Under the Cover of Darkness [Part I/?]

[madame_denna]

Pairing: Denna/Cara
Rating: R
Words: 1471
Warnings: violence
Summary: AU diverting from canon, takes place a couple months after 'Tears', mentions of Kahlan/Richard, Cara needs to get accustomed to her new and different life in Aydindril, but life itself has a surprise ready for her - one she wouldn't have dared to dream about...
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. They are not mine and - of course - no money is made.

She was supposed to serve the Lord Rahl.

It was her duty to protect him.

But since the Keeper had been defeated, nothing except for illustrious parties and lavish celebrations over their victory had taken place. Not everything went downright smoothly, but the expected chaos did not break loose. The Keeper's minions were forced back into the Underworld and with them most of the banelings. At least at the moment it seemed that way.

Kahlan had invited Cara to stay with her and Richard in the Confessor's Palace, but the place was tiresome, even when each person met her with as much friendliness they could muster for a Mord'Sith. But she could see the hostility in their eyes only for what she represented. She was not apprehensive of them, if she wanted she could slay them down in a heartbeat, but the constant distrustful glances shot her way were wearing her down. At heart she was still a Mord'Sith and wouldn't let go of her leathers or her Agiels anytime soon. Even if it would make things easier, probably. But that was just not the way Cara did things, never would. Her leathers were an integral part of her, she had earned to wear them. The Agiels were an extension of her arm, she could just chop off.

Kahlan told her, it would be only a matter of time for Cara to feel at home there and she would soon come to love the palace and the people just as dearly as Kahlan did. Cara cared for Kahlan, she would never say so (again) openly as months prior in the tomb, but she did. Not to mention the nagging voice in her head, who would not allow any different. She called Kahlan her friend, and that was the closest concession Cara was going to make about her feelings. To her dismay Kahlan seemed to overlook one substantial matter, likely due to her elation of at long last being back home, that Cara was still a Mord'Sith.

How should a Mord'Sith feel at home in place like the Confessor's Palace?

How should a Mord'Sith truly feel at home anywhere but in a temple?

How did it even feel to feel at home?

Cara did not know. And even if she would comprehend this foreign concept someday, she did not reckon it to happen particularly at the Confessor's Palace.

Soon she moved into a little house she could call her own, without observing and mistrusting glances of the palace guards and servants alike. It was located close enough to the palace, so she could be there in the blink of an eye, in case any danger should arise. Which had not happened once in the last three months.

Now and then, she would ride out early in the morning, without a special destination in mind but leaving the imposing walls of Aydindril far behind. Since Kahlan had told her, she and Richard would not be leaving the palace, because of too much paper work that had taken exceeding proportions due to Mother Confessor's long absence, Cara decided she could leave them alone for a couple of hours. Maybe Kahlan saw the boredom playing over her features as she stood on guard for hours during their dealings at court and Cara took the change of scenery gladly. Aydindril now had an entire legion of soldiers who were previously stationed at the People's Palace in D'Hara, now that Richard Rahl had taken to spend more time alongside Kahlan at the White Palace.

Cara had to clear her mind, craved a break from the boring routine in the Midland's capital. She could use a good combat - among other pleasurable things she didn't even want to think about – again. To stretch her muscles - frankly just feel alive. Feel like herself again and not just a shadow of her former self.

After a few hours ride she ended up in a small town southwest of Aydindril. A dark cape with a hood offered adequate protection against the falling temperatures the mornings provided more and more frequently at this time of the year. Winter was fast approaching, carrying the first chill in the air. Her attire it also gave her the opportunity to start a fight, if she wanted it to start one and not when someone saw the red of her leathers and decided she needed a sparing.

A single Mord'Sith traveling the country without the Seeker around made the people wary as if she was Darken Rahl or the Keeper himself. A wandering reminder of death and doom not welcomed with open arms, anywhere.

Cara strolled through the town, a handful of merchants loudly praising their fresh produce, flowers and traditional handicrafts. The main street was a lively hustle and bustle, but the majority of people was heading towards the big market-place in the center of the town. Cara melted into a large stream of people until the market-square came into sight. Here too, were a lot of booths and stands situated at the edges. The background noise was even louder than in the streets.

In the markets center, a small wooden-stage had been erected, and a slave trader was effusively praising his human commodity. At the moment an unhealthy looking man at the middle age was sold for a 150 gold-pieces to a hapless nobleman. Not a bad price for a lifelong slave or servant in general. If he lived that long to be worth the money, but judging by his appearance Cara doubted he would survive a month.

She watched the scene unfold for a few minutes longer, more slaves where hauled onto the stage of the wooden structure, that looked like it had only been quickly knocked together and not entirely solid appearance. She soon lost interest in the slave traders dealings and started to move towards the food vendors that where located in the main street, as a voice cut through the mumbling sounds of the people surrounding her.

“Get your hands of off me!”

A voice so unique it made her stop dead in her tracks. An involuntary shiver run down her back and the fine hairs on her neck stood on end. Once upon a time, there was only one person she had known, who had been able to combine such a gravelly and firm tone at once. And Cara also knew for a fact, that this person was very dead. Cara had killed her herself.

With her back still turned to the stage and rooted the spot Cara heard a loud slap, skin connecting on skin than a loud thud against the wood-planks of the stage.

“Shut your hole, you little slut!” The slave trader growled loudly to the people's roaring amusement. The audience cheered.

Cara instinctively expected to hear the scream of an Agiel, closely followed by a painful heart-wrenching scream of the crude man.

But it never came.

Could she have been mistaken? Cara's hand found the handle of her Agiel as she slowly turned around, narrowing her eyes to get a better view of the stage. An increasing crowd had already gathered closely around the podium to gape at the newly presented merchandise. The woman lay at the traders feet and pressed her hands to her face, most probably the spot were he had hit her. Obviously with great brutality, since a purple bruise was already forming on the visible parts at her temple as well as the blood running freely down her chin, adding to her dirty clothing additional red stains all over.

“You keep your mouth shut. Understood?” He barked at her and leaned down to haul her up by the strands of blonde, dirty hair. He forced her into a standing position despite her trembling legs that seemed as them would give out the moment he released his grip. The slave trader faced the excited audience once more as he kept his hand wrapped around her neck.

Without even consciously thinking about it Cara felt her feet moving through the thick crowd, not bothering with the insults thrown her way as she simply pushed people out of her way who were not fast enough to react in time. When she finally reached the right side of the square, she could see the podium much more clearly, but still far enough away to not arouse any unwanted attention.

"As you can see," the trader slapped the woman's hands away to show of her face, "under the dirt our new object is quite a little beauty, isn't she?"

The crowd growled as Cara's blood ran cold in her veins.

She would recognize this voice among thousands.

Standing on the podium, wrists bound tightly together, face smeared with blood and dirt was no one else than the former First Mistress.

Denna.



Part II