Fic: Everything Changes (Kahlan/Denna)
Pairing: Kahlan/Denna
Rating: R (im not good at ratings)
Summary: A whisper. Barely a breath. A gentle prayer of relief. Issuing forth unheeded from her lips. Echoed in her own ears by the one beneath her. A simple, heartfelt exclamation. Something so small. It will change everything.
Notes: for the prompt on rare pair:
"Love that will not betray you, dismiss or enslave you,
It will set you free.
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design, an alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see
The beauty of love as it was made to be."
- "Sigh No More" by Mumford and Sons
She stands and watches Richard leave. Eyes on his back until it might not be his back. Still until he is nothing but a distant blur. A brown speck on the horizon. She knows her eyes should hold tears. Her soul ache and her heart break. She knows these things yet cannot summon them. Has not felt what would cause them for many months now. Not for him. And that is why he goes. Why he walks away. Tells her pretty little lies of quests and deeds to be done. Kittens and damsels to save. But they both know. Her one time Seeker is leaving her, as she left him.
She feels the soft small hand in her own. Finally her eyes break from the horizon. Rest on eyes as blue as her own. Smiling softly. Almost sadly. Almost, but not still not quite. Leaning her head to rest on the others shoulder. Blonde waves of heavenly hair soft against her cheek.
She cannot weep for a lost love. Cannot mourn its death. For it died so long ago. At least for her. With those arms around her. That smell so exotic, now familiar. And the soft hum of their breathing. She is home. Where she belongs.
***
Blood and anger pulses through her veins. Righteousness. As she has never felt it before. Straddling the Mord’Sith’s waist. Fists reign down upon delicate features. Once delicate features.
Mind screams out to stop. That this is wrong. This is not justice. Beyond even vengeance. This is cruelty and torture. But her mind has no control. He commands and she must abide. Must obey.
Arm pulled back. Eyes lock with the pair below her. Eyes normally filled with hate now plea for mercy. And she knows, they know. This will be the killing blow. As muscles relax, contract, the arc of the blow begun. And then it snaps. Her body is her own again. Yet it is not. Momentum and gravity pull her down. She lies there. Breathless. Sweaty and bloody. Pressed full length against the body beneath her.
A whisper. Barely a breath. A gentle prayer of relief. Issuing forth unheeded from her lips. Echoed in her own ears by the one beneath her. A simple, heartfelt exclamation. Something so small.
It will change everything.
***
They press on. Move on to the next adventure. Yet none of them are as they were before. Each relationship changed. Strained. Almost to breaking point. But they will adapt. As they have before. As they will again. But some changes will be harder. Take longer to comprehend their impact. To learn to live with their consequences.
Their number has grown. Jenson was left behind with allies. But they could not leave the other. The guilt of their actions weights heavily on their shoulders. Is forced upon them by the Mother Confessor. She is their responsibility now. Their problem to be dealt with. Come to terms with. And this is what separates them from the bad guys. Here is the difference. They will not take prisoners. They will not destroy something because it is broken. Will attempt to mend. To fix that which others would throw away.
And she is their broken thing. A weapon. A toy. To him at least. But to them, to Kahlan, she is more. A broken soul. Tattered remains. But it still remains. In that moment, that heart wrenching moment, it all changed. A look. A word. And that was all it took for everything to change. No longer enemy. Not quite ally. But responsibility. Her responsibility.
***
The sun rose hours ago. Laid waste to the night. If not the events which unfolded in its darkest hours.
Richard and Zedd have come and gone. She can smell the smoke from the funeral pyre. Bitter in her nose. Knows she should stand beside him as he says goodbye to the mother he never knew. But she cannot bring herself to do it.
Instead she does the only thing that feels right. Another thing which does not make sense. But logic has no place here. Where the Mother Confessor kneels at the side of a Mord’Sith. Tending to wounds she herself inflicted. Soothing her pain. Praying for a redemption she does not know she needs. Nor believe she deserves.
***
It has been almost two years since that night when Richard walks away. So much has changed. Yet everything seems the same somehow.
The midlands stand. She still remains bound by duty. He is the same simple woods guide with a great purpose thrust upon him.
But their destiny no longer seems shared. Their future is not written in the stars as it once seemed.
As she shares the fire that night she thinks these things. These and a thousand thoughts just like them. Trying to understand. Analyse. Work out the moment when everything changed. How they went from where they were to this. To what they are still to become. Musing on the transience of all things.
Her eyes meet the pair across the flames. Lock instantly as they have so many times during their time together. Pulse quickens and heart leaps. Those eyes. Brighter each time somehow. Bluer than a summers day. Deeper than the oceans, And she recalls the first time she lost herself in those eyes. The moment she lost her heart.
***
Sun fills the small clearing. But its brightness pales as those eyes open once more. Eyes so blue the make the sky jealous. Taking in the scene before them and consciousness briefly grips her mind once more.
And she breaks again. For the one beside her. A small piece of her ragged soul. Cracking each time she looks upon the other. Slowly painlessly. She breaks for her. By her hand. Unknown. Unlooked for. Unexpected.
In a world of pain the slightest kindness burns. When one knows only the fist and whip. The soft caress and sweet embrace is truly painful. All consuming agony in its beauty and honesty.
Violence is pure. Bright. This tenderness seems dirty. She does not deserve it. Has not earned it. In her heart she understands. A pet once broken is offered this. Binding them to their mistress. So many years have passed since she received such treatment. And this is not like before. Not tenderness of personal gain. But to help, heal. To pay penance, ask for forgiveness.
And darkness claims her warring mind. Drags her under into deep unconsciousness. Sleeps jealous grasp will hold her close. Do more than healing hands may know.
***
The day progresses. Slowly turns to night. Sun shies away from the scene played out beneath it. The battle between light and dark still wages there. Silently. Effortlessly. Before the moon has set again it will be over. Before the sun rises their lives will change imperceptibly. The beliefs altered. And they will not go back. Cannot go back. Things change. Like the seasons. Are not meant to stay the same. And as winter thaws to spring, so will they.
The men stay away. Say prolonged goodbyes to their new found kin. Travel to the nearest town for supplies. Hide from the wrath. She will not be forgiving. They have learnt the extent of her patience. Know the sting of her temper. That invisible boundary has been crossed.
She knows in her mind that it was not Richard. But her heart is not so logical. His abuse so silent. So complete. The misuse of power handed to him willingly. She cannot bring herself to forgive him. Not yet. Perhaps never. They will never be the same. If he could do this against her will. As every fibre of her body protested. She cannot give herself to him. Trust him . Knowing the darkness is there.
The darkness is not what she fears. She has faced her share of it in her own life. Such darkness lies in all. Instead his unwillingness to see it. Embrace it. Acknowledge that it lies there. Beating. Growing in denial. Fed by his own stupidity.
***
The fever sets in around lunchtime. Sun blazers down. As nothing on the heat radiating from her. A candle beside the roaring fire. She emits soft whimpers. Sad silent sighs of despair. Half mumbled pleas. And each breaks the others heart. As every breath is dragged from the battered body she ministers to.
She is as a lost child. Afraid. Trying to find her way home. But the constant presence tells her she is not alone. Soft pressure of the body beside her own comforting. Holding her hand. Leading her onwards. Softly. Comforting. Found.
As the sun begins to set fire to the horizon she holds the beaten woman before her. Strong arms wrapped gently around a frame not known to be fragile. Not meant to shake with fear. Strong made weak. Mord’Sith broken.
There are many things which can change a person. Forge new alliances. The heat of battle. A shared threat. Slowly, gradually, building trust. Forming new bonds. Through shared experience. But she never thought it could happen like this. In a single moment in time. A look. So small. And it led to so much more.
Care given readily in the time of need. And watching as the other breaks. Breaking with her. For her. This moment. This fever induced, abuse formed moment. So dark. So desperate. Its own hidden beauty. Its own perfection. Bitter sweet agony as she fails to help. Cool her brow. Dress the wounds. So minor. So superficial. And yet it does so much without her knowing.
And as the day cools the fever breaks. Whimpers lessen. And true sleep finally takes the fractured woman.
***
More years have passed than she cares to admit. Most of them now heavy upon her brow. Once raven hair now dusted with grey. Age has filed to lessen her beauty. Each year simply adds to it. Or so the blonde beside her whispers.
Figure still full. Fuller perhaps. Five children softening it. Forcing it to change. But not lessen. Each stretch and scar accumulating. Each line amassing to her timeless beauty. Or so the blonde she leans against insists.
Voice raspier. Eyes not dulled. Face and stature still commanding. Hands still strong. And daggers still sharp. Exactly as she was that night. The same and different. Better. Improved by age. The fine wine the blonde still drinks deep of. The beauty she will never quench her thirst for.
She has not diminished. But grown. As they all have. As the love has and might and will and should.
Her mate and she stand guard over the beds of their children. Sleeping silently. Peacefully. Strong arms wrapped around her waist. Chin upon her shoulder. The full moon illuminates the scene. Their tableau of tranquillity. Perfection. It will set. And the sun will rise. Again and again. For this is the nature of days and time. But they will be here. Together. In each other’s arms. Held in their own eternity found there.
Some things do not change.
***
They stop at an inn early the next day. Kahlan insists. Their companion needs rest. Her injuries tended to, and a soft bed. They should go on. Get further away. But the others will not argue. They should have left her. Should have carried on as before. But everything is changing. They are powerless in the face of it. And each of the travellers feels it in their bones.
Kahlan does not insist. Does not tell them what to do. No words are spoken as once again the two men leave her with the other. They help her place the blonde upon the bed. Leave wordlessly. Apologetically.
Unconscious for hours. This will not change soon. The pain from her injuries makes it better this way. Though she would object. It is also easier for the others if they cannot see the affect of their actions.
Washing away blood. Cleaning wounds. Keeping busy. Setting bones. Placing soft blankets over her battered body. Silently. Gently. Reverently. Almost lovingly. Keeping her thoughts at bay. Until there is nothing left to do but listen to the voices. Hear them whisper in her ear as she sits beside the patient. Her task done. Her work not yet complete. Watching her chest rise and fall slowly. Assess the damage from a safe distance. The external damage at least. The outward scars. Ponders the inward trauma. Most of it placed there long before they met.
Quietly contemplates what compelled her. To insist they take her. Help her. Heal her. Wonders on the feeling tight within her chest at the sight of her. Hate or fear. Or neither. So different from what she felt before. Not opposite. But close enough for now. To trust the battered woman. More than she can her friends.
But then what? Release her into the wild? Thrust her back into a life of pain and torture.
But that is the future. A decision to make another day. Far from now. By another woman. Different from the one she is now. As her hand moves of its own accord through soft blonde curls. She cannot even think of that day. Of becoming that woman. And as she drifts to sleep beside her, her mind betrays her. Her heart dares to dream. To imagine. That day could never come.
***
She is awoken by soft lips pressed firmly against her own. Pulling her harshly from sweet unconsciousness into oblivion. Soft moans pulled from her throat without her knowledge. Without opening her eyes she knows. Even with sleep still tugging at her mind. This is what she has been waiting for. For days. For years. Her whole life. This kiss. This embrace. And all that will follow.
But as the kiss goes on she needs to se. To remind herself this is not a dream. Pulling back. Looking into eyes that are no longer lost. But sure and blue. And she is lost. In those eyes. That mouth. Sweet kisses and soft embraces.
Hands roam and unlace and kneed needing flesh. And eyes roam over skin untouched by another. Consuming all that is offered. And she is consumed by want for the other. The quiet voice in her head telling her she has wanted nothing else. Nor anything more. That this was meant to be. Perhaps why that night occurred. The fates handing her her destiny.
As limbs entwine so to do souls. Fitting and melding. Moulding together as bodies do. As they should. Giving. Taking. Becoming more. Needing everything. Desiring more. Of this. Of the other. Of the way their naked bodies feel pressed full length. So like the moment that brought them to this place. And yet so far from it.
Fingers find slick flesh. The goal of their exploring. And there is no going back. No returning to nurse and patient. This is what it is. What they are to become. And neither would have it any other way. This is what she gives to the other. Her everything. Helping. Healing. To set her free.
Rhythm set. Fingers pump. And moans fill the small room. Kissing the other deeply Kahlan tries to hold on. To control what she knows is not long to come. To win a battle already lost. The fingers buried inside her do not slow. Keep time with her own. And she knows she should move. But cannot bring her body to fulfil her minds order.
Bodies arch like bowstrings in synchronicity. Whimpering pleas. Moaning the others name.
And then they snap. Break together. Finally. Completely. Forever.
Rating: R (im not good at ratings)
Summary: A whisper. Barely a breath. A gentle prayer of relief. Issuing forth unheeded from her lips. Echoed in her own ears by the one beneath her. A simple, heartfelt exclamation. Something so small. It will change everything.
Notes: for the prompt on rare pair:
"Love that will not betray you, dismiss or enslave you,
It will set you free.
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design, an alignment to cry,
Of my heart to see
The beauty of love as it was made to be."
- "Sigh No More" by Mumford and Sons
She stands and watches Richard leave. Eyes on his back until it might not be his back. Still until he is nothing but a distant blur. A brown speck on the horizon. She knows her eyes should hold tears. Her soul ache and her heart break. She knows these things yet cannot summon them. Has not felt what would cause them for many months now. Not for him. And that is why he goes. Why he walks away. Tells her pretty little lies of quests and deeds to be done. Kittens and damsels to save. But they both know. Her one time Seeker is leaving her, as she left him.
She feels the soft small hand in her own. Finally her eyes break from the horizon. Rest on eyes as blue as her own. Smiling softly. Almost sadly. Almost, but not still not quite. Leaning her head to rest on the others shoulder. Blonde waves of heavenly hair soft against her cheek.
She cannot weep for a lost love. Cannot mourn its death. For it died so long ago. At least for her. With those arms around her. That smell so exotic, now familiar. And the soft hum of their breathing. She is home. Where she belongs.
***
Blood and anger pulses through her veins. Righteousness. As she has never felt it before. Straddling the Mord’Sith’s waist. Fists reign down upon delicate features. Once delicate features.
Mind screams out to stop. That this is wrong. This is not justice. Beyond even vengeance. This is cruelty and torture. But her mind has no control. He commands and she must abide. Must obey.
Arm pulled back. Eyes lock with the pair below her. Eyes normally filled with hate now plea for mercy. And she knows, they know. This will be the killing blow. As muscles relax, contract, the arc of the blow begun. And then it snaps. Her body is her own again. Yet it is not. Momentum and gravity pull her down. She lies there. Breathless. Sweaty and bloody. Pressed full length against the body beneath her.
A whisper. Barely a breath. A gentle prayer of relief. Issuing forth unheeded from her lips. Echoed in her own ears by the one beneath her. A simple, heartfelt exclamation. Something so small.
It will change everything.
***
They press on. Move on to the next adventure. Yet none of them are as they were before. Each relationship changed. Strained. Almost to breaking point. But they will adapt. As they have before. As they will again. But some changes will be harder. Take longer to comprehend their impact. To learn to live with their consequences.
Their number has grown. Jenson was left behind with allies. But they could not leave the other. The guilt of their actions weights heavily on their shoulders. Is forced upon them by the Mother Confessor. She is their responsibility now. Their problem to be dealt with. Come to terms with. And this is what separates them from the bad guys. Here is the difference. They will not take prisoners. They will not destroy something because it is broken. Will attempt to mend. To fix that which others would throw away.
And she is their broken thing. A weapon. A toy. To him at least. But to them, to Kahlan, she is more. A broken soul. Tattered remains. But it still remains. In that moment, that heart wrenching moment, it all changed. A look. A word. And that was all it took for everything to change. No longer enemy. Not quite ally. But responsibility. Her responsibility.
***
The sun rose hours ago. Laid waste to the night. If not the events which unfolded in its darkest hours.
Richard and Zedd have come and gone. She can smell the smoke from the funeral pyre. Bitter in her nose. Knows she should stand beside him as he says goodbye to the mother he never knew. But she cannot bring herself to do it.
Instead she does the only thing that feels right. Another thing which does not make sense. But logic has no place here. Where the Mother Confessor kneels at the side of a Mord’Sith. Tending to wounds she herself inflicted. Soothing her pain. Praying for a redemption she does not know she needs. Nor believe she deserves.
***
It has been almost two years since that night when Richard walks away. So much has changed. Yet everything seems the same somehow.
The midlands stand. She still remains bound by duty. He is the same simple woods guide with a great purpose thrust upon him.
But their destiny no longer seems shared. Their future is not written in the stars as it once seemed.
As she shares the fire that night she thinks these things. These and a thousand thoughts just like them. Trying to understand. Analyse. Work out the moment when everything changed. How they went from where they were to this. To what they are still to become. Musing on the transience of all things.
Her eyes meet the pair across the flames. Lock instantly as they have so many times during their time together. Pulse quickens and heart leaps. Those eyes. Brighter each time somehow. Bluer than a summers day. Deeper than the oceans, And she recalls the first time she lost herself in those eyes. The moment she lost her heart.
***
Sun fills the small clearing. But its brightness pales as those eyes open once more. Eyes so blue the make the sky jealous. Taking in the scene before them and consciousness briefly grips her mind once more.
And she breaks again. For the one beside her. A small piece of her ragged soul. Cracking each time she looks upon the other. Slowly painlessly. She breaks for her. By her hand. Unknown. Unlooked for. Unexpected.
In a world of pain the slightest kindness burns. When one knows only the fist and whip. The soft caress and sweet embrace is truly painful. All consuming agony in its beauty and honesty.
Violence is pure. Bright. This tenderness seems dirty. She does not deserve it. Has not earned it. In her heart she understands. A pet once broken is offered this. Binding them to their mistress. So many years have passed since she received such treatment. And this is not like before. Not tenderness of personal gain. But to help, heal. To pay penance, ask for forgiveness.
And darkness claims her warring mind. Drags her under into deep unconsciousness. Sleeps jealous grasp will hold her close. Do more than healing hands may know.
***
The day progresses. Slowly turns to night. Sun shies away from the scene played out beneath it. The battle between light and dark still wages there. Silently. Effortlessly. Before the moon has set again it will be over. Before the sun rises their lives will change imperceptibly. The beliefs altered. And they will not go back. Cannot go back. Things change. Like the seasons. Are not meant to stay the same. And as winter thaws to spring, so will they.
The men stay away. Say prolonged goodbyes to their new found kin. Travel to the nearest town for supplies. Hide from the wrath. She will not be forgiving. They have learnt the extent of her patience. Know the sting of her temper. That invisible boundary has been crossed.
She knows in her mind that it was not Richard. But her heart is not so logical. His abuse so silent. So complete. The misuse of power handed to him willingly. She cannot bring herself to forgive him. Not yet. Perhaps never. They will never be the same. If he could do this against her will. As every fibre of her body protested. She cannot give herself to him. Trust him . Knowing the darkness is there.
The darkness is not what she fears. She has faced her share of it in her own life. Such darkness lies in all. Instead his unwillingness to see it. Embrace it. Acknowledge that it lies there. Beating. Growing in denial. Fed by his own stupidity.
***
The fever sets in around lunchtime. Sun blazers down. As nothing on the heat radiating from her. A candle beside the roaring fire. She emits soft whimpers. Sad silent sighs of despair. Half mumbled pleas. And each breaks the others heart. As every breath is dragged from the battered body she ministers to.
She is as a lost child. Afraid. Trying to find her way home. But the constant presence tells her she is not alone. Soft pressure of the body beside her own comforting. Holding her hand. Leading her onwards. Softly. Comforting. Found.
As the sun begins to set fire to the horizon she holds the beaten woman before her. Strong arms wrapped gently around a frame not known to be fragile. Not meant to shake with fear. Strong made weak. Mord’Sith broken.
There are many things which can change a person. Forge new alliances. The heat of battle. A shared threat. Slowly, gradually, building trust. Forming new bonds. Through shared experience. But she never thought it could happen like this. In a single moment in time. A look. So small. And it led to so much more.
Care given readily in the time of need. And watching as the other breaks. Breaking with her. For her. This moment. This fever induced, abuse formed moment. So dark. So desperate. Its own hidden beauty. Its own perfection. Bitter sweet agony as she fails to help. Cool her brow. Dress the wounds. So minor. So superficial. And yet it does so much without her knowing.
And as the day cools the fever breaks. Whimpers lessen. And true sleep finally takes the fractured woman.
***
More years have passed than she cares to admit. Most of them now heavy upon her brow. Once raven hair now dusted with grey. Age has filed to lessen her beauty. Each year simply adds to it. Or so the blonde beside her whispers.
Figure still full. Fuller perhaps. Five children softening it. Forcing it to change. But not lessen. Each stretch and scar accumulating. Each line amassing to her timeless beauty. Or so the blonde she leans against insists.
Voice raspier. Eyes not dulled. Face and stature still commanding. Hands still strong. And daggers still sharp. Exactly as she was that night. The same and different. Better. Improved by age. The fine wine the blonde still drinks deep of. The beauty she will never quench her thirst for.
She has not diminished. But grown. As they all have. As the love has and might and will and should.
Her mate and she stand guard over the beds of their children. Sleeping silently. Peacefully. Strong arms wrapped around her waist. Chin upon her shoulder. The full moon illuminates the scene. Their tableau of tranquillity. Perfection. It will set. And the sun will rise. Again and again. For this is the nature of days and time. But they will be here. Together. In each other’s arms. Held in their own eternity found there.
Some things do not change.
***
They stop at an inn early the next day. Kahlan insists. Their companion needs rest. Her injuries tended to, and a soft bed. They should go on. Get further away. But the others will not argue. They should have left her. Should have carried on as before. But everything is changing. They are powerless in the face of it. And each of the travellers feels it in their bones.
Kahlan does not insist. Does not tell them what to do. No words are spoken as once again the two men leave her with the other. They help her place the blonde upon the bed. Leave wordlessly. Apologetically.
Unconscious for hours. This will not change soon. The pain from her injuries makes it better this way. Though she would object. It is also easier for the others if they cannot see the affect of their actions.
Washing away blood. Cleaning wounds. Keeping busy. Setting bones. Placing soft blankets over her battered body. Silently. Gently. Reverently. Almost lovingly. Keeping her thoughts at bay. Until there is nothing left to do but listen to the voices. Hear them whisper in her ear as she sits beside the patient. Her task done. Her work not yet complete. Watching her chest rise and fall slowly. Assess the damage from a safe distance. The external damage at least. The outward scars. Ponders the inward trauma. Most of it placed there long before they met.
Quietly contemplates what compelled her. To insist they take her. Help her. Heal her. Wonders on the feeling tight within her chest at the sight of her. Hate or fear. Or neither. So different from what she felt before. Not opposite. But close enough for now. To trust the battered woman. More than she can her friends.
But then what? Release her into the wild? Thrust her back into a life of pain and torture.
But that is the future. A decision to make another day. Far from now. By another woman. Different from the one she is now. As her hand moves of its own accord through soft blonde curls. She cannot even think of that day. Of becoming that woman. And as she drifts to sleep beside her, her mind betrays her. Her heart dares to dream. To imagine. That day could never come.
***
She is awoken by soft lips pressed firmly against her own. Pulling her harshly from sweet unconsciousness into oblivion. Soft moans pulled from her throat without her knowledge. Without opening her eyes she knows. Even with sleep still tugging at her mind. This is what she has been waiting for. For days. For years. Her whole life. This kiss. This embrace. And all that will follow.
But as the kiss goes on she needs to se. To remind herself this is not a dream. Pulling back. Looking into eyes that are no longer lost. But sure and blue. And she is lost. In those eyes. That mouth. Sweet kisses and soft embraces.
Hands roam and unlace and kneed needing flesh. And eyes roam over skin untouched by another. Consuming all that is offered. And she is consumed by want for the other. The quiet voice in her head telling her she has wanted nothing else. Nor anything more. That this was meant to be. Perhaps why that night occurred. The fates handing her her destiny.
As limbs entwine so to do souls. Fitting and melding. Moulding together as bodies do. As they should. Giving. Taking. Becoming more. Needing everything. Desiring more. Of this. Of the other. Of the way their naked bodies feel pressed full length. So like the moment that brought them to this place. And yet so far from it.
Fingers find slick flesh. The goal of their exploring. And there is no going back. No returning to nurse and patient. This is what it is. What they are to become. And neither would have it any other way. This is what she gives to the other. Her everything. Helping. Healing. To set her free.
Rhythm set. Fingers pump. And moans fill the small room. Kissing the other deeply Kahlan tries to hold on. To control what she knows is not long to come. To win a battle already lost. The fingers buried inside her do not slow. Keep time with her own. And she knows she should move. But cannot bring her body to fulfil her minds order.
Bodies arch like bowstrings in synchronicity. Whimpering pleas. Moaning the others name.
And then they snap. Break together. Finally. Completely. Forever.