Alphabet Challenge: "C"
C: “Cedant arma togae”
Kahlan was a brilliant tactician. She was both intelligent and compassionate; a perfect Mother Confessor. However, she had chosen to go after the Seeker. Before joining Richard’s quest, she had spent her life in study, and the practice of her beliefs and magic for the good of her fellow Midlanders. Many speculated that Kahlan might one day become the Mother Confessor; hold the throne at Aydindril, oversee the Peoples Counsel, and guide the lands as both the highest moral authority and their leader.
Perhaps the favorite of her lessons growing up, were when the Confessor had been taught how to fight. She loved the rush of it, the way instinct took over so fully in the flurry of combat. It was freeing, and empowering, and the more she learned, the better she slept at night. The less and less frequent the nightmares of the years with her father would resurface in her dreams.
She saw the restlessness that lived in Cara during her time in Aydindril. At first it seemed that everyone in the Elite Home Guard had wanted to prove their mettle in the fighting ring against the Mord’Sith. But very soon, no one dared to try. When Kahlan could see it, through some window as she made her way to yet another “urgent” matter to state (like the offense of the royal party of Dunstible not receiving an invitation to a ball by Queen Milaina), she could tell even from so very far away that Cara was not doing her worst. And she knew Cara longed to do her worst - to really fight an opponent and not merely a challenger.
When Kahlan finally found time to slip away, to meet a frustrated and restless blonde in the training yard, she was comforted to see that Cara didn’t appeared to be surprised. ...Unlike every other soldier gathered around the ring. The Mord’Sith knew she would come; if only in her own time. The smile on her face was not merely one of cockiness - it held genuine excitement, and appreciation. The Mother Confessor’s was wider, but revealed all the same.
Translation: Let arms yield to the toga. (Let violence give place to law)
Kahlan was a brilliant tactician. She was both intelligent and compassionate; a perfect Mother Confessor. However, she had chosen to go after the Seeker. Before joining Richard’s quest, she had spent her life in study, and the practice of her beliefs and magic for the good of her fellow Midlanders. Many speculated that Kahlan might one day become the Mother Confessor; hold the throne at Aydindril, oversee the Peoples Counsel, and guide the lands as both the highest moral authority and their leader.
Perhaps the favorite of her lessons growing up, were when the Confessor had been taught how to fight. She loved the rush of it, the way instinct took over so fully in the flurry of combat. It was freeing, and empowering, and the more she learned, the better she slept at night. The less and less frequent the nightmares of the years with her father would resurface in her dreams.
She saw the restlessness that lived in Cara during her time in Aydindril. At first it seemed that everyone in the Elite Home Guard had wanted to prove their mettle in the fighting ring against the Mord’Sith. But very soon, no one dared to try. When Kahlan could see it, through some window as she made her way to yet another “urgent” matter to state (like the offense of the royal party of Dunstible not receiving an invitation to a ball by Queen Milaina), she could tell even from so very far away that Cara was not doing her worst. And she knew Cara longed to do her worst - to really fight an opponent and not merely a challenger.
When Kahlan finally found time to slip away, to meet a frustrated and restless blonde in the training yard, she was comforted to see that Cara didn’t appeared to be surprised. ...Unlike every other soldier gathered around the ring. The Mord’Sith knew she would come; if only in her own time. The smile on her face was not merely one of cockiness - it held genuine excitement, and appreciation. The Mother Confessor’s was wider, but revealed all the same.
Translation: Let arms yield to the toga. (Let violence give place to law)