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skyholly · 22 days

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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

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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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roman-writing · 8 months

Text

in the thunder's mouth

Fandom: The Wheel of Time

Pairing: Seonid Traighan / Edarra

Rating: M (battles / graphic depictions of violence / some smut)

Wordcount: 16,436

Summary: Seonid's Apprenticeship with the Wise Ones has begun, but nothing goes as smoothly as hoped. A sequel to ‘so flies the reckless.’

read it here on AO3 or read it below

“Be cheque’d for silence, but never taxed for speech.”

-Countess of Roussillon, All’s Well That Ends Well, Shakespeare

—

The army of Manetheren made camp begrudgingly, like a great beast come to rest at a desert spring, creaking and groaning from so many miles travelled that day. Mist cottoned the air and onto the tops of trees, plunging the world into a sombre hue despite it being early in the evening. The Wise Ones’ tents were erected just close enough to the command tent to be unavoidable, but just far enough away to be inconspicuous. Slung low to the ground and grey-brown in colour, they stood apart from the various Wetlander styled tents of Mayene, the Two-Rivers, and more. A gap separated them like the space between the crowns of trees. None dared encroach but for two small tents attached like an addendum.

Arms crossed, Edarra watched two Warders stand guard outside one such tent. They spoke in quiet tones, too low for her to overhear. Furen made a jerky motion with his head, and Teryl strode off through the maze of the camp. He walked with a slight limp. Edarra could not tamp down the twinge of guilt; she had only recently learned the Healing weaves when she had been asked to help him, and while she had saved his leg, her inexperience meant he would need to favour that leg for the rest of his life.

Furen met her eye. Edarra tilted her head towards the tent behind her. He gave no indication that he understood the gesture or even cared to decipher it, but a moment later the tent flap stirred and Seonid straightened into view. She wore her usual emerald green riding habit, matching the forested area adjacent the camp. She said something to Furen, who aimed a glower at Edarra before he inclined his head to Seonid and stalked after Teryl.

Seonid took her time tying the tent flap shut behind her before making her way over. Soldiers criss-crossed before and behind her as she went. Though they knew she was now a mere Apprentice, the Wetlanders still gave her a wide berth. Once an Aes Sedai, always an Aes Sedai, or so it seemed. Finally Seonid came to a halt in front of Edarra, far out of arm’s reach. She met Edarra’s eyes with a challenge in her dark gaze, and she said nothing.

This was the worst part, the silence that came after. Once, Edarra had claimed that she had never known a person who loved to talk so much as Seonid Traighan. Now, words did not leave Seonid's mouth unless prised free like opal from stone. Once, Edarra might have thought this a blessing, a moment of refreshing respite among the arid present. Once, Edarra could endure trials beyond the comprehension of soft Wetlanders in teeth-gritting silence — hot coals searing beneath her feet, reeds splintering beneath her fingernails. Now, the cold quiet pall that fell over them was almost too much to bear.

With a wordless jerk of her head towards the tent behind her, Edarra stood aside to let Seonid pass. Seonid ducked into the Wise Ones’ tent, and Edarra followed with customary murmurs about water and shade. Inside, the other Wise Ones were already arrayed upon cushions across a rug-strewn floor. A small brazier of coals burned hotly in the centre, just enough to warm the space. Calm-mannered Carelle conversed with Janina and Delora, whose hair was feather-white as a wing and clasped in bright gold. Beside them Nevarin spied Seonid enter with sharp green eyes that belied her even sharper temper, while Marline could have been a distant relative to Seonid had it not been for her Aiel height; she had inherited her Cairhienin father’s colouration but naught else.

The tent fell quiet, conversations lowering to murmurs. Seonid and Edarra removed their shoes at the entrance and took their customary places, Edarra beside Carelle, and Seonid beside Masuri Sokawa. The Brown Sister was already kneeling at the back of the tent, furthest from the coal brazier, where the air held a chill. The other Wise Ones ignored their two new Apprentices in a studious manner. Meanwhile Edarra could not help but let herself linger upon Seonid out of the corner of her eye.

Delora cleared her throat and gave Edarra a pointed look.

Shifting to a more comfortable position among the cushions, Edarra addressed the other Wise Ones present, “I have just met with Perrin Aybara. Our scouts have confirmed that the Seanchan control most of the area to our south, while the Shaido have seized Malden. We know there are at least four hundred Wise Ones and almost a hundred thousand warriors in cadin’sor. We cannot hope to best this force alone. Therefore Perrin Aybara has suggested an alliance,” Edarra grimaced as she said it, “with Tylee Khirgan of the Seanchan.”

Outraged murmurs flitted back and forth between the group. Marline and Delora had dark expressions, and even Carelle wore a fierce scowl. The Apprentices exchanged meaningful glances.

“He cannot be serious,” Nevarin said. “With allies like those, we might as well plunge a spear into our own backs.”

“They will turn on us the moment they have the opportunity,” Marline agreed and Janina nodded.

“I have no plans to wear a collar,” Edarra said firmly. “Nor will I stand for it for anyone.”

“Yet you will allow him to go through with this?” Delora asked, incredulous.

Edarra held up a hand for silence, and said, “They have Faile ni Bashere t’Aybara in Malden. I know it to be true. The others are there, too, including Alliandre Maritha Kigarin.”

The Aes Sedai Apprentices had remained quiet throughout the exchange so far, but from the sidelines, Seonid’s head twitched at the sound of the name.

Janina arched an eyebrow at her and said, “You know the Queen of Ghealdan, Seonid Traighan?”

Seonid waited a second for Carelle to indicate with a gesture that she was allowed to speak. “I do. We were once,” Seonid paused and said delicately, “intimate acquaintances.”

Edarra’s eyebrows rose despite herself, though she said nothing.

Marline gave a hum of unimpressed understanding. “And you last parted on good terms?”

“Good enough,” said Seonid blandly.

“Better than nothing,” Carelle murmured. She nodded towards Seonid, “And what do you think of this plan?”

Seonid’s reply was wintry. "I do not give counsel to deaf ears."

"She sounds more like a Wise One everyday," quipped Marline, shooting Delora a grin. Delora huffed and shook her head.

Nevarin however was less amused. “You know these people, this place,” she said, already sounding accusatory, as though association with the very stones that shielded Faile from them was indictable. "You have kept your prior relationship secret."

Seonid inclined her head. “I do. And yes, I have. My relationship with Alliandre was personal. I did not think it relevant.”

“Yet you would withhold more information about how to save Perrin Aybara’s wife?” Nevarin looked her up and down with a disdainful glance. “Is it deaf ears you disdain, Treekiller? Or just Aiel?”

"You matter not to me.”

It felt like being plunged in cold water, hearing those words from her lips. Edarra fiddled with a studded bangle at her wrist and tried not to think too hard about Aes Sedai and their inability to lie.

“Speak plainly, Apprentice, or speak not at all,” Nevarin snapped.

Straightening her shoulders, Seonid spoke in a tone that should have put out the tent’s brazier with its chill, “I would burn Cairhien to the ground myself if it meant victory over the Shadow. Now, are you satisfied? Or must we persist in this pointless cross-examination of my loyalties?"

Nevarin snorted. “I do not believe you.”

“I find it difficult to lie,” Seonid replied with an icy sarcasm.

Nevarin opened her mouth to retort, but Carelle cut her off with a gesture. With a huff, Nevarin settled back among her cushions. Edarra clenched one hand into a fist to stop herself from interfering. She could not. With Masuri, perhaps, but not when Seonid was involved.

“You are Green Ajah,” said Carelle, crossing her outstretched feet at the ankle. “From what I gather this supposedly means you have some expertise in battles, no?”

Seonid remained stubbornly silent at this attempt to goad her.

Not once did Carelle falter or raise her voice. Her expression remained placid as a cloudless sky. “I saw what you did at Dumai’s Wells. I would trust the judgement of myself and my fellow Wise Ones waging war in the Three-fold Land, but we have never been to this Malden. You have. And only a fool rushes blindly in.”

Edarra blinked. Carelle’s words suggested that whatever Seonid said she would consider with trust. A far cry from when they had first met at Dumai’s Wells, even if that trust was a small thing, still easily crushed under heel.

Seonid seemed to be mulling over this as well. The icy wall that surrounded her these days did not diminish in the slightest, but she looked like a woman watching a set of scales come into balance. Finally she relented with a shake of her head. “I will need pen and paper.”

Edarra nodded towards Masuri, who immediately jumped to her feet and scurried out of the tent. She returned moments later with a roll of parchment, a stoppered ink bottle, and a pen, which she spread out on the rugs in the middle of the congregation for all to see. Seonid offered a quick murmur of thanks, then leaned forward. She dipped the nib in ink and, holding the curling page back with one hand, proceeded to draw.

A square city began to take shape with a staunch keep in the northeastern corner. Just an approximation, but with enough detail to indicate that Seonid had indeed spent time in the city at some point in her life.

“What are these?” Delora asked, reaching forward to point towards a line that extended further east.

“Aqueducts,” said Seonid without looking up from where she continued to draw. “They connect water to the city from the lake.” Suddenly her hand stopped and she glanced sharply at Carelle. “I have only ever seen Wise Ones drink water or tea. Is this common?”

Carelle frowned but nodded. “Yes. Why do you ask?

Seonid returned to drawing. “If I were in charge of a siege,” she said, “and I could not risk a frontal assault, I would seek to weaken my opponent through any means necessary. And there is more than water that can travel in an aqueduct.”

“You’re not in charge of a siege,” Nevarin said.

“Neither are you,” Seonid replied. Nevarin opened her mouth angrily to retort, but Seonid continued, “That doesn’t mean the man actually in charge can’t make decisions with all the information at his fingertips. Here.” She weighed down the corners of the parchment with the inkwell and a corner of a rug, sitting back so the Wise Ones could crane their necks to have a closer look at what she had drawn.

“Where’s the rest of it?” Nevarin demanded, pointing to certain blank areas of the map.

“You’ll have to forgive me for not memorising every lane and back alley when I visited seven years ago,” Seonid drawled.

Nevarin’s face darkened.

Carelle sighed. “You know your clever tongue is the reason you are still an Apprentice, yes?” she said.

“I was under the impression my clever tongue was an off-limits topic.” Seonid said this without even looking at Edarra. The other Wise Ones had no such qualms, turning with raised eyebrows to glance at her in disapproval as though she had been the one so bold with her words, and Edarra felt a flush creep up her neck regardless.

“That’s enough talking for you for one day.” Carelle waved Seonid away. “Go back to your tents to complete the task already given to you. I want it done by sundown.”

Without hesitation, Seonid rose to her feet and started towards the exit.

“You will remember your manners, Apprentice,” Nevarin snapped.

Going rigid, Seonid stopped. She turned and gave the Wise Ones in the tent an incredibly stiff curtsy. Briefly her eyes met Edarra’s, and her glance was like a dagger. Then she swept from the tent, the chill evening air following in her wake, making the coals sputter.

“She will never stop being an Apprentice if she can’t get that temper under control,” muttered Marline.

“Things are different when I’m involved,” said Edarra.

Nevarin gave a dismissive sniff. “That shouldn’t matter.”

“One of her hounds offered to take her punishment the other day,” said Janina.

All of the Wise Ones drew in a sharp hissing breath. Marline shook her head. Nevarin and Delora exchanged disappointed looks.

“Which one?” Edarra asked.

“The dark-haired one,” said Janina.

“Ah. Furen Alharra.” Edarra sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You ought to speak with them,” Marline said. “If these Aes Sedai are to be brought into the fold, they cannot be held back by the stubbornness of their Warders, too.”

“I am not permitted -” Edarra started to say.

“- to interfere with Seonid Traighan’s training,” Marline interrupted. “They are not her. And you hold a relationship already with them. Perhaps they will listen to you.”

“Wetlanders rarely do.”

In the back of the tent, Masuri shifted uncomfortably. All of the Wise Ones turned to look at her. She ducked her head and stared, steadfast, at the map Seonid had left behind.

“You may go as well,” Carelle told her. “Your presence is no longer required.”

It was with palpable relief that Masuri rose to her feet, paid her respects, and hastened on swift feet after her fellow Sister.

When she had gone, Edarra leaned over and picked up the map. The ink still glistened wetly upon the page and she took pains not to smudge the drawing with an errant thumb. Seonid’s drawing was, like the woman herself, precise and unembellished.

Edarra held out the map to Delora. “Take this and give it to Perrin Aybara along with the other information we received today. He may not accept all advice given, but he is not an unreasonable man. He will see sense.”

“Of course,” Delora murmured. Taking the map, she rose to her feet and departed.

The other Wise Ones were waiting for instruction as well. Edarra nodded towards Nevarin, Marline and Janina. “We need to find out more information about the Seanchan and this Tylee Khirgan. If we are to ally with them from necessity, I want there to be no surprises.”

“Leave it to us,” said Marline. Nevarin and Janina were already already getting to their feet, Janina brushing off her skirts and Nevarin wearing one of her signature hard looks. The three of them ducked through the tent flap with purpose in their steps.

Meanwhile, Edarra stood to collect the pen and ink left behind by Seonid. She could almost trick herself into thinking that the pen still held a trace of the warmth from Seonid’s hand.

“A moment, please,” said Carelle.

Blinking, Edarra nevertheless sat back down. She set the inkwell on the ground beside her near the coals, but kept the pen in her hands. “What is it?” she asked. She twirled the pen between her fingers, rolling it back and forth.

“I’m afraid,” Carelle said, “it’s not just the Warders we need you to speak with.”

The pen went still in Edarra’s hands. “This better not be what I think it is,” she warned.

Carelle leaned forward on her elbow, a cushion dipping beneath her weight. Her voice was low, as if fearful it might travel. "She isn't sleeping."

“She tends to do that.”

“I mean more so than usual.”

Edarra waited for Carelle to continue with an explanation. When it was not forthcoming, she shrugged. "And?"

With an exasperated huff, Carelle said, "She is a stubborn one, your Seonid Traighan." That minute reaction in and of itself was the most riled up Edarra had ever seen Carelle.

"I know," said Edarra dryly.

"All of the other Wise Ones have spoken to her, have tried to convince her to get more rest," Carelle pointed at her, "except you."

"What do you expect me to do about it? Sorilea was clear. My involvement must be limited."

"You cannot make decisions about her," Carelle said. "That does not mean you cannot speak with her."

Looking down at the pen in her hands, Edarra murmured, "She does not speak to me. Not any more."

"Have you tried?”

She had. It had been during the first week of Seonid’s Apprenticeship with the Wise Ones. She had gone to ask a question, but Seonid gave her a glare so powerful that the words had died in Edarra’s mouth and she had forgotten what she had been about to say.

When Edarra merely grunted in answer, Carelle blinked then abruptly sat up straighter. “You’re not still bedding her, are you?”

“I’m not," Edarra growled.

Even so Carelle’s face held suspicion. “Good,” she said. “Because that would matter.”

“You think I do not know this?” Edarra grumbled, her hand tightening into a fist around the pen.

“Oh, I see. That’s why you’re so irritable lately. You need to be bedded.”

“I am not talking about this with you.” Edarra pushed herself up from the ground and stalked from the tent.

"Just ask one of the Maidens," Carelle called after her. "They're always good for a tumble!"

Edarra stepped out into the chill evening air. Though she ignored the cold, she could not help but long for the Three-fold Land, could not help but miss the certainty of the sun and the heat. She strode towards the Aes Sedai’s tents. The soldiers at camp were beginning to line up for their meals, yet she spied Furen lingering along the treeline speaking with one soldier from Mayene. Passing the tents, Edarra instead strode towards them.

Both Furen and the Mayener went quiet when Edarra drew near. Furen said something. The Mayener nodded, then departed to join one of the queues for food.

Edarra gestured after him. “A friend of yours?”

“In a sense,” Furen answered.

“I didn’t think Tairens and Mayeners were on friendly terms.”

“And I didn’t think Aiel cared about Wetlander politics.”

With a hum, Edarra fiddled with the pen she had taken with her from the tent, rapping it against one of the bangles at her wrist. She used it to point at him. “I am told you offered to take Seonid Traighan’s punishment.”

“I did,” he said.

"Your actions do not shelter her the way you think, Furen Alharra."

"You're wrong. She does not deserve such treatment."

Edarra shook her head. She stepped closer, softening her voice. “Why do you try to defend her this way, when all you do is shame her instead?”

Furen’s face was as stoic as ever. Though he was not taller than Edarra, he was a great deal broader, barrel-chested and stalwart as stone. She could remember a few hours playing dice with him and Teryl in the hallway outside of Seonid’s room in Cairhien. While it had not exactly been friendship, it had been amiable. Even then he had been reserved.

“I have been Seonid’s Warder for twenty years. Before her, I was a young soldier with an Illianer regiment. I found the bodies of several girls just outside of Godan near where we camped on the border of Mayene,” Furen began. “Their skirts were rucked up around their waists and there was a broken spear in one of their chests. A spear I recognised. A spear from my own regiment. Later that night, I made quiet inquiries around the camp. I approached my captain with clear evidence of the three men who had been involved. He laughed at me and did nothing. So, I killed the three culprits in their sleep.”

Edarra listened and did not interrupt.

“Being so near the border, it caused a bit of a diplomatic incident. The girls were Mayener, you see. Mayene wanted me free. Tear wanted me dead, and I was sentenced to hang for multiple counts of murder. That’s when she found me.” Furen drew a loop around his own neck with one finger. “Halfway to a makeshift gallows. Seonid had been visiting House Paeron — paying respects, she said — and there were few other Aes Sedai in the region at the time to help smooth things over. She listened to my story and offered me a deal. I accepted. The next day she overruled my commanding officer, delivering her own judgement. For my crimes, she said I would live in bonds for the remainder of my days. The Mayeners and Tairens were satisfied with her ruling, thinking that I would be left to rot in a White Tower cell. Instead, she Bonded me as her Warder in front of everyone.”

He lowered his hand, resting it easily against the pommel of the sword sheathed at his waist. "Ever since, I have followed her, bound and shackled. If she dies, I will die. By my own hand, if need be.” Furen took a step forward, mimicking Edarra’s own movements earlier so that they stood overly close, his words calm and soft and sure. “I would do anything for her. Even if it is shameful."

Edarra remained where she was, refusing to retreat. Furen’s eyes held no challenge, no threat, only honesty and unwavering loyalty. Then she tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the pen. “The Mayeners, they remember your deeds even now.”

“Some.”

“What were you two talking about? Past history? Or new history?”

To that, Furen would not reply. She did not need words to know his silence would not be moved by further questioning.

Edarra looked away. The Mayener soldiers were gathered not far off, laughing and chatting over their bowls, teeth tearing into thin meagre slices of bread. Food was scarce these days, and any meal taken with smiles was a better meal than most. She gestured with the pen towards the Aes Sedai tents near them. “Is she in her tent?”

“She is.”

“And your discussions with the Mayeners, they are linked to why she does not sleep, yes?”

A muscle in Furen’s cheek twitched. It could have been a smile, were this any other man. “It is a strange Aiel, who plays The Great Game.”

“I do not play your Daes Dae’mar.”

There could be no denying it now. He was smiling, a small thing though it was. “As you say, Wise One. Now, if you will excuse me,” he murmured, stepped back, and gave her a little bow, just a polite inclination of his head. Somehow she felt he was mocking her. “I must join the queue for dinner before the food runs out.”

Furen left, and, contemplatively, Edarra turned to watch him go. She waited a moment to see if any other soldiers interacted with him, and sure enough a Mayener dipped their head in passing, a gesture which Furen returned. With a hum to herself, Edarra moved towards the Aes Sedai tents. She stopped before the tent however, and faltered for what to do. There was no chime strung by the entrance as often was with Aiel tents, so that visitors could announce their presence without simply barging into one’s personal space. Edarra fiddled with the pen. A bit of lingering ink on the nib had stained her thumb. She rubbed at it, only smudging the mark across her skin.

Wise Ones did not need permission to enter an Apprentice’s space, yet still this felt like an intrusion. Berating herself silently for her own foolishness — she felt like an foolhardy youth again — Edarra stopped her fretting and ducked beneath the tent flap.

Once inside she had to stoop. Were this a Wise One tent, she would make the customary greetings and remove her shoes before moving further inside to sit, but this was not a Wise One tent. She lingered near the entryway with the chill air at her back through the gap in the tent flap.

The area was sparsely furnished, a cot, a few saddlebags, a set of nightclothes neatly folded atop blankets, a pair of boots left by the entryway. Seonid herself sat, cross-legged, on the floor with her body angled away from the entrance. Small reed baskets were stacked beside her on one side nearly to knee height, and on the other side a pile of river reeds split and ready for use. Balancing a half-finished basket in her lap, she wove with steadfast intent, not even glancing up when Edarra came inside.

There was nothing of the personal about this space. Edarra found herself piqued with curiosity for what personality Seonid might lend to a room. Would she have tastes similar to her countrymen, all sombre colours and cavernous halls filled with smoke-trailed incense, and painted folding screens, and ancient portraiture with eyes that followed one's every move? Or would she disdain finer mortal possessions entirely, a pragmatist through and through? Apprentices were not allowed such things, and the tent Edarra had seen before Dumai’s Wells had been furnished by Dobraine Taborwin, not Seonid herself.

The thought that Edarra might never know Seonid’s own tastes and preferences sent a strange pang through her, a nostalgia for something never had, like the sound that chased a brief burst of lightning.

Clearing her throat, Edarra said, "Carelle tells me you are not sleeping.”

Seonid did not give any indication that she had heard Edarra at all. She busied herself with weaving reeds together into a basket. The busy work from Carelle, no doubt. Something so mind-numbing it would induce heavy-lidded eyes from boredom.

“I know that you are accustomed to driving yourself more than you should, but you are useless if you’re exhausted and cannot accomplish basic tasks," Edarra pointed out.

In answer, Seonid held up the newly made basket to Edarra as though she were showcasing proof of her ability to accomplish tasks. Then, she placed the basket with the others, and picked up river reeds to start anew.

Edarra frowned and crossed her arms, bangles shifting with a gentle clack against her wrists. “That is not what I mean, and you know it.”

Silence.

Tonguing the inside of her cheek in thought, Edarra stepped forward and held out the pen. “You forgot this.”

Her hands going still in her lap, Seonid glanced over her shoulder, not fully turning around. She moved not at all, then reached out and grasped the pen. As she did so, their fingers brushed. Electricity seemed to arc up Edarra’s wrist from the simple touch, but it soon faded when Seonid snatched her hand back, the pen clutched firmly in a white-knuckled grasp. Seonid set the pen on the floor beside her, then continued making baskets.

Rubbing her hand surreptitiously against the side of her skirts, Edarra asked, "What have you been doing to keep yourself so restless? I know Carelle does not give you so much work you cannot sleep. It must be something else." When Seonid once again did not answer, Edarra said, "You may speak freely with me."

Finally Seonid looked at her, and her eyes were black and piercing as spearheads. "Is that an order?"

They were the first words Seonid had spoken directly to her in weeks despite their close proximity in camp, their daily interactions in the Wise Ones tents. They shouldn’t have had such an effect on her, but they did. Even seated and hunched on the ground, Seonid speaking to her, Seonid meeting her eyes, was enough to send a prickle down Edarra’s spine.

Edarra pursed her lips, then she shook her head.

With a small self-satisfied grunt, Seonid returned to the steadfast act of basket-weaving and the even more steadfast act of ignoring Edarra. Opening her mouth, Edarra very nearly spoke, then shut her mouth again. The few words Seonid had said to her since the aftermath of Dumai’s Wells were like faint drops of water in the desert, not enough to sustain alone. It was so unlike her, so unlike the woman that Edarra had found so attractive before. She wanted the Seonid who traded in secrets and barbed quips with a crass edge to her laugh. She wanted the perfunctory honesty of a woman unafraid to speak her mind. Instead, she was drip fed moments like these, the two unable and unwilling to bridge the gap that circumstance and culture demanded of them. And the moment Edarra issued a direct order to Seonid as a Wise One to an Apprentice, whatever once they had shared between them would be lost forever.

Scowling at the back of Seonid’s head, Edarra stormed from the tent without another word. She grumbled under her breath, her face a thundercloud, shaking her head and stalking away.

“Edarra!”

With a blink she turned to find Delora hurrying towards her, moving around milling soldiers. “What is it?” Edarra asked.

Delora stopped before her in an irate huff. “That man -” she pointed back towards the way she came “- is giving me a headache!”

Edarra lifted an eyebrow. “Which man? I can think of many who do this.”

“Perrin Aybara.” Delora threw her hands up in exasperation. “I gave him the map, as you said, but he immediately tossed it onto the table and ignored me. When I tried to tell him the rest of the information, he ordered me out so he could continue his talks with those Asha’man.”

“I will handle it,” Edarra sighed, holding up a hand in a soothing gesture. “Find Carelle and take some of the Maidens east with you. Scouting parties will already be surveying Malden itself, but we need to scout the full length of this aqueduct as soon as possible.”

“It will be done,” said Delora, her voice still tight with irritation. Then, lifting her skirts above her ankles, she stalked off, the picture of affront.

Edarra turned towards the red-striped command tent, whence Delora had come. Perrin may brush off her colleagues, but he would not find Edarra so easy to dismiss. As she strode towards it, she muttered to herself, “Light protect me from the stubbornness of Wetlanders.”

—

Tea was brewing on the coals in the centre of the Wise Ones’ tent. The water simmered, already infused, rich and golden, with herbs. The air steamed thickly over the pot and outside rain could be heard lashing the tent. The weather had taken a turn for the worse over the last week. Edarra never would get used to this much rain pelting from the sky for this long. On and on it went. Her clothes were still damp from a brief sprint between tents earlier.

Janina leaned forward to pour tea. Edarra accepted a cup with a murmur of thanks, holding it close to her chest for warmth. The smell and the steam tickled her nose. Just then the tent flap opened, admitting a few sprinkles of rain as well as Nevarin and Marline.

“I hate this place,” Nevarin grumbled in place of the customary greetings.

Edarra lifted an eyebrow and said in mock greeting, “Water and shade to you, too, Nevarin.”

Rolling her eyes, Nevarin removed her shoes and the extra cloak she had worn over her shawl before moving further inside. Marline had already done so and was taking a cup of tea from Janina with relief clear across her features. Drops of rain trembled in her dark hair like starlight. They were the last two Wise Ones the rest were waiting for. No Apprentices lurked in the tent for now.

“The Maidens have been told about your plan, Edarra,” said Nevarin, “to distinguish our troops from the Shaido by tying red scarves around their arms. They do not like it.”

“I did not ask if they liked it,” Edarra drawled.

“They were very insistent.”

“Well, so am I.” Edarra’s voice hardened. “They will do as they’re told, or I will have words with them personally.”

Nevarin held up her hands. “So be it.”

With a sigh, Edarra gestured to Marline for her report.

Marline took her time to sip at her tea before she began. “Perrin Aybara intends to meet the Seanchan and strike a bargain by week’s end. I hear that he will be offering to allow them to take damane from the Shaido in breaking the siege.”

“How many are the Seanchan forces?” Edarra asked.

“About fifteen thousand,” replied Marline. “Maybe less. More importantly, they have a dozen or so women who can channel on those leashes of theirs.”

Shaking her head, Edarra muttered, “Still not enough. I fear we may be putting ourselves at risk with these Seanchan for nothing.” She nodded towards Carelle and Delora. “What of the aqueduct?”

Delora was the one who answered. “There are several access points along the stonework large enough for a person to enter. We suspect due to the regular spacing of these access points that they were intentionally designed for maintenance. Some of the Maidens were keen to scout inside it.”

As Delora spoke, Carelle was shaking her head. “It’s too risky,” she said. “They do not know the city, and there could be guards waiting for them. The cistern is an obvious weak point in the defence.”

With a hum, Edarra rolled the cup between her hands. It was mostly empty of tea but for a few dregs, still the fired clay radiated warmth. “But we have someone who does know the city, and the people we are trying to rescue,” she said, glancing around the room. “Seonid Traighan could lead a small force inside, make contact with the others, and secure the Keep a day or two before any sort of assault.”

The other Wise Ones in the tent went quiet and thoughtful.

“It would require that we trust her,” said Nevarin.

“She would not be unaccompanied,” pointed out Carelle.

Holding up a hand, Edarra said, “I only suggest it. You know I cannot vote on this matter.”

“I would agree to let her go,” said Marline. “I think she is ready to prove her worth.”

Janina nodded. Delora said, “I agree.”

“As do I,” added Carelle.

Everyone looked at Nevarin. Her sharp green eyes were narrowed. Then with an irritable sigh, she relented. “Fine. Yes, I agree. Let the little Treekiller prove herself.”

It was a struggle for Edarra to keep a satisfied smile off her face. She managed it only by polishing off what remained of her tea to hide behind her cup. Regardless Marline was watching her with a sly expression, as though she knew exactly what Edarra was thinking. Clearing her throat, Edarra sat up to pour herself another cup of tea.

A jingle at the entrance of the tent announced someone’s arrival, but all that came through the tent was a leather parcel like a rucksack. Janina, who sat nearest the entrance, took it and peered inside. Then she immediately handed it to Carelle.

“Our Apprentices' mail. Light, they write a lot,” said Carelle, setting the parcel to the side for now. “There still remains the issue of Sevanna’s Wise Ones.”

The other Wise Ones continued to discuss options that had already been shot down between them over the past few days for one reason or another. Their voices mingled into background noise. The tea so freshly poured was on the verge of scalding. Edarra sipped at it and thought of Seonid’s words about what else could travel through aqueducts. She thought of Seonid, and of Seonid drinking tea, of Seonid in Cairhien narrowly escaping an assassination attempt because her brother did not know his own sister’s taste.

Edarra blinked at the cup in her hand, and said aloud, “Tea.”

“What was that?” asked Marline. The rest were watching her now, curious.

“Isn’t there a tea?” Edarra said, holding up her cup. “A tea that inhibits Channeling? We heard about it a while back, yes?”

“Forkroot,” said Delora slowly with a nod.

“Sevanna’s Wise Ones won’t drink anything but water and tea. Seonid Traighan already said it, but I thought she meant poison.”

A thoughtful silence settled over the tent. Then Carelle said, “We would need great quantities of this forkroot.”

“We can Travel,” Nevarin pointed out. “It’s the only way we’ve been able to keep up food supplies to the army. Why not include tea with requisition orders?”

“I agree,” said Edarra. “More so, I insist we alert Perrin Aybara as soon as possible and get this plan underway. We can tell him directly of this tea and how we might use it in a siege, but likely the words will not be heard.” She gestured to Marline. “You are on decent terms with Martyn Tallanvor, yes?”

Marline shrugged, but nodded an affirmation. “Why does this matter?”

“I want this information to seem to come from another source.” Edarra tipped her cup of tea slightly in Marline’s direction. “Martyn Tallanvor is a man of single-minded honour, who cares only for his lost woman. Perrin Aybara will not suspect him of ulterior motives.”

Marline hummed thoughtfully, then set down her own teacup and immediately rose to her feet. “It will be done.”

“Do not let him tell you he is too busy!” Edarra added, then turned to the others. “Nevarin, Janina, go back to the Maidens and insist on the scarves. If they continue to be stubborn fools, tell them I will speak with them personally, and they will not like it.”

Both women exchanged glances — Nevarin’s especially exasperated — then stood and followed after Marline, who was already ducking beneath the tent flap and out into the rain-slanted air.

Carelle had started to rummage through the leather parcel, pulling stacks of letters into her lap.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Edarra. “I have duties for you and Delora, too.”

Carelle held up a thick bundle of missives bound in twine. “I need to vet these first before they can go to the Apprentices.”

Holding out her hand, Edarra motioned for Carelle to pass them to her. “I will do that this time. It is more important that you go.”

“Where are we going?” asked Delora.

“We need to be ready for these requisitions. While Marline is sowing seeds with Martyn Tallanvor, I wish for you to do the same with the Asha’man.” Edarra paused for a sip at her teacup, the warmth of it pooling pleasantly in her stomach. “They are the ones Perrin Aybara trusts with Travelling. I want to know if it will be a problem, increasing their load. And if we have to, we can reveal this Linking with men who can Channel that we learned from the Aes Sedai.”

Carelle toyed with the bit of twine around the bundle of letters, watching her. “Time spent away from the Three-fold Land has only made you more cunning,” she said to Edarra, then smiled. Without a mote of hesitation, she handed over the letters and stood. “Come, Delora.”

The two left, pulling up their skirts slightly to hasten their step and do as Edarra asked. She could hear Delora swear under her breath when the rain hit them. Their exit admitted a splatter of rain. Edarra edged closer to the little brazier and unpicked the twine that held the letters together.

The first stack of letters was small. Only about five or so all addressed to Masuri. Edarra skimmed their contents with a quick eye. News from her Sisters. News about the White Tower. Even some answers to a research query about Darkhounds. Edarra gave a little grunt of passing interest reading that, pausing to sip at her tea. She bound the letters back together and reached for the leather parcel.

Sticking her hand inside, Edarra found not just one more stack of letters, but three, all larger than the previous by far. With a quizzical furrow to her brow, she quickly flipped through just the covers. Sure enough, all were addressed to Seonid. Edarra grimaced, having forgotten just how many missives Seonid wrote. This surely was on par with what she had accomplished during the Feast of Lights, and that had taken hours out of her day to complete.

The letters came in various sizes, written in various hands. Edarra leafed through them idly. Predictably, they were encrypted. It was roughly the same nonsense she had seen Seonid writing back in Cairhien, even down to the mention of teacakes. Indeed, there were far more mentions of teacakes. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought Seonid had taken a passionate interest in baking. When Edarra came across one letter though, she froze.

‘Cairhien Post. — R. Traighan.’

Slowly, she turned the letter over. It was sealed shut with white wax. Edarra could just make out the image of a crest containing a sheaf of wheat and a scythe stamped into the wax. Furtively she glanced over her shoulder, but the tent flap was shut and not a breath of wind stirred it. Still, she angled herself so that her body shielded the letter in her grasp before carefully prising it open without breaking the seal. It was foolish, she realised only after she had done it; all of the other seals had already been broken. Hiding the fact was inconsequential.

Still, Edarra traced the edge of the white wax with a nervous repetitive circling of her thumb. She chewed at her lower lip, then unfolded the letter in a rush to read its contents before anyone could happen upon her.

‘Seonid,

I’m afraid uncle Trahaerne will continue to live in disappointment. So, you needn’t worry. Lina was more than a match for your good brother. Things are well in hand for the time being.

I met with Glyn yesterday. He’s been appointed Captain of the City Guard while his uncle is Steward. He had nothing but glowing praise for you. Most unusual for a Taborwin. He told me that I ought to “count my fortunes for having been blessed with such a fierce lioness of a mother.”

His words. Not mine. Stop rolling your eyes.

To answer your other question: No. Nobody seems to know where the Dragon is these days. He’s certainly not in Cairhien, as far as I’m aware. If that should change, I’ll be sure to send word.

How fares life under the eagle? Your last letter was brief even for you. I know you don’t count many among the ranks of your confidants, but I hope you can one day count your son among them.

I await your reply.

-Roland’

When Edarra finished reading, she found herself smiling slightly. The smile swiftly faded. As she had read through the letters, the rain that had once drummed against the tent had begun to slow to a gentle patter and now blessedly had ceased. Stuffing the letters back into the sack, Edarra rose to her feet. She put on her shoes, pulled a fold of her shawl over her head like a hood, and stepped outside. All for naught; there was but the barest drizzle misting the air, turning the world to a series of monochromatic shapes. Her feet squelched with every step through the camp, and she grimaced. The soldiers had laid out planks along the major thoroughfares of the camp, but the recent rain had swamped even those precautions.

When she arrived at Seonid’s tent, she did not pause this time before sweeping back the tent flap and poking her head inside. The tent was empty, Seonid’s shoes and cloak gone. Edarra pulled her head out to look around, but Seonid was nowhere in sight. Edarra pulled out the three large wads of letters and left them tucked away just into the entryway of the tent, unwilling to intrude further than a step inside without the tent’s owner present.

She did the same with Masuri’s tent, but this time it wasn’t empty.

Masuri Sokawa blinked up at her from where she was writing in a notebook. Hastily she set aside her writing implements and rose to her feet to offer Edarra her respects. Her Warder, a small compact man with dark hair, remained seated.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Masuri asked.

Still only half inside the tent, her head and shoulders through the flap, Edarra said, “Where is Seonid Traighan?”

“Oh.” Masuri pointed past Edarra towards the camp outside. “Carelle gave her another task this morning. She hasn’t come back since.”

With a hum, Edarra was about to leave, then held out the significantly smaller bundle of letters that remained in the pouch. “These are yours. They arrived not long ago.”

Masuri took them eagerly, but not without a brief dip of her knees. Already her eyes were alight, and her fingers fiddled with one of the broken wax seals. If the sight of the broken seals alarmed her, she did not show it. Carelle normally read their mail, after all.

Edarra swept away, letting the tent flap fall shut behind her. As she walked through the camp, she craned her neck, looking here and there, but Seonid was nowhere to be found.

“What are you looking for, Wise One?” one of a group of passing Maidens called out across the way.

Pausing, Edarra called back, “One of the Apprentices.”

“The little mouse? She’s in her tent.” The Maiden pointed back the way Edarra had come.

“No, the other one.”

“Oh, that one!” A few laughs flitted around the group along with some hand gestures. “I saw one of her men just that way. They're never far apart. Careful if you do find her, though! I hear she bites!”

Edarra frowned at their grinning faces. Then, choosing to ignore that final comment, Edarra offered a nod of thanks. The Maiden handtalk continued at a rapid rate and laughter trailed in her footsteps as she turned to walk in the direction indicated. Soon she came to a small clearing between tents, a gap between the Ghealdanins and the Maidens. Edarra slowed her footsteps as she approached.

A fresh plank of wood had been laid on the mud. Teryl practised sword forms, moving atop the plank with the grace of a dancer. His feet never erred from the beam and he never stepped in the mud around him. Unlike Furen’s sheer bulk of presence, Teryl’s body was sleek and lean as a tent pole. He stood only slightly shorter than Edarra, which was no small feat in and of itself. Most Wetlanders did not accomplish it, and she could often find herself the subject of odd looks and whispers when first they noticed her.

He did not seem to break concentration in the slightest, though when he came to a rest between forms he said, “If you’re here to ask me to convince Seonid of anything, then you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Arms crossed, Edarra said, “I am trying to help her, Teryl Wynter.”

“Help her? Or help yourself?”

Edarra pursed her lips and did not answer. She watched as he moved with the fluid practised grace of someone who had done these sword forms ten thousand times before and would do them ten thousand more. He could have worn the cadin’sor and looked at home with his height and his hair and his militant elegance. A streak of sweat darkened a line down the back of his loose-fitting shirt despite the crisp air. His bad leg hardly seemed to slow him down.

Once again he came to a resting pose between forms. “Furen told me you’d spoken to him. What do you really want, Wise One?”

There were few enough people near them in camp to overhear their conversation. Still, Edarra stepped forward so she did not have to raise her voice. “I know she is still not sleeping as she should. Battle brews ahead. Soon it will be upon us. I worry that without proper care and rest she will be her own undoing in the days to come.”

Teryl finally looked at her. His body remained perfectly poised, but his eyes held a brief glimmer before even that, too, vanished. He lowered his sword and straightened. Wincing, he bent his bad leg a few times, stretched it out, then said, “If she exhausts herself, it is because she believes she must.”

“She can give nothing if she is dead.”

For some reason that made him laugh and give a wry shake of his head.

Edarra lifted her chin. “What is so funny?”

He stabbed at the ground with the tip of his blade. “You speak of giving as though you know anything about what price she has paid to be here.”

Eyebrows knit in a silent question, Edarra remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. Back in Cairhien, he’d had the air of a man accustomed to talk and laughter amongst friends. Between him and Furen, it had been Teryl who had offered to play dice with Edarra, Teryl who’d had a quick smile and who made bets with Furen. Now, however, he dug at where his sword tip turned the muddy earth like a spade, and silence, Edarra had often discovered, was incentive enough for one to spill their thoughts.

“I’m not like Furen. I’m not a good man,” he said. “He became a soldier out of duty. I was a mercenary for the money. Everything I earned went to the hounds and whores. I led a company hired to fight off Whitecloak excursions into Ghealdan. We pushed the bastards out of Boannda, and I didn’t give a second thought to the Aes Sedai who had helped lead the Ghealdanin forces. All I cared about was what I’d drink after.” Teryl twisted the sword tip in the ground. “The whole mercenary company was blind drunk when the Whitecloaks launched a counteroffensive in the middle of the night. It was chaos. Naught but blood and darkness by torchlight as those devils in white cut us down. That’s when she came, leading a small force of men-at-arms from House Kigarin. Seonid rallied us and we managed to drive them off, but too many died, including Lord Ashmar, who held the contract with my company. In the aftermath, Seonid somehow convinced the other Ghealdanin Houses to pay us half of what Lord Ashmar had promised.”

“What of the other half?” Edarra asked.

Teryl’s curled moustache twitched in a smile. “She paid the rest herself. It was when I watched her count every last coin and write up my new contract that I realised I wanted to be more than what I’d made of myself. She could have retreated north. She could have left me and my men to die. She was about to sign my contract when I asked if she would alter it. I offered to pledge my company to her, to be her small personal army, fight and die for whatever cause she pointed us at. But she refused, saying she had no interest in a retinue of her own. I then offered to her myself, alone. So she burned the paper, paid the money, and said she would instead make for me a contract binding in spirit.”

Lifting the sword, he cleaned the blade by wiping it flat against his sleeve. “I may not have been her Warder as long as Furen, but I’ve known her long enough. Seonid takes what she wants and pays for it.”

It was a phrase Edarra had heard before. Cairhienin in origin. She had never given it much thought until now; it was well known among the Aiel that Cairhienin were a mercantile lot.

"Where is she now?" Edarra asked.

Teryl jerked his head towards the treeline. "That way."

With a nod, Edarra started in that direction.

"Oh, and fair warning."

She paused.

Teryl had once again lifted his sword and assumed a neutral stance to continue his practice. "She's not in a very good mood at the moment."

Edarra hummed an acknowledgement, then continued on her way. She passed the Ghealdanin tents, went through one of the makeshift gates in the wooden defensive wall that surrounded the camp, walked over ditches and passed the wooden palisades. Soldiers on watch duty did not attempt to stop her as she trudged towards the nearby treeline.

She heard the sounds of something sharp striking something heavy before she saw anything. The rain may have stopped, but the air was still thick with low-slung cloud that obscured the dark forests beyond. Then she saw her, a faint outline through the most.

Seonid wielded an axe in two hands. A large piece of wood was resting on a tree stump before her, and when she brought the axe down in a cleaving blow, the wood split in twain. She balanced the axe against the side of the stump, then bent over to toss the split pieces of wood onto a large pile that was nearly as tall as she was. Grabbing another log, she placed it atop the stump just so before taking up the axe and bringing it down again. The wood spun apart and the axehead bit deep into the stump below.

Undoubtedly Corelle had given up on trying to tire her out mentally and had now given her this task to tire her out physically. The rain had since faded to a drizzle, but Seonid was soaked through. Her clothes and hair were plastered to her body. Her riding habit and cloak were hung up on a nearby branch beneath the shelter of trees. Dark pants were tucked into knee high boots which were splattered with mud all up the hocks. The sleeves of her white shirt were rolled up past her elbows, and the ties that normally fastened the high collar against her throat had been undone, so that the shirt hung partially open, revealing an alarming amount of pale skin.

Cheeks pink from hours of exertion and exposure to rain, Seonid yanked the axehead free of the stump. Edarra caught herself admiring the wiry definition of her forearms. All too clearly she could remember their feel beneath her own hands. While Edarra could physically overpower her from sheer mass alone, Seonid possessed a surprising strength that was easy to underestimate. She did not, as Edarra had first suspected, spend all of her hours idle.

Edarra cleared her throat. Once again Seonid, who had been throwing wood onto the pile, did not deign to acknowledge her presence. Stifling an annoyed sigh, Edarra stepped closer.

“Your advice does not fall on deaf ears,” Edarra said. “The Wise Ones have agreed with you and decided that you will lead a force through the aqueduct and into the Keep. You are to infiltrate, secure the Keep, and attempt to make contact with our quarry inside, should you be willing.”

Without looking at her Seonid grunted and nodded. She was preparing another log for chopping. Edarra watched.

"Have you heard from your son lately?"

Seonid paused in raising the axe, before bringing it down with a fury, fast as lightning. The wood splintered but did not fully break apart. She swung another blow and it shattered. As she chucked the multiple smaller pieces onto the pile, she looked at Edarra with her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She waited until Edarra gestured that she could speak and even then she only nodded in affirmation.

When no further response was forthcoming, Edarra prompted, "And is he well?"

For a moment it seemed Seonid would remain silent. She sniffed from the cold and wet, and rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. Finally, she said, "Why do you want to know?"

Edarra opened her mouth but didn't reply. She wanted to know more about the goings on of Seonid's life. She wanted to be involved. She wanted Seonid to actually talk to her again. About something. About anything.

Not waiting for a reply, Seonid was positioning another block of wood atop the stump, moving it just so with the toe of her boot. Teryl’s words came back to Edarra then. Take what you want and pay for it. Cairhienin were merchants at heart; she would need to offer up something in return, or otherwise expect nothing.

Suddenly Edarra said, "My father could Channel."

Seonid had started to swing, but jerked to a halt. She glanced at Edarra sharply over her shoulder then lowered the axe.

"When I was very young," Edarra continued, "not more than a babe, he and my mother walked into the Blight together. She used to be a Maiden of the Spear and she wanted to die fighting the Shadow with him. You asked me once if I had siblings. I never even had family. I was given to the Wise Ones. They raised me even before they learned I, too, could Channel. For as long as I can remember, they have been my only family. I was this tall when I became an Apprentice." Edarra held up her hand to her own hip. She grinned and joked, "Not much shorter than you."

Seonid did not smile back, though her interest in this tale was plain as day.

“When I became a Wise One, I was seventeen. The youngest Wise One in living memory. But it wasn’t an easy road. It was as hard for me as anyone else. Harder, even, because Sorilea and the others knew me so well, because they had raised me. Overnight I went from calling them ‘aunty’ to being unable to ask for a hug. I had to learn to wipe my own tears. They guarded themselves against me for my own benefit. In the end, I succeeded not because I was the most wise or even very great.” Edarra shrugged. “It was circumstance. And hard work. Nothing more. Though that does not mean I lessen my accomplishments, and while I cannot interfere with your training, I can tell you: you are doing well.”

Seonid’s grip around the axe handle tightened, her knuckles flashing momentarily white. She turned back to the stump, shifting her hold on the axe. “My son is well,” she spoke as if to the stump. “And I will lead troops to infiltrate the Keep.”

For a moment Edarra waited in case Seonid would add anything else. She didn’t. Turning away, Edarra walked back to camp to the sound of wood being chopped up behind her.

—

The rain did not abate until the day after Seonid led a small yet formidable force into the aqueducts. The morning was cool and still, the earth still smelling of recent rainfall. In the grey predawn, the armies of Manetheren mustered. The Asha’man had created a fog to shroud the city and the surrounding area, keeping their forces hidden from the Shaido even after the battle had begun in earnest. Through the mist could be seen the dark shadow of Malden, fortified walls looming like a mountain. Wolves howled and spears drummed in the distance; the air was unnaturally still.

Already the Shaido were attempting to flank their position, marching out from the shelter of the city walls to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. The Seanchan line curved north round the valley to blunt the Shaido’s counteroffensive. Meanwhile Dragonsworn, the Legion of the Wall, and other sundry infantry beneath the banner of Perrin Aybara advanced down the gentle slope leading to the basin in which the city sat. The plodding march of tens of thousands of soldiers from the ridge down to meet the Shaido ranks was like the grumble of an earthquake. So many booted feet moving together in a steady march to what would surely be their deaths. The air filled with the sound of Shadio spears slamming against their bucklers, goading the enemy on as the two forces approached one another. All the while arrows sang and whistled, sheet after sheet raining down upon the Shaido through the fog.

Edarra deflected a ball of fire that hurtled towards them with flows of water and air, hurled by one of Sevanna’s Wise Ones. She returned fire. Beside her, Carelle, Masuri and the others did the same. The tea had done its work. Between them and the Seanchan damane hidden in the trees just east of their position, Sevanna’s Wise Ones were outmatched. To one side of Edarra and the other Wise Ones stood the Two Rivers archers, pulling back on their bowstrings and firing into the enemy at will, while to the other the Winged Guard of Mayene were mounted atop their horses, which stamped their hooves and champed at their bits, smelling blood flecking the air. A band of Maidens stood guard before the Wise Ones, should Shaido break through and make for their position. Red strips of cloth were tied about the Maiden’s upper arms and their backs were stiff with indignation. In the end, they had caved to Edarra’s demands, though not without a great deal of complaining. She was sure to endure more grumblings in the days to come.

Everything was going according to plan, which naturally made Edarra nervous.

The combined army of Manetheren and the Seanchan was holding fast, while the Two Rivers bowmen and the Channellers rained death upon their foes. Seonid and the others would be in the Keep already, attempting to make contact with Faile. The Winged Guard of Mayene were assembled atop their horses in a line, poised for a moment to strike, to drive their lances into the Shaido and deliver a crippling blow. Annoura Sedai had returned to Berelain’s side with the cavalry, ready to protect The First of Mayene should the need arise.

Then, on the battlefield below, a portion of the Manetheren line began to push with a sudden ferocity. The howling of wolves grew in pitch, mingling with snarls and snaps. The line began to flex and lose its shape, one side moving forward more quickly than the other until it staggered and nearly broke. While grasping saidar Edarra’s eyesight was sharpened, and she could see who was leading this newfound frenzy. There could be no mistaking the hulking form of Perrin Aybara.

“What is he doing?” Marline asked, deflecting a deadly weave from one of Sevanna’s Wise Ones.

Edarra groaned when she realised what was happening. “He is trying to break through the Shaido and into the city.”

“That’s stupid!” Nevarin snapped. “He will be cut down before he can reach the gates, and all of this will have been for nothing!”

“Edarra, what do we do?” Delora asked, a note of panic in her voice.

Edarra’s mind raced. The One Power sang in her veins, and she flung another ball of fire into the Shaido.

Beside her, she heard Masuri mumble under her breath, “I wish Seonid were here. She would know.”

Edarra ignored her but could not ignore the sentiment, not when she shared it. She had seen her fair share of battles, but unlike Seonid she had not studied their histories and tactics in depth, nor did she claim to have any great interest in them. With a frustrated shake of her head, Edarra said, “If he is to succeed, then we must give him the space he needs.” She called out to the Mayeners, “Bertain Gallenne!”

It was not Bertain who heard her, but Berelain. She heeled her horse towards the Wise Ones, her austere grey dress and cloak streaming behind her, her hair held back by a golden diadem. Annoura Sedai followed in her wake.

“What is it?” Berelain asked, pulling up on the reins.

“You need to order your horsemen to charge.”

Annoura scoffed. “What the Winged Guard do is not for you to decide, Edarra of the Wastes.”

Not paying her any heed, Edarra addressed Berelain alone. “Perrin Aybara is pushing too deep into the enemy to reach the gates. He needs support. We will give it to him, but we may not be enough. Will you order the charge to guard his flank? Or will you let him die?”

Berelain gazed down at her from atop her gelding with dark eyes. A steely set came to her jaw, and with a nod she said, “I will see it done. Annoura,” she jerked her head at her advisor, “stay here. Do as she tells you.”

Annoura opened her mouth to object, then fell silent. Already Berelain was riding back to Lord-Captain Gallenne.

“Stop your gaping and make yourself useful,” Nevarin snapped at Annoura as she hurled fire from her hands into the enemy below.

Looking affronted, Annoura nevertheless took a place beside Masuri. The glow of saidar surrounded her in preparation.

Not wasting another moment, Edarra pointed towards the field and spoke to “Everyone, focus your attacks just ahead of our forces to clear the way! When our forces move, we move the focus of our fire! Keep ahead of them, but not too far, or we will drive the Shaido into them!”

“But we may hit them!” said Janina.

“Then don’t do that!” Edarra growled back, less from anger and more from impatience. They did not have time to squabble about this. It was either act now, or lose Perrin to a forest of spears.

None of the others questioned her further. The lashes of saidar slowed then gathered, like a sling whirling for momentum before the moment the stone was flung forth. The sky overhead darkened, clouds curling from nothing into existence. The air rolled, thick with tension, thick with the One Power. To the east the red amour of the Winged Guard gleamed like fresh blood through the mist. The charge of the cavalry line was like a roar that built up in the chest, hoofbeats drumming the ground, making it tremble. Lances lowered, silver-tipped and streaming with narrow strips of red cloth, and the sky crackled.

The Mayener cavalry slammed into the Shaido flank, and lightning pierced down from the heavens in a deluge. Bolts a legion strong struck the ground just a few paces ahead of Perrin’s location, sending sprays of earth into the air and cadin’sor clad bodies reeling. With every stride Perrin took, the storm went before him, preceding him like a Roofmistress escorting an honoured guest into her house.

Sweat made the white blouse cling to Edarra’s back. She breathed heavily through her mouth, fearing to even blink lest she make a mistake that doomed her own allies. All chatter from the Wise Ones and Aes Sedai had ceased as they concentrated their power. Even the Maidens had stopped their handtalk to stare with wide eyes. Then one of them made a quick darting motion, pointing towards the back ranks of the Shaido.

Multiple flaming spheres sped towards them as Sevanna’s Wise Ones centralised an attack on their position. Before Edarra could redirect her flows of the One Power, Masuri, fast as a thrown spear, cut across the front of their line with complex interwoven threads of air and spirit. The fire struck the barrier and burst into harmless showers with enough force to rattle Edarra’s teeth. Still more came, Sevanna��s forces desperately trying to stem the tide of their attack.

Below, the Winged Guard’s cavalry rolled the Shaido up so that their centre curled upon itself like the shell of a snail, and Perrin made it through to the gate. Edarra’s relief was short-lived, however, as the Shaido were pivoted round by the storm and by the Winged Guard, curving closer to their own position now.

Over the din Masuri yelled to the Maidens, “Rally to us! Quickly, now!”

The Maidens gave her shocked glances at being so addressed by an Apprentice, then looked to Carelle.

“Do as she says!” Carelle told them.

Quickly the Maidens lifted their veils and scrambled closer, spears at the ready. With the Seanchan to the west and the Winged Guard to the east, the Shaido were herded into the killing ground. Droves of Shaido attempted to flee up the gentle slope, only for the Maidens to push them back. There, held by the anvil of Dragonsworn and the Legion of the Wall, Edarra and the Wise Ones came down like a hammer. Thunder had taken to the heavens with a tempest, and lightning flashed across the sky without needing to be summoned, a rainless storm but for the arrows that the Two Rivers arches launched again and again, until their quivers ran dry.

After an hour, maybe more, the Shaido broke, routed, scattered to the winds. There was no cheer of triumph, only the slaughter that came after. Troops of Manetheren walked the battlefield, searching for survivors, killing any Shaido who dared to remain. The Winged Guard and the Seanchan pursued those who took flight, cutting them down to the man. Wolves buried their snouts in the gaping chests of the slain, their fur stained crimson, and flocks of ravens wheeled overhead.

Edarra and the Wise Ones moved back towards camp to set up triage stations for their wounded. Scores of them were brought on makeshift stretchers, or carried by multiple bloodied soldiers, or slung across the backs of their friends. Edarra’s head ached from overuse of the One Power, a tight pressure behind her eyes. Still, she moved to the next patient.

Before she could administer the Healing weaves, she felt a hand on her arm. “Let me,” Masuri murmured.

“I still have plenty of strength,” said Edarra.

Masuri gave her an admonishing look. “I may be an Apprentice to you, but I have known the Healing weaves for far longer. They are not easy, even for the most experienced of Channellers. So, please. Do not endanger yourself and others with pride, Wise One.”

She spoke sense, much as Edarra disliked it. With a sigh, Edarra nodded and stepped back, releasing saidar.

“Annoura.” Masuri gestured her Sister forward. “Will you join me?”

This at least Annoura seemed willing to do without the assumption of orders from Berelain. She hastened over, already embracing the One Power. Edarra and the Wise Ones instead fell back on traditional medicine for those that could survive without the aid of the One Power. Tomorrow and the day after, they could treat those who were stable with the Source. For now, that they were alive was enough.

Night had begun to wash across the land when Perrin entered camp on horseback with a train of figures like a retinue. Thunder rolled across the sky, announcing his arrival. Faile rode behind him, and at the sight of her a celebratory cheer went up around the camp. Berelain rode beside them. She did not attempt to steal this moment, though Bertain dismounted from his own horse so that he could remove his helmet and bow deeply to her in praise for their shared victory. Standing off to the side by the healing tents, Edarra did not join in the revelry, though relief swept through her; they had succeeded this time. Light willing, they would succeed again.

She stood straighter and walked out of the healing tents upon catching sight of who else accompanied them. Furen and Teryl rode into camp, followed closely by Seonid, except she wasn’t alone on her horse. Alliandre sat behind her with her arms around Seonid’s stomach and her forehead pressed against Seonid’s shoulder. When Seonid dismounted, she held out a hand to help Alliandre down and the horse obscured them momentarily. Furen came to lead the horse away, revealing Alliandre hugging Seonid tightly and Seonid patting her on the back.

Edarra craned her neck to get a better look at what transpired between them, but quickly turned around when she heard her name being spoken. “What is it?” she asked.

The other five Wise Ones were gathered together by the entrance of the healing tents. Behind them, Annoura and Masuri continued to work, moving from patient to patient. Edarra joined the circle of the other Wise Ones.

“I think the Aes Sedai Apprentices have finally shown some improvement,” said Delora.

“I would agree,” replied Carelle. Janina and Nevarin nodded their acceptance as well.

“Shall we consider the vote cast, then?” asked Marline.

In answer, Carelle gestured Masuri over. She then called out, “Seonid Traighan! We would speak with you!”

Releasing saidar, Masuri wove a path through the wounded that were arranged in neat rows along the ground with blankets beneath them. Across the camp, Edarra spied Seonid passing Alliandre off to First Captain Arganda, who knelt before his queen and would not be moved even when Alliandre placed a hand on his armoured shoulder. There was a scuff of dirt across Seonid’s cheek and her riding habit was rumpled, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

When both Aes Sedai stood before the Wise Ones, Carelle spoke. “We have decided that you have, the both of you, proven you can be trusted. From now on, you may speak as you wish, but know that you are still Apprentices. Your training is not yet complete, though you have made great improvements.”

Upon hearing the decision, Masuri breathed a sigh of relief, her face even flickering with a satisfied sort of smile, as though proud of herself for the achievement. Seonid on the other hand remained utterly silent and unreadable.

“You look displeased, Seonid Traighan,” said Marline.

Nevarin snorted and said to Delora, “I thought she would’ve been the first to speak her mind once allowed.” She did not bother to lower her voice.

Still, Seonid’s expression changed not a whit. She looked at any of the Wise Ones there but Edarra. “Are we finished today?” she said in cool crisp tones.

Nevarin scowled, her mouth pursing into a thin line. Janina rolled her eyes, and Marline twirled a lock of dark hair around her finger. However Carelle merely tilted her head to one side in calm consideration and said, “We are. You may go.”

With a brief incline of her head towards Carelle, Seonid turned smartly about and departed without another word, swiftly enough that a corner of her cloak flared behind her.

Nevarin turned her frown upon Masuri, who quailed somewhat beneath that sharp gaze. “What is the matter with her?”

Grimacing, Masuri offered a lop-sided shrug. “I’m sorry, I cannot say.”

“Cannot? Or will not?” asked Nevarin.

“Yes,” said Masuri. Nevarin appeared exasperated.

“I can think of a few things that might be the problem,” Marline quipped to Janina, nudging her with an elbow and casting a sidelong glance in Edarra’s direction.

Edarra cleared her throat. Marline smirked, but promptly changed the topic. Murmuring some excuse, Edarra slipped away. The others continued to talk with Masuri, who seemed baffled at her newfound freedom to speak as she wished, though no less pleased for it.

Quickly, Edarra made her way through camp, ducking around tents so that she might not be deterred. Soldiers were putting up lanterns or lighting torches for the encroaching night. The atmosphere was weary yet satisfied in their victory, and most were too busy sharing a drink to pay much notice to an Aiel Wise One. She reached Seonid’s tent, but once again it was dark and empty. Furen and Teryl were nowhere in sight either. Letting the tent flap fall shut, Edarra cast about for where Seonid might be, then made her way towards a familiar gate in the defensive wall.

The woods on the outskirts of camp were towering in the creeping darkness. Edarra passed the area where Seonid had been chopping wood a few days prior. The woodpile had been carried away for use by the soldiers. The stump remained, bearing all the scars of axeblows, but the axe itself was gone. Further through the trees, Edarra heard a sharp and heavy thunk. She lifted her skirts to step over a fallen tree and delve deeper into the forest. The light was swiftly fading and soon she would need to summon a flame so she could see. The sky rumbled dangerously overhead.

Not far away, in a small clearing, she found her. Seonid had the axe in her hands. Chips of wood spun across the ground. She was hacking at a tree with wild swings that had no intent to fell it, only to vent her anger. Bewildered, Edarra watched. She sought the avatar of justice who had sentenced men’s souls to a life in chains. She sought the steadfast tactician who had changed the face of battle with but a handful men and her own sheer grit. She sought the political master who had thwarted schemes, snares, and assassinations to seize a birthright by the throat. But there was only Seonid, small, worn, dark rings under dark eyes, as haggard yet ruthlessly determined as Edarra had ever seen.

With a final swing, the axehead bit deep into bark. Seonid did not attempt to yank it free. Hands on her hips, she turned round and noticed Edarra's presence, but hardly seemed surprised to find her standing there. Sounding slightly out of breath, she said, “You’re here. Of course you are. Just my luck that this is how the day ends.”

Edarra started to reply, but fell quiet as Seonid forged on, speaking half to herself while pacing.

“I finally thought I was going to be able to do something useful again. Absolutely pathetic that hours spent slogging through a cistern has been the highlight of my month. Then even after taking the Keep, we just sat there like great lumps for a day and a half, because of course Faile and Alliandre did not come. Of course my venture would have been for naught. Of course Galina Casban,” she spat the name, “is Black Ajah. Of course! Were it not for Tower Law, why I would - I’d -!”

Seonid made a particularly vicious wringing motion with her hands. Lightning illuminated the area, casting eerie shadows through the branches. She spun about on her heel and stalked back the other direction, muttering foul curses. When she turned to pace in Edarra’s direction again, she said, “And now, after all that, you’re here. You know, I thought a fifth assassination attempt on my life in the space of a few weeks was an all time low for me. I really did. And yet, the Wheel proves me wrong. Again. Lovely!”

After all this time enduring Seonid’s silence, suddenly being met with a tirade was baffling. Edarra fumbled for how to reply. "Your venture wasn’t for nothing. You should be proud of what you have accomplished today,” Edarra said, “Not just in the battle. Becoming a Wise One can take years. You are well on your way already, faster than any could have imagined."

Seonid barked out a bitter laugh. "Oh, yes. I ought to be pleased about wasting my time here when the Last Battle looms over us."

"The car'a'carn was the one who ordered Perrin Aybara to break the Shaido in Altara. In doing so, we strengthen our position for the battle to come."

"Then where is he?" Seonid asked. Her cloak billowed behind her every time she turned heel and walked the same line again. "If we are so close, then where is the Dragon?"

Edarra opened her mouth to answer that she did not know — none of them did — then she paused. Pieces clicked into place in her mind and she said, "That is why you have had so many sleepless nights. You have been trying to track him in between your tasks here."

Continuing to pace, Seonid did not answer, though she did not deny it either. She made a slicing gesture with one hand. “How are we supposed to help him if he just keeps vanishing?”

“Seeking to control him is like seeking to control the wind.”

“I never wanted to control him! I never even wanted to be here! Now I’m trapped beneath this -” Seonid waved back towards the camp “- Light-forsaken banner! Caught up in a whirlwind of ta’veren influence, despite my best efforts! I feel I shall go mad.”

“You can leave any time you wish.”

Exasperated, Seonid shook her head, but said nothing.

A thought occurred to Edarra from the letters she had read in Seonid’s hand, like a spark being struck from flint. "Is the car'a'carn a teacake?" she asked.

Seonid glanced at her over her shoulder. "I had wondered who among you was reading my mail," she said. "I should have known after you asked about my son."

A twist of guilt boiled in Edarra’s stomach. She clenched it back behind her teeth, feeling it mingle with anger. There should be no reason for her to feel guilt; she had no toh to this woman. Yet still it came, slithering like a bed of snakes in her gut.

“I only read one batch,” she insisted. "Normally it is Carelle."

Seonid just rolled her eyes and resumed her incessant, furious pacing. She growled a steady stream of consciousness interspersed with invectives and jerky frustrated movements of her hands. “I should be doing so much more! Egwene al’Vere captured at the White Tower! Elaida playing Amyrlin and driving my Sisters further and further apart! The bloody Seanchan spotted on the Erinin! The Dragon Reborn missing! The dead walking in So Harbour! My son and heir alone in Cairhien with that wretched brother of mine on the loose, threatening to tip my House into utter disrepute! Meanwhile I’m chopping wood and weaving baskets and being dragged on a game of fucking fetch with the wolf boy! Burn me! What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?”

On and on she went, an impressive tirade listing events across the known world that Edarra only had half an inkling of. Many of the names Seonid mentioned, Edarra did not know or she had only heard of out of context spoken by Perrin. She tamped down the urge to go to Seonid, to grasp her by the arm so she would stop, stop just for a moment so they could finally talk the way she had wished they could have for all these weeks.

Edarra interrupted her. “What we are doing here is important. This is important.”

Seonid gave her a dismissive wave with one hand, while with the other she pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut as she paced.

“I know what you did for Furen Alharra,” said Edarra. “I know what you did for Teryl Wynter. I know what you’ve sacrificed for your family and for Tarmon Gai’don. I know you are honourable and just.” She pointed to the ground between them. “You say you are trapped here, but Cairhien is a cage. It does not deserve you. Your people do not value what you are.”

“And you do?” Seonid shot back.

“I see you, Seonid Traighan,” Edarra said. “The others may not see you yet, but I do. You share your honour and shade with those deserving of them, and I wish -” Edarra’s mouth felt dry. She had to pause, to swallow, before she could continue. “I wish you would share them with me.”

Shaking her head, Seonid turned away to pace again. It felt too much like watching her walk away, and something twisted in Edarra’s heart.

As though spoken by another body, Edarra heard the words being wrenched from her own mouth in a great rush. “After all this is done, if you will let me, I would like to court you.”

Seonid froze mid-step. Her back was turned to Edarra, and she faced the trees around them. Lightning forked overhead, followed by a swift clap of thunder, and her silhouette was briefly illuminated before the skies went black once more, rumbling. Edarra’s heart raced in her chest at the boldness of her own admission, and she waited, breathless, for Seonid to even look at her.

“That is how you say it, yes? ‘To court you?’” Edarra gestured, both impatient and anxious. “Well? I thought you wanted to be allowed to speak freely? Will you not do so now?”

Seonid turned, and her face was dark as the skies above. When she spoke, her voice was hushed and dangerous. “You have some gall.”

“I -” Edarra started to say, but her voice died in her throat and she took a hesitant step back as Seonid began to stalk slowly towards her.

“You humiliate me for weeks, then claim you want to be with me? Are you brainless?” Seonid said.

“There is no shame in being an Apprentice,” Edarra tried to insist, but Seonid did not pause to listen. She took ground, and though she was small, she contained fury incarnate.

“You’re unbelievable,” Seonid hissed. “You’re infuriating. You’re absolutely out of your mind. You — No, don’t touch me!”

Grimacing, Edarra lowered her hands. She tried to step back, only for Seonid to press forward into her space and glare up at her. In the dark, her eyes were black as midnight but for the faint spark of lightning glinting in their depths reflected from the heavens, sharp as a bared blade. “Day after day, I have suffered indignities -”

“You did not become an Apprentice blindly!” Edarra interrupted. “I told you!”

“Yes! And indignities I could suffer, if it meant achieving my goals!”

“Then why are you being like this?”

“Because of you!” Seonid snapped. She jabbed a finger at Edarra. “You weren’t supposed to be here! You told me you wouldn’t be involved! I entered into this arrangement thinking I would be under someone else’s thumb! Light, I would prefer Sorilea to — to this! Everything I do, everytime I turn around — you’re there! Watching me like you’re waiting for me to say something when you know I can’t! And now this?”

“It would have been inappropriate for me to say or do anything before now,” said Edarra. “All these weeks I have had to guard myself from you, and you from me.”

Air hissed between Seonid’s bared teeth like a snake, and she said, “Like Sorilea did to you as a mere child? Life is not about being hard and unfeeling. If this is the Aiel way, then I shudder to think that your people are the Dragon’s most trusted advisors.”

Edarra’s hackles rose. “I know the Aes Sedai do the same in your White Tower. You train to appear calm at all times, to make yourselves as stone! Your Sisters have told us as much!”

“Yet I am here, now, willing to change, despite every instinct telling me to leave Lord Aybara and find the Dragon. And that truly is the difference between us. That I can look at myself and admit to my faults, whereas you -” Seonid prodded her finger against Edarra’s chest now “- cleave to the notion that your precious ji’e’toh is the only path worth pursuing!”

Edarra straightened her shoulders. When she drew herself to her full height, she towered over Seonid. “My people survive only because they change.”

“Prove it,” said Seonid, not at all intimidated.

“I need prove nothing to you.”

“But I do?” Seonid’s lip curled. “Just, you call me. Honourable. My people undeserving of me. You Light-blinded, arrogant -! I am not some convenient anomaly for your preconceived notions! Whatever you may think, I am Cairhienin! And if your vision of me does not include that, then you do not see me at all.”

The first instinct in Edarra’s gut was to snap back, but the words died in her lungs, unspoken. Seonid was all ink-dark fury, like something long caged that finally saw a chance at escape, yet all Edarra saw when she looked at her was the fear, fear of deceit, fear of impotence, fear that the goals she had worked so tirelessly towards would never be realised.

"I see you," Edarra repeated, her voice gentle. This seemed to baffle Seonid, for her face screwed up in confusion. "And it is not me you are angry with, but the Pattern."

"What in Light's name are you -?"

"Because it did not see fit to give you what you think you deserve. A place at the car’a’carn’s side. To be an arrow in his quiver, a spear in his hand. To have a greater role than this." Edarra gestured to the woods around them, to the woodsman axe still stuck in the tree. "We cannot be anything other than what we are, yet you are not here to be doomed to passivity. By fire or steel, you will be at the Last Battle, and you will not be alone. This I vow."

Seonid stared at her, silent. Those dark eyes brewed like a storm, and like a storm she moved. Edarra nearly flinched, half expecting to be struck, only for Seonid to seize her by the front of her shirt and yank her down into a hard kiss. Startled for but a moment, Edarra returned it. A hint of Seonid’s teeth caught on Edarra’s lower lip, and Edarra’s inhaled sharply through her nose. Immediately, Seonid began to tug at the buttons of Edarra’s white blouse, breaking the kiss to hasten the process with a determined look in her eyes at every sliver of sun-bronzed and freckled skin revealed.

Gently Edarra took hold of Seonid’s wrists. "Link with me,” she breathed.

Seonid’s hands faltered. "What?" she said, sounding like she’d sprinted towards a city through a desert mirage.

"I have sworn no oaths upon the rod in your White Tower, but that does not mean you cannot know I speak the truth. Link with me."

In the darkness, Seonid seemed almost to bleed into the air, melding with the black of her hair, the deep forest green of her cloak, but a flash of lightning overhead illuminated her face, her startled expression hardening into resolve. The flow of saidar surrounded her. She kissed Edarra again with a ferocity that drove Edarra a step until her back hit a tree. Then came the weaves like a question.

Edarra opened herself to the Source and the Link formed a tether around her sternum, branching through her veins. The Wise Ones were consistently amazed at the sheer breadth of weaves known by Aes Sedai. They had only learned Healing and Linking during recent contact with the White Tower. This was nothing at all like the Links she had experienced in the past, limited though those were. Prior Links were fleeting and exploratory, done for the sake of learning. Linking with Seonid was like being seized by the throat, the air snatched from her lungs. Threads of the One Power filled her up and circled round her wrists, her ankles like shackles. Through it all she could feel what Seonid felt, the thrum of saidar beneath her skin, the anger, the apprehension, the desire, the barest stirrings of hope.

Seonid kissed her and Edarra was breathless. The Link scorched like the desert sun in the noonday sky, too hot to bear for too long. Edarra fumbled with the divided skirt of Seonid’s riding habit, hiking it up even as Seonid pushed aside Edarra’s blouse so she could kiss Edarra’s neck. Beneath the riding habit, Edarra pulled at the buttons of Seonid’s high-waisted trousers until they came loose. As her fingers grazed the skin of Seonid’s waist, Seonid hissed, going stiff, and Edarra froze.

“Seonid -” Edarra started to say, but was silenced by a look, by the Link flaring with anger.

"You will be silent unless given permission to speak," Seonid said in a voice like silk draped over steel.

Nodding, Edarra tried to lean forward, but Seonid reached up to hold her by the jaw with one hand, keeping her just a hair’s breadth apart. Her eyes searched Edarra’s face, but whatever she found there seemed to convince her to close the gap between them. Edarra kissed her back as softly as she could, as softly as she dared, resulting in a frustrated groan from Seonid’s throat. She let her hands rove again, nudging Seonid’s trousers down her legs, and heard Seonid’s breath quicken in response, her grip tighten at Edarra’s chin then move to clutch at her shoulders.

The more Seonid urged her on with little gasps and groans, with tongue and teeth, the slower and gentler Edarra went. By the time her fingers found the slick heat between Seonid’s legs, Seonid was gripping Edarra’s shoulders so tightly it would bruise. Seonid tried to drive herself down upon Edarra’s fingers, but Edarra steadied her with a hand at her hip. The fabric of the riding habit bunched up between them, and Seonid’s trousers were caught up around her knees.

Edarra slipped her fingers inside and Seonid inhaled sharply. Reaching up to tangle her free hand in the wealth of Seonid’s dark hair, Edarra guided the pace, building her up, feeling only a faint echo of what Seonid felt through the Link. The sweetness of the One Power bordered on too much, pushing every sensation into oversensitivity that tightened like a noose at her throat. Seonid’s hips jerked. Thunder snarled between her teeth, biting down on a bar of lightning. And when Seonid fell apart, she fixed her teeth in Edarra’s shoulder to bite back a ragged cry.

Edarra had to stifle her own voice in Seonid’s hair. Eyes squeezed shut, the Link trembled between them, the One Power pulsing in her chest like a rapid heartbeat in time with Seonid’s own. Though Edarra had not herself been touched, she still felt half dazed half overwrought. Seonid panted against Edarra’s neck, holding herself up by Edarra’s shoulders. When Edarra pulled her fingers away, Seonid made a small hopeless sound in the back of her throat. Edarra pressed her mouth to the side of her face, and Seonid pulled her head back to look up at her.

"Tell me what you want from me," Seonid said, her cheeks flushed but her tone surprisingly well-kempt. "Exactly what you want."

"I want to see the sun rise with you,” answered Edarra without hesitation. “I want to meet your son. I want to know you. I want to be in your life. I want to be the first person you tell about a problem, and I want to be the one to help you solve it."

For a long moment Seonid stared at her. "You're serious."

"I do not lie to you," said Edarra, indignant.

"Neither do I, but that hasn't stopped the Wise Ones from treating me like a lying snake two seconds away from biting."

Edarra rubbed at the mark on her shoulder. "You did bite me."

"Oh, be quiet.” Seonid’s brows were drawn together but not in anger. She tapped at one of the heavy gold necklaces Edarra wore and said, "You say you want this, but this will not succeed if we remain as we are. We will be equals or we will be nothing."

With a nod, Edarra said, “I would not have it any other way.”

"Good," said Seonid, satisfied. Abruptly, the Link between them faded into nothing, and its absence was an ache. She stepped back to fasten up the buttons of her trousers and smooth her riding habit down her thighs with her hands. Then she narrowed her eyes at Edarra. "Why are you smiling?”

A broad smile split Edarra's face until her cheeks ached. She released saidar but the exultant relief lingered in its wake regardless. "It is good to have you back. That is all."

“I never left.” With a dismissive sniff, Seonid ran a hand through her hair. She grimaced. "I must look a mess."

Seonid Channelled weaves of air and fire, and summoned a small reflective bit of metal with a little flame to look at herself. On all of the occasions that Edarra had seen her Channel, Seonid had never done anything flashy just for the sake of it. Even at Dumai’s Wells, her weaves, while numerous, had all been targeted to achieve a specific outcome and nothing more. No energy wasted. Efficiency at its finest. There was a certain pointed elegance to them not unlike the woman herself. And yet here she was, fussing over the state of her hair. The contradictions were simultaneous and true; Seonid balanced pure practicality with vanity as easily as she breathed.

"You worry too much about appearances," said Edarra.

Seonid continued fixing her hair in the little mirror. "I rather thought you liked my appearances."

"I like many things about you."

Arching an eyebrow over the mirror at her, Seonid's mouth curled in a barely-there smile. "Good start," she said, releasing saidar and letting the mirror and flame vanish in a wisp of bluish smoke. "But you'll need to do much more than that. After the few weeks I’ve had, both here and in Cairhien, the last thing I’m feeling is charitable."

“I’m amazed your Warders have not come looking for you.”

Seonid gave a huff of laughter. “They know better. And the others surely will have sensed we were Channelling, if nothing else.”

Edarra wrinkled her nose and buttoned up her blouse. She tried to hide the mark Seonid had made without much luck. She would need to wear her brown shawl for the next few days until she healed up; at least the foul weather of this place made for such excuses. “They would suspect anyway. And even if they didn’t, I will still ask Carelle to clear me of my toh.”

Frowning, Seonid asked, “Toh? What for?”

“I should not have bedded you while you remain an Apprentice, not even given our history.”

“I think it fair to say I did not feel pressured into such an act,” Seonid replied with dry amusement. “But if you think you must be punished for it, by all means. I’ll not stop you. What will it be? A blow for every kiss?”

“And a beating for the deed itself.” Edarra nodded. “I will accept them all with a smile and a laugh, for every strike will have been well earned.”

“Well, in that case.”

Seonid’s hand reached up and once more she pulled Edarra down into a kiss, softer this time, but no less intense. She pulled away, but Edarra kissed her again before she could go. Then another. Edarra savoured each one before Seonid at last stepped back.

“I hope all of this is worth it," Seonid murmured.

Edarra smiled. "I already know it is."

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Wise One. Light only knows why I’ve fallen for you.”

“Good taste.”

Seonid rolled her eyes and turned to start towards the palisades.

Edarra jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “What about the axe?”

“Who cares?”

With a shrug, Edarra trotted forward so that they walked in stride, and together they made their way back to camp.

NOTES:

The title comes from the following quote: “O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth! Then with a passion would I shake the world.” -Constance, King John, Shakespeare

Perrin has a hand-drawn map of Malden in ch25 of Crossroads of Twilight and orders the hoarding of forkroot not long after. The map was retrieved from some people fleeing the city. There are two more maps in the prologue of Knife of Dreams, one made by scouts, another “roughly sketched, seemed to show the city itself in some detail.” Seonid’s map drawn in this chapter is this third map in the books.

There is a real Battle of Maldon in 991 CE, but the Battle of Malden in the WoT books bears little resemblance to it. Instead, I’ve drawn inspiration from the First Siege of Ceuta in 1695 CE and the Great Sortie of Stralsund in 1807 CE with some creeping barrage tactics thrown in for good measure.

Again, don’t look too hard at the timeline of this fic vs the timeline of the books. I’m skimming over things like So Harbour to get to the Battle of Malden because the point of this story is to not have these characters ever interact with a Main Character on the page apart from looking at them or talking about them. This story is about side characters and glup shittos ONLY.

In this fic Edarra is around 6’3” which is tall but not crazy tall. RJ just thinks that the tallest woman imaginable is like 5’11” so whatever

#seonid traighan #edarra #seonid traighan/edarra #love's best habit #in the thunder's mouth #roman writes #wheel of time #wot book spoilers #finally finishing part 3 good grief #wot s2 inspired me to pick this story back up tho I've had like 5k of this written since last year and it's just been sitting there

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