Disclaimer:Legend of the Seeker belongs to Terry Goodkind, and all the grand high mucky mucks of course. No copyright infringement is intended and no money was made from this little ficlit. Any similarity to any other fic not my own is coincidence.
Genre: Family Fluff; Richard/Kahlan; Richard POV
Timeline/spoilers: Post series
Notes:Written for "trick or treat" meme. Oh, and yes, it really is just a little piece of silly fluff.
"Oh..." Kahlan cried in distress, watching as the gooey concoction she had been baking slid with a molasses-like slowness out of the pan and landed with a wet thump on the kitchen table. "Oh..." she repeated, nearly stomping her foot in frustration. "Oh, what's wrong with it now?" She asked no one but herself before pursing her lips to blow back one of the loose curls that tickled against her cheek. "I don't understand."
She turned a liquid blue gaze toward me before again pursing her lips and blowing a quick puff of air in the direction of yet another loose curl.
"Kahlan? What are you doing?" I asked as I walked into the large kitchen and over to where she stood.
She blew at one of the dark curls that slipped forward to tickle her nose, and I gently reached a hand out to brush it back behind her ear.
"Kahlan, you dorealize that it's three in the morning," I asked softly with a small smile as I brushed back the rest of the curling tendrils of her hair.
She returned my smile with a quiet one of her own.
"I know," she replied
"Then may I ask why you're suddenly filled with the need to be bake at three in the morning, love?" I asked, brushing my thumb over the tell-tale smudges of flour decorating her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
"It's when she was born. A year ago, today, at three in the morning, Amnettte was born."
I smiled and tenderly brushed away the last small dusting of flour that graced her cheek.
"And it's her first, Richard, so I just..." my wife explained softly. "It's her first," she repeated giving a small shrug of her shoulders. "It's silly, I know."
Kahlan looked around with distress at her failed attempts.
"Maybe I should just let Mistress Sanderholt..."
"No Kahlan," I interrupted gently. "No..."
I kissed her softly on the forehead and then reached for her hand. I lead her back to the scattered mix of bowls on the kitchen table. "Here, I'll help you; we'll make it together."
She smiled. "Together?"
I returned her smile with one of my own.