summary: cahir tends to you when you’re sick.
contains: fluffy fluff.
a/n: pure self indulgent fluff eamon farren please notice me.
cahir watches from his post by your bed, paying close attention to the way your chest rises and falls in your sleep. he’s been up all night, fighting sleep like the soldier he is, patiently waiting for you to come back to him. it may just be a common cold you’ve got, but cahir takes pride in caring for you and insists on doing so at all times.
he knows what you’ll say when you wake, knows the first words out of that lovely mouth of yours will surely be a whine, “babying me again, cahir?”. in all honesty, he can’t wait to hear you jest again. you’ve been sleeping a bit too long for his liking and he’s beginning to worry. luckily, it’s then that sweet chuckle he’s grown to love fills the room.
“so serious.” you frown dramatically, making a show of pouting and furrowing your brows as you mimic your knight’s solemn look.
“not serious, just thinking.” he says coolly, though you know it’s taking him every fiber in him not to smile right now.
“thinking?” you ask as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “i didn’t know you could do that.”
“i can do lots of things, darling.” he smirks cheekily now as he stands from his chair to sit by you on the bed. “allow me to demonstrate.”
“actually, you can’t do any of those things.” you tell him sternly, removing the hands snaking around your waist. “i know you’re not used to thinking, but if you’d do a bit more of it you’d realize you could get sick if you get too close to me, cahir.”
“i don’t care.” cahir says resolutely, placing a firm hand back on your waist.
“yeah, well, i do.” you counter. “cahir, you can’t get sick. you’ve got important things to tend to.”
“none more important than you.” he dismisses. “it can wait.”
he’s so stubborn. always has been, always will be.
“all right, all right.” you sigh, hands up in defeat. “have your way with me, knight.”
“so foul-minded.” he snickers, more to himself than to you as he gets under the covers with you and presses a kiss to your temple. “i brought you that tea you like so much.”
“thank you, cahir.” you smile. “cahir?”
he doesn’t respond, and when you look over your shoulder you find him fast asleep, pressed up against you. his curly hair is clinging to his forehead in the cutest of ways, and you can’t help but melt at the thought of only you getting to see the big bad black knight like this.
tagging: @velvetcloxds @oliverwoodmarrymepls @sheraayasher and @eamonfaren in case anyone’s interested
pairings: cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach x f!reader
contains: one bed trope on a cold night, suppressed feelings, childhood enemies to lovers(?), angst, forced proximity, mutual pining, one-sided pining, no love confessions, non-canon events, no s2 spoilers
“I hate you,” you whispered.
“I know,” said Cahir. He spoke to a chair tucked beneath the window, neither of you daining to face the other. “I know,” he murmured.
The pillow pressed to your cheek had grown warm. You shifted further from Cahir’s body, cornering your own into the stone wall in which the bed had been placed against. He bristled, a heavy exhale on his tongue.
A cold dawn had led you to the small inn. A foolish man’s actions had been the cause for it. And Cahir was a fool, guided by righteousness and anger.
“We should have kept with the regiment.” The coverlets and furs provided little warmth, but you clutched them anyhow.
“We got separated. Not much can be done now.”
A quiet enfolded the room, dancing hand in hand with the shadows. Cahir had long put out the waxen candle; the two of you had bathed and ate, separately, before tucking into the bed.
“Lucky things, aren’t you?” the innkeeper had crooned when Cahir set a string of coins before him. “I have one room left.”
And a sole bed, the innkeeper had not mentioned.
“Why?” Cahir asked from behind you, if even the faintest of sounds.
The odd question had your brows furrowing. “What?”
“Why do you hate me?” His tone was sincere, imploring, yet callous.
You had known Cahir since childhood, but you had not been friends. Even children hold their grudges with fat little fists; but those grudges are long forgotten, replaced many times with far less frivolous things.
“Because you hate me too. Nothing has changed, Cahir.” Your words were firm, but unsurety prowled at its edge.
The feathered mat beneath your bodies lowered as he moved. “I’ve never hated you,” he said.
Your eyes opened, though they merely saw pitch; Cahir’s voice had become more near, spoken by the nape of your neck as if his head had been bent. He was a large man, larger more, it seemed, when you found yourself at his side.
“No one wants the company of a liar.” It was no greater than a sigh on your lips.
“I have never hated you,” he said once more.
You curled your body inwards, but the stone wall could give in no more. Cahir’s breath was warm on your skin.
Hatred was a familiar friend, a common ground found between each others’ feet. You hated Cahir for his arrogance, his pride, his belief of a divine purpose brought by blood; you hated Cahir because it was all you knew. If not hate, then what else? Indifference was the opposing enemy of hate, a passion so consuming it can only be nulled by apathy. It was not indifference—could not be.
His trembling intake of breath was felt on your shoulder blades, bare but for the chemise you wore as your sodden clothes dried.
“I’ve only ever admired you.” His hand settled between your bodies, his other tucked beneath his head. He wished to touch you, but did not know if it would be welcomed.
A humorless laugh spilt from your throat, “We’ve screamed our lungs bloody arguing with each other—I can’t even recall a conversation that did not end with one at the other’s throat.”
“We’re having a civil conversation now, aren’t we?”
“I suppose,” you said. Hidden by the coverlets, his hand lifted, fingertips brushing your arm. You tensed, flinching at the sudden touch and he pulled away.
Cahir sniffed in disdain. “You’re cold.”
“Of course I am, it's the beginning of winter and we don’t have a hearth.” You pulled at a gray hide that had been laid at your waist.
“Of course you are,” he said dryly, “because you’ve pressed yourself as far from me as possible.”
Cahir was, indeed, right. You balked nonetheless at his curtness, then frowned.
“Come here.” The request was gentler, careful words molded by a careful tongue.
You hated him for many things, but you hated him most for the way you thought him beautiful. Such a structured face, such a structured body; odd and alluring all the same.
When you did not ease at his supplication, Cahir cleared his throat. “Please, come here. I’d rather you hate me warmed than shivering.”
You pressed your lips tightly, your features pinching in thought. He did not touch you when you relented to rest closer; his warmth was jarring. You had always thought he would have the coldness of a corpse, the bite of ice. But Cahir was warm.
You awoke some time in the night with a heaviness draped over your body. Sleep still addled your thoughts, but you recognized the sensation as an arm, a wrist, a hand. In his slumber Cahir had reached for you, brought you to him.
Though you did not move his limb from you. You fell into sleep once more.
I hate him, you told yourself. I have always hated him.
Hey. Could you do a angsty and fluffy #4 + #10 with Cahir? ❤️
Into Stars
a/n: WOOHOO anon WOW this just about broke me to write (in the best way). love love love the combo of these prompts! let me know what you think!!! <3 <3 (**the angst is heavy y'all, proceed @ your own risk and don't say you weren't warned!)
Characters: Cahir x WarriorFem!Reader (used y/n = your name)
Word Count: 2480 | 9 min. read time
Warnings: extremely graphic depictions of combat, blood, gore, major character death, MAJOR angst
You ignored the insistent banging on the doors to your chamber, focusing on lacing the leather bracers around your wrist. It was the last piece of your armor that needed to be donned before you were ready to join the battle waging outside the city gates.
“I swear to the Gods, y/n, if you do not open this door I will break it down!” Cahir’s voice was hoarse with rage outside your door. You didn’t doubt that he would break it down, but you couldn’t afford the distraction right now. Outside your window, you could see the night stars choked with smoke as the city below burned. White hot adrenaline shot through your veins like electricity.
“You may command the White Flame’s army, Cahir, but you do not command me!” you screamed back, finally securing your bracer at last. You grabbed the hilt of the scythe sword Cahir had gifted you last summer before he’d told you his heart belonged to another, unsheathing it and making for the door. You knew what you’d find on the other side when you opened it, but the ferocity with which he burst into your chamber took you by surprise nonetheless.
“What are you playing at!” he yelled, grabbing the sides of your face in his palms. His face glistened with sweat, and his hair was disheveled from battle. Across the breastplate of his armor, you saw several swipes of blood, and you noticed he was limping ever so slightly. He surveyed you from head to toe, taking in the sight of you in your unvarnished silver armor.
“Out of my way, Commander,” you snarled, making to move towards the open door. There were distant sounds of combat in the castle.
“You’re not going anywhere, y/n” Cahir snarled. His voice was quieter now, softer somehow, but still shaking with barely controlled emotion. It enraged you. You shot him a murderous look, your grip tightening like a vice on the hilt of your sword.
“I should ask you what you’re playing at, Cahir,” you spat back. You could feel the bitterness you’d swallowed down for the last year and a half until you’d almost choked on it bubbling up like boiling acid on your tongue. “You are neither my commander, nor my lover. I see no reason at all for you to concern yourself with my well-being.”
Your words landed heavily, and despite the intensifying din of battle in the halls outside your chambers, the silence between you was thick enough to suffocate in. Cahir took in a few heaving breaths as he returned your fiery gaze. The anger that had burned in his chocolate eyes when he’d first burst into the room was now replaced by something deeper. You had the unsettling sensation that you were looking into a bottomless chasm in his gaze, and you found you had to avert your eyes. Tears of anger clawed at your throat, and you clenched your jaw against them. You refused to cry - again - in front of this man.
The silence stretched longer between you. For an instant, you’d hoped he would say something. You would have settled for anything: him scolding you, him admitting you were right, an apology, a muttered plea for you not to fight, a command for you to leave with the rest of the ladies of the court through the secret tunnels. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that he was going to let you suffocate in his indifferent silence.
Disgusted with yourself for harboring a vain hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d see a flicker of the love he’d once held for you in this final goodbye, you shook your head and stepped again towards the door. Battle would do you a bit of good; death would save you the embarrassment of having to see him again, you thought darkly.
Before you’d taken a step, though, you felt his fingers come to rest feather-lightly on your wrist. His eyes bored into the floor, but his breathing was still ragged. You stopped, stunned.
“I still care for you,” he mumbled, so quietly you thought you’d misheard him. You took a stuttering step backwards. His fingers gripped your wrist more tightly, and he forced his eyes up to meet yours. You were dumbfounded to see tears pooling at his lash line, the mask of rage he’d worn a moment before now completely dissolved. All you saw now was desperation. You knew it well; you’d felt it ever since he’d cast you off for his mysterious lover in Aretuza. Your mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ as your heart threatened to break free of your ribs.
Almost as quickly as the moment had come, it was lost as the chaos of combat burst into your chamber. Three of Cahir’s men were pressed hotly by four of the invaders. One of Cahir’s men was bleeding freely from a spear in his thigh, and his face was a sickly shade of yellowish white as he struggled to stay upright. His comrades had the sluggish, delayed movements of soldiers long exhausted and at the edge of collapse as they parried against the vicious sword strokes of their opponents.
You and Cahir sprang into action quickly. Cahir, still keeping his grip on your wrist, pulled you behind him as he spun around, all signs of his limp gone. He raised his sword to connect with an opponent’s, the jarring metal-on-metal twang setting your teeth on edge. His men fell in line with him, emboldened by the sight of their commander, and pressed back on the enemies with renewed vigor.
The soldier with the spear protruding from his thigh, however, was too grievously injured to be of any use to the battle. You set to purpose as you saw the man sink to his knees. Looping your hands under his armpits, you dragged him backwards from the heavy fighting until he could lean against the back wall of your chamber. He was paler now, and you knew he was moments from bleeding out. You knelt beside him, looking into his eyes. He was young - no more than seventeen, you realized with a pang of grief - and he looked frightened. His eyes searched yours frantically as he struggled to remain conscious.
Gently, you laid one of your hands along his cheek, smiling sweetly at him in what you hoped was a calm and reassuring way.
“Sssh now,” you murmured gently. “Rest here awhile.” The boy’s eyes glazed over, but you saw the fear evaporate in them as he let out one final sighed breath before falling still. Allowing yourself one brief moment of repose, you closed his eyelids and sent a prayer to the Gods for his soul.
You could spare no more than that, however, before you felt the press of combat behind your back. Rising to your feet and turning to face your assailants, you saw Cahir step between you and one of the enemy about to strike you, his eyes blazing with ferocity as he drove his sword hilt-deep into the man’s gut. The man let out a gurgled cry of pain as blood pooled in his mouth, spilling down his chin as his eyes fogged over and death took him.
From the doorway at the opposite end of the room, you saw with a sinking sensation in your chest that three more men ran in to join the melee, and the crest emblazoned on their chests was not that of your country. Down now to you, Cahir, and the other two soldiers – weakened and exhausted – you felt a grim sense of determination seep into your muscles. There was now no hope of beating the enemy; your only chance was to hold them off and wait for reinforcements, although you weren’t certain any would come.
You stepped forward, now shoulder to shoulder with Cahir, your sword drawn as you proceeded to engage one of the newly entered enemies. He was, thankfully, a slender man and the sword arm of his light blue tunic was soaked with blood from a gash in his shoulder.
Sensing an opportunity, you struck out with your sword, making contact with his shoulder close to his existing wound. He recoiled in pain, his arm falling limply, his sword along with it. He reflexively dropped the shield in his other hand to grasp at his wounded shoulder. In an instant, you saw your chance, and he saw his mistake. He tried to summon what little strength he had left in his sword arm to block the thrust of your blade, but he was not quick enough. You sliced the killing edge of your weapon decisively against his throat, and you did not need to watch the life extinguish in his eyes to know that it was a mortal blow.
“Y/N! No!”
In the same moment you heard Cahir’s shriek of fear, you saw the blur out of the corner of your eye. Raising your sword high over your head, you pivoted to face the oncoming assailant, but this time it was you who was too slow. You felt your enemy’s blade sink into your side, grating against your ribs with a sickening crunch. Your entire body erupted into blistering, white hot pain. Disoriented, you sank to your knees as your opponent withdrew his blade. Through the haze of pain and your blurred eyes, you felt Cahir straddle over you as you crumpled to the ground and lock sword with the man who’d stuck you with staggering ferocity.
You fought to keep from sliding into darkness as you pawed aimlessly at the wound on your side. You’d been a medic in the army of Nilfgaard long before you’d learned how to fight, and you’d seen enough wounds to know this would kill you. Gingerly, you looked down at your hands. The blood staining your palms and armor was so dark it was almost black; another sign of your pending death. As if from far away, your mind considered the scene with a scientific dispassion.
The sounds of battle above you mingled with the sounds of Cahir’s guttural screaming as he plowed onward into the fray, hacking and slashing with animalistic brutality. The soldier who’d dealt your destiny fell in a dull thud, bleeding out from a rib-to-sternum gash Cahir had dealt him.
The ceiling of your chamber rippled as parts of your mind sank under the surface of unconsciousness. The pain was strangely gone now, and your whole body felt cold. You focused only on your breathing - ragged and irregular. That distant, observing piece of your mind begged you to hold on. For what exactly, you weren’t sure…
Moments slid by. Time felt warped. You weren’t sure how long you forced labored breaths in and out of your body, and you couldn’t tell anymore if the sounds of combat were indeed less now or if you were simply losing grasp of your senses. Your sight seemed to fade in and out, like a fire whipped almost to the point of being extinguished by a cold wind.
Suddenly, you registered something. A change in your body’s position. You blinked sluggishly, trying to force your mind to read the scene in front of your eyes. A face, brown eyes. They were looking into yours, tears spilling from them down strongly cut cheekbones. A handsome mouth twisted into a cry of pain.
Cahir, the distant part of your mind called to you. The name echoed in your head.
“Cahir,” you managed to choke out hoarsely. He sobbed in a mixture of relief and grief to see you still clinging feebly to life.
“My love, don’t go. Please, no. Y/n, no.” His words were a senseless string of babbling pleading as he tenderly removed your helmet, brushing your mussed hair from the sides of your face. His touch had a strange quality to it: it felt as if his two hands were in fact a million, caressing over every square inch of your form instead of just your hairline and temples - the result of your quickly fading faculties, no doubt.
“We didn’t have enough time,” he wept, his voice fracturing and his eyes burning with tears as he gently cradled your head in his lap. He could see the bright hues of your irises dulling to the distinctive dark gray shade indicative of death. He had only moments now. You smiled weakly up at him, your eyes adrift as your gaze faded in and out of focus. “I can’t live without you. I love you,” he whimpered, his head bowing against your chest.
Your last remaining flicker of comprehension processed his words. Marshaling what little strength you had left, you forced words out of your throat. You hoped they were intelligible - your tongue felt swollen and thick and it wouldn’t cooperate with your lips.
“With my death today, you’ll start a new life tomorrow.” It was a line from an ancient Redanian prayer your mother used to recite with you each night when you were younger. It wasn’t something you thought of often, but it surfaced from the sinking recesses of your memory now, at the doorstep of death.
Cahir lifted his head from your chest, struggling to put space between his sobs as he looked into your fading eyes.
“Even if I had a thousand lifetimes to live, the one I lived with you would be my best,” he whispered fervently. It was the traditional Redanian response to the prayer for the dying, which Cahir hadn’t realized you’d known. He realized now that he would never know the full extent of what you’d heard, seen, felt, or loved in your life. There was no way to ask you, no way to tell you of his feelings, no way to share a sunrise or a meal or a winter’s storm together. There would be nothing new for the two of you; you’d live now only in Cahir’s memories.
Cahir leaned down to kiss your lips one last time while they were still warm with life. He felt something deep inside him splinter as he did so. His hands shook and he felt as if he were collapsing in a hole that had opened in the center of his chest.
When he looked back up to your eyes, he saw you were gone. He wished for a great many things, and the weight of those wishes crumbled into that single moment took his breath away. He wished he’d never left you, he wished he’d never lied to you about giving his heart away, he wished he hadn’t taught you to fight, he wished for another day, another moment with you, one more chance to hear your voice, to see the sunlight in your hair, to feel your body under his.
But most of all, he hoped you’d heard him before sinking into the stars…
Pairing: Cahir x Fem!Reader
Warnings: None
Notes: feainn = "sun" in Nilgaardian
The crowd was jubilant at the return of Nilfgaard’s army, but your mood was irritable. Your blue brocade gown was tight in the bodice and too warm for the lively dance steps.
The whole night, your eyes were glued on him. Cahir looked impossibly handsome in his ceremonial armor. The scar along his cheek enhanced his roguish charm.
He avoided your gaze expertly. It had been seventeen months since you’d heard from him. Your heart hurt with want.
As the dancing subsided and the crowd thinned, you approached him.
“Commander,” you cooed recklessly. Your tongue was loosened by wine.
He raised his eyebrows at your tone, but recovered to feign a smile at a passing nobleman. Once out of earshot, Cahir fixed you with his gaze. Your skin tingled under his eyes.
“My lady,” he replied, a faint grin on his lips.
“Seventeen months,” you continued, your voice threatening to crack. “I thought you were dead.” You struggled to swallow tears.
“I was, for a time,” he replied cryptically. His face contorted in pain. “Our time apart has shown me, my feainn,” he whispered, “that it is not safe for noble ladies such as you to love men of violence such as me.”
You struggled to hold back an eye roll. Cahir was ever the tragic lover. Always trying to convince you that he was too dangerous to love.
“That’s not how this works, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach. You break it, you buy. That includes my heart.”
Seized by boldness, you slipped the key to your chamber into his hand and left before he could argue. You saw as you turned to leave a faint, devilish twinkle in his eyes…
