower." His eyes flashed blued before rolling up in the back of his head.

   He was met with darkness.