Set after the series. This is edited for content; you can find the full version, if you're of age, at my website.
Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor, ruler of the Midlands and consort of Lord Richard Rahl, was alone on the vast flat plains surrounding the People's Palace of D'Hara, dressed in unassuming forest green and traveling as fast as she dared. She knew that she still had half a day's hard ride in front of her, but her horse was already fatigued, and she didn't relish the thought of running it to death under her and then setting off on foot for the palace, no matter what was waiting for her there. She had just enough water to make it, and knew that she wouldn't find another source until the guards were pulling back the heavy doors for her.
For the barest seconds she let herself wish that she possessed just a fraction of Zedd's power, that she could compress time or space somehow and just will herself into Richard's arms.
Everything was supposed to be easier once they were married. But Kahlan could count on the fingers of one hand all the times she had spent more than two days in a row with her husband.
The latest threat was one of the Sisters of the Dark, Eloria. Desperate to escape the Keeper's wrath after their failed attempt to give him sway in the world, Eloria had pored through the many magical volumes housed in the Palace of the Prophets and come across a partial prophecy regarding a magical artifact that would be found 'where no magic had been allowed.'
Zedd and Kahlan had immediate interpreted that to mean Westland. Richard, who had little patience when it came to magic and even less when it came to prophecy, had accepted their interpretation with little interest. It was what happened after prophecy that concerned him.
Even though Zedd had tried to locate a copy of that book of prophecy in the Keep, he had been unsuccessful. All they could ascertain through the Prelate was that the prophecy concerned Richard somehow.
And that, Kahlan had to admit, made sense. Richard was the reason the Sisters had failed. Of course they would seek vengeance against him if they could.
Kahlan and Zedd had set out to find any hint or clue about how to avert the prophecy, leaving Richard with the strict command to stay in the People's Palace. His magic and the protection of the Palace would keep him safer than either Zedd or Kahlan could, and Cara and her most trusted Mord'Sith had sworn to guard him as well. After spending so long trying to avert the apocalypse, Kahlan had to admit that it would almost feel like old times—if Richard were by her side, with Cara and Zedd. This felt terribly lonely, even worse than it had been before she met him, because then, Kahlan hadn't known that she could even have a true marriage with a man who wasn't confessed to her. That miracle alone made every second she spent away from him agony.
Surely they would have a day, at least a few hours, to themselves. They could be together.
The People's Palace, even though it was fully Richard's now, still made Kahlan feel a little uneasy. She knew what had gone on within those walls, the terrible things Darken had done during his reign. She knew that Richard, despite the protection the Palace afforded him, wanted nothing more than to return to Hartland, to live as he had always wanted before he had learned his true heritage.
The rhythmic gallop of the horse, the glaring sky, the vast emptiness before her dropped away as Kahlan let herself imagine it. Hartland was beautiful, and there, her long hair and white dress wouldn't provoke the fear it did in the Midlands; they knew so little of magic there. Richard, Lord Rahl, would build them a house, and in her mind's eye she saw him, naked to the waist, splitting the logs himself. Instead of the smooth polished marble and embellished wood and fine silks of the Palace, of her own Confessor's Palace, it would all be rough-hewn fragrant heartwood. No servants catering to their every whim; instead, if she wanted a meal, she would make it herself, from animals she or Richard had hunted, from herbs and plants they had collected. She smiled to herself a little, at that. Her time traveling with Richard had definitely prepared her for such privations.
And oh, love, there would be love. She imagined the burnished glow of his flesh in candlelight, the warmth in his gaze as he pinned her under him, the way his kiss woke desires in her that she had worked to bury her entire life before she had met him. No petitioners lined up waiting to be heard, squabbling over petty problems or ludicrous issues of state. No more working to outmaneuver some megalomaniac bent on unimaginable power or unabated misery. Just the two of them, in a world of their own making, with the time to explore each other the way she had wanted practically since the second they had met.
With a sigh Kahlan focused again on the desolate countryside around her. Maybe, after the prophecy was averted, they could find the time to make her vision a reality, if only for a little while. They'd never had a proper vacation together, not even immediately after their wedding. Kahlan was sure, after all they had been through together, that they had at least earned a week of alone-time.
She had almost let herself drift back into her fantasy, transplanted to the massive canopied bed in their suite in the People's Palace, Richard's fingers yanking the laces of her gown to bits in his impatience to find his way under her clothes, when she saw it on the horizon.
A quad, in dark red leather.
Kahlan's heart rose into her throat. For the barest second she felt the alarmed impulse to turn and run, as fast as she could, remembering the quads that had pursued her when she had been carrying the Book of Counted Shadows. But Richard was Lord Rahl and whatever this quad was meant to do, it wasn't meant to hunt her down.
It couldn't be.
Her nascent, unformed fear vanished when she saw that Cara, her shoulder-length blonde hair floating on the wind, led the group of four. "Mother Confessor," the Mord'Sith called, and Kahlan swung easily down from her horse as Cara followed.
Cara took a second to clasp her fist to her chest in a salute. "I take full responsibility, Mother Confessor," she said, her voice emotionless. It would sound that way to anyone else, at least. Kahlan had traveled with Cara for a long time, and she could sense the anger and frustration on the other side of it.
Richard.
"What happened?" Kahlan demanded, her knees shaking a little. She had been traveling too hard for too long and oh, oh no.
"Eloria apparently cast some sort of Friend Web. So says the Wizard," Cara said, with a toss of her head. Cara, like all the Mord'Sith, distrusted and feared magic she couldn't control. "She walked into the Palace and appeared as me," she said, her voice dripping with disgust, "and no one questioned why the two of us would be leaving together. They were headed in this direction. The Wizard is seeking some way to track Lord Rahl, but in the meantime..."
Kahlan nodded. "We should try to find him ourselves."
Cara gave the Mother Confessor a curt nod in answer and swung back up onto her mount. "The Wizard found a set of journey books, although he is loathe to use them, but they may be useful if he is able to locate Richard."
"And you have one of the pair."
Cara patted her saddlebag. "We shall be riding hard."
Kahlan looked at the powerfully-built mounts the Mord'Sith had selected. "I'll have to ride with one of you until we can find another horse," she said. "This one will make it to the Palace, but after that—"
Cara exchanged a glance with her fellow Mord'Sith. "It will be dangerous, Mother Confessor."
Kahlan unstrapped her pack and glanced up at Cara with fire in her blue eyes. "It will be dangerous for Eloria once I find her," Kahlan swore.
Kahlan's world compressed to a single word, one that she woke thinking, that stayed on her lips, that she mentally chanted with her every heartbeat.
Richard.
The journey book stayed silent, although for the few hours of rest they managed to steal every night, Cara seemed to take some perverse pleasure in bleeding herself to report their lack of progress to Zedd. Kahlan had to force herself to sleep, reminding herself that she would be no use to Richard with her thoughts clouded by exhaustion and worry. Even so, her rest was hard-won and only seemed to last a handful of seconds before the Mord'Sith were waking her.
Richard.
The days blurred together and the land blurred into trees-small villages-wastes-cities-trees. Kahlan was beginning to forget what it felt like to be on solid ground that wasn't canting on horseback.
Richard.
The longer they went without finding him, without discovering word of him, without Zedd reporting that he was just hours away, the more desperate Kahlan became.
She could not lose him. Kahlan could not lose him.
And then they began to hear the whispers. Eloria had found her artifact, and they had failed to elude the prophecy. There were no whispers of Richard.
As she lay awake, gazing blankly up into the night sky, unable to quiet the anguish screaming in her, Kahlan knew she was being foolish. No maternity spell linked the two of them. Were something unspeakable to happen to Richard, she wouldn't necessarily feel it, or know.
(With a deep, terrible pang she remembered stabbing him in the heart, and if that had not cleft her own heart in twain, in that moment, nothing would. Oh, how many times he had been forced to forgive her and forgive her and forgive her until she believed him; oh, how long she had wished that he would return the horror Nicci had visited upon her and hurt her in return, if only to pay back that terrible debt she owed him.)
But she couldn't believe that he wasn't still alive, out there. She couldn't. He had to be. Cara's, and the other Mord'Siths', agiels still worked. And her heart, as fractured as it was, wasn't broken.
Not until they found out what power Eloria wielded.
The line of Confessors had been created to value truth and justice above all else. A small part of Kahlan felt a pang every time she used her power on someone, but the iron will that was part of her gift kept her sympathy from paralyzing her. She had never idly confessed anyone; the release of her power was conscious, the opening of a fist of will she had learned to keep clenched in her childhood, and only with Richard, in the height of their passion for each other, was her power loosed without her will, but it found no hold in her husband. While she had confessed for her own defense, even those confessions were meaningful. Regrettable, irreversible, but meaningful.
Were there any other Confessors in the world—and Kahlan desperately wished it were so, that there could be another explanation for this horror—they would have thought it all the terrible will of a power-mad Confessor.
They—the masses who began to surge from the woods, from any cover, attacking their group with shocking zeal—were like banelings. They looked like ragged, cunning, rageful things, driven by a desire outside their will, without the physical corruption that a true allegiance to the Keeper would bring.
And they kept coming.
The Mord'Sith were able to keep them at bay only through intense, vicious battles, and Kahlan joined in for her share, wielding her daggers and sword in a terrible violent dance. Eventually they managed to subdue one long enough for Kahlan to use her power on him.
The man immediately dropped dead at her feet. Only his pupils had gone black, then retracted. Her power hadn't found a hold in him, but instead had killed him.
They weren't confessed, not in any way Kahlan had ever seen before. In every other sense, though, they were gone. Instead of the love amplified by confession, Kahlan could see it in their eyes—they were consumed by hate.
Maybe Eloria's fellow Sisters of the Dark had vanished without a trace, leaving her alone in the world, but with a force like this, she didn't need them. She had her own personal army, ready to fight and die at her will.
It was a nightmare, but Kahlan couldn't wake up.
And her heart was in her throat as she scanned the rage-twisted faces of the mobs that confronted them, praying that she wouldn't recognize her husband there. He had been impervious to her touch, but that in no way guaranteed he would be able to withstand Eloria's power.
The prophecy had promised—well, Kahlan wasn't sure what the prophecy had promised. More pain and misery for them, doubtless.
But, just like her husband, Kahlan had learned not to trust prophecies a long time ago.
By the time she made it to Hartland, she was alone again. She had her pack and a swift horse and the silent journey book. The Mord'Sith were traveling away from the battle, to the Confessor's Palace, to await her return, to await some strategy from Zedd. Even though their fierce determination was in no way in doubt, Kahlan was sure that it would dissolve like water under Eloria's power.
They had found one witness: a girl, young, rendered almost speechless in her terror. She had told them everything she knew; she had managed to escape in time.
Eloria had found her weapon. The girl had seen it as a red sphere in the Sister of the Dark's hands, ringed in gold, glowing with power.
And all within its radius fell, and when they rose, they were hers.
Archers had attempted to take her down. The crackling lightning of her power had destroyed the arrows, and the seething mass of those in her sway turned their terrible attention on those who had sought to destroy their mistress. Family, blood, love were nothing in the face of it.
Eloria could amass an army that could dwarf the staggering army of D'Hara, and from there, Kahlan dreaded what would happen.
Her only hope was to find Richard.
She was using everything he had taught her, about tracking, about reading the woods the way he had as a guide in Hartland. Trying to recall their first meeting reminded her of Denee dying in her arms, the quad pursuing them, the terrible trek through the barrier with Shar. But the barrier was gone now.
What was waiting for her if she failed was so much worse.
She tried hard to picture Zedd's house, Richard's cabin, anything, but every hoofbeat, every beat of her own heart, sounded like his name, resounding hollowly in her chest.
Richard.
She was at the point of exhaustion, delirious with it, holding on only through sheer force of will, when she felt it, that small twinge of awareness. The twinge that was probably her helplessness and desperation working to destroy her.
Thirty minutes later, she saw him, and the rest of the world fell away.
"Richard."
She hadn't spoken aloud in hours, and her voice was rusty, rising into a cry at the end.
His beautiful eyes were blank when they met hers.
Kahlan dismounted and the ground canted under her, wildly, the way it had been doing for what seemed like her entire life now. She held onto the reins to steady herself as Richard took a few uncertain steps toward her.
"Miss?"
Was it worse? She felt that it might be, as she gave in and collapsed to her knees to the ground, heedless of her dress, heedless of everything else.
Richard stood before her, but everything else inside him was gone.
Her tears turned to ice on her cheeks.
In a sinking moment, she considered, as her husband approached her. Richard had been in the sphere of Kahlan's confession before, and while he didn't appear confessed either then or now, maybe he was. Maybe those Kahlan confessed would be impervious to Eloria's power.
But that was a poor solution, fighting fire with a slightly less terrible fire. She would not confess the entire population of the Midlands to give them leverage against whatever unimaginable endgame Eloria was planning.
That immovable part of her, though, the part that wielded her power without remorse or fear or pity, was considering it.
"Miss?" Richard asked again, gazing at her with concern. "Can I help you?"
Kahlan swallowed hard. Just like the first time they had met, he didn't recoil at the thought of touching her. She reached for his hand and he grasped it, helping her to her feet.
"I've been looking for you," she said, dashing the tears from her eyes, putting her emotionless mien back on. "Richard. I'm so glad you're safe."
Her attempt to be the impervious Mother Confessor failed when she threw her arms around him and he embraced her gently in return. "I... I'm glad as well. So, we've met."
She pulled back and nodded. He looked the same as she remembered him, but it had been a long time since his eyes hadn't gone alight whenever he saw her. Her touch didn't restore him; she hadn't expected it to, but her heart sank anyway.
And there was one small difference, in him.
"Where's the sword?" she asked, her voice rising in panic at the end. "The Sword of Truth."
"Back in my camp," he told her slowly, lifting one eyebrow. "It seemed a bit much for hunting."
Kahlan could have cried in despair and frustration. "That's what you've been doing? Hunting?"
"I needed to eat," he defended himself. "And... I suppose you know me, which is more than I can say."
As they walked back to his camp together, Kahlan leading the horse, Richard explained that he had slowly gained consciousness in a clearing nearby, blood on his sword, and absolutely no memory of how he had come to be there or what had happened to him, ever.
"There's a village nearby," he explained. "I traded for the supplies I needed, but I've been having very intense headaches. It's made things difficult."
"Your magic," Kahlan murmured.
"My what?"
She shook her head. "We have to gather your things," she told him. "We have to get back to Zedd so he can tell us what to do. Assuming, of course, that he has any better idea than the rest of us."
"Zedd?" Richard repeated, mystified.
Kahlan bit the inside of her cheek. Hearing him say his grandfather's name that way was almost more than she could bear, almost as terrible as hearing the faint hesitation when he said her own name. "Yes," she said, and didn't trust herself to say more.
Richard's camp was well hidden. His skills as a woods guide hadn't deserted him, even if everything else had. Between them they packed up his supplies.
Richard had just reached for the scabbard of the Sword of Truth when he looked over at Kahlan. "How do I know that you are my friend?" he asked, and she turned to gaze at him. If he unsheathed the sword, she might have a second before its power protected him from hers—and she was filled with horror at the prospect of confessing him just to get him back to D'Hara. She couldn't afford to lose him, and his skill with the sword, if he retained it, was unparalleled.
The fist she kept clenched tight around her power loosed just a fraction.
Richard's gaze drew hers from its lock on the sword. He shook his head, and let the sword fall back into the scabbard.
"Ever since I woke up like this I've felt lost," he muttered. "Afraid to draw too much attention to myself, afraid to ask too many questions. I hate feeling this way." His eyes narrowed, and his jaw was set. "You're the first person I've seen that I actually feel like I might be able to trust."
Kahlan's heart rose a few inches, in timid hope. "You can," she said softly. "You always have. I would never hurt you."
She pushed away the sudden mental image, the Con Dar fading as she gazed down at him, horrified at the sight of her knife buried in his heart.
She swallowed hard and touched his hand. "We'll find a way to get you back to yourself," she said quietly. "We need to get water and get a horse in town and we'll be on our way." She forced a smile. "It won't be long."
It couldn't be long. Not with this new doom spreading between them and safety.
"You're something to me, aren't you."
Kahlan knew they should be pushing them harder, should be limiting their resting periods and rushing back to meet up with Cara and Zedd, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had been driven by her fear for him, and now that she had found him, it seemed they were farther from finding a way to stop Eloria than ever. She didn't want to bleed herself just to tell Zedd that his grandson had lost his memory and had presumably managed to withstand the sway of the artifact—but had no idea how. She had seen his brow furrowed from pain with the headaches he had told her about, and pushing him as he was, confused and still a bit suspicious, probably wouldn't help her case.
They had taken the time to build a fire and roast the game Richard had caught, and if Kahlan closed her eyes, she could imagine that they were back before, when all they had to worry about was Darken Rahl and the nightmare of his rule. She was startled from that reverie by Richard's comment.
Her exhaustion and desire—and oh, how she desired him, how maddening it was to be so close to him with no sign of affection on his part—had made her lower her guard more than she should have; she knew she had stolen more than her fair share of glances in his direction.
"I've known you for a few years," she told him, sidestepping his question.
Richard poked at the fire. "Okay," he murmured. "You don't want to talk about it. But you keep looking at me."
To cover for herself, she turned one of the spits over the fire. "I'll stop, if it's making you uncomfortable," she said, keeping her gaze on the flames.
"Don't stop," he murmured, and instantly she glanced up at him. She had been anticipating her reunion with him for so long that the intensity of his gaze made a flood of warmth immediately surge between her thighs.
She flushed a little. Now was definitely not the time.
After they finished their dinner Kahlan went down to the nearby river to refill their water and wash the grease off their supplies. As she set them aside she closed her eyes and said a silent thanks to the spirits that Richard was with her, and relatively unharmed, and asked that they reveal to her some way to restore him, if they could.
She brushed a tear off her cheek and frowned. Her skin felt gritty and greasy from all the travel, and her hair was lank over her shoulders. Quickly she disrobed and rinsed out her smallclothes, wringing them out as tightly as she could.
The water was shocking cold, and she winced, letting out a soft cry as she fully immersed herself in its flow. She ran her fingers through her hair and it fell in heavy wet strands down over her shoulders, and briskly she rinsed herself off, teeth chattering. Thankfully the night was mild and her smallclothes, while still damp, weren't freezing cold when she put them back on, just uncomfortable.
She had just finished lacing back into her bodice when she heard someone approaching. "Kahlan? Are you—"
He came through the treeline and saw her, just tying the lace at the top of her bodice, her hair wet, and for a moment he was struck speechless. "Sorry," she said. "I just had to rinse off. It's freezing, but it works."
He stayed behind, after she gathered the supplies and began to walk back to camp. She thought she heard Richard splash into the water, but when she glanced back, the river was all dark and she couldn't see him.
Back at the camp she found a moderately cleaner dress and set of smallclothes, and changed into those. When Richard returned his hair was wet, and she was disappointed that she hadn't stayed behind to watch.
"We should set off early," he said, and glanced at her. "We have a lot of ground to cover, don't we."
"More than you can imagine," she told him, and began dumping dirt on the fire to put it out.
They put their bedrolls under the cover of a large tree, in case any rain came in overnight, and simultaneously packed all their belongings, just in case they were attacked and needed to escape quickly. Kahlan glanced over at him and they exchanged a small smile.
Richard was yawning when Kahlan noticed that the Sword of Truth was at the foot of his bedroll. She picked it up, offering it to him. "Keep it close," she advised him. "It's helped you out more than once."
He reached for it, and his hand closed around the hilt, his fingers brushing hers.
Suddenly the word Truth, spelled in wire under her fingertips, seemed to burn.
Richard's gaze flew to hers. "Kahlan," he murmured, his eyes widening. "Dear spirits, Kahlan."
Her heart actually hurt. Did he—
"My wife."
They attacked each other. There was no other word for it. When their mouths met it was desperate; where he touched her, her skin felt like it was alight.
"Do you remember," she managed to gasp out, as Richard broke the kiss and trailed his lips down her neck. His fingertips teased the skin above her bodice.
"Yes," he murmured. "All of it. All of it, and how much I've missed you, love—"
Kahlan tugged his shirt out of his pants, then began untying the laces at his waist. "It's been so long," she moaned, surging against him as he slipped one finger under her bodice. "Too long."
The woods were dark, according them the barest modesty; she wouldn't have cared if they were in full sunlight in the middle of the marketplace, though.
Their fingers tangled together and she giggled a little. Were they in their bed, one of their beds, they would have taken their time with this, but she was desperate for him, and he seemed just as desperate for her.
After, Kahlan swallowed hard. "We should talk," she said weakly.
Richard nodded. "The sword," he said softly. "The sword did it. Obviously we can't use it on everyone, but the Boxes of Orden—"
Kahlan nodded. "If we can get back there, we could use them to undo this."
"Unless the artifact was created with an inverse."
"Assuming the inverse survived the way the original did."
Her eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to see that Richard was smiling down at her. He stroked her hair back from where sweat had plastered a few strands to her cheek. "There has to be a way, and we'll find it."
Kahlan smiled. For the first time since this terrible ordeal had begun, she was actually beginning to feel like they had a chance.
"And the second we do," she told him, "you and I are going to have a little vacation. One that doesn't involve making love on bedrolls or walls..."
"So walls are out?" He chuckled.
She swiped at her husband. "Spirits, I'm so glad you're yourself again."
"Me too," he said, as she bundled under the blankets in her thin shift, and heard him move close to her. He pulled her to him and as soon as her cheek touched his shoulder, the exhaustion stole over her and her eyes drooped shut.
"I love you," she murmured.
"I love you," he whispered.
The morning, the next few weeks, promised to be terrible. They had theories, nothing more.
But he was hers again, and none of that mattered.
Richard's lips brushed her temple and she fell asleep finally feeling safe.