The dialogue that is completely in italics is taken directly from "The Great Hunt"
I recently reread the Eye of the World after not even glancing at the series for YEARS and this fic was born.
The night after they've bonded, Moiraine can't sleep.
If she's being honest, it probably has more to do with her own churning thoughts than Lan's. A nervous energy keeps her moving when she should be resting, a drive that has her constantly looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows. The power burns in her like fire, flaring up at every cracking branch, despite her ceaseless struggle to find calm and control herself.
After half an hour of pacing, Lan catches at her wrist.
Moiraine starts, but manages not to attack him. She'd known he was about to grab her, intuitively, somehow. She'd known. The bond is new and unsettling for both of them. She bites her lip.
"You need to relax," Lan says in that detached way of his, the words quiet and firm. It is not a command, though. It is something Siuan might have said to her.
Still, she tugs at his grip and he lets her go, allowing her to stalk across their camp and stare out into the darkness of the woods beyond. Lan has built a small fire, and its light creates a kind of barrier between them and the outside world. Moiraine knows that is an imagined barrier-that anyone at anytime could come into their camp and attack them, but it is still a small comfort.
Lan's thoughts and emotions are a knot in the back of her mind, tangled with awe and frustration and concern. He does not understand this bond anymore than she does. Despite her earlier irritation, Lan is a good man. He might have thrown her in a pond, he might be infuriatingly calm when she is anything but relaxed, but their goals align. He does not want to work against her or laugh at her ambitions, which is more than she can say for some.
Sighing, she spins on her heel and turns to face him. He's sitting cross-legged, sword at his waist, staring into the fire. His face is all hard planes and angles, the shadows highlighting his high cheekbones and the blue of his eyes. Sensing her gaze, he looks up, meeting her eyes.
There is little expression in them, but she can feel his curiosity. He does not know quite what to make of her.
"I am..." she says finally, "having some trouble remaining calm." It sounds ridiculous, even to her own ears, but she can hear the hollow quality in her own voice, the Aes Sedai mask slipping into place.
Lan's expression does not soften, but his emotions shift slightly, curiosity, concern, empathy. "That is understandable." he too, speaks the words as if tasting them in his mouth before he says them. They are so careful with each other, dancing around their own discomfort and perplexity about their sudden importance in the others lives. Being so closely bonded to another person, and a person she barely knows (or at least does not know well) is frightening.
He cocks his head at her, casting part of his face further into shadow and says, "I'm not going to hurt you, Moiraine Sedai."
It is a ridiculous thing to say. Of course he is not going to hurt her. He's her Warder, sworn to protect her. Still, she thinks she understands what he means. He will not manipulate her emotions. He will not judge her unjustly. He will challenge her, but only to the point of reason. He will be her friend, or if not her friend, her guide. He will protect her from danger if he can.
It is everything she's been told before, everything she made him promise when he had agreed to become her Warder, but there is some kind of comfort Moiraine cannot explain when she feels those things from him through their bond. Anyone can lie with their tongue, but she knows Lan's mind. He is not lying.
Taking a deep breath, she crosses the distance between them and sits beside him. She has to look up to meet his eyes. Those eyes seem considerably less hard and dangerous, now.
"Thank you," she says.
The first few years of their partnership are somewhat disjointed. They argue; she loses her temper with him and he with her. After a particularly heated argument, she leaves him standing alone in their camp for two days, furiously riding away by herself until their bond seems to be stretched tight-until she can only feel the faintest whisper of a thought from him.
It is Lan that comes to her. She feels him approach, the race of his heart as he rides, the sides of the horse heaving underneath him as Cat Dancer runs. Sitting cross legged outside her makeshift tent, she waits.
Lan is wearing his color shifting Warder's cloak, so she sees Cat Dancer first. The horse is walking slowly, but pricks his ears and snorts when he sees Moiraine. Lan slips from the beast's back and kneels in front of her. Even doing this, he is still taller than her, his head a good two inches above hers. She feels an irrational flash of anger at that.
Her Warder meets her eyes. "I am not going to apologize," he says. "Aes Sedai you may be, girl, but you are still foolish in many ways of the world."
She glares at him, but he is right of course. Lan knows far more about the dangers of the Blight than she, and she has been stupidly naive these past few days. Crossing her arms, she says, "have you been searching for a pond to throw me in, Gaidin?"
He does not smile, but something like exasperation tinged with undeniable affection reach her through the flow of their bond. "I will find one in this accursed forest and throw you into it at the nearest opportunity, Moiraine Sedai."
Smirking, Moiraine stands and swings back up onto her horse. "Well, let's be off then," she says. "We have ponds to find and evil to fight."
She is rewarded with a grunt from Lan, his equivalent of a laugh. Behind her, she senses his own begrudging amusement and catches him muttering under his breath about "idiot Aes Sedai who think they know everything."
Moiraine grins.
He protects her.
Back to back, Moiraine's head barely brushing Lan's shoulder blades, his body shielding her from the worst blows. They move as one, Lan-dancing with the sword, slashing, ducking, shouting-Moiraine, weaving fire and air, lips pressed tight with concentration, stepping in perfect time with her Warder, ducking automatically as swords and knives swipe above her head.
The Power burns within her, fierce and wild, and she embraces it. It's so strong she barely feels pain anymore, although she can still feel the blood trickling down the side of her face and tear of another wound in her side. Lan is tiring as well, his fatigue bleeds with hers. She feels the ache in his muscles and the desperate rush of adrenaline through his body as he suddenly spins away from her, slashing sideways as a trolloc comes at them. The beast lunges and howls, and Lan bellows back. Moiraine catches a knife across her right arm and flinches, kicking out with a leg, saidar fleeing her in her sudden panic.
Oh, Light, not now!
Across the battle field from her, Lan's head snaps up. He screams her name, but more than that she senses his wild desire for her to move. In a blur of movements, he is attacking their enemies with renewed vigor and intent. Crying out, Moiraine kicks and claws at the hands holding her. Heedless of the knives, she strikes in a quick series of movements she's learned from Lan-rapid punches to the throat, eyes, nose.
Lan is surrounded across from her, but through blurred eyes she sees him fighting his way to her, a whirlwind of motion stained with trolloc blood. She ducks an oncoming blow and moves to strike again-
A knife finds purchase in her shoulder, sinks in deep.
Pain.
Blinding, white-hot agony.
Pain.
Moiraine's knees buckle. Lan's fear spikes through her with a sudden shock, and in her delirium the Power flares to life. By instinct she weaves Fire, sweeping her hands out in wide motions and with her last amount of strength pushing out with a raw scream.
In a howl of wind and a rush of flame, the beasts flee from her wrath, howling. She hears several fall to Lan's sword-their cries choked and gurgled. Her Warder shouts something, at her or the trollucs she cannot tell. The world sways as exhaustion cripples her. The pain is a burn now, spreading through her shoulder with each labored breath. Gasping, Moiraine slumps to the side.
In two strides Lan is there. She hears a faint clatter as he throws his sword aside and rushes to her, hands tightening about her arms to keep her from falling. He shakes her, the movement causing her teeth to rattle, and the sky to spin dizzyingly overhead.
"Moiraine!" Lan's voice is sharp, harsh. He's laid her down on the ground and his fingers are deftly tearing at her clothing, probing the knife wound. "Stay with me, foolish girl. Moiraine!"
Moiraine blinks, struggling to clear her vision. Lan's face is a blur of blue eyes and dark hair. Sharp pain as he presses down on her shoulder, attempting to staunch the bleeding. She's so cold, suddenly, the knife's icy burn spreading throughout her whole body. Is she shaking?
Lan curses, hurriedly wrapping her shoulder with something. His arm slips under her head and the world lurches sickeningly as he lifts her up into his arms. "I can't heal this, Moiraine," he says, half talking to himself. His voice is tinged with panic and sounds odd to her ears-choked and echoing.
She struggles to find words. "Sis-"
"I know we have to go to your sisters," Lan snaps, finishing the thought before it even leaves her lips. He glances down at her, eyes hard and panicked. "But Tar Valon is far from here, Moiraine and I don't know-"
He cuts the words off, unable to say them. Through their bond his sudden twist of emotion makes her gasp. He's terrified. Terrified of the possibility that she-
A'Lan Mandragoran cares about her.
"Moiraine," he says, cutting into her wandering thoughts, "are there any other Aes Sedai closer than Tar Valon. Think."
She tries, clenching her eyes shut against the pain and trying to force her muddled brain to work. Everything is a haze, and she drifts through her mind, searching for-
She exhales the name of a town in a strangled gasp. She's not sure if her Aes Sedai contact is even still there, but it is all she has.
Lan nods curtly, and slides her up onto Cat Dancer's back. The horse is prancing and nervous, shifting underneath her. Keeping one hand on her arm, Lan snaps at the horse to stand, and the animal obeys, still trembling. Moiraine wants to pet the horse, curl her fingers into his mane, but her arms no longer seem to move when she wants them too. Pain is causing black spots to dance along her blurred vision, and she can hear that each breath she takes is a low, wet rattle.
Lan swings up behind her, slipping his arms underneath hers and tucking her close against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat against her ear, sharp and clear and strong.
Moiraine is struck by a sudden certainty: Lan will take care of her.
Her Warder holds her tightly as the horse surges forward, the motion rocking and jarring, making Moiraine's teeth rattle. "You will not die on me, Moiraine Sedai," Lan growls in her ear, "not today. We have much left to do, you and I."
Moiraine falls into darkness.
When she wakes, she is laying in a soft, comfortable bed. Her shoulder still aches, but only slightly. The familiar scent of clean soup and power hangs in the air. Blinking eyes that seem far to heavy to open, she looks around the room. It's small, with a fireplace set into one side, a small table and two chairs at the other. Lan is sitting in one, and looks up as her eyes settle on him.
Before she can even blink, he has crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and seized her hand. "Don't try to move," he says, squeezing her fingers lightly, "you're lucky you're still alive. Breathe," he adds, and she realizes that she's been staring at him, breath caught in her throat. She exhales, the air rushing out with a strange sting across her chapped lips.
Lan shifts, releasing her hand and pulling up the chair he'd vacated closer to her bed. He settles into it, not wincing visibly, but she feels a sharp twinge of pain across their bond and flinches.
Her Warder grimaces apologetically. "You will recover," he says, "within the next few days. Your Blue sister was able to do what I could not. The wound will still need tending, but the worst has passed."
She looks up at him. He is exhausted. His eyes are bloodshot, his face haggered and pale, a few days stubble on his chin. A bloodstained bandage is wrapped around his left bicep and another around his head. She notices that his hands are trembling when he absently reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of his face. His exhaustion and relief hum in the back of her mind, mixing with her own. "Have you slept at all?" She whispers. Her voice is hoarse and quiet. She clears her throat, pressing a hand to her neck, and taking a deep breath.
Lan sighs, pressing his fingers to his forehead and massaging, as if this will help the headache she can sense building behind his eyes. "A little."
"Where is Cat Dancer?" she asks, steering the conversation away from him and to his horse in an attempt to lighten the conversation, "did my sister allow you to-"
Lan is shaking his head, slowly, gently. "Cat Dancer is dead," he says, flatly. Moiraine blinks, caught completely by surprise. She sense a shift in Lan's emotions, a twinge, an ache, and forces herself to ask, "how...?"
"We ran for two days to reach this place," Lan says, the words half a whisper, so quiet that she has to strain to hear, "I pushed him to hard, to fast. He collapsed and I had to put him out of his misery and run the rest of the way myself."
She stares. She doesn't know what to say. He looks down at her, and she knows, somehow, that not saying anything is the best way to help him.
Her hand finds his, and squeezes his fingers.
"Never do that to me again," he says, suddenly harsh.
She blinks, stiffening. "What-"
"I couldn't feel you anymore, Moiraine," Lan hisses. His eyes are wild, and she can feel his exhaustion, his desperation, his anguish. The ache of wounds half healed. "For half a second, the bond was just gone and-"
She's never seen him lose control like this. Lan, with his iron hard mask and the walls around his mind has never been hysterical. She grips his hand, harder, "Lan."
It is a command and a comfort in one. The name rolls off her tongue with easy familiarity now, and she focuses on her own breathing, projecting calm and comfort to him through the bond. "I cannot make such a promise, Last of the Seven Towers," she says gently. "You know that."
Her Warder shivers and nods. The mask is back on, the walls are up. Lan looks at her through hollow blue eyes. "I know," he whispers, "death is as light as a feather."
"Duty heavy as a mountain," she finishes, and smiles at him. "Thank you for what you did, Gaidin. Please, rest, Lan. If not for yourself, for me?"
Something like a smile curls his lips and he nods, withdrawing his hand from hers and bending at the waist in a small bow. "Of course, Aes Sedai."
Moiraine dreams of fire, smoke and the end of the world.
Such nightmares are common, these days, but she still wakes suddenly, covered in sweat with a scream lodged in her throat. She swallows the sound, breathing hard.
Lan, his hair now graying at the temples, senses her fear and crosses the tent to kneel by her side. "Moiraine?"
Shaking her head, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and presses her hands to her temples, steadying her breathing. Lan waits quietly while she moves through the exercise, stilling the tempest of emotion inside her, focusing her breaths, gently releasing her hold on the Power that had flared through her at her sudden awakening.
Finally she whispers, "Are we doing the right thing? With the boy?"
Lan moves to sit beside her, shifting his sword with a dull grind of metal. "Which one?" He asks.
They are speaking quietly, because although Moiraine has instructed the others to sleep, after the incident with the ferry and the inn, she doubts that any of their traveling companions are able to rest tonight.
"Rand," she says.
Lan hesitates. "I don't know," he says slowly. "Whatever happens, we will know soon enough."
Sighing, Moiraine relaxes against her Warder's side, head resting lightly on his shoulder. It is a gesture and a comfort that she so rarely uses with him, but it is natural after so many years. Lan has been her Warder and companion for over twenty years. The gentle flow of their bond has deepened into something natural and indefinite. She understands him in ways that she expects few have or ever will. In turn, he understands her. It is not love, exactly, although he is a friend. It is something more than that. A connection that she will never find the words to adequately explain to anyone.
Eventually Lan shifts, gently pushing her off his shoulder and standing. "I have to check on the horses," he says. Pulling his color shifting cloak over his head, he walks to the door. In the darkness she can just make out his eyes, the hook of his nose. "Try and sleep, Moiraine," he says, "you are not strong enough to protect all of us in your current state."
She rolls her eyes at that, but he is right of course.
Lan is usually right, she's come to accept over the years, although she'll never admit it to him. He must sense some change in her emotions, however, because he favors her with one of his rare, true smiles. "Stubborn as always." he says, shaking his head and disappearing into the night.
Lan catches her as she stumbles backward, a warning in his eyes. "Moiraine you are not-"
She knows what he is going to say, knows that he knows how the words will infuriate her, you are not strong enough for this.
Days after their journey to the Eye of the World, she still feels drained and exhausted when she simply sits up. Now, leaning heavily against her Warder, she struggles to perform a simple guard against the evil that surrounds them, even with the help of the girl and the Wisdom.
Growling under her breath, Moiraine manages to stand on her own, swaying, Lan's hand at her elbow, ready to catch her should she stumble.
"You need more time to heal," Lan says, slowly, as though he knows that his words will have no affect on her, but can't hold them back.
"We don't have time," Moiraine snaps. Her knees buckle, and Lan's arms wrap securely around her shoulders, holding her upright.
"I know," he whispers. "I know."
"I refuse to accept this, Moiraine."
Lan's voice cracks like a whip, and Moiraine sighs, rubbing her temples. "You cannot change my mind, Gaidin."
Her Warder paces in front of her like a caged beast, hands clenched into fists. His jaw is locked, his emotions a wild tempest in the back of her mind, fierce and absolute.
"What I do is for your own good, and perhaps another's, as well. It may be that Myrelle will find a slip of a girl just raised to sisterhood — was that not what you said? — who needs a Warder hardened in battle and wise in the ways of the world, a slip of a girl who may need someone who will throw her into a pond," Moiraine says softly.
Lan stops his wild pacing at that, shoulders rigid and tense. He tuns on her. "I do not want to discuss this any longer," he says, coldly, flatly.
She meets his eyes. "What's done is done, Lan. We have always known that one of us will die, eventually. We are married to death, are we not?"
He does not flinch at her words, but she knows she has hurt him.
"Do you remember the day we first met?" Moiraine asks.
They are sitting beside the fire at their camp, alone; the others are sleeping. In the dark she can just make out her Warder's face, hard and cool and composed. He does not change expression when he says, "of course I do. It would be a difficult thing to forget."
Moiraine smiles at the memory. More than twenty years ago, she'd been a passionate, naive girl who had truly had no idea what she was doing. Lan had been a lonely, would-be king, wandering the wilds.
"You threw me into a pond."
He looks at her sidelong, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Well, you deserved it."
She laughs, and for a moment the world seems comfortable and right. When the dies or they fail and the world falls into shadow, she wants to remember moments like these, when laughter came easily and joy tastes like wood smoke and warmth on her tongue.
Lan grunts at her laughter, poking the fire with another stick to stir the hot coals. She looks at him, wrapped in his color-shifting fancloth, his eyes hooded, his jaw set, a thousand worries and responsibilities on his shoulders, and feels a rush of affection for her Warder, who seems forever untouched by time and emotion. She knows better. She can sense the weight of his emotions like a dark cloud in the back of her mind, seething. She wants to say that she is grateful for his help, that she knows that she would be dead two hundred times over if he was not with her, that she honestly does not know what she would do without him and does not want to find out. She says none of these things.
Lan knows.