For Her Favor, Pt 8
For Her Favor, Pt. 8
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Cara/Kahlan, Cara/Dahlia, Denna/Darken Rahl, memories of Cara/Kahlan/Dahlia
Warnings: Extreme non-con, torture, Agiel violence, hurt/comfort, bdsm, gore, angst, Mord’Sith temper, domestic violence, evil!cara, language, multiple character deaths
Author’s Note: AU. And I’m sorry for that, Kahlan. I really love you.
Summary: Mistress Cara wants to own a Confessor. Dahlia wants to give her one.
Disclaimer: I only own my sickness. Not for profit, only for demented fun. Legend of the Seeker characters and depictions belong to Terry Goodkind, Disney and ABC Studios.
For Gizmo :D
Cara was finding it hard to make a fire without thinking about all the times Dahlia would gladly make them for her.
She never had to chop wood or understand the mechanics of how to keep it burning. Dahlia would do it all effortlessly, and in between, sit contentedly in her lap or massage her burdened shoulders. Those were the earlier days, the better ones. They were the kind that whispered to her as she traveled this increasingly haunting road to Dahlia.
The last time they were out like this alone, Cara bent her over the pile she was quietly making and took what she wanted from Dahlia's body, reminding her of all the ways that she owned it and always would.
Now Kahlan looked to her, sideways. It was disheartening to see Mistress Cara struggle with such a basic task. After a few miserable tries, Cara got it going at last and walked a couple circles around it, trying to figure it out. Most things burned slowly. Not her fires.
"We’re only going to rest until this thing dies," Cara explained, motioning to the rising smoke before kneeling down in front of the Confessor and pouring a few drops from the waterskin into a clean rag.
When it got close to her aching face, Kahlan flinched awkwardly, and Cara stopped all at once.
"You do it then," Cara said, throwing it roughly into her chest, finding there was a better spot where she could sit a few feet away with her back turned.
She hated this. She was tired. Frustrated. Hungry. Now, on top of all the weight she carried, she had to look at the Confessor's dirty, beaten down face.
Kahlan crawled the small distance timidly, more like on paws than hands, until she was next to Cara, studying the side of her face. She was glowing again, though not as brightly. Her toughness was wearing itself down the longer she grieved.
"Would it please you to do it?"
Cara tilted her head and stared, parting her lips. The Confessor seemed to know that it would please her, even though she wasn't entirely sure herself.
"Please?" she added slowly, offering the rag back, "Mistress?" Though it was necessary, it felt far from natural to call her that.
Cara rolled her eyes and snatched it, moving in, focusing on the crusted blood that lined Kahlan’s fragile earlobe first. Kahlan watched the moistest part of Cara's eyes, imagining what she must've looked like when her words had edged tears to such a flawless and deepened surface.
Within seconds, when it became too much, Kahlan moved onto admiring her hair as a swirl of stolen wind tangled through her braid and whipped it around like a weapon. She wished, only for minute, that she had a reason to touch it.
Cara's expression turned more stern as the rag moved closer to Kahlan‘s lip but the care she was using did not falter one way or the other. Her gentleness was unbelievable to Kahlan. She almost believed that this version of Cara could be nothing more than a figment of her weary dreams.
"It'll hurt for awhile," Cara said, somewhere between proud and remorseful. "I don't want to hear any whimpering about the pain. You deserved it."
Kahlan nodded, looking away, knowing that thinking about Dahlia with Cara being this close was a mistake that she couldn’t bear to make in this unreasonably tender moment.
Cara finished and unslung the backpack from Kahlan's shoulder, rummaged through it and tossed her the best apple she could find. "Eat that."
She then brought a small knife out from her own pack that laid loyally beside her and considered what to cut. She put it down and looked all around. Something needed to be cut.
Instead, Kahlan retrieved it, sliced thoughtlessly at the apple and handed the first piece to Cara. When she wouldn’t take it, she brought it Cara’s mouth and fed it to her. Kahlan’s hands were shivering, turning all kinds of colors, and nearly redder than the fruit. Cara swallowed it without actually chewing and laid back, taking the Confessor with her and, pressing her head doggedly onto her chest.
Kahlan could appreciate the way the throbbing in her cheekbone felt against the leather there. She gripped the apple tightly, trying desperately not to drop the rest of it as she began to smile, so shyly, when she knew it would not be seen.
It was nice to be like this with Mistress Cara. She was finally beginning to feel safe again. Cara's hate wasn't so jagged against her. She could almost pretend it was suppose to be this way.
"Look," Kahlan said, pointing cautiously, "it’s a snake."
It was a snake, an awful one, slithering carelessly by them.
Cara jumped up, impulsively bumping Kahlan off her and chased after it, her Agiel fuming in hand. The snake started out clever in it's attempts to escape but was tragically mistaken. It thought it could outsmart her. Kahlan proceeded to watch, utterly confused, as Cara’s boot pierced it, trapping it frantically. And she came down merciless on the creature, blasting it with her Agiel and eventually stomping it as if there were no end to it.
As it died, Cara replaced her Agiel and, with her bare hands, ripped it into two distinct pieces down it's middle, tossing each end in opposite directions.
She was out of breath as she moved angrily and sat back down. The wind began to move in Kahlan's hair, chilling her.
"Was it dangerous?" Kahlan asked innocently, mesmerized by the reptile blood that now covered both of Cara's gloves.
"You have no idea."
Cara stretched out again, lower and lower until she was once again on her back, trying not to close her eyes. Kahlan settled in again on top of her, more confident this time in how she positioned her head into Cara's chest. Just when she felt it would be alright to close her eyes, she heard Cara’s belt buckle unlatch.
Before Kahlan could take a second breath into this peace, she felt her hand being forced into the small space Cara had created. She had barely even lowered her pants.
"Be a good girl," Cara said, "and do it quick."
Kahlan tried to keep her meager whines of resistance to a minimum as she moved to position herself better, tensing up at the first flushed contact. Cara begrudgingly turned her head away. She didn’t want to see her. She didn’t prefer Kahlan’s dark hair in her face either, with all the strands being sucked up into her nostrils as she panted and all across her lips, but she allowed it for the sensation that it promised.
Thoughts of Dahlia seemed to make Cara’s eyelids even heavier. She lusted, not for Kahlan necessarily, but for the distraction she could provide in this maddened exhaustion. Cara hungered for the temporary oblivion of sleep even as Kahlan’s snug motions loosened her, pleased her, and attempted to lull her into forgetting.
She wished she could just let go...
They were thirteen and not yet Mistresses though Cara was eager.
Dahlia was still small for her age and Cara wondered if that would ever change. She didn’t really want or expect Dahlia to be any other way. She almost convinced herself that she never would be.
Their Mistress, Snake, had fallen asleep with Cara and Dahlia clinging to her, one girl on each side. Cara was spent, though she remained consummately intent on staying awake until Dahlia closed her eyes and drifted off. It was her rule and she made no exceptions.
They were looking at each other through the darkness. Or, more accurately, Cara was looking at Dahlia. Dahlia was looking through her. Her mind was breaking.
Knowing what a risk it was to move when Snake was holding them both so tightly, Cara reached out and covered the top of Dahlia’s hand. It laid stiff in the middle of Snake's stomach.
Nothing. She gently caressed it and it was so helplessly soft. Nothing.
She brought two of her own fingers back to her lips and kissed them while Dahlia stared both lost and blankly at her. Reaching it over Snake’s torso, she lightly touched it to Dahlia’s cold forehead.
Finally, Dahlia blinked a few times and appeared to come back a little. But not entirely. Cara let her hand fall and touch all around her face, taking special care of Dahlia's exposed cheek. It was warming up the longer she held contact with it and nothing was ever more necessary to feel.
Cara knew Dahlia wanted nothing more than to be on the floor, under the tattered blanket that they had so proudly earned, and far enough away from Snake to relax herself and rest. She would never sleep tonight otherwise.
Snake had not been so patient with Dahlia's tolerance for pain that day. Each time she blacked out, Snake either tortured Cara or made her take another turn on her knees below her and alongside Cara. She wasn't given a choice. That appeared to hurt her the most.
Cara brought her hands back and moved them to Snake’s neck, cupping it fully, tilting it slightly, enough so that her lips had enough room to work. Snake moaned awake, leaning into Cara’s mouth and groggily allowed her to continue, running her long fingers all through Cara's wet, wild hair, and pulling it as she saw fit.
Snake’s other arm began to move forcefully up Dahlia’s back, fingernails clawing into it as Cara’s kisses became more aggressive and fire-like. Snake always favored the power she held over Dahlia and her fear at night.
"Mistress, you're so beautiful like this," Cara whispered, moving her hand between Snake’s open legs, hesitating, then grinding her body against her with a frustrated whine. "I want to show you what I can do by myself. May I put Dahlia on the floor?"
Snake glared at Dahlia. She would’ve loved to see her cry.
Cara slid up Snake’s body, mounting her both quietly and carefully, sliding her fingers in just enough to make Snake push into her. "Please? I can do it all."
Their Mistress violently released Dahlia, shoving her spitefully away as if forever regretting having her there in the first place, and Cara motioned for her to go. She arched Snake deeper into her hand. Cara pleaded so eloquently with her eyes, arguing back and forth with Dahlia's.
Only when Cara returned into Snake’s face, her back muscles flexing, and shared all of her tongue with a giggle did Dahlia finally find her way to the floor and kept herself hidden and motionless under her blanket.
She covered her ears hard with both hands but it was little shield against all the horrible sounds of Snake fucking Cara, so bitterly and resentfully, while Cara moaned again and again for her Mistress.
"Cara, not so rough. Be a good girl," Snake was demanding, pounding her deeper into the softness of the bed, extinguishing her cries. "Never a child, always a child."
Even though most of Dahlia’s heart knew it was a lie and a disgusting ploy, it still hurt endlessly.
After what seemed like an eternity of Snake tossing Cara around, twisting her legs, slamming her down and ultimately instructing her, she let out a final smack across her face, called her a filthy whore and discarded her down to the floor.
She landed on her hands and knees and crawled quickly around the bed like a small insect afraid of being trampled on by an oblivious foot.
She settled next to Dahlia, slightly bloody and damp, and waited for her to curl up next to her as she always did.
Instead, Dahlia closed her eyes tighter and ignored her.
When Snake’s breathing returned to the callous patterns it took while she dreamed, Cara edged herself up on one elbow and tenderly turned the corner of the blanket over and peeked at Dahlia. She always knew when she was awake.
"Dahlia…" she whispered, licking at her ear, biting it sweetly. "Let me hold you, you'll feel better."
Dahlia made her body nothing but dead weight as Cara tried to pull her into a snuggle.
"Don’t hate me," Cara said softly. "Please don’t ever grow up."
***
Lord Rahl stood in the doorway of the training room and shook his head.
"Mistress Denna," he said, taking a few hallow steps, "when I‘m away, how girls do play…"
"Lord Rahl," Denna bowed her head even as the pain was sending her in and out of consciousness. "Most Mistresses do not tolerate boredom very well. My apologies, my Lord."
He closed in on Denna within seconds, regarding Cara’s work with reverence and pride.
"Where is," he gently touched her bruised torso, feeling for the most broken rib, "Mistress Cara?"
Denna tried not to think, to focus on his eyes, and not what his hands had planned for her.
"She said she would be picking daisies in the garden, my Lord," Denna snickered, finding the image hilarious enough to hold onto even as Lord Rahl subsequently produced her own Agiel and dug into the afflicted cracks in bone he had so sheepishly discovered.
"My beautiful Denna," he said, touching her lips, "the only flowers here are those your Sisters will soon be placing upon your grave."
Denna smiled as the magic subsided deep within her. She believed him.
"And where is my Mistress Dahlia?" He kissed at her stomach, leaving his lips right above her navel, her most sensitive spot.
"No doubt crawling around Cara like a spoiled infant," Denna snorted, trying to keep the pleasure at bay.
"The thing is," Lord Rahl continued, drawing his licks lower and lower, "my Mord'Sith and my Confessors don't just vanish into these walls of mine unless I put them inside them."
"My Lord..." Denna purred, "do you require the touch of three Mord'Sith and a Confessor in this moment?"
Lord Rahl connected his strongest fist into Denna's open mouth.
"Where are those fucking bitches?!?" he screamed, spewing spit and insanity everywhere. It echoed seemingly a hundred times between them.
A line of thick blood burst from Denna's smile as she brought her head back to meet Lord Rahl's unhinged eyes. "I don't know."
"I will tear your skin off flake by flake until you're nothing but a pile of guts and bones..."
"And it‘s not even my birthday," she cooed, keeping her head defiantly high.
Lord Rahl reached up and unlocked the chains that bound Denna's wrists. She tumbled to the floor, unable to coordinate her landing in the time allotted. She was overly impressed with his skill and it showed as she tried to catch her breath. It had done more than merely knock the wind out of her, it jolted her with energy and clarity, waking her up without all decadence that a single splash of water would‘ve brought.
Denna knew she had saved Cara's life many times over the years, both in battle and from herself. Cara's power made her worthy in ways Denna believed needed no deep explanation. Why Cara had chosen a mate as weak as Dahlia sometimes made sense to her. Often times, however, it didn't and never would.
Either way, Denna had guessed long ago that Dahlia and all the sentimentality she imposed would somehow be Cara’s swift and only downfall. In attempts to spare her, she had offered her body countless times, and Cara took it as needed, but always remained eager to return to any bed Dahlia laid in.
Dahlia's infatuation and ultimate betrayal with Cara's property, the Mother Confessor, had genuinely surprised and intrigued Denna. She had almost come to believe that Dahlia could do no wrong to Cara. But now Dahlia was finally one of them. And it was almost a shame that she couldn't stay.
At last, as she had walked that corridor on the day of Dahlia’s decision, she had respected her. Now she found herself wanting to protect them, both of them, together, even if it meant going against Lord Rahl himself.
She felt more alive than she had in all her life. She knew there would be a price to pay for that.
Lord Rahl stomped on the largest bruise on her back, going right through to her battered bones, and she gasped adoringly at the pain.
"Oh Denna, your Sisters are little more than insolent whores who rather fuck each other senseless when I entrust them to protect us from all the infinite evils that threaten to befall our world!"
"Cara is very loyal, My Lord. She thinks of nothing but servitude." Denna smiled wide into the ground, her teeth and tongue tasting it's surface. "She’ll return."
"And Mistress Dahlia?"
Denna chuckled, licking her lips enthusiastically, hating herself for this. "Sometimes even us Mord'Sith protect weak things."
"Enlighten me..." he kneeled down, flipping Denna crudely onto her back and splaying her legs open like she was common slave-whore. With a raised eyebrow, it even surprised her a little.
"For the good of our Sisterhood," she replied, leaning back meeting his eyes again, "and, of course, for you, My Lord."
"Or do you actually mean for the good of Mistress Cara?"
An eerie seriousness fell upon her. "She is my Sister."
Lord Rahl finally smiled again, disrobing, handling himself. "I've grown very weary of that answer," he said, bringing himself slowly into Denna's face, taking the blondest hair closest to her scalp and forcing her mouth to accept him.
He moved her back and forth, at his desired speed, no more and no less.
"Here you are, Denna, getting fucked and beaten in this darkness while they're stargazing and blowing kisses."
She brought her hands up and tucked all the hair that Lord Rahl wasn't yanking on and brought it back behind her ears to reveal her clear, vacant eyes. It was the single most defiant gesture he had ever seen from her. She wasn't even paying attention to him.
He slammed her back even before he came, nearly cracking her skull. "You had honor once, Denna. Now you're just a bitch I'm going to have to fuck the truth out of."
"The honor is all mine," she replied, a wicked smile starting in the middle of her lips and working it's way to the corners.
***
Kahlan stopped at the edge of the ground and looked down. Since Cara had fallen asleep, she made them move even faster against the night as if it were midday. From the way the stars were aligned above them in the totality of blackness, morning was still far and merely a taunt.
Cara was studying their surroundings unevenly, thoughtfully plotting their next direction. Kahlan had anxiously watched her kneel down and feel for the disturbances in the soft ground, but now something was drawing Kahlan closer and closer to the side of a steep embankment.
Suddenly, her left footing was gone, rocks tumbled down. The ground wished for her.
Cara gasped, pulling her back by both shoulders. "You’re too close."
"But I see something." She pointed. A small square brown shape loomed in the distance. A unlit shack, possibly a cabin, but their vantage point was all wrong.
Cara put her hands firm at her waist and squinted. Dahlia would never keep a place that dark.
Kahlan looked at her face in the moonlight, so much softer and smoother, and the palm of her hand found itself inching closer and closer until it was in the middle of the Mord'Sith’s strong back.
Cara jumped instantly, curiously, but said nothing and kept her questioning eyes on the decision up ahead.
They both stood there uneasily as Kahlan continued, applying more pressure until she was rubbing deep into the leather, even using her clumsy fingernails, and forgetting that it wasn‘t skin.
Kahlan had a nagging feeling that Cara, for whatever reason, was stalling.
"I’ll go," Cara finally said, shooing the Confessor’s hands away. "You better watch my horse."
"Please," Kahlan protested, daring to take Cara‘s hand and squeezing it, "don’t leave me here."
It wasn’t so much that the sounds of night frightened or intimidated her, but solitude itself had become unfamiliar to her. Without a Mistress at her side, she was certain she would sink down into the nearest patch of snow and melt inevitably down into the ground with it. It was a lost, menacing prospect.
She would’ve done anything not to be left behind in that moment, and she counted herself fortunate that Mistress Cara was extremely versed and knowledgeable about the depths of dependency.
Cara tied up the horses tightly, pet Brock’s silky mane and pulled Kahlan along by the tips of her fingers as they descended through the quietness and cold. The clouds moved mockingly above them, blocking out the north star, the half moon and forcing them closer together.
Once the tree line ended, they faced the long, open clearing, and it would be a straight walk to the front door of the cabin.
Cara knew she should stop to scout it, to be aware of what potential occupants she could encounter but something was only pressing her to move faster. It tickled her hamstrings and the bulk of her leg muscles, nipping at her sore feet and begging her to take it.
She tugged Kahlan behind her loosely, more like a child’s toy, setting the speed faster than she was physically capable of moving.
She had to know. Her mind grew wild and dark with ideas. Maybe Dahlia had been captured by whoever slept in that lonely place, or she had gone in an entirely different direction altogether and this would cost her valuable time. She didn’t feel like Dahlia was close. So she ran even harder.
As they approached the steps, Cara released Kahlan and in one terrifying kick, Cara had the door pounded down and her Agiel in hand.
It was somehow even darker than the blackness they had just hurried through and the stillness gave them both an unexpected pause. Cara looked around frantically, one eye was evil, the other was frightened as they scanned in unison. They had to work together.
Then she saw it. An overturned chair, laced with ropes, one of the binds severed and an upside-down bowl. A slight circular pool of dried blood.
Her eyes widened, all the focus escaped them. It was Mord’Sith technique. Dahlia’s technique.
She pushed Kahlan back, glaring at her to obey. Kahlan steadied herself against the doorframe, unable to see anything past Cara‘s alarming expression. The more she saw, the less she knew.
Cara stepped forward and the floorboard creaked, angry to be disturbed. It sent a chill through her boots and she bolted forward down the lone hallway, so fast and agile that it felt and looked more like floating than anything else.
The scent of murder flooded Cara all at once. She knew it well. Bodies everywhere.
She saw a tiny ponytail, Dahlia’s perfect color, on a pillow, attached to a motionless head turned away from her, towards a window. Blood soaked the bed in which she laid in and the thin blankets that inadequately covered her. She could see Mord’Sith leather.
Cara slammed her eyes shut, convinced it was a dream, pleading for some evidence that this could all be a lie. Maybe if she only stood in the doorway, this room would disappear and replace itself with a room in which Dahlia was alive and smiling and running towards her, elated arms outstretched.
She dropped to her knees, sensing only Kahlan softly approaching from behind, seeing some of the white of her dress in her darkening peripheral vision. All sense of breath and awareness left her.
"Save her!" Kahlan screamed, pulling Cara up, only to find her shockingly limp and impossible to keep upright. She dropped her in a heartless panic. She had to try again.
Cara was small, she thought, she acted bigger than she was, and she could do this. She kneeled and gathered Mistress Cara in her arms, and lifted her easily, crossing the threshold and toward her Mistress’ shadowed bedside.
She dumped Cara recklessly onto Dahlia. "Save her now!"
Cara clutched Dahlia with white knuckles, and buried her head into her, letting out the single most violent, guttural and despairing cry of her life. All the sounds that she had produced over the years while in the grips of incensed torture were nothing but mild whispers compared to this scream and this pain.
For the first time, she knew what real pain was. It was all over.
Kahlan climbed raggedly onto the empty side of the bed and flipped Dahlia over, struggling with the coldness of her skin and wrestled with Cara’s floppy head, forcing the Mord’Sith's stunned mouth to touch Dahlia’s lips.
Cara was slipping away to somewhere she had never been. It was a place beyond every lake, every moon, every breath she ever took. Everything was gone. She had taken everything, and infinitely more, and ended them all as if they had always been nothing.
The horror went beyond her body’s ability to interpret it.
"Mistress…" Kahlan wailed, shaking Cara with both hands. "Please don’t leave her in the Underworld."
She could do nothing except lay where Kahlan had placed her and wait for the same fate to claim her. Cara closed her eyes, as her eyelids grew unsure of how to continue functioning, and, with her lips still pressed to Dahlia, she felt something in the palm of her hand.
It was a heartbeat. Dahlia’s beautiful heartbeat. A soft, barely noticeable exhale rose up and danced across Cara’s nose. Then another.
She needed a witness. Cara looked up at Kahlan with all the wonder of a three year old child, both eyes glittering anew like precious young worlds. "She’s alive."
Kahlan covered her mouth and muffled her words. "No, she's not…"
Cara took one of Kahlan’s hands and pressed it reverently to Dahlia’s chest. It was pumping. It was fighting. It only lasted a moment, and by the time Kahlan found her way to exuberance, Cara was already blasting her away, bending back her fingers, refusing her any further access.
Kahlan recoiled, welling up, a delicate flood of relief mixed with the burn of Cara denying her what she rightfully felt entitled to. It wasn’t fair. She should be able to touch Dahlia too. She was so pale, so incomplete.
"Dahlia," Cara insisted, pulling at her until she was in the sheltered embrace that she deserved, "open your eyes."
Nothing.
"Run," Cara flicked Kahlan’s shoulder as she was inching closer. "She needs water."
The Confessor didn’t budge.
"Your Mistress needs water! Go!" Cara swung impatiently at her but missed altogether, as Kahlan was already long scrambling to obey.
Cara used two fingers to ease open Dahlia’s right eye, her favorite one. She just needed to see it. It’s serene color. It’s familiar promises.
"Wake up," Cara begged. All the thorns of the past now touched her like one brilliant sun. In these moments, at least, all was forgiven.
There was no water anywhere in the cabin. As Kahlan ran through the night, towards their horses and their supplies, she laughed. It was such a giddy and childlike laugh that it made her feel less alone. This felt like the single most important task ever asked of her.
Everything would be better now, safer now. Her Mistress was alive. She should've known.
As she climbed back up the ridge with her legs on fire and her lungs even worse, it occurred to her that she could escape the Mord'Sith.
She could take Berry and just ride off with the comfort of knowing how Mistress Cara would never leave Dahlia in such a condition to come thundering after her.
She slowed herself, crawling up the embankment, and it felt like she was back at the Temple in the first days with Mistress Dahlia. It disturbed her to recall how she had wanted nothing more than to flee from Dahlia's awful hands, her invasive Agiel, her gentle tongue on the side of her face.
But that was before she knew her Mistress was different, she reminded herself. She was so lucky. Dahlia constantly broke so many rules for her. She had sacrificed and risked greatly for her.
Mistress Cara had saved her life too, seemingly without any reason. She had brought her along, steered her toward Mistress Dahlia when she could've easily buried her many times over.
She tried to imagine what she would do without her Mistresses. The thought paralyzed her mouth, so much so that she had to stop and gulp down a fresh breath before she could continue. There would be nothing. She would be no one. She loved them, belonged to them.
She tore their largest waterskins and wrapped them around her neck, refusing to drink anything that her Mistress may need. She grabbed both heavy saddlebags and threw one over each shoulder, and whirled around in a blissful daze, desperate to return.
Re-entering the cabin brought her such happiness and, even drenched in sweat and breathless from the run, she felt completely in tact and beautiful. She raced towards the room, discovering her Mistresses almost exactly as she had left them, only now Cara's cheek dipped firmly into Dahlia’s.
They looked like one Mord’Sith instead of two.
Kahlan rushed to them, and inexplicably threw her arms around Cara’s back, and for a few precious seconds, she was able to hug them both at once.
Cara snatched the waterskin, nearly strangling Kahlan to remove it.
"Hold her head up," Cara ordered, looking the Confessor in the eye and promising that if she ruined this, she would have her head.
Kahlan took the job very seriously and eagerly put her careful hands on Dahlia, thrilled to be entrusted with her.
Cara poured agonizingly slow, first wetting her lips and then opening her mouth, unsure it would go down as gently as she intended.
At the first sign of Dahlia swallowing it, Cara's eyes filled with water of her own. She drank so much, and when Cara was content with the amount, she pulled Dahlia away from Kahlan and cradled her.
"That was good, Dahlia."
"Mistress," Kahlan dared, "what happened to her?"
"It's her lungs. Our Mistress damaged them when she was a child. She was not expected to live."
"Your Mistress?" The idea of Cara calling anybody Mistress was utterly incomprehensible.
Cara said nothing, and untied Dahlia's hair, marveling at it's shortness. It reminded her of childhood.
Kahlan looked around, down at all the blood. "Do you think she's too cold? And these bodies..."
Realizing just how unfit these surroundings were for Dahlia, she began to lift her and Kahlan scurried to help. They carried her and settled her directly in front of the dead fireplace. Neither wanted to lie her on the ground like that underneath a pile of all their traveling blankets but the bodies needed to go and the fire had to be started.
Knowing that it needed to warm Dahlia, she threw more wood than she knew was necessary and ignited it into a glorious blaze, sat back on the floor, stroked Dahlia's hair and smiled.
"I found you," she whispered, leaning down to kiss her nose before rising and walking back to the bedroom where Kahlan had already begun cleaning and crossed her arms.
"It's Aven," she said sadly, kneeling by the covered body, her hand resting at the top of the head.
Cara nodded, looking away, a surge of guilt twinkled in her eyes. She felt some semblance of respect and appreciation for this pet in whatever role she had undoubtedly played in keeping Dahlia alive.
They carried her wordlessly away, outside into the night, and laid her under a gorgeous, though leafless, tree. They carried the male with less concern and placed him far away from her. It would have to do for now. They didn’t wonder too much about that story.
As Kahlan cleaned, discarding and concealing all evidence of what had transpired, she made frequent trips back to Dahlia, reluctantly peeling the blankets off her one by one and carried them back into the room to remake the bed. It was a loving gesture, and Cara noticed it.
Cara worked on keeping Dahlia comfortable, wiping her face, holding her close, and watching the flames she'd created. She wished she had enough water to at least wash her hair. As she considered undressing her, Cara finally felt some motion within Dahlia. It was a twitch, a jolt of confusion.
She didn't know she was safe.
"Dahlia..." Cara calmed her, both terrified and excited that she was waking.
Her eyelids fluttered painfully at first, resisting the torment consciousness afforded one in such bad shape. But Dahlia fought against it, embraced it, moving towards the voice she would know anywhere. Without the nightmares, there would be no dreams.
When Dahlia opened her eyes, she was sure Cara wasn't real. She was some extraordinary parting gift sent from her frantic mind as it died. She didn't care.
Dahlia gathered all the destruction within her body and centered it, using it constructively to force her hand to rise and touch Cara's face, knowing it would just dissolve right through that beautiful expression and Cara would be gone forever.
But everything stayed as perfect as it was. Everything remained as still as a painting except for the one action that betrayed the illusion; a single tear that left Cara's eye skated down her cheek and trapped itself inside Dahlia's palm.
Without the dangers of believing it was all a farce, she would've never known the wonders of coming to understand that she was still very much alive, and her Mistress Cara, very much wanted her that way.
She couldn't even bear to say Cara's name.
Their kiss was brief, and almost as urgently as it began, it was ending and Dahlia was pulling away, coughing. Reality started to fill itself in around her.
"Easy now, Dahlia," Cara smiled, feeling her forehead for any changes.
Dahlia struggled against her, shocking Cara, thrashing around so passionately that Cara had to quickly pin her down by both shoulders with widened eyes.
"Stop this," Cara ordered, tearful in her command, confused by it.
"I'm sorry..." Dahlia exhaled. The sound of her voice melted Cara, tortured her, and healed her.
Her words weren't an apology for her violence, and it was more than that, though Cara refused to demand an explanation.
She wanted only to dotingly kiss at her, and Dahlia only turned her head and closed her eyes.
It was with immense sadness and sheer sorrow that Cara suddenly realized that Dahlia had wanted to die. Cara brought her up and back into her arms, uncaring if she had to fight her for this.
"We had good days, Dahlia," Cara said. "Can’t you remember?"
Dahlia nodded, looking out once more into her Mistress.
"I can give you good days again..."
"I don’t believe you."
***
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Cara/Kahlan, Cara/Dahlia, Denna/Darken Rahl, memories of Cara/Kahlan/Dahlia
Warnings: Extreme non-con, torture, Agiel violence, hurt/comfort, bdsm, gore, angst, Mord’Sith temper, domestic violence, evil!cara, language, multiple character deaths
Author’s Note: AU. And I’m sorry for that, Kahlan. I really love you.
Summary: Mistress Cara wants to own a Confessor. Dahlia wants to give her one.
Disclaimer: I only own my sickness. Not for profit, only for demented fun. Legend of the Seeker characters and depictions belong to Terry Goodkind, Disney and ABC Studios.
For Gizmo :D
Cara was finding it hard to make a fire without thinking about all the times Dahlia would gladly make them for her.
She never had to chop wood or understand the mechanics of how to keep it burning. Dahlia would do it all effortlessly, and in between, sit contentedly in her lap or massage her burdened shoulders. Those were the earlier days, the better ones. They were the kind that whispered to her as she traveled this increasingly haunting road to Dahlia.
The last time they were out like this alone, Cara bent her over the pile she was quietly making and took what she wanted from Dahlia's body, reminding her of all the ways that she owned it and always would.
Now Kahlan looked to her, sideways. It was disheartening to see Mistress Cara struggle with such a basic task. After a few miserable tries, Cara got it going at last and walked a couple circles around it, trying to figure it out. Most things burned slowly. Not her fires.
"We’re only going to rest until this thing dies," Cara explained, motioning to the rising smoke before kneeling down in front of the Confessor and pouring a few drops from the waterskin into a clean rag.
When it got close to her aching face, Kahlan flinched awkwardly, and Cara stopped all at once.
"You do it then," Cara said, throwing it roughly into her chest, finding there was a better spot where she could sit a few feet away with her back turned.
She hated this. She was tired. Frustrated. Hungry. Now, on top of all the weight she carried, she had to look at the Confessor's dirty, beaten down face.
Kahlan crawled the small distance timidly, more like on paws than hands, until she was next to Cara, studying the side of her face. She was glowing again, though not as brightly. Her toughness was wearing itself down the longer she grieved.
"Would it please you to do it?"
Cara tilted her head and stared, parting her lips. The Confessor seemed to know that it would please her, even though she wasn't entirely sure herself.
"Please?" she added slowly, offering the rag back, "Mistress?" Though it was necessary, it felt far from natural to call her that.
Cara rolled her eyes and snatched it, moving in, focusing on the crusted blood that lined Kahlan’s fragile earlobe first. Kahlan watched the moistest part of Cara's eyes, imagining what she must've looked like when her words had edged tears to such a flawless and deepened surface.
Within seconds, when it became too much, Kahlan moved onto admiring her hair as a swirl of stolen wind tangled through her braid and whipped it around like a weapon. She wished, only for minute, that she had a reason to touch it.
Cara's expression turned more stern as the rag moved closer to Kahlan‘s lip but the care she was using did not falter one way or the other. Her gentleness was unbelievable to Kahlan. She almost believed that this version of Cara could be nothing more than a figment of her weary dreams.
"It'll hurt for awhile," Cara said, somewhere between proud and remorseful. "I don't want to hear any whimpering about the pain. You deserved it."
Kahlan nodded, looking away, knowing that thinking about Dahlia with Cara being this close was a mistake that she couldn’t bear to make in this unreasonably tender moment.
Cara finished and unslung the backpack from Kahlan's shoulder, rummaged through it and tossed her the best apple she could find. "Eat that."
She then brought a small knife out from her own pack that laid loyally beside her and considered what to cut. She put it down and looked all around. Something needed to be cut.
Instead, Kahlan retrieved it, sliced thoughtlessly at the apple and handed the first piece to Cara. When she wouldn’t take it, she brought it Cara’s mouth and fed it to her. Kahlan’s hands were shivering, turning all kinds of colors, and nearly redder than the fruit. Cara swallowed it without actually chewing and laid back, taking the Confessor with her and, pressing her head doggedly onto her chest.
Kahlan could appreciate the way the throbbing in her cheekbone felt against the leather there. She gripped the apple tightly, trying desperately not to drop the rest of it as she began to smile, so shyly, when she knew it would not be seen.
It was nice to be like this with Mistress Cara. She was finally beginning to feel safe again. Cara's hate wasn't so jagged against her. She could almost pretend it was suppose to be this way.
"Look," Kahlan said, pointing cautiously, "it’s a snake."
It was a snake, an awful one, slithering carelessly by them.
Cara jumped up, impulsively bumping Kahlan off her and chased after it, her Agiel fuming in hand. The snake started out clever in it's attempts to escape but was tragically mistaken. It thought it could outsmart her. Kahlan proceeded to watch, utterly confused, as Cara’s boot pierced it, trapping it frantically. And she came down merciless on the creature, blasting it with her Agiel and eventually stomping it as if there were no end to it.
As it died, Cara replaced her Agiel and, with her bare hands, ripped it into two distinct pieces down it's middle, tossing each end in opposite directions.
She was out of breath as she moved angrily and sat back down. The wind began to move in Kahlan's hair, chilling her.
"Was it dangerous?" Kahlan asked innocently, mesmerized by the reptile blood that now covered both of Cara's gloves.
"You have no idea."
Cara stretched out again, lower and lower until she was once again on her back, trying not to close her eyes. Kahlan settled in again on top of her, more confident this time in how she positioned her head into Cara's chest. Just when she felt it would be alright to close her eyes, she heard Cara’s belt buckle unlatch.
Before Kahlan could take a second breath into this peace, she felt her hand being forced into the small space Cara had created. She had barely even lowered her pants.
"Be a good girl," Cara said, "and do it quick."
Kahlan tried to keep her meager whines of resistance to a minimum as she moved to position herself better, tensing up at the first flushed contact. Cara begrudgingly turned her head away. She didn’t want to see her. She didn’t prefer Kahlan’s dark hair in her face either, with all the strands being sucked up into her nostrils as she panted and all across her lips, but she allowed it for the sensation that it promised.
Thoughts of Dahlia seemed to make Cara’s eyelids even heavier. She lusted, not for Kahlan necessarily, but for the distraction she could provide in this maddened exhaustion. Cara hungered for the temporary oblivion of sleep even as Kahlan’s snug motions loosened her, pleased her, and attempted to lull her into forgetting.
She wished she could just let go...
They were thirteen and not yet Mistresses though Cara was eager.
Dahlia was still small for her age and Cara wondered if that would ever change. She didn’t really want or expect Dahlia to be any other way. She almost convinced herself that she never would be.
Their Mistress, Snake, had fallen asleep with Cara and Dahlia clinging to her, one girl on each side. Cara was spent, though she remained consummately intent on staying awake until Dahlia closed her eyes and drifted off. It was her rule and she made no exceptions.
They were looking at each other through the darkness. Or, more accurately, Cara was looking at Dahlia. Dahlia was looking through her. Her mind was breaking.
Knowing what a risk it was to move when Snake was holding them both so tightly, Cara reached out and covered the top of Dahlia’s hand. It laid stiff in the middle of Snake's stomach.
Nothing. She gently caressed it and it was so helplessly soft. Nothing.
She brought two of her own fingers back to her lips and kissed them while Dahlia stared both lost and blankly at her. Reaching it over Snake’s torso, she lightly touched it to Dahlia’s cold forehead.
Finally, Dahlia blinked a few times and appeared to come back a little. But not entirely. Cara let her hand fall and touch all around her face, taking special care of Dahlia's exposed cheek. It was warming up the longer she held contact with it and nothing was ever more necessary to feel.
Cara knew Dahlia wanted nothing more than to be on the floor, under the tattered blanket that they had so proudly earned, and far enough away from Snake to relax herself and rest. She would never sleep tonight otherwise.
Snake had not been so patient with Dahlia's tolerance for pain that day. Each time she blacked out, Snake either tortured Cara or made her take another turn on her knees below her and alongside Cara. She wasn't given a choice. That appeared to hurt her the most.
Cara brought her hands back and moved them to Snake’s neck, cupping it fully, tilting it slightly, enough so that her lips had enough room to work. Snake moaned awake, leaning into Cara’s mouth and groggily allowed her to continue, running her long fingers all through Cara's wet, wild hair, and pulling it as she saw fit.
Snake’s other arm began to move forcefully up Dahlia’s back, fingernails clawing into it as Cara’s kisses became more aggressive and fire-like. Snake always favored the power she held over Dahlia and her fear at night.
"Mistress, you're so beautiful like this," Cara whispered, moving her hand between Snake’s open legs, hesitating, then grinding her body against her with a frustrated whine. "I want to show you what I can do by myself. May I put Dahlia on the floor?"
Snake glared at Dahlia. She would’ve loved to see her cry.
Cara slid up Snake’s body, mounting her both quietly and carefully, sliding her fingers in just enough to make Snake push into her. "Please? I can do it all."
Their Mistress violently released Dahlia, shoving her spitefully away as if forever regretting having her there in the first place, and Cara motioned for her to go. She arched Snake deeper into her hand. Cara pleaded so eloquently with her eyes, arguing back and forth with Dahlia's.
Only when Cara returned into Snake’s face, her back muscles flexing, and shared all of her tongue with a giggle did Dahlia finally find her way to the floor and kept herself hidden and motionless under her blanket.
She covered her ears hard with both hands but it was little shield against all the horrible sounds of Snake fucking Cara, so bitterly and resentfully, while Cara moaned again and again for her Mistress.
"Cara, not so rough. Be a good girl," Snake was demanding, pounding her deeper into the softness of the bed, extinguishing her cries. "Never a child, always a child."
Even though most of Dahlia’s heart knew it was a lie and a disgusting ploy, it still hurt endlessly.
After what seemed like an eternity of Snake tossing Cara around, twisting her legs, slamming her down and ultimately instructing her, she let out a final smack across her face, called her a filthy whore and discarded her down to the floor.
She landed on her hands and knees and crawled quickly around the bed like a small insect afraid of being trampled on by an oblivious foot.
She settled next to Dahlia, slightly bloody and damp, and waited for her to curl up next to her as she always did.
Instead, Dahlia closed her eyes tighter and ignored her.
When Snake’s breathing returned to the callous patterns it took while she dreamed, Cara edged herself up on one elbow and tenderly turned the corner of the blanket over and peeked at Dahlia. She always knew when she was awake.
"Dahlia…" she whispered, licking at her ear, biting it sweetly. "Let me hold you, you'll feel better."
Dahlia made her body nothing but dead weight as Cara tried to pull her into a snuggle.
"Don’t hate me," Cara said softly. "Please don’t ever grow up."
***
Lord Rahl stood in the doorway of the training room and shook his head.
"Mistress Denna," he said, taking a few hallow steps, "when I‘m away, how girls do play…"
"Lord Rahl," Denna bowed her head even as the pain was sending her in and out of consciousness. "Most Mistresses do not tolerate boredom very well. My apologies, my Lord."
He closed in on Denna within seconds, regarding Cara’s work with reverence and pride.
"Where is," he gently touched her bruised torso, feeling for the most broken rib, "Mistress Cara?"
Denna tried not to think, to focus on his eyes, and not what his hands had planned for her.
"She said she would be picking daisies in the garden, my Lord," Denna snickered, finding the image hilarious enough to hold onto even as Lord Rahl subsequently produced her own Agiel and dug into the afflicted cracks in bone he had so sheepishly discovered.
"My beautiful Denna," he said, touching her lips, "the only flowers here are those your Sisters will soon be placing upon your grave."
Denna smiled as the magic subsided deep within her. She believed him.
"And where is my Mistress Dahlia?" He kissed at her stomach, leaving his lips right above her navel, her most sensitive spot.
"No doubt crawling around Cara like a spoiled infant," Denna snorted, trying to keep the pleasure at bay.
"The thing is," Lord Rahl continued, drawing his licks lower and lower, "my Mord'Sith and my Confessors don't just vanish into these walls of mine unless I put them inside them."
"My Lord..." Denna purred, "do you require the touch of three Mord'Sith and a Confessor in this moment?"
Lord Rahl connected his strongest fist into Denna's open mouth.
"Where are those fucking bitches?!?" he screamed, spewing spit and insanity everywhere. It echoed seemingly a hundred times between them.
A line of thick blood burst from Denna's smile as she brought her head back to meet Lord Rahl's unhinged eyes. "I don't know."
"I will tear your skin off flake by flake until you're nothing but a pile of guts and bones..."
"And it‘s not even my birthday," she cooed, keeping her head defiantly high.
Lord Rahl reached up and unlocked the chains that bound Denna's wrists. She tumbled to the floor, unable to coordinate her landing in the time allotted. She was overly impressed with his skill and it showed as she tried to catch her breath. It had done more than merely knock the wind out of her, it jolted her with energy and clarity, waking her up without all decadence that a single splash of water would‘ve brought.
Denna knew she had saved Cara's life many times over the years, both in battle and from herself. Cara's power made her worthy in ways Denna believed needed no deep explanation. Why Cara had chosen a mate as weak as Dahlia sometimes made sense to her. Often times, however, it didn't and never would.
Either way, Denna had guessed long ago that Dahlia and all the sentimentality she imposed would somehow be Cara’s swift and only downfall. In attempts to spare her, she had offered her body countless times, and Cara took it as needed, but always remained eager to return to any bed Dahlia laid in.
Dahlia's infatuation and ultimate betrayal with Cara's property, the Mother Confessor, had genuinely surprised and intrigued Denna. She had almost come to believe that Dahlia could do no wrong to Cara. But now Dahlia was finally one of them. And it was almost a shame that she couldn't stay.
At last, as she had walked that corridor on the day of Dahlia’s decision, she had respected her. Now she found herself wanting to protect them, both of them, together, even if it meant going against Lord Rahl himself.
She felt more alive than she had in all her life. She knew there would be a price to pay for that.
Lord Rahl stomped on the largest bruise on her back, going right through to her battered bones, and she gasped adoringly at the pain.
"Oh Denna, your Sisters are little more than insolent whores who rather fuck each other senseless when I entrust them to protect us from all the infinite evils that threaten to befall our world!"
"Cara is very loyal, My Lord. She thinks of nothing but servitude." Denna smiled wide into the ground, her teeth and tongue tasting it's surface. "She’ll return."
"And Mistress Dahlia?"
Denna chuckled, licking her lips enthusiastically, hating herself for this. "Sometimes even us Mord'Sith protect weak things."
"Enlighten me..." he kneeled down, flipping Denna crudely onto her back and splaying her legs open like she was common slave-whore. With a raised eyebrow, it even surprised her a little.
"For the good of our Sisterhood," she replied, leaning back meeting his eyes again, "and, of course, for you, My Lord."
"Or do you actually mean for the good of Mistress Cara?"
An eerie seriousness fell upon her. "She is my Sister."
Lord Rahl finally smiled again, disrobing, handling himself. "I've grown very weary of that answer," he said, bringing himself slowly into Denna's face, taking the blondest hair closest to her scalp and forcing her mouth to accept him.
He moved her back and forth, at his desired speed, no more and no less.
"Here you are, Denna, getting fucked and beaten in this darkness while they're stargazing and blowing kisses."
She brought her hands up and tucked all the hair that Lord Rahl wasn't yanking on and brought it back behind her ears to reveal her clear, vacant eyes. It was the single most defiant gesture he had ever seen from her. She wasn't even paying attention to him.
He slammed her back even before he came, nearly cracking her skull. "You had honor once, Denna. Now you're just a bitch I'm going to have to fuck the truth out of."
"The honor is all mine," she replied, a wicked smile starting in the middle of her lips and working it's way to the corners.
***
Kahlan stopped at the edge of the ground and looked down. Since Cara had fallen asleep, she made them move even faster against the night as if it were midday. From the way the stars were aligned above them in the totality of blackness, morning was still far and merely a taunt.
Cara was studying their surroundings unevenly, thoughtfully plotting their next direction. Kahlan had anxiously watched her kneel down and feel for the disturbances in the soft ground, but now something was drawing Kahlan closer and closer to the side of a steep embankment.
Suddenly, her left footing was gone, rocks tumbled down. The ground wished for her.
Cara gasped, pulling her back by both shoulders. "You’re too close."
"But I see something." She pointed. A small square brown shape loomed in the distance. A unlit shack, possibly a cabin, but their vantage point was all wrong.
Cara put her hands firm at her waist and squinted. Dahlia would never keep a place that dark.
Kahlan looked at her face in the moonlight, so much softer and smoother, and the palm of her hand found itself inching closer and closer until it was in the middle of the Mord'Sith’s strong back.
Cara jumped instantly, curiously, but said nothing and kept her questioning eyes on the decision up ahead.
They both stood there uneasily as Kahlan continued, applying more pressure until she was rubbing deep into the leather, even using her clumsy fingernails, and forgetting that it wasn‘t skin.
Kahlan had a nagging feeling that Cara, for whatever reason, was stalling.
"I’ll go," Cara finally said, shooing the Confessor’s hands away. "You better watch my horse."
"Please," Kahlan protested, daring to take Cara‘s hand and squeezing it, "don’t leave me here."
It wasn’t so much that the sounds of night frightened or intimidated her, but solitude itself had become unfamiliar to her. Without a Mistress at her side, she was certain she would sink down into the nearest patch of snow and melt inevitably down into the ground with it. It was a lost, menacing prospect.
She would’ve done anything not to be left behind in that moment, and she counted herself fortunate that Mistress Cara was extremely versed and knowledgeable about the depths of dependency.
Cara tied up the horses tightly, pet Brock’s silky mane and pulled Kahlan along by the tips of her fingers as they descended through the quietness and cold. The clouds moved mockingly above them, blocking out the north star, the half moon and forcing them closer together.
Once the tree line ended, they faced the long, open clearing, and it would be a straight walk to the front door of the cabin.
Cara knew she should stop to scout it, to be aware of what potential occupants she could encounter but something was only pressing her to move faster. It tickled her hamstrings and the bulk of her leg muscles, nipping at her sore feet and begging her to take it.
She tugged Kahlan behind her loosely, more like a child’s toy, setting the speed faster than she was physically capable of moving.
She had to know. Her mind grew wild and dark with ideas. Maybe Dahlia had been captured by whoever slept in that lonely place, or she had gone in an entirely different direction altogether and this would cost her valuable time. She didn’t feel like Dahlia was close. So she ran even harder.
As they approached the steps, Cara released Kahlan and in one terrifying kick, Cara had the door pounded down and her Agiel in hand.
It was somehow even darker than the blackness they had just hurried through and the stillness gave them both an unexpected pause. Cara looked around frantically, one eye was evil, the other was frightened as they scanned in unison. They had to work together.
Then she saw it. An overturned chair, laced with ropes, one of the binds severed and an upside-down bowl. A slight circular pool of dried blood.
Her eyes widened, all the focus escaped them. It was Mord’Sith technique. Dahlia’s technique.
She pushed Kahlan back, glaring at her to obey. Kahlan steadied herself against the doorframe, unable to see anything past Cara‘s alarming expression. The more she saw, the less she knew.
Cara stepped forward and the floorboard creaked, angry to be disturbed. It sent a chill through her boots and she bolted forward down the lone hallway, so fast and agile that it felt and looked more like floating than anything else.
The scent of murder flooded Cara all at once. She knew it well. Bodies everywhere.
She saw a tiny ponytail, Dahlia’s perfect color, on a pillow, attached to a motionless head turned away from her, towards a window. Blood soaked the bed in which she laid in and the thin blankets that inadequately covered her. She could see Mord’Sith leather.
Cara slammed her eyes shut, convinced it was a dream, pleading for some evidence that this could all be a lie. Maybe if she only stood in the doorway, this room would disappear and replace itself with a room in which Dahlia was alive and smiling and running towards her, elated arms outstretched.
She dropped to her knees, sensing only Kahlan softly approaching from behind, seeing some of the white of her dress in her darkening peripheral vision. All sense of breath and awareness left her.
"Save her!" Kahlan screamed, pulling Cara up, only to find her shockingly limp and impossible to keep upright. She dropped her in a heartless panic. She had to try again.
Cara was small, she thought, she acted bigger than she was, and she could do this. She kneeled and gathered Mistress Cara in her arms, and lifted her easily, crossing the threshold and toward her Mistress’ shadowed bedside.
She dumped Cara recklessly onto Dahlia. "Save her now!"
Cara clutched Dahlia with white knuckles, and buried her head into her, letting out the single most violent, guttural and despairing cry of her life. All the sounds that she had produced over the years while in the grips of incensed torture were nothing but mild whispers compared to this scream and this pain.
For the first time, she knew what real pain was. It was all over.
Kahlan climbed raggedly onto the empty side of the bed and flipped Dahlia over, struggling with the coldness of her skin and wrestled with Cara’s floppy head, forcing the Mord’Sith's stunned mouth to touch Dahlia’s lips.
Cara was slipping away to somewhere she had never been. It was a place beyond every lake, every moon, every breath she ever took. Everything was gone. She had taken everything, and infinitely more, and ended them all as if they had always been nothing.
The horror went beyond her body’s ability to interpret it.
"Mistress…" Kahlan wailed, shaking Cara with both hands. "Please don’t leave her in the Underworld."
She could do nothing except lay where Kahlan had placed her and wait for the same fate to claim her. Cara closed her eyes, as her eyelids grew unsure of how to continue functioning, and, with her lips still pressed to Dahlia, she felt something in the palm of her hand.
It was a heartbeat. Dahlia’s beautiful heartbeat. A soft, barely noticeable exhale rose up and danced across Cara’s nose. Then another.
She needed a witness. Cara looked up at Kahlan with all the wonder of a three year old child, both eyes glittering anew like precious young worlds. "She’s alive."
Kahlan covered her mouth and muffled her words. "No, she's not…"
Cara took one of Kahlan’s hands and pressed it reverently to Dahlia’s chest. It was pumping. It was fighting. It only lasted a moment, and by the time Kahlan found her way to exuberance, Cara was already blasting her away, bending back her fingers, refusing her any further access.
Kahlan recoiled, welling up, a delicate flood of relief mixed with the burn of Cara denying her what she rightfully felt entitled to. It wasn’t fair. She should be able to touch Dahlia too. She was so pale, so incomplete.
"Dahlia," Cara insisted, pulling at her until she was in the sheltered embrace that she deserved, "open your eyes."
Nothing.
"Run," Cara flicked Kahlan’s shoulder as she was inching closer. "She needs water."
The Confessor didn’t budge.
"Your Mistress needs water! Go!" Cara swung impatiently at her but missed altogether, as Kahlan was already long scrambling to obey.
Cara used two fingers to ease open Dahlia’s right eye, her favorite one. She just needed to see it. It’s serene color. It’s familiar promises.
"Wake up," Cara begged. All the thorns of the past now touched her like one brilliant sun. In these moments, at least, all was forgiven.
There was no water anywhere in the cabin. As Kahlan ran through the night, towards their horses and their supplies, she laughed. It was such a giddy and childlike laugh that it made her feel less alone. This felt like the single most important task ever asked of her.
Everything would be better now, safer now. Her Mistress was alive. She should've known.
As she climbed back up the ridge with her legs on fire and her lungs even worse, it occurred to her that she could escape the Mord'Sith.
She could take Berry and just ride off with the comfort of knowing how Mistress Cara would never leave Dahlia in such a condition to come thundering after her.
She slowed herself, crawling up the embankment, and it felt like she was back at the Temple in the first days with Mistress Dahlia. It disturbed her to recall how she had wanted nothing more than to flee from Dahlia's awful hands, her invasive Agiel, her gentle tongue on the side of her face.
But that was before she knew her Mistress was different, she reminded herself. She was so lucky. Dahlia constantly broke so many rules for her. She had sacrificed and risked greatly for her.
Mistress Cara had saved her life too, seemingly without any reason. She had brought her along, steered her toward Mistress Dahlia when she could've easily buried her many times over.
She tried to imagine what she would do without her Mistresses. The thought paralyzed her mouth, so much so that she had to stop and gulp down a fresh breath before she could continue. There would be nothing. She would be no one. She loved them, belonged to them.
She tore their largest waterskins and wrapped them around her neck, refusing to drink anything that her Mistress may need. She grabbed both heavy saddlebags and threw one over each shoulder, and whirled around in a blissful daze, desperate to return.
Re-entering the cabin brought her such happiness and, even drenched in sweat and breathless from the run, she felt completely in tact and beautiful. She raced towards the room, discovering her Mistresses almost exactly as she had left them, only now Cara's cheek dipped firmly into Dahlia’s.
They looked like one Mord’Sith instead of two.
Kahlan rushed to them, and inexplicably threw her arms around Cara’s back, and for a few precious seconds, she was able to hug them both at once.
Cara snatched the waterskin, nearly strangling Kahlan to remove it.
"Hold her head up," Cara ordered, looking the Confessor in the eye and promising that if she ruined this, she would have her head.
Kahlan took the job very seriously and eagerly put her careful hands on Dahlia, thrilled to be entrusted with her.
Cara poured agonizingly slow, first wetting her lips and then opening her mouth, unsure it would go down as gently as she intended.
At the first sign of Dahlia swallowing it, Cara's eyes filled with water of her own. She drank so much, and when Cara was content with the amount, she pulled Dahlia away from Kahlan and cradled her.
"That was good, Dahlia."
"Mistress," Kahlan dared, "what happened to her?"
"It's her lungs. Our Mistress damaged them when she was a child. She was not expected to live."
"Your Mistress?" The idea of Cara calling anybody Mistress was utterly incomprehensible.
Cara said nothing, and untied Dahlia's hair, marveling at it's shortness. It reminded her of childhood.
Kahlan looked around, down at all the blood. "Do you think she's too cold? And these bodies..."
Realizing just how unfit these surroundings were for Dahlia, she began to lift her and Kahlan scurried to help. They carried her and settled her directly in front of the dead fireplace. Neither wanted to lie her on the ground like that underneath a pile of all their traveling blankets but the bodies needed to go and the fire had to be started.
Knowing that it needed to warm Dahlia, she threw more wood than she knew was necessary and ignited it into a glorious blaze, sat back on the floor, stroked Dahlia's hair and smiled.
"I found you," she whispered, leaning down to kiss her nose before rising and walking back to the bedroom where Kahlan had already begun cleaning and crossed her arms.
"It's Aven," she said sadly, kneeling by the covered body, her hand resting at the top of the head.
Cara nodded, looking away, a surge of guilt twinkled in her eyes. She felt some semblance of respect and appreciation for this pet in whatever role she had undoubtedly played in keeping Dahlia alive.
They carried her wordlessly away, outside into the night, and laid her under a gorgeous, though leafless, tree. They carried the male with less concern and placed him far away from her. It would have to do for now. They didn’t wonder too much about that story.
As Kahlan cleaned, discarding and concealing all evidence of what had transpired, she made frequent trips back to Dahlia, reluctantly peeling the blankets off her one by one and carried them back into the room to remake the bed. It was a loving gesture, and Cara noticed it.
Cara worked on keeping Dahlia comfortable, wiping her face, holding her close, and watching the flames she'd created. She wished she had enough water to at least wash her hair. As she considered undressing her, Cara finally felt some motion within Dahlia. It was a twitch, a jolt of confusion.
She didn't know she was safe.
"Dahlia..." Cara calmed her, both terrified and excited that she was waking.
Her eyelids fluttered painfully at first, resisting the torment consciousness afforded one in such bad shape. But Dahlia fought against it, embraced it, moving towards the voice she would know anywhere. Without the nightmares, there would be no dreams.
When Dahlia opened her eyes, she was sure Cara wasn't real. She was some extraordinary parting gift sent from her frantic mind as it died. She didn't care.
Dahlia gathered all the destruction within her body and centered it, using it constructively to force her hand to rise and touch Cara's face, knowing it would just dissolve right through that beautiful expression and Cara would be gone forever.
But everything stayed as perfect as it was. Everything remained as still as a painting except for the one action that betrayed the illusion; a single tear that left Cara's eye skated down her cheek and trapped itself inside Dahlia's palm.
Without the dangers of believing it was all a farce, she would've never known the wonders of coming to understand that she was still very much alive, and her Mistress Cara, very much wanted her that way.
She couldn't even bear to say Cara's name.
Their kiss was brief, and almost as urgently as it began, it was ending and Dahlia was pulling away, coughing. Reality started to fill itself in around her.
"Easy now, Dahlia," Cara smiled, feeling her forehead for any changes.
Dahlia struggled against her, shocking Cara, thrashing around so passionately that Cara had to quickly pin her down by both shoulders with widened eyes.
"Stop this," Cara ordered, tearful in her command, confused by it.
"I'm sorry..." Dahlia exhaled. The sound of her voice melted Cara, tortured her, and healed her.
Her words weren't an apology for her violence, and it was more than that, though Cara refused to demand an explanation.
She wanted only to dotingly kiss at her, and Dahlia only turned her head and closed her eyes.
It was with immense sadness and sheer sorrow that Cara suddenly realized that Dahlia had wanted to die. Cara brought her up and back into her arms, uncaring if she had to fight her for this.
"We had good days, Dahlia," Cara said. "Can’t you remember?"
Dahlia nodded, looking out once more into her Mistress.
"I can give you good days again..."
"I don’t believe you."
***