Important Author's Note: This is a Jennsen/Cara drabble/oneshot series. The chapters are short. It contains femslash and torture sequences.
Cover Art for this story is available on my profile page.
Standard disclaimer applies to this and all following chapters. For specific disclaimer, see my profile.
Updating: I know I usually update once a day, but due to time constraints, this fic will be updated roughly once a week.
Thanks to my betas: Melt_in2_Me and AceofHadeon. They make me make sense.
Slave
"I found them," Richard said as he strode into the circle of firelight, his hand on the hilt of the Sword of Truth.
"The soldiers that've been razing the villages?" Kahlan asked, looking up from sharpening her daggers.
"I think so. They're camped by the river. They aren't making any attempts to be quiet or hide their trail."
"They don't think anyone will come after them," Cara interrupted. The others turned to her, wary but willing to listen. "The Mord'Sith of the region are scattered or dead. And with no Lord Rahl," she cut her eyes at Richard, "willing to take the throne, then there will be no one to enforce the punishments for looting."
"As if Darken Rahl would have punished them," Kahlan scoffed.
"He would have," Cara said sharply, quickly. The cuts and scrapes her Sisters of the Agiel had inflicted on her made her face appear demonic in the firelight, the deep red interplay of light and shadow on her protective leather collar adding to the illusion.
Zedd watched the Mord'Sith with trepidation. He doubted she would harm Richard if she had truly accepted him as Lord Rahl, but would that consideration extend to himself and Kahlan?
Would she abandon Richard if another scion of the House of Rahl took up the mantle?
He couldn't be sure.
But he had to trust in the Seeker.
He had to.
…embrace the one in red…
"Cara," Richard asked, "when would be the best time to attack them?"
"Night. If they are as careless as you say, they may not post a guard. Even if they do, I can kill him before he makes a sound," Cara stood, moving to her pack to get her bow.
"Richard," Zedd spoke at last, "I don't mean to be indelicate… but we must find the Stone of Tears. It is of the utmost importance."
"Those men are hurting people, Zedd. I saw slave women in their camp. If the Seeker won't fight for freedom, what does it matter if we find the Stone of Tears? If I'm going to save the world, I want it to be a world worth saving."
With that speech, Richard drew the Sword of Truth, moving to stand at the edge of their camp.
"This is the plan."
Zedd listened, pride warring with concern. Richard was a leader. He was the one, true Seeker.
But his idealism might one day cost them all very dear.
-l-
Jennsen stumbled, walking awkwardly on the edge of her heel, trying to keep her weight from the tender part of her foot where she had stepped on a sharp rock in the river bed while doing the soldiers' laundry. She hadn't had shoes since she was taken, the thin leather slippers she had been wearing at the time of her abduction having long since worn out.
Now she was clad only in the yellow slip of a D'Haran slave girl, her wrists and ankles shackled together with chains that clanked as she moved.
They had put those on her after the first time she tried to run away to find her mistress.
"Wench!" One of the soldiers called. Jennsen hurried over to him, careful not to jostle the platter holding mismatched bowls and tankards she carried.
The soldier took one of the tankards of ale, pinching her hard on the bottom as he did so. She gritted her teeth to keep from squeaking.
The soldiers often took sound as invitation.
Soon they would sleep and Jennsen would be able to eat whatever crumbs they had left her and drink the muddy water of the river. Maybe she would catch a fish. The problem was she had only her hands to fish with and she was not the stealthiest of hunters – not with her sore feet and unsteady limbs.
She longed for her mistress.
The moon was high when it happened. Jennsen had curled up at the edge of the camp, huddling for warmth and an attempt to avoid notice when there was a whistle of air.
The soldier that had been standing watch silhouetted against the full moon fell face forward, an arrow in his back.
Then the camp was swarming with activity. Men shouted for swords, tents were blown apart by a mysterious force, and the slaves ran, gathering up as much loot as they could.
Jennsen was the only one that was shackled. She needed the key to her chains.
She weaved clumsily through the fighting, being flung from side to side, knocked down more than once.
But she was used to that.
She needed the key.
A soldier turned, swinging a mace, uncaring who he hit with it. Jennsen closed her eyes to wait for her death, knowing she could never move in time.
The blow never came.
Instead, before her stood the woman she had been longing for all these months. Her hair was shorn and her face bruised, but there was no doubt it was her.
"Mistress," Jennsen murmured as she watched Cara engage in a deadly dance of destruction. No solider could touch the Mord'Sith, she was vicious elegance incarnate.
An embodiment of everything Jennsen wanted to be, and never could be.
But most importantly, she was real, and near. Not the dream Jennsen had had so many times of her mistress returning for her… In those dreams Mistress Cara had looked just as Jennsen remembered her, perfect, long braid, flawless skin.
Jennsen knew that this time was real because her mind would have never come up with a shorn, injured Cara on its own.
The very thought of someone causing Cara pain made Jennsen's heart feel like someone was squeezing it.
The last solider fell, his face frozen in a scream as Cara drove her Agiel into his neck.
Jennsen had nothing to fear from Agiels.
She had nothing to fear from her mistress. She loved Cara, and Cara loved her. She wanted to serve Cara almost as much as she had wanted to serve her brother, Darken Rahl. If the rumors of his death were true, then Jennsen would serve Cara now. Forever. It would give her great pleasure to give her mistress pleasure.
Jennsen approached Cara as fast as she could with the chains that dragged at her limbs. When less than a foot separated them, Jennsen dropped to her knees, leaning forward to rest her head against Mistress Cara's thigh.
"Mistress, I feared never to see you again." Her voice was choked with tears.
Approaching the two, Richard's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Jennsen?"