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Chapter Text

Moiraine clawed her way back to consciousness and wished she had not. She felt no pain, but she was rather have had pain, if it came with what was missing inside herself. In spite of what she knew, she reached out and felt nothing. Saidar was gone. Or not gone, precisely, but beyond her reach. She attempted to put it out of her mind and focused on her surroundings.  Anaiya and Siuan were seated in chairs on one side of the bed in which she lay, guarded expressions on their ageless faces. The feeling of kinship, of sisterhood, that she felt for a woman who could channel, that she had always felt in the presence of either woman, for as long as she had known them – nearly sixteen years, more than half her life, now – was gone.

And so was another presence.  “Lan,” she cried out. “Is he - ?”

“Alive,” said Siuan roughly. “We found him unconscious beside you, but there’s nothing wrong with him, besides the usual effects of a bond breaking.”

“Myrelle has bonded him,” Anaiya added soothingly.  “She has already saved one gaidin from the effects of a sister’s death, and she believes she can do the same for him.”

Moiraine relaxed a little. At least she had not killed Lan with her carelessness. Trying to confront the Black sister she thought she had discovered by herself… Memories flashed in spite of her attempts to shut them away, the feel of the shield sliding between her and the True Source, the flash of alarm as the Darkfriend with the hidden features encountered the ter’angreal Moiraine had found a year before in a library - in Ghealdan of all places - and the twisting sensation as the shield was wrenched away by its weaver’s death…

“I thought there was another sister nearby,” Moiraine told her friends, keeping her face still. “Was she all right? Did she see what happened?”

“No one else was found,” Anaiya told her.  “Do you remember what happened, Moiraine?  How you came to be…?”

“No, it’s all a blur,” Moiraine said slowly.  I was walking the grounds, I thought I felt a sister nearby, I turned to look and I saw something on the ground that caught my eye… Then I woke here.”

The two Aes Sedai exchanged glances.  “They found this in your hand,” said Siuan, holding up what looked like a blacksmith’s puzzle, but made of some soft, yet seemingly unbreakable, material.  Each piece had been made of a different color, but now, they were twisted, fused and solid black.  It had been the ter’angreal Moiraine had found, that seemingly held weaves of the Power until certain conditions were met.  Moiraine had not considered being shielded to be a possible trigger.

What was more interesting to Moiraine right now was that she had just lied.  The Three Oaths no longer held her. Well, one of them was pointless, since using the Power for anything was beyond her capacity, let alone desire.  And without it, she would not have the slightest idea how to go about making a weapon.

Glancing about the room, she realized something else.  “These are not my rooms.”

A spasm of pain or anger, or maybe both, twisted Siuan’s features, but Anaiya put a hand on her wrist before she could speak. “It was decided that it would be best to move your things out of them as they are in the Aes Sedai living areas. Better for you not to have to return to them this way.  Your clothes are packed for travel in several bags and a chest in the sitting room here, and your other goods have been put into storage.  They can be taken wherever you desire, if you wish to return to one of your estates in Cairhien, or take up residence somewhere else…”

She was in the guest quarters of the White Tower.  She would have expected no less had she thought about it.  She was no longer Aes Sedai. She was not a part of the White Tower.  It was simple truth, not cruelty.  From a certain perspective, the actions taken by her former sisters could be a kindness.  Better if she went off on her own, where she would not have to be around women who were once her closest friends, and now could no longer be.  Better not to have to be around women who still had what she had lost.

“I thank you,” she said, before lying back on the pillow and closing her eyes, feigning weariness.  “I will make plans when I have my strength back.”  Her words were a dismissal, and after a moment, she heard the rustle of cloth, as the two sisters left, and perhaps a whisper of Anaiya urging Siuan out. She did not want them to see her weep.

…

Moiraine stared pensively at the docks of Maeron. She had disembarked the day before from the Spray, a brand new riverboat making a trip from the Borderlands to Tear, and now she was ostensibly prepared to take a carriage to a small estate her sister Anvaere had owned before her death last fall, in the south of the country. Now the Spray was putting off to continue its journey, a carriage, with the few things she had brought with her from the Tower, was heading south to deliver the baggage to the manor house, and, hopefully, Moiraine Damodred was disappearing into a quiet retirement before dying from being stilled (what else was there to do).

But Moiraine had undertaken a duty ten years gone and there was no one else.  Lan had been her companion, had been as committed to their mission as she could wish, and was now beholden to Myrelle. The one conversation they had managed in private since her recovery had been brief, but they had agreed it was too soon to be sure enough of Myrelle to tell her the truth.  Lan would have to wait for his opportunity to prove it to himself.  Siuan had delved deep into the politics of the White Tower, and the Blue Ajah, the better to support the search inside the Tower, but the price of that advantage was now she was too thoroughly enmeshed in those same politics and administrative duties to leave to take up the search herself. Doubtless she would have her own eyes-and-ears and the formidable network of the Blue Ajah hunting for clues and doing what she could to keep searching, but it would be months, maybe years, before she could get away to hunt in person, and there was only so much eyes-and-ears could do in this sort of search.

There was no one else, so it fell to Moiraine. She might not have the One Power – she had nothing, not even hope - or the authority of an Aes Sedai – all she had given her life to, gone, as if it never was - but she had a mind and a will and she was not without resources in her own right. She had cultivated a network of informants for her personal use, and she possessed the considerable incomes from her estates as a scion of House Damodred.  And she had her list.  As she had perused the list of names, largely begun under the cover of keeping records for a charity project of the White Tower at the end of the Aiel War, and added to, as well as eliminated, in the ensuing decade, she had been forced to reluctantly put a considerable number of them aside, as too difficult or too dangerous to seek. For the time being.  Now her list had been winnowed, and she intended to make her way across the breadth of Andor, and then take a ship south to Altara and then Amadicia, where the Children of the Light would no longer have any interest in her (she was useless).

A ferry boat pulled up and travelers from the Andoran side of the river began coming ashore.  Soon enough she would be taking the ferry back to Arangill, where she could obtain clothing, and mounts suited to a wandering scholar. “Alys. Alys Demarin.” Her new name sounded odd in her mouth, but she would learn to answer to it as readily as the one she was born with.  At least she could say straight out it was her name.

Chapter Text

“Well, there’s the downcountry folk,” bellowed a merchant’s guard, in a faint Shienarian accent, having enjoyed his brandy a little too much to control his voice.  “They’re worse than those miners”.  His table companion, more sober, or at least more quiet, said something Moiraine could not hear. “No, no.  The miners are a crude and rough lot, I’ll grant you.  But you don’t have to deal direct with them to buy your ingots.  When you go downcountry, for the wool and tabac, everyone’s a shepherd or farmer, the innkeepers all expect you to behave like their neighbors and the mayors are no worldlier than the herdsmen.” 

Another assertion at the table brought the loud response “You’d think! But all the girls would as soon scrape you off their shoe as kiss or cuddle and the older women hang about glaring if you try to sweet talk one of the pretty young things.  And for all they act all polite and meek, trying to get them to lower the price of wool a clipped cooper is like asking a rock nicely to roll aside!  They all have fancy names and think highly of themselves.  No respect for a man of substance, or a former captain in the Great Coalition.  They call themselves al’Card or al’Dai or al’Verr, as if they were princes!”

Alys paid the man little mind as she returned to her rooms to gather her things to take ship south for the next leg of her search, but something he said stuck in her ear. After a moment, she dug into the pouch at her waist and pulled out her notebook.  Ignoring the modified list, she flipped to one of the earliest versions, where she had listed all the names in order to find more easily, before she had broken it down by nation and later, by likelihood of finding them. 

There, in her handwriting from when she had copied the name from her last set of lists to her current notebook; Kari al’Thor, From Andor? She tapped her lips thoughtfully. Down-country…from Baerlon?  There was also that report she had paid little mind, of what sounded like a young wilder with the Foretelling.  She had not intended to go to Baerlon, as she was no longer concerned with gathering girls who could channel for the Tower.  True, the report had seemed to describe something other than a wilder, but to an ordinary woman – As I am, now, Alys reminded herself – the One Power could appear to be something strange and miraculous. But if she was going to be exploring around Baerlon, perhaps she might look in on the girl. If she was something new, there might an advantage to Alys’ search.

…

“The rest of the winter,” Alys said flatly.  Staring at the stout older woman, whose braid was more white than gray, she forced herself to remain still and serene out of long habit. “How can you be sure?  Snows do melt, even in winter.”

“I am sorry, Mistress Alys, but this winter is going to be colder than most.  It won’t start warming up until we get close to Bel Tine.  I’ve been Listening to the Wind for more than forty years now, and I know a hard winter when I hear one.”

Alys wanted to throw something.  Casual conversations in Watch Hill had gleaned the mention of an “al’Thor” family in Emond’s Field, but she had not wanted to openly show any interest.  She was no longer an Aes Sedai, accompanied by a warder.  If the parents didn’t want to believe her, or let her take the boy, she had no way to make them.  Oh, eventually, she could get word to Siuan, and then something might be done.  But it would be weeks at best before sisters could reach this remote district, and in the meanwhile, the family could flee or the Black Ajah might learn of her discovery. It would be best not to give the slightest hint of her interest or intentions until she knew how matters stood.

Unfortunately, with a foot of snow on the ground, the villagers would be confined to their homes, and there would be scant reason to go tramping from house to house looking for Kari al’Thor, to ask if she had a boy-child and where and when it had been born. If Kari was even her name. If she even was in the right district. Asking some of the older villagers in Watch Hill about the history of the Two Rivers, she had discussed how many names in the area derived from antiquity and a casual question revealed that Kari was a name no one there had ever heard before. They didn’t think it sounded like a Two Rivers name at all. It was always possible that the Accepted writing the name, or the woman repeating it to her, had got it wrong, which was why Alys was pursuing the al’Thor family so delicately. But ten years of searching had yielded little but frustration.  Even the satisfaction of eliminating names from the list had begun to feel hollow. What if one day they were all accounted for, and she still had no idea of where the Dragon Reborn was being raised?

Alys retired to her rooms with a tea kettle and some bread, intending to go over the lists yet again and make what plans she could.  There were notes collected from her eyes and ears that had been forwarded to her, which she could review as well. She had no desire to sit alone in an empty common room and draw the curiosity of the innkeepers and their scant custom.

As the morning wore on, however, it became clear from the sounds downstairs that the inn was not emptying at all.  Rather it seemed to be filling up. When she went down to the common room for the noon meal, she found it, if not full, still rather crowded, with every table occupied.   One of the innkeepers’ daughters passed Alys to mount the stairs, and she stopped the young woman for a moment.

“Alene, why have so many come to the inn with the weather as it is?” The eldest and most level-headed of the girls who helped their parents run the Winespring Inn, she loved to read and was fascinated by “Mistress Alys”, constantly asking questions about far off and exotic lands.  Alys felt a bit sorry for her, as she’d be wasted spending her life in an inn. With her curiosity and sense, she’d do very well in the Tower, if she had been able to channel.

“Oh, they’re from some of the outlying farms, they live too far out to be safe alone in this snow.  Smaller families, folk who are in poor health and might need Mistress Barran, women without enough men in the house and such.  They’ll stay here and bring the flocks into the village square.  The men are building a shelter, so the wool isn’t ruined by this cold, come spring.  Pardon me, Mistress Alys, I have to open more bedrooms.” She hoisted an armload of bed linens for Alys’ notice with an apologetic smile and darted up the stairs.

So Alys would be shut up with a flock of displaced shepherds, as well. Suppressing a sigh, she moved further into the common room and took a seat at one of the tables.  One of Alene’s younger sisters, Loise, Alys thought, came to ask if she wanted anything and left to fetch a midday repast.  A girl only slightly older than Loise was at a nearby table with a crowd of younger children, leading them through reading and writing lessons.

“No Wil,” the girl hissed.  “Put that down and pick up your book.”  Alys expected a threat to tell the child’s parents, but it seemed the children’s minder had her flock in hand. Putting the children out of her mind, she returned to her notebook.  Finishing a bowl of stew that seemed made to be more filling than tasty, and two cups of tea while she studied, let time pass and soon enough the girl was waving off her charges to find their mothers.  One boy remained at the table and after a brief murmured talk, the older girl left him there and went her way.

Sometime later, finding nothing new in her notes, and thoroughly bored and disgusted with being snowbound in a backwater village, Alys rose from the table and stretched as her gaze swept the less populated common room.  The boy from the lessons was still sitting by the hearth, his head bent over a book.  Many of the other guests had gone out, though some tables were still occupied by women sewing or sorting clothes and other manner of domestic tedium while the men were off doing whatever one did with sheep in an unexpected snowstorm. Suddenly something odd struck her, and she whipped a glance back to the child by the hearth. The boy had red-gold hair! In all the Two Rivers, Alys had not seen any hair that was not dark, unless pale with age.  The eyes too, were all dark.

Curiously Alys moved closer, and his head raised to meet her gaze.  His eyes were as light as his hair, a pale blue, and looked wary. As she drew near, he rose in a clumsy attempt at courtesy.

“Good day, young man,” Alys greeted him.  She was not an expert at children but had met more than a few in her travels seeking out mothers, and she was confident of being able to at least have a conversation with one. “Where is your mother?”

“She died.” The boy frowned at her. “Everyone knows that. Are you a stranger?”

Alys was momentarily nonplussed but recovered her equanimity quickly.  “I am, or I would imagine I would have known.  I am sorry to hear of her passing.  What was her name?”

“It was years ago.  I put flowers on her grave in the spring,” he said.  “Her name was Kari al’Thor.”

Alys felt light-headed. Kari al’Thor was from the Two Rivers! She had not come here chasing ducks, as Siuan would have said. And this might very well be her son. “How old are you, young master…?”

Though she had offered him an opening to tell her his name, the boy lacked the grace to take it. “I’m ten, my name day was last month.” He had been born in the right month! “Why do you want to know?”

“You just seem young to be all on your own,” Alys pointed out.  “Was the girl here before your sister?”

The boy snorted.  “Nynaeve was just minding us.  She’s Mistress Barran’s apprentice, so she likes to practice being in charge for when she’s Wisdom herself.  I’m still here because my da is talking with the rest of the Council, and we have to stay at the inn for a few days.”

“I have to stay here, as well,” Alys confided in the boy. “I have been traveling around the Two Rivers, but now it seems I cannot.”

“Why do you want to travel around?” the boy asked. “What about your house? Do you have a husband?”

“I do not,” Alys retorted, partly affronted but more amused. “I am a scholar.  I have been collecting stories of ancient places and examining the ruins.”

“Are there stories of ancient places here?” asked the boy curiously.

“Not so far,” she told him. “Though once a great nation called Manetheren stood on the same land as the Two Rivers.”  The boy looked impressed, so she asked him directly, “What’s your name, lad?”

“I’m Rand, Rand al’Thor, mistress.”

“It is good to meet you, Rand al’Thor,” said Alys. Better than you can know. “My name is Alys Demarin.”

----

“I will be staying in the Two Rivers for some time,” Alys told Lorsa.  The woman did not look up from her ledgers.  So far as the mining factor knew, Alys was a courier from their mutual employer in the White Tower. Not someone worth more of her attention than necessary. Nor that Alys was the woman who employed her. Alys Demarin was just an ordinary woman, of no interest to her beyond their mistress’ business

 “A number of messages and reports will come to me, here.  I will require you to redirect them to me at the Winespring Inn in Emond’s Field until such time as I tell you otherwise.” Lorsa Colvan’s head rose and she blinked several times as her watery brown eyes met Alys’s. Alys could understand her confusion.  The Two Rivers was a dead end, not on the path between any other places. “I have been tasked with sorting them and forwarding summaries on to their destination, and the Two Rivers is as good a place to avoid notice for the time being.”  Lorsa’s curiosity remained in her eyes, but she knew better than to ask why a fellow correspondent would be working out of a remote farming district. “Should anyone ask, I have returned to Whitebridge and you will happily send word there.  Of course, you will discretely pass the news of their inquiry to me, as well.”

Lorsa pursed thin lips as she pushed the heavy book away from herself, rested her elbows on the desk where it had sat and steepled her fingers. “I will be happy to comply with all of these instructions, though I trust confirmation will come from upriver?”  Alys nodded. “Upriver” meant their mistress in Tar Valon.  There were other couriers, other eyes and ears who would send the messages she required, with the code phrases attesting to their authority, and soon enough Lorsa Colvan would be bending over backward to obey Alys’ requests.  “If you wish word to come to you quickly, you should have a few birds to send back and forth.  I can give you the instructions so they will learn to fly between my loft and wherever you are staying. You can take a cage back with you, feed them properly and release some of them to me.  They will thereafter fly from here to that place, and I can have word to you in little more than half a day.” 

That would be useful. Still, suspicions long ingrained by years in the White Tower and Daes Daemar made Moiraine ask.  “Is there any way the pigeons could be used to find me?” 

Lorsa chuckled.  “A good horse can outrun a pigeon’s flight.  For a very short distance, over flat ground, but not the hills, woods and river the pigeons will fly above between Baerlon and any place downcountry.  No one will find you, lass, though our mistresses will not be kept in the dark by me.”

“Good,” Alys smiled.  “There is just one more matter I want to attend before returning…downcountry.  My clothing has taken considerable wear in the Two Rivers this winter and I need a seamstress. Or perhaps two or three to get it all done quickly, if you know of any?”

Lorsa paused thoughtfully. “Well, Mistress Eldwen serves my own needs, though she is a touch slow.  If you wish to set several at once, I would suppose you’d prefer them under the same roof?” Alys nodded though the question was clearly rhetorical.  “I have heard of a trio of sisters who work out of their house by the Mountain Gate. I believe their name is Farshaw.”  Moiraine smiled. Perfect.

Chapter Text

“So you’re going then, Lan?” Alric leaned on the door of Lan’s quarters in the Warder barracks.  Myrelle often preferred to keep her gaidin in her own rooms, but Lan had moved into these quarters not long after she had bonded him and slept there every night in Tar Valon without a direct order from his Aes Sedai.  For one, it was more comfortable, despite the comparatively lesser luxury, being away from Myrelle and her other warders.  But he had not agreed to be bonded by the Green sister, had not even been asked, and he would not pretend he was bonded to her by choice.  That was done now, however, and Lan was done with Tar Valon and Aes Sedai. 

“I am, Alric.” For good, he hoped, though with what he knew, it seemed unlikely given the times the world faced ahead. “Myrelle released me today.”  Not beforetime, but she ran out of excuses to claim he still needed care to protect him from the consequences of his bond to Moiraine abruptly breaking.  In truth, it was not so bad as he had been led to believe, but perhaps that was only the nature of the severing. Moiraine had been burnt out, not killed, after all.  And unbeknownst to Myrelle, he had business elsewhere.  The best thing he could do, for the Borderlands, for the world and for the memory of Malkier. Beyond that, what was the importance of preserving his life a little longer?  Three years, wasted.

“Well, you’ll be missed.  By Hammar, if not his students.  I heard him saying you were his favorite cure for the advanced lads who got too full of themselves. And by the rest of us, if Myrelle Sedai does not know what she’s letting go.”

“Myrelle did not want me to go, I’m just done with being a warder,” Lan replied.  Not that it was anyone’s business, but Myrelle had saved his life, and he would not let the gaidin wrongly think less of her.

Alric nodded.  “There’s some who say you can’t work with another sister if your first was a good match. Probably for the best we seldom get the chance to find out.”  Shrugging away from the door frame, he extended a hand, which Lan took in a brief farewell, before the warder turned to go.

Lan turned away from the door and bent to pick up his saddlebag, and used the pretext to glance at the note left in his palm when Alric pulled his hand back.  Printed in a non-descript hand, Lan had seen enough messages to Moiraine from Siuan Sanche to recognize, if not her formal handwriting, her way of writing when she did not want her authorship known.  It was certainly succinct, the brief glance sufficed, and Lan crumpled the note against the bags as he heaved them over his should.  The tiny ball of paper would fall into the Erinin as he left the island, and no one else would read it. 

“Emond’s Field, Two Rivers district, Andor”

----

Emond’s Field, in the Two Rivers district of Andor, was about as good a hiding place as you could ask, if you planned to hide an important figure of prophecy from the Black Ajah until he was a grown man.  With the possible exception of Devan’s Ride, the one village deeper in the district and even further from any road to any place where the people outnumbered the sheep. Hiding was Lan’s cover story.  Andra was a former armsman, let go after his master’s death from illness, with some coin put aside, looking for a peaceful place to rusticate.  

Oblique questions about the area to various men gave Andra some ideas as to his approach.  He took his horse deep into the Westwood and up toward the foothills of the Mountains of Mist which the locals called the Sand Hills, before turning south and finding a clearing near a spring, close enough to have an eye on the ancient track that led from somewhere in the mountains, to Emond’s Field itself.  Presumably from a quarry that no one remembered, as it was called the Quarry Road.  There he set up a camp and turned to building a small cabin.  He made himself a bow and a handful of arrows, and a few spears to support his claim to make a living by hunting, and kept to himself, not seeking out any neighbors, much less what he had, in fact, come to the Two Rivers to find.

He had been living in his clearing for just over a month, and the spring was heading to summer when he heard a man approaching through the brush from the quarry road.  The man moved carefully, but also not taking any particular pains to be stealthy.  Lan kept splitting the tree trunk he had cut down into logs. He was no carpenter, but he had been trained in all facets of war, including the erection of siege engines and field defenses, and stacking rough logs securely to make a house was not too different.  The blisters on his hands had faded into calluses that merged with those he already had from a lifetime of handling steel for other purposes.

He heard the man clear his throat, and put down the axe, turning to greet the newcomer.  A stocky, tough-looking fellow in the typical farmer’s garb of the district, he carried a longbow, but no other weapons.  “Greetings, neighbor,” he said simply, looking Andra up and down. “I’ve heard talk in the village that an outsider was settling down in the Westwood, and I thought I would see for myself before our neighbors grew too worried.” 

“Nothing to worry about,” Andra replied shortly.  “I’m Andra, and I’m looking for a place to stay out of trouble.  Had enough of that ever since the Aiel came.”

“No trouble here but what you brought with you,” said the stranger easily. “But we’re not much interested in having any trouble brought here.  If it’s going to come looking for you, it would be better to move along.” Another glance up and down Andra and he added, “You’re a little tall to hide behind Two Rivers folk.”

“If I thought I had trouble, I’d have dealt with it myself,” Andra snorted. “I’m not much for hiding behind others.  I’m happy to help my neighbors if it’s important, so long as we can leave each other in peace the rest of the time.”

“Well enough,” said the newcomer, stepping forward to offer a hand.  “My name is Tamlin al’Thor.  Neighbors call me Tam.”

---

Al’Thor proved a good enough neighbor, if you could call a man who lived most of a day’s walk away a neighbor.  But there were few other homes this deep in the Westwood, and Andra was the farthest out from the village in this direction.  Tam al’Thor came by a few times to loan Andra some tools and advice on putting some finer touches on his construction work, and once bringing fletching supplies with a pointedly disdainful look at Andra’s bow.  Andra had no doubt he was dealing with a man who’d worn a soldier’s coat and seen the wolf, but he was also a Two Rivers native and seemingly a man of respect in the area. 

As his hut neared completion, al’Thor came by, this time seeking tracks of a wolf that had been near his sheep.  Andra had seen signs of one, but as his horse would make short work of a single wolf, and his meat was kept out of its reach, had not bothered with it.  He realized being a good neighbor might entail being slightly more helpful where threats to the sheep were concerned. 

Trying to repair any suspicion he might have incurred, Andra indicated he’d be finished in a day or less and would return Tam’s tools the following day.  Tam thanked him, assured him he could take all the time he needed, and if he brought them at sundown, he’d be welcome to stay for dinner, and continued following the wolf’s trail.

So it was that the next evening as the sun began disappearing behind the Mountains of Mist, Andra carried a satchel of tools down the Quarry Road to the described location of the al’Thor farm. A dinner with farm folk would not be too tedious he hoped, and with any luck, he might be able to ply the family for word of other newcomers, and find a way to make contact with Moiraine.

Presently he arrived at the farm, to see al’Thor emerging from the barn, alongside a younger man.  As they drew closer, Andra revised his estimate. The other man was a boy, gangly and an inch or so taller than al’Thor, with reddish hair, a startling contrast to the rest of the Two Rivers.  From the size of his hands and shape of his limbs, Andra estimated he was well short of his full growth.  Perhaps fourteen or so years of age. Maybe thirteen if he truly was tall... Just about right. No way to know if this lad was whom they sought, but Andra intended to determine his birthplace just as soon he could. 

“Andra,” called al’Thor.  “Come meet my son, Rand.  Rand, lad, this is Andra Northlake.  He’s settling down up the road from us.” 

“Good to me you, Rand al’Thor,” said Andra, offering the boy a hand.

“You as well, Master Andra,” replied Rand, his voice cracking on the name as he tentatively shook Andra’s hand with a firm grip, as a boy still uncertain of his strength. 

Proffering the satchel, Andra nodded at the other man. “I’ve brought your tools back, Tam.  I’m in your debt. I’d be less than half done without them.”

“Glad to be of help,” said Tam. “You’re a Two Rivers man now, and we have stick together.  Speaking of which, come inside. We’re just about to have dinner.”  The older man led the way to the farmhouse, while Andra and Rand followed, the boy clearly working up his nerve to question Andra, most likely about what any place other than the Two Rivers was like.

“Where are you from, Master Andra?” he finally blurted.

“I was born in Malkier,” he replied, surprising himself with his truthful answer, “but I grew up largely in Shienar and I spent most of my youth in the borderlands, before I entered service.  Then I traveled a good deal before taking my discharge.”  The bare bones of the truth, but not the whole. A man learned a great deal serving an Aes Sedai for well, near as long as Rand al’Thor had been alive. Village boys were usually curious about the rest of the world, and if he managed to fascinate the lad, so much the better to ask him questions in turn. And if needed, the admiration of one youth could get him introductions to others the same age…

They passed into the farmhouse, Rand stopping to scrape his boots clean, and Andra following his example, as a musical voice near the fire said something about another plate. 

Andra glanced up to see a woman in country garb lifting a stewpot off the hearth her back to the door. 

Tam came over to the table, a plate and eating implements in his hand.  “Come sit” he called, “before the boy talks your ear off.  This is Andra, dear” he addressed the last over his shoulder in the direction of his wife.

“Andra,” Tam continued, as she turned with the pot to face the men, her big dark eyes twinkling with amusement, “this is my wife, Alys.”

Chapter Text

In the Blight, a man learned quickly to overcome his own surprise and deal with what he faced.  A warder could not afford to be surprised when protecting his Aes Sedai.  Andra had long experience at both, and likely for that reason, did not betray by facial expression his astonishment at finding… Alys … in the role of Mistress al’Thor.  Her own amusement showed she was not fooled after near a decade working together, just as that same experience was all that let him see her amusement for what it was.

Taking at seat at one of the five places set at the long oaken table, Andra gave a subtle motion of his head in the direction of the boy, Rand, and cocked an eyebrow at Alys. She gave an imperceptible nod. So.  The boy was the one. Rand al’Thor was the Dragon Reborn. He had quite a few other questions but his mission since being bonded by Moiraine now had narrowed to a single task. Protect the boy. Of course, that would be a good trick, living as he did an hour’s ride away, but Lan would find a way. 

Andra’s contemplation was disrupted by a clatter at the back door, and he tensed, noting the places of Rand and Moiraine relative to whatever was at the door, before he heard it open and close and then a young woman emerged from the next room, breathless in her haste.  “I’m sorry I’m late, Mistress Dautry took longer than she thought.”

The al’Thors paid her entrance little mind, other than for Tam to say “We’ve just sat down, lass, nothing to fuss over.  Just wash up and join us.”

When she joined them at the table, Tam introduced her to Andra as “Min Farshaw, from Baerlon.”  Taller than Alys, not that many weren’t, she was nearly full grown, but dressed in boy’s clothes, with rather short hair. She gave Andra a strange second look as they exchanged polite greetings, and he could tell Alys made note of it.

Over the course of the evening, he ascertained that Alys was apparently a scholar who had come to the Two Rivers looking for remnants of Manetheren, and her attempts to explore the location of the ancient city repeatedly brought her into proximity with the al’Thors and things had progressed between her and Tam.  She had also intervened when Min ran into some unspecified trouble back home in Baerlon and the girl’s aunts had thought it prudent to send her to Emond’s Field to study under Alys. Alys was now compiling her notes and planning to write up her findings, but of course, her family life kept her busy.  She said the last with a smile and an implication that she was not unduly bothered by the interruption of those plans.

“She’s a fine scholar,” Tam defended his wife stoutly, unaware that she would cheerfully have tossed all her notes into the kitchen fire to stay close to his son.  “She’s taught Rand and Min a great deal in just a couple of years.” The two younger people gave sour grimaces at that.

“We have to learn the Old Tongue,” Rand muttered.

“And history and all sorts of boring things,” Min added, shaking her head.

“The battles are not so bad,” Rand allowed. “But no one in the Two Rivers speaks the Old Tongue. Or cares how you talk at the courts of the Borderlands.”

“It’s all useful to learn. What if you decide to travel one day?” Tam said in the tone suggesting they were going through the motions of an old argument.

Rand rolled his eyes, but Min just shrugged as if Tam had hit home. So Moiraine was preparing him for what he might need to do ahead. But what was the rest of her plan? She had clearly communicated her location to Siuan Sanche, or he would not have learned of it from her, but did they intend Siuan to come and fetch the boy to the Tower?  And what was her plan with this Min girl?  She was certainly old enough to channel or be tested, but Moiraine would already have had her going to the Tower if that was her interest there.  Beyond that, there was no reason for her to involve herself with this girl, especially so close to everything she had been working for since before they had met. But until he knew where things stood with Tam al’Thor, they were hardly the sort of questions Andra could raise at the dinner table, nor could a relative stranger seek a private word with a farmwife. If Moiraine had decided marrying the boy’s father was the best way to get access to him, Andra would do nothing to jeopardize the relationship. 

He found himself regretting Moiraine becoming burned out for more than what she had suffered.  Had she still been an Aes Sedai, their quest would have long since been accomplished, with no complications.

-----

Andra didn’t immediately get a chance to speak with Alys.  He began gravitating more and more to the al’Thor farm, passing by on hunting trips, stopping in when he rode down to Emond’s Field on one pretext or another, and doing all he could to make himself useful to Tam on his visits.  He also looked for opportunities to share a word or two with Rand, and answer his questions about “outside” as they referred to the world beyond the Tarendrelle. He most definitely did not seek opportunities to talk to Alys.  If it came up, it would, and if there was a chance or a need to speak, Alys would find or arrange it. Better to go slow than risk losing their access to the boy through a breach of propriety.  Though if it came to it, Lan had no doubt he could take Rand away, whatever Tam wanted. 

Alys herself had not been very forthcoming on her reasons.  All she said, when he did have a chance to ask, was that it was the best she could do as an ordinary woman.  Andra was skeptical, she was a formidable woman even without the Power, possessed of singular determination and considerable intelligence.  Still, she had the lay of the land better than he did.  Andra determined to wait and watch.  They were no longer Aes Sedai and Warder, he was no longer sworn to obey, but he would follow Alys’ lead on this.

Patience paid off.  Rand broke his arm on some boyish mischief or other and Andra showed up just in time to help Tam bring in the tabac harvest and sit with the boy while he guarded the sheep, yet unable to draw his bow.  With Andra’s help, Tam carried out some repairs on the barn and sheds and put a new wing on the farmhouse, giving the youngsters more room to sleep.  Or more precisely, giving Min a room upstairs near her foster parents’, while Rand remained on the ground floor, their bedrooms previously being a hastily rigged division of the existing rooms that the older couple seemed to think inappropriate given their ages.  Not that the young people showed any interest in one another, but even with Andra’s limited exposure to the Two Rivers, he could tell there were definite customs about what came before marriage and what waited for after. 

When not staying with the al’Thor family, Andra spent time exploring deeper into the Westwood and the Sand Hills.  He even took a trip in the spring following the Quarry Road up, into, and beyond, the Mountains of Mist.  If necessary, he and Moiraine could take Rand out of the Two Rivers that way, but he patrolled up the road from time to time to ensure no one came upon the farm unawares.  He would have felt much better had the boy been safe behind the Shining Walls. But there were dangers there as well.  Andra remembered a boy plunging to his death from the walls of the Aesdaishar Palace in Chachin just because the Black Ajah thought he might be the Dragon Reborn. Perhaps that was why Alys sought instead to educate the actual Dragon in secret here in the countryside.

In any event, he shouldn’t need protection from any threats in the Two Rivers itself.

-----

“Father, Alys!” Rand cried out at the top of his voice as he hurtled into the farmyard.  “Andra’s hurt! There was a wolf!”

“Calmly now, lad,” called Tam, hurrying out of the barn.  “Where is he?”

“In the upper meadow,” Rand panted, doubling over with his hands on his knees.  “The wolf ran off, but it tore up his hand bad and I think he broke his leg falling.”

“Take me to him,” Tam said pulling on his coat.  “Alys, bring some bandages, Min, take Aldeib to Emond’s Field and fetch the Wisdom.” Alys started, as her "student" brushed past her to run for the barn. Lan had been wounded many times since they first met, but Moiraine had always been able to Heal him. Alys could do little.  She could not even find him without the directions from a boy barely old enough to shave!  She gathered up the bag of clean linen scraps left near the door for just such eventualities and hurried after her husband and stepson. 

They found Andra lying in the meadow while the sheep grazed nearby.  He had bound up his right hand clumsily with the left, but he was unable to rise with his leg twisted at an awkward angle.  Alys had imagined he had thrown himself in front of the boy to save him, but by his own confession he had reacted prematurely, stepping in front of Rand’s bow shot and instead of scaring off the wolf, it had suddenly turned and lunged at him. 

As they carefully lifted Andra onto the shaggy carthorse Rand had fetched along with them, Tam lectured Rand on the likelihood of the wolf being vicious from mating season and reinforcing apparently long-standing lessons about standing off and staying near the flock instead of confronting the animal.  Alys realized it was probably for Andra’s benefit, but Tam had no wish to embarrass him on top of his injuries.

Mistress Barran met them at the house, Aldeib lathered and blown, having carried Min to the village at a gallop and the Wisdom back.  She did her best for Andra’s sword hand, but the wound festered and with Tam’s help, she took off his three outer fingers. The lower leg bone was shattered and had to be removed at the knee as well.  Even after all of that, Mistress Barran did not have much hope.  Andra was feverish and she was afraid his blood had been poisoned.  She gave them instructions for Andra’s care and returned to the village, having left Mistress Thane in labor, but promised to send her apprentice to look in with herbs the next day.

Perhaps some vitality from over a decade of being a warder remained in him, because while Andra was delirious the next morning, he improved markedly from the herbs and care of Mistress Barran’s apprentice.  But his days as a fighting man were done.  Tam fashioned a peg to help him stand and walk and the al’Thors insisted he stay with them, in one of the new rooms in the farmhouse, despite his protests he could not carry his weight.

Alys saw him one morning trying to work his way through the sword forms, but the old grace and ease were gone.  He could barely hold the sword in his right hand and even two-handed, it seemed to twist in his grip unexpectedly.  His halting, stumbling steps with the peg could barely keep up with his arms, where before all his limbs moved in perfect unison.

He did no better with the various chores Tam offered to make himself useful. Working with tools was hindered by his maimed hand, and heavy labor by his awkwardness with his false foot.  He began tending the sheep, while Rand helped his father with the heavier tasks around the farm.  Though Rand or Tam was never too far.  Lan could not draw a longbow with his hand, so they needed to be able to come running if he ever saw another wolf.  For weeding, planting or helping with the tabac crops, even Min was more useful than the former warrior, grumble as she would over grubbing in the dirt and turning into a hay-footed downcountry girl. 

But as the spring wore into summer, Andra grew more accustomed to his limitations and set about determinedly regaining what physical faculties he could. Unable to use a bow while guarding the sheep, he instead brought his sword to the meadow with Rand or Min. It was not long before the boy was afire with curiosity and Andra offered to show him some fighting forms, with his parents' permission. At dinner that evening, Rand broached the topic. Alys suggested perhaps the time would be better spent on his studies, and Tam just shook his head, ruefully.

“It’s not something I ever wanted for you, lad. The life of a fighting man is hard, dangerous and does things to you that it’s hard to get away from.”

"Andra didn't get hurt on a battlefield," Rand objected. A hush descended on the table.

"I've seen men get far worse on battlefields," Tam snapped. "And that's no way to talk about a man who shed blood protecting you! In any case, I meant what it does to your mind, to your soul. Fighting men don't come home unscathed, even if they haven't a mark on the their flesh."

“Now, Tam, I’m sure you didn’t mean to insult Andra at your own table,” Alys interjected apologetically. “He meant no offense, Master Andra, but Tam doesn’t like to talk about his time fighting the Aiel.”

“You fought Aiel?” Rand asked with astonishment. Alys put on a chagrined expression and darted a stricken gaze at her husband, aimed at putting him on the defensive. She had wanted Rand to get such lessons since their new neighbor appeared in their kitchen, and could not pass up the opening. Tam's guilt over Andra's injuries might be just the thing to overcome his reluctance to let the boy follow his footsteps...

Tam just sighed. “I have. And that was fighting enough for both our lifetimes. As soon as the war was done, I left the…the army and brought you and your mother home to stay.” Andra gave a minute reaction to the confirmation the boy had been born outside the Two Rivers. This was news, of course, to Rand as well. Again, to the good. It would make convincing him of certain truths easier, come the day. Min was uncharacteristically silent, her gaze darting between her hosts and Rand, as if not wanting to discourage any further revelations. Her ability was frustrating in that regard - she had turned up nothing useful for any of the household since her odd viewing of Andra when he came in the door. The oath sworn on his behalf in the cradle had been in his past, and as far as Alys could determine, her viewings had only concerned the future

“But you were a soldier,” Rand was protesting. “If you could do it, why can’t I? If learning is so important for what you want to do in life, why not learn a sword? If Andra had his sword when the wolf came...” He cut off flushing and avoiding the man's eye.

Tam snorted. “Swords seem impressive to boys, because they’re for killing and nothing else. Is that what you want, lad? To kill? If you want to put meat on the table, or protect your flock, you’d do better to master the bow. If a man comes at you, you know how to handle a quarterstaff, and you can drub him without taking his life. What’s more, you don’t attract fights with a staff or bow the way you do with a sword.” After a moment, he sighed. “But there’s no talking to a lad your age about this. If you must, and Andra is willing, you can learn. But keep to your chores. If you can't do today's work, there's no pointing in dreaming of what you might do later in life."

Rand's face lit up and he turned to Andra, expectantly. "Your father's right, but so long as you finish your work to his satisfaction, I can show you what to do with a blade."

"What about me?" Min spoke up. They, all three, turned to stare at the young woman. "Can't I learn, too?"

"You're a girl," Rand objected.

"So good of you to notice, sheepherder," she replied sweetly. "I'm also the one who was last in danger from other people, or did you forget why I live on a farm, instead of the town where I was born."

"You were threatened because of ignorance," Alys pointed out wryly. "The weapon to combat ignorance is knowledge. I see no reason why you should waste your time with a sword."

"It was knowing more than them that almost got me burned or hanged," Min retorted. "How is learning still more going to make it better? Should I throw a book at them next time?"

"You could keep quiet about what you know that others don't," Alys snapped. The girl was coming perilously close to revealing her viewings to Tam and Rand! Though, from the knowing way Rand sniggered, he seemed to think he knew what they were talking about. The girl would not learn.

"There's no reason she can't learn, too," Tam said, the near mirror of Alys' thoughts startling her. "You don't need a blacksmith's strength, or even a longbowman's, to work a sword form. Reach helps, but there's advantages in being smaller, too." He turned to look Min in the eye. "Though, the same goes for you with lessons and chores, lass. So long as you're under our roof, you'll act like a Two Rivers woman. You might be the only one to dress in breeches or learn a sword, but Two Rivers folk don't feel sorry for themselves when things go poorly for them. They do what needs doing."

Well, no wonder Andra gets along so well with them, Alys thought with some amusement. How she had come to be there herself never crossed her mind.

Chapter Text

Several years earlier…

Taraine eased herself into the chair in her study. “Sit down, please, both of you.”  The two sisters she had invited to visit – invitations with the force of one of the longest serving sitters in the Hall of the Tower, never mind that she sat for neither of their Ajahs, and stronger in the Power on top of it – exchanged suspicious glances, before complying.

“These are troubled times for the White Tower. Things have been done, sisters have behaved in a manner that cannot help but cause disunion and division. And the Ajahs are divided ever more by such causes. I have some hope the Mother may bring an end to some of this.  However, since the death of her predecessor, Marith Jaen, we in the Hall have been forced to start taking a longer view of Tower politics.  The Amyrlin serves for life, yet we are on our fourth within the last ten years. And the fact that we must call sisters out of retirement, as we have done twice in a row now to lead us speaks poorly for their longevity.”  She paused to clear her throat and eye her guests, who were shifting uncomfortably.  They had enough years in the Tower to be uncomfortable speaking of the ages of senior-most sisters, though far too few to be in the position which impelled her to call them both for this talk. Troubled times indeed.

The two girls before her both opened their mouths as if to ask Taraine to elaborate, only to be interrupted by the bustle of Alda, her maid and secretary, bringing in tea.  Clearly, of course, a servant could not hear a discussion of the business of the Hall of the Tower.  Both women subsided, settling back on their heels to await Alda’s departure.  The woman, of an age with the elder of her guests, looked the oldest in the room, but moved as spry as any of them, and darted a twinkling glance at her mistress.  She had served Taraine since she was a girl and was well aware of her tricks for putting others in their place. She prepared a cup to Taraine’s liking and handed it to the Gray Sitter, before curtseying and departing the room, with a respectful, “Aes Sedai,” to the visitors.

Taraine held the cup before her chin, but did not move to drink, simply gazed at the younger women over it. She spoke abruptly, just as each had started to shift with impatience. “The deliberations for choosing an Amyrlin are secret, of course, though I would imagine both of you have managed to learn something of how the Mother came to be raised.” 

The older sister, fiddling with her red-fringed shawl spoke up. “She was a compromise.  The Hall was deadlocked between other candidates.”

“Very good, girl.  And what did those candidates have in common with one another… but not the eventual choice of the Hall?”  The Red’s lips tightened.  At being called girl, or having her knowledge diminished by a question she could not answer.  Or both.  As Taraine intended.

Her companion spoke up. “They have all been Aes Sedai for a very short time. I don’t think one is over a hundred, while the Mother is …” she hesitated. Despite the subject matter brought up by Taraine, who had seen her two hundredth nameday before either had been born and who was distinctly stronger than they in the Power, she was still reluctant to speak of age. “The Mother had been retired for nearly a decade.”

“And what does that tell you?” Taraine asked, this time giving no hint of her opinion on the girl’s guess.

“They wanted a young Amyrlin and changed their minds,” snapped the Red.

“Indeed.” Taraine lowered her cup untouched to the tray and leaned forward.  “The Hall sought an Amyrlin to serve for more than a handful of years.  An Amyrlin of whom they could be certain. Certainty is essential for long-term planning. Queens and merchants may pride themselves if they think of five years in the future or ten or twenty. But the Tower must plan for all the world, for generations.  The world was a very different place when I was your age, and none outside the Tower remember it.  Few in those days would have dreamed of planning for today’s world, and yet, here I am, sitting in the Hall of the Tower, making decisions that shape the world every day.”

“And yet, the Hall chose a woman who might hold the Amyrlin Seat for decades, or die as suddenly as the last few,” pointed out the younger woman.

“Do you criticize your fellows in the Hall, Sitter?” asked the Red with a hint of malice.

“Spoken in ignorance of the facts,” Taraine retorted archly. “A reason many prefer maturity and experience.” The younger sister’s eyes narrowed.  Was she on the trail?  Taraine continued. “The Hall was deadlocked between four sisters of middling experience, and hopefully great longevity, before another was proposed, taking a suspect idea to an absurd degree.  By a White, of course.”  A snort and a hmm from the younger women expressed their agreement with the Tower-wide view of White Ajah logic.  “This Sitter proposed a still younger woman, who has demonstrated considerable administrative talents, reasoning that an extraordinary reputation at a young age demonstrated extraordinary ability and potential to make the most of a long term as Amyrlin.”

She leaned back in her chair.  “Another name proposed along the same vein was instantly raised, of course.  The White’s suggestion was unacceptable to a significant number of Sitters, due to long-standing issues between the Ajahs, courtesy of our current state of disunity.  And, really, both choices were unacceptable. In the first place, we were heading straight into another deadlock, when conciliation and compromise was called for, and for another, each of these young women was a symptom of what is wrong with the Tower these days. So, I raised my objections to both girls and proposed calling Romanda out of retirement, and here we are.”

“And we are the ‘girls’ you objected to, Elaida and I?” asked Siuan Sanche, though the certainty of her tone made the question rhetorical.

Elaida’s eyes narrowed and she turned to glare at Taraine. “Symptoms of what’s wrong?” she asked tightly.

“You, girl, have spent your entire time as a sister as advisor to a queen only half a dozen years younger than you, who took the throne while the Three Oaths were practically still tight on your hide.  How badly does this woman truly need you to hold her hand?  How many times have you been back to the Tower for less than a crisis on the order of the Aiel War? Once? Twice?  We need certainty.  We need sisters who can take the long view, the Tower’s view. A telling question raised in the Hall was whether the Tower would be sacrificing a voice in Morgase’s court in exchange for giving Morgase a voice in the Amyrlin’s quarters.”

Elaida drew herself up in high dudgeon, ready to protest, when Taraine turned her attention to Siuan, in time to see a smirk at Elaida’s discomfort flicker off her face. “And you, girl, seemed as a novice and Accepted just the sort who would go out into the world and do something, Whatever you Blue find important. Instead, you disappeared into the bowels of your Ajah, buried under all that Blue Ajah secrecy and plotting. I suppose your Ajah head was grooming you for a Tower office, and thus you built your reputation.  Except you seem to think giving orders to clerks and factors, or directing sisters in the name of your Ajah head is leadership.  Leadership is building consensus, something you would have learned when the Blue decided it was your turn in the Hall. It is getting others to work together, by making it worth their while or persuading them of the merits of a course of action.  Elaida could tell you as much, if she has not blinded herself to everything that goes on in the court of Andor.”

Leaning forward again, Taraine jabbed a finger at Siuan. “And, unfortunately, far too few Sitters understand that.  You might have been chosen anyway, if not for the fact that in the last year or two you have suddenly ceased to be reliable.  You have been noticed absent from the Tower when important decisions needed to be made. What is the point of choosing an Amyrlin we can be certain will be alive in ten or fifteen years, if we choose a woman about whom we cannot be certain?”

Turning to include Elaida in her gaze, Taraine continued.  “And neither of you really had a hope of being raised.  Elaida was proposed as a counter to Seaine’s nomination of Siuan, by a Brown ally of the Reds, and the whole thing turned into another of the endless squabbles between your Ajahs.  This, in particular, has caused recent elections of the Amyrlin to be so fraught.  In no case were the Reds going to stand for yet another Blue, making five of the last six, unless the entire rest of the Hall made it plain they were united behind her. And the … events… that resulted in Marith’s choice, ensure that the prejudice against Red Amyrlins, will continue for some little time at least. I am old, and I sought to end the deliberations over the next Amyrlin in my lifetime, so I attacked both of your qualifications and proposed a woman too long gone to be seen as a part of either faction.  Romanda is no friend of the Red, yet she resented the raise of two consecutive Blues which cost her first chance at the stole.”

Standing, she said “And so here we are.  I have called you here to understand the politics of the White Tower, how the rivalries of the Ajahs prevent much that is necessary from getting done.  There is not a stronger woman than either of you in your respective Ajahs, and you can expect another two hundred years wearing the shawl.  That you have already been considered for the highest office in the world suggests you have roles to play yet in setting the course of the Tower.  But as I have taken considerable pains to make clear, neither of you is remotely ready for that. And if you continue as you have, you will further endanger Aes Sedai unity with your failures to truly lead the White Tower.”   

Fixing each with a stern look, Taraine made her point. “The White Tower looked to you both for certainty, and you were unable to offer it.  I want you to think on this and discuss together what you can do for the future of the White Tower.  When next I call on you, I will expect to hear of something you both intend to do and support one another with, for the long-term good of the White Tower.  Or so help me, I will find something, and ensure the Mother is firmly convinced of the necessity to neutralize the women considered for the stole before she was.”  She dismissed them with a flick of her hand and turning her back to peruse papers on her desk beside her sitting chair.  

After a moment, the entry of Alba made it clear the younger women were gone.  Hopefully Taraine had done something good today.  There was much that had passed her by in the last few years as she withdrew from politics to pursue a more lasting peace for the world, by uniting the nations in the wake of the Aiel War, and there had been a veritable bloodbath in the shadows of the Tower, that no one acknowledged, and few seemed aware of.  The purpose of the White Tower was to consolidate power, to bring a unity of purpose to mankind, and those with the best understanding of power should guide the Tower’s course.  That required unity, and when the Shadow inevitably arose to cover the land, the Tower must strong enough to lead, the elite within her, firm in their control to guide that strength, lest the powers unleashed in the Trolloc Wars and the War of the Shadow overwhelm and subdue the Aes Sedai to their service. 

Of course, some would say it was best to be sure you had the right women in charge, and taking leadership or holding the reins in secret, but her whole life she had been a Grey and a had a more nuanced view.  Power was its own conscience.  Teach a woman to wield it properly and it did not matter which cause she served or believed in, she would act in a way that promoted order, strength… certainty.  And time to learn was short.  Her own allies and superiors had not been exactly forthcoming, but it was plain the Great Lord’s hand was in motion. 

------

“Well,” Siuan said to the air in front of her, definitely not to the woman at her side, as they marched together down a hallway tiled with the Flame of Tar Valon in gray, both sets of eyes fixed ahead to the exit from these quarters not yet in view.  “We seem to have had an enemy of the Amyrlin Seat made for us.”

“Perhaps, sister,” Elaida replied, heavy irony on the latter word, “you intend to run to her with complaints about Taraine’s advice?  You do not accept help in your climb with good grace, as I recall.  Though I have been so seldom in the Tower, it is possible I do not remember.”

“Your idea of help, sister, seems rather unique. Perhaps it Is some Andoran peculiarity?  I would say it smells like week-old fish guts, but I’ve had my nose shoved so deep into my Ajah’s paperwork, it’s a wonder I can smell anything.”

Elaida snorted. “Galina told me when I first achieved the shawl not to expect gratitude from the world.  I suppose hoping for it in the Tower was too much as well.”

“Gratitude, for keel-hauling my friend and I every day, until we were terrified of the test for the shawl?  Adding my uncle’s death, his screams as he burned to my test?” Siuan stopped and planted her feet as she glared at the Red.

Elaida’s expression was pure contempt. “First you complain my preparations were too harsh and then you complain that your test was hard?  Why do you think I was so harsh with you in practice?  It is forbidden to warn you to prepare for what will be asked of you, so all I could do was make you understand the depths to which you would be tested.  I was punished for going out of my way to help you, for coming too close to the reality of the test.  If I had held back a hair, I would have been the one keel-hauled.  And all because you went whining to the Mistress of Novices.”

“I never did, and neither did Moiraine,” Siuan retorted. “If one of our friends did, it was without our knowledge and against our wishes! I can handle anything you can wash into my nets, and Moiraine was twice as tough!”

Elaida opened her mouth and closed it again. “You did not tell?  You do not know who did?”

“I said so,” Siuan sneered.  Elaida now looked troubled.  Could the woman be developing a conscience?  

Frowning as she gazed at the floor tiles, Elaida said, half to herself “Merean all but put it on you.”

“What did she say,” Siuan asked.

“I can’t recall her exact words, but she definitely said your name, when she called me into her study alone to berate me for interfering with the Accepted.  You say one thing, she said another, and by the First Oath, both of you had to be telling the truth.” 

No, we did not.  Siuan kept herself from blurting out.  Merean Redhill had not been bound by the Three Oaths, because she had been a Darkfriend.  Yet, Elaida seemed genuinely puzzled.  A Darkfriend might pretend to be surprised, but she would not have been bringing it up.  No, not even to catch Siuan in a trap to reveal her own awareness of Merean’s death when Siuan herself had been in the same city.

She glanced up and down the halls. There was no one close enough to overhear, but she hurried to exit from the Gray quarters anyway.  Back in the main halls of the Tower, Elaida still followed her. 

“Siuan,” the Red called.  Siuan halted and turned.  “I may have misjudged you.”  After Taraine’s shocking disclosures she had thought she was done with astonishment.  Elaida continued. “For whatever reason, Merean misled me.”  Of course, she would blame a Blue sister rather than own her fault… No, a Black sister.  Probably sowing dissent between one of the strongest Reds and a new Blue.  

“And I misjudged your treatment of us,” Siuan returned. Elaida had said it straight out. If she was a Darkfriend, her own rough handling by the Red was the least of the other woman’s crimes. Putting it behind them was a small sacrifice in any case.

They continued walking side by side, each lost in her own thoughts, until Elaida gestured at a door to the Tower gardens.  Never a favorite place of Siuan, she followed the stern Red sister nonetheless.  Once away from the Tower walls and out of ear shot of anyone else in the gardens, Elaida spoke again. “What should we tell Tarain when that woman calls us on the carpet again?”

 “What can we tell her? I have my own business in the Tower and elsewhere, and you have your Andoran interests.  Are you going to give that business up to stay home and reform the Ajahs?” she finished with a touch of sarcasm. 

“I had a Foretelling when I was still Accepted,” Elaida replied. “I Foretold that the royal line of Andor would be the key to defeating the Dark One at the Last Battle. So I have been guiding Morgase and keeping Andor as strong as possible for that day, so that whomever my Foretelling concerns, they will have as much strength to work with and be as amenable to the Tower’s purposes as possible.”

Taking a deep breath, Siuan considered what to tell Elaida.  She had to be innocent of the Black Ajah, and that would be safer to reveal, but how could she convince her? In the end, she decided word of a secret Foretelling deserved the same in return. “I was present when Gitara Moroso died.  Before she died, she Foretold the Dragon’s rebirth.  He’s out there somewhere, a boy of ten years, and I’ve been looking for him. Tamra summoned several older, strong sisters to secret meetings and they all died, some under suspicious circumstances.” 

The Red sister looked as astonished as Siuan felt. She had felt so alone since Moiraine was lost.  Elaida was no friend, and a far cry from Moiraine, but if what she said was true, she might be the only one who could understand.  And I might be the only one who can understand her. Light, I had Moiraine, for a few years at least, but she’s been carrying on alone, for longer!

“We… we can’t tell Taraine this is what we are working on, together, for the Tower’s future.” When a lionfish had his teeth in her nets, Elaida could see that the catch was going to be light, Siuan would give her that much.  

Chapter Text

“Mistress al’Thor!” The young woman who came to greet them was scarce changed since Alys’ first visit to the Winespring Inn, still pretty, with her dark hair in a braid, but her greeting reflected how different Alys’ life was since that day.  “You’ve all come in, then?  Where’s Min?”  Alene had spent some time with the girl on prior visits to the Winespring, both of them sharing an interest in far-off places, but Min was not nearly so level-headed, nor as studious as the al’Vere girl, though technically a woman grown herself.

“She’s helping Rand and Tam with the flock,” Alys said with a degree of resignation. Try as she might, engaging her ward in the typical duties of a Two Rivers woman was a hopeless cause. Guiding the Dragon Reborn and preparing him for Tarmon Gaidon without the aid of the White Tower, saidar, a warder or a hale and fit Lan was as much of a hopeless cause as Moiraine was willing to undertake in one lifetime. Not that she was particularly concerned with molding the girl into a suitable farmwife, but the work was a nuisance when she had to go so slow with Rand and it would have been preferable to drop some of it on Min.  Now, with the village gathering to shear their sheep for the coming of the wool merchants, she was faced with yet another day of domestic tedium.  At least at home, Tam was rather understanding, and perfectly willing to handle the occasional household chore while she gave Rand and Min lessons.  On the other hand, his own work was grueling enough that Alys preferred not to impose any more than necessary. 

But here in the village, with everyone pitching in and doing their part, she was on public display and had to be the perfect backwater farmer’s woman.  Alene took the heavy basket from Alys’ hands and called for her younger sisters to come help unload the al’Thor cart so Hu or Tad could stable Bela.  Elisa strolled through the common room, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she nodded a greeting to Alys, while Loise came at a run, asking after Min as her sister had.  She was also friends with Min, just a year younger, and desperately wishing to imitate the Baerlon girl’s habitual breeches and coat. Alys continued into the kitchens seeking their mother. 

Marin was chatting with her widowed eldest daughter, Berowyn, as they cut vegetables to add to an enormous stew kettle simmering on the hearth, but she beamed a greeting at Alys when she entered.  Alys suspected Marin al’Vere looked just as askance at her housekeeping skills as most of the Women’s Circle, but she was kind enough to say nothing aside from the occasional helpful comment when Alys was clearly in need, and that without sounding condescending, to her gratitude.

“Alys, what have you brought us this year?”

“Just meat and vegetables, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to try for dishes after last year,” Alys answered ruefully. “And whatever help I can give you.”

“That’s so kind, my dear,” said the innkeeper, gesturing to the pile of carrots lying beyond her daughter.  “However, I thought later in the afternoon, you might help Bran with the tallies?  He will chat with the foremen, as if they’re on the green for a rest day visit, and shake hands and dither half the day away.  Of course, men being men, he likes to make it sound as if he’s keeping their good opinions for the elections.” 

Berowyn rolled her eyes and scooped a pile of chopped cabbage into the pot. “As if they’re going to vote for anyone else.”

Selecting a turnip without looking, Marin neatly removed the stem and began slicing. “But he is the mayor and he has been doing it for so many years, no one can tell him different, so I would take it as a great favor if you, Alys, could make the rounds with him the first time, and then take over keeping the tallies while he sticks to supervising.” 

So, make-work for the outland scholar.  Though Alys supposed that might not be fair.  She would be better suited to that task than all this fussing over food or cloth, and shrewd leaders made the best use of the people they had. Marin, and many of the Women’s Circle, would not find herself embarrassed in the company of Eadyth Sedai in that regard.  But she still found herself resentful whenever her shortcomings were brought to her attention.  It could not be helped.  She learned to cook and sew in her thirties and on her wedding day, she had not wielded broom or scrub brush or washboard in over a decade. That she would be as effective or efficient as village women who had been making do all their lives with the scant resources of the most remote corner of Andor, would be ludicrous to expect. And Marin and the rest had no idea of her burning out nor the frame of reference to comprehend what it meant to her.  Reminding herself that every jot of goodwill she earned in this village was a coin she might need to spend when it came time to take Rand, she assured Marin that she would be happy to do whatever was needed and took up a knife herself.

An hour or so later, another girl came in with another basket of vegetables, placing them on the table. She did a double-take at the sight of Alys before greeting her in a too-casual tone. “Good morning, Mistress al’Thor.  Has your family come in from the farm with you? I haven’t seen Min yet?”  As if she and Min had the slightest interest in each other’s company.

“She’s with the boys and the sheep,” replied Alys absently, keeping her attention on the tasks at hand. A momentary silence fell over the room, and she could all but feel the al’Vere women and their other helpers exchanging glances and silent sniffs over the impropriety. “Tam says she’s actually rather good with them. She has a better feel for their hurts than most boys her age, and is especially good at keeping them in line for the shearing.” Whatever her own opinions about Min’s preferred pastimes, she was not going let the little wretch make one of her typically barbed comments, especially given what she was truly after. Ignoring the subtle glower from the girl, Alys passed her pile of chopped up tubers to Berowyn to put in the pot.

Marin had taken over seasoning and stirring the stew, and was now watching Alys and her interactions with the newcomer, who in turn was plainly torn between smarting over Alys’ indifference to her presence and finding out what she wanted to know. Alys decided to get to the point.  Obliquely, at least. “It was so good of her to help Tam, since Rand was needed back at the farm. A tree came down in the last storm and the men finally moved it off the fence line, and Andra was going to replace the rails with his help.” Perhaps that would not be too subtle for her.

The girl muttered something that could pass for a departing courtesy and slipped out of the kitchens.  At her age, she was supposed to be helping with the wool. Alys supposed she had taken an excuse to come in to see who was here and perhaps make the inquiries she did not get to voice.

“Berowyn, dear, could you take over the stew for me?” Marin all but ordered her daughter, before turning to Alys.  “Why don’t you and I go find Bran, so you can see what needs to be done?”

As they left the Winespring by the kitchen door, Marin stopped Alys with a touch on the arm.  “Alys, I think we need to discuss something.”  She glanced back at the kitchen and moved farther away, ensuring they could not be overheard by anyone listening inside. So. Alys had half been expecting for some time now, the conversation she suspected Mistress al'Vere was about to start

“Of course, Marin,” she replied, affecting a quizzical expression.

“Before you came into the al’Thors' lives, there was a certain understanding,” the graying innkeeper began, but did not elaborate.

“Understanding?  Tam said nothing to me,” she said. “Understanding of what?”

“Concerning our children,” she continued. “My Egwene and your Rand.”  An odd feeling rippled through Moiraine hearing Rand described as her child.  He was not, of course.  Her stepson, and that merely a matter of convenience.  Her interest was in the Dragon Reborn, not the boy personally.  Of course, there was a certain closeness that came of living in the same house with someone for years, but when it came to it, Rand had a destiny and Moiraine was here to see him to it.  There was no place in that for a mother, with the attachments and irrational view thus entailed. No village mother would send her son to fight the Dark One, to his certain death according to prophecy, and that had been precisely her agenda when she had inveigled herself into his life.

Of course, that was also why this “understanding” could not be permitted to stand. “Do you mean, are they promised?” Alys inquired disingenuously.  “I swear to you, Marin, Tam has said nothing of the kind.  Rand certainly has no thought of it that I have noticed.”  Conversations with the boy about his future or plans were something to which she paid close attention, making sure to divert him from fixing on a choice or dream that he might have difficulty giving up when the Wheel wove his true destiny.

“Not so much promised,” Marin said with a sigh.  “But when she was younger, Egwene marked him out, so I had a talk with Tam… I wish Kari had been alive for it instead, because for all his good qualities, Tam is still a man and there are some things they have difficulty comprehending.”

“I have difficulty comprehending,” Alys remarked pointedly.  She might have met Tam relatively late in their respective lifetimes, but she did know her husband well enough to doubt that he would be settling Rand's marriage before he was ten.  “I had thought arranged marriages were a thing of nobles and royalty.  What purpose to this understanding?  They are scarcely old enough to make such a decision now, let alone when they were as young as they must have been when this was decided, before I came to the Two Rivers.”

“We are a close-knit folk here,” replied Marin, now with that touch of condescension. “We all know one another; we all see each other grow up.  Everyone in the village might as well be an aunt or uncle to the children raised here.  It’s best to sort things out so the right couples pair off, couples who are well suited for one another.  Even as it is, there is still a great deal of foolishness between boys and girls who let their urges push them into rashness, or who lose their hearts to pretty faces. So if a boy and a girl are seen to be well-suited when they are young, best to arrange matters so they don’t have distractions or diversions from others, who are less suited, but might tempt a fool boy or girl into ruining things for everyone.  Normally, this would all have gone smoothly.  They’d have chances to spend time together, but where they could be kept from mischief, and interest from other boys or girls headed off before it starts trouble.”  Putting her hands on her hips, she fixed Alys with a stern look.

“No one faults you for this, my dear, but in your ignorance, you seem to have interfered with things taking their natural course on a number of occasions. And today, it occurred to me that you might have some objection to Egwene herself.  Surely you could see that she was asking after Rand?” Well, Alys would have to be more subtle in the future. She had hoped no one had observed her putting obstacles in the little chit’s way since she first became aware that the girl was seeking to prod Rand into noticing her.

“Oh my, this puts things in a different light, of course,” Alys said, widening her eyes. “I hadn’t realized this was all a sanctioned performance.  I simply thought Egwene was pushing too hard and that it was not quite appropriate.  I had not realized how arrangements are made."

Marin started to smile, pleased at the errant housewife's apparent submission, only for it to disappear as Alys continued, "Though I must say, I don’t think much of any such arrangement for Rand.  He has little interest in girls, or at least not in building anything for the future with one.  And he has years yet before he’s ready to think about taking a wife and raising a family. His own father was ten years away from taking his first wife at the same age.  What if he decides he does not want to settle down for life in the Two Rivers?”

Marin’s brow furrowed incredulously. “Well, no one ever leaves, and even your husband came back.”  Her gaze sharpened suspiciously as she glared at Alys. “Or do you think the Two River isn’t good enough for your son?”

“Both my husband and I chose to live in the Two Rivers,” Alys pointed out.  “If someone had made such decisions for me at Egwene’s age, I might never have had the chance to come here, to meet Tam.”  And besides, decisions, if that was the word, had been made concerning Rand al’Thor and his future, by a much higher authority than the Women’s Circle of Emond’s Field.

“Still, the way we…”

Alys cut Marin off. “I feel if Tam put much stock in this understanding, he would have made it known to me.” Truth.  Likely he had simply nodded and smiled to get the woman out of his hair and went on with raising his son as he saw fit.  Tam was not a man to pick fights he did not need to.  She suspected he had built his farm so far out in the Westwood to get away from this sort of nonsense as much as because the land was more readily available there.  “I see no value in a precipitous match with a girl who has yet to see her thirteenth nameday, and I don’t think much of any girl seeking to entrap a boy when neither is old enough to make such decisions.  If your daughter persists in attempting to inveigle my son” - If claiming the kinship would help her purpose, so much the better – “into inappropriate adult pursuits, I shall speak to Tam about taking measures in his best interests.” 

Marin looked utterly shocked at the last part.  From what Alys had seen, this was simply not done.  When it came to women’s business, whatever the collective women of the village decided was encompassed by that, they presented a united front to the men, even their own husbands.  Husbands were not brought into such matters, much less as allies against one’s fellow women. But Tam loved his son and was dutiful to his wife.  If she thought something was genuinely good or ill for Rand, Tam would respect that.

But apparently, Marin was not used to this sort of rebellion. Most village women had to live here, they had to get along with their neighbors and the rest of the village and their husbands and children needed to as well.  They needed to get along.  Moiraine Damodred, once Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, did not. Oh, she needed to fit in as best she could and be accepted, up to a point.  If it aided her cause.  At the point where anything interfered with that cause, it stopped being necessary and became a threat to be removed. If playing along obtained and retained her access to Rand al’Thor, Alys would play along until being a dutiful Two Rivers goodwife interfered with his destiny.  Egwene al’Vere might grow into a pretty enough woman, and she already showed a keen eye for getting what she wanted, but she could not amount to anything relevant to the Dragon Reborn.  Of a certainty, there would be no room in his life for a relationship with any woman, and Moiraine would not allow such a distraction to disrupt it. 

Turning away from Marin al’Vere, she saw Min prodding a flock of sheep with a staff across the village green and responded to her fosterling’s wave with a nod and smile. “Rand and Andra have come in from the farm,” the girl called out. As she drew near to Alys, she gave a grin. “Tam asked Andra to keep an eye on the boys doing the herding.  All of a sudden they aren’t so interested in tomfoolery for some reason.”  Alys smiled again.  At least her menfolk were having a better day fitting in than she and Min.