meridian_rose

Title: Mistress of Her Own Destiny
Fandom: original character in the Legend of the Seeker universe
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1192
Prompt: For the

dark_bingo prompt 'hostages'
Beta:

dorothydeath - thanks for all your help and support with this one bb
Summary: Isolde, trapped by her birthright, rebels against the duties of a Confessor; servitude, obedience, and reproduction
Warnings and Content Advisory: antagonist makes slurs against the infertile and childfree; one mild reference to masturbation, discussion of rape

Isolde never knew her father. He'd died protecting her mother just before Isolde was born. Some people hated Confessors, her mother said, and would attack them on sight.

It was years later that Isolde realised the truth, that her father had once been attacking her mother too, and had been Confessed. That he'd become her mate unwillingly, and that she was not a child of love, but of rape, for her father was unable to ever refuse her mother's demands.

Had he been commanded to pierce his own heart, he would have. It might be considered a mercy that he'd only been under her control for a few months.

Thoughts like this worried Isolde, but they worried the Mother Confessor more. Being brought up at Aydindril gave Isolde many privileges. She was cared for, well fed, well educated. It also meant she was under the watchful gaze of the Mother Confessor, who disapproved of Isolde's rebellious streak.

Maybe she got her insolence from her father, before he was rendered meek and docile as all Confessed were. She'd never know. She certainly hadn't inherited it from her mother, who lived by the Mother Confessor's words as if they came from the lips of the Creator Herself.

"What if I do not want to be a Confessor?" Isolde asked often. It was not a choice, she was told. A Confessor was something she was. It was in her spirit and could not be removed.

"What if I do not want to serve as a Confessor?" Isolde asked, when she grasped the difference between being and doing. She'd been sent out of the classroom for disobedience, all the other girls gasping and whispering. She'd received a stern lecture from the Mother Confessor on the duties of being a Confessor. It was a noble, honourable destiny.

"I have no choice?" Isolde demanded, glaring across the desk, and felt her power spark in her chest.

"None. The sooner you accept your destiny, the better. Who are you to defy the Creator's wishes?"

After that Isolde stopped caring about the Creator, who'd cursed her with a destiny she didn't want and a power that made her different and unlovable.

///

The other girls were all aflutter with thoughts of romance soon enough, though Isolde couldn't muster up any enthusiasm. If she loved someone, why would she hurt them by taking away their free will? And if she didn’t love them, why would she want to be with them?

She knew some of the girls had made other arrangements for their pleasure. Confessors could not Confess each other, which meant Mia and Herry were quite safe. Isolde wished she could feel attraction to one of her classmates, but this was something else she had no choice in.

So Isolde made do with her fingers, testing her limits, and trying to separate out her orgasm from the release of her power. It didn't work.

"You'll have to take a mate eventually," Mia said. "Even I will."

Isolde's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

"To have babies, silly."

Isolde felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "And if I don't want children?"

Mia looked at her, aghast. Isolde might as well have said she was pledging herself to the Keeper. "Every woman wants children," she said, backing away.

Word travelled fast. Isolde found herself in the Mother Confessor's office once more.

"It is every Confessor's duty to continue their line," the Mother Confessor said.

Duty was becoming the most hated word in Isolde's vocabulary. It made the power surge up until it filled her veins, and pounded in her ears.

"What if I do not want children?"

"You have no choice. Anything else is selfish." It was clear that this was an immutable fact.

Isolde wasn't ready to back down. "What if I cannot have children?"

The Mother Confessor gave a sharp laugh. "Only freaks of nature cannot fulfil the Creator's intended purpose for womankind. No Confessor has ever suffered such shame."

Isolde not only paid attention to her history lessons but had dug deeper into the stories than most of her classmates, and viewed their lineage with a negative bias as opposed to the positive view their teachers imposed upon the sordid truth. She knew the first Confessors were created, long ago, by wizards who had tampered with nature for their own ends. Every Confessor was already unnatural, a freak of nature. The hypocrisy stung.

That night Isolde lay awake in bed, running that conversation over and over in her head. She dug her nails into her palms and bit at her lip until she tasted blood.

Confessors were not blessed. They were cursed. They were forced into living in this fortress, this gilded cage, and indoctrinated into the ways of the Confessors. There was no free will, no choice. They were hostages, and the Mother Confessor was their kidnapper, and there was no ransom that would ever let them go free.

Yes, Isolde thought, and the men who were Confessed, they were hostages too, unwilling victims, slaves to the power that bound the Confessors themselves.

Enough. There had to be a way. Even the Creator was not omnipotent, or how was it that the Keeper posed such a threat? That She needed Confessors and Sisters of the Light to do her bidding?

Isolde pasted on a mask of contrition and played the part of a good girl who wanted nothing more than to follow in her mother's footsteps. She devoted herself to her studies and spent large amounts of time in the magnificent library.

They were being trained to control their powers, but Isolde was certain there must be something more. Something that would let her be fully in command of her power, even in the throes of pleasure. Or something that would remove her powers completely –

No. It was a shock to find she didn't want to be free of the power. She wanted to be free to use it as she wished. She wanted it to be a part of her life, not her life's work. She wanted to be a woman with the power of Confession, not a Confessor with no power to be the woman she wished to be.

After several months of searching, she found what she was looking for. Her fingers caressed the illustration, aching for it to be real and in her hand.

A Rad'a'han. It would allow her to lose control of her body and her emotions without losing control over her power. How had she never been told of such a thing?

Because other Confessors feared it, she realised. The cold metal against their throat would suppress their most powerful defence. It was, even to Isolde, an imperfect solution. Most immediate of her concerns was how she'd even find such a rare item. Then, if she did, she'd need to keep a careful hold on the accompanying key. It would be a start, however.

A week later Isolde made her escape, the book in her backpack, and headed out to find a Rad'a'han, whatever it took.

She would be mistress of her own destiny. She would be free.