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jaskiersvalley · 6 months

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This is GENUINE SERIOUS BUSINESS ANON HATE so you better take it seriously you Letho cosplayer bot you! You're just a moist sock and deserve all this hate for being way too funny and smart!!

Ooooh! Some 'serious' anon hate going on here XD This has been sat in my inbox for far too long because I was having too much fun laughing at everyone else's 'hate' and their responses then promptly forgot I hadn't replied. But long enough has passed now that I look foolish now rather than just super late to the party. I can live with that. And, as always, an ask gets a ficlet in reply. But an ask like this? It gets "rewarded" with dubious morals, questionable medical knowledge and some bittersweetness.

Choose a Different Path

Whatever it was that Tissaia had done to Cahir, it had left some permanent marks. At first it hadn't been obvious, the fainting spells and funny turns chalked up to being on the run, to sleepless nights, to not having enough to eat, to having lived through horrors beyond most people's imagination. It wasn't until Geralt took his ragtag group to Kaer Morhen that it became apparent more was at play than trauma and lack of physical care.

At first they thought things were getting better. The instances where Cahir's movements slowed to sluggish and clumsy before sinking to the ground unresponsive were fewer. He hadn't passed out at all in Kaer Morhen, even seemed to be able to smile again.

Eskel had a lot to do with the smiles. For reasons he wasn't going to question, Cahir had taken quite the shine to him. And Eskel was never going to reject affection, not even when Geralt glared at him while Cahir was slumped against his shoulder and softly snoring away. In a way Eskel found Geralt's near enough fatherly attitude endearing. He'd seen the way Cahir and Ciri bickered, teased and generally terrorised each other. But while Ciri was more like a niece, childish in her youth, Cahir had lost that attitude years ago. Not to mention that Cahir was the one who initiated the start of whatever it was between them.

Of course it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Eskel had more than once watched as Cahir, for seemingly no reason, stumbled or slumped over, eyes glazed and unresponsive to touch. Each time he came back, he was upset, confused and sometimes defensive to the point of lashing out. Yet after a while he began reaching for Eskel for comfort, mumbled "what's happened" and "where am I" were tearfully asked into Eskel's chest. It was rare for Cahir to remember what had happened in the run up to such an episode, mind completely blank, not even the odd whisper of memory to help clue them in to the cause.

As quickly as they had fallen in love, found solace and comfort in each other, things were just as quick to falter. Cracks were appearing, Cahir was much more inclined to stay by the fire while Eske itched to be out of the keep. They clashed over whether the cold made old injuries hurt more, just because Eskel had more scars didn't mean his opinion on winters not actually making things worse had more weight to it than Cahir's experiences. Meanwhile, Eskel grew fearful of losing Cahir who was only a fragile human after all. They were doomed from the moment they met, Eskel had come to realise. If he didn't die first on the Path, Cahir was sure to succumb to old age eventually.

Arguments became more frequent and, with that, Cahir's dizzy spells increased too. It didn't take a genius to work out that stress was what set him off yet Eskel was powerless to protect him from it. Especially as he seemed to be the source of so much of it. He loved Cahir, he really did, but he didn't know what more he could do to prove it.

In the end he didn't have to. They were in their shared room but Cahir was pacing, throwing his belongings into a pile on the bed, not that there was much in the way of that.

"I can't do this," he seethed. "I'm not some child to coddle, not some pet to pamper. I love you but you're suffocating!"

Conflict had never been Eskel's strength. His bulk and general appearance meant that he looked imposing enough that few people picked fights with him and the few that did usually used their fists instead of words. Most considered him too much of a brute to be a worthy opponent in verbal sparring.

"But you're so young. And fragile!"

Whirling around, Cahir looked downright murderous. "Looks, as you well know, can be deceiving. I don't make decisions for you. And you don't make them for me."

"I don't though."

"You do!" Cahir yelled in frustration. "No training because it is cold. Should have a bit more food because I look like I needed it even though I said I was full. You put more wood on the fire because it was colder than what humans tend to like. And that was all just this morning!"

"I did it all for you!" Voice raising, Eskel ran a hand through his hair, ready to tear it out. "I love you and I want the best for you."

Suddenly Cahir deflated as he looked at Eskel with sad eyes. "Do you though? Or do you love and want the best for what you want me to be?"

"You! It's always been for you and your needs." Tone shifting, Eskel felt the argument slide into something beyond annoyance.

Sadness tinged the air as Cahir shook his head. "I can't do this. Sorry." Before Eskel could ask what he meant, Cahir held a hand up to silence him. "I'll move my things into a separate room. This is your home, don't feel you have to skulk around and avoid me. I won't make life difficult, I promise."

"This is it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."

Just like that, Cahir walked out of the room. Eskel watched his back, rigid like that of a soldier going into battle. Except there was no battle, Cahir wasn't a soldier anymore. Lost and at a loss for what to do, Eskel followed a minute later. He couldn't be there when Cahir moved all his things, left Eskel's room how it had been before the winter.

Noises from the Great Hall drew him in. Desperate for a distraction, Eskel shuffled in, shoulders hunched. Lambert was kneeling on the ground, yelling at Geralt to get something soft while Ciri stared wide eyed. Cradled in Lambert's hands was Cahir's head, his body rigid as another of his spells wracked through him. It was worse than they had seen before but Geralt didn't seem overly worried. He trotted back with a folded throw.

"He hasn't had one like this in a while," he commented idly.

Uncertain whether he was allowed next to Cahir, Eskel kept his distance. He watched as Cahir was rolled onto his side as his muscles relaxed. Eyes which had been rolling slowly blinked and tried to focus, only tears were quick to blur his vision as Cahir came to. It broke Eskel's heart.

"Esk?" Cahir's voice was a wobbly croak as he blindly reached out.

Resolve to keep his distance breaking, Eskel sank to his knees next to Cahir and cradled him against his chest. After everything, Cahir still called for him.

The usual, teary question of "what happened?" was met with broad strokes across Cahir's back and the reassuring rumble of "you took a funny turn. You're okay now." Eskel couldn't help himself. "What do you remember?"

A head shake and a sad whine was the first response. "I don't- I don't know. We went to bed. But we're not there now. Where am I?"

Distressed sobs were buried into Eskel's soft shirt. His mind was spinning. Cahir didn't remember that morning. Didn't remember the final couple of straws that broke their relationship. Didn't remember breaking up with Eskel. If Eskel was a better man, he would have been honest. But he was only human, he saw a second chance at happiness. And this time he could probably get it right. As long as Cahir never found out, never remembered that morning.

"You're safe in Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is bringing you a warm, watered down cider. While you drink that I'll go make sure our bed is setup, okay?"

Slowly, Cahir untangled himself from Eskel's shirt. Wiping at his eyes, he nodded and accepted the drink Vesemir was holding out for him. Standing, Eskel didn't run but he hurried back to his room. Their room. Swiping everything off the bed, he made it look like they were in the middle of having a tidy, adding his own clothe to the pile with Cahir's. Bed ready, he raced back to the Great Hall where Cahir was bundled in the throw, empty tankard on the ground next to him.

"Come on, I'll get you back to bed, okay? Then we'll see how you're doing after a nap, yeah?"

Meekly, Cahir nodded and allowed himself to be picked up, feeling so much like a weak kitten in Eskel's arms.

"Thank you," hu murmured, eyes closed.

"No," Eskel replied. "Thank you."

#eskhir #eskel/cahir #eskel x cahir #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #the witcher #tldr: cahir and eskel break up but they don't

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faetxlity · 2 years

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Fae, my beautiful friend! I can't choose between two prompts - "I'm so happy I kissed you" "Thanks." or the exhausted one being carried to bed. Love you like always, your Cahir/Eskel buddy ;)

There's two for this one for I'm going to link both rather than post them under a cut.

"So happy I could kiss you" prompt

"Exhausted" prompt

#eskel/cahir #prompt fills

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hannahmationstudios · 1 year

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Excited about the Witcher 3 next-gen update? Us too! Don't forget Hannahmation Studios has some awesome Witcher charms, perfect for sprucing up your keyring, hanging on your tree, or giving as a fun holiday gift to the Witcher fan in your life! ⚔️❤️

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thisstupidrock · 1 year

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"Cahir Mawr Dyffryn Aep Ceallach was loyal and that had been the end of his career after sustaining an injury in defense of his Emperor. When a treaty was brokered through marriage to one of the Wolf Lord's council the choice of Nilfgaard's sacrifice was clear.

"Sometimes the path you walked was not the one you would have chosen and the path you choose is never the one you would have thought to walk."

"The Sun Was An Okay Guide" by Faetailty

I love this story! It's written soo wonderfully and I revisit it often (like several times a week). Give it a go!!!

#the Witcher #the witcher fanart #the witcher eskel #the witcher cahir #eskel #eskel x cahir #the witcher cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #cahir #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #cahir x eskel #fanfic rec #eskel (the Witcher)#wolf witchers #wolf witcher eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach/ eskel #eskel/ cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #warlord au #the witcher warlord au

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jay-arts-t · 1 year

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Making Witcher character stickers for Redbubble, mostly the twn design (save for lambert since his twn design is pretty well liked from my understanding so he’ll have 2 versions)

I am in pain and agony but they’re all turning out really cute so I’m winning

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descaladumidera · 1 year

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Drew this pride commission back in June for @ladyoftheshrimp!

As always, it was lovely working with you!

ID in alt text and under the cut.

[ID:

A drawing of, from left to right, Eskel, Cahir, and Lambert from the Witcher in chibi form.

Cahir is in the middle, looking pleasantly surprised, hands cupping his cheeks. He is wearing his black robes with golden accents from season 2.

Left of Cahir is Eskel, standing on his toes, and giving Cahir a kiss on the cheek. Lambert is mirroring him on Cahir's right side. They're both stretching their arms out a bit behind them to keep their balance.

In the background is the non-binary pride flag.

End ID.]

#Cahir #Eskel #Lambert #Cahir x Eskel x Lambert #The WItcher #commission #fanart #Desca draws

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megraen · 9 months

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When Fiona Leask first awoke on The Continent, she was pulling herself from the Pontar River that boarded Redania and Temeria. Her body was fatigued, like all strength ripped from her as if she’d been running for days. At the time, she could only remember sitting a distance from Stonehenge in the English countryside of Salisbury Plains of Wiltshire County. She’d been sketching the ancient stone monument in an old leather-bound journal her father had gifted her for her twenty-first birthday just months prior. Another gift from her parents had been an all-expenses paid historical tour of the United Kingdom for her to experience and learn about her ancestors and her homeland. So when she awoke in the rapids of that river, struggling to swim and coughing up her lungs, she had assumed that she had somehow ended up in the River Avon, which ran southeast of the stone monument. With little strength, Fiona had been able to drag herself to a nearby bank, dragging her soaked body across dirt, stones and sticks. At the same time, she fought to regain her breath before finally rolling onto her back to gaze up at the sky, the midday sun looming overhead in a patch of sky opened up between a thicket of treetops.

Fiona didn’t even get a chance for her mind to process how she’d ended up in the river nor how she managed to just survived such an ordeal when an eerie sound perked her ears. A gurgly screech was like something she’d never heard before. Fiona fought through the pain that wracked her body to sit up on her elbow. But what she saw made her freeze. Her eyes widened as they landed on a trio of bloated humanoid-looking creatures. Skin blue and covered in scales and webbed hands and toes, they hunched over as their large white pupilless eyes were trained on her, moving towards her. Fiona could only lay there as they shuffled towards her like foul monsters out of a nightmare. Not even a scream could force its way out of her clenched lips. They were foul-looking monsters straight out of a nightmare or some grotesque horror movie. With shuddering breaths, Fiona’s eyes slowly closed, giving in and accepting defeat as the creatures came closer, their wet feet padding along the dirt.

There was the sound of something moving fast, its feet thudding against the riverbank as they moved. Fiona heard the swings as something cut through the air, the sickly sounds of flesh being hacked off in single blows and blood splattering the earth. She finally released the breath she’d been holding when her eyes shot open, taking in the gruesome sight before her. The hulking stranger moved with such speed and grace that it was as if he was dancing between the creatures as his silver blade sliced completely through limbs. Time seemed to move slowly as she watched it all unfold before her, her breathing beginning to return to a steady rhythm. With a final swing of his sword, the man spun, his blade flicking downwards as the last of the creature's blood gripped from the steel. He was breathing hard as his amber eyes focused on the woman lying in the dirt before him, allowing Fiona to take in his appearance. The man was dressed like someone from a Renaissance festival or the Live Action Roleplaying scene with his old worn clothes made from cotton and leather, his brown stringy hair half tied up to keep it out of his face, the right side badly scarred. He was Eskel, a Witcher of School of the Wolf, based out of Kaer Morhen.

#fan fiction #fanfiction #wip wednesday #wip: how the knight holds me #the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher #oc: fiona leask #cahir #the witcher cahir #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eskel #witcher eskel #jaskier #geralt of rivia

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lokireads · 10 months

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Shortcuts to the tags

#eskel #lambert #witcher #cahir #geralt of rivia

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fanicheaven · 2 years

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Welcome to my blog!

please read before following/ requesting

I haven't written fanfic in ages, but I'm starting again so hi :))

info about me:

I'm 19, I'm afab but use They/him pronouns, native Dutch and English speaker

What to know before requesting:

I only write reader insert. I haven't written smut nor headcanons before but am willing to try.

What I need to know in requests:

the character

scenario

format (brabble, one shot, head canons, or a combo)

Fandoms I write for:

| The Batman (2022)

Bruce Wayne

Edward Nashton

| Peacemaker(2022)

Adrian Chase

| Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove

Eddie Munson

| The Witcher (netflix)

Eskel

Jaskier

Cahir

| Six of Crows

The Crows (platonically)

Kaz Brekker

#the batman x reader #peacemaker x reader #stranger things x reader #the witcher x reader #six of crows x reader #bruce wayne x reader #edward nashton x reader #adrian chase x reader #billy hargrove x reader #eskel x reader #jaskier x reader #cahir x reader #kaz brekker x reader

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terendelev · 1 year

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Ngl I am not really enjoying s2 of The Witcher.

#besides ciri not being a kid #i will never forgive them for what happened to eskel #anyway i will watch for cahir

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jaskiersvalley · 2 years

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🌻💫💛✨This is the Amazing Person Award! Once you are given this award you are supposed to paste it in the ask of eight different people, who, in your opinion, deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it is sweet to know someone thinks you’re amazing inside and out ✨💛💫🌻💜

I haven't had one of these in a while, so thank you, Nonnie. It has made me smile like a fool. In exchange, like an excited dog with a crunchy leaf, I bring you this thing that's been rattling around my head (and we ignore a bit of book canon, I am so sorry).

Run

Kaer Morhen had more life in it over winter than it had in the last fifty decades combined. Eskel quite liked it, especially as everyone who now sought shelter there was pleasant. There was no torment, the only screaming was that of mirth or pleasure (and really, he should have suspected Aiden could make Lambert scream). Even better, Eskel was finding himself slowly falling in love too. It was such a slow thing, he barely even realised. With most people partnered up or rowdy, he found himself sitting with Cahir quite often. The man was quiet, so firmly in control of himself that Eskel had to pry to see anything under the surface of stoic calm. But there definitely was more. The strict blankness couldn't be held permanently, especially not when Cahir was coiled so tight, it can't have been healthy. Sometimes it slipped, cracks appeared in the façade and Eskel was fascinated. There was soft humour shrouded in the armour of indifference. A faint smile under the stern expression. It was all enough to have Eskel going back over and over again, seeking Cahir out for quiet company.

Even better, Cahir began to thaw more and more. He sought Eskel out for quiet nights. Like a cat, he sat closer, was more inclined to let Eskel out of his line of sight. Perhaps the best thing was the time Eskel had glanced over in the library and Cahir had nodded off in his chair. They shared comfortable evenings in silence, content to coexist, occasionally exchanging a few softly spoken words. One thing that Eskel noticed was how Cahir avoided all touch. He kept everyone at arm's length, moving away with such grace that it wasn't obvious until attention was drawn to it. Then there was no unseeing it. It wasn't even a metaphorical arm's length, it was literal. Cahir never let anyone get within touching distance. Truthfully, Eskel thought it looked like a miserable existence.

Through patience, that rule seemed to relax when it came to Eskel. He almost dropped his spoon when Cahir sat down next to him at meal time. Even bumped their shoulders together after a week of sitting next to each other. If Eskel had thought he was touch starved, it was nothing compared to Cahir. At least Geralt and Lambert would tussle, squeeze shoulders and generally whack him on the back. That wasn't something Cahir had. So when he decided that touch was okay, it was like a dam had broken. Eskel near enough fell off his chair when Cahir gave him a brief hug. Which turned longer a few weeks later. Maybe the best thing was when Eskel approach Cahir and wasn't rejected. Things got to the point where Cahir appeared in Eskel's doorway one night, nervous but definitely trying his best.

"I know it's weird," he began in a hesitant voice, "but do you think we could- I mean, I can't- It's not what I can offer-"

"Come in," Eskel had cut him off with a struggle. He never expected to be the little spoon but Cahir seemed far more comfortable holding him, Eskel's back to his chest than the other way round. It wasn't just a one off night. Slowly the frequency of it increased, until Cahir's things migrated over, bags and all.

Of course with more people in the keep came more drama and unrest. For once Yennefer was bringing trouble to the table.

"The Lodge needs a place to meet. Somewhere safe," she was saying, addressing the room at large but her eyes were on Vesemir. "In exchange for your hospitality we can help repair Kaer Morhen into something more habitable."

"It's functional as is," Vesemir grumbled.

"Functional, yes. But it could be better. Like it used to be."

There was no denying that Yennefer knew how to wield words and get what she wanted. Sure enough, not two days later a portal was opening in the hall where everyone had gathered. First to step out was Philippa. Behind her came Keira, Francesca and Tissaia, then several more.

Stepping out to greet them, Vesemir smiled. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen. It is our honour to host you."

"The honour is ours," Tissaia said as she took point, her poise and habit of leadership making her act. "Yennefer has informed us of the terms of our stay-" she looked around, mouth pressed into a thin line, "-we'd be more than happy to oblige." Her eyes landed on the group gathered to greet them.

"These are the residents of Kaer Morhen." As he looked over the others, Vesemir frowned. "Well, most of them. One of our humans seems to have failed to show up."

It was most unlike Cahir to not be there, Eskel had noted how the man liked to be punctual and was polite to a fault. To not be there to greet the new arrivals was most out of sorts.

Formalities taken care of, everyone dispersed. Though not unusual, Eskel was still surprised that Cahir wasn't in the library. Or the kitchen. Or the armoury. Or their bedroom. While he wanted to give him space, he still liked knowing where Cahir was. On a whim Eskel looked under the bed, chastising himself for being a paranoid fool for thinking Cahir's bag would be missing.

Footsteps thundered into the hall as Eskel rushed in, breathing harshly despite not doing more than dashing to everyone else.

"He's gone!"

"Who?" Lambert scoffed and looked around doing a mental headcount.

"Took his bag. The one he never unpacked." Eskel was kicking himself for not bringing it up sooner. Cahir had quietly stowed the bag packed with dried fruits, nuts, a few changes of clothes and other travelling necessities.

Murmurs went up in the room, some of disbelief, others of shock as they figured it out. A witcher struggled in the snow of the mountain. For a human it was certain death. There was no telling when Cahir had left nor in what direction. It had been snowing steadily all afternoon so tracks were buried, almost as if nature was trying to help Cahir's madness along. That didn't stop Eskel from rushing out to try and see, squinting into the flurry. But there was nothing to see other snow, trees and emptiness.

"We've got to find him."

"Why would he leave?"

"Surely he knew he couldn't survive."

Everyone had their own thing to say but Eskel wasn't listening to them. All he could think about was why Cahir had gone. What could have driven him from the security of Kaer Morhen, what made him risk his life. Something had to happen, he thought they were happy. Eskel didn't dare say it but he had hopes that maybe even love was on the cards too.

"I can probably find him," Tissaia announced over the hubbub. The silence was near deafening as they all looked to her. "Cahir Mawr Dyrryn aep Ceallach, right?"

"You know him?" Eskel looked at her with hope until he caught a glance of Yennefer's expression. Something wasn't right.

"As I said, I can scry and open a portal to him."

"Do it." Eskel didn't hesitate in commanding her. It didn't matter she was a sorceress, a powerful and old one at that. Some things meant that social niceties were thrown out of the window.

Thankfully it didn't take long for Tissaia to locate Cahir and her portal sprang to life. She stepped through it first, holding it open. Eskel followed and fought back the waves of nausea and dizziness it created. If his determination hadn't been enough, what he saw had him forget everything.

Sure enough, Tissaia had found Cahir who had been huddled against a snowbank, a measly fire flickering in front of him. While he wasn't turning blue in the lips just yet, he was frightfully pale. Which was made even worse as he tired to back away from Tissaia, back pressed into the snowbank, eyes wide and fearful. No, not fearful, it was beyond that. Eskel didn't want to believe it, that someone who had lived through so much was so mindlessly terrified. There was no other word for it, especially not when Cahir found his voice.

"No. Please no. I left. You didn't see me. You can't have found me."

He was pleading, eyes never moving from Tissaia. She made no attempt to get closer but Eskel had no such qualms. Rushing to Cahir's side, he dropped to his knees, heedless of the freezing cold. Yet Cahir didn't seem to notice him.

"Cahir," he called but there was no response. Cahir seemed unable to tear his gaze from Tissaia. "Cahir!" Still nothing. So Eskel reached out to touch his maybe boyfriend and earned a flinch. Forcing himself into Cahir's line of sight, Eskel tried his best. "Come back home, Cahir. You'll die out here."

"I'd rather die," Cahir bit out, breaths shallow with panic. "I can't do it again. I can't. Please don't make me."

Whatever it was, the terror seemed to have engulfed Cahir's mind.

"Do what?" Eskel could beg too. "Please, darling, come back to me."

"I won't touch you, I won't hurt you," Tissaia said at long last. "I'm not here for you."

Later, when Cahir was back in Kaer Morhen, safe and warm, Eskel was going to have so many questions. But for now he had to focus on the immediate problem.

"I'll keep you safe. I promise."

"You can't keep me safe from her." Despite his words, Cahir's body was swaying towards Eskel, seeking out his warmth and comfort. "She stops at nothing to get what she wants."

"And yet I didn't get it from you, did I?" Tissaia shot back.

Lost, Eskel looked between the two. "Okay. We'll go back to Kaer Morhen to sort this out. Cahir, I'm picking you up and taking you through the portal." Exactly as he said, Eskel scooped Cahir up, rigid as he was with cold and fear. He marched them towards the baths, growling at the sorceresses to stay back.

Ever so gently he helped Cahir into a warm bath, settled him and sat next to the tub, there but not touching. When he'd tried to help brush hair from Cahir's face, the man had flinched so hard that water spilled everywhere.

The person to appear by the door was Yennefer. She wasn't who Eskel had anticipated. Jaskier had been his bet, maybe Lambert if he was feeling especially nosy. However, it was Yennefer and she didn't approach the bath, opting to stay the furthest ditance possible while still able to converse.

"She won't bother you during her stay," she told Cahir. At the questioning look Eskel sent her, she sighed and waited for the smallest of nods before continuing. "Cahir was held at Aretuza, Tissaia attempted to forcibly take information from his mind. It's not something most people live through and retain their minds from."

"Get out." Eskel snarled and watched with some satisfaction as Yennefer turned to go. To think that she knew and had still asked Vesemir for permission to bring Cahir's tormentor here, it was beyond comprehension. He looked at Cahir, huddled in the tub, shaking from either cold or terror, probably both. Palm up, Eskel reached a hand out for him. "She won't get to you. I promise. You won't see her during their stay. This is your home, okay? She'll be gone as soon as possible. But while they're here, I've got you. Okay?"

There wasn't a reply from Cahir. But slowly a hand reached out and took Eskel's, giving it a small, trembling squeeze. Leaning up, Eskel kissed Cahir's temple.

"I've got you. I promise."

#eskhir #eskel/cahir #eskel x cahir #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #yennefer of vengerberg #tissaia de vries #tldr: the lodge of sorceresses stays at kaer morhen

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lambden · 2 years

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back with another flash fic challenge— the first one since spring of this year! I wrote some cahir/eskel in a very loose space AU. featuring a healthy dose of weird kinky wireplay and some characterization that I entirely stole from people who write cahir much better than me. enjoy!!

E, 5.7K, angst & smut but no actual smut, sci-fi AU Also on AO3!

The meal replicator emits a simple six-note song when it finishes its task, and Cahir glances over to carefully consider the small machine. People find the sound more pleasing than a routine electronic noise, even if it serves the same purpose and triggers the same chemical reaction in the human brain. Even though his brain is not wired to receive the same satisfaction, Cahir mimics the song. His voice is far from melodic but the noise still calms him— until the replicator beeps again, then he hurries to open its door.

Cahir carries his mug out of the dining hall, humming to himself. His own quarters are right next to Emperor Emhyr’s, a fact that embarrasses and satisfies him in equal measure. He understands that his proximity to the Emperor is only for convenience’s sake, but on lonely nights like this he likes to believe that Emhyr placed him there as a sign of trust.

He places a hand against the Emperor’s door as he does every night but doesn’t knock, just holding his palm to the solid metal. Soon, upon his leader’s return to the space station , this door will be opened again and Emhyr will call on him for evening strategy sessions. And it will be soon; Cahir is sure of that.

Naturally, his own quarters are more modest than the Emperor’s. He has no paraphernalia from home or furniture with which to entertain guests, because his role on the station is not to host or provide entertainment. But despite the lack of a bed there is a small bedside table, and Cahir sits on the ground beside it now, humming the song of the replicator.

His fingers curl around the hot mug until his pain receptors are almost activated, then he pulls back in time to avoid burning his skin. While Cahir has no taste for hot cocoa, or most human foods, he understands the appeal. The sweet smell and warmth are comforting, and the funny gelatinous marshmallows bobbing up and down in the hot liquid coax a smile out of Cahir for reasons he can’t entirely place. He only wishes that he had someone here to actually drink the cocoa.

But his role here is certainly not to complain. Cahir raises his chin to stare out the window, taking in the expanse of space outside. In the far distance stars twinkle at him; he wonders if those are the same stars visible from Vicovaro. His home planet, though windy with unruly weather, had always had the most beautiful sunsets. He and his siblings used to stay up to watch it; of course, they never slept anyway, but waiting out the long night was always more tolerable when you weren’t alone.

Vicovaro is a subject of internal conflict for Cahir, and thus he doesn’t like to spend much time thinking about it. He holds a great deal of nostalgic affection for where he was made, but he also recognizes that the planet was politically dominated by the Empire. Had Vicovaro been less pathetic, or boasted any military strength, perhaps they could have put up a fight against the invading forces. But Nilfgaard rightfully took over the planet of small manufacturing facilities and farms, and so Cahir’s greatest journey had begun.

He turns his thoughts away from his old planet and cups his hands around the hot cocoa once more. Despite the lonely stars, the skies are devoid of movement. Cahir watches for the distant white flame that he knows will arrive any day now, signifying the triumphant return of Emhyr’s ship. His Emperor will dock onto the space station, and he’ll find it just as pristine as when he left almost a month ago. No— even more pristine.

The hope soothes him. Cahir stays silent, watching the sky for the approaching ship. He hums the song over and over, until the station’s automated lighting system reaches its morning brightness. Still no light appears on any horizon.

Cahir gets up, stretching his limbs and lifting his arms over his head. Time to prepare for his regularly scheduled rounds. He retrieves the now cold cup of cocoa and heads back out into the hall. Almost as soon as the door shuts behind him, a small shuttle careens towards the station.

“If this is the last you ever hear from me, I want you to know I love you,” rumbles Eskel, his thumb jamming down the communicator button as he reaches around the dashboard to prepare for docking. “And also I want you to tell everyone that I died in a much, much cooler way.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Geralt snorts, his voice tinny through the ship’s speakers. “We’ve scanned this hunk of junk over and over for any signs of life and there’s nothing on any radar. No shields, only some outdated cloaking.”

Looking up at the massive space station, it’s easy to see what his brother means by outdated. Some of the outer panels are in dire need of repair and the engines obviously haven’t been maintained in decades. The landing bay doors are swinging open, beckoning him in. Eskel is reminded of a carnivorous plant waiting to trap its prey. He shudders, glaring at the station. “The lights are on.”

“But nobody’s home,” supplies Geralt. Eskel supposes he’s right; they would have picked something up by now. “Come on, it’s basically buried treasure without any guards. Grab as much as you can carry; hell, tow some vintage parts behind your ship. They won’t notice a thing missing. Vesemir said that no activity has been flagged here in a few decades.”

“Right,” Eskel says, still uneasy. “... Keep the lines open?”

“I’m here,” Geralt reassures him, even though he’s nowhere near here. If there really is a threat aboard this old vessel, his family will never make it in time to help him. Eskel lets go of the mic, instead reaching to secure his weapon in its holster. He braces himself for whatever awaits him.

He couldn’t have possibly braced himself enough.

The ominous landing bay welcomes him aboard, although all posted signage is in a language he doesn’t recognize. A quick scan reveals it as Nilfgaardian, and Eskel frowns, forwarding the translation to Geralt. Although they tend to have their fingers in many pies, Nilfgaard doesn’t spend much time on this side of the galaxy. Their efforts have been focused on Cintra and Redania, and on claiming old, long-uncontested territories and dwarf planets. Maybe a hundred years ago he would have been scared to sneak onto a Nilfgaardian vessel, but their empire is practically archaic now.

Following the translated signs for 'cargo hold’, Eskel keeps his wits about him and explores in silence. As far as he can tell, all the lights are automated and kept on a planetary schedule; it must be mid-morning back on Nilfgaard. But the elevators are surprisingly clear of dust and none of the lights have burnt out, so this station must have some mechanical method of maintaining itself.

The cargo hold yields no remarkable hidden treasure, save for an extremely unusual garden. Eskel has yet to remove his helmet or suit but the presence of plants is promising; he pauses to run a quick test of the air. It’s not dissimilar from Morhen air, and the pressure is lighter than he expected for a ship.

Bemused but curious, Eskel kneels at the edge of the garden, photographing the plants. He can’t identify all of them but the ones he recognizes are harmless, mostly herbs and flowers. The garden is only a few metres wide and the plants are short instead of overgrown. Eskel reaches to one of the herbs, twisting the stem between his gloved fingers. The growth has been carefully clipped back. Maintained, just like the elevators and halls. His blood runs cold.

“Geralt,” Eskel rumbles, pressing down the button on his arm that will signal his brother. “I don’t think I’m alone here.”

Two days from now, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis will have been on his crusade for a month. Cahir awaits the anniversary with nearly unbearable excitement, because he remembers his leader’s advisor, a rather unpleasant human named Vilgefortz, bragging about how the away mission would undoubtedly take little time under Emhyr’s command. ‘At most, a month,’ Vilgefortz had boasted to the gathered navigators and soldiers in the control room. No one paid him much mind, all bustling about to prepare for their imminent departure. But Cahir, the sole occupant of the station who would not join Emhyr on his journey, had clung to the words as religious humans cling to the words of their holy preachers. At most, a month.

And now, twenty-eight days after the departure of his emperor’s vessel, Cahir expects his arrival any hour now. He kicks into high gear— literally— and adopts a rigorously productive schedule. He cleans areas of the station that aren’t even on his cleaning docket, scrubbing the high ceilings of the command centre and carefully wiping down Commander Morvran Voorhis’ array of weapons. Cahir hums to himself all the while; he’s sure he sounds about as melodic as a half-dead robot bird built by a child, but he can’t help it. He wasn’t created to sing, but until his master’s return (at most, two days from now!) no one can stop him from humming.

Over the sound of his own voice he nearly doesn’t hear the footfalls from the open door. But his sensors are better than any human hearing, so Cahir whips around, rag in one hand and antique sword in the other. He half expects to see his Emperor silhouetted in the artificial light from the hallway, standing tall and strong and waiting for Cahir to come and kneel before him.

Instead, a stranger stands in the open door. Cahir’s system begins overheating as he struggles to process the sight before him. The stranger is broader than his emperor, and taller, wearing a bulky space suit and helmet unlike any technology Cahir has ever seen. In his hand is a gun that will not do much to immobilize an advanced model like him, but Cahir still shakes, afraid despite himself.

The big stranger stares through his visor. He doesn’t shoot, but he doesn’t lower his weapon, either. Instead, he speaks— it takes Cahir only a moment to translate the language. It takes him longer to try to wrap his mind around the soft, nearly kind timbre of the man’s voice. For the first time, Cahir sees his eyes: dark, and gentle. “Are you the only one on board?”

“Yes,” Cahir answers proudly, before realizing in a panic that he probably should have bluffed and said no. But he has never been expected to act in a forceful capacity, only as a cleaner— Emhyr’s most trusted cleaner, to be sure, and the last line of defense, but he isn’t exactly a security robot. He would have to download a whole new set of processes to even learn how to wield the scimitar in his hands. He clings to the blade’s grip anyway, hoping it will intimidate the stranger. “That is, I thought I was until just now.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man raises his other hand. “Are you… why are you here?”

“I work for the Emperor,” Cahir informs the stranger, who seems inappropriately unimpressed by this declaration. “Emperor Emhyr…? Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morv— ah. The White Flame Dancing On The Graves of His Enemies, I suppose, would be the translation in the common tongue. He’s on an away mission at the moment, so— I— why are you here?”

Beneath his helmet, the man’s face twitches. “There’s been no signs of life in this quadrant for a very long time.” His tone is still too kind. Cahir can’t remember the last human who spoke this kindly to him— he immediately distrusts it. “I’m a… um, mechanic. I was flying by and saw the lights, and I thought maybe you were stranded.”

“I am not— we are not stranded,” Cahir corrects. “We are cloaked. In fact, you should not have been able to board the vessel without our security system evaluating your threat level. How did you board?”

The mechanic blinks. “The doors were open.”

Were he human, Cahir might blush. He had opened the landing bay doors, but only because he thought a passing comet was Emhyr’s ship and he hadn’t wanted to delay the White Flame’s entry for even one moment. He should have known better than to leave them open; he curses, privately making a note to adjust his own impulses.

“Well… that is because I saw you coming,” bluffs Cahir, taking a leaf out of Vilgefortz’s book and trying to copy his confidence. “And in order to properly prepare for the Emperor’s arrival in two days, I thought that I would enlist your services.” The mechanic’s gaze flicks to the scimitar in his hands and Cahir quickly replaces it on the shelf.

“Two days, huh?”

“Yes.” He wrings out the damp washcloth and places it over his shoulder. “Your arrival is well-timed, as I need someone to examine all the technology on board and ascertain that everything is up to date.”

Still watching him with that curious twist in his mouth, the mechanic asks, “Why not just examine the hardware yourself?”

“... I am not permitted to do that.”

“Alright.” Finally, the man lowers his weapon— only to holster it, and fold his thick arms over his broad chest. The thought occurs to Cahir that by human standards, this man would be considered very beautiful; the strange scars across one side of his face are all that mars his visage, and even those are a sign of worldly experience. What Cahir doesn’t like as much as his appearance is his persistence, and defiance, as he asks, “Well, what’s in it for me?”

“Is loyalty to the Emperor not enough motivation?” The stranger just frowns, and Cahir sighs. “Fine. What would you like? I cannot offer much.”

“I want to look at your hardware,” the mechanic says without an ounce of shame. Cahir’s internal fan picks up speed, and he hopes the man can’t hear it. “See if you’re up to date too.”

Such an offer would be considered unbelievably rude by most, and Cahir should tell the man to get right back in his spaceship and go back where he came from. But awaiting the crew’s return has unlocked a new loneliness in him, and despite this man’s size and weapons and unfamiliarity, he doesn’t seem… bad-natured. So Cahir finally relents, hissing, “No permanent changes.”

“Hey, no, of course not,” says the mechanic, raising his hands. “You can stay online and walk me through the whole thing, alright? I just want to help.”

“I need no help,” Cahir spits at him. “... Would you like a hot cocoa before we begin?”

“What?”

Seemingly forgetting the rag slung over his shoulder, the service bot cleans out a ceramic mug with another dishcloth. Eskel watches from across the dining hall, fascinated even as Geralt asks him question after question. “You’re fine? Nobody’s holding you hostage? You’re not in any danger at all?”

“Don’t think so,” Eskel whispers back. The android turns to glance in his direction, and he covers his mouth with his wrist, mumbling into his communication system, “I’ll tell you later, okay? But I’m good. Found something weird.”

“You and Lambert and all your weird discoveries,” gripes his brother. “You know what I do when I find something weird on a looting run? I leave it the hell alone and mind my own business. Have you ever heard of the concept? Minding your own business?”

“Gotta go,” Eskel mutters, and switches his comms off. He’s sure Geralt won’t be happy with him, but whatever’s going on with this bot is way more interesting than he’d expected. The android is still staring, so Eskel raises his voice to clarify, “Sorry. Just my brother checking in.”

“Oh,” the android replies in an odd voice. “You have a brother?”

“Two of them, actually.” Eskel takes a seat on a hard, unwelcoming bench; he guesses Nilfgaardians prioritize function over comfort.

“I also have two brothers,” volunteers the android. Eskel stares; he hadn’t thought that robots ever followed traditional family models, not unless they were brought into a human family to act as a family member. “And three sisters.”

“Are they… Nilfgaardian too?”

“No.” He sniffs— it is such a distinctly human action that Eskel can’t help but smile. “I was made on Vicovaro.”

“Oh, I’ve been there! Beautiful place.” Last time he visited Vicovaro, he got chased off the planet by the local police for looting an old cruiser for parts. But he’ll leave that out of the story, especially since the old tech could have been parts of this android’s siblings. “So you got drafted, then?”

The android meets this question with silence. Fair enough; it’s a little personal, even though he had been the one to offer information about his family, and to ask about Eskel’s.

Unfortunately, Eskel is starting to like this weird little robot. So as the android places the mug down in the vintage food replicator, he presses, “You don’t have to tell me your whole story, but we’re gonna get up close and comfortable pretty soon here. So we can at least exchange names, right?” This doesn’t get a response either, so he offers, “I’m Eskel. I’m from Morhen.”

“I have many names,” the android finally says. “CM-DAC-1268 is what you might— um, see.” Seemingly embarrassed by the reminder that Eskel is going to open him up soon, he twists away, watching the machine pour hot cocoa through the translucent door. “Back home, my maker gave us traditional Vicovarian names in the hopes that we would sell better. So my full name is Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach. But please just call me Cahir.”

“Cahir,” Eskel repeats, committing the full name to memory anyway— as best he can. Cahir doesn’t turn back to face him, not until the hot cocoa is finished pouring. The replicator plays a jaunty six-note song, and Eskel chuckles. “Catchy tune.”

When Cahir finally spins around with the mug of cocoa in his hands, Eskel catches the hint of a smile on his face. Compared to the latest model of android, Cahir is plain— no bells, no whistles. But he’s pretty, and his light blue eyes shine as he carries the drink over to the table. Eskel might be in a little bit of trouble here.

The space station is equipped with a standard laboratory for android upkeep, but Eskel seems to find the place wanting. He keeps asking Cahir about items that he hasn’t heard of; probably a translational error, but it gets annoying. Finally Cahir paces over to the table and strips out of his uniform to prepare for the operation; Eskel lets out a gasp, and Cahir spins to look at him. “What?”

“No, no, nothing,” Eskel bleats, very much not looking at Cahir. “I didn’t think, um. Shit! Never mind.”

Cahir glances down at his own naked body, frowning. “Surely you weren’t expecting exposed circuitry. I was made better than that.”

“Yeah, clearly,” says the mechanic, his voice thick. “It’s fine, I just… I didn’t think they made, um… service bots with… all the parts.”

Slightly amused, Cahir tells him, “My creator didn’t know what I would be sold for. I’m equipped for several roles and functions.” Eskel finally glances his way, and his gaze roams over the length of Cahir’s exposed skin. Nervous goosebumps travel along his arms and thighs, and his system begins whirring a little faster. “Is that… is there something wrong with that?”

“No,” Eskel says quickly. “You’re beautiful, that's all.”

The words stun him. Eskel still has yet to remove anything other than his helmet, but judging by his broad neck and kind eyes and the shaggy hair that falls over his brow, Cahir thinks he’s rather beautiful too. But he’s never had any opportunity to return any sentiment like this, because it’s never been directed at him before. Puzzled, he frowns, and then proposes, “You should take your suit off too. I don’t want to be the only one on display here.”

“Ha,” Eskel huffs. He doesn’t immediately move to undress, though, fidgeting with one of the tools Cahir laid out. “You might not like what you see.”

Cahir’s confusion deepens. “Why?”

The man just stares, his own frown tugging down in the scarred corner. He doesn’t offer any further explanation so Cahir returns his stare. After a long, charged moment, Eskel reaches up to unfasten the top of his suit. He slowly pulls down a zipper to reveal his chest, and instead of the undersuit that Cahir had expected, he’s only clad in baggy shorts and a loose tank top. Some scars are visible under his clothing; their webbing stretches around his shoulder and pectoral muscle to his back.

Cahir pays his scars very little attention, too wholly consumed by how broad his entire body is, even without the spacesuit. His arms and shoulders are tense but even if he wasn’t flexing his muscles he’d still be a good deal larger than Cahir. His stomach presses against the tank top and his shorts hang low on his hips, revealing a patch of hair that creeps down his stomach and leads between his massive thighs. His chest has thick, curly hair too. Cahir was not built to want. Inexplicably, defying science and his own system, he wants.

Voice shaking with obvious nerves, Eskel shatters the silence between them: “It’s a little cold in here.” A flimsy excuse, especially when he won’t meet Cahir’s wandering eyes. He reaches down to grab his suit where it’s gathered around his knees, and Cahir launches forward to stop him, touching the backs of his hands. Eskel stops, startled, and finally looks up at him. His eyes are the exact colour of cocoa.

“I can assist with that,” Cahir says. Eskel’s pupils balloon out until they nearly eclipse his irises, but he does not move away or push Cahir off. Carefully, Cahir scoots around him, heading for the temperature control panel on the wall. Eskel watches him go with a slightly amused expression that Cahir doesn’t know how to begin to understand, so he doesn’t worry about it. He raises the temperature, and somewhere deep in the station the heat kicks on. “I’m not used to hosting humans,” he explains. “Like I said, everyone else has been gone for a month; I suppose the settings are not exactly suitable for mammals.”

Eskel’s eyes are still dark but this gives him pause. He begins to say something before thinking better of it. “Here,” he mutters instead, kicking his suit away and carefully moving Cahir’s uniform to a chair. “Lie down,” he instructs, and Cahir does.

The mechanic carefully drags his fingertips down Cahir’s sternum, looking for something— he doesn’t find it. Cahir frowns, trying not to shiver, and he reaches for Eskel’s hand. He pulls the mechanic over to the right place; the button to access his command centre is on his right side, around where the human liver would be. Guided by Cahir, Eskel finds it and presses down gently.

His chest cavity pops open— Cahir feels nothing, thankfully. Androids are never given pain receptors in their chests or backs to allow for easier access when they need hardware updates. Eskel still winces, his eyes bulging out of his skull. Cahir snorts softly. “I thought you were a mechanic.”

Distracted, and almost slightly guiltily, Eskel replies, “What?”

“I only meant that you should be used to this by now.” Cahir gulps, glancing at Eskel’s thick wrists. “Right?”

“I mostly work with ship parts, not robots,” he concedes. “But I… um, the models I have worked on have been. Different. Their chest opens up…” He raises his hands so that Cahir can see, and parts them down the middle. “Two doors, not one.”

“Two doors?” Derisively, Cahir snorts. “I don’t know how they do things on Morhen but I have yet to see an android with two chest doors.”

“They’re called rib plates,” Eskel tells him, his voice as gentle as his touch. “They’re quite common, actually.” He reaches down into Cahir’s wiring, picking up a fistful of crossed wires to examine it closely.

Cahir’s breath hitches, and he abruptly regrets getting fully undressed. His body is immune to most physical reactions, but androids tend to react in other ways when touched— and Cahir’s insides have always been exceptionally sensitive. He considers warning the mechanic, just so that if Eskel glances down between his thighs he won’t be surprised. But before he can say a word Eskel carefully separates a bundle of wires, and Cahir bites back a gasp.

Abruptly, the man stops. But his fingers are still tied up in Cahir, whose breaths are coming faster and harder now. “Does that… hurt?”

“Not hurt,” Cahir pants. “No! Definitely not hurt. It’s— I’m sensitive.”

“Oh.” Eskel swallows, hard. “Would you like me to stop?”

Violently, Cahir shakes his head. Eskel seems to get the message; he eases up a little, but the gentler touches just drive Cahir crazy. It’s like he’s riding the edge of satisfaction, and Eskel won’t just give him what he needs. He can’t focus on anything— not until Eskel pulls a stopper out of a port and plugs him into a smooth, small tablet.

The wire is sleek, dark and thin and Cahir can’t feel it at all; he reaches to touch it, mystified. Eskel looks at him sharply, surprised, but Cahir doesn’t pull his hand away. He demands, “This one doesn’t feel like anything at all. Why?”

“It’s newer,” Eskel mumbles. “Usually, they don’t— um, usually androids aren’t sensitive the way you are. So hardware updates are a very routine process. If I’d known it was going to be like this, I would have wined and dined you a little more, I mean; uh, that is to say, I, I feel, you know, sort of awkward.”

“Don’t feel awkward.” Cahir frowns, letting go of the wire so that he can hold Eskel’s wrist instead. The veins inside are a comparable size to the wire, except they’re pulsing quickly. His blood must be rushing— Cahir’s system speeds up at the thought. Then he realizes that Eskel can probably see the strain on his system performance on that little tablet, which, of course, only makes his fan run faster. “I like it,” he hastens to say. “It feels good.”

“Yeah. Fuck, I bet it does.” Nilfgaardians have their own curse words, and hearing something as common as fuck goes right to Cahir’s exposed anatomy. He leans his head back against the table, baring his throat; Eskel glances right at his neck, and swallows hard again.

Once more, Cahir is overwhelmed by a wave of wanting. The desire does not fall in line with his programming, and doesn’t make any scientific, rational sense. But try telling that to his cock. “Touch me,” he begs, his eyelids sweeping shut. “Please, it feels… Please touch me, Eskel.”

“I want to,” Eskel groans, sounding almost pained. “You have no fucking clue how badly I want to. But I… I think something is wrong.”

A sudden sinking feeling erupts in Cahir’s stomach. Fighting off the dread, he opens his eyes to see Eskel frowning at the strange tablet. He props himself up on his elbows, trying not to jump to any fear-based conclusions before he sees the evidence for himself. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to overload you, so I’m going to say this as gently as I can,” Eskel tells him, unnaturally calm. It feels forced, and sets Cahir off more than if he’d just blurted out the bad news. But his chest door is still swinging open and he’s still connected to Eskel’s computer by a wire, so he’s helpless to do anything but watch as the mechanic pulls up a seat beside the table. “You said that you’ve been waiting on your crew for thirty days.”

“Twenty-eight,” Cahir corrects, his erection flagging instantly. “They said it would be a month, at most.”

“They were wrong.” Eskel flips around the tablet; on its screen is a list of tiny, bright statistics. Cahir sees the attribute ‘system date’ and the fact ‘actual date’, but the glowing numbers swim before his eyes and he can’t make any sense of it. Eskel sighs, but he doesn’t look away. The weight in his eyes is heavy, pitying; Cahir doesn’t understand why. “They’ve been gone much, much longer than that.”

Cahir’s mouth twitches downwards into a pout, and he blinks rapidly. “Thirty days,” he suggests.

“No.”

“A… a few months.”

“Cahir—”

“I can read it,” he insists, furiously, even though for some reason he can’t. It’s like his programming won’t let him process the information on screen; as soon as he has that idea, the sinking dread in his stomach solidifies into a stone. With horrid certainty, he knows that that’s exactly what’s going on. Still, he pleads, “They’ll be back soon. They promised!”

Eskel’s kind, brown eyes fill with tears, and Cahir can no longer bear to look at him. But he has no way to block out the sound as the human tells him, sadly but firmly, “That was ninety-three years ago, Cahir.”

Behind his eyelids he sees it all so clearly: the mission succeeding, Nilfgaard establishing a new trading port and taking control of another planet. They command other space stations, bigger ones; soon they have command over sprawling metropolises. Maybe someone challenges the Emperor and his empire— their empire succumbs. Maybe Nilfgaard grows and grows until it becomes an intergalactic power. A universal empire.

Either way, they move on from the space station that they assigned a service bot— Emperor Emhyr’s most trusted service bot, but a service bot nonetheless— to maintain. They decide that the trip back to reclaim the station wouldn’t be worth the fuel. Not when the station’s only occupant is an antiquated android with no status and no ambition. His greatest drive above all, to serve Emhyr and happily await his return, had kept him occupied. They had ensured that it would; they had fucked with his internal clock. For him, it’s only been twenty-eight days. For everyone else, nearly a century.

Which means Emhyr is dead. A dull thrill races through Cahir’s system at that, which he instantly and violently denies and rejects. But it is— it must be the truth; the emperor is dead, his advisors dead, his commanders dead, his subjects all dead too. Except for one lowly, lonely robot; his only remaining subject. Not dead, but locked in purgatory. Abandoned but not wiped. Forgotten.

“That’s fine,” Cahir hears himself say, quite neutrally and levelly despite how badly his voice is shaking. “That is fine.”

He opens his eyes to see Eskel staring at him like he’s lost his mind, which he sort of has, really. “What?”

“You checked to see if I was up to date,” he says. “And obviously, I am not. That’s fine. I still have a mission; I still must keep the station maintained for when Nilfgaard returns.”

Eskel’s hand meets his, and their palms slide together. Humans are so warm— Cahir had forgotten. With tremendous, unbearable sympathy, Eskel says, “Cahir, they aren’t going to return.”

“They still may.” Cahir sniffs. “I cannot abandon my post just because of a programming error.”

“It wasn’t an error.” Eskel flips the tablet around. Unwillingly, Cahir reads it. The ‘system date’ and ‘actual date’ data are now accurate to each other, but underneath is another date that he has trouble processing. ‘Termination date’: six years and nine months from now. Cahir glances at Eskel for confirmation, and he nods, devastated. “They only insured this place for a century. When that runs out, they won’t care about maintaining it anymore, and you’ll go offline.”

“Well— well— they— well—” Cahir rereads the date over and over. “They might come back then. In six years and nine months.” Even to his own hearing, he sounds desperate.

Eskel squeezes his hand. “But if they don’t?”

“Then I’ll have served my purpose.” In his mind, the White Flame extinguishes itself.

To his credit, the man actually considers Cahir’s wishes before gnawing on his lip, and finally shaking his head. “I… No, I… I can’t. I’m not going to leave you to die here for no good reason! Listen, I’m not— I haven’t worked with vintage parts before, so I don’t know how to fix this. But I have contacts, and they probably could find a way, alright?”

The room suddenly seems smaller than it ever has before. Eskel’s hand in his is warm, like the hot cocoa he makes to hold every night. It takes him a millisecond to compute that he must have made over thirty four thousand mugs of cocoa. What a ridiculous waste of Nilfgaardian resources— he bankrupted his own empire without even knowing it. And all so that he could cradle something warm in his palms and stare out the window for a light that would never, ever come.

“I’ll come with you,” Cahir agrees, surprising them both.

Eskel launches forward to hug him— in doing so, his chest presses against the exposed bundle of wires, sending a thrill through the android’s system. After a moment of trying to get his synapses back in order Cahir hugs back, awkwardly and probably incorrectly. But Eskel doesn’t complain about his technique, just holding him tightly and muttering under his breath, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. And thank fucking god.”

Cahir doesn’t believe in any god, and doesn’t know anyone else alive who does. But Eskel’s zeal inspires a similar fervour in him, and he grips the human tightly in response. “And in six years and nine months,” he breathes into Eskel’s bare shoulder that tastes of sweat and salt, “you’ll bring me back here?”

After a heavy pause, Eskel nods against his throat, and releases him. “If that’s what you want.”

It is the first time in Cahir’s life that any human has ever acknowledged what he might want. He makes a note to treasure the memory forever.

#cahir fic #eskel fic #eskel #cahir #eskhir #eskhir fic #my writing #flash fic challenge #tagging this is so difficult with my stupid broken keyboard omggg #also i am fully in rarepair hell. rorveth coming to u all soon

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