Embracing Chains

[pristineungift]

Title: Embracing Chains
Author: pristineungift / PristinelyUngifted
Rating: T, possible higher rating for later chapters.
Warnings: Femslash, torture.
Pairings: Cara/Jennsen, background Richard/Kahlan, mentioned (past) Cara/Darken Rahl, Cara/Dahlia
Summary: We never know what happened to Jennsen between giving the Boxes of Orden to Richard (end of "Fever") and Cara joining the Merry Band (beginning of S2).

What if Jennsen was captured and trained by the Mord'Sith in case Lord Rahl ever needed her talents? What if she remained with the Mord'Sith after her training? What if she was Cara's particular pet? What would have become of her when all the Mord'Sith of that temple left or were killed (beginning of S2)?

And what if, during their travels looking for the Stone of Tears, the Merry Band found Jennsen, only to see her fall at Cara's feet with a look of bliss on her face?

Important Author's Note: This is a Jennsen/Cara drabble/oneshot series. The chapters are short. It contains femslash and torture sequences.
Cover Art for this story is available on my profile page.
Standard disclaimer applies to this and all following chapters. For specific disclaimer, see my profile.
Updating: I know I usually update once a day, but due to time constraints, this fic will be updated roughly once a week.
Thanks to my betas: Melt_in2_Me and AceofHadeon. They make me make sense.

Slave
"I found them," Richard said as he strode into the circle of firelight, his hand on the hilt of the Sword of Truth.

"The soldiers that've been razing the villages?" Kahlan asked, looking up from sharpening her daggers.

"I think so. They're camped by the river. They aren't making any attempts to be quiet or hide their trail."

"They don't think anyone will come after them," Cara interrupted. The others turned to her, wary but willing to listen. "The Mord'Sith of the region are scattered or dead. And with no Lord Rahl," she cut her eyes at Richard, "willing to take the throne, then there will be no one to enforce the punishments for looting."

"As if Darken Rahl would have punished them," Kahlan scoffed.

"He would have," Cara said sharply, quickly. The cuts and scrapes her Sisters of the Agiel had inflicted on her made her face appear demonic in the firelight, the deep red interplay of light and shadow on her protective leather collar adding to the illusion.

Zedd watched the Mord'Sith with trepidation. He doubted she would harm Richard if she had truly accepted him as Lord Rahl, but would that consideration extend to himself and Kahlan?

Would she abandon Richard if another scion of the House of Rahl took up the mantle?

He couldn't be sure.

But he had to trust in the Seeker.

He had to.

…embrace the one in red…

"Cara," Richard asked, "when would be the best time to attack them?"

"Night. If they are as careless as you say, they may not post a guard. Even if they do, I can kill him before he makes a sound," Cara stood, moving to her pack to get her bow.

"Richard," Zedd spoke at last, "I don't mean to be indelicate… but we must find the Stone of Tears. It is of the utmost importance."

"Those men are hurting people, Zedd. I saw slave women in their camp. If the Seeker won't fight for freedom, what does it matter if we find the Stone of Tears? If I'm going to save the world, I want it to be a world worth saving."

With that speech, Richard drew the Sword of Truth, moving to stand at the edge of their camp.

"This is the plan."

Zedd listened, pride warring with concern. Richard was a leader. He was the one, true Seeker.

But his idealism might one day cost them all very dear.

-l-
Jennsen stumbled, walking awkwardly on the edge of her heel, trying to keep her weight from the tender part of her foot where she had stepped on a sharp rock in the river bed while doing the soldiers' laundry. She hadn't had shoes since she was taken, the thin leather slippers she had been wearing at the time of her abduction having long since worn out.

Now she was clad only in the yellow slip of a D'Haran slave girl, her wrists and ankles shackled together with chains that clanked as she moved.

They had put those on her after the first time she tried to run away to find her mistress.

"Wench!" One of the soldiers called. Jennsen hurried over to him, careful not to jostle the platter holding mismatched bowls and tankards she carried.

The soldier took one of the tankards of ale, pinching her hard on the bottom as he did so. She gritted her teeth to keep from squeaking.

The soldiers often took sound as invitation.

Soon they would sleep and Jennsen would be able to eat whatever crumbs they had left her and drink the muddy water of the river. Maybe she would catch a fish. The problem was she had only her hands to fish with and she was not the stealthiest of hunters - not with her sore feet and unsteady limbs.

She longed for her mistress.

The moon was high when it happened. Jennsen had curled up at the edge of the camp, huddling for warmth and an attempt to avoid notice when there was a whistle of air.

The soldier that had been standing watch silhouetted against the full moon fell face forward, an arrow in his back.
Then the camp was swarming with activity. Men shouted for swords, tents were blown apart by a mysterious force, and the slaves ran, gathering up as much loot as they could.

Jennsen was the only one that was shackled. She needed the key to her chains.

She weaved clumsily through the fighting, being flung from side to side, knocked down more than once.

But she was used to that.

She needed the key.

A soldier turned, swinging a mace, uncaring who he hit with it. Jennsen closed her eyes to wait for her death, knowing she could never move in time.

The blow never came.

Instead, before her stood the woman she had been longing for all these months. Her hair was shorn and her face bruised, but there was no doubt it was her.

"Mistress," Jennsen murmured as she watched Cara engage in a deadly dance of destruction. No solider could touch the Mord'Sith, she was vicious elegance incarnate.

An embodiment of everything Jennsen wanted to be, and never could be.

But most importantly, she was real, and near. Not the dream Jennsen had had so many times of her mistress returning for her… In those dreams Mistress Cara had looked just as Jennsen remembered her, perfect, long braid, flawless skin.

Jennsen knew that this time was real because her mind would have never come up with a shorn, injured Cara on its own.

The very thought of someone causing Cara pain made Jennsen's heart feel like someone was squeezing it.

The last solider fell, his face frozen in a scream as Cara drove her Agiel into his neck.

Jennsen had nothing to fear from Agiels.

She had nothing to fear from her mistress. She loved Cara, and Cara loved her. She wanted to serve Cara almost as much as she had wanted to serve her brother, Darken Rahl. If the rumors of his death were true, then Jennsen would serve Cara now. Forever. It would give her great pleasure to give her mistress pleasure.

Jennsen approached Cara as fast as she could with the chains that dragged at her limbs. When less than a foot separated them, Jennsen dropped to her knees, leaning forward to rest her head against Mistress Cara's thigh.

"Mistress, I feared never to see you again." Her voice was choked with tears.

Approaching the two, Richard's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Jennsen?"


Struggle

-In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl-

Jennsen walked alone on the forest path, silently reciting the directions her grandfather had given her. It wouldn't do to get lost. She wished she could stay with her friend Sean and his daughter, especially since the girl was without a mother now… But until her misguided brother was defeated, she wasn't truly safe anywhere.

She couldn't allow Sean to be punished if he was caught harboring her again.

Jennsen frowned, her forehead creasing. She had never told anyone that Darken Rahl had claimed to be sibling to both her and Richard. She told herself that it was kinder not to worry Richard with something that was probably a lie.

But in her heart, she felt it to be true. There had been something inescapably human in Lord Rahl's eyes when he talked of their family ties... It hadn't seemed false.

It was unintentional, a side he had not meant for her to see.

But still, she never told anyone.

Just as she never told anyone that the thought of Darken Rahl skewered on the Sword of Truth gave her nightmares.

He had been so kind when she was so lost and frightened. False kindness, she knew that now. Pretty lies.

But still, her only experience with the monster whose shadow covered the land was the soothing rumble of his voice and the steadiness of his heartbeat as he held her while she cried.

Maybe it wasn't Lord Rahl she grieved, but her lost brother.

"Follow the path until the sun is high. When the road forks, take the left hand turn. If you see the crowned tree, you know you're going the right way…" Jennsen muttered to herself as she studied the sun's position.

She wasn't sure if she would make it to her new safe house before dark. She might have to stay at an inn, or failing that, in a tree.

She wished she had been allowed to go with Richard and Kahlan and Grandfather. Richard had all the Boxes of Orden now. He was going to put them together and use them to defeat Darken Rahl.

If something went wrong with Orden, she could help. She was the only one that could.

But they said it was too dangerous, she might be hurt. She was to go somewhere safe and wait for Richard and Grandfather to come back for her.

Thinking of the horror of helping one brother kill the other, Jennsen decided that waiting might not be so bad.

She found the crowning oak after several hours of walking down the left hand fork of the path. Unfortunately, the crowning oak was not the only thing she found.

Three Mord'Sith blocked her way.

Jennsen froze, lowering her eyes, trying to appear small and harmless.

Not worth the effort.

She turned to go back the way she came.

"Jennsen Rahl," a cold, sharp voice called, "your brother is looking for you."

Jennsen couldn't suppress a shiver. How that tone reminded her of Denna.

She kept walking, head down. She quickened her pace, but did not run. Somehow she felt running would induce them to chase her, like wild beasts.

They chased her anyway. Like a pack of wolves they surrounded her, faces cold and expressionless as they cut her off, no matter which direction she chose. Only the leader smiled and laughed.

They were sharp, mirthless things.

"Dahlia, Triana, enough games," the leader called. "Bring her to me."

The two dark haired Mord'Sith grabbed Jennsen by the arms. When she struggled, the one on the left elbowed her in the face. Jennsen could hear something in her nose crunch, cartilage grinding against bone. Blood trickled down the back of her throat from her abused sinuses, more running down over her lips.

The blond Mord'Sith dragged at Jennsen's hair, forcing her head back. The red of her blood shone brightly in the sunlight, beautiful against her white skin.

Terrible, but beautiful.

She spat at the woman who stared down at her with green eyes. "The Seeker will come for me," she asserted, her broken nose garbling her speech.

The Mord'Sith let go of her hair, reaching instead for the Agiel strapped at her hip.

"You can't hurt me with that," Jennsen crowed, hiding her fear with false bravado.

"Can't I?" the Mord'Sith asked. "From this moment forward, you will call me Mistress Cara, or mistress. Is that clear?"

Jennsen spat at her again.

Seeming not to notice the flecks of red on her face, Mistress Cara said, "Remember you made me do this, Jennsen," before slamming her Agiel into the redhead's temple with great force.

Dahlia and Triana let go, watching as Jennsen folded awkwardly to the ground, limbs at unnatural angles.

"Triana, get the horses."

"Yes, Cara."


Blue

- In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl -

"I hate you," Jennsen said when Cara stepped into her cell. She said it quietly, with calm conviction.

She had made herself a promise. She was a prisoner. She would scream when they tortured her, would beg when they made her, would cry when alone.

But she would never give them the reaction they most wanted. She would never give them fear.

That did not mean she wasn't filled with dread.

"Now, Jennsen," Cara scolded playfully, "we've hardly gotten to know each other. I'm sure we're going to be great friends."

"Maybe one day I'll introduce you to my mother," Jennsen said, smiling sweetly.

Cara returned the expression, though it did not reach her eyes. Something was off about that statement. She didn't know what, but there was something. But it was of no import; however she acted now, soon Jennsen would fawn at Cara's feet like a kitten, begging to do anything to please her mistress, and by extension, Lord Rahl.

"Jennsen," Cara asked, "would you come with me please?"

Jennsen did not move. When Cara reached for her, the redhead folded in on herself, tucking her arms and legs against her torso. Cara shrugged and dragged the woman by her hair.

"Remember you brought this on yourself," she said over the girl's protestations.

Cara had Jennsen suspended in the torture chamber. She left the girl's tattered dress on. There was still plenty of fight left in that thin frame. Cara would wait until Jennsen disobeyed her. Then she would take the dress as punishment.

It was important at this stage the Jennsen come to feel she deserved whatever she got. Soon she would learn that disobeying her mistress meant pain and sorrow. Loyalty would be rewarded with pleasure and comfort.

Cara stroked Jennsen's porcelain cheek. "You are a beauty, little one. Why do you make me hurt you?"

Jennsen's eyes were very blue. For a disconcerting moment, Cara saw them in another face.

It was true. She was a Rahl.

-l-

- Present day -

Cara looked down into blue eyes.

Hollow cheeks, cracked lips, yellowed skin - but those eyes were the same. Cara had seen Jennsen look worse.

She had done worse.

But she found her pet's condition… upsetting.

She hated it when others interfered with her things. That was the obvious explanation.

"Jennsen?" Richard said again

Jennsen ignored him.

"Get up," Cara grunted at her, losing patience with the woman's adoration.

Tears flowed down Jennsen's face as she stood before Cara, her chains clanking.

"You came back for me," Jennsen whispered.

Her voice was rusty, a creaky wisp of the bright tones Cara remembered.

"What's going on?" Richard demanded, a certain tension entering the air around him.

Jennsen finally deigned to look at him. He expected a smile, a gasp, a hug.

She barely reacted to his presence. She simply moved closer to Cara, heavy chains weighing her down.

Kahlan approached. "What's Cara doing with that slave?"

"It's Jennsen," Richard said tightly.

Kahlan's face hardened, her eyes going cold as she fell into herself. There was no outward change - it was something that was felt, a shiver in the air that meant it was the Confessor who was listening.

"How?"


Illusion

- In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl -

Cara strode into Jennsen's cell, the heavy door creaking. Jennsen didn't react. She simply continued to stare at her favorite spot on the wall. She liked it because the crack was interesting.

If she squinted she could make the crack look like different things.

"Why aren't you eating your food, Jennsen?" Cara said, the soft warmth of her voice not reaching her eyes.

It never did.

Jennsen didn't answer.

Cara stepped into her field of vision. Jennsen leaned, trying to keep her favorite spot in view.

Somehow she knew if she could keep the spot in view, everything would be ok.

"Jennsen," Cara called again.

Jennsen's face exploded in a red flash of pain as Cara cuffed her. She fell over, her limbs slow and weak.

She didn't try to get up. She knew that if she tried to get up Cara would knock her down again.

Cara knelt beside her, pushing her over with one gloved hand.

Jennsen stared at the ceiling as Cara brushed her dirty red hair away from her face. The gloved hands were cool and soft, but Jennsen wasn't fooled.

She wouldn't look at Cara.

"Jennsen, why are you doing this to yourself?" The Mord'Sith asked, voice like velvet. "If you would just cooperate, tell me why the Seeker hasn't used Orden yet, tell me where to find him… Then you could go live with Lord Rahl as you always should have. He'll give you dresses and pets, whatever you want."

Jennsen closed her eyes.

After a moment, Cara spoke again, "You'll be ill if you don't eat."

Jennsen's stomach audibly grumbled.

She didn't trust that they weren't contaminating her food.

Not all mind bending potions relied on magic. Not all illusions had to be conjured.

Cara stood abruptly, angry steps ringing against the flag stones.

"Remember you brought this all upon yourself," she said as she exited the room.

Dahlia and Triana entered, looking far too happy. Jennsen felt a chill go down her spine. Cara had kept those two away from Jennsen since the day they took her from the path.

She had seen very little of them since, but what she had seen…

They didn't smile unless they were about to do something awful.

Jennsen didn't know which one was which. It seemed that every time she saw them they were together.

She hadn't thought it important to know the names of her captors. Whatever they were called, their treatment of her was the same.

Jennsen remained unresponsive as the two Mord'Sith stripped her of her dress. They were not gentle.

Jennsen didn't pay attention. She wasn't really there. This wasn't really happening to her.

She was home. Mother was there, vibrant and alive. Jennsen had longed for adventure once.

Now she would just milk the goat and help Mother with dinner. She would never leave home again.

She did not bother to protest when she was dragged naked into the hall. She didn't have to protest, because she wasn't the one who was being leered at by soldiers, she wasn't the one being hung from chains.

She was picking flowers to make a necklace for her mother. She was going to go to the school house the next day and ask the scholar to let her back in his class. She didn't know why she had quit.

Why had she quit?

She wasn't the one screaming as her skin was thinly sliced. It wasn't tears that filled her mouth with brine.

Salt water taffy. Once a traveling merchant had sold salt water taffy in her village. Jennsen had bought some before Mother made her go home, fearful that the merchant might be an agent of D'Hara….

No.

No. No. No.

She was trying to find their goat. He had escaped their small pen again. He liked the shady part of the meadow, under the tree.

The crowning tree where her fate had waited for her, dressed in red leather.

No.

She couldn't hear the knife as it scratched through her skin, she couldn't see the smiles on their faces.

Her stomach wasn't rolling, because this wasn't happening to her.

"Tell me," one of the brunette Mord'Sith growled. Dahlia? Triana? Did it matter?

"Where is the Seeker, why hasn't he used Orden?"

Jennsen didn't answer. She wasn't the one being asked. She was making her bed, hoping that she could get away with waiting another week to beat out her mattress. She didn't want to do it today. It was too hot.

Fingernails dug into her cheeks, a knife blade cold against the delicate flesh of her eyelid.

"Blind her, Triana. Perhaps it will make her more talkative."

"Cara will be angry if we hurt her."

"Cara won't know."

Jennsen heard the voices, felt the steel threatening to blind her, the nails in her skin. When had the Mord'Sith removed her gloves?

This was happening to her. She was the one sobbing and whimpering, the girl whose mouth tasted like salt and vomit.

She was the one hanging from chains, arms burning, joints aching.

She was the one they threatened to blind.

She was the one that was going to die.

"No… please… I don't know!"

She was the one that spoke.

The knife pressed down.

And then the door slammed open and Cara burst through, her braid swinging. She dispatched Dahlia quickly, the pale brunette too surprised to conduct an adequate defense.

Triana stepped behind Jennsen's hanging form, moving the dagger to press against Jennsen's throat, the tip grazing her flesh.

A bead of blood welled up, a liquid ruby on a field of dirty snow.

"She is not to be harmed, Triana!"

Jennsen could feel Triana's grin as she pulled the knife tighter, that much closer to severing Jennsen's veins.

So fast it seemed to be one motion, Cara's foot shot out, striking the lever that controlled the length of Jennsen's chains - and consequently how high she hung.

Jennsen slammed to the ground. Surprised, Triana stepped back, left exposed, no longer able to use Jennsen as a shield.

Cara drew a knife from her boot, throwing it with magnificent precision.

It appeared to sprout from Triana's shoulder, a thud and gasping cough the only sounds accompanying the attack.

Jennsen looked up at Cara, wary but grateful.

"Can you stand?" the blonde asked her. Jennsen tried.

Cara supported her, pulling one of Jennsen's arms over her shoulders, stooping to accommodate the shorter woman.

They left the torture chamber together.

Once they had gone, Dahlia moved to help Triana up. Triana waved her off, working at the buckles of her protective collar.

Once she had it off she would be able to open her leathers to remove the pig's bladder she had placed there to take Cara's throwing knife.

"For a moment I thought she was going to hit the wrong shoulder," Triana remarked as she worked.

Dahlia smirked, "Cara always hits what she means to. If the knife had gone into your real shoulder, rest assured she meant to put it there."



Dream

- In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl -

Jennsen was surprised when Cara turned in the direction of the living quarters of the Mord'Sith.

"My cell is the other way," she heard herself say. Her cheeks warmed in a blush.

She blushed harder when she realized she was blushing.

Cara said nothing, merely raising a brow at the badgered waif she supported.

She was taking Jennsen to her quarters. She would tend to her, soothe her, make sure she ate properly.

She would make Jennsen love her, just as she had made countless others love her over the years.

Though with Jennsen there was a special consideration, an intriguing challenge. Jennsen had to be pushed only so far and no farther. It would be a game of the minds - for Cara could not use the magic of the Agiel to bend Jennsen to her will.

And if Jennsen's body was pushed too far, Cara would not be able to bring her back.

The breath of life would not work on the pristinely ungifted one.

They reached Cara's suite. It was the largest in the temple by virtue of rank. It was the suite usually reserved for Lord Rahl. He had given Cara leave to claim it as her own.

She remembered the smug quirk to his lip, the desire in his eyes as he commented that they would share the rooms when he visited.

Cara helped Jennsen into the bed, the soft down mattress plush and cool, an alien sensation to Jennsen after a year on the run and she didn't know how long in a prison cell.

"I'll get the sheets dirty," she protested, though weakly. She didn't know why she was so concerned with it. Her mind grasped the issue, fixated on it. She didn't want to get Cara's sheets dirty.

It kept her from thinking of other things.

Cara soothed her, gently directing her to lie against the pillows. "First you will rest while I dress your wounds. Then you will sleep and eat. After that I will help you bathe. Dahlia and Triana disobeyed me. They knew they weren't to touch you."

Jennsen began to relax in spite of herself, lulled by the dark husky tones of Cara's voice and a level of comfort she had not experienced in so long.

She barely remembered that she was naked, was too far gone to be embarrassed as Cara explored her body, running leather clad hands over her skin.

"S'nice," she murmured in her near sleep, her nose wrinkling.

Though she didn't realize it, Cara smiled at the sight before removing her gloves to attend to the cuts her Mord'Sith had left on Jennsen's flesh.

The red hair was really quite pretty. Cara thought Jennsen must have gotten it from her mother's line. There were no redheads in the house of Rahl.

Cara's son had been blond when he was born. She wondered if his hair had darkened as he got older.

She frowned to herself, banishing the silly musing.

She had only thought of it because she was comparing Jennsen's looks with that of Lord Rahl's. She knew better that to dwell on the fate of her son.

It wasn't important.

Finishing her ministrations, Cara rang for a servant to clean up and prepare a meal.

Stripping to her skin and unbraiding her hair, Cara climbed into bed next to Jennsen. The young Rahl gravitated toward her, cuddling into Cara's muscular body like some ridiculous woodland creature.

Cara allowed it, though only because it furthered her objectives. She wrapped tanned arms around Jennsen's abused flesh, then allowed herself to drift into unconsciousness.

Jennsen dreamed of Cara saving her.


Safety

- In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl-

Jennsen sat on a ledge in the enormous bathing pool the Mord'Sith used. She had only been given a bucket of water before.

She had chosen to drink it.

Now she soaked in warm water, Cara next to her.

She hadn't been surprised to wake in Cara's arms. It had seemed natural.

Every time Jennsen closed her eyes, she saw Cara. Her savior.

The image of the Mord'Sith lunging into the room, braid swinging and face full of fury would be forever burned on Jennsen's eyelids.

And gratitude would always pound wetly in her heart.

Something brushed her arm and Jennsen jumped, startled and immediately frightened.

But it was only Cara, gently washing the deep knife wounds that covered Jennsen's flesh.

"If we keep these clean," Cara said lowly against Jennsen's neck, "they won't scar."

The water swirled around them as Cara moved, her hair floating like the river kelp Jennsen had once used to weave baskets.

She stopped in front of Jennsen, moving slowly forward until their skin barely touched, flat green eyes making Jennsen's flesh crawl in a way she didn't understand.

Her eyes widened, breath coming in pants.

Dahlia stood in the doorway, watching.

Cara turned, jerking her chin at the Mord'Sith.

"I am not happy with you Dahlia."

Dahlia did not leave.

Cara turned back to Jennsen, pulling her into strong tan arms. Jennsen hissed as some of her wounds pulled, scabs breaking.

Her blood tinted the water pink.

Pressing their foreheads together, Cara said loudly enough for Dahlia to hear:

"Remember I will always come for you. I will allow no one to harm what is mine."

"What's yours?" Jennsen questioned in a haze.

Jennsen could not remember the last time she had eaten. She couldn't remember what it was like not to hurt. She couldn't remember what her skin looked like when it wasn't marked with cuts.

She could remember the sound of her skin tearing, the feel of her sweat, the salt of her tears.

She could remember Dahlia and Triana. She knew their names now.

Would always know their names.

She could remember the warmth and comfort of Cara's bed, the relief that came with knowing Cara stood between her and her tormentors.

Cara meant safety.

Jennsen tucked her head into Cara's neck.

Quietly, Cara said, "I'm glad they didn't mark your face. You're quite pretty, my Jennsen."

Jennsen hesitantly wrapped her arms around Cara's waist, not sure of her reception.

"That's right," Cara soothed, "I'll keep you safe."

The room rang with the sound of footsteps as Dahlia left.


Seeker

-Present Day-

"Jennsen," Zedd gasped as he came upon the group standing in tense silence. "What has happened to you child?"

"What do you think has happened to her?" Kahlan snapped, watching Richard from the corner of her eye.

Kahlan did not need to elaborate on that statement. Richard knew her well enough to understand what she was thinking.

If the Mord'Sith had done this to Jennsen, how could he possibly harbor Cara?

But after all Cara had done to help Richard ensure the world had a chance for a bright future… how could he not?

"Mistress," Jennsen said quietly, "please never leave me behind again."

-l-

-In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl-

"Mistress, please don't go," Jennsen pleaded, her face full of fear. She sat in the center of Cara's enormous bed, bandages her only covering.

"It is a Mord'Sith's duty to serve Lord Rahl," Cara answered coolly, "The resistance is raiding a nearby outpost. I must ride there to aid our soldiers."

Jennsen frowned at the mention of the resistance, the face of a friend floating to the surface of her mind.

Cara felt the change in the air.

"Tell me, Jennsen… what was your life like, before you met the Seeker?"

Jennsen frowned, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Mother was always afraid Lord Rahl would find us. We were always running."

"But," Cara advanced on the bed, sinuous as a cat, her flat green eyes adding to the illusion, "did those fears ever manifest? Did Lord Rahl send anyone after you, even once, before the Seeker returned to the Midlands?"

"Denna - "

"Denna was a fool!" Cara spat. Jennsen shrank back against the headboard.

Taking a deep breath, Cara's smoothed her face back into her usual emotionless mask. She settled down on the edge of the bed, opening her arms to the frightened woman. She had to remember the key to Jennsen's training was kindness and gentility… no matter how ill used she was to acting in such a way.

Jennsen took the invitation, molding her soft nakedness against Cara's hard leather, a sigh escaping the small redhead as the Mord'Sith's arms closed around her.

Safe.

"What if I told you, Jennsen," Cara said lowly, "that Lord Rahl had always known where you were, and looked after you from afar. He knew your mother wouldn't trust his intentions were he to declare himself. It wasn't until the Seeker began to foster strife in our land that he had to seek your help."

"But -"

"It was Denna, not Lord Rahl who treated you badly. She defied his orders that you were not to be harmed," Cara said firmly.

Jennsen's breath tickled the tiny hairs on Cara's neck. She didn't respond in any way to what Cara had just told her.

"It was the Seeker who forced Lord Rahl to desperate measures to defend the empire. It was the Seeker who brought war into your life," Cara continued.

The words fell down into Jennsen's soul, like stones into a ravine.

It was impossible to tell when they hit bottom.

Cara disentangled herself from Jennsen, rising to leave.

"Mistress, let me come with you," Jennsen pleaded, fingers twisted in the blankets around her waist.

Cara stopped, her braid lightly thumping into her back. She answered without turning, "No, Jennsen. I thought you were loyal to me, and to Lord Rahl. But now… I'm not so sure."

She took a few steps, her heavy-soled boots ringing against the stone of the floor. She paused just short of the doorway, flat green eyes seeking out electric blue.

"Remember, Jennsen, it is the Seeker who forces me to leave you now."

-l-

Triana waited in the hall, out of Jennsen's sightline. Cara exited her suite. She paused, her brow wrinkled in the way that Triana knew meant she was considering her strategy. Cara was a brilliant tactician. Arrogant as the Keeper, but brilliant.

Triana was never quite sure if she loved or hated her.

After a moment, Cara nodded, signaling Triana to move ahead as planned. Cara would ride the surrounding countryside, enforcing Lord Rahl's will.

Triana would keep their Lord's sister entertained.

She stepped into the suite where little Jennsen waited.


Deserve

-In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl-

Jennsen froze when Triana entered the room, reduced to the beliefs of a frightened child.

If I don't move, she can't see me…

"Don't just sit there, staring at me," Triana snapped, her boots making a horrible racket as she marched toward the bed where Jennsen cowered.

She extended one of her red gloved hands, and Jennsen flinched, expecting a blow. Instead, firm fingers plucked at her bandages, prodding the wounds beneath.

Jennsen grit her teeth against any involuntary sound.

Some time passed. Jennsen thought that the Mord'Sith might be staring, but she couldn't be sure. She was afraid to lift her eyes.

"You're well enough to work. Come."

Triana began to move back toward the door. Jennsen stayed where she was.

The Mord'Sith noticed her inaction and glared.

Jennsen found her voice, "Cara - "

"Mistress Cara rides to battle because of your disloyalty. Now come with me."

The look in Triana's eyes and the crease of leather as her hands curled into fists warned Jennsen of the consequences of disobedience.

She got up, naked save for her bandages, and followed Triana into the hall.

-l-

Triana took Jennsen to a long hall of windowless rooms with no doors. Jennsen couldn't help but see the occupants. Men and women in pale yellow, all of them with iron collars around their necks.

Slaves.

They reached an empty hole in the wall. A shapeless yellow dress and iron ring were waiting on the pallet on the floor.

"Get dressed."

With a start, Jennsen remembered she was naked. It had been so long, it seemed, since she needed clothes. She didn't need clothes when she was with Cara.

But suddenly, she could feel the eyes. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, pinpricks of shame as a blush washed her body.

Jennsen pulled the course yellow smock over her head. The iron collar clattered against the floor. Jennsen didn't pick it up.

Cara wouldn't want her to wear a slave collar.

"Put it on," Triana ordered, sounding bored.

Jennsen didn't move.

"Put it on," Triana said louder, as if she suspected Jennsen had not heard the first time.

Jennsen stared at the iron ring. She closed her eyes and saw her Mistress, her Cara, as she fought for Jennsen.

So magnificent.

So brave.

Fearless.

"No," Jennsen said, her mouth dry.

Quick as a flash, Triana had her pressed painfully against the rough hewn rock of the cell. Jagged stone scraped against her cheek.

"What," Triana grit through her teeth, "did you say?"

Jennsen took a deep breath.

"No."

-l-

A hard leather fist slammed into Jennsen's face, causing her to sway on the chains she was suspended from. Her head flopped to the side, feeling too heavy to hold up anymore.

Both her eyes were blackened, her lips split, blood, hot and thick, congealing around her teeth, turning them a crusty deep brownish-red.

Triana hit her again, this time with an Agiel. The torture magic had no effect, but it still left its mark. Another bruise.

Jennsen thought of Cara. Cara would come. Cara would always come. She would stop Triana, would make the hurt and nightmares go away. She would bathe with Jennsen and allow Jennsen to help with her hair. They would sleep curled together, Cara between Jennsen and the door.

Between Jennsen and the world.

"She'll come for me," Jennsen wheezed, unaware she had said it aloud.

Triana did not need to be told who Jennsen spoke of.

"Will she?" She asked, face alight with mischief.

She knew exactly what to say, had been waiting for the opportunity.

"Your beloved Mistress Cara," Triana sneered, "rides into battle far from here. She might never come back. She might die. And it's all because of you."

Tears leaked from Jennsen's swollen eyes.

"Oh, yes. You'll be telling yourself that I'm lying, but let's consider the facts," Triana continued, thoroughly enjoying herself. "You stole the Boxes of Orden from the People's Palace. The resistance have already rallied around the Seeker, but now they have a victory to boost morale. They fight harder than ever. Meanwhile, people starve, women lose their sons and husbands…" Triana paused to observe the effect of her speech on her captive.

"But then, Jennsen, you were given a chance. Lord Rahl, who has only ever wanted to bring peace and unity to the Midlands, gave you the opportunity to bring the boxes back to him. To choose peace over war. He trusted you. He loved you. He thought that he had finally found a family, Jennsen Rahl."

Jennsen was shaking her head, her body racked with sobs.

"But you betrayed him. You betrayed Mistress Cara. You betrayed everyone who continues to fight this war."

Triana gripped the lever that controlled the length of Jennsen's chains, using it to slowly lower the woman to her feet in jerky bursts. She knew the jarring motion would cause the redhead pain.

"From the moment of your betrayal, you became responsible, Jennsen Rahl. If Cara dies in battle, it will be because of you. Your fault."

"My fault," Jennsen repeated, swaying on her feet.

Triana approached, holding something for Jennsen to take.

It was the iron slave collar Jennsen had spurned before. How long ago? A day? A year? A second? A lifetime?

All of them and none of them.

The heavy chains that bound her to the ceiling still dragging at her wrists, Jennsen took the collar from Triana.

She thought of the time she had spent with her eldest brother. The pain she had sensed, the kindness he had shown.

The color of his eyes.

The trust he had placed in her.

She thought of Richard. Richard who brought soldiers to her door. Richard, who their mother had always yearned for.

Always loved more.

She thought of Mistress Cara. Her bright, fierce mistress, riding on a lonely rode into a bloody battle.

The click of the lock sounded impossibly loud to Jennsen as she fixed the slave collar around her neck. It echoed through her memories, back in time, or toward the future.

She didn't know.

All she did know was, "I deserve it."

"Yes," Triana replied approvingly.

They stood in silence for a moment, Jennsen swaying as she studied her feet, hands still on the collar she had placed around her own neck.

She deserved it.

"Well, don't just stand there," Triana said. "You aren't yet worthy to scrub Lord Rahl's boots, so you can start with the dungeon floor."


Chapter 9: Broken

This chapter rated M.

Broken

-In the 23rd year of the reign of Lord Darken Rahl-

Jondralyn grew large in the distance, a shadow of stone breaking the blue of the sky.

Cara was glad to see it. She looked forward to the luxuries of the bathing pool, the softness of her bed. All privileges she had earned.

She carefully did not think of trusting eyes or hair the color of blood.

Sensing that home was near, her horse picked up its pace. Sharing his eagerness, Cara let him have his head.

Triana met her at the gate.

"All has been as you said, Mistress," Triana said neutrally, reaching up to grasp the bridle of Cara's mount.

Cara dismounted, nodded to Triana, then walked on without uttering a sound.

Triana frowned, turning to take Cara's horse to the stables.

Cara's voice floated back to her, "I will have Dahlia fetch you when it is time."

Cara was gone before Triana could reply.

-l-

Jennsen scrubbed at the stone floor of the bathing pool. The water had been drained so that it might be cleaned. Jennsen did so, the skin of her knuckles dry and bleeding. The lye in the water she used to scrub burned the cuts.

She deserved it.

Cara found her on hands and knees, wearing a dirty yellow smock. Her small white hands, never soft, were now reddened from hard labor. There was a ring of chafed skin around her neck, an enflamed collar of flesh to match the slave collar of iron.

All this Cara had expected.

She had not expected the bruises. The fading yellow on her Jennsen's face. The purpled wrist joints, the stiffness that was more than fatigue.

Cara's blood boiled.

"Jennsen?" Cara asked, not bothering to hide her rage.

The small woman, seemingly even frailer than when Cara had left her, flinched, cringing against the wall of the empty bathing pool.

"What have they done to you?" Cara demanded tightly, her fingers curling into fists.

She had not expected to be so angry. She had not expected to be effected by Jennsen's pain.

She was Mord'Sith. Pain was her life.

Eyes narrowing, Cara stalked down the steps, her red leathers coated in road dust. She had gone straight for Jennsen, to project the appearance of eagerness.

Loyalty.

Jennsen stood slowly. Stiffly.

Like an old woman.

And to Cara's complete bewilderment, began to cry.

It was soft at first, but quickly grew into a hysterical moan, a gasping wail. Jennsen pressed her abused hands to her lips, as if to hold the noise back, but it was not to be done.

Cara had expected joy, relief, perhaps anger from her pet upon her return. Had prepared for those.

She found herself with an armful of wailing woman, Jennsen's tears mixing with the dust on Cara's leathers to streak the redhead's face with trails of grime.

It was barely discernible from the color of the bruises.

Cara's anger returned, coiling thick and heavy in her gut. It was a serpent preparing to strike, a force that Cara did not understand. She did not try to. That she felt it was enough.

Jennsen hiccoughed, still trying to muffle herself, certain that her brave Mistress would be disgusted with her weakness.

Cara sank to the ground, pulling Jennsen gently down with her. Jennsen sat between her legs, face buried in leather, hands plucking at Cara's braid.

"It will be alright now," Cara said awkwardly. Her usual charisma, her skill at manipulation left her. Something about Jennsen disarmed her, leaving her with tangled sentences, the coiled serpent in her gut, and a strange sensation of falling.

She didn't like it.

Triana entered the room, Dahlia watching from the doorway.

"You," Cara spat, her outrage unfeigned.

"She was defiant," Triana said, following the script they had agreed upon. Triana would play the villain, and Cara the hero come to save the day.

"You disobeyed me." Cara's voice was dangerously monotone.

Jennsen had gone quiet upon hearing Triana's voice, her sense of self preservation overcoming her sobs.

"She had to earn her keep somehow. Since you weren't around to benefit from her… charms," Triana's lip curled into a disgusted sneer, "I put her with the other slaves. She's received the same treatment as all the others."

Cara extricated herself from Jennsen, approaching Triana, hand on her Agiel.

Dahlia faded back into the shadows. She knew Cara very well, better than Cara knew herself.

This wasn't a play anymore.

"She wasn't to be harmed."

"She's been treated the same as the others."

"She is Lord Rahl's sister!"

"She's your whore!" Triana deviated from the script, her face reddening as she realized what she had said.

She didn't know why she said it.

Cara drew her Agiel, thrusting it up into Triana's chin. She inhaled deeply, green eyes wide as she watched the torture magic spread over Triana's skin. She gripped Triana's long dark braid in fingers like iron, yanking down on it even as she thrust upward with the Agiel.

A sweeping kick sent Triana to the ground, her blood splattering across the stone bottom of the empty bathing pool. A slash of red, trickling into the floor drain. A hard stomp broke her jaw and crushed her nose. Blood bubbled from her lips, her body jerking as Cara straddled her to press the Agiel to flesh once more.

Triana had disobeyed orders, had gone beyond the scope of Cara's will.

Cara had wanted a Jennsen grateful for her return, not a Jennsen broken by it. That was why she was so angry. That was what drove her to draw her boot knife, to reach for Triana.

It was a power struggle. It had nothing to do with Jennsen. Jennsen was merely the ground they fought for.

It had nothing to do with Jennsen's bruised face.

Nothing to do with the guttural wails that raised the hairs on the back of Cara's neck.

Cara gripped Triana's braid in one hand, knife in the other, her world narrowed to one sharp violent point. She pulled Triana's braid, using it to lift the broken Mord'Sith's face. She didn't know if she was going to cut Triana's hair or her throat.

"Mistress."

Cara blinked.

Jennsen huddled in the opposite corner, eyes wide and dilated. She stared at the blood. Triana's blood.

"I knew you would come," Jennsen mumbled, over and over, her voice a high crack.

Cara lowered Triana's face to the empty pool bottom.

She went to Jennsen, extending gloved hands.

The red gloves didn't show the blood.

Tears leaked from Jennsen's eyes, lips trembled.

"I was so scared," Jennsen said, her face crumpling.

She twisted her hands in the hem of her rough slave garb. "My fault," she muttered. "Triana said it was my fault."

"Everything's alright now," Cara repeated her earlier words, taking Jennsen in her arms once more.

She left bloody handprints.

Leaning forward, Cara placed a kiss on Jennsen's lips, a soft comforting kiss.

Jennsen tensed, every muscle going tight. Cara neither advanced nor retreated, simply staying where she was, lips gently against her Jennsen's.

After what seemed an eternity, Jennsen relaxed, her lips parting in a sweet surrender.

After some time, she pulled away. Cara allowed it.

"I know where Richard is taking the Boxes of Orden," Jennsen said, her gaze fixed once more on Triana's spilt blood.

She met Cara's eyes, "And why he hasn't used them yet."

Cara stroked Jennsen's cheek. "You have done very well."

Jennsen's eyes fluttered closed. Cara stood and turned to the door.

"Call Lord Rahl," Cara said loudly to Dahlia. Their long association told her that Dahlia was still present, though she had chosen to fade into the background.

Dahlia emerged from the doorway, her steps ringing against the flagstones like a blacksmith's hammer.

"She is supposed to be falling for you. Not you for her," Dahlia said lowly, for Cara's ears only.

Cara did not answer.

"Denna's downfall -" Dahlia began.

"I am not Denna." Cara asserted calmly, eyes narrowed.

Dahlia averted her eyes.

"Get Triana a healer if she still lives. And have someone clean this up."

"Yes, Mistress Cara."

"I will be in my chambers."

Cara collected Jennsen and left. Dahlia watched them go.

Cara would return to her. They both sought pleasure with others from time to time, but no one could understand Cara like Dahlia.

Not even Lord Rahl.

Or his sister.

Stooping, Dahlia examined Triana's face.

"I told you she always hits what she means to," she said quietly.
So manyreviews! You guys rock! This is why I write - to hear from wonderful people like you. Unfortunately, I'm too busy at the moment to reply to each individual review in a timely manner like I usually do, but I want you all to know that I appreciate every single one! Thank you for reading and reviewing, and keep it up! I will be going back to reply to each one after the exam month of doom is over!


Mistress

Jennsen sat in Cara's suite, dressed in a soft gown of ocher. Her hair was brushed and styled. A soothing lotion had been applied to the ring of inflamed flesh around her neck.

Her slave collar shone in the light.

Darken Rahl stepped through the door.

He was as handsome as she remembered.

And as intimidating.

He smiled at her, his eyes like chips of ice melting in the sun, "Sister. It's so good to see you again."

Jennsen inclined her head, nervous and awed.

Darken Rahl was the true ruler of the Midlands. The leader that would deliver peace from war.

The brother she had betrayed.

He approached, slowly, quietly, silently.

A hunter stalking his prey.

Guilt flowed through her, an inexorable tide. The push and pull of the sea.

She looked up to find Darken Rahl on his knees before her, her small hands in his larger ones. They had the same eyes. Jennsen had never noticed before.

She wondered if they were their father's eyes.

"Jennsen," he said, and his voice sent shivers down her spine. He was so gentle. So noble.

So terrifying. So great was his aura, so all consuming the fire in his eyes. He towered over her, not in body but in spirit.

She was made of wax and he was an open flame.

A drop of water appeared on their clasped hands and she realized she was weeping. Weeping for the pain she had wrought.

His thumb wiped the drop away, spreading the salty essence of her sorrow across their skin.

"Jennsen," he said again, his voice soft, though his face held a sharp edge.

It was in the line of his brow, the curve of his lips.

The face she had betrayed.

She crumpled, leaning forward to weep into his chest. He shifted to sit on the bed with her, strong arms sheltering her from the world.

Locking her away.

It was so familiar. So like before.

The brother who had never been anything but kind.

"I'm sorry," she moaned into his vest. She had thought it would ease the ache she felt to actually say the words aloud.

But it did not.

Darken gripped her chin in fingers like steel, nails lightly grazing her flesh. Her chest heaved, her face a splotchy red as he forced her to look at him.

He stared, a hawk gazing at a mouse. For how long, Jennsen could not say. They seemed frozen in time.

And then suddenly her brother pressed a kiss to her forehead, reassuring her without words that she was forgiven.

She looked up at him in shock, and he smiled a small razor smile.

"Now sister, tell me where it is our wayward brother goes, and what he plans to do when he gets there."

Filled with a fragile happiness made of the shards of her former self, Jennsen told him.

When she had finished, he stroked her cheek. "It is good to have you back, Jennsen."

"Yes, Lord Rahl."

She wished she had never left his side.

-l-

Cara entered the chambers she shared with Jennsen when Lord Rahl called for her. They spoke of the Seeker's plans, and a way to stop them. Cara had to struggle to hide her anticipation of flying as a hawk.

She loved the wind in her feathers, the sharp cry and stooping dive, the pulping squeeze that ended her prey's squealing and coated her talons in blood.

She saluted and turned to make her preparations.

"Cara."

She looked over her shoulder, one hip cocked, her voice a throaty purr, "My lord?"

"Have Dahlia see to the arrangements. Until the time comes to strike…" his eyes tracked to Jennsen, who sat perched on the edge of the bed looking woefully innocent.

His gaze pierced her, his vest hanging open, his hair sooty black against his cheek.

"Amuse me."

Cara smiled, "Yes, Lord Rahl."

She approached Jennsen, firmly grasping her arms and murmuring, "Everything will be alright."

Jennsen returned the smile trustingly.

"Yes, Mistress Cara."
I am planning five more chapters, and then the thread will be picked up in the second part of the trilogy of novellas I have planned.

Chapters 11-15

Also available on Fanfiction.net: Embracing Chains