DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Wheel of Time or any of its characters.
A/N: Hello all! I am so sorry for the long wait. I fell down a rabbit hole and got entirely distracted by BBC Happy Valley... I can't believe it's been two months since I last updated, but I did finally get round to reading The Eye of the World - which was such an amazing read. Anyway, here is chapter seven. I can't quite remember where I was headed with this, and I know there are probably a few inaccuracies when it comes to the One Power, but I hope it's still enjoyable.
Please read and review if you have the time. I'd love to know what you think. Thank you for bearing with. As always, enjoy x
UNEASINESS
Too soon comes the next dawn, bringing with it a mighty chill that freezes the air: a coolness that tells of winter and the ravages of a harsh spring, though greenery thrives still where the river flows and swirls. The barest laces of silver hang from the tree-tops; the campfire is soon enough re-kindled, and while her two friends sleep soundly the Wisdom begins to grind herbs for their morning tea.
Where Lan is she does not know, though there are traces of footsteps in the light frost, leading this way and that amongst the trees. It is not until she rises to stretch her limbs that she spies Moiraine sitting near the bank of the Erinin.
Carefully she approaches, curiosity branching out into concern. Barely a breath of wind wisps through the Aes Sedai's hair, her form so still that Nynaeve imagines she might have been frozen along with the frost that sparkles on the ground.
"What are you doing, Wisdom?"
Her movements stall, relief outweighing surprise.
"I brought you some tea," Nynaeve answers swiftly, little intending on admitting she thought the Aes Sedai asleep. Or worse. "What were you doing?"
"Thinking," Moiraine says, opening her eyes as the Wisdom moves nearer, gaze fixated upon the ripples of the river and the white flowers on the far bank that glitter beneath a cool sun. "What is this one for?"
"Headaches."
"Your own remedy?"
"Yes."
Nynaeve sighs inwardly, determined to be unruffled by the question the Aes Sedai asks every time she offers a brew. They have all, out of necessity and circumstance, been her own carefully construed remedies. Yet still Moiraine will ask, if only to keep within the boundaries of polite conversation.
Steam wafts from the cup she places between the Aes Sedai's hands, observing with satisfaction the way in which she lifts it to her face and inhales the earthy aroma. But the way she holds herself upright, sunlight catching the faint gash buried in her hairline as she favours her left side - that is not so satisfying. Instinct calls her to kneel closer, to scrutinise without fear of reprimand.
"Tell me where it hurts."
The subtle quirk of Moiraine's jaw confirms her suspicions, and she repeats the question with such intensity as to leave little room for denial.
"Light save me from your stubbornness," Nynaeve mutters, folding her arms across her chest as if she cannot pinpoint exactly where the pain resides or see the slight curving of her spine and the imperceptible wince that follows every breath taken too deep. "You'll be of no help to us if it gets worse."
"They are only bruises," is all Moiraine sees fit to confess, as if that were reason enough to leave her injuries untended. But it only serves to further provoke the Wisdom's rising determination.
"If I used the One Power," Nynaeve challenges, surprising herself with the abrupt suggestion, "would you let me help you?"
Moiraine tilts her head and studies her carefully; Nynaeve stares back without diffidence.
"I would not ask you to do anything you were not ready for."
"We are never ready to face what we do not fully understand," Nynaeve replies, revelling in the hint of a smile that piece of inherited wisdom brings, though the words ring with a difficult truth. The ethereal intensities of the One Power, its roots and beginnings and all that it is capable of - it remains a mystery to her. One that frightens and compels and swells deep within her soul.
The Aes Sedai will speak nothing more, the Wisdom realises, unless she pushes further. Moiraine never says anything at all unless she deems it absolute necessary.
"You taught Egwene to channel. Surely you can spare a moment to teach me."
For a time Moiraine considers the ferocity and the strength within the young woman sitting beside her. Years of bitter defiance mingled in a deep well of kind compassion. She would not have asked either of the girls to give up an ounce of their strength for so inconsequential an injury, but the opportunity to impart what she can to Nynaeve proves too tempting to resist. For the Wisdom may not ask again, and if she would but listen to her guidance, Nynaeve's strength would surely blossom into something her kind had not witnessed in an age.
Already the Wisdom's palm is placed over her side, brow raised expectantly though a shimmer of heedful uncertainty flows beneath.
"I am not asking you to trust me, Wisdom," Moiraine says softly. "I am asking you to trust in yourself."
A deep breath. The river flows. A melody of careful, quiet words pass into the realm between them. Impatience brews and sways, breaking beneath hushed reassurances. Together they drift beyond the edges of thought, delving into places where only light should exist. Where Moiraine can no longer follow but wait with calm assurity.
In whirling succession the Wisdom's weaves form, ribbons of white light that flutter against the protesting ache rising beneath her ribcage. The waters churn and bubble, and the morning frost melts away beneath the strengthening sun.
Healing comes with a cautious embrace. Light ignites the reflections of ancient memories, flooding in and soothing bone. Nynaeve shudders, blinks rapidly, but she neither retreats nor removes her hand, waiting instead for the moment to pass, for the drifting weaves to dissipate.
"You did well," Moiraine whispers, and she smiles at the surprised hope that shimmers in the Wisdom's wondering gaze.
"I should go and wake the others." Nynaeve gathers her skirts. "And you're welcome," she adds with a smile that errs on the side of contended triumph.
Her retreating footsteps carry quickly across the now soft grasses, replaced by that of a wider, stronger gate. Having witnessed all, no doubt, of what had passed between her and the Wisdom, Lan's stern brow is knit with tarried concern.
"You needn't worry about Nynaeve," Moiraine observes as the Warder approaches, keen to allay any fears on his account. "She will do very well at the Tower, and I suspect she will not remain a Novice for long."
"At present I am more worried about you," Lan replies, kneeling down beside her and sighing heavily. "You should have told me you were in pain."
"You and I have borne far worse," she contends with a raised brow.
"I mean it, Moiraine. I need you to tell me." His usual reprimand is laced with discontented sorrow. "I can't protect you if..."
Her hand slides over his in apologetic understanding, nodding her agreement. His palm is warm and soothing as it passes over her cool knuckles, memorising the curve of her hand, transfixed by the chill he finds lingering there.
"Come and sit by the fire," Lan presses softly, moving to rise but she holds him fast, hastens to speak what she has so long meditated on in solitude.
"No one can know, Lan," she whispers urgently.
"Know what?" he prompts, but the words are not easy to declare and she cannot bring herself to entirely relinquish her grip on his arm.
Settling beside her, the Warder waits with baited patience, watching as her mind once again wanders over the water's surface, lost in an unending wheel of thought until he can bear the silence no longer.
"Moiraine?" A note of hopeful solace, reminding her of his presence. "Talk to me."
The shadow that passes over her face is wrought with vulnerability, the inclination to conceal her thoughts battling with sincerity as truths rush to the forefront.
"No one else need know of our circumstances," she begins steadily. "If the Tower should discover I can no longer touch the Source, if I have been stilled... I would remain in exile and you would be reassigned, and our mission-" Fervently her hold tightens, gaze fixed upon their entwined hands, tone burdened with earnest uneasiness. "I do not think I can do this without you."
A gentle smile. He leans closer, presses his forehead to hers in reverent fealty.
"You will not have to," Lan promises. "I am here."
Tranquility blooms in the intimate silence that shrouds them, transient though it may be. There is a calmness that transcends his understanding in the feel of her skin against his. Refuge to be found in the lingering memory of home.
For a time there is simply the gathering warmth of sunlight and the familiar constancy of the babbling river. A merciful intermission before the final stretch that would lead to the company's inevitable parting.
"Siuan could help."
"Siuan's situation is precarious enough," Moiraine bristles, throwing the Warder an overtly defensive look.
"You know she is stronger than you give her credit for," Lan flings his argument against her objection, knowing she cannot deny a truth he had learnt many years, if not decades, ago.
Yet she will refuse to concede to his reasoning; she will not so readily involve the Amrylin in their newfound plight.
"Please understand, Lan... No Aes Sedai in history has ever lost her power in this way. And if they have, it has long passed out of all knowledge. If any of my sisters discover that we found the Dragon Reborn... The Amrylin herself would be stilled for such treason and everything will have been for nought. There will be too few of us left to stop the Darkness."
Her words ring with dreadful truth, though he cannot prevent the light- hearted chuckle that springs forth when he considers the consequences.
"Siuan will gut us both if she finds out we kept this from her," Lan protests, earning a knowing grin from his Aes Sedai.
"Light, she would do more than that." Her blue gaze pierces him, begging for his agreement. "No one else can know. Promise me, Lan."
Doubt and reason collide at her request, but he will not deny her.
"As you wish," he says, and at last the shadow lifts from her face, relief and gratitude tender in her small smile.
"For safe-keeping," Moiraine says.
Confusion ripples through him until he sees the ring she offers, open in her palm, the blue stone glinting beneath the fair light. But he cannot, will not take it from her. Not yet - though well enough he understands her reasoning. To be seen wearing the ring of an Aes Sedai would only provoke questioning, and their secret would swiftly travel beyond the bounds of repair.
For now they must be little more than weary travellers on the winding road. Cloaked and hooded from watchful eyes, compelled to follow wherever the Wheel wills.
Curling his fingers over hers, Lan presses the ring back into her hand.
"When it is necessary," he promises, urging her to keep it a while longer.
This too he vows to himself: that he will not return to the White Tower without her. He will not bear the task of casting her ring into those fiery flames.
"Now, please..." He offers his hand once again. "Come and sit by the fire. I fear we have lingered here too long."
Already the shadows are growing, and the sunlight quarrels with a sky grey with foreboding, but the burning embers of the campfire are pleasant and welcoming. The Two River's children are well-rested, eager now to continue onwards, burdens shared and expressions a little lighter. Accepting the offered tea, Lan listens as Moiraine begins to at last speak of the prepared route ahead. And then a small, peculiar shape catches his eye: a black, shrouded thing perched on the low branches nearby.
"Hush," he hears Moiraine command as he begins to reach for his weapon. A bow and arrow would have been preferable, but a blade will have to suffice. "We needn't speak of such things now, and there is no need to act in haste."
With reluctance he heeds her subtle warning, reaching instead for the remainder of his tea. And when Nynaeve moves to protest it is Perrin who intervenes, his ears pricked and brow narrowed in troubled consternation, silencing the Wisdom with one fierce glance.
Head cocked to one side, the crow's beady eye continues to watch them intently.
"We will speak no further on the matter here," Moiraine whispers again, tone low with calm purpose as she motions with the barest of gestures for them to finish their tea and collect their possessions.
An innocent, inconspicuous stretch of his limbs allows Lan to leave the circle of companions unnoticed, retracing his earlier footprints in utter silence before disappearing between the tall trees. Perrin would be ready as a failsafe should the Warder's aim prove ill-fated.
He makes no sound as he unsheathes his blade, places himself within easy distance of the otherwise distracted bird. Light knew how much of their conversation the creature had heard, or for how long it had followed in their footsteps, disposed to betray information to any number of enemies.
One steady throw. The hushed whistle of the blade slices through the air, and the creature's rattling caw is silenced forever.