Tears of rage

"So, she has ashen hair then?" Yennefer asks casually after passing the freshly filled up boot-turned-drinking-vessel to her companion. Cahir is sitting up against the rock wall, still pale and a little feverish, but, after a good night's sleep, apparently a lot better. He must have woken up while she was outside stretching her legs and enjoying some rare rays of midmorning sunshine. Not without keeping a keen eye on the shimmering expanse of water, of course, in case of fishermen sailing close by, or worse. So far, they have been lucky in this respect. They have not met nor seen a single human being ever since they fled from the old abbey. Maybe the Brotherhood are still pursuing the white horse? Which the Nilfgaardian chased off in the direction of the bridge to lay a false trail. A red herring to set the mages on the wrong track. Thinking of a herring makes Yennefer's stomach growl and rumble. She'd give the world for a single little fish, even if she had to eat it raw and with her fingers ...

"What?" Cahir looks up from his drink, confused, obviously still a little out of it.

"The girl from your nightmare. She has ash blond hair."

"How - how do you know?" He splutters, then coughs and nearly chokes on the gulp of water he was about to swallow, looking so aghast under his wild beard it is almost comical. Fortunately, he does not drop the water-filled boot in his shock but manages to put it on the ground without spilling too much of its content.

"Funnily enough, you talk more in your sleep than when you're awake," Yennefer smirks while patting him deftly between the shoulder blades with a flat hand. Wouldn't do for the Nilfgaardian to suffocate now after all the trouble she has gone through to keep him alive.

"What else did I say?" Cahir pants when he has finally recovered his breath, looking alarmed.

"Some nonsense about a mission. To help her fulfil her destiny."

"That's it?"

"Oh, there was a lot more." Yennefer pauses for effect. Which it has as Cahir goes even paler than he was before. "Mostly gibberish, though," she adds quickly to put the man out of his misery. Contrary to what many people might think, she is not cruel by nature. He closes his eyes and breathes a deep sigh of relief, making it abundantly clear that he does not trust her with his secret. A fact that vexes the sorceress more than she'd like to admit.

"How long was I out?" he then asks, eyes still closed.

"Most of two days and two nights."

"Hmm."

Yennefer waits for more to come. However, that seems to be it. Suddenly the unwanted image of another man forcefully intrudes into Yennefer's thoughts. A man with long white hair and amber mutant eyes.

"Is that all? Just 'hmm'?" she hisses, all of a sudden bristling with anger. "No 'thank you, dearest Yennefer, for keeping me hydrated and saving my sorry ass - again'?" She glares at the flabbergasted Nilfgaardian, her purple eyes flashing. "Oh, of course, silly me. How could I expect something as mundane as gratitude from a commander general?" Seething with ire, she leaps to her feet and rushes toward the cave's entrance. "Asshole!" If there had been a door, Yennefer would have slammed it shut behind her with a loud bang. Next time she'd just let him die a most miserable death.

Storming down the beach, the irate sorceress kicks at a rock viciously. And instantly regrets it as agony shoots up her leg.

"Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck the whole, thrice damned, bloody continent!" she fumes, hopping on one foot, tears of rage and pain filling her eyes. A broken toe is just what she needs on top of it all. Yennefer slumps against the cliff, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and takes off her shoe to check on the aching digit. Not broken, but red and hurting like hell.

While carefully massaging the ailing toe, Yennefer looks up. And sees it. Out of the corner of her eye. A ship. It is just sailing around the rugged rocks at the far edge of their little beach, trawling a fishing net behind it. Her breath catches in her throat as she freezes with shock. It's much too late to get back to the cave without being noticed. Yennefer tries to meld into the blackness of the cliff. Fortunately, her dress is black with only a little grey at the shoulders, and her hair is dark as well. If she is lucky, the fishermen might not see her. But what if they have heard her high-volume swearing? Has she finally fucked everything up?

"Yennefer?" Damn it. The Nilfgaardian. There is no way she can warn him without drawing attention to herself. Luckily it was only a low whisper coming from the direction of the cave's entrance, certainly impossible to hear for the fishermen. Hopefully, Cahir is already aware of the danger and has sense enough to keep quiet and stay well out of sight.

The small ship, or rather boat, is gliding by. Not very closely, but close enough for her to hear some scraps of conversation, to count the crew - three astonishingly short men and two equally short women - and to decipher the name written on its prow in bright turquoise letters. The Blue Sea Cat. Yennefer is holding her breath, trying not to twitch a single muscle of her body. Cold sweat is pouring down her forehead and into her eyes. Her clammy hands are itching to wipe it away. However, she must not move as they will surely see her if she does. Tense seconds stretch into minutes that seem like hours. Finally, The Blue Sea Cat disappears behind the rocks at the other end of the beach.

Yennefer draws a shuddering breath. That was close, so very close. Much too close. Her legs feel like jelly when she shakily tries to stand up, so she sinks back into the sand, hugs her legs tight and buries her face against her trembling knees. She does not know how long she has been sitting like this, probably only a few minutes tops, although it feels like much longer, when she hears the soft sound of footsteps coming closer. Limping footsteps. In socks. Accompanied by the faint jangle of iron chains. If their whole situation wasn't so dire and fucked up, it would almost be funny. They are easily the most ridiculous pair she has ever come across.

"Yennefer? You alright?"

"Hmm." Cahir slumps into the sand next to her, the chains clattering against the rock. Silence. Yennefer waits, giving him a sidewise glance, not quite sure what to expect. He is looking not at her but out over the ocean at the far-away horizon.

"I'm sorry. For being an ass. After what you've done for me." His words come out hoarsely, haltingly while he gazes into the distance. Unsurprisingly, the Nilfgaardian commander general is not exactly practised in the art of apologising. He pauses. Then he turns toward her, finally looking her in the eye. "And, thank you, Yennefer. For sparing my life. For saving my life. For everything. You didn't have to do any of it."

"Hmm." She nods to acknowledge his effort. And signal her forgiveness. Perhaps it wasn't the best of possible apologies but certainly not the worst. It is a start.

The two fugitives continue to sit in silence for a few more minutes. Listening to the sound of the waves, of the sea birds, and of each other's breathing. This time, it is not a heavy silence. It is one that feels surprisingly - good.

"Come." Cahir touches her lightly on the shoulder. "We shouldn't be sitting here. Another boat might come by. We surely won't be as lucky a second time."

Of course, he is right. Again. But Yennefer does not mind this time.

They both have difficulty getting up, Cahir because of his aching ankle, Yennefer because her legs are still wobbly. Hesitantly reaching out and holding on to each other, they finally manage and get back to the cave with no further incidents.

"Let's not do this again." Yennefer says when they are both settled in different corners of the cave.

Tiredly, Cahir nods in agreement. Careful not to aggravate his still swollen ankle, he stretches out in the sand stifling a yawn and closes his eyes. Yennefer listens as his breathing slowly evens out and he starts to snore softly. Good. The man certainly needs all the rest he can get after the bad fever. And as long as he is asleep, they cannot possibly get into another fight, can they?

Yennefer also closes her eyes, but is not tired enough to go to sleep. And perhaps too rattled still from the emotional turmoil. Why on earth is it that she always ends up stuck with utterly annoying idiots, assholes, or idiot assholes? And endless bickering and fighting? Is a nice, respectful, loving, normal relationship really too much to ask for? One like in her dream - vision - with Geralt and the baby? Well, if Yennefer is honest with herself, if she ever happened to have one of those ordinary relationships, she would probably be bored to death after a few weeks. Maybe after a few days. Anyway, she is not having any relationship with the Nilfgaardian, none whatsoever, nor planning on having one. They are just accidental, temporary allies, nothing more, and probably both looking forward to the day they can finally part company and get rid of each other. So why even think about it?

However, with nothing to do and too afraid to leave the cave after the almost desaster with The Blue Sea Cat, there is no escaping her wandering thoughts. Thoughts about her dismal life before Aretuza, of Tissaia and her classmates, Istredd, his betrayal, her meaningless time at court, the hopeless chase for a cure to regain her womb. The bloody battle of Sodden and her devastating loss of magic, which has left her weak and helpless and empty. And, of course, there are her memories of Geralt. Perhaps, her classmates-turned-eels are actually the fortunate ones. Eternally swimming in the beautiful Aretuza pool as conduits of magic with not a care in the world, really and truly being useful. As she is lost in bleak thoughts, tears start to well up in her eyes again. This time, however, not tears of rage, but tears of grief. Grief for everything she has lost and will never regain. Sobbing quietly, hopelessly into the crook of her arm, Yennefer lets herself sink into the black sand. Black as her thoughts.

No, I'm not broken, she suddenly thinks, defiantly. There's more. More to come, more to reach for. She just has to get her shit together and find it. Somewhere. Somehow.

The sound of soft, rhythmical snoring.

At least she is not utterly alone this time. Even if her only companion is a bloody idiot asshole Nilfgaardian.