Fic: Never Settle For Flowers
By now, Cara was starting to recognize the signs. They were small but she had learned to see them for what they were: There was a general increase of activity in the town. People cleaned things. Merchants kept their stalls open a few more accommodating moments. People smiled more. Some even smiled at her. It was not benign; there was another of Westland’s inane traditional celebrations in the works.
Neither Kahlan nor Richard had said anything yet, which meant she still had a little time; after what has happened a few weeks ago, they seemed to have decided that telling her ahead of time gave her too much room to make her own plots. They were right, of course, and since they were still silent it was safe to assume she had at least today to prepare her escape. There were various excuses she could employ, depending on the situation. Zedd’s healing ensured that faking an illness could only buy her a few hours, which was probably not enough, but she would rather wait for warmer weather to fabricate anything that would force her to travel, and therefore camp, for an unspecified number of nights. She needed more information.
She chose to go to Emma to get it. In part because she knew Emma would tell her what she wanted to know without prying overly much and, furthermore, could be counted on for her discretion. In part because Cara respected her. The woman may have never held a sword but she knew how to command. By walking into a room she owned it; people listened to her and even in disagreement they were respectful, submissive. Even Kahlan, who could be as commanding as any Mord’Sith. The Confessor said it came from Emma’s being a mother and school teacher, but Cara knew a Mistress when she saw one. And, in part, Cara chose Emma because it was cold and Emma would just give her the warm chocolate milk drink with extra marshmallows without making her ask for it.
She made sure to check her chin for drool before knocking on the door, though.
In a matter of moments, the Mord’Sith found herself seated by the fire with a steaming mug in her hands.
…
“I’ll be gone for a couple of days,” Cara called as she entered their house later that evening, brushing the snow off her shoulders and stamping her boots for good measure.
“What?” Kahlan started, looking up from the tome she had been reading- another treatise on Westland law, no doubt. “Cara. Where were you? What do you mean you’ll be gone?”
“Just that,” Cara tossed her cloak over a chair before sinking into it, across from Kahlan. “Gone. Not here.” She stretched her legs out, arching her back, before relaxing with a sigh.
“Cara,” Kahlan’s voice warned as she placed a leather marker in her book.
The Mord’Sith kept her face smooth, watching Kahlan with feigned nonchalance from under her half closed eyes. “I stopped by Emma’s on the way back from the village. She asked me to take over Chase’s patrol for a couple of days. There’s some something or other,” Cara rolled her eyes. “She wants to spend it with him and you know I don’t care for celebrations. I agreed to help her out,” Cara finished in a pleased tone.
“Oh,” Kahlan said in a small voice, looking down.
Cara nearly smirked.
“So, you’re going to be gone that whole time then?” the Confessor asked softly.
Cara nodded. “Just about. I figure I can time a swing back passed this way on the day of the big whosy whatsy and you could join me for an early afternoon ride, if you like? You should be able to make it back here for whatever big evening thing they’re having.”
“There isn’t really…it’s not that type of…” Kahlan blushed. “Thank you, I’d love to go on a ride with you.”
“Patrol,” Cara corrected. Standing up, she eyed the Confessor appraisingly. “Don’t forget your daggers.”
She didn’t look back to see the face Kahlan was sure to be making as she left the room but she did smile. The Confessor had probably thought her muttered “just how I wanted to spend Valentines Day” had been too soft for the Mord’Sith to hear.
…
Kahlan nudged her horse into a canter, more grateful than she should have been to be getting out of town. It wasn’t all the red and the hearts and the couples, she could deal with that; by nature, she was not a woman that got jealous of other people’s happiness. Much.
With Cara gone, Richard, in his kindness, had gotten Michael to allow her to join him as an advisor when he held court and distributed justice. Her excitement lasted right up until the first case. They lied, right to her face. Those so-called lawyers had stood before the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and lied. And had gotten away with it because she didn’t have any proof! She had nearly confessed them on the spot. Proof! A Confessor not having proof- she was the proof!
And then, after an entire afternoon of listening to falsehoods while no one listened to her, Michael had had the nerve to hit on her. To insult Cara and then hit on Kahlan in the same breath, implying that the Mord’Sith was somehow inadequate because she didn’t understand traditional notions of romance. Kahlan had been longing to confess someone all day and had nearly suggested that Michael could try and weather her power as Cara, in her love, could. So, slapping him had been a form of restraint on Kahlan’s part, really.
What bothered her most about the whole thing was that she had been guilty of thinking along those same lines. Judging Cara for what she wasn’t rather than what she was.
Kahlan’s hood fell back as her horse ploughed through a snowy bank, letting her hair stream out behind her. Reining in, Kahlan slowed them to a trot, patting her horse’s neck and pulling the hood back up of her chilled ears. It was warmer than it had been, but still too chilly to go around bareheaded. She felt better, clearer, no longer like she was trying to outrun something.
Cara might not bring her flowers, but Kahlan was willing to bet she would bring her Micheal’s head, brother of Richard or not, if Kahlan hinted that he had bothered her. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with the Mord’Sith, but Kahlan found herself missing, just slightly, the respectful treatment a healthy dose of fear had gotten her in the Midlands. Not from everyone, of course, but there were a few people in whose eyes Kahlan could stand to see a little trepidation.
Cara was waiting for her at the foot of Miller’s bluff, where the track split, one snaking towards the next village and the other, barely traveled, heading towards what used to be the Boundary. At least, Kahlan assumed it was Cara. She held herself like Cara and she sat on Cara’s horse, though a heavy cloak deeply shadowed her face and prevented Kahlan from catching even a glimpse of red.
“About time you got here, Confessor.”
Kahlan laughed. “I missed you too, Cara.”
Hearing her voice, Cara’s horse lifted his head and whickered in greeting. Cara looked down at his mane and Kahlan caught the flash of the whites of her eyes as she rolled them. “Yes, fine,” the Mord’Sith looked back up at Kahlan with a scowl. “We missed you. Can we patrol now? I’m going to freeze just sitting here.”
“Of course.” Kahlan expected Cara to turn and set underway, but she waited until the Confessor was even with her and fell in along side, despite the fact that riding two abreast meant that both of them were having to doge tree branches. “How has the patrol been so far?”
“Uneventful,” Cara sounded disappointed, but Kahlan caught the glimmer of a falsehood in the normally unreadable woman.
“Cara,” she scolded. “What happened?”
The Mord’Sith glanced at her guiltily. “I dropped… something on my foot. How was your time with the hearings?”
Kahlan sighed, letting the obvious doge pass. Cara couldn’t have been too hurt or she wouldn’t be able to ride, pain tolerance or not. “Richard told you he was arranging that?”
Cara nodded.
“They were… uneventful,” Kahlan grinned, teasing, before the expression faded. “Actually, it was more frustrating than anything else. I guess I’m too used to being in charge; being nothing more than an observer was hard. I felt useless.”
Cara snorted. “Useless?” she made the notion sound ridiculous.
The Confessor started to shrug and then froze, the motion half completed. “Cara do you see smoke?” she pointed northeast where a thin straggle of gray rose low over the trees.
Cara nodded grimly. “Let’s go.”
They kicked their mounts into a gallop, racing through the trees.
……
It had been all Cara could do not to urge Kahlan to hurry along for the first part of the ride. She couldn’t quite picture what she would say to the Confessor if her surprise caught fire and burned down before they got there. The Mord’Sith still wasn’t entirely sure why all this was necessary to prove she loved Kahlan, but she doubted smoking, ash covered ruins would make the appropriate point. Although, given that Kahlan had once pronounced the site of one of the bloodiest battles in history ‘the most romantic spot in all of the Midlands,’ Cara couldn’t be certain. She did know that her relationship with Kahlan hinged upon her doing something ‘romantic,’ though; Emma had been quite firm about that.
“Sex?” Cara choked, nearly spitting the hot chocolate back into her mug. She swallowed hastily and looked at Emma with a too wide grin. “You mean to say that you have an entire holiday about sex?”
She was fixed with a firm glare. “I said that was one way to celebrate. If you make this all about sex and don’t let Kahlan know how much you love her, I can guarantee you won’t have to worry about how to celebrate this holiday next year.”
And if Cara’s worth as a lover was hanging in the balance she wasn’t going to settle for a mediocre gesture. She was going to do the best, most romantic thing, ever… even if she had no idea what that was. She spent the rest of the visit pressing Emma for ideas.
In the end, it was Chase who had come up with an acceptable proposal and a suitable cover for her absence. The time of year proved to be a hindrance, however. Fortunately Cara had resources.
“You’re kidding.”
Cara gave Richard a tolerant look. “You build things all the time.”
“But a house and a hut over a hot spring? In a week?”
“I’m helping. But,” Cara shrugged. “If it’s beyond your abilities...”
“Subtle.”
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
When Kahlan saw it, as they crested the last hill and reined there horses in, smoke rising invitingly from the chimney of the, thankfully still standing, cottage, Cara had a moment of doubt at the look of sheer astonishment on the Confessor’s face.
“I didn’t know anybody lived out here,” the Confessor question suspiciously, turning her head to stare at Cara.
Uncharacteristically, Cara found herself at a loss for words. Fortunately she had a traditional response to fall back on. “Happy Valentines Day?” It came out more unsure than she would have liked. She didn't enjoy feeling nervous... and her foot still hurt from the hammer.
Then Kahlan smiled.