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Moiraine sits in front of her mirror. It’s more than a little jarring to be back in her childhood home in Cairhien. Most of the streaks of dirt on her skin from the days and nights of travel—or flight rather—have been wiped away.
It should be easy to relax now, but the conversation with Anvaere is still on the forefront of her mind. But she can’t think about her little sister now. Not when this turn of the wheel is in such jeopardy and might fall into darkness. Trivial squabbling over standing and power can have no bearing on Moiraine’s mind at the moment. No one and nothing can be more important than the Dragon Reborn defeating the Dark One.
Once more, her gaze falls to the mirror. The face staring back at her, is a familiar sight. Dark circles under her eyes as well as the more pronounced lines around her mouth, have been a constant companion since her search for the Dragon Reborn began. Some years more than others.
Moiraine blinks slowly, relishing in the brief respite that closing her heavy eyelids brings. With a start she opens her eyes again, for she cannot, will not sleep this night or the ones to come.
She reaches for the damp cloth again, the water only lukewarm by now, scrubbing at a persistent streak of mud on her cheek. The skin gains color under her ministrations quickly and she wrings out the cloth in a basin on the vanity. She blinks again. Opens her eyes again with more force this time. The bright pink spot on her cheek is still there.
The candle on the wall flickers.
Moiraine sinks back in her chair. Water drips from the cloth in her hand onto her skirt, leaves a dark spot behind. Deep breaths come slow and deep, the orange glow from the chandelier lulls her in.
Blue eyes fall shut for just a moment.
The sudden warmth of hot water permeates her skin, relaxes tense muscles. The scent of lavender oil hangs heavy in the steamy air. All of It is familiar to Moiraine, even if it seems like a lifetime ago she and Lan journeyed to the town of Emond's Field. But the memory of the evening is still there, lingers in her mind vividly.
When Moiraine languidly opens her eyes at last, she expects to look at Lan's relaxed features like it was back then, as they sat in this bath together, but finds none other than the Daughter of the Night herself sitting across from her. At the sight of Lanfear, smile smug and a little condescending, Moiraine startles hard enough water sloshes over the wooden rim of the tub and splashes all over the polished floorboards.
And light burn her… Lanfear barks out a short gust of tinkling laughter. And despite the heat of the water, goosebumps rise on Moiraine’s exposed arms.
Carefully she takes stock of her situation. It's the same room at the Inn it was way back then, but everything beyond the tub is shrouded in ever moving shadows. She can barely make out the outline of the bed or the door, if they are even there in this particular reincarnation in Tel'aran'rhiod. Everything else seems to be the same, the hot water, the flower pedals, steam rising from the water’s surface.
Also… it’s two naked occupants.
"Why are we here?" Moiraine asks guardedly, pressing herself a little further against the side of the tub, without making it too obvious to be noticed. The fire in the crate next to the bath serving as the only light source crackles and pops, its subdued shine bathing Lanfear's sharp features in an eerie golden glow.
"Here as in the Two Rivers, a region of Andor?" Lanfear shrugs carelessly, bored even. "That's entirely your doing. You were desperate for a bath, were you not?"
And yes, she undeniably has been. And she was careless enough to sit down and rest and make all of this a possibility. Tel'aran'rhiod might be Lanfear's domain, but Moiraine has opened a door for the Dreamwalker, she has no hope of closing again.
"You have come to end my life then." Moiraine states, not even posing it as a question because it must undoubtedly be the case.
Her heart picks up its pace and thrums in a quick beat of a tavern's song she's heard decades ago. Deliberately she crosses her arms over her chest, it's a silly gesture truly, but she feels too bare—too vulnerable—in the Forsaken's presence without clothing as she is.
Even though the other woman doesn't seem to be bothered by her own nudity, but if one is as old as Lanfear, quaint modesty may fall away with the centuries. Certainly it’s not evident in the way she lounges on her side of the tub, arms languidly outstretched over the rim. Milky water sloshing dangerously low on her chest, just barely covering the swell of her breasts. Moiraine forces her gaze up to the other woman's face only to find that her inspection has been caught. Lanfear mocks her with a suggestive quirk of her lips, but says: "I have."
Sweltering heat claws up her throat and Moiraine resists the urge to run her fingers over it, refuses to give away any more of her unease than she already has. Lifting her head a little, she meets Lanfear’s gaze head on, swallowing. All her outward calm is just for show but she clings to it tightly.
Lanfear's eyes travel over her exposed skin unabashedly and Moiraine can feel their intensity like a physical touch. Her heart picks up a frantic pace, thrumming wildly against her chest. Is it fear of death? Violent and brutal, surely? But in the back of her mind is an unpleasant sign of recognition, an awareness, the feeling might be something else entirely. She looks away, lest Lanfear picks up on it.
It comes to Moiraine slowly, but then with the force of being hit by a sledgehammer. The itch at the side of her nose she cannot reach, because none of her limbs will heed to her commands. Her eyes shoot back over to Lanfear and a surge of electricity crawls up her spine as she sees the other woman gliding towards her until Moiraine can make out flecks of brown in the Forsaken's green eyes.
"I would take a deep breath now if I were you." Lanfear murmurs and a hand, warmed and wet by the water, touches her shoulder and then the Forsaken pushes her down into the all of the sudden deeper depths of the tub. Moiraine tries to struggle against the unseen weaves that bind her, but it is to no use. The smirk on Lanfear's face grows only wider, clearly delighted by her rising panic. Far too early the waterline scales her chin and Moiraine sucks in a ragged breath of air before going under.
Lanfear's hand keeps her down, the ghost of a thumb trailing over her clavicle.
The longer she is under water, the harder panic surges within. Moiraine strains as she reaches for the One Power, but Saidar keeps devastatingly beyond her reach. When she concentrates long enough for a spark to flare to life, it fizzles out before the beginning of a weave can form. Since her years as a novice, Moiraine hasn’t felt this powerless and inapt. Wishes for the fraction of a second Lanfear would hurt her physically, so Saidar may break out of her in a rush and Moiraine from her confinement. But there are only Lanfear’s soft, gentle fingers sprawled against her collarbone, a careless thumb dipping intimately into the hollow where her throat meets her breastbone.
This might be the end, Moiraine thinks to herself, unable to do anything but wait until her air runs out. What a waste after all those years searching for the Dragon Reborn, to die like this, without a fight—without purpose, without having achieved anything tangible yet. No one will ever know what happened when they find her slumped over at her vanity in her childhood bedroom. Maybe there will be water in her lungs no one can explain, only speculate. A useless prodigality of life, all just because her flagrant moment of carelessness.
All too soon the lack of air becomes an issue and Moiraine must violently resist the urge to suck in a breath that would only bring death sooner than later. She wills herself to move once more in a desperate attempt to push herself up and out of the water, but alas safety stays faraway and she only ends up jerking a little. Her lungs burn with the intensity of a thousand suns and slowly the desperation gives way to—albeit reluctant—acceptance of death.
Lanfear dips down into the water in front of her. Dark tendrils of hair surround her face like a halo. Even her closed-mouth grin is mocking.
Slowly, like an apparition of a fever dream she surges forward and presses her mouth to Moiraine's.
In her current state Moiraine can’t do anything but bear it. Can't decide if she's more shocked or astonished. Lanfear is one of the Dark One’s highest servants after all. In all her imaginations how an encounter with the Daughter of the Night might play out, this outcome has never crossed her mind. It spoils everything.
Lanfear’s hand curls around her jaw, and breathes much needed oxygen into her aching lungs, pulling her from the edge of death with a kiss of life.
It’s relief and heartache at once.
Moiraine doesn't even realize at first when she can move again, her hand tangles in dark hair at the nape of her neck, holding her in place for something less life giving than life affirming. The rather anticlimactic press of their lips morphs into something desperate, wild and passionate without her even noticing.
Before long, she does come to her senses and Moiraine pushes upwards, wrenching Lanfear away from her and sucks in a gasping, violent breath of air once they break the surface.
There is an unhinged quality to the other woman's face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the kiss swollen lips and the wild look in her emerald eyes. Moiraine tightens her fist in black, silken tresses and pulls Lanfear's head back a little, outstretching her throat. "Why…" Moiraine growls, sounding rough and breathless to her own ears. "Why… would you do that?"
To her own surprise, Lanfear stays in her grip, does not try to break away even though Moiraine is certain it must be painful.
"To show you…" Lanfear begins and Moiraine is distracted by how her pale throat works as she speaks "… the futility of trying to resist me."
Straining against the hold Moiraine has on her, Lanfear leans in and Moiraine could hold her back if she really wanted to, but for reasons unknown she lets Lanfear get nearer still, lets green eyes roam her face; can see drops of water cling to dark lashes.
Before she can gain back her equilibrium, Lanfear brushes warm lips against her own.
She lets herself be kissed by the woman she should be actively trying to kill. And despite everything the kiss is achingly soft and unhurried, more alluring than it has any right to be. A tongue strokes over her lips and with a groan Moiraine opens her mouth, meets it with her own. Her free hand cups Lanfear's cheek, thumb trailing over a prominent cheekbone, pulling only so far away that her lips still touch to Lanfear's. "I am not falling for your scheme," Moiraine breathes, sucking Lanfear’s lower lip into her mouth and finds it with her teeth.
Lanfear's eyes are bright and knowing, but Moiraine won't give up so easily. "Why am I here?" She doesn't believe she will get a straight answer. This is the dream realm after all and Lanfear is its Master. It is curious though, why Lanfear would toy with her of all people. And curiouser yet, why Moiraine herself responds in kind.
A rejoinder, surely.
Moiraine pulls back a little further, her breath coming fast and hard. As much as she despises all Lanfear represents: The death of a thousand worlds, the destruction of the Wheel and the Dark reigning terror over the lands, there is something alluring about her that tempts her. But Moiraine is not stupid enough to follow that feeling—not with her—not with Lanfear however badly she might want to in this moment.
Lanfear's green eyes are inquisitive, captious even, and Moiraine must remind herself this isn’t anything but a well calculated game.
And it’s evident Lanfear wasn't expecting Moiraine to play. But then she always craved a closer, more intimate, look at Lanfear's hand, since the day she read the poem.
"Why don't you kiss me again." Lanfear whispers, but is not asking. Her lips are the color of spilled blood, the wet shine of water on her skin making her face look like cut from marble. "Do it."
And she isn't so much looking at Moiraine's face, pupils dilated, but her mouth - with a curious kind of astonishment, incredulity perhaps, Moiraine hasn't encountered in any of her lovers. For a moment she wonders, if she is the first woman Lanfear has ever kissed in the centuries that she has lived. If she is the first person Lanfear has kissed who is not Lews Therin Telamon or a reincarnation of his.
She should be reasonable and end it—whatever this might be—here and now. And yet… it could be her only opening to get closer to the Forsaken than she ever dreamed possible.
This is only a means to an end. This is Moiraine's way in. She can use this.
She titles her head to the side, studying the woman before her with a new vision. Dropping her hand from a sharp jaw to Lanfear's throat. At first just the pads of her fingers trail over the creamy skin where she once cut it, then her grip tightens and the needy sound Lanfear makes, sends a wave of unexpected arousal straight between her thighs.
“Do it now.” Lanfear demands and pushes herself harder into her hand.
With a sigh, Moiraine succumbs. A tongue trails her lower lip, and the shudder down her spine comes involuntary. Lanfear kisses her harder, licking into the slick heat of her mouth while her fingers find their way to Moiraine's waist. She moves into the contact, moaning low when Lanfear runs her fingernails down her back.
This is something she can use, Moiraine tells herself over and over before she is swept away.
A lean, very naked body straddles her thighs.
It's for the good of the pattern.
In this age, Moiraine will serve.