Go Not From Me
Rose G
Disclaimer – All characters are the property of Robert Jordan, and I am making no money from using them
A/N – Slightly AU – Moiraine tells Lan about his bond before the start of the Eye of the World, rather than in the Great Hunt.
The inhabitants of Taren Ferry did glance at them – the rock-faced man astride a black warhorse with rope bridle, the beautiful woman sitting side saddle on a white grey palfrey. Especially, they noted the man's eyes: ice blue and hard as though they had looked at every horror in the world without flinching. They were eyes which had no room left for living or laughing, only existing through the uncounted days.
Late that night – four days before Bel Tine, but still icy winter when it should have been spring - Moiraine reined Aldieb in. She glanced casually at her Warder, the uncrowned King of the Malkeiri, whose bond she would give up. He was so vital, so strong that her admiration for him reached through their bond and made him smile.
'Here would be a reasonable place to stop for the night, wouldn't it, Lan?'
Never one to waster words, he jerked his head in agreement. Regretfully, she saw the few grey strands marbling his hair that had not been there a few months ago. The last Lord of the Seven Towers was growing old, his country soon to be only a memory in the Borderlands.
They made their camp in silence. Moiraine's mare heeled her, nuzzling her mistress while Lan's black hovered just outside the campsite, as uneasy as a Fade's horse in the sunlight. Suddenly, their fire caught to life, roaring and crackling between the trees to bathe them all in warm light but paling Lan's face. His stallion snorted, pawed at the earth with one shod forehoof.
Lan sat as Moiraine cooked, his head resting on his knees. Shadows flickered over the angular planes of his face, and it seemed to Moiraine that, if Death could take a visible body, then so it would appear. The tightness of his muscles was evident in the firelight, enhanced rather than obscured by the colour shifting cloak he was wearing. The Warder was weeping silently, and his sword gleamed palely, redly at his hip. Mandarb's stallion scream echoed across the camp as though the great horse felt his master's pain.
Moiraine winced with the mental agony in the bond, seeing as though with Lan's troubled eyes the shadows of Trollocs, the falling towers of his homeland and the ruby-red of blood dripping, gushing, flowing, from his own wounds and into the Thousand Lakes. His bond was normally calm, with nothing save thoughts of Moiraine and Mandarb, yet now it throbbed with the conversation they had had earlier today.
'Lan, I've cooked some rabbit, and there's some bread still. Do you want some?'
He never raised his head from his hands, but the undercurrent of irritation in the bond answered that question. She sat and eat, allowing him his privacy. Eventually, he stole to his feet, one hand seeking his sword. She could see in the twilight the gleam of firelight catching on Power – wrought steel as he danced the forms. His feet fell unusually heavily; once, she heard him stumble and fall.
Later, much later, she saw him returning to the spot near the fire where he had left his blankets. The eye wrenching colours of the cloak that he carried over his shoulder and the shadows obscured him, the soft ground muffled his footsteps but Moiraine knew that he was hurt. The bond told her that he was still angry, furious with her, but he could not disguise the pain. This time she did go over to him.
'Lan?'
He paused in the act of removing the leather braid that kept his hair back from his face, and looked at her. Bare chested but still sweating from his exertions, blood mingled with the sweat and trickled over his ribs. His face was unchanged except that his eyes were red-rimmed, which gave him the look of a beaten animal. He looked as though he had been pushed beyond all his endurance, his spirit crushed and soul broken so that he existed only as reactions and habit.
She regarded him steadily, saw that he was swaying slightly as if he rode at the prow of one of the Sea Folk's Rakers and headed it into the storm. His poise lacked his normal grace and balance; he stood as though unsure of the strength of his legs. A minute later, thanks to pressure applied through the bond, he was laying on his back with his head cushioned in Moiraine's lap. One small hand caressed his midnight hair.
'Lan, Lan Gaidain, what's wrong?'
He didn't reply, even though her voice was softer than Lan ever remembered it being.
'Lan?'
The black haired warrior stirred, an expression that might have been gratitude flashing across his face, to be replaced by something that she could only describe as fear. 'You have no right to ask me anything, Aes Sedai. You took my freedom when you bonded me; to you I am as a dog is to it's owner, but the right to do what I will when I am not helping you is one I still have. I do not have to explain to you. And I have the right to die if I wish, rather than being given like a dumb beast to a new owner.'
'And you would leave me alone, Al' Lan, to go seeking that death which you have been courting like a lover for years? And, sometimes, other Sisters insist that their Warder answer questions, or do not have secrets from them.'
A shadow settled over his face. 'Please do not give my bond away. It was to you that I pledged myself, denying myself all my freedom. If I have failed you, could you not set me free rather than punish me by giving me away, without telling me where I erred?'
'You have not failed me, Lan, Brother in Battle, ever. I know that you would die for me if I asked you to. I am not going to give you away. The Wheel weaves as it will and I cannot resist its turning. I will always envy the next woman to take your bond, but I would not embarrass Myrelle by sending her an injured Warder. What is wrong with you?'
Lan sat up slowly, trying not to let his dizziness go through the bond. Then he found himself laying down again, the One Power coursing through his body as Moiraine Healed him. Uncomfortable though it was, he could not deny that there was comfort in being Healed by his bond-holder, almost a recognition of how intimately she knew him.
'Are you all right now, Lan?' Her voice was gentle as she aided him to sit up and left her hand resting on his shoulder.
He did not answer, being too busy trying to keep his face expressionless. She had healed the tiredness, the wound inflicted as he fell in practice, but not the scars left by her words. Lan shook his head, wishing he could shake away the black shadows in his mind. Light, Moiraine, you saw the Dragon will bring nightmares, but what can he do to me? I am living my nightmare now. His hands went up to his face again.
'Moiraine, please do not give me away. I could not bear to be one of a Green's string.' His voice shook.
'I must, Lan. You will outlive me, and you must not kill yourself needlessly. My wish is for you to serve another. You live now for what you will do in the future, even if you do not wish to do so.'
Mandarb walked over to Lan, and he stroked his stallion's muzzle. I do not wish to. I cannot do so.