LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

The Most Terrible Thing

ministress

Title: The Most Terrible Thing

Author: ministress

Rating: PG / T

Word count: 1071

Pairing: Cara/Kahlan

Summary: No one can deal with the beast except Cara, and her ideas of dealing can make grown men scream.

The wizard bent over, hiking up his gown. Richard gasped, shielding his eyes with his hand, unable to look at what no man should be forced to witness.

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

Warning: Do not drink milk or run with scissors while reading this. Call a doctor if you experience rhyming dactylic tetrameter for more than four hours.

The Most Terrible Thing

ministress

“What in green blazes is going on?” yelled the great Wizard of the First Order, Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander, visibly agitated, his hands grasping either side of his robes while he pulled them back and forth against his backside. “I can’t bear this a second longer!” He did a little dance of frustration, his temper frightening his companions, as they had all seen what accidental wizard’s fire could do.

“Richaaarrrd!” he bellowed. “Come and see what’s wrong with me.” The wizard bent over, hiking up his gown. Richard gasped, shielding his eyes with his hand, unable to look at what no man should be forced to witness.

“Kahlan?” The wizard glanced over his shoulder for her, his robes flaring in the wind. But the Confessor was quickly backing away, face white as her dress, not wanting to confront what she perceived as the Most Terrible Thing she had ever known. Her gaze was fixated and unwavering, as if breaking it would provoke an attack on her, the way a cat pounces on a bird the second it looks away. She tripped on a small log, but stood up instantly and continued her retreat as if that never happened.

“Cara!” The Mord–Sith made a face and shook her head.

“Oh no,” she said. “I am not part of this.” She waved her hands out in front of her, dismissing the evil festering there.

“Pleeeeease!” whimpered the wizard, scratching himself furiously. “Someone! I fear it is Powerful Magic!”

Cara looked at Richard, trembling behind his hand, eyes clenched tightly shut just in case the hand failed… and Kahlan, still backing away as if distance would erase this moment from time. “Oh for the love of wallowing spirits!” She rolled her eyes, purposefully striding over to Zedd to determine the source of his problem. Leaning toward the wrinkly pale rump, she spotted a black beast lodged within the crack dividing it. “It’s just a tick,” she called to the others.

She inspected it further, having never actually seen one before. The Mord–Sith were incredibly clean, and no such monster would be tolerated near them. Ever. Someone had once told her that ticks could be burned off—it made perfect sense to her to unholster her Agiel and do just that; unfortunately, before she could complete her task, the wizard noticed her frighteningly phallic weapon being thrust toward his tender posterior, its humming a testament to the pain he was about to receive; he screamed like a young girl seeing the Mord–Sith coming for her, and ran away with a peculiar lumbering gait, hands flailing in the air. Cara winced at the irony. She didn’t know he could run, and certainly not that fast. Before she could blink again, the wizard was gone, yelling something about a doctor in the next town. “Men.” She muttered only the one word, exasperation apparent in her tone, as was her slight accent which occasionally asserted itself, usually after too much ale.

Sensing it was safe to continue viewing the world through his eyes, Richard opened them, first one, then the other, then his hand moved down, grasping the hilt of his sword just in case something needed to be slain, like the tick. Or himself. Cara was ashamed of him. “Go after Zedd,” she ordered, and not giving him time to reply, she pushed him in the direction in which the wizard had hastily departed.

Whirling, she scoured the surrounding area for Kahlan, who had finally stopped retreating and was now holding herself, arms wrapped around her slim frame in self–comfort, large liquid eyes soulful and terrified like that of a wounded fawn. She looked more distraught than Cara had ever seen her; apparently a tick was a much greater threat than Darken Rahl or The Keeper or the impending doom of the Midlands.

Taking her hand, Cara led the near–catatonic woman back to the campsite, careful to step around the spot Zedd had defiled. She felt bad for Kahlan, not quite understanding why that one tiny crawling pest should traumatize her so.

The Confessor began to sob, her tears flowing down her face and off the end of her chin, soaking into her hair and gown. She threw her arms around Cara, pulling her close, crying softly on her shoulder. Completely unaccustomed to anything resembling compassion, Cara wasn’t sure whether to shake her roughly or grip her in return. Opting for the latter, she reached up around Kahlan, awkwardly whispering “shhhh” and holding her till the tears subsided.

Kahlan wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffled. “I… I don’t know what… I mean… it was… it was just…” She was obviously delirious and couldn’t even muster up a sentence, thought Cara. She shook her head to herself at the other woman’s weakness, but as she began to pull away Kahlan yanked her close and kissed her, full on the lips.

As if under a spell, she watched wide–eyed as Kahlan unlaced her leathers, her nimble fingers appearing to have done this many times before, although Cara had no recollection of that, much to her dismay. She somehow found herself naked and lying on Kahlan’s bedroll, the Confessor attacking her passionately, kissing and sucking and biting, her recent trauma seemingly forgotten. She was quite an accomplished lover, Cara noted, just before she was beyond noting anything.

When Cara regained her senses, wondering what just happened, Kahlan was gone. She discovered her building a fire, and, feeling suddenly exposed without her leathers and not wanting any thugs to stumble upon her that way, stuffed herself back into them and laced them up, fingers slightly shaky and legs in a worse condition. Kahlan regarded her with something like a mixture of lust and humiliation, or maybe the opposite of those two things, but said nothing. It was obvious that her attempt to use sex as a way to induce selective amnesia had been foiled.

They heard Zedd and Richard coming up the path, the whistling wizard undeniably pleased and feeling like himself again; Richard walked a short distance away, refusing to make any eye contact with the old man, hand still on the hilt of his sword.

None of them ever spoke of that day again, and Cara never did figure out what prompted Kahlan’s uncharacteristic behavior. But she kept a sharp eye out for ticks, a tiny jar ready at her belt just in case. Cara was devious like that.

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