For the June of Doom prompts: 6 "Flinch", 7 "Nightmare, 18 "I'm fine.", 20 "Panic Attack".

Sabrina wakes up before first light, far too early for her liking and not at all at an hour she would ever consider getting out of bed of her own volition, no, definitely not. Well, if she remembers correctly - and the aching in her bones tells her that she does - it is not a bed she is lying on but the floor of a draughty cavern. Which is decidedly uncomfortable and far from enjoyable. Why is she doing it again? Right, the bloody Nilfgaardian.

Yawning heartily, Sabrina sits up and listens into the darkness.

It is like she suspected. He must have woken her, how could it be otherwise? With a whispered spell, the sorceress conjures up another little light sphere. Hardly more than three metres away from her, the enemy commander is mumbling incomprehensibly and moaning in his sleep while tossing and turning wildly, flailing about with his arms and legs. Is he having a nightmare? Not that Sabrina feels anything remotely like compassion or sympathy for the man, yet, this cannot be good for his injuries. They might reopen and start to bleed again. Which would mean more healing work to do for her. And she definitely does not want that. With a heavy sigh, the blonde sorceress gets up and walks over to where he is lying.

"You, wake up!" she commands, putting her hand lightly on the Nilfgaardian's shoulder - the uninjured one, of course, as she is not a sadist by nature.

The man flinches violently, his eyes flying wide open, filled with sudden panic. Shrinking back against the wall, he stares at her as if he was seeing not a beautiful mage but a death crone, or a ghost, or a flesh-eating harpy. How ridiculous!

"What is wrong with you?" Sabrina asks, perplexed by his strong reaction. "I've barely even touched you! I thought you were a soldier, not a chicken-hearted scaredy-pants. Having a panic attack from as much as nothing! Are all Nilfgaardian commanders as pathetic as this?"

The man blinks rapidly and swallows hard, slowly coming to his senses.

"I — I mistook you for — for somebody else. I apologise," he says hoarsely, struggling to control his accelerated breathing.

An apology. The Nilfgaardian can be polite if he wants to be, Sabrina notes with satisfaction. Maybe not the typical southern savage after all, although he does seem to have a strange talent for mixing her up with other women.

"Perhaps it's time for a proper introduction then? So this will not happen again?" she proposes, slightly sarcastically. "I'm Sabrina Glevissig from Kaedwen. And who are you?"

"Cahir. I am Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach. Of Vicovaro."

"Cahir what? You don't expect me to remember that monster of a name, do you?" Sabrina says mockingly, shaking her head at the long assemblage of words. What a presumptuous name!

The Nilfgaardian - no, Cahir - does not answer but has another bout of the shivers instead. Not a good sign.

"Let me check if you're still feverish," Sabrina says, reaching out to touch the man's forehead. He recoils as if her hands were claws that wanted to dig themselves into his face.

"I'm fine," he chokes out, looking everything but.

"Rubbish, you're not. What are you afraid of? I'm not going to hurt you!" At least not now, and not as long as you do what I tell you, Sabrina adds, but only to herself in her mind. He will find out about that part of her plan soon enough. When he is better. She has her morals, after all, and would not hurt or take advantage of somebody who is sick.

This time, Cahir only shudders, closes his eyes tightly and clenches his jaw when she feels his clammy brow. Usually men love it when she touches them and cannot get enough of it, or rather of her. How strange this Nilfgaardian is. Something must be very wrong with the guy, besides the fact that he is still badly feverish. Well, with her limited healing skills, it would have been quite unrealistic to expect an instant recovery. Her plan will have to wait for a while longer. The Nilfgaardian is not going anywhere anyway. With a wave of her hand, Sabrina renews the warming spell that has worn off hours ago. Perhaps it will help a little with the fever chills.

"Go back to sleep," she then orders. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Sabrina does hope he will.