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WOT FIC: A Sword-Arm and Confidant
Title: A Sword-Arm and Confidant
Characters: Moiraine, Lan
Rating: unrated
Words: ~1,400
Summary: "This wasn't the Last Battle," Moiraine confessed. She had miscalculated somewhere, misread the evidence she had so carefully compiled over the last twenty years. "I fear it was the first."
Notes: Moiraine and Lan in the aftermath of 1x08. This picks up during their last scene in the episode, and it is almost entirely showverse. Spoilers for the entire season. Contains vague, book-based speculation for where Moiraine and Lan are headed going into Season 2, but no real book spoilers.
[AO3]
A Sword-Arm and Confidant
"It's cuendillar," Moiraine explained.
Lan took the white fragment from Moiraine's hand. He said, "I thought heartstone couldn't be scratched," and lifted it toward the faint dregs of morning light reaching into the Eye. It almost seemed to shine. "That nothing—not even the One Power—could break it."
"So did I."
"What does it mean?"
Moiraine looked at the ruined mosaic on the floor. It was the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, though the people of this Age separated it into the White Flame and the Dragonfang. Created from a substance believed indestructible, it had lain untouched at the Eye for three thousand years. Now, it was blistered and cracked from the sheer force of Rand's power.
It should have been impossible. Perhaps Rand was impossible.
"That this wasn't the Last Battle," Moiraine confessed. She had miscalculated somewhere, misread the evidence she had so carefully compiled over the last twenty years. "I fear it was the first."
Lan embraced her again. Even with their bond still masked, she found comfort in his presence. His warmth and weight against her shoulder was as familiar to her as his smell and the sound of his voice, and it grounded her as she fruitlessly struggled to reach the True Source.
For two decades, he had been her sword-arm and confidant. Green Sisters aside, new Aes Sedai often waited years before taking a Warder; Moiraine had bonded Lan within months of earning her ring. Maigan had chided her for being impulsive, but Moiraine had known the moment she met Lan that he was who she needed by her side if she hoped to accomplish her task. His losses had stripped him of boastfulness and false pride, as well as the foolish recklessness born of such failings. His upbringing had taught him caution and patience—ideas still novel to a young Sister flush with the One Power and barely off the White Tower's leading strings.
Two decades, most of it spent sleeping rough or sitting in the saddle. In all that time, Lan had never failed her, never faltered. He had held his questions between his teeth and had followed wherever she led. He had thrown himself in front of Trollocs and Fades to ensure her safety, had stood between her and Whitecloaks convinced of their righteousness and Darkfriends armed with clubs and daggers and swords. Once, when their horses had died and she had been too injured to walk, he had carried her fifty leagues on his back.
Now, he sat beside her on the floor of a filthy oubliette, a place forgotten since the Breaking of the World. He stroked her hair as she curled in on herself, making her feel less cold and adrift.
"Your power," Lan began, his voice soft, uncertain. Few men dared to question an Aes Sedai's connection to the True Source. "Is it… gone?"
Moiraine reached for saidar again. With much strain, she managed to gather the barest of trickles, something thinner and weaker than a single strand of hair. "No. I am shielded in some way."
"Shielded?" Lan shifted until he could look her in the eye. "With what? Saidin?"
"I do not know," Moiraine said, channeling again. She grasped another miniscule thread and used it to explore what held her. Were the shield made from saidar, she would be able to sense the overlapping threads of Spirit. Now, she touched an invisible wall. It was grooved in places as if woven, but beyond that it was incomprehensible to her. "Perhaps saidin. Perhaps something of the Dark One's own design."
"Why—?" Lan cut off with a frown pulling at his mouth. "Why would the Dark One shield you?"
"I was a complication," Moiraine replied tiredly. "An annoyance."
"An annoyance the Dark One could have killed with a thought."
Moiraine straightened the tight hunch of her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap. Lan rarely spoke to her with such incredulity; that he did so now made her reconsider Rand's encounter and recognize the strangeness of it. The man had been smug and goading, almost amused, and he had merely stood there as Rand's power flowed into the sa'angreal. More, he had smiled as the light Rand channeled engulfed him.
She should have seen it sooner. Fear and the sudden shock of losing saidar had clouded her wits.
"If it was the Dark One," she said, still piecing things together, "he was not here in the flesh. His prison has weakened, but as of now, it remains strong enough to prevent him from walking the earth."
"And if it wasn't?"
"One of the Forsaken, perhaps." Before turning to the Shadow, the Forsaken had been among the strongest Aes Sedai in the Age of Legends, and most had been arrogant, bloated with vanity and pride. Shielding Moiraine instead of stilling her might have seemed a game to one of them, a boastful demonstration of her inferiority and their power. "Unbound, yet still limited by the barrier created by Lews Therin and his Companions."
Lan made a soft, vexed noise. "To what end?"
"I think it was a test," Moiraine said. "It was chance to test Rand's strength. To see if he could be swayed toward the Shadow."
After a pause, Lan muttered, "One of the Forsaken," under his breath. "Who? Ishamael? Balthamel?"
"No," Moiraine hissed, grabbing his arm. "Do not speak their names. Not here. If the Dark One's prison has weakened, it has weakened here." She reached down and traced a crack in the mosaic with the tip of her finger. "This is where the rot began."
"The first battle, not the last." Lan shifted to a crouch, his arms resting across his knees. "And Rand is dead?"
Moiraine shook her head. "No. I let him go." Before Lan could respond, she continued, "At the time, I thought it done."
"I can find him," Lan said, standing. "He will not have traveled far. Not in the Blight."
Moiraine said, "No," again. "I'm of no use to him as I am now. And he needs time—time to accept who and what he is." She touched the mosaic again. "Time to accept what he is capable of."
"Can he accept it?" Lan asked. "Could any man?"
"I believe he will. Rand al'Thor is young and stubborn and foolish, but he loves deeply, and he has a strong sense of responsibility. He will accept it, if only to save his friends from a world ruled by the Shadow." Moiraine found the fragment of cuendillar where Lan had set it aside and tucked it into her belt pouch. "When the time comes, I will find him, or the Pattern will lead him back to me."
Lan studied her for a moment, then offered her his hand. As she found her feet, he said, "Come. We should leave this place. Even with the bond masked, I know you need food and rest."
"Lan Gaidin," Moiraine murmured. Lightly, she touched the leather cord at his forehead. "I meant what I said. There is more to life than me."
"And I meant what I said, Moiraine Sedai. I have no regrets."
"Not even Nynaeve?"
A rough, empty look crossed Lan's face. If their bond was active, Moiraine would have felt his sadness, a tightness in her chest and underneath her ribs.
He said, "Even if you released me tomorrow, I would not ask Nynaeve for more than she has already given me. Malkier is gone. She deserves a man who can give her more than a memory swallowed by the Blight."
"And if she becomes an Aes Sedai?"
"If she does, I hope she chooses her Warder with more thought and care than you."
Moiraine huffed out a laugh and cupped his face in her hands. "Thank you for coming for me."
Lan shrugged that off; he always did when she voiced gratitude. He straightened his sword-belt as he asked, "Where shall I take you?"
"Fal Dara. I mean to see Egwene and Nynaeve on a path to the White Tower."
"And Perrin?"
"He can go with them to Tar Valon, or with us to Arafel."
"Arafel?"
"Arafel," Moiraine confirmed. She reached for saidar again and caught a whisper more than before. "A village called Tifan's Well."
Lan quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds exciting."
"Two Aes Sedai live there," Moiraine explained. "Old, and long retired from life at the White Tower. They planned on writing a history of the world since the Breaking." She buttoned her cloak as she continued, "I doubt they have finished it, but if I remember them half as well as I think, they will have amassed more knowledge than I will find anywhere outside Tar Valon."
Lan nodded, then drew his sword and started for the stairs.
As always, following where she led.
Characters: Moiraine, Lan
Rating: unrated
Words: ~1,400
Summary: "This wasn't the Last Battle," Moiraine confessed. She had miscalculated somewhere, misread the evidence she had so carefully compiled over the last twenty years. "I fear it was the first."
Notes: Moiraine and Lan in the aftermath of 1x08. This picks up during their last scene in the episode, and it is almost entirely showverse. Spoilers for the entire season. Contains vague, book-based speculation for where Moiraine and Lan are headed going into Season 2, but no real book spoilers.
[AO3]
"It's cuendillar," Moiraine explained.
Lan took the white fragment from Moiraine's hand. He said, "I thought heartstone couldn't be scratched," and lifted it toward the faint dregs of morning light reaching into the Eye. It almost seemed to shine. "That nothing—not even the One Power—could break it."
"So did I."
"What does it mean?"
Moiraine looked at the ruined mosaic on the floor. It was the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, though the people of this Age separated it into the White Flame and the Dragonfang. Created from a substance believed indestructible, it had lain untouched at the Eye for three thousand years. Now, it was blistered and cracked from the sheer force of Rand's power.
It should have been impossible. Perhaps Rand was impossible.
"That this wasn't the Last Battle," Moiraine confessed. She had miscalculated somewhere, misread the evidence she had so carefully compiled over the last twenty years. "I fear it was the first."
Lan embraced her again. Even with their bond still masked, she found comfort in his presence. His warmth and weight against her shoulder was as familiar to her as his smell and the sound of his voice, and it grounded her as she fruitlessly struggled to reach the True Source.
For two decades, he had been her sword-arm and confidant. Green Sisters aside, new Aes Sedai often waited years before taking a Warder; Moiraine had bonded Lan within months of earning her ring. Maigan had chided her for being impulsive, but Moiraine had known the moment she met Lan that he was who she needed by her side if she hoped to accomplish her task. His losses had stripped him of boastfulness and false pride, as well as the foolish recklessness born of such failings. His upbringing had taught him caution and patience—ideas still novel to a young Sister flush with the One Power and barely off the White Tower's leading strings.
Two decades, most of it spent sleeping rough or sitting in the saddle. In all that time, Lan had never failed her, never faltered. He had held his questions between his teeth and had followed wherever she led. He had thrown himself in front of Trollocs and Fades to ensure her safety, had stood between her and Whitecloaks convinced of their righteousness and Darkfriends armed with clubs and daggers and swords. Once, when their horses had died and she had been too injured to walk, he had carried her fifty leagues on his back.
Now, he sat beside her on the floor of a filthy oubliette, a place forgotten since the Breaking of the World. He stroked her hair as she curled in on herself, making her feel less cold and adrift.
"Your power," Lan began, his voice soft, uncertain. Few men dared to question an Aes Sedai's connection to the True Source. "Is it… gone?"
Moiraine reached for saidar again. With much strain, she managed to gather the barest of trickles, something thinner and weaker than a single strand of hair. "No. I am shielded in some way."
"Shielded?" Lan shifted until he could look her in the eye. "With what? Saidin?"
"I do not know," Moiraine said, channeling again. She grasped another miniscule thread and used it to explore what held her. Were the shield made from saidar, she would be able to sense the overlapping threads of Spirit. Now, she touched an invisible wall. It was grooved in places as if woven, but beyond that it was incomprehensible to her. "Perhaps saidin. Perhaps something of the Dark One's own design."
"Why—?" Lan cut off with a frown pulling at his mouth. "Why would the Dark One shield you?"
"I was a complication," Moiraine replied tiredly. "An annoyance."
"An annoyance the Dark One could have killed with a thought."
Moiraine straightened the tight hunch of her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap. Lan rarely spoke to her with such incredulity; that he did so now made her reconsider Rand's encounter and recognize the strangeness of it. The man had been smug and goading, almost amused, and he had merely stood there as Rand's power flowed into the sa'angreal. More, he had smiled as the light Rand channeled engulfed him.
She should have seen it sooner. Fear and the sudden shock of losing saidar had clouded her wits.
"If it was the Dark One," she said, still piecing things together, "he was not here in the flesh. His prison has weakened, but as of now, it remains strong enough to prevent him from walking the earth."
"And if it wasn't?"
"One of the Forsaken, perhaps." Before turning to the Shadow, the Forsaken had been among the strongest Aes Sedai in the Age of Legends, and most had been arrogant, bloated with vanity and pride. Shielding Moiraine instead of stilling her might have seemed a game to one of them, a boastful demonstration of her inferiority and their power. "Unbound, yet still limited by the barrier created by Lews Therin and his Companions."
Lan made a soft, vexed noise. "To what end?"
"I think it was a test," Moiraine said. "It was chance to test Rand's strength. To see if he could be swayed toward the Shadow."
After a pause, Lan muttered, "One of the Forsaken," under his breath. "Who? Ishamael? Balthamel?"
"No," Moiraine hissed, grabbing his arm. "Do not speak their names. Not here. If the Dark One's prison has weakened, it has weakened here." She reached down and traced a crack in the mosaic with the tip of her finger. "This is where the rot began."
"The first battle, not the last." Lan shifted to a crouch, his arms resting across his knees. "And Rand is dead?"
Moiraine shook her head. "No. I let him go." Before Lan could respond, she continued, "At the time, I thought it done."
"I can find him," Lan said, standing. "He will not have traveled far. Not in the Blight."
Moiraine said, "No," again. "I'm of no use to him as I am now. And he needs time—time to accept who and what he is." She touched the mosaic again. "Time to accept what he is capable of."
"Can he accept it?" Lan asked. "Could any man?"
"I believe he will. Rand al'Thor is young and stubborn and foolish, but he loves deeply, and he has a strong sense of responsibility. He will accept it, if only to save his friends from a world ruled by the Shadow." Moiraine found the fragment of cuendillar where Lan had set it aside and tucked it into her belt pouch. "When the time comes, I will find him, or the Pattern will lead him back to me."
Lan studied her for a moment, then offered her his hand. As she found her feet, he said, "Come. We should leave this place. Even with the bond masked, I know you need food and rest."
"Lan Gaidin," Moiraine murmured. Lightly, she touched the leather cord at his forehead. "I meant what I said. There is more to life than me."
"And I meant what I said, Moiraine Sedai. I have no regrets."
"Not even Nynaeve?"
A rough, empty look crossed Lan's face. If their bond was active, Moiraine would have felt his sadness, a tightness in her chest and underneath her ribs.
He said, "Even if you released me tomorrow, I would not ask Nynaeve for more than she has already given me. Malkier is gone. She deserves a man who can give her more than a memory swallowed by the Blight."
"And if she becomes an Aes Sedai?"
"If she does, I hope she chooses her Warder with more thought and care than you."
Moiraine huffed out a laugh and cupped his face in her hands. "Thank you for coming for me."
Lan shrugged that off; he always did when she voiced gratitude. He straightened his sword-belt as he asked, "Where shall I take you?"
"Fal Dara. I mean to see Egwene and Nynaeve on a path to the White Tower."
"And Perrin?"
"He can go with them to Tar Valon, or with us to Arafel."
"Arafel?"
"Arafel," Moiraine confirmed. She reached for saidar again and caught a whisper more than before. "A village called Tifan's Well."
Lan quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds exciting."
"Two Aes Sedai live there," Moiraine explained. "Old, and long retired from life at the White Tower. They planned on writing a history of the world since the Breaking." She buttoned her cloak as she continued, "I doubt they have finished it, but if I remember them half as well as I think, they will have amassed more knowledge than I will find anywhere outside Tar Valon."
Lan nodded, then drew his sword and started for the stairs.
As always, following where she led.