Fic: Cara/Dahlia “The Woman in the Red Dress”
Title: The Woman in the Red Dress
Author:
naroen
Length: 2215
Warnings: heavy angst + soft porn
Author's Notes: Written for the
lots_pornbattle, prompts: ashes, ruins, old friend
Thanks to vanchidel for pulling me through this fic.;) And yes, I seem to like Dahlia more and more...*drama*
Disclaimer: Nothing mine but the fun.:)
The battlefield lay still as the last light of the day crept over the piles of ash and the ruins of the palace, torn down in the last battle of the great war. The wind carried the soft grey dust around, and the swirls silently turned around Dahlia, standing atop a rocky hill, just above the circle that used to be the centre of an empire once.
In the distance, her sisters were gathering the remains of an army, and the remaining weapons, for the days to come. She still wasn't really sure who had won, seeing so many dead bodies lying scattered around, but she knew one thing for certain - Lord Rahl had lost. Her free hand traced the holsters of her agiels, and that one thing was true. There was nothing left in the blood red rods.
She hadn't seen her Lord's demise, but somehow she felt it, deep inside her soul, while she was fighting one of the last standing D'Haran men, a soldier from one of the many troops that had turned on their Lord. Her deepest sense of self shattered in the moment she slid the man's head off with a borrowed blade, and she had fallen to her knees beside his dead body, fighting to keep her stomach down.
The man was one of the last to fall, since there was almost no one to fight after him, at least not nearly close enough for her to reach as the first wave of the pain and the rage at her Master's demise built up inside her, desperately longing for release
There was almost no one left to kill.
The few remaining Sisters of the Agiel who were clearheaded enough to gather the rest of their loyals remained on the battlefield, but Dahlia couldn't stand the pressure of admitting her defeat and the scent of blood lingering in the air, too strong even for a Mord'Sith as experienced as her.
Or maybe she was just running away from the thought of facing the dead body of Lord Rahl, the only person in the world that gave sense to her existence, the only man she had ever loved. With her youth's true love abandoning her years ago, running off with the Seeker and his Confessor, the hideous pair that ultimately led to her Master's defeat, there was no one else she had to live for. No one else that would need her. No one else that would want her.
No surprise she didn't ditch the sword.
The ashes hid the sound of footsteps as her gaze still searched the distance for some promise of hope, hidden somewhere beyond the horizon.
“Old friend,” a voice said behind her, almost making her jump.
She turned with her blade raised up and her agiel ready.
The blonde woman standing a few paces away didn't seem to notice the threat of her pose as she returned her gaze. “I never took you for a sword person,” she said, her voice calm, her face serious.
It took more than a few moments for Dahlia to find the words, staring at the one person in her life she never could forget. Not even the years that have gone by could have softened the edges around her grief. “No, that would be you, right?” she said quietly. “With your Confessor-loving Seeker and the old fool? No wonder you'd resort to common blades in the end. Tell me, can you even wield the - ” she started, and then remembered.
No one could wield the agiels anymore. No one ever will.
The woman clad in red - a fighting dress, this time, slid down her legs to give her freedom of movement - was standing still, her arms crossed on her chest.
It's good, Dahlia thought. The dress should remind her that the woman standing in front of her, her face aged since the last time she saw her, is not her friend. Her friend would have never worn that disgusting thing.
Nor would her friend ever betray her.
“Why are you here?” she asked in a harsh voice. She wrestled the words, the tears in her eyes coming closer and closer to the edge of her eyelids. “Why aren't you down there, celebrating? You've finally won.”
“I never wanted this,” Cara replied softly.
“You're a liar and a traitor,” Dahlia spat, her fingers growing numb from the strength with which she gripped the sword and the rod.
“I'm sorry,” she said, her eyes softer than Dahlia had ever seen them.
Involuntarily, her grip loosened a bit. “You're here to kill me?” she sneered.
“Don't be absurd...” Cara let her hands fall down the sides of her dress, across the scabbards of her two short swords - one was missing, Dahlia noticed, probably lost in the battle. She still carried her agiels as well, though. Leaving the Lord Rahl didn't really mean you could just forget about him, not even after long years of ever growing distance between the two of you.
Cara took a careful step closer to the edge of the cliff atop which Dahlia was standing. “There will be no more killing,” she said, her voice resolved.
Dahlia glanced at her own sword. “I'm not so sure about that,” she muttered.
“Dahlia,” Cara snapped, her hand catching Dahlia's wrist in a fast, almost violent move. Dahlia dropped her sword, partly from the surprise, partly from the pain. “Your hand's hurt?” Cara asked swiftly.
Dahlia glanced down and saw the blood on her palm, from a deep cut she hadn't noticed. The dark drops were falling softly onto the ashen ground. “I guess,” she jerked her hand back from Cara's, “I don't remember.” Her whole body hurt so much she could barely care anymore.
“How long have you been here?”
“Why would you care?” Dahlia replied, her voice tired.
“I came here to find you.”
Dahlia slowly looked up.
“Let me take you to my camp,” Cara said, her eyes still upon Dahlia's. “It's not far away - less than a mile into the woods. Away from the fight. Away from... this,” her hand twitched, gesturing at the destruction around them.
“There's nowhere left for me to go,” Dahlia said quietly. “There's nothing left for me to do. My life has no purpose now.”
“Dahlia...” Cara's voice arose in despair. “Come with me,” she said, her voice growing sweet with the affection Dahlia had long ago forgotten. “I came back for you. I cannot leave you here. I cannot abandon you again,” Cara looked away, shrugging the shivers that were slowly beginning to show in her shoulders.
Somehow, Dahlia thought, maybe, she still was the Cara she knew, after all. Her emotions seemed to come as awkward to her as they did before, when they knew each other as girls, back then when they were still young.
But the years gone by could not be denied. And the pain grew stronger with every day that passed by.
“Prove it,” she said, lifting her head, her posture as proud as she could make it, her boots - soiled and worn down from the long war - locked firmly to the ground, the waves of ash rising and falling slowly around them as she dug them deeper for balance.
Cara's emerald gaze met hers. “What would you want me do?” she asked quietly.
Dahlia's tears met her softly smiling lips. “Prove it to me that the world still makes sense. That my life still means something,” she said, despair finally showing through the cracks in her voice. “Prove it to me that you need me. And I might... I might not die today.”
This time she heard Cara's steps as the woman in the red dress approached her, although she couldn't stand to look into her eyes. Even though there was no Lord to serve any more and no battles to fight with her dead agiels, she was still a Mord'Sith. Showing weakness in front of another person...
“I need you,” Cara's soft whisper joined her hand as she slowly raised it to touch Dahlia's face. “I've always needed you. I tried to run away - but there was nothing that could keep me away from you, apart from your own desire to serve Darken Rahl. There was never anyone else who could manage to hold my attention for a more than a few months. There was never anyone else who mattered as much as you, Dahlia.”
Dahlia's lips trembled just a bit as Cara planted a soft kiss on her cheek, right into one of her tear trails, making the harsh feeling of the salt on her skin melt away, at least for a moment.
She had almost forgotten how it felt.
She turned her head to meet Cara's lips. Their first kiss in years was soft, with just a tint of salt, and a growing need that silently begun to rise in Dahlia's heart.
She leaned into Cara, her body remembering the other woman's, an interplay of touch and feel and make feel that they abandoned years ago, but never really could destroy in themselves. It was the easiest thing to do, make love to Cara, and also the hardest; there was nothing else in the world that Dahlia would have wanted more at that moment.
“I don't care about the dress,” Cara smiled softly when Dahlia nearly shoved her to the ground, but stopped herself right before it.
Dahlia just shook her head and finished the job.
They landed softly onto the still warm ash from the fires that started days ago, the dark red of their clothes swiftly covered with the soft grey of the ashes. They made love with an urgency not so unfamiliar, and still excitingly new; Dahlia couldn't even remember the last time Cara let her touch her skin, caress her body, kiss her lips and reach the hidden parts of her body that she remembered with passion.
Just to feel Cara's fingers on her breast, and on her stomach, and lower, and deeper, was like coming back to life; in the long days of the final battle, Dahlia had almost forgotten what it felt like, to breathe, to live, to be. There was no one who could remind her as well as Cara did, and there was no one she wanted to touch her more than the blond woman, the only one who ever really knew her.
As they rolled across each other's body, sometimes locked tightly together, sometimes long inches apart, the ashen dust flew around them, lifting high into the darkening sky, twisting and turning and burning in the light of the dying sun, and then falling back to the grey earth, being denied the sky.
As she came, Dahlia breathed out Cara's name, her voice softer than the ash caught in her disheveled braid, and Cara, following shortly after, didn't utter a sound, burying her lust deep into Dahlia's shoulder.
Breathless, they lay on the ash-covered ground, arms entwined, hearts pounding in unison.
It would have taken a thunderstorm to break them apart.
“You could've come back years ago,” Dahlia muttered softly, her fingers playing with the grey in Cara's hair. “You didn't have to wait until I was ready to die,” she said, her voice blank as she told Cara that simple truth.
“You would've never left him,” Cara replied with a truth of her own, her gaze caressing the lines of Dahlia's cheek.
Dahlia said nothing, just continued to twist a lock of Cara's hair, longer than the last time she'd seen her, around her ring finger. “Your friends could never accept me.”
“They've had years to adjust to the idea,” Cara replied. She smiled. “I've been telling them about you ever since I learned that I could trust them. I think they might just surprise you.”
“The Seeker...”
“... is a man. First and foremost. He is human, Dahlia. He'll trust his instincts. And mine.” She looked away for a split second. “I think we've all grown tired of this war. He'll accept the chance to befriend one of his former enemies. I know...” she smiled at Dahlia's incredulous expression, “he's funny that way. They all are.” Her smile widened a bit. “It's easier to get used to than it seems.”
“Does that mean I will have to trust you?”
Cara smiled again. “Only if I can return the trust.” She pulled her closer and kissed her, and soon it was all a swirl of and senses and colours and emotions of the two warm human bodies buried in the middle of the ashen hills, underneath the first distant stars. They were enough, the two of them, to cast off the darkness for a while.
After that, Dahlia pulled away a bit from Cara, rising up on her elbow. From the place where they were lying she could see the torches of the remaining fighters who went out into the vast battlefield, looking for survivors. Somehow she felt certain it was to help the wounded, not finish them off, but how she came to that conclusion, she did not know.
A smile softly shone upon her lips, the first smile in days, possibly months.
Maybe it was really time for the dying to end.
Author:
naroen
Length: 2215
Warnings: heavy angst + soft porn
Author's Notes: Written for the
lots_pornbattle, prompts: ashes, ruins, old friend
Thanks to vanchidel for pulling me through this fic.;) And yes, I seem to like Dahlia more and more...*drama*
Disclaimer: Nothing mine but the fun.:)
The battlefield lay still as the last light of the day crept over the piles of ash and the ruins of the palace, torn down in the last battle of the great war. The wind carried the soft grey dust around, and the swirls silently turned around Dahlia, standing atop a rocky hill, just above the circle that used to be the centre of an empire once.
In the distance, her sisters were gathering the remains of an army, and the remaining weapons, for the days to come. She still wasn't really sure who had won, seeing so many dead bodies lying scattered around, but she knew one thing for certain - Lord Rahl had lost. Her free hand traced the holsters of her agiels, and that one thing was true. There was nothing left in the blood red rods.
She hadn't seen her Lord's demise, but somehow she felt it, deep inside her soul, while she was fighting one of the last standing D'Haran men, a soldier from one of the many troops that had turned on their Lord. Her deepest sense of self shattered in the moment she slid the man's head off with a borrowed blade, and she had fallen to her knees beside his dead body, fighting to keep her stomach down.
The man was one of the last to fall, since there was almost no one to fight after him, at least not nearly close enough for her to reach as the first wave of the pain and the rage at her Master's demise built up inside her, desperately longing for release
There was almost no one left to kill.
The few remaining Sisters of the Agiel who were clearheaded enough to gather the rest of their loyals remained on the battlefield, but Dahlia couldn't stand the pressure of admitting her defeat and the scent of blood lingering in the air, too strong even for a Mord'Sith as experienced as her.
Or maybe she was just running away from the thought of facing the dead body of Lord Rahl, the only person in the world that gave sense to her existence, the only man she had ever loved. With her youth's true love abandoning her years ago, running off with the Seeker and his Confessor, the hideous pair that ultimately led to her Master's defeat, there was no one else she had to live for. No one else that would need her. No one else that would want her.
No surprise she didn't ditch the sword.
The ashes hid the sound of footsteps as her gaze still searched the distance for some promise of hope, hidden somewhere beyond the horizon.
“Old friend,” a voice said behind her, almost making her jump.
She turned with her blade raised up and her agiel ready.
The blonde woman standing a few paces away didn't seem to notice the threat of her pose as she returned her gaze. “I never took you for a sword person,” she said, her voice calm, her face serious.
It took more than a few moments for Dahlia to find the words, staring at the one person in her life she never could forget. Not even the years that have gone by could have softened the edges around her grief. “No, that would be you, right?” she said quietly. “With your Confessor-loving Seeker and the old fool? No wonder you'd resort to common blades in the end. Tell me, can you even wield the - ” she started, and then remembered.
No one could wield the agiels anymore. No one ever will.
The woman clad in red - a fighting dress, this time, slid down her legs to give her freedom of movement - was standing still, her arms crossed on her chest.
It's good, Dahlia thought. The dress should remind her that the woman standing in front of her, her face aged since the last time she saw her, is not her friend. Her friend would have never worn that disgusting thing.
Nor would her friend ever betray her.
“Why are you here?” she asked in a harsh voice. She wrestled the words, the tears in her eyes coming closer and closer to the edge of her eyelids. “Why aren't you down there, celebrating? You've finally won.”
“I never wanted this,” Cara replied softly.
“You're a liar and a traitor,” Dahlia spat, her fingers growing numb from the strength with which she gripped the sword and the rod.
“I'm sorry,” she said, her eyes softer than Dahlia had ever seen them.
Involuntarily, her grip loosened a bit. “You're here to kill me?” she sneered.
“Don't be absurd...” Cara let her hands fall down the sides of her dress, across the scabbards of her two short swords - one was missing, Dahlia noticed, probably lost in the battle. She still carried her agiels as well, though. Leaving the Lord Rahl didn't really mean you could just forget about him, not even after long years of ever growing distance between the two of you.
Cara took a careful step closer to the edge of the cliff atop which Dahlia was standing. “There will be no more killing,” she said, her voice resolved.
Dahlia glanced at her own sword. “I'm not so sure about that,” she muttered.
“Dahlia,” Cara snapped, her hand catching Dahlia's wrist in a fast, almost violent move. Dahlia dropped her sword, partly from the surprise, partly from the pain. “Your hand's hurt?” Cara asked swiftly.
Dahlia glanced down and saw the blood on her palm, from a deep cut she hadn't noticed. The dark drops were falling softly onto the ashen ground. “I guess,” she jerked her hand back from Cara's, “I don't remember.” Her whole body hurt so much she could barely care anymore.
“How long have you been here?”
“Why would you care?” Dahlia replied, her voice tired.
“I came here to find you.”
Dahlia slowly looked up.
“Let me take you to my camp,” Cara said, her eyes still upon Dahlia's. “It's not far away - less than a mile into the woods. Away from the fight. Away from... this,” her hand twitched, gesturing at the destruction around them.
“There's nowhere left for me to go,” Dahlia said quietly. “There's nothing left for me to do. My life has no purpose now.”
“Dahlia...” Cara's voice arose in despair. “Come with me,” she said, her voice growing sweet with the affection Dahlia had long ago forgotten. “I came back for you. I cannot leave you here. I cannot abandon you again,” Cara looked away, shrugging the shivers that were slowly beginning to show in her shoulders.
Somehow, Dahlia thought, maybe, she still was the Cara she knew, after all. Her emotions seemed to come as awkward to her as they did before, when they knew each other as girls, back then when they were still young.
But the years gone by could not be denied. And the pain grew stronger with every day that passed by.
“Prove it,” she said, lifting her head, her posture as proud as she could make it, her boots - soiled and worn down from the long war - locked firmly to the ground, the waves of ash rising and falling slowly around them as she dug them deeper for balance.
Cara's emerald gaze met hers. “What would you want me do?” she asked quietly.
Dahlia's tears met her softly smiling lips. “Prove it to me that the world still makes sense. That my life still means something,” she said, despair finally showing through the cracks in her voice. “Prove it to me that you need me. And I might... I might not die today.”
This time she heard Cara's steps as the woman in the red dress approached her, although she couldn't stand to look into her eyes. Even though there was no Lord to serve any more and no battles to fight with her dead agiels, she was still a Mord'Sith. Showing weakness in front of another person...
“I need you,” Cara's soft whisper joined her hand as she slowly raised it to touch Dahlia's face. “I've always needed you. I tried to run away - but there was nothing that could keep me away from you, apart from your own desire to serve Darken Rahl. There was never anyone else who could manage to hold my attention for a more than a few months. There was never anyone else who mattered as much as you, Dahlia.”
Dahlia's lips trembled just a bit as Cara planted a soft kiss on her cheek, right into one of her tear trails, making the harsh feeling of the salt on her skin melt away, at least for a moment.
She had almost forgotten how it felt.
She turned her head to meet Cara's lips. Their first kiss in years was soft, with just a tint of salt, and a growing need that silently begun to rise in Dahlia's heart.
She leaned into Cara, her body remembering the other woman's, an interplay of touch and feel and make feel that they abandoned years ago, but never really could destroy in themselves. It was the easiest thing to do, make love to Cara, and also the hardest; there was nothing else in the world that Dahlia would have wanted more at that moment.
“I don't care about the dress,” Cara smiled softly when Dahlia nearly shoved her to the ground, but stopped herself right before it.
Dahlia just shook her head and finished the job.
They landed softly onto the still warm ash from the fires that started days ago, the dark red of their clothes swiftly covered with the soft grey of the ashes. They made love with an urgency not so unfamiliar, and still excitingly new; Dahlia couldn't even remember the last time Cara let her touch her skin, caress her body, kiss her lips and reach the hidden parts of her body that she remembered with passion.
Just to feel Cara's fingers on her breast, and on her stomach, and lower, and deeper, was like coming back to life; in the long days of the final battle, Dahlia had almost forgotten what it felt like, to breathe, to live, to be. There was no one who could remind her as well as Cara did, and there was no one she wanted to touch her more than the blond woman, the only one who ever really knew her.
As they rolled across each other's body, sometimes locked tightly together, sometimes long inches apart, the ashen dust flew around them, lifting high into the darkening sky, twisting and turning and burning in the light of the dying sun, and then falling back to the grey earth, being denied the sky.
As she came, Dahlia breathed out Cara's name, her voice softer than the ash caught in her disheveled braid, and Cara, following shortly after, didn't utter a sound, burying her lust deep into Dahlia's shoulder.
Breathless, they lay on the ash-covered ground, arms entwined, hearts pounding in unison.
It would have taken a thunderstorm to break them apart.
“You could've come back years ago,” Dahlia muttered softly, her fingers playing with the grey in Cara's hair. “You didn't have to wait until I was ready to die,” she said, her voice blank as she told Cara that simple truth.
“You would've never left him,” Cara replied with a truth of her own, her gaze caressing the lines of Dahlia's cheek.
Dahlia said nothing, just continued to twist a lock of Cara's hair, longer than the last time she'd seen her, around her ring finger. “Your friends could never accept me.”
“They've had years to adjust to the idea,” Cara replied. She smiled. “I've been telling them about you ever since I learned that I could trust them. I think they might just surprise you.”
“The Seeker...”
“... is a man. First and foremost. He is human, Dahlia. He'll trust his instincts. And mine.” She looked away for a split second. “I think we've all grown tired of this war. He'll accept the chance to befriend one of his former enemies. I know...” she smiled at Dahlia's incredulous expression, “he's funny that way. They all are.” Her smile widened a bit. “It's easier to get used to than it seems.”
“Does that mean I will have to trust you?”
Cara smiled again. “Only if I can return the trust.” She pulled her closer and kissed her, and soon it was all a swirl of and senses and colours and emotions of the two warm human bodies buried in the middle of the ashen hills, underneath the first distant stars. They were enough, the two of them, to cast off the darkness for a while.
After that, Dahlia pulled away a bit from Cara, rising up on her elbow. From the place where they were lying she could see the torches of the remaining fighters who went out into the vast battlefield, looking for survivors. Somehow she felt certain it was to help the wounded, not finish them off, but how she came to that conclusion, she did not know.
A smile softly shone upon her lips, the first smile in days, possibly months.
Maybe it was really time for the dying to end.