LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Aydindril Music Festival

ministress

Title: Aydindril Music Festival

Author: ministress

Rating: PG–13 / T

Word count: 2549

Pairing: Cara/Kahlan

Summary: Young Kahlan and Cara attend a festival and meet for the first time.

“Barely able to breathe, Cara looked down at the pale white skin of the young Confessor’s hand, protectively holding on to her own callused golden one. It felt so soft and feminine in comparison to her rough farm–weathered skin, and she didn’t want to let go. Ever.”

Note: This has a bit of a contemporary flair, and I had to adjust Cara’s timeline to work with her age in this story.

Disclaimer: Legend of the Seeker characters are owned by Terry Goodkind and ABC. No copyright infringement is intended. It’s just fiction.

Aydindril Music Festival

ministress

Kahlan was so excited she could barely sit still. Today was the start of the Aydindril Music Festival, a week–long fair where all the famous bands in all the Midlands were playing. The window in her classroom overlooked the Joxer Street stage, the main area in the great courtyard where the modern music performers were setting up, and her desk was right in front of that window. In less than two hours the Indigo Minstrels would kick off the festivities, and they were Kahlan’s very favorite band. The kids in her class had finished all their studies, and sensing their lack of concentration the Mother Confessor graciously decided to let school out early. Almost knocking her chair over as she leapt to her feet, she stuffed her bookbag and quills in her cubby, and raced out the doors to join the action.

“I’m going with you!” Her little sister Dennee was tagging along after her, dirty blonde hair matted and smudgy glasses on crooked. She was wearing a hand–me–down dress that Kahlan had outgrown, and it was very unfashionable this year.

“No you’re not! Go home!” She was sooo annoying, Kahlan thought, running faster in an effort to evade her. Easily outdistancing the other girl, she ducked around a corner, blending in with the crowd. She waited a few minutes until she was sure she had lost her, and then headed off down the road toward the vendors’ court to hunt for souvenirs.

The first booth had a peculiar group of wizardy–looking guys selling potions and spells from a store somewhere on the other side of the Midlands. Kahlan peered at the older man standing at the back, his unkempt gray hair falling down his back like a girl’s. “Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander, at your service!” He bowed deeply before producing a small twirling ball of fire on his fingertip. That was kind of cool, but she was in a hurry and didn’t stop for long.

A handsome boy and his dad strolled by in the opposite direction, and he grinned at her shyly, dark eyes sparkling with something she could only guess was sincerity. Or maybe honor. Something about him seemed familiar, almost comforting, although they hadn’t met previously. “Come on, Richard,” the man said, tugging on his son’s arm. “Let’s get to the woodcutter’s booth before the band starts.”

Next was the local animal rights protestors, chanting about how unfair it was to keep chickens and lambs in small wooden cages and hunt shadrin merely for sport. Kahlan agreed with their philosophies, blinking back a tear as they showed her a drawing of a piglet being slaughtered. She had never really liked meat, and believed all animals should run wild and free, so she dropped a coin in their donations box. “Thank you, kind miss,” the gentleman in green linen said cheerily, as he fastened a small wooden pin with a picture of a smiling bunny to her collar. Before hurrying away, she donated a second coin.

Kahlan wandered up and down the rows, listening to claims for cures for every ailment there was, sifting through pottery and elixirs and cheap jewelry, and collecting parchments advertising various shops and groups, most of which she’d never look at again. A twinge of guilt for ditching Dennee nagged her, so she bought a tiny blue scarf from one of the dressmakers to give the little girl later.

The last aisle was mostly recruiters… D’Haran commanders barking out orders, the Aydindril militia, palace guards in armor with codpieces so large they were laughable, some local village lawkeepers. At the very end was a well–prepared booth containing some foreboding women with long braids so snug they pulled the skin on their faces back, sharply accentuating their features. They were standing in formation, not smiling or blinking or moving, just ominously scouring the crowd. Kahlan stopped to look, half terrified, half intrigued. What were they, she wondered. She had never seen any women who looked like that, clad head to toe in tight leather the color of blood, each with an odd matching baton holstered at her hip.

“Mord–Sith,” came a hushed voice behind her. She turned to find a blonde girl, about her own age, scrutinizing them as well. “My dad says they snatch girls like us and beat ’em until they break. And if they cry or scream, they get killed and fed to the prisoners in their dungeons.”

“No waaay!” Kahlan’s eyes grew wide, and she looked over her shoulder at them again, her apprehension causing a slight shudder. “Where do they come from?”

The blonde shrugged, her gaze now fixated on Kahlan, who was, she realized, the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. The look made Kahlan a little uneasy, as if the other girl could see more than was presented. “My name’s Cara,” she said matter–of–factly, biting her fingernail. “How come you’re dressed like that?” She jerked her chin to indicate Kahlan’s white gown, neatly stitched yet not elegant like court finery. “And what’s that pin for?”

“I’m a Confessor, or I will be a Confessor after I get done with all those dumb lessons. I’m Kahlan.” She looked at Cara, who stepped back a little and inspected her up and down. Carefully unfastening the smiling bunny, she pressed it into Cara’s hand. “It’s for helping protect animals. You can have it. I’ll get another one tomorrow.”

“Ah, a Confessor… Man, that’s gotta suck. All those decisions to make and no time to just have fun.” Cara eyed the pin and shoved it roughly into the coinpurse hanging at her belt.

“Yeah.” Kahlan glanced away, trying to hide her sudden insecurity. If that was a rejection of her gift, it was not obvious. “But that’s just how it is… I was born this way and it’s my destiny.”

“I can be whatever I want,” said Cara, in a definitive tone that made her seem older than her years. She stood up a little taller and looked around. “My mom and dad and sister are here somewhere, but I didn’t want to hang out with them. Especially my stupid little sister. She’s sooo annoying.” She rolled her eyes to prove it.

Kahlan laughed out loud in agreement, completely understanding; the sound of her own voice startled her, and she gazed at the ground awkwardly before resuming her conversation. “I have one of those, too. She’s here trying to find me, so if you see her let me know.” She held up one hand about shoulder height. “About this tall, glasses, light hair…” She stopped as she realized Cara’s attention was elsewhere, and besides there were way too many people to even notice one girl. Disgruntled, she changed the subject. “Are you going to watch the bands?”

“Yeah.” That wide smile and corresponding laughter had momentarily distracted Cara from their discussion, and she found it difficult to focus. Rather than let Kahlan notice her flustered interest, she had opted to look away, appearing indifferent.

“I like the Indigo Minstrels. That Branton Oxenheart is just so dreamy and he’s got the best voice! Maybe I’ll marry him in a couple years.” As soon as the words came out, she felt stupid.

Cara raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. Everyone knew Confessors couldn’t marry unless they confessed the other person; she was doubtful if “everyone” included Kahlan, and found that strangely endearing.

“Do you think he’s cute?” Kahlan fidgeted with her hair, twirling it around one finger, unsure whether to pursue this line of questioning further.

“Nah,” came the reply, accompanied by a toe scuffing from Cara’s boot. She shifted her weight to that leg, looking directly in Kahlan’s eyes. “I think the flute player’s a lot hotter.”

Kahlan’s brow furrowed as she attempted to grasp this concept. “But… she’s a girl!”

“Yeah, so?” Cara’s eyes flashed. “She’s pretty… and a good musician. And I like her makeup.”

“I guess,” Kahlan mumbled, mentally filing this tidbit to dwell on later. “Wanna go over to the stage? We should find seats before all the good ones are gone.”

“Ok. But let’s talk to them first.” Cara pointed at the Mord–Sith with her elbow.

Kahlan made a face and shook her head no.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of them, Kahlan. I heard Confessor magic can kill them, so they wouldn’t take you.”

Her lips pursed at this new information; she considered. “No, you go. I’ll wait here.” A sudden feeling of dread gnawed at the depths of her stomach as she regarded them suspiciously.

Cara’s lip smirked up on one side, simultaneously declaring her bravery and renouncing Kahlan’s, and she marched over to the pack of women. One of them smiled balefully at her, asking if she liked their uniforms, but Cara was more interested in the strange club hanging at her belt.

“It’s called an Agiel, a weapon of pain. Few people can hold one, and fewer still can hold two of them.” The woman had a sinister voice, powerful and commanding, and the hairs on the back of Cara’s neck prickled. “Touch it,” she dared. “It will hurt.”

Without hesitation, Cara stared her defiantly in the eye and seized the weapon. A pain worse than any she had ever felt before shot through her hand, and it started to spasm, purple welts climbing up her arm. Her bones felt like they were crumbling inside her, their dust being wrenched from her eyes and ears and nose, her life force escaping through her skin. It seemed like every thought she had ever had lurched through her mind, all at once, coherent yet disconnected. She clenched her jaw and refused to let go, shaking, almost passing out from the agony, but she didn’t cry, she didn’t look away. The Mord–Sith pried her Agiel out of Cara’s aching fingers, regarding her with something akin to pride. “You’ll be back someday,” said the woman, “someday soon,” and Cara knew without a doubt that was true. Whirling, she ran back to Kahlan, her breath coming in short gasps. Grabbing Kahlan’s hand, she pulled her toward the stage, looking around one last time at the woman in leather and secretly longing for more of that delirious pain.

The courtyard was filling up quickly, but the girls found some seats off to the side, about halfway back from the stage. Kahlan noticed that boy Richard a few rows up. He was good looking; thin, with sinewy arms sticking out of his tight brown peasant vest. Spotting her, he tilted his head in acknowledgment, a lopsided grin emphasizing his too–white teeth. She smiled back, and Cara bristled, instantly disliking him. His father had a shiny new axe, and was polishing it with his sleeve, intent on one slight imperfection. Kahlan stifled a giggle as the man let out a big blob of spit to clean it.

Cara saw it too, and snickered a little despite herself. Kahlan’s attention returned to her. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “Back there… those women…”

“I just wanted to.” Cara still hadn’t let go of Kahlan’s hand.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah, it hurt bad.” After a short pause, she whispered, “I think I almost died.”

Kahlan squeezed her hand tighter, a worried look edging over her features. “Don’t talk to them again, ok? They’re scary.” She slid over, her leg so close Cara could feel its heat threatening to melt her own thigh, almost afraid to move in case that happened. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, every beat wrenching and loud, wanting.

Barely able to breathe, Cara looked down at the pale white skin of the young Confessor’s hand, protectively holding on to her own callused golden one. It felt so soft and feminine in comparison to her rough farm–weathered skin, and she didn’t want to let go. Ever. Her gaze drifted along Kahlan’s arm and up to her neck, memorizing how it curved gracefully from her shoulder to her chin, soft dark hair curling around it; she felt an overwhelming urge to kiss it, to kiss her jaw, her cheek, her lips.

But the musicians were filing out on stage, and Kahlan failed to notice the haunted look of the girl next to her, trembling, aching, filled with desire, desperately wishing the crowd would somehow vanish and leave only the two of them. Turning her head back to the performers, Cara closed her eyes and slowly exhaled, debating whether to stay here with this girl or sneak back to the Mord–Sith. Kahlan squeezed her hand again, this time squirming in excitement as the band began to play, and Cara made her decision.

* * * * *

Many years later, Cara found herself around a campfire with three weary travelers. She was on first watch, her keen eyes scanning the area for any signs of intrusion. As she marveled at the events in her life and how they seemed to flow in a circle, she surveyed her companions: the great wizard Zedd, peacefully snoring after his peculiarly large dinner… Richard, the Seeker, that same silly grin, even as he slept… and Kahlan, now the Mother Confessor, who had transformed from the most beautiful girl she had ever seen to the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She was still completely oblivious to Cara’s feelings, and had long since forgotten the Aydindril Music Festival. Her dark hair still curled around her neck, accentuating her chin and shoulder and cheek and lips.

Cara’s heart skipped a beat as Kahlan moaned, a slight frown marring her face as a bad dream disturbed her slumber; she knelt beside her and stroked her hair softly, calming her. Still asleep, Kahlan reached for her hand in the dark, and Cara held on until finally she shifted position and relinquished it, her utter devotion apparent only to the stars and moon. She stayed there for several more hours, rising once to put another log on the fire and pull up the blanket when Kahlan shivered from the cool night air.

Carefully stitched into the lining of Cara’s waistband, under the protective thickness of her belt, was a pouch containing a small wooden pin with a worn and faded picture of a smiling bunny on it—her only real possession, the one item she treasured more than everything. Pulling the leather back, she ran her thumb over its familiar soothing shape, like she had every day since that concert in Aydindril; sighing with the forlorn resignation she reserved for nights like this, she leaned to kiss Kahlan’s forehead. A single tear glinted in the firelight before it rolled down her cheek.

And as she so often did, Cara took all four watches that night. Exactly one hour before dawn, when she was sure Kahlan’s nightmares were gone and everyone was sleeping soundly, she silently withdrew to sit against a large tree at the edge of the clearing, its coarse bark digging into her back, angry and accusing. Grasping both Agiels by the ends rather than their shielded handles, she closed her eyes in bliss as the doubly–amplified pain surging through her body intoxicated her, sending her spiraling into the one place her desire couldn’t torment her, to the one place she could completely forget that the only person she had ever loved would never, could never, be hers.

~ ~ ~