No Law Except the Sword, Part II

[pristineungift]

Title: No Law Except the Sword
Fanfic Series: Confessors and Kings
Author: pristineungift
Beta: brontefanatic
Rating: Hard R - NC-17
Warnings: Graphic Fantasy Violence; Graphic Sexuality; Dark Psychological Themes; Dub-Con Inherent With Mord’Sith; Death; Author Chooses Not to Give Specific Warnings.

Summary: What does it mean to change fate? To defy prophecy? Is it possible, or are some things set in stone? Is one death the same as another? In this latest installment in the series that began with For All That We Have and Are and The Old Commandments Stand, everyone just wants to go back to the beginning, but find they can only move forward. To the end. Darken/Kahlan; Darken/Richard (if you squint); Darken/Denna; Darken/Cara; Darken/Salindra; Richard/Denna; Richard/Salindra; Zedd/Denna.

Notes: As always, thanks to madmguillotine for influencing my characterization of Salindra. Also thanks to evilgmbethy for influencing this particular incarnation of Richard, as well as the way I think of confession and Confessors. Thanks to brontefanatic for keeping me from giving up on this fic when I wanted to take it out back and shoot it. And thanks to angstbunny, since her comments on The Old Commandments Stand pretty much directly spawned this sequel.


No Law Except the Sword

Salindra sat in her coach, fanning herself with her fine new lady’s fan, a thing of lace, teal silk, and bright feathers. It matched her dress, of course.

“Sorry for the delay, m’lady,” one of her attendants called through the window of the carriage door. “A crowd has gathered in the square.”

Annoyed, Salindra snapped her fan shut, and then slid down the leather seat to lean out the window. “And why is there a crowd? It’s too hot to sit here all day!”

At this rate, she wouldn’t be home in time to freshen up before her latest suitor called. And she had high hopes for him. He was a duke, after all.

Salindra had found that money could buy very many things, including a new past, if one knew where to look. After a few months of travel and some discrete inquiries, Salindra had traded two of Kahlan’s ruby encrusted tiaras for a manor house and papers that declared she was the third daughter of Count Edmun of Ceria, a noble family that had been wiped out in the war between the Midlands and D’Hara.

Except for long lost Countess Salindra.

All that had been left to do was buy a new wardrobe and go about the business of finding herself a noble husband who wasn’t too ghastly. Though she didn’t necessarily want to marry, now that she didn’t have to work for a living she had to fill the time somehow. Husband hunting was amusing enough, and if push came to shove, she could always turn the men down.

“A proclamation has been posted,” Paul, her favorite footman, came to the door. He filled out his livery quite well, with his broad shoulders and trim waist. Salindra always had him serve at dinner, so that she could admire him.

“A proclamation? And what does it say?”

Paul went to find out. Salindra took the opportunity to appreciate his backside. He looked good in Ceria teal, though not as good as Salindra herself.

One of the reasons she had chosen her new House was because of how the House colors flattered her complexion.

“Lord Rahl has declared the county to be annexed by D’Hara,” Paul said once he’d returned. “We’re part of the empire now. My lady shouldn’t worry about her estate!” he hastened to say when Salindra frowned. “Lord Rahl often leaves the nobles of his new territories alone, so long as they don’t make trouble. We’ll simply pay our taxes to D’Hara now, instead of Aydindril.”

Salindra put a smile on her face, though her nerves quaked. Could Darken Rahl know where she was? That she had stolen from him?

“Why Paul, how clever you are,” she cooed at her footman to distract herself, batting her eyes.

He returned her smile, and blushed sweetly, in a way that made Salindra want to gobble him up, though she half feared that he wouldn’t last one night as her lover.

“There’s more, my lady,” Paul said, his smile fading. “Queen Kahlan and the young prince have both been assassinated, by no other than the Mother Confessor herself.”

Salindra felt all the blood drain from her face.

Kahlan. Dead.

She had long suspected. How could she not have, with the way things were the night Salindra had made her escape?

But hearing it was different.

“If the Confessors weren’t doomed before, they certainly are now…” she mused.

“My lady?”

Salindra blinked. “That will be all, Paul.”

She wanted to weep in private.

-l-

“Your Grace, I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” Salindra began as she entered her dining hall.
The Duke of Kaesis made no answer. He didn’t so much as move.

“Your Grace?” Salindra called, her stomach doing flops and then promptly tying itself in knots. She moved further into the hall, thinking the worst.

A hard hand grasped her by the back of her neck. Salindra smelled leather oil and jasmine. “Mistress Cara,” she said without turning to see who held her.

She hated the way her voice trembled.

“You remember me,” Cara drawled as she stepped from the alcove where she’d lain in wait. “I’m touched.”

The Mord’Sith roughly thrust Salindra into a chair next to the duke, jostling him as she did.

The duke fell over, his head cracking against the heavy oak table.

“Is he dead?” Salindra dared to ask, her mouth gone dry.

“No,” Cara said, her expression stony.

There was a pause.

“Am I dead?” Salindra forced out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cara smirked. Salindra’s life flashed before her eyes.

“Not yet,” Cara answered.

-l-

Richard was in his sitting room, trying to study one of the books he had been given when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, expecting it to be Darken Rahl.

His brother.

It was General Egremont.

“Richard,” Egremont said solemnly, raising his fist to his chest in salute.

Richard supposed he’d have to get used to that, if he really decided to stay. To be a Rahl.

“What is it?” Richard stood once he saw the look on Egremont’s face. The man was worried. Over the months Richard had been living in the People’s Palace, Richard had only known Egremont to ever worry about one thing.

Darken Rahl.

“Lord Rahl is… he is sitting in the catacombs again. Will you come?”

“Of course I’ll come. I’ll come right now.”

Richard paused long enough to pull on his boots, then he followed Egremont into the labyrinthine halls of the palace. Richard still had to have an escort whenever he left his rooms. His brother had explained it was so he wouldn’t get lost.

-l-

Richard found Darken in the catacombs where all of the Rahls were buried, captured forever in images of carved marble. Darken was standing over the tombs of his late wife and son. He’d been doing that more and more often of late.

Richard cleared his throat, remembering the last time he had surprised his lord brother. It had earned both of them a scratch or two.

Darken looked over his shoulder, sighing when he saw Richard there. “Leave me in peace.”

Richard shook his head. “You’re going to put Egremont into an early grave if you keep doing this. He worries.”

Whirling, his black hair flying about his face like the wings of a raven, Darken exploded, “And what of my son’s early grave?! What of that?”

His outcry echoed throughout the catacombs, until it seemed that the question had swelled into a great cacophony of voices, surrounding them, being asked again and again.

Richard flinched, calling himself seven kinds of idiot. He went to his brother, laying a hand on his arm. “Poor word choice. Sorry.”

Darken turned back to face the stone effigies. Richard followed his gaze, looking down at the likeness of Queen Kahlan.

Kahlan the Confessor.

Darken Rahl’s Mistress.

“I still don’t understand why you keep it a secret she confessed you. Surely if the people heard they would rise up. There can’t be much worse than what she did to you.”

Darken shook his head. “I’ve told you, little brother. It would make me look weak. And a weak Lord Rahl makes for a weak D’Hara. No,” Darken reached out, tracing his fingers over the ridges that formed Kahlan’s hair, “that purpose is served by letting the world know what the Mother Confessor did. The rest is more damaging than helpful.”

Richard sighed, but nodded. It was so complicated, being a Rahl. He wasn’t sure he could do it. He’d already completely failed at being the Seeker.

In the end, he was just a woodcutter’s son.

“Have you given any more thought to what you will do?” Darken’s voice broke the stillness. “The offer still stands. If you don’t want to accept the name of Rahl, I will have my wizards find a way to get you back across the Boundary. You can go home again. Back to your life, as it was before.”

Richard laughed, a wild, desperate sound that joined Darken’s words in echoing through the catacombs.

“Sometimes I think I’d like that better than anything else in the world. I’d like to wake up in my bed, and find out this was all a crazy dream, and I’d better hurry if I want to help Anna carry her basket in the market.” He paused, dashing a hand over his eyes.

“But?” Darken prompted.

“But then I wonder what I would do there. Could I go back to being a woodcutter? I don’t think I could.”

And what would Anna do, what would anyone from his old life do when he woke screaming in the night, begging Mother Confessor Serena not to make him do it, not to make him kill?

To please spare the baby.

What would they do in those moments when he drifted off, reliving the feeling of his sword passing through flesh? Seeing blood bubble and gush from Kahlan’s lips, as clear as if it was happening again. What would they think when his reaction to being surprised was to draw steel and sound a battle cry?

What would they do about the blood and the sword and the swirling black eyes?

“No. I don’t think I can go back.”

He wasn’t the same man who had left.

“Does this mean you’ve made your decision?” Darken sounded hopeful. Or at least Richard thought he did. The more time he spent with his brother, the more complex the man seemed. He was like the palace itself - a maze of halls that one simply had to learn by walking them.

“I guess it does,” Richard heard himself answer. “I can’t go back, and I can do some good here. I can try, anyway. And besides,” Richard cracked a smile, “you’d miss me.”

Darken turned to face Richard fully, the long train of his robe swirling artfully around him. Richard found himself wondering if Darken had had to practice that. Was that one of the lessons Richard would have now? How to wear a royal robe without looking like a court jester?

“You are the only family I have left,” Darken said. For once, his emotion showed clearly on his face. “Of course I would miss you. I need you, little brother.”

Richard wasn’t good at making pretty speeches. Not like Darken. He showed his feelings through action.

He pulled Darken Rahl into a hug, slapping him on the back.

Darken stiffened in his arms, and Richard had to wonder how many hugs the older man had received in his life. He decided he would try to make up for the lack.

Darken cleared his throat, and Richard laughed, letting his brother go.

“I will have it announced at tomorrow’s devotional. You will stand with me, and I will tell the people I have a new heir: The Seeker, Richard Rahl.”

“Should we really tell them I’m the Seeker?” Richard worried, turning to look at the tombs.

“Oh yes,” Darken reassured him, his voice rich with triumph. Richard thought it must be because he was happy to not be left alone again. “That you are the Seeker is a great blessing. We may be able to end this war peacefully, because of you. You are the living embodiment of what I have been trying for so long to accomplish. The Hero of the Midlands, and the Crown Prince of D’Hara: one and the same.”

Richard raised his brows, trying to work the tension out of his forehead. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of this.”

This time Darken laughed. “Of course you will. You’re a Rahl.”

Richard snorted. “Come on. Let’s go up before Egremont sends a rescue party.”

-l-

“An outstanding charade, my lord,” Egremont said once he and Lord Rahl were alone in Lord Rahl’s council chamber.

“It was,” Lord Rahl agreed. “At times I think I should have been a player on the stage.”

Egremont smiled. Yes, Darken Rahl was an excellent player, so good that he could deceive even himself.

But Egremont was glad young Lord Richard had decided to stay. He would be good for Lord Rahl, as well as D’Hara. “My lord, may I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Lord Rahl said. He already had his nose buried in his journey book, reviewing the reports of his soldiers.

“Why make the Seeker your heir? Why not just kill him?”

Lord Rahl looked up from his journey book, a blaze in those blue eyes. “I have already tried to avert the prophecy in that way. And clearly, my attempts failed. I must use other means to ensure it doesn’t come to pass. Richard is unlikely to put the Sword of Truth through my heart if he loves me.”

“Ah,” Egremont nodded. “Brilliant, my lord. You will make him love you.”

“I will make him love me.”

Yes, Lord Rahl was very good at lying to himself.

When next Egremont looked up, Lord Rahl was no longer turning the pages of his journey book. He had that lost look on his face again. He simply stared straight ahead.

Egremont cleared his throat, knowing that what he was about to say was something the King of D’Hara did not want to hear, but desperately needed to. “It is alright to miss her, my lord. Even if you feel you shouldn’t.”

Lord Rahl blinked. “Mistress Cara writes that she has found Salindra. She will return shortly.”

“I didn’t mean Mistress Cara, my lord.”

Lord Rahl snapped his gaze to Egremont’s face. “Then who did you mean?”

Egremont gave Darken Rahl a significant look.

Lord Rahl’s lips twisted, his eyes sparking with fury.

And pain.

“You dare,” he growled, a man possessed.

In an instant, his dagger was out. He lunged, the wicked curve of the blade arching for Egremont’s throat.

Egremont caught Lord Rahl’s arm by the wrist, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. He blocked a blow from Lord Rahl’s free hand, and then there was the creak of leather and jingle of chainmail as he gave a mighty wrench, turning Lord Rahl in place, twisting his arm up behind his back. Pressure on the bones and tendons of the wrist forced Lord Rahl’s hand open, making him drop his dagger.

It hit the floor with a clatter of steel on stone.

Lord Rahl screamed an incoherent, inhuman sound. An outpouring of grief and misery. He thrashed, trying to break free.

Egremont was unperturbed. This had happened before. It would happen again. Until the day Egremont was not fast enough to defend himself, he would continue to serve.

He’d promised the boy’s mother. He’d promised precious Queen Elaine.

“What have I taught you about attacking in anger?” Egremont whispered softly, soothingly, waiting for Darken’s struggles to subside.

He was no longer speaking to his lord, his master, but to the little prince he had devoted his life to.

Darken gasped, his eyes watering and his face red. He began to struggle less and less, until Egremont let his arms go.

Darken turned and rested his face against the leather of Egremont’s breastplate. Egremont put his arms around him. He could feel Darken tremble.

“Egremont,” Darken croaked. Then he leaned to the side and gave a wretched heave, spewing yellow bile and that morning’s breakfast all over the floor.

“Breathe a word of this to anyone,” Darken threatened in a hoarse whisper once he could catch his breath enough to speak, “and I’ll have you hanged.”

“Of course, my lord,” Egremont said as he patted his boy’s back. “Of course.”

_________________________________________________________
Part: I, II, III, IV, V