Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dawn breaks with a gentle grace in the autumn sky, as if the sun itself hesitates to fully embrace the day. A lonely ray of light shines timidly through the window pane but nothing else stands out. No noise. No colors. Even the tantalizing aroma of breakfast, usually wafting from the kitchen below, remains but a whisper in the stillness of the moment.

He sits there, shadowed in the corner, sleepless and patiently waiting. The chill in the air does not trouble him as much as something else. No, it is not cold itself that bothers him. It is her stillness, laying there in the bed. Only her measured breaths disrupt this tranquility, a rhythmic assurance of her existence at that moment.

He’s undeniably mad at her. He is hurt by her passing of the bond. The flames of fury roar inside him, fueled by her audacity with which she flung herself into that portal to... what end? She had to know it would have been deadly, still, she did it anyway. Lan wrestles with the enigma of her survival -gratitude mingles with his exasperation, a turbulent blend that obscures clarity. Her, a master weaver of deception, not just manipulating those around her but also shrouding herself in layers of clandestine truths. And then, the ultimate gamble—she staked her life on the unknown, a move that should have led to the abyss. Yet here she is, alive, confounding his comprehension. The relief he should feel is tangled in the thorns of resentment, a bitterness that her actions have nourished and grown.

This is the mantra he clings to, anyway. Thom had attempted an explanation. Something involving a letter. The Tower of Ghenjei. A couple of details he dismissed swiftly at the sight of her. However, at the first opportunity, he will make his frustration and exasperation known to her. He is so consumed by his feelings that the realization her eyes are open takes him by surprise. His body acts faster than his mind, and for one who has been determined to establish a gap between them, he finds himself kneeling beside her bed and touching her face with an almost instinctual swiftness.

‘Moiraine?’ He breathes, his astonishment lingering in the air like a whispered secret. Her eyes lock with his, and he finds depths of blue lying there much deeper than he remembers them being.

Her demeanor is one of confusion, an almost imperceptible shift. She remains almost motionless, her gaze wandering the expanse of the room as if seeking something elusive. With each passing moment, her breathing quickens, the rhythm of her chest betraying her growing unease in the face of her unmet expectations.

‘Thom?’ Her voice emerges, deep and hoarse, laden with urgency that lingers on that single syllable. She remains in close proximity, neither fully retreating nor fully acknowledging his presence.

That name being called out cuts him deeper than any other wound he has ever borne. He moves away, but not by much, as if that proximity with her would eventually burn his soul. He doesn’t even have the decency to express guilt for banishing Thom and Mat from that room. Although, right now, he’s coming to realize that he has no right to shield her from everybody anymore.

He is no longer her warder. He might not want to abdicate.

She won't let him forget.

‘They are safe. You are safe.’ He soothes her in the weakest attempt, his voice nothing but a whisper.

She stirs, clearly trying to free herself from the blankets. Once her arms are free, she studies each of them and seems to find comfort in seeing a peculiar bracelet around her wrist. She pays no attention to Lan’s discomfort, caught in the grip of her own disorientation, she remains oblivious to his unease, finding herself immersed in a sea of unfamiliarity.

‘This does not feel right’, she murmurs to herself after glancing quickly at Lan.

‘Soothe your spirit, Lady Alys.’ A male voice comes from the doorway. Moiraine stills, her tension easing.

Lan casts a hurtful look at Thom and would hold his ground, were it not for the begging look of his former Aes Sedai towards the Gleeman. He does not need to be bonded with her to understand her desires and necessities. Respecting her unspoken wishes, he withdraws slightly, observing as Thom settles on the bed, by her side. She’s stubbornly trying to prop herself up on her elbows, but it’s apparent that they might give away soon enough.
            ‘No reason to start to think we would fail our quest.’ He smirks just a little, then leans in closer to her as if to tell her a secret. His hand pushes her gently down, and she concedes defeat, laying back in bed. ‘I might be a Gleeman, but I am very educated. I also possess the art of reading. And I heeded your words.’

Moiraine nods her head and offers a faint smile at his words. "Where is Matrim? I remember glimpses of him, just fragments. Am I mistaken to believe he was also there?"
"I am right here," the younger of them responds promptly. Positioned by the doorway, he wears an expression of uncertainty, a fleeting question of his welcome evident in his eyes. Yet, resolute, he stands his ground, refusing to retreat.

‘Come. Let me take a look at you.’ She asks politely, but because she is Moiraine, the request also bears the unmistakable undertone of an order.

With a deliberate pace, he crosses the room, avoiding Lan's gaze as if the mere act of looking could conjure his disappearance. Then, once Thom leaves the bed, Mat takes his place beside her. This time, she actually manages to prop herself up, although Mat needs to hold her steady. ‘Easy, Moiraine’, he soothes. His hands at her back and waist offer stability. ‘We have not contacted one of your sisters to Heal you. We thought it would be better not to announce your... return. For the moment, anyway.’

‘Wisest choice this boy has made up to this day.’ Thom murmurs from the corner of the room, casting a fleeting look at Lan and then back to Moiraine. The innuendo was not lost on Moiraine, but she chooses to ignore it for now.

‘Look at how far you’ve come.’ She comments with some sort of pride only a mother would - if she were indeed one. When it comes to Mat, she had always kept an eye out for him, not knowing which path he would choose. However, deep inside, her ultimate bet was that he would choose the right path; he would fight beside her and Rand and his Two River friends. Her thumb travels along his face and stops just under his eye patch. ‘What happened to your eye?’

‘Well... Just a lovely encounter with the Gholam.’ His playful words land with a dull thud as her brow wrinkles in confusion and then concern.

‘Will you allow me to Heal you?’ Her hands are already on the sides of his head, awaiting his permission. She takes a quick hopeful look at her bracelet, and just after she realizes that Mat is shaking his head no.

‘There’s nothing to be healed.’ He offers with a smile, determined to hide some of his pain.

‘I’m sorry, Mat.’ Her hands caress both sides of his face, and she can’t help but notice how much more of a man he has become since she last saw him.

‘Nothing to be sorry for. We all have sacrificed something along the way.’ He adds with some of that newly discovered maturity, squeezing her waist in empathy.

‘Yes. Yes, we have.’ She murmurs softly, more to herself than anybody else, and deliberately avoids Lan’s figure. Unexpectedly, she leans in, enfolding Mat in a gentle embrace. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. Although I wasn’t much help last night, I do recall some fragments, your unyielding determination.’ She breathes, her words mingling with the rhythm of his embrace.

‘Ugh.. You’re welcome, Moiraine. But that actually was two days ago.’ He corrects her, feeling a little heroic for her words.

‘Two days ago?’ Now Moiraine seems confused, a little bit baffled. ‘Have I slept for that long? It’s time to move forward, then.’

‘Mat, one of these days that tongue of yours is going to be the end of you.’ Thom seems a bit annoyed now. He turns his attention back to Moiraine to counter her determination. ‘You can hardly stand on our own. Don’t you think it would be best if you recover yourself first?’

‘Do not be ridiculous’, she dismisses his suggestion. We’ve wasted enough time.’ She struggles with blankets and her legs eventually swing out of the bed. Mat knows better than to try and stop her so he moves out of her way, but stays close enough in case assistance is needed.

Lan observes, knowing quite well what is about to unfold.

With some difficulty, she stands up slowly, swaying once in a while. She manages, though. As her feet make contact with the floor, wearing just a modest nightgown and not her usual blue attire, she looks smaller than ever. Her face exhibits some pride in response to Thom’s defiance. ‘There is so much I am sure I need to learn after my absence. There is also...’ She never finishes her sentence because she attempts one step forward and her legs fatefully fail her. Mat is fast enough to reach her, but the awkward angle he finds himself does not allow him to fully stop her fall. Her left leg and hip find the floor first, followed by her body's upper part. Mat, the Light bless him, tries his best to hold her around the waist and protect her head, but ends up being on the floor as well. It’s a loud thud, both of them colliding with the wooden floor. The commotion startles Lan and Thom, turning what was once a tranquil atmosphere into a chaotic one now.

‘Moiraine!’ Thom exclaims, his words almost too late but surely useless.

‘The Light burn you! You foolish woman!’ Lan’s bark comes so deep and carried with rage that two pairs of eyes look at him in astonishment. He’s done with her ignoring him. He won’t put up with her negligence anymore. There are so many things that need to be clarified, and he doesn’t want to be petty, but he’s not about to let her kill herself - again - after just having her back and leave him in the darkness.

‘I’m about to start thinking that you are the first immortal Aes Sedai, Moiraine.’ Mat moans from the floor. ‘But no need to try and prove it.’

Her face is twisted in pain, and it takes her a couple of deep breaths to regain some semblance of composure.

‘Let me.’ Lan stretches an arm to prevent Thom from getting closer to her. He kneels by her side and helps Mat shift her to a better position.

"She needs to eat some food," Thom suggests.

"Thank you, I'm all right too," Mat jokes when no one pays attention to his own misfortune.

‘I’ll put her back to bed. Would you fetch her some breakfast?’ Lan asks Thom, yet he doesn’t truly wait for any response. He holds Moiraine against himself, cradling her close, and lifts her up from the floor.

She’s already shaking her head no, and she looks so mad and so discontent at this that, no doubt, everyone thinks she’d rather throw herself to the floor again than accept his assistance.

‘You are not supposed to be here.’ She directs her words at Lan, a tinge of distress coloring her tone. Whether it's anger, embarrassment, or a mix of emotions, Lan finds himself unable to discern. In the moments that follow, he can't decide whether it's the tone of her voice or the unshed tears glistening in her eyes that weaken his knees.

‘I will not be here for that argument.’ Mat mumbles to himself and wins a slap to the side of his head, courtesy of Thom.

‘You never listen. And you talk too much.’ The older man states with impatience, watching the young man getting out of the room. He sighs in dismay and then casts a glance at Moiraine and Lan.

The atmosphere grows tense, almost palpably so.

Two stubborn and proud individuals staring at each other in a contest. Thom hopes Moiraine asks him to stay, but she doesn’t. The one who speaks first loses it. And she is not giving in.

It’s almost laughable how Lan keeps holding her instead of just putting her down in bed. Mules! Both of them. That’s what he thinks. But instead of getting in between, he decides to follow Mat’s lead. He figures that getting out of that room is the best choice. In the good old days, if he can call them that, he’s sure they would have it sorted in no time.

But then, they were Aes Sedai and her Warder. Now... It’s hard to tell. So he leaves and hopes that the room will still be in one piece by the time he is back.

Chapter Text

The stillness lingers no longer than the silence. Lan finally stirs and gently places her back on the bed again. He takes a seat, his gaze still fixed upon her — words yet unspoken, a welcomed absence that grants him solace. Within that stretched moment of unspoken thoughts and suspended actions, he calms the thoughts in his mind. He lets the weight of past moments dissolve with every shared breath between them. Convinced he's prepared for the unknown that lies ahead, his tentative hand touches her face as if checking if she is real, confirming her presence.

‘How is it that you are alive?’ He whispers the question carefully enough not to scare her away as if she were a ghost.

Moiraine sighs at his touch, as though his presence were a surprise to her. Her hand rests on his wrist, and in contrast to mere moments before, her distress seems to have subdued. She goes for the easiest answer as she feels her body succumbing after the ordeal she endured and hasn’t yet had the chance to recover from. ‘I left letters for Thom and Mat, hoping they could find me.’

That is no news for Lan, but instead of pushing her further, he only nods his head, furrowing his eyebrows.

‘Were you there? With Mat and Thom to rescue me? Were you there?’ She repeats herself, her tone insistent as she seeks an answer. It is not an accusation but rather carries a note of desperation to it.

‘No.’ It comes with no emotion. Within him, all of the feelings fighting a battle in his throat. The one who wins and shows up next is one of pure despair. ‘I have failed you, haven’t I?’ His words hang heavy in the air.

He looks miserable. As if the Dark One himself had broken his soul. His eyes, once vivid and observant, seem dull and distant. There’s only a hint of sadness tainting them.
She licks her lips and holds his face between her hands, trying to get his attention back to her. He seems to be gone somewhere else. ‘Lan, you have never failed me. You have served me...’

He doesn’t let her finish. ‘Yet, I was not the one you relied upon.’ He interjects, cutting her words. ‘Did you really fall into that gate, Moiraine? Or did you throw yourself into it?’
She only blinks her eyes. She knows the implications her answer could bring. It was either an accidental misstep or a calculated maneuver, and the consequences of her answer hung in the balance. If she claims the former, his forgiveness might be within reach. Admitting the latter, however, could lead to unpredictable outcomes. In the face of this weighty decision, she chooses the silence.

He presses on. ‘Taking that you thought, before falling into the gate, that you would make your way back out again, did you consider that? Did you plan it? Leaving me out of it?’
She is trapped. It is taking her too long to think of something to say. Her brain is not working as fast as it should. There is an unfamiliar and somber nature coming from Lan. Something she had never seen before, something that had grown after... She sent him away. A surge of panic grips her; the prospect of his potential resentment becomes starkly vivid.

‘Answer my question, Moiraine.’ His voice comes demanding, bringing her out of her reverie. ‘I felt the bond snapping. I felt you dying.’ His voice raises slightly at the last word. He does not miss Moiraine flinching at it. ‘You made me believe you were dead. I felt it as if you were.’ He doesn’t mention the profound sense of loss and despair he went through afterward. He doesn’t mention that just after her death he was consumed by a desire for revenge against the Forsaken, and that was the only emotion moving him. Ultimately, he doesn’t mention that the purpose she had given him years ago, by bonding with him, got shadowed by his grief.

He thinks, by the look of her face, she figured it already.

He curls his fingers and rests his fists over his knees. Now that the damn has broken, water won't stop flowing. And whatever emotion he’s trying so hard to hold with those hands, they are about to break free, judging by how they are shaking now. He believes he knows the answer but needs to hear it from her. He knows about the letters - he learned about them a couple of weeks ago, and only then. He wasn’t certain if she was alive or not, but he hoped, oh had he hoped she would be alive. It was illogical because he did feel her dying, the bond breaking, and then just a void inside his mind, where she should be.

Moiraine studies him. Inside of her mind, voices scream accusations at her, seeding dreadful doubts. The weight of his thoughts and the grief they carry seem to have bent his shoulders. She understands, with sharp pain, that there is a quiet resignation taking over his being. Had she died, a fate every living creature faces, he would have avenged her death by battling the dark forces. But she didn’t. She... discarded him. There is no remedy for that.

‘Lan’, her voice emerges on its own will, and there’s some sort of breaking that betrays muffled emotions. ‘This is not the path I chose for you.’

‘As a grown man, I dare say I am capable of making my own choices.’ He spits back, not even trying to hide his hurt and distress.

She retreats, recognizing the need for a different strategy. Despite her sagacity, she's aware he's upset, and there's the understanding that he might weaponize whatever words she utters, turning them into verbal daggers aimed right back at her. But she proceeds anyway. ‘I have my reasons to have chosen what I chose to do. You have to believe that I thought I knew what would be best for you.’ It’s deliberately vague, a shield against delving into a discussion she lacks the energy for at this moment.

But he won’t let it rest. ‘I have always thought that, despite our differences, there was mutual trust and respect between us.’ He glances at her and she feels small.

‘If you assume that I betrayed you, Lan, it is only because you fail to understand the complexity and strategies that could eventually help us gain the upper hand in battle.’ It is unfair, she knows. But his remark has hurt her, and not even her Aes Sedai mask can hide it. Truth is, she is feeling worn out and under emotional strain. She can barely keep her eyes open, but there’s this raging storm inside her - Land has awakened it! - that is loud. Thoughts are clashing like lightning bolts, illuminating flashes of resentment. He has no idea of what she has sacrificed for him, for them. He couldn’t even picture what she had endured with the Finns. Him, not understanding their malevolence. Him, coming back, unrequested, whereas she’s sent him away for his own protection. He does not know any of that, but he’s accusing her instead of just trying to understand.

She takes a deep breath and spits the words. ‘As much as I am happy that you are alive and well, I did not want you here.’ Her chest is rising and falling dangerously. ‘I wanted to spare you!’ She fires. ‘You become reckless when it comes to me. It happened before, you rush into danger to keep me safe and forget about yourself, your own necessities.’

From where Lan stands - and now, he is standing - she’s either too upset or her body is about to collapse. But for him, not being at the tower to save her is an open wound. Her remark hits his body like a whip would - it is painful and he wants to retaliate, not out of aggression, but only to defend himself from that pain. ‘I’ve made a vow to protect you, all these years ago. I fought by your side. I watched sunsets and sunrises with you. I carried you to your sisters so they could heal you when I couldn’t. We shared secrets, plans, and meals - we shared every feeling because you lived inside my head, and I lived in yours. It’s not betrayal, Moiraine. I call it a tragedy, to have someone know you, every corner of your mind, to accommodate them and make them home... only to have them leave.’

‘That’s enough’. She murmurs the words. They are weak, maybe because she knows his words as true, so censuring them is pointless.

‘Don’t misunderstand me, now. I’m glad you are alive. I truly am. It was excruciating, feeling you die.’ He pauses for a bit, considering his words. ‘We had a quest when we bonded. We found Rand, so I thought we would grow closer and stronger than ever. After everything that has happened, you reappear carrying a broken promise.’

Had he slapped her on the face, it would have hurt less. She squeezes her eyes shut to stop tears from falling. She gives up on trying to convince him she had good intentions. That short argument should not have happened, now it weighs heavily. Both of them are hurt, and broken. She has so little left inside her. A profound sense of loneliness. Guilt, and even shame. Numbness, stark and fleeting, drifts in and out, like a shroud attempting to cloak her emotions. She rests her hand above her heart, only to try to regain some control of herself. When she opens her eyes, tears stream down her face, but she is indifferent to their appearance. A peculiar sensation unfurls within her What a weird feeling to be back alive.

‘Lan,’ she breathes, convinced that withdrawing would spare her heartache. ‘I am sorry you hold me responsible for your suffering.’ Her hands are shaking, and she’s never felt this vulnerable. ‘I feel that we have been falling apart, and that is one thing I can’t afford right now: the risk of losing you. If we could, please, save this conversation for later. Please.’

Astonishment thrusts Lan into this new circumstance he seems to have overlooked before. Only at this instant, watching Moiraine crying so openly, exposing how fragile she is, does he contemplate the depth of her silent suffering. What it took to break her. He feels a bit ashamed of himself and his selfish ways. He wants to hold her and put her together, but he feels dirty and unworthy. Instead, he concedes. ‘Later it is.’ He nods his head, a small and simple promise. ‘And I am sorry, too.’

Chapter Text

They give each other some space, but not for that long.

When Thom and Mat return with Moiraine's breakfast, Thom is the first to notice that the Aes Sedai appears somewhat shaken.

Lan silently exits the room, marking the first time he's left since entering days ago. His departure lacks hesitation, not even a glance at any of them. Moiraine watches him leave, but her eyes are deprived of any emotion.

Thom manages to engage Moiraine in a random kitchen conversation, mentioning the cook and an orange cat's bread theft. He shares a tale of how Mat earned some money by playing and singing a song the previous night and insists she eats.

"I am not a child," Moiraine protests as Thom attempts to feed her some cheese for the fifth time. Her hands are occupied with a mug of hot tea. "You can't possibly expect me to eat all of it." She gestures towards the porridge, honey cakes, and bread that Mat has arranged on a simple tray.

"Of course not," Mat chuckles. "I'll save the apples in my pockets. And I’ll have the porridge as well."

This seemingly mundane exchange brings a small smile to her face. She does eat, however. Pieces of bread and cheese, she even tries Mat’s porridge. Thom goes for the honey cakes, and he even manages to share one with the woman.

‘You know what?’ Mat says teasingly. ‘I’m still hungry. That porridge is just too good. I’ll grab some more.’ He's on his feet when he glances at Moiraine and smirks, saying, ‘And I’m not sharing.’

Thom can’t help but roll his eyes. He chuckles lightly, and when Mat is gone, he studies Moiraine’s face. ‘How are you feeling now?’

‘I feel better.’ She pauses, considering her words. ‘Thom, I need to get to Rand as fast as I can. We need to leave. I have learned valuable information that might help -’ she doesn’t finish because Thom is already interrupting her.

You see, Lan, Mat, and I discussed this," he begins, lifting his hand defensively in response to the glare she directs at him. "We've all come to an agreement that it's best for you to focus on recovering first. Your current condition isn't suitable for travel. We can't predict what dangers we might encounter on the way to our destination, Moiraine. To be honest, I'd rather have you at full strength in case we run into trollocs or something."

"We'll depart in three days," she announces as if the decision is only hers to make.

"Ten days," he firmly counters, standing his ground.

"We'll see," she replies, setting aside the conversation. "I'm in need of a hot bath and some fresh clothes."

"I'll arrange for a bath to be prepared," he assures her. "Mat has already purchased a new dress for you - nothing too fancy, but it should do for now."

At that, she whispers a thank you.

Mat doesn’t come back. When the bath is ready, Thom suggests that the young woman who prepared it assist Moiraine, as she is still weak. The older woman shoots Thom a disapproving look and challenges the youngest one with her gaze.

The poor girl appears terrified. "If you wish, my lady," she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the floor, trying to be polite, but clearly praying to be spared.

‘I will help her with that.’ Lan’s voice comes from the entrance. Moiraine doesn’t know whether he has been there for a while or has just appeared out of thin air.

The Aes Sedai doesn’t censure Lan’s offer. She even looks slightly at ease. It is only natural, as he and Lan are used to taking baths together.

Thom is kind enough to wait for her approval, and only after he leaves the room, the girl following behind.

For Lan, it is almost like a ritual. He knows exactly what to do. Assisting Moiraine to the bath, he takes note that she can’t stand for too long, but she looks somewhat a bit better. Maybe it is the food working its benefits already. Once her gown is gone, he lifts her up into his arms, and then gently lowers her into the water.

There’s no verbal talk between them, the communication happens only with their eyes. It is only when Moiraine breathes a ‘thank you’ that the silence is broken. She shifts in the bath, making herself comfortable.

‘May I join you?’ Lan asks eagerly.

‘If you wish.’

Once he is in, they hold each other gaze for so long that his eyes start to burn. He doesn’t know how much more of her silence he can take and is unsure of how to start a conversation that won’t end in disaster. He closes his eyes and supports his head on the edge of the bath, trying to relax a little. He’s concerned that she might be too weak to stay in the water for too long, that she might slip and drown - which is ridiculous, but he’s not taking any chances, and at every faint sound he hears, he opens his eyes to check in on her.

When it gets too quiet for a while, he finds her curled up, holding her knees, looking somewhere past him. It is as if uncertainty had carried her thoughts to another dimension.

‘What have we been fighting against, Lan?’ She whispers, out of nowhere. It’s so faint that he almost misses it. ‘The world has been broken since its creation.’

He’s almost glad that she’s talking, despite the awkward beginning. ‘People have.’ He points out to her.

‘People.’ She repeats. It is just an echo. But not only people, she thinks to herself, remembering about the Finns and what they have done to her. Goosebumps appear on her skin; Lan might think the reason is the cool air touching her warm body. It is not.

‘Tell me. What is it?’ He prompts, hoping that she won’t close herself up again.

Not voicing any of her discomfort related to the creatures, she goes ahead. ‘I just feel that it’s a losing battle. There is so much wrong going on outside. And we... We were left on our own.’ Her voice breaks a little at the end, reflecting her broken spirit.

He feels an immediate urge to rush to her and wrap her small body in his arms. Instead, he cautiously takes her hand and when she doesn’t withdraw, he tentatively draws her closer to him. It’s surprising that she doesn’t put up a fight. His hand stops at her arms as shock still settles in. ‘Moiraine...’ He breathes, finding it difficult to believe those words are coming from her. ‘Look at me.’

She reluctantly lifts her head to face him. He gently holds her face with both hands so they are looking into each other eyes. ‘Rand has gathered so many allies to fight for our cause. Nations. I am leading an army. We have your sisters fighting on our side. We’re hardly standing against the Dark One by ourselves now.’ He studies her face and it’s obvious that she’s struggling with something. ‘What happened to you?’ It is a question voiced with care, for safe-keeping. Whatever dreadful thoughts are tormenting her mind, Lan wants to shelter her from them.

‘Fate, I suppose.’ She says wryly and turns her back to him again.

‘What do you mean?’ He internally prays that she will answer.

‘You said it yourself. People are broken. We are broken.’ She pauses for a moment. Her hands cup the water, and then she lets it run freely down her arms, pondering her next words. ‘I believe the Creator would only provide us with another chance in life so that we could make amends for our past mistakes.’

‘Yes’, Lan says right away. ‘I believe in that too. But what does it have to do with fate?’

‘Sometimes Lan, I find myself wondering if I was destined to be an Aes Sedai from the moment I was born, because...’ She pauses, letting out a sigh before saying anything else. Lan gently nudges her waist, prompting her to speak. ‘I wonder if, in a past life, I might have been the kind of person I now despise. And I ask myself if that’s the reason... I feel the need to make up for so much.’

‘You make it sound like being an Aes Sedai is a burden.’ He whispers, startled by this new revelation. He’s always known that, for Moiraine, status means little. Being an Aes Sedai or being a Damodred are nothing but titles. Sure, she might carry herself with the posture of a queen, and that mysterious aura only an Aes Sedai could possess, but she never saw herself as better than anyone because of it. But now, her words carry a negative tone to them that leaves him surprised.

‘Not as much being an Aes Sedai as something else.’ She rambles but does not expand.

‘I have known you for over twenty years now, Moiraine. I don’t think you are that bad of a person.’ He rubs her back once more, hoping the next words will stick to her skin and find the way to her heart. ‘If anything, I consider myself lucky that you decided to follow me and then try to steal my sword.’ He teases a little, and the moment he hears her snort, he knows he’s broken the ice a little.

‘I did not try to steal that sword of yours. We’ve had this conversation before, Lan.’ She corrects him, shaking her head.

It makes him smile, having that old interaction between them happening again. It awakes a warm feeling inside; like stumbling upon the perfect clearing in the forest, where starting a fire and setting camp seems irresistibly inviting. He soaks in the moment before it goes away to fast. His next question is phrased with care. ‘What is it that you think you've done so wrong that now you ought to amend?’

She deliberately ignores his question and starts rambling on her own. ‘I am not a good person, either. As much as I try, I’m coming to understand that not everyone can be saved. Not everyone can go through life without suffering any harm.’

He reflects a little on her words and then breathes. ‘You sent me away because you wanted to protect me.’ He risks, wondering if this conversation has been leading to this direction.

She sighs heavily. ‘Still, you got mad at me. You’re unhappy about it. It proves my point.’ She wryly delivers her logic.

Lan decides he is the one who needs to give in because he knows she will not. It is time to put that aside, for the moment. ‘But I understand now. That does not make you a bad person, Moiraine. It’s just a disagreement between us.’

She sighs. ‘Am I forgiven?’ Although the question is murmured in a quiet voice, it is genuine.

‘Yes, you are.’ He delivers immediately. ‘But I could be holding a grudge.’ He teases, breaking into a light laugh.

Over her shoulder, she shoots him a death stare. But then her expression softens, and she even manages a small chuckle.

Their eyes lock for what feels like an eternity. Lan’s eyes are full of love, the kind that frustrates him sometimes - damn his soft heart for always sticking up for her!

Moiraine's eyes are deep and raw, as though she's been exposed to the world anew.

Lan takes her by the waist, gently turning her around to fully face him again. She concedes, never breaking eye contact. They are scrutinizing each other faces, as if it is the first time they are actually seeing each other, even after spending half a day together.

There are untold things between them. There are shattered feelings, scattered memories, and unfixable regrets. None of it matters. When Lan looks at her, all he sees is that blue-eyed, young woman who made a quest out of her life to look for and find the dragon reborn. The same woman who finds time to offer Healing to people she doesn’t know - and might even call her a witch. Or the woman who runs head-on into danger to save him, to save anyone. This hard-headed, stubborn, selfless, strong, beautiful woman... seems to be off-balance now.

‘I feel that something else happened to you and left you in low spirits. Am I wrong.?’ He doesn’t want to corner her, so he phrases his question with care.

She shakes her head and uses no words.

He thinks she won’t say anything at all, that she will just dismiss his comment with a wave of a hand as if it meant nothing. Instead, he’s surprised to see her lips trembling and then twisting. She fights the tears with every ounce of strength left in her small body, but they come anyway. She leans forward, her arms flying around his waist, and hands flying up to his shoulders. She holds him for dear life. She cries silently with her head nestled on his neck, and once in a while, she gasps for air. He lets her; he pulls her onto his lap to better accommodate her body. Physically, it’s the closest they have ever been. Skin on skin, no layers of clothes between them. But there’s nothing sexual about it, there’s never been. There’s only a deep respect and some sort of praise for the integrity of who they are.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity. He wants to know what’s caused this, but he is not letting his curiosity take the best of him. He is not pressing her. Instead, he rubs small circles on her back. He decides against whispering that everything will be fine because he doesn’t know, and he’s picked up on her habits of not lying. But the Light burn him if he at least doesn’t try to fix her. The water has gone warm, and it’s almost cool now. She’s gone still, as such that Lan thinks she might be sleeping.

‘Moiraine?’ He rubs her back once more. ‘Let me help you out. It’s getting cold.’

‘No’, she sniffs. She pulls away slowly, cleaning her eyes in the process. ‘I’m sorry.’ She murmurs, at a loss.

Lan reaches for a towel and hands it to her. She dries her face, then throws it aside. He watches her, a little bit baffled, moving her hands in front of her body, undoubtedly weaving the water hot again. ‘Moiraine, don’t do it. You barely have the strength.’

As usual, she doesn’t listen. A few moment later the water is hot again, and he’s gotta hold her waist to keep her straight up. She seems victorious, though, and even manages a small smile.

Lan can’t help himself and smiles back at her. Some things never change. There’s some sort of calm that has grown within her, after all the crying. Maybe it’s just numbness, he ponders. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

She lowers her eyes, conflict once more finding its way into her mind. She knows she should. It’s Lan, and she can trust him. But if she starts, she doesn’t know how much she could keep to herself, how much she should let out. Her hands are shaking again, maybe because she’s channeled, maybe because she’s just too weak. Maybe, it is because I am a coward, she thinks diminishing herself.

‘I don’t think I am ready.’ She stalls.

‘Will you ever be?’.

‘No,’ she answers honestly.

Lan pulls her body against him again. The benefit is for both of them. ‘Might as well tell me now, then. As hard as it is... But only if you want.’ He kisses the top of her head and just waits. Although he is holding her body, he knows she doesn’t feel trapped. Her own arms are entwined with his in a firm grasp. ‘Does it have anything to do with this new bracelet of yours?’

‘It does.’ She concedes.

‘What have they done to you, Moiraine?’ Threats don’t sit well in Lan’s voice. The moment he asks the question, she knows he might kill for her. She only needs to say the word. But she would never. She bears the responsibility for what happened with the Finns, for what she’s lost. She also knows that it’s torture for Lan not to know. So, for once, she will tell him everything. And maybe, it is just because she can’t carry it by herself anymore.

Chapter Text

Her mind drifts away.

There is this gap, a rift in space, time, or perhaps something else entirely. It’s bewildering and disorientating. She blinks her eyes time and time again, but they struggle to adapt to the light or... lack of it? Yes, there is light, but not everywhere. It gathers in pools here and there, mingling with darkness, deep and cold and empty darkness. Her body feels like floating, yet so heavy, as if an invisible force tugs at her limbs and head, rendering her muscles immobile. Her back aches; she’s aware of that, and her fingers feel icy, but there’s no other option other than to surrender.

She waits, and waits, and waits. After an extended period of loneliness, indistinct figures appear, blurred and in slow motion, passing by her, never touching or acknowledging her presence. She follows them with her head - she can finally move a bit - but there’s this flickering in their images, and suddenly she can’t discern their movements anymore. They seem to be going slow when she focuses on them, but way too fast in comparison when she’s watching from the corner of her eye. It makes her feel nauseous, and her mind is spiraling down.

She thinks she recognizes one figure. Is that... Lan? Yes, it's him. She scans her surroundings and realizes she's on a battlefield. Something must have happened to her, a hard blow to her back perhaps. It would explain why she lost track of time, and why her vision is blurred. She seems to have recovered now, except for the fact that she can't remember how she got here. But that doesn't matter because Lan is right there.

His face is smeared with dust and blood, gripping his sword with deadly intent. His focused expression reflects his readiness to slice and kill.

Moiraine mirrors his determination. She embraces Saidar, surveying the grim scene around her. The ground is littered with countless corpses, but she can't afford to dwell on them. The dead can neither help nor harm them. If there's someone she knows among them, she'll mourn later, after the battle.

Yes, it makes sense that Lan would stand by her side in this last battle. They've always been fated to be together. Today, they might face death, but they'll face it together. However, oh, how she wishes he would survive this final ordeal. Light, please, let him survive. She doesn't dwell on her own fate too much; she's determined to stay alive solely to shield him. Yes, she will channel and fight alongside him, even if it costs her own life.

‘What are you doing?’ Lan screams at her, snapping her attention back to the battle unfolding before her eyes. He's just blocked a Trolloc's attack with his sword, and in response, Moiraine weaves air and water together.

She thinks she's weaving them, but she's not. She got distracted, that's all. She tries again, feeling the power coursing through her body, that intoxicating sensation, but... she can't channel. Not a single thread of the One Power responds to her.

No. No. No.

She doesn't understand. Why can't she channel? Lan is locked in combat with another Trolloc now, there are more coming, and she's growing desperate. She attempts once more and fails. But Lan needs help, and if she can't channel, she'll fight them with her dagger. She'll worry about the One Power as soon as they're done with those two Trollocs. Speed is crucial. Her hand darts to the hilt of the dagger hanging from her belt, however, Lan anticipates her decision and is censuring her.

‘I can handle them!’ He yells.

He can’t. As soon as he lands a blow with his sword, another one is delivered to his side. He groans but keeps fighting. Moiraine shouts at and curses the Trollock that did it, and is running straight to him, and a second attack hits Lan. The sword pierces through his middle. His Aes Sedai screams in pain, feeling it through the bond.

‘Lan!’ What comes from her mouth is something between a growl and a plea. An apology.

It happens too fast. Her warder looks at her and shakes his head - don’t come closer. He pierces his sword into a Trollock but gets another blow. The blade cuts through his flesh and bones, too close to his heart. Moiraine screams again, but it sounds only like desperation now. She tries to reach the Source once more, and then again, and through physical pain and desolation, she closes her eyes as her knees hit the ground.

‘No!’ It’s visceral this time, and she doesn’t care if she dies here as well.

The realization that it's too late to try again makes her body tremble in defeat. She cries, the pain coursing through every part of her small, human body. Her life does not flash before her eyes before dying. That’s a lie she heard. Time seems to stretch instead, and she lives that moment as if it lasts forever. The only company to her pain is a huge sense of failure. She’s been expecting the next blow, but it never happens.

...

Her senses have never been that sharp. She feels the rough and hard floor beneath her fingers. The scratches on her knee skin from hitting the floor. The cold freezing her limbs. Her hair sticking to her sweaty face. Her stomach turning into knots. It’s just too much. She feels like throwing up. As a matter of fact, she does. It’s not much, as she hasn’t been eating properly lately. She feels weak, pathetic, and disgusted with herself. Yet, she has no strength left to get on her feet, to fight the feeling. She just keeps crying, hoping that the pain will go away.

'Moiraine,' Siuan's voice comes from the distance, small and worried. She says her name again, closer now. Her gentle hands kindly situate and pull Moiraine closer against her chest. Siuan's body is warm and familiar; it welcomes Moiraine's battered form and helps sooth her mind. However, it does not subdue the pain or the humiliation. There’s this part of her that wants to resist the offered comfort - she is not seeking attention and does not deserve to be held, to be taken care of. She’s not worth it. Her body is decaying, so just let it be. It might be for the best, after all. She tries to pull away, to send Siuan back to where she had come from.

‘Stop it.’ The woman says firmly, her arms holding her still. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m not letting go of you.’

She stills, forcing herself to meet Siaun’s gaze. Her expression is serious, filled with genuine concern. But her eyes show no pity. Anger, yes, but not directed at her. Toward her, it’s only love - that unwavering, steadfast, strong kind of love.

‘I’ll Heal you.’ She announces, as simple as daylight breaking through grey clouds.

‘You can’t do that, you know this. She’ll chastise you.’ Moiraine whispers, terrified.

Siuan shakes her head once, even though she does know Moiraine is right in her assumption. Yet, there will be no argument. ‘You can cry today. But tomorrow you’ll be stronger, wiser. When you’re caught in a current, you don’t swim against it. You float for a while, learn your surroundings, then swim parallel to the shoreline. That’s how you survive.’ Her thumb caresses Moiraine’s face, wiping the tears out of the way in its passage.

She heeds Siuan’s words, her blue eyes studying her face while processing them. She searches for false premises and white lies, maybe just a hint of them. She finds none. Siuan is uncompromising, honest, strong, and real. She is a lighthouse - she can see through the night, even and especially when Moiraine can’t. Without her, the Cairhien woman thinks she might have already drowned.

‘I’ll Heal you.’ She repeats. ‘And tomorrow you’ll channel. You’ll surprise Elaida by hitting her with full force.’

Moiraine lips trembles, and she sobs at hearing her tutor's name. She shrinks against Siuan, holding her closer. ‘You said wiser.’ She counters.

‘Well, she’ll hit you anyway, won’t she? At least give her a good reason to do it.’ It’s hard, but it’s also true. It’s out before she can’t help herself.

‘What if I can’t channel again?’ She murmurs, thinking there’s a good chance she’ll fail again.

‘There’s always another tomorrow. You’ll learn, I’m sure of it. Now, rest.’ She holds Moiraine closer to her chest, but gently enough that she won’t hurt her any further.

Moiraine asks herself how many ‘tomorrows’ more, like this today, she can put up with. But she doesn’t voice her concerns. Instead, she closes her eyes and breathes in Siuan’s perfume. She takes comfort in her embrace. Siuan is the closest thing to love that she’s ever known - simple and uncomplicated love. She almost feels happy for a moment, but sleep comes too fast, so she’ll have to chase that feeling any other day.

...

I want to be with you, in a bamboo hut on the river. Like my father and I had. Siuan’s words play time and time again in her mind. They’re lying in bed together, the other woman sound asleep while Moiraine daydreams about her future. It’s the happiest she has ever been. She doesn’t know if she deserves it, and she’s afraid the feeling might go away, so she seizes it and makes it hers before it disappears. She turns on her side and caresses Siuan’s face with her thumb. Yes, they could be happy living together, away from everyone, from everything. How else could she live this life if not with Siuan by her side? She throws her leg over the woman’s, getting even closer, and rests her head on her shoulder. She feels then that the other woman is chuckling. So, she was not asleep after all.

A hand cups her head and gently holds her in place. ‘Careful, Aes Sedai. You are letting your feelings show too easily,’ Siuan teases her, addressing her by her newly acquired title.

‘I need no mask when I’m with you,’ Moiraine counters. Her heart is beating so fast it might actually be trying to start a new symphony.

Siuan is so quick to turn and press Moiraine under her body. ‘That you don’t, and will never need.’

Blue eyes darken, resembling a beautiful navy sky just after sunset, bringing out the first stars in the sky. She loves the way Siuan’s hair frames her face, the way her skin feels against her own—warm and soft; hers. She loves how her lips find hers in a deep, long kiss, the way her arms hold her firmly and dearly as if never letting her go. She finds she finally knows where she belongs. She finally understands what love is, although she wouldn't be able to describe it. Yes, this is the happiest she has ever been because she knows deep inside that Siuan loves her back.

When the other woman presses a leg between hers, against her center, she thinks she might explode.

She eagerly hopes so.

...

'Look at me.’ A male voice wakes her up. ‘Moiraine, please, open your eyes.’ She recognizes Lan’s voice and makes an effort to comply with his request. Her body feels like it's burning, and she's trembling. Sunlight momentarily blinds her vision, but Lan’s face appears just in front of her, looking desperate, tired, and beaten up. Light... is she dying? She tries to move but has no strength left. Panic courses through her for a second. Is Lan dying? Is this what she is feeling through the bond? No, Lan feels exhausted and weak, but not dying. She suddenly feels nauseous, so she turns her head away from him, but nothing changes—only panic wrestling with illness, each trying to overpower the other.

Despite the daylight, her vision darkens at the sides. Yes, she is the one who’s dying. ‘The Dragon...’ She murmurs.

‘Hold on tight. We’re almost there.’ His voice sounds strange, and she doesn’t think it's solely because of her current state.

‘You and Siuan...’ She doesn’t need to finish her sentence; he must understand what she means. If not her, he and Siuan will need to move on with the quest.

‘I won’t lose you. This is not the end for us. Stop talking.’ He pleads in response. ‘We’re almost there. Almost, Moiraine. Your sister will heal you. Hold on tight, please.’

He’s begging her. Lan would never beg. He would bargain with her. Maybe say a quiet prayer. But he’s not one to beg for anything. So she must be dying.

And she has never been that scared in her life. She tries to make her hands work and grab onto his coat. She can’t even do that.

...

‘Have you figured it out, yet? It’s not that hard, Moiraine. The dosage is not huge, it won’t kill you if you drink it by mistake.'

She’s seven, and her mother is asking her to drink poison. She does not want to. She doesn’t want to try and make herself sick. She looks at the glasses with disdain.

‘Pick one glass already. Smell it. Sip it. You’ll have to learn sooner or later. If you don’t, the first person who tries to poison you will be successful. Try it.’

She decidedly shakes her head. ‘No.’

Her mother leans in closer, and suddenly Moiraine feels so small and defenseless. ‘You don’t get to be a coward in this life. You were born a Damodred. You make choices and face the consequences.’

She will never understand why her mother treats her so harshly, whereas the servants shower her with affection.

‘I choose not to drink it.’ She spits, her temper getting the best of her.

Her mother smirks. It’s not a good sign. ‘You had better pay for your choices then.’ She gracefully drinks one glass, and turns her back to Moiraine before walking out of the room.

It leaves her astonished, seeing her mother drink like that, even if it could be poison. She feels furious and desolate. In an outburst of anger, she knocks all the glasses off the table. They shatter into a million pieces, juice spilling across the floor. She knows she'll pay for that later, with her own mother's hands slapping her.

She relives that day after day, denying the beverages every time. The older woman picking a glass and emptying it, followed by her chastisement.

Until one day, her mother does not come. She’s sick, someone says, and Moiraine isn't allowed to visit or talk to her.

Moiraine feels relieved, but guilt washes over her small being.

It gets even worse when the woman dies. With each passing day, she wonders if it's her fault for letting her mother deliberately drink all of those glasses.

When her father does not talk with her for weeks, she thinks she might as well start drinking them herself.

...

Moiraine comes to realize that it is the small things that make her love Lan.

One day, in the bathtub of an old inn in a village, he helps her wash her hair. She insists her arm is okay, even though it’s still sore from falling after tripping over a log on the road. It was ridiculous and hurt her ego. She felt like a fool and would have preferred him to laugh at the situation rather than act like the maniac he did, checking every inch of her body. She did get mad at him for that, but he helps her wash her hair so naturally and without awkwardness that he's forgiven.

Once, nearing the Borderlands, she dreams about Siuan. It leaves her feeling nostalgic, longing for her lover’s arms. Waking up in the middle of the night makes her feel lonely, and the cold of the night is unforgiving. She tosses and turns, the campfire not strong enough to keep her body warm. Lan, of course, notices her discomfort through the bond. He lies down by her side and, without even asking, puts an arm under her head and pulls her closer to him. She gasps at the movement and looks at him, baffled.

‘What are you doing?’ she asks but does not move away.

‘It is my duty to keep you safe. You’ll freeze if you don’t use my body for warmth,’ he says simply, smiling at her. They have been together for over three years now. They've shared baths and beds, but he has never held her like this before.

Her eyes are heavy with sleep, and she’s stubborn but cannot bring herself to argue against him this time. She knows, also, that it's not only for the cold. He feels what she feels and is offering her company against her loneliness. He would never mention it because he also knows she'd sooner die than admit to that.

When resistance doesn't come, Lan throws his own blanket over them. He rubs her back slowly and then rests his hand against her head to keep it warm, to keep her safe.

‘Sleep, Moiraine. You need it. I’ll stay awake; no danger will come close to you.’ He whispers.

She closes her eyes, thankful for having him. ‘I know, my Gaidin.’

She still longs for Siuan, but now, to counter that, she feels at ease, almost at peace, with Lan holding her like that. It’s another kind of love, one she’ll still have to figure out and categorize, one different from what she feels for Siuan. 

But love, nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Only when they settle into bed does their conversation continue. For Moiraine, it’s a relief, really, to talk to Lan about those… illusions — if she dares to call them that. Her heart feels a bit lighter. Though she hasn’t shared every single one—there were far too many—she’s done her best to paint a picture, hoping he can understand what she’s endured.

He seems unsettled by her words, his expression tense, as if still processing it all.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he whispers. There’s a quiet ferocity in his voice, one Moiraine learned to recognize long ago—anger, tightly restrained, fueled by the hunger for vengeance.

She doesn’t quite know what to say. Yes, she feels sorry too—though she hasn’t even voiced her own losses yet. Her heart clenches at the thought of the most obscene, heart-wrenching false memories, the ones she hadn’t dared to recount to Lan. The ones she knows aren’t real, couldn’t be real—memories that belonged to some other life, or perhaps none at all. Twisted echoes, crafted only to haunt her.
And yet, she has learned much. Crucial things. Things Rand must know if he is to survive the Last Battle. Without them, he will fail. The Light, the Pattern itself, cannot afford that. But when will they let her leave this wretched place?

“Moiraine?”

Lan’s voice pulls her back. She blinks, disoriented for a heartbeat, as if shaking off the lingering touch of the Eelfinn’s realm.

“Yes?” she answers, her voice steadier than she feels.

“I asked if you think they were visions, like the ones you saw in the ring in Rhuidean. Possible futures?”

How does she explain something she barely understands herself? She frowns, thinking back to that time. It had been terrifying then, laughably so, compared to what she’s endured since. She hadn’t known what awaited her next. Perhaps it was better that way.

“They can’t have been,” she says at last, firm. “Some of the memories were real. Though, if I’m honest, I could never have recalled such tiny details on my own. My father’s scent, my fear of…” She exhales sharply, cutting herself off.

Lan doesn’t press. He simply waits, as he always does, giving her the space to speak or not.

After a moment, she continues, more carefully now. “I suppose… they must have been buried somewhere in my mind, fragments long forgotten. But they were memories, not visions. No.” She pauses, frowning again, sifting through the tangled threads of experience, searching for a pattern in the chaos. “But apart from those… there were some scenes…” Her voice trails off, thoughts racing ahead, working—desperate—to make sense of all she has seen and felt. “They don’t belong to any time in this life.”

Lan studies her, his expression unreadable. “And you’re certain of that because…?” Even he struggles to grasp what she’s describing, to wrap his mind around something so unearthly.

Moiraine bites her lower lip. Her hands curl into fists, a feeble attempt to stop their trembling. There’s only one answer to his question—one truth she can’t ignore—but she had hoped to hold onto it a little longer.

She does not need to look at him to know the expression on his face. The quiet, unshakable concern, the weight of worry he will carry for her without hesitation. She doesn’t want to give him another reason to bear it. But avoiding his gaze makes it easier to say.

“The Eelfinn did not just steal my strength, Lan,” she says at once, like a flame snuffed before it has time to flicker, voice quieter now. “They fed on it. They twisted my emotions, made them sharper, deeper—so they could drain more power from me.” She hates saying it aloud. Hates acknowledging how small she feels now, how the One Power no longer burns in her veins the way it once did. She clenches her fists tighter. No. She refuses to be less than she was.

Lan breathes in, pensive. “So that means you cannot channel like before anymore?’’

“I can channel.” She says shortly. “But not like before. That’s why I have this now”. She lifts her wrist, revealing the delicate ter’angreal bracelet, its faint, intricate carvings catching the dim light.

“It's ter'angreal.’ Lan states what is obvious now. He takes her wrist in his hand - hers being so thin compared to his that an ounce of force might break it.

“Yes, it is.” Her voice is hoarse, exhausted. Everything has been too much, too fast. Her body begs for rest, and her mind is fraying at the edges, unable to process anything more. It feels as though everything she sees and hears belongs to another reality—one she has yet to return to.

‘You need a Warder,’ Lan says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. ‘You need to recover first, Moiraine, and only after that will I take you to Rand myself. But you’ll need a Warder—for protection, for strength. The halls of power are treacherous,’ he is about to explain to her how political intrigue and manipulation plays a part there, but he refrains himself; she knows it better than anyone, and she does not need to be reminded. He wants to tell her everything that has happened in her absence and listen to everything she has endured. More than that, he feels an overwhelming need to hold her close, to watch her sleep, to make sure she is safe. He himself is exhausted—too many emotions surging and fading, too much to comprehend. He can’t wrap his mind around the ordeal she has survived; her being alive is, indeed, a gift of the Light.

"I do," she concedes. There is no point in denying what she already knows. She will see to that later. "I admit I’m in no condition to travel," she adds, as if confessing a secret. "But you have to promise me, Lan, that you’ll take me to Rand as soon as possible."

It isn’t fair—the way she pleads, the way those beautiful eyes can make him do almost anything that she wants. Lan nods once, silent. He won’t get her killed again. More than anyone, he knows it is his duty to protect her… even from herself. Even if he is no longer her Warder. "Sleep," he orders. "The sooner you recover, the sooner you’ll reach Rand."

"Will you stay?" she asks, though she already knows the answer.

"Of course I will."

Still seated on the bed, he helps her as she eases down, her body aching with exhaustion. But it is the way she rests a hand on his knee that undoes him completely. She does not want to feel alone. She needs something solid—something real—to know that he is truly there.

‘Lan…’ She breathes out, just when he thinks she has fallen asleep.

‘I’m here’, he says, lightly caressing her hair.

‘If I have a nightmare… Please, wake me up.’ It’s the first time she is shy about something.

It is not the first time his heart breaks that day.

Chapter Text

Exhaustion takes her to a dark, quiet, but peaceful place. As it turns out, she does not have any nightmares, not even any dreams.

Moiraine wakes slowly, as though surfacing from deep water. It’s nearly dawn—she can tell by the faint light creeping through the cracks in the shutters. The room is still, the air thick with the scent of the night’s coolness, but there is something unsettling about the silence. The stillness feels heavy, like the world is holding its breath. For a moment, she believes the darkness around her is something more—an absence of the world itself. It’s too dark.

Her heart stirs with something she doesn’t dare name: fear. The fear of not knowing whether she’s awake or still trapped in some shadowy echo of the Eelfinn’s realm. The thought lingers, a whisper in the dark. She tries to calm herself, but her pulse quickens, and she lies still in the bed, her eyes wide open. Every part of her aches, from her bones to her spirit, a heavy exhaustion she cannot shake. The darkness wraps around her like a cold blanket, suffocating in its silence.

There’s nothing to fear, it’s always darkest before dawn. The night ends when the moon sinks below the horizon, she tells herself, in an useless attempt to calm her nerves.

Lan is beside her, though she fears even him now. She watches him for a long moment—his broad shoulders rising and falling with each steady breath, his face untroubled, peaceful in sleep. Yet she knows, all too well, how fragile peace can be. Her fingers curl into the blankets, gripping them tight. Even with Lan close, even with the safety of his presence, her mind is not at rest.

The darkness presses in again, more suffocating than before. Her breath catches, and her mind churns, swirling in confusion. Her fingers brush Lan’s shoulder—his skin feels real, warm—but is it? Didn’t everything else feel real in the Finn’s realm, too? The memories, the sensations... were they any more true than this? Her grip tightens, searching for something solid, yet the doubt lingers, gnawing at her thoughts like a persistent shadow.

Moiraine pulls herself into a sitting position, her head spinning, her hands shaking as they run through her hair. Her breath is shallow. She reaches out instinctively, seeking Lan’s presence again, his warmth, just to be there at the tip of her fingers.

Minutes stretch into eternity. The silence clings to her, a weight she can’t shake. She needs something—anything—to ground herself, to remind herself that the world still turns. That she is still here.

“Lan,” she whispers at first, barely a breath, but the darkness swallows her words, and the sound of her own voice frightens her.

“Lan?” she says, more insistent, her voice trembling. She fears his silence means he isn't real at all.

His eyes snap open at once, a warrior’s instinct never dulled by sleep. He blinks in the dim light, groggy, but his hand finds hers almost immediately, warm and steady.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice low, rough with sleep, but filled with that quiet concern she has always known.

For a moment, she struggles with the weight of the question in her chest. “I…” Yes, she is relieved, somehow. But… What is it? What does she even need from him? 

“Did you have a nightmare? I am sorry, I did not hear you. I…’’

“No.” She cuts in quickly. “No, I am sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I am just…” Terrified. She does not allow these words to form on her lips. She presses her hand against her forehead, feeling the dizzying heat of her own pulse. 

Now he is sitting up as well. He misinterpreted her gesture, as he now is touching her face with the back of his hand. “You’re feverish.”

“What?” She blinks, as if to clear away the fog in her mind. 

“You’re feverish.” He repeats, his voice laced with worry.

“I just need some fresh air, that 's all.”

Lan says nothing, just reaches for the blanket, pulling it off them both. “Let me take you downstairs, let’s get something warm, something to settle your mind.”

Moiraine concedes. With a quiet, determined breath, she swings her legs off the bed and plants them on the floor. Her legs tremble beneath her, weak as if they might buckle under her weight, but she refuses to give in. She’s just as stubborn as ever, pressing herself forward despite the warning tremor in her muscles.

Yet, it doesn’t take long before her body betrays her. Just outside their room, her knees wobble, and her vision blurs for a split second. The pain in her chest flares—a quiet but undeniable reminder of her limits. She swallows the bitter taste of defeat, turning toward Lan with a small, reluctant sigh.

Without hesitation, Lan steps forward. His arms wrap around her with effortless strength, and he lifts her as if she were weightless. She leans into him, a flicker of gratitude mingling with the frustration of not being able to do it herself. As always, he is there. His presence, solid and constant, brings a strange sense of peace, even as she resists being carried.

With careful steps, he carries her through the hall and down to the kitchen. The journey feels like an eternity, and yet it is comforting in its simplicity.

To their surprise, there is someone else in the kitchen. The room is filled with the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked goods, the scent of honey cakes still warm from the oven. The air is warmer here than the rest of the inn, a welcome contrast to the chill of the hallway. It wraps around them like a soft blanket, and for a moment, the world outside seems far away, as though they’ve stepped into a space untouched by the worries of the outside world. The hominess of the room, the crackle of the hearth, and the simple, grounding presence of the woman who tends to the fire create a peaceful, unexpected haven.

Moiraine is back on her feet before the woman has the chance to turn around and notice them. She won’t allow herself to be seen like this—weak, vulnerable, being carried through the halls like a child. There’s a fierce pride in her, a stubbornness that drives her to stand on her own, even if her legs are still unsteady beneath her. 

She straightens her back, steadies herself, and takes a slow, deliberate step forward. Her breath catches in her throat, but she doesn’t let it show. She won’t give in to it. Not now. Not here.

“Good evening, we hope we are not intruding.” Moiraine says politely.

Although the woman has yet to turn to face them, her voice betrays a smile. ‘Well, it’s so late that I believe it’s already tomorrow.’ She laughs to herself. ‘ Good morning fits better.’ When she turns around, with a plate of bread in her hands, her face shows pure sympathy. ‘Come, take a seat. You have come early for breakfast, I see.

‘We followed the smell, it’s delicious.’ Lan says, always pleasant. 

As soon as they sit at the table and are served, without being asked, a generous amount of bread, honey cakes and even tea, for Moiraine’s taste.

‘You look better now than when you arrived.’ The other woman delivers, again, without being asked anything.

Moiraine finds the comment a bit intrusive but doesn’t show any disapproval. She picks at her food, distracted, having a bite or two, and has to admit that the honey cakes taste better this morning. Her body feels tired and still sore, even after sleeping through the night, so she decides to save some energy and cut off the small talk. She hears Lan kindly talking to the woman, though she doesn’t catch the words. She’s too lost in her thoughts.

What should she do next? Find Rand, that’s obvious, but how can she convince Lan to take her to him? No, in this condition… Light, she can barely walk, let alone travel. Yes, she needs food, rest… and to feel settled in reality.

Lan gently touches her back, as if to remind her of something. Had she forgotten to breathe? She takes a deep breath and looks at him. Even though he is attentively speaking to the woman, he manages to glance at Moiraine and give her a supportive smile.

"Anyway, your friend agreed on that. So you don’t have to pay for your food tonight—if you decide to come," says the other woman—Hilda, though Moiraine would only learn her name later—somewhere in the back of her mind.

She blinks, confused. “I’m sorry,” she says to Lan. “What is happening tonight?”

Lan is about to explain, but the woman cuts in cheerfully. “Thom—your friend—offered to play some music for us tonight. I can’t wait to dance a bit! It’s been a while,” she says, even swaying in place.

The Light burn her, Moiraine thinks. How can someone be that energetic in the morning? How can someone think about dancing when the world is coming to an end?

She clenches her hands into fists, fighting the urge to strike the table. If she were being honest, she would admit she’s jealous. Jealous of the woman’s healthy, unbroken body. Jealous of the lightness in her voice. Jealous of a life untouched by darkness—or at least, untouched by this kind. To dance tonight. She almost allows herself to think of Siuan - them, dancing together. She does not. How mundane. How futile.

And why can’t she be the one thinking about such things?

Ignorance is a blessing , she reminds herself.

She feels stuck—a bird caught in a gust of wind, but being pulled in the opposite direction of where it needs to fly. Out of spite, or maybe out of desperation, she decides she’ll eat as much as she can. She needs strength. The sooner, the better.

She says nothing. Offers no smile, no thanks. While Lan keeps politely talking, Moiraine eats with quiet, pointed efficiency. She drinks her tea, takes one last honey cake—this one goes in her pocket. For later.

Lan notices, and seems proud. Too proud.

For some reason, she hates that.

She doesn’t know what to do with him now. How could she? She tried so hard to keep him away, to save him, and even after everything, he still found his way back to her. Yes, she feels safer when he’s near—but…

She shakes her head, not even noticing it.

The room has become too happy —Hilda talking about old songs, of having someone to dance with.

Moiraine does not belong to that kind of joy.

She wants to leave, but doesn’t have the strength to move. Her body still, her face unreadable, her silence growing colder by the second.

When Lan touches her arm again, she almost jumps out of her skin.

“Are you alright?”

Such an innocent question, worded with so much care. Yet she wants to scream at him that no—she is not alright. That he shouldn’t ask questions he already knows the answers to. That she doesn’t want to speak of any of it.

Instead, all she says is, “I’m cold.” And at this point, she doesn’t even know if she’s talking about her body or her soul.

“I’ll help you up,” he offers, already rising to his feet.

“No.”

Her voice is firm—stubborn, as always. The woman he has come to accept, and perhaps, still doesn’t fully understand.

“I would like to sit near the hearthstone. In the common room,” she adds, as an afterthought. A soft instruction—one he knows means leave me be.

Unnervingly determined, she manages the walk from one room to another. Her movements are slow, fragile—but her spine remains straight, her jaw tight.

Lan says nothing. He only watches.

As dangerous as it is for her to be moving in such a state, he doesn’t stop her.

He feels the shift in her—the storm closing in—and he knows better than to stand in its way.

Once she is seated on a somewhat comfortable armchair, he walks to her and covers her legs with a throw he finds folded on a chair nearby.

“What is it?” he asks, after checking that they are alone.

The fire dances slowly in the hearthstone, but Lan’s eyes are so much more alive and inviting than that that she can’t even glance at them—not without having to push away the need to feel his arms around her. This is so, so wrong. He is not her Warder anymore. They can’t keep doing this.

“Lan,” she starts with a whisper, her heart pounding dangerously after walking; what a toll it has taken on her. “I must be alone for now.”

“Don’t do that again, Moiraine,” he whispers back, his voice carrying the slightest edge of irritation. “We’ve been through this already. You don’t get to shut me out again.”

“Lan, thank you for caring for me.” She means it, and he knows it. “I feel much better now, and I would like to be left alone with my thoughts. To… process things.” She insists—not wanting to be rude, but not exactly being friendly either.

Being a warrior, he knows which battles to surrender. It is Moiraine, after all. Yes, she has come back from the dead, but she is still the same old, stubborn, and maddening woman. He would laugh to himself, if not for knowing the weight of her inner battles.

He concedes, a little heartbroken, certainly annoyed. He places a warm hand on her shoulder, then leaves without a word.

She should feel relieved—it was what she wanted, after all.

But funnily enough, she feels horrible: empty, disoriented, not enough.

She watches the fire and tries to clear her mind. She wills her body to become stronger—strong enough so she can finally get out of there. She needs to be doing something. To be someone again.
Maybe she’ll talk to Thom—they might plot something together. She could even talk to Mat—No. He has a sharp tongue, that one. Her current state of mind can’t deal with him.

She thinks back to the woman, and the dancing, and… Siuan. Thinks about how painful it was when she felt the Oath breaking—the pain she felt when she learned Siuan had died and… The Light knows how much that sword going through her body hurt, but even that didn’t compare to the grief that followed.

Then, Lan. Holding her tightly against his chest. Soothing her pain. Treating her wounds.
Hiding her from everyone but Egwene, who eventually forced herself into their tent to Heal her.

Sweet Egwene, who had caressed her face and dried her tears, who forced food into her when Lan couldn’t and who warded her dreams and nightmares and, with quiet grace, told her to put herself back together and get to her feet again. Lan is too soft on you, but I won’t be , she had dared to say.

It all comes back to Lan, even now.

Before, she had Siuan and Lan.

Now, after the Finn…

She feels like she has no one.

The first, gone.

The second, sent away.

She doesn’t know what to do with all these feelings, these thoughts… Her memories with the Eelfinn.

It makes her anxious. Leaves her restless. And still, she remains. Not whole, not healed. Just breathing. Caught between who she was and who she must become—
her heart a battlefield, her body a cage.

There is no path ahead, not yet. Only the fire’s slow breath, and the ache of still being here when so much of her is already gone.