LotS Fic: The Wanting Of You (Long Version)
Title: The Wanting of You (Long Version)
Author: TheDawn
Pairing: Kahlan/Cara
Rating: R/NC-17 (for sexytiems)
Warnings: Angsty. Very angsty.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, there would be more girl-on-girl action and less clothing. Maybe some plot from time to time. Unfortunately for us all, they are owned by much luckier, wealthier people who are also too blind to see the awesomeness they possess. Title (and plot, sorta) is taken from a Melissa Etheridge song of the same name.
The Wanting of You
Evening falls slowly on Aydindril, the day melting into a lingering twilight as the sun disappears behind the mountains surrounding the bustling city. Leaning against the window frame in her chambers, Kahlan watches the distant roofs of buildings change color to reflect the sky; bright orange, mellow pink, cool blue, until finally they seem to glow silver in the bright moonlight. On the desk behind her lays a variety of treaties and proposals, each of them, as always, terribly urgent. Earlier she tried, briefly, to focus on work, but quickly abandoned it as a lost cause, knowing that such concentration was too much to hope for when she'd watched the father of her children ride off into danger just hours before.
Kahlan is not naive. She knows how vital it is that they gather support to fight the army Darken Rahl is amassing in D'Hara, and no one can question the Seeker's ability to rouse the people of the Midlands. It's obvious that Richard's place is out there, rallying the people. That doesn't stop her from worrying, though, and it doesn't stop her daughters from missing their father.
A soft sigh escapes her lips as she absently caresses her stomach with one hand. The hardest part of Richard being gone is that it leaves her thoroughly aware of where she now belongs. As a child, all she knew about Confessors and what they did was what her father forced her and her sister to do. When she and Dennee were rescued and brought to Thandor, the last thing on her mind was the hierarchy of the Midlands. Until Serena became Mother Confessor, and began not-so-subtly grooming Kahlan to one day fill the role, Kahlan didn't allow herself to think of where her life would lead - only that she was free, and Dennee was safe. That was all that mattered.
Then she was sent on her quest, and given a taste of what true freedom was like. Long past now are the days when she traveled by the Seeker's side, fighting with daggers rather than words. Now, six years later, there are still times she longs to escape the political games and diplomacy and just sit around a fire in the woods, laughing as the four of them joke about Zedd's eating habits or Cara's cooking skills. But she is the Mother Confessor, and there are matters that demand her attention, duties that are more important than sparring to determine who gets first watch.
Kahlan is pulled from her thoughts by the only duties she could never regret; the door to her chambers creaks open, pushed by her eldest daughter, the five-year-old stubbornly ignoring every lesson ever taught to her about knocking. Despite her melancholy, she can't help but smile at her daughter, a smile that widens when she takes in the harried blonde being dragged into the room.
Cara frees her hand from Sonia's, placing it on her hip and assuming her best aggrieved expression. Her other hand is reluctantly supporting the sniffling three-year-old currently attached to her neck, her jade eyes conveying the gravity of the offense being perpetrated. It's a look Kahlan knows well enough to recognize the truth behind it: that Cara would suffer this indignity and far worse to keep these children happy and safe.
By now she is used to the way her pulse jumps when their eyes meet. She's learned to ignore the ache that tugs at her heart just being in the blonde's presence. Sometimes, though, something will happen that reaches past her defenses and pulls her feelings to the surface. The sight of Cara with a toddler on her hip, sniffling into her skintight brown leather, is one of those things. A surge of affection floods her body, and she doesn't realize that Sonia is speaking until she feels small hands tugging on her arm.
“Mama, Mary won't stop being sad.”
Kahlan looks down at her exasperated daughter, fighting back the urge to smile at the unintentionally adorable pout on Sonia's face. She runs a hand through the girl's sandy brown hair as she kneels to look into her piercing blue eyes. “Let's see what Mama can do about that, okay?”
She stands and moves to take Mary from Cara's arms, the girl eagerly latching onto her mother's neck. A look of pure relief flashes over Cara's face as she reaches up to adjust her collar. Cara does not hug, no matter how comfortable she may have grown with her self-appointed role as the girls' bodyguard (she's not a nursemaid).
“She misses Richard.” Cara offers, canting her hips and waving her hand dismissively. “I've tried to explain how pointless it is, but she refuses to understand.”
“I told her that whenever Papa goes away, he always brings back lots of presents, but she won't listen.” Sonia pipes up, crossing her arms. The smile threatening Kahlan's lips breaks free. Sonia is posed in a near-perfect imitation of Cara, belying a serious case of hero-worship. Inwardly, Kahlan thinks there are worse women to model oneself after.
But introspection can wait. For now, she has a moping three-year-old to comfort. Her smile fading into an expression of calm compassion, she shifts the child in her arms so she can look into the red-rimmed brown eyes.
“Sweetheart, you know Papa is a very important man.” Mary sniffles, nodding sullenly.
“He's the Seeker.” she lisps. Kahlan nods, placing a gentle kiss on the child's forehead.
“That's right. It's his job to keep everyone safe, and that's why he had to go away. Papa's on a very important mission.”
“But he's gonna help me feed the chipmunks!” Mary whines. “He promised.”
Silently, Kahlan curses her husband for his limitless need to make everyone happy. In his defense, he usually insists on following through, regardless of the consequences. Unfortunately, the freedom of the Midlands can't be put off for the welfare of a few chipmunks. She forces back her irritation, pulls her daughter close and rests her cheek on the girl's forehead. “Oh, sweetheart, I'm sure he'll take you to feed them just as soon as he gets back.”
Cara's eyes lock onto hers, seeing through the lie in her voice. They both know, as they always know, that Richard might not return. It is why Kahlan would not look her daughter in the eye as she said it; even as young as they are, the children are still Confessors. They haven't learned enough yet to rely on their instincts, as their mother so easily can, but that does not mean they don't have them. Kahlan would like her daughters to be carefree just a little while longer; the threat of war looms over them all, and her daughters are the future of the Midlands, of the Confessor line. Worry and doubt will come, sooner than she would like. For now, the eating habits of chipmunks are concern enough.
“But what if winter comes and they don't have any food?” Mary's lip trembles, tears threatening to spill from her warm brown eyes. Cara holds her tongue; she's learned that blunt honesty is not always welcome in the face of ridiculous questions. The grateful smile that touches Kahlan's lips tells her that her restraint is appreciated.
Kahlan looks back at her daughter, hoping to solve this crisis with a minimum of tears.“I'll tell you what. I don't know as much as Papa about chipmunks, but he did show me where they like to hide. Tomorrow, when Sonia is done with her lessons, we'll all go down and bring them some nuts, alright?” Mary's eyes brighten as she nods shyly.
“Can Auntie Cara come?” Sonia pipes up excitedly. Cara cringes visibly, eyes widening as she grits her teeth, gathering her patience. When she speaks, her tone is practiced and even, and only Kahlan can hear the struggle in her voice.
“Sonia, we've been over this. My name is Cara. Just. Cara.” Sonia does a good job of looking chastened, but her mother can see the glint in her eye. Kahlan suspects her eldest has inherited her love for needling the Mord-Sith.
“Yes, Cara can come too.” Kahlan smiles, capturing Mary's tiny hand in her own. “And we'll go down every day until winter comes or Papa gets back, so the chipmunks will have plenty of food.”
Cara's instinct when forcibly volunteered for a task is to protest, but she finds she doesn't hate the idea as much as she would expect. Easily justified; she wouldn't hear of the three Confessors going outdoors without an escort anyhow, and she trusts no one more than herself to provide protection. It's not as though she's looking forward to it. It's...practical.
“They won't eat it all, right?” Sonia asks, concerned. “You always say if I eat too much I'll get sick.”
“I don't want to make them sick!” Mary exclaims, eyes glittering with tears once more.
The scoff escapes Cara's throat before she can stop it, and she nearly winces as three sets of eyes settle on her. Carefully, she considers how to phrase her response; over the years since Sonia was born, she's learned that blunt honesty is not always appreciated. Diplomacy has been an arduous lesson, one that Cara is perpetually working on. “Chipmunks are wild animals. They know when to stop eating.”
Sonia looks up at her skeptically, with her hand on her hip. One of the most valuable skills Cara has imparted to the girl has been critical thinking, which- as things tend to do- is now coming back to haunt her. “How?”
Kahlan can see the potential answers flicker through Cara's eyes, mostly variations on “they just do” and “because I said so”. Both women are familiar enough with the results of such answers, the temptation to use them too strong sometimes for either to resist. She watches as the blonde's jaw tightens, her hand drifting to her hip - an unconscious gesture, a habit that the years haven't managed to break her of completely. Kahlan notices, though, that her hand just rests on the leather flap covering her agiels, just enough to feel the hum of magic, not enough to feel any pain from it. Cara's expression relaxes ever so slightly, and she takes a long, slow breath.
Before joining the Seeker on his quest, Cara very rarely found herself at a loss for words. Since Sonia's birth, it has happened increasingly often. The development and behavior of chipmunks is not a subject the Mord-Sith are particularly educated in; the extent of Cara's knowledge is that they are animals, and animal instinct is as elementary to her as breathing - which makes it inconceivably frustrating to try to explain. She doubts Kahlan would approve of her children learning about animal behavior the way she did, which puts her in an awkward position. She wants to teach the girls, has come to embrace her status as a guide and mentor for the young Confessors - it is not so terribly different from training a new Mord-Sith, albeit with less violence and a lot more patience. In this, however, she does not have an answer, so she must settle for lying - something she can still accomplish with the younger Confessors, if not with their mother.
“Magic.” Kahlan's lips turn up in the slightest of smirks at Cara's response, as Sonia looks up at the blonde critically. “Powerful magic.” Cara adds, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from Sonia's inevitable questions.
“Chipmunks have magic?” Mary is awed, her tears long forgotten. Kahlan can only imagine what fantastical ideas have been sparked in her little one's head, with one small word. Mary is still young enough that just the suggestion of magic can set her imagination on fire.
Sonia, being the eldest, has elected to leave the fanciful ideas behind, and embraced her role as antagonist - a choice no doubt fueled by her admiration of the Mord-Sith. “But then why do they need us to feed them?” She asks, confused. Kahlan can see the wheels turning in her daughter's head, trying to reconcile her reverence for Cara with the little voice in her head that's telling her she's being lied to. Sonia doesn't have the advantage her mother has of being able to read this Mord-Sith, which confuses her Confessor instincts. “And if we haven't been feeding them, then how have they not starved? Who fed them before we were borned?”
Cara's eyes widen as they meet the Mother Confessor's, the silent plea for help evident in the set of her jaw and the grip of her hands as she keeps her arms crossed. Kahlan reaches for her daughter, running a hand over Sonia's soft hair before resting on her shoulder.
“Those are very good questions, Sonia. I'm not sure even Cara knows the answers.” The look on the girl's face says plainly that Cara knows all the answers. “Why don't you both think about what the answers might be, and we can talk about it tomorrow?” She cuts off Sonia's protest with a tap on the girl's nose. “It's past your sister's bedtime, and she needs you and Cara to make sure there are no monsters hiding in your bedroom.”
The suspicious look on Sonia's face melts into one of excited delight. She has only recently been allowed to join in Cara's nightly ritual of sweeping the bedroom for would-be assassins and kidnappers, and it is an endless source of pride for the child. Enthusiasm for the task banishes her perpetual questions - for now, at least - and she grabs Cara's hand once more.
Cara shoots Kahlan a grateful look before she is dragged from the room, resisting Sonia's effort to barrel down the hallway full-force.
“Sonia, slow down.” Cara admonishes. “Remember, you have to be quiet. If the monsters hear you coming, they'll find better hiding places.”
“You could find them anyway.” Sonia argues, but her pace does slow the tiniest bit, and her footsteps soften. Kahlan grins at the display before following after them.
**************
She watches from the doorway, Mary dozing on her shoulder, as Cara moves deliberately through the room, one hand resting at her left hip while the other pushes aside curtains and opens closet doors. Sonia follows close behind, careful not to touch anything Cara has not already checked; this was Cara's one condition when she was finally forced to give in to the child, and so far Sonia has not protested too much. This is likely due mainly to Cara's suggestion that Sonia, being smaller and lower to the ground, can see things that Cara herself cannot; an absurd notion that causes a smile to tug at Kahlan's lips even now, months after the system was set in place.
Cara has been performing nightly sweeps of the girls' bedroom since Sonia was big enough to have her own room - only Richard's disapproving glances had kept her from doing the same in their own bedchamber. Her paranoia is strong, but not unfounded; over the years there have been enough close calls for Kahlan to come to appreciate the blonde's protective streak.
The Mord-Sith has stubbornly clung to her reasoning that she is so protective only out of duty to her Lord Rahl; not only are the girls themselves descendants of the Rahl bloodline, but they are important to Richard, and it is Cara's duty to ensure that he is not distracted with worry for his loved ones. She is insistent that it is the same as guarding any other commodity the Lord Rahl might consider important, but by now Kahlan sees through the feeble excuse. It is no more a chore for Cara to care for the children than it is for her to ensure Kahlan's own safety; it stopped being about Richard long ago. There is genuine affection visible in her interactions with the children, and a devotion that Kahlan knows runs just as deep as her own; almost as deep as her devotion to Kahlan herself.
Kahlan's smile turns wistful as her thoughts stray again into dangerous territory, her eyes lingering on the Mord-Sith just a few moments too long. The creak of the dresser drawer pulls her back into the present, and her gaze is snared by sparkling green eyes. Cara raises an eyebrow, a smug reaction not even six years of longing can train out of her, and Kahlan aches with all the things she can think to do that would wipe the smirk from the blonde's face. Her expression becomes strained, and Cara's softens in response.
Oblivious to the silent conversation taking place above her head, Sonia has successfully changed into her nightdress, and now tugs on Kahlan's arm, annoyed at the difficulty she's having tonight gaining her mother's attention.
“Come on, Mama. You hafta help Mary get ready for bed so you can sing to us.”
Cara retreats to the doorway as Kahlan takes over, helping the sleepy toddler out of her crumpled dress and into her shift. Kahlan does the best she can brushing the child's hair around the green ribbon tied at the back of Mary's head; Richard tied it there this morning, and the girl refuses to let Kahlan take it out. It's a small concession to make, even if it will make it all the more difficult to fix the tangled mess in the morning.
Soon enough, both girls are brushed and changed, and settled into either side of the large bed. Kahlan settles onto the quilt beside Mary, stroking a stray lock of dark hair out of the girl's face.
“You should sing the one about the ponies.” Sonia offers. “That always makes her feel better.”
Kahlan smiles at the underhanded technique so blatantly reminiscent of Cara; the song has always been Sonia's favorite, not Mary's. Sonia takes pride in being the big sister, in taking care of the younger girl; at the same time, she is still a child herself and needs comfort too from time to time. Rather than ask for it for herself, and risk her valuable pride, she found a more acceptable solution. Kahlan doesn't think she'll ever cease being amazed by her children.
Cara stands in the shadow of the doorway as Kahlan begins to sing, forcing back the pang of longing tugging at her chest at the idyllic scene before her. The danger in this is not in feeling like an outsider; on the contrary, Cara does not think she has ever felt such a strong sense of belonging. She is not one for flowery, sentimental musings, but Kahlan's sweet, gentle voice comes closer than anything else to inspiring such things in her.
Kahlan trails off as she notices both girls dozing, her eyes drifting up to meet Cara's for the hundredth time tonight. The usually guarded expression on the blonde's face has softened enough to let a small amount of affection shine through, and it strikes Kahlan to the core.
Cara always stands guard while the girls are being put to bed, every night without fail. But when Richard is on the other side of the bed, between Kahlan and the doorway, it's easier to believe the lie of domestic bliss. Without him here, the truth of her heart is laid bare before her; the knowledge that she feels more content and whole when it is just her and Cara and the girls, without the constant feeling of being ripped apart inside. Sometimes, for moments at a time, she'll forget about Richard entirely, and believe wholeheartedly in the illusion of raising a family with Cara; falling asleep beside her every night, sharing every aspect of herself and stubbornly coaxing the blonde into doing the same.
Their shared gaze intensifies until it is no longer bearable, and Cara averts her eyes, arms crossed defensively over her chest. A lifetime of torture in the Mord-Sith dungeons doesn't hold a candle to what this Confessor can do to her with a single look.
Familiar guilt surges in Kahlan's chest, and she turns away, placing a gentle kiss on each warm forehead before standing. She goes through her motions; blowing out the lamp, pulling the window shades not-quite-closed. The moon casts a thin strip of light across the girls' bed, holding the darkness at bay.
Cara is careful to step clear of the doorway as Kahlan passes, and the Confessor allows her the distance - needs it, in fact, to gather her own strength back around her. She pulls the door closed, giving the guards a small nod of acknowledgment before setting off down the hall. She knows that behind her, Cara is piercing the guards with her best threatening glare, allowing her eyes to convey just a small portion of what will happen to them if they fail in their duty. She walks slowly, feeling more than hearing the moment when Cara catches up to her, keeping pace two steps behind.
This is the tail end of their nightly ritual, one that has been performed hundreds of times now. Cara will walk Kahlan back to her chambers, past the safety of her own guards, then excuse herself to go about her own routine; usually consisting of training by moonlight in the practice yard until she is too exhausted to think traitorous thoughts about her master's wife. Tonight, Cara thinks, will be an especially long night.
When Kahlan enters her chambers, though, the emptiness presses in around her. She does not think she can bear to be alone quite yet. She turns, and the question in her eyes is answered without needing voice. Cara pushes the door closed behind her, and Kahlan breathes a sigh of relief.
They never chat, as friends do. As Kahlan does with Dennee. Small talk has never come easily for them; they often spend hours on end in mutual comfortable silence, and when they do talk, it's about important matters. Anything worth saying is somehow just understood between them, like Kahlan's request for Cara's company a moment ago, dangerous in its familiarity.
Kahlan leans against the back of her desk, allowing herself the weakness to drink in the sight of the Mord-Sith for a moment. Cara is as fit as ever, the years not taking anything from her physique; she has not had two pregnancies to stretch and distort her figure, something Kahlan sometimes envies despite the deep and abiding love she has for her children.
The blonde made few concessions when it came to her attire; she agreed to the brown leather, to soften the shock to the citizens of Aydindril of having a Mord-Sith in the Confessor's Palace, and when Sonia was born, the cover for her agiels to prevent curious hands from reaching them. Without the corset and neck guard, and with the color changed from the bold blood red, she is different enough from the Midlands' idea of a Mord-Sith that for the most part they haven't had any trouble. It helps that the blonde has never reclaimed the traditional braid, opting instead to let Kahlan to cut her hair when it grows too unruly. Letting it hang free allows her the freedom of her favorite nervous habit, gloved fingers playing with the ends whenever she is uncomfortable or contemplative. She does so now, growing uneasy under Kahlan's scrutiny.
“You're with child.” She states simply, noting how Kahlan's hand has once again drifted to her abdomen. It is not a question, but an observation, said as easily as though she were commenting on a new dress. Her eyebrow shoots up as the Confessor's momentary surprise shows on her face. “I've seen you through two children already, Mother Confessor. I know the signs by now.”
The flimsy attempt to maintain formality by using her title falls flat next to the implication heavy in the air. Cara knows her better than anyone - certainly better than Richard, who kissed her goodbye this afternoon without noticing anything different. She's only known for a couple of days, and she didn't tell him because she didn't think he needed more to worry about.
“You're certainly embracing your duty to single-handedly replenish the line of Confessors.”
The gentle jab provokes a small smile, but it quickly turns melancholy as Kahlan considers the statement. Momentarily, Cara thinks she has said something wrong, somehow offended Kahlan, but a closer look at the woman's expression tells her what is really going on: Kahlan is brooding, again, still, over what her life has become. A thousand self-pitying thoughts go unspoken, how her role has been reduced to that of brood mare, how that's all anyone ever thinks or talks about in regards to her - never mind the good she's been doing as ruler of the Midlands, how the nation is prospering despite the continued war with D'Hara, the people are happy only so long as the Mother Confessor continues breeding. Kahlan does not give voice to these thoughts, but Cara hears them still.
“You're making a difference.” She says it because Kahlan needs to hear it, be reminded of it, despite how unfamiliar the idea of reassurance still is to the Mord-Sith. Kahlan's returning glance is filled with love and gratitude, and they're silent for a few long moments, yearning for the impossible, fighting to control the ache that fills both of their chests.
“She'll need a name.” Kahlan grasps, trying to diffuse the growing tension, or at least distract them from it. “There won't be an easy answer for this one, my mother and Richard's are both already accounted for.”
“Creator help us, the Mother Confessor will actually have to think.” Cara smirks as she saunters over to the desk. Kahlan nudges the blonde with her hip as she settles in beside her.
“I don't suppose you'd have any ideas, to spare the Midlands that horrible fate?” Her tone is light, teasing, but Cara recognizes the serious inquiry beneath. With Kahlan, Cara has had to get used to the idea that her opinion carries weight; that she is even allowed to have an opinion is foreign in and of itself. She is silent for long moments as she considers, searching her memory for a woman who would be worthy of having Kahlan's child named after her. Finally, her thoughts settle on the little girl that used to follow her around everywhere as a child, before the Mord-Sith came for her.
“Dahlia.”
Kahlan recognizes the name instantly. Years ago, after Zedd told them of the alternate universe, he asked Cara if she remembered Dahlia, what became of her - out of guilt, no doubt, for what he had done. With a healthy amount of prodding, from Kahlan especially, Cara gave in and wrote to her sister to find out. The young girl had decided to go after the Mord-Sith, to rescue her friend; she sneaked out of Stowcroft in the dead of night mere hours after Cara had been taken, but she never made it to the temple. A hunting party found her body in the woods surrounding the village, ravaged by some wild animal. One more casualty of the Seeker's quest.
“She was important to me, in another life. We took that life away from her in order to save the world. It seems...right to remember her.” Kahlan fights the familiar pang of jealousy that flares at the thought of another woman being important to Cara, having long pondered the likely nature of the relationship that would have enabled Dahlia to lure Cara away from them. Cara stares ahead in awkward silence, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she is waiting for approval. She shrugs slightly, pulling on a mask of indifference. “It was just an idea.”
“It's a wonderful idea.” Kahlan's hand comes to rest on a leather-encased shoulder, knowing exactly how much Cara has sacrificed to make the suggestion. She looks down at her free hand, resting on her still-flat stomach, and tests out the name. “Dahlia.”
Kahlan's voice is decisive, and Cara ignores the warmth that fills her at Kahlan's approval. She focuses instead on the slender fingers now absently stroking her neck, playing with the ends of her hair. She stiffens, and Kahlan can feel the pulse in her neck quicken. The touch recalls distant memories of soft blue light and softer skin, air charged with magic and desire.
“Kahlan.” It's meant to be a warning, but it comes out strained and a little breathless. Cara's eyes lift to meet her gaze, and all Kahlan can think of is how those eyes once pierced her as passion took them, that long-ago night in the grove of the night wisps. That night has sustained them for five long years, and Kahlan knows it should sustain them still. They are lucky to have felt such passion once, and it is selfish of her to want to feel it again.
Kahlan knows this, knows that she should stop, but Cara's skin is warm, and soft, and the wanting is so strong. She turns her body to face the blonde, bringing her other hand to tuck a stray bit of golden hair behind the woman's ear. Cara's eyes close for a moment, Kahlan's fingers caressing her cheek as they drift down to the other side of her neck. The Confessor's hands are gentle, barely resting against her skin, but the Mord-Sith is trapped nonetheless.
Cara is close to breaking, and when she opens her eyes again to see naked desire shining back at her, she gives in. She reaches for Kahlan, gloved hands clutching her at her hips, their mouths crashing together in the culmination of years of wanting.
The kiss is hungry, desperate; gentle exploration had its place, years ago, but now there is a burning ache that is screaming to be fulfilled. Kahlan's fingers tighten in blonde hair as Cara claims her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.
A low whimper escapes Kahlan's throat as Cara presses her against the desk; Cara swallows it greedily, her hands drifting over every part of the Confessor that they can reach. Kahlan gasps as Cara's mouth leaves hers, nipping and licking down her jaw to her neck as a gloved hand moves up to grasp at breasts that are fuller than she remembers.
Kahlan's hands free themselves from Cara's hair to clutch at the blonde's own hands, tugging off first one glove, then the other. Cara gladly cooperates, bare fingers exploring the ample cleavage displayed by the Confessor's dress before decisively moving back down to Kahlan's hips.
Before she can process the movement, Kahlan finds herself lifted onto the desk. Paperwork flutters to the floor, forgotten amidst the need for contact. Hands on her knees spread her thighs wide enough to accommodate Cara, and her hips thrust forward almost unconsciously against the Mord-Sith as their lips meet once more.
The room is filled with gasps and moans as their mouths vie for dominance. It is a battle Kahlan knows she will lose, but the outcome does not matter nearly as much as the battle itself. Her hands are back in Cara's hair, clutching at her back as Cara's hands tug at the laces of her dress, pushing it and the straps of the corset over her shoulders to allow her lips and tongue to explore. Her mouth burns where it touches Kahlan's skin, feeding the flames consuming them both.
Kahlan reaches for Cara's waist, tugging at her belt, fumbling with the lacing at Cara's sides. She manages to slip her hands under the skintight leather around the same time Cara manages to get her skirts pulled up, feeling the clench of abdominal muscles under hot skin as Cara's agile hands slide up her thighs.
Kahlan gasps as fingers brush against the apex of her thighs, her nails scraping down the length of Cara's back. Cara growls hungrily at the sudden pain, thrusting her hips into Kahlan's roughly as her mouth assaults the breast she has managed to free from its confines. Cara's going to leave a mark, but Kahlan can't find it in herself to care; if she has to wear more concealing clothing for a few days, it will be more than worth the feeling currently racing through her blood.
Kahlan releases a strangled moan as nimble fingers work their way into her undergarments, sliding through slick curls to find their destination. For a long moment she is oblivious to everything except the two strong fingers sliding into her, filling her in ways that go dangerously beyond the physical. Then she needs more, and begins to thrust against Cara's hand with an urgency she can't remember feeling in years.
She captures Cara's mouth again, sucking and biting at her lips; she knows, despite her limited practical experience, that the Mord-Sith needs the pain to fully enjoy herself, and Kahlan fully intends for Cara to be satisfied as well. Cara continues to thrust into her as she slips the hand not buried in Cara's hair under the loosened leather pants, three fingers slamming hard into the blonde's dripping center.
She knows Cara will not allow this if she finishes first; the satisfaction of bringing Kahlan release will clear enough of the fog from her mind to remind her of her duties, and this precious time will end. She needs this to last, needs to have something to cling to when Cara retreats to her own quarters, and she is left to face the night alone in her marriage bed.
It's by unspoken agreement that they do not move to the bed, do not undress one another further. Even consumed by the raging fires of passion, they both have too much respect for Richard to step over that line. They willingly believe the lie that this is about need, basic human desire; to call it what it is - making love - would raise issues neither is in any position to address. Instead, they lose themselves in the sheer unrestrained lust of the moment, fingers and hips thrusting in unison as lips and tongues communicate everything that will inevitably remain unspoken.
Kahlan can feel the pressure building, her stomach clenching as she tears her lips from Cara's in a regrettable need to breathe. Cara's fingers curl inside her, shattering the last vestige of control over her magic. She gasps soundlessly into Cara's neck as the power floods her body, racing through her blood and slamming into the other woman.
The effects of the magic, coupled with Kahlan's still-moving fingers inside of her, send Cara tumbling over the edge, collapsing against the Confessor as her body is wracked with spasms. Kahlan clutches at Cara's shoulder with her free hand, the hot pulsing around her fingers prolonging her own release.
Long moments pass, and gradually the shaking subsides. Kahlan's forehead rests in the curve of Cara's neck, savoring the scent of sweat and sex. Reluctantly, she slides her fingers from Cara's warmth, bringing her hand around to rest at the small of her back. Tears spring to Kahlan's eyes as Cara removes her own fingers, bracing herself on the edge of the desk as she leans into the loose embrace.
Kahlan feels the blonde start to come back to herself, the stiffening of her body, the clench of Cara's jaw against her cheek. Desperately, she clutches the blonde's shoulders, sliding off of the desk to her feet in order to fully embrace her. Cara allows the contact, her own heart breaking as she can't help but return the embrace.
But Cara is the strong one, the protector - even when it means protecting Kahlan from herself. The longer she stands here - tears sliding down her chest, feeling the Confessor's heart beat in time with her own - the harder it will be to stop. At the moment she would like nothing more than to strip them both of their remaining clothes and lay Kahlan down on her lavish bed; to spend the rest of the night - or the rest of her life - demonstrating just why she can't be confessed. It would be so easy to give in, to allow that spark of hope to take control of her traitorous heart. And so Cara does the only thing she can do: she removes her hands from Kahlan's hips, reaching up to gently pry the hands from her shoulders.
Her gaze locks onto watery cerulean eyes, trying to convey everything neither of them will say. She stopped convincing herself that Kahlan could not read her years ago, and she uses that now, their hands still joined as a lifetime of words passes silently between them.
Slowly, with an effort painful in its intensity, Cara steps away, releasing Kahlan's hands. Kahlan remains where she is standing, watches numbly as Cara adjusts her clothing, tightening laces and tugging on her gloves. She calls on all the years of her training to compose her features, her soft nod communicating understanding, longing, regret, and the one thing neither woman dares put words to, even in thought: love.
Unable to maintain both the eye contact and her composure, Cara turns, sheer willpower forcing her feet to carry her out of the room when every fiber of her being is screaming for her to stay. Kahlan's gaze follows her until she is out of sight, and only when she is sure Cara is gone does Kahlan allow herself to collapse onto her bed, clutching a pillow as she dissolves in tears of guilt, of longing, of love.
Cara glares at the guards as she closes the door, almost daring them to say something. She knows they will not; they were chosen for their unerring loyalty to the Mother Confessor, and their lack of taste for gossip. Satisfied with their blank expressions, Cara storms toward the training yard, already converting the raw pain into anger.
As she works herself to exhaustion tonight, she will think about Richard, and of Sonia and Mary, and of Dahlia, the daughter not yet born. She will remind herself of why things are the way they are, and punish herself for daring to wish they were different. She will ignore the tears that stream down her face as she tries to erase the memory of Kahlan's touch, and the dreams of a future that can never be.
end.
edit: I forgot to mention, in this universe? That whole thing with Leo and the chipmunks? Never happened. I like to think the whole thing went something like: "Hey little lady, can I help you with your horse?" *agiel to gut* "Go play with your sword and leave me alone." In all seriousness, I do think that without Dahlia being trained alongside her to keep her emotions somewhat alive, Cara would have been far less receptive to any sort of overture Leo could have made, and she would have had far less patience for him, as she would have cared a bit less about pleasing her companions by playing nice. I could wax for days on this subject, but I thought I'd better explain why I brought the chipmunks into this - and that is, I loved the thing with the chipmunks in the books, and Leo made me hate the thing with the chipmunks, so I reclaimed it. So there.
Author: TheDawn
Pairing: Kahlan/Cara
Rating: R/NC-17 (for sexytiems)
Warnings: Angsty. Very angsty.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, there would be more girl-on-girl action and less clothing. Maybe some plot from time to time. Unfortunately for us all, they are owned by much luckier, wealthier people who are also too blind to see the awesomeness they possess. Title (and plot, sorta) is taken from a Melissa Etheridge song of the same name.
The Wanting of You
Evening falls slowly on Aydindril, the day melting into a lingering twilight as the sun disappears behind the mountains surrounding the bustling city. Leaning against the window frame in her chambers, Kahlan watches the distant roofs of buildings change color to reflect the sky; bright orange, mellow pink, cool blue, until finally they seem to glow silver in the bright moonlight. On the desk behind her lays a variety of treaties and proposals, each of them, as always, terribly urgent. Earlier she tried, briefly, to focus on work, but quickly abandoned it as a lost cause, knowing that such concentration was too much to hope for when she'd watched the father of her children ride off into danger just hours before.
Kahlan is not naive. She knows how vital it is that they gather support to fight the army Darken Rahl is amassing in D'Hara, and no one can question the Seeker's ability to rouse the people of the Midlands. It's obvious that Richard's place is out there, rallying the people. That doesn't stop her from worrying, though, and it doesn't stop her daughters from missing their father.
A soft sigh escapes her lips as she absently caresses her stomach with one hand. The hardest part of Richard being gone is that it leaves her thoroughly aware of where she now belongs. As a child, all she knew about Confessors and what they did was what her father forced her and her sister to do. When she and Dennee were rescued and brought to Thandor, the last thing on her mind was the hierarchy of the Midlands. Until Serena became Mother Confessor, and began not-so-subtly grooming Kahlan to one day fill the role, Kahlan didn't allow herself to think of where her life would lead - only that she was free, and Dennee was safe. That was all that mattered.
Then she was sent on her quest, and given a taste of what true freedom was like. Long past now are the days when she traveled by the Seeker's side, fighting with daggers rather than words. Now, six years later, there are still times she longs to escape the political games and diplomacy and just sit around a fire in the woods, laughing as the four of them joke about Zedd's eating habits or Cara's cooking skills. But she is the Mother Confessor, and there are matters that demand her attention, duties that are more important than sparring to determine who gets first watch.
Kahlan is pulled from her thoughts by the only duties she could never regret; the door to her chambers creaks open, pushed by her eldest daughter, the five-year-old stubbornly ignoring every lesson ever taught to her about knocking. Despite her melancholy, she can't help but smile at her daughter, a smile that widens when she takes in the harried blonde being dragged into the room.
Cara frees her hand from Sonia's, placing it on her hip and assuming her best aggrieved expression. Her other hand is reluctantly supporting the sniffling three-year-old currently attached to her neck, her jade eyes conveying the gravity of the offense being perpetrated. It's a look Kahlan knows well enough to recognize the truth behind it: that Cara would suffer this indignity and far worse to keep these children happy and safe.
By now she is used to the way her pulse jumps when their eyes meet. She's learned to ignore the ache that tugs at her heart just being in the blonde's presence. Sometimes, though, something will happen that reaches past her defenses and pulls her feelings to the surface. The sight of Cara with a toddler on her hip, sniffling into her skintight brown leather, is one of those things. A surge of affection floods her body, and she doesn't realize that Sonia is speaking until she feels small hands tugging on her arm.
“Mama, Mary won't stop being sad.”
Kahlan looks down at her exasperated daughter, fighting back the urge to smile at the unintentionally adorable pout on Sonia's face. She runs a hand through the girl's sandy brown hair as she kneels to look into her piercing blue eyes. “Let's see what Mama can do about that, okay?”
She stands and moves to take Mary from Cara's arms, the girl eagerly latching onto her mother's neck. A look of pure relief flashes over Cara's face as she reaches up to adjust her collar. Cara does not hug, no matter how comfortable she may have grown with her self-appointed role as the girls' bodyguard (she's not a nursemaid).
“She misses Richard.” Cara offers, canting her hips and waving her hand dismissively. “I've tried to explain how pointless it is, but she refuses to understand.”
“I told her that whenever Papa goes away, he always brings back lots of presents, but she won't listen.” Sonia pipes up, crossing her arms. The smile threatening Kahlan's lips breaks free. Sonia is posed in a near-perfect imitation of Cara, belying a serious case of hero-worship. Inwardly, Kahlan thinks there are worse women to model oneself after.
But introspection can wait. For now, she has a moping three-year-old to comfort. Her smile fading into an expression of calm compassion, she shifts the child in her arms so she can look into the red-rimmed brown eyes.
“Sweetheart, you know Papa is a very important man.” Mary sniffles, nodding sullenly.
“He's the Seeker.” she lisps. Kahlan nods, placing a gentle kiss on the child's forehead.
“That's right. It's his job to keep everyone safe, and that's why he had to go away. Papa's on a very important mission.”
“But he's gonna help me feed the chipmunks!” Mary whines. “He promised.”
Silently, Kahlan curses her husband for his limitless need to make everyone happy. In his defense, he usually insists on following through, regardless of the consequences. Unfortunately, the freedom of the Midlands can't be put off for the welfare of a few chipmunks. She forces back her irritation, pulls her daughter close and rests her cheek on the girl's forehead. “Oh, sweetheart, I'm sure he'll take you to feed them just as soon as he gets back.”
Cara's eyes lock onto hers, seeing through the lie in her voice. They both know, as they always know, that Richard might not return. It is why Kahlan would not look her daughter in the eye as she said it; even as young as they are, the children are still Confessors. They haven't learned enough yet to rely on their instincts, as their mother so easily can, but that does not mean they don't have them. Kahlan would like her daughters to be carefree just a little while longer; the threat of war looms over them all, and her daughters are the future of the Midlands, of the Confessor line. Worry and doubt will come, sooner than she would like. For now, the eating habits of chipmunks are concern enough.
“But what if winter comes and they don't have any food?” Mary's lip trembles, tears threatening to spill from her warm brown eyes. Cara holds her tongue; she's learned that blunt honesty is not always welcome in the face of ridiculous questions. The grateful smile that touches Kahlan's lips tells her that her restraint is appreciated.
Kahlan looks back at her daughter, hoping to solve this crisis with a minimum of tears.“I'll tell you what. I don't know as much as Papa about chipmunks, but he did show me where they like to hide. Tomorrow, when Sonia is done with her lessons, we'll all go down and bring them some nuts, alright?” Mary's eyes brighten as she nods shyly.
“Can Auntie Cara come?” Sonia pipes up excitedly. Cara cringes visibly, eyes widening as she grits her teeth, gathering her patience. When she speaks, her tone is practiced and even, and only Kahlan can hear the struggle in her voice.
“Sonia, we've been over this. My name is Cara. Just. Cara.” Sonia does a good job of looking chastened, but her mother can see the glint in her eye. Kahlan suspects her eldest has inherited her love for needling the Mord-Sith.
“Yes, Cara can come too.” Kahlan smiles, capturing Mary's tiny hand in her own. “And we'll go down every day until winter comes or Papa gets back, so the chipmunks will have plenty of food.”
Cara's instinct when forcibly volunteered for a task is to protest, but she finds she doesn't hate the idea as much as she would expect. Easily justified; she wouldn't hear of the three Confessors going outdoors without an escort anyhow, and she trusts no one more than herself to provide protection. It's not as though she's looking forward to it. It's...practical.
“They won't eat it all, right?” Sonia asks, concerned. “You always say if I eat too much I'll get sick.”
“I don't want to make them sick!” Mary exclaims, eyes glittering with tears once more.
The scoff escapes Cara's throat before she can stop it, and she nearly winces as three sets of eyes settle on her. Carefully, she considers how to phrase her response; over the years since Sonia was born, she's learned that blunt honesty is not always appreciated. Diplomacy has been an arduous lesson, one that Cara is perpetually working on. “Chipmunks are wild animals. They know when to stop eating.”
Sonia looks up at her skeptically, with her hand on her hip. One of the most valuable skills Cara has imparted to the girl has been critical thinking, which- as things tend to do- is now coming back to haunt her. “How?”
Kahlan can see the potential answers flicker through Cara's eyes, mostly variations on “they just do” and “because I said so”. Both women are familiar enough with the results of such answers, the temptation to use them too strong sometimes for either to resist. She watches as the blonde's jaw tightens, her hand drifting to her hip - an unconscious gesture, a habit that the years haven't managed to break her of completely. Kahlan notices, though, that her hand just rests on the leather flap covering her agiels, just enough to feel the hum of magic, not enough to feel any pain from it. Cara's expression relaxes ever so slightly, and she takes a long, slow breath.
Before joining the Seeker on his quest, Cara very rarely found herself at a loss for words. Since Sonia's birth, it has happened increasingly often. The development and behavior of chipmunks is not a subject the Mord-Sith are particularly educated in; the extent of Cara's knowledge is that they are animals, and animal instinct is as elementary to her as breathing - which makes it inconceivably frustrating to try to explain. She doubts Kahlan would approve of her children learning about animal behavior the way she did, which puts her in an awkward position. She wants to teach the girls, has come to embrace her status as a guide and mentor for the young Confessors - it is not so terribly different from training a new Mord-Sith, albeit with less violence and a lot more patience. In this, however, she does not have an answer, so she must settle for lying - something she can still accomplish with the younger Confessors, if not with their mother.
“Magic.” Kahlan's lips turn up in the slightest of smirks at Cara's response, as Sonia looks up at the blonde critically. “Powerful magic.” Cara adds, crossing her arms as if to shield herself from Sonia's inevitable questions.
“Chipmunks have magic?” Mary is awed, her tears long forgotten. Kahlan can only imagine what fantastical ideas have been sparked in her little one's head, with one small word. Mary is still young enough that just the suggestion of magic can set her imagination on fire.
Sonia, being the eldest, has elected to leave the fanciful ideas behind, and embraced her role as antagonist - a choice no doubt fueled by her admiration of the Mord-Sith. “But then why do they need us to feed them?” She asks, confused. Kahlan can see the wheels turning in her daughter's head, trying to reconcile her reverence for Cara with the little voice in her head that's telling her she's being lied to. Sonia doesn't have the advantage her mother has of being able to read this Mord-Sith, which confuses her Confessor instincts. “And if we haven't been feeding them, then how have they not starved? Who fed them before we were borned?”
Cara's eyes widen as they meet the Mother Confessor's, the silent plea for help evident in the set of her jaw and the grip of her hands as she keeps her arms crossed. Kahlan reaches for her daughter, running a hand over Sonia's soft hair before resting on her shoulder.
“Those are very good questions, Sonia. I'm not sure even Cara knows the answers.” The look on the girl's face says plainly that Cara knows all the answers. “Why don't you both think about what the answers might be, and we can talk about it tomorrow?” She cuts off Sonia's protest with a tap on the girl's nose. “It's past your sister's bedtime, and she needs you and Cara to make sure there are no monsters hiding in your bedroom.”
The suspicious look on Sonia's face melts into one of excited delight. She has only recently been allowed to join in Cara's nightly ritual of sweeping the bedroom for would-be assassins and kidnappers, and it is an endless source of pride for the child. Enthusiasm for the task banishes her perpetual questions - for now, at least - and she grabs Cara's hand once more.
Cara shoots Kahlan a grateful look before she is dragged from the room, resisting Sonia's effort to barrel down the hallway full-force.
“Sonia, slow down.” Cara admonishes. “Remember, you have to be quiet. If the monsters hear you coming, they'll find better hiding places.”
“You could find them anyway.” Sonia argues, but her pace does slow the tiniest bit, and her footsteps soften. Kahlan grins at the display before following after them.
**************
She watches from the doorway, Mary dozing on her shoulder, as Cara moves deliberately through the room, one hand resting at her left hip while the other pushes aside curtains and opens closet doors. Sonia follows close behind, careful not to touch anything Cara has not already checked; this was Cara's one condition when she was finally forced to give in to the child, and so far Sonia has not protested too much. This is likely due mainly to Cara's suggestion that Sonia, being smaller and lower to the ground, can see things that Cara herself cannot; an absurd notion that causes a smile to tug at Kahlan's lips even now, months after the system was set in place.
Cara has been performing nightly sweeps of the girls' bedroom since Sonia was big enough to have her own room - only Richard's disapproving glances had kept her from doing the same in their own bedchamber. Her paranoia is strong, but not unfounded; over the years there have been enough close calls for Kahlan to come to appreciate the blonde's protective streak.
The Mord-Sith has stubbornly clung to her reasoning that she is so protective only out of duty to her Lord Rahl; not only are the girls themselves descendants of the Rahl bloodline, but they are important to Richard, and it is Cara's duty to ensure that he is not distracted with worry for his loved ones. She is insistent that it is the same as guarding any other commodity the Lord Rahl might consider important, but by now Kahlan sees through the feeble excuse. It is no more a chore for Cara to care for the children than it is for her to ensure Kahlan's own safety; it stopped being about Richard long ago. There is genuine affection visible in her interactions with the children, and a devotion that Kahlan knows runs just as deep as her own; almost as deep as her devotion to Kahlan herself.
Kahlan's smile turns wistful as her thoughts stray again into dangerous territory, her eyes lingering on the Mord-Sith just a few moments too long. The creak of the dresser drawer pulls her back into the present, and her gaze is snared by sparkling green eyes. Cara raises an eyebrow, a smug reaction not even six years of longing can train out of her, and Kahlan aches with all the things she can think to do that would wipe the smirk from the blonde's face. Her expression becomes strained, and Cara's softens in response.
Oblivious to the silent conversation taking place above her head, Sonia has successfully changed into her nightdress, and now tugs on Kahlan's arm, annoyed at the difficulty she's having tonight gaining her mother's attention.
“Come on, Mama. You hafta help Mary get ready for bed so you can sing to us.”
Cara retreats to the doorway as Kahlan takes over, helping the sleepy toddler out of her crumpled dress and into her shift. Kahlan does the best she can brushing the child's hair around the green ribbon tied at the back of Mary's head; Richard tied it there this morning, and the girl refuses to let Kahlan take it out. It's a small concession to make, even if it will make it all the more difficult to fix the tangled mess in the morning.
Soon enough, both girls are brushed and changed, and settled into either side of the large bed. Kahlan settles onto the quilt beside Mary, stroking a stray lock of dark hair out of the girl's face.
“You should sing the one about the ponies.” Sonia offers. “That always makes her feel better.”
Kahlan smiles at the underhanded technique so blatantly reminiscent of Cara; the song has always been Sonia's favorite, not Mary's. Sonia takes pride in being the big sister, in taking care of the younger girl; at the same time, she is still a child herself and needs comfort too from time to time. Rather than ask for it for herself, and risk her valuable pride, she found a more acceptable solution. Kahlan doesn't think she'll ever cease being amazed by her children.
Cara stands in the shadow of the doorway as Kahlan begins to sing, forcing back the pang of longing tugging at her chest at the idyllic scene before her. The danger in this is not in feeling like an outsider; on the contrary, Cara does not think she has ever felt such a strong sense of belonging. She is not one for flowery, sentimental musings, but Kahlan's sweet, gentle voice comes closer than anything else to inspiring such things in her.
Kahlan trails off as she notices both girls dozing, her eyes drifting up to meet Cara's for the hundredth time tonight. The usually guarded expression on the blonde's face has softened enough to let a small amount of affection shine through, and it strikes Kahlan to the core.
Cara always stands guard while the girls are being put to bed, every night without fail. But when Richard is on the other side of the bed, between Kahlan and the doorway, it's easier to believe the lie of domestic bliss. Without him here, the truth of her heart is laid bare before her; the knowledge that she feels more content and whole when it is just her and Cara and the girls, without the constant feeling of being ripped apart inside. Sometimes, for moments at a time, she'll forget about Richard entirely, and believe wholeheartedly in the illusion of raising a family with Cara; falling asleep beside her every night, sharing every aspect of herself and stubbornly coaxing the blonde into doing the same.
Their shared gaze intensifies until it is no longer bearable, and Cara averts her eyes, arms crossed defensively over her chest. A lifetime of torture in the Mord-Sith dungeons doesn't hold a candle to what this Confessor can do to her with a single look.
Familiar guilt surges in Kahlan's chest, and she turns away, placing a gentle kiss on each warm forehead before standing. She goes through her motions; blowing out the lamp, pulling the window shades not-quite-closed. The moon casts a thin strip of light across the girls' bed, holding the darkness at bay.
Cara is careful to step clear of the doorway as Kahlan passes, and the Confessor allows her the distance - needs it, in fact, to gather her own strength back around her. She pulls the door closed, giving the guards a small nod of acknowledgment before setting off down the hall. She knows that behind her, Cara is piercing the guards with her best threatening glare, allowing her eyes to convey just a small portion of what will happen to them if they fail in their duty. She walks slowly, feeling more than hearing the moment when Cara catches up to her, keeping pace two steps behind.
This is the tail end of their nightly ritual, one that has been performed hundreds of times now. Cara will walk Kahlan back to her chambers, past the safety of her own guards, then excuse herself to go about her own routine; usually consisting of training by moonlight in the practice yard until she is too exhausted to think traitorous thoughts about her master's wife. Tonight, Cara thinks, will be an especially long night.
When Kahlan enters her chambers, though, the emptiness presses in around her. She does not think she can bear to be alone quite yet. She turns, and the question in her eyes is answered without needing voice. Cara pushes the door closed behind her, and Kahlan breathes a sigh of relief.
They never chat, as friends do. As Kahlan does with Dennee. Small talk has never come easily for them; they often spend hours on end in mutual comfortable silence, and when they do talk, it's about important matters. Anything worth saying is somehow just understood between them, like Kahlan's request for Cara's company a moment ago, dangerous in its familiarity.
Kahlan leans against the back of her desk, allowing herself the weakness to drink in the sight of the Mord-Sith for a moment. Cara is as fit as ever, the years not taking anything from her physique; she has not had two pregnancies to stretch and distort her figure, something Kahlan sometimes envies despite the deep and abiding love she has for her children.
The blonde made few concessions when it came to her attire; she agreed to the brown leather, to soften the shock to the citizens of Aydindril of having a Mord-Sith in the Confessor's Palace, and when Sonia was born, the cover for her agiels to prevent curious hands from reaching them. Without the corset and neck guard, and with the color changed from the bold blood red, she is different enough from the Midlands' idea of a Mord-Sith that for the most part they haven't had any trouble. It helps that the blonde has never reclaimed the traditional braid, opting instead to let Kahlan to cut her hair when it grows too unruly. Letting it hang free allows her the freedom of her favorite nervous habit, gloved fingers playing with the ends whenever she is uncomfortable or contemplative. She does so now, growing uneasy under Kahlan's scrutiny.
“You're with child.” She states simply, noting how Kahlan's hand has once again drifted to her abdomen. It is not a question, but an observation, said as easily as though she were commenting on a new dress. Her eyebrow shoots up as the Confessor's momentary surprise shows on her face. “I've seen you through two children already, Mother Confessor. I know the signs by now.”
The flimsy attempt to maintain formality by using her title falls flat next to the implication heavy in the air. Cara knows her better than anyone - certainly better than Richard, who kissed her goodbye this afternoon without noticing anything different. She's only known for a couple of days, and she didn't tell him because she didn't think he needed more to worry about.
“You're certainly embracing your duty to single-handedly replenish the line of Confessors.”
The gentle jab provokes a small smile, but it quickly turns melancholy as Kahlan considers the statement. Momentarily, Cara thinks she has said something wrong, somehow offended Kahlan, but a closer look at the woman's expression tells her what is really going on: Kahlan is brooding, again, still, over what her life has become. A thousand self-pitying thoughts go unspoken, how her role has been reduced to that of brood mare, how that's all anyone ever thinks or talks about in regards to her - never mind the good she's been doing as ruler of the Midlands, how the nation is prospering despite the continued war with D'Hara, the people are happy only so long as the Mother Confessor continues breeding. Kahlan does not give voice to these thoughts, but Cara hears them still.
“You're making a difference.” She says it because Kahlan needs to hear it, be reminded of it, despite how unfamiliar the idea of reassurance still is to the Mord-Sith. Kahlan's returning glance is filled with love and gratitude, and they're silent for a few long moments, yearning for the impossible, fighting to control the ache that fills both of their chests.
“She'll need a name.” Kahlan grasps, trying to diffuse the growing tension, or at least distract them from it. “There won't be an easy answer for this one, my mother and Richard's are both already accounted for.”
“Creator help us, the Mother Confessor will actually have to think.” Cara smirks as she saunters over to the desk. Kahlan nudges the blonde with her hip as she settles in beside her.
“I don't suppose you'd have any ideas, to spare the Midlands that horrible fate?” Her tone is light, teasing, but Cara recognizes the serious inquiry beneath. With Kahlan, Cara has had to get used to the idea that her opinion carries weight; that she is even allowed to have an opinion is foreign in and of itself. She is silent for long moments as she considers, searching her memory for a woman who would be worthy of having Kahlan's child named after her. Finally, her thoughts settle on the little girl that used to follow her around everywhere as a child, before the Mord-Sith came for her.
“Dahlia.”
Kahlan recognizes the name instantly. Years ago, after Zedd told them of the alternate universe, he asked Cara if she remembered Dahlia, what became of her - out of guilt, no doubt, for what he had done. With a healthy amount of prodding, from Kahlan especially, Cara gave in and wrote to her sister to find out. The young girl had decided to go after the Mord-Sith, to rescue her friend; she sneaked out of Stowcroft in the dead of night mere hours after Cara had been taken, but she never made it to the temple. A hunting party found her body in the woods surrounding the village, ravaged by some wild animal. One more casualty of the Seeker's quest.
“She was important to me, in another life. We took that life away from her in order to save the world. It seems...right to remember her.” Kahlan fights the familiar pang of jealousy that flares at the thought of another woman being important to Cara, having long pondered the likely nature of the relationship that would have enabled Dahlia to lure Cara away from them. Cara stares ahead in awkward silence, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she is waiting for approval. She shrugs slightly, pulling on a mask of indifference. “It was just an idea.”
“It's a wonderful idea.” Kahlan's hand comes to rest on a leather-encased shoulder, knowing exactly how much Cara has sacrificed to make the suggestion. She looks down at her free hand, resting on her still-flat stomach, and tests out the name. “Dahlia.”
Kahlan's voice is decisive, and Cara ignores the warmth that fills her at Kahlan's approval. She focuses instead on the slender fingers now absently stroking her neck, playing with the ends of her hair. She stiffens, and Kahlan can feel the pulse in her neck quicken. The touch recalls distant memories of soft blue light and softer skin, air charged with magic and desire.
“Kahlan.” It's meant to be a warning, but it comes out strained and a little breathless. Cara's eyes lift to meet her gaze, and all Kahlan can think of is how those eyes once pierced her as passion took them, that long-ago night in the grove of the night wisps. That night has sustained them for five long years, and Kahlan knows it should sustain them still. They are lucky to have felt such passion once, and it is selfish of her to want to feel it again.
Kahlan knows this, knows that she should stop, but Cara's skin is warm, and soft, and the wanting is so strong. She turns her body to face the blonde, bringing her other hand to tuck a stray bit of golden hair behind the woman's ear. Cara's eyes close for a moment, Kahlan's fingers caressing her cheek as they drift down to the other side of her neck. The Confessor's hands are gentle, barely resting against her skin, but the Mord-Sith is trapped nonetheless.
Cara is close to breaking, and when she opens her eyes again to see naked desire shining back at her, she gives in. She reaches for Kahlan, gloved hands clutching her at her hips, their mouths crashing together in the culmination of years of wanting.
The kiss is hungry, desperate; gentle exploration had its place, years ago, but now there is a burning ache that is screaming to be fulfilled. Kahlan's fingers tighten in blonde hair as Cara claims her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue.
A low whimper escapes Kahlan's throat as Cara presses her against the desk; Cara swallows it greedily, her hands drifting over every part of the Confessor that they can reach. Kahlan gasps as Cara's mouth leaves hers, nipping and licking down her jaw to her neck as a gloved hand moves up to grasp at breasts that are fuller than she remembers.
Kahlan's hands free themselves from Cara's hair to clutch at the blonde's own hands, tugging off first one glove, then the other. Cara gladly cooperates, bare fingers exploring the ample cleavage displayed by the Confessor's dress before decisively moving back down to Kahlan's hips.
Before she can process the movement, Kahlan finds herself lifted onto the desk. Paperwork flutters to the floor, forgotten amidst the need for contact. Hands on her knees spread her thighs wide enough to accommodate Cara, and her hips thrust forward almost unconsciously against the Mord-Sith as their lips meet once more.
The room is filled with gasps and moans as their mouths vie for dominance. It is a battle Kahlan knows she will lose, but the outcome does not matter nearly as much as the battle itself. Her hands are back in Cara's hair, clutching at her back as Cara's hands tug at the laces of her dress, pushing it and the straps of the corset over her shoulders to allow her lips and tongue to explore. Her mouth burns where it touches Kahlan's skin, feeding the flames consuming them both.
Kahlan reaches for Cara's waist, tugging at her belt, fumbling with the lacing at Cara's sides. She manages to slip her hands under the skintight leather around the same time Cara manages to get her skirts pulled up, feeling the clench of abdominal muscles under hot skin as Cara's agile hands slide up her thighs.
Kahlan gasps as fingers brush against the apex of her thighs, her nails scraping down the length of Cara's back. Cara growls hungrily at the sudden pain, thrusting her hips into Kahlan's roughly as her mouth assaults the breast she has managed to free from its confines. Cara's going to leave a mark, but Kahlan can't find it in herself to care; if she has to wear more concealing clothing for a few days, it will be more than worth the feeling currently racing through her blood.
Kahlan releases a strangled moan as nimble fingers work their way into her undergarments, sliding through slick curls to find their destination. For a long moment she is oblivious to everything except the two strong fingers sliding into her, filling her in ways that go dangerously beyond the physical. Then she needs more, and begins to thrust against Cara's hand with an urgency she can't remember feeling in years.
She captures Cara's mouth again, sucking and biting at her lips; she knows, despite her limited practical experience, that the Mord-Sith needs the pain to fully enjoy herself, and Kahlan fully intends for Cara to be satisfied as well. Cara continues to thrust into her as she slips the hand not buried in Cara's hair under the loosened leather pants, three fingers slamming hard into the blonde's dripping center.
She knows Cara will not allow this if she finishes first; the satisfaction of bringing Kahlan release will clear enough of the fog from her mind to remind her of her duties, and this precious time will end. She needs this to last, needs to have something to cling to when Cara retreats to her own quarters, and she is left to face the night alone in her marriage bed.
It's by unspoken agreement that they do not move to the bed, do not undress one another further. Even consumed by the raging fires of passion, they both have too much respect for Richard to step over that line. They willingly believe the lie that this is about need, basic human desire; to call it what it is - making love - would raise issues neither is in any position to address. Instead, they lose themselves in the sheer unrestrained lust of the moment, fingers and hips thrusting in unison as lips and tongues communicate everything that will inevitably remain unspoken.
Kahlan can feel the pressure building, her stomach clenching as she tears her lips from Cara's in a regrettable need to breathe. Cara's fingers curl inside her, shattering the last vestige of control over her magic. She gasps soundlessly into Cara's neck as the power floods her body, racing through her blood and slamming into the other woman.
The effects of the magic, coupled with Kahlan's still-moving fingers inside of her, send Cara tumbling over the edge, collapsing against the Confessor as her body is wracked with spasms. Kahlan clutches at Cara's shoulder with her free hand, the hot pulsing around her fingers prolonging her own release.
Long moments pass, and gradually the shaking subsides. Kahlan's forehead rests in the curve of Cara's neck, savoring the scent of sweat and sex. Reluctantly, she slides her fingers from Cara's warmth, bringing her hand around to rest at the small of her back. Tears spring to Kahlan's eyes as Cara removes her own fingers, bracing herself on the edge of the desk as she leans into the loose embrace.
Kahlan feels the blonde start to come back to herself, the stiffening of her body, the clench of Cara's jaw against her cheek. Desperately, she clutches the blonde's shoulders, sliding off of the desk to her feet in order to fully embrace her. Cara allows the contact, her own heart breaking as she can't help but return the embrace.
But Cara is the strong one, the protector - even when it means protecting Kahlan from herself. The longer she stands here - tears sliding down her chest, feeling the Confessor's heart beat in time with her own - the harder it will be to stop. At the moment she would like nothing more than to strip them both of their remaining clothes and lay Kahlan down on her lavish bed; to spend the rest of the night - or the rest of her life - demonstrating just why she can't be confessed. It would be so easy to give in, to allow that spark of hope to take control of her traitorous heart. And so Cara does the only thing she can do: she removes her hands from Kahlan's hips, reaching up to gently pry the hands from her shoulders.
Her gaze locks onto watery cerulean eyes, trying to convey everything neither of them will say. She stopped convincing herself that Kahlan could not read her years ago, and she uses that now, their hands still joined as a lifetime of words passes silently between them.
Slowly, with an effort painful in its intensity, Cara steps away, releasing Kahlan's hands. Kahlan remains where she is standing, watches numbly as Cara adjusts her clothing, tightening laces and tugging on her gloves. She calls on all the years of her training to compose her features, her soft nod communicating understanding, longing, regret, and the one thing neither woman dares put words to, even in thought: love.
Unable to maintain both the eye contact and her composure, Cara turns, sheer willpower forcing her feet to carry her out of the room when every fiber of her being is screaming for her to stay. Kahlan's gaze follows her until she is out of sight, and only when she is sure Cara is gone does Kahlan allow herself to collapse onto her bed, clutching a pillow as she dissolves in tears of guilt, of longing, of love.
Cara glares at the guards as she closes the door, almost daring them to say something. She knows they will not; they were chosen for their unerring loyalty to the Mother Confessor, and their lack of taste for gossip. Satisfied with their blank expressions, Cara storms toward the training yard, already converting the raw pain into anger.
As she works herself to exhaustion tonight, she will think about Richard, and of Sonia and Mary, and of Dahlia, the daughter not yet born. She will remind herself of why things are the way they are, and punish herself for daring to wish they were different. She will ignore the tears that stream down her face as she tries to erase the memory of Kahlan's touch, and the dreams of a future that can never be.
end.
edit: I forgot to mention, in this universe? That whole thing with Leo and the chipmunks? Never happened. I like to think the whole thing went something like: "Hey little lady, can I help you with your horse?" *agiel to gut* "Go play with your sword and leave me alone." In all seriousness, I do think that without Dahlia being trained alongside her to keep her emotions somewhat alive, Cara would have been far less receptive to any sort of overture Leo could have made, and she would have had far less patience for him, as she would have cared a bit less about pleasing her companions by playing nice. I could wax for days on this subject, but I thought I'd better explain why I brought the chipmunks into this - and that is, I loved the thing with the chipmunks in the books, and Leo made me hate the thing with the chipmunks, so I reclaimed it. So there.