DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Wheel of Time or any of its characters.
A/N: Hey all! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and start to the New Year! Here's chapter six in which our group travels a little further, Nynaeve and Egwene learn more about the Old Blood, and Moiraine contemplates life without the One Power.
The last part of this chapter features a somewhat difficult conversation between Moiraine and Lan (taking into account those who have been gentled before, and the resulting madness). Though nothing is said explicitly, I thought I should put a trigger warning for what could be interpreted as suicidal thoughts. I hope the resulting comfort outweighs the dark.
Please read and review if you have the time. As always, enjoy x
KINDNESS
At the edge of their camp, hunched over on his heels, Perrin observes the stillness of the forest. There is no birdsong this morn, no wind rustling through the trees, little sign of any movement save for the five travellers and their steeds. All is quiet. A haven of tranquility but for the nagging sensation at the back of his mind. His muscles twitch in anticipation; the horses too are beginning to grow restless.
Gentle footfall provides a momentary distraction. The Warder stands some feet away, observing the same line of sight, scouring for any hint of danger.
"What is it?" Lan asks.
"I don't know. Something just... doesn't feel right," Perrin shrugs. Again comes the obscure pressure, nameless and palpable all at once. The same sensation he had felt in the desert and many times before. "It's like we're..."
"Being watched?"
Perrin nods slowly, turning to face the Warder. Nothing in Lan's features betrays the slightest hint of worry; his body is not coiling in preparation for combat. There are no Trollocs lying in wait, no Fade hides amongst the trees, and yet still there is a Darkness following in their footsteps. A threatening shadow always in pursuit.
"I think we should move on from here."
Lan nods his agreement. "Then we move on."
It is not long before they are packed, the fire doused, the patch of ground they had used as their camp left as if no one had ever set foot there. The women are quiet in their saddles as the Warder takes the lead, whilst at the rear of the group Perrin watches for a threat he is sure will come. But even as the sun climbs toward its zenith and the air stretches and warms, no dangers are forthcoming.
"That feeling you described to Lan," Moiraine says after three hours have passed in tolerable quietude, "when you felt as if you were being watched. Do you still have it?"
Cautiously, Perrin lifts his eyes and glances at the Aes Sedai, careful to keep his voice low.
"You feel it too?"
"A little," Moiraine concedes, her eyes steady on the path ahead. "Perhaps less clearly now, but..." She trails off, whatever it was she had been meaning to say hidden behind a mask of forced stoicism. She will not speak of her loss, and he will not trespass on her privacy by asking. "What you sense," the Aes Sedai continues," is the Dark One's power, his shadow growing and moving over the land. It has stretched far indeed since we left Fal Dara."
A shiver runs up his spine, a gust of wind rustling the branches overhead. He senses Nynaeve watching them curiously over her shoulder, and a pair of burning eyes watching him from behind. The wind comes again, then fades until there is only the soft padding of horse hooves to mark their journey.
"The world is shifting, Perrin," Moiraine says, "and little by little the Pattern is changing around you. All of you. We cannot be too careful."
Her grip tightens on her reigns, blue gaze rising to meet one of gold, as if waiting for him to ask...
"When the Trollocs attacked us why didn't I hear them coming? Why wasn't I able to see them?"
"Our senses may easily be distracted by many things," Moiraine replies. "Strong thoughts and emotions can often overpower what you might otherwise happen to see or hear. Be on your guard, Perrin, and do not fear your instincts. They will serve you well in the days ahead."
Keenly does he wish to learn what she knows, but the Aes Sedai's focus has travelled elsewhere. On the path ahead the Warder scouts their intended route, breaking into a swift gallop and disappearing between the trees. Long is Lan gone from sight, yet still Perrin hears every hoof-beat of his journey. The creaking of old branches and the cracking of dry ground that thirsts for new rainfall. The twist of Egwene's braid in her hands. The faintest ripples of water lapping against a rocky bank.
Little can he explain the change in his senses, nor can he ignore all that he observes.
Gradually comes the afternoon, and conversation comes and goes. Beside him, as she straightens in her saddle, Moiraine's impeccable posture begins to falter. Weariness lines her features, her hold on the reigns too tight, and so he offers her one of the last remaining spice cakes.
"You need it more than I," Moiraine declines softly, but he does not share her observation. He knows how much food they carry between them, and how little she has eaten of it.
Carefully, Perrin breaks the cake in half, keeping one part for himself and leaning over to press the other into her hand, certain she will not refuse if he too partakes. With a reluctant smile, the Aes Sedai takes a bite. Leaves rustle. Lan sighs, and the familiar sound of his return carries with it a promise that all remains well.
Hours pass in relative silence, and when the clouds disperse and sunrays again flit through thinning branches, there comes the muffled sound of water weaving through the land.
"Here," Perrin says at last, guiding his steed to the riverside and kneeling to touch the ground beneath his feet. He moves his hand over the trodden-down grass as if he could sense those who had walked there before. "Here is a good place."
The air is clearer in this part of the forest, cool and almost sweet. The river Erinin flows in tones of blue and green, shallow enough in places to see the myriad of pebbles and stone beneath. Tall grasses flank the opposite bank, and here and there small bunches of white flowers cluster amongst the roots of moss-covered trees.
It is indeed, as Perrin said, a good place.
Settling herself by the riverside, Moiraine closes her eyes and takes a breath that is both too deep and too shallow for her liking. She holds perfectly still - save for the intermittent tremors she has borne since returning from the Eye of the World, ignoring every ache settled within her bones. Time passes with nothing but the flow of the river to accompany her meditation, nothing until the faint sound of someone emerging from the woodland draws her attention.
"What is she doing?" Nynaeve asks in a hushed whisper, forever wary and insatiably curious.
"She's searching," Lan replies.
"For what?"
"For answers."
Again comes the flow of the river, its ever-shifting rhythm allowing her focus to drift. One by one her thoughts disperse into each ripple and whirling current, drifting until little remains but the sound of rushing water. There, brushing alongside the river, is the invisible shroud of weaves that prevents her from touching the True Source. A tangled, cascading cage impervious to her efforts, thick and tainted by saidin.
There is neither beginning nor end to the web that entombs her soul. No weakness. No discernable pattern. It is an endless curtain of merciless, impenetrable retribution, and her strength withers with every attempt to breach it.
Heavily weighs the notion that there is no shield, that the web is simply a figment of her own imagination powered by outage and denial. The possibility that she will never again touch the True Source is too great a terror to consider. And still, as she loses herself in the comfort of the river, Moiraine senses the Darkness probing the corners of her mind. Watching and waiting. Biding its time.
A ray of sunlight breaks through, the river quietens, and when she opens her eyes Moiraine finds she is no longer alone. A little way upstream, Perrin kneels between the reeds, filling their waterskins. Beside her, Egwene and Nynaeve whisper between themselves, skirts splayed out over the soft grasses. And in the shade of the woodland Lan leans casually against a trunk, watching her with an all too familiar expression.
"Before the Trollocs attacked us you said something," Nynaeve begins, suspicion creasing around her inquisitive expression. "You told me to trust the river."
Moiraine inclines her head, something of a nod, and the girls exchange a look of utter confusion.
"But, I thought..." It is Egwene who voices the next question. "How can you know about that?"
"It is one of many sayings used by women throughout the world," Moiraine answers. "Yours is an old one, almost as old as the land of Menetheren itself."
"That isn't an answer," Nynaeve purses her lips.
The need to rest begins to cloud her senses, a strange, sweeping sensation that dampens and mists over the present. Yet she obligingly elaborates, allowing herself the smallest of smiles.
"To trust the river means to trust in the One Power. To float and surrender. To let yourself drift."
"Drift," Egwene echoes excitedly. "That night in the woods. When you showed me the blue stone..."
"Much changes over time," Moiraine continues. "Knowledge is lost and true meanings are forgotten, but some traditions remain unchanged." She watches the girls carefully, watches as realisation takes hold and questions multiply tenfold. "You are more connected to the old ways than you know."
They want to know more; the need to understand burns in them. But she has neither the energy nor the patience to explain her knowledge fully. Even now, when so much remains unclear.
Pushing herself up from the ground, Moiraine rises and heads for the shade of the woodland, intent on ignoring the girls' questioning stares. Solitude however does not come immediately, for Lan emerges from the brush, catching her arm before she can pass. Discontent marks his otherwise serene expression. She has known him too long to know that even here, where there is little to nothing that might cause them harm, he cannot rest.
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
His touch is both a gentle squeeze of reassurance and a hesitant, fearful question. Carefully, she meets his gaze, almost grateful that he cannot sense her dread through the bond.
"No."
On the third night beside the river she falls asleep with her head resting on his thigh, body curled into his as he keeps watch. One palm over hers, stilling the intermittent tremors, the other smoothing down her spine. Without feeling her through the bond, Lan cannot rely upon his Aes Sedai to tell him of discomfort or injury, and he cannot readily supply the support she needs. But there are certain tells, creases and sways in movement he has come to recognise, and he is familiar enough with the tensing of her shoulders to know when to intervene.
They know each other well, more so perhaps than they have any right to. But twenty years of study and training and friendship cannot be so easily undone by the masking of their bond. He is certain there will be a way to restore what they have lost. There must be.
"Lan?"
He does not know how long she has been awake, only that she has been considering this conversation for some time. Warily he recognises the uncertainty in her melodic tone; her gaze does not seek his in the light of the burning embers.
"Would you do it?"
"Do what?" Lan asks tentatively, already dreading the words she might choose to utter.
"If... If I have been stilled. If I should succumb to the madness-"
"You won't," he interrupts harshly, unwilling to indulge those thoughtless depths. "We will find a way."
"And if we do not?" Moiraine persists quietly.
Cold clutches at his heart, heartbeat stuttering at the absurdity of her request, as if she were merely asking him to help her with an ordinary, mundane task. As if what she was asking would not rip him assunder. Hesitantly, she shifts to face him, gazing up at his stern features and searching his unmoving expression.
"Would you do me that kindness?"
Kindness, indeed. He would grant her anything. Anything except that which would separate them forever. Unless he could be certain that the Wheel itself, upon a second turn, might shew mercy and weave their paths together once more.
"You won't succumb, Moiraine," he says eventually, tightening his grip upon her hand and holding her gaze so that she might understand the truth of his words. "You are the strongest person I have ever had the privilege to meet, and we have not come this far to turn back now. You may not be able to touch the Source, but you are as strong as you ever have been. You have faced the darkness and lived. Is that not testimony enough to your strength?"
Her soft laugh is tainted with disbelief.
"My arrogance, perhaps."
Lan sighs, whispers her name, and she lifts herself from the ground to sit at his side, following his line of sight, gaze drifting between the ebbing firelight and the dark beyond the tree-line, over the sleeping forms of their young companions.
"When Siuan told me of her dreams she was so entirely convinced the Dark One could be defeated. I didn't stop to question whether taking the Dragon to the Eye was exactly what he wanted. What he needed."
"You think it was a trap?" Lan asks, but Moiraine gives no reply in return, neither affirming nor denying his observation.
"The Last Battle is still coming," she says instead. "And we are as much in the dark as we were before."
There is a curious finality in her words, but they do not speak of defeat. For there is still much that can be done, much to uncover and understand. It is a mere matter of deciding which way they must turn and where next they will go. And all the while the waves of time will crash mercilessly against their heels. Forcing them onwards. Forever in pursuit.
"I could not... I would not ask it of anyone else," Moiraine begins again.
"You asked me what I heard in the Ways," the Warder cuts her off before she can voice anything more on the subject. "Machin Shin..." His throat tightens with memory, tightens further upon enfolding her hand in his, glad she cannot feel the fear he has fought in vain to vanquish since that day. "It told me I wouldn't be able to protect you. That I'd watch you die."
Carefully he watches her face, watches the flames illumine the crinkling sorrow around her eyes and the strained comfort that follows.
"I won't do that, Moiraine," he whispers. "I won't let that happen." Gently he tilts her chin, urging her to look at him, needing her to know that he sees her torment, that he sees her, even when he can no longer feel her. "If your strength should fail, you shall have mine. If your spirit wearies, you shall have my faith. And if the madness comes I shall keep it at bay for as long as it is in my power to do so. Your burdens are mine to shoulder, Moiraine. Your tears are mine to shed, and your pain mine to bear."
"As yours is mine," she whispers in return.
He kisses her knuckles lightly, frowns at the unshed tears glistening in the light of the dying fire. She will not, he knows, allow them to fall. Even now.
"We will not fail," he promises, faithful still to their quest. To the Light. To her.
Inhaling steadily, Moiraine attempts something resembling a smile, but any reply is lost as she rests her head upon his offered shoulder, closing her eyes and seeking solace in the enduring rhythm of his breathing. Only one utterance, a quiet word of thanks, reaches his ears before she slips once more into sleep.
End note: Taking a little creative license here with the 'Trust the River' storyline, but there was too much coincidence for me to ignore and I happily ran with it. I hope that last conversation between Lan and Moiraine wasn't too heavy. I wanted to infer certain possibilities whilst treating the topic with the necessary sensitivity.