Disclaimer: The world of the Wheel belongs to Robert Jordan. I am but a humble high school student who has too much fun hating on Lanfear. I am also not making any money off this.
Author Note: Many many thanks to those who reviewed, especially Luna Nightraven
for her suggestions and Asmodean for his inspired "killed
by a tree" line, as well as the background information on Aran'gar that I got
from his fic. (I have unfortunately not gotten my grubby little paws on The Guide
yet, but he has, so I trust the information is accurate.) Also, big thanks to my
beta, Firedroplet, who has much sharper eyes than I do.
Without further ado, Chapter 3- Aran'gar and Cyndane!
The Creator had no sooner sat down again when the door burst open, this time revealing the voluptuous figure of Aran'gar.
"This is where we come to make our complaints, isn't it?" she said haughtily, sashaying into the room. "Because I happen to have some issues with the direction my life has gone."
It was clear that Moiraine was nowhere in sight- and presumably, since she hadn't escorted the transsexual Forsaken in, Aran'gar wasn't supposed to be here. Unfortunately for the Creator, Aran'gar did not appear to care. She did appear rather angry, though. Luckily, the Creator thought, the physics of the Tower of Ghenjei don't permit channeling... Then a little voice spoke mockingly from the back of his head. Yes... except for that one time where Rand made the sword of Fire right in the middle of the conference room. Right. Maybe if he could get his legs to move, he could throw the lukewarm tea at her and flee via the door...
"I'm sure you are already aware, but I would like to bring certain facts to your attention anyway." She held up a finger to punctuate her points. "One, I was imprisoned. And not just any ordinary imprisonment. I passed three thousand years, three thousand years with nothing to do but age. And do you know why I joined the Great Lord in the first place? So I would live forever and never age." Her beautiful green eyes sparkled dangerously as she held up another finger. "And then- after becoming so hideously old that I had to wear a mask to prevent rotted, ancient appendages detaching from my features- I was killed. By a tree. Me, an expert swordsw-man, killed by an overgrown, peace-loving, anthropomorphic personification of a tsag tree!"
The slightly ajar door began to look positively heavenly. Of course, so did Aran'gar, if one was including 'death' in the definition of 'heavenly'. And if the Creator wasn't, then Aran'gar looked about to.
"Finally," she fumed, adding a third finger to the two that were upraised, "there is my current incarnation. I suppose it's all very... amusing for you. I can imagine what ran through your head. 'Yes, let's give the nasty lecher the body of an attractive female, shall we? Won't it be terribly funny? What a delightful joke!' Ha, ha, ha, I don't think. Now what do you have to say to that?"
The Creator did what was perhaps the fastest thinking of his entire life. Frankly, he was amazed he could even form coherent speech. "I'm afraid that ironic reincarnation isn't in my jurisdiction." Please let her believe that, please let her believe that... wait, I'm the Creator. Who am I supposed to pray to?
Aran'gar planted her hands on her ample hips and glared twin pairs of poisoned daggers at the Creator. "Not in your-"
"But I believe the Dark One might be able to assist you," the Creator interrupted smoothly, as if he wasn't terrified enough to attempt praying to himself.
Aran'gar paled. "N-n-o, I think-" She licked her lips nervously. "I think I'll just-"
The Creator smiled pleasantly and even managed to affect an air of wide-eyed innocence. "I think he's down the hall to your left. Or maybe your right, I've never been quite able to get the hang of the physics here. Terribly confusing. You know," he said, adopting a conversational tone, "I hear that Lanfear got stuck in here for a few books and was never quite the same afterward..."
He trailed off at this point, as Aran'gar had already fled the premises. Giving himself a mental high five and pouring another cup of the rapidly cooling tea, he fervently hoped that the terrified Aran'gar and the prospect of meeting the Aelfinn and Eelfinn again would keep out Cyndane.
Just then, the silver-haired mindtrap victim herself strolled in.
The Creator spent a brief moment bemoaning the fact that it was actually situational irony he had no control over.
"I see that Aran'gar has developed a new appreciation for the generosity of the Great Lord." Cyndane picked up the delicate porcelain teapot and poured herself a cup of tea, only to put it back down with a look of disdain upon tasting it. "A pity that even I cannot channel here. But then, I have put up with much worse than cold tea, as you well know."
The Creator had a sinking feeling that Cyndane's grievances would not be redirected as easily as Aran'gar's. Those suspicions only faltered slightly when she spoke again- he knew Lanfear too well.
"Oh, do not fear that I will lay the blame for my new, inadequate body on you. The fault there lies squarely at the feet of Moiraine, and I will make her pay dearly." Her delicate features, initially smiling, waxed wrathful. "That little child will rue the day she postponed my revenge on Lews Therin!"
The woman is nothing if not single-minded, the Creator mused. Even now, she wants power over others. Just the person I was looking forward to being trapped with in an alternate dimension!
"But I'm getting ahead of myself. Do relax. You'll have plenty of time later to panic."
The Creator showed Cyndane how comforting he found that statement by whimpering slightly. She responded by sending him a haughtily contemptuous look. Even if her body and name had changed, it was obvious that she had lost nothing except strength in the Power. Cyndane was indeed Lanfear- just angrier.
"I also assure you that the matter of my cour'souvra is between Moridin and I. I have even less wish than Aran'gar to appear ungrateful for my last chance." Her full lips twisted bitterly, loathing the words. "I have even decided to seek revenge elsewhere for the way Lews Therin spurned me- a fact which I am sure comes as a pleasant surprise to you."
The Creator squeaked agreement, while waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It dropped.
"The answer I want from you is why you deliberately sabotaged my performance as Selene!"
His jaw dropped as well. What in the Wheel is she talking about? It was her own unbridled arrogance and underestimation of Rand that destroyed her Selene act! Luckily for the Creator, his motor functions had more of a sense of self-preservation than his neural pathways and refused to emit anything more coherent than "Wibba?"
"It's obvious that my acting skills are amazing. That pathetic excuse for a Dreamer that I hoodwinked in Tel'aran'rhiod can attest to that- she never suspected that 'nice old Silvie' in the Stone of Tear was actually me! And no one guessed that fat, ugly Keille was actually the beautiful, slim Lanfear. Even my brief stint as Else Grinwell was a success. So there can be no doubt that the failure of my Selene persona was engineered- by you!"
The Creator was at a loss. It was plain to him, and to the reader as well, he hoped, that Lanfear's obviously suspicious knowledge of Age of Legends trivia and overly familiar manner with Rand was her fault alone. But if he actually said that, it was likely that she wouldn't leave enough of him to scrape off the walls, much less make suspenders out of. And he wasn't sure he trusted his newfound "Exposition Powers" either- not against the plot hole that allowed channeling in the Tower of Ghenjei. She might appreciate being told her fatal flaws. The Creator shook himself, aghast at what he was thinking. Oh, yes, because the Forsaken are well known for their calm, mature handling of constructive criticism! Get a grip! However, maybe if he phrased it tactfully- she was obviously expecting an answer…
"Well, because you are normally such a good actor, you may have been… um… overconfident?" he offered tentatively. There seemed to be no explosion as of yet. "Perhaps it would have been more profitable to…" not talk aloud to yourself all the time "…be slightly less flamboyantly you in conversation?"
She watched him with narrowed eyes. "You're insinuating that it was my fault that Lews Therin didn't believe me."
"Um… well… not exactly… yes." The Creator closed his eyes. His last regret was that now he'd never get to write Tarmon Gaidon- he didn't really care too much about the whole "Who Killed Asmodean?" debacle, it should really have been obvious that Asmodean's killer was- "Sorry this took so long," came a voice from the doorway. Somehow, it sounded a lot like Moiraine. "I was making more tea and- LANFEAR?"
The Creator resolutely kept his eyes shut throughout the ensuing hisses, slaps, and occasional heart-rending screams of terror or triumph. It wasn't that he was unwilling to face carnage- he had fought in the Vietnam War, after all- it was just that he really didn't want to see what would happen to him if Cyndane won.
After a while, relative silence fell, aside from the sounds of a body being dragged unceremoniously across the room. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "You can open your eyes now. The Eelfinn have a special room for making," here the speaker paused, sounding very smug indeed, "accessories."
He complied, revealing Moiraine to be the victor and the new pot of tea to be brewing. "That's some grudge," he said without thinking. Moiraine merely smiled, like a satisfied cat. "Yes, the Eelfinn and Aelfinn didn't like her company much more than I did, even though they got a very good bargain on her release."
Studying his teacup, the Creator decided that some questions were better left unasked.
As per usual, if you had any particular thoughts about this chapter and/or you'd
like to see a specific character having tea with the Creator, drop me a review!
(I should probably also disclaim that my views and RJ's views on Lanfear are neccessarily exactly alike. I'm basing my opinion on Lanfear on textual interpretation, but I'm not privy to RJ's thoughts, so all this is ultimately just speculation.)