LotS LAS: FINAL ROUND VOTING!
And we're down to the final two! The clashing of the titans! VOTE, SEEKERS. VOTE!
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ROUND 10 PROMPT:
Hills Like White Elephants: It's complicated and evil, see the details HERE.
DRABBLE NO. 1
Title: Certainty
Warnings: None
"We’ll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before."
Richard spoke with the clarity of a true believer. He'd never doubted this day would come. The day that that he and Kahlan could be together. It was inevitable. Moreso than anything etched in the Halls of Prophecy.
They'd stopped in the first inn they could find. Hours ago, they'd stood at the Pillars of Creation to place the Stone of Tears.
In the throes of the Con Dar, she'd tried to confess him.
It didn't work.
But she'd also spent her entire life, as a Confessor, learning to be afraid of getting close. It made him feel an ache in his chest to think about it. To be told since childhood that your touch, who you are, is dangerous to those you love. To be surrounded by a world full of people afraid to touch you, even if they view you with awe and respect.
He'd been in the Midlands long enough to have heard the whispers: Confessors are soul-stealers, witches, seductresses who pluck unwilling men to be their stud slaves. More than once, he's spoken out in anger to someone who said such a thing where he could hear it. They didn't know her, didn't know Confessors, their superstitions and their prejudices were nothing but ignorance.
When they were finally alone that night, in a room they were to share, he could see how nervous she was. Even though they knew now, it's one thing to actually go through with it. The jubilation of success was tempered by a long horse ride which allowed Kahlan some time to let her worry grow. He could almost read her thoughts. She was afraid. Afraid to hurt him again.
"And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy?" Kahlan asked, her hands wringing a piece of her sleeve. It was an unconscious motion, she did it when she got nervous. Which Richard knew wasn't very often; the Mother Confessor always seemed to appear calm and cool.
"I love you. You know I love you." It was a simplistic answer, but it was all that he needed. He'd answered this question already, her worry had been growing for hours. It wasn't like her to be unsure of herself, but one doesn't easily throw away a lifetime of discipline and training.
He knew there was only one way to put this to rest.
Closing the distance between them, he took one of her hands, pulling it from the rigorous sleeve-wringing and bringing it to his lips, touching a soft kiss to her knuckles as he looked into her eyes. Then, without a word, he guided her hand to his throat, a silent urging to her. To prove, yet again, that she could not hurt him. To show her that what happened at the Pillars of Creation was no fluke.
He had no fear. No doubt. No worry.
With a gasp, she pulled her hand away. "I might have--" She stopped herself before finishing the thought. She didn't need to, he knew the words on her lips. It's the sentence she'd tried to finish several times tonight, but couldn't bring herself to say: she might have confessed him.
"No, you wouldn't have," he started to say, but he didn't finish his sentence, either. They'd had this conversation on the horse ride. She wasn't herself, it wasn't her fault, she would never have done that if she hadn't been forced by magic.
He had to show her, he had to make her see it was okay. He took her hand again, gently, bringing it to his throat once more. She looked at him, and for a moment her expression pleaded with him: Don't. Don't take this risk.
"If I do it, you won't ever worry," he murmured quietly.
"I don't care about me!" she blurted out, but this time she didn't pull away her hand.
"Well, I care about you." Just as his declaration of love, the words were said simply. Honestly. With a steadiness that he could see was getting through to her. "I'd do anything for you."
They both knew this had to happen before they could go further. They'd kissed in celebration at the Pillars of Creation, but they'd been kissing for almost two years. They both wanted more. And this experiment, this second confirmation of what happened earlier would bring her the peace she needed.
She gave him one last soft, pleading look. He only shook his head and touched a hand to her cheek. She bowed and inclined her head, a silent message that she would do it. When she lifted her head to look at him, he was looking at her with a smile.
He wasn't nervous. He was happy. Overjoyed.
And he could almost see it, something in her expression, his steadiness transferring to her, a peace in her eyes as she let go of the power she kept reigned in all the time.
It was a strange rush, a magical wind sweeping through them both. Blue eyes filled with black and it made him still with wonder. She'd told him it was difficult to hold it in, but now she didn't have to. Not anymore. Not with him.
In a moment, it was done. And he was still smiling, a smile that widened.
"Do you feel better?"
She didn't answer him with words. Instead, she practically tackled him, and he fell to the bed in their room with her in his arms, laughing. Her own laughter mingled with tears of relief.
He held her that night, and they kissed more, and talked. They didn't make love; perhaps they were too exhausted after everything. It would happen soon enough. But that night, they were both happy to just be in each other's arms without fear.
He would give her everything, he promised himself. Everything in life she never thought she could have. Everything every Confessor never thought she could have.
Love.
DRABBLE NO. 2
Title: Family
Warnings: Violence
Your grandfather is the first to fall to his knees and beseech your forgiveness. Not just for his initial resistance to your rule, but for everything: concealing the truth of your heritage, creating the lie of your unremarkable existence in Westland. You don't regret taking on the mantle of the Seeker, but you still remember the sticky hot blood of your father on your hands. It was Ranssyn Fane who slew your father, but your grandfather had the ultimate hand in all the events that preceded and followed. You don't blame him now; you are magnanimous. But an apology is soothing to your ears.
After him, it is your brother. Oh, what a revelation that is. The evil tyrant you are destined to kill shares the same sire as you. Blood does not make a family, and it seems you simply have rotten luck where brothers are concerned, but Michael was contrite in the end. Rahl, too, is contrite now. You lost your second chance with Michael. You will not let that happen again. Compassion, after all, is complement to just rule, and so you spare your brother. He can be trusted now, and he would be ever so useful.
"Would you do something for me now?" you ask your brother who kneels so obediently before you.
"I'd do anything for you," he answers with heartfelt sincerity.
You smile.
This leaves only your sister out in the cold. She is the most dangerous one. She is ultimately easy to track down, but bringing her in, metaphorically, will be tricky.
You have no desire to be unkind. It is not in your nature. Your heart breaks when your men return with her and you see how her hands are bound. When you untie them, she fights, furious claws and kicks, a few of which actually catch you in the face and in the shin. But you forgive her.
"I'll scream!" Her eyes flit to the grandfather you both share, to Kahlan, who stands by your side. They do nothing.
Jennsen cries.
"I love you. You know I love you." The words are no consolation to her.
So you consign her to the dungeons, where the cold and loneliness might make her more amenable to your generosity. In the meantime, you concern yourself with matters of peace. One by one, kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, they all bow at your feet, pledging their undying allegiance. There is no more D'Hara, no more Midlands. There is only you.
You, and Kahlan. Of course there is always Kahlan, who is now your Queen. With absolute peace, there is no more need for Confessors. With no need for Confessors, there is no need for her powers. A Rada'Han takes care of that problem, and she can love you fully, without restrictions, without fear.
You have your grandfather, your brother, and your wife. But still the picture is incomplete.
Jennsen shivers when she stands before you again, but she does not cower.
"We can have the whole world," you tell her.
"No, we can't," she whispers through cracked lips.
"And we could have all this," you insist. "It’s ours."
But Jennsen can't be bribed and won't be cajoled. Like you, she has lived a simple life. Power and wealth do not sway her. You appeal to her heart instead, to the family she is missing out on. The grandfather whose wisdom she will not hear. The other brother she did not even know existed. You lay a hand on Kahlan's belly, still flat but soon to be swollen with child, a niece for Jennsen to dote on.
Jennsen stares. "And you think then we'll be all right and be happy."
You did not think your sister is capable of such venom. Surely there must be some way you can reach her, yet she stands firm in her resolve to reject you. To cast Jennsen back into the dungeon is not an option.
She is, after all, your sister.
Extreme measures become ever increasingly appealing, but you cannot order Jennsen to love you, your wife cannot Confess her into compliance, and your grandfather cannot spell her into reconciliation.
The solution comes from your brother: if she would not yield of her own free will, then the only option left is for her to submit.
The Mord'Sith knows all about how to make one submit.
You are there when Cara -- one of your brother's most trusted and capable Mord'Siths -- strings your sister up.
You care not for the look Jennsen gives you, but you know this is for the best.
"We’ll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before," you tell her, but she doesn't look convinced.
The agiels, of course, don't work on your sister. A touch from one would not bring pain, but being hit by one certainly does. You could leave Cara to her work, but you don't walk away. You watch every minute of it. Your sister deserves that much dedication from you. You will hear every cry; her sacrifice will not go unwitnessed.
She is delirious for days afterwards, her memories hazy and vague. You personally nurse her back to health, filled in the gaps of her recall wherever you can.
There was once a tyrant, you tell your sister, but with her help, you both defeated the evil together, and now the world is a better, brighter, happier place. A peaceful place. The tales frighten her, but she is comforted by your embrace. Slowly, she recovers until one day, she declares that she needs your tender care no longer.
"Do you feel better?" you ask.
Smiling, your sister answers, "I feel fine."
Together, with her hand in yours, you lead her into the banquet hall. You sit at the head of the table, surrounded by your wife, your grandfather, your brother, and your sister. This is your family, whole and complete. You could not be happier.