#Wheel of time Fanfic

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Power

Pairing: Masema x reader (female)

Authors note: it is a very belated birthday present to @lady-targaryens-world Thank you so much for your request and I'm so sorry it took me so long to write it. I changed a bit the setting, but I still hope you will enjoy it. It appeared that writing Masema is not so easy for me, but I truly loved it. A big thank you to lovely @the-irish-girl for helping me with brainstorming, ideas and dialogues! It was so inspiring to work together with you! The idea of the other world and the stones is borrowed from the books.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex

Word Count: 5,6 K

I have tagged people who enjoy my Sihtric fics - if you don't want to be tagged in Masema fics - please let me know

You shifted in your saddle trying to find a more comfortable position, but to no avail. Your whole body was aching and sore, your muscles feeling like they were filled with lead. The shadows were getting longer, as the sun slowly rolled behind the horizon. The evening was approaching and you longed for nothing more than to rest, to get off the horseback and curl under your blanket. With the last remnants of your strength you spurred your horse to a slight gallop, trying to align with Lord Ingtar, riding at the front of the group.  

“Aren’t we stopping for the night?” you tried to sound casual, not to betray your tiredness. 

"There, behind that hill, is a perfect spot for our camp,"  Lord Ingtar's response filled you with hope as he pointed towards the next hillock. Unconsciously, you sighed in relief. It wouldn't have surprised you if they intended to ride through the night; there was no sign of weariness on the stern faces of the Shienaran warriors following their leader. It seemed they could maintain this relentless pursuit indefinitely. 

With a knowing smirk, he added, "The horses need a rest."

Yeah, horses, you nodded inwardly and allowed your own steed to gradually slow down again.

You had to pick the lesser of two evils, as the need to escape the city had grown urgent. Fal Moran was no longer a safe haven for you, not since it had become overrun with Aes Sedai. It was only a matter of time before they discovered your well-kept secret, and you would be forced to follow them to the White Tower. You were not like them and you didn't want to be anything like them. Arrogant, cold-blooded, and heartless, they were driven by their might and a belief in their own omniscience. These cruel beings wielded too much power for their own good.

You had made up your mind to join the first party leaving the city, even if it meant travelling across the country in pursuit of the Horn of Valere. You were aware that they wouldn't readily accept you as a companion if you simply asked, but the Shienarans were known for their unwavering commitment to helping and protecting those in need. That was their way. Thus, you departed ahead of the group and waited along the road—an abandoned high-born lady, seeking assistance. A damsel in distress, to put it plainly.

Once again, you felt the unsettling sensation of someone's eyes fixated on you. Slowly and discreetly, you turned your head to meet his gaze. His stern eyes bore into you with mistrust and suspicion, tinged with a hint of resentment for reasons unknown to you.

"Have I done something wrong?" you asked, turning to face Lord Ingtar as you settled beside him near the fire.

"What do you mean, lady?" The surprise in his voice was evident.

"I have a feeling I may have upset or offended the young warrior with those peculiar mismatched eyes. I believe his name is Masema," you continued hesitantly. "I just wanted to know if I may have overstepped or said something unacceptable. I'm not accustomed to your ways, and I want to offer my apologies if..."

"Lady, you need not worry," Lord Ingtar interrupted gently. "I'm sorry to say this, but there's probably nothing you can do about it. You... I'm not quite sure how to explain it... you bear a striking resemblance to an Aiel to us. Not all of us have fought against them, but Masema has."

The awkwardness of the conversation and the embarrassment in Lord Ingtar’s voice were impossible to ignore. "Lady, you are not to blame for your appearance. Please, tell me if Masema has been rude to you or insulted you in any way. Trust me, I'll ensure a proper punishment is meted out."

"Oh, not that. He's simply avoiding me completely, and he refuses to speak to me even when I address him. Please, don't say anything to him. You've been so kind to pick me up on the road and offer your protection after my bodyguard abandoned me unfairly. I don't want to cause any inconvenience," you said, trying to mask your relief with gratitude. You were thankful that your initial fear, the creeping worry that Masema might have somehow discovered your deeply buried secret, was unfounded.

Unable to resist, you stole a furtive glance at Masema. He'd set up his blanket near one of the towering stones encircling the camp. It was an eerie sight; the magnificent stones, arranged as if by a giant hand, stood in a perfect circle. You had never seen anything like it before. Was it some kind of sacred place? Perhaps remnants of a forgotten temple? The strange ornaments engraved in the middle, just within reach, sparked a sense of familiarity you couldn't grasp. The whole setting gave you a weird feeling you couldn't quite place.

The warmth of the hot brew shared around the fireplace enveloped you, soothing your aching joints and beckoning for rest. You spread your blanket on the opposite side of the camp, as far as possible from the grim warrior that apparently hated you for just being you.

It wasn't surprising; you were accustomed to it. People had feared and hated you for as long as you could remember. You recalled being just a small girl when it first happened, playing with the other kids of the village at the foot of the nearby hill.

It was the noise that first caught your attention—a scratchy, unpleasant sound of something rubbing against itself. Then, you saw it—a large stone slowly starting to shake and then loosening from its perch at the top. You remember screaming, shouting for everyone to run, but one of the boys stumbled and fell. Time seemed to stand still for a moment; you acted on instinct, reaching out with your hand in a stupid and desperate wish to stop the stone from crashing onto your friend. And miraculously, it stopped. It remained suspended in mid-air, just above the fallen boy, as if held by a magic hand.

He scrambled to his feet and ran, and they all followed suit, casting fearful glances back at you as you lowered your hand and the stone crashed to the ground with a deafening thud. Even now, when recalling that day, you could still feel the absolute terror in their eyes. Not because they had just escaped death, no, they were terrified of you. 

That night, the elders of the village came to your parents, and by the same nightfall, they hurriedly packed all their belongings, and you left. You left your home, your village, your friends—everything. And ever since then, you've been running. There was something within you, a power you didn’t understand and never wanted to possess. It was only much later, as you became a grown woman, that you found out there were others like you - the Aes Sedai. But the way people spoke about them, the tales they told, and the fear they instilled just reinforced your conviction that your power had to remain secret, hidden until you took it with you to the grave.

You sank down onto your blanket, wrapping another around you, leaning your back against the stone behind you. Your eyes unconsciously wandered again to the stern warrior on the other side of the camp.

Why? By the light, why me? were your last conscious thoughts before sleep took over.

You were in that sweet spot between asleep and awake, still wrapped in the cosy embrace of dreams when the sounds of the outside world started creeping in, signalling the start of a new day. You kept your eyes shut, not quite ready to let go of that blissful moment just yet.

“Where are we?” came a voice, dripping with anger. It sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn't quite place it.

Masema. The name jolted through your mind, instantly dispelling the dreamy fog. You snapped awake, finding Masema towering over you. You scrambled to a sitting position, taking in your surroundings with a mix of awe and confusion.

“I-I don't know,” you stammered, just as confused as he was, if not more so.

Moments ago, you had been lying on the ground with all your companions, and now you were... wherever this place was. It was unlike anything you had ever seen before.

You were still seated among the magnificent stones, where the camp had been, but that was where the similarities ended. The place bore no resemblance to where you had fallen asleep. You vividly recalled the stones positioned in a clearing near the woods, surrounded by untouched, lush grass and the scent of nameless wildflowers lingering in the air. Now, as far as your eyes could see, there was nothing but barren, cracked soil, with withered trees sporadically dotting the landscape. The hot air and dust burned your lungs as you struggled to take a deep breath.

“This is all your fault!” Masema's words snapped you back to reality, his eyes dark with anger. “You brought us here, now bring us back!” he demanded.

“And, why would it be my fault? You’re here, too! You might be the one responsible for this, you know?” you spat at him, your words filled with venom to match his.

It was only then that the absurdity of the situation began to sink in, and panic slowly crept over you. What had happened? Where were you? And of all the people you could have ended up with, why did it have to be Masema, the Shienaran warrior who clearly despised you, stranded with you in this desolate wasteland?

"I knew from the very first sight of you that you couldn't be trusted," Masema's voice, cold and calm, sent shivers down your spine, more chilling than any insult he could hurl in anger.

“What did I do, for you to hate me so much?” you knew it was not the right time nor place for this question, there were much more pressing issues to be cleared, but you couldn’t just leave it. 

“You look just like them! You speak like them! You walk like them! Everything you do makes you look a little more like them! And sooner or later you’ll show who you really are, you cannot fool me,” he snorted.

"Like who? The Aiel? You flatter me. I would give much to be like them, to possess their strength, their ability to defend themselves against prejudice-driven fools who judge solely based on appearance," anger simmered within you.

“You don’t know me!” you finally shouted. “You did not even give me a chance to prove my worth, you just judge me straight away because you think you are better than anyone else, you think you know better than anyone else. But you know nothing about me.” The last words were punctuated by a pointed index finger jabbing into his chest, your eyebrows furrowed with anger.

Finally, you took one more step forward until you were face to face, sharing the same air. You stared him straight in the eyes, letting him see the pain his words inflicted.

“I don't deserve your hatred! You don’t know me, so stop pretending like you do!”

Without waiting for a response, you swiftly began to pack your blankets into your saddlebag.

"You know what? I'm done with all of this! We're parting ways! You go one direction, and I'll go the other! Good luck!" you hissed in frustration. The overwhelming need to escape from this place, to evade the stern, judgmental gaze of those peculiar eyes, left no room for any other thought. You didn’t give him a chance to reply; you didn’t even want one. With that, you turned your back on him, slung your saddlebag over your shoulder, and strode away, devoid of any plan or destination.

You had no idea how long you had aimlessly wandered before spotting a small stream, a mirage of life amidst the ash-grey desolation. Hastily, you uncapped your leather flask, filling it with the precious, life-giving water.

Leaving Masema behind had undoubtedly been a mistake, but there was no turning back now. You couldn't simply reappear before him and offer apologies. You couldn’t admit he was actually right.

It must have been you. There was no other explanation, no other possibility. Even though you had no inkling of what triggered this or how you managed it. Lost in your thoughts, you watched the stream bubble, abruptly pulled from your reverie by an angry roar nearby.

Your head snapped up, pupils dilating in terror at the sight of the creature looming closer. Not even your worst nightmares could conjure something like this. Towering on massive, muscular hind legs, its leonine body was covered in mottled, algae-green scales, with a broad, frog-like head boasting bulging, lidless eyes gleaming with eerie intelligence and a ring of sharp, serrated teeth.

Your hand instinctively sought the small knife hidden in your clothes, fingers clenching around its shaft until your knuckles whitened. Being intended as this creature's next meal wasn't the destiny you envisioned, but you were resolved to make your life as costly as possible.

In a heartbeat, a strong arm gripped yours, yanking you aside with incredible force as the creature lunged. Your bewildered gaze fell on Masema, wielding his sword with determined precision. It was an uneven fight, the creature dwarfing the agile warrior and its scales seemingly impenetrable to his blade.

"The eyes, they're unprotected! Aim for its eyes!" you shouted and the beast's attention momentarily  turned towards you. In that very same moment Masema seized the chance, leaping and aiming for the creature's head. The blade sliced through its left eye, eliciting a deafening howl that pierced the air.

Your chest heaved with horror as you witnessed the creature falter, collapsing onto its front paws before slumping to the ground. Unstoppable sobs wracked your body as you sank to your knees, horror consuming you, and strong arms encircled your shoulders, preventing you from collapsing to the ground.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, arms wrapped around your legs as you sat on your blanket spread by the fire Masema had made in the middle of the stone circle. "You're probably right. It's my fault we're stuck here, don't know where."

A furrowed eyebrow was the only indication that Masema was paying attention, engrossed in sharpening his sword, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

"It's not the first time strange things have happened to me," you continued, feeling like there was nothing left to lose. You knew he hated you—could he hate you even more? Did it even matter? The landscape stretched before you, empty and dusty. Having the glorious choice between death from hunger or the claws of that creature—definitely not the last of its kind—you preferred the more swift one, or better yet, the quick, soothing death by Masema’s sword seemed actually the most appealing choice. 

"There's something inside me, and it frightens me," you confessed. "It's like I have access to a pool of unlimited power, but every time I try to grasp it, it slips away. And then, sometimes, when I least expect it, I can feel it in my fingertips. It's so tangible, I could almost touch it."

"What kind of strange things?" Masema inquired nonchalantly, as if asking about your breakfast.

"I've made rocks freeze in the air, ignited things, moved objects without touching them," you said, trying to keep your voice casual, but unable to hide the tremor of anxiety. You had never spoken to anyone about it, and now you were revealing your deepest secret to someone who was almost an enemy. Yes, he had saved your life, but it hadn't seemed to change his attitude toward you.

"I never wanted it, never asked for it! It's a curse," you admitted, resting your head on your knees. Your body shivered, not from the cold, but from the anger and despair boiling within you. "And now I've cursed you too."

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't even notice Masema approaching until his hand landed on your shoulder, startling you as he sat down beside you.

"I knew you were trouble from the first moment I saw you," there was a new, unexpected tone in his voice that made you raise your head. Something in Masema's eyes caused a chill to run down your back and the flickering red light from the fire only intensified the hypnotic effect of his stern gaze.

"I didn’t mean any harm to anybody. I’m so sorry. You have every right to hate me," tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hush," Masema's rough fingers gently cupped your chin, his thumb brushing away the tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. "There is such a fire within you. I can feel it. I could see it in your eyes as you faced that creature. A spirit so daring, so brave, captured in such a small and fragile frame."

A soft gasp of surprise escaped your chest as Masema's lips pressed against yours, his palms cradling your face and drawing you close. Your mind raced, torn between eagerness and bewilderment. You placed your palm on his chest, as if to push him away, but instead, your fingers hooked into Masema's leather armour, pulling him closer.

Wasn’t this what you had yearned for all this time, tormented by his inexplicable rejection? Hadn't you dreamed of feeling these strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close? Or was it the desperation of this hopeless situation that made you cling to his broad chest, seeking the warmth of his body as confirmation that you were still alive? You didn’t care. Thrill and arousal running through your veins, you could only moan against his lips, slowly parting yours to welcome him into your mouth.

"I've been craving this since the moment I laid eyes on you. Whatever power brought us here, away from everybody, I'm grateful for it," Masema's husky voice enveloped you, sending shivers down your spine. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his mouth trailed down to your neck, leaving hot, stinging marks on your sensitive skin.

You whimpered at the stirring sensation, your longing for his touch growing into a burning need, overpowering all your other senses. In the next moment, you found yourself pressed onto your back, the thick, soft blanket barely enough to shield you from the hard ground, Masema looming over you.

"You resemble the fiercest enemy I've ever faced, yet you make my blood boil with desire," your breath caught in your throat as Masema's rough fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning your hands above your head. There was something threatening, something inexplicably alluring in the sinister darkness of his lust-drunk eyes as they locked with yours. You met his gaze head-on, your eyes wide open, chest heaving, and teeth grazing along your lower lip in anticipation of his next move.

Masema leaned in, his lips hovering over yours, “Say it, say that you want me,” his eyes scanned you intently. 

“By the light, I want you,” you breathed, rolling your hips against him like a slut and the throaty groan that left his lips upon your words, made you shiver. His mouth found yours and your breath was swept away from the sheer fury of his kiss while his hands let go of your wrists and began to work on your clothes, freeing your breasts from the confines of your corset, squeezing and kneading them, his rough fingers digging deep into your flesh. 

Your eyes were rolling back into your head from his heated touch and you arched your back against the unforgiving hard ground as Masema’s lips closed around your hardened nipples.  The small rocks beneath the blanket were digging into your shoulders and hips, but you didn’t even feel the sting, everything around you slowly fading until there was nothing apart from deep hunger for more, burning you from within.

“You think you have power? You are under my power, sweet little thing, you could be the Dragon himself, but you could do nothing against my power and I will use it to make you forget everything as you scream my name in pleasure,” the raw force, permeating Masema’s words, although whispered in hushed tones, made all the tiny hair on your skin stand on end. His hands were on your hips, pushing up your dress and pulling down your undergarments with hasty, rough movements. You drew a sharp breath, feeling the cool air on your bare dripping cunt just before Masemas hot tongue dived in between your folds, his lips closing around your pulsing clit, hands pinning your hips to the ground. 

“Light help me,” you wined, burying your fingers into the soft and plush fabric beneath you in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, but to no avail as Masema’s lips and tongue kept driving you closer to madness, lewd moans rolling over your lips.

“It can’t help you. Nothing can help you now, you’re mine and only mine,” Masema grinned against your centre, voice husky and deep, dripping with dark possessiveness that only added to the sinful sensation pulsing through your veins and bringing you closer to the edge, and you gasped loudly as he forced two fingers into you. You felt as if you were flying or maybe falling, you couldn’t tell, too lost in the feeling of your climax approaching, each lap of his tongue, each movement of his fingers amplifying the pleasure and pushing you further into oblivion.

“Say it, to whom do you belong?” Masema groaned, speeding up his movements. 

Was this what had attracted you to the stern and silent warrior from the very first day? His whole presence spoke of strength and assertiveness, of power and ownership, of being someone to take what’s his and never letting go of it, defending it with his life if needed. Tired of loneliness you craved for the soothing feeling of belonging to someone. It was intoxicating, almost addicting – that feeling of having found someone ready to claim you, to possess you, to protect you. You wanted to be his, you were his. 

“Yours, Masema, I’m yours. By the light I’m yours,” you moaned, and Masema’s satisfied growl vibrated against your centre, adding the last touch that brought you over the edge. You came on his fingers, whimpering his name, forgetting where you were or who you were as your body convulsed under the waves of pure bliss running through your veins. 

“Such a good girl, my powerful, secret Aes Sedai, my dragon,” Masema grinned, observing you carefully, as he kept fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, “so beautiful, so tight around my fingers. I can already imagine how good you will feel around my cock.” 

Head spinning from the intensity of your orgasm, you breathed heavily, chest rising high with each inhale.  Eyes half lid you watched Masema pulling off his leathers and undoing his breeches. You had always noted Masema's well-built physique, his muscular arms hinted at beneath his armour. However, the sight of his perfectly sculpted upper body, revealed before your eyes, made you swallow hard. Even more so as your eyes landed on his thick, fully hard cock ready to claim you. You yelped as Masema grabbed you by your hips and flipped over on your stomach in one quick motion.

“I’m not done with you yet, my sweet little dragon,” he whispered into your ear, pushing your dress up your ass and pulling you to your knees. You whimpered as his large, rough palms landed on your buttock, spreading your cheeks.

“Perfect, so perfect,” Masema grunted, teasing your entrance with his finger. You moaned and pushed back into his touch. “Patience, beautiful,” he chuckled, “trust me, I know exactly what you need, and I’ll give it to you.” 

A muffled cry escaped your lips as Masema’s hand reached out, grabbing your hair, and pulled you up back flush against his chest. His left hand fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing it slightly, just enough to pull a soft whine from you.

“I’ll give it to you, if you’ll ask me nicely,” Masema’s breath hot against your neck made shivers go down your spine or were it his words and hoarse, lust drunken voice? You couldn’t tell, you didn’t care, you were unable to think straight your mind swept clear from any other thought apart from the need to have him finally inside you, to feel him use you, to fuck you into madness.

“Please,” you gasped, your breath getting more ragged with each passing moment.

“Please, what?” Masema whispered, his left hand still around your throat, the other squeezing your breast, fingers rubbing your hardened nipple.

“Please, fuck me. Take me,” a deep moan rolled over your lips as Masema pressed you down and pushed his hard length into your tightness with a loud groan. He paused for a moment, savouring the feeling of your walls squeezing around him and taking him in.

“So sweet, so bold and dearing and yet so obedient, and so fucking tight, you are a gift of the Creator himself,” Masema hummed, as he pulled out and slammed back into you, making you moan and gasp as his pace was picking up. He was not gentle, not in the way his fingers dug into your flesh, to keep you in place, not in the way his hips snapped against you, as he forced himself deeper and deeper into you with each thrust, not in the way his hand found its way to you hair again, jerking you up against his chest, making you cry out both in pain and pleasure simultaneously. 

Your eyes were rolling back into your head, breath catching in your chest, as Masema fucked you relentlessly, mercilessly, his groans filling your ears, and your body responded to his every touch, every rough thrust. Nobody had ever desired you so carnally, so intensively, his hold on you so primal and possessive, determined to bring you to the highs of pleasure you had never experienced before, driving you mad and pushing you higher and higher.

“More, by the light, Masema, I need more,” you mewled and the wild growl that ripped through Masema left you grinning as he pushed you back down to the blanket, seized your hips in an iron grip, you were sure to leave bruises and marks in your soft flesh, and fastened his pace.

You tried to muffle your moans with your hand, but Masema was quick to grab it and pull your arm behind your back.

“Don’t be shy, my sweet dragon, there is nobody who could hear you in this cursed world you’ve brought us to,” he chuckled, “I want to hear you, I want to hear how much you enjoy my cock.”

You didn’t answer, unable to make any coherent word, your voice trapped in the depths of your throat, but the wanton sounds rolling over your lips were the only response he needed as he kept pounding into you, fucking you breathless. 

You could feel Masema’s movements getting sloppier, his heavy breathing turning into hoarse, rugged panting, and you clawed your fingernails forcefully in the blanket, closing your eyes as Masema let go of your arm and reached between your thighs, his fingers rubbing your pulsing clit, giving you the last push you needed to fall again into oblivion. The climax shot through your body with the force of a lightning, your limbs trembling as you screamed Masemas name into the black void around you. You would have collapsed from the intensity of your orgasm washing over you, if not for Masema’s hands holding your hips tightly as he kept fucking you through your peak, loud groans leaving his lips as he came just moments later, his cock twitching inside you and filling you with his warm seed. 

You slumped down onto the blanket the moment Masema’s hands let go of you and he followed you crushing down beside you, both panting hard. You didn’t expect that, but Masema’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his chest as his lips planted tender kisses on the top of your head.

"You didn't believe me," you whispered between panting breaths. 

"Oh, I believe you. More importantly, I believe in you. You brought us here, and you'll bring us back. I have no doubts about it, my little dragon," he whispered, nuzzling against your hair.

“Wake up,” Masema rattled your shoulder, tearing you away from the sweet world of dreams.

“Just one last moment,” you muttered without opening your eyes, your arms reaching out, seeking the warmth of his body.

“There's no time. Wake up! They're approaching,” the urgency in Masema's voice jolted you from your slumber.

“Who's approaching?” you asked, your eyes fluttering wide open.

“I would rather ask what is approaching,” Masema chuckled. “Can't you hear it?”

The wild roar that tore through the air made you jump to your feet.

“What was that?” you asked, fear etched on your face.

“I think it might be some friends of our yesterday's acquaintance,” Masema chuckled, “And they are coming in company. Sweetie, it's time to go home,” his gaze slid expectantly over you.

“What? But I can’t. Masema, I have no idea how,” you sobbed.

“Listen to me. I've been thinking about what you told me. Do you know what the locals call these stones?”

“No,” you shivered, listening to the sounds of wild roars and feeling the earth trembling beneath your feet.

“Obanda stones. Obanda means 'door' in the old tongue. This must be how you got us here—through the stones. And this is how you can bring us back.”

“Masema, it's insane. I have no idea how to do that,” desperation laced your voice.

Masema's fingers brushed against your cheeks, and he cupped your chin to raise your head.

“I'm here to protect you. Whatever comes. I don't care who you are. I don't care what power you wield. I will protect you, always,” the certainty in his voice, devoid of doubt or hesitation,  sent a shiver down your spine.

"Look at me," he commanded, and as if drawn by an irresistible force, you raised your gaze to meet his eyes.

"Give me your hand," he continued, and you complied, raising your arm. You flinched as Masema's large, rough palm wrapped around your fingers, squeezing them painfully. "I'm here with you. Hold on to me. I believe in you. You brought us here, you’ll bring us back. You can do it," he reassured, his other arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you tightly against his muscular body.

"Now, I want you to put your hand on the stone," he breathed against your ear. The calmness and certainty in his voice were hypnotising, leaving no room for doubt. The howling and growling around you grew closer as the beasts encircled you. Your heart raced in your chest, as panic and fear enveloped you. 

"I can’t do it! Masema, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I never learned to use it properly. I don’t know how to do it," words tumbled from your lips in an unstoppable rush, your body shaking uncontrollably. You had brought this doom upon both of you. Your ignorance, your unwillingness to embrace the power bestowed upon you had led you here, and it would be the death of you both. "I can’t do it. I’m so sorry, Masema," tears rolled down your cheeks.

There was no point in trying, all you wanted was to turn around, to gaze into his mismatched eyes, to melt into his embrace, bury your nose into his chest, and breathe in his scent for the one last time. But Masema’s firm grip on your waist prevented you from doing so.

“I can’t,” you sobbed, leaning heavily against him as your knees grew weak and wobbly, “I just can’t do it.”

“Raise your hand,” Masema ordered, squeezing your fingers again. The pain jolted through your body, sharpening your hazy mind. There was something in his voice that brooked no disobedience. Despite your reluctance, despite having already given up and resigned yourself to the approaching death, you obeyed. You raised your quivering hand, reaching out almost to touch the cold surface. A piercing howl echoed just behind you, and you froze, your palm mere millimetres from the stone.

"Don’t look back. Close your eyes and listen to me," Masema's voice remained steady, unwavering. It washed over your senses like a waterfall—soft, low, and slightly husky, yet remarkably calm and soothing. Even his breath maintained a steady rhythm, as if he were engaged in a casual conversation over breakfast rather than standing with you in the midst of nowhere, surrounded by hungry, bloodthirsty creatures, his only hope of escape hanging by the fragile thread of a scared girl, unsure of how to wield the power she possessed.

Masema's presence enveloped you like a soft cloud, calming the tempest of your swirling thoughts. His steady heartbeat seemed to set a new, measured rhythm for your own racing heart. The world around you faded away, leaving only his firm, commanding yet gentle voice echoing in your mind.

"Touch the stone," Masema whispered into your ear, pressing you tightly against his chest. "Don’t think. Feel. I trust you."

You couldn’t recall giving your hand the command to move forward, but it did so the very moment Masema’s words left his lips. The stone felt unforgivingly cold, its polished surface so smooth that you could feel each and every cut and line of the ancient runes engraved in it. Closing your eyes, you pressed your palm more firmly against it, with Masema’s hot breath on your neck serving as the only reminder of the world around you, the sole connection grounding you as you reached out for the source of light within you and it answered your call, pulsing and growing within you.

You trembled, the power scorching through you, burning from within, seeping into every cell of your body, every corner of your mind, its radiance swallowing you. So many times had you tried to reach for that power, you knew dwelling inside you. You could sense it, an unending pool of light and warmth, retreating each time you consciously called upon it. And now it was suddenly there, flickering around your fingertips, permeating in your breath, wafting around you with the strength of a tempest, flowing in a ceaseless current, begging to be tamed and channelled. 

Now it was you, squeezing Masemas hand with all the strength you had, seeking refuge in his unwavering confidence, in his steady breath on your neck, in his rhythmic heartbeat, as with a loud cry you channelled your power into the stone.

Suddenly, it was quiet around you. No howling, no growls, no sounds of approaching paws causing the earth to tremble beneath your feet. Slowly, you opened your eyes. You were still standing in the same place, your palm pressed against the stone, Masema’s muscular arm around your waist, his other hand squeezing your left hand. You breathed in the fresh air, smelling of grass and rain. Rain! The realisation hit you like lightning.

“I did it!” a cry of triumph vibrated through your body. “Masema, I did it! We're back.”

In the next moment, you were turned around as light as a feather and pressed against the stone, with Masema towering over you.

“My little dragon, my powerful girl,” was all he said as his lips crushed against yours.

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Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

[skyholly]

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

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

So, I did start writing it! Here are the chapters so far:

Chapter 1 here!

Chapter 2 here!

[pillowfriends]

no one asked but guess what. this is my blog I can be self indulgent. one of my million Moiraine WIPs is a post-Tower of Ghenjei fic and it’s kind of experimental and without further context here’s a snippet. I think it will hit harder in the context of the fic but stands well on its own too. thoughts?

I am named Moiraine and I used to be in love with a girl named Siuan. She had dark skin and dark curls and she liked to kiss me in the quiet alcoves of the Tower and whisper scandalous things in my ear. Siuan and I signed the Book of Novices on the same day. Our souls were tied together. My body invented new kinds of love for her, love that made me soft and ruthless and hopeful and afraid. She is likely dead now.

[cxsmiicc]

dead broke and broken hearted - lanfear x female dragon

first wot fic so sorry if anythings inaccurate and whatnot, had sm fun writing this uhhh yeah!!

5.8k words, ao3 link in title

smut, fluffy aftercare, choking, mistress kink if you squint, fingering, eating out, wlw ofc, think thats it??

Waiting. The innkeeper act left plenty to fill the hours, but that was secondary to this. To the Dragon. Ellyse, as she was now known. Had Lews Therin been reincarnated a man once again her job would be far easier, though notably less fun, she supposed idly. Seduction had hardly been her original plan for turning her to the Dark, but that first - and second - look she had given ‘Selene’ was enough to solidify it as the best option. It had been delightful to learn that it would scarcely take much on her part to slip between the poor girl’s sheets, she was short of coin the very first week in Cairhien. Light allusions and a lingering look aimed at her chest coloured her cheeks faintly pink and encouraged embarrassed mutterings, but her eyes were alight with the idea; so like his had been she almost had to turn away. In the progressing weeks it was made clear that Ellyse and Lews Therin were both more alike and different than she knew, from the creases around her eyes when she smiled heartachingly similar, to the things that led to that smile flipped entirely on their head. Where he led, she was content to follow, though not without ensuring choice words made their way to whoever was in charge; his pride was her insecurity. That could be worked on, it simply wouldn’t do to have a Dragon too bothered by self doubt to make use of. Raw power was nothing without control, and the willingness to use it when required, or rather for Ellyse to when it pleased Lanfear.

Coming back to herself, she realised the time and whipped wind through her hair, mussing it in such a way she knew Ellyse would adore, giving her clothes similar treatment. Far be it for her to get in such a state voluntarily, but then Lews had always preferred her somewhat unkempt, yet another thing that had survived in Ellyse. Not a moment after she had settled herself to face the door, settled herself into being Selene for the night, Ellyse entered, tripping on the broken sole of her boot in her haste. The candle had done its job after all, in announcing her plans for tonight. She let a slow, sly smile play across her lips and simply watched the other woman’s reaction, leaning back on one elbow as pure want spread through her. Even in this low lighting her infatuation was evident, eyes raking over her body, gaze lingering on the stray hair and twisted skirts that were oh so meticulously prepared exactly for this purpose, to entice. That was the aim of this entire endeavor, after all. Lure the Dragon to the Dark. Lure the dragon to her.

Said Dragon was busying herself with her boots, tugging the knotted laces as she discarded the ruined footwear.

“You put in word for another week.”

Winning the battle with the gnarled string, she turned and responded, “Is that going to be an issue?” Her tone was concerned, but the slight upturn of her mouth betrayed her true thoughts.

“Mmmmm,” She dragged the sound out as long as she could, delighting in how Ellyse hung on every vibration. Raising both arms and arching her back, she continued. “Shouldn’t be, provided you continue being so timely with payments.”

Shoes long forgotten, she was already making her way over, painting on a smile to rival Lanfear’s own. “I wouldn’t dream of being late, my lady.”

“Enough of these games.” Growing impatient with her pace, she forced her closer with saidar, crashing their lips together hard. This, this would never change. The ecstasy of having her love so close, the yearning for them to be closer still, to dash the rest of the world to pieces or bow everyone to her will, if only it meant more of this. One day, her Dragon would know this feeling too, one day soon if she was already as taken as she seemed. She was rougher than he had been - at least at first. Less scared of hurting her, more eager for her own satisfaction rather than focusing on what Selene needed. Yet another thing to be working on.

Manoeuvring them in such a way that she was above, she once again summoned the wind, this time to push apart the pins of Ellyse’s corset, lifting her weight slightly so that it fell beneath them and slid to the ground, using the same momentum to drive her thin undershirt over her head. The torn fabric tangled in her hair for a moment, off white against fiery red before it dropped into the depths under the bed with the corset. She giggled at this, bare chest heaving with breathless laughter.

“How you do that so fast I will never understand, it takes me years to get in and out of it.”

The smirk was back as she moved onto the lower portion of the dress, made easier by a lack of petticoats.

“I’d be more than happy to assist, but I fear I’d be reluctant to see it put back on.”

Whatever witty response she was sure to come out with was quickly silenced by the groan of pure desire Lanfear let out at the sight of her underthings, soaked through onto her thighs. Her Dragon was hers, and she took the time to appreciate it, slipping forward until she was straddling her hips, running the tips of her fingers idly over her sides, stopping before she could touch anywhere Ellyse truly wanted her to. She got bored of this rather quickly it seemed, reaching for her hands presumably to force her to touch her somewhere more interesting, but she wasn’t in charge here. Pinning her hands behind her head, Lanfear leaned in, letting her hair trail over the girl’s chest as she did so, giving some illusion of friction.

“No. You will wait, and if I decide that you deserve it you shall get something, but not before I am sated. Do you understand?”

Her pupils blew impossibly wider as she choked out agreement, but a mere “Y-yes,” wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

“Yes what?”

“Yes I understand, nothing for me until you’re satisfied, mistress.”

“That’s my girl.” She may not have known the depth of her belonging then, but she would. The Dragon was hers, in this life and ages past and in every one to come. As the Wheel turned, so she willed.

In the blink of an eye her dress was over her head and discarded elsewhere, the one underskirt she had on swiftly torn off and thrown. A wriggle of her hips had her lined up over Ellyse’s mouth, hovering even while arousal dripped down her cheeks, waiting to see what she would do. Much to her pleasure, her arms came up to wrap around her thighs, forcing her all the way down and reaching out with her tongue before she could get properly settled. She dropped with a lewd moan, revelling in the feeling of having this again, of being wanted, desired again. Ellyse knew, the way he always had, what she needed. Pushing until she was on the verge of breaking, then finding some new way to drag sounds she had no idea she was capable of making from the base of her throat, sucking hard at her clit and forcing her to grip the headboard until her knuckles grew white, hips still maintaining their fervid pace while her ecstasy dripped down the Dragon’s face, still supported by her sure grip. Relinquishing her hold on the bed, she gripped her arm, still wrapped around her thigh and the only reason she was still upright, squeezing hard and falling back ever so slightly.

Ever so slightly out of breath she asked, “Mmmmm, do you think you deserve your turn?”

The muffled voice replied, “Not up to me,” eyes on her the entire time.

That reverent look was precisely what she craved, the one who had so long ago denied her now thinking solely of her pleasure. She would do anything, anything, to keep it this way, she swore in that moment. Ellyse would know her true name before long, no matter what may have to happen to make that come to pass. Not that she would admit it, but there were easier ways than this innkeeper ploy to get to Ellyse. Plain old kidnapping, Compulsion, though she had never held Graendal’s fondness for the art, or even merely running into her on the road would have been easier. This way provided her with not only an end goal, but an escape along with it. As Mierin, she was held atop a pedestal, Lews Therin’s lover, as powerful as a woman could be in the power, yet never quite distinguished enough for a third name. No matter. As Lanfear, she wasn’t forsaken, but chosen. A creature of stories, the stuff of legends. Fitting for someone who was born in the age of them. Among the most powerful channelers of any age, and all paled in comparison to the imponderabilia of her allure. But Selene, Selene was different in that she was no different than any other innkeeper in Cairhien, at least at first glance. Selene was an ordinary woman, burdened only with the worries that plagued the rest of the city, of failed crops and lousy patronage. To be able to escape into nothing but sensation, to lose herself while riding someone else, that was the bliss she craved but could never quite achieve in her other personas.

Sliding back down, “Oh you are good for me aren’t you,” she said as she pressed her lips back onto Ellyse’s, greeted by the taste of herself thick on her tongue. She kissed and was kissed until nothing of her pleasure remained between them, and only then did she aim lower. Sinking her teeth into her Dragon’s neck, where she knew it would be seen above even the higher necklines she favoured, pressing and sucking at the sting to soothe the ache. These marks would last, all the better for the Aes Sedai that would undoubtedly rear their heads soon to see just how completely she controlled their precious tool. Again and again she latched on, until her shoulders were littered with purpling bruises leading gradually downwards, from the underside of her jaw to the beginnings of her décolletage. All the while Ellyse scarcely made a sound, as was her custom. Where Selene was loud about her pleasure, she was quiet, all whispered curses and muttered obscenities, sayings from Shienar and Falme, Saldea and Tear, all jumbled together in a passionate exclamation that would garner stares from even the most foul mouthed of sailors. Yet not once did she invoke the Light. Never since arriving in Cairhien. Never since leaving those who fought most fervently for it. Never since the Aes Sedai Moiraine had been stilled at the Eye of the World. A number of explanations for this presented themselves to Lanfear, ranging from tenable to inane. In a perfect world, she was ready to forsake the Light, swear her oaths to the Dark, and stay with her for ages come to pass. That, of course, was exceedingly unlikely, but it would never do to rule out ones best option. Whatever the reason, this habit lent hope to her mission and ulterior motives alike. Even if she wasn’t ready to walk the shadow completely, pulling the Dragon from directly following the path of the Light was a major step, and one bound to lead to a next.

Dropping her focus lower still, she wrapped her lips around the tip of her breast, again biting, ruining the flesh for anyone’s mouth but her own, revelling in the carte blanche Ellyse had given to her on that very first night, the first time the gold had failed to appear. One hand rose to pull at the side of her chest left unmarred, eliciting more soft gasps and choice swears from the redhead below, pale eyes forced closed in ecstasy. 

“Peace…” She trailed off as Selene slid her tongue across her skin, too caught up in sensation to form words.

Pausing her assault on the girl’s chest, “Aiel on first glance, swears like a Shienaran, all while claiming to be from the Two Rivers. Unusually well travelled for a farmhand.”

“I-,” A whine interrupted her response and Lanfear couldn’t help the smile that formed at how desperate she was, “Had a- a long - fuck - journey here… With some detours.”

“And i intend on hearing that story in full, another time.” With this, her hand slipped between her legs and wasted no time in finding her clit, never stopping the movement of her lips and successfully dragging a guttaral groan from her beautiful Dragon. And she was beautiful, more so than Lews had ever been. Anything enticing about him had originated from his strength, rather than his looks. A strong beak of a nose and coarse hair, eyes that never seemed to show emotion. All things that lent him an air of power, but did nothing to lend him her heart. But Ellyse was none of these. Her features were delicate, hair thick and soft and the colour of the setting sun. Beauty unlike that which Lanfear possessed, yet differing from most in that it was not dulled by standing near her, rather it seemed to draw the flower from her bud, to enhance every aspect of her to a level befitting the person Lanfear had chosen to stand aside, to turn her from a simple farmhand to the Dragon Reborn. The sun and moon, Bringer of Light and the Daughter of the Night, united in glory. And when the time came, she would take the glory. Selene would make sure of it. But for now, her fingers found their way to her entrance, slow and deliberate. Waiting for that telltale panting of want before she pushed inside, velvet smoothness surrounding two digits, the wetness dripping onto the sheets more than enough for her to start moving. Pounding in and out, in and out, thumb working her clit and tongue still laying waste to her breasts until she came, body rippling like tremulous petals, saidin threatening to overflow its confines and burst free, tongues of flame coiling sinuously around the two forms on the bed, visible only to those select few who had seen the tainted power at work before. Ever a giving lover, she fucked her through it, praising the Pattern that Ellyse’s eyes had closed before the power had escaped and she would have had to either lie or reveal herself, and it was too early for that yet. Soon, with any luck.

Hearing her true name from the Dragon’s lips, in this lifetime, was what she craved more so than owning her body. He had had her as Mierin, the wunderkind physicist, still not entirely sure of her place in the world. Since then, she had created that place. Created the person to fill it. Chosen of the Dark One, instrumental in freeing him. A story told to frighten children into good behaviour. Stronger than today’s Aes Sedai could ever dream of being, even with their few remaining angreal. A threat to everything they were currently working towards. And how she delighted in it. What joy it was to finally be stronger than those who would silence her, both in the power and politically. Their web of Darkfriend supporters was woven deep into the aristocracy and spread from those highest in their respective cities to the lowliest peasant, with men enough for grunt work of the kind you didn’t return from and the Black Ajah to tug on those strings that she herself was too high up to bother handling. Yes, Ellyse would know her strength soon. Know just how special she was, how special they both were. 

Her eyes were fluttering back open by this time, face slack save a dreamy smile that soon shifted as Lanfear slammed a hand around her neck. Pinning her to the bed, she crashed their lips together once more, another rough, demanding kiss, taking advantage of her surprise to work her tongue in, swallowing back the moans both women let out. Thin rivulets of sweat rode towards the sheets, fighting to find a space the two weren’t pressed against each other to slide along. Delicate strands of saliva webbed over the wrist that remained around Ellyse’s throat as she abruptly pulled back, pinning her with a stare so intense what little breath she could draw caught in her throat and every hair along her arms rose. Something akin to fear polluted those grey eyes, no longer sleepy but wide and alert. One brow arched in a silent question.

“You’re mine.”

Waiting was no longer an option. Her tone left no question in the matter, and gave the girl no options aside from the obvious. She found herself more stuck on Ellyse than she had ever been on Lews. He had been perfectly delightful for a time, but the monotony of it all had gotten to her in the end. She had been his first priority, his chief opinion, the one he trusted above all others. For a time. Too soon, he had seemed to grow bored of her. Everything was more important. Her achievements had been second wind to whatever his latest flight of fancy was. So she had adapted. Planted the idea for his next delusion after becoming a master at it. Mirroring him oh so fucking perfectly, right up until the day he looked too closely. The cracks were fine, yet they ran end to end. Falling apart with the slightest pressure, one lingering glance and sordid conversation was enough to shatter the life she had so carefully constructed for herself. Never again. Never again would she make that mistake.

Seeing her like this, with such exquisite longing drawn across her features even while hopelessly overpowered; from the trusting softness in her eyes to the set curve of her throat, pushing slightly at the hand restraining her as if trying to get closer still, apparently forgetting they were all but conjoined from the hips down, inspired this sudden fierce possessiveness. Praise the Dark One and the Pattern and even the Creator himself for allowing a Dragon as perfect as Ellyse. One so superbly isolated from her loved ones, wondrously scorned by the Aes Sedai claiming to act in the name of the Light, and so desperate for the slightest scrap of affection that she had come running the instant Lanfear opened her arms - both literally and metaphorically. She had awoken in this age looking to find Lews again, intent on remedying her past mistakes with a sugar shell and sweet words, but she was certainly a welcome surprise. She may have been all that was left of him, but he was only a fragment of her. His resolve, his raw strength, and the tempest of his anger were all evident, yet she controlled them in ways that would have been foreign to the Dragon of old, tempered the aggression saidin wrought with a gentleness Lanfear had not thought possible from someone in such circumstances as she and yet still bending the tainted power to her will with all the delicacies of a hammer striking hot steel. The battle against the male power was not an easy one for any man, let alone a woman in possession of the soul of a man three thousand years dead without any shred remaining of his sanity. She had given so much already, leaving everyone she knew behind so as not to risk one day hurting them if the madness claimed her also and she lived up to the Kinslayer’s legacy. Noble intentions, truly. But a futile effort in the end. Day by day, Lanfear could sense saidin rooting itself deeper and deeper within the girl, occupying the shadowed recesses of her mind and whispering into her dreams. These, not even the Daughter of the Night herself could keep from reaching Ellyse in Tel’aran’rhiod. She would need to swear her oaths to stop the decay, and the chances of her doing that were slim as of now, unless she had seriously misjudged the poor child.

But here and now that was of little consequence. Any influence the Dark had had over her was weak, yet enough to bring about certain… changes. Only noticeable to one sharing a bed with her. A self assuredness overtook her at times, the shy smile making way for a confident smirk, one that said she knew exactly what you were thinking and exactly why you were thinking it, well on its way to being on par with Lanfear’s own. In nights past it had been Ellyse holding her by the throat, nights when she had left no sign of her presence and allowed a frustrated woman to walk in and see someone seemingly only wanting her body when she so desperately needed to speak and be heard. Nights when what she had truly needed was to take control over something, someone, and feed that lust for power buried deep within. This Dragon did so like to deny what she was, who she was, and yet it was only by accepting it that these trysts she so enjoyed could blossom into true partnership. 

Selene would be more than happy with Ellyse, but Lanfear would settle for nobody short of the Dragon.

Those damned wrinkles formed around her eyes as she laughed lightly in response to her lovers sudden possessiveness, “For now and for always, Selene.”

This reckless confession dragged to the surface memories of Lews saying much the same. By the Light, they were so much the same. If she were to… No. No. She wouldn’t. All the girl needed was time. A few months was nothing. These few months had simply been ground work. Laying the foundation for her grand scheme. Enamouring Ellyse with exactly what she needed most, before slowly revealing her true self. Well, what little there was left to reveal. Selene, at times, seemed to be more her than Lanfear. Selene could be soft, show emotion without worrying about it being construed as weakness. Daes Dae’mar had nothing on the scheming of the Chosen, and if any of the others were around to catch wind of Ellyse being the Dragon, her perfect romance would never have bloomed. Well, Ishamael was free also, but him and her alone understood the allure of the Dragon, of Lews Therin walking the world once more. He knew exactly how beneficial having her hopelessly in love with one of the Forsaken could be. After all, loving Lews was what had driven Lanfear to swear her oaths. It was inevitable that loving her should send Ellyse down the path of the Shadow also.

But for now, she had a beautiful woman underneath her and she intended to take every possible second of pleasure. Her easy smile at declaring herself Selene’s belied the hand creeping towards her core, parting her legs and flipping them so that she was on top in one smooth motion, grinning at the shock on Lanfear’s face even while she pulled her closer. This kiss was softer, fitting of the words not long spoken, gentle movements and muffled groans filling the room. Ellyse raised one knee and she wasted no time in grinding against it, those gentle groans replaced with a sudden gasp at the much needed friction. Her Dragon chuckled at this show of want, slipping two fingers inside of her and relishing in her wanton moan at the sensation. She kept the kiss going even as her fingers sped up and it became more and more one sided, all of Selene’s energy going into arching to meet her thrusts to get herself there. Her fingers scissored inside her walls as they plunged in, thumb finding her clit in moments and marking swift circles, drawing her closer and closer with every clever flick of her wrist. She suddenly forced them closer, slipping her tongue into her mouth and drinking down every little sound that escaped as she came, never slowing and showing no signs of stopping, pressuring her still shaking body into a second orgasm and only relenting after Selene’s shuddering subsided.

“Careful, I might start thinking you like me.” All things considered, her tone was surprisingly even, though her breathlessness somewhat ruined the playacting.

Ever quick to play along, her Dragon, her wonderful Dragon, replied, “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” She punctuated her words with a tender kiss, rolling over to rest her head on Lanfear’s chest, absently tracing patterns against her stomach. “I’m sorry if that was too much, I just-

She was cut off by a swift laugh, Lanfear pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and wrapping both arms around her slight frame. “You’d know if it was too much. I am a woman of many attributes, one of which happens to be my fabulous libido. If you ever tried anything at all that i didn’t like, I would find a way to let you know, okay? Just like you would tell me if you ever weren’t enjoying something I introduced.” True, however unlikely it was. One area in which Lews and Ellyse scarcely differed at all was sexual preferences. She liked what he had liked, and what he had liked, Mierin had mastered. But back to the present.

“Want me to get the candle?”

“Please.”

As she rose from the bed, her hair swung behind her, a solid red mass of snarls and frizz thanks to the friction of the sheets.

“Forget the candle, bring your hairbrush over here.”

“Why?”

“Because, your hair is ruined sweetheart, let me help. After all, this is thanks to me and I like making you feel good.”

A truly gorgeous grin bloomed across her face at these words, one so full of unadulterated happiness that she stumbled on her way back across the room, all but dropping the brush onto the bed.

“Come on, let me get fresh sheets while you find something to tie your hair off with. If you don’t have anything, there should be something in my room.”

She nodded and threw a greatcoat across her shoulders for the walk to Selene’s room, all the way on the other side of the inn, leaving Lanfear free to freshen the sheets, weaving flows of air and water to draw everything undesirable from the bedding and thoroughly wash it, rather than trekking to the linen closet that was all of two doors down the hall. While she was at it, she briefly scrubbed herself down and expelled any unwanted fluids. Nobody could possibly sleep comfortably while not being properly clean. By the time she was finished with all of this, Ellyse was back, thin leather cord in hand and coat abandoned on the floor.

“Perfect, now come here and sit.” She patted the space between her thighs on the bed, lightly pulling her endless amounts of hair to her back as she began parting it to brush through. Over half of the shapeless mass was placed back over her shoulder so as to separate it from the hank being brushed, only to then have another section taken from it as the first was smoothed over her other shoulder. The work was slow and methodical, the thickness of her hair necessitating a gentle hand and the patience of one who had been imprisoned for millenia. Working from the bottom to the top had always yielded the best, least painful results on her own hair, so this was the technique she favoured for her Dragon. She seemed to enjoy the attention, watching the candlelight flicker around the room and talking of everything and nothing, a fresh topic with every brushstroke. Once the detangling was over, she divided the hair into nine sections, braiding it into three before twisting them together into one elaborate braid that would hang to her waist, but was currently snaking over the sheets as she lay back and smiled up in thanks.

“That was… Incredible. Nobody has done anything like that for me, well, ever,” She confessed. “Can I-” Nerves seemed to cut her off, despite their earlier activities. “Can I brush yours? I promise I’ll be gentle.” That shy grin was awful, capable of levelling cities and destroying nations. Of course, only when it was directed at Lanfear.

“Come on then, let me sit.”

The girl scrambled to take Selene’s place, straddling the elder and gently running a hand through her hair to see what she was working with.

“God, everything about you is beautiful.”

This praise shouldn’t have effected her as much as it did. Blushing like a maiden at her first bedding over a simple truth! She was better than this.

She took the brush in hand and simply began, with none of the careful strategy Selene had had, just tugging it from midway down to the end and letting the hair bounce back up into the waves it liked to fall into.

“So where did you get the tie? It’s pretty and it felt like it was a good one, not the cheap kind traders always brought to the Two Rivers that snapped after two uses.”

“Oh, the markets in Cairhien are always reliable for odds and ends like that, but if you truly want the best of the best, you’re much better off wandering the Foregate for a time.”

Confusion filled her voice. “The Foregate??”

“Yes, the people here spend far more time making these things than the people in the city proper, and often use better materials too. Yes, you may pay a little more, but whats a few extra pennies for something that I’ll use forever.”

“Huh, remind me to consult you before I go shopping next.”

“Please, you wouldn’t last an hour walking alone in the Foregate. Pretty little things are almost always taken for noblewomen in disguise. Trust me, you don’t want that happening.”

“So whatever must you do?”

Stifling a laugh, she turned to face Ellyse, resting a hand on her knee as she replied, “They take one look at me and think better of it.” This ominous statement was accompanied by a sugar sweet smile, one designed to fool showoff noblemen looking for an easy boost to their egos. But Ellyse was sharper than them.

“Good thing I like my women a little dangerous.”

Both women were suddenly laughing, clutching at one another’s arms as they tried desperately to stop, to calm themselves.

Still struggling to catch her breath, Ellyse managed to get a complete sentence out, “Come on, lie down and I’ll get the candle.”

Residual giggles saw the candle, wick burning lower and lower, blown out and the Dragon curled securely in Lanfear’s arms.

“You know, you’re stunning when you laugh like that.” Something about this sleepy confession dug through the layers of carefully crafted personas that made up Lanfear. All of a sudden she really was just Selene, falling asleep with her lover in the inn she owned, rather than the terrifying creature who orchestrated the entire relationship, from obtaining inns all over not just the Foregate but in Cairhien proper also, not knowing where Ellyse would choose to stay. In hindsight, the Foregate was the obvious choice, but then hindsight is always clearer, to ensuring her salary remained below the rent through a mixture of false charges and bribing the sanitarium staff. This entire thing was false, so why did falling for Ellyse seem so real? Lews was perfectly fine. A man, a symbol of power, of status. Someone she would not have minded using, standing by him as long as it was beneficial to her and leaving the moment it was not. She would have taken what he had in a heartbeat had it been possible. But she was different. She… She was so pure. The world hadn’t spoiled her yet. Lanfear, Daughter of the Night, second only to Ishamael in terms of power,  set the world aflame and dance amongst the ashes to see the Dragon Reborn smile, to be the reason that effervescent smile spread across her cheeks. She knew who she was, and yet she still saw the light in everything. And the reverence in her eyes when she looked at Selene… If only she could moan her true name. The day that happened, she swore on everything she had, she would properly celebrate. With wine, and her woman. Preferably all day, on every available surface, the Great Plan be damned. Evil could take a day off so that its perpetrators could get thoroughly laid.

One thing that bothered her though. Despite Ellyse knowing that she was indeed the Dragon Reborn, she had taken no steps towards mastering her power. Or even understanding it at the most basic level. However strong she may think she was right now, it was but a fraction of what she could be with training. Training that she could not provide, aside from the foundations of control. Not setting fires in her sleep and such. But the true depths of saidin… To master it she would need someone familiar in the power. Ishamael, or Asmodean perhaps. No matter, that bridge could be crossed later. When she was trained, the two of them would be unstoppable. The two halves of the power, working in unison for the first time since the Age of Legends. Now that was something worthy of her and her Dragon. Nothing short of miraculous would be enough. The things they could do with those weaves were damn near limitless. They could tear down the world and remake it in their image, teach those failures of Aes Sedai what true control was.

But here, in this moment, all that mattered was Ellyse’s even breathing as her head rested once again over her breast, one hand idly tapping at the sheets in her slumber. Choosing to forego an appearance in her dreams tonight, she simply lay there and enjoyed the moment. That steady thud as her finger collided with the material over and over gradually became an annoyance. One that she tried to block out, focusing her mind elsewhere until she could not anymore, using wind to plug her ears until the sensation of pressure building became too much, even going so far as to attempt moving her arm as she slept. Finally, she tried slipping her own hand underneath Ellyse’s, successfully blocking the target of the infernal knocking. What she did not anticipate was the way the sleeping Dragon clasped her hand, holding it as though it was a lifeline. This simple act was enough to confirm what she had suspected for a while, though that suspicion had come to a head tonight. Ellyse truly was different from Lews, in that she had successfully caught Lanfear’s heart.

-

tags, couple people who asked to be tagged and a few randoms bcs i dont have a taglist sorry if u didnt wanna be tagged <33

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress @eve-is-obsessed @hahnspoetrywrites @lanfearswife @moon3thereal @ofthebrownajah

[butterflydm]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan, The Wheel of Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon Characters: Rand al'Thor, Mat Cauthon Additional Tags: Mix of Show and Book Canon, no major spoilers, set pre-canon, polyamorous character(s), Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, perrin and nynaeve make appearances but not for long, Demisexual Rand al'Thor, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs Summary:

In a summer set before the events of the series would have taken place, Rand asks Mat a question that ends up taking them down a different path.

"You- ah, you-" Rand licked his lips, nervously. He wasn't quite able to say what he wanted, so he tried another tactic. "I think Egwene wants me to kiss her."

Perrin dropped his half-carved wooden block.

"What makes you say that?" Perrin asked, picking it back up again, and returning to his whittling. "Did she- did she say something?"

"She's wanted that for ages," Mat said, as though it were obvious, and Perrin dropped the block again. Rand eyed him curiously. He wasn't normally clumsy. Mat propped himself up on one of his knees, focusing on Rand. "Why do you think I suggested you learn how to- ah, that's what this is about, isn't it? You do want some practice, after all?"

[asha-mage]

mat/tuon prompt: dice

For his thirty fourth birthday Mat received two gifts from his wife.

The first he woke up to find on his sitting room table, in an ornately carved and gilded box of black oak. There was no note or message attached to it, and Mat knew that if he questioned the servants none would admit to any knowledge of how it had gotten into his room.

They might even be telling the truth. He thought most of the da’covale in his entourage were more in his camp then Tuon’s these days, and she had plenty of other means of circumventing his security without raising an alarm. But it was hard to say for sure. Mat had a remarkable ability to win people over, but the Empress was the Empress, and with the Seanchan-born that could matter more than all the good feeling and personal loyalty in the world.

Still the how didn’t really matter that much. Neither did the lack of anything to identify the sender. Mat knew it was Tuon. No one else in the Empire would be sending him gifts on his birthday. In Seanchan, namedays were celebrated on the date you had been given your current name, not the date you had been born, and it was months yet until the anniversary of the day Tuon had officially recognized him as Emperor Consort and bequeathed him the name of Inarian.

There would be a grand feast on that day, both to celebrate him making it through another year with his head still attached to his shoulders, and to commemorate the Battle of Malheian, which had brought the entire peninsula of Dohmar, and more importantly the capital, back under the Empress’s control. That was when Tuon had finally raised him from Prince of the Ravens to Emperor Consort, and he had shed the name Knotai for Inarian. It would be a grand spectacle, that feast, full of parades and presentations and balls. He would have to endure an endless stream of nobles vying for his favor by presenting him lavish and exotic gifts from across the Empire, and give several speeches written out ahead of time by his so'jhin.  It was something Mat dreaded every year, and that despite his best efforts, he never quite managed to escape. Tuon played the game too well for that.

Case in point: the box.

Mat considered retrieving his ashandarei, but in the end settled for simply using one of the gilded fireplace pokers to remove the lid from the box. He had to shove it into the crevice and jimmy a bit to get the lid to pop off, but when he did, his caution proved completely justified.

There was a flash of black, something streaking through the air faster than Mat would have been able to escape had he been standing closer. But with Mat standing a good distance back, the serpent could only snap at the air in confusion, its fangs failing to sink into anything as it fell, half its body slapping onto the table, the other half still curled inside the box.

Mat didn’t hesitate- he struck with the blunt hook of the poker slamming it against the serpent’s triangle shaped head and crushing it against the tabletop with a single sickening crunch. Blood sprayed over the silken table cloth, staining the dark green with crimson. Then just to be sure it was dead, Mat gave it three more wacks. He didn’t think Tuon could find a special unkillable snake, but better safe than sorry.

When it became clear the snake would not be moving absent of its brain Mat hooked its body onto the edge of his poker and lifted it to the light to examine it better. He gave a start when he realized the snake was covered in shiny black scales with a lean, somewhat short body.

“A Blacklance.” He whispered and was unable to stop himself from smiling. One of the most poisonous snakes he knew of, with venom that could kill in heartbeats.

What a thoughtful wife he had.

Letting the poker drop Mat moved to strike the brass gong on his bedside table, which summoned the servants back from where he had sent them into the hall to wait. They spilled into the room in a flurry of confusion and noise that only grew as they saw the body of the serpent sprawled on the table.

They, of course, were horrified and shocked at the presence of the snake, though none of them recognized it for what it was as near as Mat could tell. Much was made over his wellbeing and Mat had to quash several attempts to call for the palace physician, the Seekers for Truth, and even Selucia.

Names where floated in the panic of who might be responsible. By his secretary, by the cupbearer, even by his da'covale: their suspects ranged from High Lords that Mat had recently offended or snubbed, to enemy warlords in the still fractured north and south who wanted to prevent the Empire’s reconsolidation, to the Amyrlin Seat, whose title was spoken with the horror Mat was more used to hearing in the voice of those talking of the Dark One.

Adric, Mat’s so’jihin, said nothing on the matter, instead simply directing the work of having the snake removed, along with the tablecloth and the box, then set about ordering da'covale back to their various tasks, including seeing Mat dressed and combed. He knew the score, and knew there was no sense in dwelling on what could not be changed.

The four Deathwatch Guards who had been given to him by Tuon were equally silent. Mat had no doubts where their loyalties ultimately lay, and they knew Tuon too well to take this for anything else but what it was. Then there was Laier. The slender fifteen year old boy who was supposedly Mat’s sulshima also had no expression. Officially Laier’s duty was tending to Mat’s weapons, armor, and other needful things while on campaign, when a horde of servants were not convenient to keep around, and staying close to see to any odd jobs Mat might have while at court. But Laier had been born and trained in secret as a Shadow, the same as Selucia, raised to be the second to last line of defense for Mat’s life. Mat had seen him kill without remorse or hesitation at only twelve years old, the same age he had been given to Mat, crushing the throat of the assassin who had been sent specifically to test his skills as a bodyguard. Laier’s loyalty was exclusively to Mat, no matter how little Mat wanted it, and Laier also knew very well where the box had come from.

Most of the scars Laier bore were not the work of Tuon’s various attempts to kill him. But some were. One was too many in Mat’s book, but he had given up that fight for a bad job. He had yelled and bargained and begged, but it had not made a dent, on the boy or on Tuon. Both had been bewildered by his objections, had seen nothing wrong in the arrangement. Mat was a member of the Imperial Family. He needed a Shadow. That was that. If anything, Tuon had seemed worried he would be upset over not having been given one sooner.

One should have been part of your wedding gift by rights. She had told him when he had been presented the twelve year old on their anniversary. But most of the unassigned Shadows were killed during the start of the Anarchy, so one had to be trained from scratch. Shadows, Mat had learned, where born into it, but began their training at three years old. They were usually assigned between the ages of twelve and fifteen. Mat hadn’t dared ask what happened to ones who weren't assigned by that time. Their was nothing else in the boy's life but protecting Mat, the same as it had been with Selucia and Tuon. In the end, Mat hadn't been able to deny him his only purpose. Instead he had promised himself that he would do what he could for the boy, and learn to live the rest. That was why Mat had sent him out of the room with the others even though he wasn't supposed to. The bloody child would have probably insisted on opening the box with his own two hands, and then where would they be?

For the moment, Laeir stood to the side, waiting patiently while the servants worked. Mat for his part kept his own silence, letting the da'covale chatter while they dressed him, not revealing any of his own thoughts on the matter. Let the palace think what it wished. No one would dare name Tuon as the culprit of the latest assassination attempt, though most would at least entertain the possibility. It made no difference in the end.

By the time his coat was fixed in place and his hat was finally handed to him, Mat was more than ready for breakfast. Adric went ahead to see to directing the rest of Mat’s entourage, and the Deathwatch Guards spread out in a fan, while Laier raced on to open doors and bow Mat into each new room. On the off chance they encountered commoners on route to the dining garden, Laier could serve as Mat’s Voice and would need to be close at hand to read the finger gestures Mat had been forced to learn.

Not that anyone really expected Mat to use a voice. Even most of the Blood had given up being shocked and appalled that Mat spoke to simple commoners without an intermediary. It was like his refusal to grow out his fingernails or paint them. Another oddity of the foreign born Emperor Consort. Something to gossip about in parlors and salons, but as long as he kept winning battles for the Empire, not something worth holding against him day to day.

Tuon was waiting for Mat in the dining garden, already seated at the small table beneath the open air pavilion. As always the first sight of her caught Mat’s breath in a way he could never explain. Maybe in a way he would never be able to explain. Her dark skin glowed in the morning light, and something about the green and white of her pleated dress- simple as a gown sown with opals and firedrops could be- set off that beauty perfectly.

Selucia stood at her shoulder of course, Deathwatch Guards ringing the pavilion in stoney silence. But Mat ignored them like he always did as he sauntered over to the table and dropped lazily into the chair opposite Tuon.

“Good morning wife!” He said cheerily. “How did you sleep?”

Her full lips twitched, the barest hint of a scowl trying to form before she suppressed it. Mat could have chuckled, but that would have given him away. It irked her that he didn’t bluster and snarl and shake the body of the snake at her. The same way it had once irked Mat when Daise Conger had refused to acknowledge that her chickens had been covered in flour. The worst thing that could happen with a prank was not getting caught and punished, it was the joke not landing.

“I slept well, husband.” She said in that drawling honey voice of hers. “I feel much refreshed from my most recent progression. And you?”

The moment Mat was settled, the da’covale began to lay out their breakfast. Mat barely paid any mind to the the combination of uncooked fish and sweet breads that were spread before them, his eyes were locked to Tuon’s, trying to read the mysteries hidden there.

Mat had not wanted a life milking his father’s cows, a life of boring simplicity in the Two Rivers. He had wished for more. He had wished for excitement and adventure and daring gambles. And Light of Heaven, he had gotten his wish.

“I slept well.” Mat replied, raising his cup. His cupbearer was there in a heartbeat to pour kaf for him. “I dreamed of a forest actually.”

Tuon blinked, raising an eyebrow. “A forest?”

Mat nodded. “A forest in Altara actually. Northern Altara, not far from the Damona Mountains. I think we may have visited it once during our courtship.”

This time, Tuon didn’t catch her smile soon enough to prevent him from seeing it. Even if she had, Mat didn’t doubt she would have caught his hidden meaning.

It was in a forest near the Damona Mountains, where a blacklance had nearly taken the life of one of their party. Mat had let it go, and Tuon had gifted a kiss to ‘the man who allowed a deadly snake to live.’ Their first kiss.

I see you beneath it all Tuon. He thought as he gazed at her. I see the woman you are beneath the duty, and the machinations, and the iron cold mask. I know your sentimental heart. To say that to her would be to court his own death- not a half hearted assaination attempt meant to fail and to keep him sharp. But a real, true death, probably screaming in the Tower of Ravens. But he found ways to tell her without words anyways. He had to. There was too much love in him for him to keep it all sealed up- like water, it demanded some path to rush along.

“We might have.” Tuon said noncommittally as her plate was layered high with fish. “I can’t recall.”

Mat shrugged and was about to start in on the food when Tuon spoke again.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have a gift for you, husband.” Mat turned back to her, raising his eyebrow. She simply gestured and Selucia glided forward, producing something from her sleeve.

He was suddenly on guard, and his tension was obvious because he saw Laier tense also, out of the corner of his eye. In a one on one fight, Mat would bet on Laier against Selucia- he was younger, faster, and Selucia was on the older end for a Shadow already. But if Tuon was going to try and kill him here and now there was no way the Deathwatch Guard wouldn’t get involved, and in that melee all Laier could do was die. But surely not- this wasn't Tuon’s way. She wouldn’t try again at his life so soon after the snake. Unless-

His thoughts cut off as Selucia laid something down beside him on the table. It was a small leather cup, tooled with roses. Mat’s jaw dropped when he realized what it was and he glanced at Tuon again to find her smirking openly, thrilling in having thrown him off guard.

Hesitantly, Mat reached out and picked up the leather cup, popping off the lid. Sure enough, as he tipped it over, six glittering black dice, shining like glass but clinking like metal, rolled onto the table. Each pip was a moon in a different phase, carefully and stylistically set into the metal surface.

By purest chance each of the die had landed to show a single new moon. Only one pip. The Dark One’s eyes. The best toss, or the worst, depending on the game.

“Happy birthday, husband.” Tuon said, and for just a moment, he heard genuine warmth slip into her voice. He would never know if it was a mistake in a moment of weakness, or an intentional attempt to manipulate him, or just her letting herself be vulnerable for a special occasion. That, Mat reflected, was half the fun. “Do you like it?”

Mat laid his hand over the dice and grinned at her. “I love it, wife. Shall we play a round after breakfast?”

She raised a single eyebrow at him. Her imperious mask was firmly back in place now, no hint of humanity or weakness to be shown. “And what shall be the stakes, husband? What could we wager of meaning between us? Coin? Jewels? Kingdoms?”

“The highest stakes of all.” Mat said, picking up the dice and shaking them in his palm. “A single kiss to the winner of each round.”

She didn’t react except to sniff at him, but Mat didn’t mind. He knew this game. He had chosen it. And there truly was nothing else like it in all the world. That was more than enough for him.

He opened his hand, and rolled the dice.

[thatordinaryoddity]

i did a thing…

Summary:

Siuan and Moiraine’s visit to Cairhien brings them face to face with House Damodred’s intricate world. As they wait for the perfect moment to share their news, they discover that timing is a finicky companion when noble agendas are at play.

This fanfiction explores what happens after the 2x07 fishwife scene but we’re pretending that Gitara’s foretelling never happened and Moiraine is, in fact, introducing Siuan to her family.

[gunkreads]

Sammael prepares for his final clash with the Dragon Reborn.

This was fun! Unfortunately it’s going to be the only Forsaken Week thing I write, because Sammael is kind of the only Forsaken I ever think about.

[chaosandorder46]

[superfluouskeys]

wip wednesday! (it is thursday)

Thank you so much @thevikingwoman for the tag!! As is becoming custom I am here to drop some nonsense from before school beat me with a stick. Idk how close ghost of you part 3 is to being done because I'm pretty sure it's gonna end up having a part 4 LOL, but here is the beginning!

I'm not gonna tag anyone rn bc I lack the brain capacity but pls feel free to share and pretend I tagged you! It's wip wednesday-thursday ♥

--

Moiraine always had a knack for compartmentalizing.  She never thought much about it, really, it was just the way her mind worked.  She was like her father, who could love his family one day and very nearly forget they existed the next, because he was so involved in his latest project that he had simply…tucked them safely away somewhere, to be loved properly at a more convenient time.

Anvaere’s mind does not work the same way, and nor did their mother’s.  For them, Father’s occasional abandonment seeped into everything around it, the proverbial fruit of the poisonous tree.  By their estimation, he did not get to love them one day and leave them the next, and in retrospect, Moiraine supposes she can understand that.

In practice it was rather miserable, though.  Anvaere moped, while their mother made a hobby of building resentment.

Moiraine considers in passing that she’s doing a rather magnificent job of encompassing both of her family’s tried and true traditions in her misery, hiding herself away most of the time, but still managing to make the whole place intolerable when she is present.

It would be much easier, she thinks, if Lan would just leave her alone.  Neither Verrin nor Adeleas has any desire for Moiraine’s company—and rightly so.  They are perfectly happy to aid their sister in her time of need without demanding the wretched details.  One doesn’t hear much about women being stilled, but then again, one doesn’t need to.  The mention alone is chilling.  They understand even without any comparable experience.

But Lan keeps on knocking at her door, keeps inviting her to meals, inviting her on walks, inviting her to do anything, anything at all, anything she wants, and she doesn’t know how to tell him that there is nothing she wants anymore, and there never can be.

She tells herself it is something of a relief to be free of the notion that she might set herself right again.  It would have been a colossal waste of time.  Better to be done with it now and move onto what is important.  After all, she herself hardly matters.  She let Rand go because she’d thought the matter was done with, but she realized quickly that it wasn’t, and now she needs to ascertain what will come next.

It’s something to occupy her mind, but there’s no joy in chasing down the mystery.  Her days are filled with dead ends and tiresome visitors who overplay their hands.  They misjudge Moiraine because the way to determine how much leverage one holds is to guess what the other person wants, what the other person cares for, and they do not understand that Moiraine wants nothing and cares for nothing.

In all their years traveling together, Lan has never once snapped at her like that.  There was a time when it would have brought her a sick sort of delight.  She used to try all the time to get a rise out of him, to make him lash out at her so she could feel justified cutting him off.  She’d never had someone so steady in her life, and it confused and frightened her.

His outburst reaches her, in a way.  She realizes she can’t go on like this hoping he’ll eventually stop trying.  She resolves to leave under cover of night, hoping at least that he is angry enough with her not to notice her missing right away.

She hadn’t counted on three Fades.  One, perhaps, if she were very unlucky.  But Moiraine herself is not particularly important, and certainly not at the moment.  She led the Dragon to the Eye of the World, yes, but it’s not as though the Dark didn’t get something out of that.  By all accounts she should be less than nothing now.  An Aes Sedai who cannot channel?  Who has no Warder, no family, no friends left to look out for her?

With a terrible lurching sensation, suddenly Moiraine is in two places at once.  She is here and not here, lying on the ground outside Verrin’s estate and back at the Eye of the World, and somehow, Lan has found her yet again.  He finds her without the bond, without magic, without anything to guide him.  Moiraine feels more than she’s felt in months.  She feels angry, and relieved, and devastated.  He can’t be here.  They cannot keep doing this.

If Moiraine is still a target, then she has to get Lan away from her.  She can’t keep him safe like this, and he’ll die trying to protect her because it’s what he’s sworn to do.  She doesn’t know what she’s been doing up until now, hoping he’d tire of her coldness and drift away on his own.  It was selfish of her.  She didn’t want to strike the killing blow, make him really hate her, make the split impossible to reconcile.

But what would be really, unforgivably selfish would be to keep him around when she knows it will get him killed.  It would be a senseless death, defending something that’s no longer worth the price.

Necessity doesn’t make the burden any easier to bear.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Supper

Authors note: this is my sweet revenge to @sihtricfedaraaahvicius and @tinumiel for making me impossibly horny over Masema for the whole day. And believe me it was a long day. I love you guys and I hope you will enjoy this little drabble

Summary: there is no summary, there is no plot, just pure SMUT 18+

Warnings: it's not proofread, I didn't even read it through a second time, I just needed to get this out of my brains

Pairing: Masema x reader (female)

Word Count: 0,9 K

You approach the Prophet's chambers carrying the plate with some meat and vegetables. The Prophet leads a humble life you have been told. He is devoted to Dragon, he hears his voice in his dreams and follows his orders. To be allowed to serve the Prophet is a great honour and this is the very first time you are allowed to go to this chambers and serve him his supper since you have started to work in the kitchen six months ago.  

You knock and wait to be summoned herein before you push the door open and enter. There he sits in a chair before the window, immersed in a book. He doesn’t even look at you, when you enter, just raises his hand and points to the table. You turn and head to the table to put the plate and arrange the cutlery. 

You turn around hastily as you feel someone behind you, just to face the Prophet towering over you. He is tall, his dark hair bound back in a bun, his face stern and the look in his eyes inquiring as if he could see through you, to read each and every thought in your mind. You swallow hard and want to move out of his way, but he doesn’t let you, his both hands on your waist.

You feel a shiver going down your spine as his grip tightens and his eyes continue scanning you. You open your mouth, but no sound escapes as you feel drowning in his eyes. 

"Sch-sh,” the Prophet places a finger on your lips letting you know he wants you to keep silent. “There is no need for words, my child. I can see what you want, I can see what you need. And I will give it to you,” his voice is so soft and you feel yourself unable to move as if caught in a giant cobweb, paralyzed by his intense gaze. 

He takes hold of your jaw and pushes it slightly up, his thumb nudging your lips. You open your mouth, his thumb slides inside and you start sucking it, swirling your tongue around it. 

“Have you been a good girl today?” he whispers in your ear. You want to answer, but he suddenly squeezes your jaw tightly, preventing you from speaking. “Don’t try to pretend before me. I know you haven’t,” he continues, “And do you know what happens to bad girls? They need to be punished.”

You swallow hard and your eyes widens as you see the Prophet undoing his belt. 

“Hands,” he commands and you know there is no way of disobeying him. You stretch your hands and feel the belt tightening around your wrists.

“Prophet…” you finally mumble, but can’t say anything more as his hand is gripping your jaw once again, his fingers digging in your cheeks with force

“You can call me Masema,” he smirks at you, “But only when I ask you something or when I allow you to speak. Do you understand me? You can nod, if you do.”

And all you can do is nod.

“Good girl, you learn fast,” he lets go of your jaw and leads you to the bed, pushing you backwards on it. You fall on your back and in the next moment he is on top of you, tying the other end of the belt to the head of the bed. You yelp from the stretch burning your wrists, but before another sound escapes your lips you feel Masemas hand closing on your throat, pushing slightly, just slightly to let you feel the pressure, to show you how helpless you are. Letting go of your throat, his hands slide down to your breasts, cupping and squeezing them under your dress.

“Daddy knows what you need, child,”  Masema gets off from you. With a smooth motion he flips you over to your belly, pulls you up to your knees with your ass up and spreads your legs. You yelp again as you feel your dress being lifted up and your underpants pulled down to your knees, and a harsh slap on your bottom is an answer to it. You try to contain yourself and bury your face in the pillow to muffle the whine that threatens to escape your lips at the burning sensation of it.

And then you feel it - a wet finger sliding through your folds from your clit to the entrance. You bite the pillow, but he still hears that soft whimper you are unable to suppress. Another slap on your bottom sends waves of burning sensation all over your body, and before the sting on your cheeks fades away you feel Masemas hot breath on your core and his tongue at your entrance. A low groan escapes him as his hot, wet tongue finds its way through your folds, reaching your clit, teasingly circling it and going all the way back to your entrance. Masema presses his lips against your core and starts moving his tongue over your folds, licking with fast short laps like a kitten drinking his milk and there is nothing that can stop you from moaning in pleasure as each lap, each movement of his tongue sends electrifying waves all over your body. 

Pleasure building up in you is so intense that the only thing you can do is to arch your back and moan loudly as you pull hard on the belt restraining your hands, trying to lift up your ass closer to him.

“Mmm, so eager … so needy … I told you, I know what you need,” he purrs against your cunt, “Daddy always knows what his girl needs,” Masema hums against your cunt starting to move his tongue with long, heavy, wet stripes all over your folds back and forth, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue and pushing it slightly within you. You feel your core tightening and clenching around nothing and you desperately want to feel more than just his tongue.

“Masema… please…” you beg, forgetting that you were not allowed to speak. He withdraws instantly and you whine in disappointment. Another spank lands on your bottom, the burning sensation only increases your yearning for him.

“Behave, whore!” he hisses, pushing his index finger inside you and starting to move it in and out, his thumb brushing against your clit. With a loud moan you pull against the restraints, trying to move your hips against his finger, to fasten his pace. But he takes his time and keeps torturing you, moving his finger with a steady pace - in and out, in and out. You almost scream out when he finally adds another finger and speeds up his movements, his thumb rubbing your clit more harshly than before. This is all you need, your core starts clenching around his fingers, your hips dance against them frantically,  you are so close to the edge, just one more thrust and you’ll see the stars...

“Patience is a great virtue,” you hear Masemas' hoarse voice in your ear as he withdraws his fingers from you and undoes his breeches, releasing his hard, leaking cock. 

He grabs your hair and pulls your head back, teasing your entrance with the tip. You arch your back and push your hips towards him as much as your restraint allows you, you need him so desperately. You moan loudly as he grabs your hips with both hands and pushes inside you in one single motion until the very end of his rigid length.

He is so big, you can feel him stretching you out and filling you completely, almost painfully, as with a loud groan he starts snapping his hips into you. 

“Yeah, so good. You are so fucking, good! Now you can scream for me. I want to hear you screaming my name, little slut,” he hisses, holding you firmly in place as he proceeds forcefully thrusting into you, his breath fastening and getting twitchy with each slap.

His cock reaches so deep inside you, brushing against that special spot within you, that you feel relieved to have received his permission, as nothing in this world could prevent your cries of pure pleasure now echoing through the chambers and probably beyond. You are so close,  one more thrust and your core starts clenching, squeezing and spasming around his cock as you feel your release washing over you in electrifying waves and you embrace your overwhelming orgasm screaming his name in pure bliss.

“Good girl,” Masemas groans now fill the room mixing with your moans and whines, his movements get sloppier, his breath hitching as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm and it isn't long before he follows you with a loud growl filling you up with his release and you both collapse on the bed. He reaches out and quickly undoes the belt, freeing your hands. 

“You are such a good girl. I want you to serve me my supper from now on each evening,” he whispers, trailing his fingers over your back, pushing your hair away and placing a soft kiss on your neck.

“With pleasure, daddy,” you chuckle, turning to look in his mismatched eyes.

[skyholly]

The best kept secret

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

moiraine/siuan

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

Chapter 1. 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!

[pillowfriends]

wheel of time ficlet: architecture

898 words, M rating for sex and disturbing content

Summary: Moiraine's experience with the Finn, in the abstract.

SPOILERS: full series-ish plus RJ's notes

TRIGGER WARNINGS: dissociation, torture, rape, hurt no comfort!!! seriously ZERO COMFORT

Relationships: Moiraine/Siuan, Moiraine/Lan

-

I read RJ's notes on this months ago and I still haven't recovered. of my numerous attempts to write Moiraine Ghenjei content, this is the closest I can get, even though it's mostly in metaphor. at this point, I don't know if this even makes sense if you're not in my brain. I have to assume the average person probably doesn't have many thoughts about Cairhienin architecture, but here we are.

I was going to say "enjoy," but this is one of the least enjoyable things I've ever written, in more ways than one. idk. take care of yourself. and let me know what you think - very open to constructive criticism here. in fact I crave it

First there are hallways and everything is dizzy and backwards and sideways, everything is winding and white and twisting and the Finn have each arm in a vice grip. It hurts, but everything hurts. This pain is unimportant, though it offends her dignity that they won’t let her walk alone.

At first she tries to track the twists and turns, but after the second repeated doorway she gives up. What’s the point? She won't escape on her own. The truth is bitter, but it’s still true. This is her destiny.

Then abruptly there are no more hallways and it's wide and empty. The room is full of Finn and full of echoes. They hiss at her and she speaks back as calmly as she can. She dances the steps laid out for her in Rhuidean and in her own mind after, choreographing her doom on many sleepless nights.

Now she dances to that doom with poise and grace. No matter what darkness waits, she can still do that one more time, dance the Damodred dance, weave words like the Power smooth and deft. Her fear, coiled in her chest, is hidden behind a facade she’s been perfecting since youth, though she sees a few nostrils flare and gets the horrible sense they can smell it. Can those flattened noses smell the sweat pricking her skin? Can those pointed ears hear the drumbeat of her heart?

Her voice doesn't waver.

She gets what she wants. She can’t stop her hands from shaking as the deal is made.

Then there are more hallways and then stillness, a large room where sound should echo but is instead eaten by the cavernous expanse. She stands in the center of that room as the bargain dictated. It was a good bargain for everyone but her, which means it was a good bargain. She breathes in through her nose and holds herself tall.

The Finn swarm.

And they start to take things.

They take things and she pictures herself as a manor house. The body is nothing, the body is incidental – it does not matter if the body shakes or cries or screams. She is not the body. She, Moiraine Sedai, is a manor house, tidy and vast, like the ones she dreamed of as a girl. Not the Sun Palace – although her skeleton is Cairhienin architecture still, all austere corners and edges and cold drafts – but a lush country estate with too many rooms to count and a beautiful garden on the grounds.

Her new body is a manor house and her mind is the ghost inhabiting it, and if the Finn are in one room she can simply glide to another. If they are rustling through the kitchen – they love the kitchen with all its knives and poisons. A Cairhien childhood makes for good eating – if they are rustling through the kitchen, then she will go to the bedroom, all silk sheets and heavy curtains. If they are corrupting the bedroom with fake-touch and fake-pleasure, fake-pain, fake-Warders who push her to the floor and take her from behind –

If –

If Lan –

Well, then she will breathe the calming scent of flowers in the garden. She will admire the hedges, perfectly trimmed. She had always liked the Sun Court gardens when she was young, liked the privacy, until Taringail had demonstrated just how easy it was to sneak up on someone where no one else could see or hear. After, her servants had shown her how to hide the bruises. A kind of kindness, she had thought at the time, but would it not have been kinder to warn her, shelter her? A useless thought. There was no privacy in the Sun Court, no safety.

There is none here either. The Finn smile wide and waxy. They lick the tears from her cheeks. She lives and dies and lives again. 

When the manor house fails her, when they’ve stripped it to the bones, she flees. Briefly she is with Siuan, in the fish hut of their dreams, sturdy frame built with their four hands. The house is by the water and there are always mangoes in the bowl on the counter. She likes to scoop the flesh out with her hands. She likes to tease Siuan by touching her with sticky fingers. That’s a solace for a while, until of course they take it too. They take the salt-brine smell and the woven blankets and the way Siuan pants when she climaxes. They take the roughness of the floors and they take the safety. And they take Siuan.

When there’s nothing else, Moiraine becomes a body again. They devour her. Her love, her hate, her power, her memories. Spindly fingers take and change and add and subtract, stir and mix and corrupt everything they touch. Her memories aren’t hers. Her body isn’t hers. Her past isn’t hers.

If she ever makes it out, she thinks in fleeting moments of despair before they sink their teeth into that too, she doubts her future will be hers either.

At first she had been worried she would never escape this place. A price she would pay, however horrible.

Now, however, she fears that if she ever makes it back, it will be no better than this. She fears that they’ve ruined it all. That if she makes it back, there will be nothing that doesn't hurt.

[ladypeggington]

Forsaken Week Fic Preview

Been working on a Lanfear prequel fic for the last couple of months now after the original idea spiraled far beyond my control. This is the first quarter of that, and I thought it would be fun to post it for Forsaken week.

Full thing should be coming up on AO3 in a few days, but I've gotta get a new account first and didn't want to miss the day.

Anyways, hope you enjoy! I'm still int the process of writing the full fic, so any (constructive) commentary is greatly appreciated

[butterflydm]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mat Cauthon/Elayne Trakand, Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon, Rand al'Thor/Aviendha/Mat Cauthon/Min Farshaw/Elayne Trakand, Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon/Elayne Trakand Characters: Mat Cauthon, Elayne Trakand, Rand al'Thor, Min Farshaw, Aviendha (Wheel of Time), Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag Additional Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Fix-it fic, book canon, spoilers through book 13: a memory of light, minor Mat Cauthon/Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, Emotional Infidelity, polyamorous character(s), Polyamorous Negotiations, canonical accidental voyeurism, Voyeurism, but consensual and on purpose this time, asymmetical polyamorous relationships, seanchan culture warning, Canon-Typical Violence, Additional Warnings in Author's Notes Summary: Mat thought that his future was set in stone, whether he liked it or not, until a conversation with Elayne lets him realize he still has choices.

Fortuona’s breath caught when she saw Knotai, though she hid it as best she could.

Months of letters. Months of the two of them sparring back and forth, with seemingly endless revisions to the agreement. An agreement finally ready to be signed.

Tonight, she would share Knotai’s bed, for the first time since their night together before the Last Battle, and they would have three weeks — to try to conceive their heir, and for Knotai to be allowed to begin to make the changes that she had agreed to in their bargain.

He had agreed to five children in total, as long as they were allowed to spend some time with him in the lands outside of Fortuona’s control. It was an acceptable compromise, though she suspected Knotai was still displeased that the future Daughter of the Nine Moons would be exempt from that specific clause.

But today was not about negotiations. Today was about celebrating Knotai’s homecoming.

[asha-mage]

Rand, prompt: pain

(CW: Chronic Pain)

Rand peered down into the cup. It was filled with a murky, slightly foul smelling brew, still frothy with crushed herbs and other things Nynaeve had mixed into it. That wasn’t what held him back though- he had taken far worse smelling and tasting droughts from Nynaeve when she had been Wisdom.

"It's Spider's Breath mixed with, Andaly Root and Callum Seed." Nynaeve said over her shoulder. "It should at the least take some of the sting out."

“I don’t think-“ Rand began, trying to make his voice gentle. He did not succeed. There was to little gentleness left in him to put any into his words.

“Don’t you start with me Rand al’Thor.” Nynaeve said without turning around form her scrip of herbs. “If you do we’ll see if you can sit your fancy throne with a sore bottom.” She paused half way to putting a jar full of what looked like tubers back into it’s holster. When she spoke again her voice was soft. “If you can’t even trust your Wisdom to mix cures for you…”

Rand shook his head, eyes widening in shock. “No! No it’s not that! I just….” He put a hand to his side. “I trust you Nynaeve. But I don’t think herbs can ease this.”

Nynaeve turned then to face him and for a long moment they just stared at each other. She knew him better then most, almost as well as his own father. Maybe better in some ways. When you grew up without a mother in the Two Rivers, many of the duties that fell to a mother- from explaining certain facts of life, to teaching the basics herb lore, to matters of manners- fell to the Wisdom instead. She had soothed his fevers, and bandaged his cuts, and taught him which plants never to touch, and which to look for if he needed aid.

She knew when he was in pain, even when no one else did.

“You hide it well.” She said softly. “You bare up that stone mask of yours, never letting it crack, except when your temper flares so hot you can’t help it.” She turned back to her scrip and slipped the bottle into place. “But you are still flesh Rand al’Thor. Flesh and bone and blood. And you can’t keep ignoring that fact. You must care for the flesh, or it will be the death of you.”

Rand felt his mouth thin. “I can’t afford to be flesh Nynaeve. I must be iron. Steel. Cuendillar.” He sighed then forcing his shoulders to slack. “Besides I’ve gotten…used to it.” He reached towards his side with his hand but stopped short of touching the never healing wound. It still felt like it when he had first awoken on Tomon Head: like a hot coal sitting on his skin. It would flare hotter sometimes, with the wrong move or the wrong gesture or even just when he dwelt on it to long. But he had had learned to live with it.

What was one more mark, one burden on his shoulders?

Nynaeve shook her head and pushed the cup forward. “That doesn't mean we shouldn’t try to soothe the pain if we can’t. There is nothing noble in suffering Rand al’Thor. Nothing noble in being in pain when you could have relief.”

Rand shook his head. She didn’t understand. To be a man was suffering, and being strong enough to survive it. But he knew if he said that, she would call it ‘hairy chested drivel’ and force the concoction down his throat anyways.

Nynaeve sighed when he didn’t move to pick up the cup and tugged once on her braid. “For me Rand.” She said, keeping her voice soft even as anger clearly bubbled up beneath. “As a favor, to the woman who was once your Wisdom, and doesn't want to see you hurting.”

There was no way to argue with that, so Rand sighed and raised the cup to his lips. He was right, it tasted just as foul as it smelled, and did nothing for the ache in his side. But he smiled anyways and threw back his shoulders.

“You where right. Better.” He said.

Nynaeve shook her head. She was not fooled. But she said nothing as she turned back to her scrip.

She would learn eventually Rand knew. There was no point dwelling on what could not be mended- and Rand had long ago been broken beyond repair.