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The cave-in is… bad. Caduceus had said that, with that exact adjective, when it had started. Frankly, it’s beyond bad, now. Even though the horrifying fiendish thing that ambused the two of them is dead thanks to a well-coordinated combination of Caduceus’ grave-path thing and Fjord’s smiting, they’re both out of magic, and the others are at least half an hour’s walk in the opposite direction. Hopefully the others heard the noise from the fight, Fjord prays, and hopefully they’re on their way, and Jester or Yasha have at least enough healing to get Caduceus back to full-awareness. He’s awake, still, flickering in and out, but he’s lost a lot of blood, and he seems to have expended all of his mental energy on instructing Fjord how to set his own—much less severe—injuries.
Fjord’s managed to starve off panic long enough to set Caduceus up with a makeshift-pillow (Fjord’s cloak and Caduceus’ jacket) and to get some food into both of them (dried fruit and nuts from Caduceus’ pack along with some ration bread from Fjord’s) and to make sure Cad’s hydrated—that’s important, he knows. He knows that much.
“Still breathing?” Fjord checks in for probably the millionth time, and Cad attempts to nod, realizes that it hurts his neck to do as much, and then sort of croaks out, “Hurts a lot, Fjord.”
“Don’t—don’t strain yourself, Ducey, gods, er—“ and Fjord moves to take Caduceus’ hair off his face; the white streaks are getting stained with blood in patches where it’s stuck to the fur, and it really can’t be comfortable.
It strikes Fjord rather suddenly, as it has occasionally stricken him of late, that Caduceus is not some immortal fey creature but rather a young man, emaciated and… weak? Not weak, no. But. Vulnerable?
“F’I die,” he says, casually, too-quiet, “The diamond for—big resurrections is in my pack. Jester’ll know what to do. It won’t take too much on your part to bring me back, if you wanna contribute. And I think… Yasha, too, or Beau.”
“What?”
“Gotta talk to dead people to bring ‘em back, if you’re not quick,” like it’s obvious. “Only ever seen Corrin try it—ow, ow—but I saw Auntie. Try it, and it didn’t work, because the offers weren’t good enough. But I think I’m pretty… if you want me back, it won’t be hard to get me.”
“You’re not going to die, Caduceus.”
“I will, Fjord, someday. Don't be ridiculous. But if I die today.”
“I won’t let you. If the Wildmother tries any shit, I will just… yell at every plant I’ve ever seen. And at the ocean. And all the animals—Sprinkle included. Especially Sprinkle. And I’ll yell at your corpse.”
“M’glad we didn’t have to do offerings for you,” Caduceus hums, “Would’ve said something stupid. If—I mean, unless somebody else said it first.” And he closes his eyes. “I miss Bell.”
“Your little sister,” Fjord says. Caduceus tries to nod again—“Don’t do that, please.”
“Talking hurts, too.”
“Do you want me to be quiet?”
“No. I really like your voice. S’nice.” Fjord feels his entire face heat up as blood rushes to it. That’s… a new compliment, still. Not one he’d ever heard until the Nein. Until he came clean with the Nein. “And I can take a lot of pain, too. I like talking to you, it’s worth it.”
His brows knit together. “I don’t want you hurting yourself on my behalf, Cads.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, I—M’either gonna die or get healed, and Jester’s gonna help me get back up in either case, probably. Doesn’t matter right now. You’re changing colors.”
His face is getting progressively warmer. He knows he sometimes goes copper when he flushes, a horrifiyng thought, really. “I’m nervous, Caduceus.”
“It’s cute. You’re—it’s nice. I like it.”
“Cute?” Fjord asks, and tries to process it as a compliment, because it is one. Still, kind of an odd word for Fjord to use for himself. “Thank you,” he settles on saying.
“Mm,” Caduceus smiles soft, sweet. There’s silence, for a while. Fjord watches Caduceus intently, wishing for all the healing potions in the world, along with maybe a blanket to wrap the poor fucker in. If Caduceus' ribs weren't broken, Fjord would've offered him a hug. And he's not a hugger. But Caduceus gives fucking amazing hugs, and deserves at least a half-decent hug in return.
Caduceus eventually breaks it—unlike himself—with, “Nice to have some alone time with you.”
“If you’re so insistent on talking,” Fjord smiles, “What’s the stupid thing you’d wanna say to me if I died? Trying to bring me back?”
“You’re… it’s… it’s not a useful thing for you to know. I don’t know if you’d like it.”
“Well, I actually rather like most things you do and say. Don’t always understand them, but I like them. You’re a good speaker. Very… wise.”
“It’s, ah, definitely among my less wise thoughts,” and Caduceus laughs, almost a giggle. Fjord gives him some more water. He swallows, says, “Thank you,” even softer. Just… anxious. He sounds anxious, yes, and he knows Caduceus isn’t afraid of death or dying, so this is something else. Probably. “Not just for the water, Fjord, for. Um. Everything. Ever. Since we met.”
“First thing you ever did to me was help me. Not sure why you’re thanking me for that.”
“And first thing you ever did to me was be kind to me.” Caduceus’ eyes are wide and glimmering. The shitty firelight of the room makes them look like a fucking sunset, long and blooded eyelashes as some sort of storm. “Your eyes are so nice,” Caduceus says, as if he’s reading Fjord’s mind and reflecting the same sentiment. Fjord’s still half-convinced that Cad can do that, anyway. “I like how your pupils get all big and round sometimes. And the color. It’s really lovely. Like daffodils. Or chanterelles—more like chanterelles. Love that.”
“Your eyes are—if we’re doing. Nature comparisons. Your eyes are like lavender. Same color. And you always look a little bit close to dozing off, too,” and Caduceus makes that almost-giggle noise again, and his nose scrunches up, and he’s so unbearably sweet-looking in spite of the frankly horrible injuries that Fjord couldn’t heal to the point that Fjord wants to kill Beau for her fucking question about being into our cleric friend.
Caduceus speaks rather suddenly, voice strained and trying to seem unhurt. Failing. “Jester, we’re—there’s rocks, and we’re both hurt, but, uh. We’re safe. No magic. Be careful. Uh. I don’t know a song for this part—“
“S’weird to get those messages, right?”
“Eh. It’s fine. Auntie sent one last week. Asking me whether or not we actually fought a dragon.”
“What did you say?”
“I… don’t remember. I very well might’ve lied.”
Fjord raises his eyebrows. “Our Caduceus Clay, a liar?”
“Only when it means that my family doesn’t fret over me. They’ve enough to fret over.”
“I am shocked,” Fjord says, only a little bit sarcastic. Barely sarcastic. Not sarcastic at all.
“You like people who tell the truth?” Caduceus asks, squinting at Fjord or perhaps the fire. “You said that once. Do you want me to be honest with you?”
Fjord’s not sure on when he said that, but it’s true, and that makes it make sense that Beau said what she did, and why he likes Cad’s awkward sort of charm so much. “Of course,” Fjord says. And Caduceus says, “Okay, I need you to lean in, okay? It’s a secret.”
“How mysterious.” Fjord complies, leans in, touches Caduceus’ shoulder, and waits. Feels damp blood sticking to his skin, and Caduceus apologizes, his speech barely speech, almost a whisper. “Please promise me you won’t hate me,” Caduceus says, “Or—you can hate me, but. Um. Don’t let that, uh, damper your relationship with the Wildmother?”
“I don’t think it’s very easy to hate you.”
“Well,” Caduceus says, nervous, winces from the pain. And then leans in a little closer, and, “I think,” a long beat, “I don’t like wanting for anything. It’s… not something I’m used to, or that I’ve been taught was a good thing. But. I’m a little bit in love with someone.”
Weird lack of specificity. “Why would that make me hate you?”
“I don’t—you. It’s… ugh. Ow.”
Oh.
“Caduceus,” Fjord says, and tries to think about words—he’s usually good at them, usually weaves them expertly, and this is—this is Caduceus, and there’s feelings, of course, reciprocated, but—wanting is difficult, like Caduceus had said, and Fjord is used to wanting, but he’s not used to wanting things that are… like Caduceus. Soft and like-sunsets. Things that are bleeding out before him. Etcetera.
Suddenly, there’s the sound of earth being shifted magically, and Fjord grabs Caduceus’ hand. There’s a twitch—something that would be a jump if he were in any better physical state, and—
“Holy shit, you guys! What the fuck happened to you?” And Jester rushes up with Cure Wounds on her hands, heals Caduceus in that terrifyingly quick way that clerics do, pulls their hands apart by accident, and her duplicate appears and runs over to Fjord to heal him, as well—and pain he wasn’t even aware of vanishes. And Jester is holding Caduceus, lifting him up, leaning him on Yasha. Once he’s up, she runs over to Fjord, offers him a hand of support as the duplicate vanishes, and he shakes his head, pushes himself up, stumbles a bit and lands on Beau, who pats him on the back, says, sternly “What the fuck, Captain. We still can't find Caleb or Veth, but at least we know they're not, like--brutalized. Fuck's sake."
“I was against splitting the party,” he notes. “I was against it. I was especially against sending two of our less sneaky people—no offense, Cads—to sneak around—“
From Yasha’s arms, Caduceus lets out a little laugh, “None taken. And, um. Forget about—blood loss, you know how it is—makes you say things that—“
“No, I’m not—I’d really prefer not to forget,” Fjord says, smiles. “Rather, I—I’d like to share some similar thoughts. Later. When we get some alone time without the looming threat of death—“
“Well,” Caduceus says, pale face flushing—Fjord hadn’t noticed that before; he goes a lovely rosy shade, “It’s always looming.”
Fjord blinks. “I suppose it is." He reaches up to wrap an arm around Caduceus' shoulder, feels a long arm wrap around his own, and, well--soft and like-sunsets is only the beginning of how that feels.