Down the cliff
Yennefer is woken up, far too early for her liking, by several things at once. Firstly, there is her painfully aching neck and back that seem to strongly resent the more than uncomfortable way she has been lying sprawled between and on wet heather and rocks. Secondly, a brown, leathery bug with a death wish is slowly crawling across her cheek. Disgusted, she swats it away. And thirdly, there is that annoying Nilfgaardian tossing and turning and mumbling incomprehensibly in his sleep right next to her. A nightmare? Or has his fever worsened? The sorceress sits up groggily. As she reaches out to check on her sleeping companion's temperature, he suddenly starts to speak more loudly, clearly extremely agitated.
"Get - get back here, you little - No! No!" Woken by his own panicked shouts, Cahir sits up with a start, eyes wide and gasping for air. He looks around, disoriented. When his gaze settles on Yennefer, he seems to finally remember where he is and why.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Am I giving you nightmares?"
"Don't flatter yourself, witch. Not everything is about you," he huffs, absentmindedly picking heather leaves from his wild, tangled locks with slightly shaky fingers.
"Who then?" Yennefer's curiosity is piqued. "An ex-girlfriend? Unfaithful lover?"
"None of your bloody business."
"Aren't we grumpy this morning! I am really looking forward to spending a couple of days in a cavern with you. We sure are going to have a blast."
"Shut up. You are giving me a headache."
"Be grateful you still have a head attached to your shoulders that can ache - thanks to me." She smiles smugly. Although, on second thought, the Nilfgaardian does look rather poorly, pale and sweaty, probably still feverish, and not well-rested at all. Maybe she should give him a break? But then, it is kind of fun to rile the man, and he definitely deserves it after everything he's done. He is the enemy, after all ...
"You do enjoy rubbing that in, don't you?" Cahir hisses.
"As there isn't anything else I could possibly enjoy in this desolate place, in the current company ..."
Choosing to ignore the part about the current company, Cahir scrambles to his feet and starts to walk.
"Get a move on, witch," he orders, glaring across his shoulder at Yennefer, who is still reclining in the heather. "We are too exposed in this desolate place in the daylight. The cliffs cannot be far."
Although Yennefer hates to be ordered around by the Nilfgaardian, she gets up and, not too closely, follows Cahir as they must indeed stand out like a sore thumb between the dwarf shrubs that are the only plants growing on the rocky soil, exposed to the salty gusts of wind from the sea. The sooner they get out of here, the better as she definitely does not want to be caught by the Brotherhood. The Nilfgaardian seems to have similar thoughts since he strides on briskly and purposefully, making it difficult for her to keep up.
Not long after they can see the silvery-grey ocean shimmering in the early morning light. Flocks of seagulls and several other species of marine birds are circling the sky, swooping down into the rolling waves again and again on the search for fish, making quite a racket. Far in the distance they can see the white sails of merchant ships heading to or away from Gors Velen, one of the most influential trade cities in the north. Yennefer sighs at the sight. If she could only portal them onto one of those ships and get out of here for good, maybe to Kovir for some years until this mess is all water under the bridge. Or even further north beyond the Dragon Mountains where nobody has ever heard of her. And the Nilfgaardian could go anywhere he chose from there, to Cintra, Nilfgaard, or to hell, what does she care?
When they reach the edge of the cliff, they are both breathing heavily and shivering in the cold ocean breeze.
"That looks like a feasible place to climb d-down." Cahir points at a spot to their far right where the cliff is less high and steep and leads to a lonely little half-moon-shaped beach, which would look quite romantic if the sand was white, not black like the cliff. His teeth are chattering slightly.
"How do you know there is a cave for us to hide in down there?"
"I d-don't. But see that darker spot in the r-rock face? C-could be a cave."
"Could be anything," she huffs, but still follows the Nilfgaardian as she has no better plan, or any plan at all. They'd just have to take the chance.
Luckily for Yennefer, Cahir slows down considerably as they walk toward the targeted spot, most of his energy reserves apparently spent. When they finally arrive, he looks more likely to collapse again than to be able to climb down a cliff. But he stays on his feet and closely inspects the cliff face, searching for the safest route down.
"Here. I go first. You follow after." He indicates the place with a nod, gets down on his knees and starts to swing his legs over the edge. His arms are shaking as they have to bear most of his weight until his feet find a safe hold in the rock.
"Sure you can handle the climb?" Yennefer is really worried now. This is so not a good idea. "I didn't save your neck and went to all this trouble just for you to break it."
"Worry about your own neck, witch," he grinds through teeth clenched in concentration while continuing to descend. Yennefer looks on as his upper body and head slowly disappear from her sight. Stubborn idiot! He could at least have rested a little first. Although they do not look much alike, the Nilfgaardian definitely reminds her of a certain Witcher more often than she cares for. Similarly grumpy and obstinate. Typical alpha male behaviour. Which she hates with a vengeance. And, totally in spite of herself, finds annoyingly attractive ...
When Yennefer looks over the edge of the cliff cautiously, Cahir has already made it down the first, rather difficult part of the climb and is now standing on a broad bridge-like ledge leading to the easier middle section.
"Come!" He motions her to start climbing.
Cursing her long dress, Yennefer squats down next to the cliff and gingerly moves her legs over the edge. As she is considerably shorter than the Nilfgaardian, it is even more difficult for her to find a safe foothold in the rock. Several times she fears that she might fall. Will Cahir be able to catch and save her if she does? Or rather, will he even try to catch her if she falls? At least the dark, almost black rock seems to be pretty solid and does not crumble under her weight or between her fingers. Unused to this kind of adventure, her fingertips are already hurting badly, her carefully manicured nails probably broken beyond recognition. Inwardly Yennefer breathes a heart-felt sigh of relief when she feels strong hands grip her around the waist, helping her down the last few steps until she stands safely on the ledge next to the Nilfgaardian. Of course, she cannot admit to him that she actually liked the feeling.
"I had it under control," she grumbles.
"I know. But better safe than sorry." He lets go of her waist, turns around and starts to climb down the rocky slope lying before them. Although it is easier, it's still no walk in the park to navigate their way down, sometimes hopping from rock to rock, sometimes squeezing through a narrow crack in between big boulders, sometimes slithering down a steep, gravelly patch more or less on their butts. It takes them a lot longer than anticipated, too, to reach the last part of the descent, another sheer-walled drop of approximately twelve metres. Yennefer starts climbing when Cahir is almost half way down, trying, wherever possible, to use the same ledges, protrusions and cracks as the Nilfgaardian. It is slow going and not only physically, but also mentally straining as she has to concentrate hard to not make any mistakes, any wrong movement threatening to send her tumbling down the cliff. But she is making steady progress, even catching up on Cahir a little. She can hear his heavy breathing from hardly more than two metres below her.
Yennefer looks down cautiously. Not very far to the ground now. A few more strenuous minutes and they'll have made it. In one piece. Carefully placing her right foot on a narrow ledge a little further down, her eyes trained on the rock face again, she proceeds.
Suddenly, there is the frightening noise of something, or rather someone, falling and heavily hitting the ground. Fuck! Of course, things would not go as smoothly for them as she imagined just a moment before. From the precarious position she is in at the moment, Yennefer cannot look down to find out what has happened and is relieved when she hears Cahir swearing. Not dead. That's something.
When Yennefer finally reaches the ground, the Nilfgaardian is sitting in the black sand leaning heavily agains the rock wall, very pale and sweaty, his eyes closed, but there is no blood anywhere, at least not that she can see, nor is any limb at a weird angle. So, probably nothing broken. He is holding his right ankle though. Exhausted, Yennefer sits down next to him.
"You alright?"
"I did that on purpose," he rasps through clenched teeth.
"Sure. Because it's such a fabulous idea to sprain your ankle when you are on the run. Let me have a look."
"It's nothing."
"Suit yourself, then." She, too, closes her eyes, too tired to pick a fight. If he insists on being pigheaded about this, he will soon enough regret it. His loss, not hers.
Just as Yennefer is about to nod off, Cahir stirs.
"I'll go find us a cave and water." Steadying himself against the rock face, he gets up gingerly, avoiding to put too much weight on his right leg. However, he cannot suppress a hiss of pain.
"Can you even walk?"
"We need to get out of sight. Somebody might spot us from a boat. Fishermen. Or your mage friends searching for us."
"They aren't my friends. Not anymore."
Yennefer watches skeptically as Cahir slowly limps toward the spot in the rock wall where he assumes a cavern can be found. In spite of being bone-weary from the long climb, Yennefer also gets up and follows the Nilfgaardian, easily catching up with him.
"See." He points triumphantly at something that looks indeed like the entrance to a small cave. And only a few metres away a thin waterfall spills down from the top of the cliff, not much, but plenty enough for them to wash their sweaty faces and still their burning thirst. The water tastes of earth and moss which grows in abundance on the dark rock where it is moist from the spray of the waterfall, covering it in different shades of green, but it is cool and deliciously refreshing. On inspection, the cave turns out to be more spacious than anticipated judging from the small opening, most of its floor covered in soft black sand inviting the two worn out fugitives to lie down and get some well-deserved and much needed rest.
Cahir lets himself flop down into the sand inelegantly, leaning against the cave wall with a groan.
"Will you let me check on your ankle now?" Yennefer asks. It comes out a bit more sharply than intended. However, Cahir gives a faint nod and stretches out his leg. Of course, the ankle is badly swollen by now and it takes all Yennefer's strength to pull off the boot, which makes the Nilfgaardian cry out in agony. It's on the tip of her tongue to say something like 'I told you so', but, seeing how deadly pale and in pain and miserable Cahir is, she, for once, holds her tongue. Instead, she rips off a strip of fabric from her dress, wets it under the waterfall, and gently wraps it around the swollen, but fortunately not broken, joint. Cahir opens his eyes and looks at her in surprise.
"Thank you, Yennefer," he mutters tiredly, closes his eyes again and drops off almost immediately.
"You're welcome, idiot," Yennefer murmurs. Then she finds a nice sandy spot not far from her unlikely travelling companion, lies down and, utterly exhausted, falls asleep, too.