DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Wheel of Time or any of its characters.
A/N: Hey all! This initially started out as the last chapter but I got a little more carried away, and I realised I'd slightly neglected Perrin so... There'll be two more chapters to come after Christmas! I hope you all have a very merry Yuletide season. Keep warm and stay safe. Please read and review if you have the time. As always, enjoy x
HAZINESS
Dawn is barely beginning to creep through the trees when he wakes. Soft birdsong calls from the towering treetops and the tell-tale skittering of small animals rustles the undergrowth. Inhaling deeply, Lan fills his lungs with air that tastes of pine and the faint scent of smoke still wafting from the spent embers. The space beside him is empty and the ground cool; it has been some time since the Wisdom rose for her watch.
Astride the fallen trunk, Nynaeve sits with her skirts wrapped around herself, observing the first beams of light creeping over the skies. Something troublesome hides behind her expression and his attention instinctually turns to their sleeping companions.
Perrin, he realises, is missing.
"He's in the trees ahead," Nynaeve explains before the Warder can ask of his whereabouts. "He said he couldn't sleep but... I don't think he should be left alone for too long."
It's all the invitation he needs.
A pile of dry, splintered branches rests in the centre of the small glade in which Perrin sits, untouched by axe or sword, gathered from where they had fallen. Atop an old tree stump, the Blacksmith twirls a strand of grass beneath his fingers, mumbling a string of incomprehensible words. The muscles in his back twitch as the Warder approaches, already aware of his presence.
"You shouldn't wander too far from the camp," Lan begins as he enters his line of sight. "It may feel safer here than in the open desert, but the forest is not without its dangers."
"I couldn't sleep," Perrin shrugs his broad shoulders. "My dreams they..." He trails off, unwilling to say any more, and returns to twirling the green strand.
"These are troubled times. Blessed is the man whose dreams are not tainted by the Dark."
Lan eyes the axe resting at his side, the grip worn with age and good use, though Perrin has hardly touched the leather these last few weeks. His mind longs to follow the Tuatha'an, but his soul is called to a different purpose, an ancient way of life they had thought all but extinct until Egwene had told Moiraine of his golden eyes and the wolves that had attacked the Whitecloaks.
"She wishes me to teach you," Lan says, tearing the young man away from his thoughtful reverie.
Perrin follows his subtle glance, stares at his axe, at the hand Lan rests on the hilt of his own weapon, and shakes his head forcefully.
"I do not wish to learn."
But learn he must. And quickly if they are to have any chance of continuing the mission, of keeping the world safe from the threats that draw near, forever increasing in both number and ferocity.
"I will teach you to better defend yourself, and how to protect the others when they are unable to defend themselves. How to find shelter when there is none. How to find clean water. How to hunt for more than just rabbits and squirrels-"
"It is not the Way of the Leaf," Perrin protests, backing away as Lan retrieves his axe from the pile of collected firewood, the edge of the blade gleaming beneath a ray of morning light. "I'm a blacksmith, not a soldier."
The fear lingering behind his eyes is no mystery to the Warder: fear of his own strength, his anger, the truth of what he really is. He has seen it a thousand times over, in people of all walks of life, but never so sharply conflicted with the desire to fight, torn across a moral battleground.
Perrin sighs heavily, muttering under his breath. "But how am I supposed to protect them if I can't fight?"
The words float into the air, wrapping around branch and tree, sinking deep into the moss and pine underfoot and dwelling there in search of an age-old answer.
"The road ahead is dangerous," Lan presses on, as if the distance they have travelled from Fal Dara has not already been wrought with peril. "Word may travel slowly in this part of the world, but there are Darkfriends to be found in every town and city in the Borderlands. The closer we get to civilisation, the more dangers we will face. Knowing how best to defend yourself will be the difference between life and death."
"I know that," Perrin admits, shoulders slumping, eyeing the weapon hanging loosely in the Warder's grasp with animosity.
"This life has much to offer," Lan says, nodding encouragement, "but you must be both able and willing to survive if you are to seize the opportunities that lie before you in this turn of the Wheel."
Reluctantly, Perrin rises and takes the weapon from the Warder's hand. For a while the young man weighs the axe, familiarises himself with its shape as if he doesn't carry it wherever he goes.
"She knows, doesn't she?" His sharp eyes dart suddenly between the trees, following something beyond Lan's peripheral view. "Moiraine knows what I am. Why I can hear and see more than I could before?"
"Yes."
"Then why won't she tell me?"
"Have you asked her?" The Warder tilts his head in question and the young man's gaze drops to the ground - that alone is evidence enough that he has not yet worked up the courage. "Moiraine will tell you when she believes you are ready. In the meantime, we will train."
Perrin nods his acceptance, gripping the hilt with a determined strength. The blade glints in the rising sunlight, igniting the yellow tint that grows brighter and brighter in his eyes with each passing day. He has only just begun to suspect what he truly is, and though he does not fully understand now, he will.
"Alright," Perrin relents after several moments of meditative thought.
His stance relaxes, and Lan smiles in return.
"There are many paths to finding peace, Perrin. You will find yours one day."
The muffled clanging of steel against steel ricochets through the expanse of knarled trees as the Warder spars with the Blacksmith. For Moiraine, it is a comforting sound, promising to tell of their safety and whereabouts. The rush of adrenaline and readiness that usually seeps through the bond whenever Lan trains does not come. Instead, as she reaches for him, Moiraine finds nothing but her own frustration and the mocking, taunting smile that haunts her dreams.
Water simmers quietly over the renewed embers, a collection of the Wisdom's plants and dried flowers set to one side, waiting to be brewed. It had been too much of a risk to spend any length of time preparing meals in the Shienar desert but here, where the thick canopies offer some concealment, they might replenish a little of their dwindling strength. The children - though children they may no longer be - are exhausted, she knows. Though none of them have mentioned it, it is written plainly enough on their young faces.
Fierce eyes stare at her from behind the pines; the second approaches the camp with an assured subtlety. Moiraine does not need the One Power to know when she is being watched, and the twig that snaps quietly underfoot confirms her observations as Egwene steps into view. A little way beyond, a fleeting brush of embroidered green disappears behind the thick trunks.
Taking a pinch of herb and leaf, Moiraine tosses the tea into the bubbling water and listens to the distant clash of sword and axe. She does not acknowledge the girl's presence, does not interrupt the steady flow of thought that will lead to an inevitable conversation. And as Egwene settles herself on the ground, picking absently at the pine needles, the Aes Sedai waits for the request she has expected for quite some time.
"I want you to teach me," Egwene says eventually.
Only then does Moiraine redirect her attention, looking at the girl from the Two Rivers carefully. In her eyes is the same steadfast determination and curiosity she had witnessed on that moon-lit night, when she had borne the responsibility of helping her channel for the first time.
"I cannot teach you," Moiraine answers plainly, true enough in that she will not be able to fully teach her all that is required of an Aes Sedai. Not when so much is hidden from her sight. Not when their paths must soon divide.
"Because you can't touch the Source?"
They have none of them spoken of it, not once since she had told them of her inability to wield the One Power.
"Moiraine..." Egwene folds and unfolds the hem of her sand-coated skirts. "You taught me to heal when we were in Fal Dara, didn't you? Even if you can't channel, I know there are still things you can teach me. There must be."
"There are," Moiraine concedes. "But it would be better if-"
"I know what you would wish," Egwene huffs, but there is no condemnation in her tone, only an exasperated impatience. "You wish to send me and Nynaeve to the White Tower to become Novices and-"
"The sooner you reach Tar Valon the safer you will be from the Dark One," Moiraine interrupts softly. "There is only so much I can do to protect you now."
Egwene straightens, dread flooding her tone.
"You speak as if you don't mean to come with us."
"I do not," Moiraine answers as gently as she can.
"But the Amyrlin..." she whispers furiously, a strained bewilderment soaking up her enthusiasm. "Couldn't she lift your banishment? Summon you back to the Tower?"
"It is not that simple."
"But I don't understand," Egwene sniffs, voice catching. "Why would you leave us now? After everything we've been through?"
"Because there are questions that need answering," Moiraine replies calmly, "and the answers to those questions cannot be found in Tar Valon."
As she stirs the pot of tea, Moiraine allows the conversation to dissipate, allows her focus to return to the simmering water and the intermittent crackling of the wood beneath. The heat that refuses to warm her cool skin. The familiar swish of a blade meeting another, ringing through the trees.
"I'm not afraid of going back there," Egwene begins again with rehearsed confidence. "To the White Tower. But I thought..." She trails off, stammering. "At least, I had hoped..." Her palms are warm after weeks beneath the burning desert sun, her hesitation lasting a mere heartbeat before she reaches over to take the Aes Sedai's hands. "I don't want to go through this without you. I don't want to face this on my own."
"You are not alone, Egwene," Moiraine replies softly. "The One Power connects all women who can channel, Aes Sedai or not. And those at the Tower will be there to guide you." Her mind is drifting again, wading through the haziness, the fog that clouds every horizon, yet still she speaks what she can. "There are few sisters I would entrust your training to, and even fewer whom I can rely upon to keep you safe. The Amyrlin, at least, you may trust. Only she knows of our mission and the Dragon Reborn-"
"But I don't want any other Aes Sedai as my tutor," Egwene interrupts, "no matter how knowledgeable or powerful they are." Her gaze is insistent, obstinate, daring her to look away. "I want you to teach me."
Exhaling quietly, Moiraine turns to stare at some far-off place beyond the thick evergreen forest that surrounds them, forcing her mind to be still. If Egwene notices the inerrant shaking of her fingers, she makes no mention of it. Warm spices mingle with sweet pine as she pours two small cups of the tea - one of the Wisdom's remedies for one too many sleepless nights.
"Do you remember what you told me?" Egwene whispers. "That first night in the woods after we left the Two Rivers?"
There is no need to reply, Moiraine knows, content instead on inhaling the aroma of her tea. The girl is eager. Too eager, perhaps. As stubborn as a mule, like all Two Rivers folk, intent on pursuing her cause.
"You told me that the power inside us is the smallest part of our strength. That it's our minds, and how we use them, that means more." Egwene shrugs her shoulders. "You still have your mind, Moiraine."
The forest suddenly falls silent, though not with the heavy force of words. Where weapons had swung in practice and quiet footsteps had shuffled amidst dirt and undergrowth, there is a startling quiet. Fear presses against the nape of her neck; the urge to dive deep into the bond and discover her Warder's whereabouts futile. She is half-ready to spring to her feet when Lan appears at the edge of the camp, Perrin following in his wake with a small rabbit slung over his shoulder.
The relief that floods her lungs is tainted with suppressed panic, even as Lan approaches and asks for a cup of the brewed tea. There is a vibrancy to his step that had not been there the morning before, a renewed vigour in his eyes. Even Perrin seems cheered.
"You may tell Nynaeve she can stop hiding now," Moiraine tells Egwene in a tone that could almost be considered conspiratorial. "You will all need your strength in the days ahead."
The girl nods, jumping up to clap the Blacksmith on the shoulders before darting into the trees. Adrenaline pumps through her veins as she runs - not out of fear but from the sheer relief of finally speaking everything that had been on her mind. Her pace slows, pulse hammering in her chest, a strangling grief dimming her exhilaration.
Almost everything.
It is not long before she spots Nynaeve hunched over a cluster of moss-covered stones. With a small knife she scrapes carefully at the soft brown-green plants, her fleece of tools laid out to one side. It is evident, from this short distance, that the Wisdom does not wish for company, but even her disgruntled mood cannot keep her friends at bay forever.
"Perrin and Lan caught a rabbit," Egwene calls cheerily, swinging under a low branch. "I don't know about you, but I could happily eat one all to myself." She expects Nynaeve to laugh at that, or at least agree, but the Wisdom remains unmoved. Hands twisting together, Egwene steps closer. "You're not avoiding me, are you?"
"Who says I'm avoiding anyone?" Nynaeve snaps.
Folding her arms across her chest in defense, Egwene kicks absently at the scattered pine cones near her feet, watching as they roll in all manner of directions.
"You've just been... different lately, that's all."
Nynaeve scowls, tucking her tools into her pocket and scooping up the gathered moss in haste. Her laugh is unusually sharp.
"I could say the same of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Egwene stares in disbelief, unable to stop her own retort from leaving her lips.
"Nothing." Nynaeve gets to her feet without lifting her gaze, already rushing off in search of more moss or whatever it is she wants to add to her collection of remedies. "It doesn't matter."
For a while Egwene considers letting her go, considers returning to camp and enjoying the tea and the rabbit and the transient peace they have found here. But no one, she knows, should be allowed to brood forever. Not even Nynaeve.
"Tell me," Egwene pleads, running to catch up with the Wisdom and stumbling when the older girl swivels around to face her.
"You really want to be an Aes Sedai," Nynaeve says, posing both a question and an accusation.
"Is that such a terrible thing?" Egwene asks, and then, when the Wisdom says nothing more: "Nynaeve, talk to me. Please? We've always been able to talk, haven't we?"
"We certainly used to." The Wisdom's eyes dart back toward their camp, jaw clenching as she jerks her head. "You seem more comfortable talking with her these days."
They've argued about this before. Over and over in an endless cycle of wary distrust and eager hope. They'll run themselves in circles if she isn't careful in choosing her words.
"I want to learn how to control this power inside of me, Nynaeve. I want to understand and..."
Grimly Egwene stares at her boots, presses the rush of unpleasant memories back into the shadows of her mind. Holds, for a brief moment, the one memory that brings her clarity. Nynaeve shuffles impatiently, waiting for her to continue, but the words do not come easily.
"When Perrin and I were captured by the Whitecloaks, they... they hurt him because of me. Because they knew I could channel. But even when I did channel I wasn't strong enough to save us..." Egwene sighs heavily, allowing a new sense of courage to overwhelm the lingering guilt. "I don't ever want to be in that position again."
"You are strong, Egwene," the Wisdom says. "You have always been strong."
There is almost a smile on her lips. A friendliness between them once more.
"The Aes Sedai you travelled with told the Amyrlin Seat you were the most powerful channeler they'd seen in a thousand years. If either of us should go to the White Tower, it should be you."
At that Nynaeve pulls away.
"If it's truly what you want, I won't stand in your way," the Wisdom says, turning to stalk back into the woods but this time Egwene catches her arm, determined that she should understand.
"Moiraine helped me to touch the Source, but it was you who taught me how to listen to the wind, Nynaeve." Her hands squeeze tight, ushering out the strange, unfamiliar bitterness that has come between them. "And I still need you."