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astaldis · 7 months

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Last minute escape from Execution

@whumpers-monthly

Fandom: The Witcher Netflix

Whumpee: Cahir

Published: 2022-10-19 Completed: 2022-12-14

Words: 26,422 Chapters: 17/17

Chapter 17 of "Not Cruel by Nature"

Soon it will be over. With a bang. No, more of a thud. Cahir knows what it sounds like when the executioner's axe hits the bones in the condemned man's - or woman's - neck, cuts right through them and then strikes the beheading block still with enough force to create the thudding sound. If the executioner does his job like he should. If not, things can get pretty messy. No, wrong word, there is nothing pretty about a messed-up execution. Cahir has witnessed quite a few beheadings back in Nilfgaard, one or two of which were exceptionally gruesome. The headsman must have been drunk to miss so badly, to need more than three attempts to finish the job. Not that an execution is pretty in any way even if the executioner knows what he is doing, with all the blood spurting from the severed carotid artery and the grisly, chopped-off head left to rot on a spike by the city gate. For a moment Cahir wonders what they will do with his head after the execution. Display it at the entrance to Aretuza? No, probably not, a bit too terrifying for a school for young girls. Maybe they will gift-wrap it for one of the northern kings or queens for their private collection of shrunken heads and skulls? Some people even use the skulls of their dead enemies as candle holders or paper weights, he knows this for a fact. Well, as he will be thoroughly dead then, whatever they do with his remains will not concern him anymore. If it was only over already. Instead he has to stand here between the two guards like some exotic exhibition piece. In clear view of the executioner's block. The sight does give him the chills, no matter how much he pretends it does not, the more so the longer this takes. This commemoration ceremony. At the moment, Tissaia de Vries is solemnly proclaiming the names of the killed mages. Her voice sends cold shivers up and down Cahir's spine. When he looks at her, he can almost feel her fingers on his temples, her magic mercilessly drilling into his brain, like some sort of phantom pain. Well, perhaps he ought not complain. Any phantom or otherwise pain will cease to exist shortly. As will he. And was it not his wish that his death would serve some kind of purpose? Now it will. Atonement for Yennefer - Cahir has no idea what the Hero of Sodden would have to atone for, but this is hardly his problem - and, most of all, entertainment for the audience. And what an illustrious audience it is, no reason for complaints here either. Pretty much all the northern kings and queens appear to have assembled in this ancient ruin. A fitting ambience for a memorable execution. At least they are giving him this. In addition to a beautiful, female executioner. Something he has never heard of before. Whether or not it is a good thing, remains to be seen. Cahir looks at Yennefer's slight form. Has she ever held an axe in her hands before? Probably not, why would she? Hopefully, the powerful sorceress will use some magic trick to help her do her grisly task. Otherwise it seems unlikely that she will be able to do it with just one swing of the blade. Which is not exactly a reassuring prospect, no.

Strange, how he can reflect on what will happen in a short while in this detached manner, as if it was not his head on the chopping block but somebody else's, as if this was not happening to him at all. As if it was just a nightmare and he would eventually wake up in his bed in Darn Dyffra, the last couple of months nothing but the lingering aftertaste of a bad dream. However, he knows this is real, he knows this is the end. His end. He knows it will hurt. And begin any minute now.

Suddenly an even more disturbing thought occurs to Cahir. What if they send his head to Nilfgaard? As a demonstration of power? What if his father gets to see it at court? It will be hard enough for his parents to lose another son. He can still remember how devastated his mother was when his much older brother Aillil was killed many years ago fighting the uprising in Nazair, and how ugly she was from weeping. She made him promise to her to hate the Nordlings then, and he hated the Nordlings with a vengeance for making his beautiful mother look so ugly. How old was he? Ten? He has killed plenty of Nordlings since then. Even a Nordling king. And now the Nordlings are killing him. Makes kind of sense. If only his parents are spared the horrific details. Just imagining them seeing his severed head makes Cahir nauseous. He swallows back the rising bile. Maybe it is a good thing he has not had anything to eat today ...

Yennefer of Vengerberg, his executioner, does not appear to enjoy the ceremony much either. She looks pale and nervous as she is standing by the wall opposite him with two other sorceresses. Has she ever seen an execution before? Funny, somehow Cahir does not feel any hate for the black-haired witch although she alone is responsible for the defeat at Sodden Hill. Without her fire, Nilfgaard would have won the battle, he would have won. With a little luck he might even have been able to apprehend the elusive Lion cub of Cintra. While many of the mages assembled here would be dead and eaten by the wolves or crows by now. Including Tissaia de Vries and Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. Aretuza would never have happened to him, nor would this be happening now. He ought to loath this Yennefer from the bottom of his heart. But he does not. Why does he not?

"Today we must unite again against a common enemy."

Vilgefortz, in flowing black and yellow robes. His words disrupt Cahir's train of thought, giving him goose bumps all over. Murmurs of agreement from the audience. The charismatic sorcerer gestures to the guards. It is time. The two long-robed mages start to move, leading the prisoner between them toward the wooden platform in front of the monument. Toward the beheading block. Cahir's chains rattle ominously. They force him onto his knees with a thud. With another thud the two mages make him bend over the block in an awkward position. He must look ridiculous kneeling like this. Well, that is certainly the least of his problems at the moment.

"This Nilfgaardian," Vilgeforts proceeds in a strong, confident voice, "will be put to death."

One of the guards passes the axe to the mage before he turns and faces the audience again, obviously enjoying the dramatic scene and his lead role therein.

"His head will be sent to Cintra to make our voices heard."

He brandishes the axe theatrically while he speaks, adding brief pauses between the words to emphasise every single one of them. Cahir must give it to the man, he is a talented orator. The thought of his head being sent to Cintra, on the other hand, turns his stomach. No. Do not think of it. Breathe. Just breathe. Cintra, not Nilfgaard. His parents won't see it. Everything else does not matter.

"The North, kings and mages alike," Vilgefortz's voice again, dripping with pathos, "this is what strength looks like."

Cheers from the audience. Clapping. Vilgefortz must feel extremely satisfied with himself. His perfect revenge for Sodden Hill. However, why chopping off an unarmed, fettered prisoner's head would show the North's strength, eludes Cahir. Looks like Vilgefortz can sell any bullshit to the kings with his rhetoric.

The applause dies down. The dark-haired mage raises the axe again demonstratively, then walks past Cahir to where Yennefer is standing, alone. He hands the axe over to her. Cahir cannot see the sorceress from his position, but he can feel her eyes on him. Like in the dungeons.

Not long now. He starts to wheeze. To feel faint. He can hear his blood pounding in his ears. Far too fast ...

Yennefer seems to hesitate for a moment. Gasps softly. Then he can feel her come closer, step onto the platform. He cannot hear her through the sudden ringing in his ears, but he can sense her presence, sense her shaky breathing, her fear. Just the length of an axe between them. He turns his head to the side, wants to look his unlikely executioner in the eye for one last time. Catch a glimpse of those incredible purple orbs. Tell her that it is OK.

Holding the axe with both her hands, Yennefer glances down at Cahir and their gazes meet. She clearly does not want to do this. But she has to. He inhales audibly and moves his head back into position. He is ready, as ready as he can be. He cranes his neck downward so that it would be easier for her to see where to hit. Only seconds now before the impact. His breath comes in heavy bursts. What are you waiting for, Yennefer? Do it. Just get it over with. Please.

A movement. She raises the axe. He draws in one last shuddering breath. A whoosh of air as she brings down the blade. His heart skips a beat. However the axe does not strike at his exposed neck. There is no explosion of pain, no gush of blood, no severed head falling to the ground with a wet thump. To Cahir's utter surprise, it instead shatters the chain of his manacles. He gasps in disbelieve. A collective groan runs through the assembled crowd. Then deeply ingrained survival instincts take over. Cahir springs to his feet and runs for his life. The exit is not far. He cannot believe his luck, no guards anywhere. Behind him, he hears the uproar of the audience, the dull sounds of the axe hitting wood, the pyre constructions collapsing, crashing. And the roaring cackle of flames. Yennefer. She is doing a hell of a job. Again. Only this time they are not enemies, are they?

He hears the neighing of a horse just as he rounds a corner. There she is, his executioner turned saviour, mounting a white horse. Panting heavily, Cahir comes to a halt in front of the steed. The horse whinnies, startled. Yennefer reins it in, staring down at him. The horse snorts impatiently.

"Come on, then," she says, having made up her mind. Cahir does not need to be told twice. He jumps onto the mare behind the sorceress, barely believing his good fortune. Why on earth would she help him? It is a total mystery.

"Why save me?" he asks, still out of breath from running.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm saving me."

Yennefer spurs the horse and off they gallop, the sorceress and the enemy soldier, away from the site of the failed execution and into the night.

If you liked this, read what happened before that and what happened after it on Ao3 or read the entire Sewer Pals series (if you haven't yet). Have fun!

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