Legend Of The Seeker - Kahlan/Cara - Constant (1/2)
Their battles over good and evil became stories, fables for the children of the court. When an ambassador or the like bowed on shaking knees in front of The Mother Confessor, she could see in their eyes – every man replayed the stories in his head, of what she could do with her daggers, with her power and hands.
She would keep her mask however. Of course, nothing fazed Kahlan Amnell, and especially not here, in her rightful place, Aydindril, her safety. Her ancient kingdom. This was a place that had been ruled for eternities by the daughters of the daughters of the first Confessors. This was hers, it was supposed to be.
This fact gave her comfort. Because, whilst for other people, battles and struggles were distant memories – it was not so for those who had fought them. Richard, who had so often talked of the day when they could live here together, was gone more than ever. His fighting, his need to save everyone, was something she had once admired and loved about him. But when it meant she was here on her own, with matters of state and country folk, it vexed her; hurt her that he would leave. Whenever he did return, she knew how he could not help but compare his battles in the world to hers on the throne. He did not say it out loud, but she was a seeker of truth in a way too, and she knew.
It would be then, when he had walked away, too tired after journeys, that a firm but gentle gloved hand would slowly squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.
Cara, when she did this, never looked at her or said a word before following Richard. But this single gesture brought Kahlan more comfort than anything of late. Cara, who rarely showed any emotion deeper than mild annoyance, had come up with a way of telling her she was not alone. When she felt her hand on her shoulder, Kahlan wanted to grab it to her face, to stop Cara from walking out the door – she wanted to return the gesture, to show the Mord Sith how she needed her presence.
Because she realised, she did. She had gotten used to her being there. Guarding the throne in council meetings, Kahlan heard the creak of leather every so often and would turn to glance with a hidden smirk at the blonde woman. When Kahlan passed her on the corridor, Cara would fall into step with her without saying a word, and it felt infinitely natural to both of them that she should do this. As she was bonded, Kahlan thought at first this protectiveness had been ordered of Cara by Richard. It became apparent as months went on however that Cara would probably have done it all anyway. She took to standing watch outside Kahlan’s chambers on the coldest nights – despite there being hundreds of guards that could have done this. Kahlan would here her from inside sharply ordering the guards to sleep whilst she watched, with an air of superiority, and the confessor would smile into her pillows and sleep better for knowing she was close.
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Their battles over good and evil became stories, fables for the children of the court. When an ambassador or the like bowed on shaking knees in front of The Mother Confessor, she could see in their eyes – every man replayed the stories in his head, of what she could do with her daggers, with her power and hands.
She would keep her mask however. Of course, nothing fazed Kahlan Amnell, and especially not here, in her rightful place, Aydindril, her safety. Her ancient kingdom. This was a place that had been ruled for eternities by the daughters of the daughters of the first Confessors. This was hers, it was supposed to be.
This fact gave her comfort. Because, whilst for other people, battles and struggles were distant memories – it was not so for those who had fought them. Richard, who had so often talked of the day when they could live here together, was gone more than ever. His fighting, his need to save everyone, was something she had once admired and loved about him. But when it meant she was here on her own, with matters of state and country folk, it vexed her; hurt her that he would leave. Whenever he did return, she knew how he could not help but compare his battles in the world to hers on the throne. He did not say it out loud, but she was a seeker of truth in a way too, and she knew.
It would be then, when he had walked away, too tired after journeys, that a firm but gentle gloved hand would slowly squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.
Cara, when she did this, never looked at her or said a word before following Richard. But this single gesture brought Kahlan more comfort than anything of late. Cara, who rarely showed any emotion deeper than mild annoyance, had come up with a way of telling her she was not alone. When she felt her hand on her shoulder, Kahlan wanted to grab it to her face, to stop Cara from walking out the door – she wanted to return the gesture, to show the Mord Sith how she needed her presence.
Because she realised, she did. She had gotten used to her being there. Guarding the throne in council meetings, Kahlan heard the creak of leather every so often and would turn to glance with a hidden smirk at the blonde woman. When Kahlan passed her on the corridor, Cara would fall into step with her without saying a word, and it felt infinitely natural to both of them that she should do this. As she was bonded, Kahlan thought at first this protectiveness had been ordered of Cara by Richard. It became apparent as months went on however that Cara would probably have done it all anyway. She took to standing watch outside Kahlan’s chambers on the coldest nights – despite there being hundreds of guards that could have done this. Kahlan would here her from inside sharply ordering the guards to sleep whilst she watched, with an air of superiority, and the confessor would smile into her pillows and sleep better for knowing she was close.