Chapter Text
Hands grabbed at Moiraine in the dark. She was tied down, unable to move, as if weaves of air were restraining her. She couldn't see. She never could. The hands pressed in, under her dress. She wished she didn’t know who they belonged to, she wished that it was hidden away in the dark with everything else, but she always did. She couldn’t forget. It hurt, it always did, to lay there and take it, but she couldn’t even find the voice to scream much less resist. It hurt more when she resisted. So she resigned herself to biting the inside of her cheek and—
Moiraine woke up tasting blood.
She bolted upright as soon as she was aware she could, yanking the blankets around her. She wasn’t in Sindhol. She left. She was free. Though she doubted the First Oath would let her say as much aloud.
She touched her bracelet, adjusting it from where it wore deep marks into her skin, and embraced saidar to prove that she could. It jolted her stomach in a way she had never become accustomed to, even after a year of using this angreal. She suspected it wasn’t a fault of the angreal but of her own weakness.
With saidar flowing through her, Moiraine’s heart slowed some; the illusion of strength and normalcy providing comfort as it always did. Breathe in. Breathe out.
She was free.
She reluctantly let go of saidar a dozen breaths later and felt the weariness set back into her bones. More than ever, Moiraine was tempted to hold onto a trickle of the power, at least until dawn, but she knew from experience that it would only tire her later.
Moiraine spat blood into a handkerchief and went about preparing for the day. The pre-dawn light saved her the effort of lighting candles as she dressed and arranged her hair. She attempted to fix it in a pinned braid but her shaking hands only made it look clumsy. Moiraine Sedai had learned to tolerate a lot, but she could not abide clumsiness. She glared down at her hands as if that would fix what Aes Sedai and Readers alike could not, before combing the braid out and leaving her hair loose.
She looked in her mirror. Powder couldn’t quite hide the circles under her eyes but it was an adequate pretense for the few who saw her.
And it was that pretense of Moiraine Aes Sedai, heir to House Damodred, founder of the Dragon Reborn, slayer of Forsaken, victorious of the Last Battle who took her tea with dawn’s light finally trickling into her study.
She had chosen her study well — one of four rooms in the Damodred country estate that had a balcony and she left it open regardless of the weather. Moiraine had never been particularly sensitive to enclosed spaces before… well before, but now any four walls felt like a prison and outside was often worse. Even in her garden, she was exposed to stares from her staff and beyond her estate, the peasantry whispered around her and the few travelers that came this way would often point.
And what were they saying? Which war stories were passed around? What role did she play?
Moiraine would use the power to eavesdrop, but it was a risk when she knew how often simple use of saidar made her falter and tire. One rumor that she was anything less than serenity incarnate would spiral into a hundred, each more sordid and exaggerated than the last until one stumbled upon a grain of truth. She may have retired to the countryside, but this was still Cairhien where reputation held as much power as coin.
Needless to say — Moiraine rarely left her study.
From here she still held control. She could take her time writing a letter until her hand and mind were equally steady and she wouldn’t stutter over words or declare false memories as if they were true. From her desk, lords and nobles and even Aes Sedai asked for her counsel, knowing nothing of her present circumstances. If she took an undue amount of time to reply then it was simply because her advice was so sought after and she was likely occupied with other, more important, tasks. It certainly did not occur to anyone with whom she was corresponding that her slowness had anything at all to do with mental deficiency or physical ineptitude.
At the end of stories, heroes had two choices. They died or they lived happily for the rest of their days. They didn’t spend days confined in bed from exhaustion and evenings awake from night terrors.
Moiraine had plenty of time to consider and after everything, she decided that she fancied being remembered a hero. After all, she always had a talent for twisting the truth.
Despite the fact that she was sure her hands weren’t shaking this much last week, today was a better day than most. She penned three letters, to be rewritten when she had a cleaner hand, and read a further two from her stack of business correspondence before a dull pain set in behind her eyes.
She washed and dried her pen nib and sat back in her chair, feeling each aching muscle in her neck, and allowed her eyes to drift closed. Not too long ago, Moiraine thought she conquered exhaustion. She could ride day and night and still spare energy to fight a battle and Heal the injured the next morning. She thought those twenty odd years traveling on the road had prepared her for every type of pain possible but it seemed nothing compared to old scars.
Moiraine wasn’t aware she had drifted off to sleep until she was woken by a sharp knock on her study door. She jolted up in her chair and reached for a letter from… some Lord who’s name and nation escaped her. “Yes?” she called. Perhaps it was lunch. Or dinner. Not that she was hungry. She didn’t know how much time had passed since she had fallen asleep. It seemed ridiculous to her — tossing for hours in the night, waking before dawn, only to sleep half the day away.
Her head of house opened the door. He was an intelligent middle-aged man who preferred to be called ‘Jurim’ to escape a rather sordid affair that had caught him in Cairhien a decade past. He wasn’t quite a friend, Moiraine didn’t have those anymore, but he did have her confidence in most matters and had proven himself a valuable member of her intelligence network. “A visitor, my Lady.”
At that Moiraine frowned. The Damodred estate was well hidden in the country. It was a mile to the nearest village, seven days travel to the city, and her study overlooked the sole path that connected down to the road. Her family had more flaws than could be counted but at least they knew an estate was only a well-decorated fortress. One could not walk in on this estate unexpected. Unless of course… burn me. “Who is calling, Jurim?”
Before Jurim could open his mouth to announce which Aes Sedai had done Moiraine the honor of visiting, she announced herself, “I can hear you so there’s no use telling me to come back another day!” The shout carried from downstairs and Moiraine could see poor Jurim wince at the impropriety.
“Queen el-Nynaeve ti al-Meara Mandragoran of Malkier,” Jurim answered with tight lips as if Moiraine wouldn’t have recognized her voice. Or her manners.
Nynaeve was one of the last people Moiraine wanted to see, but it didn’t seem as though there would be a way to politely refuse her way out of this encounter without drawing more attention than she wanted. Besides, it was hardly as if Nynaeve would even want to be around her for more than an hour — three at most if she had business to discuss. It was better than if Lan had come.
Nynaeve also apparently did not have the wherewithal to wait a mere minute for Moiraine to greet her in the entry hall before barging up the steps and to the doorway sending Jurim scattering. She knew he hated poor manners more than anything except perhaps upsetting a queen.
She didn’t look markedly different from when Moiraine last saw her a few days after the Last Battle, but was perhaps less grief-stricken, more sure of herself. Her braid remained as long and tightly wound as ever, but she had started wearing a red ki’sain mark, the only apparent change she was willing to make for her new nation as her green wool cloak and yellow skirts were as practical and common seeming as ever. One wouldn’t know that she was either a queen or the most powerful Aes Sedai by first appearance and Moiraine didn’t know if that was because of reluctance or cleverness.
Moiraine slowly rose from her chair, praying that her legs would support her as she curtsied. “Your Highness,” she said and Nynaeve looked as uncomfortable as Moiraine had suspected.
Reluctance then.
“Don’t start,” Nynaeve muttered, taking a sudden interest in her shoes. Moiraine remembered a few short years ago when Nynaeve would have savored this respect as a mere Wisdom of the Two Rivers, especially from Moiraine. “I came here for a conversation not a bloody ceremony.”
And that was a shame. Ceremonies were much easier to navigate. “What did you wish to discuss?”
Nynaeve peered past Moiraine’s shoulder and her stomach sank just a little as she knew exactly the stack of papers Nynaeve was eyeing. “So you have been getting our letters.”
Once a month, like clockwork. The first came sealed with a golden crane, signed formally, and announced the official re-establishment of the Seven Towers. It was written in Lan’s hand but didn’t read in his voice. Moiraine responded to that on behalf of both House Damodred and the Blue Ajah, not that she had official authority to do so, and congratulated Malkier on its victory, proclaiming that her House and Ajah would support the reclamation efforts. The next letter bore no royal seal but contained pages of personal comments from Lan. Nothing of politics or battle tactics, but instead full of personal anecdotes, poetry, memories… Nothing Moiraine could respond to. Lan knew her too well and it was easier to forget their bond than to remember all that had occurred, real and imagined.
She hadn’t bothered opening the last few letters that arrived.
“Yes. I didn’t see that they contained any urgency or matters requiring my immediate attention.” Lan didn’t need her; he never needed her. Moiraine had only hoped that he would realize that and stop writing, stop acting as if everything was as it used to be.
Nynaeve carefully studied the rest of her desk before reaching past Moiraine and picking up the last letter she had read. “And Lord… Aeblon from Arad Doman does?” She frowned. “Never heard of him.” Neither had Moiraine, at least not that she remembered.
“It’s good to keep a wide range of correspondence in times such as these.”
“But not with your closest friend.” Nynaeve tossed the letter back on Moiraine’s desk.
Moiraine’s cheeks burned. For the hundredth time, she wished she could simply lie — tell Nynaeve that Lan meant nothing to her now that their mission had ended, say that she wasn’t aware Lan still held her in that esteem. Her actions didn’t give way for easy explanations, but most weren’t so blunt as to ask upfront. Maybe this dance would have been easier in better days with a quicker mind. “We don’t have a bond any longer. Our mission is over. He has a wife. I don’t see what I could offer him.”
“You selfish—” Nynaeve seemed to find control of her tongue and took a breath. “I don’t suppose it's occurred to you that Lan is capable of caring for someone he’s not bonded or wed to? You have no idea what it’s been like for him since losing you because you never bothered to bloody ask. He misses you.”
Moiraine had held out hope that it wasn’t true. That Lan still resented her for supposedly throwing away her life, for not allowing him to throw away his life trying to rescue her, for ignoring him when she came back. She hoped that at least ignoring his letters might do so. Apparently it had the opposite effect. “Then I apologize,” she said as airily and disinterested as she could manage. “I’ll write him back soon.”
“Moiraine…”
“In fact, I’ll do so now.” She took a seat and uncorked her ink, hoping she could muster her words once she laid out a clean piece of paper. Perhaps Lan would be too overjoyed to notice her sloppy hand. “You can deliver it yourself upon your return if you would like.” She dipped her pen in ink and her jaw clenched. What would the Moiraine of old write at a time like this?
“Moiraine…”
She turned her head. “Yes?”
“You know downstairs there's a Gateway that could take you to Malkier in seconds and bring you home before sunset.” Moiraine feared that might be the case. Lacking a Talent in Traveling was a convenient excuse for her isolation. She could about manage creating a Gateway with her angreal but it was rarely large enough for more than one person and hardly worked at all unless she was familiar with the location. But Nynaeve could surely Travel anywhere on the continent and bring a small army with her. After all, she had managed to reach Moiraine’s estate having never been here before. “Unless,” Nynaeve continued, gesturing at Moiraine’s pen, “you’re intending to spin a web of lies with your pen that you couldn’t speak to his face.”
Moiraine set the pen down. She couldn’t refute Nynaeve nor could she claim to have other appointments today. Even if she managed to put this off, Nynaeve was one of the most stubborn people she had ever met and was unlikely to give up. And if she came back on a worse day… No. This would have to do. “If you insist. Though I must return this evening.”
Nynaeve gave her a nod and looked pleased with herself. “Well that’s settled. Let’s go.”
If she was honest with herself, Nynaeve expected more of an argument getting Moiraine to Malkier and had assumed she would turn her down entirely. Not that she was complaining, but there was something disconcerting about it all. She couldn’t put her finger on it but something about Moiraine was… wrong. Oh she spoke the same, she still had all the Aes Sedai composure, but it seemed more of a mask than it ever had.
Perhaps she hated Nynaeve more than she already thought. Nynaeve couldn’t exactly blame her — she took her Warder and left Moiraine alone… Sure, she used to resent the woman, but now Nynaeve only felt sorry for her. Not that she would ever let Moiraine know that. Light, that alone would send her away never to return. But she was damn tired of feeling Lan’s grief for a woman who was still very much alive and Nynaeve had made up her mind that she was going to do something about it. Whether they make amends or start new arguments was entirely up to them.
Stepping through the Gateway back to Malkier, Nynaeve felt the odd sensation of coming home. She still had a difficult time thinking of Malkier and the Seven Towers as home — the weather was too cold, the land too barren, and while she had learned a great number of faces, they kept far enough away that she didn’t think she could call any friends. But it was becoming home, as sure as the Blight’s retreat and the mortar beneath her feet.
Nynaeve sealed the Gateway and spotted a servant on the edge of the courtyard who quickly scurried inside. She had made it clear for nearly a year that she wasn’t to be treated any differently than any other woman in Malkier — no doting, no cowering — but few seemed to take the lesson to heart. At least they all stopped following her every move.
“Welcome to the Seven Towers,” Nynaeve said as Moiraine took in her surroundings and pulled her traveling cloak around herself against the cold air. “Well the First Tower at least. The others are still under reconstruction.” It had seemed an impossible task at first to unearth the massive palace from the Blight’s decay, but little by little they had. Nynaeve had heard complaints from some visiting nobles on the lack of decor and facilities, but she thought it could match Fal Dara for comfort.
Moiraine took her time studying the courtyard — the stonework, the plants that held a few buds of green — though Nynaeve couldn’t imagine what she was looking for. “It looks very nice,” she finally said with the same airy detachment she had spoken with all day. Nynaeve knew well enough that it was how Aes Sedai were meant to speak. Stay in mystery and awe and all of that — not that she ever bothered — but they usually dropped part of that act in private. Unless Moiraine still didn’t think Nynaeve was enough of an Aes Sedai for that.
“I’m sure Lan would be happy to show you around. This way,” Nynaeve said flatly and started off down a corridor. She could sense that Lan was close, probably taking lunch in his chambers if his meeting with the Guard-Captain was over with, and she didn’t intend to waste time volleying niceties back and forth with Moiraine.
Moiraine lagged a few steps behind and Nynaeve felt a little satisfaction that she was leading Moiraine around for once. They stopped in front of a large, as of yet undecorated, wooden door and Nynaeve opened it without knocking. They had been bonded for well over a year — Lan would know to expect her.
Nynaeve made very few requests when they reclaimed the Towers and set up residence. She was well used to simplicity and despised the ostentatious trappings of royalty that the Borderland lords and ladies seemed to force upon her. All she wanted, she told Lan, was to have a place that was theirs. Somewhere in this faraway palace that felt like home and not a museum to show off to visitors. There were a few concessions made — servants still insisted to clean rather than let Nynaeve do it herself and the space was far larger than they needed. The suite was easily twice the size of her home in Emond’s Field even though it was only three rooms: a sitting room, a bedroom, and a study where Lan would do his reading and writing and where Nynaeve still kept a well stocked apothecary. On a rare trip back home, she loaded a cart with woolen rugs, good pine furniture, and a few gifts her kinfolk had been good enough to give and it was only then, unloading her Two Rivers exports, that she finally felt a bit more at home.
There, in their sitting room, her husband sat eating his usual lunch of plain bread and dried meat — apparently time spent traveling had a permanent effect on his tastes in food much to Nynaeve’s displeasure — and absently reading from his new collection of poetry. “You’ve been busy this morning,” he said, not looking up, “Tar Valon? I’m surprised you returned so quickly.”
“No, actually… we have a guest,” Nynaeve cleared her throat and tried to put on her most convincing smile as she stepped to the side so Moiraine could enter, though she simply hovered in the doorway.
Lan looked up and Nynaeve felt a confusing mix of emotions flood their bond: surprise, relief, bitterness, joy, longing. Lan’s normally stoic face actually gave way for shock as he set down his book without marking the page.
“Was I… not expected?” Moiraine asked delicately but sent a glare so icy at Nynaeve that she felt her strained smile disappear entirely.
Lan said nothing, but looked to Nynaeve. She was practiced at reading his looks by now. What did you do to bring her here? “Well…” she cleared her throat, “I know it’s been awhile and thought today might be a good day to catch up.” She looked back and forth between Moiraine and Lan expectantly.
Moiraine blinked and didn’t move from the doorway, “Perhaps another time might be better.”
“No,” Lan finally seemed to find his voice and stood up from his table. “No, I would very much like to see you. Do you require quarters? I can—”
“I’ll be traveling back to Cairhien tonight.” Moiraine glanced at Nynaeve as if for confirmation and she gave a quick nod. She was hiding something, Nynaeve decided, but she couldn’t fathom what. Well she couldn’t fathom what would make Moiraine stay so far away from her best friend of twenty years either, but she always had some scheme or plot.
Nynaeve forced the smile back onto her face, “Well. I’ll be out of your way then.” And she brushed past Moiraine in the doorway to leave them to get on with… whatever they needed to talk about. At least she would know through the bond if it was good or bad.
Lan’s mind couldn’t quite keep up with what his eyes were seeing. Moiraine here, in Malkier, after all this time, after all the unanswered letters, after all that had been done. It was uncanny seeing her like this. He had gotten so used to her presence for more than twenty years, knowing her whereabouts, her mind, her pain, her secrets; even when masked it was still there. When Lan pledged himself to her service, he had known it was a lifetime appointment; there were few things that could break a Warder bond besides death. When their bond had been broken once before for those few months, it was beyond difficult to know that Moiraine was in pain and he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t alleviate it, couldn’t even understand it. But at least they were together for most of it. But here… thirteen months now since Lan had last laid eyes on her and Moiraine stood as more of a portrait than a person.
“I missed you,” he said and it was impossible to convey how much he meant it.
“And I you.” Moiraine spoke the words slowly and Lan knew why instinctively. He didn’t need a bond to read her. She wasn’t sure the Oaths would let her say those words.
Why? He had considered that question so many times in the past year. Even before Moiraine disappeared to her family’s estate, she had been distant from him. He could remember the last time they were alone together — the morning before she had sacrificed herself to the Red Door, they had shared a room, drank tea, made plans… Did she know that was to be their end?
He had made her smile that morning despite it all.
What had ruined it?
“Sit,” he gestured to the chair next to him. “Have you eaten?”
Moiraine finally drifted into the room, closing the door behind her, and sat. “I’m not hungry.” That, Lan noted, had not been his question. “I must apologize for not replying to your letters, I was… occupied with other matters. I hadn’t realized my absence was causing you and Nynaeve so much worry.”
Her words were disconcertingly practiced. Burn her for thinking she hadn’t caused him 'worry'… Lan had grieved for her and that grief hadn’t stopped when she came back from her imprisonment. But then Moiraine was always thinking she was disposable. “All that matters is that you’re here now.” He might be bitter for her absence, for her inaction the past year, for the way she hardly looked at him after her return as if they had meant nothing to each other, but he could always forgive her.
Lan rested a hand on top of hers — a small gesture, one he’s shown her time and again. As icy as Moiraine appeared to others, she always softened to touch; she once said it grounded her. But as soon as his hand touched hers, Moiraine pulled away like his touch burned. She tried to cover the movement, brushing her hair behind her ears as if that had been her intention, but Lan knew her tricks too well — the calm on her face hid more turmoil than he could know.
It was that jerky movement, that brief flicker of disquiet, that confirmed his suspicions. Something was not right.
“Well if you won’t eat, then how about I show you something?”
Moiraine trotted her horse — a spirited bay mare — against the wind a few paces behind Lan. For all of her physical instability this past year, she had still enjoyed riding when she could. It was familiar at the very least and whilst tiring, it didn’t give her the same exhaustion as walking distances. She was wary of Lan’s suggestion to ride, but perhaps this was for the better — they were too far apart to talk comfortably and Lan couldn’t watch her from behind. Besides, as much as it was from another lifetime, riding in Lan’s company felt refreshingly normal. And Moiraine joined the Blue Ajah for a reason — she liked to travel despite her current inability and Malkier was the only nation she had never seen. She almost had recourse to travel here, a decade before its collapse, but Siuan had…
Suddenly, Moiraine felt sick. There was a story there, she felt the shape of it in her mind, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Or her reason for almost traveling to Malkier. Surely it had something to do with Siuan…
Her throat was tight and she was glad to have turned down Lan’s offer of lunch.
Perhaps it was better not to think of the past at all.
By her estimate, they had covered about five miles of terrain — over a hill and down into a valley — before Lan slowed his horse and dismounted and Moiraine followed suit with shaky legs. Lan still hadn’t told her where they were going, insisting that it was a surprise, but she would have liked to know how far she’d be expected to walk.
Lan led his horse, Vesna — appropriately named for the season — down a rocky path beyond some spindly trees that populated the former Blight and Moiraine followed suit, grateful that her mare tolerated being used as a walking stick.
They walked that way east for several more minutes in silence until the rocks and trees gave way and Moiraine couldn’t help but smile.
“Here it is,” Lan announced.
The Blight had retreated from Malkier just over a year ago and the land still looked like it was recovering from a sickness with sandy dirt, crooked trees, and sparse grass, but here… They stood in a glade besides a small lake entirely covered by the hills around them and dotted around were flowering trees filled with white and pink blossoms. Moiraine now knew the beauty of what those famed Malkieri poets wrote of when they spoke of spring. Shoots of green grass and sprouting bulbs gave color to the landscape and the water was as still and clear as glass. “It’s beautiful.”
Lan grinned at her, loosing tying Vesna to a nearby tree so he could graze and Lan sat on the edge of the lake. “This wasn’t here last year,” he said. “The lake could burn your skin and there wasn’t a flower to be seen. But it healed.”
“On its own?” Moiraine joined Lan on the lake’s edge, finding a sturdy enough rock to sit on.
“With some help. Nynaeve helped clean the waters last summer and after the snow melted, it seems the the land woke up. A few more years and the rest of the Malkier might look like this.”
Moiraine could think of several weaves that would cleanse poison and darkness but from what seemed like miles of land? Though she supposed Nynaeve’s abilities had always bordered on the unbelievable. “I hope it does. You deserve it.”
“Deserve what?”
She gestured to the landscape. “Peace. Beauty. Quiet.”
Lan chuckled. “It’s not quite peaceful. There are always Trollocs to deal with on our borders, food shortages, long winters. The battle’s never over.”
“In time, then.”
Lan nodded and flicked a skipping stone across the crystal water. Her gaze stayed trained on his hands. It was easier than meeting him eye-to-eye. “You know, this isn’t such a different place to where we first met.”
Moiraine’s stomach tightened. Of course he didn’t bring her here just to admire the flowers. “I suppose. Though I can’t say I was admiring the landscape at the time.”
“Nor was I.” He picked up another stone. “I was too focused on a strange woman claiming to be Aes Sedai sneaking around stealing swords.”
“And I was too focused on an arrogant young man who liked to toss innocent women into ponds,” Moiraine countered. This was fine. This memory rarely changed in her mind and she could still manage to trade a few witticisms.
Lan turned to her and bowed his head in faux reverence. “Moiraine Sedai, I hereby pledge to not throw you in any lakes today if you would be so kind as to not lay a hand on my sword.”
Moiraine raised her eyebrows, “Only today?”
“Well… who knows what the future will bring.”
“You could ask—” Moiraine stopped short. The woman… the woman with the strongest Foretellings she had ever met… She met her in Fal Dara. Or was it Baerlon? Or Tar Valon? She wore men’s clothes and cropped her hair short. What was her name? Moiraine should remember her name.
She was slipping.
“Moiraine?” Lan’s voice snapped her out of the prison in her mind. “You could ask who?”
She gripped a rock next to her, pressing a sharp point to her palm so it hurt. It was funny how pain could clog her mind most days, but sometimes the right pain in the right place would bring her back to reality. Min. That was her name. “You could ask Min. Or someone else with Foresight. See if they see any lake-tossing in our future.” Moiraine tried to smile, but by the look on Lan’s face it wasn’t convincing.
“Have you seen her recently?”
Lan asked the question casually but it felt uncomfortably like a test. “No, I can’t say I have.” Even if Moiraine had, it wasn’t like she would remember if she could barely think of the girl’s name.
“You haven’t seen Elayne either. Or any of your sisters in Tar Valon.”
Moiraine gripped the rock tighter. She might not have Foretellings but she could still see where this conversation was headed. “I didn’t realize you were keeping such close tabs on my comings and goings.”
“People ask, Moiraine.” Any playfulness was gone from his voice. “When you disappear from society, people tend to ask your closest friend. Your last letter to Elayne was eight months ago. Alanna said you were last in Tar Valon a year ago and you never even saw her. What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been attending to matters in Cairhien.”
“All from your estate?” Lan’s tone bordered on angry and Moiraine couldn’t well blame him. “You know I wrote to your sister last month. Anvaere said you’ve barely been to the city since the Last Battle. She says you rarely leave your estate’s grounds. Is it true?” Moiraine knew her silence was all the confirmation he needed. Lan scoffed and tossed his stone into the water. It sank. “Do you think that just because we won the Last Battle that no one needs you? That you can run away from everyone you’ve ever known because what? Because it’s gotten hard?”
Moiraine was surprised she could breathe through her tight chest. He doesn’t know, she tried to tell herself, he can’t know. It would only make it harder. She was Moiraine Sedai and Moiraine Sedai always did exactly as she wanted. “Don’t I deserve that? You say that the world needs me but there are plenty of Aes Sedai, plenty of Lords and Ladies who can take care of their own matters. I’ve been at war for twenty years and I’ve given everything. If I want to have a quiet retirement then I think I deserve it.”
Lan’s voice remained steady, but Moiraine didn’t need a bond to see exactly how frustrated he was. “I’ve been fighting this war just as long as you have. Do you think I’m not sick of it? I wish I could run away and give up the throne as you did, but I don’t. Because I have a duty. We have a duty.”
“Then I’m not like you!”
Moiraine wasn’t fully aware of speaking those words, but she heard them echo off the hills. And if she said them, they must be true. For once she couldn’t read Lan’s expression. Whatever he was feeling — disappointment, betrayal, grief — it was deserved.
Moiraine Sedai died when she fell through the Red Door — after all only death or a stilling could break a bond like that — and whatever came back from the Finn’s domain was a pale imitation. It couldn’t fool Lan for more than an hour.
She stood up. Her feet were unsteady but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I shouldn’t have come here.” She began to walk back to her horse. She would ride back to the Seven Towers, Lan wouldn’t be fool enough to gallop ahead, and she would ask Nynaeve to take her home where she could maintain her pretense a little longer. Light, she should Travel there herself once she calmed down enough to clear her mind.
“Moiraine.”
And she wouldn’t have any more visitors. Perhaps she could find a way to set wards against Traveling if Nynaeve was stubborn enough to find her again.
“Moiraine!”
Or perhaps she should abandon the estate — build a cottage somewhere far away and live under a new name. Moiraine Damodred’s legacy could live on and she could rot away. Maybe she’d start to forget more and more and she could finally find some peace.
“Moiraine!”
By the time Moiraine turned around, the first arrow was already flying towards her.