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Blood, so much blood. The marble statue of an unknown goddess is splattered with it. He is lying supine at the goddess's feet, half his face cleaved open to the bone, the breast-plate of his armour pierced and coated with blood. She knew she would find him dead. Bonhart said so. The evil bounty hunter would never let an adversary get away alive. But seeing it is still different. He sacrificed himself - for her.
She owes him a last good-bye.
Slowly, almost reverently, she crosses the room, kneels down next to him and takes his cold hand in hers. Much to her surprise, he gives a low moan and blinks his eyes open with an effort.
"Cirilla?" he whispers so faintly she has to strain her ears to understand her name.
She nods, lost for words, for what do you say to your former nemesis, the man who haunted your nightmares for year, who somehow, miraculously, has turned into an ally, when he is clearly on the threshold of death?
"The last face I see—"
He starts to cough up blood, not able to finish the sentence. It is not necessary. She remembers. And suddenly, she knows the right words.
"I forgive you, Cahir," she says, tears springing to her eyes but this time, they are not tears of rage. She has seen many people die. Friends. Enemies. She has killed more than enough humans herself, some who might have deserved it and others who might not - fuck, Hotspurn died in her arms while they were about to make love - but never has anybody tried so hard to smile at her while breathing their last breath, with eyes so very soft and blue. Like on Thanedd when she could not kill him.
Funny, not even a year ago, all she wanted to do was shove her sword into his throat and watch him choke on his own blood. And now, as he lies dying, she would give the world to save him. As he saved her. Without the stab wound in his thigh that slowed him down just enough for Ciri to gain the upper hand in their deadly fight, she would probably be dead now, slain by the infamous Leo Bonhart.
"I forgive you, I forgive you," Ciri repeats. He blinks, hardly able to keep his eyes open. And suddenly, she has had enough of all the blood and tragedy. All the people who came to save her and found death instead. Angoulême who died in her arms shortly after they met for the very first time. Milva and Regis, the archer and the higher vampire who she has not ever seen but only heard of. It has to stop. She wants a happy ending, not a tragedy.
She deserves a happy ending!
"I forgive you, Cahir, but don't you die on me!" she orders.
He moans weakly, his eyes falling shut, then coughs up more bloody froth. Ciri is not a healer, however, it is obvious. Bonhart's blade must have just so missed his heart, but pierced his lung instead, causing extensive internal bleeding. Time is running out for the black knight of Cintra, and quickly so.
"Do you hear me, Cahir?" she says, desperate. "Don't die!"
Gently gathering the mortally wounded black knight into her arms, Ciri concentrates. Hard.
Then they disappear.