Title: And All We do... it is for Our Sons
Rating: PG; rated for general concepts; language


Theme: Mother Confessors
Genre: Drama/Angst/Tragedy
Characters: Original Characters
Timeline/Spoilers: 697 BCB

Prompt: Outfit/White/Celebration
Word Count: 822

Author's Notes: So I need to explain a bit of the process here. I started with the prompt of outfit, thinking on the Mother Confessor's dress. Which of course, lead to me thinking about a white dress. Then I was probably watching way too much of "Say Yes to the Dress" (a show about brides finding their wedding gowns) so I thought about white dresses in that context. That brought me to weddings (celebrations) and then this... 'cause let's face it, can you imagine that many Mother Confessors had a real "wedding" celebration?

---

Anya sat tall in her chair, regal as any queen upon her throne. She tried to ignore the stiffness of the blue cushion beneath her, or how the hard wood dug into her back if she relaxed even the littlest bit. Instead, she surveyed the wide audience hall, taking in the sight of her black gowned sisters, their daughters and mates with them. She straightened a little further, her long auburn hair slipping back as she did so, and the white sleeves of her gown falling to her sides.

“Bring him,” the Mother Confessor commanded, watching the vast doors at the far end of the hall.

The doors opened, and a tall, broad shouldered man was walked into the audience chamber, a guard to either side of him. His chains rang as he walked, providing a dark melody for his march to her. The three men stopped far short of the Mother Confessor in her chair, but close enough for her to ask, “Samuel Cooper, do you know why you have been brought here?”

The prisoner sneered and looked around the hall.

“Yeah, so I can be confessed by one of you bitches.”

“The elders have determined that you are indeed guilty of the crimes to which you have been accused. As punishment for those crimes, you are to be confessed and made to serve those you have harmed.”

Anya paused, taking a breath as she studied the man before her, from his dark hair to his equally dark leather boots. Samuel smirked in response. “Like what you see girl?”

“No,” the Mother Confessor replied plainly. “But that is not required, for either of us. What is required is that you make a choice, the last choice you will ever be allowed to make for yourself, so I suggest that you consider it carefully.”

Anya rose.

“You will indeed be confessed by me, Samuel, and cease to be the man, the murderer, you have been in this life. Your thoughts will no longer belong to you; neither your body, nor your actions ever again dictated by your own desire or will. All of it will belong to me, til death do we part. Before this happens, I offer you a choice, and it is this, after you are confessed you may either be sent south to the Brothers of Alreic, there to serve as the Brothers see fit. Or you may remain here, as my mate.”

Samuel gave her another smirking grin as he looked her up and down.

“Let me get this straight, either I get to go be a monk in some backwater village down south, or stay here and be your husband?”

“Do you see a priest here? Are those gathered here a happy congregation of well-wishers?” Anya asked in reply, watching as Samuel did indeed look around to the solemn faces surrounding him. When he finally looked back to the woman before him, the smirk had fallen from his face.

“The Mother Confessor shall be no man's wife, and you, Samuel Cooper, shall be no woman's husband, no matter your choice in these last moments of your life... Now chose,” Anya said quietly, rising from her chair, her white gown falling down around her legs.

Samuel swallowed audibly, and straightened his own spine before looking around himself once more, this time paying close attention to the men and young girls gathered with the confessors. He looked back to Anya where she still stood before her chair.

“I'll stay,” he answered simply.

“Release this man from his chains.”

The guards did as the Mother Confessor had commanded and stepped back as she came forward to stand before their prisoner.

“One question,” Samuel said as Anya stood before him. “Why me? You could have a prince, a king, any man you want... why chose a broken solider from Bluecove; a murderer?”

Anya paused, considering the wisdom of telling the man before her the truth. She took a breath.

“I have been told that I shall one day bear a son, though I might hope for daughters.”

“That's an answer?” Samuel asked, clearly confused by her response.

“It is,” the confessor replied simply. “Though I hope, for both of our sakes that you never learn why.”

Suddenly, she reached forward and curved her hand around Samuel's neck, and before he could even flinch in response, Anya released her power into him, sending him to his knees. She stumbled back as the weight of confession left her and filled him. It took only moments before Samuel was asking her, “Mistress, how may I serve you?”

Anya looked to the man kneeling before her; the man that might someday have to kill her son. She smoothed her hands once over the white Mother Confessor's dress she wore before answering, “Give me daughters...”