Fic: Alliance
Were they really still enemies, Darken wondered, as he sat across from Nicci in the cavernous dining room, empty save for the two of them. The remains of a meal lay haphazardly in front of them, and Nicci was twirling a nearly empty wine goblet idly in her fingers. Darken watched her, rather than letting his gaze rest too long on the mess-someday he might need to make his Mord’Sith wash the dishes, but, thank the Creator, his power had not yet diminished that far.
He and Nicci had both served the Keeper and been betrayed by him. Both of them had struggled futilely against Richard’s ridiculous propensity for success. They were both inhabiting bodies that were not their own. Alone among the living, they knew what a struggle it was, every night filled with the Keeper’s furious recriminations. He knew she had the nightmares-he’d watched her toss and turn in her cell, a worried line between her brows that not even the most inventive waking torture could conjure there.
Death's Mistress, she called herself; everyone needed a title. Lord. Seeker. Confessor. Wizard. Without a title you were no-one, a peasant. If you didn't have one bestowed upon you by virtue of your family, you could make do as a Sister or Brother of a religious order, a way to command respect by the very mention of your name. Now, no longer Sister Nicci, she'd had to develop a new identity; Darken understood and even respected that. Still…
"If you are Death's Mistress," Rahl wondered aloud, "who, exactly, is Death?"
"Death is not 'who'. Death just is." She ran her fingertips over her Rada'Han, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "I will meet Death willingly when it is my time."
Rahl wouldn't kill her yet, of that she was certain. He needed her Han - Richard's Han, technically - because he was still Darken Rahl in all the ways that mattered, save the most important one: his blood lacked inherent Rahl magic. He was a king without his birthright.
Once he had her Han, it would be a different story and, despite her brave words, Nicci had no wish to prematurely meet the Keeper again. So, devious as ever, she leaned forward seductively, abandoning her wine goblet to trace a gentle line down the curve of her neck to the bodice of her gown.
“Don’t you ever get…lonely?” she asked softly.
At first inclined to refute this ridiculous suggestion-he still had loyal Mord’Sith, and furthermore he was a Rahl, not some poor weeping peasant-Darken paused, watching Nicci. Her hair shone gold in the light from the fire, its shadows playing across his own face. He'd never really noticed before, never paid it much heed, but Nicci was indeed beautiful.
He remained silent for so long that Nicci feared he wasn’t going to answer her, that this strange dinner would end with her once more locked in her cell. There was an odd kinship between them, and she found it easier to admire the man now that her burned skin had healed. But she knew she had to be careful; Rahl’s temper was legendary.
“Perhaps,” he purred, leaning forward and taking Nicci’s chin between two strong fingers, “we should pool our resources-rather than dwelling on mortality, shall we simply enjoy the pleasures of the living?”
It had been too long since Darken had enjoyed the company of a woman he considered even close to his equal. Cara was lost to him, and Denna was a traitor. The other Mord’Sith were mere shadows of his former favorites, no longer bound solely to him, and would soon leave him for Richard if he couldn’t find a way to keep them.
It was strange how well he understood a woman from the Old World, a sorceress who had once prayed to the Keeper in all sincerity. But Nicci had a grace and cool dignity he admired.
Nicci smirked at him, sure now of her eventual control. Rahl was a challenge, but she was no novice at the game of interpersonal politics. When he kissed her, it was as though he were staking a claim, marking her as his. Nicci was surprised to find that she liked it.
The fire between them was immediate and fierce, as Darken felt Nicci melt against his mouth…they were on their feet now, tongues battling for dominance as Darken seized a handful of that precious golden hair…
Rahl broke away from Nicci to brush impatiently aside the remains of their meal, sending her wine goblet clattering to the floor, and pulling her up onto the table, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. Nicci laughed harshly at the romantic gesture.
“My hero,” she teased, not caring now that she was technically his prisoner. It was worth it for the scowl that twisted Rahl’s features.
“Spare me a homily on virtue,” he drawled, twisting his hand in her hair so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “That’s Richard’s province.”
Even now, she was not intimidated-Darken’s eyes tracked her every move as she visibly relaxed into a more seductive pose, shrugging one white shoulder free of her gown. Nor did she want to talk about Richard, her eyes narrowing at the mention of his name.
“This would work best for me in silence,” she said insolently.
And so while the fire flickered and cast dark shadows on the walls of the room, the two enemies became lovers. And if the silence was not complete, at least coherent words were absent for some time.
He and Nicci had both served the Keeper and been betrayed by him. Both of them had struggled futilely against Richard’s ridiculous propensity for success. They were both inhabiting bodies that were not their own. Alone among the living, they knew what a struggle it was, every night filled with the Keeper’s furious recriminations. He knew she had the nightmares-he’d watched her toss and turn in her cell, a worried line between her brows that not even the most inventive waking torture could conjure there.
Death's Mistress, she called herself; everyone needed a title. Lord. Seeker. Confessor. Wizard. Without a title you were no-one, a peasant. If you didn't have one bestowed upon you by virtue of your family, you could make do as a Sister or Brother of a religious order, a way to command respect by the very mention of your name. Now, no longer Sister Nicci, she'd had to develop a new identity; Darken understood and even respected that. Still…
"If you are Death's Mistress," Rahl wondered aloud, "who, exactly, is Death?"
"Death is not 'who'. Death just is." She ran her fingertips over her Rada'Han, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "I will meet Death willingly when it is my time."
Rahl wouldn't kill her yet, of that she was certain. He needed her Han - Richard's Han, technically - because he was still Darken Rahl in all the ways that mattered, save the most important one: his blood lacked inherent Rahl magic. He was a king without his birthright.
Once he had her Han, it would be a different story and, despite her brave words, Nicci had no wish to prematurely meet the Keeper again. So, devious as ever, she leaned forward seductively, abandoning her wine goblet to trace a gentle line down the curve of her neck to the bodice of her gown.
“Don’t you ever get…lonely?” she asked softly.
At first inclined to refute this ridiculous suggestion-he still had loyal Mord’Sith, and furthermore he was a Rahl, not some poor weeping peasant-Darken paused, watching Nicci. Her hair shone gold in the light from the fire, its shadows playing across his own face. He'd never really noticed before, never paid it much heed, but Nicci was indeed beautiful.
He remained silent for so long that Nicci feared he wasn’t going to answer her, that this strange dinner would end with her once more locked in her cell. There was an odd kinship between them, and she found it easier to admire the man now that her burned skin had healed. But she knew she had to be careful; Rahl’s temper was legendary.
“Perhaps,” he purred, leaning forward and taking Nicci’s chin between two strong fingers, “we should pool our resources-rather than dwelling on mortality, shall we simply enjoy the pleasures of the living?”
It had been too long since Darken had enjoyed the company of a woman he considered even close to his equal. Cara was lost to him, and Denna was a traitor. The other Mord’Sith were mere shadows of his former favorites, no longer bound solely to him, and would soon leave him for Richard if he couldn’t find a way to keep them.
It was strange how well he understood a woman from the Old World, a sorceress who had once prayed to the Keeper in all sincerity. But Nicci had a grace and cool dignity he admired.
Nicci smirked at him, sure now of her eventual control. Rahl was a challenge, but she was no novice at the game of interpersonal politics. When he kissed her, it was as though he were staking a claim, marking her as his. Nicci was surprised to find that she liked it.
The fire between them was immediate and fierce, as Darken felt Nicci melt against his mouth…they were on their feet now, tongues battling for dominance as Darken seized a handful of that precious golden hair…
Rahl broke away from Nicci to brush impatiently aside the remains of their meal, sending her wine goblet clattering to the floor, and pulling her up onto the table, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. Nicci laughed harshly at the romantic gesture.
“My hero,” she teased, not caring now that she was technically his prisoner. It was worth it for the scowl that twisted Rahl’s features.
“Spare me a homily on virtue,” he drawled, twisting his hand in her hair so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “That’s Richard’s province.”
Even now, she was not intimidated-Darken’s eyes tracked her every move as she visibly relaxed into a more seductive pose, shrugging one white shoulder free of her gown. Nor did she want to talk about Richard, her eyes narrowing at the mention of his name.
“This would work best for me in silence,” she said insolently.
And so while the fire flickered and cast dark shadows on the walls of the room, the two enemies became lovers. And if the silence was not complete, at least coherent words were absent for some time.