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It was dark.
Jaskier opened his eyes, or he thought he did. He had to raise a hand to his face to check, running his fingers lightly over his fluttering eyelashes. He could see nothing, not even his own hand before his face. Slowly he moved to sit up, to investigate his surroundings further, but as soon as he turned his head he was met with a stabbing pain lancing through his temple. A soft groan escaped his lips as he winced.
There was a shuffling noise to his right, and his heart accelerated at the sound. He didn’t know where he was or why he couldn’t see, wasn’t sure what might be in here with him. If it was unfriendly he would be in trouble. The thing nearby moved again, a strange scraping sound echoing around the space like metal on rock. A moment later there was a grunt, familiar enough to make Jaskier’s chest release on a relieved exhale.
Geralt shuffled around some more, and Jaskier felt a hand grasp his shoulder. “Well hello there,” he said, or tried to say. The words were caught on a cough halfway through, the dust coating his throat making him choke.
“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice came gruffly from the darkness. His hand moved from Jaskier’s arm to his chest, moving efficiently around. Checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“Just my head, I think,” Jaskier wheezed, swallowing a few times to clear his throat. Slowly and with Geralt’s help, he levered himself into a sitting position, hissing at the way it made his head spin. After a second a waterskin was pressed against his lips, and he drank greedily.
“It doesn’t look like it broke skin,” Geralt hummed, his fingers probing the sore spot on Jaskier’s scalp. “Are you nauseated or disoriented?”
“Wait, you can see? Damn those witcher senses,” he pouted. Geralt gave him an exceedingly gentle shake. “No, no, I’m alright. A bit dizzy, but it’s settling. What about you? What the devil happened?”
“You followed me into the bloody arachas cave, that’s what happened,” Geralt grunted. He did not sound pleased. “One got close to you and I had to cast aard to blast it away. Caused a cave in.”
“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Well drat.”
“Drat,” Geralt echoed, sounding exhausted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
“So, what now?” Jaskier asked, ignoring the waves of exasperation he could sense wafting off of Geralt. Somehow the man managed to convey a glower in total darkness. “Are we going to have to dig our way out?”
“I don’t know if we… can,” Geralt said, slowly. There was a shuffling sound, and he moved away from Jaskier. “There’s a huge slab blocking the way we came in. Even if I could lift it, it’s holding up more of the ceiling. And there’s nowhere to move it.”
Jaskier felt a slow crawl of something like panic begin to creep up the back of his neck. “Can’t you just blast it with aard again?”
Geralt didn’t say anything immediately, which meant he was rolling his eyes. “Likely to bring the rest of the cave down on top of us.”
“So what, we’re trapped?” Jaskier asked, flinging his hands up. Geralt’s silence blanketed the thin echo of the words in the small space, damning. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah. Shit,” Geralt said grimly.
*
Geralt spent the next hour or two pacing around the tiny space, supposedly looking for ways to tunnel them out. The cave they were stuck in had been home to a small colony of arachas, most of which had thankfully been crushed beneath the falling stones. Jaskier hadn’t gotten a good look at the place before he’d been hit on the head by debris, and now he couldn’t exactly explore the area.
Geralt had helped him over to one of the rock walls of their makeshift cave, and Jaskier sat propped against it staring out into blackness as he listened to Geralt move about. It was hard to tell how much time was passing. He tried to calculate in his head how much air they might have, how much time it would take for them to consume the oxygen left in the space. They weren’t all too deep underground, but Jaskier had walked down the tunnel long enough to know that they were deep enough that an exterior source of air was unlikely. He’d had a torch when he came in, but Geralt refused to let him light it again, stating that it would consume the oxygen even faster. Jaskier had to conceded to his point. Based on the sound of Geralt moving around, the cave couldn’t be much bigger than a typical room at an inn. Jaskier didn’t know how much oxygen two full grown men used per hour, but he guessed it was quite a bit. He wanted to give them a day, maybe two at most, before they started to run low. Surely enough time for Geralt to dig them out.
He had this thought just as there was a curse to his right and a sudden groan in the walls around them. “What is that?” Jaskier asked, nervously scooting away from the side of the cave. His head swam at the sharp movement, but he didn’t want to risk getting hit by even more falling rock.
Geralt’s heavy breathing filled the space for a moment, and based on the lack of any other noise Jaskier had to assume he was standing still, waiting. The creaking groan in the wall shuddered to a stop, and Geralt let out a relieved noise.
“I don’t think I can risk moving any of the stone,” he grunted, his voice coming closer to Jaskier. “The walls aren’t stable. I’m just as likely to crush us as I am to get us out.”
Jaskier wished he could see the witcher’s face. “So we’re stuck here? We’ll die either way if we can’t find a way out eventually. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, witcher, but this is likely a sealed space. As you said yourself, we’re going to run out of air.”
Geralt’s silence spoke volumes. Jaskier felt something cold spread through him, and grit his teeth against the panic. He scrambled to his feet, facing what he assumed was Geralt’s approximate direction.
“You can’t just give up after a few tumbling rocks,” he hissed. “We can’t die in this stupid fucking cave. We have to keep trying.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, and his voice was far too soft, grating against the irritation that Jaskier felt burning in his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I saw it on you and I just- I just reacted-”
“You’re sorry? We’re in this mess because you saved my life! If I hadn’t come after you like you always tell me fucking not to, none of this would have happened.” Maybe it was a blessing, in a way, that he couldn’t see Geralt’s face. Jaskier wasn’t sure he could handle it at this moment. “I’m the reason we’re here. If we die down here that’s… that’s my-”
Firm hands reached out to take his, pulling them from where they’d been gripping his hair. He hadn’t even noticed. “No, Jask,” Geralt said, his tone as unyielding as stone. “This isn’t your fault. I should have been paying more attention.”
“Agree to disagree,” Jaskier said hotly. “Fuck. We have a day or two before we run out of air, probably. Do you think the villagers will realize we’ve not come back?”
Geralt was quiet for a moment, his thumb smoothing over Jaskier’s knuckles. The contact burned. “Maybe,” he said, and Jaskier decided to believe that they would. Nevermind that they wouldn’t blink an eye at a witcher not returning from a job. Nevermind that the villagers probably didn’t even know exactly where they were. Nevermind the fact that any attempt to rescue them would surely get them killed.
All they could do was wait.
*
Waiting to die (to be rescued, Jaskier reminded himself) was boring.
He’d left his lute back at the camp with Roach. Ah, Roach, he hoped someone would find her and take care of her. She didn’t deserve to get left behind like this. His fingers itched to fill their little space with music; he imagined the acoustics would be phenomenal. It would have been poetic, he thought, to die with his instrument in hand, but instead he was left to wrap his arms around his knees and try to distract himself from the inevitable (rescue, remember? Rescue).
“Do you remember that time we went to Novigrad and stayed in that absolutely abysmal inn, what was it called, something about cats? And they wouldn’t let me play, so you were playing gwent to try and make us some cash, and that one redhead you were playing against was cheating so badly- It was so obvious! I mean I’m not a card cheat, but at least I know better than hiding them literally up my sleeves.”
“Seven Cats Inn,” Geralt said from his seated position on Jaskier’s right. He may have been meditating, but Jaskier couldn’t be sure. “Didn’t you light his hat on fire?”
Jaskier laughed, tipping his head back to rest against the wall behind him. His head throbbed still, but after several hours of sitting fairly still he was starting to feel more evened out. “That was unrelated to the cheating. He said something rude about you, I think. I was providing a public service, regardless.”
“You stood behind him and told me his cards.”
“Turnabout’s fair play,” Jaskier said airily.
“You cheat at cards all the time.”
“Only against you,” Jaskier grinned, turning to look at Geralt and forgetting he would see only darkness. What a letdown.
Geralt huffed out an amused breath. Jaskier sighed, turning back to look into the yawning darkness around him. “Wish I could see,” he groused. “I wish I had my damn lute.”
“The one positive to our situation.”
Jaskier rounded on him, throwing out a wild punch that smacked right into Geralt’s armored shoulder. The studs left his fingers smarting, but he wasn’t about to admit to that. “You take that back, you uncultured swineherder. You would only be so lucky to have my dulcet tones lulling you into that great sleep.”
Geralt was quiet, and Jaskier realized his misstep. They still weren’t admitting to it yet. Geralt seemed to decide to pass the comment over, keeping his tone light. “I’d beg you to put me out of my misery,” he said, and Jaskier let out a relieved breath at the easy banter.
“I’d strangle you with my lute strings if I had them,” he tossed back, and Geralt laughed. The sound of it echoed in the empty black around them.
*
Jaskier slept fitfully, still recovering from his concussion. He didn’t want to. It made him unsure of how much time had passed, even more than before. The hours crawled by, separated by a smattering of chatter between them and Jaskier’s occasional singing, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open with any consistency. He feared at first that he’d been wrong and they were already running out of oxygen, but his head was still cobwebby and throbbing. It was almost hard to tell when he was asleep and when he was awake, with the ever present darkness, except that he was stiffer when he woke up.
He blinked awake from one of his accidental naps, groaning as he stretched out his aching limbs. “Long was I out?” he asked, bleary.
Geralt shifted near him, closer than Jaskier would have expected. Practically on top of him. “Hmm,” he heard. “Maybe a few hours.”
“How long do you think we’ve been down here?” Jaskier asked. He had no earthly idea. It felt like years.
Geralt made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe a day,” he allowed, hesitantly. “You’ve slept through most of it.”
Jaskier felt like crying at that. The idea that someone would find them in time suddenly seemed naive. He was wasting time sleeping, when they only had a handful of hours left. Suddenly not knowing what else to do, he reached out until his fingers found the resistance of Geralt’s clothed arm. He felt his way down until his hand found Geralt’s, ungloved and warm on the witcher’s thigh. Twisting his fingers into the witcher’s, Jaskier took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he wasn’t entirely sure what part of all of it he was apologizing for.
Geralt just squeezed his fingers back, and he didn’t let go.
*
Jaskier didn’t fall asleep again, wouldn’t let himself. No one was coming for them. There was no way they had more than a few hours left of air, and he refused to waste a single second that he had left. He curled into Geralt’s side, as close as he could be without sitting in his lap, and felt something in him unclench when he felt Geralt’s head tip to rest against his.
“I’m going to die first, aren’t I,” he said, barely asking.
Geralt was quiet for a long moment. “...Probably. My body doesn’t need as much oxygen. I can slip into meditation and use up even less.” A pause, his breath even and warm between them. “I’m sorry.”
Jaskier hummed. “Don’t be. I’m sorry I’ll be leaving you alone.”
Geralt inhaled sharply, and when he exhaled the sound of it stuttered through the cavern. Jaskier squeezed his fingers tightly, their palms warm where they’d been pressed together now for minutes or hours or days. “I’m sorry I fucking killed us both,” Geralt bit out.
“Oh, none of that,” Jaskier admonished, soothing a thumb over the back of Geralt’s knuckles, as Geralt had done earlier that day. Or yesterday. Whenever it had been. “I’m the one that followed you in here. You were trying to protect me. I’m sorry I got us into this mess. I only wish you weren’t stuck in here with me.”
Geralt was silent for so long that Jaskier wasn’t sure he was going to reply at all. He had almost let go of the conversation thread when Geralt said, “I’m glad.”
“Hmm? What’s that?” Jaskier said, confused.
“I’m glad I’m here with you. I’m not glad that we’re doing to fucking die, but I’m glad you aren’t… alone.”
Jaskier was suddenly, pathetically grateful for Geralt’s warm, comforting presence at his side. He imagined what it would have been like, by himself, alone and struggling for breath in the dark. It was not a pleasant idea. He would give anything, pay any price, to have Geralt escape here alive, but he was glad he wasn’t alone. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing Geralt’s hand again tightly. Geralt squeezed back just as hard, their palms molding into each other. At least, Jaskier thought wildly, at least when they died they would still be together. Holding each other for eternity.
“Can I ask you for something?” he asked after a while, hesitantly. Geralt hummed his assent, and Jaskier swallowed. “Would you mind if we lied down? I won’t fall asleep, I promise, I just… I just want…”
He could feel Geralt shift towards him, and Jaskier took a moment to imagine those golden eyes shining at him. It was absurd, how much he missed them. “What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, not demanding. Just asking.
It was stupid to ask. Might make their last moments together - and that’s what these were, their last moments - awkward and stilted. But Jaskier wanted, burned deep in his core. He felt like he would shatter apart if he didn’t at least ask. “Would you mind if I- That is, would you, could you just… hold me? Just for a while?”
Geralt was silent, and Jaskier’s heart slowly crept up into his throat, pounding against the bruise on his skull. “Nevermind,” he said quickly, trying to pull his hand away from Geralt’s. “Sorry, that was overstepping, I don’t want to make you, ah, uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he hoped Geralt couldn’t smell his distress. Bastard could probably see his flushed face anyways. Fuck witchers, he thought vehemently.
Fingers tightened on his own, preventing his escape. He jerked his head up, but the silence emanating from Geralt’s space betrayed nothing. Finally he heard the witcher clear his throat. “I’d… I’d like that,” Geralt rasped, and Jaskier deflated.
“Oh,” he said, “oh, well, good. Yeah. Should we just…?”
In answer Geralt shuffled a bit, pulling away from Jaskier for a moment. His hand felt shockingly cold without Geralt’s palm nestled next to his own. He was confused until he heard the distinct sound of leather clasps coming undone, so familiar to him he knew he could undo them himself even in these conditions. A second later he heard armor hitting the ground, the dull thunk of the leather and the clatter of steel as Geralt shed his outerwear. When the last of it was pushed away, his warm presence returned to Jaskier’s side and urged him down onto the cool stone ground.
It was wildly uncomfortable. The floor was uneven and unforgiving, and Jaskier could feel tiny stones and bits of rubble digging into his shoulders and hips as he lay down. His head throbbed at the movement, making his stomach swoop uncomfortably. They’d had a few pieces of jerky that Geralt had brought with him as a backup on the hunt, but nothing else for food in the last day or so. However long they’d been down here. He felt faint and sore and thirsty, but as Geralt’s arms folded around him Jaskier couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comforted. He didn’t want to be here - didn’t want either of them to be here, at all - but at least Geralt was here, breath spreading warm over the top of his head. At least they were together.
*
Everything was growing so heavy. His mind was foggy, swimming dizzily from one thought to the next.
He was going to die. How long had it been? It didn’t feel hard to breathe yet, but they must be getting close. Suddenly he was seized by fear, all consuming panic clawing up into his throat and driving away some of the haze. Geralt’s hand tightened against his hip. Probably able to smell his distress. “Jaskier, what -”
He reached out to weakly fist his hand in Geralt’s shirt, suddenly desperate. “I can’t see,” he said, panting between the words.
“I know,” Geralt said, his tone even and soothing, “there’s not enough light in here for you. It’s alright.” He sounded worried, like he thought maybe Jaskier was too far gone to remember where they were.
“No, no,” Jaskier said, feeling too dizzy to really explain. He sat up and started pulling off his doublet, fingers fumbling across the buttons as his head swam sickeningly. Geralt sat up as well, by the sound of it, and more deft fingers took over the process for him. Jaskier wrestled his way out of the garment and pressed it to Geralt’s chest, fumbling. “Burn it, burn it now.”
“You want me to burn your doublet?” Geralt asked, sounding shocked and more than a little concerned.
“I need to see,” Jaskier said. He reached out to grasp Geralt’s shoulder in the darkness, leaning heavily on him.
“I can’t,” Geralt said, a tad impatiently. “It’ll eat up whatever's left of the oxygen in here. Absolutely not.”
Jaskier pushed forward, bending to rest his head on Geralt's shoulder. Fuck he was tired. “I need- Fuck, I can’t, I just need to see you one more time. Please.” He sounded pathetic, but the idea of never seeing Geralt’s face again was so wretched he could barely stomach it. A quicker inevitable death was worth seeing him one last time. “Please, I just want to see you.”
Geralt was still in his arms, still clutching the fabric of Jaskier’s doublet close. “You’ll die,” he choked out, the words brushing over Jaskier’s hair. “You’ll die faster. I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Jaskier couldn’t help but let a soft sob escape him. The doublet fell between them as Geralt’s arms came up around him, holding him close. A warm palm pressed against the back of his head. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier sobbed, dizzy and heartbroken. Suddenly he laughed a little, though the sound was wet and pained. “This is such shit.”
“It really is,” Geralt agreed, sounding strained himself.
They sat like that for some time, Jaskier leaning his forehead against the line of Geralt’s throat, just letting the feeling of warm palms brushing over his back wash over him. He wished he’d asked for this sooner. Maybe Geralt was only giving it to him because he was literally dying, but maybe it had been this easy all along. Maybe Geralt would have gathered him up at any time, if he’d only asked, and held him close like this. Like he mattered, like Geralt wanted to be here just as much as he did. It made him feel brave for once in his life, too late.
So he said, “You should know.” The world was soupy around him, but he could feel the warm press of Geralt’s body against his as clear as anything. There was a curious hum above him, that Jaskier could feel in Geralt’s throat where his nose was tucked against his Adam’s apple. “You might not want to hear it. I don’t know. You probably won’t, but you should know.”
Geralt’s fingers were still petting through his hair, right at the base of his neck. Jaskier wished that he could see him. He closed his eyes, picturing Geralt’s face as clearly as he could. “What should I know?” Geralt asked.
“You should know that I love you,” Jaskier said, pressing the words to Geralt’s skin in the hopes that there, at least, they might find a warm reception. “I’ve loved you for my entire adult life, as thoroughly as I have known how, as completely as anything I have ever done. Loving you has been my life’s greatest accomplishment. When they sing the songs after I’m gone, I hope that’s how they remember me.” He smiled softly against the line of Geralt’s throat. “As the man who loved you.”
For a long moment Geralt was still around him, a statue chiseled from soft cotton and cool skin. Then suddenly the arms around him were tightening and Geralt was leaning down to press his own face into Jaskier’s shoulder as he took great, shuddering breaths. Jaskier ran a soothing if uncoordinated hand along his back where he could reach. “Fuck,” Geralt said. Jaskier was about to make an offended noise, but then Geralt was pulling them both back, just a bit. Just enough space between them to find Jaskier’s face, cupping his jaw with both hands. Geralt’s lips brushed against his own, a desperately soft press. Jaskier pushed back into it eagerly, wanting to show Geralt that he meant it.
Geralt pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, his nose resting against Jaskier’s. His breathing was labored. “Don’t go,” he said, just a whisper between them.
Jaskier could feel tears on his cheeks, and he wished so much to be able to see Geralt’s face. “Oh dear heart. I would never leave you if I had the choice to stay. After all this, you must know that.”
Geralt gathered him close again, pressing them together everywhere he could. “I don’t want- I can’t- I can’t watch you, fuck, Jask-” His voice was thick and wet, and Jaskier felt warmth flood him alongside a bone deep grief.
“I’m afraid I did get the better end of the bargain,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt made a wounded sound and pressed forward to kiss him again, and again, an unheated and yet urgent clash of mouths. They wouldn’t get anymore chances, Jaskier realized. Their first few kisses would be their last. It belonged in a ballad, really. He hoped someone would write it for them, after.
“Fuck, I wish I could see you,” he gasped, winded partly from the kiss and partly from the lack of air in the room. “I always wanted your face to be the last thing I ever saw. This isn’t fair.”
“I love you,” Geralt grit out, sounding like it cost him but he was still relieved to have it out. Like pulling a knife from a wound. “Fuck,” he said, pressing his nose under Jaskier’s jaw, and then, “Please,” so soft that Jaskier felt it wasn’t even really for him. Just a cry for help from an uncaring universe. “Fuck, I love you. I thought you knew.”
Jaskier laughed breathlessly, a pained sound. “You didn’t exactly act like a man besotted.”
“I tried not to,” Geralt said, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s throat. “Didn’t think you’d want me. But I was. Besotted.”
“Tell me about it?” Jaskier asked. He wouldn’t have normally, but if this was his only chance he would take whatever Geralt was willing to give.
Geralt swallowed. “For years. First I just wanted to bed you. You were so bright, and cocky, and I just wanted to- I just wanted you. But you stuck around, you kept choosing to be on the Path with me, even when you were getting six letters a week asking for you to play in all those fancy noble houses. Nothing I ever did was enough to drive you away. No one- no one has ever-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. His palms were still warm where they were pressed to Jaskier’s jaw. “I don’t even know how to explain it. I used to steal your shirts before winter, just so I could have the smell of you with me at the keep. I wanted to ask you to come with me, but I was afraid you would say no. Was afraid I’d lose you if I asked for too much. But I always wanted.”
“And here I thought you just didn’t like my music,” Jaskier said weakly.
“I hated it at first,” Geralt said. “I’m not all those things you say I am.”
“You are,” Jaskier said, petting a hand across the back of his head. Silky strand of snow white hair that he wished he could see. “I always believed in those songs. In you.”
“I know,” Geralt muttered. “It fucking terrified me. I’m sorry. I wasted so much time.” He sounded so bitter, so guilty. And Jaskier couldn’t stand it, couldn’t die with Geralt thinking that any of their time together was a waste.
“I cherished every moment of it,” he said, as firmly as he could. He was fading fast, he could tell. His thoughts were coming less rapidly, sluggish to form. “You… Even when you were being a prick. Loved you all the time. I loved you- love you. It was all worth it.”
“You’re here because of me,” Geralt said, mournfully. “This is my fault.”
“Nothing you could have done,” Jaskier said. He could feel his eyes slipping closed against his will. “Would have followed you… Always.”
“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was panicked. “Stay awake.”
“Sorry,” he said, forcing his eyes open. “Sorry. I’m dizzy.”
“It’s alright.” He’d never heard Geralt’s voice so soft, or so full of agony. It made him want to wake up, some kind of fight or flight instinct attempting to kick in. He wanted Geralt to stop hurting. But he was so tired, and his limbs felt like lead. Suddenly they were lying down, and he blinked owlishly into the darkness. Geralt was all around him, one hand still on his face while his other wrapped around Jaskier’s waist to hold him close. They’d never been so close before.
“Kiss me,” he whispered, and a moment later Geralt’s lips found his, just the barest brush. The most honest goodbye he could have asked for.
They pulled apart. “You should sleep too,” Jaskier said, already feeling it dragging him down. “We can… sleep together. It’ll be okay.”
Geralt took a measured breath, a slow inhale and meticulous exhale, almost like meditation. Too wobbly for that though, too watery. Jaskier pressed himself as close as he could, until their heartbeats were lined up perfectly. “Okay,” Geralt agreed. “Okay.”
His arms tightened, and Jaskier lay his head down on Geralt’s chest, and together, they fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.