Author's Note: This is an alternative chapter 3 etc. for my story "Everything I do" with not Yennefer and Jaskier finding an injured Cahir after his fight with the Scoia'tael but Fringilla and Francesca. (Perhaps the more realistic scenario?) If you have watched S3 E6 you should understand what's going on even without having read chapters 1-2 of the original story, but if you'd like to read the Ciri x Cahir scene from E6 from Cahir's perspective and his fight with the Scoia'tail, I'd recommend you read those chapters first and then switch over to this one here.
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"Where is the girl? Have the scouts returned?" Francesca asks, rushing through the cave towards the entrance where two elves are standing guard. "Did Cahir capture her?"
"They haven't returned."
No, of course not. Why should anything go like planned? They have lost everything and won nothing. Achieved nothing except to put the world-famous Aretuza to ruins. Explosions still shake the island. Francesca gazes outside. She gasps as she sees the ancient elven tower, Tor Lara, crumble, the falling stone revealing the smooth black rock of a monolith. What by the gods happened here? She cannot only hear the rumble of falling stones, feel the vibrations of the explosion, sense the aftereffect of a powerful blow of magic, but for a second it is as if a rift in the material of space and time had opened, a dangerous chasm that could devour the world. Or rebirth it. Francesca blinks and the unsettling feeling of foreboding is gone.
"We need to leave. Ready the boat!" she orders the guards and the elven soldier that has come down here with them.
"Francesca, we need to wait," Fringilla urges. "Maybe Cahir and the scouts are still out there. They might still catch her."
"No, they won't." The absolute certainty in her words even surprises Francesca. But she knows it is the truth. "Cirilla is not on the island anymore. I can feel it. We won't achieve anything by waiting."
"I won't abandon Cahir on this island and leave him to his fate." No, not again. Not like after their defeat at Sodden.
"Stay if you want. I say good riddance," Francesca spits, her blood-splattered face a mask of distaste. There is clearly no love lost between the two despite them being allies. "Cahir brought us to this cursed island. My husband is dead because of him. Most of my men are dead because of him. We cannot even bury their corpses."
"Still, he's my friend."
"Since when?" Francesca scoffs. "Back in Xin'trea I had the impression that you were rivals, that you were afraid of him."
"Things change. And I was wrong. Please, Francesca."
"It will take a while until everybody is here and patched up, ready to travel. But I have no men to spare for a search party. He's most likely dead in some ditch anyway."
Most likely, yes. Fringilla is aware of it. But what if he is not? She understands that it is not possible to go search for him with the enemy mages still out there and they being so few, so exhausted from the fight. But the least they can do is wait some more, even if it is mostly to console her own conscience. Fringilla nods to Francesca, signalling her agreement, then sits down not far from the cave's mouth to wait. She truly hopes that Cahir will not fall into the hands of the Brotherhood again. Or rather of what is left of the Brotherhood, which is not much. That they have achieved. They have destroyed the Brotherhood of Mages. With her uncle dead, Fringilla has no relatives left in this world except for this remote cousin far away in Toussaint. If Cahir is dead, all her human friends are gone, too. Leaves Francesca and the elves. Now, after having fought together side by side and with the baby and Filavandrel gone, their alliance might work. If she acts wisely, she might even be able to use Francesca for her revenge on Emhyr. The chance, the right occasion will arise. Then she will make him regret what he has done to her. A wine tasting. She can see it in her mind. Six glasses of excellent Toussaintois wine especially for him, but one of them spiked with a sprinkling of Conium maculatum, the other with Colchicum autumnale and a third one with, let's say, Amanita verna. Yes, that is a nice spectrum of different poisons. Botany. She smiles to herself. They all do not kill immediately. He might be lucky and drink from one of the glasses without any poison first, too. It will take a while until there will be effects. Certainly very interesting to observe how the difference poisons will affect each other. And him. A true scientific experiment. She cannot wait to conduct it on the precious White Flame. Yes, this will be a glorious day for science, and for her.
Suddenly Fringilla is startled from her macabre daydreams by a sound. She listens. Yes, there it is again, not easy to discern among the noises from the collapsing tower but she is almost sure. A horse neighing. Are the scouts returning? Cahir? She springs to her feet, rushes toward the cave's entrance and gazes outside. A black horse is slowly trotting toward her. Cahir's stallion. With a thud, the rider falls off his horse and into the sand as she is standing there watching.
"Cahir!" Fringilla shouts, already starting to run. For Cahir to fall off his horse like this, he must be injured. Severely injured. Fuck.
Fringilla kneels down in the sand next to him. The metal of his left pauldron and parts of the back piece of his armour are coated in blood, the black fabric of his uniform soaked with it and sticky. There is an ugly cut on his left hand, too. Cahir groans softly when she carefully turns him onto his back. Not dead. That is something.
"Cahir?" she asks, putting two fingers to his neck to feel for a pulse. It is weak, thready, far too fast. Not good. His breathing is fast and shallow, too, he is pale like a sheet, his skin cool and clammy. He must have lost a lot of blood. With effort, he half opens his eyes.
"Frin—" he manages to say, looking up at her blearily before he heaves another groan and starts to tremble.
"Damn it, Cahir, don't you dare die on me!" Fringilla says, no, almost shouts. Frantic with worry, she looks back toward the cave.
"Francesca!" The elven queen's head has just appeared in the cave's entrance to investigate the cause of the commotion. "I need your help, please!"
Francesca glances in her direction, her expression inscrutable. Will she help? Fringilla is aware that she has no reason to do so. Why would Francesca care whether or not Cahir dies? Maybe she would even be happy if he did. She almost said so not many minutes ago.
Fringilla breathes a sigh of relief when the elven queen starts to walk toward them. Annoyingly slowly, but she does.
Hastily Fringilla begins to undo the buckles and clasps of Cahir's armour. She needs to get the pauldron off and the back piece in order to have a look at his shoulder. Not an easy task with everything slippery from blood. Although she is as careful as possible, he moans pitifully with every movement.
"I'm sorry, Cahir. I don't want to hurt you. But this stuff needs to go." Fringilla heaves another sigh when she finally has the pauldron in her hands. Then, Francesca is there. With experienced fingers she loosens the last straps holding breast and back piece together at the groaning knight's side.
"Hold him while I fix his shoulder," Francesca orders, and Fringilla happily obeys. She has never been particularly good at healing spells and knows that Francesca will do a much better job at it. Healing is not easy and requires a lot of chaos, a lot more so than hurting someone. Like mending something that is broken, rebuilding something that has been destroyed, takes a lot more time and effort than breaking or destroying it. With living, breathing beings it is even harder than with dead objects. Fringilla can soon see beads of perspiration collect on Francesca's forehead as she holds her hands above the ugly, badly bleeding injury in Cahir's shoulder and whispers ancient elven incantations, her brow creased with concentration while Fringilla holds her whimpering, barely conscious friend cradled in her arms, his blood seeping into the fabric of her grey dress. Exhausted as Francesca is from the battle and from healing wounds her elven companions sustained in the fight, it does not take long for the first drop of blood to trickle down from her nostrils. And another one. And another.
"Francesca, as much as I hate to say it, but you need to stop." Fringilla puts a hand on her elven friend's shoulder. "You need to rest. I think it should be enough so he won't die. You've done enough." Francesca halts the incantation with a sigh. Her slender hands are trembling from the strain.
"You're right, Fringilla, I've done enough. You do the rest. We need to go." With a last glance at Cahir, she stands up on shaky legs. The wound is not even half healed, but a lot better than before. He will live. Not that she would care, but for Fringilla. She saved her life there in the inferno of the courtyard. Although not yet sure if this was a good thing, she owes her. Now a little less so. She takes a deep breath. "I'll send you somebody to carry him to the boat."
"Thank you, Francesca. I appreciate it. You're a true friend." Fringilla smiles at her, then she looks down at Cahir. He has his eyes closed and is breathing heavily, but a lot less shallow than before. His pulse is stronger and steadier too, and not quite as fast. "You'll be alright," she says, stroking a brown curl from his clammy forehead that must have come loose from his leather hair-tie during the fight. "I'll make you alright again, I promise. I won't abandon you, not this time."
Cahir blinks up at her.
"Frin - Fringilla?" he whispers, obviously having difficulty to see her clearly. "You - You said think - think for yourself. I- I did."
"Sh, don't talk, save your strength. You can tell me tomorrow when you feel better."
"No, you - you don't understand. I let her - let her go, the princess. I have to find her," Cahir says agitatedly and tries to sit up. A sharp stab of agony shoots from his injured hand straight up his arm and to his dully aching shoulder. He cries out in pain, sinking back into the sand.
"Stay still, for the love of the Golden Sun!" Fringilla admonishes. "Look at your poor hand, it's bleeding again!" It is a bit stupid to tell him to look as Cahir has screwed his eyes tightly shut, his face a grimace of pain. However, panting heavily, he heeds her words and lies as still as he can.
Fringilla takes a handkerchief from a pocket hidden in her dress and ties it tightly around Cahir's left hand where big drops of fresh blood are gushing from the cut in his leather glove. He draws in a sharp breath and bites his lip to not cry out again.
"I'm sorry. I'll ask Francesca to look after that cut as soon as we're off this blasted island and safe ashore again," Fringilla promises. "But you, Cahir, won't go anywhere until you're completely healed. And fuck that mission. Was it the girl who hurt you?"
"No," Cahir breathes. "The Scoia'tael, it - it was I who killed them." A soft 'Oh' escapes Fringilla's lips. That she did not expect. It might complicate things a bit.
"I betrayed them," Cahir goes on, his voice so low, she has to lean forward to catch his whispered words. "I - I betrayed the White Flame. Gallatin. Everybody."
"No, Cahir, don't say that. Not everybody." She strokes another lock from his brow affectionately. Funny, he does not look much like the stern, if necessary even brutal commander general anymore, more like a lost and wounded puppy that needs to be taken care of. How absurd. She is not developing motherly feelings for Cahir? Fringilla almost scoffs aloud at the idea. Although, come to think of it, he is quite young, so, so much younger than she. She could easily be his grandmother. And from the little she knows about him, he lost his own mother, his whole family when he was just a boy. Only to be saved from dying in the gutter by the White Flame. And now, after so many years of blind servitude, Cahir has apparently broken off with his saviour, started to think for himself. Like she did. This is promising. Perhaps he will even help her with her plan to take revenge. When he has recovered properly.
"Not everybody, no. You did not betray me." Fringilla smiles at him. "And I won't betray you. Your secret's safe with me. Nobody needs to know. Do you trust me, Cahir?"
"Yes," he breathes, then closes his eyes, utterly spent.