Meadow

Surprisingly enough, Jaskier’s fumbling attempts at speech were rewarded with a delighted giggle that warmed away the brief cold horror he’d felt. And a moment later— when the slender woman began to circle him, her pale eyes traveling appraisingly over his body— that warmth became a heat that pooled in his belly and filled his veins with fire. Flames that were fueled by the alluring scent of this female, and by the unfulfilled promise of her skin brushing against his. It was all that the bright buckskin could do to hold himself still beneath her scrutiny, betraying little of his desire but the flare of his nostrils and the molten intensity of his amber eyes. While beneath the surface— particularly in the instant that her creamy tail slapped gently against his hock— Jaskier was certain that he would combust.

But oh, what a way to go that would be.

Having completed her inspection of his faintly-quivering form, the painted mare came to a halt facing him and spoke. And while they certainly weren’t the kindest or most admiring words that Jaskier had ever been offered, they also did not come anywhere near being the cruelest. Pushing the brief memory of his sister Hyacinth from his mind— she was the last thing he wanted to think about now— the young stallion let himself be emboldened instead of humbled by his companion’s words. Tossing his sable mane and chuckling throatily, the asymmetrical curve of his smile only deepened, particularly when the nameless woman continued, addressing his suggestion. Tell me about your grotto and perhaps I will take you up on that offer.

It might not have been the effortless agreement he’d been hoping for— but it wasn’t a no, either. Elated, Jaskier met the offer of the mare’s muzzle with his own, whiskered lips skimming quickly across hers in a brazen gesture that he knew could easily end in him getting nipped. Pulling back into his own space, the buckskin’s ears cupped forward to catch the syllables of the champagne’s name as she spoke them. As far as conciliations went, this one was no greater than her noncommittal answer to exploring together— but even a small victory was still a victory. “Enya,” he repeated in the short-lived silence that followed, as much to taste the name as to ensure that his pronunciation was correct. And at the slightest gesture of approval or agreement, he settled back in to listen to her final words— aching almost as much for his own turn to speak as he was to hear what she had to say.

The immediate flames of his ardor had begun to cool when she proposed an opportunity for him to prove himself— and almost immediately, Jaskier was left breathless and burning again. After a brief pause, he regained enough control of himself to speak, but his voice husky and low and tight. “Truth be told, I haven’t seen this grotto for myself. But I’ve been told that it’s dangerous, and I believe that there's always beauty to be found in danger.” Stepping boldly forward, the brindle buckskin wound his way around Enya’s side, letting only an inch stand between the warm canvas of his skin and hers. “Perhaps we should dance now, then, to put your doubts to rest. If I prove myself capable of protecting you, after all, then you’ll have no reason to refuse me.”

His words sounded confident and careless when they fell from his lips, but Jaskier— tensing as he prepared for her response, be it physical or otherwise— was admittedly not as self-assured as he seemed.