Of Surprising Facts and Startling Feelings

Cahir falls asleep in her arms when he is done. He must still be exhausted from his injuries and the loss of blood. With the emotional stress on top of it all - and the release -, it is no wonder he goes out like a light. Sabrina whispers a quick spell to clean away his mess, then, she too, closes her eyes. She is not really tired, but lying snuggled up like this is surprisingly nice, plus she does not want to wake him. So, for a while, she listens to his breathing slowing down and becoming regular and deep and to the incessantly falling rain and ponders the astonishing caprices of fate that have led to this very unexpected moment in time. And her strange and even more unexpected turmoil of feelings. Can feelings pop up out of thin air and grow just by holding somebody tight, by inhaling their scent and watching them sleep? Somebody you bumped into by accident not even two days ago and who you used to hate from the bottom of your heart? What would her fellow sorceresses say if she told them? They would surely think she had lost all her marbles. But what would she tell them? That she has fallen in love with the enemy in the course of a day and a half? What a ridiculously insipid, cliché trope. Anyway, it is not true, what she is feeling is not love. It is just a little affection, like when you find a stray, hurt cat, take care of its injuries, feed it and let it sleep in your lap for an evening or two, absentmindedly stroking its soft fur from time to time. Nothing more. You will forget the animal as soon as it has recovered and strolls out of the door, never to come back. Well, maybe a fond little memory will remain, but that is all. And it is better this way. Love only brings heartbreak and misery. Look at Yennefer. Her Witcher might be dying, or he is already dead, and the girl she calls her daughter most probably perished in the explosion. No, love is too fickle and transient. As is the life of mere humans. Another reason not to fall in love. Not now and not ever. With neither cat nor man, and especially not with an enemy. It would be nice, though, to be loved, very nice ...

With these thoughts on her mind, Sabrina drifts off into a light slumber. And what does she dream about? About finding a lost black cat by the name of Cahir. Yet, she will not remember it when she wakes up.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

This time it is her empty stomach that rouses Sabrina from her nap, not the Nilfgaardian, her very empty, embarrassingly loudly rumbling stomach. Cahir is still fast asleep and snoring softly. He must have turned onto his back in his sleep and her head is resting on his bare chest, moving up and down a little with every breath he takes. A comfortably warm and pleasantly alive pillow. But he must be hungry, too. When have they last had anything to eat? She had a delicious salmon pasty and some grapes and chocolates yesterday evening while she was reading. Now it looks like it is afternoon already and she has neither had breakfast, nor lunch. Nor has Cahir. He has not eaten anything all day yesterday either. Most likely the man has not had a decent meal at all since before the battle more than two days ago. He must be starving. What a shitty host she is, Sabrina reprimands herself. Well, host is maybe not the right word anyway and certainly not the one Cahir would use. Most probably, she is nothing but a jailor to him - a rather beautiful and somewhat unorthodox one, yes, but a jailor nonetheless. And, sadly, for prisoners it might not be an uncommon experience to not be fed three or four times a day, or at all. It might have been what he expected. On the other hand, it was the Nilfgaardian's own fault that he did not help himself to some of their provisions before getting drunk, not hers. Still, she should have let him have breakfast first before she started with her interrogation game. Hmm, her inexcusable neglect will have to be made up for with something special. Sabrina already has an idea.

Carefully, she gets to her feet. Cahir stirs and mumbles something incomprehensible when she moves, but he does not wake up. Sabrina breathes a quick kiss onto his cheek - he just looks so adorably kissable - and covers him with a blanket. Then she puts her dress and shoes on and gets to work. There is plenty of food and drink in her bags and what else she needs, she can conjure up. The weather has improved sufficiently by now, the rain has stopped and even the one or other ray of sunshine manages to peek through the brightening clouds. Not nearly enough for a sunbath, but definitely much preferable to this morning's downpour. She only needs to dry a nice patch of sand for them, conjure up a picnic rug, arrange all the food, and wait for her - most likely ravenous - companion to open his pretty blue eyes. And, while they are eating, maybe they can talk some more. Or just watch the waves roll in and cascade over the sand of the beach together. Or kiss. Without asking questions this time. Just for the thrill of it.

Before exiting the cave, her arms loaded with food, Sabrina glances back at her slumbering prisoner and suddenly she feels this excited fluttering in her stomach, like a hundred butterflies, a feeling she has not experienced in many, many years. Mmh, perhaps they can do a bit more than kissing, too ...

However, when everything for their picnic on the beach is prepared and Sabrina returns to the cave, she finds, much to her consternation, that Cahir is not sleeping peacefully anymore, but tossing and turning and whimpering, obviously caught in another nightmare. Time to wake him up, maybe? But how? Sabrina would not wish to trigger a panic attack, like the last time he had a bad dream. Should she try to soothe him with a melody instead? It worked surprisingly well just a few hours ago, maybe it will do so again? Before she can make up her mind, though, Cahir jumps awake, looking around wildly and gasping for air.

"Sshhh, it's OK. It was a nightmare, you're safe here," Sabrina tries to reassure him. "I'll get you a cup of tea. Tea always helps, you'll see." She murmurs a quick spell. A big mug appears on the floor next to her which she magically fills with a steaming liquid. The pleasant aroma of peppermint and bee balm wafts through the cave.

"Here, drink, but careful, it's hot," she offers, holding out the mug to him.

Cahir takes it from her with shaky hands and cautiously has a sip. It is hot, indeed, but the fresh taste helps clear his mind. He is in the cave with Sabrina, not in the desert with a horrible monster burrowed deep in the sand, lying in wait for its unsuspecting prey. For the Princess. This time, he did not see her in his dream, but he knows she will be there, will try to drink from what looks like water but is a deadly trap. If she had her sword, she could perhaps fight the monster, but she must have lost it somewhere. And she is all alone. No, not all alone, there was this creature following her, a white horse but with a long, white horn. A unicorn. Is it possible? It sounds fantastic, insane. And it is all his fault. And Emhyr's.

"I— I need to go," he says huskily, glancing up at Sabrina. "I need to find her. I promised I would find her."

"Find who? Princess Cirilla?" Sabrina asks, puzzled. Cahir nods. "But she's dead. Didn't you see Tor Lara explode? She was inside the tower."

"No, she can't be dead," he objects. "I— I'm having dreams about her. She's out there, in the desert, I know it. She wants me to find her." Looking down at his trembling hands, his left still bandaged and partly numb, he continues, almost in a whisper. "There was this monster, a huge maw with a hundred saber-like teeth, and— and a unicorn. You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Cahir suddenly asks, looking up at Sabrina again. "Perhaps you're not wrong. Maybe something's not right with my head. Sometimes I'm having visions of her even when I'm awake. But I swear, it all happened like in my dream. I knew where to find her here on Thanedd, and she looked exactly as I'd dreamt her, not like a child, not like when I last saw her after the Sacking of Cintra—"

"The Slaughter of Cintra, you mean," Sabrina corrects, her sympathetic expression suddenly turning into a disapproving scowl.

"Yes, you're right, the Slaughter of Cintra," he murmurs, averting his eyes, his hands starting to shake even worse.

Shit, Sabrina curses inwardly. The Nilfgaardian is not having another meltdown, is he? Once a day is more than enough, thank you very much!

"I don't think you're crazy, Cahir. There must be another explanation," she says, quickly sitting down next to him, close but without touching. "Many dreams are just rubbish, but I'm a sorceress. I know that prophetic dreams exist. People who are strong sources of chaos, like your princess, are often prone to them. Or sometimes there is a mysterious bond between two people that makes them have dreams about each other," she explains, her voice soft and soothing. It appears to have the desired, calming effect on her agitated companion. "Usually they're close family," she goes on, "like twins, or a mother and her child. Some people are linked by destiny, though, like soulmates, or by the Law of Surprise. However, none of it is likely in your and Princess Cirilla's case." Sabrina pauses, frowning. Maybe what Tissaia did to Cahir during her interrogation not only traumatised her prisoner but also shifted something in the matrix of magic? It is rather improbable, yet not totally impossible.

"Do you remember when those dreams started, Cahir? Was there anything that might have triggered them?" she asks, curious. Sabrina likes a good mystery, and this one, as messed up as it is, just seems to be waiting for the right person to solve it.

He nods and takes another swallow of his tea, trying to collect his thoughts.

"It was after we took Cintra. I had captured Princess Cirilla, like I was ordered to do, and rode out of the city with her through the fire and conflagration - that we had caused. She wasn't responsive at first, probably in shock, but then, outside the city walls, she suddenly started to scream. It was a scream like I had never heard one before. It made my ears ring and I feared my head was going to explode. My horse reared and threw us. She ran. I tried to grab her, but she screamed again, and again. Suddenly, a huge, black monolith not far from us began to crumble. It toppled over. We were lucky it didn't crush us but fell directly between the girl and me. Then the ground opened before my eyes, swallowing the monolith. Cirilla was on the other side of the chasm. There was no way I could get to her. She turned around and ran into the forest. That was the last time I saw her, until we met here, on Thanedd."

"Cirilla toppled a monolith? With her screams? Are you sure, Cahir?" Sabrina asks when he has finished his tale, incredulous. He nods again.

"If what you say is true, this could explain it then," she says pensively. "Monoliths contain ancient magic, magic that even predates the elves, from a time long, long before the Conjunction of the Spheres and the arrival of humans on the continent. Toppling one could have released some of its chaos, causing all kinds of strange side effects. But fuck, this girl must possess more power than anybody I have ever heard of. It's hardly surprising that Yennefer wanted to bring her to Aretuza. Learning how to control this huge amount of chaos is imperative. If not properly controlled, it can be very dangerous." Sabrina pauses for a moment, "I wonder," she then continues, "if Cirilla is connected to the monoliths, maybe you're right. Maybe she didn't perish when Tor Lara exploded but was transported to a different place. I had no idea, but there was a monolith hidden inside the tower and its power could have created a rift in space, a warped, random portal. You're sure she's in a desert?"

"Yes."

"There aren't many deserts on the continent, but you certainly know that." During her education at Aretuza, Sabrina had to study plenty of maps, and as much as she had disliked it then, this knowledge has come in handy many times in her service as advisor to King Henselt. For army commanders working with maps must be second nature, like walking or breathing. "The Korath Desert is the biggest by far. Then there is a smaller one in Zerrikania. And we don't know what lies in the far lands in the east or beyond the great ocean. If she's even in this sphere."

"What about the girl's guardian, the Witcher?" Cahir asks. The man had not looked like he would leave the princess out of his sight for even a second, yet he was not with her. "What became of him?"

"Geralt of Rivia? Vilgefortz almost killed him. He was taken to the Dryads of Brokilon to heal, or, more likely, to die," Sabrina says. "I doubt that, even if he survives, he can be of any help to the girl. He'll most probably end up a cripple for the rest of his life. A pity."

"What if the Witcher knows something?"

"Then Yennefer will find out. I'm sure she'll go there as soon as it's safe again to portal. She'll do everything to find the girl. It sounds ridiculous, but Yen seems to have kind of adopted the princess. She's Geralt's child surprise, too. Looks like the three were a happy found family for a while. So it is obvious why they are searching for Cirilla. But," Sabrina's brows knit and her expression suddenly darkens, "tell me, Cahir, why do you want to find the princess? To take her to your emperor? So he can use her magic as a powerful weapon against us? Is that why Emhyr wants her?"

"No, I'm done with the emperor, I swear," Cahir says. "I wouldn't have told you any of this if I weren't. I was a traitor already before you brought me here."

"You were?" Sabrina raises her eyebrows mockingly. "Try to explain that to Dethmold of Kovir. You didn't look much like a traitor when you killed his brother Drithelm."

"I let Cirilla go. And killed the Scoia'tael that were after her."

Sabrina glances at him, surprised. That would definitely count as treason in the White Flame's books.

"Why?" she asks, genuinely puzzled.

"It was all wrong. What we did, what I did, I know that now. It was all because of this prophecy about the White Chill and the New Sun born of Elder Blood—"

"Ithlinne's Prophecy? Emhyr believes the princess is connected to Ithlinne's Prophecy?"

"Yes. But that's not all." Cahir looks Sabrina in the eye. "Emhyr— he's Cirilla's father."

"What?" Sabrina gapes at Cahir, her eyes almost popping out of her head in disbelief. She must have misheard. The Emperor of Nilfgaard, Cirilla's father? No, this is impossible. The princess's parents died in a shipwreck when she was just a baby, everybody knows it. This must be a hoax. However, Cahir does not look like he is trying to make fun of her, on the contrary. He seems to genuinely believe what he has just said. Can it be true after all? Is Princess Cirilla not only the most powerful Source alive and the sole heir to Cintra and all its vassal states, but also the rightful heir to the throne of the vast Nilfgaardian Empire?

"How do you know? Did Emhyr say so? When?" Sabrina bombards her companion with questions, agitatedly grabbing him by his arm.

"Shit!" Cahir sucks in a sharp breath as hot tea splashes all over his bare torso.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry! How careless of me." Sabrina quickly dabs at his chest with the turquoise fabric of her cape. "Are you OK? I swear I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"I'll live, I suspect," he says, almost amused. His skin still burns a little, yes, but it is really nothing. He has had a lot worse. It is cute though how upset Sabrina is about her little mishap. And how worried she seems to be all of a sudden about having caused him a little pain when, only this morning, she had held her dagger to his throat. Repeatedly. But then she also— Cahir flushes bright red at the memory of what had happened before he fell asleep. In the aftermath of the horrid nightmare, he almost forgot about it. Or maybe he didn't want to acknowledge it? It was worse than embarrassing, decidedly on a I-wish-the-ground-would-open-up-and-swallow-me-whole kind of level. Only the ground refuses to do him the favour.

"Sabina, I— I need to apologise for— for—" he swallows hard, trying not to think of her hand on his cock.

"Apologise for what? For being a Nilfgaardian war criminal and a pain in the neck?" Sabrina teases affectionately. Who would have thought the evil enemy commander general could look so cute when he is embarrassed and confused?

"For what happened this morning. I'm sorry, truly, I—"

"Don't be, Cahir," Sabrina gives him a quick peck on his flushed cheek. "It was all my fault, not yours."

"Your fault? How?" he asks, looking even more confused.

"I'll tell you later. Now let me put some ointment on you or you'll get blisters all over. And then we're going to have breakfast, you must be starving."

"Breakfast?" Cahir inquires, surprised, his lips curling into an amused smile. "That when you sorceresses have breakfast? Looks more like a very late lunch to me."

"Call it what you want, Nilfgaardian," Sabrina says, smiling back at him while opening the jar with the healing salve. "As long as you promise you won't run." With deft fingers, she starts to apply copious amounts of the cooling ointment all over Cahir's upper body. "It'll be outside, on the beach."

"No magic barrier? Is that wise?" Cahir asks, trying to sound casual. Not an easy feat with Sabrina's fingers all over him and her plunging neckline adorned with the turquoise diamond pendant so close to his face that it is hard to withstand the urge to touch her boobs. "What if I do run? Will you stop me?"

"Yes, I will," she says firmly, rubbing more of the ointment into his skin. "And not because I won't let you go, but because it would be tremendously stupid. You'd only get yourself caught and into big, big trouble. For how would you get off this island without help?"

"I can swim. I've done it before. With Yennefer."

"You two swam all the way across the channel?" For a second, Sabrina interrupts her ministrations and gazes at Cahir, impressed. "I've always wondered about this. But back then you didn't have an injured shoulder, right? And, unfortunately, our cosy little cave is on the wrong side of the island. No, trust me, it would be folly to try on your own." She gives his chest a last pat, then, satisfied with her work, Sabrina picks up the dark blue shirt and tosses it at Cahir with a smirk. "Now, put that on. It really is a pity, but I don't think it's warm enough outside to picnic half naked."

"Thanks to your shitty northern weather," he scoffs, slipping the shirt over his head. "How can you even live in this freezing wasteland? As a matter of fact, even our winters are better than what you northerners call a summer."

"Then why on the continent do you Nilfgaardians not stay in your paradise but insist on invading us? We could all be so happy where we are. We with our shitty weather and you with your shitty beer ..."

"Right, the beer, Yennefer mentioned it several times." Surprisingly, Cahir does not seem offended but flashes Sabrina an impish grin. "Perhaps that's what Emhyr really wants? You could promise him a few shiploads of free premium northern beer a year, then perhaps he'll cancel his invasion plans. I wouldn't mind that. Actually, it's a brilliant idea, don't you think? You should tell your king."

Sabrina giggles, imagining the wild scenario. How the Beer Treaty saved the continent. It would make a great title for a chapter of The Alternate History Of The Continent by Sabrina Glevissig. Perhaps she should indeed write it? One day, when this whole mess is over ...

"Come now, Nilfgaardian," she says with an inviting smile, taking Cahir's hand, the one that is not wrapped in bandages. "As a matter of fact, I have some northern beer for you to go with your breakfast. To make up for the shitty weather. And thanks to our freezing summers, I'm sure it's still nicely cold."

Cahir does not need to be told twice. Beer on the beach with a beautiful sorceress, who would have thought that would be on the menu when they accidentally bumped into each other? Definitely not he, no. He had been more than lucky already that Princess Cirilla had not pierced his throat with her sword, that he had not been killed in the fight with the Scoia'tael. But as fantastically unlikely as it may sound, it is a good idea, no, a brilliant one. And he is so hungry, it almost hurts. They get to their feet and walk toward the exit. Sabrina's slender hand in his feels good, too. Electrical. Promising. What if she has more than beer on offer to compensate for the sorely lacking weather, for this blatant flaw of the north? Would Sabrina kiss him even though he has already told her every single one of Emhyr's secrets that he knows of? What if she liked their kissing? What if, miraculously and against all odds and reason, she has come to care about him? Like he cares about her.

Shit, where did that thought come from? He must be going crazy after all ...