Inspired by the Whumptober Prompts: 5 Debris; Pinned Down; 7 Can you hear me?; 14 Just hold on; 22 Watch out; 25 Buried alive; "They're not breathing!; 28 Sacrifice; 30 Bridal Carry

It is freezing cold outside. Well, it is almost the end of December in the Blue Mountains, you can hardly expect anything else although it is easy to forget in the warmth of Kaer Morhen's great hall. Not that he will ever go back there to warm his cold-numb hands and feet next to the fireplace while Vesemir is telling stories of past hunts and Coen and Lambert are bickering and bitching. No more philosophising with Regis and Geralt, no Barrel or Gwent with his Witcher brothers and the Bard. No Yennefer. No home. She might as well kill him. Perhaps she will.

They walk side by side through the snow-covered courtyard. She is wrapped in warm furs, her cheeks nicely red from the cold air, a few flakes of new snow glittering in her hair as rays of bleak winter sunshine fall onto her ash-blond braids. She looks beautiful. Breathtaking. Alive. And happy. He does not want to cast a shadow on her happiness, but he has to. There is no other way.

"I - I need to tell you something, Princess," he says, staying his steps and turning toward her.

"That's what you said. It's why we're here, isn't it?" She looks at him with curiosity. What will the former black knight of Cintra tell her? A nice compliment would be in order, something in the line of 'your cheeks are red like roses'. She almost starts to giggle at the silly thought. No, Gallahad would spout nonsense like this, but not Cahir. Maybe a declaration of his undying loyalty instead? It is what knights do in the romance novels she found hidden between old tomes on monster lore in the Kaer Morhen library. It would perhaps not be as romantic as the rose metaphor but very chivalric. Is he chivalrous? Difficult to say, she hardly knows him. Well, he is the only person to address her as princess still. Which he should not.

"Fire away!" She smiles at Cahir expectantly. "And, by the way, when will you learn that I'm not a princess anymore?" She could add something like 'You saw to that when you burnt my city', but she does not. He helped Geralt find her and almost sacrificed his life for her at Stygga. The ugly scar from temple to the corner of his mouth still bears witness to it.

"I know and I'm sorry, Cirilla, for everything. You do know that, don't you?" he says, looking into her eyes. Emerald green. So bright and young and innocent. However, they have seen so much blood and violence already. Too much. And much of it is his fault.

"I do." His eyes are as soft and blue as she remembers them from Thanedd. "And I've forgiven you," she adds. Maybe, as he has lost his memory, he just wants to hear this again, from her lips? But there seems to be more. It is making him nervous.

"I - I remembered something, something I did. You won't like it but it wouldn't be right not to tell you. I'll leave then. If you let me. Or kill me if you must."

"What? What are you talking about, Cahir?" she asks, puzzled. "Kaer Morhen is your home now. And why would I want to kill you? You aren't making sense."

"Cirilla, you have to hear me out. Then you decide." He swallows nervously. She looks at him with a sudden sense of foreboding.

"At -At the Battle on the fields of Marnadal - It was I who - who shot King Eist of Cintra."

Ciri stares at him. A single arrow through the eye. She has heard the tales. Cahir. He killed her grandfather, the man who was like a father to her, who taught her how to play knucklebones, how to ice-skate, who was always there for her with a joke and a smile or a funny story. Suddenly, her surroundings vanish like in a magical mist and all she sees is a blood-covered, rotting corps on a battlefield, an arrow sticking out of his eye socket. She sinks to her knees. And screams.

"Watch out!" she hears a voice shout as from afar. But it is too late. Something hits her full force, pushes her to the ground and pins her down. Then, with a horrible roar, the skies come crashing down on her.

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

"Damn, what devilry is this?" Vesemir's eyes grow wide. The beer-filled tankards on the table in the great hall have, all of a sudden, started to vibrate. There is a deep, rumbling sound like the clap of thunder, only not from above but from below. An earthquake? Fuck, this cannot be good. He looks around the room frantically. Everybody is inside, except for—

"Where's Ciri?" Geralt asks, his voice dark with worry.

"She left not long ago," Jaskier says, "with—"

"Cahir," Vesemir finishes his sentence, no less worried than Geralt. "Bloody hell, what if the Wild Hunt—?"

"Fuck!" Geralt darts toward the heavy wooden door, flings it open and runs down the hallway in the direction of the entrance to the keep, closely followed by Jaskier and everybody else. When he opens the front door and looks outside, his heart skips a beat. A dark cloud of dust is rising from the yard. Where the partly damaged tower of the keep's outer battlement rose into the sky just this morning, there is nothing but white clouds drifting by on a background of bright blue. Gone are the two high stone pillars supporting the remains of the bridge that connected the tower with the main keep. Everything crashed and crumbled to the earth in a huge pile of debris and dust. Are they under attack? However, he cannot see any enemy armies, not even a single soldier, nor a wraith on its skeleton horse.

"Geralt, what happened here?" Jaskier asks, his voice trembling.

"Not a clue," the white-haired Witcher answers hoarsely. It is not really important anyway. He has to find his daughter, that is what counts. Nothing else matters.

"You two search for Ciri inside," he orders Jaskier and Vesemir. "We'll look for her here." Geralt motions Coen and Lambert to follow him outside. Regis is not to be seen.

"Ciri?" the Witchers shout, her name echoing from the stone walls of Kaer Morhen. "Ciri? You here?" There is no answer.

"Geralt!" Like out of nowhere, Regis has suddenly appeared next to him. "I've located them. They're buried under the wreckage. Over there. We have to hurry!"

"Fuck, Regis, is Ciri alright?" The Witcher grabs his friend by the shoulders, staring at him with wild eyes.

"Her heartbeat is strong. However, the structure of the stones is unstable. If the rubble shifts, she might get crushed beneath it."

Geralt lets go of Regis and starts to run as fast as never before in his life, Coen and Lambert following closely behind. Regis disappears in a cloud of black smoke. Geralt does not know where to, however, he has no time to wonder.

"Ciri?" he shouts, standing by the pile of stones that was an ancient tower just minutes before. This time he can hear a faint voice. Her voice. Thanks to Melitele, she is alive! With his enhanced Witcher senses, Geralt can hear a soft heartbeat, too. Regis was right, it is strong and regular, but beating fast in panic. It is coming from underneath the stones, luckily not from where they are piled up highest but from a little to the side. There will still be plenty of stones and other debris to be moved away in order to dig her out. It would be a lot easier if they could just blast everything away with Aard, but it is too risky, more stones may come sliding down and crush her. No, they will have to do it by hand, quickly but cautiously. Geralt climbs over the stones and splintered wooden beams riddling the yard to get closer to where Ciri's voice has come from, coughing from the thick clouds of dust in the air that he inhales. Ciri is coughing too. Hopefully, this will not bring down more rubble onto her.

The closer Geralt gets, the more agitated he becomes. In spite of the dust, he can smell it. Blood. And not just a little.

"Ciri, can you hear me?" he calls again when he is almost there.

"Daddy?" Her voice is muffled from the thick layer of debris covering her but Geralt can easily perceive the fear in her voice. Not only her heartbeat is too fast, but also her breathing. Fuck, she is hyperventilating. He cannot blame her. He felt much the same way when he was caught in the avalanche back when they had to cross the Mortblanc pass on their way to Stygga. Being buried alive is an experience he does not wish on anybody. And now his daughter is caught in such a horrible trap right inside their beloved home. What an evil twist of fate. Cursing under his breath, Geralt scans the pile of rubble. If they can move this one large stone slab and the heavy wooden beam it is lying on top of, it should not be too difficult to dig her out as the rest of the rubble is mostly smaller stones that can be easily carried by one or two strong men. They will have to hurry, too, the smell of blood is growing stronger by the minute.

"Ciri, are you alright?" Geralt asks, trying to sound calmer than he is while motioning Lambert and Coen over to help him with the heavy slab.

"I - I don't know. I can't breathe," she pants, "and there's blood everywhere."

"We're getting you out. You'll be okay, my daughter. Just hold on and try to calm down. Lambert and Coen are here to help. We'll be as fast as we can. It won't take long, I promise. Just a few minutes."

Ciri starts to cough again, violently. Damn, let it just be the dust, not blood, Geralt prays to all the gods he knows. But what if her ribs are broken and one of them has punctured her lung— No, he must not even think it, Geralt berates himself. The mental image alone of Ciri coughing up black blood makes him break into a cold sweat. How he wishes Yennefer were here. With her magic, she could easily lift the stones and debris and whatever, they would grab Ciri, Yennefer would heal any injuries in a jiffy, and they would live happily ever after. Why for Melitele's sake did she have to attend this fucking Lodge meeting? Those meetings have never brought anything but bad luck. Fuck them all. Angry from worry, he grabs the huge stone slab.

"One, two, and on three," Geralt counts. With loud grunts, the three Witchers lift it off the pile of rubble under which Ciri must be buried and, groaning from the strain, carry it a few metres out of the way, then drop it onto the ground. They gasp for air and sweat is streaming down their brows. However, there is no time to rest, not as long as Ciri is in danger.

The wooden beam actually was a heaven-sent as without it, the stone slab would have fallen directly onto the girl, most probably crushing her, but it is impossible to move, not without magic. Perhaps Ciri can crawl out from under it as soon as they have removed the smaller pieces of rubble? The three Witchers get onto their knees and, with all haste, start to dig. More dust rises into the air, but they hardly notice it so focused are they on their task. Ciri barely stops coughing, though. Now she is sobbing, too.

"Don't cry, Ciri. We're almost there, I promise, just another minute or two," Geralt tries to soothe, but it does not work.

"It's all my fault," she blubbers out. "I didn't want this to happen, I swear. Geralt, I - I think, I killed him."

"Ciri, what are you talking about? Killed who?" Geralt asks, confused. Then it dawns on him. Regis said they were buried, not she. Cahir. Worried out of his mind for his daughter, he totally forgot that his friend was missing, too. Maybe it is his blood, not Ciri's? Geralt hates that he feels kind of relieved at the thought. During their time together searching for Cirilla and their joint monster hunts, he has come to like Cahir, even love him like a younger brother. However, Ciri is his child of destiny, his daughter, he would sacrifice everything for her. Cahir would understand.

"It's alright, Ciri. Cahir's not so easy to kill, I tried often enough myself. You'll both be okay. Just hold on for a few more minutes." Geralt hopes he sounds convincing although he very much doubts his own words. The smell of blood is almost overwhelming and he does not hear a second heartbeat. If Cahir is buried close to Ciri and he is alive, he should hear something. Unless, perhaps, if it is so faint that it is drowned out by Ciri's sobs and his own panting?

"Geralt, look!" Coen suddenly exclaims, pointing at something between the debris. A piece of black fabric covered in grey dust. Cahir's cloak.

"Ciri, we've got Cahir! Where are you? Are you anywhere near him?"

"He's right on top of me!" Ciri sobs. "I think - I think, he's dead! Please, please, come quick!"

With super-human speed, the three Witchers remove more stones, wood and big chunks of plaster. Soon, they can see a boot. And a hand. Cahir's. He is not moving. Nothing of Ciri yet. This is good. It means he has shielded her against the falling stones with his body and taken the brunt of it, sacrificed himself for her - again. Hopefully, Ciri is wrong and it is not a lethal sacrifice.

"Have you found them?" Geralt hears a voice shout from across the yard. He looks up. Vesemir. Jaskier is with him. Between them, they carry a stretcher. Good thinking. They will, no doubt, need one. The two new arrivals put the stretcher down, kneel in the debris next to their friends and help with the digging. It does not take long until they have freed most of Cahir's prone body from the worst of the debris. If not for the heavy oak beam lying across his thigh and hip, they would be able to move him now, but they cannot. Fuck. He is making no sound and does not stir. The hair on the back of his head is caked with blood and dirt. No wonder he is unresponsive. He must have been hit in the head pretty badly. It is hard to say if he is even alive.

"Ciri, can you move? Can you wriggle out from under Cahir?" Geralt asks while Vesemir is frantically feeling for a pulse on the young man's neck.

"No, I can't move my legs. They're stuck!" Fuck, the wooden beam is pinning her down, too. Geralt had hoped they could try to move it after Ciri is out and safe. Well, they will have to find a different way. He gives Vesemir a questioning look.

"Cahir's alive, but barely so. We have to hurry."

"Alright. Listen up, that's how we'll do it. I blast the beam away with Aard while you, Vesemir, throw Quen to protect all of us in case the rubble moves. Lambert and Coen grab Cahir and get him out of the danger area. Jaskier," he addresses his non-Witcher friend, "you help Ciri." Hopefully, she will be okay enough to walk on her own. Well, if not, although he might not look like it, Jaskier is surprisingly muscular underneath his frilly shirts. He should easily be able to carry Ciri if need be.

"Let's do it," Vesemir says, rising to his feet and getting ready to cast the shield sign. It is not easy to create a shield as big as the one required here, but he has loads of experience. He can do it. Whatever it takes to protect his sons and granddaughter.

"Again, on the count of three," Gerald commands.

On three, his Aard smashes into the wooden beam with force, knocking it several metres to the side. Lambert and Coen lift Cahir off the ground.

"Ciri!" both Geralt and Jaskier exclaim in unison. They can see her now. Besides the layer of dust, her hair and face are covered in blood. She coughs and shakily tries to sit up. Jaskier is already by her side to help.

"You alright?" he asks, worried.

"Yes, it's not my blood - I think," she answers.

"Quick, get out of here, the rubble's coming down, I can't hold it much longer!" Vesemir warns. Unceremoniously, Jaskier picks Ciri up, one arm under her legs and one supporting her back like a groom carrying his bride, and makes his way across the many stones and other debris after Coen and Lambert as fast as he can on the difficult terrain while cradling the girl to his chest. His pocket princess. She starts to sob again, hopefully from relief this time, not from pain or panic.

With Geralt's help, Vesemir holds the Quen for a few more seconds. Slowly they start to back off when they are sure that everybody is out of harms way. Then they turn around and run, the pile of rubble shifting and moving precariously close behind them.

"That was a near thing," Vesemir pants when they come to a halt next to the others in a safe distance to the pile of debris, a new cloud of dust rising behind them. "How's Cahir?" he then asks. Lambert and Coen have placed him on the litter. Coen is kneeling next to the unconscious young man, tilting his head back to open the airway and holding his cheek to his blood- and dust-caked face to check if he is breathing. Shit, he does not feel the tiniest draft of air. With an uncommonly serious expression, Coen shakes his head.

"Damn!" the old Witcher says, turning pale. He cannot hear a heartbeat either. They were too late. Tears well up in his eyes. He has not known Cahir as long as his other sons, actually less than a year, but anyway, the thought of losing him feels like a stab to his heart. "Anything we can do?" He looks at Geralt. The white-haired Witcher slowly shakes his head. Ciri clings to Jaskier, breaking into ever louder sobs.

"Yes, we can. We can try." Regis. Appeared out of nowhere as is his custom. Geralt was never happier to see the higher vampire. Well, maybe at Stygga, but still, if Regis was not already kneeling by Cahir's side with both his hands pressed to the middle of his chest, pushing firmly downward, then releasing again, he would give him a big hug. Well, he can still do it as soon as the barber-surgeon has saved Cahir's life, or tried to do so.

After about thirty compressions, Regis places his lips on Cahir's and breathes into him twice while pinching his nose closed. Then he repeats the compressions. The Witchers watch wide-eyed. After several sets of compressing and mouth to mouth breathing, Cahir suddenly starts to cough. Blood. Fuck. At least he is breathing on his own again, shallowly and laboured, but it is something, right?

With a practised grip, Regis turns Cahir onto his side so he would not asphyxiate on his own blood. He moans softly but does not wake up.

"Take him to the laboratory," the higher vampire then urges, "Ciri, too. I've set up some things there. Yennefer will be here soon."

"Yennefer? How?" Regis has already vanished, though. He does not really need to answer anyway. Geralt knows by now that Regis can do almost anything. Contacting a sorceress via telepathy or in some similar way must be a piece of cake for him. Hopefully, for the two together healing Cahir's extensive injuries will be, too.