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skyholly · 7 months ago

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The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

Chapter 3 here!

Chapter 4 here!

Chapter 5 here!

Chapter 6 here!

Chapter 7 here!

Chapter 8 here!

****************

Chapter 9. Rand

She’s a mirage , Rand thought in disbelief, his eyes softening with affection nonetheless, then I must be dying already . But what a precious sight she was; death really could not greet him with kinder hands than to have her be his last vision. Despite his vision being blurred, he could still make out her figure, dressed in a lavender-coloured gown, pale and soft against the glow of her skin; he could make out the warmth of her hair, the ever-present brightness and kindness in her eyes. She was so lovely, as lovely a sight as there could be. Ilyena, Gwen, he loved them both the same.

“Gwen,” Rand breathed her name, his lips curling into a peaceful smile, his voice laced with a tender sweetness. The pain pouring from the venomous dagger embedded in his side spread through his entire body, feeling as if it were scorching his muscles, bones and skin away. His vision was foggy, but he could still discern Guinevere rushing towards him, painfully kneeling above the debris by his side, her arms instinctively reaching for his blood-tainted stomach. The warmness of her skin against his overcame any pain he might have been feeling, and suddenly his mind became clear once again. She’s real… she’s real and she’s here, he realised, his heart sinking into his stomach. That cannot be. She shouldn’t be here. Ishamael is here, she will get hurt — “W-what are you doing here?” Rand heard himself stutter, voice shaken with apprehension, “How did you get here? I thought Lanfear…”

The girl promptly shushed him, as she delicately traced his injury with her fingers, as she closed her eyes, imperceptibly reaching for the Source. Rand stared in awe at his torn skin starting to heal itself back together, stopping the bleeding and the poison from spreading any further. In only mere seconds there was nothing left but a darkened, muddy mark over his skin where the knife had been once buried. He lifted his gaze to Guinevere, his eyes filled with devotion, before Egwene’s screams of pain brought him crashing back to the harsh reality of their situation. All of his dearest friends were there, endangered because of Ishamael, because of him, it was his fault they had been caught up in such a mess. You will carry the weight of their deaths.

“Rand, Rand!” Mat urged him, softly shaking his shoulders. It took Rand a moment to realise he was lying on his friend’s arms. “You’re gonna have to do something.”

The readheaded boy lethargically raised his hand, trying to reach for the Source, but found nothing but a void in its place. He felt harrowingly empty.

“I- I can’t,” he blubbered, drowsily starting to remember the events that had taken place prior to Mat throwing that dagger at his stomach, “I’m shielded.”

Rand heard someone nervously sigh by his side, and saw Guinevere close her eyes in desperation, clutching the blue stone hanging over her chest as if in prayer. And then suddenly, he sensed the weaves that restricted him starting to grow weaker, and the shield over him fell apart, he could feel the Source once again, almost begging for his touch. Or is it the other way around? He heard Guinevere exhale a shaky ‘thank you’, before letting a lonely tear fall through her cheek.

He stumbled out of Mat’s hold, screeching resounding in his ears, as Perrin and Gwen helped him up, and he walked towards Egwene, whose breath and stability were growing weaker by the second due to her efforts to protect them from Ishamael’s attacks. Gwen attempted to follow him, but he gently pushed her into Perrin’s arms, away from any possible danger. He could practically feel the girl’s fury showing on her face, but didn’t look back.

Rand reached Egwene’s side, as her shield that had protected them faltered away, and picked his sword from the ground right next to her, the heron mark on its hilt dangerously shimmering under the sun. He walked with steady, fast steps towards Ishamael, reaching for the Source, letting it engulf him whole; and a grunt left his lips as he embedded the sword right into the man’s chest. Rand knew he was doing the correct thing, for he was both protecting his friends and the world by killing him, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something he couldn’t describe in any other way but grief, as he kept pushing the tip further into the Ishamael’s heart. The blade’s iron melted itself into the One Power, digging a fiery hole into the Forsaken’s chest, and then with a thud the sword’s hilt crashed futile into the ground. Rand felt a scorching sensation sear through his hand, and his eyes widened in astonishment as he looked down to find a heron shaped mark burned into his skin. He tried to make sense of it for a moment, but got distracted. With a painful groan, Ishamael quietly dropped to his knees, his whole body following afterwards, raising a cloud of dust around him.

The redheaded boy stood over him, still in shock, amidst a silence so profound he was certain he could hear a pin drop.

“Its…” Ishamael mumbled, struggling to breath, “it’s beautiful. Do you see it, Lews?”

Rand shivered at the mention of the name. It felt both distant and unnervingly close, like a step into an abyss from which he could never return. “What do you see?” He asked, eyebrows frowning in confusion.

“Nothing.” The man whispered, as the hole in his chest turned into ashes, corruption that started to spread throughout his entire body. “Nothing at all,” Ishamael finally said, before his whole being turned into dust, drawn into the turbulent air hitting above the tower. Rand sensed his eyes filled with tears, knowing he’d done the right thing, yet somehow feeling as if he had just lost a dear friend to him.

He became startled by the sound of bells echoing all over the city, and he raised his head to golden weaves of Power that burned like the fire start encircling the tower, rising to its top, where all of the group stood still almost paralysed in distress. Rand followed the bursts of fire and light, seeking for their source as he made his way towards the edge of the Tower, with Guinevere closely behind. There, they witnessed the bursts of fire coalescing into the unmistakable form of a dragon. Gwen let out a frail gasp, one of her hands covering over her open mouth and the other instinctively reaching for his, clutching it in dread. The flaming dragon rose over them, heated screeches coming out of his fiery mouth, and Rand firmly pulled Guinevere further into his side, encircling her waist with his hand.

She drew her gaze up towards him in a wavering motion, desperately meeting his eyes, “ ‘ Above the Watchers shall the Dragon be proclaimed… ” Guinevere recited, “ bannered ‘cross the sky in fire .’ This is Moiraine’s doing,” she breathed, eyes glistening with sorrowful tears, as she gently put her hands over her cheeks, tiptoeing so their foreheads could touch, “the world will now think of you as Dragon Reborn, Rand, and she thinks you stand ready for it.”

The boy stared back at her for a couple of seconds, tightening the grip on her waist, as he looked down, towards the cheering crowds; men and women embracing each other, embracing their children, embracing their friends, smiles drawn across their bloody faces. He drew in a trembling breath. He wasn’t sure he was ready for such a weight to be placed upon his shoulders.

As if she had read his thoughts, Guinevere gently forced his eyes towards hers back again, as she tenderly caressed his cheeks. “You’re not alone in this,” she affirmed, nodding, biting her lips.

Rand lowered his gaze, his eyes studying their surroundings, and found the rest of his friends joining them at the edge of the tower, all of them staring in awe at the acclaiming crowds below them, as the dragon’s roars resounded over them, and realised Gwen was right, he wasn’t alone anymore. And that remained his biggest problem.

He needed to prove himself, to prove himself worthy of carrying such a mighty banner, and he couldn’t bring himself to endanger his friends, endanger Guinevere because of it. He realised then he had no choice but to leave his friends, once again.

But he could afford a moment’s waiting. For now, he could appreciate the friends that surrounded him, the trust, love and support he felt from them, for he knew how fleeting such sentiments would be. He rubbed Guinevere’s back, feeling the warmth emanating from the dragon’s breath over her ragged clothes. He felt her skin through the tears of her gown, and couldn’t help but think about the torture Lanfear had put her through, and the lengths she must have gone through in order to reach him, to save him. Rand left a shy, sudden kiss on Guinevere’s forehead. And for an instant, everything felt alright.

*****

Author's note: So this is it, the "final" chapter. I write "final" because there WILL be an epilogue (an 10th chapter) but I will only start writing it once I finish proofreading and HEAVILY editing these past 9 chapters, which could take as much as a month even.

I really hope you've enjoyed the story this far; in the meantime (and risking being greedy), I'd really appreciate it if you could share this story with people you think will enjoy it. As most of you know, I haven't read the books, so I'd love some new insight on how the caracters behave, on the world building, and maybe possibly a beta reader to help me bring all of this together more neatly.

The epilogue will be very out of both show and book canon, and YES, there will be a Moiraine and Guinevere reunion, and a little bit of a Siuan's POV.

To answer another requested question, I WILL continue this story after Season 3 airs, most possibly with a different title, but under the same series.

Once again, I cannot possibly express how much your comments mean to me and how encouraging they are, I really hope you haven't been dissapointed with the turns the story has taken and that you've found it engaging, enough to make you wait for the epilogue ahah.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and leave kudos and comments, we'll see each other soon I hope!

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skyholly · 5 months ago

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Would anyone be interested in a Wheel of Time fanfic in which Moiraine finds out she's pregnant before visiting Gitara and she and Siuan get excited about retiring and raising the baby together in Tear in the hut by the river, but then they hear the prophecy and so once the baby girl is born she leaves her for Anvaere to raise as her own, so she and Siuan could get on with their job of finding the dragon? And then eventually that baby girl would grow up to become an Aes Sedai and part of the Tower, not knowing Moiraine is her mother (and not seeing her at all because of her traveling), but then eventually gets caught up with the Two Rivers folk?

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read here:

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skyholly · 8 months ago

Text

The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

****************

Chapter 3. Guinevere

Guinevere let the box slip from her hands with an indifferent motion, the sound of its contents clattering echoed through the room as it hit the floor. She wistfully glanced around the sombre chambers that belonged to her aunt, struggling to get a hold of her thoughts. She’s here. What is she doing in Cairhien after all these years? She’s mean and rude to my mother. She can’t bear to look at my face and ignores me. She’s left again. Why is she so cold and unapproachable? She’s leaving again and she’s carrying a sword. She can’t channel.

She can’t touch the Source.

It made so much sense. Why she couldn’t feel her, why she couldn’t reach to her with the One Power.

She’s been stilled.

Guinevere dropped into the mattress, closing her eyes in the process. What in the Creator’s name is going on here? The young girl pressed her hands over her forehead, frustrated, trying to put the pieces together, organising her thoughts, folding files of information in drawers within her mind.

Moiraine has been looking for the Dragon Reborn all these years.

Moiraine entered the White Tower with five potential dragons.

Moiraine was exiled from the Tower.

Moiraine left for the Eye of the World, and everyone came back except for one, a male channeler. The Dragon Reborn, presumed dead, at least by Egwene.

Moiraine went missing for months.

Moiraine has been stilled.

Now Moiraine is in Cairhien, searching for something, or someone, she believes to be in danger.

What will the Tower do about it?

Guinevere shot back up at such thought, her heart pounding in her chest, and started to anxiously pace around the room, clicking her fingers in the process. The Amyrlin. She’d completely forgotten about the woman’s request. “If you hear from Moiraine, let me know”. Guinevere was intruded by a thought upon remembering her words: the older women ought to have known something.

Could the Amyrlin suspect of Moiraine’s doings? No, that’s unlikely, her fate would have been worse than exile. Unless… they were in it together. Were Siuan aware of Moiraine’s endeavours, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d heard such rumours of the two women; everyone at the Tower knew they used to be friends as Novices. But why, why was Moiraine hiding from the Amyrlin then? What was she hiding? Maybe she’s gone rogue.

And what was she doing in Cairhien? Why did she leave in the middle of the night with a sword on her back? It was too big a puzzle and Guinevere had nothing but vague pieces, she needed more information, but there was no one she could go to willing to provide her some answers.

That night, she had an intriguing dream that bore an uncanny resemblance to a memory, stirring an unsettling sense of familiarity within her.

She couldn’t have been more than five years old, and she was crying, scared and confused about all the screaming around her, people pulling on her little body, demanding to take her away. Her father was there, staring with pleading eyes at the woman holding her, Anvaere by his side, extending her arms towards her, and Guinevere wanted to get to her more than anything in the world. To reach her mama. And then, suddenly, her screaming turned into soft whimpers, as she was being carried around her home in her mother’s arms. Only it wasn’t her mother, it was her Aunt Moiraine. “Shh, it’s alright, my dear Winnie. Everything’s alright,” she soothed her, stroking her hair and whispering comforting words as she walked into what must have been her nursery as a toddler. “Shh,” the woman kept on whispering, lovingly caressing her back, “it’s alright, I’m here, your mother is here.”

Guinevere leaped up from her bed, gasping for air, her mind trying to make meaning of the dream, but she couldn’t possibly come up with an answer. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, the dream lingering in her mind like a stubborn mist. It had felt so… unnatural. As if her mind had been constantly fighting an intruder who unrelentingly kept on pushing the images onto her brain. Almost as if… no, that was impossible. The Forsaken are gone. No one alive has been successful at Tel’aran’rhiod… that you know of.

Guinevere slumped into bed once again, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes, hard enough that it began to hurt. I’m losing my mind. For how long she remained in such a position, she didn’t know, but at some point a knock on her door drove her out of her slumber. She removed her hands from her face, and slowly opened her eyes. At first, she couldn’t see anything but dots and spots of brightness, her eyes adjusting to the light.

“Winnie?” Her mother peeked through the door. “Oh good, you’re awake,” she said, entering the room, “you should get ready. The royal wedding tasting is in an hour, and Barthanes wants you to come.”

“Alright,” Guinevere responded, stretching, “I’ll start getting ready then.”

“Perfect, darling.” Anvaere said, turning around.

“Wait!” The young girl stopped her mother before she could leave the room. “Did… did Aunt Moiraine come home last night?”

Anvaere and hesitated for a second, holding onto the door frame. “She has not come back, dearest,” she said, sending a pitiful look towards her, “but you shouldn’t worry, your aunt is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

Is she?

“Mmh,” Guinevere hummed, as she nibbled on a piece of pastry, “I think I liked the raspberries one better.”

“So do I.” Barthanes agreed, as he winked an eye to her.

Their mother sighed, delicately putting a napkin over Guinevere’s skirt. “Lemon will suit everyone’s palette better,” she explained, “and besides, raspberries are too messy. Look at your mouth, Gwen. You wouldn’t want your guests to look like that, Barthanes.”

“What’s wrong with my mouth?” The girl asked, quickly reaching for a napkin to clean the edges of her mouth.

“They won’t,” the man laughed, “because they actually know how to eat. Unlike my dear little sister who has the daintiness of a lumber man.”

“Barthaness!” Anvaere scolded him, but she was too late, as he was already throwing a piece of cake towards the young girl, messing up her dress.

“You wool-headed fool!” Guinevere grinned, as she grabbed on a piece of pudding to toss towards her brother, but her mother was faster. She seized her wrist and forced it back to the table. “That’ll be enough foolishness for today.” She declared, sternly, before turning towards the cook, who bore an uncomfortable smile on his face. “I believe you were about to present these delicious looking canapes, were you not?”

The man was preparing yet another platter for them to taste, when the doors to the kitchen opened abruptly, Moiraine rushing through the steps towards them, a tall man following her. A man she knew. Rand. It took Guinevere a few seconds to recognise him, her house being the last place she’d ever expected to run into him, and with Moiraine. She felt the air get caught up in her throat, and then left out a shaky exhale, the boy always had that effect on her for some reason. As if she were holding her breath every time he wasn’t around.

She saw the redheaded studying the room, before his eyes set on her, opening them in surprise. I guess this is the last place he expected to see me as well. He raised his eyebrows, directing a suspicious look her way, one she eagerly returned. You are the one barging into my home, and with my aunt out of all people.

“Oh good, you’re back.” Anvaere commented, rather uninterested, shoving Guinevere out of her stupor. “And you’ve brought back a friend.”

“Aunt Moiraine!” Barthanes chuckled, as he earnestly stood up, clearly over the moon about seeing the woman after so long. “I-I could hardly believe it when my sister said you were here. It’s… it’s been fifteen years.”

Guinevere looked at her aunt, and realised she’d been staring at her. The older woman hurriedly drew her gaze away, focusing on her nephew, and awkwardly smiled. “I think you were as high as this table last time I saw you.” She replied.

Barthanes tried reaching for her hands, but their aunt uncomfortably placed them over her stomach, avoiding his touch. “You… you… well, you look almost exactly the same.” The young man added, smiling, trying to soften the unpleasant mood that her aunt’s restraint had caused.

“If somewhat bedraggled.” Anvare intervened, with a grin. Her mother’s words brought Guinevere to her feet, as she finally settled her eyes on the pair’s clothing. They were both covered in dirt, and blood. What does Moiraine have to do with Rand? “I’m imagining you didn’t come back for the royal wedding tasting?”

“Come on, Mother.” Barthanes laughed. “She’s got better things to do than pretend she can taste the difference between raspberries and thimbleberries. You must be my aunt’s Warder.” He added, pointing at Rand.

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his place, looking at Moiraine for help. “I’m not a Warder.”

“This is… Rand.” Moiraine hesitated for a second.

“A pleasure, Rand. I’m, uh, Barthanes Damodred,” her brother introduced himself, “and these are my—

“We’ve met.” Anvaere and Guinevere said, in unison. Her aunt lifted her eyebrows at that, staggered, but swiftly regained her expression under control, a blank mien taking over her face.

“We need horses, two. Coursers if you have them.”

“I’ll have them brought to the house. We have a whole stable of the very best. A gift from the Queen.” Anvaere flaunted.

“And you must come to the wedding.” Barthanes rushed to say, fearing their aunt was leaving again. “It’s just a few weeks away. Can you believe that I will be marrying Queen Galdrian?” He commented, in disbelief. And then added, in a silly tone: “now that makes me your King. So I shall expect full subservience.”

Moiraine chuckled. “It’s a happy match, I hope.” She said, with a genuine smile. Guinevere couldn’t help but to feel jealous. Why was she so kind to her brother?

“The name Damodred is held in high esteem. That is happiness enough.” Her mother said, in a serious tone.

“Well…”Moiraine looked around, “I shall go and wash upstairs. Perhaps a meal for Rand, in the meantime. And then some fresh clothes before we leave?”

“Yes, of course. We’ll find him something fitting from my wardrobe.” Barthanes assured.

“Thank you.” Moiraine said, as she started making her way towards the stairs.

“Is that… blood?” Her brother commented, pointing towards Moiraine’s clothes, but she interrupted him.

“It truly has been good to see you, nephew. Or… should I say, My Liege.” She smiled, awkwardly bowing to him, her smile an amusing grin. There it was again. That green monster creeping through her guts. Guinevere shoved it away.

The young girl waited until her aunt had left. “I believe I should help Rand find some new clothes,” she said, as she stood up, intensely staring at the red headed boy, “come with me.”

Rand hesitantly followed her into the hallways, after respectfully nodding his head towards the girl’s mother and brother. “Jhonas,” Guinevere said, upon running into the older man on their way, “could you ask one of the servants to bring some fresh clothes from my brother’s closet for our guest? We’ll be in the room in the east wing.”

“Of course, little lady.” The old man bowed, and left.

Guinevere and Rand remained quiet for the rest of the way, while sharing confused looks with each other. The girl opened the door to the guest room, hastily forced Rand in by pushing him on his back, and made sure there was no one in the hallway before delicately shutting it close.

“You know my Aunt Moiraine?!”, “You are Moiraine’s niece?!” They both said, at the same time. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“How was I supposed to know you knew my aunt?” Guinevere frowned.

“Well how was I supposed to know I knew you were her niece?” Rand replied, mirroring her expression.

“I look remarkably similar to her, for starters? My last name being Damodred, just like her?” She put on a sceptical look, while crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s your excuse?” She asked, fixing her eyes on his.

Rand huffed, annoyed. “That I arrived with her to Tár Valon? Where we first saw each other? Surely that’s the only thing Aes Sedai at the Tower were talking about, why else would they have exiled her?” He clasped his hands against his hips, an incredulous look on his face.

“Well I didn’t know you’d arrived with my aunt—

Guinevere went suddenly quiet, voice gone dry. Her muscles went stiff, as realisation fell upon her like a stone dropped into still water. How have I been so oblivious? Rand. He was the missing piece of the puzzle. The files on her mind started organising itselves.

Moiraine arrived at Tár Valon with him, one of the five potential dragons.

Moiraine travelled with him and the others to the Eye of the World, where one of the boys had died (or at least Egwene seemed to believe as much ). And then, Rand didn’t return to the Two Rivers, instead, he escaped to Cairhien, telling no one (she presumed, due to his elusiveness) about it.

Moiraine didn’t inform anyone at the White Tower about her mission, about her success at it (or failure? If everything turned out the way she expected, why didn’t she inform the Amyrlin?)

Moiraine returned home to look for Rand, who Guinevere guessed was the one Egwene presumed dead; had it been Perrin, the Novice surely would’ve told her as much.

Rand is the boy who went to the Eye of the World and didn’t make it.

Rand is the Dragon Reborn.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” The redheaded boy said, taking her out of her stupor.

“Huh?” She asked, raising her head, meeting his eyes. Those blue, kind, familiar eyes that had wrinkled at her jokes so many times, eyes that always softened whenever they set on her. How is it even possible? How didn’t I realise?

“The door.” The boy urged her, as he brushed past her, and opened it to let a servant in.

“My Lord, my Lady,” the young man bowed, “here are the clothes you requested. Shall I leave them in the bed for you?”

“Y-yes,” Guinevere stuttered, still in shock, “thank you.”

She waited until the boy left, and turned around to look at Rand. To actually look at him. She couldn’t help but to see him through different lenses. The Dragon Reborn. Her kind, funny, sweet friend… potentially the most dangerous man in the world. He who would be their salvation, or he who could be their damnation.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, eyebrows folding in confusion.

“N-nothing,” she rushed to say, unsure of how to act under such revelations, “you should probably go clean yourself up,” she added, pointing towards a door on the back of the room, “there’s a tub and some fresh cloths and a bowl with warm water, I’ll wait for you here.”

“Alright,” he replied, grabbing her brother’s clothes, and walked towards the room, sending one last inquisitive look her way.

Guinevere dropped into the mattress of the bed as soon as the door closed behind him. She didn’t know what to do. Should she confront him? Was she putting her family at risk by doing so? No, Rand wouldn’t hurt anyone. But wouldn’t he? Dragon or not, he was a man that could channel, and that was dangerous enough. The madness… but he seems so normal. Should she notify the Amyrlin about it? The ring on her finger, fitting impossibly tight at the moment, made her feel compelled to do so. But the Reds would gentle him. Did she ought to inform the Tower about him anyway? Wasn’t it her obligation? I’ve made a vow. Guinevere knew that was the sensible thing to do, the correct thing to do, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Something was shifting, she had been able to sense the Wheel pulling on its strings for some time, my dreams… and then she realised it was because of him. The Dragon had been born once again, the Pattern weaved around him. The Last Battle was coming, and Guinevere sensed there were more players at the game that she could even think of. And there was only one person that could give her the answers: Moiraine.

Guinevere realised she didn’t have one reason to trust the Aes Sedai, but she felt unable not to do so. She was finally able to think about her aunt from another perspective. She’s sacrificed so much. She’s travelled for most of her life, turned away friends and family, walked into the Eye of the World ready to die in the hopes she was securing everyone’s future but hers, she was stilled… all because of the boy with a shy smile that was but feet away from her. Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, the same words she uttered everytime Guinevere had come to her for advice: “There are two things my sister understands better than anyone. The difference between right and wrong, and how much harder it is sometimes to do what is right.”

Guinevere didn’t know much, but she was certain of one thing: whatever it was Moiraine was doing, it was the right thing to do. She felt embarrassment taint her cheeks, she was an Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, she was a servant to everyone, it was about time she put her childish resentment behind, and found a way to help Moiraine. She needed to talk to her.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and Rand emerged, looking slightly more refreshed but still carrying an air of tension. His eyes, piercing and yet familiar, locked onto Guinevere. “You look troubled,” he remarked, breaking the silence.

Guinevere faked a smile, masking the whirlwind of thoughts inside her. "Just... a lot on my mind," she replied, trying to steady her voice. "It’s not every day my aunt returns after fifteen years with such a mysterious guest in tow." She added, forcing a grin on her mien.

Rand chuckled, as if he understood more than he let on. "I suppose not," he said, his voice careful. "I’m sorry if my presence has caused any trouble. I didn’t mean to disrupt anything."

She shook her head quickly. "No, it’s not that. It’s just... you know how families can be." She laughed nervously, as she stood up. “You should go to the kitchens, a meal will be served for you. Unless of course you’d rather get some sleep before leaving.”

“I-I can’t sleep.”

“If you have trouble sleeping I can help with that.”

“Gwen… I can’t explain much, only that it’d be dangerous for me to fall asleep right now.” Yet something else I can’t figure out.

“I see.”

“Thank you, anyway, I appreciate your offer.”

Guinevere pursed her lips, as a thought came to her. “Would you like me to take your tiredness away? It’d take a second.”

Rand observed her, and opened his mouth in approval, silently scolding himself for not thinking about it before. “I would like that, thank you.”

Guinevere focused her mind, her hands hovering just inches from Rand's temples. She closed her eyes and felt the familiar warmth of the One Power flowing through her, a comforting rush of energy that steadied her nerves. She directed the Power towards Rand, gently easing his fatigue, and there it was. She sensed it, his power. It was so different from Saidar. It felt so unlike healing Egwene, whose power felt warm, and so easily embraced hers. Rand’s, on the other hand, felt rigid, reluctant to her own, but somehow so familiar. She pushed a bit more, and she felt as if she were colliding against a brick wall. She’d never felt such immense power. Guinevere slowly opened her eyes, and exhaled, trying to mask her apprehension. He really is the Dragon Reborn.

She found Rand staring at her, exhaustion slowly draining from his eyes, filling hers instead, but she didn’t mind. She was used to it. Healing caused exhaustion to all sisters, but it tired her the most out of all, for some reason. Her sisters said it was because she was too young, that she wasn’t as powerful. Guinevere believed that was probably true.

“Better?” She asked, clearing her throat.

Rand’s expression softened, his eyes brightening. "Thank you, Gwen. I do feel better.” He paused, his gaze searching her face, as his hands reached for hers. “You didn't have to do that.”

Guinevere squeezed palms, already used to that electric buzz she felt every time she touched him. How didn’t I realise?

“It's the least I can do,” she replied, her voice tinged with sincerity. “You should probably go join my brother now, and have something to eat.”

“Okay.” Rand carefully caressed the back of her hand, and turned towards the door.

Guinevere waited until Rand had left, and then rushed towards her aunt’s bedroom, just as her mother was leaving the place. She spotted the young girl, and her preoccupied frown turned into a soft smile. She slightly grabbed on her daughter’s shoulder, and left a kiss on her cheek. “Do help her, please.” Anvaere whispered in her ear, before turning away.

The young girl’s forehead creased in confusion, but her mother’s request became evident the second she entered the room. Moiraine had dark circles under her eyes, her skin looked pale and dull, her body almost limping under fatigue, all of it concealed under an almost perfect vigorous facade.

“Do help her, please.” Her mother had begged, but Guinevere couldn’t stand sensing the older woman with the One Power. She’d tried doing so the night before, and it had left her feeling nauseated. Being from the Yellow Ajah, she’d seen terrible things, but nothing like that. Reaching for her had felt as if she were grasping a maimed, bloody limb with its skin ripped, soulless and cold to the touch. Guinevere’s heart clenched when thinking about how the older woman must’ve been feeling, the thoughts that must’ve been racing through her head at all times. How hasn’t she killed herself yet?

Guinevere swiftly intercepted Moiraine’s path, as she was making her way out of the room. The older woman glared at her, eyes meeting hers. They always evaded her, as if she were afraid her eyes would talk for her.

“Guinevere, I don’t have time for whatever this is,” she sighed, “I’ve got to—

“I know, Aunt Moiraine.” She somehow managed to say, her voice almost breaking. Why? Why do you resent me so much? Why do you treat Barthanes so kindly? How is he any different? But she couldn’t dwell on such thoughts. She stood firm on his choice of helping her, and once Guinevere had set her mind on something, it became impossible for her to drift off course. “I know everything. About your mission, about Rand…”

Moiraine stopped abruptly in her tracks, and turned around in an almost lethargic manner. For the first time, she saw cracks in her aunt’s stoic masquerade, fear and uncertainty slipping through them. “H-How… could you…”

“Egwene. She’s a novice in the White Tower now, and we crossed paths.”

“Mmh, no,” Moiraine shook her head, placing a hand over her forehead, “Egwene wouldn’t have told you,” she said, finally looking in her direction, studying her, “she wouldn’t have told anyone. She knows, better than anyone, what’s at risk.”

Guinevere remained quiet, perplexed at her aunt’s agitation, an almost imperceptible smug smile claiming her lips, as she couldn’t help but feel arrogance flow through her veins. Finally, she had the upper hand. “Let’s just say I’m used to getting people to do as I please.”

Moiraine fixed her gaze on her, her eyes squinting in scepticism. She held her breath for a second, and then slowly, but firmly let it out. She was looking at Guinevere as if it were the first time she’d ever seen her. “You have the Talent for Compulsion.” The girl didn’t respond, which was an answer itself.

“There’s something else you should know, Aunt Moiraine,” Guinevere added, walking a few steps towards her, “before leaving for Cairhien, the Amyrlin asked to see me,” Moiraine eyes brightened at the mention of the Aes Sedai, but the young girl didn’t comment on it. So they are working together. Or were, at least.

“And?” Moiraine asked, tilting her head.

“She asked me to inform her, should I get news from you.”

“Did you make an oath? Did she make you swear it?” Moiraine inquired her, expectantly.

Guinevere waited a handful of seconds before replying, amused by seeing apprehension creep under her aunt’s indifferent disguise. Arrogance is a dangerous thing. “No.”

Moiraine nodded. “She trusts you, then.”

“She does,” Guinevere agreed, “but she shouldn’t. I’m here to help you, aunt Moiraine. I don’t understand what’s going on, not fully, but I trust you’re doing what’s right. Tell me what to do and I’ll do as much.”

“You’d betray The Amyrlin?” Moiraine asked, putting on a guarded stance. She doesn’t believe me.

“I would, Moiraine. I know Rand, and I’m on his side. I’m on your side.” Guinevere exhaled, as she mustered enough bravery to reach for the woman’s hands, squeezing them tightly.

The woman went stiff at her touch at first, but then eased into it, gripping on Guinevere’s hands even harder. She looked at her, tears she would not let fall accumulating in her eyes. She nodded. “Let’s go find Rand, then.”

Moiraine updated her as they walked towards the kitchen, briefing her about the events in the Eye of the World, Ishamael, and how now Lanfear was their biggest threat at the moment.

“Except she isn’t,” Guinevere puzzled out, as she came to a halt next to the kitchen’s door, “he’s told me about a woman that has been in his life lately, if she wanted him dead, she would’ve done so already.”

“Exactly.” Moiraine said, as she pushed on the door.

The pair of them stood on the upper floor, glancing down at the two men playing cards at the table.

“Time to go?” Rand asked, looking up towards the older woman, surprised to see Guinevere by her side.

“No, actually,” Moiraine replied, leaning against the rail, “we’re staying.”

Moiraine gestured to the boy to follow her, which the redheaded man did quickly, staring with incertitude at Guinevere, who steadily followed their steps. “By Moiraine, why is she—

“Shh,” the older woman scolded him, “wait until we’re alone.”

They continued their walk in silence towards the guest room that had been assigned to Rand, and as soon as they closed the door behind them Guinevere started moving her hands in intricate motions, pulling on weaves Rand could not see.

“That’ll do it.” She said, turning around with her hands on her hips. “No one from the outside will be able to hear us. Or shouldn’t, theoretically, I’m not that good at anything else but Healing, I’m afraid.”

“What is she doing here?” Rand asked, putting on a cautious stance, looking at her with evident worry in his eyes.

“She knows, Rand,” Moiraine said, and added before he could intervene, “you can trust her.”

“Yes, I know I can trust her,” he replied, lips laced with anger, “that’s why I don’t want her to have anything to do with this.”

“How—

“You’ll get hurt, eventually!” He yelled at her.

Guinevere took a deep breath, feeling sympathy for the boy, but also feeling quite frustrated. “I’m a fully capable and trained Aes Sedai, Rand.” She remarked, keeping her temper at bay. “I can take better care of myself than you, and I believe I get a saying on what I believe I ought to fight for. And that’s you.”

He stared at her, just as firm on his choice as she was on hers, but realised fighting wouldn’t lead to anything. Guinevere was just as, if not more, stubborn as Egwene.

“Alright…” he reluctantly conceded, “so what’s the plan now?” He asked, glancing around the room, following Moiraine’s gaze towards the bed. “You said I can’t sleep or she’ll find me.”

“Yes,” Moiraine agreed, “she will.”

“You want her too.” Rand affirmed, looking appalled.

“She’s been with you what, two, three months now? If she wanted to hurt you, she’s had ample opportunity. But she hasn’t. What does she want?”

“I don’t know.” Rand sighed. “If you’d asked me a few days ago, I would’ve said she wanted me. To be with me.” Guinevere felt something in her stomach, something she couldn’t —and wouldn’t— put a name to, and did her best to keep a straight face.

“Stories from before the Breaking are vague, because so much has been lost.” Moiraine explained. “But every single one that mentions Lanfear agrees that she loved the Dragon Reborn. And that he loved her, before he met his wife.”

“But she was a Darkfriend.” Rand muttered, disbelief in his eyes.

“Only after he broke his heart. She swore her oaths to the Dark to try and get him back.”

“And what, you want me to make her think she had?” He asked, anger seeping from his voice, as he swiftly glanced at Guinevere. “You want me to pretend to be in love with a Forsaken?”

“Lanfear is working with Ishamael.” Moiraine insisted. “This could be our only chance to find out what he wants.”

“She’ll see right through it—

“Maybe,” Moiraine interrupted him, exasperated by the boy’s refusal to cooperate, “maybe, she might.”

Rand stared at her, and lazily shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered, “whatever she is, I don’t think everything between us was a lie.” He admitted, avoiding meeting Guinevere’s eyes, there was so much guilt on his face it seemed it would swallow him whole. She herself felt her cheeks burn at his statement, but if any of them noticed, they didn’t comment on it.

“It’s your choice Rand,” Moiraine said, truthfully, “I mean it this time.”

Rand hesitated for a second, shifting on his feet, before walking towards the bed, standing before it while putting on a brave expression, but Guinevere could tell the fear that hunched over his shoulders, could feel his heart racing. “I don’t think I can fall asleep now,” he cleared his voice, “Gwen helped me out moments ago.”

“I can get you back to sleep.” She replied, in a thin voice.

“We’ll stay here,” the older woman interjected, “if it seems as if she’s hurting you… I’ll wake you.”

“And if you fall asleep?”

“I won’t let her.” Guinevere assured. “And I won’t let anything happen to you, Rand. I can put you to sleep just as easily as I can wake you. Trust me.”

“I do.” He said, and then he dropped onto the bed. Guinevere sat beside him, and grabbed his arm. “I’m going to… manipulate your heart rate, make it low enough that you go into slumber. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“I believe you.”

“Alright… just, try not to freak out. It can feel… uncomfortable, or at least that’s what I’ve been told.” She admitted, as she tightened her grip on his arm, slowly and precisely turning it around, immersing herself in him. It was risky, slowing someone’s heart, her own pounding for dear life against her chest, but years of experience had taught her well. She steadied her breath, focusing on his heart rhythm, and nothing else. For some reason, she always imagined a flame in a void to help her concentrate. She didn’t remember whether an older Aes Sedai had taught her that, or if she had dreamt of it, but it always worked like a charm. And soon enough, Rand had closed his eyes, his breath even, mouth slightly opened. He’d fallen asleep. “I guess we have to wait now.” She commented, gently dropping the boy’s hand, turning her head towards her aunt.

“Now we wait.” She agreed, locking her eyes into hers. “Is that another one of your Talents? Cardiac Arrest?” Moiraine asked, as she walked towards the armchair next to the fireplace.

“Not quite,” Guinevere responded, taking a seat in front of her. Her aunt, the comfort of the chair, the warm fire burning next to them… the scene felt eerily familiar. “I mean I can stop someone’s heart fully if I wanted, but mostly I can just change them, up and down. It’s very useful in the infirmary.”

“Mmh.” The woman smiled, a rare sight on her. “Any other Talents I should know about?”

“I don’t think so,” Guinevere chuckled, “Healing, Cardiac Arrest… Compulsion.” She added, in a whisper. She’d always felt ashamed of it.

Moiraine opened her mouth, and then closed it again, as if she feared regretting what she was about to ask. “How many times have you used it?”

“Not the amount you’re thinking about.” The girl replied. Moiraine lifted her eyebrows. She could tell when someone was purposely avoiding a direct answer. “I’ve barely used it, it makes me feel so guilty…” Stained. She admitted. “The last time being with Egwene.”

“Yes, how did you even know what to ask her?” Moiraine asked, sitting straighter, her elbows against the arms of the chair. “I’m curious, how did you know who she was?”

“I healed her,” Guinevere explained, “and the boy, Perrin, when they arrived at Tár Valon. She told me they were searching for you. At the time I didn’t care much about it, you were in the Tower… but after news came that you were exiled, that you’d travelled to Shayol Ghul and then went missing… when I saw Egwene at the Tower months later, I’m afraid I couldn’t help but to ambush her, and ask.”

“About the Dragon Reborn?”

“About you.” Guinevere drew a shaky exhale in, lowering her gaze. “I was worried…” That wasn’t exactly true. I was angry. I was resentful. I wanted answers. “...worried that I’d missed you at the Tower, and then would never have the chance of seeing you again. The whole… Dragon Reborn thing came as a total surprise to me. But it helped me understand… understand you. Your absence from the Tower.” From my life.

Guinevere looked up towards her aunt, and was surprised to see she was holding back tears. The woman shakily reached for the girl’s arm, softly caressing her forearm with her thumb. “Guinevere, I’m sure you have questions—

But they were interrupted by a loud exhale, abruptly standing up from their places as Rand incorporated from the bed. Guinevere noticed Moiraine raising her hands, shyly searching for weaves, only to seconds later let them fall weary against her waist. How hollow must she feel.

“Rand…?” Guinevere asked, cautiously, feeling the boy’s heart racing out of his chest, hers matching his in the process, while his expression drowned in rage.

“What did she say?” Moiraine asked.

“I have to go.” He said, shaking his head, heading for the door.

“Where? Did she tell you where?” Moiraine pried.

“No!” Rand exclaimed, turning around. “Away from you, that was her condition. If she sees us together again she’ll kill you. Both of you.” He added, his gaze whirling towards Guinevere, and then back to Moiraine again. “Logain,” he muttered, “you moved him to Cairhien, didn’t you? So that I’d come here?”

“Yes, of course.” Moiraine rushed to admit, as if she were trying to prove she hadn’t been caught in a lie. “Away from the White Tower, where you’d never be able to see him, where he’d never be able to teach you.”

“And you,” he whimpered, looking at Guinevere, “what you did to Egwene…” He started shaking his head, as Guinevere closed the steps between them, reaching for his hands. “What did she say to you?” She questioned him.

He raised his head, locking his eyes with hers, and Guinevere’s heart broke at the sight. He hates me. “You used the One Power on her.”

“I-I did,” the girl admitted, “but Rand, it’s not what you think—

“Can you truthfully tell me you didn’t use the One Power to force her into giving you information?”

Guinevere’s lips turned into a pout, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.“I-I can’t…” she confessed, “but it’s not like that, I didn’t hurt her!”

“Like hell you didn’t!” He replied, snatching his arm away from her grip, in a motion that hurted her more than she was willing to admit.

“Do you really believe I would hurt her?” Guinevere asked, offended. “That I’d hurt anyone?”

“I don’t know what I can believe anymore.” He sighed, lifting his arms. “I’ve stayed too long already.” He muttered, and left in a hurry.

“She’s a Forsaken, Rand. You cannot listen to her!” Moiraine insisted, yelling at his back, but Guinevere couldn’t do anything else but to watch him disappear behind a corner, heart shattered to pieces, tears falling onto her cheeks imbued with sadness, anger, and confusion, as she found herself unable to justify such intense emotions for a boy she’d met not long ago. Why does he matter so much to me? Why does it hurt me so much?

*********

Note:

Hello! I'm sorry this took so long, I'm in the middle of finals ahah. My mind has been all over the place lately, so I apologise if there are incoherences between the first chapters and this one, I'll focus this weekend on proofreading and editing, in the meantime, feel free to comment on what you think it's hard to follow, and where the inconsistencies are. Also, I know I said this would be a Siuan POV, but I'm trying to follow with the timeline of the TV series, and I can't fit a Siuan POV just yet. Next one will be a Moiraine's one, but the following one is Siuan's, I promise! Well, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter 4 here!

#the wheel of time #wheel of time #siuan sanche #moiraine damodred #moiraine sedai #anvaere damodred #moiraine x siuan #siuraine #moiraine and lan #egwene al'vere #rand al'thor x original female character #rand al'thor #rand al'thor x reader #mother!moiraine #mother!siuan #moiraine & original female character #moiraine & daughter #siuan & daughter

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skyholly · 9 months ago

Text

The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

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Chapter 1. Guinevere

Ever since she was a young girl, Guinevere often found herself staring into the painting in the salon. It almost felt like looking into a mirror. The same brown hair, if anything a shade darker than her own, the same blue eyes, the same unreadable expression. She was lucky, her mother always told her, that she had taken after her aunt, for she had always been the more beautiful out of the two sisters. Yet Guinevere had no way of knowing if that was true, since she had seen her aunt but once in her nineteen years of life, and that encounter had happened so long ago they might as well be complete strangers. The only thing she held of hers was a small, sapphire stone that Moiraine had sent to Cairhien as a gift to her when she was born.

She was twelve years of age when her parents made the decision of sending her to Tár Valon, after years of showing channelling abilities. Little Guinevere had been so nervous about starting her training in the White Tower, leaving Cairhien, and her family behind.

“Do not worry sister,” her older brother, Barthanes, had told her in an attempt to calm her down, “Aunt Moiraine will be there. She’ll take care of you.”

Had Guinevere been any older, she would’ve been wise enough to doubt such promise, since her brother often found his judgement clouded by the love he held for a once present, loving aunt that was no more; but little naive Guinevere had grown up hearing his stories about their valiant, funny, immensely powerful aunt, so that unacquainted and mysterious figure she’d seen only in paintings that resembled her so much became her guardian during the years she spent within the Shining Walls, or so had Guinevere hoped. It would be an understatement to say she was disappointed.

Moiraine never set foot in the Tower during the years Guinevere spent training, as she clung to the little blue stone that reminded her she once had cared for her. Guinevere knew the Blues spent lots of time outside the Tower, gathering information and strengthening their webs, but she didn’t know of another Aes Sedai who walked the halls so infrequently as her aunt, and she never built up enough courage to ask her superiors about her.

It was by chance one day that she found out the older woman had in fact visited the Tower every couple of years, but had simply never bothered to look for her, to meet her. That revelation changed everything she used to believe about the older Aes Sedai. Guinevere didn’t allow herself to feel hurt, shut her pain away, choosing instead to match Moiraine’s indifference. She put any thoughts of her aunt aside, and focused on her studies at the White Tower. It soon became apparent she wasn’t as powerful as she was skillful and efficient, tremendously so, with an almost unmatched Talent for Healing, which managed to let her become a full Aes Sedai in under six years. By the time it came to choosing her Ajah, Moiraine was mostly out of her mind, and the only thing she looked forward to was coming back home to her family.

She didn’t feel upset when her aunt failed to show up when she predictably chose Yellow as the colour of her shawl, she expected it as much, for she had abandoned the idea of meeting her a long time ago. She spoke with the leader of her Ajah, the First Weaver, and due to her young age she was allowed to spend half the year pursuing her studies in Tár Valon and the other half in Cairhien, helping out in the Sanitarium, aiding anyone in need. That’s what she did during her first year as an Aes Sedai; and for the most of it, she was happy about it. As much as she enjoyed learning, studying the intricate weaves her superiors were able to channel, it always was a bittersweet feeling, leaving home with the prospect of spending six months within those Shining Walls, where everyone turned around for a second look at her, because they still couldn’t believe the uncanny resemblance she had to her aunt. Guinevere started to believe it was more of a curse than a blessing, as her mother wanted her to believe.

Guinevere was staring deeply into the portrait, all of her bags spread at her feet, when her mother walked into the room. The girl didn’t even hear the older woman entering the room, entranced as she was. She wasn’t staring completely in awe, as she once used to, but with a hint of resentment as well.

“The carriage is ready, darling.” Anvaere announced, stilling at the sight of the girl, who was aimlessly gazing at the painting in the wall. She ought to have gotten rid of that portrait long ago; it was too big a distraction, too big a risk for Guinevere. She should’ve threw it away the moment she started asking questions. Who is she? Why does she look so much like me? Where is she?

“I’ll be right there, mother.” Guinevere said, allowing herself one more second of staring before turning her gaze away from the picture and smiling at the woman in front of her, as Johnas picked up her bags and carried them outside. “I’ll miss you. And tell Barthanes I’ll miss him too. Dearly.”

“I’ll miss you too, dearest.” Her mother answered, embracing her, and leaving a kiss on the girl’s temple. On her daughter’s temple. That is what she had become the second Moiraine placed the whimpering baby in her arms, and that is what she would always be to her, no matter which secrets the Light forbade ever came out. Her daughter. “Don’t forget to write, regularly, alright?”

“Oh, I’ll send you so many letters you’ll get sick of them, I promise.” She giggled, stepping into the carriage. “You’ll need to get a second pair of eyes just to get through them all!”

Good weather and clear roads made for a swift and quiet travel and Guinevere found herself back in Tár Valon quicker than she would’ve imagined. She was received by Lowie, her best friend and an Aes Sedai from the Green Ajah, upon her arrival. She was a tall, charming girl with a carefree personality and eyes that exuded both braveness and kindness, and, most importantly, she was her same very young age. Some Aes Sedai found it weird, almost scandalous, that they were so close even though they were from different Ajahs, but being the two youngest ones training in the Tower had bonded them together tight enough to neglect the place’s principles.

“Winnie!” The red haired girl yelled, throwing herself onto her. Guinevere instantly stiffed at her touch, before easing into her embrace. “Hi Lowie,” she smiled back, “long time no see.”

“You have no idea of the things you’ve missed.” Lowie gasped, dramatically emphasising words, as she helped her friend carry her bags.

Guinevere held back a small smile as she followed the girl into her abandoned chambers. She didn’t really care much for the Tower’s politics and preferred to focus on her duties and studies, but she knew how much her friend loved to gossip. “Then please, fill me in,” she said with a grin, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling her down onto the bed. A cloud of dust rose around them as they landed.

“Burn me, you really need to come here more often.”

With Lowie by her side and a thousand tasks a day to get done, Guinevere eased into her normal routine once again, and wearisome days became tedious weeks which became monotonous months. Everything was alright. That was until Lowie barged into her room one drowsy afternoon, eyes wide as plates and a hand resting on her agitated chest.

"What is it?" Guinevere asked, opening her eyes. She had a shift at the infirmary that night and was trying to get some rest, but she tensed at the sight of her friend, all the fatigue leaving her body. "Rowena?"

"They’re bringing the False Dragon into the city..." her friend said, breathing heavily.

Guinevere held back a bitter smile. “And?” She asked, about to get mad at her friend for disturbing her with such nonsense.

Lowie slowly walked towards her, and sat alongside her in the bed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “... Gwen, your aunt is here, she’s been called for an audience in the Hall.”

Guinevere’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her aunt, but she didn’t let that show on her face. “I’m far too busy to care about any of those things, Lowie,” she remarked, with a pinch of resentment in her voice. The Light knew she had more important duties to attend to than some mad man and a woman she’s never seen in her life, “besides, I have twelve hours duties at the infirmary, starting tonight.”

Rowena stared at her friend, already used to her choosing indifference as her preferred shield against pain, but didn’t comment on it. The few times they discussed such topics, it had never ended well.

“Then at least let me accompany you to the infirmary,” Lowie begged, changing the subject, “maybe we’ll get to see Logain on our way there.”

“Fine,” Guinevere sighed, reluctantly standing up and putting on some clothes. A simple yellow dress and a comfortable, just the right amount of worn shoes. “I guess we can try that. Though I doubt we can even get a glimpse of him, the streets ought to be crammed.” But her complaints didn’t matter to Lowie, who grabbed her friend’s hand and led her outside the Tower into the busy streets of the city. Guinevere had seen the city in frenzies before, whether it was due to the Daughter-Heir visiting the tower or Queen Morgase herself, but she’d never seen the city bustling the way it did that day.

The two girls started pushing themselves toward the edge of the crowd so Lowie could get a good look at the False Dragon. “Winnie, there he is!” She squealed, but her voice got lost in a chorus of screams. Guinevere tried tiptoeing to get a better sight of him, but something else entirely caught her attention. Up there in one of the buildings facing the main street, two boys were sitting on the ledge of a window on the second floor, smiling down at all the commotion below them. They were both around her age, but it was the red-haired one who captured her eye. He seemed tall, had a lean build, and was wearing a blue shirt, with a heron-marked sword around his hips. He looked down to scan the streets and accidentally locked eyes with her.

Guinevere felt the air catch in her throat, and time seemed to stand still. Those blue eyes, the curve of his smile, the arch of his nose. She’d never met that boy, but somehow she knew him. It felt as if she’d always known him, impossible as it was. Like she had met him in a dream she’d never actually dreamt. She couldn’t draw her gaze away from him, hard as she tried, and neither could he; for a moment, it felt as if he were on the brink of jumping down to the street to get to her, and with that image alone, she felt compelled to run across the mob just to meet him. The intensity of such a thought scared her so much she turned around and hurried toward the infirmary, trying not to dwell on how the face of a stranger could somehow be so familiar to her.

The place was immersed in chaos, there were a dozen different patients in need of care, and very few yellow sisters to aid them.

“Guinevere.” She was commanded by a fellow sister, Myria, a quiet, reserved, and to the point kind of woman. “There are two who need your help, they’re in that room at the back, and be discreet about it. Come back as soon as you’re done with them, we’re expecting a particularly busy night. It’s a matter of time before all this celebration turns into trouble.”

“Discreet?” Guinevere thought, perplexed. “I will, sister.” She said nonetheless, and walked towards the almost hidden room across a series of sinuous hallways. She silently opened the door, and immediately understood the Aes Sedai’s orders. It was obvious to anyone’s eye that the two kids waiting in the room weren’t from Tár Valon, and with just a quick glance at their wounds, she could tell they had come across… an unusual kind of trouble. The girl, who she guessed was approximately her own age, had little more than bruises and some cuts around her face, but the man laying almost unconscious in the bed had some terrible lacerations all over his naked back.

“Hello, my name is Guinevere,” she introduced herself, making her way towards them, “I’ll be healing you both today. Could you tell me what happened?” She asked the girl, as she pointed with her head towards the boy.

“I-I’m Egwene,” the girl stuttered, “and this is Perrin. We had an unfortunate… encounter with some Whitecloaks I’m afraid.”

“I see.” Guinevere nodded, allowing herself to scan the girl one more time before turning her attention towards the man named Perrin, who had more urgent wounds to attend to. She kneeled beside the cot and delicately ran her fingers along his back, feeling the degree of mangling and tearing of the skin. It was the work of a blade that’d caused such abrasions. She closed her eyes and calmly filled her lungs with air, as she moved her hands in complex motions, pulling on intricate, twisting weaves that soon covered his body and began healing his injuries. The young man started grunting, his whole body shaking, as Healing could be a painful experience at times, and so Guinevere softly took him by the arm, closed her eyes, and drove his heart rate down enough so that he drifted into a peaceful, painless, slumber. That was a Talent of hers. At first everyone assumed it was Cardiac Arrest, but soon enough she found out she could not only stop a man’s heart, but manipulate heart rates up and down as she pleased.

“What did you do?!” Egwene asked, worried about her friend, and yet with a begrudging hint of curiosity in her voice, looking at her hands as if she were trying to decipher which particular movements had pulled on them.

“I just helped calm him down.” Guinevere replied, with a sober expression on her face. Using such Talent took a great deal of focus and serenity, for the consequences of using it hastily could have mortal consequences. “He’ll be alright,” she added, watching the weaves clear his back from any visible trauma, “but he’ll need lots of rest, and food, once he wakes up. Healing draws on a lot of energy.” She explained, feeling a bit lightheaded herself.

“Thank you,” the girl sighed, taking him by the hand, as if checking he was indeed away from harm, “I was so preoccupied.”

“I can imagine,” Guinevere said, finally drawing her attention towards her. There was something special about the girl, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Do you want me to heal these?” She asked her, tenderly brushing her fingers against the bruises on her face. “They seem painful. And it won’t hurt as much as it hurt him.”

Egwene stared at her for a moment, and then slowly nodded, holding back tears. Damn those barbaric, fundamentalists Whitecloacks. Attacking her sisters was already unforgivable, but torturing townspeople as well? And the worse of it, they excused all of their actions with the facade of walking in the Light. Guinevere pursed her lips, and pulled on some simpler weaves to heal her. And then it became obvious. The way her body eased into the One Power, how easy she embraced her Healing, how fast her bruising disappeared, how painless it seemed for her. She was no regular townswoman.

“You can channel.” Guinevere suddenly found herself mumbling under her breath. “Why are you here? Who brought you two here?” She asked, and she knew it was incautious of her, and that she was neglecting direct orders, but she didn’t seem able to get a hold of her tongue.

Egwene shifted uncomfortably in her place, as if deciding on whether to tell her, whether she deemed her trustworthy or not. Finally, she opted for the first one. “We’re looking for Moiraine.” She said with boldness, as if talking about an old friend, before regaining awareness of who she was talking to. “T-That is, Moiraine Sedai, of course. Is she here, in the Tower?”

Had Guinevere felt surprised by the mention of the older Aes Sedai, she didn’t let it show on her face. Of course I was asked to be discreet, they’re Moiraine’s. She couldn’t help but to leapt into an activity she thought long forgotten: trying to make sense of her aunt’s absence from the Tower. “Is this what she’s been doing this whole time? Recruiting girls with the ability to channel?” But that wouldn’t explain the boy, or the fact that she hadn’t brought any girl in the years Guinevere spent training. “How do you know Moiraine?” She inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“We travelled all the way here with her,” Egwene was quick to answer, fearing the Yellow Sister didn’t believe their connection with the elusive Aes Sedai, “she seeked us. We got separated on the way here, but if Moiraine is here she should be expecting us, and rather keenly I believe. If there’s a way for you to let her know we are here, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Mmh.” Guinevere hummed, turning to face the door. Was that bitterness showing on her face? Jealousy, perhaps? “You’ll both be fine,” she said, over her shoulder, “other sisters should come up to check on you regularly, and make sure to eat, you’ll find lots of food in the cabinet to your left.”

“T-thank you.” Egwene said, but Guinevere was halfway through the door already. She spent the rest of the night getting on with her tasks as if nothing had happened, ignoring the pain on her chest, the feeling of nausea on her stomach.

That night, the nightmare found her in her sleep once again.

Guinevere seldomly dreamt, but whenever she did, it was always the same nightmare, ever since she could remember: three little kids screaming in agony, and she couldn’t save them. In the dream they were hers, and they kept on calling for her, for their mother, but Guinevere couldn’t save them. Never.

She woke up with a scream stuck in her throat, the children’s screeches still ringing in her ears, heart pounding as if it were about to break through her chest, and immediately brought a hand to her forehead, in a clinical motion. “No fever,” she thought, “just a nightmare.” Guinevere leaned down towards her pillow once again, closing her eyes while trying to fix her breathing. “Just a nightmare.” She wished she would have her little music box by her side, it always helped calm her down, but she had always been too afraid of taking it out of Caihrien, she couldn’t risk losing it since it didn’t even belong to her.

Those nightmares were the reason she eluded sleep so much, often preferring to have Lowie remove her fatigue so she could get on with her duties. She looked up towards the window, slightly flinching her eyes at the pale ray of sunshine that peaked through the glass, and decided that if she wouldn’t fall back asleep, she might as well get ready for the day. She put on some simple clothes, combed her hair into a practical bun, and left her room. She walked across the corridor that led into the Hall of the Tower, and by the amount of both Aes Sedai and Warders that were anxiously waiting just outside the enormous door she could only assume Logain’s trial was taking place inside. She stopped for a moment, meditating on whether she wanted to stick around for the outcome or not, but the unwavering stare of one of the Warders on her made her lean for the latter.

He was a tall, brooding man, holding a guarded stance, with his long hair pulled away from his face, held back by a leather headband. His deep brown eyes and stoic face were fixed on her, which made her feel unnerved. She subtly glanced at his swords, at his clothes, at his almost royal demeanour he so obviously tried to hide, and the pieces began to fall together. There was only one warder in the world who could master such a stance, who could claim the title of Lord of the Seven Towers, the uncrowned king of Malkier. Al’Lan Mandragoran. He was Moiraine’s Warder. Which meant her aunt was most probably in there as well. The thought of Moiraine being so close, yet still so distant, gnawed at her.

The doors suddenly opened, and a figure dressed in royal blue came rushing out of them. Guinevere didn’t need to look twice to know who it was, she felt it, like a weave of electric, yet gentle power reaching her side. She was torn between turning around and forcing her eyesight steady, finally looking at her, and running as far as she could from her. Suddenly, she felt another gaze fall upon her, a much too heavy one, and she winced on the spot, as she started backing away, leaving the Tower, absentmindedly bumping against random citizens on her way towards the infirmary.

She avoided sleep that night. In fact, she took every shift available, night and day, and it wasn’t until two full days after the audience had taken place that she returned to the Tower. By that time her aunt was gone, once again.

“She’s been exiled,” Lowie explained to her, theatrically placing a hand over her heart, as Guinevere plummeted into bed, “it was awful. I wasn’t inside the Hall, but even in the corridor we all had to turn our backs to her. I don’t think she’ll ever be able to return.”

“Mmh.” Guinevere hummed, forcing her eyes shut. She couldn’t truly bring herself not to care about that, but she tried her best. “One more month, and you can get home. One month. And you can reunite with your family, your pianoforte, your paintings. One more month.” And so she endured that month, trying not to panic at the whispers of Moiraine travelling with a male channeler, of Moiraine searching for the Dragon Reborn, of Moiraine being a Darkfriend, of Moiraine presumably having died at Fal Dara.

She had already finished packing her bags, and was ready to head home, when someone knocked at her door.

“Yes?” Guinevere asked, greeting whoever was outside. To her surprise, it was the girl she’d healed some time ago, the one who had been looking for Moiraine. “Egwene?” She asked, confused.

“Guinevere Sedai,” the girl saluted her, bowing her head. Guinevere tilted her head to get a better look at her, and was happy to see her on a plain, white dress.

“I see you’ve become a Novice,” she commented, a genuine smile on her face, “that’s good. I was expecting you’d join the Tower, eventually.”

“Yes, Guinevere Sedai—

“Please, just call me Gwen.”

“Alright… Gwen,” she added, still slightly unsure, “it's been almost a month since I’ve signed the books of Novices.”

“Oh.” Guinevere lowered her gaze to her feet, ashamed. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been paying that much attention to the events of the Tower.”

Egwene directed a sympathetic smile towards her, while anxiously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. “Yes, anyhow,” the girl shifted uncomfortably on her spot, “I was sent here to give you a message.”

“And what could that message be?” She asked, amused.

Egwene cleared her throat, placing her hands over her skirts and then pulling them back, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “The Amyrlin is expecting you,” she finally exhaled, “in her chambers.”

“I see.” Guinevere replied, her smile pursing into a thin line, perplexed as she wondered what could the Amyrlin possibly want to discuss with her, only that it couldn’t be good. Most of the women in the Tower were probably already commenting on it. Egwene nodded reluctantly, and turned to walk away, but Guinevere stopped her.

“Wait,” she said, delicately touching the girl’s shoulder, turning her around, “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Anything.”

“What happened to your friend? And why aren’t you with Moiraine anymore? I’ve heard some rumours about the Borderlands and problems there—

Egwene held her gaze, soft and apprehensive, before lowering her head. “I don’t think I can talk about it.”

“My last name is Damodred,” Guinevere rushed to confess, grabbing the blue stone attached to her necklace from below her shirt to show it to her, as if to prove her statement, “Moiraine is my aunt. Please, I’m just concerned.” Well, that’s not entirely a lie. I am concerned for her. I am simply more concerned about what she’s been up to all this time. “And I couldn’t lie, even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, I do believe you’re her niece,” Egwene said, studying her face, “you look just like her, just younger. But I- I really think I can’t talk about it, Moiraine was very clear about that.”

“Look, Egwene” Guinevere said, approaching the girl, tenderly grabbing the girl’s hands. Had Egwene been more trained in the One Power, she would’ve been able to notice the warmth that suddenly spread through her body, easing her into Guinevere’s touch, loosening her tongue. She’d promised to never use such Talent, she’d be expelled from the Tower if anyone ever found out she did, and she truly felt terrible about doing it to Egwene, but she really was desperate. “Whatever she’s said to you, whatever you’ve done with her, whatever… secret she’s asked you to keep, it’s safe with me. I’d never do anything that hurt her.”

Egwene placidly smiled at her, “it’s a long story,” she said, timidly giggling, her cheeks flushing, but still determined not to tell her. It seems I’ve underestimated how powerful she is.

“Then it’s a good thing the Amyrlin chambers are so far away, isn’t it?” Guinevere studied Egwene's face, seeing a flicker of hesitation cross her eyes. Guinevere tightened her grip on the girl’s hand, as she finally nodded, seemingly accepting Guinevere’s faux sincerity. She intertwined their arms, and together, they walked down the long corridors of the White Tower.

“It started in the Two Rivers,” Egwene began quietly, as they passed a group of novices practising their weaves. “Moiraine came to our village. She was looking for someone... someone who could be the Dragon Reborn. There were five of us who could channel or had some connection to the One Power. Trollocs and other monsters were following us, and she said we needed to get to Tár Valon; we had some troubles getting here, but then, when we finally arrived, something changed. I don’t know… she said an opportunity to defeat the Dark One had arisen, and suddenly she was taking us to Fal Dara, to the Eye of the World.”

Guinevere kept an impassive expression on her face, impossible as it felt, as the world seemed to shift beneath her feet. Finally, she’d gotten some answers. It made so much sense. All those years… Moiraine had been looking for the Dragon Reborn. But why? Why didn’t she look for me the few times she’d return to the Tower?

“You went through the Blight?” Guinevere asked, shocked. Egwene eagerly nodded at her. “And what happened there?”

“I-I don’t know.” The girl said, eyes full of tears too stubborn to actually fall through her cheeks. “We were all supposed to face the Eye of the World together, but… I don’t know. One morning Moiraine and one of the boys had left, and then she came back alone, and refused to talk to us about what had happened there. Moiraine was… different, somehow, I couldn’t tell you what. She ordered Nynaeve and me to come here to become novices, and I don’t know exactly what she told Perrin, but he stayed at Fal Dara. She accompanied us here halfway and then parted ways, and I haven’t heard from her or Lan ever since.”

“I’m so sorry about your friend.” Guinevere said, voice laced with genuine compassion.

“Thank you, Gwen.” Egwene had stopped in her tracks, fixing her gaze on her, brushing a tear off her face. Guinevere felt terrible. One more thing. One more thing and you let her go.

“Egwene,” she said, resuming their walk, “do you happen to know why Moiraine knew she had to look for all of you?”

Egwene had opened her mouth to respond, but a voice in front of them interrupted them. “Guinevere Sedai, the Amyrlin has been expecting you.” A thin, nearly as tall as a man, very beautiful woman was standing stiffly in front of a big, resplendent pair of doors. They’d reached the Amyrlin’s chambers.

“Of course, Leane Sedai.” Guinevere said, bowing her head, showing the Keeper of the Chronicles the respect she deserved. She swiftly turned towards Egwene, finally letting go of her arm, praying the superior in front of her didn’t notice the young girl’s body limping the slightest, and confusion taking over her expression.

“Thank you, Egwene, for accompanying me here. I’ll be gone for some months now, but I’ll make sure to help in anything I can once I get back. I wish you nothing but luck on your training.”

The girl clumsily bowed to her, “I need to go, the Mistress of Novices is most probably looking for me,” and continued with her walk, disoriented. It’ll pass. She’ll be back to normal before anyone notices it. It’ll be like it never happened. I had to do it. There are no rules that prevent an Aes Sedai from lying to herself.

Guinevere turned towards the stoic looking woman standing in front of her. “The Amyrlin will see you now.”

Guinevere carefully adjusted her dress, before stepping inside the room. There, sitting on a cream coloured sofa, before a small table, was the Amyrlin Seat.

“You summoned me, Mother?” Guinevere asked, bowing deeply. She then lifted her gaze, locking eyes with the older woman. With her luminous brown eyes, sharp as ever, yet laced with a subtle hint of weakness, and nostalgia.

“Yes, Guinevere. Please, sit.” She said, gesturing towards the armchair in front of her.

Guinevere complied, noting the uncharacteristic tension in Siuan’s posture. The Amyrlin was not known for her softness, but there was something different today, something personal.

The older woman stared at her expectantly, as if waiting for the young girl to confess first, but despite Guinevere’s distaste for credo, she knew how to play the game. Speak first, lose the high ground.

“You must be wondering why I called you in here.” Siuan finally said, her lips turning into a gentle smile.

“I am, Mother,” she said, hesitantly nodding.

“We can lose the honorifics, for today at least,” the woman commented, crossing one leg over the other, as she reclined into the armchair’s cushions, encouraging the girl to get comfortable as well. But Guinevere was far too anxious for that. She remained still, her back straight and hands rigidly intertwined over her lap. Why am I here? “I have a favour to ask of you, Guinevere.”

She gulped. What? What could the Amyrlin Seat, a tremendously powerful Aes Sedai, who was once Blue herself, need of her? A teenage girl that avoided secrets, rumours and Tower’s politics like the plague? “A- A favour, Mother?”

“Siuan.” The woman’s smile widened, as she drew closer to her.

Guinevere blinked, still puzzled at the whole situation. “Siuan,” she echoed the older woman, “what is it that you need from me?”

“It’s not really what I need from you,” the Amyrlin explained, her pacing slow, “but what I need from your last name. I gather you’re on your way home.”

“I am, I was about to leave the Tower when you called for me.”

“Cairhien, that’s right?”

“Yes.”

Siuan Sanche pursed her lips, staring intensely into her, and opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it, as if she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to ask such a question. “Have you heard from Moiraine this past month?” She then asked, bluntly.

Guinevere felt the temperature of the room drop, her eyes slightly narrowing at the mention of her aunt. “No.” She replied, dryly, as she lowered her gaze towards the rug.

Her sudden change in demeanour didn’t go unnoticed by the older woman, who studied Guinevere’s face intensely, searching for what lay underneath. “You are angry at her.” She commented, sadness suddenly pouring into her eyes.

Guinevere cleared her throat. “My feelings towards Moiraine Sedai are unbiased.”

“You shouldn’t resent your aunt for her absence, Guinevere.”

“And yet you exiled her for it.” How weird. She knew Siuan’s position as the Amyrlin grew weaker each day, but she couldn’t possibly imagine her feeling compelled into doing something she didn’t feel was right. She didn’t choose to exile Moiraine?. Maybe she was overrating her power. She was, after all, asking a teenage girl for help.

Siuan started blinking in rapid motions, awkwardly resting her back against the armchair’s splat. She knew when she had been led into a corner. She’s so much like her mother, the woman thought, not being able to stop her mouth from turning into a sly grin, stubborn, and modestly yet fiercely witty. “I have a task for you.”

“Whatever you need, Mother.”

“If you hear from Moiraine, let me know.”

Guinevere smirked back at the woman. “Shouldn’t Moiraine be the one expecting to hear from you?” She found her mouth saying, acting quicker than her brain, something that happened more often than she liked. The young girl knew she was crossing a line, she knew as much, but something told her the older woman wouldn’t reprimand her. As a matter of fact, she suspected she actually enjoyed it. But perhaps she had underestimated Siuan’s temper.

She drew her smile back, and pursed her lips into a thin line. “That’ll be all, Daughter.”

Guinevere hastily stood up, and bowed her head. “Mother.” She turned to leave, and as she was reaching for the doorknob, she heard the Amyrlin’s voice speak to her.

“Oh, and Guinevere? Trust no one else. No intermediates.”

A flicker of diversion crossed Guinevere’s eyes. Oh, did she have some puzzles to put together. “Of course, Mother.”

Guinevere let out a sigh of relief when Johnas opened the door to her, and finally she was back home. She shook the older man’s hand, as she made her way inside the house. “It’s good to have you back, little lady.”

“Gwen?” She heard a man’s voice come from across the hall. “Barthanes?” She asked, breaking into a run. She hastily opened the door to the dining room, and couldn’t help but to squeal in excitement. “Oh, it’s been so long, brother.” She smiled, as he embraced her.

“I’ve missed you too, little sister.” He agreed, with a laugh. “Would you care for some tea? I’m afraid I have some business to attend to, letters and whatnot, but I can manage them while getting on with you.” He said, sitting back down at the breakfast table. “I trust your journey was uneventful?”

“Uneventful and rapid,” Guinevere replied, taking a seat opposite him. She watched as he deftly opened a letter, his eyes scanning the contents before setting it aside. “How have things been here?”

“Quiet,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Mother has been busy with her social circles, and the city remains as it always has—full of whispers.”

Guinevere nodded, her thoughts drifting back to the Tower, to the unfamiliar faces she had healed, and the fleeting encounters that had stirred something within her. “And what of the Sun Palace? Any news from the court?”

Barthanes paused, folding his hands over the table. “Rumors, mostly. There's talk of unrest in the Borderlands, and whispers of the Dragon Reborn.” At the mention of such a character, he sent a curious look her way. “Nothing you haven’t most probably heard of already within the Tower.”

She had indeed, but nonetheless the mention of the Dragon Reborn sent a shiver down her spine. The face of that boy she’d seen on Tár Valon suddenly popped into her mind. “Do you believe it?” she asked quietly, meeting her brother's gaze. “That the Dragon has been reborn?”

Her brother shifted uneasily on his seat, wetting his lips. “I truly don’t have time to dwell on such matters, sister.” He forced his lips into a stiff smile, as he started handling another envelope. “But what do you believe?” He inquired, with seeming indifference, but she could tell it was only a facade. She could sense his heart rate getting higher and higher. “What is it being said in the Tower anyway?” He added, shrugging his shoulders.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, rather dryly, uncomfortable with where the conversation had led them, “I don’t like involving myself in such talks. Besides, even if I did know something, I wouldn’t be allowed to talk to you about it.”

“Not even to your dear older brother?” He grinned, sending a charming smile her way, but she remained serious. “Anyway,” Barthanes stood up, picking up a stack of letters, “I’m afraid I must go, sister. Planning a wedding is much more work than you’d ever imagine.”

She directed her brother a little smile before he left the room, leaving her alone, a waterfall of thoughts pouring into her mind. That’s the thing about Cairhien. Hard as you might try to avoid them, whispers and rumours always find a way of getting to you.

Guinevere woke up early the next morning, had a quick breakfast, and ran towards the Sanatorium. She rushed through the Cairhien streets swiftly and with ease, her hometown’s display burned into her memory.

She entered the structure, joyfully greeting the guard standing before the door, and started making her way through the halls. That’s when she saw him.

The boy from Tár Valon.

His hair was as red as she remembered, but short almost to his scalp. He stood taller than she’d imagined, at least a foot taller than her. And his face… the same face that had both tormented and bewitched her ever since she saw him, months ago.

They locked gazes, eyes widening in surprise at finding each other, the same intense feeling flooding through their veins, but this time, no one ran away, quite the contrary. Guinevere started trotting towards him, and he did the same, until they were but inches away from each other.

“You’re the girl from Tár Valon,” he gasped, out of breath.

“I-I guess I am.” She stuttered, finding herself suddenly overwhelmed by his presence. It felt so weird, meeting someone you’ve somehow known all your life for the first time.

“I’m Rand.” He said, introducing himself, as he extended a hand towards her.

“I’m Guinevere.” She replied, carefully slipping her hand into his.

He gently closed his palm over hers, his skin warm and soft under his touch. “Hello, Guinevere.” He murmured, a tender smile on his face.

“Hello, Rand.” She replied, shyly returning his smile. They remained like that, hands locked into each other, until she stepped a foot back, clearing her throat.

“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?” Guinevere inquired, furrowing her brows. She’d never seen him in Cairhien before, she was sure of that.

“I work here.” He explained, letting his arms fall against his body. “It was a last-minute decision.”

“Oh.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve lived in Cairhien my whole life.” She replied, placing a hand against her chest.

He softly laughed at that. “I meant in the Sanatorium.”

“Ah,” she giggled, feeling her cheeks flush, “I work here as well. I mean, I help here,” she added, raising her left hand, where a ring with a small yellow stone rested in her middle finger, “I heal people. Or at least, I try my best.”

Slight and wary as it was, Guinevere noticed the hint of anger, and fright, that crossed the boy’s eyes at the sight of her ring. “You don’t like Aes Sedai?”

Rand hesitated. “I respect Aes Sedai.”

“That wasn’t my question.” She smiled.

“I’m just cautious of them.”

Guinevere stood straight, and folded her hands over her chest, as her smile turned into a grimace. “I’m afraid I’d be lying if I said you shouldn’t be.”

They spent the following weeks working in the same place, and everyday their bond both grew stronger, and a genuine, and amusing friendship started to flourish between the two. Guinevere always had a witty, lively response to all of his foolish, friendly banter. He’d made a habit out of walking her home every day after their duties were done, and the journey always fell short for their discussions, so much so that sometimes they walked straight past her house, and made some more rounds, just so they could keep on each other’s company. He always talked about his home, his family, his friends, but for some reason he never mentioned names.Still, she never commented on it. She talked about her hobbies in music and painting, and her job as a healer, her duty towards the Tower.

“I enjoy it, for the most of it.” She explained one day, as they made their way towards her house. “I love the healing part, at least, I like helping people. It’s all the current principles, and politics I despise— not that I think them inconsequential, it’s simply… out of my understanding. All this rivalry between the different Ajah, it makes no sense to me. I know they’re due to historical conflicts, but why do we let the past control us that much? I don’t know, I just think the Tower would work better without all the secrecy. To both our sisters and regular townsfolk, of course.”

“Most regular townsfolk despise the lot of you,” he commented, “Cairhien is like another world, too close to Tár Valon to notice it, but the farther you get from the city, the stronger the fear of Aes Sedai becomes.”

“And that’s terrible!” Guinevere explained, aggrieved. “We should be the servants of all. The ones who help the world become a better place, for everyone alike. And yet it seems that as of lately we serve no one but ourselves.” She sighed, as they reached her house. Guinevere stopped in front of the door, expectantly looking at him. Everyday he accompanied her home, and yet he always refused to stay for a cup of tea.

She knew he lived in the Foregate, and she knew firsthand how harsh it could get there, as she often liked to wander around it, aiding anyone who accepted her help, and so she had often offered Rand a warm bath, a warm meal, a warm bed, if he needed. But he had always refused all of it. That day he looked particularly shabby, and she could see traces of ash on parts of his skin and clothes.

“Well,” he said, pursing his lips into a thin smile, “have a good night, Gwen.”

“Wait!” She exclaimed, grabbing him from his arm before he could turn around. A splash of red started to paint her cheeks a burgundy colour, as she hadn’t planned on being so abrupt. She moved backwards, rising to his height as she settled on the first step of the stairs that led to her door. “Just… Why don’t you come in, for a cup of tea? I could lend you that book we were talking about.”

He hesitated, lowering his gaze, and yet not letting go of her arm. “I-I can’t, Gwen.”

“Why?” She breathed out. “If it’s my family you’re concerned about— they’re perfectly pleasant to be around. And my mother would be thrilled to have you over, maybe offer you a better place to stay—

“There’s someone else, Gwen.” He interrupted her, finally meeting her eyes, as sadness and regret took over his. “There’s this woman—

“Oh.” She couldn’t help but sigh, angry at her voice for betraying her by sounding so disappointed. Of course there’s another girl. She motioned to take her hand away, but that only caused to tighten his grip on hers. He took a step closer to her, mouths one breath away from one another.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, cursing under his breath, “burn me, it’s difficult to explain, I-I just owe her so much, I-I can’t… you…

“It’s fine, Rand.” Guinevere murmured, as she softly caressed the palm of his hand. “I understand.”

“You do?” He asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Of course I do. Rand, I like being your friend,” she admitted, as a smile forced dimples into her cheeks, “and I’d still love for you to come one afternoon. I could show you our library and music room.”

He grimaced, a sad smile taking over his demeanour. “I’d like that,” he confessed, “very much indeed, but it’ll have to wait. I’ll be gone for a couple of days.”

“Gone where?” She asked, and the look on his face, of pain, shame, sadness, made her realise she shouldn’t have done so. “You can’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You needn't, Rand.” She said, offering the most genuine smile she could muster under the circumstances. “I’ll be happy to have you over once you come back.” She lightly tapped his hand, and he finally let her away from his gentle, yet firm grip. “I hope you have a nice trip, Rand.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He replied, gloomily.

That night, the nightmare visited her again. It had done so every night since she had met Rand at the Sanatorium. Guinevere jerked upright in her bed, her whole body had broken into a sweat, and she felt feverish. It’d been a long time since a nightmare had affected her that much. She bolted towards her desk, and grabbed a little music box with a ballerina inside. She laid on her bed once again, and placed the music box in the nightstand beside her. She closed her eyes, her breathing steading, as the music lulled her back to sleep.

Next time she woke up, soft beams of sunshine were tickling her face. It’d be a sunny day. That always managed to get her out and about quickly. She jumped out of bed, put on some clothes, had a small breakfast, and made her bag for the day, a pouch sitting firmly over her hips.

Just as she was about to leave for the Sanitorium, she heard a knock on the door. She knew her mother would scold her for answering herself instead of having Johnas greet the guest, but she paid no mind to it, she already was on her way out after all.

Guinevere opened the door, and was greeted by a pair of weary, yet somehow sparkly, blue eyes. Her whole body went stiff, a gasp caught in her throat, heart pounding in her chest. The paintings didn’t do it justice. It truly was like looking into a mirror. A mirror that reflected a somehow older version of herself, once she wouldn’t have found in the paintings around her house, of course. The same midnight shade of blue on their eyes, where Guinevere’s were gleaming and doe-like, hers were sunken and hollow, surrounded by lines of weariness. The same cheeks, but where Guinevere’s were full and rosy, hers were angular and dull, skin sagging a little around them.

Guinevere saw the older woman match her own staggered expression for a moment, before composing herself, and clearing her throat. That managed to get the girl’s mind attached to the rest of her body once again.

“M-Moiraine,” she stuttered, still in shock, “I mean, Moiraine Sedai.” She added, with a slight tilt of her head, stepping aside as to let the older woman in.

“There’s no need for such formalities, child.” The Aes Sedai said, hastily getting inside and closing the door behind her. She got a quick glimpse at her, and then started scanning the room, her eyes as calculating and stern as she had imagined.

Guinevere remained still for a moment, before regaining awareness of herself, and the situation. Of course, she probably has no idea who I am. “I’m sorry, my name is—

“Guinevere, I know.” The woman said, finally setting her eyes on her. Guinevere looked at her, and was surprised to see her eyes gleaming, as if she were holding back tears, which managed to upset her. She was the one who should be sad, the one who deserved to feel neglected. “You’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you were as tall as this table.” She added, gesturing towards the furniture on her left. Guinevere tilted her head to meet the woman’s gaze, and noticed a flicker of sadness on them, the exact same one she’d seen on Siuan’s.

“I wouldn’t remember.”

“No,” she sighed, her lips almost quivering, unwillingly drawing her stare away from her, “I guess you wouldn’t.”

They remained in awkward silence, not knowing what else to say, until Johnas walked across the hall. He abruptly came to a halt, not believing his eyes. “Am I so very old I’ve started seeing double, or is that you, Lady Moiraine?”

Moiraine was about to respond, but Guinevere interrupted her. “Johnas, please tell my mother her sister is here. It’s still quite early, I’m afraid she ought to be in the painting room.”

“Of course, little lady.” The man bowed towards the both of them, and left the room.

Guinevere turned her gaze towards her aunt, and started to subtly examine her. She wasn’t the once-in a lifetime hero her brother had made her out to be. She seemed tired, weary, and overly aged for an Aes Sedai. And her power… if she was as powerful as everyone said, she couldn’t feel it. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t feel anything within her. She turned her face upwards, and noticed the older woman studying her just as she had been doing as well. Moiraine took one step closer to her, softly placing hand on Guinevere’s head and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Guinevere, I—

“Little lady, my lady,” Johnas interrupted them, as he barged into the room, “your sister is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Moiraine suddenly drew her hand to herself, casting a glance of guilt to the younger girl, as if she had been on the brink of doing something she’d later regret. She cleared her throat as she turned around, following the butler into the next room, and leaving Guinevere all by herself in the hall. I was wrong. If Moiraine wasn’t as powerful with the One Power, then how could she explain the electrifying, almost burning feeling that ran through her body when she’d touched her?

************

This was written so quickly and I still have yet to proofread it, so please, comment if you've enjoyed it and would like another part and if there's anything you'd like to see! Thank you for reading

Chapter 2 here!

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skyholly · 7 months ago

Text

The best kept secret — WoT fanfiction

Summary: Moiraine and Siuan are forced to give up their baby daughter in order to fulfill their duty of finding the Dragon Reborn. Raised by her aunt Anvaere, Guinevere grows up unaware of her true parentage, excelling as an Aes Sedai at the White Tower. When Moiraine unexpectedly reenters her life amidst the search for the Dragon Reborn, Guinevere must confront some daunting truths.

moiraine/siuan

completed story (until s3 airs)

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

Chapter 3 here!

Chapter 4 here!

Chapter 5 here!

Chapter 6 here!

Chapter 7 here!

Chapter 8 here!

Chapter 9 here!

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skyholly · 8 months ago

Text

The best kept secret

Summary: What if Moiraine had a baby daughter she and Siuan were forced to leave to Anvaere to raise as her own?

moiraine/siuan

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

Chapter 3 here!

Chapter 4 here!

Chapter 5 here!

Chapter 6 here!

****************

Chapter 7. Moiraine

Moiraine stood paralyzed as Guinevere’s body slammed into the wall. Her fingers hung inert in the air, her feet fixed to the ground, her heart thundering in her ears. She could hear someone screaming—an agonising wail tearing the sky apart—but she couldn’t draw her gaze away from Guinevere’s limp form collapsing into the mud. It wasn’t until pain seared down her throat that she realised the screams were her own.

Rand’s yelling snapped her out of her stupor. “What are you doing to her?!” The boy howled, striding towards Lanfear with menacing steps.

“I told you the next time I saw you with Ilyena I’d kill her.” She heard the woman sneer. The mention of such a name would’ve stirred something within Moiraine, weren’t she in a nearly catatonic state.

“What are you even talking about?!” The redheaded boy grunted, violently grabbing Lanfear by her shoulders, enraged, glancing towards Guinevere, his eyes filled with terror.

But Moiraine's focus had shifted away from them already. Suddenly, she found herself kneeling beside Guinevere, as the girl’s eyes fluttered close, harrowing groans leaving her lips, hundreds of lacerations tearing her skin open all over her body. Blood started to pool beneath Guinevere, and she hopelessly glimpsed at Siuan’s inert body feet away from her, as a pleading grunt left the woman’s lips. Tears started to swell in Moiraine’s eyes, our daughter will die if I don’t do anything , and it would be no one’s fault but hers. Siuan had begged her to stop, to follow the rules for once, but she and her pride always had to know better. And now the two people she cared the most for in the world laid still on the ground, one of them beyond any possible salvation. Is it true? Can you know, beyond any doubt, that it’s true? Her own advice, recently recalled to her by her little sister, suddenly rang in her ears. Just pull yourself together .

Moiraine turned her head towards the Guinevere, and briskly brushed the tears away, forcing her mind to focus; she needed to stop the bleeding, to stop the maiming from spreading throughout her body. She stretched her arms and reached for the Source, her body eagerly warming up with the One Power, as her hands intuitively pulled on weaves; incisions like those weren’t hard to heal, Moiraine had done so many times. Golden strings of healing power began to slither around Guinevere’s body, attempting to remove all the harm, but the tearing didn’t stop. Moiraine felt her heart skip a beat, and her hands started moving in desperate motions. No matter which weaves she pulled on, how much power she used, how precisely she thread them, the girl’s skin kept on breaking open, and she could feel Guinevere’s heartbeat growing weaker by the second.

She began to gasp for air, breathing in uneven intervals, panic sinking down her stomach like a rock, and she started to frantically press her own hands against Guinevere’s blood tainted stomach, as if she were able to stop the bleeding by simply compressing the injuries.

“N…No,” she let out a weak, quivering sob, “please, no,” her voice was barely a whisper, as Guinevere’s blood started tainting the sleeves of her gown.

“Undo it NOW,” Rand’s wretched —yet commanding— scream cut through the chaos, “you will heal her and not harm her again, not if you want my help. NOW, LANFEAR!”

Moiraine was still desperately pressing on Guinevere’s wounds when she heard the soft snap of Lanfear’s fingers, and the bleeding came to a sudden halt. Guinevere’s ripped skin began to sew itself back together, silver scars appearing wherever there had been a bloody lesion, covering the girl’s body like a web of shimmering threads. An excruciatingly endless second dragged by, and Moiraine saw her daughter’s eyes snap open, gulping on air as she choked on it.

Moiraine felt a shaky whimper escape her lips, relief flooding through her veins, as she helped the girl sit up, softly patting on her back, and brushing her fingers against her face. “Guinevere, dear Winnie,” she stuttered, her hands trembling with terror still, “h-how does it feel? Are you alright?”

Guinevere simply stared at her, eyes hollow and empty of any emotion, lips parted slightly, skin just regaining its colour, before she weakly nodded at her, still struggling to get her breathing even. She softly pressed her hand over Moiraine’s, biting on her lips as to avoid tears falling down her cheeks, encouraging her to keep on stroking her face, since it seemed to help calm her down. But her breathing started to grow angrier and resentful; she raised her head and glared at Lanfear, her face furrowed into a fuming expression, and attempted to stand up and charge at her, before Moiraine held her back.

“Every day, you grow more like Lews.” She heard the Forsaken remark, as the woman walked towards the waygate, opening the portal with a simple sweep of her hands. She noticed Rand spare one last piercing glimpse towards Guinevere, to make sure she was alright, and with a grunt started following the woman.

Moiraine hesitated, torn between her duty and her daughter. She knew she ought to follow them as well, but she couldn’t pull herself away from Guinevere. She is alright, she forced the thought into her mind, the further you get Lanfear from her the safer she’ll be, Moiraine assured herself. She left one more caress to the girl’s cheek, before standing up, slowly making her way towards the waygate; she felt Lan brush past her, and knew she was meant to go right after him if she didn’t want to be left behind. You can’t afford that. You can’t leave Rand at the mercy of the Forsaken. You must cross that portal.

She spared one last look at Siuan, and had to prevent an angry sob from escaping her lips, her mind a whirl of harrowing thoughts. She betrayed your trust. You love her still. She violated you. Your heart is shattering into a thousand pieces watching her lay powerless in the ground. Lanfear almost killed her. She’ll be alright. Lanfear almost killed Guinevere. She’ll be alright. It is your fault. You brought Lanfear here, you almost got them killed. Don’t look back, walk through that portal with both Lanfear and Rand and they’ll be out of harm’s way, they’ll be together, they’ll keep each other safe. Siuan will do a much better job at protecting her than you could ever do. But how it pierced her heart, leaving them like that. This isn’t how it was supposed to be, she whispered, almost choking in sorrow. She recalled that fateful day, how happy they’d been, how hopeful their future had once seemed, and almost fell to her knees with how it contrasted with her current reality. Now she stood there, nothing but a stranger and a traitor to them. Moiraine shook her head and turned around. She had left them both before, she could do it again.

*************

19 years ago

Darkness had fallen upon Cairhien, and a moonless night made it the perfect scenario for sneaking around. Moiraine slowly walked through her city’s deserted streets, her face hidden beneath a cape, a whimpering baby firmly cradled within her arms. Shadows loomed around her, stretching and twisting in the dim light of distant torches, adding to the sense of unease that hung in the air. A broken cobblestone made her stumble on her feet, and an aching grunt escaped her lips, breaking the eerie silence.

“Are you sure of this, Moiraine?” Lan asked, instantly by her side, gently holding her frail figure, helping her keep her steps steady. “It is still too soon, you’re in too much pain, surely it can wait—”

Moiraine let out a shaky exhale. “I wish for this matter to be over with.” She muttered, turning on a corner.

Lan glanced at Moiraine, his arms supporting her posture, eyes frowned in apprehension. “Do you at least want me to carry her?” He shyly asked. All Moiraine did in response was cradle the baby further into her chest. They kept on roaming through the city’s alleys, too slow a pace for Moiraine’s liking, as she didn’t want to risk anyone seeing them, but she couldn’t bring herself to move any faster, weakened as she was.

They eventually reached her house, where she breathlessly leaned against the entrance wall, as Lan pounded on the door.

“You’ll draw too much attention,” Moiraine warned, casting him a weary sidelong glance. Her eyes looked tired and hollow, rimmed with redness.

“It’s the middle of the night, Moiraine, they won’t hear us otherwise.”

The man kept on knocking on the door, and she lowered her face towards the baby in her arms, enveloped in a lavender blanket. She was so tiny, so delicate, so peaceful. She had a very fine layer of golden, auburn, hair covering her head; her rosy cheeks nestled against her chest, her tiny lips parted ever so slightly, her breathing calm and steady. One of her small hands was nuzzling against her collarbone, her little fingers curled up around the blue stone that hung from Moirane’s neck. Her tiny feet huddled against the creek of her arm, perfectly fitting within her hold. She’s perfect , Moiraine thought, her eyes welling up with tears. You can run still, look for Siuan, that is what you wish for, light forsake the mission. But she knew she would never do such a thing. The only thing stronger than her love for her child was her sense of duty. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and it has chosen me to make such a sacrifice.

The wooden doors finally creaked open, as Torvin’s head tiredly peeked into the street. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of his midnight guests, and immediately pushed the door open, rushing them inside.

“Anvaere, ANVAERE!” He started calling for her wife in harsh whispers, as he hastily closed the door behind him, “get down here!” He turned around towards Moiraine, taken aback by the image in front of him, her tear-laden eyes and weary expression making her look more fragile than he had ever seen. She leaned heavily against the wall, clutching the baby to her chest.

“Torvin?” What is it?” Anvaere asked, rushing down the stairs, tightening the waistband of her nightgown, “who could it be at this—” she began asking, when her eyes stumbled upon her older sister, and the baby in her arms. “Moiraine…” she stuttered, suddenly out of breath, “w-what…”

“Take her,” Moiraine begged, achingly striding towards her, delicately extending her arms, implicitly imploring her sister to take the baby from her arms. The last thing she wanted was to feel her hands empty of the baby’s weight, but Moiraine knew that if she didn’t force herself to let go then, she might never do so. “Please, Anvaere.”

Anvaere’s arms instinctively reached for the baby, who was starting to grow restless with all the commotion, the lavender blanket falling in the process, and tenderly cuddled her within her arms. “Moiraine what’s happening here?” Anavaere whispered, fighting the urge to go into panic, “she—”

“She’s mine,” Moiraine assured her, fidgeting with her bare hands, “but I can’t keep her.”

“Moiraine she can’t be more than a day old…” Anvaere muttered, casting a worried look towards her sister. “H-how did this happen? When…? How are you feeling? Aren’t you in pain—”

“I’m alright, I’m…” Moiraine exhaled, anxiously pacing around, “she’s perfectly healthy, and the… the father is not aware of her, so that won’t ever bring forth any problems for you; just, please, take her, you… you and Torvin can take care of her.”

Anavere woefully searched for her husband’s eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in compassion, and gently nodded. “Of course we can do so, Moiraine, but… are you sure…?”

“Yes,” the woman eagerly snapped, “yes I’m sure. Take her, raise her as your own, and make sure nobody else knows, not even Father.”

“But Moiraine, how will I explain a new baby out of the sudden? And at my age—”

“I’m sure you can come up with something,” Moiraine interrupted her, growing irritated, “you can say an Aes Sedai from the Yellow Ajah helped you and Torvin conceive, that you remained in bedrest, people… people will fall for it, I’m sure.” She snuffled, nodding to herself.

Anvare sighed, in both sorrow and desperation, as she had never seen her sister look so troubled, so lost. She’d always been her beacon of diligence and patience. “But Moiraine…” she exhaled, “why?”

Moiraine hesitated on her place, clutching the fabric of her blood-stained attire. “I’m an Aes Sedai, Anvaere. And things are rather… hasty now, in the Tower. There’s this mission…” She hopelessly shook her head, staring at her feet in the ground, “I can’t possibly fit a child, of all things, in my life. And I don’t want…” Moiraine inhaled, raising her head, fighting back tears, “I’ve never wished to be a mother, I wouldn’t know how to be one, I certainly wouldn’t be good at it. You’ve always been a much better fit for it.”

Anvare bit on her lips, and nodded. “I understand,” she said, softly, “but please, Moiraine, stay here for the night at least, let me take care of you, you need bedrest, you look—”

“No!” Moiraine barked, her eyes furrowing in immediate regret at lashing out at her. “Please, sister,” she implored, biting her tears away, overwhelmingly folding her arms around her heaving chest, “don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

Anvaere’s heart shattered at the sight of her sister, tears of her own rolling down her cheeks, nodding in assurance. “I’ll care for her as if she were my own, Moiraine.” She promised, her eyes shining with unwavering loyalty towards her elder sister. “Barthanes will be thrilled, I’m sure of it.”

Moiraine gulped down a sob, “Thank you, Anvaere,” she whimpered, “and Torvin, I’m sorry for burdening you both with this, I… I…” she stumbled upon her words.

Torvin placed a gentle hand over her shoulder. “She’s anything but a burden, Moiraine. Are you sure you both don’t wish to spend the night?”

Moiraine glanced towards Lan, pleading in her eyes, and the man walked forth to answer for her. “We shall leave now, but thank you.” He replied, offering Moiraine his arm for support. The Aes Sedai took it, and casted one more glance towards the baby, before turning around, walking towards the door.

“Moiraine,” her sister whispered, as she was already halfway out of the house, “you’ll always be welcomed here, anytime. And I mean that.”

Moiraine bit on her lips, chugging in despair. “Thank you,” she somehow managed to say, stepping into the streets once again, Lan helping her down the stairs. She collapsed into anguished sobs once the door closed behind them.

*************

Moiraine turned around, and walked through the waygate, almost colliding into Lanfear in the process. The woman was standing under the portal’s archway, her body gone stiff. Moiraine furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, and trailed the woman’s intense glaring. She was staring at Guinevere, who had jumped towards Siuan, kneeling beside her, efficiently Healing her from her injuries, the yellow stone on her ring dangerously shining under the moon’s glow.

“She has the Talent for Healing…” She heard Lanfear whisper to herself, and Moiraine’s eye widened in fear as she realised the woman’s intentions, but before she could react, Lanfear had snapped her fingers, an invisible force pulling Guinevere through the air into the Ways’ shadows, and the portal abruptly closed behind them, as darkness engulfed them all.

Moiraine’s mind felt like pandemonium. Hard as she tried, Moiraine couldn’t understand Lanfear’s overwhelming hatred for the girl. Jealousy, perhaps? Because Guievere had become so close to Rand? No, there’s something more to it, I know it . She was sure Lanfear had said something, a name she had called her… Her mind started racing through her memories, as if chasing for a ghost, but every path she followed led her into a dead end.

“GWEN!” Moiraine heard Rand scream, swinging the torch around, seeking for the girl, as Lan desperately mirrored his actions. It didn’t take them long to find her hanging over the black abyss of the Ways, holding onto a rock for dear life. The two men helped her climb into the trail.

“Are you harmed?” The redheaded boy asked, searching for any injuries, his fingers halting at the silver linings that covered her body, shaking his head in remorse.

Guinevere stood up shivering in agitation, attempting to straighten the ragged skirts of her once impeccable lavender dress—or so it seemed. Unexpectedly, she drew a knife that was hidden against her thigh and started to charge at Lanfear, blade firm in her hand, pointing directly at the Forsaken’s chest.

Rand stood still in bewilderment, as both Lan and Moiraine darted towards the girl, and they gripped on her chest and shoulders, preventing her from reaching her target, Lanfear’s laughter echoing throughout the vast darkness that surrounded them. “What is your problem?!” Guinevere grunted, struggling to break free from their hold.

“I’ve got to admit, I am enjoying your fierness,” the woman replied, chuckling, “Ilyena was always rather boring, nothing fierce about that one. But you… You are certainly something else.”

Ilyena. The name stirred a memory in Moiraine’s mind. That’s what Lanfear called Guinevere after smashing her into the ground, in an attempt to murder her.

Ilyena, she repeated in her mind.

Ilyena. It sounded so familiar yet so distant.

Ilyena.

Ilyena Therin Moerelle , she realised in disbelief, dropping her arms against her waist. Lanfear believed Guinevere to be the reincarnation of Lews Therin Telamon’s wife, that’s why she despised the girl’s guts with such mightiness. But t-that can’t be, it’s impossible… and yet… it would very much explain the girl’s puzzling connection to Rand, how devastated she had seemed at the thought of him running away from her, how desperately he reached for her touch, how—

The nightmares, Moiraine abruptly thought. Anvaere had mentioned Guinevere having a recurring nightmare, ever since she was a child… maybe, maybe , Lanfear wasn’t mistaken about her assumptions.

“What are you even talking about?” Guinevere snapped, bewildered, as Lan managed to wrestle the knife away from her hands. “Stop touching me!” she screamed, overwhelmed, shoving Moiraine and Lan away. “Just stop! I’ve had enough. Open that portal again, and I’ll be gone, as you so clearly wish to see me.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Lanfear replied, a mocking pout on her lips, placing a harsh hand over the girl’s cheek, staring at her with pure hatred in her eyes, “anyway, let’s make haste, we ought to reach Falme if we wish to put a crown on your head.” She giggled, taking the torch from Rand’s perplexed hands.

Moiraine let Lanfear lead the way, as Rand and Lan closely followed her steps, allowing them to take some space between her and Guinevere. “Come on,” she nudged the girl’s shoulder, encouraging her to walk by her side, “let’s go.”

“But I don’t want to,” Guinevere whimpered, tears swelling on her eyes. She seemed so scared, but Moiraine didn’t know how to comfort her, she didn’t know how to comfort anyone for that matter, such ability had been lost to her long ago.

I don’t want that either, she thought, gloomily. “I’m afraid we have no choice now.” She declared, grabbing the girl by her shoulders, encouraging her to follow her steps. The Wheel weaves as The Wheel wills. If this is the path It has chosen for the girl, then we ought to follow it. “Guinevere,” she whispered, once distance had grown between the two groups, “I need you to tell me about your nightmares.”

Guinevere snapped her head towards her, eyes widening in surprise, but then lowered her gaze, trying to hide the redness spreading through her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The girl muttered.

“Anvaere told me about them, and I need to know—”

“You two are being very quiet back there,” Lanfear suddenly spoke aloud, interrupting their conversation, “should I worry?”

Guinevere took that as an opportunity to set free of Moiraine’s grip, and walked towards the rest of the group, who were gathering around a stone arch.

“This is it?” Moiraine asked, discreetly positioning herself between Lanfear and her daughter, “the Waygate to Falme?” Lanfear softly nodded in response. “Open it.” The Aes Sedai challenged her.

“Why don’t you?” The woman argued back, amused.

“Ishamael took my power from me.”

“Ooh, you are so good at twisting your words in knots,” Lanfear sneered, “I know you got it back. I can see it in you. I saw you reaching for the Source to try and desperately save your… niece’s life. For a moment I even thought you’d taint yourself with the True Power, in order to save her.” She added, turning to stare at Guinevere, a deliberate suggestive look on her face, “I’ve seen your dreams, girl, I’ve been in them, you have such fond memories of dear aunt Moiraine…” she devilishly slurred her words, whirling her head towards Moiraine, with a subtle smile on her lips, “you’ve been careless in the past, Moiraine, and secrets are short-lived. Nineteen years as a matter of fact.” She further commented, her lips pursing into a wicked grin. “Is that alright? Isn’t that her age? Well, wouldn’t you know better than anyone?” Lanfear ended her speech with laughter.

Moiraine’s heart dropped into her stomach. I should’ve realised. I should’ve known Lanfear would figure it out, she has the means for it. She turned towards Guinevere, whose breathing was starting to grow ragged, hands anxiously gripping on the fabric of her dress, and Moiraine could notice the precise moment the realisation sank down the girl’s guts. Guinevere raised her head, and stared at her, eyes furrowed in scepticism, lips trembling in distress. No… This wasn’t supposed to happen, she was never meant to know, least in this way. Moiraine was about to reach for the girl’s hand, when Lan abruptly positioned himself between her and Lanfear, in a protective manner, measuring up against the Forsaken.

“You’re alive only because I allowed it,” Lanfear smirked, completely unbothered by the man’s presence, “because you all have a role to play still.” She abruptly snapped her fingers, and the portal swiftly drew open. “When the time comes, raise the banner.” She instructed her, raising her head, and then she pursed her lips and blew on them, sending the three of them flying through the portal, where they landed on some kind of seashore; Moiraine’s lungs began to choke on water, her mind drowning in one thought: Guinevere knows.

********

Chapter 8 here!

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