Hidden Treasure
Cahir shifts on his knees. He cannot make a sound. If he's discovered, the punishment will be harsh. But he fears it less than the humiliation.
He's hidden, but only barely. Anyone walking to and fro between Emhyr's desk and the door will only see the wooden folding screen. It'd delicate work, inlaid with mythical beasts and plants, and it suits Emhyr's chambers - it's not ostentatious but clearly masterful work. Nobody would think twice about it being here.
Even the Emperor has things he might not want everyone to see, yet wishes to keep close.
It's an honour to be among these things. This is what Cahir tells himself when doubt and fear bite at his thoughts like rats. If he were not of value to Emhyr, he would be in a dungeon, or rotting on a gallows somewhere. The question of what exactly Emhyr values him for is one he would rather not think about too much.
Better to focus on different things, even if it's the way his knees hurt, or the draft coming from under the door, threatening to make him shiver. He tries to stay warm by sheer force of will, inching forward on his knees to find a slightly more protected spot where he will instead feel the fire's warmth.
The chain on his collar slips, metal clinking against metal. Cahir freezes, his heart pounding in his chest so loud he cannot hear anything else. But nobody moves the screen aside, and after a while his pulse slows down, allowing him to hear Emhyr carrying on his conversation with his guests.
Cahir is torn between trying not to listen and drinking in every word. Even though Emhyr has put him in this place, Cahir can't help but feel he is eavesdropping. But the honour of witnessing Emhyr's every word, being privy to his plans and thoughts, it's too much to resist. Maybe, one day, Emhyr will see fit to ask Cahir's opinion on a particularly hard problem. When that time comes, Cahir needs to be ready.
Gripping the chain to keep it silent, Cahir moves ever so slowly to sit crosslegged, all while taking notes in his head. Even when he still was a trusted commander of Emhyr's men, he has not had the privilege of knowing this much of the grand plans. He had been one of many. Now, he is—unique.
He doesn't know why Emhyr has seen fit to keep him, after how Cahir has betrayed him. Other men have died for less. Yet here he is. There has to be a purpose to this beyond—
The big doors falling shut cut off his thoughts. He is alone with Emhyr. Cahir doesn't even dare breathe loudly for fear of disturbing his Emperor's thoughts. Kneeling once more, Cahir remains still with his hands on his thighs and his head bowed, the way he has learned Emhyr expects him to.
In the silence, he can hear the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the rain hitting the windows and the scratching of a quill on paper. After a while, the scratching stops. The heavy chair scrapes back across the stone floor and Emhyr's footsteps ring out, crossing the room.
Cahir doesn't dare look up when the folding screen is moved aside. Emhyr forces him to, one hand under his chin, and Cahir meets his gaze with a shiver. The Sun hasn't burned him yet but it still might.
Emhyr brushes a thumb across Cahir's lips. The gesture is tender and Cahir is thankful for it even though he knows the tenderness will not last. But it is what Emhyr wants from him, keeps him in his rooms for, a secret between the two of them. He trust Cahir with his needs.
Cahir will not disappoint his Emperor again.
written for Witcher Whump Week, the prompt was Chained