Fic: Master

[hrhrionastar]

Remember this?



Title: Master
Characters: Darken Rahl, Kahlan, Nicholas Rahl, Shota, Ethan
Length: 1857
Rating: R for violence.
Spoilers: Reckoning
Warning: Character death!
Summary: AU Reckoning: What if Kahlan succeeded in killing Nicholas? For the 'what if' prompt at peoplespalace. (I don't know why I keep doing these--this one will certainly/probably not have a sequel.)

 

Master

Ethan didn’t know what had woken him at first. He blinked, muzzily, in the darkness.

He heard footsteps, and came fully awake in an instant. For just such an occasion had his Master ordered him to sleep here, in the antechamber off the Prince’s rooms.

He leapt to his feet, tangling himself in the sheet in his haste. His pain radiated from his mutilated hand, but his only concern was for his Master.

At last, he was free of all impediment—at the door to his Master’s rooms, he stopped short in horror.

Lady Rahl stood over his Master’s bed, holding a dagger she had just plunged into his Master’s heart.

Ethan screamed—“Master!”

“Mother,” his Master whispered, and then slumped to the pillows.

All at once, some shining light left Ethan, whispering away into nothingness—he tried to clutch at it, recognizing it for his last tie with his Master—

It was gone.

Ethan blinked, staggered—he caught himself, awkwardly, on the doorframe. Creator, his hand hurt!

He squinted, in the dim light—Lady Rahl appeared suddenly, sharply defined, like a monster in a nightwisp story. Hands bloody, hair disheveled, dagger—Ethan gulped and tried to step back when he saw her eyes. He would run, if only he could get his legs to move.

Behind Lady Rahl, Nicholas lay still on the bed. Ethan’s eyes widened—he remembered being Confessed, of course—hurt welled up in his heart at what Nicholas had made him do—still, that was his childhood playmate, lying there. Ethan had never seen death, until tonight.

Feet clattered behind Ethan—desperately, he tried to get out of the way—but one glance at Lady Rahl was enough to nail his feet to the floor in pure horror.

She held the dagger point inward, now; inches from her chest. She muttered under her breath—prayers? Curses? Gibberish? Ethan couldn’t tell—her eyes were lit with insanity.

“Kahlan!” Lord Rahl pushed Ethan roughly aside, unfortunately further into the room he’d never been more anxious in his life to escape.

One glance and Lord Rahl had taken in the entire scene; Ethan shrank, trying to look invisible.

Lord Rahl’s face was like a mask; completely empty of expression, yet his eyes burned. In two swift strides he was by Lady Rahl’s side, twisting the dagger out of her hands with a merciless grip.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed at her. “For what you’ve done I’ll kill you myself!”

Snarling, Lady Rahl fought bitterly, bringing her knee up—Ethan winced in sympathy, then remembered he was supposed to be invisible.

More people were arriving; the room was crowded, filled with guards—Ethan saw his own father, and wanted to warn him to run, get out now while there was still time—

Several of the guards had hold of Lady Rahl’s arms, now; panting, she stopped fighting. Instead, she laughed, a hit of hysteria barely concealed—“Too late,” she told Lord Rahl. “You’re too late—kill me. KILL ME!” she shouted.

Ethan cringed, but Lord Rahl only sneered, calm again, thank the Creator. He strode to the door and met a breathless Mord’Sith, obviously having just woken—her hair wasn’t even braided, but Lord Rahl grabbed a handful of it to use as a convenient lever and yanked, anyway.

Ethan winced in sympathy at that, too, even though ordinarily all the Mord’Sith terrified him. Lord Rahl practically threw her at the bed, where she landed almost on top of Nicholas—

“No,” breathed Lady Rahl—

“If you’ve damned him past being revived—“ Lord Rahl hissed.

“You’ll what?” Lady Rahl asked, tossing her head back defiantly. “Kill me more than usual?”

“Why?” This was anguished; Ethan, getting really uncomfortable now, watched the guards all pretend not to listen, watched the Mord’Sith, breath bright and shiny, like some Creatormas bauble—

Lady Rahl’s laughter echoed through the room; her guards looked very unsettled. “How can you ask me that?” she said, and her bitterness seared through Ethan’s mind.

He whimpered, before remembering not to make a sound. Luckily, the Mord’Sith created a diversion—“I’m sorry, my Lord,” she said. “It’s too late.”

What followed, Ethan could never afterward banish from his nightmares. Lord Rahl snatched up Lady Rahl’s discarded dagger and slit the Mord’Sith’s throat, the almost casual violence terrifying. He then advanced on Lady Rahl, who wasn’t laughing now.

Her guards looked like they wanted to shrink back against the wall, just like Ethan, but they held their ground.

Lord Rahl paused before Lady Rahl, restraining himself with an effort. He yanked her head back by her hair and pressed the dagger to her throat, but hesitated.

“Do it,” Lady Rahl gasped, ignoring the weapon. “Do it. Please. End my torment—just kill me!”

At this, Lord Rahl very slowly removed the dagger from Lady Rahl’s throat, and, equally slowly, peeled his fingers from it. It clattered to the floor again, this time point first, quivering inches from one of the guard’s feet. He gulped.

“No,” Lord Rahl whispered. It was the kind of whisper that still carried across the room, the kind that made the hairs shiver on the back of Ethan’s neck. “No. I will not let you go so easily. Put you out of your misery,” here, he sneered, “no, by the Keeper’s black heart, I will show you torment! I was too soft on you—I should have trained you from the start.” He turned to the guards. “Take her to the dungeons—no, on second thought, I’ll do it.”

Ethan watched them go, Lord Rahl stern and cold, robes furling with each furious step, and Lady Rahl, colder still. Frozen.

He shivered, and wished, very much, for his own mother—who was as unlike Lady Rahl as it was possible to be.

 

 

Twelve years, and nothing to show for it. Save more gray hairs.

Shota was just contemplating how long it would take before the Seeker finally returned and restored the proper timeline (how much more of this misery must she endure?), when Lord Rahl appeared, dragging Kahlan.

Shota’s lips pursed in worry. Kahlan was not supposed to return here. As long as Lord Rahl remained unaware of the Seeker’s eventual return, he had no reason to suspect Kahlan of conspiracy—she was the last survivor of a Resistance long dead.

Something was clearly wrong.

Savagely, Lord Rahl threw Kahlan into the cell across from Shota’s and slammed the door shut, locking it jerkily. Only then did he seem to trust himself to look at Kahlan.

Shota saw Kahlan had a split lip, and her hands were covered in blood. What had that idiot girl done now?

“I trusted you,” Lord Rahl bit out. Shota almost whistled, at what that admission must have cost him. The past tense worried at her—if Kahlan had blown their last chance of the Seeker’s victory—

Kahlan smiled—a vicious smile, it struck chills in Shota’s heart. “Your mistake.”

“And yours—death is too good for you, Kahlan Amnell,” Lord Rahl hissed. “I will destroy you.”

He swept out, and Shota waited until his fluttering robes had rounded the corner before she hissed, “Kahlan, what have you done? You were supposed to gain and keep his trust! Idiot child.”

Kahlan lifted her chin. “My son is dead.”

Shota gasped, the origin of the blood on Kahlan’s hands now horribly plain. “That. Was not. The Plan,” she enunciated, slowly.

“He was a monster—I had to do it.” Kahlan’s voice was almost a monotone.

“And how will the Seeker return to you now?” Shota asked, bitterly. “You are a fool, I never should have let Zeddicus convince me not to send you away from the Seeker in the first place. Weak, sentimental woman, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I have saved us all.”

“You have damned us all—the Keeper wins a great victory today,” Shota said, suddenly tired. She put a hand to her head, wishing, futilely, for release from her Rada’Han.

She did not need any power of foresight, however, to know that greater horror yet remained in store for them all. Kahlan was a selfish, idiotic child with no thought for the future.

Shota glared at her, but prudently desisted when she met Kahlan’s eyes. The despair there was enough to send one permanently to the Underworld.

And Shota shivered.

 

 

ONE YEAR LATER

 

At last, Darken’s Mord’Sith had retrieved it. A small thing, edges curved and wickedly sharp. Hard to imagine that this held the power to level mountains—if properly used.

Darken twirled it in his hands, and waited.

The Mord’Sith brought him Kahlan, still bound by her Rada’Han, and manacled further until she could barely walk.

Her body was a study in contusions of all kinds, her face a map of pain—but she would not break. It was as though her soul already dwelt in the Underworld. In fact, sometimes Darken fancied he saw green fire lurking in the depths of her eyes.

Well, if she loved the Keeper so much that she would send their son to Him (a far worthier sacrifice than He deserved), she could go and join Him.

Darken thought about saying something, but there wasn’t anything, really, to say. She had destroyed his life. His heir, his legacy—maybe the only person he had ever really loved in his life.

No—not the only one. But all the rest had betrayed him, in the end. That was the nature of love, and of women—to betray.

Darken wasn’t interested in love anymore. Kahlan had taught him that much, at least.

He made a sign to one of his Mord’Sith, who obediently unlocked Kahlan’s Rada’Han. A pity, but the thing in his hands wouldn’t work while she wore it.

Kahlan tensed, and immediately reached for the throat of one of his Mord’Sith—but Darken was there first, grasping her wrist and harmlessly absorbing her power. She stared at him, with the wild eyes of an animal—he snapped the wrist, fury making him needlessly careless.

She didn’t even flinch, showed no pain at all. Darken wasn’t sure, honestly, if the woman he’d known even still existed behind that dead face.

With a fatalistic shrug (hot anger had turned to cold fury), he sunk the object in his hands (a dacra, so his sources informed him), into Kahlan’s chest. Mentally, he twisted—

And her Han flowed directly from her into him, an arching beam of white light.

“Goodbye, Kahlan,” he said, for lack of better words. Drained, her body fell to the ground.

And Darken’s eyes lit, his veins filling with the white fire of Confession—a power he had schemed to achieve, long ago, but had abandoned when he’d won himself a Confessor wife and a Confessor heir.

They might be lost to him—but he would not waste their power.

Darken turned to a young servant he’d specifically had brought here, to be his first test.

It might not be Orden—but Darken Rahl would see all his lands brought together, as one, under his rule.

Starting—his eyes swirled to black—right now.