Jaskier does not leave Geralt's side the entire time while they wait. Cahir gets some water from the lake for them, and the sausages and bread, but neither of the two feels particularly hungry. They take turns at making sure the life-saving tube stays in place, at holding Geralt's hand and calming him down whenever he wakes up. Luckily, he does not seem to be in a lot of pain, at least not for Witcher standards, and becomes more and more lucid as time drags on like molasses on a cold winter day. Only it is quite hot in the searing afternoon sun. Jaskier wets his silken neckerchief to wipe Geralt's sweaty face. It should be possible for him to drink some sips of water, too, as the oesophagus is not affected. However, Jaskier and Cahir decide against it. It might be risky after all. Better to wait until their friend can breathe normally again. It is not that long until sundown.
As the afternoon sun slowly nears the horizon, Cahir stands up.
"You think it's time?" Jaskier asks nervously.
Cahir nods. He walks over to where the horses are peacefully nibbling at the lush vegetation of the lakeshore. How fortunate that Witchers always have some basic dressing material in their saddlebags, including needle and thread which can be equally used to sew up cuts in their clothes as cuts in their skin.
"So, how do we do it?" Jaskier inquires softly when Cahir returns with the required utensils and hunkers down next to him. Geralt is fast asleep.
"One of us holds the wound open and swabs the blood from it if necessary. The other one withdraws the tube, sews up the windpipe as quickly and tightly as possible, and then the skin of the throat. While we both make sure somehow that Geralt doesn't move."
"Sounds like a breeze, exactly what I've always wanted to do," Jaskier jests although he does not feel like joking, not at all. This is dead serious. But it has to be done if they want Geralt to live. And there is nothing he wishes for more in this world at the moment.
"Give me the needle and thread," Jaskier says with resolve. "I'm good with my hands. The perks of being a lutenist."
"Are you sure?" Cahir asks, surprised. Jaskier nods.
"I'll just pretend it's my favourite coat that needs stitches." Geralt has saved his bacon countless times without a moment's hesitation. Now he will be brave for his best friend, Jaskier promises himself. He takes the sewing kit Cahir passes him and threads the needle. To his own surprise, his hands do not shake, neither then, nor when he, on Cahir's signal, carefully starts to pull at the reed tube. Geralt's eyes fly wide open, filled with horror. While Cahir is holding him down, Jaskier manages to calm his friend with a flood of soothing words so he would not struggle or otherwise endanger the success of the delicate procedure. With a regular human this would never have worked without a sedative, but fortunately, Geralt is nothing like a regular human. He lies as stiff as a poker, only his eyes giving away that he is terrified.
The quivering, gaping hole that appears in his friend's throat as soon as Jaskier has removed the tube, looks devilishly gruesome. But there is no time to chicken out now. While Cahir holds the vertical incision open with one hand and wipes away the blood with the other, Jaskier inserts the needle. Sew quickly and tightly, that is how it has to be done. Imagine it is just a tear in your red leather coat, not a life and death operation on your better than best friend. It will be over in just a few minutes, and Geralt will be safe, Jaskier tells himself. He can do it. He isgood with his hands and fingers. Plus he has a not unimpressive amount of practise suturing wounds, probably far more so than Cahir. Only not in the throat and not quite as lethal ones. He takes a deep, steadying breath. Then, with his well-trained, dexterous fingers, he pushes the needle through the skin, making the first stitch, and ties it off expertly. Applying the second stitch is easier already. As he works his way down the incision and ties the triple knots, Jaskier has to concentrate hard and pearls of sweat appear on his brow, but it does not take long and the ghastly hole is sewn up nicely. To Jaskier's and Cahir's great relief, Geralt breathes in and out without much difficulty, the obstruction in his airways no longer there. He heaves a loud groan and screws his eyes shut.
"Almost done, love, just a few more stitches," Jaskier soothes while he sutures the vertical cut. "Then you can have something to drink and you'll feel so much better in a jiffy. You'll see. This unfortunate affair will soon be forgotten. Perhaps there'll be a teensy-weensy scar in your lovely throat, but that's it. No lasting damage. See, that was it already. Hardly hurt, did it?"
"Fuck," Geralt wheezes hoarsely. Then he tries to sit up.
"Wait, not yet. The cut needs to be dressed. Just another second, dear heart." Jaskier takes the bandage Cahir hands to him and wraps it around the groaning Witcher's neck. Then he helps his friend sit up so he can drink a few sips of water from Cahir's canteen. Groggy, Geralt lies back down again and closes his eyes. It takes barely more than a minute for the exhausted Witcher to fall asleep.
"We're quite the pair of field medics, aren't we?" Jaskier says, grinning at Cahir while holding his friend's hand. It is still a little cold but not as icy as before by far. "Maybe, one day, I'll write a ballad about it. How the non-Nilfgaardian non-Witcher and the lovable lutenist saved the White Wolf from a most gruesome death by a creature he thought did not exist. But not yet." He yawns. "I'm so ready to drop. I feel like I've aged a century. Or two. My hair hasn't suddenly turned grey, has it?"
"Your hair's fine, don't worry," Cahir says, "as brown as ever. Reminds me of a nice glass of dark ale. Too bad there's no tavern around."
"Gods, yes, I could drain an entire bathtub of beer. And then sleep for a week." Jaskier gives another loud yawn.
"I'll take first watch," Cahir offers, suppressing a yawn of his own. He feels drained, too, but who knows, there might be other dangerous creatures around. Bears, wolves, more monsters. It would not do, after all the angst and stress and strain, to let their guard down and then be attacked during the night. "You keep Geralt warm," he adds. "I'll get you two a blanket. The night's going to be cold."
"Have I ever told you that I love you, Cahir, son of Ceallach?" Jaskier asks drowsily when, just a minute later, he cuddles up to the sleeping Witcher under the blankets Cahir has spread out over them.
"Only three times now in one day. Do I need to get worried?"
"Worried? About what? My mental health? Or that I might mean it?"
"That you'll actually write a ballad about me."
"I most definitely will. And I promise you'll love it, my friend. I'll start as soon as we're back safe within the comforting confines of civilisation," Jaskier mumbles on, already half asleep, "Nice alliteration by the way, have to remember it for tomorrow. Comforting concubines of canali—" He drifts off in midsentence. Soon, Jaskier snores softly into his friend's white hair, snuggled up to Geralt as closely as physically possible.
Wrapping his blanket more tightly around his shoulders, Cahir has a good yawn. Besides his two friends' soft snoring it is perfectly quiet and peaceful. But he better beware. He gazes up into the sky. No sign of a flying drake or any other creature. The last orange rays of light from the setting sun are vanishing in the west. In the east the night sky is of a dark, velvety blue and dotted with stars. Beautiful. Perhaps there will be shooting stars, too, it is this time of the year. If he believed in the magic of shooting stars, Cahir wonders, what would he wish for? That he will get his memory back? It is not easy to cope without it, without knowing who he really is. However, what is even more important is that his friends are safe and happy. Yes, that's what he would wish for. That something as horrible as today will never happen again. That, contrary to lore, both Geralt and Vesemir will die of old age in their beds sometime in the far away future, not of a fatal monster incident. And that Jaskier will have his romance happy ending, preferably soon, not after yet another twenty-eight years. It would make his own relationship with Yennefer - if it is one at all and was not just a one-off thing - a lot less awkward, too, but that is not why. Jaskier deserves his happily ever after with Geralt. And all the more after today. He gazes at his two sleeping friends and smiles. They are just made for each other, even though one of them might not have realised it yet. But, perhaps, now he will? Who knows. Maybe the stars. Or destiny.
Or are they one and the same?
When Cahir looks up at the sky again, there is a whole shower of silvery shooting stars.
