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seriousficSo, I went and wrote a sequel to Home is the place where it feels right to walk around without Agiels. Don't worry, I promise to take it easy on Cara this go-around.
Title: Emotion is the glove into which pain slips its hand
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,814
Characters/Pairings: Cara/Kahlan, Richard/Kahlan
Author’s notes: Betaed by the lovely, talented duo of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ivanolix and susurrusnight
Previous: Home Part 4
Next: Part 2.
Summary: On the road to the Westland, Cara falls in with pilgrims, protects the Lord Rahl, and is desperately in love with Kahlan Amnell.
The wagon train stopped just before nightfall. Richard had found a camping ground for them, halfway between the road and a brook. Perfect, just like him. The pilgrims broke out the campfires and food, and since the Mother Confessor and the Seeker were in love, all the troubadours and bards told love stories, competing to see who could make Kahlan swoon hardest. It was like the whole world was trying to get Richard laid.
Cara sped away from the heat of the fires and into an abandoned wagon in back of the train. As soon as she was alone, Cara eased her broken arm out of its sling and rubbed at her pain points, dulling the ache. It was embarrassing that she found a fracture so intolerable. But to get back to the Westlands, they'd joined up with a wagon trail of pilgrims to Amphil, a university town on the D'Haran side of the Boundary where aspiring wizards and theologians could study the section of the Underworld that served as a wall.
As annoying as the idea was, Cara had to admit it wasn't all bad. The pilgrims were happy to share their food, so none of them had to suffer through the meals of the cooking-impaired. And some of the pilgrims were quite attractive. But sitting in a wagon all day let every imperfection in the road make its way to her break, and it hurt, insidiously, insistently, slowly creeping under her skin like Kahlan Amnell…
Why'd she have to think of her? She'd nearly gone a whole day without thinking of the Confessor, and the dream Nicci had put her in, and the things she'd done in that dream that still made her loins scream for attention. If Cara's pleasuring arm weren't broken, and if she weren't not supposed to be thinking of that, it'd almost be a preferable alternative to those quite attractive pilgrims.
"Cara?" It was Nans, one of the students headed for Amphil. She was young, just out of her teens, with a slim, lanky body and bright eyes that practically chirped. And for some reason, she was head over heels for the Mord'Sith, who tolerated it because Nans's definition of love was waiting on Cara hand and foot.
"Yes, Nans?" Cara asked, a bit less sharp than she would've been with someone else. If Nans had the good judgment to want her, that should at least be encouraged.
"The Mother Confessor is looking for you," Nans told her, starstruck by Cara's celebrity, hobnobbing with the Mother Confessor.
Cara waved her hand idly. "Show her in."
Kahlan was already there, pulling back the wagon's curtain and jumping in. "There you are." She turned back to Nans. "You may leave us."
The girl hurried off.
"I was beginning to think you were hiding from me," Kahlan said, sitting down across from Cara. "But I don't know why you wouldn't want a fresh poultice. The pain must be…"
"Manageable," Cara informed her. "Like all pain."
"And unnecessary. Like all pain." Insistently, Kahlan set down the jar of clay she was holding under her arm. Next she pulled a mass of bandages from her pack.
"You're wasting your time. I'm healing fine on my own." Cara was already taking her arm back out of its sling and gingerly pulling her glove off, for Kahlan's benefit if not for her own. "Wouldn't your time be better spent serving the Lord Rahl?"
Kahlan blushed and Cara rolled her eyes. How was it that they could be doing it that much and still be embarrassed by it?
"Richard," Kahlan corrected Cara for the thousandth time, "needs to concentrate on his studies with Zedd."
"And you make it hard to concentrate?" Cara smirked.
Kahlan smirked right back. "I make it very hard."
Cara laughed at the double entendre, but quickly shut her mouth. That had been a chuckle, almost a giggle. And it'd been too much like the banter she'd had with Kahlan when they'd been married. Which, since it had never happened, she had to stop bringing up.
Kahlan unlaced Cara's sleeve for her, so much like a Sister of the Agiel, and Cara held her other hand very still so it didn't do something foolish like traipse through Kahlan's hair, or grab her by the throat and pull her close.
"The others are under the impression that you prefer I change your poultice," Kahlan said by way of conversation. Gentle as a Mord'Sith could never be, she worked the leather sleeve up Cara's arm.
"Zedd has to teach the Lord Rahl. The Lord Rahl has to learn. You have time to waste."
Kahlan took Cara's fingers and squeezed them, flooding her with warmth. A Confessor's touch… "You're not a waste."
Cara pressed her lips together as Kahlan sliced through her old bandages, exposing her pale arm and the red inflammation where the break was under the skin. Kahlan looked mournfully at it. Knowing her, she probably thought that if she'd been a little faster, she could've spared Cara the pain. Cara wished Kahlan wouldn't think that, even if it were true.
Cara knew what would come next. Kahlan would dip the bandages in the mud, really a foul-smelling potion that was filled with the nutrients Cara needed to have soak through her skin, and then would wind them around her arm with the care and patience that Kahlan turned toward all things. This time was different. This time, Kahlan bent forward and kissed her arm before dipping the bandages.
"Did that hurt?" she asked, suddenly looking at Cara with concern.
"Yes," Cara said. Not in the way Kahlan meant, of course. Not in the way Cara could stand.
"I'm sorry. My sister used to do that for me when I had a boo… when I was hurt." Kahlan smiled sheepishly at Cara. "Every little bit helps, right?"
Cara smiled back at her before stopping. "The sooner I am healed, the more service I will be to the Lord Rahl."
Kahlan wrapped Cara's arm, nice and tight. Then she left, to sit at the Seeker's side and drink wine and be loved, in a tender sort of way that would leave no bruises, no blood, nothing of Cara's trade.
***
They set off early the next morning, Kahlan with that ineffable smugness she always got after a night with Richard, and Richard enjoying his celebrity a bit more than modesty would dictate. The cattle drivers who brought up the rear loved listening to his stories, even if he glossed over some of the more intimate details of Cara and Kahlan. Cara didn't know why no one pestered Kahlan for stories of escaping from the Margrave nearly single-handedly, or saving the Seeker a dozen times. Did they find Richard's voice more pleasing than hers? Peasants.
Richard set a hard pace, even if the pilgrims didn't notice when (in his stories) Richard was in the middle of battling a pack of shadrin. He must've picked up some raconteuring from Zedd, because Cara remembered the pack as three shadrin, one of them sick. At mid-day, they stopped at the Grassy Fields Inn, which true to its name had plenty of room for the oxen to graze and drink. It was more properly a small fort, with three different taverns, a smithy, and a maze of stables within the high woodcut walls. Cara picked the shabbiest-looking tavern and stepped in to be greeted with a miasma of drunkenness, tobacco, and violence.
She scanned the crowd, but none of them were really her kind of people. She had standards, and if it came to a fight, none of the patrons could lay a finger on her. She checked out the bartender… too old… and then spotted the barmaid coming out of the backroom, slinging a thick helping of meat and potatoes. Her hair was coarser than Kahlan's and her breasts weren't as high, but she'd do. She'd do nicely.
It didn't take long for the barmaid to notice her, not in her leathers. She came by, bold as you please, to set down a cup and what passed for eating utensils, then poured Cara the house beer. Cara risked blindness for a sip. The barmaid was eyeing Cara, eyeing the valley between her breasts. Cara liked it.
"What's your name?" she asked, before the barmaid could begin her spiel.
"Ashlin," the woman said.
Cara huffed in amusement. "You must be tired. From standing on your feet all day," she said, her voice slyly insinuating, putting Ashlin on her back. "Why don't you sit down next to me and we'll discuss what I can have. To eat."
It was a dark corner of the tavern. The bartender wasn't paying attention to her, not when the dancing girls were trying to shove away a drunkard. Ashlin sat down.
Cara wasted no time, her hand under the table, pulling up Ashlin's skirt and squeezing her thigh, hard enough to let her know who was in charge. "Tell me about the meat," Cara ordered, her voice still honey-soft as her fingers climbed into Ashlin's bloomers. "Is it particularly tender?"
All Ashlin was doing was whimpering, but a little scratch along the inside of her thigh brought her back to earth. "It's… very tender."
Cara leaned closer to her, her fingers exploring more, like Ashlin's pleasure was written inside her folds and Cara could read it with her fingers. "Sweet?"
Ashlin's hands were callused and rough and squeezing the edges of the table like if she didn't, she could be sucked down. "Very sweet!"
Cara grinned as her hand abandoned Ashlin. She had a feeling the barmaid would protest if that wasn't almost more than she could take. Her fingers glided upward, now under Ashlin's blouse.
"I like my meat dripping with juices," Cara hissed as her hand reached Ashlin's breast and twisted the nipple roughly. "Is it dripping?"
Ashlin could only nod with little annoying gasps coming out of her.
"Go to the backroom and take off all your clothes."
Cara finished her beer, taking her time. She could almost smell the frustration, the need wafting off Ashlin. Finally, she stood, and sauntered over to the backroom. When she opened it, Ashlin was spread out on a rug, her clothes scattered. Open and vulnerable and needing. It was almost too easy.
Cara closed the door behind her, blocked it with a cask. Then she walked to Ashlin, but didn't join her on the floor. She waited for Ashlin to get up, then grabbed her by the hair, holding her on her knees.
Cara only had one good arm, but it was enough to hold the woman's head between her legs, and then to part the woman's own thighs and conjure up her moans. An hour later, Ashlin was too tired to continue. Civilians. No stamina. Cara worked herself to completion once more, staring at the marks she'd left on the barmaid's flesh… the teeth in her shoulder, the nails down her back, the fingerprints bruised on her thighs, and then prodded Ashlin with her foot until she got up and helped Cara dress. Ashlin fell asleep again against Cara's leg as she looped Cara's belt, and Cara shook her back down onto the rug.
***
At the night's fire, Cara sat and warmed her hands, wondering if Ashlin had woken up yet. After their time together, the bumpy ride of the wagons hadn't been so bad. She watched Richard leading Kahlan by the hand, doubtlessly just back from doing some softhearted chore for one of the hapless pilgrims. They stopped in the light and warmth of a fire to kiss and Cara watched closely, as if there were a trick in it. Then Richard folded Kahlan up under his arm and guided her along, coincidentally toward Cara.
"…and in exchange for the salve for Dieter's knees, I've got wine befitting a Mother Confessor. So that's steak, salad, wine, and you… I think that's just about everything we need for a romantic dinner."
"What about you?" Kahlan replied, giving him a playful shove. "I thought Zedd needed you to do more meditating?"
"Kahlan," Richard whined, holding her a little tighter. "Don't you know I hate meditating on an empty stomach?"
Kahlan nimbly removed herself from his arms. "And I hate boyfriends whose brains leak out their ears. Come on. Do it for me. Dinner will keep."
Chagrinned, Richard watched her go. "The second course will actually go bad," he muttered, half to himself, before sitting down beside Cara. Her Mord'Sith leathers cut her a wide berth, so they had the fire all to themselves. "You're my favorite lady."
Cara grinned humorlessly. "You should count yourself lucky to have such a beautiful woman worried over you."
He shook her shoulder. "Two," he corrected her. "And before I forget, I made you something."
He pulled a book from a pouch on his pocket. It was about the size of a diary, with a pen secured in the spine. Cara examined it. "It's blank."
"It's a journey book," Richard explained. "Zedd has me making them by the dozen. I thought you could use one, in case we ever get separated."
"Strategic thinking, my lord. Perhaps you'll be worthy of the Mother Confessor yet."
Richard raised an eyebrow at the barb, but dismissed it a moment later as Cara being Cara. Cara, for her part, gripped her Agiel in self-imposed punishment.
"Cara," Richard said after a while of listening to the fire crackle, when a few of the families had gone to sleep. "I can take care of myself. I killed Darken Rahl without your help." She looked at him. "Mostly. Almost. Anyway, I have Kahlan and Zedd. They're not going anywhere, but you…" He looked at her for a long moment. "Is this what you want to do with your life?"
"What else is there?"
"Everything?" Richard ventured. "You could travel the world, do what you like, see your family—"
"You are my family."
Richard stared at her, more shocked by that than the insult. Cara gripped her Agiel hard.
"Cara, is something wrong?"
Tell him. The voice in Cara's head sounded almost like Kahlan. He'll make everything right, make everyone smile, or at least send you away where you can't do any harm.
She couldn't risk it.
"I haven't had a decent fight in weeks," Cara told him. "I think we're running out of D'Harans."
Richard patted her on the back – why did he have to be so touchy-feely? He should save that for Kahlan – and got up to…
"Meditate," Cara reminded him.
***
Another day closer to Hartland. Richard's headaches were getting worse. Zedd was making hori tea, the only thing that soothed them. Cara watched carefully as he went through the preparations. Anything that brought the Lord Rahl comfort she was duty-bound to know.
When they came to a stop, Richard was immediately in the carriage Zedd had purchased, the one with mystical lines and magical curios all over it, making it look more like a circus tent then a wagon. Zedd gave them a reassuring smile as he closed the shutters, but Cara had been around long enough to know when someone was smiling only because he was broken. As she looked over at Kahlan, rubbing her arms, blinded by hope, all she could think was I could be there for her.
Maybe she was going a little mad. Her Lord Rahl was dying by degrees and she couldn't protect him.
She sat down by the fire. Her arm hurt. She couldn't remember the name of that barmaid, or the taste of her sweat, or the flush of her blood. She sat by the fire and didn't get warm.
Kahlan sat down beside her.
It was just like treating a wound. You had to ignore the pain first, then tend the bleeding, then stitch it up. That was how to deal with Kahlan. Like a wound. She might as well be.
"He'll be fine," Kahlan said. Of course, she was talking about Richard. "I don't want you to worry." It had the flavor of an order.
The fire blazed, revealing nothing but shadows all around them. They still had a wide berth from humanity. Cara wondered if it was just her, or if people were afraid of Kahlan as well. She'd heard the rumors. That if the Confessors saw a man they liked, they just took him under the guise of reproduction. It was ludicrous, of course. The Confessors were born of men who had already been confessed, and were given a second chance to serve as the husbands and fathers they could've been. Cara actually envied them. At least they could give Kahlan something other than pain and tawdry sex.
A sniffle claimed Cara's attention. She looked at Kahlan, who gave her a watery smile before burying her face in her hands. Cara stared at her like she was a whistler about to go off. Then, as painstakingly as if she were climbing a mountain, Cara scooted across the log to her and laid an arm across Kahlan's bent shoulders. Kahlan immediately threw her arms around Cara, an embrace that was painful in its intensity. Cara patted her on the back. Kahlan was warmer than the fire.
At last, Kahlan detached from Cara and scrubbed the tears from her face with the sleeves of her dress. Cara nodded to herself. Job well done.
At length, they stared into the fire, while in a wagon nearby, Richard tried to grapple down the force growing inside him, threatening to consume him. Cara could sympathize.
"How's the sex?" Cara asked, hoping the inappropriate old Cara act would break the tension. And she was curious.
Kahlan looked at her, her nose still snotty from the tears. "What?"
Cara pulled a handkerchief from one of the pouches secreted in her leathers and held it out to Kahlan. If they were good enough for blood, they were good enough for the Mother Confessor. She waited for Kahlan to blow her nose, then repeated. "How's the sex?" She added: "With Richard."
"Oh, it's…" Kahlan didn't blush, so maybe she was finally getting used to the prospect of being a fallen woman, but a dreamy little smile did occupy her face. "It's fun. He's a very fast learner."
"Good," Cara nodded. "He's found the spot under your ear?"
Kahlan looked at Cara, boggled, an expression the Mord'Sith quite enjoyed.
"He likes to kiss me there, how did you…"
"Mord'Sith are trained to identify the pain points on someone's body as soon as we see them in motion. The pleasure points correspond to them."
Kahlan laughed, clapped her hands a little, and Cara tried not to grin back. "Sounds handy."
Cara shook her head, a smile having gained a foothold on her mouth. "Think about it. Would you like to know Zedd's pleasure points?"
Kahlan laughed again. Cara laughed with her.
Kahlan took Cara's hand and placed it on her own leg, where she wouldn't lose track of it. She gently stroked the back of Cara's hand. Cara was glad for the leather. Kahlan couldn't see the goosepimples rise.
"You're lucky," Kahlan assured her. "Anytime you see someone attractive, you can just… have them."
"It helps if they say yes," Cara replied, eyebrow raised.
Kahlan put her hand down atop Cara's, sandwiching it to her leg. "Who would say no to you?"
Cara said nothing.
"You know what I'd really like?" Kahlan took her hand off Cara's and brushed some hair out of her face. "I'd like to live in a normal, boring house and work a normal, boring job…"
"Like a teacher?"
"Sure. I love kids." She yawned. It was late, and it'd been a long day, and worrying about someone you loved was tiring. Or so Cara heard. "And Richard could be a woods guide and you could live next door… that'd be perfect. But it's never going to happen, is it?"
"No."
Kahlan reached into her pack, and Cara saw one of Richard's little journey books as Kahlan took out a blanket. She offered it to Cara, wrapping it around her. Cara felt overwarm, like she was too close to a fire.
"Stay with me tonight?" Kahlan asked, pleaded. "Richard's headaches are getting worse and he's trying to pretend it's alright, but I don't know if we'll get there in time and… I don't want to be alone tonight."
Cara didn't reach for her. Didn't kiss her. But she stayed as close as she was. "You're never alone."
***
Mord'Sith didn't remember their dreams. They were trained not to. The dreams you got when you did what the Mord'Sith did were not things to be remembered. But the dream Cara had that night she remembered, every scream (her own), every smile (Kahlan's), every stitch of leather that Kahlan wore and every welt that she raised across Cara's bare skin. And finally, her smile as bright as her wet, red lips, Kahlan moved the Agiel between Cara's legs, where she needed it most.
Cara awoke too hot for her leathers, too hot for the blanket covering her. She threw it off and Kahlan, sleeping under the same blanket, shivered. She'd been enshrined within Cara's limbs, somehow covered in whole despite her frame being longer than Cara's. Cara stopped wondering why she had remembered the dream of Kahlan throwing her to the ground and taking her like a prize.
Her eyes darted frantically as Kahlan shivered once more. The fires had died down to embers and the only noise was crickets and the occasional snorer. They were alone, and Kahlan was whimpering.
Cara put her arms around her once more, feeling Kahlan's flesh, her warmth, like a needle through her leathers. She couldn't stop herself. Her lips fit against the back of Kahlan's neck, beneath the cascade of dark hair that had filled the sleeping bag with its sweetness. Kahlan's lips quirked in her sleep; a smile. Cara kissed her again, no longer brief or fumbling. She attached her mouth to Kahlan's throat and worshipped it with her tongue and lips, pulling away only to leave a red mark.
Kahlan was moaning, purring, deep within her breast, and Cara heard the same sound coming from deep in her own throat. Kahlan tasted pure, like water from a spring. Cara bent down again, vampiric, to kiss the pleasure point below Kahlan's ear. It earned her a fond gasp that trailed off into a name.
"Richard," Kahlan breathed.
Cara closed her eyes. Her good hand traveled over herself, stirring up sparks wherever it went, until she finally found her Agiel. She had set it under her pillow to keep from hurting Kahlan. She let the pain fill her until it replaced the shame.
She went to sleep still clutching it, turned away from Kahlan. In the morning, she didn't remember her dream.
Title: Emotion is the glove into which pain slips its hand
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,814
Characters/Pairings: Cara/Kahlan, Richard/Kahlan
Author’s notes: Betaed by the lovely, talented duo of
ivanolix and susurrusnight Previous: Home Part 4
Next: Part 2.
Summary: On the road to the Westland, Cara falls in with pilgrims, protects the Lord Rahl, and is desperately in love with Kahlan Amnell.
The wagon train stopped just before nightfall. Richard had found a camping ground for them, halfway between the road and a brook. Perfect, just like him. The pilgrims broke out the campfires and food, and since the Mother Confessor and the Seeker were in love, all the troubadours and bards told love stories, competing to see who could make Kahlan swoon hardest. It was like the whole world was trying to get Richard laid.
Cara sped away from the heat of the fires and into an abandoned wagon in back of the train. As soon as she was alone, Cara eased her broken arm out of its sling and rubbed at her pain points, dulling the ache. It was embarrassing that she found a fracture so intolerable. But to get back to the Westlands, they'd joined up with a wagon trail of pilgrims to Amphil, a university town on the D'Haran side of the Boundary where aspiring wizards and theologians could study the section of the Underworld that served as a wall.
As annoying as the idea was, Cara had to admit it wasn't all bad. The pilgrims were happy to share their food, so none of them had to suffer through the meals of the cooking-impaired. And some of the pilgrims were quite attractive. But sitting in a wagon all day let every imperfection in the road make its way to her break, and it hurt, insidiously, insistently, slowly creeping under her skin like Kahlan Amnell…
Why'd she have to think of her? She'd nearly gone a whole day without thinking of the Confessor, and the dream Nicci had put her in, and the things she'd done in that dream that still made her loins scream for attention. If Cara's pleasuring arm weren't broken, and if she weren't not supposed to be thinking of that, it'd almost be a preferable alternative to those quite attractive pilgrims.
"Cara?" It was Nans, one of the students headed for Amphil. She was young, just out of her teens, with a slim, lanky body and bright eyes that practically chirped. And for some reason, she was head over heels for the Mord'Sith, who tolerated it because Nans's definition of love was waiting on Cara hand and foot.
"Yes, Nans?" Cara asked, a bit less sharp than she would've been with someone else. If Nans had the good judgment to want her, that should at least be encouraged.
"The Mother Confessor is looking for you," Nans told her, starstruck by Cara's celebrity, hobnobbing with the Mother Confessor.
Cara waved her hand idly. "Show her in."
Kahlan was already there, pulling back the wagon's curtain and jumping in. "There you are." She turned back to Nans. "You may leave us."
The girl hurried off.
"I was beginning to think you were hiding from me," Kahlan said, sitting down across from Cara. "But I don't know why you wouldn't want a fresh poultice. The pain must be…"
"Manageable," Cara informed her. "Like all pain."
"And unnecessary. Like all pain." Insistently, Kahlan set down the jar of clay she was holding under her arm. Next she pulled a mass of bandages from her pack.
"You're wasting your time. I'm healing fine on my own." Cara was already taking her arm back out of its sling and gingerly pulling her glove off, for Kahlan's benefit if not for her own. "Wouldn't your time be better spent serving the Lord Rahl?"
Kahlan blushed and Cara rolled her eyes. How was it that they could be doing it that much and still be embarrassed by it?
"Richard," Kahlan corrected Cara for the thousandth time, "needs to concentrate on his studies with Zedd."
"And you make it hard to concentrate?" Cara smirked.
Kahlan smirked right back. "I make it very hard."
Cara laughed at the double entendre, but quickly shut her mouth. That had been a chuckle, almost a giggle. And it'd been too much like the banter she'd had with Kahlan when they'd been married. Which, since it had never happened, she had to stop bringing up.
Kahlan unlaced Cara's sleeve for her, so much like a Sister of the Agiel, and Cara held her other hand very still so it didn't do something foolish like traipse through Kahlan's hair, or grab her by the throat and pull her close.
"The others are under the impression that you prefer I change your poultice," Kahlan said by way of conversation. Gentle as a Mord'Sith could never be, she worked the leather sleeve up Cara's arm.
"Zedd has to teach the Lord Rahl. The Lord Rahl has to learn. You have time to waste."
Kahlan took Cara's fingers and squeezed them, flooding her with warmth. A Confessor's touch… "You're not a waste."
Cara pressed her lips together as Kahlan sliced through her old bandages, exposing her pale arm and the red inflammation where the break was under the skin. Kahlan looked mournfully at it. Knowing her, she probably thought that if she'd been a little faster, she could've spared Cara the pain. Cara wished Kahlan wouldn't think that, even if it were true.
Cara knew what would come next. Kahlan would dip the bandages in the mud, really a foul-smelling potion that was filled with the nutrients Cara needed to have soak through her skin, and then would wind them around her arm with the care and patience that Kahlan turned toward all things. This time was different. This time, Kahlan bent forward and kissed her arm before dipping the bandages.
"Did that hurt?" she asked, suddenly looking at Cara with concern.
"Yes," Cara said. Not in the way Kahlan meant, of course. Not in the way Cara could stand.
"I'm sorry. My sister used to do that for me when I had a boo… when I was hurt." Kahlan smiled sheepishly at Cara. "Every little bit helps, right?"
Cara smiled back at her before stopping. "The sooner I am healed, the more service I will be to the Lord Rahl."
Kahlan wrapped Cara's arm, nice and tight. Then she left, to sit at the Seeker's side and drink wine and be loved, in a tender sort of way that would leave no bruises, no blood, nothing of Cara's trade.
***
They set off early the next morning, Kahlan with that ineffable smugness she always got after a night with Richard, and Richard enjoying his celebrity a bit more than modesty would dictate. The cattle drivers who brought up the rear loved listening to his stories, even if he glossed over some of the more intimate details of Cara and Kahlan. Cara didn't know why no one pestered Kahlan for stories of escaping from the Margrave nearly single-handedly, or saving the Seeker a dozen times. Did they find Richard's voice more pleasing than hers? Peasants.
Richard set a hard pace, even if the pilgrims didn't notice when (in his stories) Richard was in the middle of battling a pack of shadrin. He must've picked up some raconteuring from Zedd, because Cara remembered the pack as three shadrin, one of them sick. At mid-day, they stopped at the Grassy Fields Inn, which true to its name had plenty of room for the oxen to graze and drink. It was more properly a small fort, with three different taverns, a smithy, and a maze of stables within the high woodcut walls. Cara picked the shabbiest-looking tavern and stepped in to be greeted with a miasma of drunkenness, tobacco, and violence.
She scanned the crowd, but none of them were really her kind of people. She had standards, and if it came to a fight, none of the patrons could lay a finger on her. She checked out the bartender… too old… and then spotted the barmaid coming out of the backroom, slinging a thick helping of meat and potatoes. Her hair was coarser than Kahlan's and her breasts weren't as high, but she'd do. She'd do nicely.
It didn't take long for the barmaid to notice her, not in her leathers. She came by, bold as you please, to set down a cup and what passed for eating utensils, then poured Cara the house beer. Cara risked blindness for a sip. The barmaid was eyeing Cara, eyeing the valley between her breasts. Cara liked it.
"What's your name?" she asked, before the barmaid could begin her spiel.
"Ashlin," the woman said.
Cara huffed in amusement. "You must be tired. From standing on your feet all day," she said, her voice slyly insinuating, putting Ashlin on her back. "Why don't you sit down next to me and we'll discuss what I can have. To eat."
It was a dark corner of the tavern. The bartender wasn't paying attention to her, not when the dancing girls were trying to shove away a drunkard. Ashlin sat down.
Cara wasted no time, her hand under the table, pulling up Ashlin's skirt and squeezing her thigh, hard enough to let her know who was in charge. "Tell me about the meat," Cara ordered, her voice still honey-soft as her fingers climbed into Ashlin's bloomers. "Is it particularly tender?"
All Ashlin was doing was whimpering, but a little scratch along the inside of her thigh brought her back to earth. "It's… very tender."
Cara leaned closer to her, her fingers exploring more, like Ashlin's pleasure was written inside her folds and Cara could read it with her fingers. "Sweet?"
Ashlin's hands were callused and rough and squeezing the edges of the table like if she didn't, she could be sucked down. "Very sweet!"
Cara grinned as her hand abandoned Ashlin. She had a feeling the barmaid would protest if that wasn't almost more than she could take. Her fingers glided upward, now under Ashlin's blouse.
"I like my meat dripping with juices," Cara hissed as her hand reached Ashlin's breast and twisted the nipple roughly. "Is it dripping?"
Ashlin could only nod with little annoying gasps coming out of her.
"Go to the backroom and take off all your clothes."
Cara finished her beer, taking her time. She could almost smell the frustration, the need wafting off Ashlin. Finally, she stood, and sauntered over to the backroom. When she opened it, Ashlin was spread out on a rug, her clothes scattered. Open and vulnerable and needing. It was almost too easy.
Cara closed the door behind her, blocked it with a cask. Then she walked to Ashlin, but didn't join her on the floor. She waited for Ashlin to get up, then grabbed her by the hair, holding her on her knees.
Cara only had one good arm, but it was enough to hold the woman's head between her legs, and then to part the woman's own thighs and conjure up her moans. An hour later, Ashlin was too tired to continue. Civilians. No stamina. Cara worked herself to completion once more, staring at the marks she'd left on the barmaid's flesh… the teeth in her shoulder, the nails down her back, the fingerprints bruised on her thighs, and then prodded Ashlin with her foot until she got up and helped Cara dress. Ashlin fell asleep again against Cara's leg as she looped Cara's belt, and Cara shook her back down onto the rug.
***
At the night's fire, Cara sat and warmed her hands, wondering if Ashlin had woken up yet. After their time together, the bumpy ride of the wagons hadn't been so bad. She watched Richard leading Kahlan by the hand, doubtlessly just back from doing some softhearted chore for one of the hapless pilgrims. They stopped in the light and warmth of a fire to kiss and Cara watched closely, as if there were a trick in it. Then Richard folded Kahlan up under his arm and guided her along, coincidentally toward Cara.
"…and in exchange for the salve for Dieter's knees, I've got wine befitting a Mother Confessor. So that's steak, salad, wine, and you… I think that's just about everything we need for a romantic dinner."
"What about you?" Kahlan replied, giving him a playful shove. "I thought Zedd needed you to do more meditating?"
"Kahlan," Richard whined, holding her a little tighter. "Don't you know I hate meditating on an empty stomach?"
Kahlan nimbly removed herself from his arms. "And I hate boyfriends whose brains leak out their ears. Come on. Do it for me. Dinner will keep."
Chagrinned, Richard watched her go. "The second course will actually go bad," he muttered, half to himself, before sitting down beside Cara. Her Mord'Sith leathers cut her a wide berth, so they had the fire all to themselves. "You're my favorite lady."
Cara grinned humorlessly. "You should count yourself lucky to have such a beautiful woman worried over you."
He shook her shoulder. "Two," he corrected her. "And before I forget, I made you something."
He pulled a book from a pouch on his pocket. It was about the size of a diary, with a pen secured in the spine. Cara examined it. "It's blank."
"It's a journey book," Richard explained. "Zedd has me making them by the dozen. I thought you could use one, in case we ever get separated."
"Strategic thinking, my lord. Perhaps you'll be worthy of the Mother Confessor yet."
Richard raised an eyebrow at the barb, but dismissed it a moment later as Cara being Cara. Cara, for her part, gripped her Agiel in self-imposed punishment.
"Cara," Richard said after a while of listening to the fire crackle, when a few of the families had gone to sleep. "I can take care of myself. I killed Darken Rahl without your help." She looked at him. "Mostly. Almost. Anyway, I have Kahlan and Zedd. They're not going anywhere, but you…" He looked at her for a long moment. "Is this what you want to do with your life?"
"What else is there?"
"Everything?" Richard ventured. "You could travel the world, do what you like, see your family—"
"You are my family."
Richard stared at her, more shocked by that than the insult. Cara gripped her Agiel hard.
"Cara, is something wrong?"
Tell him. The voice in Cara's head sounded almost like Kahlan. He'll make everything right, make everyone smile, or at least send you away where you can't do any harm.
She couldn't risk it.
"I haven't had a decent fight in weeks," Cara told him. "I think we're running out of D'Harans."
Richard patted her on the back – why did he have to be so touchy-feely? He should save that for Kahlan – and got up to…
"Meditate," Cara reminded him.
***
Another day closer to Hartland. Richard's headaches were getting worse. Zedd was making hori tea, the only thing that soothed them. Cara watched carefully as he went through the preparations. Anything that brought the Lord Rahl comfort she was duty-bound to know.
When they came to a stop, Richard was immediately in the carriage Zedd had purchased, the one with mystical lines and magical curios all over it, making it look more like a circus tent then a wagon. Zedd gave them a reassuring smile as he closed the shutters, but Cara had been around long enough to know when someone was smiling only because he was broken. As she looked over at Kahlan, rubbing her arms, blinded by hope, all she could think was I could be there for her.
Maybe she was going a little mad. Her Lord Rahl was dying by degrees and she couldn't protect him.
She sat down by the fire. Her arm hurt. She couldn't remember the name of that barmaid, or the taste of her sweat, or the flush of her blood. She sat by the fire and didn't get warm.
Kahlan sat down beside her.
It was just like treating a wound. You had to ignore the pain first, then tend the bleeding, then stitch it up. That was how to deal with Kahlan. Like a wound. She might as well be.
"He'll be fine," Kahlan said. Of course, she was talking about Richard. "I don't want you to worry." It had the flavor of an order.
The fire blazed, revealing nothing but shadows all around them. They still had a wide berth from humanity. Cara wondered if it was just her, or if people were afraid of Kahlan as well. She'd heard the rumors. That if the Confessors saw a man they liked, they just took him under the guise of reproduction. It was ludicrous, of course. The Confessors were born of men who had already been confessed, and were given a second chance to serve as the husbands and fathers they could've been. Cara actually envied them. At least they could give Kahlan something other than pain and tawdry sex.
A sniffle claimed Cara's attention. She looked at Kahlan, who gave her a watery smile before burying her face in her hands. Cara stared at her like she was a whistler about to go off. Then, as painstakingly as if she were climbing a mountain, Cara scooted across the log to her and laid an arm across Kahlan's bent shoulders. Kahlan immediately threw her arms around Cara, an embrace that was painful in its intensity. Cara patted her on the back. Kahlan was warmer than the fire.
At last, Kahlan detached from Cara and scrubbed the tears from her face with the sleeves of her dress. Cara nodded to herself. Job well done.
At length, they stared into the fire, while in a wagon nearby, Richard tried to grapple down the force growing inside him, threatening to consume him. Cara could sympathize.
"How's the sex?" Cara asked, hoping the inappropriate old Cara act would break the tension. And she was curious.
Kahlan looked at her, her nose still snotty from the tears. "What?"
Cara pulled a handkerchief from one of the pouches secreted in her leathers and held it out to Kahlan. If they were good enough for blood, they were good enough for the Mother Confessor. She waited for Kahlan to blow her nose, then repeated. "How's the sex?" She added: "With Richard."
"Oh, it's…" Kahlan didn't blush, so maybe she was finally getting used to the prospect of being a fallen woman, but a dreamy little smile did occupy her face. "It's fun. He's a very fast learner."
"Good," Cara nodded. "He's found the spot under your ear?"
Kahlan looked at Cara, boggled, an expression the Mord'Sith quite enjoyed.
"He likes to kiss me there, how did you…"
"Mord'Sith are trained to identify the pain points on someone's body as soon as we see them in motion. The pleasure points correspond to them."
Kahlan laughed, clapped her hands a little, and Cara tried not to grin back. "Sounds handy."
Cara shook her head, a smile having gained a foothold on her mouth. "Think about it. Would you like to know Zedd's pleasure points?"
Kahlan laughed again. Cara laughed with her.
Kahlan took Cara's hand and placed it on her own leg, where she wouldn't lose track of it. She gently stroked the back of Cara's hand. Cara was glad for the leather. Kahlan couldn't see the goosepimples rise.
"You're lucky," Kahlan assured her. "Anytime you see someone attractive, you can just… have them."
"It helps if they say yes," Cara replied, eyebrow raised.
Kahlan put her hand down atop Cara's, sandwiching it to her leg. "Who would say no to you?"
Cara said nothing.
"You know what I'd really like?" Kahlan took her hand off Cara's and brushed some hair out of her face. "I'd like to live in a normal, boring house and work a normal, boring job…"
"Like a teacher?"
"Sure. I love kids." She yawned. It was late, and it'd been a long day, and worrying about someone you loved was tiring. Or so Cara heard. "And Richard could be a woods guide and you could live next door… that'd be perfect. But it's never going to happen, is it?"
"No."
Kahlan reached into her pack, and Cara saw one of Richard's little journey books as Kahlan took out a blanket. She offered it to Cara, wrapping it around her. Cara felt overwarm, like she was too close to a fire.
"Stay with me tonight?" Kahlan asked, pleaded. "Richard's headaches are getting worse and he's trying to pretend it's alright, but I don't know if we'll get there in time and… I don't want to be alone tonight."
Cara didn't reach for her. Didn't kiss her. But she stayed as close as she was. "You're never alone."
***
Mord'Sith didn't remember their dreams. They were trained not to. The dreams you got when you did what the Mord'Sith did were not things to be remembered. But the dream Cara had that night she remembered, every scream (her own), every smile (Kahlan's), every stitch of leather that Kahlan wore and every welt that she raised across Cara's bare skin. And finally, her smile as bright as her wet, red lips, Kahlan moved the Agiel between Cara's legs, where she needed it most.
Cara awoke too hot for her leathers, too hot for the blanket covering her. She threw it off and Kahlan, sleeping under the same blanket, shivered. She'd been enshrined within Cara's limbs, somehow covered in whole despite her frame being longer than Cara's. Cara stopped wondering why she had remembered the dream of Kahlan throwing her to the ground and taking her like a prize.
Her eyes darted frantically as Kahlan shivered once more. The fires had died down to embers and the only noise was crickets and the occasional snorer. They were alone, and Kahlan was whimpering.
Cara put her arms around her once more, feeling Kahlan's flesh, her warmth, like a needle through her leathers. She couldn't stop herself. Her lips fit against the back of Kahlan's neck, beneath the cascade of dark hair that had filled the sleeping bag with its sweetness. Kahlan's lips quirked in her sleep; a smile. Cara kissed her again, no longer brief or fumbling. She attached her mouth to Kahlan's throat and worshipped it with her tongue and lips, pulling away only to leave a red mark.
Kahlan was moaning, purring, deep within her breast, and Cara heard the same sound coming from deep in her own throat. Kahlan tasted pure, like water from a spring. Cara bent down again, vampiric, to kiss the pleasure point below Kahlan's ear. It earned her a fond gasp that trailed off into a name.
"Richard," Kahlan breathed.
Cara closed her eyes. Her good hand traveled over herself, stirring up sparks wherever it went, until she finally found her Agiel. She had set it under her pillow to keep from hurting Kahlan. She let the pain fill her until it replaced the shame.
She went to sleep still clutching it, turned away from Kahlan. In the morning, she didn't remember her dream.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-06-20 06:13 pm (UTC)This, especially:
"You're lucky," Kahlan assured her. "Anytime you see someone attractive, you can just… have them."
"It helps if they say yes," Cara replied, eyebrow raised.
Kahlan put her hand down atop Cara's, sandwiching it to her leg. "Who would say no to you?"
Cara said nothing.
My poor heart.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 06:52 pm (UTC)