LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Confessor Woes

ministress

Title: Confessor Woes

Author: ministress

Rating: NC–17 / M

Word count: 3766

Pairing: Cara/Kahlan

Summary: Kahlan needs to come to terms with her Confessor magic and her feelings for Cara.

Her tongue flicked out to lick her lip, and her eyes deepened as she realized Kahlan couldn’t tear her gaze away. “You know what you want,” she drawled deliberately, enjoying Kahlan’s slightly startled flush and rapid heartbeat.

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

Confessor Woes

ministress

Kahlan watched her from across the fire, watched the way she moved, the way she periodically checked the surrounding hills for signs of trouble, the way she put another log in the flames, precisely where it needed to be to maximize the heat it produced, leaving her hand there a moment too long in enjoyment of the mild pain it inflicted. She watched her stride over to the horses with an easy grace that concealed her deadliness, and idly adjust the halter on the bay, softly stroking his neck in reassurance. The horse was agitated, and Cara, being of similar nature, knew exactly how to calm him. She murmured something imperceptible, and the horse nickered in response, nuzzling her arm. Her golden hair glinted in the fire as the last rays of the sun slipped behind the hills and dark shadows enveloped the valley.

Despair took over Kahlan, its fingers grasping at her consciousness, wrenching her mind. How was it that she could feel so desperate with yearning for a person she tried so hard to hate? She couldn’t look away, her longing and loathing twisting together in an inner conflict rivaling the war between Light and Dark. For the first time in her life, Kahlan disliked herself.

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she glanced up to see Zedd staring down, a worried expression on his face. “Are you feeling alright? You look pensive.” He was the closest thing she had ever had to a father, but there was nothing he could do to help her.

“I’m fine.” The lie rolled off her tongue too easily, and intensified her self–deprecation. But her artificial smile apparently fooled the wizard, as he departed after reminding her that she could talk to him about anything.

She sat a few moments longer before announcing her intent to gather more firewood, and took off running as soon as she disappeared from view of the others, stopping only when she arrived at the banks of the lake. Steadying herself with her hands on a tree, she gulped for air, her breath fogging the air as she exhaled. She heard a twig snap behind her, and whirled around to see who dared follow her, but only a small wild pig peered out before briskly trotting away in the other direction.

Away from the prying scrutiny of her companions, Kahlan allowed her tears to fall.

As she wept, she felt her Confessor magic building up inside her, threatening to spill forth like banelings from the Underworld. Its power was unpredictable, feeding on intense emotions like desire, joy, and anger. Sadness did not usually provoke it, so Kahlan was unprepared for the sudden burst of energy within her, cracking like thunder through her body. She crumpled to a heap on the ground, the blackness swirling in her eyes as she struggled to recover. There had been no one nearby to confess, which was both good and bad. If the magic did not find proper outlet, it could eventually consume her. She had seen it happen to a Confessor once—a woman who refused to use her powers and eventually perished as the unreleased magic imploded within her. Confessors had to be trained to use their magic responsibly, but they had to use it nonetheless.

Kahlan stayed just long enough to compose herself, rinsing her face in the cool lake water, then quickly headed back, collecting some dry wood along the way to fuel both the fire and her lie. She was unaware of the Mord–Sith padding along silently behind her, unaware that the other woman had followed her and seen everything.

When she got back to the camp, she dumped the wood near the fire, leaving it to Cara to arrange the logs and branches neatly parallel like she always did, then crawled into her bedroll and closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the blankets, her pity waiting there with open arms.

“Don’t you want some food, Kahlan?” She heard Richard’s voice, but it seemed distant and she slid deeper under the covers in avoidance. “Kahlan?” She thought she had been in love with him, but it couldn’t have been real. Not if love was like this, how she felt around Cara. What she shared with Richard was more like brotherly friendship; with Cara it was all–consuming and devastating, leaving her wanting and weak, unable to think or eat or breathe if she wasn’t near. Love or hate, she was unsure if she even knew the difference.

“No thank you,” she mumbled, realizing the Seeker was still waiting for an answer. “I’m not hungry.” She knew he was making that face, the one he made when he thought something wasn’t right, or when he got a sudden whiff of the wizard’s feet. She didn’t care. Eventually he and Zedd stopped talking and retired; both women were secretly relieved.

Sleep eluded her for a good part of the night, and she was acutely aware of Cara pacing around, playing with the fire, and guarding them from harm. She eyed her covertly, like a leopard watches prey before deciding to strike. Cara needed very little sleep, surprisingly. Apparently the Mord–Sith had better things to do than waste their time on such frivolities. Kahlan smiled a little to herself as her thoughts fabricated a huge temple full of agitated siths with insomnia, rustling around and bumping into each other. No wonder why they were so hostile. It was the first pleasant thought she had had all day, and her exhaustion finally took over, allowing her peace at last.

The next morning, she avoided the questioning glances of Richard and Zedd, pasting on another false smile and eating a little food to appease them. They headed out; Kahlan could feel Cara’s stares from the horse behind her.

Later in the afternoon, two bandits thought they’d help themselves to some easy targets, but Richard and Cara dispatched them effortlessly. Kahlan tried to confess one, but it was too late and her magic was hindered once again. She kicked him hard, several times, letting out a huff of exasperation at the body, while Cara watched in amusement.

As evening began to fall, they came upon a small village and stopped at the local tavern. There were two rooms available, and the bandits’ coins easily paid for them. Kahlan drank several tankards of ale, and staggered upstairs to be alone. Zedd and Richard just shrugged at each other, and continued regaling the locals with tales of their travels.

Not feeling very social, Cara excused herself and went upstairs after the Confessor. The door was locked, but Kahlan let her in when she knocked. She had brought more ale, and Kahlan accepted the offering gratefully, her grasp remaining slightly longer than necessary on Cara’s hand.

She sat on the bed and downed half the tankard, not saying a word. Cara busied herself around the room, squaring the chairs, straightening the sconces, arranging the decorations, and looking out the window, planning an expedient route to the ground should that be necessary. She was like a caged beast, Kahlan thought, lean and hungry, willing to do anything to survive. Her obsession with neatness was in complete contrast to her chaotic disposition.

“Why are you here?” It sounded cold and accusatory, and Kahlan immediately regretted saying it.

Cara raised one eyebrow at her. “Aren’t we sharing this room? I can leave if you’d rather put up with Richard’s chattering or Zedd’s snoring.”

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you can stay.” She set her drink down and slumped over sideways on the bed, slightly intoxicated from the ale and lack of food and sleep. A long sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes. Cara sat down next to her, placing her ale beside the other and adjusting the tankards so the handles both faced the same direction. She brushed a lock of hair out of Kahlan’s face.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Kahlan murmured, more to convince herself than the Mord–Sith.

“I know,” came the terse reply. “I wouldn’t be here if you did.”

Kahlan’s eyes opened and she looked long and hard at Cara. “You saw, didn’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Nodding slowly, Cara stared back, her face as unreadable as always. “Roll over,” she said softly, slipping one hand behind Kahlan’s shoulder to assist. “I’m very good at relieving tension.”

Glowering, she did as she was told. Cara straddled her back with her knees, pinning her down, and began to massage her neck and back. She was indeed as good as she said she was, and Kahlan could not suppress a moan, her body relaxing as the strong hands worked their charms. Without saying a thing, Cara managed to coerce the Confessor into telling her all about her magic, and how it needed an outlet or it would force its way out and hurt or kill someone, maybe even Kahlan herself. She rambled on, the liquor enabling the words to flow off her tongue like startled birds from a tree. Cara listened intently to every word she said, as well as to those she didn’t say.

Kahlan finally stopped talking and tried to turn back over; Cara lifted up slightly to allow it. They looked at each other again, each trying to fully comprehend the situation, each aware of the intensifying heat between them. The blonde tilted her head slightly to the side, making no effort to move. “We’re not so different, you and I. The Mord–Sith have similar issues. We have to balance ourselves with both pleasure and pain.”

A puzzled look emanated from the woman under her, and she continued. “If we experience too much pleasure, we do something painful to neutralize it. It’s one of the reasons you often see me holding my Agiels. When I start to feel too good, they restore harmony. But the opposite is true for pain… it requires something pleasurable to nullify itself. That’s why the Mord–Sith are so adept at controlling others—because we understand how to balance their extremes, their opposites. It sounds like you need something comparable… You spend so much time taking care of everything and being honorable that you never do anything to even it out, so it seeps through when you least expect it. A fight now and then certainly helps, but it’s not the release you crave, is it?”

“What do I crave?” Her voiced wavered, small and wounded.

Cara’s mouth curled up at the edges before parting a little bit. She had missed being a Mord–Sith, missed the emotional torture she put her victims through as she forced them to them love her. Her tongue flicked out to lick her lip, and her eyes deepened as she realized Kahlan couldn’t tear her gaze away. “You know what you want,” she drawled deliberately, enjoying Kahlan’s slightly startled flush and rapid heartbeat. She raised her hand to her lips, slowly licking her own fingers, before letting it drift to her chest, slipping the tips of those same fingers into her neckline suggestively. “But I’m not sure I can help you, since Confession would most likely kill me.”

Tears welled up in Kahlan’s eyes, she blinked them back and groaned. “You see my dilemma, then. What am I supposed to do?”

“Do something violent. Be bad. Balance yourself.”

Impulsively, Kahlan reached up around Cara’s neck, pulling her down and kissing her, every last bit of her self–respect dissipating. The Mord–Sith kissed back, soft yet unyielding, completely in control. “That’s not what I meant,” she whispered, pulling away. “If you want me, you have to either dominate me or submit to me… there is no midway.”

Kahlan pondered this while she watched Cara finish her drink and slip back downstairs for more. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, to be the mistress of a Mord–Sith. An ex–Mord–Sith, she mentally corrected herself. An ex–Mord–Sith I’m not sure if I hate or love. As Cara said, there was no middle ground. She would have to choose.

Looking for her ale, she noticed Cara’s Agiels carefully placed on the table, exactly parallel to the edge, deliberately left there. She reached over and gingerly touched one, wincing as a burning shock arced through her finger. Gritting her teeth, she picked it up, nearly passing out from the rush of pain searing her hand, the weapon’s slight hum increasing, like an angry hive of bees swarmed within it. Her brow furrowed in response as she fought the sensation, remembering it well from so long ago when she and Richard had been captured by Denna.

The longer she held the weapon, the more it burned, surging up her arm and through her body, leaving agonizing bruises in its wake. It was excruciating, like she was being dragged to the Underworld through the soles of her feet. She felt her magic rise, fervent and powerful, seething through her veins and filling her with fierce intensity, struggling against the pulsing pain of the Agiel. Its familiar ebony murk clouded her vision and she steeled herself against the battle raging within her. Good versus evil, hope versus despair, chaos versus order, delight versus dismay, pleasure versus pain… She tightened her grip, determined not to relinquish her control, not to let the magic defeat her.

Finally the inner torment began to subside and she waited for the dull ache to fade enough to allow her to wield the other Agiel. She picked it up, expecting the pain to be doubled, but it somehow neutralized the first. So that was Cara’s secret, she thought. The waves of pain from one Agiel were counterbalanced by the other, much like two stones thrown in a pond created ripples that merged through each other and diminished rather than colliding.

She held the two Agiels up in personal triumph and felt her vitality return, her Confessor magic just barely contained. Perhaps if Cara was no longer living, she would be free of this. She knew what she wanted.

Cara was sitting at the bar conversing lightly with Zedd when she felt the painful sting of an Agiel on her back. “Come with me,” a low voice insisted. The wizard leapt to his feet, but Cara’s look of what he could only guess was satisfaction reassured him that she was fine. Raising her hand and shaking her head to warn him not to follow, she stood slowly and walked up the stairs in silence, the Agiel never leaving her back, Zedd’s open–mouthed stare following them.

“So you made a decision, I see.” Cara turned around to confront her adversary as Kahlan pulled the door closed behind them, nostrils flaring. Her eyes were still smoldering, rimmed with red flecks, and her powerful stare made Cara suddenly very uneasy. She had never seen the Confessor look so terrifying, and wondered if she was about to perish at her hands. Mentally she mapped out her escape route through the window.

“Sit down,” came the reply, just before a boot planted itself in her chest and forced the issue. Kahlan’s hair tangled up wildly and she looked like she was having a good deal of trouble restraining herself. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

Cara looked up at the woman standing over her. “It must have taken great courage and determination to pick up my Agiels,” she said slowly. “If you were going to kill me, you would have used another weapon… or simply confessed me.”

“Give me one reason!”

Cara stood up carefully and took her Agiels from the trembling hands, placing them back on the table in perfect alignment. Her hands moved to Kahlan’s shoulders, calming her, waiting for the serene blue to return to her eyes, the panting to subside. When she saw the danger was over, Cara kissed her, a kiss full of passion, full of hungry desire, a kiss that made her knees weak. “Because you don’t hate me.”

Kahlan knew in that instant that what she had been feeling all along was indeed the opposite of hate; she was nearly overwhelmed with a sense of relief.

“Can you control it now?” Cara peered deeper into her eyes, searching for residual traces of Confessor magic. What she saw instead was the desire that had overcome her, replacing the malice from moments before, a confusing reversal of emotions.

Pushing her backwards onto the bed a second time, Kahlan smiled wickedly, dimples showing for the first time in days. She unlaced Cara’s leathers and peeled them off, carelessly tossing them in a heap on the floor. Cara glanced down at them, disturbed that they weren’t neatly folded, and Kahlan secretly enjoyed her discomfort. “Look at me,” Kahlan commanded. The Mord–Sith obeyed without question. She smiled compliantly, seductively, and Kahlan fell on top of her, kissing and biting, tracing the angry boot mark with her finger, adding her own clothing to the pile below them.

She devoured Cara with a voracity that surprised them both. Her hands, sliding across Cara’s warmth, sought more than skin, moving down of their own accord, and her fingers tangled in the soft golden curls before slipping into the wetness below. Cara moaned and writhed, enjoying this new Confessor infinitely more than the sullen and depressed wreck she had been. Her climax came easily, and she smiled lazily up at Kahlan.

“Get my Agiels,” she begged in a barely audible whisper. Kahlan leaned over to take them off the table, bracing herself against the pain. She held them both, savoring the twinge this time. She could see how Cara could grow fond of the sensation. She touched one to Cara’s belly, eliciting a violent jerk when a large purple welt spidered out from under it. “Not like that,” the Mord–Sith stammered, blinking back tears, and embarrassed at the weakness induced by her relaxed state. “Unless you really are trying to kill me,” she added.

“Oh, I—I’m so sorry, Cara!” Kahlan was horrified at what she had done. She glanced down toward Cara’s legs, wondering exactly what it was that the other woman wanted.

“Not there either!” She clamped her legs together in mock panic, before whispering, “At least not yet.”

Kahlan looked amused but still puzzled.

“Here,” Cara explained, “let me show you.” She took one Agiel, holding it out to the side, and motioned Kahlan to do the same with the other one. “You have to have balance. As long as we’re touching, it completes the energy flow between them.”

Kahlan could feel the pain shift direction, rippling through both of them now, dividing itself between the two women. It was actually rather pleasant, and heat was building where their skin touched. She understood, and would take great care not to accidentally injure Cara again.

After she became more acclimatized to the magic surging back and forth between them, Kahlan allowed Cara to change positions with her. They pressed together maximizing their skin contact, as if that could fuse them into one. Cara’s passionate whispers in her ear sent shivers down her spine; one finger found its way down to a nipple, circling it slowly as it hardened, then down to her legs, seeking the slippery warmth between them. Kahlan closed her eyes, her waves of pleasure mingling with the Agiels’ scorching sensation.

Cara’s lips moved down Kahlan’s body, following her hand, joining the fingers there. She tasted the Confessor, the sweet saltiness lingering on her lips, and began a deliberate stroke, fingers moving in tandem with her tongue, and Kahlan surrendered completely. Cara broke all contact with the other woman, except for her tongue and hand, the energy flow heating up, trying to maintain its constricted connection through them. Kahlan thrashed against her, labored breaths coming faster as she moved.

Her Confessor magic welled up deep within her, mingling with the Agiels’ power coursing between them. It flowed into Cara, sending her into a frenzy. Confessor power was usually fatal to a Mord–Sith, but mixed with her own magic and halved by their touch made it bearable, and together they were able to suppress the effect. Cara’s brilliant green eyes faded to a violet haze, but she continued her course of action until Kahlan was shuddering and spent, eyes a deep indigo rather than the black of confession. Cara took the Agiel from her and returned the weapons to the table, once again aligning them with the edge. She collapsed on top of Kahlan, completely drained, and the two women listened to each other breathe, unable to move or speak.

Evening became night, and night became morning. As the sunlight filtered through the window, Kahlan’s eyes fluttered open and she took note of the sleeping woman curled in her arms, tanned skin contrasting sharply with her own paleness. It was the first time she had ever seen Cara sleep, and she marveled at how soft and peaceful she was, alarmingly feminine without her leathers. Kissing her gently on the forehead, she lay still, not wanting to wake her and ruin the moment. But a soft smile crossed Cara’s lips and she realized she already had.

“Good morning,” she whispered. Cara stretched, long and taut, like a cat, toes curling.

“Command me, Confessor.” Kahlan peered at her closely, knowing she hadn’t actually confessed the Mord–Sith. “I’m yours.” She was about to prove the point, when they were interrupted by Richard’s knocking on the door. Cara rolled her eyes and got up, but not before one last lingering kiss. Kahlan shook her head to herself when she noticed their clothes, neatly folded on the chair.

At breakfast down in the tavern, Zedd asked what they had been up to all night. With her best air of nonchalance, Cara said simply, “Oh, you know… arranging the furniture, straightening up the room, adjusting the decor, lots of ale… some important girl talk. And wild sex with my Agiels,” she added. Zedd and Richard looked at each other and burst out laughing, happy that Cara was finally learning how to make jokes. A sharp kick under the table caused Cara to glance over at Kahlan, who was trying desperately to cover a very red blush, but the Mord–Sith only smirked and continued eating.

Later that day, Kahlan was cheerful and bright. She rode her horse next to Cara’s. “You know,” she said softly, “there is a middle ground, between extremes. You are one opposite, I am the other, and together we found it.” Cara just nodded, unable to force the smile from her lips.

~ ~ ~