Dark_Fest Fic: Power

[hrhrionastar]

Title: Power
Characters/Pairing: Richard/Kahlan/Cara, slight mention of Darken, Nicci, Jagang, Dahlia, Zedd, and other Mord'Sith
Length: 3636
Rating: R
Spoilers: whole series
Prompt/Summary: Cara/Kahlan/Richard, Master Rahl. Richard is finally Lord Rahl, and all is well - but they say power corrupts...
(Author's Note: This is in the same universe as Undone, Learning Curve, and Kieran's Eve, and somewhat loosely follows my other dark_fest fic, Baby Boy Cypher-Amnell-Rahl. I struggled with this, as it is not my usual material. Hopefully it still makes sense...)

 

Power

(Zedd: I thought I knew Richard. I’ve watched him his whole life and only seen the good in him...until now.

Kahlan: There is only good in him.)

one

It’s the little things. The things no one else quite sees, the things no one else quite believes.

It’s not that Richard has forgiven Darken Rahl everything, not the alliance that puts Cara in daily social contact with the man who tried to kill her son (only the fact that he didn’t succeed, that Sam is safe, reconciles Cara to his continued presence in the Land of the Living). These days, Cara mostly copies Kahlan’s cold, polite disdain, because Darken Rahl has no hold on her anymore.

It’s not that Richard refused to let Kahlan kill their son—Cara expected that, knew it from the moment she knew the child was a boy, and she accepts, with the resigned fatalism of the Mord’Sith, that they all may have only a few years left before little Richard Jr. destroys them as completely as Rahl’s son did, in that alternate future where first Cara met and loved Richard.

Of course, that assumes Kahlan is right about the boy—she hovers over him anxiously, so much so that it’s astounding the poor toddler can still play and laugh, seemingly unaware of his mother’s terrified paralysis.

(This is why Kahlan will never see it—she’s so busy being horrified about her son that she will never doubt Richard, even if she wasn’t blinded with love for him. She doesn’t have the time.)

Cara doesn’t really think it was the wrong choice, even though they’re calling it the Imperial Massacre these days. Tongue-in-cheek humor almost worthy of Darken Rahl.

It started simply enough—after Richard saved the world, at the Pillars of Creation, quite a lot of people started thinking magic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and they had the scars from baneling attacks to prove it. Then along came a man with a Vision, calling himself Emperor Jagang. (His followers called themselves the Imperial Order.)

It took several years before Nicci finally burned him to a crisp, and by that point Richard had received loyalty oaths from almost everyone not already under Jagang’s thrall. The final battle was in the courtyard of the People’s Palace, D’Haran soldiers and Mord’Sith against the might of Jagang’s puppetry—most of those he controlled (experts assured Cara his hold was not precisely like Confession) were ordinary villagers, but there were also wizards, great generals of the Old World kingdoms, and, most notably, Nicci.

The tide was against them, because all Cara and her Mord’Sith could do was not enough to protect Richard’s forces from Nicci’s magic. Then, when Jagang took control of Kahlan, Cara despaired of victory, knowing Mord’Sith could not combat the Con Dar—

But Richard and Darken Rahl between them freed Nicci, she turned and set Jagang on fire, and Kahlan was released.

Cara let out her held breath, and saw to the clean-up and disarmament of all the soldiers of the Imperial Order.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Nicci searching the ranks of Jagang’s rag-tag army, until she emerged with a golden-haired toddler in her arms. Then she met Richard and Darken Rahl on the steps, and the three of them spoke in hushed tones.

Cara did not trust the sorceress, and her whole soul itched to put herself between Nicci and Richard, that she might protect him from the woman’s magic. She was not fooled by Nicci’s harmless façade.

At length, when the Imperial Order was contained, Cara swept up the steps to her lord, Kahlan keeping pace with her.

“Lord Rahl, what do you want done with the prisoners?” she asked Richard, without preamble.

Kahlan, beside her, frowned down at the survivors, and Cara knew she was feeling the weight of everyone she had killed or Confessed, torturing herself with their pain. As though that would make her a better Mistress.

Darken Rahl opened his mouth, no doubt to utter some scathing suggestion, but abruptly closed it again when Richard said tiredly, “There is no way we’ll be able to separate those Jagang controlled from those he merely inspired. I don’t care to have an army at my palace gates…kill them.”

Cara was shocked, but did not let it show on her face. She merely bowed, fist over her heart, and said, “Yes, Master Rahl.”

“Just Richard,” he said, catching her arm. “Just Richard, Cara.”

“What about the children?” Kahlan asked worriedly. “We should make some provision for them.” There was a frown line between her brows, and Cara wondered if she were thinking of Richard Junior again.

It made sense that Kahlan didn’t object—as a Confessor, she was no stranger to just execution. And yet…

“Ah, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Richard said, sweeping Cara with him a few steps away from Darken Rahl, Nicci, and Kahlan.

She looked inquiringly at him, thinking that if he told her to kill the children, too, she really would have to stop him. The thought made her head hurt. Already she had sent one ruling Lord to the Underworld—she did not think she could bear to do the same to Richard.

(She and Kahlan would have to flee—they could raise Richard Junior in secret, perhaps in Westland—? It would mean abandoning Dahlia and Sam, who surely deserved better than Cara could give them—in the meantime, Darken Rahl would rule, though without the Bond—)

“There hasn’t been much training going on, what with all the disruptions,” Richard said casually. “We may need more Mord’Sith. Cara, do you think you could find those girls best suited to it here? The rest will be sent to the new orphanages, of course.”

“Of course,” Cara echoed. Under that warm, persuasive gaze, what could she do but agree?

Hence the Imperial Massacre. It was justified, Cara knows. The Imperial Order was trying to kill them all, or find a way for Jagang to enslave even those bound to Lord Rahl, the loyalty oath the paradoxical antidote to his Dreamwalker’s powers.

And yet—

It’s the little things. The old Richard would never have done it. Cara imagines him walking through the ranks, getting each man or woman or child (Jagang was not discriminating in his choice of tools) to tell him his or her life story.

Maybe he was simply tired. His new duties weigh upon him heavily.

And maybe this isn’t really different than it used to be, when she served Darken Rahl. At least Richard has yet to demand she sacrifice her child for him.

And there is Kahlan, blinded by love as always.

But Cara doubts, and fears…

This would be easier if she didn’t love him.

 

two

Rick is sitting on the ground, staring at a dead bird.

Kahlan’s heart pounds in her throat—Rick is only three, but perhaps this is the first sign—male Confessors are always evil, but she could not bear to perform the Ritual of the Waters herself, and Richard would have forbidden it, anyway.

“What are you doing?” she asks, voice terrible with fear.

Rick’s nurse, a scared-looking girl wordlessly presented to Richard and Kahlan’s notice by Cara two years ago (Kahlan thinks she’s some niece of Cara’s wife, Dahlia’s), hurries forward. “You naughty boy!” she scolds, catching him in her arms.

Kahlan steps toward them, her fear making her weak and dizzy. “Rick, sweetie, what were you doing with that bird?” she asks again, deliberately making herself speak in a more moderated tone.

“It w-wouldn’t fly,” Rick says, lip trembling. “Or move…I think it’s dead!” he wails, and his nurse rocks him in her arms, murmuring soothingly.

Kahlan puts a hand to Rick’s forehead, as though testing for fever—foolish. What is wrong within him is nothing her mother’s care can cure, no matter how much she wishes it could.

But, it seems the uncontrollable power of Confession has yet to corrupt him.

Only partially reassured, Kahlan spends the afternoon with Rick and his nurse, lending less than half an ear to the younger woman’s babblings.

Tonight is her and Richard’s wedding anniversary.

(A week later will be Rick’s fourth birthday, but Kahlan refuses to celebrate the day her life became this ceaseless vigil. Better she looks forward to tonight.)

“Happy anniversary,” Richard toasts her, when all but the three of them—herself, Richard, and Cara—have left the banquet hall. Zedd’s appetite is as ferocious as ever, but one look at Richard tonight had him discreetly leaving the hall, stowing rolls in his pockets for later.

Kahlan sips her wine, but Richard swaps Cara’s glass for something else—a thin bottle of some shining liquid.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Just drink it,” Richard smiles.

Kahlan, utterly confused, watches Cara pick the little bottle up and drain it, very deliberately.

“Richard?” Kahlan asks uncertainly.

“I asked Nicci to brew up some anti-Confession potion for Cara,” Richard says, grinning widely now. “Happy anniversary, Kahlan.”

For a moment, Kahlan is stunned—she thinks about mentioning her concerns about Nicci; she doesn’t approve of the sorceress’s budding friendship with her husband—but then Richard’s words sink in, all the way down to her blood—

“Is this an elaborate scheme to get me to babysit—?” Cara asks, trying to hide her feelings behind humor.

Kahlan isn’t fooled.

She lunges for Cara—their lips meet—

Fingers tangle in hair, tongues fight for dominance in a sweet struggle uniquely Cara—Kahlan feels Richard’s grin, when he kisses her neck—

Somehow, they make it to Richard and Kahlan’s chambers, never quite letting go of one another and shedding laces like a high lady’s hairpins…(Kahlan still wears her hair down, after the fashion of Confessors; Cara’s hair is long enough to braid, now, but it hangs loose as well, the color of gold.)

Kahlan has been waiting for this—she doesn’t know how long. Exhilaration thrills her, a sweet triumph, and tonight, she holds nothing back…

The morning brings sager council. Kahlan rolls over, murmurs something unintelligible, and then sits bolt upright, suddenly wide-awake. She meets Cara’s enigmatic gaze. “You’re sure you’re not Confessed?” she asks.

Cara’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Positive,” she says, swinging her feet against the rungs of the chair she’s curled up in, watching Kahlan.

“I completely forgot,” Kahlan says, in a rush. “What about Dahlia?” Guilt makes her voice low, as if she can hide this conversation from Richard, who is shaving in the next room (she can hear the comforting sounds of his proximity, but he’s too far away to speak to.)

Cara looks away. “She understands,” she says gruffly. “You always come first.”

But Kahlan knows that isn’t exactly true. It’s not she who comes first, but Richard. For both of them. Kahlan loves Cara, would love her even without that shared bond of duty, and more than duty, that holds them to Richard. If nothing else, Kahlan never used to have anyone, save perhaps Dennee, who did not fear to touch her. Yet neither Richard nor Cara has ever feared to feel Kahlan skin to skin…even when they should. (Kahlan wonders, for a brief moment, if Richard has drunk the anti-Confession potion too, and if he has, should she be glad…? Then she dismisses the suspicion as unworthy of her.)

Cara loves Dahlia, too—Kahlan knows this, and in her heart of hearts, she is grateful that Cara still tells her she comes first.

And yet…Kahlan loves Richard with an adoration that borders almost on worship, and suspects Cara feels the same.

She shivers, a black shadow seeming to waft across her vision. There is something here…Kahlan’s heart has betrayed her, her reason failed her—but her instinct has never led her astray. There is something evil in this Palace, more than merely the ghosts of Rahl tyrants past, or her wicked brother-in-law.

She believes the evil must be lodged in her son’s soul—she knows no other possibility.

Richard enters, rubbing a towel over wet and tousled hair, and grinning. “Good morning,” he says.

Kahlan smiles back. “Good morning,” she repeats, just as fatuously.

Cara rolls her eyes.

“Did you like your gift?” Richard asks wickedly, and Kahlan glances at Cara.

The blonde gets smoothly to her feet, alone of all of them fully dressed (save for her boots—her feet look bare and strangely vulnerable without them). She moves to stand beside Kahlan, who still sits up in bed, sheets pulled over her chest in misplaced modesty.

Richard’s red D’Haran robe wraps easily around his waist, and he tosses the towel over his head to the floor.

“You know I did,” Kahlan says, and is prompted by her own wicked muse to inquire, “Did you?”

At her side, Kahlan feels Cara stiffen slightly. Richard leans forward and kisses Cara gently on the lips.

Kahlan, watching, is seized by a sudden impulse to drag them both back in bed with her, and so spend the day—responsibilities and fears loom hugely before her, but she defies them.

“Richard,” she pouts, adorably, letting the sheet fall to her waist and leaning her head back so her hair ripples down her back. “I never gave you your anniversary present…”

Kahlan is with two people she loves very much. She will be happy, even if it means ignoring every lesson she was ever taught.

(One and one may be two, but Mord’Sith aren’t evil, and Lord Rahl is a man any woman would be proud to call husband…)

 

 

three

A few months after Richard invites Cara to bed with him and Kahlan, she tells him she’s pregnant.

Richard is thrilled, of course—he loves children, loves Rick with all his soul, and does not believe Kahlan knows what she’s talking about. True, Darken’s son was evil—but that was another world, a world that has no place in this one.

(Besides, Darken has become such a help to Richard, it’s hard to imagine the same horror playing out now. So many things have changed, since Richard accepted his destiny as Lord Rahl.)

Furthermore, he knows perfectly well Kahlan is chewing curna root to keep from conceiving again, as though she can retroactively erase Rick’s birth, and he hopes Cara can show her there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Soon, his family is the least of his worries—United D’Hara, from the Western Boundary to the Eastern Veil to the Old World, united under his leadership, is under attack from both the North and the South.

Richard finds it typical that, just when he has finally united all those he loves (under one roof, no less), he is faced with an even greater threat than Emperor Jagang (thankfully now dust).

The Northerners are led by a single man, Lord Naft, but the Southerners follow orders from an interlocked committee, of all things.

Richard remembers the Council in Westland, and has a sigh for how poorly his suggestion that D’Hara adopt a similar system was received by all.

But he is a Lord now, whether he likes it or not. And he will not let his hard-won peace be destroyed.

Richard’s armies, Midlander and D’Haran alike—and wasn’t that a challenge?—meet the threat; Richard longs to be out there himself, but a Lord has certain responsibilities, as both Zedd and Darken are always telling him.

Instead, he delivers his and Cara’s daughter, when she arrives. She’s beautiful—Richard falls in love with little Gracie immediately, and so does Kahlan. (She still longs for a daughter, but she fears another son—if, by some miracle, Rick turns out not to be evil, she reasons, it’s hard to believe the Creator would bless them with two such paragons of virtue.)

Cara gets up from her childbed in surprisingly short order, pronouncing herself entirely healthy. Coincidentally, it’s the same day Raina and Berdine manage to capture Lord Naft.

Richard is grinning when he goes to meet them, relief that something is at last going right making his step light, Cara at his side.

She’s wearing a robe and has Rick balanced on her hip in the classic pose of women everywhere, yet the glare she gives Lord Naft is all First Mistress of the Mord’Sith.

“Good work, Berdine, Raina,” Cara acknowledges.

“Yes,” Richard agrees, distractedly.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Lord Naft snarls. “When Darken Rahl was in charge, D’Hara was something to fear; you’re a pathetic second act, Seeker. How do you save helpless damsels in distress while trying to fill big brother’s shoes? Or is he behind this?” He looks vaguely around, as though expecting Darken to appear, robes swirling.

“Behind what, my defense of United D’Hara from your ill-advised invasion attempt?” Richard asks, torn between amusement and fury. He steps closer. “My helpless damsels in distress just dragged you here in chains,” he points out.

“Richard, maybe I should—“ Cara says, tugging her robe up closer around her neck. “You’ve never trained or interrogated anyone before—“

She’s obviously realized how close Richard is to drawing his Sword and ending this right now. Lord Naft is infuriating, and Richard isn’t about to let anyone insult his rule. Just because he rescues the innocent doesn’t mean he’s weak.

“We can take care of the trash for you, Lord Rahl,” Berdine offers.

But Richard is tired of standing back and not doing anything. “I don’t think so,” he muses. “Just chain him up.”

Cara looks around, grabs Raina’s arm, and hands Rick to her. Raina looks a little uneasy, and Richard prepares to be offended—she’s probably terrified of male Confessors, like every other person in this crowded Palace—but Rick says insistently, “Amaranth, please!” and tugs on Raina’s braid.

It’s adorable, really, and Richard feels his bad mood lifting a little. Children always make him smile.

“Amaranth?” Raina asks.

“His nurse,” Cara explains. Richard tries to fix the name in his mind, dismally aware he’s just going to forget it again. Being a Lord is so exhausting—Richard wishes he could remember all the servants, but their faces blur together.

When it’s just Richard, Cara, and the chained and defiant Lord Naft, Richard picks up a convenient dagger and stalks around his captive. He’s never done this before, but how hard can it be?

He has to know where Lord Naft’s soldiers are, what their orders are, when they’re planning to attack—all the tedious details of command. And it’s not as though the man doesn’t deserve it.

Richard is a warrior of Light—and sometimes, that means doing things more properly considered Dark.

“Let me do it,” Cara says, putting a hand on Richard’s arm. “Richard, I don’t think you’re yourself. This isn’t—you shouldn’t have to—you’re the Seeker of Truth!”

“Precisely,” Richard says. He’s planning on Seeking some truth, all right.

Cara tugs the dagger out of his hands, and Richard frowns at her. “Cara, you just had a baby,” he protests. “Trust me; I can do this.” He’s tired of people seeing him as incompetent.

“Boy or girl?” Lord Naft asks. “I heard you had a son—abomination before the Creator that he is—but perhaps your daughter might join your team of damsels in distress—I’m sure her mother would be thrilled.”

It’s remarkable how calm Lord Naft still sounds, but Richard can hear the faint undercurrent of fear in his voice. You can’t fool the Seeker of Truth—or at least not for very long.

Cara’s face has gone white, and now she’s striding toward Lord Naft, knife upraised—

Richard grabs her by the shoulders, none too gently, pushing her against the wall—

“Is that what you’re planning?” she asks him, her face somehow the more terrible for its lack of tears. “My daughter—“

“Of course not!” Richard says indignantly. Then the real fury hits him, and his fingers grasp Cara’s shoulders in a punishing grip. “How could you even think I would ever—“

They’re both breathing hard, and Richard realizes, with some surprise, that he is one strained nerve away from hitting Cara—

Cara, his Cara, his friend and lover and mother of his daughter and First Mistress and—

With an effort, he releases her. She steps toward the door, dragging her robe up to the hollow of her throat.

“Go,” he says hoarsely.

“Yes,” Cara replies. “Master Rahl.” Richard doesn’t even notice the title, and Cara vanishes, her steps quiet on the hard stone.

“You almost had me there,” Richard says, circling Lord Naft again. “Can you guess what it will cost you?”

Never give an order you’re not willing to carry out yourself. If Richard’s Mord’Sith were going to be doing this for him, he might as well take a turn at it himself. It is a duty—and, in this case, a pleasure.

Richard smiles grimly.

Later, when Richard has washed the blood off his hands before dinner, he steps in to see Kahlan. She’s brushing her hair in front of the mirror, in her robe with an ornate gown laid on the bed.

She looks up at his entrance. “How was your day, sweetheart?” she asks, lifting her face to receive his kiss.

Richard strokes her shoulder, pulling the robe far enough down that he can press his lips to the freckle just above her left breast…she shivers happily.

When Richard looks up, he meets Kahlan’s soft, inquiring eyes in the mirror, and thinks of his duty as Lord Rahl, thinks of Cara’s disapproval, thinks of little Gracie and Rick…Then he shrugs. “You know,” he says lightly. “The usual.”

Someday, Richard may wake up and realize he’s turned into the exact same sort of tyrant he’s spent his whole life trying to defeat—but not today.

Power corrupts.

 

Comments

[meridian_rose]

I'm glad about your reply because I wanted to be honest in the review and I felt the fic was explicitly stating 'Richard is a tyrant' while not showing me concrete evidence. Accepting consequences is a good way to think about it :D

[hrhrionastar.livejournal.com]

I was all worried about not going far enough...maybe I went too far. Thank you for sharing your insightful thoughts :D