Cahir is still sleeping when Fringilla comes back with a big bowl full of blackberries for him, but from the way he moves his head, moans and whimpers in his sleep, it looks like he is having a nightmare yet again, a really bad one.

"Cahir, wake up!" she orders while shaking him lightly by the shoulder, knowing by now that direct commands work best with him. She is not disappointed. He jerks out of his sleep. Kneeling by his side, Fringilla holds him down so he would not move too abruptly and hurt his hand or shoulder. Cahir looks at her, momentarily disoriented. However, he finds his bearings quickly.

"Fringilla, thank the gods," he murmurs. "I was just having this dream about a very different sorceress."

"Not a pleasant dream, I gather?" Fringilla asks, letting go of Cahir.

"That would be the understatement of the century, I suspect," he says with a bitter snort and sits up gingerly.

"Tell me about it. About Gallatin, too. And everything else. I know so little about you, Cahir, it's a real shame considering we've been working together for how long? Six years?"

"You've never asked before."

"I do now. Because you're my friend. I can see that you aren't doing well. And I'm not talking about your shoulder or hand." She pauses meaningfully, looking him in the eye. "Friends tell each other about things," she goes on, "about the good things and the bad stuff. Especially about the bad stuff. And I believe there's been plenty of the latter in your life."

"I don't need your pity, Fringilla."

"I know, Cahir. But what about a hug or two?" She smiles at him encouragingly. "Or some blackberries?"

"Am I your little pet project now about how to fix broken things?"

"Maybe. So what will it be, the hug or the berries?" Fringilla grabs the bowl with the blackberries and holds it in front of his face. They look delicious, mouthwatering. He licks his lips.

"Can I have both?"

"Not greedy at all, are you?" Fringilla grins. "Come here." She hugs Cahir briefly, then motions him to lay his head in her lap and starts to feed him one blackberry after the other. "That agreeable to you, commander general?"

"Mmh. I think I'm beginning to like your pet project. I could get used to this."

"It's not terrible to have a friend, right? It's even better than kin, at least if the kin's like my uncle who never did shit for me." Fringilla does not know what it says about her character but she does not feel sorry for killing Artorius Vigo back in the Aretuza courtyard. Not the faintest pang of conscience or drop of grief although she has known him her entire life.

"I digress, this is supposed to be about you, not me," she then says. Cahir sighs.

"Does it have to be?"

"Yes, and that's an order. But take your time." She smiles down at Cahir and drops another blackberry in his mouth. He chews, furrowing his brow.

"Where should I start?"

"What about at the beginning?"

"Hhm." He stays silent for a moment. "This -" he eventually says, "this is going to be a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere," Fringilla replies with yet another one of her pretty smiles. "And neither are you."

It is a long story indeed, and not a fun one, the contrary. Fringilla just listens, giving her friend a light squeeze in the shoulder from time to time or combing her fingers through his hair when his voice begins to falter and crack with emotion and tears well up in his eyes. Fortunately, Cahir manages to valiantly suppress the sobs that are threatening to burst forth every time this time. Not an easy endeavour considering his troubled past. And now it is all resurfacing. Once in a while even Fringilla has to wipe a silent tear from her eyes. By the time Cahir's story has reached the most recent events and he has told her about his nearly fatal encounter with Cirilla and the Scoia'tael, it is almost dark outside. Judging by the sounds from the camp, most of the elves are back from their diverse tasks and missions and sitting around the campfire enjoying dinner together with several new arrivals. Fringilla suddenly notices that she also is quite hungry. She would definitely kill for a glass of Skellige whiskey, too. After telling his tale, she cannot even imagine how Cahir must be feeling, probably like downing an entire barrel of booze. He is not usually one who indulges in drinking much, at least not as far as she knows - hell, she was not before her stint in the Cintrean wine cellars - but after a story like this even the most moderate person would want a stiff drink, wouldn't they? Unfortunately, there is not a single drop of alcohol in the camp. They have not quite finished yet, either. Fringilla has some questions, still.

"When you asked the princess for forgiveness, what did she say?"

"Nothing. She didn't kill me."

"Did you really want her to kill you?"

"I - I don't know. I felt like I owed her that. So many people are dead because of me. I destroyed her whole life, everything." He closes his eyes. "I don't want to be a monster," he then whispers.

"You're not, Cahir." Fringilla gives his good shoulder another squeeze. "You followed orders. Emhyr's orders. Blindly, stupidly, yes, but think! What would have happened if you had refused to do it? It'd probably have landed you in the dungeons and Emhyr would have tasked somebody else with the mission. Simple as that. It would not have changed a thing for Cirilla. Cintra would have burnt, no matter who led the army. Her grandparents would still have died that day. The princess would have ended up a refugee either way. Only, a different commander might not have let her go on Thanedd."

Cahir snorts. "A different commander would have gotten himself killed by her hand. She's incredible with a sword. I'd have had difficulty fighting her if I had wanted to do so. And fighting is the one thing I'm really good at. Then there was this white-haired guardian guy watching us the whole time. I believe it was the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. He didn't exactly look as if he'd have let me take her. I'm sure I'd have been dead as a doornail within minutes if I had tried. The Scoia'tael wouldn't have stood a chance against the two either."

"Then why by the Golden Sun did you fight them all on your own? One against five on horseback! Did you want them to finish you off when the princess wouldn't do it?"

"Damn!" Cahir sits up and glares at her. "What do you want of me, Fingilla? That I tell you I'm a suicidal nutcase? Maybe I am! Perhaps what Tissaia did messed with my head! Or the princess screaming so loud my ears were gushing blood and I had the mother of migraines for days! Maybe I'm losing my mind with all those visions and nightmares and blood everywhere! I don't fucking know!"

"I'm sorry, Cahir. I didn't want to upset you." Fringilla takes his hand in hers. "I'm aware all this is really difficult for you. Still, I trust you with my life. But how can I trust you with yours? I simply need to be sure you won't do anything rash and stupid like this again. Promise me."

"Alright." He swallows and takes a deep breath. "I'll try. I don't know if I'll be any good at it, though. What - What if I am going crazy?"

"I don't think you are. You're just - confused. It's no wonder, too, with everything you've told me. So, listen up, here's what you'll do. Whenever you feel like you deserve to die, you remember who gave you those orders, do you understand? And then you get mad at him, not at yourself. It's easy. I do it all the time."

"Hhm."

"And if this isn't enough, you remember what you promised the princess. You won't be able to keep your promise if you're dead, right?"

He nods slowly. This makes sense. But then he should not just sit here guilt-ridden, full of regrets and wallowing in self-loathing or whatever it is but do something to find her. "Fringilla, have you - have you heard anything about where she is? What became of her?"

"The rumour is she was inside the Tower of the Gulls during the explosion. She couldn't possibly survive it. Her sword was found in the rubble, but nothing else."

"No, she's alive," he says with conviction, "I can feel it. Cirilla is out there. She's in some kind of desert. I think it's the Korath. There's red sand everywhere—"

"Cahir, that wasn't real," Fringilla interrupts him. "You were having a bad fever. It's natural to dream about fire or a hot place when you're feverish. That's just your imagination playing tricks on you. Think logical. How on the continent would Cirilla have ended up in the Korath desert?"

"You're the sorceress. You tell me. You must know all about that tower and what it can do. She's there, I know it, and she needs help, Fringilla. Can't you portal us there?"

"Even if I could, the Korath is vast! It would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Besides, you, Cahir, are in no way well enough to walk through a desert!" Fringilla shakes her head at the mere thought. "Anyway, this is nonsense. Maybe the desert felt real to you. Still, you were raving about unicorns!"

"But, Fringilla—"

"No buts. Here's what we'll do. You concentrate on getting better, nothing else. I'll get us more information. Then we act - wisely, not rash. And now we'll have something to eat. A warrior like you cannot live on blackberries alone." With a smile at Cahir, she stands up. "I'll be back in a minute."

Cahir sighs. He does not really feel like eating anything. However, Fringilla is right, he should. If he wants to start out on his search for the princess any time soon, he needs to get back his strength. At the moment just sitting up for more than a few minutes seems tiring. Thinking is, too. He should probably leave that to Fringilla as well for the time being. His head is already aching more than enough without the additional strain of making plans. Still, he cannot forget about the desert. It felt so real, even with the unicorn, he would bet his life it was not just a fever dream. Damn, betting his life would probably count as another rash way of how to commit suicide in Fringilla's books ...