The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (16/16)
Title: The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (16/16)
Author: fortunata13
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 5014 (total word count 84,821)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: Cara and Kahlan get their fairytale ending -- with an unexpected twist.
A/N1: Italics denote the play. As I said in the summary and notes of the first chapter, short of a kitchen sink, anything you can possibly imagine is in here. I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for the words of encouragement I've received from so many of you. Please let it be known that statuepup get's full credit for this story. I could not have done it without her.
A/N2: I haven't forgotten the request for a tell-all version of the events at Avenio. It's already dancing around in my head.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 16
What A Wonderful Ride
“No, no, no, absolutely not.”
“Cara, my love, you have to. Everyone is counting on you.”
“Why can’t I wear my own clothes? What about one of those outfits you got me in Cagliari?”
Kahlan rolls her eyes. “Cara please, just try on the dress.” She edges in a bit closer -- just enough for one of her breasts to press against Cara’s arm. While Cara feels a rather pleasant jolt course through her body at the contact, she’s on to these underhanded Confessor tactics.
“No,” Cara says flatly. Except that saying ‘no’ to Kahlan has an unexpected side-effect she hadn’t counted on: it feels like a knife through her own heart. So much so that she’d willingly walk around Ushuaia in a monkey costume to make it stop. With a scowl and one of her hands clenching the hilt of her dagger, she walks past Kahlan without so much as glancing at her.
Kahlan panics for a moment, worried that being coerced into wearing a dress could be enough to make Cara reconsider her choice of a mate. She turns to follow the disgruntled former Mord’Sith only to find she’s already holding the dress. Kahlan leans in and kisses her neck. “Thank you, Cara.” Cara doesn’t answer, already reaching for the laces of her leathers. “No,” Kahlan says, “that’s my job.” Cara suppresses a smile, but with Kahlan kissing every newly-exposed bit of skin, it’s impossible to hold back the tiny sounds of pleasure leaving her throat. It doesn’t help that Kahlan takes full advantage of Cara’s nakedness by leaving a trail of wet kisses on Cara’s neck, breasts, and belly. Cara groans when Kahlan stops her descent. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” Kahlan says in a sultry tone.
“Out,” Cara orders, when she’s about to put on the dress. Kahlan rolls her eyes and obeys. She can hear Cara’s grumbles from the other side of the door. “You’d think I asked her to nurse a baby Gar,” Kahlan mumbles.
“I heard that,” Cara snaps back from the other side of the door. Kahlan covers her mouth with her hands. Cara’s hearing is clearly superior to that of mere mortals.
After almost a half a candlemark, Cara opens the door just enough to poke out her head. “Tried it on. It’s hideous.”
She tries to quickly shut the door, but the Mother Confessor uses her size advantage keep it open. “Cara, please let me in.” She says it in a small, vulnerable voice that makes it impossible for Cara to refuse. She has no choice but to endure the humiliation.
When Kahlan walks in, her lips part -- eyes dropping to Cara’s plunging neckline for a moment. “Spirits, you take my breath away.” She pulls the former Mord’Sith into a kiss so passionate that wearing a dress suddenly seems a little less torturous. “Let me take a good look at you,” Kahlan says, attempting to twirl Cara around in the small room. Given the limited space, it proves to be a bad choice for Cara gets tangled in the gown’s elaborate train and topples over onto the bed -- with her legs over her head. Only it was an excellent choice since Kahlan soon discovers Cara hadn’t deemed it necessary to wear smallclothes under her dress. “Oh my,” Kahlan say, kissing her way up Cara’s thighs. Wearing a dress may not be so bad after all.
“Ladies, are you decent?” Marina is an excellent friend but her timing leaves much to be desired. Kahlan is forced to tear herself away just short of the prize; Cara is none too happy about it.
“Don’t you dare take that dress off,” Kahlan says, kissing the tops of Cara’s breasts. “We have unfinished business,” she adds, as she walks out of the room. Cara lies back on the bed. This dress could turn out to be a fine addition to her ever-expanding wardrobe.
“We have to go,” Kahlan says, when she walks back in. “Oh, and put these on.” In an effort to protect Cara’s nonexistent modesty, she tosses her a pair of smallclothes.
“Go where?” Cara asks.
“Dress rehearsal.” Surprisingly, Cara shakes her head and sighs, but doesn’t protest. She does, however, grab Marina’s cloak on her way out, pulling the hood over her head to avoid being recognized.
“Cara Mason, Mother Confessor,” Marcelo says, beaming with excitement. Cara stands with her arms hanging at her sides, and produces a low guttural sound that the boy interprets as a greeting. Ever gracious, Kahlan smiles, and pats him on the back.
“Why don’t we take a few moments to read through the script?” A sound suggestion since all the kissing had prevented her and Cara from getting past the first few pages. Cara shrugs in response; Kahlan decides to interpret it as a resounding yes. Marcelo, in the interim, is talking to laborers about set design and various other details relevant to the upcoming performance. How the child is so knowledgeable about such matters is mystifying to them all.
Just then, Kahlan notices an odd indication in the script. She taps him on the shoulder and asks, “Marcelo, this line, ‘HP enters stage right,” what is ‘HP’?”
“Ah, that would be me,” says a striking, well-muscled young man with thick wavy hair, and features that appear as if they’d been chiseled out of marble. When he smiles at her, Kahlan is certain one of his bicuspids literally sparkles for a moment. “The handsome prince,” he punctuates the statement with yet another one of those impossibly sparkling smiles.
“And you, I assume, are the beautiful, golden-haired princess I am to kiss awake,” he says to Cara, who gives him an appreciative look from head to toe. She then turns toward Kahlan who, by the look on her face, is mentally measuring the would-be prince for a casket.
“Marcelo, we need to talk,” says the Mother Confessor of the Midlands in that thundering tone she employees when about to decimate a foe. Her hand goes to the back of his neck, practically lifting him off ground as she guides him outside to educate him on various matters. Cara smirks, convinced the glorious male specimen Marcelo chose as her prince is about to spare her from public humiliation.
She and her costar stand awkwardly on the stage waiting for Marcelo and Kahlan to sort out their differences. It’s almost a full candlemark before the two of them return. Marcelo is uncharacteristically quiet -- a sure sign that Kahlan is the victor in this exchange. “Cara, let’s go,” Kahlan says. When she walks past the prince, she stops for a moment and glares at him, mumbling something about a dead body.
“So, no play,” Cara says with a little too much enthusiasm as they walk back to the lighthouse.
“The play will go on,” Kahlan says, earning herself a scowl from her mate. “Marcelo agreed that the script would be vastly improved by presenting a more progressive view on the classic tale of The Princess Sleeps. I’ll be rewriting it this evening.”
“So, no dress,” Cara says hopefully.
“Oh, you’re still wearing the dress.”
Cara thinks for a moment, wrinkling her brow. “So why not un-write the dress?” Kahlan doesn’t answer, leading Cara to conclude that Kahlan always wins. And those little Confessors whose names she’s already chosen will always win, too. And they will probably also coerce her into wearing dresses. In fact, she suspects that someday soon she’ll be forced to participate in little Confessor tea parties. Her life is definitely over.
***
“Back already?” Marina asks.
“Yes, Kahlan threatened Marcelo with confession because she didn’t want me to kiss the handsome prince.”
“I did no such thing,” Kahlan says, mortified by the accusation. “I merely explained to him how Confessor magic works, and that under extreme circumstance it is difficult to control.”
“I see, you terrified him enough to cancel the play,” Marina says.
“No,” Cara says, “she terrified him enough to allow her to rewrite the script.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds awful,” Kahlan protests. “My aim is to improve upon the story.” With that, she marches upstairs, with Cara right behind her.
“You can take off the dress, if you’d like,” Kahlan says, nuzzling Cara’s hair and kissing the corner of her mouth. Cara does her best to resist the Confessor’s tactics but her Mord’Sith training didn’t include any advice on how to turn away from delicious milky-white skin, and soft lips, and lovely hands cupping her cheeks. Kahlan always wins.
“I’m going to need your help with the script,” she breathes into Cara’s ear. “You’ll have to serve as my desk.”
Cara raises her eyebrows, quickly stripping off the dress. It’s the first pleasant offer she’s had all day. Lying down parallel to the foot of the bed, she feels Kahlan’s lips leaving a trail of wet kisses on her backside. “Mm, if my desk at the Confessor’s Palace were as lovely as this one, surely I’d get much more work done.” Cara smiles, considering a clerical career as a definite possibility, especially since Kahlan’s lips have traveled further south. “Spirits, I can’t wait to take you back to Aydindril with me.” Needless to say, the script writing takes a few rather interesting -- and pleasurable -- detours that Kahlan claims serve to inspire her writing. By the end of the night, Cara’s posterior is covered with bite marks and the new script is completed. Kahlan falls asleep using her favorite desk as a pillow.
The rest of the week flies by in a flurry of rehearsals, costume fittings, and Cara’s endless grumbling. Were it not that so many of their friends had traveled to see her performance, she’d lock herself in the lighthouse until the confounding thing were over. Surely they could make do with an invisible princess. As far as Cara is concerned, that would certainly be a play worth watching.
***
This, Cara decides, is the worst night of her life. She’d gladly face and army of Cyclopes rather than step out on that stage. “Cara, my love, please calm down. Everything will be fine.” Kahlan runs her hand up and down Cara’s back in an effort to calm her but the action seems to have the opposite effect: it causes her to lose the contents of her stomach into a nearby bucket.
“That’s a good sign,” says one of the stagehands walking past her, “break a leg.” Cara is tempted to kill him for wishing such a thing upon her. But just then, the sound of string instruments and horns announces that the play is about to begin. Kahlan pulls her into a tight embrace then shoves her onto the stage, her feet landing exactly on her mark.
When the curtain rises, the crowd numbers in the thousands. She stands there frozen for an instant -- until she notices that sitting in the first few rows are all of her friends. Marina is there with her mate, the fishwoman, except on this day she’s a regular woman, and Jamal, wearing his turban and a smile, sits beside them; all of the women of the Grotto are there as well, thankfully wearing a bit more than their own hair; Rabindranath and his family, including Ganesh standing off at the side of the stage; the Mayor of Avenio and his wife, on their feet, clapping like mad; even the shmeeker, the homicidal witch, and the annoying Wizard are there. Cara’s eyes dart out toward the crowd in the hopes of finding Horatio and his family, smiling when she spots Maléna and the bouncing children. The grin on her face at the realization that they are all here for her, to support her, she fears may become permanent.
When the music stops, the narrator, none other than Horatio Phineas Panza, steps onto the stage.
“Once upon a time,” he says, without a trace of a squeal or a bounce, “there lived in this land a princess so beautiful that those who looked upon her became themselves more beautiful. When she roamed the countryside on her black stallion, the sun shone more brightly, as did the moon and the stars. Her beauty, some say, was a reflection of the purity of her heart, for she was also kind, this Princess.”
“Suitors traveled from faraway lands to ask for her hand in marriage, some bringing extravagant gifts, others offering great treasures and promising to expand the tiny kingdom a thousandfold. The King, however, was not interested in trading his daughter’s happiness for riches. His only wish in this life, that his daughter someday experience a love as great as he and the recently departed Queen had shared. ‘Someday, my beautiful girl, you will find someone worthy of your heart,’’” said the king, portrayed by Captain Fernão de Magalhães, walking onto the stage and taking Cara’s hand. She’s a vision in her Princess dress -- evidenced by the oohs and aahs of the crowd.
“The Princess told her father time and again that in a dream she had seen the face of her one true love and would die a maid rather than give her hand to another. Respecting his daughter’s wishes, one by one, he turned them away, always believing that someday her love would come. Not once had he imagined that tragedy would soon strike.” The ominous tone in which Horatio says it causes the audience to gasp in anticipation.
“It was on a hot summer’s day, that the dark Prince from the Land of Sand, arrived bearing gifts and speaking words of love in the hopes of wooing the beautiful Princess with the long, golden curls and eyes the color of the sea. As was his custom, the King greeted the visitor and listened intently to his words. As was also his custom, when the young man asked for her hand, the King looked up at his only daughter who stood at the top of the stairs, and waited for her response. As she had done so many times before, she shook her head no. The King informed the Prince that his daughter had seen the face of her true love in a dream, and it was not his.” Cara, still standing at the top of the stairs, barely manages to hide her amusement at the realization that the would-be handsome prince had been relegated to the role of the villain. Leave it to Kahlan to arrive at a compromise that did not involve him kissing Cara.
“The Dark Prince flew into a rage,” Horatio says, waving his arms dramatically, “hurling threats at both the King and the Princess, swearing vengeance and a curse upon his daughter if the King did not compel her to accept his proposal. Before the evil Prince could harm either of them, the Royal Guards dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the Palace.” The crowd cheered as Cara ran down the stairs and into Ferñao’s arms. “Father, are you hurt?&rdquo Cara delivers her line to perfection, one of her hands going to Ferñao’s cheek, just as Marcelo had indicated.
“While the experience was unsettling, father and daughter put it behind them. It wasn’t until months later when a gift arrived at the Palace with the Princess as its intended recipient, that everything went horribly wrong. Because she was well-loved, such expressions of affection were not unusual; she’d received countless presents from her adoring subjects. Only that upon opening this particular package, the Princess was overcome with a sense of malaise that would plague her for days. Various healers examined her, none able to precisely diagnose her condition. All of them, however, agreed that the proper prescription was rest.
“On the night of the thirteenth moon, the King kissed his daughter good night just as he had done every other night of her life. When in the morning the Princess did not cheerfully enter the dining hall to break her fast as she had always done, the King’s heart filled with dread, remembering the words uttered by the evil Prince from the Land of Sand. He found his only daughter in a deep slumber from which she could not be roused. Healers, clergymen, and well-wishers from the remotest of lands, having heard of the beloved Princess’s plight, traveled to the tiny Kingdom to offer their help. Alas, it was to no avail. Heartbroken as he was, the King tended to his daughter for as best as he could, never giving up hope that someday soon he would look upon those eyes that perfectly matched the sea, one more time. ‘I am here by your side, my angel,’ he’d say to her every day.” This is Cara’s favorite part of the play: all that is required of her is to feign sleep. And that is a very good thing because she had fallen asleep while Kahlan went over the script, and thus, hasn’t any idea what happens next.
“Because the Princess loved winter best, on the evening of the Solstice celebration the King made arrangements to have the sleeping Princess moved to her beloved rose garden. A receptacle made of the finest crystal, lined with silk pillows, and kept warm by a hearth, was built for her comfort. Residents of the kingdom shed many a tear at the sight of her like that, perfectly still as if life had left her. Their only comfort, that her golden complexion remained unchanged as did her lovely full lips.” Cara had been wondering what purpose that big glass box served, little did she know that it was meant for her.
“At dusk, only moments before the Royal Guard was to return the Princess to her bedchamber, an entire battalion led by the Prince from the Land of Sand, leaving in its wake a cloud of dust, stormed the castle, forcing its way into the garden.” Marcelo must have hired every able-bodied man in Ushuaia who owned a horse for all around the stage and the audience horsemen really were leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. “The Royal Guard fought bravely, every one of them willing to give up his life for the Princess. The King himself took up a sword to fight for her, but theirs was a peaceful land that had no army to speak of, their defeat, thus, a certainty.
“At the very moment that the evil Prince hovered over the Princess with the intention of driving a dagger through her heart, the Queen of the Land of Snow, the bravest, fiercest warrior in all of the world, riding her white stallion at full gallop, ran him through with her sword. She then stood strong against the entire battalion long enough for every citizen, women and children among them, wielding pans and rocks, and hurling pots of hot oil, to drive them back to the evil land from which they hailed.” Still in her glass box, Cara grinned when she opened her eyes for a moment only to find that Kahlan had written herself into the play.
“‘My Kingdom is yours,’ the King said to the Queen of the Land of Snow, dropping to one knee before her, his cheeks slick with tears.
“‘I ask only that you allow me to court the Princess and, if she’ll have me, someday take her hand in marriage. She has lived in my dreams for the whole of my life.’ The King wept like a small child, convinced that hers was the face the Princess had seen in her own dreams. Alas it was all for naught, for the Princess, he explained, could not be roused from the deep slumber brought about by the dark Prince’s curse. ‘May I at least see her?’ asked the Queen of the Land of Snow, her own heart shattered by the loss of her one true love. The King nodded, walking the brave warrior woman to the glass enclosure, then giving her a moment alone with the Princess for whose life she had been willing to die.
“‘My love,’ she said, looking down at the beautiful sleeping princess, ‘all my life I’ve searched for you and now that I’ve found you, it is too late.’ A single tear ran down the Queen’s cheek, landing on the Princess’s heart. Inexplicably, the tear transformed into a flawless diamond -- it, too, shaped like a tear. Moved by the precious stone created by their love, the Queen leaned in and kissed the Princess on the lips.
“‘I knew you’d come for me,’ said the Princess gazing up the Queen’s eyes, the curse broken by her true love’s kiss.” Standing offstage, Marcelo frowned; that wasn’t the line he’d written. The audience’s reaction, however, led him to consider that perhaps it was the line he should have written. The crowd was on its feet cheering -- and the play wasn’t even over yet.
When they settled down, Kahlan took Cara by the hand, helping her step out of the box.
“‘You’ve returned my daughter to me,’ said the King, wrapping his arms around his precious child, while the Queen smiled a smile so bright it put the sun to shame. She then dropped on one knee, taking the Princess’s delicate hand in her own and said, ‘If you’ll have me, for the rest of my days I will endeavor to deserve the heart of so fair a lady.’”
“‘My heart has been yours since the beginning of time,’ said the Princess, pulling the Queen into a passionate kiss.” That last line was also not written by Marcelo. Those words were strictly the product of Cara’s heart.
At that very moment, a canopy of thousands of tiny blue points of shimmering light hovers above them as if their sole purpose in this life is to celebrate their love. Poor Horatio, standing only a few paces away, could not help but let loose one of his patented squeals at the sight of such beauty. “And they lived happily ever after,” he says, when he remembers his last line.
The curtain drops to a standing ovation and when it rises again, Cara and Kahlan are still kissing -- the rest of the cast, including the narrator, are onstage beside them. It takes several curtain calls before the audience returns to their seats. Ferñao, who before taking to the sea must have harbored a dream of being a stage actor, puts his arms around Cara and Kahlan, and says, “I’ve always wanted a daughter, now I have two.”
“Wisps,” Cara says to Kahlan, her entire face lighting up at the sight of them, “the baby Wisps are here.” Kahlan only smiles, already one of them is whispering into her ear. The rest of them, overjoyed to see Cara, are talking to her all at once. She does her best to answer all their questions but, badly outnumbered, she shakes her head and laughs.
When the crowd dissipates, Cara and Kahlan find themselves surrounded by all of their friends. The three candlemarks that follow consist of laughter and hugs and well-wishes all around. Marcelo is already talking about a sequel to The Princess Sleeps which earns him an eye roll from Cara. Kali and Ludovico, the boy who wishes to be Queen, are never more than a few paces away from Cara, and Ferñao, with Jamal at his side, is signing autographs on those things that aren’t parchment. This quest, with its many twists and turns, turned out to be a quest for love. “So what happens next?” Richard asks, with his soon-to-be mate by his side.
“We will see all of you in Aydindril for the wedding,” Kahlan replies, mounting her white stallion and extending her hand out to Cara, who is still wearing her pink princess dress. While she’s not particularly pleased at having to ride side-saddle in front of Kahlan, on this day, nothing can take the smile off her face.
“The Seeker’s mate has a very big ass,” Cara says, scrunching her nose as she looks back at them. Kahlan laughs so hard she nearly falls off the horse.
Their evening ends at the lighthouse where they find Marina sitting by the seashore, watching her mate, the fishwoman as Cara calls her, dive into the sea.
“Why is she a fishwoman again?” Cara asks, recalling the sadness of their previous parting.
“The odd blonde woman did something but Ariel is a creature of the sea. She must always return to it, just as the two of you must always return to each other.” There is no trace of sadness in her words for she knows that in this world and all others, they will find happiness together.
“Look,” Kahlan says, pointing to Cara’s penguin who has found a friend. “I guess we’ll be introducing a new species to Aydindril’s ecosystem.” Cara nods, her pet penguin had been a source of comfort while Kahlan was away. She’s certain the little Confessors will love their pet penguins.
“So when will you return to your people?” Marina looks between them with a twinge of sadness in her eyes. “While I know we will see each other again, goodbyes are never easy.”
“We will leave in the morning,” Kahlan says, “but you’ll come to the wedding.”
“Poseidon himself could not keep me away.” She squeezes Kahlan’s shoulder, then turns toward Cara, gazing into her eyes for a long moment. “Take good care of your beautiful lady.” Cara gives her a firm nod and takes Kahlan’s hand.
“Go on,” Marina says, “take rest. You have a long journey ahead of you.”
The circular room with the tiny bed is now filled with happy memories. Kahlan endeavors to take in every detail of it. It is the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks that she will miss most. The ebb and flow of the sea always matches the rhythm of Cara’s breathing as she sleeps; it is a good sound. And there’s the lamp that lights the room -- its flickering flame causing the specks of gold in Cara’s green eyes to shimmer. This is also the room in which she saw Cara naked for the first time, a sight to which she protested but secretly enjoyed. For all of the grandeur of the Confessors’ Palace back in Aydindril, she would happily spend the rest of her days here, with Cara in her arms, eating meal after meal of fish.
“What’s wrong?” Cara asks, encircling Kahlan’s waist.
“I’m going to miss this place and all of the friends we’ve made.”
Cara purses her lips and surveys the room. “It’s too small,” she says, “they won’t all fit.”
“Who won’t fit?”
“The little Confessors.” Kahlan asks the silliest questions sometimes.
Kahlan smiles. “You’ve thought about our children?” she asks.
“Yes, we’ll need at least four.”
“I love you.” She kisses Cara's lips and collapses onto the bed. “Do you plan to sleep in that?”
“I do not,” Cara says, promptly discarding the gown. On this night, Kahlan forgoes her shift, opting for the pleasure of feeling Cara’s bare skin pressed to her own.
***
They leave Ushuaia at dawn on a single horse, just as they had arrived months ago, Cara at the reins with Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her. Only everything is different now. Kahlan nibbles on Cara’s earlobe and nuzzles into her hair, knowing that the former Mord’Sith is doing her best to suppress a smile. They take the same road that led them to the lighthouse, but heading in the opposite direction, and after almost two candlemarks of travel, they come face to face with the arched structure that had led them to this great adventure. Dismounting their horse, Cara and Kahlan gaze at the arch, then at each other. The figures that were etched on the arch are now colorful drawings that Cara and Kahlan recognize as images of themselves. Each drawing a depiction of the events that transpired at the cities they visited, but also images of places they do not recognize. Kahlan’s lips curl into a smile and Cara’s eyes dance with excitement: many more adventures lie ahead.
Pulling out the lapis lazuli rune from her pocket, Cara places it at each indentation, standing on Kahlan’s shoulders to reach the last one. When she does, the opening of the arch becomes a vortex of sorts, projecting images of them, images of lives in which they have been all things to each other. Every one of those lives a quest for true love at the end of which they find each other. Because these images are unending, it is impossible to discern where exactly the vortex will take them. Without a trace of apprehension, Kahlan pulls Cara into her arms and says, “Wherever we end up, the ride with you will always be worth the fall.” Cara nods, and holding the horse’s reins in one hand, and Kahlan's hand in the other, she leads them into vortex. The only certainty, that in the end it will always be the two of them.
“This is different,” Kahlan says to Cara who, as she looks around the room, finds it strangely familiar. Her Champion’s sword leans against the wall, and Kahlan’s daggers lie atop the mantel. They are standing in the Mother Confessor’s bedchambers at the Palace in Aydindril.
After a long pause, Cara shrugs and says, “We’re home.”
The moment the words leave her lips, four rambunctious little girls rush into the room, flying into their mothers’ arms. It takes them a moment but Cara and Kahlan recognize the children as their own. “Marina, Kali, Malèna, and Ariel, why aren’t you girls sleeping?” Kahlan asks.
“We want to hear all about your travels,” says a beautiful blue-eyed girl with long black curls like her mother’s.
Kahlan looks over at Cara who nods, happy to indulge her little Confessors. The youngest of the four, a tiny, blonde Confessor who is Cara’s very image, tugs at her sleeve and says, “Let’s have a tea party.” Cara rolls her eyes; she knew this was going to happen.
Author: fortunata13
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 5014 (total word count 84,821)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: Cara and Kahlan get their fairytale ending -- with an unexpected twist.
A/N1: Italics denote the play. As I said in the summary and notes of the first chapter, short of a kitchen sink, anything you can possibly imagine is in here. I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for the words of encouragement I've received from so many of you. Please let it be known that statuepup get's full credit for this story. I could not have done it without her.
A/N2: I haven't forgotten the request for a tell-all version of the events at Avenio. It's already dancing around in my head.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 16
What A Wonderful Ride
“No, no, no, absolutely not.”
“Cara, my love, you have to. Everyone is counting on you.”
“Why can’t I wear my own clothes? What about one of those outfits you got me in Cagliari?”
Kahlan rolls her eyes. “Cara please, just try on the dress.” She edges in a bit closer -- just enough for one of her breasts to press against Cara’s arm. While Cara feels a rather pleasant jolt course through her body at the contact, she’s on to these underhanded Confessor tactics.
“No,” Cara says flatly. Except that saying ‘no’ to Kahlan has an unexpected side-effect she hadn’t counted on: it feels like a knife through her own heart. So much so that she’d willingly walk around Ushuaia in a monkey costume to make it stop. With a scowl and one of her hands clenching the hilt of her dagger, she walks past Kahlan without so much as glancing at her.
Kahlan panics for a moment, worried that being coerced into wearing a dress could be enough to make Cara reconsider her choice of a mate. She turns to follow the disgruntled former Mord’Sith only to find she’s already holding the dress. Kahlan leans in and kisses her neck. “Thank you, Cara.” Cara doesn’t answer, already reaching for the laces of her leathers. “No,” Kahlan says, “that’s my job.” Cara suppresses a smile, but with Kahlan kissing every newly-exposed bit of skin, it’s impossible to hold back the tiny sounds of pleasure leaving her throat. It doesn’t help that Kahlan takes full advantage of Cara’s nakedness by leaving a trail of wet kisses on Cara’s neck, breasts, and belly. Cara groans when Kahlan stops her descent. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” Kahlan says in a sultry tone.
“Out,” Cara orders, when she’s about to put on the dress. Kahlan rolls her eyes and obeys. She can hear Cara’s grumbles from the other side of the door. “You’d think I asked her to nurse a baby Gar,” Kahlan mumbles.
“I heard that,” Cara snaps back from the other side of the door. Kahlan covers her mouth with her hands. Cara’s hearing is clearly superior to that of mere mortals.
After almost a half a candlemark, Cara opens the door just enough to poke out her head. “Tried it on. It’s hideous.”
She tries to quickly shut the door, but the Mother Confessor uses her size advantage keep it open. “Cara, please let me in.” She says it in a small, vulnerable voice that makes it impossible for Cara to refuse. She has no choice but to endure the humiliation.
When Kahlan walks in, her lips part -- eyes dropping to Cara’s plunging neckline for a moment. “Spirits, you take my breath away.” She pulls the former Mord’Sith into a kiss so passionate that wearing a dress suddenly seems a little less torturous. “Let me take a good look at you,” Kahlan says, attempting to twirl Cara around in the small room. Given the limited space, it proves to be a bad choice for Cara gets tangled in the gown’s elaborate train and topples over onto the bed -- with her legs over her head. Only it was an excellent choice since Kahlan soon discovers Cara hadn’t deemed it necessary to wear smallclothes under her dress. “Oh my,” Kahlan say, kissing her way up Cara’s thighs. Wearing a dress may not be so bad after all.
“Ladies, are you decent?” Marina is an excellent friend but her timing leaves much to be desired. Kahlan is forced to tear herself away just short of the prize; Cara is none too happy about it.
“Don’t you dare take that dress off,” Kahlan says, kissing the tops of Cara’s breasts. “We have unfinished business,” she adds, as she walks out of the room. Cara lies back on the bed. This dress could turn out to be a fine addition to her ever-expanding wardrobe.
“We have to go,” Kahlan says, when she walks back in. “Oh, and put these on.” In an effort to protect Cara’s nonexistent modesty, she tosses her a pair of smallclothes.
“Go where?” Cara asks.
“Dress rehearsal.” Surprisingly, Cara shakes her head and sighs, but doesn’t protest. She does, however, grab Marina’s cloak on her way out, pulling the hood over her head to avoid being recognized.
“Cara Mason, Mother Confessor,” Marcelo says, beaming with excitement. Cara stands with her arms hanging at her sides, and produces a low guttural sound that the boy interprets as a greeting. Ever gracious, Kahlan smiles, and pats him on the back.
“Why don’t we take a few moments to read through the script?” A sound suggestion since all the kissing had prevented her and Cara from getting past the first few pages. Cara shrugs in response; Kahlan decides to interpret it as a resounding yes. Marcelo, in the interim, is talking to laborers about set design and various other details relevant to the upcoming performance. How the child is so knowledgeable about such matters is mystifying to them all.
Just then, Kahlan notices an odd indication in the script. She taps him on the shoulder and asks, “Marcelo, this line, ‘HP enters stage right,” what is ‘HP’?”
“Ah, that would be me,” says a striking, well-muscled young man with thick wavy hair, and features that appear as if they’d been chiseled out of marble. When he smiles at her, Kahlan is certain one of his bicuspids literally sparkles for a moment. “The handsome prince,” he punctuates the statement with yet another one of those impossibly sparkling smiles.
“And you, I assume, are the beautiful, golden-haired princess I am to kiss awake,” he says to Cara, who gives him an appreciative look from head to toe. She then turns toward Kahlan who, by the look on her face, is mentally measuring the would-be prince for a casket.
“Marcelo, we need to talk,” says the Mother Confessor of the Midlands in that thundering tone she employees when about to decimate a foe. Her hand goes to the back of his neck, practically lifting him off ground as she guides him outside to educate him on various matters. Cara smirks, convinced the glorious male specimen Marcelo chose as her prince is about to spare her from public humiliation.
She and her costar stand awkwardly on the stage waiting for Marcelo and Kahlan to sort out their differences. It’s almost a full candlemark before the two of them return. Marcelo is uncharacteristically quiet -- a sure sign that Kahlan is the victor in this exchange. “Cara, let’s go,” Kahlan says. When she walks past the prince, she stops for a moment and glares at him, mumbling something about a dead body.
“So, no play,” Cara says with a little too much enthusiasm as they walk back to the lighthouse.
“The play will go on,” Kahlan says, earning herself a scowl from her mate. “Marcelo agreed that the script would be vastly improved by presenting a more progressive view on the classic tale of The Princess Sleeps. I’ll be rewriting it this evening.”
“So, no dress,” Cara says hopefully.
“Oh, you’re still wearing the dress.”
Cara thinks for a moment, wrinkling her brow. “So why not un-write the dress?” Kahlan doesn’t answer, leading Cara to conclude that Kahlan always wins. And those little Confessors whose names she’s already chosen will always win, too. And they will probably also coerce her into wearing dresses. In fact, she suspects that someday soon she’ll be forced to participate in little Confessor tea parties. Her life is definitely over.
***
“Back already?” Marina asks.
“Yes, Kahlan threatened Marcelo with confession because she didn’t want me to kiss the handsome prince.”
“I did no such thing,” Kahlan says, mortified by the accusation. “I merely explained to him how Confessor magic works, and that under extreme circumstance it is difficult to control.”
“I see, you terrified him enough to cancel the play,” Marina says.
“No,” Cara says, “she terrified him enough to allow her to rewrite the script.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds awful,” Kahlan protests. “My aim is to improve upon the story.” With that, she marches upstairs, with Cara right behind her.
“You can take off the dress, if you’d like,” Kahlan says, nuzzling Cara’s hair and kissing the corner of her mouth. Cara does her best to resist the Confessor’s tactics but her Mord’Sith training didn’t include any advice on how to turn away from delicious milky-white skin, and soft lips, and lovely hands cupping her cheeks. Kahlan always wins.
“I’m going to need your help with the script,” she breathes into Cara’s ear. “You’ll have to serve as my desk.”
Cara raises her eyebrows, quickly stripping off the dress. It’s the first pleasant offer she’s had all day. Lying down parallel to the foot of the bed, she feels Kahlan’s lips leaving a trail of wet kisses on her backside. “Mm, if my desk at the Confessor’s Palace were as lovely as this one, surely I’d get much more work done.” Cara smiles, considering a clerical career as a definite possibility, especially since Kahlan’s lips have traveled further south. “Spirits, I can’t wait to take you back to Aydindril with me.” Needless to say, the script writing takes a few rather interesting -- and pleasurable -- detours that Kahlan claims serve to inspire her writing. By the end of the night, Cara’s posterior is covered with bite marks and the new script is completed. Kahlan falls asleep using her favorite desk as a pillow.
The rest of the week flies by in a flurry of rehearsals, costume fittings, and Cara’s endless grumbling. Were it not that so many of their friends had traveled to see her performance, she’d lock herself in the lighthouse until the confounding thing were over. Surely they could make do with an invisible princess. As far as Cara is concerned, that would certainly be a play worth watching.
***
This, Cara decides, is the worst night of her life. She’d gladly face and army of Cyclopes rather than step out on that stage. “Cara, my love, please calm down. Everything will be fine.” Kahlan runs her hand up and down Cara’s back in an effort to calm her but the action seems to have the opposite effect: it causes her to lose the contents of her stomach into a nearby bucket.
“That’s a good sign,” says one of the stagehands walking past her, “break a leg.” Cara is tempted to kill him for wishing such a thing upon her. But just then, the sound of string instruments and horns announces that the play is about to begin. Kahlan pulls her into a tight embrace then shoves her onto the stage, her feet landing exactly on her mark.
When the curtain rises, the crowd numbers in the thousands. She stands there frozen for an instant -- until she notices that sitting in the first few rows are all of her friends. Marina is there with her mate, the fishwoman, except on this day she’s a regular woman, and Jamal, wearing his turban and a smile, sits beside them; all of the women of the Grotto are there as well, thankfully wearing a bit more than their own hair; Rabindranath and his family, including Ganesh standing off at the side of the stage; the Mayor of Avenio and his wife, on their feet, clapping like mad; even the shmeeker, the homicidal witch, and the annoying Wizard are there. Cara’s eyes dart out toward the crowd in the hopes of finding Horatio and his family, smiling when she spots Maléna and the bouncing children. The grin on her face at the realization that they are all here for her, to support her, she fears may become permanent.
When the music stops, the narrator, none other than Horatio Phineas Panza, steps onto the stage.
“Once upon a time,” he says, without a trace of a squeal or a bounce, “there lived in this land a princess so beautiful that those who looked upon her became themselves more beautiful. When she roamed the countryside on her black stallion, the sun shone more brightly, as did the moon and the stars. Her beauty, some say, was a reflection of the purity of her heart, for she was also kind, this Princess.”
“Suitors traveled from faraway lands to ask for her hand in marriage, some bringing extravagant gifts, others offering great treasures and promising to expand the tiny kingdom a thousandfold. The King, however, was not interested in trading his daughter’s happiness for riches. His only wish in this life, that his daughter someday experience a love as great as he and the recently departed Queen had shared. ‘Someday, my beautiful girl, you will find someone worthy of your heart,’’” said the king, portrayed by Captain Fernão de Magalhães, walking onto the stage and taking Cara’s hand. She’s a vision in her Princess dress -- evidenced by the oohs and aahs of the crowd.
“The Princess told her father time and again that in a dream she had seen the face of her one true love and would die a maid rather than give her hand to another. Respecting his daughter’s wishes, one by one, he turned them away, always believing that someday her love would come. Not once had he imagined that tragedy would soon strike.” The ominous tone in which Horatio says it causes the audience to gasp in anticipation.
“It was on a hot summer’s day, that the dark Prince from the Land of Sand, arrived bearing gifts and speaking words of love in the hopes of wooing the beautiful Princess with the long, golden curls and eyes the color of the sea. As was his custom, the King greeted the visitor and listened intently to his words. As was also his custom, when the young man asked for her hand, the King looked up at his only daughter who stood at the top of the stairs, and waited for her response. As she had done so many times before, she shook her head no. The King informed the Prince that his daughter had seen the face of her true love in a dream, and it was not his.” Cara, still standing at the top of the stairs, barely manages to hide her amusement at the realization that the would-be handsome prince had been relegated to the role of the villain. Leave it to Kahlan to arrive at a compromise that did not involve him kissing Cara.
“The Dark Prince flew into a rage,” Horatio says, waving his arms dramatically, “hurling threats at both the King and the Princess, swearing vengeance and a curse upon his daughter if the King did not compel her to accept his proposal. Before the evil Prince could harm either of them, the Royal Guards dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the Palace.” The crowd cheered as Cara ran down the stairs and into Ferñao’s arms. “Father, are you hurt?&rdquo Cara delivers her line to perfection, one of her hands going to Ferñao’s cheek, just as Marcelo had indicated.
“While the experience was unsettling, father and daughter put it behind them. It wasn’t until months later when a gift arrived at the Palace with the Princess as its intended recipient, that everything went horribly wrong. Because she was well-loved, such expressions of affection were not unusual; she’d received countless presents from her adoring subjects. Only that upon opening this particular package, the Princess was overcome with a sense of malaise that would plague her for days. Various healers examined her, none able to precisely diagnose her condition. All of them, however, agreed that the proper prescription was rest.
“On the night of the thirteenth moon, the King kissed his daughter good night just as he had done every other night of her life. When in the morning the Princess did not cheerfully enter the dining hall to break her fast as she had always done, the King’s heart filled with dread, remembering the words uttered by the evil Prince from the Land of Sand. He found his only daughter in a deep slumber from which she could not be roused. Healers, clergymen, and well-wishers from the remotest of lands, having heard of the beloved Princess’s plight, traveled to the tiny Kingdom to offer their help. Alas, it was to no avail. Heartbroken as he was, the King tended to his daughter for as best as he could, never giving up hope that someday soon he would look upon those eyes that perfectly matched the sea, one more time. ‘I am here by your side, my angel,’ he’d say to her every day.” This is Cara’s favorite part of the play: all that is required of her is to feign sleep. And that is a very good thing because she had fallen asleep while Kahlan went over the script, and thus, hasn’t any idea what happens next.
“Because the Princess loved winter best, on the evening of the Solstice celebration the King made arrangements to have the sleeping Princess moved to her beloved rose garden. A receptacle made of the finest crystal, lined with silk pillows, and kept warm by a hearth, was built for her comfort. Residents of the kingdom shed many a tear at the sight of her like that, perfectly still as if life had left her. Their only comfort, that her golden complexion remained unchanged as did her lovely full lips.” Cara had been wondering what purpose that big glass box served, little did she know that it was meant for her.
“At dusk, only moments before the Royal Guard was to return the Princess to her bedchamber, an entire battalion led by the Prince from the Land of Sand, leaving in its wake a cloud of dust, stormed the castle, forcing its way into the garden.” Marcelo must have hired every able-bodied man in Ushuaia who owned a horse for all around the stage and the audience horsemen really were leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. “The Royal Guard fought bravely, every one of them willing to give up his life for the Princess. The King himself took up a sword to fight for her, but theirs was a peaceful land that had no army to speak of, their defeat, thus, a certainty.
“At the very moment that the evil Prince hovered over the Princess with the intention of driving a dagger through her heart, the Queen of the Land of Snow, the bravest, fiercest warrior in all of the world, riding her white stallion at full gallop, ran him through with her sword. She then stood strong against the entire battalion long enough for every citizen, women and children among them, wielding pans and rocks, and hurling pots of hot oil, to drive them back to the evil land from which they hailed.” Still in her glass box, Cara grinned when she opened her eyes for a moment only to find that Kahlan had written herself into the play.
“‘My Kingdom is yours,’ the King said to the Queen of the Land of Snow, dropping to one knee before her, his cheeks slick with tears.
“‘I ask only that you allow me to court the Princess and, if she’ll have me, someday take her hand in marriage. She has lived in my dreams for the whole of my life.’ The King wept like a small child, convinced that hers was the face the Princess had seen in her own dreams. Alas it was all for naught, for the Princess, he explained, could not be roused from the deep slumber brought about by the dark Prince’s curse. ‘May I at least see her?’ asked the Queen of the Land of Snow, her own heart shattered by the loss of her one true love. The King nodded, walking the brave warrior woman to the glass enclosure, then giving her a moment alone with the Princess for whose life she had been willing to die.
“‘My love,’ she said, looking down at the beautiful sleeping princess, ‘all my life I’ve searched for you and now that I’ve found you, it is too late.’ A single tear ran down the Queen’s cheek, landing on the Princess’s heart. Inexplicably, the tear transformed into a flawless diamond -- it, too, shaped like a tear. Moved by the precious stone created by their love, the Queen leaned in and kissed the Princess on the lips.
“‘I knew you’d come for me,’ said the Princess gazing up the Queen’s eyes, the curse broken by her true love’s kiss.” Standing offstage, Marcelo frowned; that wasn’t the line he’d written. The audience’s reaction, however, led him to consider that perhaps it was the line he should have written. The crowd was on its feet cheering -- and the play wasn’t even over yet.
When they settled down, Kahlan took Cara by the hand, helping her step out of the box.
“‘You’ve returned my daughter to me,’ said the King, wrapping his arms around his precious child, while the Queen smiled a smile so bright it put the sun to shame. She then dropped on one knee, taking the Princess’s delicate hand in her own and said, ‘If you’ll have me, for the rest of my days I will endeavor to deserve the heart of so fair a lady.’”
“‘My heart has been yours since the beginning of time,’ said the Princess, pulling the Queen into a passionate kiss.” That last line was also not written by Marcelo. Those words were strictly the product of Cara’s heart.
At that very moment, a canopy of thousands of tiny blue points of shimmering light hovers above them as if their sole purpose in this life is to celebrate their love. Poor Horatio, standing only a few paces away, could not help but let loose one of his patented squeals at the sight of such beauty. “And they lived happily ever after,” he says, when he remembers his last line.
The curtain drops to a standing ovation and when it rises again, Cara and Kahlan are still kissing -- the rest of the cast, including the narrator, are onstage beside them. It takes several curtain calls before the audience returns to their seats. Ferñao, who before taking to the sea must have harbored a dream of being a stage actor, puts his arms around Cara and Kahlan, and says, “I’ve always wanted a daughter, now I have two.”
“Wisps,” Cara says to Kahlan, her entire face lighting up at the sight of them, “the baby Wisps are here.” Kahlan only smiles, already one of them is whispering into her ear. The rest of them, overjoyed to see Cara, are talking to her all at once. She does her best to answer all their questions but, badly outnumbered, she shakes her head and laughs.
When the crowd dissipates, Cara and Kahlan find themselves surrounded by all of their friends. The three candlemarks that follow consist of laughter and hugs and well-wishes all around. Marcelo is already talking about a sequel to The Princess Sleeps which earns him an eye roll from Cara. Kali and Ludovico, the boy who wishes to be Queen, are never more than a few paces away from Cara, and Ferñao, with Jamal at his side, is signing autographs on those things that aren’t parchment. This quest, with its many twists and turns, turned out to be a quest for love. “So what happens next?” Richard asks, with his soon-to-be mate by his side.
“We will see all of you in Aydindril for the wedding,” Kahlan replies, mounting her white stallion and extending her hand out to Cara, who is still wearing her pink princess dress. While she’s not particularly pleased at having to ride side-saddle in front of Kahlan, on this day, nothing can take the smile off her face.
“The Seeker’s mate has a very big ass,” Cara says, scrunching her nose as she looks back at them. Kahlan laughs so hard she nearly falls off the horse.
Their evening ends at the lighthouse where they find Marina sitting by the seashore, watching her mate, the fishwoman as Cara calls her, dive into the sea.
“Why is she a fishwoman again?” Cara asks, recalling the sadness of their previous parting.
“The odd blonde woman did something but Ariel is a creature of the sea. She must always return to it, just as the two of you must always return to each other.” There is no trace of sadness in her words for she knows that in this world and all others, they will find happiness together.
“Look,” Kahlan says, pointing to Cara’s penguin who has found a friend. “I guess we’ll be introducing a new species to Aydindril’s ecosystem.” Cara nods, her pet penguin had been a source of comfort while Kahlan was away. She’s certain the little Confessors will love their pet penguins.
“So when will you return to your people?” Marina looks between them with a twinge of sadness in her eyes. “While I know we will see each other again, goodbyes are never easy.”
“We will leave in the morning,” Kahlan says, “but you’ll come to the wedding.”
“Poseidon himself could not keep me away.” She squeezes Kahlan’s shoulder, then turns toward Cara, gazing into her eyes for a long moment. “Take good care of your beautiful lady.” Cara gives her a firm nod and takes Kahlan’s hand.
“Go on,” Marina says, “take rest. You have a long journey ahead of you.”
The circular room with the tiny bed is now filled with happy memories. Kahlan endeavors to take in every detail of it. It is the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks that she will miss most. The ebb and flow of the sea always matches the rhythm of Cara’s breathing as she sleeps; it is a good sound. And there’s the lamp that lights the room -- its flickering flame causing the specks of gold in Cara’s green eyes to shimmer. This is also the room in which she saw Cara naked for the first time, a sight to which she protested but secretly enjoyed. For all of the grandeur of the Confessors’ Palace back in Aydindril, she would happily spend the rest of her days here, with Cara in her arms, eating meal after meal of fish.
“What’s wrong?” Cara asks, encircling Kahlan’s waist.
“I’m going to miss this place and all of the friends we’ve made.”
Cara purses her lips and surveys the room. “It’s too small,” she says, “they won’t all fit.”
“Who won’t fit?”
“The little Confessors.” Kahlan asks the silliest questions sometimes.
Kahlan smiles. “You’ve thought about our children?” she asks.
“Yes, we’ll need at least four.”
“I love you.” She kisses Cara's lips and collapses onto the bed. “Do you plan to sleep in that?”
“I do not,” Cara says, promptly discarding the gown. On this night, Kahlan forgoes her shift, opting for the pleasure of feeling Cara’s bare skin pressed to her own.
***
They leave Ushuaia at dawn on a single horse, just as they had arrived months ago, Cara at the reins with Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her. Only everything is different now. Kahlan nibbles on Cara’s earlobe and nuzzles into her hair, knowing that the former Mord’Sith is doing her best to suppress a smile. They take the same road that led them to the lighthouse, but heading in the opposite direction, and after almost two candlemarks of travel, they come face to face with the arched structure that had led them to this great adventure. Dismounting their horse, Cara and Kahlan gaze at the arch, then at each other. The figures that were etched on the arch are now colorful drawings that Cara and Kahlan recognize as images of themselves. Each drawing a depiction of the events that transpired at the cities they visited, but also images of places they do not recognize. Kahlan’s lips curl into a smile and Cara’s eyes dance with excitement: many more adventures lie ahead.
Pulling out the lapis lazuli rune from her pocket, Cara places it at each indentation, standing on Kahlan’s shoulders to reach the last one. When she does, the opening of the arch becomes a vortex of sorts, projecting images of them, images of lives in which they have been all things to each other. Every one of those lives a quest for true love at the end of which they find each other. Because these images are unending, it is impossible to discern where exactly the vortex will take them. Without a trace of apprehension, Kahlan pulls Cara into her arms and says, “Wherever we end up, the ride with you will always be worth the fall.” Cara nods, and holding the horse’s reins in one hand, and Kahlan's hand in the other, she leads them into vortex. The only certainty, that in the end it will always be the two of them.
“This is different,” Kahlan says to Cara who, as she looks around the room, finds it strangely familiar. Her Champion’s sword leans against the wall, and Kahlan’s daggers lie atop the mantel. They are standing in the Mother Confessor’s bedchambers at the Palace in Aydindril.
After a long pause, Cara shrugs and says, “We’re home.”
The moment the words leave her lips, four rambunctious little girls rush into the room, flying into their mothers’ arms. It takes them a moment but Cara and Kahlan recognize the children as their own. “Marina, Kali, Malèna, and Ariel, why aren’t you girls sleeping?” Kahlan asks.
“We want to hear all about your travels,” says a beautiful blue-eyed girl with long black curls like her mother’s.
Kahlan looks over at Cara who nods, happy to indulge her little Confessors. The youngest of the four, a tiny, blonde Confessor who is Cara’s very image, tugs at her sleeve and says, “Let’s have a tea party.” Cara rolls her eyes; she knew this was going to happen.