His to Give.
Written forlegendland.
Word Count: 452
No warnings.
Prompt Image:
She watched the silver blade as it tore through the flesh of her beloved Seeker. The metal catching the sun as it ghosted away from Richard’s twirling form. Luckily, he was the best swordsman she knew, and a far more capable survivor than any man she had ever known. His tolerance for pain gave her strength, but now it only caused her grief.
Sitting beside the fire, Kahlan gazed through the flames, at his sleeping form. So peaceful, now, with a large white bandage wrapped around his torso.
It was her fault. They had been attacked because she was hunted.
No matter the kind words Richard spoke to dissuade her thoughts of such negativity, she knew she was to blame. After all, the prophecy stated it blatantly: As long as the Mother Confessor’s pure heart beats, the Keeper is doomed to fail.
Her heart, the very vital organ that beat and pumped life through her veins, was a curse.
She was more a danger to those around her, and was a single life truly worth so many?
Reaching up to wipe a tear as it tumbled down her cheek, she reigned in her emotions. She couldn’t think this way. Because the Keeper wanted her heart, because the prophecy said that it must beat; she couldn’t take the chance of it ever stopping.
She needed Zedd, and she needed Cara. Without them, the number she could trust dwindled, there was no one else.
She needed Richard.
“You should try sleeping, Mother Confessor, you’re starting to get bags under your eyes.” Cara’s voice drawled from the distance, just beyond where Richard lay.
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done.” Came the defeated sigh, as Kahlan wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them closer.
Cara paused in the making of her bedroll. She was silent, Kahlan thought she might not say anything at all, and then the blonde stood.
“You’re still worried about the prophecy, you shouldn’t be.” Her form slowly swayed into the light provided by the fire. “The Keeper can’t have your heart because it isn’t yours to give, now is it?” Raising her brow, her eyes flickered down to the Seeker’s injured, slumbering form, and then back to Kahlan.
The Confessor sat up straighter, eyes slightly widened by the words of comfort spoken by the Mord’Sith.
Cara must’ve felt uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and adverted her gaze quickly, “You should get some sleep.”
Watching the Mord’Sith return to her prior task, Kahlan felt her lips curve into a small smile. Richard would never allow any harm to befall her, not while she were within his presence. The Keeper would not get her heart. Richard would never give it to him.
Word Count: 452
No warnings.
Prompt Image:
She watched the silver blade as it tore through the flesh of her beloved Seeker. The metal catching the sun as it ghosted away from Richard’s twirling form. Luckily, he was the best swordsman she knew, and a far more capable survivor than any man she had ever known. His tolerance for pain gave her strength, but now it only caused her grief.
Sitting beside the fire, Kahlan gazed through the flames, at his sleeping form. So peaceful, now, with a large white bandage wrapped around his torso.
It was her fault. They had been attacked because she was hunted.
No matter the kind words Richard spoke to dissuade her thoughts of such negativity, she knew she was to blame. After all, the prophecy stated it blatantly: As long as the Mother Confessor’s pure heart beats, the Keeper is doomed to fail.
Her heart, the very vital organ that beat and pumped life through her veins, was a curse.
She was more a danger to those around her, and was a single life truly worth so many?
Reaching up to wipe a tear as it tumbled down her cheek, she reigned in her emotions. She couldn’t think this way. Because the Keeper wanted her heart, because the prophecy said that it must beat; she couldn’t take the chance of it ever stopping.
She needed Zedd, and she needed Cara. Without them, the number she could trust dwindled, there was no one else.
She needed Richard.
“You should try sleeping, Mother Confessor, you’re starting to get bags under your eyes.” Cara’s voice drawled from the distance, just beyond where Richard lay.
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done.” Came the defeated sigh, as Kahlan wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing them closer.
Cara paused in the making of her bedroll. She was silent, Kahlan thought she might not say anything at all, and then the blonde stood.
“You’re still worried about the prophecy, you shouldn’t be.” Her form slowly swayed into the light provided by the fire. “The Keeper can’t have your heart because it isn’t yours to give, now is it?” Raising her brow, her eyes flickered down to the Seeker’s injured, slumbering form, and then back to Kahlan.
The Confessor sat up straighter, eyes slightly widened by the words of comfort spoken by the Mord’Sith.
Cara must’ve felt uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and adverted her gaze quickly, “You should get some sleep.”
Watching the Mord’Sith return to her prior task, Kahlan felt her lips curve into a small smile. Richard would never allow any harm to befall her, not while she were within his presence. The Keeper would not get her heart. Richard would never give it to him.