fic: Nightmare 3/4
Title: Nightmare
Series: (3/4) part 1, part 2, part 4
Fandom: LotS
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, self-inflicted violence aka Warning: Mord'sith dealing with ~feelings~
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No infringement intended.
Summary: Cara wakes Kahlan from a bad dream. 3: we rewind a little here for Cara's morning after.
A/N: I got this chapter back from my wonderful wonderful beta a little early. Plus, I've finished up the final part which she's looking over now-ish, so that should be up in a couple of days. Cheers, we are almost there.
….
Part 3
….
The wizard had powerful magic, indeed, if he could keep watch with his eyes closed, Cara thought scornfully. She was glad to be rid of his gaze. The faint flames of their fire were dying, smothering in their own ashes. Cara let it flicker out. Its warmth and comfort were another weakness. It, singing, and a woman whimpering in her sleep. Pitiful, foolish. What a stupid reason to die.
Every breath she took burned. Kahlan’s hand, in red and purple, lingered on her neck, her throat bruised and aching. Cara couldn’t embrace this pain, each lungful a reminder of how she failed. The physical discomfort was nothing. Hot and tight in her chest, something was blistering. An inferno.
I should have died. Cara’s hands crept to her belt, gripping the hilts of her agiels. Yet, somehow, the brand on her throat still stung, sharp and clear amid the weapons’ maelstrom of pain. She wished she had died.
Cara’s eyes clung to the still form of the Confessor, watching her chest rise and fall. Cara breathed with her, the absence of pain as she waited for Kahlan to inhale even more painful than her own aching inhalation. In every pause of Kahlan’s breath Cara was hyper aware of the way her leathers clung to her chest, sticky with the Confessor’s blood, red on red. And as they breathed together, the clear flicker of agony pulsed through her body like a heartbeat. I should have died! Cara tried to focus. She needed more, more pain than the hilts of the agiels provided. She needed it sharp and cleansing, to take her body over, drown her, make her whole. She needed to flood herself with it until she could no longer feel the phantom of Kahlan’s body in her arms, taste the copper of the Confessor’s blood on her lips. Kahlan was dead. She died. For me. Cara shuddered. A true Mord’Sith would have died, but Cara had failed; she had failed. And Kahlan had died because Cara had lived.
The night’s inky darkness was fading to blue as crimson splattered over the eastern mountain ridges. A few clouds, illuminated foamy, pink flecks by the spreading light, floated near the horizon. Still, Cara breathed together with Kahlan as little flickers of life awoke in the trees above them. A scribble of squirrel claws on the bark of a branch over head was followed by the hushed call of a redwing. Soon individual sounds were lost into a cacophony of birdsong. Kahlan died because I lived. Nothing would change that. She needed to scour this weakness from herself. A phantom weight of Kahlan’s dagger lay in her palm, sucking as Cara yanked it from the confessor’s flesh, undamming a bright, burning tide of blood. It couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it. If Kahlan had another occasion to confess her, for whatever reason, Cara would die, herself, in agony as befitted a Mord’Sith! She couldn’t bare it any other way.
She stalked over and prodded Zedd with her boot. “Wake up, Wizard.”
“I am awake,” Zedd mumbled, not opening his eyes.
“One,” Cara drew her agiel from its holster, tapping it against her other palm to make it shriek. “Two.”
“Creator’s mercy!” Zedd’s eyes popped open and he scrambled to his feet. “Put that thing away!” Indignation highlighted every word.
Cara let a wicked smirk coat her lips, reveling in his reaction. “Why, Wizard,” her voice was teasingly low and seductive. “You didn’t even let me get to the good part.” The urge to make someone wither in pain, him, herself, was undeniable. Even if she knew she wouldn’t really use it. Not on her friends.
Fresh ache erupted from Cara’s throat, cutting off her air. She clung to her agiel for a moment, her fingers clenched around it even as she tucked it away. Mercifully, Zedd said nothing about its ongoing cry. Maybe he thought she was still taunting him.
Footsteps behind her and then a cool hand closed on her wrist, tugging it gently away from the weapon. Her next breath was more agonizing than the last and she jerked away. “Richard.” Good, her voice sounded calm, bored. A touch hoarse, but there was nothing to be done about that.
“Cara.” His face looked haggard and she wondered if he had slept. If there was any sleep to be had anymore. His eyes seemed to be seeking something in hers and his shoulders slumped. “Good morning,” he offered at last.
She titled her head in acknowledgment, unable to bring herself to actually speak. She had failed, him as much as Kahlan.
“I’m going hunting.” Her words were abrupt, her motions equally quick and jerky as she grabbed up her bow and quiver.
“Cara…”
She hesitated, turning back partially, to eye him from behind her curtain of too short hair. Another disgrace. And, yet, she was grateful for its shield.
Richard passed a hand over his face and sighed deeply. “Never mind. Try not to be gone too long.”
His words released her and trapped her at the same time, but she seized the opportunity they offered and left quickly. The Seeker and wizard were adequate enough to guard the remainder of Kahlan’s slumber.
When she could no longer hear Zedd and Richard’s ritual exchange of morning banalities behind her, Cara broke into a run. Her breath came rapidly now, pain pulsing one into the next as her lungs burned. Still she pushed herself harder, faster, until she was gasping. Feet barely touched the ground as she plunged recklessly through the underbrush, branches slapping at her. If she wasn’t wearing her leathers, she would have been scratched and bleeding. Still it wasn’t enough. She grabbed her agiels from their holsters, letting their unnatural pain blend into her body’s suffering; fire and ice. Everything became pain and still the phantom hand on her neck burned. Brighter, hotter.
Cara tumbled into a clearing, missing her step and crashing into the dirt and grass. Flat on her back, an agiel in each fist, she lay wheezing, staring up at the sky. Hurts! In a way that wasn’t even physical, it hurt. What’s happening to me? What’s wrong with me? Her nose was clogged, there was wetness on her face. Was she crying?
The sky was so blue. Cara didn’t know how to stop this pain, how to get above it and ride it. She remembered Kahlan had cried, when Cara had knelt before her. Nothing had hurt then. The impossibly blue eyes above her, Cara had waited for the pain to come, hardly caring if it did. No Mord’Sith cared; not about agony, not about death. There was no horror in confession for Cara, no loyalty to steal, no master to betray. It all belonged to Kahlan already; hers to take, in whatever form she chose. Just like Cara’s love, unwanted though it might be.
Cara breathed in, suffocating. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Not since…
Not since Papa.
It had been a lie. But it had engulfed her, torn her apart. An agiel in each hand, Cara staggered to her feet.
She had killed him. A weak, burned, and broken thing, she had reformed as ice, unmoved, satisfied, by the body at her feet. The uncontrollable pain had been snuffed out; nothing was able to touch her, able to hurt, ever again. Until now.
One of the red rods fell to the ground by her feet. She had nothing to stop this pain. There was no source of the feelings, nothing to kill, except…. Except Kahlan… and myself. Cara gripped the other weapon tighter, holding it over her heart. Taking a final breath, calmer than any since her confession, she stabbed down. Her muscles shook from the shock of it. It was the only way. She couldn’t let Kahlan die for her ever again. It never should have happened in the first place. Would Kahlan kill herself to release a baneling from confession? Cara screamed as her body reacted to the physical pain, and then flung the weapon as far away from herself as she could. She couldn’t do it. Her heart staggered as it struggled back to its proper rhythm. She had failed. Again.
She wanted to live.
Cara collapsed to her knees, wrapped her arms around herself, and sobbed.
…
“Cara!”
Kahlan’s arms pumped, her hair stretched out behind her as she threw herself forward. Oh, Creator! She had thought… when Cara had collapsed to the ground…. But she was alive. It was ok. She was alive. Merciful Spirits, thank you!
Kahlan’s foot came down on a discarded agiel, send shooting pain up her leg, but she hardly noticed. Then she was plowing into Cara’s body, her arms wrapping around warm leather.
“Cara, oh Cara!” She was laughing, babbling, but she didn’t care. Their collision had knocked them over on the grass. Cara’s face was wet with tears. Kahlan touched Cara’s watery cheek with a shaking hand. She had only seen the Mord’Sith cry once before, and not like this.
Cara batted the hand away and rolled over. Her throat still hurt; her attempt to hide from Kahlan sudden appearance was feeble. Weak, sniveling…maybe I deserve this pain. She tried to wipe the damning tears away but more kept coming.
Suddenly presented with a red clad back, Kahlan froze and pulled back. Her hand stung from where Cara had hit it. She couldn’t read the Mord’Sith, didn’t know how far she could push the other woman’s pride, but she could see the shoulders shake. Whatever Cara was experiencing, she wasn’t handling it. Moving carefully, Kahlan scooted closer, until their bodies were touching lightly and golden hair tickled her nose. She brought her hand to rest quietly on the Mord’Sith’s waist. It was awkward, lying on the itchy grass; a rock was digging into her ribs and she didn’t know if her touch would be rejected. She has every right to reject my touch, after what I did to her. “Cara,” Kahlan’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. “I’m here.” Well, that was stunningly obvious.
The blond made no reply but didn’t move away from the contact. Recognizing a need for silence, Kahlan closed her eyes, feeling Cara’s chest move under her hand as she breathed. Without even thinking about what she was doing she began to trace little patterns with her fingertips, rubbing soothing circles.
Eventually, Cara spoke. The tightness in her chest had eased. She didn’t know why she had hurt so badly and she didn’t know why it had stopped, but she knew how. “Thank you,” she whispered it so quietly she wasn’t sure Kahlan had heard at first. The confessor’s hand kept its gentle motions along her side.
“You’re welcome.” The breathy words stirred Cara’s hair to tickle against her ear. “I’m sorry,” Kahlan added after another moment.
“For what?”
Kahlan made a choked sound, half laugh, half sob. “For confessing you!”
“Don’t be.” Cara’s words surprised them both. She gritted her teeth and forced the rest of the words out. “Don’t die for me again.”
“That’s what this is about?” Kahlan stared wide eyed at Cara’s back. She could feel the muscles tense under her fingers, sincerity written in ligament and sinew. “Richard and Zedd think you’re immune , you know,” she couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her tone. “To confession.”
“Is such a thing possible?” Cara couldn’t think of any other reason why she would have spoken of her infatuation with the Confessor. It had to be magic. Powerful magic.
“I don’t know. But you should know,” Kahlan faltered. “I love you too.”
Cara had thought her lungs had burned before. How come it doesn’t hurt this time? Through a haze that had descended on her mind she reached for Kahlan’s hand on her waist. The Confessors voice replayed in her mind. I love you too. Cara lifted the hand and brought it to her neck, placing Kahlan’s fingers over the perfectly matching, yellowing bruises. “Try it.”
“What?” Kahlan tried to pull her hand away, but Cara wouldn’t let her.
“Try it.” Cara’s grip tightened then retreated, leaving Kahlan’s hand in place.
“What if it doesn’t work, what if I confess you?” Fear, pure and undiluted, quavered in her throat.
“Kahlan, being confessed to you…” Cara struggled to explain. “I want to be what you want, whatever you…” She trailed off. “If you do confess me, it’s ok. For a Mord’Sith, being owned by someone is no bad thing,” the last was added in something more like her normal tones, assured, taunting.
I want to be what you want. Kahlan swallowed. She had considered the possibility when she saw the belief in Richard’s eyes. Now, she believed it herself. “Ok.”
Still, Kahlan didn’t summon her magic. Her hand retreated and she pushed Cara’s shoulder making the Mord’Sith roll into her back. She knelt above the prone, unresisting woman, supporting herself with one hand as the other playing on the skin in the red ‘v’ below Cara’s throat. “Tell me you love me,” she demanded.
Cara was enthralled. “As you command me, Confessor.” If she was going to have her personality wiped away, she would at least have teased Kahlan one last time. She smirked at Kahlan’s petulant look and her voice softened. “I love you.”
Kahlan fingers reclaimed her throat, soft and gentle. “I love you,” she whispered back. The blue of her eyes shrunk to just a sliver and then was gone.
( part 4)
Series: (3/4) part 1, part 2, part 4
Fandom: LotS
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, self-inflicted violence aka Warning: Mord'sith dealing with ~feelings~
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No infringement intended.
Summary: Cara wakes Kahlan from a bad dream. 3: we rewind a little here for Cara's morning after.
A/N: I got this chapter back from my wonderful wonderful beta a little early. Plus, I've finished up the final part which she's looking over now-ish, so that should be up in a couple of days. Cheers, we are almost there.
….
Part 3
….
The wizard had powerful magic, indeed, if he could keep watch with his eyes closed, Cara thought scornfully. She was glad to be rid of his gaze. The faint flames of their fire were dying, smothering in their own ashes. Cara let it flicker out. Its warmth and comfort were another weakness. It, singing, and a woman whimpering in her sleep. Pitiful, foolish. What a stupid reason to die.
Every breath she took burned. Kahlan’s hand, in red and purple, lingered on her neck, her throat bruised and aching. Cara couldn’t embrace this pain, each lungful a reminder of how she failed. The physical discomfort was nothing. Hot and tight in her chest, something was blistering. An inferno.
I should have died. Cara’s hands crept to her belt, gripping the hilts of her agiels. Yet, somehow, the brand on her throat still stung, sharp and clear amid the weapons’ maelstrom of pain. She wished she had died.
Cara’s eyes clung to the still form of the Confessor, watching her chest rise and fall. Cara breathed with her, the absence of pain as she waited for Kahlan to inhale even more painful than her own aching inhalation. In every pause of Kahlan’s breath Cara was hyper aware of the way her leathers clung to her chest, sticky with the Confessor’s blood, red on red. And as they breathed together, the clear flicker of agony pulsed through her body like a heartbeat. I should have died! Cara tried to focus. She needed more, more pain than the hilts of the agiels provided. She needed it sharp and cleansing, to take her body over, drown her, make her whole. She needed to flood herself with it until she could no longer feel the phantom of Kahlan’s body in her arms, taste the copper of the Confessor’s blood on her lips. Kahlan was dead. She died. For me. Cara shuddered. A true Mord’Sith would have died, but Cara had failed; she had failed. And Kahlan had died because Cara had lived.
The night’s inky darkness was fading to blue as crimson splattered over the eastern mountain ridges. A few clouds, illuminated foamy, pink flecks by the spreading light, floated near the horizon. Still, Cara breathed together with Kahlan as little flickers of life awoke in the trees above them. A scribble of squirrel claws on the bark of a branch over head was followed by the hushed call of a redwing. Soon individual sounds were lost into a cacophony of birdsong. Kahlan died because I lived. Nothing would change that. She needed to scour this weakness from herself. A phantom weight of Kahlan’s dagger lay in her palm, sucking as Cara yanked it from the confessor’s flesh, undamming a bright, burning tide of blood. It couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it. If Kahlan had another occasion to confess her, for whatever reason, Cara would die, herself, in agony as befitted a Mord’Sith! She couldn’t bare it any other way.
She stalked over and prodded Zedd with her boot. “Wake up, Wizard.”
“I am awake,” Zedd mumbled, not opening his eyes.
“One,” Cara drew her agiel from its holster, tapping it against her other palm to make it shriek. “Two.”
“Creator’s mercy!” Zedd’s eyes popped open and he scrambled to his feet. “Put that thing away!” Indignation highlighted every word.
Cara let a wicked smirk coat her lips, reveling in his reaction. “Why, Wizard,” her voice was teasingly low and seductive. “You didn’t even let me get to the good part.” The urge to make someone wither in pain, him, herself, was undeniable. Even if she knew she wouldn’t really use it. Not on her friends.
Fresh ache erupted from Cara’s throat, cutting off her air. She clung to her agiel for a moment, her fingers clenched around it even as she tucked it away. Mercifully, Zedd said nothing about its ongoing cry. Maybe he thought she was still taunting him.
Footsteps behind her and then a cool hand closed on her wrist, tugging it gently away from the weapon. Her next breath was more agonizing than the last and she jerked away. “Richard.” Good, her voice sounded calm, bored. A touch hoarse, but there was nothing to be done about that.
“Cara.” His face looked haggard and she wondered if he had slept. If there was any sleep to be had anymore. His eyes seemed to be seeking something in hers and his shoulders slumped. “Good morning,” he offered at last.
She titled her head in acknowledgment, unable to bring herself to actually speak. She had failed, him as much as Kahlan.
“I’m going hunting.” Her words were abrupt, her motions equally quick and jerky as she grabbed up her bow and quiver.
“Cara…”
She hesitated, turning back partially, to eye him from behind her curtain of too short hair. Another disgrace. And, yet, she was grateful for its shield.
Richard passed a hand over his face and sighed deeply. “Never mind. Try not to be gone too long.”
His words released her and trapped her at the same time, but she seized the opportunity they offered and left quickly. The Seeker and wizard were adequate enough to guard the remainder of Kahlan’s slumber.
When she could no longer hear Zedd and Richard’s ritual exchange of morning banalities behind her, Cara broke into a run. Her breath came rapidly now, pain pulsing one into the next as her lungs burned. Still she pushed herself harder, faster, until she was gasping. Feet barely touched the ground as she plunged recklessly through the underbrush, branches slapping at her. If she wasn’t wearing her leathers, she would have been scratched and bleeding. Still it wasn’t enough. She grabbed her agiels from their holsters, letting their unnatural pain blend into her body’s suffering; fire and ice. Everything became pain and still the phantom hand on her neck burned. Brighter, hotter.
Cara tumbled into a clearing, missing her step and crashing into the dirt and grass. Flat on her back, an agiel in each fist, she lay wheezing, staring up at the sky. Hurts! In a way that wasn’t even physical, it hurt. What’s happening to me? What’s wrong with me? Her nose was clogged, there was wetness on her face. Was she crying?
The sky was so blue. Cara didn’t know how to stop this pain, how to get above it and ride it. She remembered Kahlan had cried, when Cara had knelt before her. Nothing had hurt then. The impossibly blue eyes above her, Cara had waited for the pain to come, hardly caring if it did. No Mord’Sith cared; not about agony, not about death. There was no horror in confession for Cara, no loyalty to steal, no master to betray. It all belonged to Kahlan already; hers to take, in whatever form she chose. Just like Cara’s love, unwanted though it might be.
Cara breathed in, suffocating. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Not since…
Not since Papa.
It had been a lie. But it had engulfed her, torn her apart. An agiel in each hand, Cara staggered to her feet.
She had killed him. A weak, burned, and broken thing, she had reformed as ice, unmoved, satisfied, by the body at her feet. The uncontrollable pain had been snuffed out; nothing was able to touch her, able to hurt, ever again. Until now.
One of the red rods fell to the ground by her feet. She had nothing to stop this pain. There was no source of the feelings, nothing to kill, except…. Except Kahlan… and myself. Cara gripped the other weapon tighter, holding it over her heart. Taking a final breath, calmer than any since her confession, she stabbed down. Her muscles shook from the shock of it. It was the only way. She couldn’t let Kahlan die for her ever again. It never should have happened in the first place. Would Kahlan kill herself to release a baneling from confession? Cara screamed as her body reacted to the physical pain, and then flung the weapon as far away from herself as she could. She couldn’t do it. Her heart staggered as it struggled back to its proper rhythm. She had failed. Again.
She wanted to live.
Cara collapsed to her knees, wrapped her arms around herself, and sobbed.
…
“Cara!”
Kahlan’s arms pumped, her hair stretched out behind her as she threw herself forward. Oh, Creator! She had thought… when Cara had collapsed to the ground…. But she was alive. It was ok. She was alive. Merciful Spirits, thank you!
Kahlan’s foot came down on a discarded agiel, send shooting pain up her leg, but she hardly noticed. Then she was plowing into Cara’s body, her arms wrapping around warm leather.
“Cara, oh Cara!” She was laughing, babbling, but she didn’t care. Their collision had knocked them over on the grass. Cara’s face was wet with tears. Kahlan touched Cara’s watery cheek with a shaking hand. She had only seen the Mord’Sith cry once before, and not like this.
Cara batted the hand away and rolled over. Her throat still hurt; her attempt to hide from Kahlan sudden appearance was feeble. Weak, sniveling…maybe I deserve this pain. She tried to wipe the damning tears away but more kept coming.
Suddenly presented with a red clad back, Kahlan froze and pulled back. Her hand stung from where Cara had hit it. She couldn’t read the Mord’Sith, didn’t know how far she could push the other woman’s pride, but she could see the shoulders shake. Whatever Cara was experiencing, she wasn’t handling it. Moving carefully, Kahlan scooted closer, until their bodies were touching lightly and golden hair tickled her nose. She brought her hand to rest quietly on the Mord’Sith’s waist. It was awkward, lying on the itchy grass; a rock was digging into her ribs and she didn’t know if her touch would be rejected. She has every right to reject my touch, after what I did to her. “Cara,” Kahlan’s voice sounded strange to her own ears. “I’m here.” Well, that was stunningly obvious.
The blond made no reply but didn’t move away from the contact. Recognizing a need for silence, Kahlan closed her eyes, feeling Cara’s chest move under her hand as she breathed. Without even thinking about what she was doing she began to trace little patterns with her fingertips, rubbing soothing circles.
Eventually, Cara spoke. The tightness in her chest had eased. She didn’t know why she had hurt so badly and she didn’t know why it had stopped, but she knew how. “Thank you,” she whispered it so quietly she wasn’t sure Kahlan had heard at first. The confessor’s hand kept its gentle motions along her side.
“You’re welcome.” The breathy words stirred Cara’s hair to tickle against her ear. “I’m sorry,” Kahlan added after another moment.
“For what?”
Kahlan made a choked sound, half laugh, half sob. “For confessing you!”
“Don’t be.” Cara’s words surprised them both. She gritted her teeth and forced the rest of the words out. “Don’t die for me again.”
“That’s what this is about?” Kahlan stared wide eyed at Cara’s back. She could feel the muscles tense under her fingers, sincerity written in ligament and sinew. “Richard and Zedd think you’re immune , you know,” she couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her tone. “To confession.”
“Is such a thing possible?” Cara couldn’t think of any other reason why she would have spoken of her infatuation with the Confessor. It had to be magic. Powerful magic.
“I don’t know. But you should know,” Kahlan faltered. “I love you too.”
Cara had thought her lungs had burned before. How come it doesn’t hurt this time? Through a haze that had descended on her mind she reached for Kahlan’s hand on her waist. The Confessors voice replayed in her mind. I love you too. Cara lifted the hand and brought it to her neck, placing Kahlan’s fingers over the perfectly matching, yellowing bruises. “Try it.”
“What?” Kahlan tried to pull her hand away, but Cara wouldn’t let her.
“Try it.” Cara’s grip tightened then retreated, leaving Kahlan’s hand in place.
“What if it doesn’t work, what if I confess you?” Fear, pure and undiluted, quavered in her throat.
“Kahlan, being confessed to you…” Cara struggled to explain. “I want to be what you want, whatever you…” She trailed off. “If you do confess me, it’s ok. For a Mord’Sith, being owned by someone is no bad thing,” the last was added in something more like her normal tones, assured, taunting.
I want to be what you want. Kahlan swallowed. She had considered the possibility when she saw the belief in Richard’s eyes. Now, she believed it herself. “Ok.”
Still, Kahlan didn’t summon her magic. Her hand retreated and she pushed Cara’s shoulder making the Mord’Sith roll into her back. She knelt above the prone, unresisting woman, supporting herself with one hand as the other playing on the skin in the red ‘v’ below Cara’s throat. “Tell me you love me,” she demanded.
Cara was enthralled. “As you command me, Confessor.” If she was going to have her personality wiped away, she would at least have teased Kahlan one last time. She smirked at Kahlan’s petulant look and her voice softened. “I love you.”
Kahlan fingers reclaimed her throat, soft and gentle. “I love you,” she whispered back. The blue of her eyes shrunk to just a sliver and then was gone.
( part 4)