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Sitting at the edge of a battle was a familiar feeling to Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach. Like an old cloak or well-worn armour. Something he was much accustomed to even if it were not the best feeling in the world.
In the morning, they were to fight a lower-level sorcerer and his army. He wanted the Princess for himself, for reasons that Cahir did not care to dwell on. Geralt had told everyone to rest while they could, as they all knew the Sorcerer would arrive shortly after the dawn. Cahir had found, despite the command from Geralt and his familiarity with the eve of battle, that he could not find rest. Sleep eluded him and his mind raced with all that he needed to atone for.
Footsteps behind his right, drew him from his ruminations. Looking, he found a combination of the campfires and the full moon, illuminated Rhona quite well. Her pale skin looked like ceramic and her dark hair was left loose over her shoulders and back, rather than her usual braids pinned to the back of her scalp. She held out a mug to Cahir.
“Regis made it. Cider, with some combination of spices he guards like a dragon with a horde.”
Cahir offered a smile of thanks as he took the mug. Rhona, requiring no invitation, sat next to Cahir to look out at the same lake he had been looking across. It had reminded him of a lake back in Vivacaro.
“It will rain tomorrow evening.”
Cahir looked over at her, arching an eyebrow in question. Rhona shrugged.
“I can feel it. The air, just the right level of damp, and cool enough to feel crisp. It’ll rain tomorrow, later in the day. Be good to wash off all the blood from the fight.”
“Only you could have a battle before you, and look forward to the rain after.”
Again, she shrugged.
“Geralt’s friends, and those that Yennefer sent, it’ll be enough.”
As usual, Cahir wished he had her faith. Since learning the truth of the White Flame, faith had come to be a hard thing for Cahir. Faith had led him to do awesome, terrible things. Blood that would never wash off his hands. He wished he were still capable of the type of faith Rhona held.
“You put a lot of faith in our Hansa, a group of misfits, and a small army from the hills.”
Rhona looked over at Cahir, “I believe in us. All of us.”
Looking back out at the water, he noticed her tugging her jacket a little more tightly to herself. Cahir held his mug in one hand, using the other to adjust his blanket he had over his shoulders, till he made a pocket at his right. Holding it out, he made a silent invitation. Rhona, with a shy smile, moved into his offered side, and Cahir settled the blanket over her shoulders.
“When I was studying at University, there was a poet, he talked about a lot of pretty, frilly things. But I’ll never forget, one day, he was teary-eyed as he was reading a book of history. I went over, asking if he was alright, and he told me something that has stuck with me. The power of belief can reshape the world.”
Rhona turned, looking over at Cahir, her dark grey eyes shining a bit.
“Everyone here believes something, and believes it enough to die for it. The Sorcerer is just a power-hungry madman and his minions are just that, minions. They have no real faith, they act out of fear of him.”
Her eyes went back to the lake, though she leaned a bit more snugly against Cahir’s side, and he found his arm naturally fell around her.
“Geralt loves Ciri as if she were his own, Yennefer’s misfits all believe in the prophecy that we can have a more peaceful world where all are welcome, the two Witchers who’ve joined believe in Geralt and in Ciri, those men from the hills, they believe in the world Ciri may bring about, where they do not live their lives in fear. Hope, love. They are two of the most powerful forces in this world, and I would argue, in any world. I believe the day will turn out in our favour.”
Cahir felt uncharactistically moved by her statement. Even that she said it more as a statement, than a suggestion or mere idea. He felt as he head dropped softly to his shoulder. It seemed their shared warmth under the blanket was taking it’s toll on her.
“Sorry, if I ramble.”
“I do not mind it.”
He felt her smile against his shoulder.
“Can you do me a favour, Cahir?”
“If it is within my power.”
He waited. It seemed she needed a moment to parse out her words, and Cahir could be patient. Especially for the thief who had stolen a place in their Hansa with her loyalty and charm.
“Don’t die tomorrow. I’d miss you.”
“You might be the only one.”, he tried to tease, though it felt hollow.
Rhona moved to look up at him, her hand coming to his knee, “You’d be wrong about that. Regis likes you, Jaskier has come to rely on you, and even Milva enjoys the banter between you. You would be missed by more than me.”
He gave a nod, a bit dumbfounded as to how to respond to that. He had assumed himself to be somewhat of a necessary evil for the group. He was a gifted swordsman, good with a horse, a pretty good tracker, and his dreams where he saw Ciri’s surroundings and felt an echo of her emotions, made him valuable to Geralt in the search for the Princess. It had never occurred to him that any in their Hansa actually… wanted him around.
“I’ll do my best, Ro.”
She smiled up at him, then moved back to settle into his side as she had been earlier. Cahir sipped the still-warm cider from the mug she brought as he felt her going a bit slack, drifting off to sleep. If having a warm body beside her, and sharing his blanket, let her get some rest ahead of the battle, Cahir would gladly serve as her lean-to for the night.
He had spent many nights awaiting a battle. Few of them let him sit somewhat comfortably, a warm mug of spiced cider in hand, his arm around someone he cared about, peacefully watching the moon as she hung above a calm lake. Not a bad way to spend his last night, if this was to be his final one in this world.
~*~
The battle had been hard. They lost some of Yennefer’s misfits and more than a few from those who had come down from the hills to join them, as well as one of the Yarpin’s lot, and the rest still standing all sported some amount of injury. Regis and the two kettle witches from the hills, had their work cut out for them. Geralt and his two Witchers, joined in, offering what help they could from their own knowledge of healing. Rhona and Milva had also offered to help, Rhona knowing a little of proper bandaging and Milva having learned a bit of healing with herbs. Regis seemed glad to have any help that any offered.
Cahir had gone with Jaskier and some of the others, to move through the battlefield, picking up the injured, and bringing them over to the makeshift camp hospital. It was a dirty, terrible task but he found that with Jaskier’s never-ending supply of empathy and optimism, it went better than when he had done this in battles before meeting the Hansa. As the sun hung low, Cahir heard the first crack of thunder.
He smiled. Rhona had been right. They had won the day, some of the sorcerer’s minions even turning against him to join Geralt’s forces against the Sorcerer, and now the rain was coming to wash clean the field of battle.
Moments later, the sky opened up, sending a good, soaking rain down upon them. Many scrambled for shelter, others hurried to finish whatever task they had laid hand to. Cahir went about to finish his duty, to check for any wounded unable to walk themselves to the healers.
Hauling one of the last of the injured into the hospital, Cahir looked about. Regis was moving swiftly, barely bothering to hide his supernatural speed, among the tables, benches, and seats where the wounded were laid. Geralt and the two other Witchers, a tall red-head and a shorter man with a sheered head, were helping those who could move to get back to their own spaces, out of the hospital.
Cahir shoved wet hair from his face as he looked around. He saw no sign of Rhona, and thankfully none of the Hansa had required much attention from Regis. At last, he could breathe.
Jaskier came up to him, his own clothing equally sopped. Cahir figured many would be huddled around their fires tonight. He half-wondered if any of those kettle witches had drying spells for clothing.
“Milva gave me the tally, so far. She says Geralt had expected us to lose twice that number.”
Cahir nodded to Jaskier, glad to hear they had lost fewer than even he had believed they would. From what he knew of the Sorcerer they had faced, Cahir had held little hope that any of them would survive the day.
Once he had finished being what help he could be, Cahir moved back out of the tent. In the drenching, late-summer rain, he found himself drifting towards the lake. The battle had taken place on the other side of the hills, out of sight of the near-perfectly round lake. On this side, it was so peaceful that Cahir could almost think there had not been a battle.
“Cahir?”
Turning, he found Rhona in just her dark blue undershirt, a pair of gray breeches, and her knee-high boots. Gone were her weapons, the pack with the bandages she pulled from at the hospital, and her armor from battle. Her hair hung in wet tendrils around her face, her pewter eyes worried.
Cahir scanned over her features and her form, looking for any sign of injury. He had looked, when he spotted her before she moved to help Regis at the hospital, and saw no wound. Still, he had to be sure.
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, “I kept my promise.”
Her smile was bright enough to dispel a blizzard. Before Cahir could say another word, Rhona rushed to him, crushing him in a hug. His arms came around her without thought, his nose buried in her wet hair.
“You were right.”
She tilted back to look at him, a questioning expression on her lovely face.
“It rained late.”
Rhona’s face morphed as she barked out a laugh, and Cahir swore she might have had a tear or two, had the rain not hidden them. Her soggy, warm hand came to rest on his cheek.
“Rain after a battle is like rain at a wedding, it’s a good sign.”
Tilting till his forehead rested against hers, Cahir allowed it all to sink in. They had survived, the Sorcerer was dead, the people of the hill country were free, and they were one step closer to saving the Princess. The entire Hansa had survived, including Rhona, currently tucked tightly against Cahir’s side.
“Come on.”, she said softly before her eyes moved to meet his own, “We better get you out of these bloody rags, and into something dry, before you catch your death out here.”
He smiled, “I almost forgot the rain.”
Water droplets falling from her hair, nose, and chin as she looked at him with a smile. Before Cahir could say what a lovely, soggy sight she was, Rhona grabbed the front of his tunic, tugging him in for a kiss that stopped his brain and his breath for a moment, before he caught up, his arms wrapping around her, drawing her closer as he tilted to deepen the kiss. They broke for air, both panting and smiling.
“Hope I didn’t presume too much?”, she asked in a shy tone at odds with the boldness of her prior action.
Cahir grinned, leaning to press a soft, smaller kiss to her lips, “Not at all.”
“Good.”
She stepped back, tugging him by the hand.
“Come on. Dry, clean clothes and some food are in order.”
“As my lady commands.”
She grinned over her shoulder at him.
“I could get used to that.”
A hope bloomed within Cahir then. A hope for tomorrow, and for many days after.