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nike_ravusTitle: Poem 2b
Author: Alsike
Fandom: LotS
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Berdine/Raina
Word Count: 1764
Apologies: Lots of random jabbering about Mord'Sith. A little not-exactly flirting. Torture. More Catullus at the end, because themes are fun.
Summary: Mord'Sith. In the Bath.
There was a certain… generosity, in being a Mord’Sith, Berdine thought, on occasion. Or at least, there ought to be. Mord’Sith wasn’t merely a name or a title, it was a culture, tightly wound and as fully fledged as any that filled a whole country, rather than just a temple. And it was a culture built from giving. The gift of pain, of submission, of breaking, was, if carried out well, the gift of strength. It was freedom from the petty sins of character women were so prone to. And it was a gift of power, power over oneself and one’s own pain, which was the necessary requirement for gaining power over anyone else.
She enjoyed seeing Mord’Sith from other temples, how the ritualized training created people who were the same and yet different. They did their best to systematize the training. As much ink had been spilt on the subject as blood had been spilt in experimentation. Hunger, loneliness, desperation: these were the spiked mallet that lightened the meat. Then you made the girls believe in their potential, showed them the violence in their souls, and then you tortured them, to make certain that they knew who was the master, who could give them the strength they longed for.
Only girls from lower-middle-class, two-parent families were supposed to be taken. It was said that they only took the kindest, gentlest girls, but it wasn’t as if they planned that. No one snuck through the forest and deposited a wounded kitten on the girl’s path, and only if she gasped in horror, and quickly picked up the kitten, took its home and splinted its leg, would they take her to be a Mord’Sith. That would be embarrassing. But the recruiters did have their eye out for a certain kind of girl. They wanted whole children. Ones that had lost parents or had been poor and starving, they were already a little hard. They knew what sort of things life had in store, and that kind of girl would always be unpredictable when broken.
Some would give up and let themselves die. Life held no promise that made suffering through this torture worthwhile. Others found a core of strength inside, and would come out more violent, more angry, and more vicious than others. As soon as possible they would re-break their mistresses. They did not always answer to hierarchy or to loyalty, and because of that, they were dangerous.
Berdine was one of those. She hadn’t bothered to re-break her mistress, because she had known that her mistress was stupid in comparison to her. She hadn’t expressed herself with violence, because for her, violence had never been the path to power. She could use it, of course, and it was refreshing, a release, using her strength, feeling the speed that she could attain only at the peak of physical development, enjoying the hot caress of a spurt of blood from a severed artery. But for her, power had always been the ability to see what others didn’t, and know what they needed to know and could not discover for themselves.
Cara, on the other hand, was a perfect specimen of the Mord’Sith machine. She had been a soft child who had broken beautifully, and reformed herself into someone who rejoiced in her strength and anger, and found fulfillment in the path of the Mord’Sith, such fulfillment that Berdine wondered if, for her at least, the temples were aptly named. She was fierce and loyal, but not a plotter, and she considered those who were to be lesser Mord’Sith. A real Mord’Sith would be satisfied with becoming a more skillful warrior or breaking those who displeased them. Unfortunately, Cara’s strength, and…. Berdine would almost call it… purity, meant that she was surrounded by plotters, sniveling females like Dahlia and Triana, who spit sugared poison in her ear, and tried to find a way to use her as leverage in their little games.
In the futile hope of protecting her from her inevitable abuse at their hands, Berdine had offered Cara her alliance, but although Cara knew she did not like plotters, she was even more suspicious of Berdine. She did not know what to make of her, particularly since Berdine’s status was so mysterious. She did not command a quad, or have any title or rank among the Mord’Sith, and yet, her mistress was clearly afraid of her, and she had the ear of the Lord Rahl. She was not very much like any other Mord’Sith. Eventually Cara had decided that she would do her best to fix this problem, and offered to train with her, or train her if that was preferred, and Berdine took what she could get.
Berdine had been bathing, leisurely soaking in the warm water after training all morning with Cara, enjoying having driven her smug face into the ground more than a few times, when she had seen Mistress Raina come in. She had been dressed in blood red leather, more red than usual because there was still fresh blood spattered across it, and to the knee, she was covered in a fine layer of dust from the road. Berdine had looked up with the hope of seeing her enter into the bath, but something even more interesting occurred.
“Mera,” Raina said, her voice firm but not excessively loud or pleading. It was a commanding tone. Berdine approved. Although Raina had only recently come down from the mountains, Berdine had already decided that she was neither a plotter nor a fool. She was a leader, aggressive and competent, leading her quad and advising the command of her whole squadron. In a way, Berdine thought that she was more of a soldier than any Mord’Sith she had so far seen.
One of the new girls, who had come in with Raina’s squadron, looked up, brow furrowed, and got out of the bath.
“Mistress Raina-“
But before she was on the top step, Raina had drawn her agiel and in one smooth gesture, struck the girl across the face with it. She cried out, foolishly unprepared for the strike, and fell on the steps. Raina stepped towards her, right into the bath, and pressed her agiel to the base of Mera’s neck.
“Tell me what this is for,” she said, her voice so quiet that Berdine could barely make out the words.
“What are you-“
“Tell me what it’s for.” She pressed harder, and the scream of the agiel echoed off of the marble walls.
“I- I-“ the girl gasped. “I was distracted on watch. I failed to protect my quad.”
“You did.” Raina lifted the agiel and caught the girl by her unbraided hair. She dragged her across the marble floors to a block that served as a seat beside the fountain. She threw the naked Mord’Sith across the block and gave her a sharp kick to the side of the face, then she tapped her agiel in the center of her spine. The girl clenched the marble, clearly in pain. “You are without discipline,” Raina said softly. “How many hours do you think it will take to break you of this?”
“I’m sorry,” the girl said lifting her head. “I have no excuse. I-“
“Hours,” Raina repeated, her agiel pressing against the back of the girl’s skull. Her head fell forward quickly.
“No more than a day,” she said, desperately.
Raina frowned. “A day then,” she said. “But I’m busy. I will give you twenty-four hours of my attention, but only when I have time to spare. Until those hours are finished, you will be the guest of the breaking room. Go there immediately.” She gave her an impatient shove off the marble bench with her foot. The girl scrambled up, and hurriedly, attempting, and failing to maintain her dignity, scurried out of the bath. She seemed agitated enough that Berdine supposed she would forget to dress.
Raina ignored the eyes on her after the girl had departed, and her shoulders sank slightly. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of blood on her cheek, and then she turned to go. Berdine slipped out of the bath and moved through one of the back exits into the portico. She walked quickly, but carefully, making sure to appear relaxed and unbothered, and made it to the exit in time. She caught Raina as she stepped into the apodytare.
“No chance to bathe?”
Raina looked up at her, and on recognition, smiled. Her eyes drifted southward for a moment and lingered, but only absently. “Afraid not. And as you can see, my schedule has just had another weight added to it.”
“Yes,” it was worthwhile, she supposed. Passing the girl off onto someone else would only put them in danger, broken again or killed was the only real solution for such a lack of discipline. “It was… admirable. And clearly necessary.”
“All the brats get sent to me.”
Berdine smiled, teasing. “To such a good soldier.”
“And now this soldier must make another report to the Lord Rahl,” she sighed, “I’m always the one to tell him when there is bad news.” Her words were dry, and she sounded bored, but Berdine wondered if anyone else noticed that she was so clearly tired. As Raina started to move away, Berdine laughed, and reached out to catch her arm.
“Not like that.”
Raina looked at her, puzzled, and Berdine advanced with the sponge she had borrowed from the baths and rubbed it across her face. “Wha-“ Raina tried to ask, but the passing sponge muffled her interrogation.
“Although I’m certain he will admire your valor, going to see the Lord Rahl with blood smeared on your face is just slightly too casual.” She proceeded to scrub the woman’s face clean, Raina spluttering, and attempting to fend her off in protest. “Gloves.” Berdine snagged each paw out of the air as it half-heartedly tried to elude her and wiped them down, front and back. “Well, you’re vaguely presentable now.” She said, and went to tidy a loosened strand of hair back into her braid. Raina caught her hand before she could, and held it firmly out of the way as she fixed it herself.
“Thank you for worrying,” she said, an arch of an eyebrow making her words more mocking than appreciative. “But stop it,” she said, released Berdine’s hand, and turned to leave.
Berdine squeezed the sponge absently, as she watched her go, ignoring the pink water that dribbled on the floor. She had offended her. Interesting.
It is as pleasing to me as, they say,
to that swift girl was the golden apple,
which loosened her long-bound girdle.
