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Chapter Text

Moiraine Damodred stood at the window of her chamber in the White Tower, gazing out over the sprawling magnificence of Tar Valon. The island city gleamed like a jewel in the morning sun, the massive white walls reflecting light in a way that always reminded her of home in Cairhien, though far grander in scale. The streets below were already bustling with activity: merchants arranging their wares, nobles in their finery being carried in sedan chairs, common folk going about their daily business. None of them aware of what she and Siuan had discovered.

None of them knowing the Dragon had been reborn.

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling the weight of that knowledge like a physical burden across her shoulders. Behind her, soft footsteps approached, and she didn't need to turn to know who had entered. The particular pattern of those steps had become as familiar to her as the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

"The city looks peaceful today," Siuan said quietly, coming to stand beside her at the window. "Hard to believe the world might be ending soon."

Moiraine allowed herself a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "The world is always ending for someone, somewhere. And always beginning anew for others."

"Spoken like a true Cairhienin philosopher," Siuan replied with a hint of the teasing tone that revealed her Tairen origins. "But we're not talking about personal tragedies. We're talking about the end. The Last Battle."

Moiraine turned from the window then, taking in the sight of Siuan Sanche, stunning in her blue-fringed shawl that marked her as a sister of the Blue Ajah. Like Moiraine, she had only been raised to the shawl a few months ago, but she already wore it with the natural authority that would one day make her a formidable force in the Tower. Her dark hair was neatly arranged, her face composed into the ageless serenity expected of an Aes Sedai, but her eyes, those eyes that reminded Moiraine of the deepest waters of the River Erinin, held a fire that contradicted her calm exterior.

"We still have time," Moiraine said, reaching out to adjust Siuan's shawl, an excuse to touch her. "The boy is still a child. The signs indicate he was born during the Aiel War, on the slopes of Dragonmount. That gives us perhaps fifteen or sixteen years before he comes into his power."

"Fifteen years is nothing in the span of preparation needed for Tarmon Gai'don," Siuan countered, catching Moiraine's hand and holding it against the fabric of her dress. "And we're the only ones who know. Just the two of us, against the Shadow itself."

Moiraine felt the warmth of Siuan's skin through the thin silk of her dress and allowed herself a moment to savor the connection. In the White Tower, such intimacy was dangerous. While it wasn't uncommon for novices and Accepted to seek comfort in each other's arms, something whispered about but officially ignored, once raised to the shawl, such attachments were discouraged. Not forbidden, precisely, but viewed as potential liabilities. Distractions from duty.

And duty was what defined an Aes Sedai.

"We should not be alone together like this," Moiraine murmured, though she made no move to step away. "The Amyrlin has eyes everywhere."

"The Amyrlin has concerns beyond watching two newly raised sisters," Siuan replied, her thumb tracing small circles on Moiraine's wrist. "Besides, two Blues consulting on Tower business is hardly suspicious."

"Is that what we're doing? Consulting on Tower business?" Moiraine raised an eyebrow, allowing a rare playfulness to enter her voice.

Siuan's lips curved into a smile that held both mischief and promise. "The most important business the Tower has ever faced, though they don't know it yet."

Their faces were close now, breath mingling in the space between them. For a moment, the weight of prophecy and responsibility seemed to lift from Moiraine's shoulders. In Siuan's presence, she could sometimes remember what it was like to be simply be, not someone who is a daughter of House Damodred, or an Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, or one of the few who knew the Dragon had been reborn. With Siuan, she could be just Moiraine, a woman who loved and was loved in return.

Their lips met in a kiss that began softly but quickly deepened with the urgency of those who know their time together is short. Moiraine felt the familiar sensation of saidar, the female half of the True Source, stirring around them, responding to their heightened emotions. She instinctively reached for it, weaving a thin barrier of Air around the room that would muffle any sounds. Siuan, evidently thinking along the same lines, had woven her own barrier, one that would divert casual attention from the door. Neither weave was particularly strong or suspicious; both could be explained away as a desire for privacy while discussing sensitive Blue Ajah matters; but together they created a small pocket of safety.

When they finally broke apart, Siuan rested her forehead against Moiraine's. "We leave tomorrow," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I leave tomorrow," Moiraine corrected gently. "You're staying here."

They had discussed this countless times already, had agreed it was the only logical course of action. One of them needed to remain in the Tower, to rise through the ranks and gain influence that could be used to prepare the Tower for what was coming. The other needed to go out into the world, to search for the Dragon Reborn and guide him, protect him until he was ready to face his destiny.

It had been clear from the beginning which of them should take which role. Siuan, daughter of a Tairen fisherman, had a knack for Tower politics that Moiraine, for all her noble upbringing in the Great Game of Houses, could not match. Siuan understood power in a visceral way, knew how to accumulate it, when to wield it, when to hide it. Moiraine, meanwhile, had the connections and resources outside the Tower necessary for a prolonged search.

"I know," Siuan said, stepping back slightly, though she still held on to Moiraine's hands. "I know. That doesn't make it any easier."

Moiraine squeezed her hands. "Nothing about this is easy. But it is necessary."

"Always the practical one," Siuan said with a small, sad smile. "Even when your heart is breaking."

"My heart will remain intact," Moiraine assured her, "so long as I know you're here, working toward the same goal."

Siuan nodded, then reluctantly released Moiraine's hands and moved to the small table where a stack of papers lay neatly arranged. "I've compiled all the information we have on the Karatheon Cycle and the Prophecies of the Dragon," she said, her voice taking on a more businesslike tone. "Most of it you already know, but I've added notes on the more obscure references that might help in your search."

Moiraine followed her to the table, appreciating the shift to practical matters. It was easier, somehow, to focus on the work rather than their impending separation. "Thank you. And your search through the records?"

"Still ongoing," Siuan said, shuffling through the papers until she found a particular sheet. "I've identified several possibilities, but none perfectly match the signs we're looking for. Most promising is a boy born to a soldier fighting near Dragonmount, but the timing is slightly off."

Moiraine nodded thoughtfully. "I'll start there nonetheless. Any lead is better than none."

A knock at the door interrupted their discussion. Instantly, both women stepped apart, their faces smoothing into the cool serenity expected of Aes Sedai. Moiraine dissolved her weave of Air with a thought, and Siuan did the same with her attention-diverting weave.

"Enter," Moiraine called, her voice composed.

The door opened to reveal a novice, a young girl with wide eyes and nervous hands. She curtseyed deeply. "Aes Sedai, forgive the interruption. The Amyrlin Seat requests Moiraine Sedai's presence immediately."

Moiraine and Siuan exchanged a glance. It was unusual for the Amyrlin to summon a newly raised sister directly, rather than going through her Ajah head.

"Did she say why?" Moiraine asked.

The novice shook her head. "No, Aes Sedai. Only that it's urgent, and..." the girl hesitated, "...and that it concerns a visitor to the Tower who has requested assistance with an artifact."

Moiraine's eyebrows rose slightly. The White Tower occasionally received requests to examine unusual objects, particularly suspected ter'angreal, but such matters were typically handled by sisters of the Brown Ajah, who specialized in knowledge and artifacts. For the Amyrlin herself to be involved suggested something extraordinary.

"Tell the Amyrlin I will attend her immediately," Moiraine said.

The novice curtseyed again and departed, closing the door behind her.

"This is...unexpected," Siuan said once they were alone again. "And poorly timed, considering your plans to leave tomorrow."

Moiraine frowned slightly. "Indeed. Though perhaps it will be brief."

"Or perhaps not," Siuan countered, her expression troubled. "The Pattern weaves as the Pattern wills, but I mislike coincidences of this sort."

Moiraine began gathering the papers into a neat stack, which she then secured inside a hidden compartment in her desk. "As do I. But we cannot ignore a direct summons from the Amyrlin."

Siuan watched her with concern. "Be careful, Moiraine. Whatever this is about, it could complicate our plans."

"I'm always careful," Moiraine replied with a small smile. She moved to the door but paused with her hand on the latch. "Meet me in the library tonight, in the section on ancient languages. Ostensibly to help with my research before I depart."

Siuan nodded, understanding the implied message. They needed to be cautious about being seen alone together too often, but the library was a sufficiently public space that their meeting would not raise eyebrows.

Moiraine opened the door but found herself reluctant to step through it. A strange foreboding had settled over her, a sense that whatever awaited her in the Amyrlin's study would change the course they had so carefully plotted.

"The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," she murmured, as much to herself as to Siuan.

"And we are only threads in the Pattern," Siuan finished the saying. "But sometimes, Moiraine, I think we might be threads of a particular color and strength."

Moiraine allowed herself one last look at her lover, committing to memory the proud set of her shoulders, the determined gleam in her eyes. "I'll see you tonight," she said softly, then stepped into the corridor, letting the door close behind her.

As she made her way through the Tower's labyrinthine halls, towards the Amyrlin's study, Moiraine composed herself, preparing for whatever challenge awaited. She was Aes Sedai now, a sister of the Blue Ajah, dedicated to causes and justice. And she had sworn herself to the greatest cause of all, finding and guiding the Dragon Reborn, the man destined to fight the Dark One at Tarmon Gai'don.

Nothing, she told herself firmly, would interfere with that mission. Not Tower politics, not unexpected summonses, not even her love for Siuan Sanche.

She couldn't have known then how wrong she was.

The Amyrlin's study was located in the uppermost levels of the White Tower, a placement symbolic of her status as the highest authority among the Aes Sedai. Moiraine was admitted immediately by the Keeper of the Chronicles, who gave her a curious look but said nothing as she opened the door.

Inside, the Amyrlin Seat-Tamra Ospenya, a former Blue sister herself before being raised to the stole--sat behind a massive desk of dark wood. But it was not the Amyrlin who captured Moiraine's attention. Rather, it was the woman standing by the window, her back to the door.

Even from behind, the visitor was striking. Tall and slender, with hair as black as midnight cascading down her back, she wore a gown of deepest blue that seemed to shimmer with subtle patterns when she moved. There was something about her posture, a kind of coiled grace, that made Moiraine think of a hunting cat, beautiful but dangerous.

"Ah, Moiraine," the Amyrlin said, looking up from a document she had been studying. "Thank you for coming so promptly. Allow me to introduce Lady Selene, who has come to us with a most intriguing request."

The woman turned, and Moiraine felt a jolt of...something, not quite recognition, but a strange sense of familiarity nonetheless. Lady Selene was breathtakingly beautiful, with pale skin, high cheekbones, and full lips curved in a subtle smile. But it was her eyes that truly captured attention—dark as night and somehow ancient, as if they had witnessed the turning of countless ages.

"Moiraine Damodred," the woman said, her voice melodious and cultured. "How fascinating to meet one of House Damodred's daughters who has chosen the White Tower over the Sun Throne."

Moiraine gave a slight bow, the precisely correct depth for an Aes Sedai acknowledging a high noble not of royal blood. "Lady Selene. I am honored to make your acquaintance, though I confess I am not familiar with your house."

Something flickered in those dark eyes, amusement, perhaps, or approval at Moiraine's directness. "I come from far away," she said simply. "A land beyond the Waste, unknown to most in these parts."

"Lady Selene has brought us something of great interest," the Amyrlin interjected, gesturing to an object on her desk that Moiraine had initially overlooked.

It was small, no larger than a woman's palm, and appeared to be made of some crystalline substance that caught the light strangely, seeming to bend it rather than merely reflect it. Its shape was irregular, as if it were a fragment of something larger, with symbols carved into its surface that Moiraine did not recognize from any language she knew.

"A ter'angreal?" Moiraine asked, studying the object without touching it.

"We believe so," the Amyrlin confirmed. "Though its purpose is unclear. Lady Selene claims it was found in an ancestral vault and has been in her family's possession for generations. She has come to the Tower seeking insight into its nature and function."

"And why have I been summoned for this task?" Moiraine asked, careful to keep her tone respectful. "Surely a Brown sister would be better suited."

The Amyrlin's expression revealed nothing. "Lady Selene specifically requested assistance from a sister with connections to the royal houses, suggesting that the artifact might have some historical connection to the nobility of the current Age. Given your background and your aptitude with objects of power, you seemed the appropriate choice."

Moiraine's wariness increased. Such a specific request was unusual and suggested Lady Selene knew more than she was revealing. She glanced at the mysterious woman, who was watching her with those fathomless dark eyes.

"I would be honored to assist," Moiraine said carefully, "though I must note that I had planned to depart the Tower tomorrow on a research expedition."

"Yes, I'm aware of your plans," the Amyrlin said, and there was something in her tone that made Moiraine wonder exactly how much she knew. "However, I believe this matter takes precedence. Your expedition can be delayed a short while, I trust?"

It wasn't truly a question. When the Amyrlin Seat "suggested" a course of action, only a fool would refuse without compelling reason. And Moiraine could hardly explain that her "research expedition" was actually the beginning of a decades-long search for the Dragon Reborn.

"Of course, Mother," she said, inclining her head respectfully. "I am at the Tower's disposal."

"Excellent," Lady Selene said, and though her voice was pleasant, there was an undercurrent to it that Moiraine couldn't quite identify. "I look forward to working with you, Moiraine Sedai. Perhaps we might begin tomorrow morning? I have taken rooms in the city and need to make certain arrangements this evening."

The Amyrlin nodded her assent. "Tomorrow morning would be suitable. Moiraine will meet you in the Hall of Testing at the tenth hour. The room offers both privacy and protection, should the ter'angreal prove...unpredictable."

Lady Selene smiled, and for a brief instant, Moiraine thought she saw something predatory in that smile. But it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

"Until tomorrow, then," Lady Selene said, making a graceful curtsy to the Amyrlin and inclining her head to Moiraine. "I anticipate our collaboration with great interest."

As arrangements were finalized and Lady Selene took her leave, Moiraine found herself watching the woman's departing figure with a sense of disquiet she couldn't quite explain. There was something about Lady Selene that felt...wrong, somehow. Not Dark, necessarily, but old. Perilously old, in a way that had nothing to do with physical age.

"Your thoughts, Daughter?" the Amyrlin asked once they were alone.

Moiraine chose her words carefully. "She is...unusual. I wonder about the coincidence of her arrival just before my planned departure."

The Amyrlin's eyes sharpened. "Do you suspect some connection?"

"I have no evidence to suggest one," Moiraine replied truthfully. "Merely an Aes Sedai's wariness of coincidence."

"A healthy wariness," the Amyrlin agreed. "Though sometimes, Daughter, what appears to be coincidence is simply the Pattern weaving as it must." She studied Moiraine for a moment longer, then nodded dismissively. "You may go. And Moiraine? Exercise caution with Lady Selene. There is more to her than meets the eye, I think."

As Moiraine made her way back through the Tower, her mind raced with implications and possibilities. This unexpected development would delay her departure, potentially complicating the plans she and Siuan had so carefully laid. More concerning was the mysterious Lady Selene herself and the strange ter'angreal she had brought to the Tower.

By the time she reached the library that evening to meet Siuan, Moiraine had come to a troubling conclusion: whoever Lady Selene truly was, whatever her actual purpose in coming to the Tower, one thing was certain, she was not what she claimed to be. And in Moiraine's experience, people who disguised their true nature rarely did so for benign reasons.

As she slipped between the towering bookshelves of the ancient languages section, Moiraine spotted Siuan already waiting, pretending to study a large tome on Old Tongue dialects. Their eyes met across the quiet space, and Moiraine saw her own concerns reflected in Siuan's gaze.

The Pattern was shifting around them, threads rearranging themselves into new configurations. And somewhere in that vast tapestry was a boy, destined to become the Dragon Reborn, humanity's last hope and, perhaps, its doom.

Moiraine straightened her shoulders and moved toward Siuan, ready to share what she had learned. Whatever changes the Pattern demanded of them, they would face them together, bound by love, duty, and the weight of the secret they carried.

The Wheel of Time turned, and Ages came and passed. This particular Age--an Age yet to come, an Age long past -- had reached a crucial moment. And two women, standing among dusty books in a quiet corner of the greatest library in the world, stood at its center, unaware that they were being watched by ancient eyes filled with calculating purpose.

Chapter Text

The library of the White Tower was a world unto itself. Countless shelves stretched toward vaulted ceilings, housing knowledge collected over three thousand years. Some of the oldest texts were so fragile they had been preserved with the One Power itself, saidar woven into their very fibers to protect against the ravages of time. It was said that secrets lost since the Age of Legends might still be found here, if one knew where to look.

Siuan Sanche knew where to look.

She moved purposefully between the shelves, passing Browns who barely glanced up from their studies. The Ancient Languages section was especially quiet tonight, with only a few glow lamps burning at occupied tables. No one paid particular attention to a Blue sister consulting archaic texts; it wasn't unusual, even if Blues typically concerned themselves more with causes and justice than with dusty knowledge for its own sake.

She soon sat at a small table half-hidden behind a shelf of scrolls on forgotten dialects of the Old Tongue, a large tome open before her. Her face, illuminated by the soft light of the glow lamp, was composed into a mask of scholarly concentration.

Moiraine, came, slipping between towering bookshelves, her mind still racing with implications and possibilities. The mysterious Lady Selene and her strange ter'angreal would delay her departure, potentially complicating the carefully laid plans she shared with Siuan. More troubling was her growing certainty that Selene was not what she claimed to be and in Moiraine's experience, people who disguised their true nature rarely did so for benign reasons.

She spotted Siuan. When their eyes met across the quiet space, Moiraine saw her concerns reflected in Siuan's gaze. The Pattern was shifting around them, threads rearranging into new configurations.

For a brief moment, Moiraine's carefully composed mask slipped, revealing a flash of warmth and concern before her serene Aes Sedai face returned. "Find anything of interest?" Moiraine asked quietly, sliding into the chair opposite Siuan.

Siuan nodded slightly, hands marking a spot in one of the books in front of her, a thesis on the early years of the current Age that she had no intention of reading. "Nothing definitive," she murmured. "But tell me about your visit to the Amyrlin. What was so urgent that she needed to see you immediately?"

Moiraine glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot, then leaned forward slightly. "A visitor to the Tower. A woman who calls herself Lady Selene, from 'a land beyond the Waste' as she put it. She's brought an artifact, a fragment of something larger. Crystal-like material, with markings I don't recognize, not Old Tongue, not any modern script."

"A ter'angreal, do they think?"

"Presumably. Lady Selene claims it has been in her family for generations, supposedly found in some ancestral vault."

Siuan's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you believe her?"

The corner of Moiraine's mouth quivered with the barest hint of a smile. "Not for a moment. There's something... off about her. When she looks at you, it feels as though she's seeing through you, measuring you against some standard you can't possibly comprehend."

"Dangerous?"

"Almost certainly. Though whether to us specifically or merely in general, I can't say."

Siuan pushed forward the treatise book, turning it toward Moiraine as if consulting a reference, a natural enough movement that wouldn't draw attention, but it brought their hands briefly together. "The timing concerns me," she said softly. "The day before your planned departure, this mysterious woman appears with an artifact that requires your specific expertise?"

"It concerned me as well," Moiraine admitted. "But I can find no logical connection between our plans and her arrival. How would anyone know of our intentions? We've been careful, Siuan."

"Careful enough to hide from the Eyes-and-ears of all the Ajahs? From the Amyrlin herself?" Siuan shook her head slightly. "I don't know. But coincidences make me uneasy."

"The Wheel weaves as—"

"If you finish that platitude, I swear by the Light I'll overturn this table," Siuan interrupted, though her eyes held a glint of affection. "I didn't fall in love with you for your ability to recite homilies."

A soft laugh escaped Moiraine, quickly stifled. "Then what did you fall in love with me for? My wealth? My connections to the Sun Throne?"

"Your humility, clearly," Siuan retorted. Then, more softly, "Your courage. Your absolute devotion to what's right, even when it costs you everything."

Something vulnerable flashed across Moiraine's face, a rare glimpse behind her carefully constructed poise. In that moment, she wasn't the composed Aes Sedai or the noble daughter of House Damodred, but simply a woman facing an impossible task, drawing strength from the person she loved.

"What did she look like, this Lady Selene?" Siuan asked, returning to the matter at hand.

Moiraine's expression became thoughtful. "Beautiful. Extraordinarily so. Tall, pale, with dark eyes and darker hair. She moves like... like a queen, or perhaps a predator. There's a grace to her that seems almost inhuman."

"House?"

"She claims to come from beyond the Waste, from a land unknown here. The Amyrlin didn't question it, which struck me as unusual."

Siuan's frown deepened. "That is strange. Tamra isn't one to accept such vague explanations."

"Exactly. Yet Lady Selene specifically requested my assistance, citing my noble birth as useful for understanding the artifact's historical context." Moiraine shook her head slightly. "It makes little sense. If the artifact truly comes from beyond the Waste, what connection could it possibly have to the current nobility?"

Siuan tapped her fingers lightly on the table, a habit from her days as a fisherman's daughter that occasionally emerged when she was deep in thought. "It seems she either wants you specifically, or an Aes Sedai with noble connections. The question is why."

"I'm to meet her tomorrow morning in the Hall of Testing," Moiraine said. "The Amyrlin thought it prudent, given the unknown nature of the ter'angreal."

"I don't like it," Siuan stated flatly. "It feels like walking into a trap."

"Perhaps," Moiraine conceded. "But a trap laid by whom? And to what purpose?" She closed the book before her with a soft thud. "I've been thinking about it all afternoon, and I can see no clear danger, only shadows and suspicions."

"Sometimes shadows and suspicions are all the warning we get," Siuan replied. She glanced around the library, then lowered her voice further. "What of our plans? Will you still leave tomorrow?"

Moiraine's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "The Amyrlin has made it clear that this matter takes precedence. I cannot refuse without raising questions we don't want asked."

"How long do you think this will delay you?"

"I don't know. A day, perhaps. A week at most, I hope."

Siuan nodded slowly, absorbing this. "A week we can manage. The boy is still a child, after all. A small delay won't matter in the grand scheme."

Something in her tone made Moiraine look at her more closely. "What have you found?"

"Not here," Siuan murmured, her eyes flicking toward a Brown sister who had wandered into their section, perusing titles with absent-minded intensity. "Meet me in my chambers after the evening meal. Bring that book; it will give us a reason if anyone questions why you're visiting."

Moiraine nodded slightly, understanding the caution. Even now, when they were merely talking, they had to be careful. The Tower had eyes and ears everywhere, and while many sisters might guess at their relationship, it was another thing entirely to provide confirmation.

They spent another hour in the library, maintaining the pretense of research while discussing innocuous topics in normal tones. When they finally parted ways, it was with the precise formality expected between Aes Sedai of the same Ajah -- respectful nods, no lingering glances, no hint of the depth of feeling that lay beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

The corridors of the White Tower were quiet in the evening hours. Novices and Accepted had retired to their quarters after the evening meal, and most sisters were engaged in private study or conversation in their rooms. Moiraine made her way to the Blue Ajah quarters with unhurried steps, the book from the library tucked under her arm. If anyone questioned her presence in this section of the Tower, the book would provide an adequate excuse for visiting Siuan to consult on a point of research.

No one questioned her. The few sisters she passed acknowledged her with polite nods but expressed no curiosity about her destination. Sometimes, Moiraine reflected, the assumption of Aes Sedai dignity and purpose was its own form of invisibility, people simply assumed that whatever an Aes Sedai was doing must be important and not to be interfered with.

Siuan's chambers were located in the outer ring of the Blue Ajah quarters, modest rooms befitting a newly raised sister. Moiraine rapped softly on the door, and it opened almost immediately, suggesting Siuan had been waiting for her.

Once inside, with the door firmly closed behind them, Siuan wasted no time. "I found something," she said, gesturing toward a small desk where several pieces of parchment lay scattered. But before Moiraine could move toward the desk, Siuan's fingers caught the edge of her sleeve, tugging her closer.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, all thoughts of duty and purpose fell away. Siuan's hands slid up to cup Moiraine's face, her touch impossibly gentle for a woman whose determination could move mountains. "You're leaving soon," she whispered, the words half statement, half question.

Moiraine leaned into the touch, turning her head slightly to press a kiss against Siuan's palm. "Not tomorrow though," she murmured. "This Lady Selene and her artifact have seen to that. But soon. Very soon."

Siuan nodded, her fingers now sliding into Moiraine's hair, disturbing the perfect arrangement of dark waves. "I'll take any delay," she said, surprising Moiraine. "If it means I get to keep you a little longer."

"Improper thinking for an Aes Sedai," Moiraine teased, her hands finding Siuan's waist, drawing her closer until their bodies pressed together. "We're supposed to be beyond such attachments."

"Tell that to the Browns who fawn over their precious books," Siuan countered, her voice low and rich with affection. "Or the Greens with their Warders. Everyone has something they cannot bear to part with." Her eyes, those incredible blue eyes that reminded Moiraine of deep waters, grew serious. "You are mine."

Moiraine felt her composure slipping, the careful Aes Sedai mask cracking beneath the weight of emotion. "And you are mine," she whispered back, before closing the distance between them.

Their lips met with the desperate sweetness of those who know their time is limited. What began as gentle quickly deepened, Siuan's fingers tightening in Moiraine's hair as Moiraine's hands slid up Siuan's back, pulling her impossibly closer. They moved together with the familiarity of long-time lovers, each knowing precisely how to draw a sigh or a soft sound from the other.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Siuan rested her forehead against Moiraine's. "Records can wait," she murmured, her voice rough with emotion. "Just... be with me now. Before duty takes you away."

Moiraine nodded, unable to find words equal to the storm of feeling within her chest. Instead, she answered with touch, her fingers tracing the curve of Siuan's cheek, the line of her jaw, memorizing through contact what she already knew by heart. "I'll come back to you," she promised. "However long it takes, whatever happens with the Dragon Reborn, I will find my way back to you."

Siuan smiled, a rare unguarded expression that transformed her face. "I know," she said simply. "The Pattern wouldn't dare keep us apart forever." She caught Moiraine's hand, bringing it to her lips for a kiss that sent warmth cascading through Moiraine's body. "Now come here. I want to remember every detail of you before you go."

They moved together toward the modest bed in the corner of the chamber, fingers still intertwined. Each kiss they exchanged seemed to carry a hint of desperation, as if they could somehow store the sensation away for the lonely nights that awaited them. The smallness of Siuan's chamber, so temporary and unassuming, became their entire world, a sanctuary where, for a few precious hours, they could set aside the burden of what was to come.

When Siuan sat on the edge of the bed, she drew Moiraine down beside her with gentle insistence. There was something almost ceremonial in the way she removed Moiraine's blue-fringed shawl and laid it carefully across a nearby chair. Moiraine matched her deliberate movements, her own hands working to unfasten the small silver clasps of Siuan's dress with practiced ease, as though unveiling something sacred. Each newly bared inch of skin was explored in turn: fingers tracing collarbones, the slope of a shoulder, the curve of a waist; memorizing, committing every sensation to memory.

Their kisses, too, shifted in tempo. Where before there had been a fiercer urgency, now there was a deep, languid devotion, as if they could pour all the meaning of their bond into each lingering breath. They took their time, whispering assurances between each press of lips; small vows and promises of return, half-formed prayers to the Light that fate would be kind.

I'll think of you every night," Siuan murmured against Moiraine's neck, her voice low and rich with emotion. "In every empty moment, in every quiet hour."

Moiraine's reply was wordless, a soft sigh as Siuan's hands continued their exploration, fingers tracing the delicate chain Moiraine wore around her neck, the curve of her waist, the line of her spine. They had been lovers long enough to know each other's bodies as intimately as their own, yet each touch still kindled a warmth that spread through Moiraine like saidar itself.

They took their time, as if by slowing each moment they could somehow extend it indefinitely. The single lamp cast their shadows against the wall; two figures merging into one, then separating, then coming together again, a dance as old as the Pattern itself.

Siuan guided Moiraine back against the pillows, her eyes never leaving Moiraine's face. In those blue depths, Moiraine saw everything: love and fear, hope and resignation, desire and the pain of anticipated absence. She drank in the sight of Siuan’s softly parted lips, her dark hair fanned out, the determined line of her brow that had charmed and challenged her from the first day they had met as novices.

In the dim glow of the single lamp, their features were cast in soft shadows, but the flicker of light illuminated every subtle expression; every smile, every drawn breath that signaled desire and affection. Moiraine reached up to trace the line of Siuan's jaw, committing to memory the proud angle, the subtle strength evident even in repose. Then she brushed her lips across Siuan’s temple, along the arch of her cheekbone, down to the delicate line of her jaw. Siuan angled her face upward, inviting Moiraine deeper, and as their mouths met again, the warmth between them became a slow, steady pulse of need.

Their kisses deepened, grew more urgent. Hands that had been gentle became insistent, seeking out the places that drew gasps and soft moans. They moved together with the synchronicity of those who had learned each other's rhythms through countless nights of shared passion, each anticipating the other's need before it was expressed. Time seemed suspended in the flickering lamplight, as their desire curled hot and slow between them, sparking little gasps that broke the gentle quiet.

They came together, whispered names for each other half moaned, half sobbed, each syllable thick with emotion and the promise that they would cling to these memories when lonely nights and perilous duties claimed them. In that moment, rank and duty fell away – they were not two Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, not bearers of a terrible knowledge that might reshape the world, not two women whose paths were about to diverge perhaps irrevocably. They were simply Moiraine and Siuan, entangled in each other's arms, finding in their shared pleasure a brief respite from the weight of destiny.

When they finally lay still, breathless and sated, the silence between them was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Moiraine rested her head on Siuan's chest, listening to the gradually slowing beat of her heart. Siuan's fingers traced idle patterns across Moiraine's bare shoulder, each touch a silent affirmation.

They remained that way for a time, unwilling to break the spell that had enveloped them. The Tower, with all its politics and intrigues, seemed impossibly distant. Even the knowledge of the Dragon Reborn, the driving force that would soon separate them, receded momentarily from the forefront of their thoughts.

At last, Siuan shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at Moiraine. Her expression held a familiar determination, the same look she had worn as a novice facing difficult lessons, as an Accepted preparing for her test, as a newly raised sister accepting the responsibilities of the shawl. Whatever pain she felt at their impending separation, she had already begun to channel it into resolve.

"We should probably review those records," she said, though her tone suggested reluctance. "Before someone comes looking for one of us."

Moiraine reached up, tucking a stray lock of Siuan's dark hair behind her ear. "We should," she agreed, though neither of them moved immediately.

Instead, Siuan bent to place one more kiss on Moiraine's lips, gentle, lingering, a promise and a farewell all at once. Then she drew back, a small smile touching her lips despite the sorrow in her eyes.

"Duty," she said simply.

"Always," Moiraine replied, her own smile carrying a hint of resignation.

They rose from the bed with the grace inherent to all Aes Sedai, reaching for discarded garments. As Moiraine slipped back into her dress, she watched Siuan do the same, aware that this might be the last time she would witness this particular ritual for years to come.

Once dressed, they settled on the edge of the bed, Moiraine with her fingers idly playing with a strand of Siuan's dark hair. Siuan leaned against her, head resting on Moiraine's shoulder.

"Now," Moiraine said softly, "tell me about these records you found."

Siuan laughed, the sound vibrating pleasantly against Moiraine's shoulder.  But she straightened, reluctantly pulling away from Moiraine's embrace. "They're important, though. Records from the Aiel War that weren't included in the official archives."

They moved to the small desk where the parchments lay scattered, their fingers brushing as they settled into the new task, not quite ready to relinquish all contact. The transition from lovers to conspirators was familiar to them, a necessary shift they had practiced countless times during their years in the Tower.

"How did you get these?" Moiraine asked, her eyes already scanning the faded writing on the topmost document.

A small, proud smile crossed Siuan's face as she arranged the papers in a more orderly fashion. "I've been making myself useful to the Keeper. Helping to organize some of the older records, suggesting new systems of cataloging." She shrugged slightly, the movement drawing Moiraine's eye to the elegant line of her neck, still bearing a faint mark from Moiraine's lips. "It gives me access to materials most Blues wouldn't see."

"Clever," Moiraine murmured, coming to stand behind Siuan at the desk, unable to resist placing a soft kiss on the nape of her neck where her hair had fallen forward. "It's exactly this kind of political maneuvering that made you the perfect choice to remain in the Tower." Her arms slipped around Siuan's waist, holding her close as they both looked down at the documents. "What have you found?"

"Look here," Siuan pointed to a particular document, a faded report written in a cramped hand, leaning back into Moiraine's embrace. "A list of soldiers who were near Dragonmount on the day of the final battle, when Laman Damodred was killed."

Moiraine's eyes scanned the document, noting the names and units with growing interest. "And here," Siuan continued, producing another parchment, "birth records collected from camp followers and villages in the area during the same period."

"These are the records you mentioned this morning?"

"Yes, but I've found more since then." Siuan spread the documents out, revealing a small but significant collection. "When taken together, they point to three possibilities. Three boys, all born within a day of the battle, all on or near the slopes of Dragonmount."

Moiraine's pulse quickened, both from the information and from the warmth of Siuan's body against hers. "Three?"

"Yes. One born to a camp follower, a Domani woman who died in childbirth. The boy was adopted by an officer in the cavalry who lost his wife in a raid." Siuan indicated a notation on one of the records. "The second born to a woman from a village at the foot of Dragonmount, her husband a foot soldier who died in the battle." She pointed to another document. "And the third... this one is less certain. Born to an Aiel woman captured during the conflict, then herself killed trying to escape. The child was apparently taken in by a farming family who had lost their home during the fighting."

Moiraine studied the records intently, committing the details to memory, though it was difficult to focus with Siuan so close, the scent of her, clean soap and something uniquely Siuan, filling her senses. "Three possibilities," she murmured, her lips close to Siuan's ear. "I had hoped for more certainty."

"The Prophecies are rarely obliging in that regard," Siuan replied dryly, turning in Moiraine's arms to face her. "But it's a place to start. Better than searching every village and town from here to the Spine of the World."

Moiraine nodded slowly, her mind already plotting routes and approaches, even as her heart ached at the thought of leaving. "I'll need to find them all, observe them without revealing my purpose." She glanced up at Siuan. "The officer who adopted the first boy, do we know where he was stationed after the war?"

"Assigned to the Andoran border with Murandy, as of two years ago," Siuan said promptly, her fingers absently adjusting the collar of Moiraine's dress. "I've been discreetly tracking the movements of everyone connected to these births."

A rush of affection filled Moiraine. While she had been focused on preparations for her journey and her duties as a newly raised sister, Siuan had been laying this groundwork, meticulously gathering information that might otherwise have been lost. "You are remarkable," she said softly, leaning in to claim another kiss.

Siuan's cheeks colored slightly, the reaction making her look younger, more like the novice Moiraine had first befriended years ago. "It's what I can do, from here in the Tower. While you're out there, facing who knows what dangers."

Moiraine moved closer, touching Siuan's face gently. "We each do what we must. What we're best suited for."

"I know," Siuan said, leaning into the touch. "But I worry. Once you leave..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to articulate the fear they both shared, that circumstances and duty might keep them apart for years. That their paths, now diverging, might never fully reconverge.

Moiraine pulled her close again, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling. The kiss that followed was deep and unhurried, a silent promise between them. Siuan's hands found their way back into Moiraine's hair, ruining its careful arrangement all over again, while Moiraine's fingers traced the curve of Siuan's spine, committing to memory the way she arched into the touch.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Moiraine kept her arms around Siuan, unwilling to let even an inch of space come between them. "We will find ways," she promised. "Messages can be sent, meetings arranged when possible. It won't be the same, but—"

A sharp knock at the door cut her off mid-sentence. Both women tensed, instinctively stepping apart. Siuan smoothly gathered the documents from her desk, sliding them into a drawer as Moiraine picked up the book they had brought from the library, opening it to a random page. A gentle weave smoothened the bed, eliminating all traces of the earlier tryst. 

"Enter," Siuan called, her voice betraying none of the alarm they both felt.

The door opened to reveal another Blue sister, Anaiya, an older woman with a kind face that nonetheless missed little. Her eyes took in the scene: Moiraine with the book, Siuan at her desk, a respectable distance between them. If she suspected anything, her expression revealed nothing.

"Forgive the interruption," Anaiya said. "Siuan, you're needed by the Ajah head. Something about your report on the situation in Cairhien."

Siuan nodded, the perfect picture of Aes Sedai composure. "Of course. I'll attend her immediately." She glanced at Moiraine. "We can continue our discussion of the dialects of Saldaea another time, Moiraine. Unless you have an urgent question?"

Moiraine shook her head slightly. "Nothing that can't wait. The distinctions between northern and southern idioms are... intriguing, but hardly pressing."

Anaiya's mouth quirked in a small smile. "Always the scholar, Moiraine. One might almost think you belonged in Brown." There was a teasing note in her voice; among the Blues, Moiraine was known for her intellectual curiosity, though it was always directed toward practical ends rather than knowledge for its own sake.

"The path of the Blue suited me better," Moiraine replied with practiced ease. "Books are valuable tools, but the world cannot be changed from within a library."

"Well said," Anaiya approved. She stepped back, allowing Siuan to exit first. "Will you be joining us, Moiraine?"

"I have matters to attend to," Moiraine said. "Preparations for my journey." She closed the book, tapping it lightly. "And I should return this to the library before retiring."

Anaiya nodded, seeming to accept this. As they all moved into the corridor, Moiraine caught Siuan's eye one last time, a wordless exchange that spoke volumes. Be careful. You as well. Until tomorrow.

They parted ways with the formal courtesy of Aes Sedai, masking the deeper currents that ran beneath. Moiraine made her way back through the Tower, her mind working on two tracks: one considering the information Siuan had shared about the three possible Dragon candidates, the other dwelling on the mystery of Lady Selene and tomorrow's examination of the strange ter'angreal.

Something about the situation troubled her deeply, a sense of wrongness she couldn't quite articulate. It wasn't merely suspicion of coincidence; it was something about Lady Selene herself, something in those dark eyes that seemed to hold secrets as ancient as the Tower itself.

Chapter Text

The Hall of Testing was a circular chamber deep within the Tower, its walls lined with symbols inlaid in silver and gold, wards and protections woven into the very structure of the room. It was here that many ter'angreal were first examined, the room's design containing any unexpected effects should an object of Power prove volatile.

Moiraine arrived precisely at the tenth hour, as instructed. She wore her formal Aes Sedai attire: a dress of deep blue silk with subtle embroidery at hem and sleeves, her Ajah shawl draped elegantly across her shoulders, the serpent ring on her left hand, marking her status. Her dark hair was arranged neatly, her face composed into the ageless serenity expected of a sister of the Tower.

The room was already occupied. Lady Selene stood near the central table, her back to the door, examining one of the symbols on the wall. She wore a gown of midnight blue today, cut in a style Moiraine had never seen before, neither Cairhienin nor Tairen nor any other nation she recognized. It seemed both ancient and timeless, like the woman herself.

"Lady Selene," Moiraine said by way of greeting.

The woman turned, and once again Moiraine was struck by her extraordinary beauty, and by that unsettling sense of age and power that seemed to radiate from her. "Moiraine Sedai," she replied, her voice musical yet somehow distant. "Right on time. I appreciate punctuality."

"Where is the ter'angreal?" Moiraine asked, getting directly to the point. Aes Sedai were not known for wasting time on pleasantries, and she saw no reason to pretend an interest in small talk.

Lady Selene smiled, a curve of her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Direct. I like that." She gestured to a small box on the table, made of what appeared to be blackwood inlaid with silver. "It's there. I thought it prudent to keep it contained until you were ready to examine it."

Moiraine approached the table cautiously. "Has the Amyrlin assigned any other sisters to assist with this examination?"

"No," Lady Selene replied. "She seemed to think you would be sufficient. Are you not confident in your abilities, Daughter of the Damodred line?"

There was something in her tone -- a subtle emphasis on Moiraine's lineage, perhaps, or the faint hint of a challenge -- that put Moiraine further on guard. "I am confident in my training as Aes Sedai," she said carefully. "But when dealing with unknown ter'angreal, it is customary to have at least one other sister present, preferably one with experience in such matters."

"Ah, but this is not an ordinary ter'angreal," Lady Selene said, moving closer to the table. "And you are not an ordinary Aes Sedai, are you, Moiraine?"

The way she said Moiraine's name, with a familiarity that bordered on presumption, raised the hairs on the back of Moiraine's neck. "In what way do you mean?"

Lady Selene opened the box with slender fingers, revealing the crystalline fragment Moiraine had seen in the Amyrlin's study. In the light of the Hall of Testing, it seemed to pulse with an inner radiance, catching and refracting the illumination in ways that made shadows dance across the walls.

"This fragment," Lady Selene said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality, "is very old. Older than the White Tower. Older than the Breaking. It comes from a time when the One Power was understood in ways your Aes Sedai can scarcely imagine."

Moiraine felt a chill run through her. There was only one time Lady Selene could be referring to: the Age of Legends. "You claim this is from before the Breaking of the World?"

"I don't merely claim it, I know it." Lady Selene lifted the fragment carefully, holding it up to the light. The symbols carved into its surface seemed to shift and change as she turned it, like writing in a language that refused to be fixed in place. "It was part of a greater whole, a ter'angreal created for a specific purpose at the height of the Age of Legends."

"And what purpose was that?" Moiraine asked, unable to hide her scholarly interest despite her suspicions.

Lady Selene's dark eyes fixed on Moiraine with an intensity that was almost physical. "It was designed to find people. Specific people, with specific... qualities."

Moiraine felt her heart skip a beat, though she kept her face impassive. "What kind of qualities?"

"Potential," Lady Selene said softly. "The potential for greatness. Or for terrible destruction. Sometimes they are one and the same."

There was something hypnotic in Lady Selene's voice, in the way the light played through the crystalline fragment, casting prismatic patterns across the room. Moiraine found herself taking a step closer, drawn by curiosity and a growing sense that this conversation was veering into dangerous territory.

"And you brought this to the White Tower because—?"

"Because it's incomplete," Lady Selene replied. "Broken. I believe with the right assistance, the right kind of Power, it might be made to function again, after a fashion."

Moiraine's eyes narrowed slightly. "To what end?"

Lady Selene smiled, and this time the expression reached her eyes, lighting them with an almost predatory gleam. "Knowledge, of course. Isn't that what all seek? To know what was lost, to reclaim what was forgotten?"

"Knowledge can be dangerous," Moiraine countered. "Especially knowledge from the Age of Legends. There are good reasons why many ter'angreal from that time were destroyed or sealed away."

"Fear," Lady Selene said dismissively. "Fear of power, fear of change. The White Tower claims to preserve knowledge, yet it hoards it jealously, using it to maintain its own influence rather than to advance understanding." She set the fragment down on the table with delicate precision. "But you aren't afraid, are you, Moiraine? You seek knowledge, even dangerous knowledge, if it serves a greater purpose."

The statement was so close to the truth, to Moiraine's private thoughts about her search for the Dragon Reborn; that she felt momentarily exposed, as if Lady Selene had somehow looked into her mind. She regained her composure quickly, however. "I serve the White Tower and the greater good, as all Aes Sedai do."

Lady Selene laughed, a sound like crystal bells that nonetheless held an edge of mockery. "Of course. The greater good. Such a convenient justification." Her expression sobered. "But let us be practical. I would like you to examine the fragment, to see if you can discern any of its workings. Perhaps channel a small amount of the Power into it, carefully, of course."

Moiraine hesitated. Every instinct warned her that there was more to this situation than appeared, that Lady Selene was playing some game whose rules and objectives remained obscure. And yet, professional curiosity and duty compelled her forward. If this truly was an artifact from the Age of Legends, understanding it could be valuable, potentially even relevant to her search for the Dragon.

"Very well," she said at last, approaching the table. "But I will proceed with caution. Artifacts of this apparent age can be unpredictable."

"Of course," Lady Selene agreed, stepping back to give Moiraine space. "Caution is always wise when dealing with the unknown."

Moiraine stood before the table, studying the fragment without touching it. The symbols carved into its surface were unlike any script she had encountered, neither the Old Tongue nor any modern writing system. They seemed to flow and change as she looked at them, resisting interpretation.

Carefully, she reached for saidar, feeling the familiar rush of the One Power filling her. As always, she had to navigate the paradox at the heart of channeling, to surrender to the Power in order to control it, to be both vessel and wielder simultaneously. The sweetness of saidar flooded through her, and she shaped a delicate weave, the simplest probe used for examining objects of unknown properties.

As the weave touched the crystalline fragment, several things happened at once.

The symbols on the fragment flared with brilliant light, suddenly fixed and readable, though in a language Moiraine still didn't recognize. The fragment itself rose from the table, hovering a few inches above the surface, rotating slowly as if suspended in water rather than air. And most disturbingly, Moiraine felt a sudden, sharp tug on her connection to saidar, as if the fragment were drawing the Power through her rather than from her.

She tried to release the Source, to cut off the flow of Power, but found she couldn't. The fragment had somehow locked onto her channeling, creating a circuit she couldn't break. Panic fluttered at the edges of her mind, but her Aes Sedai training held firm. Instead of fighting, she modulated her connection to saidar, reducing it to the barest trickle; not severing the connection, which seemed impossible, but minimizing the Power flowing through her.

The fragment continued to rotate, but its glow dimmed in response to the reduced flow. Moiraine became aware of Lady Selene watching her with intense interest, those dark eyes missing nothing.

"Fascinating," Lady Selene murmured. "It recognizes you."

"What do you mean, 'recognizes'?" Moiraine demanded, still struggling to maintain control over the flow of Power.

"It was designed to respond to certain bloodlines," Lady Selene said, moving closer again, her eyes fixed on the floating fragment. "Bloodlines with particular... resonances in the Pattern."

"Bloodlines?" Moiraine echoed, a chill running through her that had nothing to do with channeling. "You meant the Damodred line specifically, not just any noble house."

Lady Selene smiled enigmatically. "The Damodred line is very old, Moiraine. Older than you know. In the Age of Legends, your ancestors bore a different name, but the blood remains the same."

Before Moiraine could process this startling claim, the fragment pulsed with renewed brightness. A beam of light shot out from it, not toward Lady Selene or Moiraine, but toward the door of the Hall of Testing.

The door that had just opened to admit Siuan Sanche.

Siuan froze in the doorway, her eyes widening at the scene before her. Moiraine channeling into a floating, glowing crystal, Lady Selene standing too close, a beam of light now pointing directly at Siuan herself.

"What is the meaning of this?" Siuan demanded, her voice carrying the full authority of an Aes Sedai despite her relative youth.

The fragment pulsed again, and to Moiraine's horror, a second beam emerged, connecting to her before arcing toward Siuan, creating a triangular shape of light between the fragment, Moiraine, and Siuan.

"Oh," Lady Selene breathed, sounding genuinely surprised for the first time. "How very, very interesting."

With a supreme effort of will, Moiraine severed her connection to saidar completely. The fragile webs of Power collapsed, and the fragment fell back to the table with a small clatter. The beams of light vanished instantly.

In the sudden absence of the glow, the Hall of Testing seemed darker than before, shadows gathering in the corners despite the ordinary lamps that lit the room. Moiraine felt drained, as if the fragment had indeed been drawing Power through her rather than simply responding to her channeling.

"Siuan," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "What brings you here?"

Siuan's eyes moved from Moiraine to Lady Selene and back again, wariness evident in every line of her body. "The Amyrlin sent me to assist," she said carefully. "She felt that an examination of an artifact of unknown properties should not be conducted by a single sister, regardless of her competence."

Lady Selene's expression was difficult to read, something between annoyance and calculation, perhaps, with an undercurrent of what might have been genuine surprise. "How considerate of the Amyrlin," she said smoothly. "Though it seems you arrived at a most... revealing moment."

"Revealing in what way?" Siuan asked directly.

Lady Selene gestured to the now-inert fragment. "This ter'angreal was designed to identify connections. Patterns within the Pattern, you might say. I expected it to respond to Moiraine, given her bloodline. I did not expect it to respond to you as well."

Siuan's face was a study in Aes Sedai serenity, but Moiraine, who knew her better than anyone, could see the alarm beneath the calm surface. "I know of no particular significance to my bloodline," Siuan said. "I am a fisherman's daughter from Tear, nothing more."

"Blood is only part of the equation," Lady Selene said, studying Siuan with those ancient eyes. "Destiny is another. Purpose. The fragment responds to those marked by the Pattern for great things." A smile curved her lips. "Or perhaps it simply recognizes the connection between you two. A bond of friendship, or... something more?"

The implication hung in the air, dangerous in its accuracy. Moiraine stepped forward, deliberately drawing attention away from Siuan. "Whatever the fragment's purpose, it clearly isn't functioning as intended. You said yourself it was broken, incomplete."

"Broken, yes, but not useless," Lady Selene countered. She turned her attention back to Moiraine. "What did you feel when you channeled into it?"

Moiraine considered her answer carefully. "A drawing sensation. As if it were using me as a conduit rather than responding to direct channeling."

Lady Selene nodded, as if this confirmed something she had already suspected. "It was designed to draw on the channeler's strength, yes, but also to amplify it. To focus it for a specific purpose."

"Which was?" Siuan pressed.

Lady Selene's eyes moved between the two Aes Sedai, calculating and considering. "To locate specific individuals across great distances. Individuals with a particular... signature in the Pattern."

Moiraine and Siuan exchanged a brief glance, a wordless communication born of years of friendship and deeper intimacy. This sounded dangerously close to what they themselves sought, a way to find the Dragon Reborn. But why would Lady Selene, whoever she truly was, be interested in such a thing?

"You're not who you claim to be," Moiraine said suddenly, deciding that directness might yield answers where careful diplomacy would not. "No noblewoman from beyond the Waste would have such knowledge of Age of Legends artifacts, or of bloodlines stretching back to that time."

Rather than taking offense, Lady Selene seemed almost pleased by the accusation. "Very good, Moiraine Damodred. You see more clearly than most of your sisters." She moved around the table w ith that strange, graceful gait that seemed too perfect to be human. "No, I am not what I appear to be. But then, few of us are, especially in the White Tower, where every word has three meanings and every action five purposes."

"Who are you?" Siuan demanded.

Lady Selene smiled, and for a brief instant, Moiraine thought she saw something else behind that beautiful face, something ancient and terrifying. "A seeker of knowledge, like yourselves. Someone with a vested interest in certain... developments in the Pattern." She picked up the fragment, returning it to its blackwood box with delicate precision. "I think our examination is concluded for today. You've given me much to consider."

"You've given us nothing but riddles and half-truths," Siuan said, an edge of anger in her voice that only those who knew her well would detect.

"Perhaps," Lady Selene acknowledged. "But consider whether you yourselves have been entirely forthcoming. We all have our secrets, our private missions." Her dark eyes seemed to pierce through Moiraine. "Some seek knowledge for its own sake. Others seek it for a purpose. The question is not what you seek, but what you intend to do when you find it."

With those cryptic words, she closed the box and picked it up. "I thank you for your assistance, Moiraine Sedai. I believe I have what I came for." She inclined her head slightly to Siuan. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Siuan Sedai. I suspect we will meet again, under... different circumstances."

Before either of them could respond, Lady Selene moved toward the door with that uncanny grace. Siuan stepped aside to let her pass, watchful and wary. At the threshold, Lady Selene paused, looking back over her shoulder.

"Dreams are revealing, don't you think?" she said softly. "Pay attention to yours in the coming nights. You might find them... educational."

Then she was gone, leaving Moiraine and Siuan alone in the Hall of Testing, surrounded by symbols of power and protection that suddenly seemed insufficient against whatever had just transpired.

"What in the Light was that?" Siuan asked after a moment of stunned silence.

Moiraine shook her head slowly, trying to process what had happened. "I don't know. But I'm certain of one thing -- whoever 'Lady Selene' truly is, she's dangerous. And she knows, or suspects, something about our search."

"The timing can't be coincidence," Siuan agreed. "She appears the day before you're set to leave, with an artifact supposedly designed to find people with specific 'qualities' in the Pattern? It's too precise."

Moiraine paced the circumference of the room, her mind racing. "The fragment responded to both of us. Created some kind of... connection."

"Could it tell?" Siuan asked, her voice dropping. "About us?"

"I don't know. But she suspected, I think." Moiraine ran a hand through her hair, a rare gesture of frustration. "This complicates everything. If she knows what we're searching for..."

"Then we need to move quickly," Siuan concluded. "You should leave today, not tomorrow. As soon as possible."

Moiraine nodded slowly. "Yes. But to where? If she truly has an artifact that can track bloodlines or destinies..." She trailed off, her mind racing through possibilities. "We need to be unpredictable. Change our plans."

Siuan moved closer, lowering her voice though they were alone in the chamber. "The information I gathered pointed to three possibilities. Perhaps instead of investigating them in the logical order, closest to farthest, you should do the opposite."

"Or something entirely different," Moiraine mused. "Start with the middle candidate, then move in a pattern that wouldn't be immediately obvious."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their task pressing down upon them. The Dragon Reborn, a boy now, but someday the most powerful channeler since the Age of Legends, destined to fight the Dark One at Tarmon Gai'don. And now this mysterious woman with her ancient artifact, her cryptic warnings, her too-knowing eyes.

"What did she mean about dreams?" Siuan asked suddenly. "'Pay attention to yours in the coming nights.' It sounded like a threat."

Moiraine frowned. "Or a warning. There are ter'angreal that can affect dreams. If the fragment she showed us is part of such a construct..."

"Do you think she could invade our dreams? Learn our plans that way?"

"I don't know," Moiraine admitted. "The Amyrlin should be informed of this development."

Siuan shook her head firmly. "No. Not yet. We agreed to keep our knowledge about the Dragon between us alone. If we tell Tamra about Lady Selene's interest in finding specific individuals, it raises too many questions." She paced the room, her fisherman's daughter's practicality asserting itself. "Besides, we don't know for certain that Lady Selene is connected to our search. It could be coincidence."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," Moiraine said quietly.

"No, I don't," Siuan agreed. "But until we have proof, we should proceed as planned, only more cautiously. You'll leave today, as soon as you can make arrangements. I'll stay and watch Lady Selene, try to learn more about who she really is and what she wants."

Moiraine felt a pang of worry. "Be careful. There's something not right about her. Something... old."

"Old?" Siuan repeated, her brow furrowing.

"I can't explain it better than that," Moiraine said, frustration evident in her tone. "When she looks at you, it's as if you're being measured against thousands of years of experience. As if she's seen civilizations rise and fall and considers it all merely... interesting."

A chill seemed to settle over the room. Neither woman spoke the thought that hung between them, too terrible to voice aloud: that Lady Selene might be one of the Forsaken, somehow freed from the Dark One's prison after three thousand years.

"I'll be careful," Siuan promised, reaching out to grasp Moiraine's hand briefly. "Go prepare for your journey. I'll return to the Amyrlin and report that we completed the examination but found nothing conclusive. That the artifact appeared perhaps damaged."

"And when Lady Selene contradicts that account?"

Siuan's lips curved in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "By then, you'll be well away from the Tower. And I'll express appropriate confusion and concern that she perceived effects we did not."

Moiraine nodded, admiring Siuan's political instincts despite her worry. "Very well. I'll leave within the hour. The horse and supplies I arranged for tomorrow can be made ready today with little difficulty."

They moved toward the door together, maintaining a proper Aes Sedai distance now that they were returning to the public spaces of the Tower. Before they crossed the threshold, however, Siuan spoke once more, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Tonight, when you make camp, shield your dreams. I don't know if it will help against whatever Lady Selene might attempt, but it can't hurt."

"And you?"

"I'll do the same. Every night." Siuan's eyes held Moiraine's for a long moment. "Light illumine and protect you, Moiraine Sedai."

"And you, Siuan Sedai," Moiraine replied formally, though her eyes conveyed all that remained unspoken between them. Love. Fear. Determination.

They stepped through the doorway and into the corridor beyond, two Blue sisters concluding a professional consultation, nothing more. To any who observed them, they were simply Aes Sedai about their business, serene and purposeful. None could see the invisible threads that bound them together, threads of shared knowledge, shared duty, and shared love, forming a pattern within the greater Pattern of the Age.

None, perhaps, except the woman who called herself Lady Selene, who watched from shadows deeper than any mere absence of light as the two young Aes Sedai parted ways. Her dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and a smile played about her perfect lips.

"So young," she murmured to herself. "So earnest. So predictable, even in their attempts to be unpredictable."

She turned away, the blackwood box containing the crystalline fragment tucked securely under one arm. Plans within plans within plans; the Great Game played across centuries rather than mere years or decades. The two Blue sisters were important threads in the Pattern, no doubt, but she had been weaving her own designs since before the White Tower was built.

Let them scurry about, thinking themselves clever and secret. In the end, they would serve her purpose, whether they willed it or not. For she was Lanfear, Daughter of the Night, and the Dragon would be hers again, as he had been before the world was broken.

As he would be again, when the world was remade in her image.

The shadows seemed to deepen around her, and then she was gone, leaving no trace of her passing save a whisper of cold air and the faint scent of roses.

Chapter Text

Moiraine stood in her chambers, surveying the small collection of items laid out on her bed. A lifetime in House Damodred had taught her the value of traveling light but prepared, a lesson reinforced during her years as an Accepted in the White Tower. Now, as she packed for what might be a journey of many years, those lessons served her well.

Three dresses of sturdy, practical material, cut in the Cairhienin style but without the elaborate embroidery that would mark her as nobility. A warm cloak lined with fur for the approaching winter. Serviceable boots and gloves. A small box containing gold and silver coins from various nations, enough to sustain her for months without needing to access her considerable Damodred accounts. A slender knife in a plain sheath, useful more as a tool than a weapon. A leather-bound book containing her private notes on the Karaethon Cycle and the signs of the Dragon's rebirth.

And, nestled in a hidden pocket sewn into her cloak, the angreal she had been given upon being raised to the shawl. Small and inconspicuous, a simple ivory bracelet carved with flowing patterns, it would allow her to draw more of the One Power than she could safely handle alone. Not as powerful as some angreal kept in the Tower's vaults, but precious nonetheless, and potentially crucial to her mission.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her inventory. She tensed momentarily, then relaxed as a familiar voice called quietly, "It's me."

Moiraine opened the door to find Siuan standing in the corridor, her face composed into Aes Sedai serenity though her eyes told a different story. Without a word, Moiraine stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

"You're nearly ready," Siuan observed, surveying the sparse collection of belongings.

"Nearly," Moiraine agreed. "I've arranged for the horse to be prepared. I'll leave through the western gate as the sun sets, less attention that way."

Siuan nodded, her eyes lingering on Moiraine's face as if memorizing its contours. "I've brought you something." She reached into a pocket of her dress and withdrew a small object wrapped in blue silk.

Moiraine accepted it curiously, unwrapping the silk to reveal a small ter'angreal, a disk of cloudy crystal set in a frame of silver, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Tiny symbols were etched around its circumference, reminiscent of the markings on Lady Selene's crystal fragment, though clearly of different origin.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up at Siuan with surprise.

"A ter'angreal that allows communication across long distances," Siuan said quietly. "It's very old, and not well understood. I... borrowed it from the Tower's collection."

Moiraine's eyebrows rose. "Borrowed without permission, I assume."

A faint smile touched Siuan's lips. "Let's say I've taken an extended loan of it for Blue Ajah business. It hasn't been studied in decades; it won't be missed for a while, and by then..." She shrugged slightly. "By then, circumstances may have changed."

Moiraine turned the ter'angreal over in her hands, examining it carefully. "How does it work?"

"It forms a pair with this," Siuan said, pulling an identical disk from another pocket. "When activated with a specific weave — I've written the pattern down here" she handed Moiraine a small slip of paper covered in her neat handwriting, "—it creates a connection between the two. Not enough for actual conversation, but enough to send impressions, feelings... a warning, if necessary."

Moiraine looked at the ter'angreal with new appreciation. Such an object was rare and valuable, the ability to communicate over vast distances was precious in a world where news traveled only as fast as the swiftest horse or boat. For Siuan to risk taking it from the Tower's collection spoke volumes about her concern.

"The range is limited," Siuan continued, "perhaps a hundred leagues at most. And it draws heavily on the user, you'll feel drained after employing it. But in an emergency—"

"Thank you," Moiraine said softly, wrapping the disk back in its silk covering and tucking it securely into an inner pocket of her dress. "This could prove invaluable."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their impending separation pressing down upon them. Then, with a glance at the door to ensure it was firmly closed, Siuan stepped forward, taking Moiraine's face between her hands.

"Light, but I'll miss you," she whispered, the careful Aes Sedai mask slipping to reveal the woman beneath.

Moiraine leaned into the touch, allowing her own composure to falter. "And I you. More than I can say."

Their lips met in a kiss that held all the intensity of their situation; the danger, the duty, the uncertainty of when they might meet again. Moiraine felt Siuan's arms encircle her, pulling her close, and she responded in kind, trying to commit to memory every detail of this moment: the softness of Siuan's lips, the warmth of her body, the faint scent of lavender that always seemed to cling to her skin.

When they finally drew apart, Siuan's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice was steady. "Remember what we discussed about the three candidates. Start with the middle one, the boy born to the village woman at the foot of Dragonmount. His name is Jain, according to the records, though he may be called something else now. His mother's name was Lisande."

Moiraine nodded, forcing her mind back to the practicalities of her mission. "And the village?"

"Carysford, a small settlement on the Arinelle River, north of Caemlyn but still within Andoran borders. The name may have changed since the records were made, the Aiel War disrupted many communities in that region."

"I'll find it," Moiraine assured her. "And if this boy Jain proves not to be the one we seek, I'll move on to the third candidate, the one born to the Aiel woman."

"Taken in by farmers near the border of Cairhien," Siuan confirmed. "The family name was Aybara, according to what I could discover."

Moiraine committed the names to memory, though she had already noted them in her book. "And the first candidate, the one adopted by the cavalry officer, will be my final stop, if the others prove fruitless."

Siuan nodded. "A twisted path, as we agreed. Less predictable that way." She hesitated, then added, "I've been thinking about Lady Selene's artifact. If it truly can track bloodlines or... or destinies in the Pattern..."

"Then she may be searching for the same child we seek," Moiraine finished the thought. "All the more reason for me to reach these boys first."

"Yes, but also..." Siuan frowned, struggling to articulate her concern. "If the fragment reacted to both of us, created that connection between us, what does that mean? Are we somehow linked to the Dragon's rebirth in a way we don't yet understand?"

It was a troubling question, one that had been lurking at the edges of Moiraine's thoughts since the incident in the Hall of Testing. "I don't know," she admitted. "Perhaps it was simply responding to our knowledge of the birth, or to our intention to find him. Or perhaps..." She hesitated, reluctant to voice the more disturbing possibility.

"Perhaps we're ta'veren," Siuan said quietly. "Small ones, not like the Dragon will be, but still significant enough to register on her artifact."

Ta'veren, rare individuals around whom the Pattern itself wove more densely, whose actions had greater influence on the world than ordinary people. It was not a comfortable thought. Moiraine had always preferred to believe she made her own choices, directed her own destiny. The idea that she might be a tool of the Pattern, however minor, was unsettling.

"If so, there's nothing we can do about it," she said firmly. "Ta'veren or not, we've chosen this path. We will see it through."

Siuan's expression softened slightly. "Always so determined. It's one of the things I love about you." She glanced toward the window, noting the position of the sun. "You should finish your preparations. It's nearly time."

Moiraine nodded, returning to her belongings. With practiced efficiency, she packed everything into saddlebags, leaving out only her cloak and a small travel pouch containing essentials she might need on the road before her first night's stop.

"What will you do about Lady Selene?" she asked as she worked.

Siuan's face hardened. "Watch her. Learn what I can. The Amyrlin has scheduled another meeting with her tomorrow morning to discuss the 'results' of our examination. I'll be present and will pay close attention to her reactions when I report that the artifact’s broken, incomplete whatever its purpose is."

"Be careful," Moiraine cautioned. "If she is what we suspect—"

"I know," Siuan said grimly. "I won't confront her directly or give her any reason to consider me a threat. Just quiet observation, nothing more."

Moiraine secured the last of her belongings and straightened, surveying the room one final time to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything essential. There was little to suggest she had ever lived here; a few books on the shelves that would not be traveling with her, a spare set of Ajah-colored shawls hanging in the wardrobe, a small silver bowl on the dressing table that had been a gift from her uncle. The White Tower encouraged a certain detachment from material possessions; an Aes Sedai's true wealth was in knowledge and influence, not things.

"It's time," she said quietly.

Siuan moved to the door but paused with her hand on the latch. "Not goodbye," she said firmly. "Until we meet again."

Moiraine managed a small smile. "Until we meet again," she echoed.

They did not embrace again; they were Aes Sedai now, stepping back into the public corridors of the Tower where appearances must be maintained. Instead, they exchanged a formal nod, the proper acknowledgment between sisters of the same Ajah, and then Siuan was gone, leaving Moiraine alone with her thoughts and the weight of the task before her.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon as Moiraine led her horse through the western gate of Tar Valon. She wore a dark blue riding dress and cloak, her Great Serpent ring the only visible sign of her status as Aes Sedai. The rest of her belongings were secured to the saddle of her mount, a sturdy bay gelding chosen for endurance rather than speed.

The guard at the gate, a tall man with the flame insignia of the Tower Guard on his chest, nodded respectfully as she approached. "Light illumine you, Aes Sedai," he said, offering the formal greeting.

"And you, Guardian," she replied with the traditional response.

He made no move to question her departure, nor did he seem particularly interested in her destination. Aes Sedai came and went from the Tower regularly on various errands and missions; one more sister leaving as evening approached was hardly noteworthy.

As Moiraine crossed the great bridge that connected the island city to the mainland, she allowed herself one backward glance at the White Tower gleaming in the sunset. Its impossible height and perfect whiteness dominated the skyline, visible for miles in every direction: a symbol of Aes Sedai power and permanence that had endured for three thousand years since the Breaking of the World.

Somewhere within those ancient walls, Siuan would be continuing their work, gathering information and watching for threats while maintaining the careful political neutrality expected of a newly raised sister. And somewhere, perhaps, the mysterious Lady Selene was pursuing her own agenda, one that might well intersect with Moiraine's mission in ways she couldn't yet predict.

With a slight shake of her head, Moiraine turned away from the Tower and focused on the road ahead. The western highway was well maintained, as were all the major roads leading to Tar Valon. It saw regular traffic from merchants, pilgrims seeking the Tower's healing, and nobles visiting the island city for diplomatic purposes. She would not be alone on the road, at least for the first part of her journey.

She mounted her horse with practiced grace and set off at a steady pace, intending to cover several miles before full dark necessitated making camp. The weight of her mission settled around her shoulders like a physical burden, not just the search for the Dragon Reborn, but all that would follow once he was found. Years of guidance and protection, preparation for a destiny that would reshape the world, for better or worse.

And now the added complication of Lady Selene, with her ancient artifact and her too-knowing eyes.

As the road curved through a stand of oak trees, Moiraine had the distinct sensation of being watched. She extended her senses, reaching for saidar and holding herself ready to channel if necessary, but detected no immediate threat. Still, the feeling persisted, a prickling awareness that raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

Casually, as if merely adjusting her position in the saddle, she glanced behind her. The road was empty save for a merchant's cart some distance back, its driver focused on the oxen pulling his vehicle with patient determination. Nothing suspicious, nothing out of place.

Yet the sensation remained.

Without obvious haste, Moiraine guided her horse off the main road onto a smaller path that wound through the trees. Once out of sight of the highway, she stopped and dismounted, moving silently through the undergrowth until she found a position that offered a clear view of the road she had just left.

She waited, watching, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of her small knife though her true defense, if needed, would be the One Power.

Minutes passed, and no one appeared. The merchant's cart trundled by eventually, the driver oblivious to her presence among the trees. Birds resumed their evening songs, and small creatures rustled in the underbrush, signs that no larger predator, human or animal, lurked nearby.

Perhaps it had been nothing more than nerves, the natural tension of beginning such a momentous journey. Or perhaps she had sensed some ordinary traveler moving parallel to the road for their own reasons, someone who posed no threat to her mission.

Or perhaps...

Moiraine closed her eyes briefly, extending her awareness in a different way. Not seeking the Source, but rather opening herself to the subtle currents of the Pattern itself; a technique few Aes Sedai mastered, requiring both natural sensitivity and years of practice. Most sisters considered it little more than superstition, but Moiraine had found it useful on occasion, particularly when conventional methods failed.

There, a dissonance in the weave of the Pattern, a subtle wrongness that rippled outward from a point some distance to the north. Not on the road at all, but moving through the countryside parallel to it, as if deliberately avoiding the highway while maintaining the same general direction.

Moiraine opened her eyes, her suspicions confirmed. Someone was indeed following her, though not in the straightforward manner she had initially expected. And whoever it was possessed enough skill or power to avoid detection by ordinary means.

Lady Selene? It seemed both possible and troubling. If the mysterious woman could track her so easily, what hope did Moiraine have of reaching the Dragon candidates before her?

She returned to her horse, mind racing through possibilities. Confrontation seemed unwise, if Lady Selene was indeed one of the Forsaken, as Moiraine increasingly suspected, direct conflict would be suicidal. Yet she couldn't simply continue her journey knowing she was being followed.

A change of plans was needed. Not just a reordering of her intended visits to the three candidates, but a more fundamental alteration of her approach. Perhaps...

Moiraine mounted her horse again and returned to the main road, maintaining a casual pace that suggested no awareness of pursuit. But as twilight deepened into dusk, she began to formulate a new strategy, one that would require calling upon resources she had hoped to save for later stages of her search.

By the time she made camp that night, in a small clearing well off the road, she had decided on her course of action. It was risky and would consume valuable time, but if successful, it would throw off any pursuit, whether from Lady Selene or from any other quarter that might have taken an interest in her departure from the Tower.

As she prepared a small fire, her movements efficient and practiced, Moiraine allowed herself a grim smile. If Lady Selene, or whoever was following her, thought her an easy target, a newly raised Aes Sedai on her first significant mission, they would soon learn otherwise. She was Moiraine Damodred, of the royal line of Cairhien, trained in the Great Game of Houses since childhood and tested in the unforgiving halls of the White Tower.

She would not be easily outmaneuvered, not even by one of the Forsaken.

Setting wards around her camp, subtle weaves that would alert her to any approach, Moiraine settled beside the fire and removed Siuan's ter'angreal from its silk wrapping. Tonight, she would not risk using it. But soon, when her new plan was in motion, she would need to send a message to the Tower, to warn Siuan of what she suspected and what she intended to do.

For now, she stared into the flames, mentally reviewing what she knew of the Forsaken from ancient texts and fragmented histories. If Lady Selene was indeed one of them and increasingly, Moiraine believed she must be, then which one? Lanfear, Graendal, Mesaana? Each had her own strengths, her own particular brand of danger.

Identifying her enemy might be the key to anticipating her moves. And anticipation, in this deadly game they were playing, could mean the difference between success and catastrophic failure.

The fire crackled softly, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Above, stars emerged one by one, eternal witnesses to the turning of the Wheel of Time. Somewhere under those same stars, an infant boy slept, unaware of the destiny that awaited him or of the forces already gathering around him, both to guide and to destroy.

Moiraine wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself and prepared for a night of light, watchful sleep. Her journey had only just begun, and already the Pattern was proving more complex, more dangerous than she had anticipated.

She only hoped she was equal to the challenge.

Chapter Text

In her luxurious rooms in one of Tar Valon's finest inns, Lanfear sat before a mirror of polished silver, watching not her own reflection but the image of Moiraine's distant campsite. The viewing weave was complex and required constant attention to maintain, especially over such distance, but it was well within her capabilities capabilities honed over three thousand years, even accounting for the long sleep in the Dark One's prison.

She smiled slightly as she observed the younger woman setting wards around her camp. Competent work, for one of this Age. Certainly better than most of the fumbling channelers who called themselves Aes Sedai in this diminished time. But still child's play compared to what she, Lanfear, could achieve.

The crystal fragment rested on the table beside her, still housed in its blackwood box. It pulsed with a subtle glow visible only to those who knew how to look, responding to her passive channeling. A useful tool, though not for the purposes she had implied to the naive Aes Sedai. Its true function was both simpler and more complex: it resonated with bloodlines, yes, but specifically with certain bloodlines that had been... modified... during the Age of Legends.

Modified by her own hand, in some cases. The culmination of research begun at the Collam Daan alongside Beidomon, before catastrophe struck, before Lews Therin turned away from her, before everything fell into ruin and chaos.

The fragment had confirmed what she had already suspected: Moiraine Damodred carried traces of those ancient alterations in her blood, diluted by three thousand years of breeding but still present. Not enough to make her a potential vessel, that particular bloodline seemed to have died out during the Breaking, but enough to serve as a beacon of sorts, guiding Lanfear toward what she truly sought.

And the other one, Siuan Sanche, had been an unexpected bonus. No modified bloodline there, but something else, a powerful ta'veren signature, minor compared to what the Dragon would produce, but significant nonetheless. The Pattern was drawing these threads together for a purpose, and Lanfear intended to ensure that purpose aligned with her own designs.

She released the viewing weave, allowing the image in the mirror to fade back to her own reflection. Beautiful beyond mortal comprehension, as she had been since before the Bore was opened into the Dark One's prison. Beauty had been her weapon and her shield throughout the Age of Legends, distracting from the keen intelligence and ruthless ambition that were her true strengths.

Rising from her seat, Lanfear moved to the window overlooking the city. Tar Valon gleamed in the moonlight, its white walls and elegant towers a pale imitation of the glories she remembered from the Age of Legends. How small their world had become, how limited their understanding of what was once possible.

That would change, when she found the Dragon. When she reclaimed Lews Therin, reborn, reincarnated, but still hers by right and destiny.

Let the Aes Sedai play their games, thinking themselves wise and powerful. Let Moiraine Damodred scurry about on her secret mission, believing herself clever and prepared. They were all pieces on a board whose dimensions they couldn't comprehend, moving according to rules written before their ancestors were born.

Lanfear turned away from the window, her decision made. She would not follow Moiraine directly; the woman was alert to pursuit now, and would waste valuable time and energy trying to evade a shadow that was no longer there. No, Lanfear would take a different approach.

The fragment had given her what she needed: confirmation that the Dragon had indeed been reborn, and a general sense of the region where he might be found. The east was silent, whatever traces of him existed did not register from that direction. But the west... the west hummed with potential, with threads of destiny weaving into a pattern she recognized all too well.

She would go west, following her own instincts and the subtle guidance of the fragment. Let Moiraine search in her methodical, limited way. Lanfear had other means at her disposal, and an understanding of the Pattern that no living Aes Sedai could match.

And when she found him, when she found the boy who would grow to become Lews Therin reborn, she would ensure that his development proceeded according to her design. Not the White Tower's, not the Pattern's, but hers.

As it should have been, three thousand years ago. As it would be now.

The future was unwritten, even for one who had lived as long as she. But Lanfear had not survived the Age of Legends, the War of Power, and three millennia imprisoned by the Dark One only to fail now, when her prize was finally within reach.

She would have him. Whatever it took, whatever price had to be paid, by herself or more likely by others, Lews Therin would be hers again.

The Wheel of Time turned, and Ages came and went, leaving memories that became legend. Legend faded to myth, and even myth was long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth came again. But some threads in the Pattern never truly broke, no matter how many times the Wheel turned.

And the thread binding Lanfear to the Dragon was one of those.

Chapter Text

The moon hung high over the rolling hills west of Tar Valon, casting silver light across Moiraine's small camp. The fire had burned down to embers, glowing softly in the darkness. Her wards remained undisturbed, no footfall, human or otherwise, had crossed the invisible boundaries she had set.

Exhaustion pulled at her, bone-deep and insistent. The day's travel, combined with the tension of knowing she was being followed, had drained her reserves. Even so, she performed her nightly ritual with meticulous care: checking the wards one final time, ensuring her horse was properly tethered where it could graze on the sparse autumn grass, and arranging her bedroll in a position that would allow for quick movement should danger approach.

Only then did she permit herself to rest, settling onto her blankets with a soft sigh. The small ter'angreal Siuan had given her rested against her chest, tucked securely beneath her clothing. Its weight was barely noticeable, yet she found herself acutely aware of its presence, a tangible connection to the woman she had left behind.

"Not forever," she whispered to the night sky. "Just for now."

Sleep came swiftly, drawing her down into darkness.

In the White Tower, Siuan sat at her small desk, surrounded by stacks of parchment and leather-bound volumes. The hour was late; most sisters had retired hours ago but sleep eluded her. Instead, she buried herself in work, reviewing reports from Blue Ajah eyes-and-ears across the nations. Information was power, and in the coming months and years, she would need every advantage she could muster.

A yawn escaped her, her body demanding rest even as her mind continued to race. Setting aside the report she had been reading (something about unusual movements among the Aiel beyond the Spine of the World), Siuan rose from her desk and prepared for bed.

The ter'angreal that matched Moiraine's lay on her bedside table, its surface gleaming dully in the lamplight. She resisted the urge to activate it, knowing that Moiraine would not risk using hers this first night. Patience had never been Siuan's strongest virtue, but years in the Tower had taught her its value.

"Light keep you safe," she murmured, her fingers brushing the cool surface of the disk before she extinguished the lamp and settled into her bed.

Sleep, when it finally came, was a relief.

The glade spread out before Moiraine like a perfect circle of soft grass, ringed by silver-barked trees whose leaves shimmered with an inner light. A small stream wound through one side, its water whispering a gentle lullaby over smooth stones. The air neither warmed nor chilled her skin but carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth, delicate as a breath.

She drifted forward, drawn by a brightness in the corner of her vision, a figure standing at the far edge of the clearing, dressed not in her usual Aes Sedai attire but in a simple, soft white shift that seemed to catch and reflect the silvery light filtering through the leaves. Her tattoo peeking above the neckline.

Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and her blue eyes shone with a mixture of surprise and joy that made Moiraine's heart ache. Dark hair tumbled about her shoulders; blue eyes gleamed like the surface of a sunlit sea. The sight sent a longing through Moiraine's chest so sharp that she barely noticed her own quiet gasp.

Siuan.

The name bloomed in her mind, resonating with familiar warmth. Moiraine's pulse quickened. She didn't pause to wonder how Siuan came to be here or why this place existed at all. She only felt the ache of missing her, the emptiness of nights to be spent alone, and the sudden rush of relief that, in this moment, they stood within an arm's reach.

She stood for a long moment, simply looking at Siuan, drinking in details that each had committed to memory, yet still feared forgetting. And she could swear Siuan did the same. Everything about Siuan was intimately familiar to Moiraine. She felt the warmth in her chest flare, an answering call to the longing in Siuan's eyes.

Tentatively, they stepped closer, heart hammering. A breeze whispered through the glade, carrying the scent of flowers and cool water. When Moiraine reached out, her fingertips grazed Siuan's cheek. The sensation was vivid, electric, sensation jolted her like lightning captured in a single spark. It was as if her physical body were truly there. Siuan's eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted on a hushed exhale, as she pressed her cheek into Moiraine's touch. Moiraine could almost taste the breath that escaped them.

Their hands found each other without searching, fingers interlacing as though guided by instinct. Neither spoke of distance or duty or reason. Here, the rules of the waking world held no weight. A quiver of anticipation coursed through Moiraine when Siuan's lips skimmed her wrist, soft as a sigh. The simple gesture sent a spark through Moiraine's entire being, and she could almost feel her own pulse thrumming in response. The glade around them seemed to pulse with the rhythmic glow of the trees.

"I've missed you," Siuan whispered, her voice low and trembling with emotion. "So much."

Moiraine swallowed, her throat tight. "I know," she managed, and then her voice grew stronger. "I've missed you too. More than words can say."

They moved closer, until they were face to face, breath mingling. They leaned in, foreheads nearly touching, and Moiraine's heart threatened to spill over with all she had locked away. Their first kiss came tentative, a tender press of lips that carried every drop of longing bottled in both of them. The second kiss deepened, drew them closer, and Moiraine's mind swam as the silver leaves overhead blazed with renewed brightness. The stream's song grew distant, drowned out by the rushing in her ears, as the gentle breeze turned warm as if stirred by their shared desire.

When Siuan's arms slid around Moiraine's waist, the contact felt exquisitely real, warmth erupted at every point of contact: the curve of Siuan's hips beneath Moiraine's palms, the cascade of dark hair brushing Moiraine's cheek, the steady thrum of both their hearts all conspired to make this moment feel utterly grounded.

They sank onto the soft grass, a hush falling over the glade. Nothing existed but the heat of each other's skin and the electric current of every shared breath. There was only Siuan, her warmth, her lips, the curve of her neck beneath Moiraine's fingertips. The sound of the running stream mingled with their soft breaths, and the glow of the foliage pulsed with an almost living rhythm, as though reflecting the beating of their hearts.

Familiar curves and planes welcomed Moiraine's touch, each caress tugging at memory, love, and an ache that neither had dared fully acknowledge while separated. She let her fingers wander, rediscovering each line and hollow she had missed so fiercely. Siuan responded with a quiet sound that spilled from her throat like a plea, her body pressing closer in a timeless rhythm. Sweat shone on Moiraine's skin, every nerve alight with the certainty that this, this, was the closeness she had craved. Reality blurred; there was only sensation, only the shape of love echoing through each ragged inhale.

Time stopped making sense. Their caresses stretched into minutes that felt like hours, or perhaps hours melted into seconds. Moiraine found herself lost in the taste of Siuan's lips, the fresh smell of her skin, the soft warmth that enveloped them both.

Moiraine could not recall who shed whose garment first; the sensation of skin against skin simply was, overwhelming her senses. Every soft intake of breath, every whisper of the other's name, felt charged with a need so potent that it bordered on sacred. Their bodies moved in a harmony that owed nothing to conscious thought, only to the deep, abiding knowledge of one another they had cultivated in the privacy of their shared past.

Each gasp, each gentle cry of pleasure and longing, resonated through the dream like ripples on a still pond. Even the air around them hummed, as if the glade itself recognized and celebrated their reunion.

At last, in a lull made of shared breath and fluttering heartbeats, they lay entwined on the grass. The air around them cooled, as though the glade itself knew they needed rest. Siuan's fingers traced idle circles along Moiraine's arm, swirls and loops that made Moiraine's heart, each pattern radiating a new wave of contentment. Moiraine closed her eyes, not daring to speak for fear of disrupting the fragile perfection of the moment.

A comfortable silence settled between them, punctured only by the murmur of the stream. Moiraine felt weightless and grounded all at once, the warmth of Siuan’s embrace still spreading through her like the afterglow of a shared miracle.

"I've been thinking about my route," Moiraine murmured against Siuan's hair. "I'm concerned about being followed."

Siuan's fingers paused their tracing. "Lady Selene?"

"Perhaps. I sense ... something. A presence that shadows my path." Moiraine's voice was soft, dreamlike. "I may need to change course. Use resources I had hoped to save."

"Your family connections?"

"Mmm. There are those loyal to House Damodred who could help me disappear for a time." She nestled closer to Siuan. 

Siuan's arms tightened around her. "Be careful. Trust no one."

Moiraine didn't question the miracle that placed them here, nor the dreamlike quality that threatened to fade with the next breath. Instead, she let the hush of the clearing cradle them both, a protective cocoon of stillness and warmth.

They gazed into each other's eyes, still flushed with the remnants of their passion, the closeness so tangible it banished any fleeting doubts. Moiraine's pulse fluttered in her throat, as she savored the closeness, the press of Siuan's body still flush against hers. A slow, unhurried kiss passed between them; lips meeting and parting in a languid dance. The edges of the glade shimmered, colors running like ink in water. Moiraine clutched the moment tightly, unwilling to let it slip away.

Then the glow of the trees began to fade, like dying embers at the end of a long night. A gentle wind tugged at Siuan’s hair, and the glade blurred in Moiraine’s periphery. She tried to cling to Siuan’s hand, but the dream shifted, slipping through her grip like a half-remembered story.

Before consciousness returned, before sight and sound of the real world intruded, a final memory of Siuan’s whisper brushed across Moiraine’s mind, echoing with longing and unspoken promise.

Moiraine woke with a gasp, her hand outstretched toward nothing but the pre-dawn darkness of her camp. The embers of her fire had died completely, leaving only the faint light of stars and a waning moon to illuminate her surroundings.

She lay still for a moment, her heart racing, the memory of the dream so vivid it felt more like a recent experience than a product of sleep. She could still feel the warmth of Siuan's skin against hers, still taste the sweetness of her mouth.

Sitting up slowly, she noticed that the ter'angreal beneath her clothing was in its normal, inert state. But when her fingers traced her collarbone, she discovered a small, tender mark that hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep: a lover's brand, impossible in a mere dream. Except, she felt a sharp ache within her inner thigh, which when examined showed a deeper love mark right at the crest, one that would take a few days before it fades away.

Confusion flickered across her face. Had it been only a dream? The marks suggested otherwise, yet how could such a thing be possible? She examined the ter'angreal again, wondering if it possessed properties beyond what Siuan had explained.

Whether it had been truly Tel'aran'rhiod or some other phenomenon created by the interaction of the ter'angreal with their bond, Moiraine couldn't say. What mattered was that it had happened; she had seen Siuan, touched her across the vast distance that now separated them.

A gift, unexpected but precious. And perhaps, if the Light was kind, one that might be repeated.

With renewed determination, Moiraine rose and began breaking camp as the first hints of dawn lightened the eastern sky. The path ahead was long and fraught with danger, but she no longer felt quite so alone in her journey.

In the White Tower, Siuan woke to the sound of the morning bells, her hand still extended as if reaching for someone no longer there. The dream had been so real, so present, that for a moment she expected to find herself still in that strange, luminous glade with Moiraine beside her.

Instead, she was in her modest chamber in the Blue Ajah quarters, morning light filtering through the narrow window, the sounds of the Tower beginning its daily routine drifting through her door.

The ter'angreal on her bedside table gleamed innocently in the sunlight, appearing no different than it had the night before. Yet when she touched it, the disk was warm, as if it had been held in someone's hand for hours rather than sitting untouched on the table.

Siuan pressed a hand to her neck, startled to find a slight tenderness there. When she rose and checked her reflection in the small mirror on her wall, she saw a faint mark, precisely where Moiraine's lips had been in the dream.

"Not just imagination, then," she whispered, fingertips tracing the mark with wonder and confusion. Could the ter'angreal have done this? Could it truly bridge distances in such a tangible way?

She picked up the disk, examining it closely. Perhaps there was more to these ancient artifacts than even the Tower's scholars understood. Or perhaps there was something between her and Moiraine. Some connection that transcended ordinary bonds, one that had been strengthened by the ter'angreal's properties.

Whatever had happened during the night, it had been real. She had held Moiraine, felt her touch as tangibly as if they had been physically present in the same place. Even now, her body retained the memory of their closeness, a pleasant ache that both soothed and kindled longing.

A small smile curved Siuan's lips as she prepared for the day ahead. There would be meetings to attend, reports to review, the careful political dance of the Tower to navigate, all while maintaining the secrecy of her true purpose. But the weight of it seemed lighter now, knowing that despite the distance between them, she and Moiraine were not truly separated.

Distance could be bridged. Dreams could connect what waking life had parted.

And in those dreams, perhaps, they could find both comfort and strength as they pursued their dangerous, necessary quest.

In her chamber at the inn, Lanfear opened her eyes, a smile of satisfaction on her perfect lips. The dream-vision had been illuminating. Not because of anything the two young Aes Sedai had said, but because of what their unexpected connection represented.

"How interesting," she murmured, rising from her bed with fluid grace. "The Pattern weaves as it wills, but sometimes ... sometimes it weaves as I will."

She had stopped following Moiraine physically; there was no need, when other methods of tracking proved far more efficient. Creating and manipulating dreams was a power few in this age understood, and certainly none had mastered it as she had during the Age of Legends. The ter'angreal the two Aes Sedai possessed had made her task easier, providing a conduit she could exploit, but the dream itself - the glade, the sensations, the closeness - had been entirely her creation.

And how eagerly they had fallen into it, these two women so consumed by their affection for one another that they never questioned the reality of their encounter. Their passion had been a useful distraction, lowering their guards and allowing Lanfear to extract precisely what she needed.

Let Moiraine believe she had cleverly evaded pursuit. Let her waste time laying false trails and traveling by circuitous routes. Lanfear had glimpsed her true destination in the shared dream between the two women, not through their words, which had been appropriately vague, but through the subtle connections of Pattern and possibility that manifested in the dreamscape.

The first candidate was clear to her now: a village near the mountains, a child born of an Aiel woman, taken in by farmers with the name Aybara.

Lanfear began to prepare for her journey west, her path now set. The Dragon would be found, not by Moiraine Damodred with her careful plans and noble connections, but by one who had known him in his previous life, one who understood his true destiny far better than any living Aes Sedai could hope to.

As she had once said to Lews Therin himself, three thousand years ago and a world away: "Some bonds even death cannot break."

Chapter Text

The Amyrlin's study was bathed in morning light, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that streamed through tall windows. Siuan stood with her hands clasped behind her back, face composed into perfect Aes Sedai serenity as she delivered her report on the examination of Lady Selene's artifact. Beside her, the woman herself stood in elegant stillness, her midnight-blue dress somehow both modest and alluring, her dark eyes revealing nothing.

"...and so, the fragment was broken, incomplete" Siuan concluded. "Though its materials and craftsmanship suggest great age, whatever function it once performed appears to have worn down, either damage or the passage of time."

Tamra Ospenya, the Amyrlin Seat, listened with the patient attention that had characterized her fifteen-year reign. Her hair, more gray than brown now, was arranged in the intricate style traditional for the Amyrlin, and her face bore the ageless quality of longtime Aes Sedai. Impossible to determine whether she was thirty or sixty, though in truth she was closer to the latter.

"I see," she said when Siuan had finished. "That is... disappointing." Her eyes shifted to Lady Selene. "You were quite certain of the artifact's significance when you brought it to us."

Lady Selene's perfect lips curved into a small smile. "I remain certain, Mother. Perhaps the examination was not... thorough enough." Her gaze slid briefly to Siuan, a subtle challenge in her dark depths. "Or perhaps the correct approach was not taken. Ancient ter'angreal often require specific conditions to activate."

"Moiraine Sedai and I employed the standard techniques for examining objects of Power," Siuan replied evenly. "If specific conditions are required, you gave no indication of what those might be."

"Some knowledge cannot simply be given," Lady Selene said, her melodious voice taking on a lecturing tone that Siuan found both condescending and strangely compelling. "It must be discovered, experienced. The fragment is responsive to certain... resonances... that may not have been present during your examination."

The Amyrlin's eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak as one with considerable expertise in ancient ter'angreal, Lady Selene. More than one might expect from nobility, even from lands beyond the Waste."

It was delicately phrased, but the implication was clear. The Amyrlin, too, questioned their visitor's true identity and knowledge.

Lady Selene inclined her head in acknowledgment. "My family has preserved certain traditions and knowledge from the Age of Legends. We have been... custodians... of sorts." She gestured gracefully toward the blackwood box placed on the Amyrlin's desk. "The fragment is but one of several artifacts in our care, though perhaps the most significant."

"And yet you brought it to us," the Amyrlin observed. "Why?"

"As I explained upon my arrival, the White Tower possesses resources we do not. Skilled channelers, extensive records, ancient knowledge of its own." Lady Selene's smile deepened, though it never reached her eyes. "And certain bloodlines that have... particular significance."

Siuan kept her face carefully neutral, but inwardly she tensed. There it was again, the hint that the interest went beyond the artifact to Moiraine, with her Cairhienin noble blood, or to find the Dragon Reborn, who was Lews Therin Telamon reincarnated.

"I see," the Amyrlin said again, though her tone suggested she saw more than revealed. "Well, it seems our examination was less productive than hoped. Perhaps a sister of the Brown Ajah might—"

"That won't be necessary," Lady Selene interrupted smoothly. "I believe I have gathered sufficient information from this visit." She glanced at Siuan again, the subtle challenge still present in her gaze. "Though I'm curious, where is Moiraine Sedai this morning? I had hoped to discuss certain aspects of yesterday's examination with her."

The question hung in the air, seemingly innocent yet barbed with hidden meaning. Siuan met Lady Selene's gaze directly, allowing just a touch of Blue Ajah coolness to enter her voice.

"Moiraine Sedai departed the Tower yesterday evening on Ajah business. Research that could not be delayed further."

Something flashed in Lady Selene's eyes - irritation, perhaps, or amusement - before her expression settled back into practiced pleasantness. "How unfortunate. I had hoped for her insights."

"When do you anticipate her return?" the Amyrlin inquired, looking at Siuan.

"Her mission is open-ended, Mother," Siuan replied truthfully. "It could be weeks or months before she returns to the Tower."

The Amyrlin nodded slightly, accepting this without further question. As head of the White Tower, she was accustomed to her daughters coming and going on various errands and missions, many of which were specific to their Ajah, which she, the Amyrlin, would not be aware of in great details herself.

"A pity," Lady Selene murmured. "Still, I thank you for your assistance, limited though it was." She reached for the blackwood box, her slender fingers closing around it with what almost seemed like possessiveness. "With your permission, Mother, I will take my leave of Tar Valon. Other matters require my attention."

"Of course," the Amyrlin said graciously. "The Tower is grateful for the opportunity to examine such an unusual artifact, even if we could not unlock its secrets. Should your travels bring you back this way, you are welcome to return."

Lady Selene's smile widened, and for a brief moment, Siuan thought she detected genuine amusement in those ancient eyes. "You are too kind, Mother. I suspect our paths may cross again, though perhaps not in the way you imagine."

The statement had an ominous ring to it, though delivered in the most pleasant of tones. Siuan studied the woman carefully, noting the perfect confidence of her posture, the subtle sense of power that seemed to radiate from her. Not the One Power, Siuan could not detect any sign that Lady Selene was channeling or even holding saidar but something more fundamental, as if she stood on bedrock while the rest of them were on shifting sand.

The formal farewells were exchanged, and Lady Selene departed with the same graceful poise that characterized her every movement. When the door closed behind her, the Amyrlin remained silent for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful.

"Your impressions, Daughter?" she finally asked, looking at Siuan.

Siuan chose her words carefully. "She is not what she claims to be, Mother."

"Clearly," the Amyrlin agreed dryly. "The question is, what is she?"

"I don't know," Siuan admitted. "But her interest in Moiraine seems ... pointed. And her knowledge of ter'angreal from the Age of Legends exceeds what we would expect from even the most educated noble."

The Amyrlin nodded slowly. "Indeed. And there is something else about her. Something I cannot quite place." She frowned slightly. "You're certain the artifact showed no response during your examination?"

Siuan hesitated. The truth was that the fragment had responded dramatically, creating that strange triangular connection between itself, Moiraine, and Siuan. But revealing that would lead to questions she wasn't prepared to answer; questions about why the artifact had reacted to them specifically, questions that might expose their knowledge of the Dragon's rebirth.

"Nothing beyond connection points, Mother," she said finally. "There was a moment Moiraine channeled into it but it subsided thereafter."

Not a direct lie, Aes Sedai could not lie, bound as they were by the Three Oaths but certainly not the whole truth. A dangerous path to walk, especially with the Amyrlin, but necessary given the stakes.

The Amyrlin studied her face for a moment, then sighed. "Very well. Keep this matter to yourself for now, Siuan. But if Lady Selene makes contact with you again, or if you hear reports of her activities, I wish to be informed immediately."

"Yes, Mother," Siuan replied, bowing her head respectfully.

"You may go."

Siuan left the Amyrlin's study with measured steps, maintaining the calm dignity expected of Aes Sedai until she was well away from the Amyrlin's Tower and back in the Blue Ajah quarters. Only then, safe in the privacy of her own chambers, did she allow her composure to slip, exhaling a long breath and leaning against the closed door.

That had been dangerously close. The Amyrlin was no fool, she clearly suspected there was more to the story than Siuan had revealed. But for now, at least, she seemed willing to let the matter rest. Whether that was due to trust in Siuan or simply because other concerns demanded her attention, Siuan couldn't say.

What mattered was that Lady Selene, whoever or whatever she truly was, had left the Tower. And Moiraine had a head start on her journey, a chance to pursue their mission without immediate interference.

But for how long?

Siuan moved to her desk, where a carefully folded letter lay sealed with plain wax. It had been delivered by one of the Tower's messenger boys just before she'd been summoned to the Amyrlin's study, a letter from Moiraine.

Breaking the seal, Siuan unfolded the paper and read the brief message written in Moiraine's elegant hand:

My dearest friend,

The research we discussed has taken an unexpected turn. I find myself drawn to examine sources in a different order than we had planned. The northern reference appears most promising initially, though I will still consult the others in due course.

A curious sensation of being observed has prompted this change in approach. Perhaps it is mere scholarly paranoia, but caution seems advisable.

I will send word when I have preliminary findings. In the meantime, continue your own studies, particularly regarding our visitor and her unusual artifact. Any insights you can provide may prove invaluable.

With warmest regards and anticipation of our next scholarly discussion, M.

Siuan read the letter twice, then held it to the candle flame on her desk, watching as the paper blackened and curled. The message was clear enough to one who knew how to interpret it: Moiraine suspected she was being followed and had changed her planned route, heading north rather than to Carysford as they had discussed. Likely she was implementing some strategy to lose her pursuer before continuing to the first of their Dragon candidates.

The "visitor" and her "unusual artifact" referred to Lady Selene, of course. Moiraine wanted Siuan to learn whatever she could about the woman's true identity and the nature of the crystal fragment.

A task easier assigned than accomplished, Siuan reflected ruefully. Lady Selene had proven remarkably adept at revealing little while seeming to say much. And now she had left the Tower, taking her artifact with her. If she was indeed one of the Forsaken, a possibility that grew more likely with each strange encounter, then pursuing her directly would be not merely dangerous but potentially fatal.

No, Siuan would need to be more subtle. The White Tower maintained extensive networks of eyes-and-ears throughout the land, men and women who gathered information and reported back to their Ajah. As a newly raised sister, Siuan didn't have direct access to the Blue Ajah's network, but there were other ways to gather information. She had begun cultivating relationships with key sisters in her Ajah, making herself useful, demonstrating both discretion and competence. It was a slow process, but one that would eventually bear fruit.

In the meantime, there was the library. If Lady Selene was indeed one of the Forsaken, there might be descriptions, accounts from the Age of Legends or the War of Power that could help identify which one. The records were fragments at best; so much had been lost during the Breaking, but even fragments might prove valuable.

With renewed determination, Siuan left her chambers and made her way to the Tower library. The day was still young, and there was much work to be done.

The Brown Ajah's section of the library was hushed and dimly lit, smelling of old paper and leather bindings. Here, in the restricted stacks accessible only to full sisters, were kept some of the Tower's oldest and most sensitive texts: fragmentary records from before the Breaking, accounts of lost weaves and forgotten ter'angreal, histories of the War of Power and the Age of Legends.

Siuan moved quietly through the towering shelves, nodding respectfully to the few Brown sisters she encountered. None questioned her presence; Blues were known for their scholarly interests, even if they typically applied their knowledge to causes and interventions in the outside world rather than pursuing knowledge for its own sake as Browns did.

She found what she was looking for in a seldom-visited corner: a collection of fragile scrolls and bound manuscripts dealing specifically with the Forsaken. Most contained information that was widely known: the names of the thirteen most powerful Aes Sedai who had turned to the Shadow, their general abilities, their roles in the War of Power. But a few delved deeper, drawing on accounts from the earliest days after the Breaking, when memories of the Age of Legends were still relatively fresh.

Selecting several promising volumes, Siuan settled at a small table tucked between two tall bookshelves, providing both privacy and good light from a nearby glow lamp. She began with a treatise titled The Forsaken: A Compendium of Known Facts and Reasoned Speculation , written by an Aes Sedai named Adelorna circa 200 AB.

The author had attempted to compile detailed profiles of each of the Forsaken, drawing on multiple sources and noting contradictions where they occurred. Siuan skimmed through the introduction, which discussed the general nature of the Forsaken and the difficulties in separating fact from legend after the chaos of the Breaking, then turned to the individual profiles.

Ishamael, Demandred, Sammael, Rahvin, Balthamel, Be'lal, Asmodean, Aginor, the male Forsaken were described in varying degrees of detail. Siuan noted the information but moved on to the female Forsaken, who seemed more relevant to her current inquiry.

Graendal, the Heartseeker, the first woman to publicly turn to the Shadow. Her elaborately curled red-gold/sun-colored hair contrasted her ascetic lifestyle. She habitually most attractive men and women, her collection of human "pets," near her as her servants. She was known for her skill in Compulsion and psychological healing.

Mesaana, 5'5' tall with big watery blue eyes and chin-length dark hair, never cared about looks or appearances, only real power. After being denied a research position she coveted at Collam Daan university, she turned to the Shadow. Modern Aes Sedai speculate that she wasn't particularly skilled or powerful, just simply capable. She had controlled much of the Shadow's educational and indoctrination systems during the War of Power.

Semirhage, the most depraved and sadistic among the Forsaken. One could say she's the most feared female Forsaken. A restorer who delighted in causing pain rather than healing. Even before her conversion to the Shadow, Semirhage was utterly corrupt, known for her unsurpassed skill with torturing and as someone who always dressed in black. The texts also detailed her beautiful charcoal-black face, large black eyes, full lips and short wavy hair.

And finally, Lanfear, the Daughter of the Night, equal in power to Semirhage. Once known as Mierin Eronaile, Lanfear had been a researcher at the Collam Daan, the great center of research and experimentation in the Age of Legends. According to legend, it was she who had helped drill the Bore into the Dark One's prison while searching for a new source of Power. Lanfear's primary motivation was described as personal. Her lover Lews Therin Telamon had rejected her for another, which twisted her love for him into possessive obsession, one that fueled her turn to the Shadow. 

Siuan paused, rereading the description of Lanfear more carefully. It is said that she is probably the most beautiful women of her Age or any other. her most noted physical characteristic was her astonishing beauty, with ivory, creamy pale skin, eyes as dark as night, and midnight-black hair. And her strength in the One Power was said to be unmatched, rivaled only by Lews Therin himself among the men. 

The physical description of Lanfear matched Lady Selene perfectly | that remarkable beauty, the dark eyes, the black hair. And Lady Selene's interest in ter'angreal from the Age of Legends, her references to the Collam Daan, her pointed questions about Moiraine's bloodline.

If the Dragon had been reborn, as Gitara Moroso's Foretelling had revealed, then it made terrible sense that Lanfear, too, might have found her way back into the world. Drawn by the same cosmic cycles that had brought Lews Therin's soul back into the Pattern, pursuing her ancient obsession across the millennia.

A chill ran down Siuan's spine as the pieces fell into place. If Lady Selene was indeed Lanfear, then she wasn't merely searching for the Dragon Reborn. She was hunting him, driven by a possessive love that had survived three thousand years of imprisonment.

And Moiraine was out there, potentially crossing paths with one of the most powerful channelers ever to exist, armed only with her own considerable but comparatively limited abilities and whatever resources she could muster on the road.

Siuan closed the book with careful hands, fighting the urge to rush back to her chambers immediately and attempt to use her ter'angreal, the mate to the one she had given Moiraine. But such a communication would be risky. The ter'angreal drew heavily on the channeler, as she had warned Moiraine, and there was no guarantee that her message would be received clearly. Worse, if Lanfear was somehow tracking Moiraine through the One Power, any significant channeling might only serve to highlight her position.

No, she needed more information first. Confirmation, if possible, of Lady Selene's true identity, and a better understanding of what she might be planning. The White Tower's resources were vast, if one knew how to access them. And Siuan had been preparing for this moment since she and Moiraine had first heard Gitara's Foretelling.

She gathered several more texts on the Forsaken, focusing specifically on Lanfear, and arranged to have them transferred to her quarters for further study. A Brown sister raised an eyebrow at her selections but made no comment beyond a mild, "Interesting choice of research, Siuan Sedai."

"The Blue Ajah concerns itself with justice," Siuan replied smoothly. "Understanding the greatest perpetrators of injustice in history seems a natural extension of that concern."

The explanation was accepted without further question. One of the advantages of the Tower's structure was that each Ajah respected the others' interest and expertise. Blues were known for their commitment to causes, which could encompass anything from mediating regional disputes, to championing the rights of the poor, to studying historical injustices. Siuan's apparent interest in the Forsaken might be unusual, but it wasn't outside the bounds of typical Blue scholarship.

As she left the library, books carefully tucked under her arm, Siuan's mind was already racing ahead to her next steps. She needed allies, carefully chosen, absolutely trustworthy, but revealing the truth about the Dragon's rebirth and Lanfear's possible return was too dangerous, both for the mission and for anyone she confided in. The truth could be a deadly burden in such circumstances.

Instead, she would need to work indirectly, gathering information through channels that wouldn't raise suspicion or draw unwanted attention. It would be a delicate balance, doing enough to help Moiraine without revealing their true purpose.

As she rounded a corner, deep in thought, she nearly collided with another sister, Anaiya, one of the more senior Blues and a woman known for both her kindness and her sharp intelligence.

"Careful there, Siuan," Anaiya said, steadying her with a hand on her arm. Her eyes fell to the books Siuan carried, and a slight frown creased her brow. "Heavy reading for such a fine day."

"Research," Siuan explained briefly.

"So I see," Anaiya replied, tilting her head to read the title of the topmost volume. " Servants of the Shadow: A Historical Analysis of the Forsaken and Their Roles in the War of Power ." Her eyebrows rose slightly. "May I ask what prompted this particular line of inquiry?"

Siuan hesitated, weighing how much to reveal. Anaiya was well-respected within the Blue Ajah, someone who might eventually become an ally, but Siuan wasn't ready to trust anyone with the full truth yet.

"A visitor to the Tower," she said finally. "A woman calling herself Lady Selene, who exhibited unusual knowledge of Age of Legends artifacts. The Amyrlin asked Moiraine and me to assist with examining an object she brought, a fragment of crystal she claimed dated from before the Breaking."

Anaiya's expression sharpened with interest. "And this examination led you to research the Forsaken? That's quite a leap, Siuan."

"There were... inconsistencies in her story," Siuan said carefully. "References to places and events from the Age of Legends that seemed too detailed, too personal for someone claiming to have learned them from family records. It made me curious about who might have direct knowledge of such things."

"A prudent curiosity," Anaiya acknowledged. "Though a potentially dangerous one, depending on what you discover." She studied Siuan's face for a moment longer, then nodded slightly, as if coming to a decision. "The Blue Ajah maintains certain... records... that might supplement your research. If you're interested."

Siuan managed to keep her expression neutral, though she felt a surge of excitement inside. The Blue Ajah's private archives were rumored to contain information not available even in the Tower's main library, reports from eyes-and-ears stretching back centuries, observations and theories deemed too sensitive or speculative for general consumption.

"I would be grateful for any assistance," she said, careful not to appear too eager.

"Come to my quarters this evening, after the evening meal," Anaiya said. "Bring what you've learned so far, and we can compare notes." She smiled slightly. "The Blue looks after its own, Siuan. Especially when they show initiative in matters of potential importance to the Tower."

With that, she continued on her way, leaving Siuan standing in the corridor with her armload of books and a new sense of cautious optimism. She hadn't expected to gain access to the Blue Ajah's private records so quickly, but Anaiya's offer represented a significant opportunity. The danger, of course, was that she would be expected to share her reasoning and conclusions. How much could she reveal without exposing the truth about the Dragon's rebirth or her suspicions about Lanfear? It would require careful navigation, presenting her concerns in a way that seemed scholarly and general rather than specific and urgent.

But if she succeeded, the resources of the Blue Ajah might provide crucial information that could help protect Moiraine and guide their search for the Dragon Reborn. Worth the risk, Siuan decided, as she continued toward her quarters to prepare for the evening's meeting. Sometimes, with enough knowledge and determination, one could tug on certain threads and influence the resulting pattern. That was what she and Moiraine had committed themselves to, not changing the Prophecies or altering the Dragon's destiny, but ensuring he survived to fulfill it.

And if that meant walking a dangerous line between truth and deception, even within the White Tower itself, then so be it. The Last Battle would come regardless of what the Tower believed or did. All that mattered was being ready when it did. With renewed purpose, Siuan quickened her pace. 

Chapter Text

Far to the north of Tar Valon, Moiraine stood on a hilltop overlooking the sprawling city of Chachin, capital of Kandor. The city was built around several hills with three tall mountains rising out of the center. The journey had been hard and fast, pushing both her and her horse to their limits, but she had reached the Borderlands without incident and, as she believed, without pursuit.

The change in her plans had been immense. Rather than heading west toward Caemlyn and then north to Carysford to seek the first Dragon candidate, she had switched to traveling directly north, following the river roads to Kinslayer's Dagger and then cutting across the mountains in order to reach Kandor. It was a route unlikely to be anticipated by anyone tracking her and it provided a perfect cover.

As the royal family of Kandor were distant kin of House Damodred, through marriages made generations ago. She easily would be able to claim she was visiting family, to strengthen ties between Cairhien and Kandor. A noblewoman, who may be Aes Sedai, working on maintaining ties to her extended family would not raise concerns. Especially when it involves the Borderlands, wherein alliances such the House Damodred could prove fruitful allies when the Blight stirred.

Moiraine planned to spend a week, or perhaps two, in Chachin. That should be long enough to establish her presence, ensure she is seen all over the city by many people who could later be witnesses confirming she had indeed spent time here. Once her cover was deployed, she would depart, saying she was heading to Fal Moran in Shienar, which provided another layer to her cover story of performing a diplomatic trip through the Borderlands. But she would never reach Fal Moran.

Instead, once she was far away from tracking eyes, she would turn south and then west, circling back toward Andor and the first Dragon candidate. Anyone following her trail would be led far from her true destination, buying her valuable time to conduct her search unimpeded. 

The detour was necessary, a tactical retreat before the real search could begin.

It was a calculated risk. Delaying her investigation of the Dragon candidates meant potentially losing track of them, especially in the chaos still lingering from the Aiel War. But if Lady Selene was truly one of the Forsaken, if she was hunting the Dragon, then Moiraine needed to ensure she would search for him without Dark interference.

The wind picked up, carrying the scents of the city below: cooking fires and horses, oil of weapons being cleaned, the spices of Kandori cuisine. The Borderlands was a harsh land, shaped by its constant vigilance against the Blight. But it was also one filled with traditions and honor, passed down with pride, that still stands today unbroken despite centuries of continuous threat. The Borderlands is where one comes for strength. 

Moiraine adjusted her cloak against the northern chill and mounted her horse. She was ready to enter the city, to present herself at the Royal Palace, to begin the careful dance of diplomacy and family obligation that would shield her true purpose from prying eyes.

As she guided her horse down the hill toward one of the city’s smaller bridges, forgoing using the Bridge of Sunrise, Moiraine allowed herself a grim smile. If Lady Selene was indeed Lanfear, she would soon discover that Moiraine Damodred was an easy prey as anticipated. In this great game being played, Moiraine intended to be several moves ahead of the others at all times.

For the Dragon Reborn's sake. For the world's sake.

And for Siuan too, who waited in the White Tower, keeping their secret while navigating the treacherous landscape that was the Tower. For, if their sisters or even Mother knew what both Siuan and Moiraine had set out to do, they would be both stilled, cast off, and the Dragon Reborn turned into a tool. They had sworn themselves to this cause together, Siuan and her had accepted the burden of the Foretelling and the duty it had placed on them both. 

Moiraine could not fail, not while Siuan held the other half of their promise.

She neared the first ringwall, could see the massive, iron-bound gates, decorated with the rearing Red Horse swung to the side. Guards in the distinctive helmets of the Kandori military stood at attention, their eyes wary and watchful as they were for all who approached. The Blight had taught the Borderlands caution above all else.

"Hold, traveler," one guard called as she approached. "State your name and purpose in Chachin."

Moiraine straightened in her saddle, allowing her cloak to fall open just enough to reveal the blue-fringed shawl she wore beneath it. The Great Serpent ring glinted on her finger, catching the afternoon sunlight.

"I am Moiraine Damodred, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah," she said, using the formal cadence expected in such situations. "I come to pay respects to my kinfolk in the Royal Palace and to strengthen the bonds between our lands."

The effect was immediate. The guards straightened further, exchanging glances that mingled respect and wariness. An Aes Sedai was always a significant visitor, and one with noble blood and connections to the royal family even more so.

"Welcome to Chachin, Moiraine Sedai," the lead guard said, bowing his head respectfully. "We will provide an escort to the palace, if you wish it."

Moiraine inclined her head graciously. "Thank you. I would appreciate guidance through the three ringwalls, as it has been many years since my last visit."

A young guard was summoned to lead her through Chachin's winding streets, past stone buildings built for defense as much as comfort, their windows narrow and their walls thick. The people they passed watched with the typical Borderlander mix of respect and reserve, not hostile, but carefully distant until a stranger proved their worth.

Moiraine used the journey to center herself, to prepare for the complex interactions ahead, in the Aesdaishar Palace. Political maneuverings of court often felt like a game within a game, now she would rather eschew, but one much needed to aid her secret mission to find the Dragon Reborn. Every word, every gesture would need to be calculated for maximum effectiveness and minimize suspicion.

As they reached Aesdaishar Palace, located on a cleared mountain-top with its complex of buildings, domes and towers, its white stone walls gleaming in the late afternoon sun, Moiraine allowed herself one last, brief thought of Siuan and the path that had brought them to this point. Then she tucked those feelings away, deep in a corner of her heart where they would remain safe but not distracting.

The Royal Palace of Kandor gleamed with a martial splendor distinct from the refined elegance of Cairhien's Sun Palace where Moiraine had spent her childhood. Here in Chachin, even beauty served a purpose. The intricately carved stone columns that lined the great hall were positioned to funnel attackers into killing zones. The colorful mosaic floor concealed subtle variations that would cause a running enemy to stumble. The towering windows of stained glass, depicting scenes of Kandori history, were reinforced with thin wire mesh capable of stopping arrows.

Moiraine noted these details with the practiced eye as she was escorted through the palace. The Borderlands lived with the constant threat of the Blight, and it shaped everything about their culture, from architecture to social customs.

"Lady Moiraine Damodred, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah," the palace steward announced as she was ushered into the presence chamber where Queen Ethenielle Kirukon Materasu held her afternoon court.

A rustle of whispers followed her as she moved gracefully across the chamber. It had been seven years since her last visit to Kandor, when she was still an Accepted in the White Tower, accompanying a delegation of Aes Sedai on diplomatic business. Now she returned as a full sister, her ageless face marking her new status as clearly as the Great Serpent ring on her finger.

Queen Ethenielle sat upon a throne of pale wood inlaid with silver, a tall woman with iron-gray hair pulled back in a severe style common to the Borderlands. Despite being well into her fifth decade, she retained the straight back and alert eyes of a warrior. Like all rulers of the Borderlands, she was as much general as monarch.

"Moiraine Sedai," the Queen greeted her, using her Aes Sedai title rather than family name. Protocol first, always. "Kandor welcomes you. Your arrival was unexpected."

Moiraine sank into a perfect curtsy, calibrated precisely to show respect for a ruling monarch while maintaining the dignity of her position as Aes Sedai.

"Your Majesty honors me with this reception," she replied, imbuing her words strongly with her Cairhienin accent. "I hope my unannounced arrival causes no inconvenience. My journey northward was decided somewhat ... hastily."

The Queen's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing. Border rulers were quick to catch nuances, particularly anything that might signal trouble. "The White Tower's business often requires haste, I understand."

"In this case, the haste was partly personal," Moiraine said smoothly. "After completing certain duties for the Tower, I found myself desiring to strengthen connections between my birth nation and my mother's Kandori cousins. In these uncertain times, such bonds seem increasingly valuable."

A slight relaxation in the Queen's posture suggested she accepted this explanation. "Indeed. The Aiel War may have ended, but its effects continue to ripple through the nations." She gestured to a chair positioned near the throne, an indication for Moiraine to approach more closely. "We will speak more of Cairhien and its recovery later. For now, you must be weary from your journey. Accommodations have been prepared for you in the east wing, where your mother also stayed during her visits."

"Your Majesty is most gracious," Moiraine replied with another slight curtsy.

"Tonight we feast," Queen Ethenielle continued. "Several notable guests are visiting Chachin at present. I believe you will find the company... interesting."

Something in the Queen's tone piqued Moiraine's curiosity, but she knew not to rise to it. Court etiquette dictated she shouldn't press for details, but await its revelation in due course. She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

A young woman stepped forward, one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, judging by her fine dress and the silver lion pin at her shoulder.

"Jaisel will show you to your chambers and ensure you have everything you require," the Queen said, signaling that the formal audience had ended.

Moiraine followed the lady-in-waiting, aware of the court's eyes following her as she exited. Her arrival had caused a stir, as she had intended. By evening, word would have spread throughout Chachin that an Aes Sedai of Cairhienin noble blood was visiting the court. Gossip, which would reach neighboring Borderland nations within days, by the traveling merchants and others who plied the trade routes. Perfect clear, public trail being created for Lady Selene or any other pursuer to discover, obscuring the real object of her search.

The chambers assigned were spacious and well-appointed, offering sweeping views of the city and the mountain ranges beyond. Windows faced south, away from the Blight that lay to the north.

"Will you require assistance with unpacking, Aes Sedai?" Jaisel asked, hovering near the door with the perfect blend of attentiveness and deference.

"No, thank you," Moiraine replied. "But I would appreciate information about the court. It has been some years since my last visit, and I find myself... unfamiliar with the current key figures."

The lady-in-waiting's eyes lit up at the opportunity to demonstrate her knowledge. "Of course, Aes Sedai. The court has seen several changes in recent years." She proceeded to outline the major noble houses currently represented in Chachin, their allegiances and rivalries, recent marriages and notable scandals, standard court gossip, but valuable for understanding the political landscape.

"And these visitors the Queen mentioned for tonight's feast?" Moiraine prompted when Jaisel paused for breath.

"Ah!" The young woman's expression grew more animated. "We have several notable guests at present. Lord Antol of Shienar arrived three days ago with trade proposals. Lady Karind of Arafel is here negotiating a marriage alliance between her son and one of our noble houses." She hesitated, then added with barely contained excitement, "And most remarkably, al'Lan Mandragoran has been in Chachin for nearly a week."

Moiraine took in the information, her expression neutral. "The uncrowned king of Malkier? I could have sworn I heard he rarely spends time in courts."

"It's true," Jaisel confirmed eagerly. "He is seldom seen outside of the Blight, where he wages his personal war against the Shadow. His presence has caused quite a sensation, especially among the younger ladies." Her blush suggested she counted herself among them. "They say he has come to consult with Queen Ethenielle and Prince-Consort Brys about increased Trolloc movements near the Malkieri border."

This was useful information on multiple levels. The Blight stirring was always a matter of concern, as it often coincided with other significant events that turned the wheel of time. And al'Lan Mandragoran himself was a figure of considerable interest: the last heir of the royal house of a fallen nation, a brilliant military tactician, and reportedly one of the finest swordsmen alive.

"Will Lord Mandragoran be at tonight's feast?" Moiraine inquired casually.

"Oh yes," Jaisel replied. "The Queen has commanded his presence, though they say he would prefer to spend his evenings studying maps and battle reports." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He is ... intimidating. Like a caged wolf, they say. Deadly and beautiful to look upon, but not to be approached carelessly."

Moiraine suppressed a smile at the romantic description. "Thank you for the information, Jaisel. It will be most helpful in navigating the court."

Once alone, Moiraine unpacked only what was necessary for her stay, leaving most possessions in her saddlebags for a quick departure if needed. Then she moved to the window, gazing out at the mountains while her mind worked through this new development.

al'Lan Mandragoran's presence was an unexpected element in her carefully constructed plan. On one hand, his reputation for fervent vigilance against the Shadow made him a potentially valuable ally in the broader struggle against the Dark One. On the other hand, drawing the attention of such a prominent figure might complicate her efforts to maintain a low profile while in Chachin.

Still, opportunities often arose where least expected. Perhaps there was some advantage to be gained here that she hadn't yet identified.

Turning from the window, Moiraine prepared for the evening's feast. Whatever came of her time in Chachin, she would face it with the careful poise and grace expected from an Aes Sedai, of the House Damodred.

Chapter Text

The great dining hall was ablaze with light from hundreds of oil lamps suspended from iron chandeliers. Banners bearing the Red Horse alternated with fabric depicting battle scenes along the stone walls. The long tables, arranged in a U-shape facing the Queen's high table, were covered with white cloths and set with silver that gleamed in the lamplight.

Moiraine entered precisely on time, dressed in a gown of dark blue silk cut in a conservative Cairhienin style, with subtle emphasis on her Blue Ajah affiliation. Her only jewelry was her Great Serpent ring and a small silver chain bearing the symbol of House Damodred.

She was escorted to a place of honor at the high table, three seats away from the Queen, close enough to signal her importance, but not so close as to suggest she outranked the other visiting nobility. As she took her seat, Moiraine surveyed the gathering with practiced subtlety. 

Most of the guests were already present, creating a low hum of conversation that echoed in the high-ceilinged chamber. Her gaze passed over various nobles in their formal attire, noting alliances and tensions from how they grouped themselves, until her gaze settled on a figure seated at the far end of the high table.

Even had she not been forewarned, Moiraine would have recognized al'Lan Mandragoran instantly. He sat with the stillness of a predator, his broad shoulders and powerful frame making the ornate chair seem almost delicate by comparison. His face was all hard planes and angles, handsome in a severe way, with eyes chilling blue and shoulder-length hair graying at the temples. He wore no crown, the hadori band around his forehead was regalia enough, and his clothes, though finely made, were simpler than those of the court nobles around him.

As if sensing her scrutiny, those eyes lifted to meet hers. For a brief moment their gazes locked across the table, a silent assessment passing between them. Moiraine inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, and after a heartbeat, he returned the gesture with equal reserve.

Before she could look further, trumpets sounded and everyone rose as Queen Ethenielle entered. The feast began with the traditional Borderland ceremony of the First Cup, dedicated to fallen warriors: a particularly poignant ritual given the presence of Malkier's last king.

Once the formal toasts were completed and the first course served, conversation resumed around the tables. Moiraine found herself in conversation with Lord Baldhere, a wiry man with shrewd eyes who clearly viewed his dinner companion with both respect and curiosity.

"It's been some years since we've hosted an Aes Sedai from your house," he observed, after they had exchanged pleasantries. "House Damodred's fortunes have seen considerable upheaval since King Laman's ... unfortunate decisions."

During the breaking of the world, the people of Cairhien had allowed the Aiel to collect water. Later, the Aiel presented Avendoraldera, a tree sapling, as thanks and sign of truce, a truce that held for 400 years. But Moiraine’s arrogant uncle Laman decided to cut down Avendoraldera to build a throne for himself. The Aiel regarded the desecration of their sacred gift as betrayal, one worthy of invasion. Delicate political landmire to navigate, so Moiraine had to respond with care.

"The great houses of Cairhien endure, despite occasional storms," she said. "And as an Aes Sedai, my primary allegiance is to the White Tower, of course."

"Of course," Lord Baldhere agreed, though his tone suggested he was pondering about divided loyalties. "Still, blood calls to blood, as we say in the Borderlands. Family connections are not easily set aside, even when one wears the shawl."

Moiraine smiled politely. "Indeed. Which is partly why I've taken this opportunity to renew kinship ties while in the region."

"While in the region," he repeated thoughtfully. "An interesting way to describe a journey of several hundred leagues from Tar Valon to Chachin. Most would consider it a destination in itself, not a waypoint."

He saw too clearly, dangerously so. Moiraine adjusted her approach subtly.

"The work of the Blue Ajah often takes me to unexpected places," she said. "When one follows causes and justice, the road rarely runs straight."

"Ah, the Blue Ajah's reputation precedes it" Lord Baldhere nodded, seeming satisfied with this explanation. "I assume such work brought you northward initially?"

"Tower business," Moiraine replied with the serene smile Aes Sedai used when deflecting questions they preferred not to answer directly. "It happened to bring me within reasonable distance of Chachin, it seemed remiss not to pay my respects to distant kin."

The conversation shifted to more general topics: the recovery efforts in nations affected by the Aiel War, trade routes between the Borderlands and the southern kingdoms, the unending challenges of maintaining vigilance against the Blight. Through it all, Moiraine was conscious of al'Lan Mandragoran's presence at the far end of the table. He spoke little but seemed to observe much.

As the main courses were cleared away and sweet wines brought out for the final toasts, Queen Ethenielle rose to address her guests.

"We are honored to host such distinguished company this evening," she said, her voice carrying easily through the hall without seeming raised. "Particularly as we face troubled times. The Blight stirs with unusual activity in recent months. Lord Mandragoran brings reports of increased Trolloc raids and Myrddraal sightings along what was once the Malkieri border."

A somber mood settled over the hall. Mention of the Blight brought an instinctive wariness, many Borderlanders had lost family members to its horrors.

"While we take comfort in having a daughter of the White Tower among us," the Queen continued, nodding to Moiraine, "we must remain vigilant. Tomorrow, my war council will convene to discuss these developments. Lord Mandragoran, Lord Baldhere, and the commanders of our border forces will assess the situation and determine if additional measures are needed to secure our lands."

Moiraine kept her expression carefully neutral. The increased Blight activity troubled her. She wondered if it could be connected to the Dragon's rebirth? The Prophecies suggested the Dark One would stir as the time of the Last Battle approached. If Trolloc raids were intensifying, it might be an early sign of the greater conflicts to come.

After the Queen concluded her address, the gathering began to disperse. Some guests moved to an adjoining chamber where musicians were setting up for dancing, while others formed smaller conversational groups. Moiraine rose gracefully, intending to make a brief appearance at the dancing before retiring to her chambers to consider this new information.

As she moved toward the doorway, she found her path blocked by al'Lan Mandragoran. Up close, he was even more imposing; tall enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, with the hard-muscled build of a man who lived by the sword. The hadori around his forehead emphasized eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom and sorrow of his entire fallen nation.

"Moiraine Sedai," he said, his deep voice carrying the accent of Malkier, a kingdom twenty years dead. "I had not expected to encounter an Aes Sedai so far out here, much away from the White Tower."

"The Tower's reach is long, Lord Mandragoran," she replied. "As, I think, is your own rally against the Shadow."

A flicker of something, perhaps recognition of a kindred spirit, passed through those blue eyes. "Indeed. We each fight our battles where we must."

"Some battles can only be fought alone," Moiraine acknowledged. "Others benefit from ... alliance."

He studied her with a warrior's assessing gaze. "You speak of the Blight's increased activity?"

"Among other concerns," she said carefully. "The Pattern grows complex in recent years. Threads tangle in ways that suggest significant events ... on the horizon."

"You have the sight of an Aes Sedai," he observed. "While I have only a soldier's instinct. But that instinct tells me something stirs in the Shadow beyond the usual Trolloc raids and Myrddraal manipulations."

Moiraine considered her next words carefully. al'Lan Mandragoran was known for his implacable hatred of the Shadow, his lifetime commitment to avenging his fallen homeland. He was also known for his independence, refusing to ally himself permanently with any nation or cause beyond his personal war against the Blight.

Such a man could be a powerful ally in the search for the Dragon Reborn and the preparations for Tarmon Gai'don, or a dangerous complication if he learned the truth prematurely and decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Perhaps we might continue this conversation tomorrow," she suggested. "After you've met with the war council. I would be interested in hearing more detailed reports of what you've observed in the Blight."

He nodded once, a decisive movement. "As you wish, Aes Sedai. Though I warn you, the reports are grim. Whatever moves against us has patience and purpose beyond the mindless violence typical of Trollocs."

"Intelligence directing them," Moiraine murmured. "Myrddraal, certainly, but perhaps something more."

"My thoughts exactly," he agreed, and again that flicker of recognition passed between them, two people who understood the nature of the enemy they faced. "Until tomorrow, then."

He bowed with precise courtesy and moved away, leaving Moiraine to consider this unexpected development. al'Lan Mandragoran could prove either an asset or a complication, but he was certainly not a man to be underestimated. His observations of the Blight could prove valuable about the Dark One's activities in the wake of the Dragon's rebirth.

For now, she would maintain her cover, while gathering intelligence as she prepared to make way to actual destination. The possibility of a new alliance, even temporary with Lord Mandragoran was one worth considering carefully.

In the privacy of her chambers, Moiraine sat cross-legged on the bed, the ter'angreal Siuan had given her resting on her palm. After ensuring her doors were locked and setting small wards to alert her if anyone approached, she had decided to risk using the device. The news of increased Blight activity was significant enough to warrant communication, despite the dangers.

Channeling a thin flow of Spirit, she activated the ter'angreal according to the pattern Siuan had described. The crystal disk grew warm in her hand, its cloudy surface beginning to pulse with a soft, rhythmic light that matched her heartbeat.

Moiraine closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts on Siuan. Not words, the ter'angreal couldn't transmit actual speech over such distances, but impressions, feelings, urgent concepts. Blight stirring. Shadow moving. Mandragoran confirms increased activity. Connected to our search?

She maintained the connection for nearly a minute, feeling the ter'angreal draw deeply on her strength as it sent her message across the leagues to Tar Valon. Then, exhausted, she released saidar and set the disk aside, its glow fading as the connection broke.

Whether Siuan had received her message clearly, she couldn't know. The ter'angreal was ancient and imperfectly understood, its capabilities and limitations not fully mapped by Aes Sedai  scholars. But she had to try. Information could mean the difference between success and failure in the delicate dance of the Dragon's rebirth they were engaged in.

Moiraine moved to the window, gazing out at the night sky where stars blazed with cold brilliance above the northern mountains. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay the Great Blight, a twisted landscape of corruption and death that had claimed the proud nation of Malkier and constantly threatened to spread southward.

And somewhere far to the south, a boy lived in ignorance of the destiny that would one day set him against the Dark One in the Last Battle. Finding him, guiding him, preparing him for that confrontation; this was the task she and Siuan had taken upon themselves. A task complicated now by a possible Forsaken return and the stirring of the Blight. 

With a soft sigh, Moiraine turned from the window. Tomorrow would bring the war council and further discussion with al'Lan Mandragoran. She needed to be sharp, focused, and ready to glean whatever information might aid her mission. So tonight, she would rest as best she could.

In her chambers in the White Tower, Siuan Sanche jerked upright from a half-doze over ancient texts, her hand flying to her chest where the ter'angreal, partner to Moiraine's, hung on a chain beneath her dress. It pulsed with warmth against her skin, its rhythm matching her suddenly racing heartbeat.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the impressions flowing through the connection. Not clear words, but urgent concepts: Blight. Shadow. Movement. Mandragoran. Connection.

The message was fragmentary, distorted by distance, but its essence came through clearly enough. Moiraine had found evidence of increased Shadow activity in the Borderlands, confirmed by al'Lan Mandragoran himself, the uncrowned king of Malkier, whose expertise in such matters was unquestioned. And she was asking if this might be connected to the Dragon's rebirth.

Siuan opened her eyes as the ter'angreal's pulse faded, the connection broken. She sat motionless for a long moment, processing the implications. The timing couldn't be coincidence. Twenty years after the Aiel War, just as they had confirmed the Dragon's rebirth, Lanfear returned and the Blight now seemed to show increased activity. The Pattern was aligning itself, drawing in key players for a tale that ends in Tarmon Gai'don.

Including, apparently, al'Lan Mandragoran. His appearance in Moiraine's path seemed significant, another thread drawn into the weave at precisely the right moment. The man was a legend even beyond the Borderlands, his lifelong war against the Shadow and his refusal to abandon his lost kingdom's cause making him a figure of both admiration and tragedy.

If he had detected unusual movements in the Blight, it confirmed their worst fears. The Shadow knew the Dragon had been reborn and was already mobilizing against him.

Which meant their search had just become more urgent and more dangerous.

Siuan rose from her desk, carefully gathering the texts on Lanfear and returning them to their hiding place behind a loose stone in her fireplace. Her meeting with Anaiya earlier that evening had been productive, giving her access to the Blue Ajah's private records on the Forsaken. Tomorrow she would begin reviewing those materials, searching for any clue that might help identify Lanfear's weaknesses or predict her movements.

But tonight, she needed to consider how to respond to Moiraine's message. Using the ter'angreal again so soon would be risky, it drew heavily on the channeler's strength. But more, using it twice back-to-back might attract unwanted attention from others in the Tower sensitive to disturbances in the One Power.

Yet the information was too important to ignore. Somehow, she needed to warn Moiraine that her suspicions were correct; the Blight's increased activity almost certainly was connected to the Dragon's rebirth. And she needed to urge greater speed and caution in the search.

Perhaps she should go with a more conventional way of sending a message, go through secure channels established before Moiraine's departure. While slower, it would be less likely to draw attention than channeling.

As Siuan considered her options, a knock sounded at her door, soft but insistent. She froze, glancing at the timepiece on her mantel. It was well past midnight; no casual visitor would call at such an hour.

Moving silently to the door, she extended her senses, trying to determine who stood on the other side. A faint impression came through, a familiar presence, but not one she had expected.

"Who calls?" she asked, her voice steady despite her wariness.

"It is Anaiya," came the reply, equally soft. "I must speak with you. It is urgent."

Siuan hesitated only briefly before opening the door to admit the other Blue sister. Anaiya's normally calm face was tense, her eyes darting to ensure the corridor behind her was empty before she slipped into the room.

"What is it?" Siuan asked, closing the door and setting a small ward to alert them if anyone approached.

Anaiya moved to the center of the room, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "There has been a sighting. A woman matching Lady Selene's description, traveling west from Tar Valon with unusual haste."

Siuan's heart quickened. "One of our eyes-and-ears?"

"Yes, a reliable source in Caemlyn. She was seen passing through two days ago, asking questions about—" Anaiya hesitated, her expression troubled. "About recent births. Specifically, children born around the time of the Blood Snow on Dragonmount."

Siuan managed, with significant effort, to keep her face from betraying the alarm those words provoked. Lady Selene, Lanfear . was indeed hunting the same child they sought. And she was heading west, toward Andor, where at least one of their Dragon candidates had been identified.

"This confirms our suspicions about her true identity, then," Siuan said carefully, not specifying exactly what those suspicions were.

Anaiya nodded grimly. "I believe so. No ordinary noblewoman would show such interest in specific births from twenty years ago, especially one connected to a location of prophetic significance."

The statement hung between them, laden with unspoken implications. Anaiya was too intelligent not to have drawn certain conclusions from the evidence before her, but she seemed to be deliberately avoiding stating those conclusions directly, perhaps out of caution, perhaps offering Siuan the opportunity to trust her with the full truth.

"We need to send warning," Siuan said, making her decision. "If she is who we suspect, one of the Forsaken returned after three thousand years, then anyone who crosses her path is in grave danger."

"Including Moiraine," Anaiya noted. "Who left the Tower just before Lady Selene departed." Her eyes held Siuan's steadily. "That's not coincidence, is it?"

Siuan weighed her options carefully. Anaiya was respected within the Blue Ajah, known for both discretion and loyalty to the Tower's true purpose. If she was going to trust anyone with even part of the truth, Anaiya was perhaps the safest choice.

"No," she admitted finally. "Not coincidence. Moiraine and I... observed certain things about Lady Selene that concerned us greatly. Enough that Moiraine felt it prudent to distance herself from the Tower while we determined exactly what we were dealing with."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either. Not technically.

Anaiya seemed to accept this explanation, at least for now. "Then we must warn her. I can arrange a secure message through the Blue Ajah's network. It will reach her in Chachin within days."

Siuan nodded gratefully. "Thank you. Tell her..." She considered how to phrase the warning without revealing too much. "Tell her the visitor, old, holding dreams, has gone west, seeking particular stars in the night sky. She will understand."

"I'll see to it immediately," Anaiya promised. She hesitated, then added more gently, "Siuan, whatever you and Moiraine are involved in, whatever you know or suspect, remember that you're not alone. The Blue Ajah protects its own."

The offer of support was tempting, especially as the weight of their secret knowledge grew heavier with each new development. But caution prevailed. The fewer people who knew about the Dragon's rebirth, the better, for the child's safety and for the Tower's stability.

"Thank you," Siuan said simply. "That means more than you know."

After Anaiya departed, Siuan returned to the window, gazing out at the White Tower gleaming in the moonlight. Events were moving quickly now, threads of destiny drawing together into a pattern whose full shape remained obscure but whose significance could not be doubted.

The Dragon was reborn. Lanfear hunted him. The Blight stirred with increased Shadow activity. And in the midst of it all, Moiraine found herself crossing paths with al'Lan Mandragoran, the uncrowned king whose life had been defined by his fight against the Shadow.

Coincidence? Siuan doubted it. The Wheel wove as the Wheel willed, but some threads were clearly being drawn together with purpose.

She could only hope that the Pattern favored their cause over Lanfear's. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

Chapter Text

The war council chamber of Chachin's palace was austere compared to the opulence of the previous night's feast. Located deep within the fortress's heart, it boasted no elaborate fabrics or golden furnishings, only sturdy oak tables arranged in a horseshoe pattern and walls lined with detailed maps of the Borderlands. Iron lanterns provided both light and warmth against the northern chill that penetrated even the palace's thick stone walls.

Moiraine arrived precisely on time, escorted by a palace guard who departed with a formal bow once she entered the chamber. Several people were already gathered, standing in small groups around the central table where a large map of the Blight border was spread out, weighted at the corners with polished stones.

Queen Ethenielle stood at the head of the table, deep in conversation with Lord Baldhere and an older man, Lord Antol of Shienar. al'Lan Mandragoran stood slightly apart, towering over a Kandori border captain as they discussed something on one of the wall maps, his finger tracing what appeared to be mountain passes near the former Malkieri border.

The Queen looked up as Moiraine approached, acknowledging her. "Moiraine Sedai. Thank you for joining us. I trust you understand that what is discussed in this chamber remains within these walls."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Moiraine replied with appropriate gravity. "The concerns of the Borderlands against the Blight are matters of utmost importance to the White Tower as well."

A diplomatic answer that committed her to nothing while establishing her credentials as a representative of Aes Sedai interests. In truth, the Tower maintained careful neutrality in Borderland politics, preferring to let the northern kingdoms manage their own defenses while offering healing and occasional intervention against Shadowspawn, only in the most dire circumstances.

The assembled leaders made room for her at the table, placing her across al'Lan Mandragoran, the uncrowned king of Malkier, whose face remained blank as their eyes briefly met.

"We shall begin," the Queen announced, calling the council to order. "Lord Mandragoran, please share your observations of Blight activity along what was once the Malkieri border."

Lord Mandragoran straightened, his voice deep and measured as he addressed the gathering. "Over the past three months, Trolloc movements have changed in both pattern and frequency. Where once they raided in small bands, striking isolated farms or villages, they now move in larger companies, sometimes hundreds strong, with clear coordination."

He placed markers on the map, indicating positions. "Here, and here, and here again: concentrated efforts to probe defenses rather than mere random violence. At least one Myrddraal has been sighted leading these forces."

"This suggests purpose," Lord Baldhere observed, stroking his thin mustache thoughtfully. "Trollocs alone are bestial, driven by bloodlust and hunger. Such coordinated movements require Myrddraal control, and multiple Halfmen working in concert suggests—"

"Direction from someone, or something, higher in the Shadow's hierarchy," Lord Mandragoran finished grimly.

A tense silence settled over the chamber. Everyone present understood the implication. Myrddraal might command Trollocs, but who commanded the Myrddraal in such numbers? The possibilities were few and all deeply troubling.

"Could it be a Forsaken?" asked Lord Antol, voicing what many were thinking but reluctant to say aloud.

All eyes turned to Moiraine, as Aes Sedai would have better clarity when it comes to the actions of the Shadow. She considered her response carefully, aware that she walked a dangerous line between necessary truth and dangerous revelation.

"The Forsaken are bound in Shayol Ghul," she said, giving the standard Tower response before adding with deliberate caution, "or so it has been believed for three thousand years. However, the Prophecies speak of their return preceding Tarmon Gai'don. Without more evidence, it would be premature to assume their direct involvement."

"But not impossible," Lord Mandragoran pressed, his pale eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity.

"Not impossible," she conceded. "The Pattern grows complex in recent years. Old certainties may no longer hold true as we move closer to the Time of Change the Prophecies foretell."

Her careful phrasing caused a ripple of unease around the table. Borderlanders lived with constant awareness of the Shadow's threat, but the suggestion that they might be facing the early stages of the Last Battle itself was sobering even to hardened warriors.

Queen Ethenielle tapped the map, drawing attention back to the tactical matters at hand. "Whatever or whoever directs these movements, we must respond to the immediate threat. Lord Mandragoran, in your assessment, what is the objective of these actions?"

Lord Mandragoran's face darkened. "They test for weakness, seeking the path of least resistance. The positioning of these incursions suggests they may be considering a thrust southward, possibly toward the trade roads that connect Kandor to Andor."

"The Waygate," Lord Baldhere said suddenly, pointing to a location on the map. "There's a Waygate in the mountains south of the old Malkieri border. If they secured that—"

"They could move forces deep into human lands without fighting through the Border defenses,"Lord Mandragoran confirmed. "I've posted watchers near it, but they are few, and if a large enough force emerges—"

Moiraine studied the map with renewed interest. The Waygate Lord Baldhere indicated was indeed positioned dangerously, offering a route that could bypass the Borderlands' carefully maintained defenses. If Shadowspawn secured it, they could potentially emerge far south, closer to more vulnerable nations and closer to where one of the Dragon candidates possibly lived.

"The Waygates were created by Aes Sedai during the Breaking," she said, more directly. "They remain connected to the One Power, though the Ways themselves have darkened over the centuries. If necessary, an Aes Sedai could seal a Waygate temporarily, though a permanent solution would require more extensive measures."

"Would you be willing to examine this Waygate, Moiraine Sedai?" the Queen asked. "Assess whether such action might be necessary?"

A complicated request. Investigating the Waygate would delay Moiraine's plans to double back south in search of the Dragon candidates, yet refusing would raise questions about her commitment to Borderland security. And, if Shadowspawn were indeed targeting Waygates, understanding why might shed more light on the Shadow's larger strategy regarding the Dragon Reborn.

"I would be willing to examine it," she said after a measured pause. "Though I must note that sealing a Waygate is not a trivial undertaking and would require careful consideration of broader implications."

"Lord Mandragoran could escort you," Queen Ethenielle suggested, with a subtle glance between them that Moiraine did not miss. "He knows the terrain better than any, and his sword would ensure your safety during the journey."

Lord Mandragoran showed no reaction beyond a slight inclination of his head. "If Moiraine Sedai wants my aid, I am at her disposal."

A convenient arrangement, potentially. Traveling with al'Lan Mandragoran would provide both protection and an opportunity to assess whether he might become an ally in her greater mission. Yet it also meant further entanglement in Borderland affairs when her true purpose lay elsewhere.

"I would welcome Lord Mandragoran's expertise," Moiraine said, making her decision. "When would this examination take place?"

"The sooner the better," Lord Mandragoran replied before the Queen could. "I head out tomorrow at first light. The journey takes three days through difficult terrain."

"Then it is settled," Queen Ethenielle declared. "Moiraine Sedai will accompany Lord Mandragoran to assess the Waygate's vulnerability. The rest of us will strengthen our border patrols and prepare contingency plans should a major incursion develop."

The remainder of the discussion focused on the distribution of Kandori forces along the border, supply lines and communications between outposts, and coordination with allied forces. Throughout, Moiraine observed the interactions closely, noting both the spoken strategies and the unspoken dynamics between the leaders gathered.

Al'Lan Mandragoran contributed precise, tactical insights when asked but otherwise remained detached from the political maneuvering that inevitably accompanied military discussions. His focus remained entirely on effectiveness against the Shadow, uncomplicated by national pride or territorial concerns. It was, Moiraine thought, a stance born of his unique position as a king without a kingdom, serving a nation that now only existed in memory and oath.

When the council concluded hours later, Moiraine found herself faced with new considerations. 

As the chamber emptied, Lord Mandragoran approached her, his movements, controlled grace of a master swordsman. "We should discuss preparations for tomorrow's journey," he said. "The terrain is challenging, and weather in the mountains can turn deadly with little warning."

"Of course," Moiraine agreed. "Perhaps we might walk in the garden while we talk? After so long indoors, I find myself craving fresh air."

A practical suggestion that would also provide privacy for conversation away from the palace's many ears. Lord Mandragoran nodded once, gesturing for her to precede him through the doorway.

In the royal gardens of Chachin, plants were chosen primarily for their hardiness against the northern climate, arranged in practical patterns that offered beauty and function. Herbs with medicinal properties grew alongside hardy flowers that could withstand frost, while carefully positioned trees provided windbreaks against the harsh mountain gusts.

They walked in silence at first, following a gravel path that wound between raised stone beds. Palace guards, visible at the garden's entrances, maintained a discreet distance, so they could not overhear quiet conversation.

"You have questions beyond tomorrow's journey,"Lord Mandragoran observed once they were well away from others. It wasn't a question.

Moiraine glanced up at him, noting the lines of his face that spoke of years spent in harsh conditions. "As do you, I suspect."

A faint smile, gone almost before it appeared, crossed his features. "Direct. Good. There is little time for courtly games when the Shadow gathers its forces." He stopped beside a stone bench positioned to catch the afternoon sun. "You are not here merely to visit distant relatives, Moiraine Damodred. And your interest in the Waygate goes beyond general Aes Sedai concern for Borderland security."

There was only calm assessment in his tone, no accusation, a soldier recognizing another on a shared battlefield.

"And your presence in Chachin is not merely to report Trolloc movements to Queen Ethenielle," she replied. "You could have sent messengers for that purpose. You came yourself because you sense something larger at work, something that requires direct investigation rather than delegated responsibility."

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. "The Blight has rhythms, patterns I have learned to read over twenty years of war against it. What I see  is ... unprecedented in my lifetime. The Shadow prepares for something significant."

Moiraine considered how much she should reveal. The Dragon's rebirth was a dangerous secret to share without first being absolutely certain of the recipient’s trustworthiness. But she needed information Lord Mandragoran has about Shadow movements, which might affect her search.

"The Prophecies speak of signs preceding the Last Battle," she said carefully. "Increased Shadow activity along the Blight could be one of the signs."

"As could the interest of an Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah in a particular Waygate that might allow Shadowspawn to bypass Border defenses and strike deep into the south unannounced," Lord Mandragoran returned evenly. "You seek something, or someone, south of here, something important enough to bring you all the way from Tar Valon to the Borderlands on a journey that I suspect doesn't end in Chachin."

His perception was unsettlingly accurate. Moiraine maintained her composure, though internally she reassessed the man before her. Al'Lan Mandragoran was clearly more than just a great warrior; his understanding of strategy and motivation ran deep.

"I follow a trail that concerns the White Tower," she said, offering a partial truth. "One that may indeed connect to the Shadow's current activities. Beyond that, I cannot say. Not because I don't wish to, but because certainty eludes even Aes Sedai in these matters."

Lord Mandragoran studied her with eyes that seemed to have witnessed too much suffering to be deceived by careful phrasings. "Then we find ourselves in similar positions. Each, with pieces of a puzzle we cannot fully assemble alone, each bound by oaths and responsibilities that limit what we can share." He straightened slightly. "I propose a compromise. I will show you what I have discovered about Shadow movements near the Waygate, and you will determine whether it connects to your ... concerns. We need not speak of specifics until trust has been earned on both sides."

It was a reasonable proposal, one that respected both her secrets and his caution. More importantly, it offered access to information she needed without demanding immediate disclosure of her mission.

"Agreed," Moiraine said. "Though I should warn you; the journey south from the Waygate may prove necessary regardless of what we discover there."

"I assumed as much," Lord Mandragoran replied. "My duties to the Borderlands allow some flexibility in how I oppose the Shadow. If your path serves that greater purpose, my sword could find worse employment than accompanying an Aes Sedai with clear purpose."

Lord Mandragoran accompanying her on her search would provide significant protection, protection that might prove crucial if a Forsaken was indeed hunting the same children. Yet accepting his help would mean eventually sharing some truth about the Dragon's rebirth, a risk she was not yet prepared to take.

"Let us begin with the Waygate," she suggested. "Further decisions can wait until we better understand each other's resources and goals."

Lord Mandragoran nodded, apparently satisfied with this approach. They returned to discussing practical matters for the journey: provisions, equipment, the specific route they would follow through the mountains. Throughout, Moiraine was conscious of an underlying current of assessment between them, two experienced players in a deadly game measuring each other's capabilities and commitment.

In her chambers, Moiraine prepared for the journey ahead. Her wardrobe was adjusted for rough mountain travel: sturdy riding clothes, warm layers against the higher altitudes' chill, practical boots well broken in. Healing herbs and bandages were packed alongside trail rations.

As she worked, her mind processed through the new information gleaned tonight. If Trollocs were working to secure strategic access points, it suggested the Shadow had confirmed the Dragon's rebirth and was hunting him. Understanding their plans might prove essential to countering them.

And there was the dilemma thar was al'Lan Mandragoran, whose reputation was legendary even beyond the Borderlands. As the last king of a fallen nation who had dedicated his life to fighting the Shadow that had consumed his homeland, his skills as a warrior were unquestioned. His knowledge of Shadowspawn was unparalleled among living men.

Woulf Lord Mandragoran even consider joining her quest once its true nature was revealed? His commitment to fighting the Shadow was absolute, but the Dragon Reborn represented a complex symbol: humanity's champion against the Dark One, yes, but also the man destined to Break the World again. Would a man who had lost everything to the last Breaking view the harbinger of a new breaking favourably?

Moiraine set these questions aside for now. Turning to the small writing desk in her chambers, she penned a brief message to Siuan, encoding it in the private cipher they had developed as novices. The letter made no direct mention of the Dragon or their search, instead framing her change in plans as an investigation into Border security concerns that might affect "shared scholarly interests." It noted her companion for this investigation, "one whose sword has never faltered against our mutual adversary." and her intention to continue south afterward with possibly altered timing.

She would entrust the letter to a palace messenger in the morning, directing it to a Blue Ajah contact in Tar Valon who would ensure it reached Siuan's hands without raising questions. Not as immediate as the ter'angreal communication, but less draining and less likely to attract unwanted attention from those sensitive to channeling.

As twilight deepened outside her window, Moiraine completed her preparations and then settled into a meditative posture on the floor. Drawing on Aes Sedai techniques for clearing the mind and restoring energy, she prepared herself for the journey ahead, both the physical trek to the Waygate and the more complex navigation of al'Lan Mandragoran's potential role in her mission.

The Pattern was weaving threads together in ways she hadn't anticipated. Her task was to understand the emerging design and ensure it served the Light's needs in the coming conflict.

Chapter Text

Dawn had barely broken when Moiraine arrived at the palace stables, dressed in practical riding clothes with her few essential belongings packed in saddlebags. The blue-fringed shawl that marked her as Aes Sedai was carefully folded and stored away; in the wilderness they were heading into, drawing attention to her status might attract unwanted interest from bandits and Shadowspawn.

Lord Mandragoran was already overseeing the final preparations of a small but well-equipped expedition. The rest of their party included four Kandori border guards experienced in mountain travel and two scouts who had served with Lord Mandragoran previously. A pack horse carried additional supplies, though Lord Mandragoran had emphasized traveling light enough for rapid movement if necessary.

"Moiraine Sedai," he greeted her with a formal nod. "We're nearly ready to depart."

She noted he wore a color-shifting Warder cloak that seemed to fade into whatever background it was viewed against, even though Moiraine didn't think that Lord Mandragoran was not bound to an Aes Sedai and he wore nothing that leaned towards any particular Ajah.

"The weather?" she asked, glancing at the sky where heavy clouds gathered to the north.

"Snow in the higher passes by nightfall," he replied. "We'll reach shelter before the worst hits if we maintain good pace."

He helped her mount her horse, a sturdy mountain breed rather than her own gelding, which would remain in the palace stables until her return. The animal was smaller than she was accustomed to but was a better choice for navigating difficult terrain rather than speed on open roads.

Queen Ethenielle appeared briefly to see them off, accompanied by Lord Baldhere. Few formal words were exchanged; Borderlanders valued action over ceremony when matters of the Blight were concerned. Within minutes, they went through the Chachin's western gate, heading toward the foothills that eventually rose into the Mountains of Dhoom.

They rode in formation, scouts ranging ahead while the guards maintained positions around Moiraine and Lord Mandragoran. Despite the military precision, there was little conversation at first, each rider focused on the journey ahead and the potential dangers it entailed.

As the city fell away behind them and the terrain began to rise, Lord Mandragoran guided his horse alongside Moiraine's. "We'll follow the Ironway for the first day," he explained, indicating a well-worn track that wound up into the foothills. "After that, we turn north onto smaller paths. By the third day, we'll be using trails known only to a few, former Malkieri border scouts and their apprentices."

"And from there to the Waygate?" Moiraine asked.

"A half-day's careful travel through territory the Blight has touched," Lord Mandragoran replied grimly. "Not fully corrupted as beyond the border proper, but... tainted. Plants grow wrong. Animals behave strangely. We'll need to be vigilant."

Moiraine nodded, understanding. The Blight's corruption wasn't contained by neat lines on maps; it seeped outward from the fully blighted lands, creating zones of increasing wrongness that extended the Shadow's influence beyond the commonly acknowledged border.

"Tell me about this particular Waygate," she said as they rode. "The Tower's records of Waygate locations are incomplete, especially those in remote areas."

Lord Mandragoran's expression darkened slightly. "It stands in a grove of stone trees, living trees turned to stone during the Breaking, preserved like statues of what once grew there. The Waygate itself is set between two such trees that arch overhead, forming a natural gateway even before the Aes Sedai construct was placed there."

"Stone trees?" Moiraine's interest sharpened. Such formations were rare, created by intense releases of the One Power during the Breaking when male Aes Sedai went mad and wreaked havoc on the land. "That suggests significant Power was unleashed at that location."

"Yes," Lord Mandragoran agreed. "Local legends claim a great battle was fought there between followers of the Dragon and forces loyal to the White Tower, though such tales have likely been distorted over three thousand years."

The mention of the Dragon sent a small chill through Moiraine, a reminder of how present the ancient conflict remained in the world's memory, even distorted by time and retelling. How much more complicated would those memories become when the Dragon returned to walk the land again?

"These increased Trolloc movements you've observed," she said, steering the conversation back to present concerns, "when did they begin precisely?"

Lord Mandragoran considered the question carefully. "The first unusual patterns appeared approximately four months ago. Small changes at first. Trolloc bands moving with more discipline, attacks focused on specific targets rather than random violence. By two months ago, the coordination had become unmistakable, with larger forces moving together under multiple Myrddraal."

Four months, roughly coinciding with when she and Siuan had confirmed the Dragon's rebirth through their search of the Tower records. The timing supported their theory that the Shadow was already aware of the momentous event and responding to it.

"And the focus on the Waygate? When did that emerge?"

"Within the past month," Lord Mandragoran replied. "We captured a Trolloc scout three weeks ago, unusually far south of the Border. Before it died, it revealed under questioning that forces were gathering for a push toward the 'stone gateway.' My scouts subsequently observed increased Shadowspawn activity in the region approaching the Waygate from the Blighted side."

Methodical probing followed by targeted concentration of forces. Not the behavior of mindless beasts or even Myrddraal acting independently, but the implementation of strategic directives from higher authorities within the Shadow's hierarchy.

"You believe they intend to secure the Waygate as a route into the southern lands," Moiraine stated, watching his reaction.

"Yes. Though the timing is curious," Lord Mandragoran added, his pale eyes scanning the horizon as he spoke. "The Blight has existed for three thousand years, the Waygate for nearly as long. Why focus on it now?"

It was a perceptive question, one that led naturally toward the truth Moiraine wasn't yet ready to share. That the Dragon's rebirth had changed the Shadow's priorities, shifting their focus from general corruption and suffering to the specific elimination of the one who could oppose the Dark One at Tarmon Gai'don.

"The Pattern shifts," she said after a long pause. "Events that have long been prophesied begin to unfold. The Shadow feels these changes as keenly as those who serve the Light."

Lord Mandragoran glanced at her sharply. "You speak of the Last Battle."

"I speak of preparations that precede it," she clarified. "Tarmon Gai'don does not arrive in a single moment. The Pattern builds toward it across years or decades. What we witness now may be early positioning in a conflict that will eventually engulf the world."

It was a careful framing of the truth, one that acknowledged the significance of current events without revealing the specific catalyst, the Dragon's rebirth, that drove them.

"The Waygate expedition suddenly carries greater weight," Lord Mandragoran observed, his voice quiet enough that the nearby guards couldn't hear. "If what we find there confirms your theory..."

"Then decisions will need to be made," Moiraine finished. "By both of us."

Their eyes met briefly in silent understanding before Lord Mandragoran nodded and urged his horse forward to consult with the scouts who had returned from their ranging ahead. The conversation had established a framework for potential alliance without committing either of them to revelations they weren't prepared to make.

As they continued their journey into increasingly rugged terrain, Moiraine found herself reassessing al'Lan Mandragoran not merely as a legendary warrior but as a potential confidant in the monumental task that lay ahead. His perception, his absolute commitment to opposing the Shadow, and his freedom from Tower politics made him uniquely valuable.

The question remained whether his personal crusade against the Blight could align with her mission to find and guide the Dragon Reborn, a mission that would eventually lead away from the Borderlands to wherever the child had been taken after birth on Dragonmount.

By late afternoon, snow began to fall as Lord Mandragoran had predicted, light flurries at first that gradually intensified as they climbed higher into the foothills. Their pace remained steady, the mountain horses sure-footed even as the trail narrowed and grew steeper.

"We'll shelter in a waystation ahead," Lord Mandragoran announced as dusk approached. "A former Malkieri border post, maintained now by those who remember."

An hour later, they reached a sturdy stone structure built into the side of a hill, partially concealed by evergreens and designed to be defensible with minimal manpower. The interior was sparse but functional: sleeping pallets along the walls, a central fire-pit with chimney, storage spaces for firewood and emergency supplies.

"The Borderlands are full of such places," Lord Mandragoran explained as they settled in for the evening. "Remnants of defense networks built over centuries, now maintained by a dwindling few who understand their importance."

There was something deeply personal in his tone, the last son of Malkier preserving what he could of his nation's legacy while fighting the force that had destroyed it. Moiraine found herself wondering what it would mean to such a man to learn that the Dragon had been reborn, that the Last Battle approached, that the final confrontation with the Shadow he had fought his entire life was drawing near.

Would he see it as validation of his lifelong struggle? Or would the complicated nature of the Dragon's role, savior and destroyer both, create conflict with his straightforward commitment to opposing the Blight?

As she prepared her sleeping space for the night, Moiraine set these questions aside. The journey to the Waygate would provide time enough to assess al'Lan Mandragoran's potential role in the pattern forming around the Dragon Reborn.

For now, they were simply two warriors against the Shadow, their paths temporarily aligned by common purpose and the weaving of the Wheel.

Deep in the Blight, where twisted vegetation writhed with unnatural life and the very air seemed tainted with malevolence, Lanfear stood atop a bluff overlooking a massive gathering of Trollocs. Thousands of the beast-men filled the valley below, organized into rough groups distinguished by tribal markings: Dha'vol  with their horned skulls,  Ko'bal  with their tridents, and Al'ghol with their hooked axes.

Among them wete Myrddraal on black horses, their eyeless faces and fluid grace instilling terror even in these savage servants of the Shadow. They carried orders from Heartsbane, also known as Ba'alzamon.

But Lanfear answered to no one, not even the one who claimed to speak for the Great Lord of the Dark. Her alliance with the Shadow had always been one of convenience, a means to power and eventually to Lews Therin himself. Now that he had been reborn, her plans had their own trajectory, separate from whatever grand strategy Ba'alzamon might envision.

"Impressive gathering," came a voice from behind her,smooth, cultured, dangerously pleasant.

Lanfear didn't turn, having sensed his approach long before he spoke. "Impressive but crude, Ishamael. Or do you still prefer Ba'alzamon among your more primitive followers?"

The man who joined her at the bluff's edge wore the body of a handsome aristocrat, though his eyes occasionally flickered with flame when his concentration lapsed. Of all the Forsaken, he alone had been partially bound, able to touch the world during cycles when the Dark One's prison weakened.

"Names are tools, as you well know," he replied with a thin smile. "We each wear what serves our purpose." His gaze swept over the army below. "As we each deploy our resources toward our shared goal."

"Is it shared?" Lanfear asked lightly, though there was nothing light about the power she held ready, just beneath the surface of her perfect calm. "I seek what was mine by right. You seek... what, exactly? To break the Wheel itself? To unmake creation? Our aims may not align as neatly as you imagine."

Ishamael's smile didn't waver, though something cold entered his eyes. "The Dragon is reborn. We all felt the Pattern shift when it happened. Whatever personal vendettas you pursue, Lanfear, surely we agree he must not reach maturity with his powers intact."

"Of course," she said smoothly. "The child must be found. Controlled or eliminated, as circumstances dictate."

"Yet you hunt alone, while I gather armies," Ishamael observed. "One might wonder if your intentions align with our Lord's commands."

Lanfear laughed, the sound like crystal bells in the corrupt air of the Blight. "One might wonder many things about my intentions. It has ever been thus." She turned to face him fully, her dark eyes reflecting no light. "Your armies are impressive but obvious. The White Tower has already noticed increased Shadowspawn activity. They send an Aes Sedai to investigate the Waygate your forces approach so unsubtly."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Ishamael's perfect features. "The Tower's attention was inevitable. Better to draw it north, away from where the child might be found."

"Unless your obvious movements alert them to precisely what we seek," Lanfear countered. "The Blue sister who examines the Waygate, Moiraine Damodred, is no fool. She and her friend in the Tower harbor secrets. I suspect they already know more than they should about the Dragon's rebirth."

Ishamael's eyes narrowed. "You've encountered this Aes Sedai?"

"Briefly," Lanfear said, choosing not to elaborate on her visit to the White Tower. "She's dangerous: intelligent, determined, and uncorrupted by the political games that distract most of her sisters."

"Then perhaps she should not return from her expedition to the Waygate," Ishamael suggested softly. "A tragic loss for the Tower, another Aes Sedai fallen to Shadowspawn while bravely defending the Borderlands."

Lanfear considered the proposal, weighing its advantages against her own plans. Moiraine Damodred was indeed a potential obstacle in her search for Lews Therin reborn. Eliminating her would remove one player from the field.

Yet something gave her pause. The fragment had responded to Moiraine in an unexpected way, suggesting connections to ancient bloodlines and to the Pattern's design that might prove useful. Dead, she was just one less Aes Sedai but alive, she may be the one to lead Lanfear to the Dragon reborn/

"Not yet," she decided. "Let her investigate. Let her report back to her precious Tower. For now, she and her companions serve our purposes by focusing attention northward while I continue my search in the south."

"Interesting?" Ishamael said. "Almost as if the Wheel itself arranges its champions."

"The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," Lanfear said dismissively. "But those of us who stand outside its designated pattern can still cut certain threads or reweave them to our design." She gestured toward the Trolloc army below. "Continue your northern strategy if you wish. Draw the Borderlands and the White Tower into open conflict with your forces. It provides useful diversion for my more precise approach."

Ishamael studied her with eyes that had seen the turning of Ages. "We shall see whose method bears fruit, Daughter of the Night. But remember, the Great Lord sees all our efforts, measures all our successes and failures. When the time comes for rewards and punishments to be distributed..."

"I have never failed in what truly matters," Lanfear cut him off, her perfect features hardening. "Three thousand years bound in dreamless sleep has not changed that. Find the boy if you can, with your armies and your brute force. I will pursue my own course."

She turned away, a clear dismissal. Ishamael's eyes flared briefly with true flame, but he mastered the impulse to strike at her. Among the Chosen, Lanfear stood second only to himself in raw power, and her talent with Tel'aran'rhiod, the World of Dreams, made her particularly dangerous. Better to let her pursue her obsession while he implemented the broader strategy.

"Until we meet again," he said with cold formality before stepping into a gateway he wove with saidin.

When he had gone, Lanfear remained gazing over the valley of gathered Shadowspawn. Let Ishamael play his games of conquest and destruction. Her goal was more personal, more precise and ultimately, she believed, more attainable.

Lews Therin would be hers again. Not as the boy he currently was, but as the man he would become, the Dragon Reborn in all his power and glory. And this time, she would ensure he made the correct choice when offered the opportunity to rule at her side.

With a contemptuous glance at the army below, Lanfear stepped away from the bluff's edge and vanished, not through a gateway as Ishamael had done, but in her own unique way, slipping between the waking world and Tel'aran'rhiod where her power reigned supreme.

The Pattern might weave as it willed for most, but Lanfear had long ago learned to navigate between its threads to pursue her own design.

Chapter Text

In the White Tower, Siuan Sanche walked briskly through the corridor leading to the Hall of the Tower, her face set in the serene mask expected of Aes Sedai despite the tension coiled within her. Anaiya had delivered news that morning that could not be ignored: reports from Blue Ajah eyes-and-ears confirming increased Shadow activity along multiple fronts, not just the Borderlands but stretching as far south as the Mountains of Mist.

More disturbing still was the pattern the reports revealed when viewed together: a coordinated effort to secure pathways from the Blight into the southern kingdoms. Waygates, mountain passes, even ancient underground routes created during the Breaking; all were seeing increased Shadowspawn presence, as if preparing for a major southward thrust.

The Amyrlin had summoned a private council of Ajah heads to discuss these developments. Not a formal meeting of the Hall with all Sitters present, but a smaller gathering where sensitive information could be shared with relative openness. Anaiya, a sitter, had recommended to First Selector Eadyth that Siuan, the most junior Blue sister with direct knowledge of the reports, should attend and present the evidence gathered.

Presenting was an opportunity and a danger. An opportunity to raise awareness of the growing Shadow threat without revealing the catalyst, the Dragon's rebirth, that had prompted it. The danger that sharp questions from experienced Aes Sedai might force her closer to that forbidden revelation than was safe for either the mission or herself.

The guards stationed outside the Hall's smaller council chamber — Warders rather than Tower Guard, indicating the sensitive nature of the meeting — nodded respectfully as she approached. One opened the door, announcing, "Siuan Sedai of the Blue Ajah."

Inside, the chamber was arranged with a circular table at its center. The Amyrlin was already present, her Amyrlin chair slightly elevated on a small dais. The heads of the Green, Gray, Yellow, and Brown Ajahs. The White and Red heads had yet to arrive.

"Siuan," the Amyrlin acknowledged with a nod. "Thank you for coming. Anaiya speaks highly of your work compiling these reports."

"Thank you, Mother," Siuan replied with a formal bob of curtsy appropriate for a junior sister addressing the Amyrlin. "The Blue Ajah serves as best it can."

She took the seat indicated, beside Eadyth. The subtle dynamics of Tower politics were visible in the seating arrangement. The Green and Blue Ajahs sat closer to the Amyrlin, traditional allies in matters concerning the Shadow, while the Brown and Gray maintained slightly more distance.

Once the White and Red heads arrived minutes later, the meeting began in earnest. After formal acknowledgments, the Amyrlin turned directly to Siuan.

"Siuan Sedai, please summarize what the Blue Ajah's eyes-and-ears have reported regarding Shadow movements in recent months."

Siuan rose, leaning into her years of training to help her maintain outward calm despite the gravity of the information she was about to present.

"Over the past four to five months, we have observed a significant change in Shadowspawn activity patterns," she began, her clear voice carrying the slight lilt of her Tairen origins. "Where previously Trolloc raids and Myrddraal sightings followed seasonal patterns primarily concentrated along the Blight border, we now see coordinated movements with clear strategic purpose."

She indicated a map spread on the table, marked with small figures representing reported Shadowspawn positions and movements.

"Here in the Mountains of Dhoom, here near the remains of Malkier, here approaching Shienar, and most recently here in the mountains west of Kandor, concentrated efforts to secure passage southward through key routes. Multiple Myrddraal coordinating large Trolloc bands, suggesting direction from higher authority within the Shadow hierarchy."

The Aes Sedai present studied the map with the focused attention of women accustomed to processing complex information with potential world-altering implications. Adine Sedai, the head of the Green Ajah—a hawk-faced woman who had personally led sisters into the Blight three times to confront Shadowspawn threats—leaned forward with narrowed eyes.

"This suggests preparation for larger incursion," she observed. "Not merely raiding, but positioning for invasion."

"Precisely," Siuan confirmed. "Furthermore, several of these concentration points correspond to known Waygate locations." She indicated specific markers on the map. "If secured, these would allow Shadowspawn to bypass Border defenses entirely, emerging deep within the southern kingdoms."

The Brown Ajah head, Janya Sedai, renowned for her extensive knowledge of history and prophecy, frowned thoughtfully. "The timing is curious. Why now? The Blight has existed for three thousand years without such coordinated efforts."

It was the question Siuan had been both expecting and dreading, the logical inquiry that led directly toward the truth she couldn't reveal. She chose her words with extreme care.

"The Pattern shifts in cycles," she said. "The Prophecies speak of signs preceding the Last Battle, Blood on the rocks of Dragonmount, the Great Hunt being called, the return of snakes and foxes through redstone doorways... increased Shadow activity could be another such sign."

She felt rather than saw the subtle exchange of glances around the table. Mentioning prophecies related to the Last Battle was walking dangerously close to the subject of the Dragon Reborn, but it was necessary context for understanding the urgency of the situation.

"There is another connection worth noting," Eadyth added, supporting Siuan's careful framing. "These movements began shortly after the conclusion of the Aiel War. Perhaps the Shadow sees opportunity in the aftermath of that conflict, with nations still recovering and alliances strained."

A diplomatic suggestion that provided alternative explanation without directly challenging Siuan's prophetic implication. The Amyrlin's expression revealed nothing of her thoughts as she turned to the Red Ajah head, Galina Sedai.

"Has the Red Ajah observed any increase in men manifesting the ability to channel during this same period?" she asked.

The question sent a chill through Siuan. The Red Ajah's interest in male channelers meant eventually they would hunt the very child she and Moiraine sought to protect.

"No significant statistical variation," Galina replied after a moment's consideration. "Though I would note that our records show there is typically an increase in activity during times of great stress or conflict. Should the Blue Ajah be right, we might see a corresponding rise in male channeling incidents in affected regions."

The White Ajah head — Ferane Sedai, a woman whose logical approach stripped emotion from even the most dire situations — spoke next. "If we accept the premise that these Shadow movements represent strategic positioning rather than random aggression, we must consider the target. What do they seek in the south that warrants such preparation?"

Again, the question that led directly to the forbidden truth. Siuan maintained her composure through sheer force of will as she offered a partial answer.

"The Prophecies mention multiple potential targets the Shadow might seek to control or destroy before Tarmon Gai'don: the seals on the Dark One's prison, ancient artifacts of power, individuals with particular significance to the Pattern." She gestured to the map again. "Without more information, we cannot determine which specific objective drives current movements, only that they appear focused on establishing southern access points rather than direct Border assault."

The Gray Ajah head — Yukiri Sedai, a woman whose skills in negotiation and perception made her particularly dangerous in this conversation —studied Siuan with sharp eyes. "You've given this considerable thought, Siuan Sedai. More than might be expected from a relatively newly raised sister. What sparked your interest in these particular patterns?"

The question carried subtle weight. Without accusing directly, Yukiri was probing whether Siuan was withholding information beyond what she had shared with the gathering.

"The Blue Ajah concerns itself with causes and justice," Siuan replied steadily. "What greater cause than vigilance against the Shadow? When assigned to help organize intelligence reports, I noticed discrepancies from historical patterns. Once I began specific inquiry, the coordination became increasingly apparent."

It was true as far as it went; she had indeed noticed these patterns while searching for information that might help Moiraine's quest. That this search was motivated by knowledge of the Dragon's rebirth remained unspoken.

The Amyrlin leaned forward slightly, her ageless face giving away nothing of her thoughts. "What action would you recommend, Siuan Sedai, based on your analysis of these reports?"

A test, certainly. The Amyrlin asking a junior sister for strategic recommendations in front of Ajah heads was unusual, designed to reveal both Siuan's thinking and her ambition.

"Three immediate measures, Mother," Siuan answered without hesitation. "First, increased intelligence gathering focused on the identified concentration points. Second, diplomatic outreach to the Borderland rulers to coordinate defense strategies specifically addressing Waygate security. Third, preparation of mobile Green Ajah strike forces that can quickly respond to Shadowspawn sightings in southern regions."

She paused, then added carefully, "And a fourth, longer-term measure: I would recommend there be renewed study of the Prophecies of the Dragon and other predictive texts that might illuminate the Shadow's current strategy. If these movements represent preparation for aspects of the Last Battle, understanding the prophesied sequence could help anticipate their next objectives."

The recommendation was bold, particularly the final suggestion that edged toward the subject of the Dragon Reborn. But it was consistent with the evidence presented and with the Blue Ajah's traditional role in preparing for humanity's great conflicts.

The Amyrlin studied her for a long moment before nodding once. "Reasonable proposals. We will consider each in turn." She glanced around the table. "Comments from the Ajah heads?"

Discussion continued for another hour, with each Ajah leader offering perspective colored by their particular focus. The Greens advocated immediate military preparation, the Yellows suggested positioning healers near potential conflict zones, the Browns emphasized historical precedents from the Trolloc Wars, the Whites analyzed logical weaknesses in the Shadow's apparent strategy, the Grays proposed diplomatic initiatives to strengthen inter-kingdom cooperation, and the Reds insisted on increased vigilance against male channelers who might emerge in the chaos of coming conflicts.

Throughout, Siuan contributed when asked but otherwise maintained careful silence, aware that each word she spoke carried the risk of revealing too much. She noted the Amyrlin's thoughtful observation of the discussion, rarely intervening but clearly weighing each perspective.

When the council finally concluded, the Amyrlin detained Siuan with a slight gesture as the others departed.

"A moment, Daughter," she said once they were alone.

Siuan turned back, offering the formal curtsy appropriate for a private audience with the Amyrlin. "Mother?"

Tamra Ospenya studied her with eyes that had guided the White Tower through fifteen years of complex political challenges. "Your analysis was impressively thorough. Your recommendations, pragmatic and well-considered. Both suggest capabilities beyond your years since gaining the shawl."

"Thank you, Mother," Siuan replied, uncertain whether the observation was compliment or prelude to more probing questions.

"Anaiya speaks highly of your potential," the Amyrlin continued. "She believes you have the makings of a future Sitter, perhaps more, given time and seasoning."

Siuan inclined her head, acknowledging the significant praise while maintaining an appropriately modest expression. "The Blue Ajah has many sisters more experienced and capable than I. I serve where assigned."

"Indeed." The Amyrlin's gaze remained penetrating. "Tell me, Daughter, where is Moiraine Damodred?"

The sudden change of subject was clearly calculated to catch Siuan off-guard. She maintained her composure through practiced Aes Sedai control, offering the partial truth she had prepared for just such an inquiry.

"She travels in the Borderlands, Mother. After our examination of Lady Selene's artifact, she felt compelled to investigate certain phenomena that might relate to increased Shadow activity. Her last communication mentioned Chachin in Kandor."

"Compelled," the Amyrlin repeated thoughtfully. "An interesting choice of word. Compelled by what, precisely?"

Siuan chose her response with extreme care. "By her understanding of Tower interests and Blue Ajah priorities, Mother. Moiraine takes her responsibilities seriously."

"As do you," the Amyrlin observed. She was silent a moment, then added, "Two newly raised sisters, both showing unusual interest in Shadow movements, prophetic interpretations, and ancient artifacts. One remains in the Tower researching historical patterns while the other travels to the precise regions where Shadowspawn concentrate. Some might find that... noteworthy."

It wasn't quite an accusation, but the implication was clear. The Amyrlin had noticed connections that others might have missed.

"We serve the Tower and the Light as best we can, Mother," Siuan replied, the careful phrasing neither confirming nor denying the Amyrlin's implied question.

Tamra Ospenya regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded slightly. "Indeed you do. Continue your research, Daughter. Report any significant new patterns directly to me." She gestured toward the door, a clear dismissal. "That will be all."

Siuan offered another formal curtsy before departing, her outward serenity masking inner turmoil. The Amyrlin suspected something, not necessarily the full truth about the Dragon's rebirth, but enough to take special interest in her and Moiraine's activities.

Which created both risk and opportunity. The risk that continued scrutiny might eventually expose their secret mission. And the opportunity that the Amyrlin's support could provide resources and protection for that same mission, if the time came when the truth could be shared.

For now, Siuan would continue her careful dance of partial truths and strategic omissions. The Dragon Reborn must be found and guided before the Shadow could eliminate him before even the White Tower itself could interfere with his destined role.

As she made her way back to the Blue Ajah quarters, Siuan found herself hoping that Moiraine had found useful allies in the Borderlands. The pattern emerging around them grew more complex with each passing day, threads of destiny drawing tighter as the Shadow gathered its forces against a child who didn't yet know his own significance. They would need every advantage in the struggle ahead.

Chapter Text

Dawn broke gray and cold over the mountain pass, a thin light filtering through low clouds heavy with snow. Moiraine emerged from the shelter into a bitter wind that cut through her woolen cloak despite its fur lining. Three days of hard travel had brought their small party deep into the mountains west of Kandor, following trails that grew increasingly narrow and treacherous each passing hour.

Lord Mandragoran stood a short distance  away, his color-shifting Warder cloak making him seem almost part of the landscape as he studied the path ahead. He had been awake and patrolling since well before first light, a routine he maintained regardless of terrain or weather, sleeping only in short intervals that nevertheless left him more alert than men who rested twice as long.

"The scouts report increased signs of Shadowspawn," he said without turning as she approached. "Not just passing through, but patrolling. They're securing the approaches to the Waygate."

Moiraine frowned, pulling her cloak tighter against the wind. "How soon?"

"Within the day." Lord Mandragoran finally turned to face her, his expression grim. "We'll need to move carefully from here. The final approach passes through terrain I would normally avoid but it's the only path that doesn't require extensive climbing."

The past days had established a working rhythm between them, a professional respect that acknowledged their different skills while recognizing their complementary value. Together, they had navigated challenges that might have hindered them if they had journeyed alone.

"We should reach the Waygate by midday?" she asked, mentally reviewing what strength she might need to reserve for potential encounters, or for examining the Waygate itself.

"I expect there will be significant resistance," Lord Mandragoran confirmed. His pale eyes held hers steadily. "You should prepare yourself for combat, Aes Sedai. The chaos of real battle against creatures that feel no pain or fear, not the controlled White Tower training."

Moiraine met his gaze with equal steadiness. "I have faced Shadowspawn before, Lord Mandragoran. Perhaps not in the numbers you have, but enough to understand their nature."

A brief nod acknowledged her experience. "We leave in ten minutes. The guards will remain with the horses at the last defensible position while the scouts, you, and I continue on foot to the Waygate. We have a better chance of approaching undetected this way."

As he moved away to make final preparations, Moiraine took a moment to center herself, performing mental exercises. The One Power responded to will and preparation as much as innate talent; a channeler whose mind was calm and disciplined could accomplish more with less raw strength than one whose concentration fractured under pressure.

Ten minutes later, they hedged forward, moving in silent single file along a path barely visible among the rocks and scrub vegetation. The two scouts, hard-faced men with the watchful eyes of those who had spent their lives in dangerous borderlands, were just ahead, communicating with hand signals when necessary. Lord Mandragoran and Moiraine followed, maintaining the careful silence that might mean the difference between successful approach and deadly ambush.

The landscape grew increasingly strange as they advanced, subtle at first, then more pronounced with each mile. Vegetation grew twisted in unnatural patterns, plants that should have been thriving in winter showing sickly growth and bizarre adaptations, thorns where none should be, colors that seemed slightly wrong, leaves that appeared to twitch when viewed from the corner of the eye.

"The Blight's touch," Lord Mandragoran murmured when they paused briefly in the shelter of an overhanging rock. "Not fully corrupted as things beyond the actual border, but it’s tainted here. It grows stronger as we approach the stone grove."

Moiraine nodded, studying the wrongness with both her eyes and the more subtle awareness that the One Power provides. "There's a pattern to it," she observed quietly. "The corruption isn't random. It follows specific lines, almost like-" She hesitated, searching for the right comparison.

"Like veins carrying poison through a body," Lord Mandragoran suggested, his eyes narrowing as he followed her gaze across the distorted landscape.

"Yes," she agreed, impressed by his perception. "Exactly like that. Which suggests a source, a point from which the corruption spreads outward."

"The Waygate?"

"Perhaps. Or something connected to it." She frowned thoughtfully. "The Ways themselves were corrupted during the time of the Trolloc Wars, transformed from safe passages into lightless deathtraps haunted by Machin Shin. It's possible that corruption has seeped out of certain gates over centuries."

Lord Mandragoran considered this, his tactical mind assessing implications. "If the stone grove serves as a focus for Blight corruption, it would explain the Shadow's interest in securing it. Not just as a transit point, but as a place of power."

Which aligned with Moiraine's own deduction, which increased her concerns about the connection between increased Shadow activity and the Dragon's rebirth. If the Forsaken had indeed returned, they would seek not just military advantage but specific points where the Pattern could be influenced, where ancient powers might be accessed or controlled.

"We should continue," she said after a moment. "What we find at the Waygate itself may clarify these theories."

They resumed their careful advance, the path descending now into the canyon Lord Mandragoran had mentioned earlier. Steep walls of gray stone rose on either side, rising to block out the sun and the little daylight that filtered through. The scouts moved with increased caution, checking every shadowed break and potential ambush point before signaling the others forward.

The corruption grew more pronounced in the canyon. Not just plants twisting in unnatural ways, but the very stone itself showing subtle distortions. Tiny veins of black crystalline material ran through the rock face in patterns that seemed almost deliberate, like writing in some alien script. The air felt heavier, carrying a faint metallic taste that coated the tongue unpleasantly.

They had gotten halfway when the lead scout froze, raising a closed fist in the signal for immediate halt. Everyone went motionless, slowing down even their breathing as they listened for whatever had triggered the warning.

For long moments, nothing moved. Then, faintly, came the sound that had alerted the scout, a soft scraping, like clawed feet on stone, from somewhere ahead.

The scout gestured rapidly: Multiple hostiles. Ahead and above. Trolloc and Myrddraal.

Lord Mandragoran's expression hardened as he assessed their position. The canyon offered limited options. One, they could continue forward into a potential ambush. Two, they could retreat the way they had come or three they could attempt the difficult and exposed climb up the walls to more open ground. None of the options was ideal.

Meeting Moiraine's eyes, he made a series of quick hand signals, outlining his suggested approach. She nodded once, understanding his intent. It was risky but preferable to retreat without accomplishing their mission.

Drawing his sword in a single fluid motion that made no sound despite its size, Lord Mandragoran pointed forward with his free hand, then up toward the edge. The scouts acknowledged the command, one remaining with them while the other began a silent ascent of the rock face, finding nearly invisible handholds with practiced skill.

Moiraine reached for saidar, embracing the Source, surrendering to its flow in order to control it. The sweetness of the One Power filled her, bringing heightened awareness of her surroundings and readiness for whatever lay ahead.

They advanced cautiously, Lord Mandragoran leading with Moiraine right behind, the remaining scout covering their rear. The canyon narrowed further, forcing them into single file as they picked their way over increasingly treacherous ground. The scraping sounds grew louder, joined now by guttural noises that could only be Trollocs communicating in their crude language.

The canyon curved ahead, obscuring what waited beyond. Lord Mandragoran paused at the bend, listened intently for several heartbeats, then gestured for Moiraine to prepare. She nodded, already weaving Air and Fire into patterns, ready to be deployed instantly when needed.

With one fluid motion, Lord Mandragoran moved around the bend, Moiraine following close behind and both froze at the sight that greeted them.

The canyon opened into a small valley dominated by what could only be the stone grove. Dozens of trees stood still, their forms perfectly preserved in gray stone down to the finest details of bark and leaf. They formed a rough circle around a central clearing where the Waygate — a large rectangular structure covered in intricate foliage carvings that, unlike the trees, remained lush with living material despite being crafted of stone — stood.

But it wasn't the Waygate or the stone trees that had halted their advance. It was what surrounded them.

At least thirty Trollocs were moving through the grove, their grotesque forms a combinations of human and animal parts. Some with tusks protruding from human-like faces, others with eagles' beaks or wolves' muzzles, all standing seven to eight feet tall with powerful, misshapen bodies built for slaughter. Among them walked three Myrddraal, whose fluid grace contrasted their terrible deadliness.

But even more, the Shadowspawn weren't merely guarding the grove; they were working, following directions from the Myrddraal to position what appeared to be stones carved with strange symbols at specific points around the Waygate. Some dark ritual or preparation was clearly underway.

Lord Mandragoran and Moiraine withdrew silently behind the curve of the canyon before they could be spotted.

Lord Mandragoran's expression darkened further. "Can you determine what they're attempting to create?"

Moiraine closed her eyes briefly, extending her senses toward the grove without physically moving. "Not precisely. But it has elements similar to a stedding, except it isn’t blocking the Power as stedding does, but rather... channeling it in specific ways." She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with concern. "If they complete this ritual, the Waygate will become more than a passage. It will become a foothold of the Blight itself, allowing corruption to spread more quickly into the surrounding lands."

"Then we must prevent its completion," Lord Mandragoran said with quiet certainty. "Though the odds are not favorable."

Thirty Trollocs and three Myrddraal against four humans. Indeed, the odds were far from favorable. Even with an Aes Sedai's power, such numbers presented a deadly challenge, particularly in such a confined space where Moiraine's abilities would be constrained by the need to avoid harming her own companions.

"The second scout should have reached a vantage point by now," Lord Mandragoran continued, glancing upward toward the canyon's edge. "If we coordinate our attack—"

He was interrupted by a sudden racket of inhuman roars and harsh cries from the direction of the grove. An instant later, the scout who had remained with them gave a low warning hiss. "Movement behind us. Multiple hostiles."

They were trapped, with Shadowspawn closing from both directions in the narrow canyon.

"They knew we were coming," Moiraine realized, mind racing through implications and options. "This was an ambush set specifically for us."

Lord Mandragoran's face showed no fear, only the cold calculation of a warrior assessing a battlefield. "We fight our way forward, then. Better to face what we can see than be attacked from behind." He turned to the scout. "Delay those approaching from the rear. Buy us what time you can."

The man nodded grimly, understanding what was being asked. He would likely die, but his sacrifice might give the others a fighting chance.

"Stay close to me," Lord Mandragoran told Moiraine as they prepared to move. "When we attack, focus your power on the Myrddraal. Without them, the Trollocs become disorganized. I'll create openings for your strikes."

She nodded, already adjusting her weaves for the coming confrontation. The One Power thrummed through her, ready to be directed in deadly patterns that could pierce through flesh and shatter bone. Yet she felt a curious calm settling over her; the tranquility of absolute focus that came in moments of greatest danger.

He met her eyes one last time, something unspoken passing between them, acknowledgment, perhaps. Then he was moving, sword ready as he rounded the bend into the grove with Moiraine close behind.

Their entrance was immediately noticed. Trollocs screamed in savage triumph, raising massive weapons, crude axes and serrated swords designed more for tearing than cutting, as they charged toward the intruders. The Myrddraal moved with terrible speed, black blades seeming to absorb what little light filtered into the grove as they directed the attack.

Lord Mandragoran met the first wave of Trollocs with a display of swordsmanship that bordered on impossible. His blade moved in patterns with formal names (The Falling Leaf Takes the Wind, Leopard in High Grass, Lightning of Three Prongs), each executed with such speed and precision they blurred into continuous motion. Two Trollocs fell in his first advance, black blood spraying from mortal wounds before they even registered he had moved.

Moiraine released her prepared weaves in targeted strikes. Fire lashed out in concentrated streams, not the indiscriminate blasts but surgical attacks directed at specific threats. One Myrddraal shrieked as flames engulfed it, the sound like metal tearing against metal. Simultaneously, she wove Air into barriers that deflected Trolloc charges and shields that turned aside throwing axes aimed at her or Lord Mandragoran.

For a brief moment, the sheer surprise of their attack — two humans charging directly into vastly superior numbers — gave them advantage. Lord Mandragoran carved a path through the first rank of Trollocs, his blade never stopping, each movement flowing into the next with lethal efficiency. Moiraine's Power lashed around him, creating space, eliminating threats he couldn't reach, maintaining a bubble of deadly coordination amid chaos.

But the advantage didn’t last. More Trollocs poured into the grove from positions hidden among the stone trees. The remaining Myrddraal adjusted tactics, spreading out to attack from multiple angles. And from behind came the sounds of battle as the lone scout engaged the Shadowspawn approaching through the canyon; sounds that abruptly ceased, suggesting his last stand had ended.

"We need to reach the Waygate!" Moiraine called to Lord Mandragoran as she channeled Earth and Fire into an explosion that scattered a group of Trollocs attempting to flank them.

He didn't waste breath responding, instead adjusting his advance toward the center of the grove where the Waygate stood. His sword flashed continuously, each stroke finding vulnerable points in Trolloc anatomy despite their thick hide and unnatural vitality. Black blood coated the ground beneath his feet, yet for every creature that fell, two more pressed forward.

A Myrddraal suddenly appeared beside him, seeming to step out of a shadow where no living thing could have hidden. Its eyeless face turned toward Lord Mandragoran, lipless mouth stretched in a rictus grin as its black sword struck with viper-like speed.

Lord Mandragoran deflected the blow with a technique no ordinary swordsman could have executed, catching the Halfman's blade on his own at an angle that blocked its unnatural sharpness rather than meeting it directly. The impact however drove him back a step, creating momentary separation from Moiraine.

An opening the Trollocs immediately leaned into. Moiraine found herself surrounded, channeling desperately to keep massive weapons from reaching her. Weaves of Air hardened into shields, Fire lashed out in defensive arcs, Earth rippled beneath bestial feet to disrupt balance and timing.

For all her power, an Aes Sedai in physical combat faced limitations: weaves took time to form, concentration could be broken by injury or even near-misses, and without space to see threats, even the most powerful channeler could be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

A Trolloc axe swept toward her head, barely deflected by a hastily formed shield of Air. Another creature lunged from behind, seeking her back. She channeled instinctively, the ground erupting beneath it to throw it aside, but the effort cost precious focus as three more attackers closed in.

"Moiraine!" Lord Mandragoran's voice cut through the chaos. Somehow he had dispatched the Myrddraal and was fighting his way back toward her, his sword a blur of impossible speed as he cut down Trollocs with mechanical precision. But he was still too far, the bodies of enemies between them too thick for him to reach her before the closing Shadowspawn struck.

In that moment of crisis, Moiraine made a decision that would have profound consequences. Rather than continuing to split her concentration between multiple defensive weaves, she gathered her power into a single massive channeling of Air and Fire combined in a technique rarely used due to its danger to the wielder, the Whirlwind of Souls.

The weave erupted from her in a spiraling torrent, lifting her briefly from the ground as it expanded outward with explosive force. Trollocs caught in its path were not merely killed but shredded, their bodies torn apart by currents of Air sharper than any blade while simultaneously ignited by interwoven Fire. The blast cleared a circle around her, destroying half a dozen attackers instantly and throwing others back in distorted, burning heaps.

But the cost was severe. The weave's power came partly from the channeler's own vital energy, a dangerous drawing that could kill if taken too far. Moiraine felt strength leaving her limbs, her vision blurring as the aftereffects swept through her body. She staggered, struggling to maintain her connection to saidar as weakness threatened to overwhelm her.

Lord Mandragoran reached her in that moment of vulnerability, his sword never ceasing its deadly dance as he established position at her side. "The Waygate," he said briefly, his breath coming in controlled measures despite the intensity of his exertion. "Can you reach it?"

Moiraine forced herself to focus through the darkness gathering at the edges of her vision. The Waygate stood perhaps thirty paces away, its living foliage carvings seeming to ripple with unnatural movement in the shifting light. Around it, the carved stones the Shadowspawn had been positioning pulsed with sickly illumination, the ritual clearly approaching some critical stage.

"Yes," she managed, drawing deeply on her Aes Sedai training to push back the weakness. "But we must hurry. They're nearly finished with whatever working they've prepared."

"Then we move now." Lord Mandragoran adjusted his stance, blade held in a position to form The Courtier Tames the Lion , a Warder form designed for protecting another while advancing through enemies.

What happened next became a blur of desperate movement and channeling. He carved a path toward the Waygate, his sword describing patterns that seemed to anticipate Trolloc movements before they occurred. Moiraine followed in the space he created, channeling with focused precision despite her weakened state, targeting threats hen couldn't address without breaking formation.

The remaining Myrddraal coordinated the defense with terrible efficiency, recognizing their objective and directing Trollocs to intercept. Despite their eyeless faces, they seemed to perceive weaknesses instantly, directing attacks toward Moiraine rather than against Lord Mandragoran's unmatched blade.

Halfway to the Waygate, disaster struck. A Trolloc javelin, thrown with inhuman strength from the edge of the grove, penetrated the defensive screen Lord Mandragoran had established. Moiraine sensed the threat too late, her weave of Air forming an instant after the weapon slipped past. The javelin struck her left shoulder, the impact spinning her half around as pain erupted through her body.

Lord Mandragoran reacted with lightning speed, one hand leaving his sword just long enough to catch her before she fell completely, while his blade continued its deadly swings without impacting its effectiveness despite wielding it single-handedly. "Hold on," he growled, voice tight with controlled urgency. "We're nearly there."

Moiraine fought through pain and shock, maintaining her grasp on saidar through sheer will. Blood flowed freely from around the javelin embedded in her shoulder, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of agony through her. Yet she managed to channel, weaves of Fire lashing out to clear their path as Lord Mandragoran half-supported, half-carried her forward.

The Waygate loomed before them, ancient and impossibly preserved amidst the stone grove. The carved stones positioned around it pulsed more rapidly now, their sickly glow intensifying as whatever dark purpose they served neared completion.

"The stones," Moiraine gasped through clenched teeth. "Destroy the stones first."

Lord Mandragoran understood immediately. While continuing to defend against the pressing Shadowspawn, he maneuvered them toward the nearest of the carved anchors. Moiraine gathered her remaining strength, channeling Earth and Fire in a concentrated blast that shattered the stone, sending fragments flying in explosive patterns.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. A tremor ran through the grove, the wrongness in the air intensifying momentarily before reducing as the broken anchor's connection to whatever dark power that had been powering it was severed. A howl of rage came from the Myrddraal directing the ritual, its eyeless face turning toward them with palpable malice.

"The others," Moiraine directed, fighting to remain conscious as blood loss and pain threatened to overwhelm her. "We must break the pattern completely."

Lord Mandragoran nodded grimly, understanding that destroying one anchor had disrupted but not defeated the Shadow's purpose here. With renewed determination, he fought toward the next positioned stone, his blade finding gaps in Trolloc defenses with uncanny precision.

What followed was a desperate race. Lord Mandragoran and Moiraine struggling to reach and destroy each anchor stone before the Shadowspawn could stop them or the ritual could be completed despite the damage already done. Moiraine channeled through increasing weakness, each weave requiring greater effort as her strength weakened with her blood loss. Lord Mandragoran fought with the cold precision of a man who had accepted death as a companion long ago, his focus absolute despite injuries of his own accumulated during their advance.

When the final anchor stone shattered under Moiraine's channeling, the reaction was catastrophic. A shock wave of released power swept through the grove, sending  everyone staggering. The Waygate itself seemed to shudder, the living foliage moving as if in pain before settling back into their normal patterns.

The Myrddraal shrieked in rage and frustration, a sound that scraped against the mind like rusted metal. The coordinated Trolloc attack faltered momentarily as the Halfmen's concentration broke, providing precious seconds for Lord Mandragoran to establish position directly before the Waygate, Moiraine supported against his side.

"What now?" he asked, sword still moving in defensive patterns as the Shadowspawn regrouped. "We're trapped against the gate with no way out."

Moiraine turned her attention to the Waygate itself, focusing through pain and encroaching darkness to study its nature with senses augmented by the One Power. What she found confirmed her suspicions and offered a desperate chance.

"The gate," she said, each word an effort through gritted teeth. "I can open it. We can escape through the Ways."

Lord Mandragoran's expression hardened. "The Ways are death. Machin Shin—"

"Better odds than we face here," she interrupted. "And I know... protections. Temporary, but perhaps enough."

No time remained for debate. The Trollocs were advancing again, more cautiously now but with deadly purpose. The Myrddraal directed them in flanking movements designed to eliminate any possibility of escape.

"Do it,"Lord Mandragoran decided, shifting position to give her access to the Waygate while maintaining his defensive stance.

Drawing on reserves of strength she hadn't known she possessed, Moiraine chan neled the specific weave needed to activate the ancient construction. The leaf pattern among the foliage carvings responded to her touch, the entire portal beginning to swing inward to reveal utter darkness beyond.

As the gate opened, Moiraine quickly formed another weave, a complex pattern of Spirit and Light that created a barrier against certain dangers known to inhabit the Ways. It wouldn't stop Machin Shin if the Black Wind found them, but it might delay it long enough for them to reach another exit.

"Now!" she gasped as the opening grew large enough to pass through. "Quickly, before they can follow!"

Lord Mandragoran backed them through the portal, his sword still flashing to hold back the nearest Trollocs. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Moiraine channeled again, reversing the opening process from inside. The last thing she saw before darkness enveloped them was a Myrddraal launching itself toward the closing gap, its black blade extended, only to be cut off as the Waygate sealed with final, decisive closure.

Then darkness took her completely.

Chapter Text

Awareness returned slowly, in fragments that made little sense at first. Pain, dull but persistent. Movement beneath her, rhythmic and swaying. Warmth against her side contrasting with cold air on her face. A steady heartbeat not her own, felt through layers of cloth.

Moiraine opened her eyes with effort, blinking to focus in near-total darkness. She was being carried, she realized: cradled against someone's chest as they walked with careful steps.

"Lord Mandragoran," she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

The movement paused. "Lan–You're awake. Good. I wasn't certain..."

His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. He hadn't been certain she would wake at all.

"How long?" she asked, trying to assess their situation despite the fog still clouding her thoughts.

"Hours," he replied tersely. "I removed the javelin and bound your wound as best I could, but you've lost much blood. And there's infection, something on the weapon's tip, I think. You need a Yellow sister's healing."

Moiraine felt her wound throbbing with unnatural intensity, suggesting he was right about poison or corruption. Her connection to saidar felt distant, hard to reach as she felt her body being weak all over. And they were still in the Ways, moving along one of the ancient paths through absolute darkness.

"You can see?" she asked, noting that no light source was visible yet Lord Mandragoran navigated with confidence.

"After a fashion," he answered. "The sword forms taught to Malkieri children include methods for fighting blind. Sensitivity to air currents, sounds, the feel of surfaces underfoot. Not perfect, but enough to follow the main path."

Remarkable, Moiraine thought. Few humans could navigate the Ways without light, yet he had carried her for hours through the darkness, navigating through senses most people never developed.

"We need light," she said, gathering her strength to reach for saidar. "And I should walk. You've carried me long enough."

"Save your strength," he countered firmly. "We're approaching a Waygate, according to the guidepost I found some time back. I can feel changes in the air currents that suggest an exit ahead. Your power will be needed when we reach it."

His assessment made tactical sense. Opening a Waygate required channeling; without it, they would be trapped in the Ways regardless of whether they found an exit point. Better to conserve her limited strength for that crucial task.

"Where are we?" she asked instead. "Which Waygate?"

"I can't be certain," Lord Mandragoran admitted. "But based on the path markers I could determine by touch, we've been traveling south and east. Possibly approaching Tar Valon itself, or somewhere in that region."

That was both promising and concerning. Tar Valon would offer safety and much needed healing, but it meant returning back to the starting point when she needed to be far away, searching for the Dragon candidates. Yet she needed to recover from her injury before she could resume her mission.

"Be alert," she warned, remembering the deadliest danger of the Ways. "The Black Wind might sense us at any time. My protective weave failed when I lost consciousness."

"I've heard it," Lan said grimly. "Distant wailing, like voices in torment. It hasn't approached directly, but it knows we're here. Another reason to reach the exit quickly."

Moiraine felt dread at his words. Machin Shin was death in its purest form: a non-physical entity that devoured souls, leaving bodies empty husks if anything remained at all. That it hadn't immediately descended upon them was unusual luck, but luck that could change at any moment.

"I can channel enough for light," she insisted. "Just enough to see the path more clearly. It will speed our progress."

After a moment's consideration, he nodded and carefully set her on her feet, maintaining support with one strong arm around her waist. Moiraine swayed slightly but managed to remain standing, drawing deep breaths to center herself before reaching for saidar.

The One Power came reluctantly, like water through a nearly blocked pipe. She managed only the smallest channeling, creating a soft glow that illuminated perhaps twenty paces ahead along the stone bridge. Beyond, utter blackness continued in all directions, giving the unsettling impression of a void with only the narrow path forward.

"There," Lan said, pointing ahead to where a faint vertical line appeared in the darkness, the seam of a Waygate. "Perhaps five hundred paces more."

Five hundred paces felt like an impossible distance in her current state, but standing still was not an option. With Lan's support, she began moving forward, each step requiring conscious effort. The wound in her shoulder throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and fever heat radiated through her body despite the unnatural cold of the Ways.

They had progressed perhaps halfway when they heard a sound, like wind rushing through but carrying whispers that scraped against the mind rather than ears. Whispers that formed almost-words, promising secrets and knowledge before sliding into promises of pain and soul-death.

"Machin Shin," Moiraine confirmed, her voice tight. "It's coming."

Lan's pace increased immediately, supporting more of her weight as they hurried toward the Waygate. "How long do we have?"

"Minutes at most," she answered, fighting to maintain the small light while conserving strength for opening the gate itself. "It moves quickly once it detects prey."

The rushing sound grew louder, the whispers becoming more distinct.

Moiraine felt Lord Mandragoran's arm tighten around her waist as he broke into a controlled run, matching a pace she could sustain without collapsing. The Waygate grew closer, details becoming visible: an exit somewhere in the countryside rather than within a city, judging by the tree and plant patterns visible in its stone carvings.

The Black Wind's approach accelerated, as if sensing their imminent escape.

They reached the Waygate with the sound of Machin Shin now a roar behind them, the darkness itself seeming to bend and flow in their direction. Moiraine placed her good hand against the leaf pattern, channeling the specific weave needed to activate.

For a terrible moment, nothing happened. Her weakened channeling was insufficient, the pattern incomplete. She felt desperation rise as Machin Shin closed the final distance, its whispers now screaming directly into her mind. ...pretty eyes, blue eyes, to eat, to squeeze, to pop between teeth so pretty, so pretty...

"Moiraine." Lord Mandragoran's voice cut through the mental assault, his hand closing over hers on the carved leaf. "Together."

Something passed between them in that moment, not the One Power itself, which Lord Mandragoran could never touch as a man who lacked the ability to channel, but something more fundamental. His strength, his absolute focus and will to survive, flowing through physical contact to support her flagging spirit.

Moiraine drew deeply on that connection, channeling again with renewed purpose. This time the weave formed correctly, the Waygate responding with a deep rumbling as it began to swing open.

Machin Shin reached the edge of their light, darkness roiling and blistering with unnatural motion as the exit slowly widened.

"Now!" Lord Mandragoran urged as the opening widened enough. He half-carried, half-dragged Moiraine through the gap, Machin Shin's horrific whispers rising to a crescendo as streams of the Black Wind reached for them with hungry malevolence.

They tumbled through the Waygate into harsh sunlight and clean air, landing roughly on grass that smelled of summer despite the winter they had left behind in Kandor. Moiraine channeled one last weave to seal the gate behind them, cutting off Machin Shin's pursuit with the grinding closure of ancient stone.

For several moments they lay where they had fallen, Moiraine struggling to breathe through waves of pain and exhaustion, Lan scanning their surroundings with the automatic vigilance of a Warder-trained fighter. Only when he was certain no immediate threats awaited did he turn his attention fully to her condition.

"Your wound has worsened," he said grimly, examining her shoulder with careful fingers. "The skin around it has blackened. Shadow-poison, most likely. We need to find help quickly."

Moiraine nodded weakly, forcing herself to focus beyond the pain. They needed to determine where the Waygate had brought them before they could seek appropriate aid.

The landscape offered few obvious clues, rolling hills covered with summer-green grass, scattered trees in full leaf, no visible settlements or distinctive landmarks. Yet something about the air, the quality of light, the very feel of the place tugged at Moiraine's memory.

"South," she murmured. "Much further south than Tar Valon." She closed her eyes, extending her senses. "We're in Andor, I think. The sun's position and the vegetation pattern-" She trailed off, strength flagging.

Lord Mandragoran nodded, accepting her assessment. "Can you channel a gateway? Transport us directly to help?"

Moiraine shook her head slightly, the movement sending fresh pain through her shoulder. "Not in this condition. The weave is complex, requiring concentration I cannot maintain. And we have no clear destination coordinates."

Lord Mandragoran accepted this without argument, immediately shifting to alternative options. "Then we must find the nearest settlement." He rose, lifting her as gently as possible. "There's a road beyond that rise. Recently traveled, judging by the dust pattern. It will lead somewhere with people."

As he carried her toward the distant road, Moiraine tried to maintain consciousness, knowing that slipping into darkness again might mean never awakening. The taint from the Trolloc javelin was spreading, sending flickers of burning pain throughout her body. Such weapons were often coated with poisons specifically designed to counter Aes Sedai healing capabilities, slowing the natural recovery process and making channeled healing more difficult.

"Tell me about Malkier," she said suddenly, needing conversation to focus her mind on something, to fight against the darkness threatning to overcome her.

Lan glanced down at her, surprise briefly visible in his normally stoic expression. "Why?"

"To stay awake," she admitted. "And because it matters to you. That makes it worthy of knowing."

Something shifted in his eyes, not quite softening, but perhaps recognition of the gesture she offered. For several steps he remained silent, then spoke in a low voice that carried the cadence of formal recitation.

"Malkier was the northernmost of the Borderlands, standing as the first defense against the Blight for over a thousand years. Its seven towers, one for each of the Seven Lakes, were beacons of light against the Shadow's darkness. Its warriors wore the hadori and followed the code of honor captured in our battle cry: 'Tai'shar Malkier,' True Blood of Malkier."

As he spoke, his pace remained steady, bearing her weight with seemingly tireless strength. The formal telling gradually shifted to more personal remembrance.

"I was an infant when it fell, but those who raised me ensured I knew what was lost. A land of harsh beauty, mountain lakes so clear you could count stones a hundred feet deep, forests where autumn turned the leaves colors no painter could capture, skies at night so filled with stars they cast shadows when the moons were new."

"You remember it through others' eyes," Moiraine observed quietly.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "Through the eyes of those who gave their lives to carry me to safety while my parents led the last defense of the Thousand Lakes. Through the teachings of those who raised me to be the king of a nation that no longer exists, except in memory and oath."

The road appeared before them, a well-maintained track that suggested regular travel and nearby habitation. Lord Mandragoran adjusted course to follow it southward, his vigilance never wavering despite the personal memories he shared.

"Tell me of the oath," Moiraine prompted as pain flared again, darkness encroaching at the edges of her vision.

He was silent for several heartbeats before responding. "To stand against the Shadow while breath remains. To defend the lands my ancestors protected. To wear the hadori and carry the war to the Shadow with every breath." His voice took on a formal quality again. "To avenge what cannot be defended."

The depth of commitment in those simple phrases struck Moiraine forcefully. Here was a man shaped entirely by purpose, a living weapon forged in the wake of national tragedy and personal loss. She found herself wondering what such dedication might accomplish if directed toward the protection of the Dragon Reborn.

"A worthy oath," she said softly. "One you have honored through every action I have witnessed."

Before he could respond, the sound of approaching horses reached them. Multiple riders moving at  steady pace rather than galloping, suggesting the people would be merchants or travelers rather than soldiers or bandits. Lanimmediately moved to a defensible position at the roadside, still supporting Moiraine but positioning himself to protect her if the approaching party proved hostile.

The riders appeared around a bend, a merchant train with laden wagons and armed guards wearing the red and white of Andoran merchant protection. At their head rode a woman in practical traveling clothes, her gray-streaked hair bound in a simple braid.

She reined in sharply at the sight of them, raising a hand to halt her company. Her eyes took in the scene with experienced assessment, Lan's protective stance, Moiraine's obvious injury, their travel-worn appearance.

"Well met, strangers," she called cautiously. "I am Mistress Heral, bound for Caemlyn with woolens and spices. Do you require assistance?"

Lord Mandragoran inclined his head with formal courtesy, despite the urgency of their situation. "We would be grateful for aid. My companion is injured and requires healing beyond what I can provide."

The merchant woman studied them more carefully, her gaze lingering on Moiraine's face with its ageless Aes Sedai quality and Lan hadori, both markers of unusual travelers.

"Andor welcomes all peaceful visitors," she said diplomatically. "And merchants prosper by maintaining good relations with... travelers of all kinds. We have a wagoner with healing skills, though nothing like what might be found in certain white towers. If that would be acceptable."

The careful phrasing confirmed Moiraine's suspicion that the merchant had recognized her as Aes Sedai despite her current state and lack of visible Great Serpent ring. It was both advantage and potential complication: Aes Sedai generally received respect and assistance throughout the central lands, but their presence also raised questions about purpose and allegiance.

"Any aid would be welcome," Lan answered, maintaining his formal manner while conveying urgency. "The wound carries corruption that spreads quickly."

Mistress Heral nodded sharply, making her decision. "Bring her to the third wagon. Jorran has healing herbs and knowledge of poisons that might slow the spread until more... specialized care can be arranged."

As Lord Mandragoran carried her, Moiraine felt consciousness slipping again. The brief exchange had consumed what little strength remained. She fought to remain aware long enough to assess whether these merchants represented help or hidden danger.

The wagon's interior was neat and smelled of dried herbs and clean linen. An older man with hands gnarled by arthritis but still deft helped Lan place Moiraine on a narrow cot.

"Trolloc weapon," Lan explained tersely as the healer examined her wound. "Poisoned or corrupted."

The old healer nodded grimly. "I've seen similar, though rarely this far south. Fighting in the Borderlands?"

"Yes," Lan confirmed without elaboration.

"I can slow its spread," the man said after careful examination. "Clean the wound, apply poultices to draw out corruption. But complete healing will require-" He glanced at Moiraine's face, noting the ageless quality. "Well, skills I don't possess."

"Do what you can," Lan directed. "We will find appropriate healing when she's stabilized."

As the healer began gathering supplies and herbs, Mistress Heral appeared at the wagon's entrance. "We're a day's journey from Caemlyn," she informed them. "Queen's Healers there might help, or if you prefer-" She let the sentence hang, the implication clear.

"Caemlyn will suit," Lan decided after brief consideration. It wasn't Tar Valon but a major royal city would have resources, and potentially relevant information.

Moiraine felt herself fading as the healer applied something pungent to her wound, awareness fragmenting into disconnected impressions. The merchant woman arranging for their transport. Lord Mandragoran's continued vigilance as he maintained position beside her. The sway of the wagon as the caravan resumed its journey southward...

Her last coherent thought before darkness claimed her completely was recognition of where exactly the Waygate had delivered them. Not random chance, but the Pattern's weaving. They had emerged in northern Andor, within days of Caemlyn.

Chapter Text

Moiraine drifted through impossible landscapes of shape, her thoughts torn between realms of vision and memory. The fever that has her in grips seemed to have opened doorways between worlds, enabling her to pass through walls that otherwise were impenetrable.

She stood in a vast circular chamber of polished crystal, its ceiling stretched impossibly high, reflecting light that had no source and breaking it into rainbows which danced upon glassy floors. The Collam Daan, this legendary center of learning in the Age of Legends. The knowledge floated into her thoughts without her knowing how.

She walked past scholars in white coats, who gestured toward floating slabs of light, speaking in a language that sounded like music to her ears, as they belaboured points and discussed concepts beyond her understanding, yet all sounded familiar. 

"The Pattern shows strain along these vectors," said a woman with silver-streaked hair, as she pointed to a whirling pattern of what seemed to be a loom woven with gold and silver and red strands. "The calculations suggest a potential weakening in the barrier."

Next to her, a man shook his head. "Impossible. The bore is theoretical at best. Even supposing we were able to violate the—"

The room dissolved before Moiraine could hear the rest, the crystal walls flowing like water, transitioning, into another vision.

She stood on the slopes of Dragonmount, but not the Dragonmount she had seen before. This mountain was bursting with inner lava, its peak torn open by some giant force. The sky above swirled with clouds with colors like a fresh bruise. And lightning tore between earth and sky in forms that inscribed symbols in a lost language. At the base of the mountain, a river of blood flowed, actual blood – black and thick and spitting in the chill air.

Somewhere beyond her sight, a baby wailed, its voice carrying across impossible distances. It held so much anguish that Moiraine felt tears streaming down her cheeks, even though she tried willing herself not to cry. She tried to move toward the sound, but her feet refused to obey.

"He is born," a voice whispered in her ear. "Born on the slopes of blood and fire."

She turned to find Gitara Moroso standing next to her, the Keeper's ageless face contorted into the same look of agony she had when she prophesied before her death. "The Dragon has been reborn."

"I know," Moiraine said. "I'm searching for him."

"Find him before she does," Gitara cautioned, her eyes rolling back so only the white part showed. "She seeks him too."

The mountain beneath them grumbled and trembled, and the vision shifted again.

Now Moiraine stood at the edge of a vast chasm, one that separated the world into two. Out of its depths, sprout out flame without heat, but fire that showed two forms—one of herself and, across the other side, a woman of such extraordinary beauty that it hurt to look at her. The other woman wore white, her dark eyes flashing off the fire between them, her perfect lips curved in a smile that threatened and promised.

Between them, suspended over the fire, hung a shape Moiraine could not clearly place; it shifted and altered with each attempt to gaze upon it. Yet, it felt vital, something that must not fall into the wrong hands.

"He was mine first," the woman in white stated, her voice echoing over the gap as if she stood next to Moiraine. "He will be mine again."

"He belongs to the Pattern," Moiraine said, "not to your or me."

She laughed, the tone the shattering of crystal bells. "How little you know, Daughter of the Sun Throne. Some bonds transcend the turning of the Wheel itself." She stretched towards the shifting object, her fingers stretching impossibly long. 

Moiraine flung herself forward, knowing that she would fall into the hole but unable to stop—

It changed again, the scenery. She stood in a field of stone. It was midnight. The stones surrounding her  reached towards the sky like accusatory fingers. And between the stones, there were cloaked figures, their heads turned away, gliding away. Moiraine knew they were searching for her, and that they would tear her apart if they found her.

"Be still," a voice near her ear warned, solid and unyielding among the illusions. A hand gripped her arm, steadying  her. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew it was Lord Mandragoran, not within the dream itself, but pulling her from somewhere in the waking world. "They can only track you down if you move."

She froze, barely daring to draw breath as the hooded men went by inches, speaking in guttural tones. One of them half-turned toward her, and under the hood she saw a form made of shadows as features, with only searing eyes like hot coals set deep into blackness.

"The great serpent devours its tail," it hissed. "The Wheel turns and turns. Find the Eye before the Dark One wakes."

Through all these disjointed visions, Lord Mandragoran's presence remained constant beside her; never exactly there, never speaking more than brief warnings or reassurances, but unchanging and solid. He never touched her dreams directly, but he anchored her to reality as the feverish dreams threatened to whisk her away. Without his strength and support, Moiraine knew she would never make it back, back into her body, but would rather be lost drifting through the labyrinth of visions.

Sometimes the dreams grew more intimate, more painful. She dreamed of Siuan standing before the Amyrlin Seat, her jaw clenched in defiance as accusations swirled around her. Moiraine dreamed of her family in Cairhien, as they danced like puppets on strings in an elaborate game of politics and betrayal, oblivious to the greater game played across the world. She saw children with unknown faces yet somehow familiar as important: a redheaded boy, a boy with dark curling hair, a third with gray eyes with an age-old sorrow in their depth.

And always present, winding through every sight like a black ribbon, she sensed another woman's presence, watching, weighing, moving pieces on a board laid out across centuries.

In her last dream before she woke, Moiraine stood in a barren glade that was agonizingly familiar. The same silver-barked trees, the same brook singing over smooth rocks. But now the glade withered, the leaves turning brown and falling, the brook drying to trickles.

Siuan stood in front of her, but far away, as if viewed through veils of linen. "Beware," Siuan whispered, her voice coming and going like a radio on a bad connection. "— uses our bond."

But before Moiraine could question what she was trying to say, awareness started drawing her back, the fever relinquishing its grip, reality reasserting itself one agonized nerve ending at a time.

Awareness seeped back slowly, consciousness flowing over her like morning tide rising to refill pools of tide. She lay in a bed softer than that of the wagon cot, and in a room filled with beeswax scent and fresh linens rather than travel dirt and herbal remedies. Light fell through partly shuttered windows to show mid-morning.

Above all, the burning corruption that had been oozing from her wound had receded. There was still pain, but clean and honest, pain of healing, not of destruction. She had been nursed by someone with a very great skill while she lay in fevered darkness.

"You're awake."

Lord Mandragoran's tone issued from alongside the bed where he sat in a stiff-backed chair, his stance indicating that he stood watch during the night. He looked less road weary. He had clearly washed and even napped for a few moments, but the alertness in his eyes was unchanged.

"Where–?" Her words came out as a croak, her dry throat burning from fever.

He reached for a pitcher, filling a cup and bringing it to her lips in a gentleness that she did not expect. "A inn called The Crown and Lion, in Caemlyn's west quarter. Respectable enough to be near the Royal Palace, distant enough to avoid too much notice."

Moiraine drank gratefully, feeling her clarity return with each mouthful. "How long?"

"Three days since the Ways," he answered. "The merchant caravan brought us to Caemlyn yesternight. Your fever broke just before dawn."

Three days lost, due to illness and injury. But they had survived the Waygate ambush and Machin Shin, no small accomplishment given the strength arrayed against them. And they were in Caemlyn now, by coincidence or the Pattern's designs.

"The healing?" she asked, noticing that her shoulder had been tidily wrapped in clean cloth.

"A woman named Mother Honra, not the Queen's Healer but highly respected among the merchants. She has herbs and centuries of healing art. Not like an Aes Sedai healing, but enough to counteract the poison and set your body on the path to healing."

Moiraine smiled, impressed. Few non-channelers can heal Shadow-corrupted wounds. This Mother Honra clearly had expert knowledge.

"She said you will require at least a week's rest before you can ride again," he continued. "The poison feeds directly off your connection to the One Power, using it to spread corruption more quickly."

That explained the odd ferocity of her symptoms and the difficulty she'd experienced maintaining her channeling in the Ways. Such powerful weapons were a product of training and knowledge, normally reserved for superior servants of the Shadow.

"The trap was set for us specifically," she breathed, confirming what they'd both suspected. "They were not just Shadowspawn manning a transit point, but an ambush designed to kill those investigating."

"Yes," Lan agreed gruffly. "And that does raise some questions about how they knew to anticipate, and who, exactly, they were attempting to ensnare."

Questions indeed, ones that carried possibilities of information leaks within the White Tower or Kandori court, or even more arcane means of spying from within the Shadow's upper ranks.

Moiraine attempted to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled on her injured shoulder. Lan moved quickly to assist her, placing pillows to support her in a half-sitting position.

"What hurts?" She noticed now the careful way he moved his left arm, suggesting an injury or strain he had not mentioned.

"Nothing bad," he waved it aside. "Cuts and scrapes only. I have had worse when I was a kid."

She didn't question it. The uncrowned Malkier king had been battling Shadowspawn since he was old enough to wield a blade. But his easy acceptance of hurt reaffirmed her increasing respect for him, purpose and obligation seems to always override his personal safety or comfort.

"We must plan our next move," she said, already considering the implications and possibilities despite her fatigue. "Being in Caemlyn, of all locations—"

Lord Mandragoran's expression remained diplomatically unchanging. "You have business in Caemlyn?"

A test, yes. He had led her across the Ways, protected her at her most vulnerable, and yet still maintained correct caution about her mission and purpose. It spoke to his restraint and perception of Aes Sedai complexity.

The time had come for at least some measure of truth between them. Circumstance had forged a bond of combat and survival that outweighed formal allegiance, and being in Caemlyn presented an opportunity which could not be ignored despite her injured condition.

"One of the tasks that brought me to the Borderlands involbves  certain individuals who were born during the Blood Snow at the end of the Aiel War," she said cautiously. "Reports suggest that one of them may be in or near Caemlyn."

His eyes flashed into interest. "Born during the last battle on Dragonmount?"

"Yes. A boy child, to a dying mother and taken in by a returning soldier." She noted his reaction carefully, for connecting  these very specific facts could lead an informed mind toward the truth of the Dragon's return.

His expression revealed nothing, for several heartbeats, as he processed this news against what he already assumed or suspected about her mission. Then he nodded once, believing what she had said without demanding the whole measure of the truth she still held.

"Then our presence in Caemlyn, while unplanned, serves your purpose," he said. "The Pattern weaves as the Pattern wills."

"So it would seem," she agreed. "Though my current condition complicates matters. I am not capable of combing through the city while I heal from this injury."

"I can," Lord Mandragoran replied unflinchingly. "Provide me with the proper information, and I shall locate this individual while you heal."

The invitation was a demonstration of great faith. He was volunteering to advance her cause without having full knowledge of its purpose. It also presented risk too. While his skills would certainly expedite the search, his continued involvement would inevitably mean discovering the complete truth of the Dragon Reborn.

Was he ready for that discovery? More importantly, was she ready to share it?

The past days had revealed Lord Mandragoran to have exceptional capabilities, unwavering valor, and unremitting commitment to combating the Shadow. If anyone could comprehend and accept the complex reality of the Dragon's return, both  the hope and potential devastation contained in one person, it was a man whose very life had been defined by such a paradox: a king without a kingdom, trying to preserve a nation that only lived in memory and oath.

"The boy was listed as Jain" she replied, making her decision. "Although it may have been otherwise since then. His adoptive father had been an Andoran cavalryman named Tomas Mantear, who was granted lands near Caemlyn after the war."

Lord Mandragoran heard this in characteristic competence. "House Mantear held the Lion Throne prior to Queen Morgase. A distant relation, perhaps. That considerably narrows the search, lesser nobility and greater military houses have records and connections that that make them relatively easy to tracee."

"There is more," said Moiraine. "The mother, on her deathbed, gave the child an identifying token, a heron-stamped coin. Identified, it would be positive identification."

"A heron mark is significant," said Lord Mandragoran, his expression thoughtful. "Traditional symbol of great swordsmen, but sometimes used on coins for a while in the past. Either way, a rare keepsake."

He rose, contained movement of a man accustomed to instant action the moment decisions were made. "I shall begin asking today. Caemlyn has military records at the Citadel, and House Mantear maintains followers among the older noble houses although they no longer sit on the throne. Someone will know about this officer and his adopted son."

"Beware," Moiraine cautioned. "We were not the only ones hunting in the Borderlands. If the Shadow struck at us at the Waygate, they could have agents in Caemlyn as well."

"I've been operating in enemy territory since I was a child," Lord Mandragoran reminded her with dark assurance. "Few in Caemlyn will recognize a Malkieri hadori, and those who do will likely shun rather than challenge what it represents. I can go unseen when necessary."

He was right, of course. Al'Lan Mandragoran had survived twenty years of unending war against the Blight by becoming a superb warrior in open battle and a master spy. If anyone could search without drawing attention, it was the last Malkieri warrior-king.

"Return by nightfall," she ordered. "I will need continuous reports, and you will need rest, regardless of what you tell me about your wounds."

The faintest hint of what might have been laughter twinkled in his eyes. "As you wish, Moiraine Sedai."

After he had departed, Moiraine let herself settle back against the pillows, her mind racing in spite of her aching body. Events were still transpiring in unforeseen manners, but every seeming coincidence was leading her closer to where she must go. The attack at the Waygate would have ended their mission, but instead it had led them straight to one of her prime search areas.

And she had formed an alliance that might prove vital to the Dragon Reborn's fate. Al'Lan Mandragoran, no ordinary warrior. He represented a combination of combat skill, military acumen, cultural heritage, and unyielding loyalty that would be invaluable  in the battles ahead.

The Pattern spun like the Pattern pleased, collecting threads that would shape the coming war. Moiraine could only hope the pattern was spinning the Light as she rested and recovered before she eventually had to face whatever awaited.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the streets of Caemlyn, its golden light warming white stone buildings that had rendered it the most beautiful in the realm. Winter might have gripped Andor's northern kingdoms, but here in central Andor, the weather remained mild, almost unnaturally so for the season. Another sign, perhaps, of the Pattern's disruption as ancient prophecies began their unrelentless march toward fulfillment.

Lord Mandragoran moved through the crowded streets with practiced invisibility. Although his height and stance, which would otherwise draw attention, he had acquired subtle techniques honed over years of scouting on the Borderlands—those subtle changes in posture and stride that suggested someone unremarkable despite his physical presence. He had removed his hadori, choosing instead to keep it in his pocket rather than wear it openly. In Caemlyn, the headband of the Malkieri warrior would draw curiosity rather than respect.

His initial inquiries at the Citadel's military archives ad been worthwhile. Captain Tomas Mantear had indeed served with honor in the Aiel War, receiving land grants in the western districts of Andor for his service. The records confirmed he had returned from the conflict with an adopted infant, a child whose mother had died during childbirth. 

Now Lan approached a modest estate on the outskirts of Caemlyn, where houses gave way to small farms and orchards. The Mantear property, according to directions provided by a veteran administrator at the Citadel, thirty acres, with a stone house overlooking fields currently unplanted for the winter. A place where a cavalry captain might retire in comfort with an adopted son: a boy who may be one of boys Moiraine sought.

As he walked up to the edges of the property, Lord Mandragoran's instincts, honed by decades of survival in the world's most dangerous regions, detected subtle wrongness. The gate creaked open, swinging loosely in the afternoon breeze. No smoke rose from the chimney despite the season. Most forebodingly though was that there were no sounds of human presence shattering the unnatural quiet surrounding the estate.

Quickening his pace, Lan approached the main house by an indirect route, using scattered trees and outbuildings for cover. His hand rested lightly on his sword hilt, ready to draw in an instant if needed. Every fighting-honed instinct screamed warning.

The house's front door hung awkwardly from one hinge, the wood around its lock splintered by immense force. He circled to approach from the rear, finding a similarly damaged entrance there. Inside was chaos: overturned furniture, torn fabrics, floorboards ripped up in what was clearly a systematic search rather than vandalism.

And blood, not an immense amount suggesting immediate death, but significant spatters indicating violent struggle. He walked from room to room, reliving the action with the trained vision of a fighter. At least three attackers, by boot marks left in scattered ash on the floor around the hearth. The inhabitants must have resisted; there was a broken sword lay by the stairs, its blade battered by a heavy blow, smeared with dark blood most likely not its owner's. A desperate retreat toward what appeared to be a study at the rear of the house, where the most damage centered on a heavy desk and the wall behind it. 

No bodies, which might indicate survivors or captives taken for questioning. The blood was days old, dried to rusty brown against wooden floors.

In the study, amid scattered papers and broken shelves, Lan found what appeared to be a hidden compartment revealed by the vandals of the searchers. Empty now, but its hidden design suggested it once held items of significant importance. Beside it, the shattered remnants of a tiny box with distinctive military insignia, the personal effects container typical of Andoran cavalry officers.

One of the second-floor bedrooms showed signs of hasty departure; drawers open, small clothes missing, a wooden toy soldier on the floor in front of the bed as if having been discarded there. Someone had taken the child, though whether it was Captain Mantear fleeing with his adopted son or the attackers seizing him, remained unclear.

Squatting beside the child's bed, Lan noticed something lodged in the space between the headboard and mattress, a folded piece of parchment the searchers had overlooked. He drew it out carefully, finding a roughly drawn map with a location marked in the forests west of Caemlyn. Below the mark, written in a hasty hand: "If trouble comes, seek the woodsman's cabin."

A contingency plan, perhaps. Or a false trail meant to mislead pursuers. Either way, it represented the only lead to the whereabouts of Captain Mantear and the child.

As he prepared to depart, a final discovery caught Lan eye—a small wooden chest pushed far beneath the child's bed, its lid carved with a flying heron. Inside lay children's treasures: a polished stone, a feather, dried flower, and buried beneath these, a worn coin. When he lifted it to the light, the mark of the heron, clearly visible on its surface.

The coin Moiraine had mentioned. The token that might identify one of many possible children born during the Blood Snow.

Lord Mandragoran pocketed the coin and the map, then hastened from the violated home. Whatever had happened here, the attackers might return or might still be watching. 

In her room, Moiraine sat propped against pillows, a small leather-bound book open in her lap. Her shoulder still hurt with dull consistency despite the poultices Mother Honra had applied that morning, but the fever had not returned, a good sign that the poison's spread had been halted.

The book contained her personal notes on the Dragon Reborn prophecies and what she and Siuan had discovered on potential candidates. She had spent time reviewing sections about the boy adopted by Tomas Mantear, recalling information which might prove relevant when Lord Mandragoran returned with his report.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her reading. She closed the book and tucked it beneath her pillows before calling, "Enter."

The innkeeper's daughter appeared with a tray bearing a teapot and light meal. "Mother Honra said you should eat something substantial with the healing tea, Mistress," the girl explained as she set the tray down on a small table next to the bed. "She'll be by this evening to change your dressings."

"Thank you," Moiraine replied with a small smile. "Your mother's establishment has been most accommodating."

The girl curtsied quickly before she departed, leaving Moiraine to consider the simple meal of bread, cheese, and sliced fruits. Her appetite had begun returning as the Shadow-poison receded, though eating remained more of a duty than pleasure.

As she poured the medicinal tea, a bitter-smelling brew containing herbs she recognized as effective against both infection and pain, her thoughts turned to Siuan. By now, she would have received word about their encounter at the Waygate and subsequent journey to Caemlyn. Would she recognize the significance of their "coincidental" arrival near one of the Dragon candidates? Would she have learned anything more about Lady Selene's true identity and purpose?

Most importantly, had she maintained their secret within the White Tower despite the mounting evidence of Shadow activity that surely demanded explanation?

The burden they shared had grown heavier with each passing day. Knowledge of the Dragon's rebirth, world-shaking in and of itself, now came with growing belief that the Forsaken too had returned, preparing themselves for the war that was coming. The forces gathering were beyond anything two newly-raised Aes Sedai, however determined, could stand against on their own.

Which brought her thoughts inevitably to Lord Mandragoran. His skills and dedication had already proven invaluable, perhaps even saving her life. If anyone could locate the Dragon candidate in Caemlyn, it would be the man who had tracked Shadowspawn across the Blight's most treacherous terrain for decades.

But finding the young man was only the beginning. Testing him, determining whether he was the Dragon Reborn or one of the Pattern's illusions, protecting him from the Shadow's agents,these were tasks ahead. And they would require Lord Mandragoran's continued cooperation, which would involve ultimately sharing the whole complete truth she still partially withheld.

The sound of boots coming down the hall outside her door brought Moiraine's attention sharply back to the present. She reached for saidar instinctively, holding the Source ready without drawing enough to cause visible effects. Caution had become habit over months of searching for the most significant figure in prophecy while avoiding those who sought him for darker purposes.

The distinctive pattern of Lord Mandragoran's footsteps reassured her. A soft knock preceded his low voice. "Moiraine Sedai."

"Enter," she called, releasing saidar as the door opened.

Lan stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His face informed her of everything she needed to know before he spoke a word, the tension of his jaw, the intent focus in his eyes spoke of danger discovered rather than a mission accomplished.

"You found the Mantear estate," she said, setting aside her book. It wasn't a question.

He nodded once, moving to stand near the window where he could observe both the room and the street below, a Borderland warrior's habit of remaining tactically alert even when in conversation.

"Gone?" Moiraine's face remained composed, but her fingers tightened slightly on the blanket covering her lap. "Both the captain and the child?"

Lord Mandragoran nodded, his expression grave as he stood near the window of her inn room, positioned so that he could watch both the door and the street outside. "The attack happened a few days ago, judging by the state of the scene. Whoever came for them was professional, systematic in their search and thorough in action."

"Darkfriends, or worse," Moiraine murmured. She held out her hand, and Lord Mandragoran placed the coin in her palm. The heron stamp was faded but unmistakable, exactly as described in the reports she had received. "This confirms the boy was one of those born during the Blood Snow. Whether he is the one we seek..." She shook her head slightly. "Too early to tell."

"The map suggests a predetermined safe location," Lord Mandragoran offered. "If the captain managed to escape with the child, that's where they would have headed first."

Moiraine studied the rough map he showed her, a slight frown on her brow. "The countryside there is remote, difficult to traverse without knowledge of the area." She looked up at him. "You believe that they might still be there?"

"Doubtful. But it might inform us what direction they went next." Lord Mandragoran's tone was still measured, practical. "If the captain is experienced enough to establish an emergency escape route, then he likely had other plans in motion. The safe house might be full of clues."

Nodding slowly, Moiraine handed back the coin and map to him. "We must investigate, but carefully. If Darkfriends found the Mantear home, they may also know of this location." She shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at her healing wound. "And my condition prevents immediate pursuit."

"I can scout the location," Lord Mandragoran offered without hesitation. "Determine whether the captain and boy reached it, and what trail they left behind."

Moiraine considered him thoughtfully. Their partnership, forged in the fires of battle against Shadowspawn, had proven more valuable than she could have anticipated. Yet she had still not shared the  entirety of her mission, about what it would mean if this child or another proved to be the one she sought.

Lord Mandragoran stood in silence, his gaze steady as he studied her face. "You seek these children for a specific purpose," he said finally.  "A reason that draws the Shadow's most powerful minions after the same quarry."

It wasn't a question but an observation, delivered with the calm certainty of a man who had pieced together scattered evidence into a coherent picture.

Moiraine's expression remained carefully neutral, the Aes Sedai mask perfected through years of training. "What makes you believe that?"

"The patterns are clear to those who know how to read them," he replied without pretense. "Increased Shadowspawn activity along specific routes. Targeted ambushes against specific targets rather than random violence. The methodical search of the Mantear home." His eyes held hers steadily. "And your own interest in children born at the final battle of the Aiel War, a specific time of prophetic significance."

Moiraine measured her response carefully. This was sooner than she had anticipated, yet perhaps exactly when circumstances required it. "You seem well-versed in matters most consider obscure legends."

"I was raised to be king of Malkier," he replied with simple dignity. "My education included histories others have forgotten and prophecies most prefer not to contemplate." A pause, then: "Including those concerning the Dragon's rebirth."

The words hung between them, not an accusation but a recognition of comprehension that didn't require any validation from her.  His perception and restraint impressed her; he had deduced much yet demanded nothing.

"These children face dangers they cannot comprehend," she said finally, choosing each word with precision. "One among them may hold significance beyond ordinary measure. Whether that significance aligns with certain prophecies..." She left the statement deliberately incomplete.

"And if it does?" Lord Mandragoran asked quietly.

Moiraine studied him, weighing decades of Aes Sedai caution against immediate practical necessities. "Then the world faces both its greatest hope and gravest peril. Events long prophesied would be set in motion, the ripples extending far beyond what one person, even an Aes Sedai, could control alone."

It was both answer and non-answer, confirmation hidden in diplomatic vagueness, the Aes Sedai way. Yet it communicated what needed to be understood between them without telling what was still too dangerous to tell directly.

Lan absorbed her words in silence, his face intent but not confused by her evasive reply. After a moment, he said only, "What would you have of me?"

The directness of the question caught Moiraine by surprise, though she revealed nothing in her features. "Your continued aid in this search, if you are willing. The path ahead is long and fraught with danger. The boy we seek, whether this child or another, is too young to protect himself. He will need guardians until he comes of age."

"I have stood against the Shadow my entire life, Moiraine Sedai," Lord Mandragoran replied, his voice taking on the formal cadence of oath-taking. "If any child faces threats from the Dark One's servants, protecting that child is already my obligation. If that child's importance extends to matters of prophecy..."

He left the implication clear without requiring her to verify details. This was a man who understood the necessity of careful words when discussing matters of world-altering magnitude.

"The burden is heavy," she cautioned. "And the road ahead spans years, not months."

"I have borne the burden of a dead nation since childhood," he replied without self-pity. "Time means little against such obligations."

Moiraine nodded slowly. "Then we are agreed. When I have recovered enough, we will seek the safe house and whatever course Captain Mantear may have left. Whether this child proves to be significant to prophecy or merely one of many children caught up in events beyond their understanding, he deserves our protection against those who hunt him."

"And if he is not the one you ultimately seek?" Lord Mandragoran asked.

"Then we continue searching," Moiraine replied simply. "For as long as it takes."

The Pattern had brought them together, the last king of a destroyed kingdom and an Aes Sedai who carried the heaviest secret of the day. By accident or design, their lives had merged into a common purpose that would shape the coming years.

As Lord Mandragoran prepared to investigate the safe house location, Moiraine returned to her notes, adding the discovery of the heron coin to her records. A small confirmation among many possibilities. The search had barely begun, and the journey before them lay long.

Chapter Text

Night settled over Caemlyn like a velvet cloak, stars shining in the bright night sky above the city's white towers and golden domes. In her room, Moiraine had finally surrendered to exhaustion after hours of planning with Lan. Her injured shoulder, though healing, still throbbed with enough persistence to make sleep elusive until Mother Honra's medicinal tea gradually overtook the pain.

As her awareness waned, she performed the mental exercises all Aes Sedai learned, constructing barriers around her dreams to protect against intrusion. Normally, such precautions would have been unnecessary, but with greater and greater signs of Forsaken activity, dream shielding was imperative. The ancient enemies were known for their abilities to manipulate Tel'aran'rhiod, the World of Dreams, using it to gather intelligence or influence unsuspecting minds.

Despite her precautions, Moiraine felt the barriers dissolving almost as soon as sleep claimed her, swept away by a force much greater than hers.

She found herself standing in a chamber that no longer existed, a vast circular room with walls of crystalline material that seemed to pulse with inner light. No visible supports propped the domed ceiling hundreds of feet overhead, where constellations shifted in patterns unfamiliar to current astronomers. The floor beneath her feet was polished stone of impossible smoothness, engraved with curling glyphs in gold and silver that appeared to twist  when viewed from the corner of the eye.

"The Collam Daan," Moiraine whispered. One of the greatest achievements of the Age of Legends, destroyed during the Breaking of the World.

"A decent forgery," came a melodious voice from behind her. "Though the original was considerably more impressive than even my memory can perfectly reconstruct."

Moiraine turned to find Lady Selene standing at the center of the chamber, wearing a gown so deep blue it appeared almost black. The silver stars embroidered across its fabric matched the stars overhead. Her beauty remained breathtaking, skin so white she appeared to glow like marble, features of perfect proportion, midnight hair cascading past her shoulders–but here, unbound by the limitations of physical disguise, something ancient and terrible shimmered beneath the perfection.

"This is a dream," Moiraine stated, gathering her composure. "One you have constructed."

"Indeed." Lady Selene, no, not Lady Selene, smiled with perfect lips that somehow conveyed predatory intent rather than warmth. "Dreams are such useful tools for conversation when physical distances prove...inconvenient."

Movement to Moiraine's left drew her attention. Another had come into the room–Siuan Sanche, dressed in the formal blue of her Ajah, looking as startled as Moiraine felt.

"Moiraine?" Siuan's voice carried both surprise and wariness. Her eyes flickered between Moiraine and their host, quickly assessing the situation with characteristic sharpness.

"How delightful," the dark-eyed woman said. "Both players on my little board, together at last. Or perhaps I should say, reunited."

"Lanfear." Siuan spoke the name with unshakeable certainty, the last confirmation of their suspicions now voiced for the first time.

The Forsaken's smile widened, pleasure evident at the recognition. "Very good, daughter of a Tairen fisherman. Your research has been thorough. I do appreciate competence, even in adversaries."

Ice formed in Moiraine's stomach at this explicit confirmation, though she maintained her Aes Sedai composure through sheer willpower. Standing before them was one of the thirteen most powerful servants of the Dark One, a channeler from the Age of Legends whose abilities far exceeded any living Aes Sedai.

"Why bring us here?" Moiraine asked, using the direct approach that had served her well in past confrontations. "What purpose does this dream-meeting serve?"

Lanfear moved with inhuman grace, circling them like a predator assessing prey. "Curiosity, mostly. Two newly raised Aes Sedai, undertaking a search of such...significance. Keeping secrets from your precious White Tower. Working against forces you hardly comprehend." She paused, dark eyes glittering. "I find myself intrigued by your hubris."

"As we are intrigued by yours," Siuan countered boldly. "Appearing in the Tower under false pretenses, manipulating Aes Sedai with half-truths and artifacts designed to trace specific bloodlines."

"Ah, you understood more about my little crystal than you revealed during our examination." Lanfear seemed pleased rather than disturbed by this. "Impressive. Most in your savage Age would have perceived only a fraction of its purpose."

The Forsaken completed her circuit around them, stopping at a position where she could observe both simultaneously. "We find ourselves in an interesting configuration–three women whose interests converge on a single point in the Pattern. A point none of us has quite yet achieved."

Moiraine exchanged a quick glance with Siuan, agreement passing wordlessly. Denying knowledge of the Dragon's rebirth would be pointless when Lanfear manipulates dreams and could possibly mind-read. It was much better to focus on gaining any additional information without revealing much on their end.

"Your interest in bloodlines from the Age of Legends suggests more than scholarly curiosity," Moiraine observed. "The fragment responded specifically to certain genetic patterns preserved across three thousand years."

"Very good," Lanfear approved. "The Damodred line carries traces of modifications done at the height of genetic research at the Collam Daan. Nothing significant enough to manifest as actual abilities in this diluted form, but sufficient to register on correctly calibrated equipment." She turned to Siuan. "While you, interestingly, registered for an entirely different reason, a connection to the Pattern itself manifested as minor ta'veren. Not enough to distort probability in noticeable ways, but sufficient to draw certain threads toward you."

Siuan maintained remarkable calmness despite this revelation. "If that were true, it would explain nothing about your purposes now."

"Wouldn't it?" Lanfear moved to a crystalline pedestal that had appeared in the center of the chamber, placing her slender hand upon its surface. The chamber's lighting shifted, the constellations overhead accelerating their movement as if time itself flowed differently. "Ta'veren are drawn to greater ta'veren, the Pattern demands it. And what is he, if not the greatest ta'veren to exist since his previous incarnation?"

The blunt reference to the Dragon Reborn, to Lews Therin Telamon's reincarnation, confirmed the depth of Lanfear's knowledge and the nature of her interest.

"Your obsession continues even after three thousand years," Moiraine noted, deliberately provoking to gain reaction. "Does the Dark One know his servant pursues personal vendetta above his greater interests?"

Something dangerous flashed in Lanfear's eyes–a momentary glimpse of the power and rage that lay beneath her perfect exterior. The chamber trembled slightly, crystalline walls vibrating with jarring tones.

"Careful, little Aes Sedai," she said softly. "Dreams can easily turn into nightmares with very little effort. And while I find your presumptuous courage entertaining, my patience has limits even here in Tel'aran'rhiod."

The threat hung in the air, amplified by subtle changes in the chamber–the light dimming, the symbols on the floor flowing more rapidly, the very air becoming colder and somehow thicker.

Siuan moved closer to Moiraine, their shoulders almost touching. In the dream state, the connection between them–one forged through years of friendship, shared purpose, and love–manifested as an inward radiance visible only to themselves, an interweaving of the borders of their dream-forms as they stood together.

Lanfear observed this with raised eyebrows, amusement replacing irritation. "How touching. Love among the sworn servants of the Tower. Such attachments were more openly confessed in my day, you know. The prudish constraints of your Third Age are among its numerous steps backward from civilized behavior."

She gestured languidly, and the chamber reconfigured itself. The vast circular space contracted, dwindling to resemble the cozyness of the Blue Ajah quarters–small secluded spaces illuminated by softly glowing spheres, comfortable furnishings arranged for conversation rather than intimidation. Lanfear herself changed as well–her gown, a more subdued design that might have been worn by an old Aes Sedai with rare taste and resources.

"Better," she decided. "Let us dispense with the overtly adversarial stance. We have matters to discuss that might benefit from a more…collaborative perspective."

"We have nothing to collaborate on," Moiraine stated flatly. "Our purposes stand in direct opposition."

"Do they?" Lanfear settled into a chair that formed itself perfectly to her form. "Consider what we all seek–the Dragon Reborn, alive and prepared for the role destiny demands of him. I want him to survive to adulthood. So do you. I want him to come into his full power. So do you." Her perfect lips curved in a knowing smile. "Our methods and ends may differ, but our immediate goals align more than you might care to admit."

The disturbing thing, Moiraine realized, was that Lanfear spoke partial truth. The Forsaken did indeed appear determined to find the Dragon Reborn alive rather than desired to kill him, a curious priority for one sworn to the Shadow.

"Your obsession with Lews Therin is the tale of legends," Siuan said, having apparently reached the same conclusion. "You seek him not for the Dark One's purposes, but for your own."

"Perceptive," Lanfear acknowledged. "Though I would correct one point. I don't merely seek Lews Therin. I pursue what is rightfully mine. What was nearly mine before…complications arose."

The implication was clear from what little historical record remained. Lanfear, then Mierin Eronaile, had been Lews Therin's lover before he met and wed Ilyena Sunhair. Mierin’s obsession with Lews had supposedly contributed to her turning to the Shadow.

"You believe you can recover that bond," Moiraine said, understanding dawning. "You believe that the Dragon Reborn, once mature, will choose differently this time."

"I know he will," Lanfear said with absolute conviction. "Circumstances have changed. The choices have changed." Her dark eyes glinted  with something approaching genuine emotion, perhaps the only authentic feeling this Forsaken was still capable of experiencing. "When he stands at the cusp of power this time, I will be there to guide his choice. Not the self-righteous fools who constrained him before. Not the White Tower with its fear-driven manipulations."

The insight into Lanfear's motivations was valuable, revealing a possible rift between her goals and those of the Dark One's other servants. But it also served to highlight the danger she represented, not just her immense power, but her focused determination to possess the Dragon Reborn for herself.

Siuan and Moiraine moved subtly closer together, the bond between their dream-forms strengthening. In Tel'aran'rhiod, such proximity could merge perceptions and amplify combined will, a technique rarely taught even in the White Tower but instinctively discovered by those with deep emotional bonds.

"What purpose does this conversation serve?" Siuan asked directly. "You didn't create this elaborate dream setting merely to discuss ancient history or to confirm what we already suspected about your identity."

Lanfear's smile widened, appreciation in her dark eyes. "Direct and perceptive. I begin to understand why the Pattern drew you both into this particular configuration." She leaned forward slightly. "I propose an arrangement, not alliance, as neither of us would tolerate such affectation, but mutual acknowledgment of temporarily aligned interests."

"What specifically do you propose?" Moiraine asked, cautious while trying to understand.

"Information exchange," Lanfear replied. "I possess knowledge of the Shadow's movements you cannot possibly discover through conventional means. You have access to resources and locations where my direct presence would attract.. undesirable attention."

"You suggest we spy for you?" Siuan's tone conveyed appropriate outrage at the implication.

"I suggest we selectively share intelligence that serves our common intermediate goal, keeping the Dragon Reborn alive and developing toward his destiny." Lanfear's expression remained perfectly controlled, yet her voice acquired something almost approaching honesty. "Other servants of the Great Lord pursue him with less nuanced purposes. Ishamael in particular would kill rather than risk losing control."

The casual reference to one of the most powerful and terrifying Forsaken, Ba'alzamon himself, leader among the Dark One's servants, sent a chill through both Aes Sedai. If Lanfear spoke true, the threat to their mission was even greater than they had imagined.

"You expect us to trust information from the Daughter of the Night?" Moiraine challenged. "One of the thirteen who triggered the Breaking of the World?"

"Trust has nothing to do with it," Lanfear countered. "Verify everything through your own means. But consider the advantages of advance warning about Shadow operations targeting your...candidates."

The deliberate plural confirmed Lanfear knew about the multiple potential Dragon candidates they sought. Not surprising given her earlier reference to bloodline tracking, but concerning nonetheless.

"And in exchange?" Siuan asked warily. "What information would you have from us?"

Lanfear's smile turned knowing. "Tower politics. Movements of Aes Sedai who might interfere with my interests. And most importantly, which candidate you determine is the true Dragon Reborn, once you've reached that conclusion."

The audacity of the request would have been shocking from anyone else. From a Forsaken, it was nearly admirable in its absolute audacity.

"Impossible," Moiraine stated flatly. "We would never provide such information to one sworn to the Shadow."

"As I expected you to say," Lanfear replied, seemingly unfazed by the rejection. "But consider this, I will find him eventually, with or without your assistance. The difference is whether I find him first, or another with less...personal investment in his survival."

The threat was implicit but clear, other Forsakens sought the Dragon for purposes aligned directly with the Dark One's goals. Lanfear's obsession at least left room for the Dragon to grow and develop his powers, even if her ultimate intentions remained adversarial to the Light.

"Why approach us at all?" Siuan asked, her analytical mind probing for deeper understanding. "Why not simply track him yourself, using your formidable abilities?"

"The Pattern resists direct tampering," Lanfear explained with the slight condescension of a teacher addressing clever but inexperienced students. "Especially around nexus points of such significance as the Dragon Reborn. Direct search has a tendency to fall short where subtle methods succeed. You two were drawn to him by the Pattern itself, your paths alignment with his thread is...authentic in ways my approach cannot be."

The explanation aligned with what Moiraine and Siuan had themselves experienced–the sense of being guided by forces beyond  the scope of consciousness, connections too perfect to be coincidental. Even Moiraine’s meeting with Lord Mandragoran held that quality of inevitable meeting.

"You waste your effort," Moiraine said, maintaining rejection despite the persuasive logic. "We will never collaborate with a Forsaken, regardless of temporary alignment of intermediate goals."

Lanfear studied them both, her ancient eyes seeing more than either Aes Sedai wanted to acknowledge. "Your conviction is admirable, if predictable. But remember this conversation when circumstances become more desperate, when you find yourselves outmatched by forces beyond your training or capability. The offer remains open."

With casual grace, she rose from her seat. The chamber around them began to shimmer, crystalline walls becoming translucent, then transparent, revealing not ordinary landscape beyond but the swirling chaos of Tel'aran'rhiod's deeper realms.

"One final gift," Lanfear said, "to demonstrate both my benevolence and the value of potential collaboration. Your potential Dragon near Cairhien is in danger. A Myrddraal and two Darkfriends posing as visiting merchants observe his every move while maintaining distance. They report to Ishamael directly."

The specific detail carried the ring of truth, information precise enough to be verified, potentially valuable enough to save the boy's life. Exactly the sort of intelligence that made Lanfear's proposal tempting despite its obvious dangers.

"And now, I must attend to other matters," the Forsaken continued. "But before I release you from this constructed dream..." She made a subtle gesture with one perfect hand.

The chamber dissolved completely, replaced by a perfect recreation of Siuan's quarters in the White Tower. Every detail matched reality–the furniture arrangement, the books on shelves, even the quality of light through the windows suggesting early evening in Tar Valon.

"A gift," Lanfear said, her voice fading as her form turned into mist. "A few hours of shared dream, in a location where you once found comfort together. The Tower may separate you physically, but dreams recognize no such limitations." Her smile held knowing amusement. "Consider it demonstration of what an alliance might offer–knowledge, capability, and occasional indulgence of more...personal priorities."

With that, she vanished completely, leaving Moiraine and Siuan alone in the perfectly recreated Tower chamber.

For several moments, they remained silent, each processing the extraordinary encounter. The dream held firm despite Lanfear's departure, evidence of her vast mastery of Tel'aran'rhiod, maintaining a constructed reality even in absence.

"It's really her," Siuan finally said, her voice tight with controlled alarm. "Lanfear herself, free and active in the world again."

"Indeed," Moiraine confirmed grimly. "And clearly pursuing the Dragon Reborn with resources and knowledge far beyond what we anticipated."

They moved to the window together, looking out at the dream-version of Tar Valon–beautiful, perfect, yet subtly wrong in ways only those familiar with dream weaving would notice. The sun remained in the same position in the sky, clouds frozen despite apparent breeze stirring banners below. Time operated differently in Tel'aran'rhiod, especially in controlled constructs like this one.

"She confirmed what we suspected about the fragment," Siuan noted. "A device for tracking bloodlines from the Age of Legends, specifically ones modified during their genetic research era."

"And provided other information," Moiraine added. "Multiple Forsaken active simultaneously. Ishamael directing Shadow operations personally. Disagreement among them about how to handle the Dragon Reborn."

Their shoulders touched as they stood at the window, the connection between them manifesting visibly in the dream state ,a soft glow where they met, their individual energies recognizing and responding to each other even here in this artificial construct.

"Her information about one of the potential Dragons being watched by disguised Darkfriends," Siuan mused. "Do you think it's reliable?"

"Possibly," Moiraine said thoughtfully. "It serves her purpose to have us protect him from Ishamael's agents if he is indeed the Dragon Reborn. And it's specific enough that she risks discrediting herself if proven false."

The analytical discussion provided a reassuring manner to process an experience that might otherwise overwhelm. They were Aes Sedai, trained to remain calm and rational judgement even when facing the extraordinary.

Siuan turned from the window to face Moiraine directly. In the world of dreams, her face had the subtle perfection of self-image, how she saw herself rather than how her features really were. The same was true for Moiraine, whose shoulder bore no injury here in Tel'aran'rhiod.

"We have something Lanfear doesn't anticipate," Siuan said with quiet certainty. "Something even Forsaken power can't easily counter."

"What's that?" Moiraine asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.

"Genuine connection," Siuan replied, reaching out to take Moiraine's hands in hers. Where they touched, the glow intensified slightly. "Lanfear understands obsession, not love. She seeks to possess the Dragon, not protect him. That fundamental difference in approach may prove decisive."

The observation carried significant weight. Throughout the histories and prophecies they had studied, the Dragon's fate often hinged on questions of motivation and intention than raw power. The loyalty of those who served from love rather than fear or ambition had repeatedly proven crucial.

"We should take advantage of this opportunity," Moiraine said, glancing around the dream-chamber. "We're unlikely to have another chance for direct communication anytime soon."

"Yes," Siuan agreed. "Tell me everything about your experiences since leaving the Tower. I've received your messages, but details were necessarily limited for security."

They moved to sit together on the window seat, hands still clasped, and Moiraine recounted her journey in detail: the ambush at the Waygate, their escape through the Ways, arrival in Caemlyn, and Lan’s discovery.

"The Mantear boy and his adoptive father are gone," Moiraine continued. "Their home was attacked, searched thoroughly. Lord Mandragoran found evidence of a struggle, but no bodies and a map hidden in the child's room that may lead to a safe location."

"Darkfriends?" Siuan asked, her expression tightening.

"Almost certainly. The search was too methodical, too precise to be ordinary bandits. They knew what or who they were looking for." Moiraine's voice remained steady despite the gravity of what she described. "There was a heron-marked coin tucked among the child's treasures, proof he indeed is one of those born during the Blood Snow."

Siuan leaned forward, her eyes intent. "So we have confirmation of his birth circumstances, but no certainty if he's the one."

"None," Moiraine agreed. "He's only one of several possibilities; still too young for any of the other signs to manifest clearly."

"And you'll need to find him before the Shadow does," Siuan said grimly. "If the Darkfriends who searched that home report back to their masters that they lost the trail-"

"Others will be sent, more dangerous servants," Moiraine finished. "Which is why Lord Mandragoran and I intend to follow the map to this safe house. With luck, we'll find either the boy and his father, or clues to where they've fled."

"The Pattern weaves as the Pattern wills," Siuan murmured, an acknowledgment of how events continued to pull Moiraine toward these potential Dragons whether by chance or design. 

"Yes," Moiraine agreed. "And there's something you need to know, I've shared the truth about our search with Lord Mandragoran."

Siuan's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're certain that was wise?"

"Circumstances forced the revelation," Moiraine explained. "His skills have already proven invaluable, perhaps even life-saving. And after fighting the Shadow his entire life, he understands the significance of the Dragon's rebirth in ways few others could without falling into either fear or zealotry."

Siuan considered this thoughtfully. "Perhaps his involvement was always part of the design." She smiled slightly. "The last king of Malkier, sworn to fight the Shadow until his final breath, there are worse allies to have in this search."

"He's more than merely capable," Moiraine said. "There's something about him...a quality of absolute commitment that transcends ordinary dedication. As if his entire life has been preparation for this role, though he never knew it until now."

"You trust him," Siuan observed, reading the absolute certainty in Moiraine's expression.

"Yes," Moiraine confirmed simply. "With this mission and with my life."

Siuan nodded slowly, accepting the assessment. "Then I trust your judgment of him. When the time comes, he may prove as crucial to this pattern as we are ourselves." Her expression grew more serious. "The Tower grows increasingly concerned about Shadow movements. I've been summoned to multiple councils with the Ajah heads and the Amyrlin herself, all focused on increased Trolloc activities and unusual patterns that point toward coordinated strategy rather than random raiding."

"Have you had to reveal anything about our specific knowledge?" Moiraine asked.

"No, though maintaining that secrecy grows more difficult with each new report confirming Shadow forces gathering." Siuan's grip on Moiraine's hands tightened slightly. "The Amyrlin suspects something. She's too intelligent not to notice the threads connecting our interests and these developments."

"For now, continued secrecy serves our purpose best," Moiraine said. "Until we confirm which candidate truly bears the burden of prophecy, involving the Tower too soon risks interference that might disrupt the Pattern's design."

​​"Agreed," Siuan said. "Though we should prepare for the eventuality that sharing knowledge with select allies may become necessary sooner than we planned."

Their hands remained clasped, the connection between them deepening in the moldable reality of Tel'aran'rhiod. Here, emotions shaped surroundings as powerfully as conscious thought, the chamber's lighting softening to reflect their momentary escape from constant vigilance and loneliness.

"I've missed you," Moiraine said softly, allowing herself this moment of vulnerability impossible in the waking world. "Carrying this burden alone-"

"Not alone anymore," Siuan reminded her, reaching up to  trace the line of Moiraine's cheek in a gentle touch. "You have Lord Mandragoran now. And we have this moment, however briefly."

The dream-construct Lanfear had created allowed them a rare opportunity, connection across hundreds of leagues, free of physical limitations. In Tel'aran'rhiod, the intensity of their bond manifested visibly as a soft aura where their forms touched, their separate energies recognizing and harmonizing with each other.

"She's using this against us," Moiraine noted, even as she leaned into Siuan's touch. "Creating this space, allowing this reunion. It's manipulation designed to make her offer of alliance more tempting."

"Of course it is," Siuan agreed with a wry smile. "She wouldn't be Forsaken otherwise. But knowing the manipulation doesn't make the moment less real, or less necessary."

Moiraine's answering smile acknowledged the truth in this. Even opponents as dangerous as Lanfear could inadvertently provide gifts worth accepting, if one remained clear-eyed about their nature and intent.

They moved closer together, the dream-space yielding to their shared need for comfort and touch after months of separation and solitary burden-bearing. The chamber around them shifted subtly, the lighting dimming further as the outside world faded from focus, leaving only this moment of sanctuary in the midst of gathering storms.

"We should use what remains of this dream to plan," Siuan said, though she made no move to release Moiraine's hands. "Coordinate our next steps based on what we've learned about Lanfear's interests and the Shadow's movements."

"Yes," Moiraine agreed. "But first-"

She leaned forward, closing the remaining distance between them. In Tel'aran'rhiod, physical sensation translated differently.​ Touch conveyed emotional resonance more powerfully than tactile detail, creating bonds that transcended ordinary experience. Their kiss existed simultaneously as physical gesture and symbolic union, their separate consciousness momentarily falling into flawless harmony impossible in the waking world.

The chamber around them responded, the very air itself seeming to hum with realized emotion. In dreams, particularly constructed dreams like this one, reality conformed to match the condition of the dreamer, and what they shared transformed their surroundings into a space of utter concordance, each object and surface radiating the soft blue glow of their combined essence.

When they finally separated, both wore expressions of bittersweet acknowledgment, recognition that this moment existed outside the normal flow of time, a gift to be treasured precisely because of its fleeting nature.

"Now," Siuan said with renewed focus, though she kept Moiraine's hands in hers, "let's make use of this opportunity. Lanfear's revelation about Darkfriends tracking one of the possible Dragons suggests we need to accelerate our plans-"

They turned to practical matters then, the intimate moment preserved but set aside as they addressed the monumental challenges ahead. The Dragon Reborn still needed to be located, the Shadow was consolidating its forces, and they stood at the center of events that would reshape the world. Personal connection provided necessary strength for the journey, but could not be allowed to distract them from their purpose.

As they planned, the dream-chamber still maintained its perfect stability, evidence of Lanfear's immense power even in absence. The Forsaken had created this space with calculated intent, a demonstration of capability that served as both gift and warning. Such mastery of Tel'aran'rhiod spoke to abilities far beyond modern Aes Sedai understanding, confirming the tremendous challenge they faced in opposing those who had walked the world during the Age of Legends.

Outside the window, Tar Valon gleamed in eternal twilight, the constructed dream maintaining as they worked. But beneath this apparent stability, both Aes Sedai sensed the  oncoming threshold. Soon, dream logic would reassert itself, either dissolving this shared experience or transforming it into separate dreamscapes as their sleeping minds drifted apart.

"Remember everything," Siuan said as the initial, subtle signs of destabilization appeared,a slight blurring at the chamber's edges, momentary flickers in the light quality. "When you reach Caihieren, trust nothing Lanfear said without verification, but use the warning about disguised Darkfriends to guide your caution."

"And you, maintain the Tower's focus on Shadow movements without revealing our specific knowledge," Moiraine replied. "The longer we can search without interference from either side, the greater chance of reaching the Dragon before others can influence or harm him."

Their hands clasped one final time, the tie between them flaring for a moment as if to store for the coming separation. Then, with the relentless persistence of waking perception reasserting its demands, the dream began dissolving around them–Tar Valon's perfect spires fading, the chamber's details blurring, their own forms becoming increasingly transparent as sleep cycles pressed on toward morning in their separate physical locations.

"Until we meet again," Siuan's voice came from an increasingly distant place, though her hands still felt warm against Moiraine's own.

"In dream or waking," Moiraine affirmed, holding on as long as she could before the unstoppable flood of awareness pulled them apart.

The last image before the dream collapsed completely was Siuan's face, simultaneously present and fading, love and determination equally plain on her face as she committed each minute of their experience to memory. Then darkness descended, and the constructed dream released them both to their separate realities.

Chapter Text

Moiraine woke to dawn light filtering in through the inn's window, the dream's details unusually vivid in her memory. Ordinary dreams faded quickly upon waking, but this had been no ordinary dream. Lanfear's constructed reality had left impressions far more permanent than natural sleep ever could.

She sat up carefully, mindful of her injured shoulder. The wound ached less this morning, suggesting progress on its healing, but the dream encounter brought more troubling feelings, such as the knowledge that Lanfear could reach into her mind despite protective safeguards, confirmation that multiple Forsaken actively pursued the Dragon Reborn, and the unsettling awareness of having been manipulated even while recognizing the manipulation.

YBut under these fears lay something valuable, contact that transcended physical distance with Siuan, mutual understanding of the risks they undertook, and coordinated planning made impossible through conventional communication channels. Lanfear had indeed offered a gift, whatever her ulterior motives in doing so.

A soft knock announced Lord Mandragoran's arrival, punctual as ever. When she called for him to enter, his expression immediately revealed his perception of change in her, the subtle alertness that suggested significant development happened overnight.

"You've learned something," he stated rather than asked, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Yes," Moiraine confirmed, deciding instantly on complete honesty with her new ally. "I received confirmation that several of the Forsaken are indeed awake. One of them, Lanfear, pulled me into a constructed dream last night, a demonstration of power and an attempt to establish communication channels."

Lord Mandragoran's expression darkened, though he showed no surprise at the revelation. "Dream manipulation. A dangerous capability, particularly from one with Age of Legends knowledge of its techniques."

"Very dangerous," Moiraine agreed. "Though it did provide valuable information. She revealed that Darkfriends, specifically a Myrddraal and two human servants, hunt one of the candidates, at the behest of Ishamael, who is also awake."

Lord Mandragoran absorbed this with characteristic stoicism, immediately focusing on tactical implications rather than expressing shock. "Confirming the upper echelons of Shadow hierarchy are at play as we suspected. But, even more–" his shrewd eyes narrowed considerably. "It suggests potential conflict among the Forsaken themselves, Lanfear’s motive diverges from Ishamael's agents or she would not have revealed their plans."

"Precisely," Moiraine said, as always impressed by his immediate grasp of strategic significance. "Lanfear wants the Dragon Reborn alive and mature enough to fulfill his prophesied role. Her obsession with Lews Therin continues after three thousand years. She seeks to dominate, not destroy him."

"While others among the Forsaken may prioritize elimination over control," Lord Mandragoran concluded. "Creating practical, if temporary, alignment between Lanfear's immediate goals and our own."

"Yes, though any suggestion of alliance remains unthinkable," Moiraine emphasized. "Her ultimate purpose serves the Shadow regardless of her personal obsession with the Dragon."

Lord Mandragoran nodded in agreement, moving to the window to look out upon the street below with typical vigilance. "But now, we have a decision to make. Do we follow the path to the Mantear boy, following the discovered map to the safe house, or do we head towards the boy watched by Ishamael's agents? Two in danger–one already fled or met danger, and another currently under the eyes of disguised enemies, unaware of the threat that increases with each passing day."

Moiraine weighed the options carefully. "The Mantear boy's trail is already cold. If his father is a capable soldier as his records suggest, he would have implemented contingency plans beyond the first safe house. They may have already moved on, multiple times possibly."

"While the boy near Cairhien faces immediate danger," Lan noted. "A Myrddraal and Darkfriends watching, waiting for orders to strike."

"Yet we must also consider the source of this information," Moiraine cautioned. "Lanfear's warning could be deception designed to draw us away from the Mantear boy if he is indeed the true Dragon."

Lan considered this thoughtfully. "The risk exists in both directions. Either path could be a ruse by the Shadow, or a genuine lead to the Dragon Reborn."

"There is another consideration," Moiraine paused and said after a moment's reflection. "The child near Cairhien is reportedly living with a family on a farm, stationary and thus predictable. The Mantear boy is already in flight, mobile and therefore potentially harder for the Shadow to locate without specific intelligence."

"Military strategy would suggest protecting the more vulnerable target first," Lan observed. "The one unaware of the danger approaching."

Moiraine nodded slowly. "My instincts align with that assessment. And there is practical value in verifying Lanfear's information. If her intelligence proves accurate regarding the Darkfriends watching the boy, it establishes a benchmark for gauging future communications, however unwelcome they might be."

"Then our course is set," Lan concluded. "To Cairhien, as soon as your condition permits travel."

"My strength returns steadily," Moiraine answered, carefully stepping to test her injured shoulder with careful movement. "Mother Honra believes I can travel within days rather than the full week as initially estimated."

"Good," Lord Mandragoran said. "I have already arranged for horses to be ready when you're capable of riding and should be able to secure information today about the shortest route to Cairhien. He turned from the window, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation. "This dream encounter raises other concerns though. If Lanfear can reach into your mind despite Aes Sedai protective measures, what other capabilities might she possess? What limitations, if any, constrain her actions?"

"Valid questions," Moiraine acknowledged, frowning. "The histories suggest Dreamwalking, manipulation of Tel'aran'rhiod, was Lanfear's particular talent even among the Forsaken. But reaching sleeping minds directly requires either exceptional strength or some form of prior connection."

"Can you strengthen your dream defenses against future intrusions?"

"To some degree," Moiraine replied. "There are techniques taught within the Tower, though few sisters master them completely. With careful preparation and clear awareness of the threat, I can establish more robust barriers."

She moved carefully from the bed, testing her balance before standing upright. "What's most concerning is not just Lanfear's dream manipulation, but what it reveals about broader Forsaken activity. If multiple Forsaken have freed themselves from the Dark One's prison, operating independently and sometimes at cross-purposes..."

"Then the coming conflict will be more complex than simply Light versus Shadow," Lan finished her thought. "Competing factions within each side, pursuing separate agendas that sometimes align and sometimes conflict with their seeming allies."

"Exactly," Moiraine confirmed. "The Prophecies speak of the Dragon Reborn fighting the Dark One at Tarmon Gai'don, but say little about the intervening trials that shape his path to that final confrontation. Those struggles may determine whether he reaches Tarmon Gai'don prepared to succeed or compromised in ways that ensure his defeat."

"And our role is to ensure the former outcome rather than the latter," Lan said with quiet certainty.

The simple statement contained heaps of unspoken commitment, to find the true Dragon Reborn among their candidates, to protect him from both Shadow corruption and Tower interference, to guide his development without controlling it. A mission that had seemed merely daunting when Moiraine and Siuan first undertook it now revealed itself as an increasingly complex maze.

"We should focus on immediate practicalities," Moiraine decided, moving toward the basin of water Mother Honra had provided for morning ablutions. "We'll need supplies suitable for travel through potentially hostile territory. Food that travels well, medicines to continue my recovery, and equipment that prepares us for variable weather as we approach the mountains."

"I'll go gather information about the most recent Shadow activity reported near our intended route," Lan said. "Merchants have been seeing increased attacks along the Cairhien road that may be Darkfriend activity rather than ordinary bandit attacks. Knowing their patterns will help us avoid unnecessary confrontation as we travel."

As he moved toward the door, Moiraine called after him. "Lord Mandragoran, thank you. For accepting this burden alongside me without hesitation or doubt."

He paused, turning back with an expression of mild surprise at the personal acknowledgment. "I thought we agreed that you would call me Lan. And, there is nothing to thank me for, Moiraine Sedai. The Shadow destroyed my homeland and continues to spread its corruption unchecked. If the Dragon Reborn represents the world's best hope against that darkness, then supporting his path serves the same oath I've lived my entire life."

Moiraine nodded, testing the name Lan, in her head unspoken. Lan’s simple declaration carried more weight than flowery pledges or emotional promises. He was a man who lived his commitments through deeds rather than words, and had done so through decades of solitary war against forces that had overwhelmed his entire nation.

After he departed, Moiraine continued her morning preparations with methodical focus, allowing the familiar rituals to center her thoughts after the unsettling dream. The knowledge gained provided both advantages and new concerns. 

The encounter's most valuable aspect had been the communication with Siuan, an unrestricted communication impossible through conventional channels. Regardless of Lanfear's manipulative intent, the opportunity had served the Light's purposes as much as the Shadow's.

She would need to send a message to Siuan through conventional channels as well, confirming their plan to investigate the Cairhien lead while keeping reference to the dream encounter vague enough to avoid compromising security if intercepted. The message would also need to request any information the Tower might have gathered.

As she finished her preparations, Moiraine's thoughts turned toward the journey ahead. The road to Cairhien would take them through territories increasingly unstable as the Shadow's influence spread subtly throughout the land. Every step brought greater risk of confrontation not just with ordinary Darkfriends, but potentially with Myrddraal or even Forsaken themselves.

Yet with each such risk came the possibility of finding the true Dragon Reborn, the child whose identity would reshape the world's future. The decades-long search had barely begun, with many potential candidates still to investigate, but each encounter brought them closer to the truth the Pattern was slowly revealing.

Outside her window, Caemlyn continued its morning routines, citizens going about their business unaware of the momentous events unfolding around them. Morning light strengthened outside, banishing night's shadows as Moiraine prepared to continue her momentous search.

In the White Tower, Siuan Sanche woke from the shared dream with perfect recall of everything that had transpired. Morning sunlight streamed through her windows, illuminating a chamber identical to the one Lanfear had constructed in Tel'aran'rhiod, yet slightly different in ways reality always differed from even perfect dreams.

She rose quickly, her mind already racing through implications and necessary actions to be taken. The confirmation of Lanfear's identity required immediate, discreet investigation into what other signs of Forsaken activity might have been overlooked or misinterpreted in recent reports. The warning about Darkfriends pursuing one of the three boys needed to be verified without giving away the mission through secure channels, in order to supplement the information Moiraine already possessed.

Most significantly, the revelation that multiple Forsaken operated simultaneously, like Ishamael apparently directing broader Shadow strategy while Lanfear pursued personal agendas, changed their understanding of the nature and scope of the threat they faced. 

As she dressed in formal Ajah blue, preparing for a day of carefully balancing Tower responsibilities and secret research, Siuan found herself reconsidering a question that had troubled her and Moiraine since they first learned of the Dragon's rebirth: How long could two newly raised sisters, however determined and capable, bear the monumental task of finding and guiding the Dragon Reborn without confiding in additional allies?

"Not much longer," she murmured to her reflection as she arranged her shawl with precise movements. "The Pattern draws more threads into this weaving with each passing day."

Lan Mandragoran had already joined the quest, bringing capabilities that complemented Moiraine's perfectly. Others would follow, either by design or by the Pattern's weaving, as events accelerated toward their prophesied end. Maintaining the secrecy necessary while incorporating these new developments would require extraordinary judgment and flexibility.

A discreet knock at her door announced the arrival of Anaiya, the senior Blue sister who had been providing increasing support and access to specialized information. Siuan composed her features into typical Aes Sedai serenity before calling for her to enter.

"Good morning, Siuan," Anaiya greeted her with a warm smile that faded quickly into seriousness. "The Amyrlin has called another council meeting. Reports from the Borderlands indicate unusual Shadowspawn movements continuing despite winter conditions that would normally limit their activities."

"I'll attend immediately," Siuan replied, gathering the papers she had prepared following their previous meeting, analysis of reported Shadow activities organized by geographical pattern rather than time sequence, revealing coordinated strategy rather than random aggression.

As they walked through the Tower's corridors, toward the Amyrlin's study, Siuan maintained outward composure while inwardly correlating this new information with Lanfear's dream revelations. The pattern emerged with increasing clarity–the Shadow was committing unprecedented resources to operations across multiple fronts, directed by intelligence above the Myrddraal.

"You seem troubled this morning," Anaiya observed with the perceptiveness that made her both a valuable ally and potential concern. "More troubling than these reports alone would explain."

Siuan chose her response carefully, balancing necessary candor while protecting the core secret. "I had...unsettling dreams. The kind that leaves impressions more vivid than ordinary sleep typically allows."

Anaiya's expression sharpened with interest. "True dreams? Or something else?"

"Something else, I believe," Siuan said truthfully. "Though what exactly, I'm not certain."

This partial truth satisfied Anaiya for the moment, though her thoughtful expression suggested she might circle back to the subject later. They continued in companionable silence, each preparing mentally for the coming council and the careful balance required, addressing immediate threats while maintaining a longer perspective on events unfolding.

The White Tower stood as humanity's defense against the Shadow, as it had for three thousand years since the Breaking. 

Siuan straightened her shoulders as they approached the Amyrlin's study, where Ajah heads gathered for another assessment of increasing Shadow activity. She would serve the Light as she always had, with careful words, strategic silence, and unwavering commitment to ensuring the Dragon Reborn reached his destined confrontation prepared to succeed rather than fail.

The dream-link with Moiraine had renewed her strength for this complicated path. Whatever challenges lay ahead, from Forsaken manipulation, Tower politics, or the Dragon's own nature, she would face them with the same furious focus that had carried her to becoming Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, despite from humble yet proud beginning as a Tairen fisherman's daughter.

The Wheel of Time turned, and threads that had long been separate began to weave together into a pattern of momentous significance, the Dragon Reborn sought by Light and Shadow alike, the Forsaken returning to a world unprepared for their ancient evil, and those few who understood stood at the crossroads of history itself.

Far to the west, in a forest, under a grove of trees, Lanfear stood before a small reflecting pool. Its surface reflected not her own image but scenes from distant places, Moiraine and Lan in Caemlyn preparing for the road ahead, Siuan entering the Amyrlin's study with guarded expressions, and a child running around the streets, darting between merchant stalls.

"Interesting configurations," she murmured, her perfect features reflecting satisfaction with developments she had subtly influenced. "The pieces fall into place more quickly than anticipated."

Behind her, shadows gathered with unnatural thickness, merging to form a tall figure whose eyes occasionally flickered with fire. "You play dangerous games, Lanfear," Ishamael said, his cultured voice at odds with the ancient malevolence it conveyed. "Contacting these Aes Sedai directly risks revealing more than you gain."

"I reveal exactly what serves my purpose," she replied without turning, dismissing his concern with casual confidence. "They already suspected my identity. Confirming it while demonstrating my capabilities establishes necessary parameters for their decisions moving forward."

"Parameters that conveniently align with your personal obsession rather than our Lord's greater purpose," Ishamael observed with cold precision.

Now Lanfear did turn, her dark eyes meeting his fire-scarred stare without fear. Few among the Forsaken would dare such defiance with Ba'alzamon himself, but Lanfear had never recognized any superior, not even the Great Lord of the Dark.

"My 'obsession,' as you call it, ensures he reaches maturity with powers intact," she said. "Your agents would eliminate him prematurely, squandering the potential our Lord himself recognizes. The Pattern has chosen its champion, we require him to develop fully before the final confrontation."

"Perhaps," Ishamael conceded, though his tone suggested strong reservation. "But cultivating alliances, however crafty, with those who would guide him toward the Light's purpose serves neither our Lord nor your personal ambitions."

Lanfear's perfect lips curved in a smile that held no warmth. "You mistake understanding their motivations for alliance with them. Knowledge of your adversaries' purposes and power always serves strategic advantage." She gestured toward the reflecting pool where reflections still shifted. "I've merely...complicated their understanding of the situation. Besides, your own operations proceed unhindered."

Ishamael studied her with eyes that had witnessed the turning of Ages. "The Great Lord stirs in his prison. When he breaks free, as he inevitably will, those who have served with divided loyalty will find their reward...appropriately calibrated."

"My loyalty to our Lord remains absolute," Lanfear stated with perfect composure. "My methods simply recognize subtlety's advantage over brute force in certain circumstances."

The tension between them manifested physically in the clearing, shadows darkening, air cooling, vegetation withering where they stood. Two of the most powerful Forsaken, each pursuing the same ultimate goal through divergent approaches, neither willing to concede authority to the other.

Finally, Ishamael stepped back, flames momentarily brightening in his eyes before subsiding. "Continue your manipulations if you must. But remember, I watch not only our enemies but our supposed allies as well. The Dragon will serve our Lord's purpose in the end, whether through your...persuasion...or otherwise."

"Of course," Lanfear agreed with silken confidence. "When the time comes, Lews Therin will face his destined choice once again. And this time, with proper guidance, he will choose correctly."

Ishamael's expression suggested profound doubt, but he made no further argument. Instead, he  simply stepped back into the shadows from which he had emerged, leaving Lanfear alone with her reflecting pool and the distant images it revealed.

When certain of his departure, she allowed herself a small, genuine smile, rare for one whose emotions had been hardened by three thousand years of dreamless imprisonment. The Pattern aligned pieces precisely as she had anticipated, drawing her ancient love's new incarnation steadily closer to her sphere of influence.

This time, there would be no Ilyena to distract him. No sanctimonious White Tower to limit his potential. No allies strong enough to counter her careful guidance.

This time, the Dragon would be hers, as he should have been since the Age of Legends.

The reflecting pool's surface rippled, images dissolving as Lanfear released the viewing weave. Events proceeded according to design, hers, not Ishamael's, and certainly not the Creator's. She had waited three thousand years for this moment. A few months extra to allow sufficient development of all relevant pieces seemed insignificant by comparison.

With languid grace, she turned away from the pool and dissolved into mist that carried the faint scent of roses, leaving behind a clearing where plants withered and small creatures lay dead, sacrificed to power workings beyond mortal comprehension.

Chapter Text

The rolling countryside of Caemlyn gradually gave way to less hilly terrain as Moiraine and Lan rode along the trade road toward Cairhien. Five days had passed since they'd left the capital of Andor, five days of steady progress despite the fact that Moiraine was still recovering from the Trolloc javelin. Mother Honra's herbs and poultices had worked their healing magic, and while occasional twinges reminded Moiraine she was very definitely not entirely healed, her strength returned more rapidly than expected.

They traveled as merchant and guard, rather than Aes Sedai and companion. Moiraine wore simple woolens, the blue-fringed shawl and Great Serpent ring carefully packed away. No need to announce herself in lands reporting increased Shadow influence troubles. Lan had removed his hadori, though his stance and the heron-marked sword at his hip would still identify him as a blademaster to any with knowledge to recognize such things.

The disguise was thin, but sufficient to slip through informal inspection on the road. They avoided larger caravans and traveling groups, preferring to camp alone each night, away from curious eyes and potential informants.

"The land changes here," Lan observed as they reached a rise overlooking a broad valley where stands of pine and leatherleaf punctuated rolling farmland. "Cairhienin influence grows stronger. Note the straight rows in those fields, the precise spacing of trees along property boundaries."

Moiraine nodded. Though she'd been raised in Cairhien, she viewed her homeland now with the perspective of years away, seeing the national character reflected in the landscape itself. "Cairhienin value order above all else. Even nature must be arranged according to plan."

They rode in comfortable silence for another mile before Lan spoke again, his voice pitched low though no other travelers were visible on the road. "We should reach the Aybara farm by tomorrow evening if the directions from your Tower records are accurate. How do you wish to proceed?"

Moiraine considered it carefully. According to the information she and Siuan had pieced together, the potential Dragon Reborn had been born to a dying Aiel woman during the Blood Snow and taken in by a local farming family named Aybara. If Lanfear's warning was accurate, the farm was already being watched by Shadowspawn and Darkfriends.

"Direct approach risks alerting those watching," she said finally. "We'll need to observe first, identify the watchers before revealing ourselves to the family."

Lan nodded, approval evident in his eyes. "The terrain surrounding the farm favors surveillance. Wooded hills to the north would provide good vantage points for us and any observers already in position."

They lapsed back into silence as the road dipped into the valley. Moiraine's thoughts turned to Lanfear and Siuan. The confirmation of multiple Forsaken hunting the Dragon candidates had transformed their search from urgent to critical. Not only Lanfear, but Ishamael himself—Ba'alzamon, the Heartsbane, most powerful of the Forsaken—led Shadow ops to find the boy.

What chance did two women and a masterless Warder have against such power? The very thought should have been daunting in its impossibility, yet Moiraine felt a curious calm. The Pattern had brought them this far, weaving together threads that seemed disconnected into a design of purpose. Moiraine Damodred, Siuan Sanche, and al'Lan Mandragoran, each shaped by different circumstances but tied now to a common cause.

"You're thinking of the Forsaken," Lan said unexpectedly, reading her expression with disconcerting accuracy.

"Is it so obvious?" she asked, somewhat surprised at his perception.

"Your face remains Aes Sedai calm," he replied, "but your eyes acquire a particular focus when contemplating our true opponents."

"They are...formidable," she acknowledged. "Channelers from the Age of Legends, with knowledge and power beyond what any living Aes Sedai possesses."

"And yet still ruled by their natures," Lan observed. "Lanfear's obsession with the Dragon blinds her to other considerations. If what you've shared about the others is accurate, each has similar weaknesses."

Moiraine glanced at him with newfound respect. Where most would see only the overwhelming threat of the Forsaken's power, Lan immediately sought tactical weaknesses to exploit.

"You are correct," she said. "Pride, ambition, jealousy; the Forsaken may wield enormous power, but their flaws are equally huge. Lanfear's obsession with Lews Therin, Ishamael with his philosophical certainty of the Dark One's victory; these are vulnerabilities as well as motivations."

They reached another hill as afternoon light slanted golden across the countryside. Below, the road split, with the main branch continuing toward the Cairhien center while a smaller path wound northwest toward the region where the Aybara farm lay.

"We should make camp soon," Lan suggested, indicating a group of trees near a small stream a little ways off the road. "Tomorrow we'll leave the main road and approach from the hills, less likely to be observed that way."

Moiraine agreed, and they guided their horses off the packed dirt of the trade road. The site Lan had chosen offered water, shelter from casual observation, and multiple exit routes if needed–the instinctive selection of a man who had spent decades living within the Blight, who never let anything happen unless he controlled the variables.

As they made camp with practiced efficiency, Moiraine found herself increasingly grateful for Lan's presence. His skills complemented hers perfectly: where the One Power gave her formidable abilities in direct conflict, his expertise in stealth, tracking, and mundane combat covered vulnerabilities in her technique.

Meanwhile, Lan prepared a small fire, carefully arranged to minimize visible smoke. Moiraine unpacked the herbs Mother Honra had provided for her continuing recovery. The mixture of goldenseal, widow's thyme, and more exotic ingredients needed to steep in hot water before application to her healing wound.

"I'll scout the area," Lan said once the camp was established. "There are signs of recent travel along this stream, could be ordinary hunters, could be others with interest in travelers on this road."

She nodded, settling cross-legged to prepare her medicinal tea. While the water heated, she performed the mental exercises that all Aes Sedai practiced, centering herself and preparing for the evening ritual of dream protection. After Lanfear's demonstrated ability to pierce her previous shields, Moiraine had worked to develop more elaborate defenses, layered constructs of Spirit and Will that might not stop a determined Forsaken but would at least alert Moiraine to intrusive attempts.

The exercise returned her mind inevitably to Siuan. Moiraine wondered if Siuan was also attempting to enhance her dream defenses as she sat in her chamber in the White Tower? Were her political maneuvers working to deflect the Tower’s attention from their shared purpose? Moiraine conceded that the strain on Siuan was, surely, perhaps, even greater than the strain she carried, not in terms of physical danger of course, but rather the strain of constantly balancing the act of Tower politics while harboring world-changing secrets.

Lan returned silently, materializing at the edge of their small camp like a shadow solidifying. "The area is clear for now," he reported, crouching beside her. "But someone has been watching the road. I found a lookout position with fresh signs." His expression darkened. "Whoever it was left unusual marks on a tree, symbols I've seen Darkfriends in the Borderlands use to communicate."

Moiraine's hands hovered above her medicine. "Recently used?"

"Within days," Lan confirmed. "And facing toward the direction of travelers coming from Caemlyn."

The implications were disturbing to the extreme. Either their departure from Caemlyn had been noticed and reported through Darkfriend networks, or the Shadow maintained regularly surveilled all roads that led toward areas Dragon candidates might be found.

"We'll need to be especially cautious tomorrow," she said. "If Darkfriends watch the roads, they almost certainly watch the Aybara farm as well."

Lan nodded grimly. "I recommend we leave the horses hidden some distance away and approach on foot. Less chance of being spotted."

They ate a simple meal of dried bread, dry fruit, and slices of smoked venison they had brought from Caemlyn. As darkness settled around them, Moiraine considered her next actions carefully. The need to investigate the Aybara boy was urgent, but rushing in without properly assessing the situation could prove disastrous.

"Tell me more about Cairhien," Lan requested unexpectedly as they finished their meal. "Not the political structure or recent history, I've studied those, but your experience of it. If we're entering your homeland, I should see it through your eyes."

She was taken aback, both by the surprise and by the personal nature of the question. Lan rarely asked questions that weren't directly relevant to their immediate tactical situation.

"Cairhien is–" she began, then paused, searching for words that would convey the essence rather than facts. "A place of surfaces and depths. Nothing is stated outright when it can be implied. Nothing is shown plainly when it can be concealed. The Great Game of Houses, Daes Dae'mar, seeps through everything, from high politics to marketplace transactions."

She stared into the small fire, memories surfacing of her childhood in the Sun Palace. "To be born Damodred is to be born into the Game as a major piece, moved by some players, moving others in turn. I learned to see plots within plots before I could properly read."

"And yet you left it for the White Tower," Lan observed quietly.

"I sought...clarity," Moiraine admitted. "In Cairhien, truth is malleable, reshaped to serve advantage. The Tower offered a different path, hard and demanding, but more honest." Her mouth twisted in a small, ironic smile. "Of course, I later discovered that Aes Sedai have merely elevated Daes Dae'mar to an art form of their own."

Lan's answering smile was barely visible in the glow of the fire. "Every culture has its games of power. Only the rules change."

"Indeed," Moiraine agreed. "But we must be especially alert in Cairhienin. The local nobles will be suspicious of foreigners, particularly those showing interest in remote farms. Questions will be asked, information bought and sold."

"And if these nobles discover an Aes Sedai traveling in disguise?"

"That would depend entirely on which noble house makes the discovery and what advantage they believed they could gain from the information." She adjusted her position, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at her healing wound. "House Damodred still holds significant influence despite my uncle Laman's disastrous decisions. My name would offer us some protection, but would also draw unwanted attention to our purpose."

Lan nodded, absorbing this information with his usual terseness. "Then we remain low travelers simply until circumstances dictate otherwise."

As night deepened around their small camp, Moiraine completed her preparations for sleep, including the enhanced dream wards. Lan took first watch, his still figure barely visible at the perimeter of their camp, blending with the shadows under the trees.

Settling onto her blankets, Moiraine closed her eyes and regulated her breathing in the pattern taught to novices in the Tower. Sleep approached gradually, her consciousness withdrawing in careful stages rather than plunging directly into dreams where dangers might lurk.

Her last waking thought was of Siuan, not in the White Tower surrounded by politics and secrets, but as she had been in their shared dream, eyes bright with love and determination, her very presence a strength that transcended physical distance.

The Pattern drew its threads together and Moiraine slept.

Dawn brought low mist that hung over everything, clinging to the stream and filling the hollows between hills. They broke camp swift precision, leaving almost no trace of their presence, and continued the journey through the smaller road. As the sun burned away the morning mist, the landscape revealed itself more fully: rolling fields of farms with wood lots scattered here and there, punctuated by stone-built farm houses typical of the region.

"We should leave the road soon," Lan suggested as they approached a dense thick of pine and oak that climbed a ridge to their north. "Those woods would provide cover for our approach to the Aybara farm."

Moiraine agreed, and they guided their horses off the tracked dirt into the trees. When they were out of sight under the cover of the forest, Lan dismounted to examine the ground, looking for signs of recent passage.

"Someone uses these woods regularly," he reported after a brief inspection. "Boot prints, some recent, some older. An established path, though not immediately obvious."

"Hunters from nearby farms?" Moiraine suggested.

"Perhaps." Lan's tone conveyed skepticism. "But notice the pattern. These tracks lead to various vantage points along the road and around the farms, exactly where someone conducting surveillance would position themselves."

The implications were clear. If Lanfear's warning had been accurate, Shadowspawn or Darkfriends stood guard over the Aybara farm and its surroundings. They would need to proceed with utmost caution.

They tied their horses in a small clearing, concealing their supplies beneath a heap of fallen branches before they continued on foot. Lan moved with the silent grace that never ceased to impress Moiraine, despite his size and the sword at his hip making no sound as he navigated the underbrush. She followed in his footsteps, grateful for the Aes Sedai training that taught precision of movement as well as channeling.

The ridge rose gradually, providing increasing elevation without difficult climbing. Lan picked their route carefully, avoiding game trails and areas where their passage might disturb the forest floor or vegetation noticeably. After nearly an hour of steady progress, he halted, raising one hand in a silent signal.

Ahead, the trees thinned, opening to a rocky outcrop that provided a clear view of the valley below. Lan gestured for Moiraine to remain in place while he crept forward to investigate. She waited patiently, alert for any sound or movement that might indicate danger.

When Lan returned several minutes later, his expression was grim. "The vantage point has been used recently and not by ordinary hunters. I found this." He extended his hand, revealing a small object carved from dark wood, a curved form looking somewhat like an upside-down question mark.

Moiraine's breath caught. The symbol of the Dark One, a primitive representation of the hook that would drag souls back to the Shadow. A Darkfriend sign and a deliberate one, not hidden but left where someone would find it, a message and a warning combined.

"There's more," Lan continued. "From that outcrop, you can see several farms in the valley, including one that matches the description of the Aybara place–, larger than most, with distinctive red outbuildings. And it's being watched."

"You saw someone?" Moiraine asked sharply.

"Two men positioned in the treeline across the valley's far side. They have the farm directly in view. And unless I'm mistaken, they're not the only watchers. The position has been arranged for rotation, allowing continuous surveillance."

"Myrddraal?" she asked, though she knew Lan would have mentioned that immediately if he'd spotted one of the eyeless Shadowspawn.

"No, human. But their positioning and discipline suggests training beyond ordinary Darkfriends. Professionals, possibly former soldiers recruited to the Shadow."

Moiraine processed this information quickly. "We need to observe the farm ourselves, confirm it's the Aybara place, and identify all watchers before deciding how to approach."

Lan nodded agreement. "We can use a different vantage point, and avoid alerting those already in position. There's another rock outcrop to the east that should provide a good view while keeping us concealed."

They moved through the forest more cautiously, Lan constantly scanning for signs of other observers. The second outcrop proved more difficult to reach, requiring them to navigate a steep section of loose muddy rocks, but offered an excellent view of the valley while remaining sheltered by pines.

From their new position, Moiraine could clearly see the farm Lan had identified. It matched the description from Tower records: a main house of wood and stone, several red-painted outbuildings, fields stretching in multiple directions, and a small orchard to the west. Smoke rose from the chimney, and figures moved in the yard, adults going about daily chores, and smaller forms likely to be children.

"How many people do you see at the farm?" she asked, her eyes not as trained for distance observation as Lan's.

"Two adult men working near the barn, likely the father and perhaps an older son or hired hand. A woman by the washing line. And two children playing near the orchard," Lan reported. "The smaller one appears to be a girl of perhaps six or seven years. The other is a boy, older, possibly nine or ten."

The boy would be the right age, born during the Blood Snow as the Aiel War reached its climax on the slopes of Dragonmount. One of their three identified candidates for the Dragon Reborn.

"And the watchers?"

Lan gestured subtly toward the distant end of the valley. "The two I spotted earlier remain in position. And there," he pointed to a small rise to the southeast of the farm "a third observer. Unlike the others, that one moves periodically, circling the farm from a distance."

"A patrol rather than a fixed watcher," Moiraine mused. "Coordinated surveillance from multiple angles. Definitely professional."

"Yes," Lan agreed grimly. "And there may be others we haven't yet identified."

They settled in to observe, Moiraine observing the patterns of movement around the farm while Lan kept track of the known watchers. The family followed the rhythms of farm life: tending to their animals, maintaining equipment, and preparing the midday meal. The boy worked alongside the adults at times, played with the younger child at others, his movements full of the boundless energy of youth.

"Nothing about him appears unusual from this distance," Moiraine said quietly. "No visible signs that would mark him as the Dragon Reborn."

"What would you expect to see?" Lan asked.

"In truth, I don't know," she admitted. "The Prophecies speak of signs, but most are symbolic rather than literal. 'Born on the slopes of Dragonmount' we can confirm through records. 'Blood on the rocks of Shayol Ghul,' that lies yet in the future. At this age, he would appear as any normal child his age, though perhaps with unusual talents or insights beginning to manifest."

As afternoon progressed, they observed a fourth watcher, this one approaching the farm openly, dressed as a peddler with a pack on his back. The family greeted him in the yard, examining his wares spread on a blanket.

"No ordinary peddler," Lan observed. "Note how his attention remains fixed on the boy even as he haggles with the parents."

"A close observer, able to interact directly," Moiraine agreed. "While the others keep watch at a distance. A sophisticated operation."

The peddler remained at the farm for nearly an hour before continuing down the road toward other farms. As he departed, Moiraine saw him nod discreetly in the direction of the hidden watchers, a confirmation that their target still remained in place.

"We must learn more before approaching the farm," she decided. "The number and disposition of these watchers suggests they're reporting to someone significant, possibly a Myrddraal coordinating from nearby, or directly to Ishamael as Lanfear claimed."

"Agreed," Lan said. "We should maintain observation through nightfall, observe any shift changes or signal patterns. Then perhaps investigate the nearest village. These watchers must have a base of operations, supplies, a communication system."

As the sun began its descent toward the western hills, new movement caught their attention–a lone rider approaching the farm from the main road. Unlike the peddler, this visitor rode directly to the farm, dismounting with the confidence of someone expected or familiar.

Lan narrowed his eyes, studying the newcomer intently. "A woman," he reported. "Dressed in the style of a moderately prosperous merchant. The family greets her warmly, known to them, clearly."

"The boy's reaction?" Moiraine asked.

"Enthusiastic. Running to her, helping with her horse." Lan paused, then added, "The watchers have noticed as well. They've adjusted positions for better observation of this interaction."

Moiraine watched as the family escorted their visitor into the house. "We need to identify this woman. Her arrival has attracted special attention from those watching. She may be significant."

"We could intercept her when she leaves," Lan suggested. "Question her away from the farm."

"Possibly," Moiraine considered. "Though that risks alerting the watchers to our presence. I'd prefer to maintain our anonymity until we better understand the situation."

They continued their observation as evening approached, noting the lighting of lamps inside the farmhouse as darkness crept across the valley. The watchers remained in position, not moving, nearly invisible now except to Lan's trained eye.

"They'll stay through the night," he predicted. "Probably using the woman's visit to observe family dynamics, gathering intelligence on relationships and habits."

Moiraine nodded agreement. "Tomorrow we should investigate the village, see what information we can find without  arousing suspicion that we're particularly interested in the Aybara family specifically."

As true darkness settled over the valley, they withdrew from their vantage point, making their careful way back to where they'd left the horses. They made camp in a different location from the previous night. As they settled in, Moiraine felt the immense weight of responsibility pressing upon her.

Tonight they had been able to confirm that the Aybara farm was indeed under Shadow surveillance, exactly as Lanfear warned. A farm where a boy lived, a boy probably destined to save the world or break it anew. A boy the forces of Shadow already hunted, patiently and methodically.

"We'll find a way to approach without alerting them," Lan said, reading her concern. "I've evaded Myrddraal in the Blight itself; these watchers, skilled though they may be, are not beyond our ability to outmaneuver."

Moiraine smiled faintly at his confidence. "Let us hope you're right. Tomorrow begins the real game, not just of observation, but of action."

As she wove her dreams wards that night, Moiraine sent a silent thought toward Tar Valon, toward Siuan. We've found him, or at least one possibility. Now the true test begins.

Chapter Text

Sunlight poured into the high, narrow windows of the Blue Ajah quarters, illuminating specks of dust that danced in columns of gold. Siuan Sanche sat at her small desk, reviewing reports from eyes-and-ears stationed throughout the western kingdoms. To any observer, she appeared the model of Aes Sedai serenity – her face composed, her movements deliberate as she sorted messages by urgency and relevance.

Only someone who knew her intimately might have noticed the slight tension at the corners of her mouth, the occasional unnecessary force when she sets a paper down. Two weeks had passed since her dream encounter with Moiraine and Lanfear, two weeks of careful political maneuvering within the Tower while waiting for safe word of Moiraine's progress in Cairhien.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "Enter," she called, schooling her face into perfect Aes Sedai composure.

Anaiya opened the door, her usually kind face bearing a gravity that immediately alerted Siuan to potential trouble. "The Amyrlin requests your presence," the older Blue said quietly. "Immediately."

Siuan nodded, betraying no reaction though her mind raced with possibilities. The Amyrlin had been showing increasing interest in Siuan's research and work, making subtle queries about shadow movements, casual mentions of Moiraine's continued absence from the Tower, pointed questions about certain restricted texts Siuan had been studying.

"Did she mention why??" Siuan asked, rising to her feet and smoothing her blue-trimmed dress.

"No," Anaiya replied. "But she also summoned Verin of the Brown as well."

That was interesting and potentially concerning. Verin Mathwin was known for her extensive knowledge of history and keen interest in prophecy. If the Amyrlin was summoning sisters with such specialties, it suggested the Amyrlin might be dangerously close to uncovering Siuan and Moiraine's secret.

"Thank you for the warning," Siuan said with genuine appreciation.

Anaiya hesitated before adding, "The Hall is unsettled. Reports from the Borderlands have… been disturbing. The Amyrlin walks a tightrope between those who demand immediate action and those counseling patience."

"And where do you stand?" Siuan asked, curious about her mentor's position.

"With those who believe preparation without panic serves us all best," Anaiya replied carefully. "Though I question whether we have sufficient information to prepare adequately."

The statement carried clear subtext. Anaiya suspected Siuan knew much more, beyond what had been shared with the general Hall. She had been providing increasingly valuable support, granting Siuan access to restricted archives and deflecting unwanted attention, all without demanding explanations Siuan couldn't safely provide.

"The Tower has weathered three thousand years of threats by balancing vigilance with restraint," Siuan responded with tact. "I trust the Amyrlin's judgment in maintaining that balance."

Anaiya's slight smile acknowledged the careful non-answer. "Indeed. I won't keep you further; the Amyrlin values punctuality."

They walked together through the Tower's wide corridors, separating at the entrance to the Amyrlin's study where guards stood at attention. Gitara's successor to the title of the Keeper of Chronicles Aeldra Najaf nodded briefly as she escorted Siuan into the circular room where the Amyrlin sat.

Tamra Ospenya sat behind a beautifully carved desk, her ageless Aes Sedai face revealing nothing of her thoughts. Beside her, Verin peered over half-moon spectacles, an open book forgotten in her hands. Unlike the Amyrlin's perfect composure, Verin exuded absent-minded scholarly energy even as she stood still.

"Siuan," the Amyrlin acknowledged with a slight nod. "Thank you for coming promptly."

"Mother," Siuan responded with the appropriate curtsy. "I am at your service."

The Amyrlin gestured to a chair positioned across from her desk. "Sit. We have matters to discuss that require both discretion and directness."

Siuan took the offered seat, maintaining careful neutrality in her expression despite the warning tingling those words triggered. Direct questions from the Amyrlin would require direct answers, the Three Oaths allowed no outright lies.

"You've been tracking Shadow movements," the Amyrlin began without preamble. "Specifically, patterns that suggest coordination beyond what we typically observe from the Shadowspawns."

"Yes, Mother," Siuan confirmed. "The reports from Borderlands demonstrate unusual strategic consistency over the past five months."

"And you've also been studying texts related to the Forsaken," the Amyrlin continued, her gaze steady. "Particularly focusing on Lanfear, according to the record keepers."

Siuan felt a momentary chill. The Amyrlin had been paying closer attention to her research than she had anticipated. "Historical context seemed valuable for understanding current events," she replied carefully. "If Shadow forces display uncommon organization, examining past instances of such coordination provides useful perspective."

Verin stirred and inched slightly to one side, her seemingly distracted gaze suddenly sharp with interest. "Quite logical," the Brown sister murmured. "Although it’s interesting that your research focused on Lanfear specifically rather than Ishamael or Sammael, who were more directly associated with war strategies."

The subtle trap was well laid, such a specific question about her research choices require explanation. Siuan navigated with care: "Lanfear's historical tactics were manipulation and indirect influence rather than direct military command. And the current patterns suggest tactics of working through agents and proxies, Lanfear’s patterns of approaches, versus tactics of commanding forces directly."

The Amyrlin and Verin exchanged a brief glance that Siuan couldn't read. Then Tamra leaned forward slightly, her ageless face stern, like a school principal about to reprimand a wayward student.

"Siuan, I will speak plainly. The Tower faces increasing pressure from multiple quarters. The Borderland rulers send increasingly urgent requests for Aes Sedai assistance against what they describe as 'coordinated Shadowspawn activity.' The Hall debates appropriate response, divided between those who see existential threat and those who perceive ordinary Blight fluctuations magnified by anxiety."

She paused, studying Siuan's face. "Your analysis has proven valuable in these discussions. Your practical Tairen sense and scholarly self-discipline brings perspective others lack. Which is why I must ask directly: What are you holding back from the Hall?"

The directness of the question momentarily startled Siuan even though she had anticipated it. She could not lie, but complete truth would endanger everything she and Moiraine had worked so hard for.

"Mother, I have shared all confirmed information in my reports," she said carefully. "What I've withheld are speculative connections and unsubstantiated or unconfirmed theories that require additional instigation to gather concrete evidence before they can be presented to the Hall."

Technically true, the Dragon's rebirth had only been learned through Gitara's Foretelling years ago, but Moiraine and her still have not yet gathered enough significant external evidence needed to present that knowledge to others.

"These speculative connections," Verin interjected, her voice mild though her eyes remained sharp. "They concern the Prophecies of the Dragon, do they not?"

Siuan maintained her composure through sheer force of will. How much did they suspect? How much had they pieced together from her line of inquiry and Moiraine's extended absence?

"The Prophecies represent one framework for interpreting current events unfolding," she acknowledged. "Like the Karaethon Cycle or the various Borderland predictions about the signs and details that foretell the Last Battle."

"And does this interpretive connection drive Moiraine Sedai's extended absence from the Tower?" the Amyrlin asked directly.

A dangerous question, one that required treading carefully between telling the truth while still maintaining the much needed secrecy of certain aspects of the mission, to ensure Moiraine could continue her search unhindered. "Moiraine Sedai pursues Blue Ajah interests in the field, Mother. Her specific investigations align with broader concerns about Shadow activity, though her approach differs from mine."

"Different yet complementary," the Amyrlin observed. "You gather information from the Tower’s archives while she investigates in the field. An effective partnership."

The word "partnership" carried unmistakable weight, one that implied a level of intimate knowledge beyond professional team work. Siuan's heart skipped a beat. Did Amyrlin suspect the personal nature of their relationship as well?

"The Blue Ajah values both scholarly understanding and direct action," Siuan replied evenly. "Sisters serve differently, according to their strengths."

Verin cleared her throat softly. "If I may, Mother? I believe Siuan's study has particular merit when viewed in context with some historical patterns." She adjusted her glasses, the very image of academic excitement. "The Third Cycle of the Karaethon prophecies, for example, contains passages that are eerily similar with what we see in recent reports from the Borderland, specifically the concerns around 'shadows moving against their source' and 'the blind eye that sees.'"

While Siuan was grateful for Verin’s interruption, as it provided momentary relief in shifting focus from Siuan's activities to broader prophetic interpretation, she remained wary. She could instinctively tell that Verin was masking an extraordinary, keen observation–Verin saw connections more clearly than others. 

"Indeed," the Amyrlin acknowledged. "Which brings us to the purpose of this meeting." She stared at  Siuan for what seemed like a very long time, enough that Siuan felt the Amrylin could pierce through the veil of her very soul and drag out the unbridled truth with just her eyes alone. "I am establishing a special council to assess these developments more thoroughly. A select few, working directly under my authority rather than through normal Ajah channels. I want you to serve on this council, Siuan."

The offer surprised Siuan; it was both an opportunity and potential trap. Being close to the Amyrlin, serving on her special council, would give her insight into Tower-wide intelligence and power beyond her currently relatively junior rank. But, it would also place her under heightened scrutiny, limiting her ability to easily help Moiraine without putting them both in greater harm’s way of being discovered. 

"I am honored by your confidence in me, Mother," she said carefully. "May I ask who else will serve on this council?"

"Verin, representing the Brown," the Amyrlin responded. "Anaiya from the Blue. Meilyn from the White for logical analysis. And perhaps most surprisingly, Elaida from the Red."

Siuan's carefully maintained composure nearly fell apart upon hearing Elaida’s name. Elaida Sedai was known for her ruthless stance against anything she perceived as threat to Tower authority, blindly devoted to hunting down male channelers, and her personal dislike of Siuan who she believed wronged her years earlier.

"A...diverse gathering of perspectives," Siuan commented neutrally.

"Deliberately so," the Amyrlin confirmed. "The situation requires examination from multiple viewpoints, even those seemingly opposed to each other. The Pattern grows complex and no single Ajah approach will suffice."

"And the council's specific mandate?" Siuan asked, mind racing to assess implications.

"To determine whether current Shadow activities represent ordinary cyclical increases or omens of something more prophetic," the Amyrlin answered bluntly. "And to develop appropriate response strategies for either case."

The mandate cut perilously close to the secret Siuan guarded. If the council investigated thoroughly enough, they might eventually reach the same conclusion Gitara's Foretelling prophesied, that the Dragon had been reborn and the Last Battle approached.

"A significant responsibility," Siuan acknowledged. "When does the council begin its work?"

"Immediately," the Amyrlin replied. "Your first meeting will take place this afternoon in the Examination Chamber. I expect full commitment to this task, Siuan. It takes precedence over your other research."

The implication was clear. The Amyrlin was providing official sanction for investigation into areas Siuan had been exploring by herself, while simultaneously ensuring that the said study happened under supervision.

"I understand, Mother," Siuan said, tilting her head respectfully. "I will serve as you direct."

"Good." The Amyrlin's expression softened slightly. "Your perspective is valued, Siuan. Your analytical abilities and practical approach bring balance to theoretical learning and political navigation. Ensure to speak your mind freely in these council sessions. We need truth, not diplomatic courtesy."

"Thank you, Mother." Siuan rose as the Amyrlin as the Amyrlin dismissed her. "I will prepare for this afternoon's meeting."

As she departed from the Amyrlin's study, Siuan's mind raced through implications and contingencies. The council provided the resources to guide Tower policy in directions that might eventually support the Dragon Reborn, but it also placed great limitations on her freedom to continue the search in secret without oversight.

Before she could reach the Blue quarters, Verin appeared beside her, seemingly materializing from an intersecting corridor. The Brown sister's ability to move quickly despite her figure and scatterbrained ways had astonished novices and full sisters alike for decades.

"A moment, if you please," Verin said mildly, guiding Siuan toward a small alcove containing a statue of Elisane Tishar, the first Amyrlin Seat. "Something I neglected to mention in our meeting."

Siuan followed, curious despite her wariness. "Yes, Verin Sedai?"

Verin adjusted her shawl, smoothing then fussing with its fringe in apparent absentmindedness while her eyes remained sharply focused. "In my study of Shadow patterns from the past, I stumbled on a fascinating account of the Trolloc Wars. A description of how Myrddraal coordinated forces through human agents, Darkfriends stationed in ordinary villages who provided intelligence and received commands." She blinked owlishly behind her glasses. "Remote farms were particularly targeted for observation. Isolated, yet connected to broader communities through trade and family relations."

The precision of the observation could not be a coincidence. Siuan forced herself to keep her cool. "A logical approach for infiltration," she commented neutrally.

"Indeed." Verin nodded, as if pleased with a student's correct answer. "And one that seems to be repeating, if certain reports from western kingdoms are accurate. Particularly near Cairhien, where travelers have spoken of unusual interest in remote farming villages from 'merchants' who ask pointed questions about local families and children."

The information was simultaneously alarming and valuable. It was confirmation of Shadow interest in precisely the region where Moiraine now searched for the Dragon candidate. But how did Verin connect these specific reports to their significance? And why share this information semi-privately rather than in the Amyrlin's presence?

"An important pattern to monitor," Siuan acknowledged carefully.

"Oh, certainly." Verin's expression did not shift, but a flutter of knowing spark glinted in her eyes. "Patterns reveal so much when properly observed. Like research patterns focusing on specific prophecies, bloodlines from the Aiel War, and Forsaken associated with personal obsession rather than military conquest."

Siuan felt cold certainty settle in her stomach. Verin had pieced together far more than she had revealed to the Amyrlin. The Brown sister's seemingly scattered academic interests had allowed her to make connections others might miss, inferences that led to close to the truth about the Dragon's rebirth.

"Research follows where evidence leads," Siuan replied, neither confirming nor denying the implied understanding.

Verin smiled faintly. "As it should. The search for knowledge does the Light the most good when unconstrained by preconception." She adjusted her glasses, pushing it back up her nose. "I look forward to our council sessions, Siuan. Different perspectives illuminate truth from complementary angles."

With that cryptic statement, she departed, leaving Siuan to contemplate her subtle message. Was Verin offering alliance? Warning? Simple academic interest? The Brown Ajah's dedication to knowledge sometimes transcended other considerations, including Tower politics and hierarchies.

Siuan proceeded to the Blue quarters, mind working through this new complication. Verin clearly suspected something significant, possibly the truth or some adjacent theory, and had chosen to signal that awareness while maintaining plausible deniability.

In her chamber, Siuan found a small sealed note waiting on her desk, marked with the Blue Ajah cipher used for eyes-and-ears communications. She broke the seal and read the brief message, encoded in specialized Blue terminology:

Stream flows south from mountains. Western banks show unusual erosion patterns. Three fisherfolk watch calm pools where deep currents run beneath. We wade carefully.

Translated from Blue cipher, the message conveyed essential information: Moiraine had reached Cairhien and identified the Dragon candidate's location. Shadow agents watched the boy. And Moiraine and Lord Mandragoran proceeded with caution.

Siuan felt simultaneous relief and renewed stress. Moiraine had located the Aybara boy, confirming Lanfear's information about Shadow surveillance in the process. This validated their decision to prioritize this candidate over the Mantear boy, but also confirmed the grave threat already gathering around the potential Dragons.

She carefully destroyed the message, burning it completely in the small heater she kept for this purpose. Then she settled at her desk to prepare for the afternoon council meeting, compiling her analysis of Shadow movements into a presentation that indicated patterns without giving away the deeper meaning.

She needs to be able to provide the council enough information so it can guide the Tower toward appropriate vigilance while prematurely announcing the Dragon's return too early. The child needed time to grow up, protected but not held prisoner by White Tower politics and prejudices.

As she worked, Siuan found her thoughts returning to Moiraine. Was she safe, investigating under the very eyes of Shadow agents? Had Lan Mandragoran proven as valuable an ally as their initial impression suggested? And what of Lanfear, had the Forsaken stayed out of her hair since that dream encounter or was Lanfear still actively manipulating events around the candidates?

The Pattern wove all of them together now–Aes Sedai, Forsaken, Dragon candidates, Warders, Tower politics, Shadow agents–in an increasingly complex design. Siuan could see only fragments of the pattern from where she sat, attempting to guide threads without complete understanding of the final picture. She straightened her shoulders, focusing on the immediate task. 

Light illumine you, Moiraine , she thought, allowing herself a moment of personal feeling before settling back into her Aes Sedai composure. We walk the knife's edge, and the blade grows sharper with each step.

The Examination Chamber occupied a middle level of the White Tower, a circular room whose walls held no windows but were instead lined with arched silver pillar walls. Once a room that once housed the silver arches, then used as the chamber to test applicants for admission to the Tower, the room now functions as a space for confidential discussions that require both privacy and symbolic transparency. The silver pillars with their lined-in mirror enabled every woman to view one another and themselves from several perspectives, a physical reminder that there were multiple sides to truth..

Siuan arrived precisely on time, to discover Anaiya already seated. The older Blue offered a small smile of greeting, her eyes silently conveying support.

"An interesting assembly the Amyrlin has gathered," Anaiya murmured as Siuan took position beside her. "Elaida seems particularly energized by the appointment."

"No doubt she sees opportunity to advance Red priorities," Siuan replied quietly. "Any council addressing Shadow threats inevitably comes up against male channelers."

"Indeed." Anaiya's expression remained serene, but her tone carried warning. "Be careful, Siuan. Elaida has expressed...concerns...about your research focus. She is asking if a sister newly raised would be so engrossed in matters of prophecy and history of the Forsaken."

Before Siuan could respond, the chamber door opened to admit Verin and Meilyn. The White sister moved with characteristic precision, her gray-gray streaked hair tied in plain bands. One of the oldest Aes Sedai during the Aiel War, Meilyn’s logical approach to all matters had earned her respect across Ajah boundaries. Unlike many Whites, Meilyn approached worldly affairs with practicality rather than theoretical musings, a testament to her age perhaps.

Verin nodded pleasantly to everyone, already appearing half-distracted by whatever currently occupied her thoughts. She carried a leather satchel, which was filled with papers and small bound volumes that almost fell out, suggesting she had extensively prepared for the meeting.

Elaida arrived last, her timing calculated for maximum effect, carrying herself with the perfect posture, the precisely correct inclination of head to acknowledge each person according to exact Tower hierarchy. Her red-fringed shawl seemed particularly vivid against the chamber's neutral tones, symbolic of the Red Ajah's passionate commitment to their primary purpose: finding and gentling men who could channel.

Her gaze lingered on Siuan with barely concealed distrust. The antagonism between them went back to Siuan's time as Accepted, when an incident made Elaida believe Siuan had betrayed her trust. The incident, while insignificant to everyone else, had apparently burned in Elaida's memory as unacceptable impudence.

"Sisters," Elaida greeted them collectively, her voice cold and measured. "The Amyrlin has tasked us with significant responsibility. Let us proceed with appropriate diligence."

With that directive, they arranged themselves around the round table at the chamber's center. No chair stood out as the head position, another deliberate design choice that reinforces equality between the sisters no matter their different Ajah and years of service.

Anaiya, as the only current sitter present, began the discussion. "The Amyrlin has tasked us with assessing current Shadow movements and determining appropriate Tower response. Let us begin by sharing what each of us brings to this council."

"I offer analysis of reported Shadow activity across all regions," Siuan said, placing a folder of documents on the table. "Particular focus on patterns suggesting coordination rather than simple, random aggression."

"The White Ajah contributes a logical framework for distinguishing correlation from causation in these reports," Meilyn added. "Many events may appear connected only on the surface, which may lead to potential over-contextualization of ordinary fluctuations in Shadowspawn behavior."

Verin adjusted her glasses. "The Brown provides historical context, previous periods of increased Shadow activity and how those worked out. Also we offer prophetic texts examinations that may relate to current observations."

"And the Red Ajah," Elaida stated firmly, "has had hands-on experience combating the Shadow's most dangerous weapons, men who channel, corrupted by the Dark One's taint. Any serious analysis must take into account whether more male channeling is accompanied by these Shadow movements."

The opening statements established differences of viewpoint that would shape their collaboration. Siuan noted both strength and weakness in each sister. Meilyn's intellect could help to distinguish genuine pattern from imagined connection, while Elaida's focus on male channelers could either help identify the Dragon Reborn or lead to premature gentling of a crucial figure in humanity's defense against the Shadow.

"Let us begin with established facts," Anaiya suggested, leading the discussion with deft diplomacy. "Siuan, please present your analysis of confirmed reports."

Siuan opened her folder, presenting maps marked with locations of Shadow activity over the past six months. "These incidents show clear progression from random raids to strategic positioning. Note particularly these concentration points along Borderlander kingdoms, and more recently, these movements into Andor and Cairhien."

Her finger traced verified sightings of Myrddraal, Trolloc bands, and reported Darkfriend activity, establishing visual representation of the pattern she had discerned in scattered reports.

"Most concerning is this shift from direct violence toward surveillance and intelligence gathering," she continued. "Darkfriends positioned in rural communities, particularly focusing on isolated settlements and farms. They observe rather than attack in most cases, suggesting information collection for some larger purpose."

Meilyn studied the maps with clinical precision. "The statistical deviation from normal Shadowspawn behavior is significant," she acknowledged. "These are not random fluctuations."

"The question becomes: what intelligence do they seek?" Anaiya asked, directing attention to the core mystery.

Elaida leaned forward, her gaze intense. "The obvious answer is that they search for channelers, specifically male channelers born since the Aiel War. The timing aligns with when such individuals would begin showing signs of ability."

Siuan maintained calm despite internal alarm at how quickly Elaida approached dangerous territory. "That represents one possibility," she acknowledged. "Though Shadow agents also target communities with no reported channeling incidents."

"Reports reach the Tower inconsistently," Elaida snapped back. "Many manifestations go unreported until destructive capacity becomes evident."

Verin cleared her throat softly. "Historical precedent suggests multiple potential objectives. During the Trolloc Wars, Shadow forces gathered intelligence on defensive capabilities, supply routes, and community leadership before major offensives. But they also sought individuals with particular bloodlines or talents."

"Bloodlines?" Meilyn asked, her logical mind immediately seeking specification.

"Indeed," Verin confirmed, leafing through her notes with apparent absentmindedness that Siuan now recognized as careful performance. "Particularly those with historical significance or prophetic allusion. The Karaethon Cycle references several bloodlines important to events preceding Tarmon Gai'don."

The Brown sister's introduction of prophecy into the discussion created a subtle shift in atmosphere. Prophecy remained controversial within the Tower–respected as a piece of history yet viewed with skepticism by many modern Aes Sedai who preferred direct observation to ancient prediction.

"Prophecy provides contextual framework rather than literal guidance," Elaida stated dismissively. "Our focus should remain on verifiable threats; specifically, the statistical likelihood of male channelers emerging in these targeted communities."

"I suggest we consider multiple hypotheses simultaneously," Anaiya intervened smoothly. "Shadow motivation may encompass several objectives rather than a single purpose."

The discussion continued for hours, each sister contributing analysis from her Ajah's perspective. Siuan participated actively while carefully navigating around the central truth she couldn't reveal–that the Dragon had been reborn, that signs and omens that clung around specific children born during the Blood Snow, that Moiraine now investigated one such child under the very eyes of Shadow agents.

As afternoon light faded from the chamber's single high skylight, Anaiya guided conversation toward productive outcomes. "We must provide the Amyrlin assessment and recommendations. What conclusions have we reached?"

"Shadow forces display unprecedented coordination suggesting direction from higher authority than Myrddraal," Meilyn summarized with characteristic precision. "Their prioritization of information gathering over immediate attack suggests preparation for future actions, not immediate attack."

"Historical patterns suggest this represents early positioning for significant conflict," Verin added. "Whether it implies Tarmon Gai'don or merely another Trolloc War scale event remains to be seen."

"The specific interest in children born during the Aiel War warrants particular attention," Elaida insisted. "The Red Ajah should increase vigilance in these targeted regions, identifying potential male channelers before the Shadow can corrupt them."

Siuan tensed internally at the last recommendation, as it put their mission to search for the Dragon at risk. "Any approach must balance vigilance with restraint," she answered warily. "Premature intervention might destabilize communities and drive potential targets deeper into hiding, whether they be channelers or individuals significant for other reasons."

"A measured response maintains Tower authority while addressing genuine threat," Anaiya agreed, supporting Siuan's position without appearing to take sides. "I suggest deploying sisters in pairs or small groups to key regions, operating with observation as primary objective rather than direct intervention."

The council eventually settled on recommendations that weighed the various Ajah viewpoints–enhanced intelligence gathering through expanded eyes-and-ears networks, discrete deployment of sister pairs to regions showing highest Shadow activity, and better coordination with Borderland rulers regarding defense preparations.

As they gathered their materials at the meeting's conclusion, Elaida approached Siuan directly, her expression flawlessly composed yet somehow managing to express disapproval.

"Your analysis shows...unexpected sophistication for one so recently raised to the shawl," she observed, the compliment wrapped in insinuation. "I wonder what inspired such keen interest in these particular patterns."

"The Blue Ajah concerns itself with causes and justice," Siuan replied evenly. "Shadow movements threatening innocent communities represent both worthy cause and potential injustice requiring attention."

"Indeed." Elaida's gaze remained unblinking. "And does Moiraine Damodred share this particular interpretation of Blue Ajah responsibility? Her extended absence coincides interestingly with the regions you've identified as Shadow targets."

Siuan maintained Aes Sedai serenity while formulating response that satisfied truth without revealing critical information.

"Moiraine Sedai pursues Blue Ajah interests according to her own judgment and the Amyrlin's approval," she said. "Our approaches complement each other through different methods."

"Complementary approaches," Elaida repeated, subtle emphasis suggesting skepticism. "How...efficient. I look forward to hearing her firsthand reports when she eventually returns to the Tower."

The implied threat hung between them. Elaida intended to question Moiraine directly when opportunity arose, seeking inconsistencies or contradictions that might expose whatever secret she suspected they held.

"The Tower benefits from diverse perspectives," Siuan replied neutrally. "Each sister contributes according to her strengths."

With a final measuring look, Elaida departed, her red-fringed shawl swaying with her precisely controlled movements. Siuan released a careful breath, maintaining outward composure while inwardly calculating ramifications and necessary countermeasures.

"An interesting beginning," Anaiya commented, joining Siuan as the others left. "Elaida seems particularly invested in making connections between Shadow activity and potential male channelers."

"The Red Ajah sees the world through its primary mandate," Siuan observed diplomatically.

"As do we all," Anaiya agreed with a slight smile. "Though some mandates allow a much broader perspective than others." She lowered her voice slightly. "Be careful, Siuan. Elaida's interest extends beyond professional curiosity. She has made inquiries about your access to restricted archives and correspondence with field operatives."

The warning confirmed Siuan's growing sense that Elaida represented a specific threat rather than general obstacle. The Red sister clearly suspected something significant, worth pursuing, to drive her investigation of Siuan's activities.

"Thank you for the advice," Siuan replied sincerely. "I'll proceed with appropriate caution."

After Anaiya departed, Siuan remained briefly in the Examination Chamber, studying her reflection in the silver-framed mirrors. The woman who looked back at her appeared perfectly composed, the very epitome of Aes Sedai serenity, with a blue-fringed shawl that marked her as devoted to causes and justice.

Yet beneath that serene exterior worked a mind now calculating complex contingencies and escape routes. If Elaida's suspicions grew too pointed, if the Amyrlin's special council approached too close to the truth, if Tower politics threatened the Dragon's safety, what then? What actions would serve the Light if secrecy became liability rather than protection?

Siuan had pledged herself to finding and guiding the Dragon Reborn, sworn alongside Moiraine after they had witnessed the Foretelling. That oath transcended even her loyalty to the Tower itself if its institutional interests conflicted with the world's true needs.

She hoped such conflict would never materialize. The White Tower had stood as humanity's stronghold against the Shadow for three thousand years. Ideally, the Tower would eventually embrace its role in preparing for the Dragon's emergence, supporting rather than controlling his destined confrontation with the Dark One.

But if not...if politics or prejudice or simple fear led the Tower to act against rather than for the Pattern's design–

Siuan squared her shoulders, her reflection showing momentary steel beneath Aes Sedai calm. She had risen from humble origins as a Tairen fisherman's daughter to earn the shawl through relentless determination and unwavering purpose. Whatever challenges arose, she would face them with that same determination, that same clarity of purpose. 

Siuan Sanche, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, would ensure the Dragon Reborn reached that confrontation prepared to succeed, regardless of what sacrifice or the high cost such commitment would incur.

Chapter Text

Dawn’s soft light wove through the mist coating the valley floor, turning every tree and fence post at the Aybara farm into a pale, hazy shape. Moiraine and Lan, concealed at the forest’s edge, watched the place with steady patience. Three days of close observation had let them pick out both the family’s routine and the Shadow’s watchmen, who lurked on the outskirts. Four of them, rotating in a careful pattern, never fewer than two at any time. Their shifts weren’t on a tidy schedule, either. They changed positions randomly, all to avoid being predictable.

"The boy tends the sheep each morning," Lan murmured as they settled into a concealed position overlooking the farmyard. "Always takes them to the eastern pasture alone."

Moiraine nodded, her eyes trained on the farmhouse in the distance. She had watched the child go about his chores every morning without fail.  The pattern had been consistent; shortly after sunrise, he would  set off, shepherding his small flock around a stand of trees, spending several hours away from the main house before coming back for his midday meal. It was the best chance to see him alone. The Darkfriend watchers seemed less attentive then, one would shift position mid-morning, causing a brief gap in their coverage.

"The eastern watcher changes position at mid-morning," she noted. "That gives us a narrow window when his attention shifts."

Lan grunted agreement, his eyes constantly scanning for threats. Their days of observation had confirmed Lanfear's warning with disturbing precision, a coordinated surveillance operation focused entirely on the Aybara farm, with particular attention to the boy. Professional, patient, and thorough.

Movement at the farmhouse drew their attention. The door opened, releasing a sturdy boy of nine or ten with a shaggy herding dog trotting close at his side. Even from their vantage, Moiraine caught the careful way he moved and the calm way he handled the sheep’s gate. He didn’t waste a step or fidget like most boys his age. Instead, he guided the flock methodically, using short commands that his dog obeyed right away.

"There's something about his eyes," Moiraine whispered. "A seriousness beyond his years."

Lan didn’t respond, but Moiraine knew he’d noticed. It was a hard quality to define, like the boy saw more of the world than others did. Whether that set him apart as the Dragon Reborn was still unclear, but he was no ordinary farm boy.

They watched as he led the sheep along a well-worn path toward the eastern pasture. He would soon be out of sight of the house in a few minutes, and, just as importantly, away from the watchers’ main line of vision when the man stationed to the east shifted his post.

"Now," Lan said quietly. "We have perhaps fifteen minutes before the next watcher takes position."

They moved with practiced stealth, circling ahead through the forest to intercept the boy's path before he reached the main pasture. Lan slipped through undergrowth like a fox on the prowl, hardly making a sound as he led Moiraine through thick brush and low-hanging branches. She followed carefully, leaning on her own Aes Sedai training to avoid snapping twigs underfoot.

They reached the designated position, a narrow clearing beside the path, with minutes to spare. Young birch trees provided cover. Lan melted into the shadows at the clearing's edge, disappearing in a way that always amazed Moiraine, especially given his size. Moiraine positioned herself to appear as a tired traveler resting on a fallen log. She wore simple clothes of good quality, which gave her a cover of looking like a traveling merchant rather than nobility or Aes Sedai.

Soon, the gentle jingle of sheep bells reached her ears. She kept her eyes on the path ahead, letting herself look mildly surprised when the boy and his dog led the flock into view. He stopped at once when he spotted her. His dark eyes widened in surprise, but showed wariness rather than fear. The herding dog gave a low, warning growl, as if it could sense its master's caution.

"Good morning," Moiraine greeted him warmly, offering a friendly smile that hinted at relief rather than threat. "I hope I don't startle you. The path was steep, and I needed rest before continuing."

The boy studied her with remarkable intensity for one so young, his gaze assessing in ways that seemed beyond his years.  His posture was polite, but Moiraine sensed tension behind it. "This isn't the main road," he said finally. "We don’t see many travelers come this way."

She nodded, letting her smile turn self-deprecating. "I'm afraid I may have taken a wrong turn," Moiraine said ruefully. "I'm seeking the village of Emond's Field. The innkeeper in Devon said there was a shorter path through these hills but I may have wandered off course."

The boy relaxed slightly at this reasonable explanation, though his eyes remained watchful. His eyes darted around the clearing, as though checking for others. "You're not far wrong, but this path leads to our pasture, not the village." He pointed beyond the tree line. "Emond's Field is that way, about three miles. But the main road is easier walking."

Moiraine noted his speech: clear, direct, more articulate than typical for a farm child his age. "Thank you for the guidance. I'm Mistress Alys," she said, using the alias she'd prepared. "I carry herbs and remedies."

The boy hesitated before responding, plainly considering whether to offer his name to a stranger.  At last, good manners won out. "Perrin Aybara," he said finally. His voice carried an unmistakable sense of duty.

Perrin Aybara. Moiraine took note of the name, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise. He was the child she had come seeking, the one rumored to be born on the same night the Dragonmount slopes ran red with the Blood Snow. Born to a dying Aiel woman during the Blood Snow, adopted by the Aybara family after his mother's death on the slopes of Dragonmount.

"A pleasure to meet you, Perrin," Moiraine said warmly. "Your sheep look well-tended."

"They're my responsibility," he replied simply, with a seriousness that again struck Moiraine as unusual for his age. "Have been since last harvest."

Moiraine watched him with growing curiosity, "Quite a responsibility for someone so young," she remarked, watching his reaction and hoping to draw him into talking a bit more.

A flicker of pride lit his  eyes, mixed with something deeper, an unspoken seriousness. "Father says I have a way with animals. They trust me." As if to demonstrate, a ewe approached him, butting her head gently against his leg. He let one hand drift down and absently stroked her wool, the motion natural and calming.  She nuzzled his leg, comfortable in his presence.

Moiraine seized the chance to connect. "I understand. People say I have a similar way with plants, much as you have with animals. If I’m careful and patient, they thrive under my hand. Different gifts, but both valuable." 

She tried to keep the comparison casual, letting it sound like small talk. In reality, she wanted to see if mention of gifts or special talents stirred anything in him. A discussion of natural talents could allow her to probe for signs of channeling potential without raising suspicion. The Dragon Reborn would eventually manifest immense ability with the One Power, though such manifestation typically began in mid-adolescence rather than childhood.

Perrin only nodded, showing no particular suspicion. Still, the way he looked at her made it clear he missed little. "Do you travel alone?" Perrin asked, glancing around with surprising perceptiveness. "These roads aren't always safe."

"My guard is nearby," Moiraine answered truthfully, glancing towards the trees where Lan hid. "He rests while I …. The innkeeper mentioned wild thyme grows in these hills."

Perrin nodded, apparently accepting this explanation. "It does. There's a patch near the stream over that rise." He pointed toward where Lan was concealed, though there was no indication he had noticed Lan’s presence. "Mother uses it for cooking."

Moiraine followed his gesture thoughtfully. "Your mother sounds resourceful," Moiraine observed. "Is your family from these parts originally?"

The question might seem casual, but it probed directly at his origins. If the Aybaras had told him of his adoption, his answer would reveal much about his knowledge of his true heritage.

Perrin seemed momentarily uncertain, as if the question touched something sensitive. "We’ve lived on this land all our lives," he said carefully. "Father's family has farmed this land for generations."

The phrasing was interesting – clarifying his father's lineage without directly addressing his own. She recognized the way he ducked around mentioning his own birth. Did he know he was adopted? Had the Aybaras shared any part of his true origin? Perhaps, he probably didn’t realize there was anything to mention. His certainty that he belonged here was genuine.

"A strong connection to the land is valuable," Moiraine said, keeping her tone conversational. "Much like strong connections to people. You have siblings?"

"A sister, younger," he replied. "And two brothers, older. Abel and Donnell are helping Father with the south field today."

This aligned with their observations; the Aybaras had two biological sons who appeared older than Perrin, and a younger daughter they had glimpsed playing in the farmyard. The family had apparently integrated their adopted son fully into their household and responsibilities.

The sheep began to wander toward the pasture, and Perrin glanced after them with a sense of duty evident in his posture. "I should get them moving," he said. "They need the fresh grass in the eastern field."

Moiraine nodded, understanding that their unexpected conversation had already lasted longer than needed. "Of course. Thank you for your help with directions. Perhaps I'll find that wild thyme before I head on."

As Perrin prepared to leave, his expression shifted, a hint of caution returning. "Be careful on these paths, Mistress Alys" he said seriously. "Some strangers have been seen watching the farms recently. Father says not to worry too much, that they're probably just travelers, but..." He trailed off, as if feeling something larger than a child could name, and then added with unexpected intensity, "Things aren't always what they seem."

The warning startled Moiraine with its perceptiveness. This boy had noticed the watchers, despite their professional concealment. And more, he sensed something wrong about them, something beyond ordinary caution about strangers.

"Thank you for the warning," she said, studying him with renewed interest. "I'll be cautious."

He gave a final nod, whistled to his dog, and headed off, glancing over his shoulder once or twice until he and his flock disappeared around a bend in the trail. When he was gone, Lan slid silently out of the shadows, his boots hardly disturbing the leaves, moving to Moiraine's side. 

"Unusual child," he observed quietly, echoing what Moiraine already felt. "His awareness exceeds his years. He knew someone was out here, even if he didn’t see me. He sized up that clearing like a man expecting trouble."

"Indeed," Moiraine agreed, nodding. "He noticed the watchers, though I doubt he understands their true purpose. And he has an...intensity... I've rarely seen in children."  She brushed a stray leaf from her sleeve. 

"The way he scanned the clearing," Lan noted. "Like a soldier assessing terrain. Not learned behavior, instinctive."

They moved away from the path, retreating deeper into the forest where they could speak without risk of discovery. The brief encounter had provided valuable information, though nothing definitively confirming whether Perrin Aybara was the Dragon Reborn or simply one of many children who might match partial criteria.

"We need more," Moiraine said once they had reached a safe place. "This single meeting reveals his character but tells us nothing of potential abilities or his connection to the prophecy. All we can see is that he’s different. We need more than that."

Lan nodded agreement. "We can’t just knock on the family’s door. Direct approach would alert the watchers. And we still don't know how they ferry information back to their master, through an ordinary Darkfriend messenger, or something more dangerous."

"The village then," Moiraine decided. "Emond's Field. People in rural places remember everything from births to rumored scandals spanning generations. If anything unusual surrounds the boy's birth or adoption, someone there will know of it."

"A merchant seeking herbs provides reasonable cover for visiting the village," Lan agreed. "I'll play your guard as planned. Best to avoid direct questioning about the Aybaras initially – observe reactions when they're mentioned instead."

The strategy made sense. A traveling merchant and guard would hardly raise suspicion in a farming village, especially if they showed interest in herbs. And small villages typically maintained complex social webs where family histories intertwined over generations. Indirect approach would yield more genuine information than direct questioning, which might trigger defensiveness or suspicion.

So they set off. Keeping to a wide arc, they circled the farm and avoided the watchers’ lines of sight while maintaining awareness for others not yet identified. The Shadow's surveillance operation was sophisticated; they couldn't assume they'd located all observers.

More than once, Moiraine felt a prickle at the back of her neck that made her think a hidden pair of eyes was trying to track her. But Lan guided them with expert care towards the main road, where they could walk openly like any other travelers. 

As they walked, Moiraine considered the boy Perrin. His seriousness, his evident connection to animals, his perceptiveness, all unusual qualities, but none definitively linking him to prophecy or channeling ability. The Dragon Reborn would eventually manifest immense power, but childhood indicators might be subtle, such as dreams, intuitions, occasional inexplicable occurrences rather than obvious manifestations.

"What did you see in him?" she asked Lan, curious about his assessment.

Lan considered before answering, his expression thoughtful beneath his usual stoicism. "A watchfulness beyond his years. The way he positioned himself,  always aware of all directions, always maintaining space for movement. Not trained behavior, but instinctive, like a Borderland child raised under threat of Trolloc raids."

"Yet he's been raised here, far from such dangers," Moiraine noted.

"Some qualities come from blood, not teaching," Lan replied. "The Aiel are born warriors. If his mother was Aiel, as your records suggest–"

The observation was perceptive. Aiel blood might explain certain aspects of the boy's demeanor, the quiet intensity, the awareness of surroundings, the connection to land and animals. But it didn't answer the central question: was this child the Dragon Reborn, or simply one of many who shared certain characteristics with the prophesied figure?

They reached the main road without incident, emerging from forest paths onto a well-maintained track that connected scattered farming communities to larger towns.

"The watchers will eventually realize we've approached the boy," Lan noted as they walked. "Even with their rotation gap, our presence in the area will raise suspicion."

"Which means we have limited time," Moiraine agreed. "Today for the village, perhaps tomorrow for another approach to the boy if opportunity arises. Then we must move on, whether with answers or merely more questions."

The gravity of their search weighed upon her. 

Emond's Field proved to be a modest village with a sturdy stone inn, a cozy green at the center, a prominent inn with local ale, and a few businesses that catered to farmers. It was everything Moiraine expected from a quiet settlement in Cairhienin territory. The mayor was also the innkeeper, as was often the case in these small rural communities.

When they reached the Winespring Inn, Bran al’Vere, the innkeeper and mayor, greeted them in a friendly manner, offering rooms and a promise of hearty food at sundown. Moiraine introduced herself as a traveller carrying herbs, and Lan as her guard. Bran responded as if he’d heard the story a dozen times, no suspicion crossed his open face. After all, herb merchants commonly traveled rural communities, bringing remedies and news to isolated communities while collecting local plants unavailable in more populated areas.

"Rooms for two nights," Bran al'Vere, the innkeeper-mayor told them with professional cheer. "The common room serves dinner at sundown, my wife's cooking is known throughout the region."

"We've heard excellent things about Emond's Field," Moiraine replied pleasantly. "Particularly your local herbs. I'm hoping to purchase wild thyme and perhaps feverease if any grows nearby."

Her simple inquiry guided the conversation naturally, while cementing their cover. Bran, in response, became freer with sharing local knowledge, detailing where various herbs could be found in surrounding hills and which local women maintained the best kitchen gardens.

"Mistress Aybara grows excellent feverease," he mentioned casually. "Farm west of the village. Her remedies have helped half the families here through winter colds, I’d say."

Moiraine’s pulse quickened a bit at the mention of Aybara. She kept her voice light. "Perhaps I should visit her, discuss potential purchases, if it’s not too far."

Bran's expression shifted subtly, not suspicion exactly, but a momentary guardedness. "Good folk, the Aybaras. Though they've had some trouble lately with odd strangers near their property. Best to approach by main road, announce yourself clearly.  No surprises."

The comment confirmed local awareness of the Shadow's surveillance, though interpreted as ordinary troublemakers rather than something more sinister. It also suggested protective community attitude toward the family; the innkeeper subtly warning against approaching in any way that might seem threatening.

"Of course," Moiraine agreed easily, letting her relief show. "I would never intrude unexpectedly. I’d hate to alarm anyone. Perhaps they visit the village regularly? I could make acquaintance here first."

"Market day tomorrow," Bran offered. "Most outlying farms bring goods to trade. The Aybara wool is particularly sought after – their sheep produce unusually fine fleece."

The conversation flowed to other topics: local farmland, which families brought the best produce to market, and who might have extra herbs to sell. In each interaction that followed, Moiraine collected stray comments like puzzle pieces. Bits of gossip, family histories, and speculation about the watchers all gradually came together.

The village wisdom, a woman named Daise Congar with impressive knowledge of medicinal plants, proved particularly informative once Moiraine established professional respect through discussion of healing techniques. They traded tips and remedies, earning each other’s respect. Eventually the talk drifted to local families.

"You might consider the Aybara place," Daise offered. "They do have fine feverease. And that Aybara boy has a remarkable touch with animals. Healed a lamb others thought lost last spring. Just sat with it through the night, talking quiet-like. Come morning, the creature was up and nursing."

"A natural gift," Moiraine observed. "Some children show such talents early."

Daise nodded, her shrewd eyes evaluating Moiraine carefully. "That one's different, though not in any troublesome way. He has a knack with animals. It’s almost eerie how they listen to him. Serious child, always thinks before speaking. Not many boys his age are so patient. His mother says he rarely cried even as a babe. Just a gentleness that some folks have."

Moiraine inclined her head in polite agreement. The reference to infancy provided opening for deeper inquiry. "They've raised him from birth then?"

"Oh, he's theirs right enough," Daise said, though the note in her voice made it clear there was more to the story. Raised from tiniest babe, though the circumstances were...unusual."

"Unusual?" Moiraine prompted gently.

Daise hesitated, plainly considering how much to share with a stranger. "Well, it's no great secret. The boy's mother died birthing him, an Aiel woman, captured during the war then escaped. Master Aybara found her near death in the hills, the babe barely born beside her. She spoke no Common Tongue, but made it clear through gestures she wanted them to take the child. That sort of kindness shows you who they are."

This aligned precisely with the Tower records Moiraine and Siuan had uncovered, and the timing matched the Foretelling perfectly, placing Perrin's birth during the final battle on Dragonmount.

"A sad beginning, but they must care for him deeply," Moiraine commented, careful to maintain appropriate sympathy rather than reveal her intense interest. "The Aybaras showed great kindness taking in an enemy's child during wartime."

"Good people, as I said," Daise confirmed. "Raised him no different than their own blood children." She glanced around, then leaned closer.  "Boy doesn't know the circumstances; at  least, they haven’t told him last I heard. They plan to tell him when he's older, mature enough to understand." Her eyes flicked to Moiraine with a hint of warning. "So if you happen to speak with him, mind your tongue."

"I understand," Moiraine said, softly reassuring. 

This explained the boy's careful phrasing when Moiraine had asked about his family origins. He hadn't lied about being from these parts all his life. He simply didn't know his birth occurred elsewhere, to another mother.

"Some might consider it a difficult burden, raising another's child," Moiraine observed, seeking further insight into the family dynamics.

Daise snorted dismissively. "Those who think that way have small hearts. The Aybaras consider him blessing, not burden. And the boy himself–" She paused, considering her words. "There's something special there. Not just his way with animals, but how he sees things others miss. Notices weather changes before they come, finds lost objects like he can sense where they've gone. Nothing unnatural, mind," she added quickly, "just unusual awareness."

The description caught Moiraine's attention sharply. Enhanced perception, connection to natural patterns, sensing what others missed, these could be early, subtle manifestations of abilities that might eventually include channeling. Not definitive evidence, but certainly consistent with what one might expect in a young Dragon Reborn.

Their conversation continued, touching on other village families and local concerns, but Moiraine had gained the crucial information she sought. She had assembled a clearer picture of both Perrin Aybara and the community that unwittingly sheltered a potential Dragon Reborn.

When evening fell, more villagers strut into the Winespring Inn for dinner and ale. The common room buzzed with activity as local farmers gathered for evening meal and conversation. Lan still sat at the table in the corner, one which gave him a clear sight to the main door and kitchen door. Though he appeared relaxed, Lan kept his gaze roaming the room. 

"The blacksmith mentioned odd travelers asking questions about local families," he reported quietly when Moiraine joined him. "Particularly about children born during or just after the Aiel War. The Shadow's agents have been methodical."

"They seek the same confirmation we do," Moiraine noted grimly. " If we show too much interest, they’ll move faster."

Their meal arrived, a hearty country fare of roasted lamb, root vegetables, and fresh bread that confirmed the innkeeper's boasts about his wife's cooking. As they ate, Moiraine continued gathering impressions and information, noting which villagers commanded respect, which family connections seemed strongest, and which subtle tensions might be exploited if necessary.

Soon, talk of the day’s labors turned serious when the door opened, admitting a fresh group of villagers seeking evening refreshment. Among them, Moiraine recognized Tam al'Thor, the village blacksmith with whom Lan had spoken earlier. He noticed them immediately, offering a polite nod of acknowledgment before joining friends at another table.

"He bears watching," Lan murmured. "Not a simple blacksmith, despite appearances. His stance, the way he enters a room. He had had military training, high-level at that. Probably served in the Aiel War, possibly as an officer."

Moiraine had noticed similar qualities, a watchfulness beneath the man's friendly demeanor, movement that suggested disciplined training rather than farming background. People like him usually maintained connections beyond the surrounding villages, which makes him a potential source to gather credible information.

As the evening progressed, conversation throughout the common room grew more animated, fueled by the innkeeper's excellent ale and natural village sociability. Moiraine maintained her merchant persona, expressing appropriate interest in local concerns while avoiding topics that might reveal her true purpose.

Near evening's end, the door opened once more, another villager burst in, breathless. He made directly for the mayor, whispering something that caused the large man's face to darken with concern.

"Friends," Bran al'Vere called, his voice cutting through the room's chatter. "Jon Thane reports strange fires on the heights near the Aybara farm. Could be ordinary travelers, could be those troublesome strangers. Either way, best we check."

Alarm spread through the common room; the room's atmosphere transformed instantly from relaxed conviviality to purposeful concern. Men set down mugs and rose, some moving toward weapon racks to gather whatever weapons were close at hand, tools and hunting bows, mostly.  The blacksmith, Tam al'Thor, was among the first ready, his movements revealing that military background Lan had identified.

"Strange fires?" Moiraine questioned softly, her eyes meeting Lan's with shared concern.

"Could be innocent," he replied, though his expression suggested he believed otherwise. "Or could be signal fires, Darkfriend communication."

Their private exchange was interrupted as Bran approached their table. "Apologies for the disruption, Mistress Alys. Just a precaution, probably ordinary travelers camping where they shouldn't."

"Of course," Moiraine replied pleasantly. "Though if trouble threatens, my guard is experienced in such matters. He would gladly assist."

"My mistress prefers I stay well-practiced," Lan said with a small smile, his demeanor calm while his hand resting easily on his sword hilt. 

The offer was calculated. It helped to  establish goodwill while potentially positioning them closer to events happening around the Aybara farm. Bran considered briefly before nodding acceptance.

"Another capable hand is always welcome," he acknowledged, grateful for another sturdy fighter. "Though I expect we'll find nothing more dangerous than careless woodsmen."

Lan rose, adjusting his sword belt with casual competence that drew appreciative glances from several villagers. "I'll return when the matter's resolved," he told Moiraine, playing his role perfectly.

While the men headed off, Moiraine found herself among the women who stayed behind, quietly discussing the possible causes of those fires. She kept the conversation going, learning how protective this community was. They worried about trouble at the Aybara farm, and the watchers everyone had seen lurking around.

Yet her mind worked rapidly, assessing implications. The timing seemed unlikely to be coincidence. How likely would it be for fires to occur near the Aybara farm after she and Lan had expressed interest in the family. Had their presence triggered accelerated Shadow activity? Was this the beginning of more direct action against the potential Dragon Reborn?

The evening stretched long, women maintaining conversation while awaiting news from their men. Moiraine used the opportunity to further relationships with key village figures, particularly the innkeeper's wife, whose obvious influence extended beyond mere cooking.

Nearly two hours passed before the men returned. They looked puzzled and uneasy rather than victorious. Lan caught Moiraine's eye immediately, a subtle shake of his head conveying that whatever they'd found was neither simple explanation nor immediate danger.

The gathered villagers, however, demanded answers.

"Well?" demanded Daise Congar, voicing the question on every woman's mind.

"Yes, there were fires right enough," Bran confirmed. "Three of them, placed in triangles on the ridge overlooking the Aybara place. But no one tending them though,  just carefully built fires with strange markings scratched in dirt around each pit."

"Markings?" several voices asked simultaneously. At once, the room buzzed with questions. 

The blacksmith, Tam, stepped forward. "Symbols I've not seen before. Not natural formations, definitely deliberately placed. But whoever made them was gone before we arrived."

"The Aybara family?" Moiraine asked, maintaining her cover while seeking crucial information.

"Safe in their home," Bran assured everyone. "Master Aybara had already noticed the fires, had his boys ready with bows though he hadn't yet investigated himself. We checked the farm thoroughly, no sign of intruders."

The common room buzzed with speculation, everything from ordinary travelers to wilderness spirits to Trollocs suggested as explanation. Some women whispered about Trollocs or evil omens, but the men tried to settle nerves, suggesting it might just be vagrants playing pranks. Moiraine noted how quickly the last suggestion was dismissed with nervous laughter, despite the village's considerable distance from the Blight. Even here, the Shadow maintained its place in human fear, if only as a distant legend.

When Lan finally rejoined her, his expression revealed nothing to casual observers, though Moiraine read tension in the set of his shoulders. "A word in private," he murmured as conversations swirled around them.

They withdrew to a quiet corner, maintaining the appearance of a guard reporting to his employer while exchanging critical information.

"Darkfriend signals," Lan confirmed grimly. "Arranged in ritual pattern I've seen before in the Borderlands. And the symbols carved around each fire, Trolloc script, messages left for Myrddraal."

Cold certainty settled in Moiraine's stomach. "What did they say? Can you read such markings?"

"Fragments only," Lan admitted. "But enough. 'Watchful eyes' was repeated, and 'blood of the ancient enemy.' Also something that translates roughly as 'the chosen one approaches.'"

The implications were clear and deeply concerning. Their presence had been noted by the Shadow's watchers, interpreted as significant interest in the boy from powerful outside forces. And worse, it sounded as if the Shadow's agents already suspected Perrin Aybara might be the Dragon Reborn.

"We've accelerated their timeline," Moiraine concluded quietly. "Our interest confirms their suspicions about the boy's importance."

Lan nodded, tension in his features. "And they're calling for higher authority to take notice. These weren't signals to local Darkfriends, they were messages directed upward, perhaps to Myrddraal or worse."

The situation had deteriorated faster than anticipated. What had begun as an observation mission now threatened to become a direct confrontation with Shadow forces determined to eliminate a potential Dragon Reborn before he could come into his power. It was the threat Moiraine had dreaded. If the Shadow knew where to focus, they would move with deadly force. 

"We need to decide," Moiraine said, her voice barely audible even to Lan. "Whether to withdraw, watching from greater distance, or to act directly, protecting the boy openly."

Lan's expression remained impassive, but his eyes conveyed understanding of the monumental decision before them. "If we withdraw, we risk leaving him vulnerable to whatever the Shadow sends next. If we intervene directly, we confirm his importance beyond doubt."

The dilemma crystallized the central challenge of their entire mission. The Dragon Reborn needed protection to reach maturity and fulfill his destined role, yet too much protection risked drawing exactly the attention that endangered him.

Moiraine took a steadying breath. She considered the boy she had met that morning, remembering his honest concern and the calm, almost uncanny way he handled his dog and sheep. Could this quiet boy truly hold the world’s fate in his young hands?  If he was indeed the Dragon Reborn, his survival was essential to humanity's future, regardless of what breaking might accompany his battle against the Dark One.

"We'll remain through tomorrow's market," she decided. "Observe the family in public. See how he interacts with others, whether anything reveals a latent power. And assess whether immediate intervention is necessary. Then withdraw temporarily, not abandoning him, but to establish a wider perimeter, far enough to avoid tipping off the Shadow."

Lan nodded agreement. "A measured approach. We’ll have to watch for more signals in the night, too."

They returned to the common room's activity, Moiraine kept up polite small talk with the innkeeper’s wife and a few curious villagers, but her mind was on the hidden watchers who might be creeping in the dark, carrying messages to whoever commanded them. The evening gradually wound down, villagers returning to homes with nervous glances toward surrounding darkness, conversations thick with speculation about mysterious fires and enigmatic symbols.

Later, in the privacy of her room, she fortified her protective wards, strengthening them with particular care, knowing the Shadow would now be even more alert. And her thoughts as usual turned to Siuan. She wondered if Siuan faced similar escalations in the Tower, if political pressure increased as Shadow activity grew more visible across the land. Did Siuan also feel  the knots of tension that came whenever news of the Dragon Reborn’s possible appearance spread too far.

Finally as she lay down, she felt the weight of her task more than ever. Another night was closing in, and the world outside remained full of hidden dangers. Tomorrow, she would watch Perrin Aybara among his friends and neighbors, trying to see if the prophecy spoke true in his eyes. She could only hope, for his sake and for the fate of the world, that she was making the right choices.

The Pattern wove its design with both dark and light threads, drawing them all inexorably toward confrontation that had been prophesied for three thousand years. One thing was certain: the Shadow had marked this farm boy with strange fires and secret signals. Whether he was truly the Dragon Reborn or not, the boy was caught in a grand battle of light and dark, despite being in a simple farming village. And now, Moiraine and Lan were caught there with him, risking everything to learn if he was the one foretold to save, and possibly break, the world.

Chapter Text

The dream came with unusual clarity, each feature as crisp and tangible as waking life. Moiraine found herself standing in an enormous circular chamber with walls of shimmering crystal. Pale light pulsed behind the translucent surface, flickering in rhythm with her heartbeats. Beneath her feet, an intricate mosaic displayed the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai–a graceful, curved line splitting white and black circles, representing saidin and saidar in perfect balance.

She recognized the setting instantly: Tel'aran'rhiod, the World of Dreams. Only a Forsaken of Lanfear’s skill could shape this vision, warping the mutable realm as easily as a potter shapes clay.

"So predictable," a melodious voice remarked, drifting toward Moiraine from behind. "You investigate the boy directly, despite knowing Shadow watchers watch him."

Moiraine turned to see Lanfear at the chamber’s center, dressed in a gown of such deep blue it appeared nearly black. Tiny silver stars embroidered across the dark fabric like a private constellation. Lanfear’s porcelain-perfect features were arranged in an expression of faint disappointment. Despite everything Moiraine knew of her treachery, her beauty still remained breathtaking—with a sharp, hypnotic quality, like a blade concealed in silk.

“My methods are my own,” Moiraine replied evenly, forcing calm over the quick flutter in her chest. Her personal wards against dream-intrusion proved once again useless in the face of Lanfear’s skill. She stood as steady as she could manage. “As are my reasons.”

"Your methods draw attention," Lanfear countered, circling Moiraine with predatory grace. "The fires were merely the beginning. Myrddraal will follow, then perhaps others among the Chosen whose interest you've now provoked."

Moiraine maintained careful neutrality, neither confirming nor denying that the warning affected her plans. She was unwilling to let the Forsaken see the anxiety twisting in her gut. Instead, she asked, "Why this concern, Lanfear? If the boy attracts Shadow attention, doesn't that serve your master's purpose?"

Lanfear laughed, the sound chiming like crystals struck by a careful hand. "My 'master'? How charmingly simplistic. You Aes Sedai and your tidy labels." She gestured casually, and the chamber transformed – walls dissolving into a swirling mist before reforming into the snug interior of a rustic farmhouse that Moiraine recognized as the Aybara home.

"The boy sleeps there," Lanfear said, pointing toward a closed door. "Dreaming ordinary childish dreams, unaware of forces gathering around him. Such innocence." Her perfect features softened momentarily, an expression almost like nostalgia crossing her face. "I remember when Lews Therin was that young, before power and destiny corrupted him with pride."

The statement startled Moiraine with its implications. "You knew the Dragon as a child? Before he became Tamyrlin?"

Lanfear’s dark, fathomless eyes reflected ancient memories. "I’ve known Lews Therin in many incarnations, across countless Ages. When the Wheel turns, certain souls return with purposes unchanged, though circumstances alter their paths."

With another elegant wave, the farmhouse blurred away. The crystalline chamber returned, gleaming with the same pulse of hidden radiance. Lanfear's momentary sentimentality vanished behind the veil of her usual calculating poise. "You still fail to understand my position, Aes Sedai. I seek the Dragon's maturation, not his premature elimination. Other Forsaken would destroy him before he reaches his power, fearing prophecy's fulfillment. But I know better, his existence woven into the Pattern itself."

Moiraine studied Lanfear’s face. "You mean essential for another breaking of the world again."

"Essential for everything," Lanfear corrected, her perfect lips curving in a smile equal parts fascination and disdain. "Breaking, rebuilding, continuing–the cycle that sustains existence itself." She stepped closer, and Moiraine felt the raw power simmering beneath Lanfear’s skin. It was like standing near an open furnace. "Which brings me to our current...situation. Your meddling hastens matters. You’ve prodded events forward before the Pattern readied itself."

"The Shadow found him without my intervention," Moiraine pointed out, forcing herself to hold Lanfear’s gaze. "Your own warning about Darkfriend watchers confirms they identified him independently."

"They suspected," Lanfear clarified, inclining her head. "But your presence cements their guess. The moment an Aes Sedai circles a backwater village with a keen eye on one boy, their suspicion hardens toward certainty. Ishamael takes notice. Others will follow. And Ishamael"–she paused with a faint shudder–"is not one to let things take their course."

The name sent chill through Moiraine despite her composure. If Ishamael had indeed turned attention toward Emond's Field and Perrin Aybara–

"You fear Ishamael," Lanfear observed with something approaching amusement. "Wise, though your fear should be greater still. He is...unbalanced...even by Forsaken standards. His philosophical certainty about the Dark One's inevitable victory drives him toward elimination of potential threats rather than manipulation of them."

"Why tell me this?" Moiraine asked directly. "What purpose does this warning serve for you?"

Lanfear's expression became calculating. "Let us say our immediate interests temporarily align. I have my reasons, and you have yours, but the result is the same. Ishamael would prevent both our goals if he identifies the boy prematurely. I do not want that, and neither do you."

Suddenly, the room shifted to a bird’s-eye view of Emond’s Field, as though they hovered high, floating  over its central green. Tiny figures moved below, villagers moving between stalls, preparing for market day, unaware of their observation from dream-heights.

Lanfear’s melodious voice resonated through the dizzying vantage. "Tomorrow brings opportunity and danger in equal measure," Lanfear said. "Shadow agents will watch with heightened interest, seeking confirmation of their suspicions. Your presence already draws their attention – your continued focus on the boy would provide the certainty they seek."

Moiraine understood the implicit suggestion. "You believe I should withdraw, redirect attention elsewhere."

"Precisely," Lanfear confirmed. "Let doubt persist in their assessment. The longer uncertainty remains, the longer the boy continues ordinary development before powers manifest and choices become...limited."

The advice aligned disturbingly mirrored Moiraine's own tactical assessment and caution. Still, trusting a Forsaken, even in a small matter, felt perilous. Would agreeing with Lanfear's immediate recommendation somehow compromise her broader mission?

"The pattern requires certain developments in proper sequence," Lanfear added, studying Moiraine's reaction. "Premature confrontation serves neither Light nor Shadow, merely chaos. The Dragon must reach his power through designed path, not broken one."

"And you've discerned this path?" Moiraine asked skeptically.

Lanfear smiled with genuine amusement. "I've witnessed it across Ages, Aes Sedai. While you study fragments of prophecy and incomplete histories, I remember. The difference between us is not merely power, but perspective–yours bounded by a single lifetime, mine extending across the turning Wheel itself."

Her claim despite grand carried with it a disturbing ring of truth. The Forsaken, after all, had lived during Age of Legends, then slept imprisoned for three thousand years before emerging into this current Age. If Lanfear somehow retained memories beyond even that span, across previous turnings of the Wheel itself–

"Your concern is noted," Moiraine said. "Though your interest in my decisions remains suspect."

"Naturally," Lanfear agreed with surprising candor. "Trust between us would be foolish. Yet alignment on specific matters remains possible despite our fundamental differences." She gestured again, and the dreamscape dissolved again, returning them to the floating chamber of crystal.  Lanfear glanced at Moiraine with a lingering smile, as if she could sense the tumult inside her thoughts. "Consider this parting tidbit: the boy shows promise, but dreams ordinary. The Dragon manifests dreamwalking ability before channeling, always, in every incarnation. Yet this boy's only dreams are of dogs and sheep, family conflicts and childish adventures. Nothing transcendent, nothing prophetic."

"You've been observing and probing his dreams," Moiraine stated rather than asked. "Violating a boy’s mind–"

"I've observed many dreams," Lanfear interrupted, dismissive. "I do as I must. After all, I hold dominion over Tel’aran’rhiod. The matter remains that the boy dreams no true dream. "

The information, if true, was potentially significant. But could Moiraine trust anything that came out from a Forsaken’s mouth? Lanfear's every word served her own agenda, regardless of temporary alignments or shared immediate goals.

"This conversation grows tiresome," Lanfear said abruptly. "Consider what I've shared or dismiss it – the choice remains yours, as the consequences will be."

She began to fade, the crystalline walls dissolving. Yet just before she vanished, Lanfear’s voice drifted across the space like a last echo. "Tell Siuan Sanche that Tower eyes grow suspicious– especially the Red sister Elaida, who gathers evidence of your shared interest, enough to spin her own tale. Farewell, Moiraine."

With that warning, the constructed dream collapsed entirely, leaving Moiraine floating in the emptiness of ordinary sleep patterns. Yet even as consciousness faded back toward natural dreams, her mind continued processing Lanfear's revelations and manipulations, separating potential truth from certain deception while identifying usable intelligence amidst Forsaken games.

Moiraine woke before dawn, the dream's details unusually vivid in memory. Outside her window at the Winespring Inn, Emond's Field remained dark and quiet, the sky still holding the last traces of night. The earliest risers would soon begin morning activities. And the market day would bring heightened activity as outlying farms brought goods to trade and purchase necessities unavailable outside the village.

She rose and dressed efficiently, performing her morning ablutions while organizing her thoughts. Lanfear's dream visitation demanded careful analysis. The Forsaken clearly pursued her own agenda regarding the Dragon Reborn, one that partially aligned with Moiraine's immediate goal while fundamentally opposed in ultimate purpose.  The dream already felt like a blade lodged between her ribs, ominous and impossible to ignore.

A soft knock announced Lan's arrival. When she admitted him, his expression immediately revealed awareness of something significant.

"You've had contact," he stated rather than asked, reading subtle changes in her demeanor that others would miss entirely.

"Lanfear," Moiraine confirmed quietly. "Another dream visitation. She warns that our interest in the boy has accelerated Shadow response. Myrddraal will likely investigate soon, Ishamael might not be far behind."

Lan absorbed this with characteristic stoicism, immediately focusing on practical implications rather than expressing alarm at Forsaken involvement. "So the fires in the hills were a warning shot. Are we staying?"

Moiraine exhaled, pressing her fingers briefly against her temple "We have a choice: pull back to limit suspicion, or stay close to protect him if the Shadow moves tonight or tomorrow."

Lan considered briefly before offering his assessment. "Withdrawal seems tactically sound if other candidates remain viable. The boy appears well-established here, with community protection and no immediate signs of channeling ability that would draw Red Ajah attention. We could continue observation from greater distance while investigating other possibilities."

His analysis aligned with her own thinking and Lanfear’s suggestion. The fact that she agreed with a Forsaken made her uneasy.

"But ignoring him entirely is not an option," Moiraine added. "Lanfear offered another piece of information. She claims the boy lacks true dreams, which often manifest in those with significant Pattern connection, particularly those who will channel. If accurate, this suggests he may not be the Dragon Reborn despite matching birth circumstances."

"Can her assessment be trusted?" Lan asked pragmatically.

"Unknown," Moiraine admitted. "Dreamwalking represents her particular expertise among Forsaken, suggesting potential accuracy. Yet every statement serves her broader manipulation."

They fell silent as sounds of waking village filtered through the inn's walls,  broken only by the first muffled clatter of pots from the inn’s kitchen as the kitchen staff began breakfast preparations and the stable hands attended morning chores. Cookfires would soon be lit, and villagers would begin stirring for market day. One that would bring farmers like the Aybara family into town.

"Today provides opportunity for final observation," Moiraine decided. "We'll maintain our merchant cover, watch the boy and if circumstances permit, I'll attempt one additional test before departing."

"What test?" Lan asked.

"A subtle channeling probe," she explained. "Not touching him directly, but creating a sensitivity field around him, observing whether he shows unconscious resonance with saidar. Not definitive evidence either way, but potentially informative."

Lan nodded agreement. "I'll focus on identifying potential Shadow agents among market visitors. After yesterday's fire signals, they may increase surveillance or even attempt direct approach."

Their strategy established, they separated to maintain their respective covers: Moiraine the travelling herb merchant preparing displays of modest medicinal plants and salves for display; Lan the stony-faced guard, seeing to the horses and looking every bit the weary mercenary. By the time sunrise painted the sky pink and gold, they were in position on the village green among other merchants setting up for the day.

Market day in Emond’s Field felt alive. Farmers from miles around jostled in with carts piled high–vegetables, cheeses, wool, hand-carved goods. Children scampered underfoot, shrieking in excitement, and older folk gossiped happily, catching up on news since the last big gathering. The scents of bread, livestock, and fresh hay mingled in the cool morning air.

Moiraine found a modest spot near the center of the green, carefully laying out dried herbs: feverfew, comfrey, mint, and more. She kept a peripheral watch for Lan, who lounged nearby with apparent indifference, though Moiraine could almost feel his vigilance.

Sure enough, mid-morning brought the Aybara family rolling up with their wool-laden cart. Perrin’s father drove, mother by his side, and the children trailed behind. Perrin Aybara, stocky and serious-eyed, walked with a slow, deliberate grace—cautious for his age, like a boy who’d seen more of the world’s weight than others his height.

She noted his interaction with other children, acceptance without complete integration, as if some subtle difference separated him from age-mates despite surface friendships. He participated in conversation yet remained slightly apart, observing with that preternatural awareness that had caught her attention previously.

Moiraine paid special attention to how the villagers interacted with Perrin. More than once, she caught older craftsmen pausing to nod his way as if he were a grown man. Younger children regarded him as a friendly big brother, yet still different somehow. And women were naturally protective of him. The village seemed to sense something about him, a quiet potential, although they lacked framework to identify exactly what quality distinguished him. She felt a faint flutter at her heart: was this boy truly the one? Or would he prove only an important thread, not the Dragon Reborn?

As the Aybara family set up their wool display, Moiraine caught Lan's eye, a subtle nod indicating his surveillance had identified something concerning. Following his gaze, she noticed three strangers moving through the market–two men and a woman, dressed as ordinary travelers yet displaying certain discordant details. Their clothing showed minimal road dust despite apparent travel, their movements maintained constant awareness of surrounding activities, and most tellingly, their attention repeatedly returned to the Aybara family despite apparent interest in various market goods.

Lan’s low voice reached her a little before noon. He had drifted closer, pretending to examine her display.  "Darkfriends," Lan confirmed quietly. "Professional agents rather than local converts. The woman carries concealed blade, the larger man has a modified staff which likely conceals a sword."

Moiraine forced a polite smile at a passing villager who admired her herbs. The presence of direct Shadow agents confirmed the increased Shadow interest on Perrin Aybara. 

When it was time for the mid-morning meal, villagers gathered for communal meal around central green in clusters to eat and socialize. Moiraine saw her chance to move subtly near the Aybara group, without appearing to target them specifically. Taking advantage of her merchant cover, she drifted over to Mistress Aybara offering selected herbs, and starting a seemingly innocent conversation about remedies for chills

"Your wisdom mentioned your skill with remedies," she said pleasantly. "I thought perhaps these might interest you–feverfew cultivated in northern mountains, particularly potent."

Mistress Aybara, a solid, practical woman with kind eyes and capable hands, responded with appropriate interest, examining offered herbs with evident knowledge. "Good quality," she acknowledged. "Though I grow feverfew myself, this variety seems stronger."

The conversation continued naturally, establishing legitimate commercial interaction that allowed Moiraine closer proximity to Perrin, who sat quietly beside his younger sister, occasionally scanning surroundings with that remarkable awareness. As they spoke, Moiraine carefully reached for saidar, embracing the Source with practiced subtlety that would go unnoticed by non-channelers. 

The familiar glow flooded her senses, making every color brighter, every sound clearer. She wove a net of Spirit around Perrin– the weave was invisible,  a delicate construction of Spirit designed not to affect him directly but to create a sensitivity field around him. The goal being able to detect any  latent resonance with the One Power, which could indicate  channeling potential. While the Dragon Reborn would eventually wield saidin with unprecedented strength, at this young age, he would show certain responsiveness to Power itself, even though not yet being able to channel–and this sensitivity would be felt through a properly calibrated weave like the one she wove.

As the weave settled into place, Moiraine maintained conversation while focusing partial attention on her test. At first, she felt nothing but the faint ripple of air around the boy–he showed no particular sensitivity to her channeling, neither discomfort nor awareness nor unconscious response. 

Then, unexpectedly, he lifted his head and turned directly toward her, eyes narrowing as if he’d picked up on a subtle change. Though clearly he did not understand it, something in him felt her channeling. Moiraine’s heart jumped; while his reaction was not definitive evidence he would later be able to channel, it however indicated the possibility of some type of development. 

More interesting still was what happened next. As Perrin focused his attention on her, Moiraine felt a momentary resistance within her weave–not disruption exactly, but deflection. It felt as if her channeling had been met with an unexpected barrier field surrounding the boy. The sensation lasted barely an instant before normalizing, but its implications troubled her. Was this evidence of nascent Power within him, or something else entirely?

Before she could refine her probe, a cry shattered the midday peace. The conversations happening around stopped immediately as every one diverted their attention towards the commotion. A farmer ran into the market, his face pale, gasping and shouting.

"Fire!" he shouted. "The east woods are burning!"

The response was immediate: everyone abandoned their plates and seats, scrambling to coordinate a response. It took only moments for Emond’s Field to organize a firefighting effort—men hurried off with buckets and tools, and women rushed to secure livestock and children. The place buzzed with a sudden storm of anxious activity. As they were facing an existential threat beyond mere property damage. Forest fires could easily spread to crops and homesteads if not contained quickly.

"They chose this moment well," Lan said under his breath. "Deliberate distraction. The Shadow agents moved as soon as shouting began. They're positioning to isolate the boy."

Following his gaze, Moiraine spotted the three strangers they'd identified earlier had indeed separated, moving with casual yet purposeful trajectories, strategically positioning themselves near the Aybara family’s route of escape.

"They plan to corner him," she asked tersely, calculating options and implications. "Intervention necessary?"

Lan's assessment came with warrior's precision. "Not yet. Their positioning suggests surveillance and potential contact rather than immediate abduction. They’re circling to see if we intervene. They may only want a closer look."

With Master Aybara among the men mustering to fight the blaze, Perrin stood protectively beside his mother and sister, his serious expression now focused on potential danger, tension all over his stocky frame.

The village green transformed from market celebration to emergency response center with remarkable efficiency. Within minutes, firefighting parties departed toward eastern woods while remaining villagers established protective measures closer to home.

Throughout this reorganization, Moiraine noted the Darkfriend agents kept their distance, watching the Aybara family with predatory patience. Their coordination suggested an experienced team rather than random Darkfriend assignment–a subtle game of cat-and-mouse that made Moiraine’s pulse pound in her throat.

Soon enough, the initial firefighting teams returned with news that the fire had been put out. The fire had actually been contained to a small area with little sign of true danger. It would look like someone deliberately set several blazes to create an impressive smoke and panic, without creating an actual threat.

"Someone wanted us distracted," Tam al'Thor observed to gathered village leaders. "These weren't natural fires–too precisely placed, too carefully controlled to create maximum visible effect without true forest danger." He kept watchful eyes on the crowd, stepping into the space near Perrin with obvious protective intent. 

Through this, Moiraine observed the Darkfriend agents adjusting their approach. The female Darkfriend sidled up to the Aybaras under the guise of buying wool. From their position, Moiraine couldn't hear the specifics of their conversation. She could only note the women kept her attention on Perrin even while addressing his mother. Somewhere along the line, Mistress Aybara's responses grew noticeably shorter, her protective instincts evidently triggered by something in this stranger's questions.

While the interaction looked congenial at a surface glance, Moiraine could sense the tension, as Perrin moved closer to his mother's side. The male Darkfriends still maintained their observation positions, their hands casually near their concealed weapons, while their colleague continued the interaction. Tam al’Thor walked over, placing himself in the conversation, politely but firmly. His arrival immediately changed interaction dynamics. The female Darkfriend's posture stiffened slightly, her attention dividing between continuing conversation and assessing this new factor. Without making a scene, he effectively guarded the family. 

Thwarted, the woman completed her wool transaction and withdrew with a tight smile, rejoining her companions with unhurried yet purposeful movement. As the Darkfriends retreated from direct contact, Tam remained beside the Aybara family, his positioning unmistakably protective despite the casual conversation. 

"Interesting intervention," Lan observed quietly. "He recognized them for what they are, or at least sensed wrongness in their approach."

"Another former soldier," Moiraine agreed. "Likely served during the Aiel War based on age and bearing. The village has more defensive resources than Shadow agents anticipated."

By late afternoon, it was clear the Darkfriends had finished gathering whatever intelligence they needed. They hovered at the market’s edge, occasionally glancing at the Aybaras but making no overt moves. The village resumed a semblance of normal routine after the fire alarm. And as daylight waned and outlying farmers including Aybara family prepared for return to their distant homesteads, Moiraine and Lan decided on their plan. 

"Compromise approach," she said as she packed her wares. "We depart the village openly. We’ll look like we’re heading west, away from the Aybara farm. Later tonight, we circle back unseen and keep watch."

Lan considered briefly before nodding agreement. "Reasonable balance. We can’t let them know we’re too interested in the boy. Not yet."

Decision made, they went about completing their day’s business and politely taking their leave. They settled their accounts with the innkeeper, prepared their horses, and thanked various villagers for their hospitality, while ensuring to drop mentions and firm up their narrative that they would be continuing west towards larger towns. The villagers easily bought their cover, as they were used to traveling merchants following those routes.

By early evening, they had departed Emond's Field with proper farewells and commercial pleasantries, taking the road west. The Darkfriends watched them depart but didn’t follow. Everything about this mission felt precariously balanced—too much interference could light a beacon for the Shadow, but stepping back entirely would leave Perrin vulnerable.

Once past the village line of sight, they still maintained their trip westward until it became fully dark. Under cover of dusk, Moiraine and Lan broke from the main road and slipped into the forest, picking a long route through dense trees.  Lan's Borderland tracking skills and strategic awareness enabled them to circle wide around potential observation points. By midnight they reached a vantage point in the hills behind the Aybara farm. The homestead sat in calm darkness. Pale moonlight revealed the simple outlines of barns and fences. 

"The farm remains quiet," Lan reported after brief reconnaissance. "Standard evening routine. Lights extinguished and no obvious watchers beyond usual Shadow surveillance."

They established their position in the hills overlooking the farm–close enough for intervention if necessary, distant enough to avoid detection by either family or Darkfriend agents. No sign of alarm yet. Moiraine created small warding weaves–nothing bright or powerful enough to draw unwanted attention, but sufficient to alert them should any major disturbance occur. 

"Assessment of the boy?" Lan asked as they settled into the night watch routine–a rotating watch through the night, each taking turns to rest.

Moiraine considered carefully before responding. "Inconclusive. His awareness exceeds normal childhood development, suggesting potential talents. My weave also encountered resistance, which suggests something unusual, though not necessarily male channeling."

"And his response to Power usage nearby?"

"Awareness without recognition," she clarified. "He sensed something happening but he couldn't identify channeling specifically. Could be a latent sensitivity that might eventually develop into full ability."

Lan absorbed this information with characteristic thoroughness. Their conversation paused as they heard a distant sound, a horse moving at careful pace along the forest edge, right beyond the farm. Lan disappeared silently into darkness to investigate, returning minutes later with a tight expression.

"Darkfriend patrol," he reported. "Single rider circumnavigating farm perimeter, maintaining observation distance while avoiding village paths. Professional technique suggesting military background."

 It was precisely the disciplined behavior they expected from the Shadow’s best agents.

"They’re assessing, not attacking," Lan whispered. "Gathering patterns, building a plan."

Moiraine breathed out quietly. "Which buys us some time to make sure watchers stay in place for him. We can’t remain here forever, but we won’t vanish without leaving safeguards, establish a remote monitoring system." 

"Monitoring system?" Lan questioned.

"Eyes-and-ears network specifically tasked with watching both farm and village," Moiraine explained. "Plus wardstones placed at strategic perimeter positions to alert us if channeling occurs within vicinity–either from the boy manifesting ability or from Shadow channelers approaching the area."

Lan nodded approval of this balanced approach. Their night vigil continued with professional focus, dividing watch duties to maintain constant surveillance while allowing necessary rest. Near dawn, while Lan watched silently, Moiraine closed her eyes, carefully reinforcing her dream wards so Lanfear would find no easy way back in.

"Wake me immediately if anything changes," she instructed Lan, who acknowledged with minimal nod while maintaining a vigilant watch over the sleeping farmstead below.

Before drifting off, she turned her thoughts over in a swirl of questions. Was Perrin Aybara really the one, or merely another thread in the Pattern that the Shadow sought to sever? How much truth was there in Lanfear’s pointed words about the boy’s unremarkable dreams? And how long before Elaida in the White Tower started pressing Siuan with uncomfortable questions?

Sleep pulled her under. In the dark realm of slumber, she caught the faintest scent of roses–Lanfear’s dream-scent–like a teasing echo at the boundary of her wards. And a gentle whisper of laughter just beyond perception, suggesting that the Daughter of the Night was always near, always watching, with a patience that spanned ages. Moiraine’s last waking thought hovered on the shape of the Pattern, realizing how very little even she could see. Some threads, like that of a quiet shepherd boy named Perrin Aybara, might hold more importance than any prophecy revealed. And in Tel’aran’rhiod, where Lanfear roamed, secrets waited to be plucked like ripe fruit, ready to tip the fate of nations.

Only the Wheel knew how each thread must weave and when. For now, Moiraine and Lan remained faithful sentinels in the night, guarding a future that might or might not belong to the Dragon Reborn. The hush of the Aybara farm, the hum of insects in the dark, and their own steady resolve were the only companions to the silent turning of the Wheel.

Chapter Text

Morning mist clung to the valley floor, in a hush of gray and silver light, as Moiraine stirred from sleep, the remnants of dreams fading into vague impressions rather than clear memory. Her protective wards had functioned as designed; no direct Forsaken intrusion into her sleep, though occasional whispers of foreign presence had brushed against the edges of her consciousness like moths wings against lantern glass.

She found Lan already at their makeshift observation point, his vigilance unfaltering despite having stood watch for hours. "The farm awakens," he reported without turning as she approached. "Normal morning routine, Master Aybara and older sons attending livestock, the boy preparing sheep for pasture."

Moiraine exhaled slowly, pushing away the stiffness of an uncomfortable night spent in the woods. She joined him at the vantage point, letting the cold morning air sharpen her senses. Her Aes Sedai serenity masking the physical discomfort of night spent in the forest floor rather than a proper lodging. Down in the valley, the Aybara farmstead came to life with the steady efficiency of a family well practiced in daily chores. Smoke trailed from the chimney, and she could see faint movement of people passing in and out of the barn.

"Shadow watchers?" she asked, accepting the cup of hot tea Lan offered. The hot liquid curled warmth through her hands, easing the lingering chill.

He nodded. "Four positions maintained through the night, rotating at irregular intervals. Professional discipline–no fires, barely any sound. One of them left eastward before dawn. My guess is he’s delivering a report to higher authority."

Moiraine sipped her tea. The aftertaste had a pleasantly bitter tang that helped wake her. "We have limited time," Moiraine murmured, watching as Perrin emerged from the barn leading his sheep. "The boy follows his usual routine despite yesterday's market disruption and fire incident."

"Normal patterns provide security," Lan observed, following her gaze. "He’s right back to routine after that fire at the market yesterday. Young men rely on what’s familiar when things feel out of control."

Moiraine nodded thoughtfully. "He doesn’t seem to grasp the true scale of the threat. None of them really do. Not the family, nor the village. They’re wary but not truly alarmed."

From their elevated position, they watched Perrin guide the animals along the familiar path toward eastern pasture with the easy skill of someone who knew his land well. The dog responded to every subtle shift in Perrin’s stance as if they shared one mind. No outward sign that he sensed the watchers in the woods or the two quiet figures observing from above. For the moment, at least, this small corner of the Two Rivers remained asleep to the greater storm gathering on its borders.

"The boy displays no blatant power," Moiraine said, half to herself. "I still don’t know if he’s the one we seek, or if he simply has a thread in the Pattern that runs near the Dragon’s. We’ll do as we agreed: withdraw, and leave behind some protections."

Lan inclined his head. "How do you want to handle it?"

She took another sip of tea, letting her strategy solidify in her mind. "Before we go, we’ll need to lay protective measures to detect if any channeling occurs or if the  Shadowspawn approach further. Subtle weaves–just enough to give warning. And I’m thinking to enlist the Wisdom’s help to weave protective enchantments. Although I have not done so before, I could turn one of the objects with me into a protection object for the family. Fortify it with the One Power and present it as a harmless charm or old custom for warding off nightmares, especially for children."

Lan’s eyes narrowed, already thinking ahead. "That fits with local traditions. They won’t question a curious merchant with a traditional charm. But how do we involve the Wisdom without drawing attention from either her or the Shadow watchers?"

Moiraine set the empty cup aside. “I’ll visit her with a plausible excuse about collecting remedies. And find a way to discuss protective measures that can help combat recent strange occurrences, like hanging particular herbs above their sleeping areas or placing specific stones beneath beds. Daise Congar is competent and protective of her people, from what I’ve observed. That makes her ideal."

"And the protective measure?" Lan asked. 

"You’ll plant the wardstones around the perimeter we previously scouted last night. Divide and conquer should prove more effective."

Lan nodded, and together they began readying for the day's activities with methodical efficiency. Moiraine sorted through pouches of herbs and small, unremarkable objects–river stones, bits of twine, scraps of leather. The casual observer would see them as everyday items, easily overlooked. But each was carefully selected for the wards she planned to weave.

She lifted a smooth river stone in her palm, feeling the cool weight of it as she drew breath. In a whisper of concentration, she opened herself to saidar, letting the One Power rush in like a flood of light. Swiftly and precisely, she braided strands of Spirit and Earth around the stone’s center, anchoring the weave as if binding it to the stone’s core. A delicate thread of Air encircled it, making the entire ward stable and responsive, rather than overtly active. If someone had the ability to see the flows of the Power, they would catch a faint, shimmering mesh dancing across the stone’s surface. To anyone else, it remained a simple river rock.

By the time she finished, the stone had become a minor ter’angreal in its own right–able to sense, and even repel, weaker brushes of the Shadow. Moiraine repeated the meticulous process with each item, layering subtle weaves of protection into the herbs and the scraps of leather, sealing them with a final trace of Spirit so they would lie dormant unless activated. When at last she was done, she exhaled, feeling that familiar mixture of weariness and satisfaction that followed any fine work of the One Power.

Lan observed quietly, watchful as ever. Once she had all the objects prepared and her weaves firmly set, he checked his sword belt. "We’ll want to place them before anyone’s the wiser," he said, scanning the treeline.

Moiraine slipped the newly woven wards into her satchel, each disguised to the untrained eye as common enough trinkets. "Yes," she agreed, her voice hushed. "Before those watchers can guess we’ve done anything at all. I need to speak with the Wisdom before midday if I’m to keep our story believable."

They descended from their observation post in measured strides. The canopy of old oaks shrouded them from any watchers as they parted ways. Lan looped around the  farm territory to remain hidden while Moiraine took the more direct route down the slope. Although morning’s faint fog had receded, a fine dew still clung to the grasses around her ankles, making each step damp. She could feel the hush of the forest, a subtle watchfulness. She wondered if the Shadow’s spies felt the same hush.

Soon, the simple rooftops of Emond’s Field came into view. The memories of the previous day’s confusion still lingered in the air. Normal activities continued but people moved about with more caution, glancing at unfamiliar faces longer than usual. In the distance, she saw a plume of blacksmith’s smoke rising. Tam al’Thor worked openly in his open-air forge, which let him watch anyone entering or leaving the heart of the village.

Moiraine approached the Wisdom’s home, a sturdy stone cottage near the center. In the crisp morning air, the scent of drying herbs drifted from the windows. She knocked gently and was met by Daise Congar: a practical woman with shrewd eyes and firm hands, as apt to scold a bruised ankle as to treat it. Her expression was neither warm nor hostile, more the look of someone who recognized a face but wasn’t sure she trusted it yet.

"Mistress Alys," Daise acknowledged with minimal surprise. "Thought you'd departed westward yesterday."

Moiraine offered a modest incline of her head. "I did, but realized I'd failed to properly consult with you on the local feverfew varieties before I left. A professional error I wish to correct."

Daise’s mouth smirked with faint interest. She stepped aside, letting Moiraine enter a cozy kitchen where bundles of dried plants hung from ceiling beams. The air was heavy with the scents of thyme, lavender, and mint. Shelves held jars neatly labeled with chalk or ink, each containing roots, powders, or tinctures.

They spoke of herb-lore and trade routes first, building the trusting foundation Moiraine needed. She asked specific questions about the region’s climate and soil, how it affected the potency of certain plants, how local remedies had developed over generations.

When the conversation reached a natural lull, Moiraine shifted. "I noticed a certain tension in the village. The fire at the market, travelers asking after local families. These things often signal deeper troubles. In some places I’ve passed along the border regions, people also complained of strange dreams."

"Nightmares?" Daise interrupted, instantly engaged and her eyes sharpening. "How did you know? Several mothers mentioned children waking frightened these past nights. Some out on the outlying farms, too far for me to see immediately, but the word spreads fast. You’re saying you’ve witnessed similar patterns elsewhere?"

It confirmed one of Moiraine's suspicions that the Shadow might be using dreams as inquiring tools, subtle incursions which children are vulnerable to. Using the villagers' dreams to investigate and assess would enable them to collect more information, without a direct attack, despite the constant physical surveillance.

Moiraine nodded gravely. "In border regions, yes. In such cases, resorting to traditional protections have proven surprisingly effective for such nightmares. The people employ a combination of simple protections to ward off unwelcome influences, like hanging certain herbs over sleeping areas or placing particular stone arrangements beneath their beds."

She reached into her pouch, carefully withdrawing from her pouch the small bundle of herbs she'd prepared earlier,  a twist of cloth containing herbs bound together in a braided cord. "Mountain feverfew combined with wild thyme and river willow, bound together and hung above a sleeping child, creates a soothing scent that discourages troubling dreams."

Her words, while factually accurate regarding herbs' calming properties, deliberately omitted the protection object hidden within bundle's core, its One-Power infused workings designed by Moiraine to help ward off Perrin’s sleep and to alert her if the Shadow tried to breach certain boundaries. Daise took the bundle, examining it with a practiced eye. She recognized the properties easily but didn’t see the small, infused stone concealed at the center.

"Interesting," Daise murmured. "Smells like it might help calm a restless child."

Moiraine dipped her head in agreement. "Precisely. And these stones"–she continued, producing a smooth river stone wrapped in simple leather binding etched with unassuming patterns–"are a tradition in some areas along the Border. Placed beneath a child's sleeping area, they create a grounding influence that stabilizes and anchors dreams, preventing night terrors from taking root. Some call it superstition, but I’ve seen it provide…peace of mind."

Again, her physical description remained honest while omitting its deeper function: the stone was the last of the five wardstones she had chosen to deploy to create a perimeter detection system around village and outlying farms. Lan was currently putting the other four into place. As usual, Moiraine–skilled in clever speak–was able to provide explanations that didn't break her Aes Sedai oaths while selectively disclosing information she deemed appropriate.

Moiraine offered the Wisdom the rock, which Daise took and turned in her palm with measured curiosity. "My grandmother had something like this, a faint memory. Always said old ways shouldn’t be forgotten. I focus on the physical remedies, but I’m not one to scoff at what helps."

"Old customs and modern healing can complement each other," Moiraine said. "Physical remedies addressing bodily symptoms while traditional protections consider influences that modern understanding hasn't fully categorized." Her voice was calm, but inside she felt a current of relief. Daise was precisely the type of Wisdom who might use these items without prying too deeply into their true purpose.

"I'd like to document these approaches," Daise decided. "Compare with local traditions, perhaps implement where nightmares have proven particularly troublesome."

"The Aybara children might benefit," Moiraine suggested with careful casualness. "They’re fairly isolated, so it might help if their youngest is plagued by night fears. Even the older ones might find better sleep. And these illusions of travelers or watchers in the dark can weigh on a family’s mind."

Daise nodded thoughtfully. "Mistress Aybara would be stopping by tomorrow. I’ll share this with Mistress Aybara when she comes to trade for herbs. Perrin, her boy, has always been unusually perceptive, sensitive to weather changes and influences beyond ordinary perception."

Moiraine kept her expression professionally curious. "The boy shows such sensitivity?"

"Always has," Daise continued. "Notices weather changes before they manifest, animals respond to him differently than others, seems aware of undercurrents most children miss entirely. His mother once mentioned he sometimes wakes knowing visitors will arrive before they appear on the horizon. Nothing unnatural," she added quickly, "simply unusually perceptive."

Their conversation circled back to practical remedies: how to dry the herbs, which parts to steep for teas, how best to store them. Daise took notes in a small ledger, occasionally nodding in silent approval at the knowledge Moiraine freely offered. By the time Moiraine stood to depart, the Wisdom had a handful of new "charms" that would be recommended to families dealing with nightmares, all innocently disguised as herbal aids.

With her primary mission accomplished, Moiraine stepped back into the village street. She felt the weight of what she had accomplished lift from her shoulders. It was a small measure of protection but might be enough to warn her if the Shadow grew bolder here. She allowed herself the luxury of strolling slowly, feigning the demeanor of a simple merchant with an unhurried purpose, nodding politely at villagers who passed by. Eventually she caught sight of Tam al’Thor, who was loading a small cart with supplies, possibly to deliver to outlying farms. His broad frame and strong arms bore the marks of a blacksmith, and his eyes were keen.

"Mistress Alys," he said, tipping his head in greeting. "Thought you'd continued westward yesterday." While his cordial greeting was appropriate, something in his expression informed Moiraine that he was also mildly curious about her presence.

"Was a little away when I realized I needed to return for a brief errand with the Wisdom," Moiraine explained, letting a hint of exasperation show to make her story more convincing. Mistress Congar's herbal knowledge is worth the detour."

He studied her quietly before a faint smile appeared. "She’s stubborn and doesn’t miss much. I hope you found what you needed."

She returned the smile without committing to anything. "I did. Thank you for your concern."

"Safe travels, then," Tam said, his tone polite yet carrying an undercurrent that suggested he knew something unusual was afoot. "Roads aren’t as safe as they used to be. Keep a good watch."

"I will," Moiraine promised, dipping her head in farewell. 

They parted, each aware of the unspoken caution shared between them. Such an understated alliance represented valuable development should future intervention become necessary.

By early afternoon, she reunited with Lan at a predetermined location just on the outskirts of the village, at a discreet bend in the road. Lan’s expression was as impassive as stone, but there was a confidence in the way he carried himself.

"I placed every wardstone where planned," he reported, tightening the strap on his horse’s saddle. "There are still five watchers around the area. They’re careful, communicating through subtle signals rather than physical contact. No Myrddraal present but left, likely to send word so we should expect more trouble in the coming days."

Moiraine mounted her horse. "Daise has the protective measures. She’ll encourage the families to use them, and that should protect at least against lesser nightmares and maybe give us early warning if something bigger stirs."

They turned onto the western road, not rushing but moving at a sensible traveler’s pace for anyone watching. It was a performance as much as a departure, enabling the villagers to see them leave for good and to ensure the Shadow spies were able to note the direction they were headed and also their unhurried manner. Let them believe she and Lan were done here, that they had found nothing of interest.

"We've done what we can for now," Moiraine said softly, almost to herself. "The rest depends on how threads continue weaving."

Lan made no direct response, understanding that Moiraine was reflecting rather than requesting tactical assessment. He focused on maintaining vigilant awareness of the surrounding countryside, continuing to ensure they were safe, while Moiraine's thoughts wandered.

Only when they had put a good distance between themselves and the last farm fences did Lan lead them off onto a narrower track. He was the picture of alertness, scanning tree lines and ridge crests. They aimed for Baerlon next, where Moiraine could reach her Blue Ajah eyes-and-ears and relay vital updates. As the afternoon sun lengthened shadows across rolling countryside, they maintained their steady progress westward.

She rode in silence for a long while, the steady clop of the horses’ hooves echoing the questions swirling in her mind. Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Siuan in the White Tower. Had Elaida already reached some dangerous conclusions about Moiraine’s mission and moved on her suspicions? And how did Siuan fare in all of this? Unlike Moiraine, who had learned to shrug off Elaida’s bullying and veiled threats–after all, she’d endured far worse back in her family’s royal court–Siuan struggled more with the woman’s presence. The sting of Elaida’s insinuations cut deeper into Siuan’s pride and emotions.

A wave of longing rolled through her as she remembered quiet hours together, the two of them sharing secrets and laughter in the Tower’s hidden corners. They would spend evening after evening unraveling riddles of politics and prophecy, weaving their combined knowledge into a bigger picture that neither could have managed alone. She missed that closeness. Light, how she missed Siuan! When she was embroiled in one twist or another, it was easier to ignore the ache, but moments like these, when she had only her thoughts and the rhythmic tread of her horse, she felt the separation more sharply.

It wasn’t just the physical separation that hurt, it was the intellectual and emotional void as well. Siuan had always been the sounding board she relied on, each of them holding half the puzzle pieces, forming a whole only when they put their minds together. They’ve always found it easier to navigate missions with their collective knowledge base. Moiraine found herself wondering how different things might be if Siuan were by her side now, helping to search for the Dragon Reborn. But it was a fool’s dream. They served the Pattern’s will, no matter what their hearts desired.

 For the past few weeks, Moiraine hadn’t managed to reach Siuan at all. The increasing scrutiny from the Shadow had made it too risky. At least once she reached Baerlon, she could tap into the Blue Ajah’s network, sending encoded messages that might, Light willing , reach Siuan’s hands without interference. She knew there was a risk the information would be outdated by the time Siuan received it, but it was better than nothing. Another idea flickered through her mind–what if they could both repurpose their paired ter’angreal to slip into Tel’aran’rhiod at will, free from Lanfear’s meddling. For a moment, she entertained the notion of meeting Siuan there to speak safely. Yet she dismissed it almost as soon as it arose; that path was fraught with dangers and demanded a skill neither of them had mastered.

And then there was the matter of the Amyrlin Seat herself. Had the Amyrlin discovered Moiraine’s real mission, especially since she’d left the Tower so soon? And does the Amyrlin have have her own reasons for allowing it? Moiraine’s loyalty to her was unshakable, but who could say how Tower politics had changed in Moiraine’s absence? Moiraine had little choice but to keep faith, though the Tower could be a roaring den of intrigues even in the calmest of times.

Her memories of Gitara Moroso’s Foretelling had begun shifting in recent days, intensifying once Lanfear started infiltrating her dreams. At first, she feared those memories were false or twisted, but now she felt certain: when Gitara Foretold the Dragon Reborn, Mother had been there with them. Siuan and Moiraine had been waiting on the Keeper and the Amyrlin that evening. Light knows Moiraine didn’t know what she was asking for when she had wished to hear a Foretelling that night.  

And when Gitara died, Mother had asked her and Siuan to tell no one about what happened. If necessary, she had ordered them to speak of it to no one. She had even commanded them to lie if necessary, even to a sister. The next day, Moiraine now remembers the Amyrlin making them swear an oath on the Oath Rod. Try as she might, Moiraine couldn’t remember the exact words of that oath, nor could she recall everything that followed. It was as though parts of her memory were veiled.

They pressed on across the countryside, farmland gradually blending into wilder hills. The air turned cooler as afternoon stretched, the sun falling behind low clouds. At last, they made camp in a small hollow overgrown with brush, concealed from any distant roads.

Lan handled the horses while Moiraine gathered wood for a discreet fire. The crackle of tinder soon mingled with the chirr of evening insects. As the flames grew, she brewed a tea meant to sharpen her senses and settle her thoughts. Overhead, the first stars blinked awake in an indigo sky.

Was Siuan experiencing this same slow unraveling of recollections? Moiraine wondered as she stirred her evening’s tea. She dared not relay her suspicions through the eyes-and-ears no matter how well-coded her message, it could still be intercepted or decoded. And she certainly could not risk discussing such sensitive matters in her dreams, where Lanfear’s cold presence brushed too close. This conversation demanded a face-to-face meeting, ideally in a room sealed by layer upon layer of warding to keep every whisper from traveling beyond those walls.

The Shadow’s methods were too insidious, prying at them from all angles. Watchers tracked their steps in daylight and nightmares churned their sleep at night. They had achieved partial success but were still no closer to determining with absolute certainty who the Dragon Reborn was. But more, with Elaida now in the mix, there is now another threat thrown into the mix. Elaida would not waste time to target the boys, with their potential to become male channelers. And she would not hesitate to gentile the boys on just her hunch alone. Elaida would definitely view the candidates as threats rather than consider the possibility that they may fit into a prophesied turn of the wheel. 

Every dawn, Moiraine felt as if she woke to a more complex game of cat and mouse, unsure whether she was hunter or prey. She only knew she had to keep moving. And yet, with every mile, she feared the day she might learn they had been outmaneuvered by foes with a far broader reach than she could imagine.

"I’ll take first watch," Lan said, dousing his cup and placing it aside. His voice carried an unspoken care, as if he sensed her weariness, the toll of constant vigilance and hidden channeling.

Moiraine nodded gratefully and stretched out on her bedroll near the low flames. She placed wards around her mind before drifting off, conscious of the subtle net of the One Power she’d woven to sound an alarm if intruders, human or otherwise, neared. The memory of Perrin Aybara’s unwavering eyes flickered before her. His eyes were too serious, as if they saw the world through a perception beyond his years. She wondered about the shape of his future. Even if he was not the Dragon Reborn, his fate was no small matter. She felt, in her bones, the weight of his thread on the Pattern’s loom.

Lan faded into the background, as reliable as an ancient oak, standing guard with a patience that seemed unbreakable. She let the lull of night and the warmth of the fire pull her gently toward sleep.

Her last waking thought hovered between hope and worry–a silent plea that all her subtle wards, the hidden stones, and Daise’s new "charms" might be enough to keep Perrin and the people of Emond’s Field safe from the gathering dark. Then she surrendered to rest, trusting Lan’s watchful eyes and the wards that would warn her if the Shadow tried to pry open the edges of her dreams once more.

Chapter Text

Siuan paced the length of her chamber, the soft click of her slippers against the flagstone floor marking each turn. Her hands were clasped behind her back, fingers interlaced so tightly her knuckles ached, but she scarcely noticed. Outside her window, Tar Valon shone in the morning light. The ivory towers and graceful arches of the White Tower like a crown, bridges spanning the slow sweep of the River Erinin far below. It looked permanent, unshakable; yet Siuan felt the foundations shifting beneath her feet.

She halted at her desk, where a neat stack of reports waited. Early, before dawn, she had laid them out in precise order, organizing each scrap of evidence with care: scribbled witness accounts, merchant logs hinting at odd travel routes, whispers of children’s nightmares spreading from the Borderlands all the way south to the Two Rivers. Alone, none of the pieces were damning. Together, though, they sketched a pattern darker than shadowspawn attack.

A firm knock at the door disrupted her thoughts and snapped her back. Her heart stuttered, and she smoothed the edge of her blue‑fringed shawl before calling, "Enter."

Anaiya slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. The Blue sister’s face was calm, almost too calm. A tightening at the corners of her eyes betrayed the tension beneath. Siuan’s stomach clenched.

"Elaida has called for a special Hall session," Anaiya said without preamble, voice low. "She says there are urgent matters requiring full Ajah representation but wouldn’t yet specify the nature of her concerns."

Siuan felt a cold finger, that had nothing to do with the morning air, trace her spine. "When?"

"Mid‑morning. And she’s met with the Amyrlin twice since yesterday." Anaiya moved closer, lowering her voice even more. "There’s more. Three Red sisters came back last night from the western provinces. They've brought someone with them–a young man kept under close guard."

The implications crashed through Siuan's mind. That was no ordinary captive.  Male channelers captured by the Red Ajah were always a tragedy, but this reeked of politics. The timing, combined with Elaida's sudden call for a Hall session... Elaida wielded every rumor like a blade. What weapon was she forging now?

"Do we know where exactly they found him?" Siuan asked, forcing herself to stay calm, neutral.

"Devon, a village near the Mountains of Mist." Anaiya's gaze held Siuan's, her expression conveying volumes beyond her words. "Curious coincidence."

Not a coincidence at all. Siuan’s mind raced. Either this was a trap laid by the Shadow–planting a male channeler in the region as distraction–or Elaida had found a Dragon candidate first. Either way, it was bad and it explained the sudden urgency.

"I should prepare for this session," Siuan said, turning to gather the papers on her desk. 

Anaiya didn’t move to leave. Instead, she sank into the only chair. "Siuan, we've respected your privacy and your...research.  The Blue Ajah protects its own but Elaida is drumming up support beyond the Red Ajah. Whatever she plans to present today goes far beyond a simple capture of a male channeler."

"You think she's targeting me specifically?" Siuan asked, though she already felt the accusation settle like a stone in her gut.

"You and, by extension, Moiraine. Your research into prophecies and her extended absence travelling frontier regions have not gone unnoticed."

Siuan sat on the edge of her bed, folding her hands neatly in her lap, mind racing through options and contingencies. Anaiya had shielded her from Tower politics until now, providing increasing support without demanding full explanations, but the older sister wanted more than vague hints. "What does the Blue Ajah need from me?"

Anaiya's eyes softened slightly at the phrasing. "Not from you, but for you. We need enough of the truth to defend your actions effectively. Half‑truths and careful omissions might satisfy the oaths, but they won’t stand up to direct scrutiny."

Siuan inhaled slowly. The moment of reckoning had arrived sooner than anticipated. She thought back to Moiraine’s hand in hers when Gitara delivered the Foretelling. The secret they had sworn to keep, the weight of prophecy they bore alone, yet now that secrecy threatened to betray them.

"I believe certain prophecies are manifesting," she said, choosing her words. "Signs dormant for centuries now flare across the world…omens that line up with Shadow activity. My work connects these patterns."

"The Karaethon Cycle," Anaiya said softly.

Siuan met her gaze steadily. "Among others."

The older Blue nodded slowly. "And Moiraine's travels?"

"Moiraine travels to regions where certain signs have appeared to investigate. Her trips follow the signs I’ve found, yes."

It wasn't the complete truth, nowhere near it, but it contained enough material to enable Anaiya and any Blue Ajah navigate the Three Oaths. 

"The Red Ajah would view such research very differently," Anaiya observed. "To them, any interest in the Dragon's return represents a dangerous fascination with male channeling. Elaida particularly."

"Elaida has nursed a grudge against both Moiraine and me since our time as Accepted," Siuan said. "This gives her a convenient opportunity to pursue personal vendettas under the guise of Ajah duty."

Anaiya nodded, rising from the chair. "Then we act accordingly. We'll need to frame your research as general scholarly interest in prophetic lore." She rose. "I’ll speak with Eadyth and our Sitters. We’ll craft an argument against any recall orders or special oversight. And one more thing: you might find clarity in the Brown Ajah’s secure archives."

Before Siuan could reply, Anaiya was gone. The door clicked shut, leaving Siuan alone with her thoughts and the looming crisis. She turned to her wardrobe and selected the formal blue gown worn only for Hall sessions, the fabric cool against her skin. As she dressed, her mind churned through alliances and strategies. Elaida’s sudden move meant they must act fast.

The captured male channeler represented the perfect ammunition, concrete evidence that supported Red Ajah warnings about the dangers of male Power-wielding while providing Elaida cover to simultaneously raise questions about Moiraine's extended absence from the Tower. The connection was circumstantial at best, but Elaida never needed more to make her case.

Secured in the layered silk and wool, Siuan added subtle wards around her chamber, silent alarms that would warn her of any intruders. She gathered and locked the reports into her hidden chest, then made for the Hall. Arriving early would enable her observe who spoke with whom, and gauge alliances before the formal proceedings began.

The Tower's corridors bustled with morning activity: novices hurrying to lessons, Accepted carrying out assigned duties, sisters moving with calm purpose that masked sharp minds at work. Siuan kept her pace unhurried but alert, eyes scanning for unusual gatherings, noting unusual patterns in the activity around her. More Red sisters than usual clustered near the Hall’s entrance; Whites and Grays fell silent when she passed.

Something significant was indeed unfolding, beyond mere political maneuvering. The atmosphere carried that distinct tension that preceded major Tower decisions.

Near the Hall's grand doors, she spotted Aeldra Najaf, the Keeper of Chronicles, speaking with two Green sisters. Aeldra acknowledged Siuan with a subtle nod conveying both warning and support. Aeldra had been raised from the Blue Ajah to serve as Keeper. While she officially was neutral in her administrative role, she still maintained connections to her former Ajah.

"Sister," Aeldra greeted her formally as Siuan approached, the Green sisters discreetly withdrew to provide privacy. "The Amyrlin requests your presence before the Hall convenes."

Another warning sign. Private audience before public confrontation suggested the Amyrlin wanted something contained or resolved before it reached broader Tower awareness.

"Of course," Siuan replied with appropriate deference. "I am at the Amyrlin's disposal."

Aeldra guided Siuan not toward the main Hall but to a small antechamber off to one side, one reserved for private consultation. The Keeper opened the door, announced Siuan, then departed. Yet, another concerning departure from protocol–for the Keeper usually was present for private consultations with the Amyrlin Seat.

The Amyrlin sat alone at a plain wooden table, various documents spread before her. Tamra Ospenya’s face gave nothing away, as Siuan entered and curtseyed, but her posture and the surrounding papers spoke volumes.

"Siuan," she acknowledged, gesturing to the single chair across from her. "Sit."

No formal address as "Daughter," no pleasantries. Siuan curtseyed again and took the single chair, keeping her face calm despite internal tension. 

Tamra’s voice was quiet but edged with steel. "Elaida presents serious concerns about your activities," she began. "Specifically, your study of prophecies about the Dragon Reborn and Moiraine Damodred’s travels to regions of heightened Shadow trouble."

She slid a formal complaint which bore the Red Ajah seal across the table. It demanded investigation into potential "irregularities" in Blue Ajah operations.  Siuan studied the complaint without touching it, noting Elaida's characteristic blend of righteous concern and calculated innuendo.

She met Tamra’s eyes. "The Blue Ajah respects the Red's vigilance," she replied carefully. "Though I fail to see how this connects to legitimate scholarly research or Moiraine Sedai's approved Ajah business."

"Don't play games, Siuan," the Amyrlin said, her voice sharpening. "Not with me. Not now." She leaned forward slightly. "The night Gitara Moroso died, you were there. Do you remember?"

Siuan’s chest tightened. The statement had hit her like a physical blow, momentarily shattering her composure. A strange pressure built behind her temples as the Amyrlin's words seemed to unlock something buried deep in her mind. Fragments of memory suddenly shifted, like pieces of a mosaic rearranging themselves.

Of course the Amyrlin had been present; Gitara after all had been her Keeper. The three of them–Siuan, Moiraine, and Mother–had been in the room when Gitara, eyes wide with the Foretelling, proclaimed that the Dragon had been reborn on the slopes of Dragonmount. Then she'd collapsed, dead before she hit the floor.

But how could she have forgotten the Amyrlin's presence at such a pivotal moment? She'd spent years believing that only she and Moiraine had witnessed the Foretelling, that they alone carried the burden of that knowledge. Her hands trembled slightly before she mastered herself again, forcing her features back into serene stillness.

The Amyrlin watched her closely, noting the brief lapse. "You're remembering," Tamra said quietly. "You took an oath afterward, one made to protect you both, as well as protect the Tower itself."

Another wave of realization crashed over Siuan: the day after Gitara's death, she had been summoned to the Amyrlin's study with Moiraine. The Oath Rod, cool and heavy in her hands. Words spoken, binding them to secrecy. Not merely an order to remain silent, but an actual oath constraining what they could say and even remember about that night.

"I…remember now," Siuan said, her voice steadier than she felt. "You bound us to silence. To hold the knowledge so deeply that even our memories would...blur."

Tamra nodded once. "Unfortunately a necessary precaution. The Dragon’s rebirth remains too perilous to share openly. There are those within the Tower who would react...poorly. Sisters would seek to control him, others to eliminate him before he could fulfill his destiny. I've followed your progress through reports that cross my desk, through patterns of questions in the archives, through Moiraine's carefully documented 'research trips.' I've provided cover when needed, deflected attention when possible. But now Elaida forces the matter into daylight. If the Hall investigates, control of the search–and of the boy–will fall into Ajah politics. He will be a prize to pluck, to be controlled, not a beacon to guide."

A chill settled in Siuan’s stomach as the pieces fell into place: the timely approvals, Amyrlin's occasional interventions. More importantly, Tower politics, once a distant undercurrent, would engulf everyone should the search become official Tower business.

"What would you have me do, Mother?" Siuan asked.

Tamra sat back, folding her hands in her lap. “For now, frame your work as general scholarly study into prophetic cycles, patterns of history, nothing more. Cite the Blue Ajah’s long‑standing role in tracking Shadow movements, speak only of ancient precedents. Do not breathe a word of Gitara’s Foretelling, nor of any Dragon. And warn Moiraine, this young man the Reds captured may be a distraction, or another candidate. He’s evidence, but you can’t be sure whose game he serves."

Siuan bowed her head. The Amyrlin rose, gathering the papers, The Amyrlin rose then, gathering the papers with deliberate care. She hesitated as her hand closed on the complaint, turning back to Siuan with one last urgency.

“One more thing,” she said, lowering her voice even further. "In the Brown Ajah’s restricted collection lies a ter’angreal recovered during the Aiel War. Initial testing suggests it can temporarily bind even the strongest channelers, though at great cost to the one who wields it."

"Bind channelers?" Siuan repeated.

Tamra’s eyes gleamed with the weight of hidden knowledge. "Forged in the War of Power for that purpose, though never used before the Breaking. The Browns study and guard it under my direct authority; only Ajah heads may touch it. If the Forsaken truly rise as your research suggests, we’ll need every edge."

"Thank you for the warning, Mother," Siuan said, her mind spinning with the reclaimed memories and the new burden of that ter’angreal. Had Moiraine felt similar sparks of remembrance? Was she also piecing together distorted fragments of memories, woven by the same oath? There had been no hint of it in Moiraine’s communications, but the oath itself would have prevented such discussion until Tamra broke it.

Tamra inclined her head once more. "Go now. The Hall convenes soon. Remember, academic interest only. Elaida may have suspicions, but she lacks concrete evidence. Keep it that way."

Siuan curtseyed and departed, mind racing with implications as she walked the short distance to the Hall's main entrance. She needed to warn Moiraine about Elaida's political maneuvering, the oath and its effects–for if Siuan's memories were returning, Moiraine might be experiencing similar disorientation.

But first, she had to navigate the immediate crisis: a Hall session called specifically to investigate her activities, with Elaida clearly prepared to press her advantage.

The Hall of the Tower already hummed with subdued conversation and thrummed with tension when Siuan entered. Rows of sisters sat arranged by Ajah color, the raised dais at the chamber's center currently empty, awaiting the formal opening of proceedings. The White and Gray sitters exchanged cautious glances; the Greens leaned forward, alert. Siuan took her place among the Blue representatives, noting Anaiya's subtle nod of acknowledgment.

The Red contingent clustered around Elaida like scarlet petals. Elaida sat, her face composed, and her body radiating absolute confidence. Beside her sat two of the sisters who'd returned from the western provinces, their expressions grimly satisfied. The third presumably remained with their captured channeler, ensuring he couldn't escape before formal presentation to the Hall.

Gradually, conversations diminished as the formal procession started. The Keeper carrying the Flame of Tar Valon came in first, then next came in ceremonial guards in white and red who flanked the Amyrlin herself, who wore the Seat’s golden robe with the striped stole–one representing all seven Ajahs–over it. The Amyrlin sat on the Amyrlin Seat and the ceremonial guards left the room. Then the verbal ritual proceeded, ancient words and responses  spilling through the room like woven threads snapping into place. When formalities concluded, the Amyrlin acknowledged Elaida with a slight nod. 

"The Red Ajah has requested this special session. Elaida Sedai, you may present your concerns."

The room stilled. Elaida rose with practiced grace, her scarlet fringe of her shawl sliding into place like a prow cutting through calm waters. Her voice, low and steady, carried an edge of steel that rippled through the silent Hall, drawing attention without a hint of strain.

"Mother, honored Sitters, sisters of the Ajahs," she began, "the Red Ajah brings grave concerns. We face coordinated Shadow intelligence operations–in Andor, Cairhien, the Borderlands, and most recently the western provinces. These are no random assaults but coordinated intelligence‑gathering operations."

She paused, eyes sweeping the chamber but never settling. "At the same time, certain sisters pursue prophetic research focused on the Last Battle, texts tied to the Dragon Reborn. Their close associates' travels coincide with these incidents. Research that might be harmless curiosity takes on new meaning when paired with field operations in the very areas threatened by the Shadow."

Murmurs rippled among the listeners as sisters processed her words. Elaida let them settle.

"Most alarming," she continued, "three Red sisters returned from Devon in the west with a young male channeler. He is powerful, unstable–already showing signs of the madness we guard against. That village, sisters, is one which a Blue sister had visited recently. And the papers before you outline connections between her journey and these Shadow incursions."

The Whites appeared skeptically interested, they needed more evidence to determine the logical conclusion. The Yellows seemed divided, some nodding agreement while others frowned at the implications. The Greens watched with characteristic intensity, always alert to potential threats requiring Battle Ajah attention.

"The Red Ajah," she continued, each word measured, "believes these troubling patterns demand decisive action by the Tower. We must not wait until our borders are overrun or our sisters are imperiled." She paused, letting that warning settle before pressing on. "Therefore, we formally request three measures:

1. A full investigation into all research concerning prophetic cycles and any field operations tied to them. Every scrap of parchment, every question posed in the archives, must be examined to ensure no Darkfriend influence has taken root.
2. Immediate recall of every sister serving in the affected regions, especially those whose studies or travels align with these prophetic interests. No Aes Sedai should remain in the field under a cloud of suspicion.
3. Establishment of a special oversight committee, drawn from all Ajahs–one separate from the Amyrlin's special council–tasked to monitor future investigations in these areas. This committee will enforce Tower protocols and guard against unauthorized departures from our duty."

She seated herself with quiet confidence. Her accusation buried in the looks exchanged between the Reds and every eye in the Hall. Her words struck at the heart of Blue Ajah autonomy–their freedom to dispatch sisters on scholarly or peace‑keeping missions–but Elaida had wrapped the challenge in the mantle of Tower security. No one could accuse her of acting lightly.

The Amyrlin nodded once from her dais, her white-and-gold robe illuminated by the sunlight filtering into the room. She allowed a moment’s gravity to fill the Hall, then spoke in her clear, unwavering tone: "The Hall acknowledges the Red Ajah’s concerns. In keeping with our customs, we will next hear from those directly affected before moving to formal consideration. Sisters of the Blue Ajah, will you respond?"

Eadyth, the First Blue, rose with a calmness honed by years of debate, her voice a soothing counterpoint. 

"The Blue Ajah respects the Red’s duty and vigilance, but the case presented rests on circumstantial links," Eadyth said. "Scholarly study of prophetic cycles has long been part of Tower tradition. The Blue monitors Shadow movements in troubled regions to safeguard the people. We are tasked with monitoring the Shadow activity, which historically includes Blue sisters maintaining presence in troubled areas in order to precisely gather reports which we regularly share with Ajah leadership. No Aes Sedai or Tower protocol has been broken. If the Red Ajah doubts specific conduct, let those sisters be named. Otherwise, we ask the Hall to see these concerns as a general pattern‑spotting of fieldwork that follows established protocols, not misconduct."

Her words eased the tension in some corners, as cool logic spread through the Hall, blunting Elaida’s red heat. Several Greens inclined their heads, Whites seemed unconvinced by Elaida’s innuendo, Browns murmured amongst themselves about academic freedom from political maneuvering.

After brief remarks from other Ajahs, the Amyrlin closed the session, setting a one‑week consideration before any vote. As sisters stood and streamed out, plots and alliances began to form like currents shifting in the River Erinin.

Siuan stayed seated until the Hall emptied, watching who lingered beside whom, trying to decipher  interactions that might indicate how votes would eventually fall. Anaiya slipped in beside her, their nods almost imperceptible.

"That was as well as it could go," Anaiya said quietly. "Elaida overplayed her hand and her timing too obvious, but she forced your research into the open."

"But now, Blue sisters, including Moiraine, could be recalled back to the Tower, interfering with the important field activities," Siuan replied. "We need to prepare countermeasures."

Anaiya nodded. "The vote will likely split along predictable lines. Reds obviously supporting, Blues opposing, with Whites, Grays, and Browns determining the outcome based on evidence presented during the consideration period."

"And I’ll review our documented research protocols," Siuan answered. "Ensure everything follows proper procedures; everything withstands scrutiny."

Anaiya’s lips curved. "I’ll work with Eadyth. We’ll argue against special oversight. No Ajah wants its freedom curtailed."

They parted with formal bows. Siuan made her way back through the broad corridors, each step carrying her closer to the next challenge: defending her work to save Moiraine’s mission.

Siuan stepped into her chamber and paused at the threshold, breath held as though expecting the air itself to betray her. Every ward she’d laid in place stood intact: no telltale hum of shattered wards, no ghost of unwritten alarms. Yet she moved with deliberate caution, letting her fingertips hover above each carved rune on the doorframe before she allowed herself to relax.

At her desk, she spread a fresh sheet of sheepskin parchment across the wooden surface scarred by years of ink and Power. The cup of ink beside it caught molten reflections from the candle flame. Siuan dipped her quill, her mind sharp with purpose. Tower politics had shifted from whispered rumors to open confrontation–no corner of her work was safe from scrutiny. She couldn’t risk even a single mention of Moiraine’s true mission slipping through.

Careful as a painter outlining a canvas, she wrote a carefully coded message to be transmitted through Blue Ajah network:

Scholarly review requested by administrative oversight. Focus remains historical documentation rather than contemporary application. Timeline accelerated by western findings. 

Patterns suggest alternate origins than previously understood. Primary supervisor revealed direct knowledge and authorization of project parameters from inception. 

Resource limitations may require prioritization of existing projects rather than expansion into new territories. 

Maintain established protocols during transition period. Communication channels under evaluation–alternative methods recommended for sensitive updates.

The words were dry as dust, nothing more than a clerk’s report on a surface glance. But beneath each phrase lay urgency: Elaida’s political gambit had dragged their mission into the open, Reds had seized a captive near Moiraine’s route, and the Amyrlin herself had shaped their memories with binding oaths. Only Moiraine would be the only one to decode the parts about the Amyrlin. She would be able to adjust her approach accordingly, possibly even accelerating her investigation. 

When the final sentence was locked in ink, Siuan touched a rune etched into the desk’s corner. A soft pulse of Power wove through the chamber, sealing the parchment against prying eyes and ears. No ear could eavesdrop, no eye could glimpse the inked lines without first undoing the weaving she had laid. She rose, sealing the note in a folded packet, then opened the door a crack. A novice hurried down the corridor, eyes down as she carried bundles of leather‑bound ledgers, steps measured.

"Sister,” Siuan called quietly, "please inform Sister Kairen that I have the trade projections she requested." She handed over the folded message, its seal unbroken. "She’ll know the proper routing."

The novice looked up, curtseyed, tucked the packet into her folds, and disappeared into the blue‑robed ranks beyond. Siuan watched her go, then turned inward once more. She closed the door behind her and allowed herself a moment to draw a deep breath.

Elaida’s maneuver demanded more than a defense; it required a full-scale strategy. In addition, there might be a ter'angreal in Brown custody, a possible defence against the Forsaken should Moiraine stumble across them. Most unsettling of all was the oath itself: a living spell still thrumming at the back of her mind. 

The Amyrlin, in her wisdom or in her fear, had rewritten their memories as surely as she might seal a spy’s lips. How many choices had it shaped? What truths lay buried in her own mind? And if the Amyrlin could do this, what other forces in the Tower could manipulate sisters without their knowledge? 

She understood that the Amyrlin had woven the oaths with the best of intentions, guarding Moiraine and Siuan behind a shield that kept them safe as the truth they knew was too volatile for ordinary minds. But, to guard them from the terror of that night was one thing; to reshape their very memories was something more profound. 

Why would the Amyrlin go so far? She must fear a greater threat, greater than politics or prophecy, yet unknown. This realization shook her confidence in ways no political attack ever could. If the Amyrlin feared something beyond even the Red Ajah’s reach, something she would not speak aloud, then the perils were even more dire than initially thought. 

Siuan drew a steadying breath and seated herself at the desk. Outside, the river’s soft roar drifted in through open windows, carrying the promise that the night would soon bow to dawn. Somewhere far to the west, Moiraine pursued their shared quest, unaware of the political storm gathering behind her. Siuan closed her eyes for a moment and thought, Light illumine your path, Moiraine.

Then, with resolve sharpening in her veins, she dipped her quill and began drafting the defense that might buy them the time they needed–time to find the boy before either Shadow or Tower politics could lay their hands on him.

That next day, Siuan sought the Brown Ajah archives. The Brown Ajah wing hummed with quiet scholarly activity—scrolls and tomes lined the walls, sisters engaged in research and transcription, novices moving like silent shadows between wooden shelves, Accepted conducting supervised studies of historical patterns and precedents.

Siuan nodded to several Browns as she proceeded to the central reception area. Verin Mathwin, her sharp eyes that missed little hidden behind a veil of gentle distraction, greeted Siuan at the reception desk.

"Looking for something special?" Verin asked, voice mild.

"Historical accounts of ter'angreal created during the War of Power," Siuan replied evenly. "Particularly those for containment. Recent events suggest reviewing defensive artifacts."

Verin’s eyebrows lifted. "Containment devices? Most sisters study communication rings or battle tools. But general histories in section fourteen, third alcove are open to you. Technical details require special authorization."

"General accounts will suffice, for now," Siuan said. Verin nodded and summoned an Accepted to guide her deeper into the stacks.

At a secluded alcove, Siuan found several fragile volumes. The Accepted had showed Siuan to appropriate shelves before she withdrew to a nearby desk where she could still be able to provide assistance to Suian if needed while being able to monitor her use of the books.

Siuan had selected several volumes with deliberate care–books focused enough to justify her presence but broad enough to conceal her specific interest in binding ter'angreal. She settled at a reading table with a stack of ancient texts.

By candlelight, Siuan read accounts of defensive artifacts recorded in various historical eras, gradually narrowing her focus toward tools once used against Forsaken-level threats. Most were vague, either mentioned in passing without any technical specification or devices described by function rather than mechanics, with outcomes noted without explanatory details. There were disks that could bind a channeler for hours, collars sealed with Power, chains that sapped strength. 

The Breaking had destroyed not just civilization but vast knowledge, leaving information gaps scholars have spent centuries trying to reconstruct from fragmentary evidence.

Towards the day's end as some sisters left the archives to get their evening meal, Siuian found something of interest. In one ancient manuscript supposedly written by Aes Sedai serving under Lews Therin Telamon during War's final phase, she saw mention of a Binding Disk created by Jorlen Corbesan. 

The Binding Disk created by Jorlen Corbesan successfully contained subject for approximately six hours during initial testing. Subsequent modifications extended duration to nearly three days before subject recovered full capacity. 

Implementation requires direct physical contact followed by specific channeling sequence. Risk to implementing channeler proportional to subject's power level—Aes Sedai circle of at least three recommended for containment of high-level targets. 

Further testing suspended following evacuation order…

The fragment ended abruptly, like many documents from that chaotic period. But, it was enough for her to decipher that the Binding Disk had been noted to have held a powerful user for three days, although it posed great risk to anyone who wielded it without proper training.

Her pulse quickened. If a ter’angreal specifically designed to bind powerful channelers survived from that era, it could be pivotal against Forsaken. Yet the Winds of Time had scattered knowledge, and this fragment was one of the few references remaining.

Siuan carefully copied relevant passages into her notes without drawing attention to its significance. She continued research for another hour, gradually shifting focus to more general defensive measures to avoid appearing fixated on any specific artifact type. After hours of careful note-taking, Siuan closed the books and gathered her things, slipping her notes safely into her satchel, before heading back to Verin for checkout.  

"Find what you were looking for?" Verin asked as Siuan completed checkout procedures.

Siuan lifted her gaze from the last brittle scroll as Verin closed the heavy ledger with a soft snap that echoed in the hushed alcove of the Brown archives. Flickering torchlight danced across the shelves, illuminating dust motes that drifted like lazy snowflakes between rows of leather‑bound tomes.

"Useful background," Siuan replied truthfully. "Though as always, the Breaking left more questions than answers in its wake."

Verin’s silver‑blue eyes met hers with an almost wistful warmth. "The tragedy of our work," she murmured, voice low enough that only Siuan could hear, "is that we glimpse fragments of knowledge our ancestors took for granted, resulting in it slipping away in the Breaking’s wake." She rested a slender hand on the ledger, fingers tracing the worn leather binding. "If your research requires more specialized access–detailed schematics, practical notes on ter’angreal operation–I can guide you through the authorization channels. The Browns won’t withhold what’s needed, but we must see proper petitions first."

Siuan recognized the unspoken understanding: this was more than protocol. Verin was quietly extending a lifeline, a promise of subtle support when the time came to press deeper into secrets the Tower would rather keep buried.

Siuan inclined her head, allowing a genuine smile to soften her features."Thank you, Verin Sedai. Your guidance would be invaluable should I need to pursue this further." Her words were measured, with a steady resolve.

Verin returned the smile, brief but unmistakable. "Whenever you’re ready. The books, and I, will be here."

With that, Siuan thanked Verin and departed as the last of the Browns drifted away to supper. The knowledge she carried was precious and dangerous if discovered by the wrong ears. 

She threaded her way back through the quiet corridors–where the distant murmur of evening prayers drifted from the White Tower below–each nod from passing sisters felt charged with hidden meanings. Polite acknowledgment, yes, but tinged by the awareness of the storm gathering in Tower politics.

Behind her, the Browns’ torches glowed in the distance, standing guard over those delicate secrets.

She stepped into the Blue Ajah’s wing, the scent of lavender and old parchment welcoming her return. Back in her chamber, Siuan Siuan fortified her wards around every scrap of paper. She then withdrew the small chest hidden beneath the carved runes. Her fingertips brushed each parchment as she laid them inside, whispering a ward of sealing that would sound an alarm if anyone else tried to open it. The clink of the lock was soft but final, a small victory in a night full of shifting dangers.

She crossed to a narrow cupboard and pulled out a modest bundle of dried bread, soft cheese, and a flask of cooling supper wine–meals kept for nights when eating at the dinning hall wasn’t feasible. Lighting a single candle, she arranged the simple fare on the desk, savoring the quiet rustle of parchment as she unfolded a cloth napkin. The bread’s tang mixed with the cheese’s mellow creaminess, and each bite grounded her back in the present.

As she ate, her mind ticked through the days ahead like beads on a string. She organized a mental list of necessary actions for the coming days. First, she needed to finish drafting the Blue Ajah’s official statement on research protocols; every phrase honed so that no loophole remained for Elaida to exploit. 

Then she needed to meet with Anaiya, pouring over potential votes and alliances: which Sitters might be swayed if given the right facts, which were already leaning toward control rather than curiosity. Finally, she must establish a new channel of communication to Moiraine–one so well hidden that even the sharpest Red eyes could not sniff it out.

She paused between bites, fingers tracing the edge of the table as thoughts turned to the Binding Disk ter’angreal. A tool that could bind a Forsaken’s power…or break the one who held it. To gain access, she would need the Amyrlin’s direct authorization and possibly the silent blessing of the Browns. Each step required perfect politicking, or she risked being shut out of the very advantage she sought.

Meanwhile, Elaida's aggressive move with the captured male channeler demanded immediate attention—determining whether he represented legitimate threat, Shadow distraction, or potentially another Dragon candidate requiring protection.

With her meal finished, Siuan rose. She laid her hands flat on the desk, closed her eyes, and began the evening ritual of the Aes Sedai: drawing a circle of calm around her heart, naming her intent, and letting the last bits of fear slip away. Her breath steadied, and, for a moment, only purpose remained.

Night deepened over Tar Valon. In the hush of her chamber, Siuan reached out with her mind, weaving dream wards strong enough to hold back even the prowling Forsaken, especially one who prowled Tel'aran'rhiod with ancient skill. The Pattern, she knew, was pulling threads of Light and Shadow tighter each day. All she could do was steer her own course.

Somewhere to the west, Moiraine moved under open sky, unaware of the political storm gathering in the Tower’s heart. Siuan closed her eyes and whispered into the dark, "Light illumine your path, Moiraine." 

Then, as the candle guttered low, she let sleep claim her, gathering strength for battles yet to come.

Chapter Text

Light danced through the colored glass of Siuan's chamber window, fracturing into shimmering bands of blue, gold, and green across the aged oak floor. Dust motes drifted, turning slow circles in the prisms as though reluctant to land.  Sitting at her desk, Siuan kept her gaze on the glow, letting it steady her breathing, her hands pressed to the freshly inked letter—words meant for Moiraine but too dangerous to send. Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft hiss of parchment brushing wood as she drew a deep breath. 

Three days had passed since the Hall session, and in that short span the White Tower had become a hive of hurried whispers and watchful eyes. Conversations cut off the instant she rounded a corner. Sisters from different Ajahs now glanced away, minds clearly measuring which side to choose. Red sisters moved through corridors with victorious smiles, crimson‐trimmed sleeves brushing one another in silent celebration, as though the outcome was already decided.

Siuan carefully folded the useless letter, feeding it to the small candle burning beside her desk. A tongue of orange licked up, blackening and curling the paper, secrets turning to ash. Direct communication with Moiraine had become too dangerous–every messenger potentially compromised, every letter subject to interception. She would need another approach.

A knock, soft and courteous, broke the hush.

"Enter," she called, smoothing the calm mask an Aes Sedai must never misplace.

Aeldra Najaf glided in, her dark eyes serious beneath the Keeper’s formal reserve. She closed the door behind her, the click of wood on stone echoing in the hush.

"The Amyrlin wishes to see you," she said quietly. "Immediately and alone."

Siuan's pulse quickened, though her face remained impassive. "Of course. I’m at her service."

"Siuan," Aeldra added, dropping formal address, "there's more you should know before you go. The male channeler the Reds brought in–"

"Something’s happened?" Siuan asked, rising from her chair.

"He's dead." Aeldra's voice fell to barely above a whisper. "They found him this morning in his cell–no marks, no signs of struggle. The Yellows examined him and found nothing to explain it. The Reds claim it was the taint taking him, but–"

"The timing is suspicious," Siuan finished, her mind racing. A convenient death, eliminating the need for public gentling while still serving Elaida's political purpose.

Aeldra nodded slightly. "I thought you should be prepared. The Amyrlin is...troubled by this development."

"Thank you," Siuan replied, straightening her blue-fringed shawl. "I'll go immediately."

As they walked through the Tower's winding corridors, passing novices clutching lamps and servants who ducked their heads respectfully, Siuan considered the implications. A male channeler dying in Tower custody was unprecedented, goes beyond political inconvenience. The Reds prided themselves on bringing in male channelers for gentling, not delivering corpses. Each step felt heavier than the last. Every turn echoed with hidden voices and cautious glances. 

At the Amyrlin's study, Aeldra announced her arrival then withdrew, closing the door with a soft click that echoed in the sudden silence. 

Tamra sat behind her desk, face drawn with lines of fatigue Siuan hadn't noticed at the Hall session. Papers lay scattered across before her, as if the room itself was caught in urgent debate–reports, by the look of them, bearing seals from various Ajah heads.

"Siuan," the Amyrlin acknowledged. "We face deeper troubles than Elaida’s ambition."

Siuan curtsied formally. "Mother."

"Sit," Tamra directed, gesturing to the chair opposite. When Siuan was settled, she continued in a lowered voice despite the privacy wards humming around them. "The young man the Reds brought in–you've heard?"

"That he died mysteriously, yes. The Keeper mentioned it."

Tamra nodded slowly. "Before he passed, he spoke of dreams–a woman with stars in her hair promised him power if he would serve her."

Siuan felt the room drop ten degrees. "Lanfear."

"It appears so," Tamra confirmed. "If the Forsaken walk free and recruit, we stand on the knife‑edge of disaster. And that is not all." The Amyrlin selected a document from the pile before her, studying it briefly before continuing. "More troubling is what he said before dying. He claimed 'the ancient enemy rises again,' and that 'the eye that sees all will soon be blind'." She trailed off, her gaze sharpening as she studied Siuan's reaction.

The words hung in the air between them, heavier than the stone of the Tower itself. 

Tamra continued, her voice barely audible now. "I've begun quiet investigations through trusted channels. We still don’t know what the ‘eye’ means but I will not gamble the world on ignorance. It’s even more imperative you continue your research into the binding ter’angreal, the disk we spoke of. Your scholarly pursuits will raise no eyebrows since the Hall currently discusses your research."

"You want me to pursue access to the binding disk," Siuan concluded.

"Discreetly, yes. Work through Verin Mathwin–she studies similar artifacts and may provide cover for your inquiries without drawing attention. If Forsaken actively move against us, we may soon need every weapon at our disposal."  She hesitated, then added, her expression tightening. "That brings me to the second matter. I need Moiraine to return to the Tower."

Siuan felt a flicker of alarm. "Return? But her work–"

"Is precisely why she must return temporarily," Tamra cut in, urgency rolling from her like heat from forge‑iron. "There's information vital to your shared mission that cannot be committed to paper or relayed through intermediaries. I must speak with both of you, together, in person."

"I'll send word through secure channels," Siuan promised, though uncertainty gnawed at her. Calling Moiraine back now, when she pursued active leads, risked losing valuable momentum in their search.

"No," Tamra said, surprising her. "No messages. This matter requires absolute secrecy. You must go to her yourself."

Siuan failed to completely mask her shock. "Leave the Tower? Now? With Elaida's called vote pending and–"

"Precisely because of those circumstances," Tamra interrupted. "Your absence from the Hall blunts Elaida’s attacks, providing plausible distance from Tower politics while serving a greater purpose."

Siuan inclined her head in acknowledgment. "When would you have me depart?"

"Tomorrow at first light. Travel with a small merchant caravan leaving for Caemlyn–I've arranged passage through one of our trusted networks. From there, you'll need to locate Moiraine. My sources indicate she may be heading toward Baerlon next."

As Tamra outlined practical details, Siuan's mind raced with implications and contingencies. The plan was both audacious and elegant. A journey west would require weeks away from the Tower, leaving allies to manage fallout from Elaida's rabble rousing. Yet it offered an opportunity for direct contact with Moiraine, to warn her about Lanfear's confirmed involvement and coordinate their approach to the remaining Dragon candidates.

When the Amyrlin finished, Siuan rose and curtseyed. "I'll make preparations immediately, Mother."

"Take care, daughter. The Pattern weaves as it will, but we must ensure it isn't severed before completion."

With that cryptic warning, Siuan was dismissed. She moved through the Tower corridors with outward calm while her mind buzzed with preparations. If she would leave at dawn, there were arrangements to make, allies to brief, and research to gather–all while maintaining the appearance of routine activity.

Back in her chamber, Siuan laid out her plans. First, Anaiya in the Blue Ajah; next, the archives; then the road west. She gathered plain traveling clothes, silver coins, and her carefully burned letters. Hidden mirrors and coded ciphers lay tucked in secret folds of her shawl. Every detail mattered now.

That evening, she descended to the Brown Ajah’s restricted chamber deep beneath the library, a circular chamber whose walls were lined with ancient wooden shelves containing the Tower's most dangerous knowledge. Oil lamps glowed steady in the circular room, illuminating rows of forbidding tomes and bound scrolls. The air smelled of old leather and whispered danger.

Siuan stood before the entrance, presenting her authorization to the Brown sister who served as guardian. The woman examined the Amyrlin's seal carefully before returning the document with a slight nod.

"Your access is approved for historical research only," she cautioned. "Handling of artifacts requires additional authorization and direct supervision."

"Of course," Siuan agreed smoothly. "My interest lies purely in documentation at this stage."

The guardian inclined her head and ushered Siuan through the heavy oaken door, which closed behind her with a sound like a final breath. Inside, Verin Mathwin sat at a circular table surrounded by scrolls and leather-bound volumes, her spectacles perched  midway along her nose as she made careful notes in a small book. She glanced up at Siuan's entrance, her expression thoughtful.

"Ah, I wondered if you might return," Verin said mildly. "You've come about the binding artifacts, I presume?"

Siuan approached carefully. "Yes. My initial research raised additional questions about their operational principles, among other plagues."

Verin's eyes sparkled with scholarly interest. "Fascinating devices, aren't they? Created at extraordinary cost during the War of Power, each requiring tremendous skill to craft and even greater skill to use effectively." She gestured to the chair opposite. "What specifically interests you?"

Siuan settled across from the Brown sister, considering her approach. Verin's apparent openness might be genuine scholarly enthusiasm or something more calculating. Either way, direct questions about the ter'angreal's location would likely meet resistance.

"I'm curious about the channeling requirements," Siuan began. "Historical accounts suggest the binding disk requires specific weaves or sequences to activate properly, yet descriptions are frustratingly vague."

Verin nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, that's the perpetual challenge with Age of Legends artifacts–we have the what but rarely the how. Most documentation was lost in the Breaking." She selected a particular scroll from her collection, unrolling it carefully. "This fragment, recovered during excavation of an abandoned stedding, contains one of the more detailed accounts."

She positioned the ancient parchment between them. Faded ink showed diagrams of circular patterns with annotations in Old Tongue script so archaic that even Siuan, fluent in multiple variations, struggled to decipher its meaning.

"The binding requires weaves of all Five Powers," Verin explained, tracing the diagram with one finger. "But ordered in specific sequence and proportion–Spirit dominant, then Air, Fire, Water, and Earth as supporting elements. The pattern creates a resonance chamber of sorts, temporarily cutting the subject off from the True Source."

Siuan studied the diagrams with growing interest. "And the physical component? The disk itself?"

"Ah, that's where accounts differ," Verin said. "Some describe a silver disk inscribed with symbols similar to these." She indicated the circular patterns. "Others suggest a crystal contained within metallic housing. What's consistent is that the ter'angreal must directly touch the subject during binding."

"Which limits its practical application," Siuan observed. "Particularly against unwilling targets."

Verin's eyes gleamed. "Indeed. Historical accounts suggest most successful bindings occurred when the subject was first weakened  in battle or led by trickery."

They spent the next hour discussing theoretical applications and historical precedents, carefully circling the central question without addressing it directly. Verin shared additional fragments and scholarly interpretations while Siuan offered observations about defensive applications against channeling threats.

Finally, as their discussion wound down, Siuan ventured closer to her true purpose. "These accounts are fascinating from a theoretical perspective, but I wonder–does the Tower possess any such artifacts for examination? Even inert examples would provide valuable insight."

Verin adjusted her spectacles, her expression becoming more guarded. "Ter’angreal are jealously guarded, especially items with potentially dangerous applications." She paused, studying Siuan with unexpected intensity. "But with proper request." She tapped her chin. "Janya Frende oversees the cataloging of recovered ter'angreal. Speak to her."

It was as close to confirmation as Siuan could hope for–not direct acknowledgment of the binding disk's existence in Tower hands, but a practical path toward potentially accessing it. She would need to speak with Janya before departing  and plant the seed for future investigation.

"Thank you, Verin," Siuan said sincerely. "Your insights have been invaluable."

Verin smiled, the expression transforming into something almost mischievous. "Knowledge serves those who seek it with purpose, Sister." She began gathering her materials with careful hands. "I trust your journey will prove illuminating."

The comment caught Siuan off guard. Her planned departure hadn't been announced beyond the Amyrlin and a handful of Blue sisters. Either information traveled even faster than she'd feared, or Verin possessed sources of her own.

"Journey?" Siuan asked carefully.

"To historical archives beyond the Tower," Verin clarified smoothly. "Where else would one pursue such specialized research? The fragments in Cairhien's Royal Library alone might prove worth examining, don't you think?"

Siuan relaxed slightly, though uncertainty lingered. "Perhaps. I haven't finalized my research itinerary."

"Well, should your travels take you westward," Verin continued, her tone conversational yet somehow weighted with meaning, "you might consider stopping in Aringill. I have a contact there, a book merchant named Barlden, who occasionally acquires interesting historical texts. Mention my name, and he'll show you his private collection."

The offer seemed innocuous enough yet something in Verin's manner suggested deeper significance. Was she offering assistance? Warning? Or something else entirely?

"I'll keep that in mind," Siuan replied neutrally.

As she prepared to depart, Verin added one final comment. "Oh, and Siuan? When examining ancient bindings of any sort, remember that their strength lies not in how tightly they constrain, but in how specifically they target a subject's unique nature. The most powerful bindings target a person’s very nature."

With that cryptic advice lingering in the air between them, Siuan took her leave. She climbed the spiraling stone steps back to the main archives, her mind cataloging what she'd learned while questioning what remained hidden. Verin clearly knew more than she revealed, about the binding disk, about Siuan's imminent departure, perhaps even about the purpose behind her research.

Whether that knowledge represented threat or opportunity remained to be seen.

Evening shadows lengthened across Siuan's chamber as she completed her preparations. A small pack lay ready on her bed: plain gowns, travel journals, bedroll, small purse of silver, and bowls of dried fruit. She also included selected notes on ter'angreal theory to support her cover story without revealing her true purpose.
Her most delicate papers–notes on Dragon or notes containing direct references to Moiraine's mission–were hidden in secret stitches. Loose ends tied, contingencies planned, she could now turn to her final preparation: establishing secure communication for her journey.

Then came the soft knock. Anaiya entered, carrying a carved wooden box. Her gray hair was loose at the temples, and worry shadowed her eyes.

"The arrangements are complete," Anaiya reported quietly. "The merchant caravan leaves at first light. Master Kenlan expects you. Official story: scholarly research into defensive ter’angreal."

"And the Hall situation?" Siuan asked.

"Manageable for now," Anaiya assured her. "Elaida presses for immediate vote, but several Sitters insist on a full consideration period before deciding. The Whites particularly demand more concrete evidence before supporting any restrictions on Ajah autonomy."

Siuan nodded, relief flickering briefly across her features. "Watch Elaida closely," Siuan advised. "Her ambition makes her vulnerable to manipulation. She sees an opportunity to discredit the Blue Ajah and elevate Red influence."

"Elaida won't find easy victory while you're away. We'll maintain our position in the Hall and position your absence as  scholarly research into defensive measures against the growing Shadow threat," Anaiya promised. "The timing, while perhaps not ideal given Hall deliberations, demonstrates our commitment to Tower security through practical action rather than political posturing. Now, for your journey."

She opened the wooden box, revealing a small circular object nestled in velvet lining. It resembled a compact mirror in silver casing, innocuous enough to avoid suspicion from casual inspection.

"This ter'angreal hasn't been studied extensively," Anaiya explained, lifting it carefully. "But, it transmits messages between paired devices. Twin to a second piece in Baerlon, held by Renalle Gishen, one of our most trusted eyes-and-ears in Baerlon."

Siuan accepted the device with appropriate reverence. "How does it function?"

"Channel Spirit toward Renalle Gishen in Baerlon" Anaiya demonstrated with a delicate weaving gesture. "When connection establishes, speak near it, and she’ll relay your words in whispers. Range seems limited, twenty leagues at best, and connection lasts only moments before requiring reestablishment."

Siuan tucked the ter'angreal into a hidden pocket sewn into her traveling clothes.

"If Renalle has heard from Moiraine, she can direct you appropriately," Anaiya continued. "If not, she maintains contacts throughout western provinces who might provide information without alerting those who watch our more established networks."

They reviewed caravan details, Hall support, and the suspicious neatness of the prisoner’s death. When talk ran dry, Anaiya,  hesitating, set a maternal hand on Siuan’s shoulder, then added, "Be careful, Siuan. Not just on the road, everywhere. The Tower's eyes reach far, and not all serve the same purpose."

The warning carried weight beyond mere caution. Anaiya had served decades longer than Siuan, witnessing Tower politics through multiple Amyrlins. Her concern suggested deeper currents than even Siuan had perceived.

"I will," Siuan promised. "Light illumine and protect you until my return."

After Anaiya departed, Siuan completed her final preparations in solitude. She set wards around her chamber–not to prevent entry, which would seem suspicious, but to alert her if anyone disturbed her possessions during the night. Then she settled onto her bed, not to sleep but to center herself for what lay ahead.

As night deepened around her, Siuan traced patterns on her bedspread, mind reviewing contingencies while her heart acknowledged truths she rarely permitted herself to dwell upon. Beyond mission and duty, beyond Tower politics and world-shaping prophecies, she longed to see Moiraine again. She allowed her to picture Moiraine’s face, the tilt of her smile, the quicksilver mind behind dark eyes. Soon, Light willing, they would stand shoulder to shoulder again.

Outside her window, stars scattered across the heavens like fallen diamonds. Somewhere beneath that same sky, Moiraine too might be looking upward, navigating by the same celestial markers. Their paths, diverged by necessity, would soon converge again. With that thought warming her despite the night's chill, Siuan finally closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her.

Siuan departed Tar Valon as morning mist still clung to the gleaming bridges spanning the wide Erinin. Her modest gray dress,  travel‑stained cloak, and blue-fringed shawl marked her one more scholar chasing dusty manuscripts or investigating rumors of ancient artifacts.

The merchant caravan she joined consisted of six wagons carrying wool, spices, and crafted goods bound for markets west of the city. Master Kenlan, a broad-shouldered man with graying beard and shrewd eyes, greeted her with appropriate respect–a shallow bow acknowledging her rank without the fawning deference that would mark her importance to passing observers.

"Welcome, Aes Sedai," he said simply. "We've prepared the third wagon for your comfort. Not luxurious, but clean and private."

"It will serve admirably," Siuan replied with genuine appreciation. "I thank you for accommodating my request on such short notice."

Kenlan nodded once, understanding the transaction's unspoken elements. The Blue Ajah maintained relationships with selected merchants throughout the regions surrounding Tar Valon–traders who provided transportation, information, and occasional services in exchange for healing, protection, or more tangible considerations. This arrangement, while never formalized, represented one strand in the complex web of Tower influence beyond its ivory walls.

Master Kenlan’s third wagon offered a narrow bunk, a desk bolted to the floor, and privacy enough for weaving tiny wards each night. As the caravan rolled through Tar Valon's western gate, Siuan settled into the bunk, arranging her skirts with practiced economy as she watched the White Tower dwindle until its slender peak slipped behind a bend of the Erinin.

For nearly twenty years those white-marble walls had been Siuan’s whole horizon–first as a wide-eyed novice scrubbing floors, then as white-skirted Accepted burning midnight oil over dusty tomes, and finally as a full Sister of the Blue Ajah. Leaving that familiar tower now felt like stepping off the prow of a ship into uncharted seas. The pang that twisted inside her was not regret but reckoning: the knowledge that every certainty she had clung to might soon be stripped away.

She had traveled before–quiet Blue missions, quick journeys to settle disputes, occasionally accompanying delegations to royal courts–but this road felt different in her bones. The world beyond Tar Valon had always carried dangers; now it seemed to be stalking her purpose with sharpened claws.

The caravan's pace, while steady, felt agonizingly slow compared to her internal urgency. Two weeks minimum to reach Caemlyn if roads remained clear and weather favorable. Another week at least to locate Moiraine, assuming the rumors about her heading west were even half-true. Each slow-creaking mile tasted like lost time: what new plots might harden in the Tower while she rode? What trouble could spring on Moiraine with no warning?

To keep her thoughts from circling the same worn path, Siuan spread her notes across her lap, knees braced against the wagon’s sway. Line after cramped line detailed everything she had gleaned about binding ter’angreal–disks of silver, crystal cores, weaves that needed all Five Powers in perfect balance. Every source repeated the same grim refrain: confining a Forsaken took more than raw strength. It demanded either a circle of channelers or a weapon keyed precisely to the enemy’s own nature.

Most troubling was Verin's implied warning about the binding disk specifically: that its effectiveness depended upon tailoring to the subject's essential nature. Trouble was if targeting Lanfear became necessary, her nature was half-myth and half-nightmare, how did you weave a net for that?

As late-day sunlight slanted through the tiny window, Siuan set aside her notes and pulled out a plain leather-bound book from her pack. She opened to a blank page and began to write. The script looked like nothing more than a peddler’s ledger–columns of wool weights, prices for barley and flax, one she had developed years ago with Moiraine. But between the figures lay a web of ciphers, based on obscure Old Tongue variations: Elaida’s brewing alliance, the silent death of the captured man, whispers of Black Ajah, and above all Tamra’s urgent command that Moiraine return.

By evening, when the caravan halted to make camp beside a small tributary of the Erinin. And by the time lilac dusk pooled under the trees, the day’s record was finished. She secured the journal in her pack and emerged from the wagon, joining the merchants gathered around a crackling fire beside a narrow tributary of the Erinin. Sparks danced up into the dark like tiny fireflies.

Master Kenlan approached, rubbing his weather-cracked hands. "If the skies stay kind, we’ll see Aringill in ten days," he informed her. "From there the river will bear us quicker than any horse team."

"Good," Siuan replied, warming her palms over the flames while nodding her appreciation for the information. "Tell me, have the roads carried any ill tales? Bandits, sickness, the like?"

The bearded merchant scratched his jaw, his expression turned thoughtful. "Nothing worse than hungry men in lean times. Though traders out of Shienar speak of fresh Trolloc raids. And there’s talk from small villages about  nightmares sweeping villages near Andor’s border. Entire families, waking in terror. Probably winter fever stirring fancy tales, but I’ve heard it too often to dismiss."

A chill that had nothing to do with the night air slid along Siuan’s spine. Shared dreams, spreading village to village? That suggested potential Forsaken activity. Perhaps Lanfear wasn't the only one employing dream manipulation to locate or influence potential Dragon candidates.

"If more of those stories reach your ears," she said, pitching her voice low, "I’d be grateful to hear them. Part of my research involves historical accounts of similar phenomena."

Kenlan bowed slightly. "Of course. I’ll set my people listening at our stopping points."

After a simple meal of stewed vegetables and hard bread, Siuan returned to her wagon. She laid a light ward—just a whisper of Air and Spirit to wake her if anyone crossed the threshold—and stretched out on the narrow bunk. The gentle rock of the wheels still hummed in her muscles, lulling her eyelids heavy.

Her last conscious thought before drifting off was of Moiraine: were the wards hidden on the Aybara farm still undisturbed? Had Lanfear stalked her in Tel’aran’rhiod again? Was Moiraine even now chasing the Andoran boy, unaware the noose was tugging tight around them both?

Light protect her, Siuan thought as sleep claimed her. Light protect us all .

Chapter Text

Seven days into their journey, as  the sun dropped below distant ridges of scrub and stone, the caravan stopped for the night near a small crossroads village whose name Siuan hadn't bothered to learn. The merchant wagons were clustered around the flickering campfires like moths drawn to flame. The air smelled of dust, cooking barley, and the tang of spending coins. Siuan felt the  distinctive prickling at the back of her mind–the faint, steady hum that only the One Power could send.

It wasn’t strong enough to set her teeth on edge, but it was there, insistent. She rose, slipped from her wagon, shawl draped casually across her shoulders, the hem of her skirt brushing against the rough boards of the wagon’s floor as she stepped out into the cool dusk. Shadows deepened among the trees at the edge of the camp, where lantern light did not reach. The sensation of channeling pulled her toward them, like a thread leading to a hidden knot.

Slipping between wagons, Siuan moved silently. The crackle of campfires and the low laughter of traveling folk faded behind her. Soon she stood at the lip of a small grove, gnarled oaks and maples standing guard. She could hear a woman speaking in urgent undertones, a man responding with growing agitation.

"–can't maintain the connection without proper focus," the woman was saying. "The distance stretches our capacity to its limit."

"Then tighten your focus," a man’s tone cut in, clipped and impatient. "Every moment counts. If Tower suspicions grow before proper countermeasures are established–"

Siuan stepped deliberately on a fallen branch, creating a sharp crack that silenced the conversation instantly. She stepped around the trees, shawl falling back from her shoulders, cloak brushing the dry leaves. The firelight touched her calm face, regarding the pair with mild interest.

The woman–plain-featured, perhaps forty years old, in wearing modest brown traveling clothes–went pale before reclaiming her composure. The man beside her, tall and lean, hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword, fixed Siuan with calculating eyes, maintaining more hostile wariness.

"Forgive the intrusion," Siuan said evenly, "but I felt channeling nearby. As the only Aes Sedai traveling with this caravan, I thought it prudent to investigate."

The woman curtseyed promptly. "Alerin Sedai! I had thought you traveled west from Tar Valon." Her use of a false name, one Siuan had not provided, immediately confirmed deception. "I am Merilyn of the Brown. My studies require field tests of long-distance weaves."

Siuan maintained her neutral expression while mentally cataloging inconsistencies. No Aes Sedai named Merilyn currently served in the Brown Ajah. The woman wore no ring or shawl, though she clearly could channel. Most concerning, she had attempted to establish immediate false familiarity through a name Siuan had never used. Still, she answered with courtesy:

"Interesting research," Siuan replied mildly. "I don't believe we've met in the Tower, Sister. Which Ajah head approved your field studies?"

A flicker of uncertainty crossed the woman's face before she answered, "Verin Mathwin oversees our particular line of inquiry." 

The woman who called herself Merilyn tensed as the lie left her lips. While Verin held significant influence within the Brown, she did not serve as Ajah head or possess authority to approve field operations independently. The woman was not who she claimed. Beside her, the man’s jaw tightened.

"I see," Siuan said, allowing a hint of skepticism to color her tone. "And your companion? I don't believe you've introduced us."

The man stepped forward, his bow precisely calibrated to acknowledge her position without conveying true respect. "Daved Hanlon, at your service. I guard Sister Merilyn during her travels against highwaymen and…other perils."

A competent lie delivered with practiced smoothness. The man carried himself with a fighter's awareness, hand never straying far from the sword at his hip. The sword was well cared for, its leather scabbard polished. His eyes, however, never settled; they darted, as though noting every exit and approach.

Siuan inclined her head. "How fortunate to encounter fellow travelers with scholarly interests," Siuan continued conversationally. "Perhaps we might compare notes this evening? My own research involves communication methods as well, though focused on historical precedents rather than practical applications."

An awkward pause. The invitation created visible discomfort. Merilyn’s lips pressed together. "Most kind," the false Merilyn replied, "but we must continue our work while conditions remain favorable. Perhaps another time, should our paths cross again."

Siuan slipped back a step. "Of course," Siuan agreed pleasantly. "I wouldn't dream of interrupting important research. May your weave hold true."

Light spilled from her words, and with a final curtsey, the woman returned the traditional Aes Sedai farewell phrase with mechanical precision. The pair watched as Siuan departed, their tension palpable even with her back turned.

Once beyond earshot, Siuan's mind raced with implications. The woman could channel–not powerfully, but with enough skill to attempt whatever "connection" they had referenced. A warrior with calculated eyes. Either they were desperate students of the Power, or they served darker ends. Their talk of tracking Tower movements suggested surveillance, perhaps for the Shadow. Or worse, an agent of Elaida, seeking to track the sisters' activities.

However, the woman lacked an ageless face–either she was no Aes Sedai or hadn't worn the shawl long enough for the One Power's effects to manifest, being recently raised or, more likely, she was never Tower-trained at all.

Siuan retraced her steps beneath a pale crescent moon, careful to display no outward concern. When she returned to her wagon, she wove wards of Air and Earth around herself, quiet weaves meant only to shield the mind and night’s sounds. Direct confrontation would reveal her awareness of their deception, potentially forcing desperate action. Yet allowing them to continue unchallenged risked compromising her journey or endangering the caravan.

She opened her traveling pack, retrieving the communication ter'angreal Anaiya had provided. Moiraine needed warning, to enable her to adjust her own approach and avoid potential watchers.

After a moment's preparation, she channeled a thin thread of Spirit into the silver disk, focusing on its paired counterpart in Baerlon. Lacking a strong source nearby, its thread flickered like a dying candle. The link blurred, shimmered, then glowed with a softness only she could perceive. The device’s faint heartbeat signaled its activation. They were too far from Baerlon to successfully communicate but it might be sufficient enough to alert Renalle Gishen that a message would come soon.

Disappointment curled in her chest. She let the weave slip away, the disk’s glow winking out. While she wished she could push the caravan faster, her efforts would draw attention and raise questions. And if she departed from the caravan to travel independently, she would be sacrificing both her cover and protection. Better to work within the wagon’s slow roll and gather her own intelligence.

A soft knock interrupted her deliberation.

"Who calls?" she asked, hand poised to strengthen wards if necessary.

"Master Kenlan," came the reply. "A matter requiring your attention, if convenient."

Siuan adjusted her shawl and opened the door. Master Kenlan stood under a lantern’s glow, merchant green vest catching light. His expression conveyed concern rather than immediate alarm. His voice was careful.

"Two travelers sought entry to the camp," he reported quietly. "A woman claiming Aes Sedai and a man at her side. They asked for lodging and a share of our fire."

"Did you grant permission?" Siuan asked, keeping her voice neutral.

"Not yet," Kenlan replied. "Our arrangement with the Blue Ajah includes consulting resident sisters before admitting others to camp, particularly given recent.. uncertainties."

His careful phrasing confirmed Siuan's suspicion that Master Kenlan served as more than a simple merchant. He was likely a Blue Ajah eyes-and-ears operative himself, one trusted enough to transport sisters on sensitive business.

"A wise precaution," she acknowledged. "The woman is not Aes Sedai, despite her claim. Her companion appears dangerous, competent with the blade at his hip and untroubled by falsehood."

Kenlan's eyes narrowed. "Darkfriends, then?"

"Possibly," Siuan allowed. "Or simple opportunists using false authority for protection. Either way, they represent complications we'd do well to avoid."

"Understood," he said with a slight bow. "I'll inform them our company accepts no additional travelers at present, with appropriate regrets."

"One moment," Siuan added. "After refusing them, place additional guards tonight, but discreetly. If they're merely inconvenient travelers, they'll seek accommodation elsewhere. If they persist in watching us despite rejection, we'll know their interest runs deeper."

Kenlan nodded understanding before departing to deliver the message. Siuan closed her wagon door, considering the implications. She leaned against the wagon door, the rough wood pressing through her hand. The false Aes Sedai might simply be a wilder with delusions of grandeur, her companion a hired sword protecting their deception. Yet their reaction to her interruption suggested something more coordinated.

The night stretched on, silent but for distant howls and the crackle of embers. Beneath the wagon, the world held its breath. She returned to her journal, adding coded notations about the encounter, sketching the outline of the false sister and the man’s stance, noting their strengths and hesitations. If similar incidents occurred along the route to Caemlyn, it would suggest organized surveillance rather than a chance encounter. For now, however, caution rather than confrontation served her purpose best.

All through the night, she watched from the small window, candle flame steady at her side. The false sister and her companion had indeed departed after rejection, yet she glimpsed occasional movement at the forest edge–someone watching, maintaining distance while keeping the caravan under observation.

When morning broke, orange light spilled across camp. No direct interference had occurred and the false pair had vanished, though fresh hoofprints along their route confirmed parallel tracking through the night. Siuan instructed Kenlan to maintain normal pace and routine, neither haste nor delay. Better to wear down their watchers with time than to force a confrontation.

For three days, the wagons creaked along dusty tracks as they continued westward while the forest edge held its secrets. At every campfire’s glow, Siuan caught glimpses of movement: a flash of dark cloak behind a tree, a pair of eyes watching from a distant ridge. Each time she scanned the shadows, they melted away, always just out of reach, content to observe rather than make their presence known.

On the fourth morning, as the merchants yawned and yanked at harness straps, a trembling apprentice boy knocked at Siuan’s door. He held out a folded scrap of parchment, voice tight with nerves. "Found this pinned to the supply wagon," the boy reported nervously. "Master Kenlan said you should see it straightaway."

Siuan took the paper with careful fingers, eyes tracing the edges for hidden wards or trap weaves before carefully unfolding the message. The paper was plain, unmarked by seal or scent, save for the warning within:

Return to Tar Valon. The Tower burns while mice play in western fields. Final warning before consequences follow.

No signature, no seal—only menace. She felt the faint echo of anger and fear behind the words. Someone believed her journey was a betrayal, not a mission. The reference to the Tower, rather than the Shadow, hinted at political intrigue: a warning from within the White Tower’s own halls.

"Thank you," she told the boy,  slipping the note into her pocket. "Please inform Master Kenlan our departure should proceed without delay."

He nodded, brow creased in concern and left.

*** 

As the caravan resumed its journey, Siuan contemplated shifting strategies. The watchers had moved easily through Kenlan’s guard, but had chosen intimidation over violence. That told her they still operated under some code–Tower law perhaps, or political caution. Political disagreement remained separate from personal violence in most Tower conflicts.

Yet the absence of open attack left her uneasy. If these were Elaida’s agents, they would stop short of bloodshed; if Darkfriends, they would not. Attacking an Aes Sedai, even one pursuing controversial research, would violate Tower law and custom. 

By mid-afternoon, when the caravan stopped briefly to water horses, Siuan had formulated her response. She approached Master Kenlan as he supervised wagon repairs, inspecting wheel rims by the riverbank. He stood knee-deep in the shallow flow, leather boots slick with mud.

She spoke quietly enough to avoid casual eavesdropping. "Our watchers grow bolder," she observed, nodding toward distant treeline where occasional movement betrayed continued observation. "Tonight, I believe they'll attempt more direct communication or interference."

He glanced, following her gaze with experienced eyes, toward the treeline where branches swayed in a breeze too light to stir leaves. "What do you propose?"

"Continue normal operations, but I’ll slip out after dark," she instructed, voice soft as rippling water. "Make my wagon appear occupied, then keep guards at the usual posts. If anyone approaches, they’ll think I’m inside."

The merchant captain nodded understanding without requesting elaboration, another indication of his deeper connection to Blue Ajah operations. "It shall be done."

"If I haven't returned by dawn, continue toward Aringill without me," she added. "I'll rejoin when circumstances permit."

Siuan offered a brief smile and turned and walked back to her wagon, mind already weaving plans.

***

When night fell, the camp settled into its familiar routine: lanterns swung in the breeze, horses nickered in their stalls, and merchants drank warmed ale by the fire. Siuan made a visible show of retiring to her wagon, under an excuse of writing letters, but slipped through a hidden flap before the lantern light reached her. Cloaked in dark wool, she skirted the outer circle of tents, her boots silent on path and grass alike before positioning herself along the most likely approach route their watchers had used on previous nights.

She settled behind  a sturdy oak trunk, channeling the faintest thread of Power,  a single thread of Spirit– not enough to trigger alarm in a trained observer, but sufficient to enhance her senses beyond normal human capacity. It brushed her awareness, sharpening all senses: the soft hiss of embers, the far-off cry of an owl, even the faint scent of damp earth. She waited, heart steady, for the familiar sign of her watchers.

Nearly two hours passed before she detected careful movement approaching from western thicket. Two figures slipped from the forest’s edge: the false sister, robe sweeping leaves aside, and her companion, the swordsman’s hand resting on his hilt. They paused to weigh guard positions, then crossed the open ground toward the wagons. Siuan let them pass her hiding place, then stepped into the pale circle of moonlight.

"Seeking someone?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible yet carrying clearly in night stillness.

Both figures froze, the swordsman's hand immediately finding his weapon, steel gleaming at his belt and the woman  channeled instinctively, tightened her grasp on a crude protective weave she formed around them both.

"No need for that," Siuan continued, lifting her hands in peace. "If I intended harm, you'd feel more than a challenge. I’d have you on your knees"

After tense silence, the woman spoke, her voice carrying forced confidence. "Your presence west of Tar Valon violates direct instruction, Sister. The Tower requires your immediate return."

Interesting choice of words, Siuan noted. Not "the Amyrlin requests" or even "the Hall demands," simply "the Tower requires." Phrases vague enough to imply authority without specifying source.

"I travel with Amyrlin's knowledge and approval," Siuan replied evenly. "On Tower business involving defensive measures against growing Shadow threats. Who specifically countermands her authority?"

Another silence followed, the pair apparently unprepared for direct confrontation. Finally, the man spoke, his voice cold with controlled menace.

"Names matter less than consequences, Siuan Sanche. Your research into prophecy draws dangerous attention. The Red Ajah moves to restrict it. Return now, or we will ensure compliance."

The explicit threat, combined with use of her true name, confirmed Siuan's suspicion that these were not random watchers. They knew who she was and that they served powerful backers. Yet their threat lacked power. Siuan drew a slow breath.

"Interesting," she replied with deliberate calm. "You claim Tower authority yet you hide behind masked threats and false faces. You shadow my every step, but you never follow proper channels. You name consequences without possessing authority to impose them." She paused meaningfully. "One might question whose purposes such methods truly serve."

The moon drifted through ragged clouds, casting long, shifting shadows across the narrow path where Siuan stood. The air smelled of damp earth and pine needles crushed under hurried boots. Her shawl slipped from one shoulder, revealing the plain blue dress beneath, but her eyes never wavered from the false Aes Sedai before her.

The woman’s hands glowed pale gold as she wove another binding weave, more complex than her last. Threads of the Power coiled around Siuan’s ankles, knotting like iron chains in midair. But the magic trembled, uncertain, as though sewn by a novice fingertip. She glanced at the woman’s hastily made weave, flickering with uncertain strength and her lips curved once in soft contempt. 

She raised her left hand and whispered a single word in the Old Tongue: "Yeldanduin." A cluster of tiny iron-leaf blossoms sprouted from the ground–taproot iron, sharp and unbreakable by any normal means–and whirled upward. They shredded the fragile weave as easily as a knife through silk.

Before the woman’s startled gasp could die away, Siuan seized the moment. She drew half a breath of the Power into her left palm. A warm globe of light blossomed there, pure and bright, banishing the deepest shadows. It revealed every detail: the false sister’s wide eyes, her fingers trembling; the swordsman’s hand on his hilt, muscles coiled like a spring; the line of trees behind them, attentive and still.

"Enough games," she stated flatly,voice steady and low. The light’s glow softened around her, yet it carried steel beneath its warmth. "You are not Aes Sedai.  Your companion is no Warder or guardian. Your claim to represent Tower interests carries no weight against Amyrlin's direct authorization. Go back to your masters and tell them: I will not obey cowards who lurk in darkness."

The woman's eyes blazed with frustrated rage. Her next weave crackled with jagged strands of air and stone, aiming to trap Siuan’s legs in a crushing grip.  But Siuan only exhaled and let the sphere of Power in her hand expand; its brilliance swallowed the binding before it ever formed.

"Enough!" Siuan’s voice rang. "Leave this path, and never return. Or next time, you’ll face more than words."

The woman’s breath caught, but she met Siuan’s unblinking gaze. "Your research brings consequences beyond personal risk," the woman spat, abandoning the pretense of Tower authority. The gold glow of her Power flickered unevenly as she spoke. "The Pattern itself frays when ancient boundaries are crossed. Some knowledge must remain buried."

A bitter wind rustled through the pines as though echoing the threat. Siuan’s eyes narrowed. The statement carried an ominous undertone beyond simple political disagreement–a doctrinal position that echoed certain extremist philosophies. Some splinter groups opposed even theoretical research into Prophecies of the Dragon, believing such investigation accelerated the Last Battle's approach rather than help prepare for inevitable confrontation.

"Knowledge serves Light when properly applied," Siuan countered. "Ignorance serves only Shadow interests."

The swordsman stepped forward into the glow, sword-hilt gleaming. His voice was smooth, unsettling in its calm, carrying an unexpected philosophical edge beneath martial exterior. "Yet not all who pursue knowledge judge its cost properly," the swordsman interjected. "Even Aes Sedai wisdom falters when prophecies cloud judgment."

Siuan opened her mouth to answer, to strip away the last of their half-truths, when a shout ripped through the night from the merchant camp behind them. The sound of running feet and shouted orders spilled through the night. Someone had discovered her wagon empty. That single cry fractured the moment. 

The false Aes Sedai and her companion exchanged a quick, sharp look. Then, like shadows loosed from chains, they melted back into the forest, retreating as swiftly as they had arrived. Their footfalls were silent, leaving only treacherous prints on the soft earth.

Siuan stood alone beneath the pale moon, the globe of light at her palm fading to a gentle glow. She considered pursuit, her heart thumped with the urge to chase them down, to tear the secret from their lips. But she dismissed it. She already knew enough: they were watchers answering to masters who feared her work. They had tried intimidation and failure. Her warning now lay at their doorstep.

Gently, Siuan eased the light from her hand, drawing the Power back into herself. The forest returned to its natural hush—only pine needles sighing under a breeze. She closed her eyes and wove a quick ward around her mind–not to hide her presence, but to steady her thoughts.

She returned back to the camp, where lanterns bobbed in the distance as Kenlan’s guards came rushing up the path.  Siuan turned and met Kenlan’s anxious gaze, then settled her shoulders. The merchant captain's relief at her appearance quickly transformed into professional concern as she related an edited version of the encounter.

"We'll double guards tonight," he declared after hearing her account. "We’ll move at first light and change our route tomorrow to throw off any trackers."

Siuan allowed herself a single nod. The camp’s bustle swelled around them–lanterns, whispers, the far-off stamping of horses. Inside the whirlwind, she felt a curious calm settle into her chest.

"A reasonable precaution," Siuan agreed, "though I suspect our shadows will maintain distance for now. They sought to scare me back to Tar Valon, and failing that, will likely retreat to report and reconsider."

Her prediction proved accurate. Over the next few days, the caravan pressed on without further incident. Siuan kept her senses sharp, noting every bend of the road, every traveler who glanced too long at a saddlebag or a shawl. By the time the stone walls of Aringill rose on the horizon, her journey’s tempo had settled back into routine, though her mind raced faster than ever.

The encounter in the woods had taught her more than any whisper of rumor. Someone powerful tracked her research into prophecy and Dragon lore, either out of political fear, extremist zeal, or darker designs. They knew her destination, her purpose, even her plans to find Moiraine.

That knowledge demanded urgency. Few beyond the Amyrlin herself understood her journey's true objective. And Moiraine might already stand on the threshold of discoveries that would change the Pattern’s weave forever or doom them all.

As Aringill’s gates loomed ahead, Siuan squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. The path to her destination lay open, but the game had changed. Now, every step carried the weight of secrets both ancient and dire. And at the end awaited Moiraine. Reaching her quickly now represented not reunion but perhaps the only hope left to guide the Dragon Reborn through the storm gathering on the horizon.

The pale light of late afternoon pooled in the hollows between Baerlon’s low, sodden hills, turning the wooden palisade into a shadowed rim around the town. Smoke curled from crooked chimneys in thin gray streams, drifting toward the heavy clouds. From her perch on the ridge, Siuan let her eyes study the mining town's layout, tracing every roof and pathway: the central square where merchants bartered worn cloth and salted fish, the narrow lanes leading toward empty quarries, and the river’s muddy bank where flat-bottomed ferries waited to push downstream.

After separating from the merchant caravan in Aringill, she had hired a series of travelling options–first a farm wagon, then a river ferry, and finally a single horse–to finally reach Baerlon without being tracked. 

She guided her mount down the worn track, choosing a farm cart’s lane rather than the main road, every hoofbeat measured to avoid splashing through puddles or drawing the eye of idle guards. Her plain blue dress carried no hint of Aes Sedai authority, and the Great Serpent ring remained tucked safely in inner pocket, hidden beneath folds of wool. Anonymity was her strongest shield until she found the contact she needed.

At the open gates, two militia guards leaned on their spears, indifferent to most travelers. One yawned so widely the tip of his halberd dipped dangerously low .The other barely glanced at her as she passed, his attention focused primarily on cargo wagons rather than individual travelers.  Siuan told herself she was a wandering scholar seeking old maps, and they did not ask her name. She nodded to them, let her horse step by step into the muddied courtyard, and moved on, blending with a slow-moving wagon loaded with hides.

Inside the city proper, Baerlon breathed a quiet welcome. Children chased a stray dog around barrels of pickled onions; women hung wet laundry from clothes lines above narrow alleys. Siuan navigated narrow streets with careful attention to potential observation. She kept her cloak pulled low, ears tuned to the soft sounds of whispers from doorways, wary of eyes that might recognize her stance or accent. But the town held no obvious watchers, and the night ahead promised the privacy she required.

She left her horse at a modest inn in the western quarter, its sign painted with a curled fish swinging above the door. A lantern glowed on its porch, and the innkeeper, a stout man with a graying beard, accepted her coin without question. In her small room–bare boards beneath her feet, a tight feather mattress. She tucked away her saddle and chart, then wrapped herself in a second shawl before slipping back into the street.

Renalle Gishen’s shop stood near the square, a low building of rough-hewn beams and simple windows. Above the door, a weathered sign showed an open book painted in faded black. Siuan pushed open the latch; a small bell rang, echoing softly among shelves crammed with volumes. The air smelled of dust, leather, and ink.

Behind a polished counter, Renalle Gishen glanced up from her ledger. Her hair, streaked with silver, was pinned in a tidy bun, and her keen eyes flicked assessment over Siuan’s travel-worn cloak and weary posture.

“Welcome to Gishen’s,” she said, voice neutral,  setting aside the ledger she'd been examining. "We’ve just received new texts from Cairhien, treatises on Hawkwing’s trade routes, among others. Anything interest you?"

Siuan approached the counter with measured steps, studying the woman's features. She inclined her head with practiced courtesy. "I seek a particular work," Siuan replied carefully, using the coded phrase Anaiya had provided. "Historical account of river trade between Illian and Tear during Hawkwing's reign. I understand such rare volumes occasionally pass through your private collection."

Renalle's expression betrayed no obvious recognition, her fingers paused on the ledger as though weighing Siuan’s words. Yet a subtle shift in posture confirmed message reception. "That is indeed rare," she acknowledged. "Such specific works rarely remain in inventory long. Perhaps we might check my private collection in the back room? More comprehensive records there might indicate whether it passed through our hands recently."

The invitation provided perfect cover for private conversation. Siuan inclined her head in acceptance, following the shopkeeper through a narrow doorway curtained in heavy cloth, which felt suddenly like a gateway into a darker world. Siuan slipped inside, heart steady but alert.  Once inside, Renalle secured the curtain and turned with entirely different demeanor–alert, focused, stripped of merchant pleasantries.

The light here was dim, spilled from a single oil lamp on a large oak desk. Locked cabinets lined the walls, and bundles of tied manuscripts sat on dusty shelves.

"You're not expected," she stated directly, her tone also changed. "Blue Ajah does not list a sister coming to Baerlon this moon. Credentials?"

Siuan met her gaze without hesitation. From an inner pocket, she withdrew a small silver pin shaped like two overlapping waves. She placed it on the desk. Renalle examined it briefly before extending her hand.

"Channel into it," she directed. "I need confirmation beyond the physical token."

Siuan closed her eyes for a heartbeat, lifting a thin thread of saidar. The pin’s wave lines glowed a  delicate wave pattern illuminated with blue-white glow that pulsed in specific rhythm–a security feature embedded in the token's creation, impossible to duplicate without both object and precise knowledge of required weave. Renalle exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders.

 "Accepted. I am Called to Serve," Renalle whispered

"In Shadow's Retreat," Siuan completed the recognition phrase. "I am Siuan Sanche of the Blue Ajah, here by the Amyrlin’s secret command."

The merchant-agent's eyebrows rose slightly at this deviation from protocol, but she nodded acceptance. "How may I assist, Siuan Sedai?"

"I seek Moiraine Damodred," Siuan stated directly. "Information suggests she passed through here. Anaiya’s network says you hold her trail."

Renalle considered this request briefly before moving towards a locked cabinet pushed against a far wall. She tapped a small key into its lid and pulled out a leather-bound ledger stamped with a faded blue Ajah seal. Finger by finger, she flipped through contents encoded in personal  ciphers and merchant shorthand. After consulting several entries, she looked up with cautious expression.

"Here," she said finally, pointing to an entry. "Moiraine Sedai made contact eight days ago," she reported. "She left after confirming her survey of the Two Rivers–no further instructions, but she told me to await her word if needed."

Siuan’s hand tightened around her sleeve. Eight days ago! Moiraine must be well beyond Baerlon by now. Yet knowing her path offered hope.

"Did she note direction or pace?" Siuan asked.

"She rode east toward Caemlyn," Renalle answered. "Alone with one companion, likely her Warder, though not formally identified as such. Slow pace, about four leagues a day. At most, she’s three days ahead."

Siuan’s mind spun with calculations. She assumed Moiraine might have reached Caemlyn three or four days ago, assuming no delays or diversions interrupted her journey. Best case scenario would be for both of them to meet in Andor's capital within a week's time; worst case meant Moiraine likely already departed pursuing a new lead, potentially complicating her reunion efforts considerably.

"I require swift passage to Caemlyn, fastest available transport," Siuan decided. "And a secure way to leave word if she circles back here during my absence."

Renalle nodded again, quickly jotting notes in a separate book. "A merchant caravan relays horses at dawn, twice normal speed for special fare. I can arrange priority placement." She hesitated before adding, "And in Caemlyn, The Crown and Lion inn holds messages for select travelers. Ask for Mistress Coline there."

"Thank you," Siuan exhaled. "I'll establish contact there upon arrival."

While Renalle made necessary arrangements, Siuan retrieved the communication ter'angreal from her belongings. Now within the operational range of its paired counterpart, she could potentially establish direct connection rather than relying exclusively on physical messages.

"One additional matter," she said, showing Renalle the silver disk. "This device's counterpart should be in your possession–provided by Anaiya several months ago for emergencies. Can you operate it?"

Renalle’s eyes shone in the lamp’s glow. "Once, with Anaiya herself. Since then, it’s failed." She gestured to a narrow table. "Show me again."

For the next hour, Siuan guided Renalle’s fingers and will through the precise weave, soft commands in the Old Tongue, subtle shifts of the Power. At last the disk hummed faintly, runes lighting like trapped fireflies. Renalle gasped, her relief plain in the curve of her shoulders.

"Perfect," Siuan said, smiling once. "Now you can call me should urgent need arise."

Renalle closed the table’s small lid, her expression warm. "May the Light guard your path, Siuan Sedai."

With technical matters addressed, Siuan left the shop. Dusk had settled over Baerlon. Lanterns winked on in taverns and street corners, and the air hung cool with the coming night. She returned to her inn, wards set around her door, never unspoken but always present.

Alone in her narrow bed, Siuan pondered the road ahead. If Moiraine pressed east, Caemlyn’s crowded lanes might hide her forever. If she returned here, perhaps following a fresh lead, then Renalle’s promise would catch her message. Either way, time pressed.

Most concerning was the Amyrlin's urgency in summoning them both back to Tar Valon. What knowledge had Tamra discovered that justified interrupting their search at this critical juncture? What threat or opportunity had emerged requiring their physical presence rather than encoded communication?

She eased onto her mattress, legs tired, mind alive with possibilities. Tomorrow, she would ride hard for the capital of Andor, guided by scant clues and her own steady will. But tonight, she found comfort in knowing she was not entirely alone: allies disguised among merchants, tokens glowing in their hands, and a promise woven between friends.

As sleep gradually claimed her, Siuan thought of Moiraine–her determination, her resourcefulness, the quiet strength that had sustained their shared mission through years of careful investigation. Her last thought was of Moiraine’s steady voice, calling her name across empty fields. Soon, she would answer that call and together they would face whatever shadows lingered beyond Baerlon’s walls.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun poured over Caemlyn’s outer ward like liquid gold, setting the cobblestones aglow beneath Moiraine’s careful steps. Even in the warmth she kept her dark hood drawn, the fabric brushing her shoulders as she moved. Around her, the market square thrummed with life: merchants called out prices for bolts of cloth or baskets of fruit, children wove through the legs of noblewomen and their servants, and a stray dog barked at a poor tailor hauling his wares. 

Yet Moiraine saw none of it without purpose. Her sharp eyes swept every face, every pair of hands. In a sea of strangers she searched for any hint of those who might stand against her.

Three days in Andor’s capital had yielded what she needed: confirmation that the Mantear boy lived in a simple townhouse in the middle ring, maintained by a distant cousin whose blood still carried a shadow of noble birth. It should have been reassuring; few would guess a faded family held anything more than old debts. But whispers reached Moiraine: men in taverns asking subtle questions, women lingering across the street in rented rooms, eyes never leaving the boy’s home. The Shadow’s net had wrapped itself around even this gilded city, the heart of Andor's golden capital.

Lan emerged without sound at her side as she paused by a fruit stall. His approach carried all the ease of a cat. He plucked a ripe apple with casual precision and studied it as though it held some hidden truth.

"They’re moving," he said softly, tilting his head. "Three watchers shifted positions when the boy left for lessons. Two followed, one remained."

Moiraine nodded once, her fingers brushing copper coins across the vendor’s outstretched palm. "They move with discipline." Her voice was low, almost lost in the shouts of the market. "Military, not petty Darkfriend enthusiasm. Like the ones we observed in Cairhien, only more precise."

"Similar pattern, but different style." Lan’s eyes never stopped scanning, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "These men carry themselves like soldiers: rigid posture, small signals passed with their eyes. The watchers in Cairhien moved more like scouts or beasts on a trail. This suggests different masters."

That thought settled in Moiraine’s mind: more than one Forsaken had taken interest in Dragon candidates now. Lanfear must have had company. Each of the Forsaken would keep their networks separate, competition amid shadows.

That assessment aligned with Moiraine's suspicions. The Shadow's interest in potential Dragon candidates now extended beyond Lanfear's manipulations. Multiple Forsaken might be involved, each deploying their own agents while maintaining separation from rivals. Such competition among the Forsaken presented both opportunity and danger.

"Tonight," she decided, "we observe the house directly. If the boy senses our eyes, or exhibits unusual abilities, we need to know before we approach."

Lan inclined his head once, then focused on a tall merchant among the crowd. The man stood too still, too watchful by the silversmith’s stall.

"Another watcher," Lan murmured, voice grave. "Near the silversmith's stall. He’s watched us since we entered."

Moiraine did not turn, though she felt his caution behind her. "How long?"

"Long enough to know our routine. He's maintained consistent distance, never approaching directly but always keeping us in sight."

The implication settled between them like a drawn blade. Their own surveillance had been noticed. Either they had grown careless in their observation of the Mantear household, or the Shadow's reach was deeper than they imagined, with layers of watchers observing watchers.

"Let’s split up," Moiraine suggested. "Draw him out. See whom he follows."

Lan's expression never changed, but his hand drifted casually toward the hilt at his hip, an unspoken promise of violence if needed. "Too crowded for a confrontation here. The north gate leads to quiet streets. We can test him there."

She nodded. "I’ll take the main road; you circle behind. If he tails me, we know his target."

With that, Moiraine melted into the press of faces, letting the market's flow carry her toward the northern exit. She maintained an appearance of casual shopping, strategically showing casual interest in bolts of cloth and jars of preserves while keeping awareness of her surroundings. Behind her, Lan quietly vanished, his ability to move unseen in crowded spaces still remarkable despite their months traveling together.

Outside the gate, the roar of the market faded into the soft hush of narrower streets. Workshops lined both sides: shoemakers hammering leather, masons carving doorways, a potter shaping clay by hand. Fewer people passed here; each one stood out against the gray stones. Moiraine paused at a crossroads, pretending to study a faded signpost while listening for footsteps.

She sensed rather than saw movement behind her, a subtle shift in the crowd's rhythm indicating someone had altered their path to match hers. Never too close, never too far. The watcher had taken her bait.

She slipped down a side lane whose stones glimmered with age, leading to a small inner courtyard. An old fountain stood at its heart, its water dripping in a steady, soothing pulse. Footsteps behind her grew more distinct on the cobblestones, no longer obscured by market noise. Her pursuer had abandoned subtlety, perhaps believing her unaware of his presence. 

Moiraine pretended to study the chipped statue at its center, her heart calm even as her senses reached for saidar, the familiar warmth of the Power filling her senses, though she wove no visible patterns yet. Better to understand his intention before revealing her strength.

The tall, broad-shouldered man entered the courtyard with no fanfare but all the confidence of a hunter who had found his prey. He wore a short coat of merchant’s cut, his dark hair swept back from a broad forehead. His hand rested at his belt, where the hilt of a dagger peeked out. Most telling were his eyes–sharp, cold, and trained.

"Mistress Alys," he said, using her alias, voice soft yet certain. "A word, if you please."

Moiraine turned, maintaining an expression of mild surprise. "I think you mistake me for someone else."

His lips curved in a polite smile. "I think not, Aes Sedai. Your interest in the Mantear family has been noted."

A cold knot formed in her stomach. He knew her status as Aes Sedai. Either he recognized her specifically, or he served someone with deep intelligence, … worse with someone inside the Tower.

"My business is my own," she replied, voice measured. "I have no claim on the Mantear family."

The man took another step forward, casual confidence in his movement, every inch betraying calm lethality. "Forgive me, but I must insist on honesty between us. Your observation of the boy has not gone unnoticed. Certain parties would prefer you cease your attention. There are other…candidates."

"Candidates?" Moiraine let a ribbon of amusement curl through her tone. "If these interests have concerns, they can bring them to me directly rather than through intermediaries."

His expression hardened and shook his head. "My lord prefers subtler methods. Consider this courtesy. Withdraw, or face consequences."

"And if I choose to ignore this courtesy?" Moiraine asked, voice deceptively light despite the tension coiling within her.

The man's hand moved to his belt, drawing the concealed dagger with practiced efficiency. "Then my lord regrets the necessity of more permanent solutions."

Moiraine sensed the moment had come to act. But just then, a soft hiss of steel on leather announced Lan’s arrival. In one fluid motion he stepped out of a shadowed archway, blade drawn and held at rest in Heron Wading in the Rushes, but ready. The position while a deceptively relaxed stance would allow him to transition to offense or defense with equal speed.

"I suggest you reconsider," Lan said, his voice as cool as midnight water.

To his credit, the man showed no surprise at Lan's appearance. He merely shifted position slightly, maintaining awareness of both potential opponents. He acknowledged with a slight nod. "Your reputation precedes you, al'Lan Mandragoran."

Lan's expression betrayed nothing, though Moiraine noted the subtle shift in his stance. Recognition of his true identity heightened the danger. Few outside Borderland royalty knew the particulars of Lan's heritage. Whoever this man served however knew Lan. 

"Then you know the wisdom of departing peacefully," Lan replied, his voice as emotionless as still water, each word measured.

The man seemed to consider this, weighing options with professional calculation. Then, with unexpected speed, he lunged, not toward Moiraine as expected, but straight for Lan. His dagger, a flash of blurring steel in the fading light aimed at Lan’s heart.

What followed demonstrated why Lan Mandragoran's name was spoken with reverence even among master swordsmen. Lan met the blow with grace as natural as breathing, his blade intercepting the attack with The Wind Blows Over the Wall, a defensive maneuver that redirected force rather than meeting it directly. The clash of steel rang, a sharp chime in the quiet courtyard.

The stranger pressed forward with a flurry of precise, practiced strikes–each one probing, gauging Lan’s defense. Moiraine watched closely, sensing the ebb and flow of weaves in the battle as if threads of wind danced between the blades. She could end the fight with a simple weave of Air, but the knowledge to be gained from this exchange would prove valuable. So, she stepped back, maintaining her embrace of saidar but not interfering. 

Lan’s feet barely whispered as he met each strike, the flat of his blade gently steering his opponent’s steel aside. First came River Undercuts the Bank–a low, rolling sweep that carried the man’s momentum past Lan’s guard. Before the echo died, Lan shifted into Parting the Silk, his sword tip sliding off the attacker’s blade so softly the move might have gone unnoticed were it not for the sudden wobble that announced that the other man was off-balance.

The courtyard around them held its breath. Moonlight pooled on the worn stones, the fountain’s soft drip a steady counterpoint to the clash of metal. Lan tested the man’s style with thoughtful precision: a crisp thrust borrowed from Andoran schools, a careful Cairhienin step forward, and something darker in the way his opponent absorbed each feint and return thrust. Each motion looked effortless: a flick of the wrist here, a shift of weight there, as if Lan were dancing rather than fighting. When Lan lifted his sword in Kingfisher Takes a Silverback, it arced through the air like a bird unfolding its wings: beautiful, deadly, and perfectly balanced. 

Dust swirled at their feet, stirred by Lan’s light movement, while the stranger pressed on with probing jabs meant to draw out Lan’s true strength. To any watching, it would have seemed an even match, two dancers weaving around the fountain’s moonlit pool. But beneath Lan’s calm lay decades of practice: each parry a quiet lesson in restraint, each breath as steady as the turning of a millstone, each step a promise that his sword would strike only when he willed it so.

Then the attacker broke pattern. A handful of dust sprang toward Lan’s face just as he dropped into a low sweep aimed at his legs. Most warriors would stagger, blinded, thrown off their rhythm. Instead, Lan spun lightly into Cat Crosses the Courtyard, his body pivoting so smoothly he escaped both cloud and blade. No pause; he flowed straight into Lizard in the Thornbush, his sword flicking out in a low arc that forced the man off balance and into a scrambling sideways roll.

As the man staggered back to his feet, Lan unleashed everything he had held in reserve, his blade transforming into a whirlwind of precisely calculated aggression. The Boar Rushes Down the Mountain, a three fierce steps that drove the man backward, followed by The Falling Leaf Takes the Wind, as the stranger tried to strike back. Before he could brace himself, Lightning of Three Prongs shattered his guard: three blades of air–thrust, spin, feint–cutting at shoulder, chest, and thigh in one blinding storm,  so perfectly timed the man only just managed to cross blades. 

A shallow line of blood trailed down the man’s arm, dark and vivid in the moonlight. He stumbled, blinked, and assessed Lan with newfound wariness. 

"Impressive," he acknowledged, his voice even, breath controlled, despite the exertion. "The tales of the last Malkieri king do not lie."

Lan, still poised in Leopard in High Grass, gave no answer. Around them, the courtyard settled into silence once more; two shadows at rest, one tested and wary, the other unbroken and watchful. The man seemed to reach a decision, as he sheathed his dagger with a fluid motion and a slow, respectful nod.

"My lord will be interested to hear of this encounter," he said, looking at Moiraine. "Perhaps he will rethink his interest."

Moiraine let a flicker of Power warm her palms, an unspoken reminder that an Aes Sedai need not rely on steel. "Tell your master that interference with Tower affairs carries its own risks."

The man bowed slightly, formal despite his bleeding arm. "I will convey your message, Aes Sedai. Though I suspect it will only heighten his curiosity rather than deter his attention." He backed toward the courtyard's southern exit, maintaining awareness of both Moiraine and Lan. "Until our next meeting."

With those parting words, he turned and disappeared into the narrow street beyond. Lan moved to follow, but Moiraine stopped him with a slight gesture. "Let him go," she said quietly, resting a hand on his arm. 

Lan sheathed his sword with fluid precision, the blade disappearing into its scabbard with barely a whisper of sound. His expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts. "He was testing me," he observed. "Not to kill, but to measure."

"Yes," Moiraine agreed. "And he knows your name. Only someone with deep records could do that."

"Rahvin," Lan stated flatly. "The fighting style matches historical descriptions: bending politics and power like clay while concealing his own true skill."

Moiraine closed her eyes for a moment, letting the weight of that name fall between them. Rahvin, architect of subtlety, weaver of webs no less deadly than any dagger. If he’d turned his gaze to the Mantear boy, their task had grown more dangerous by the hour.

"We move faster," Moiraine decided. "Tonight, I’ll approach the Mantear household under suitable pretext. If Rahvin’s network reports this, we have only hours before they act."

Lan nodded agreement, though concern shadowed his eyes. "Direct approach carries significant risk. If he has agents inside the house, you may walk into a trap."

"I’ll not walk alone," she said. "You’ll shadow close by, ready to intervene. But I must speak face to face. If the Mantear boy shows signs confirming Dragon potential, we must secure his safety before Rahvin's influence grows stronger."

Lan inclined his head. They departed the courtyard separately, voices and footfalls lost among the crooked lanes. 

As Moiraine retraced her steps toward the middle ring, her mind churned. Rahvin’s interest suggested the boy might indeed be a candidate–perhaps stronger than any yet found. But was the goal to kill him, or something more twisted? What if their understanding of Forsaken objectives was fundamentally flawed?

When Moiraine reached their inn, she slipped through the common room without drawing attention, climbing the narrow stairs to her modest chamber where privacy wards already maintained protection against casual eavesdropping. Lan arrived shortly after and they gathered by the flickering candlelight. Lan’s shoulder brushed Moiraine’s as they stooped over the map of Caemlyn’s rings.

"We need to reconsider our assumptions," Moiraine said quietly. "What if Rahvin hopes to control the boy? A false Dragon raised under Forsaken influence could create chaos throughout the land, distracting from the true Reborn while advancing Shadow objectives."

Lan, expression grave, added grimly. "Or worse. He could use the boy as bait to draw out other searchers, specifically to lure us out."

Moiraine’s breath caught. Every step they took had been shadowed, measured. The raid on their careful watch of the townhouse had the ring of a trap set and sprung. If so, they might only just slip away.

"We must revise our plan," she said softly. "Assume every move they make is meant to draw us. And assume the house itself may harbor eyes we cannot see."

Lan nodded, jaw set. "Then tonight, we strike at their web."

Together, they looked to the flickering map, two shadows bound by duty and danger, ready to face whatever schemes the Forsaken would send against them.

***

Just as the last glow of sunset faded from the sky, Moiraine paced her small room. Outside, lanterns winked to life in the common room, and laughter drifted from a corner table where a few late‐returning travelers shared a tankard. 

Before long, Lan joined her, entering through the window overlooking a quiet back alley rather than the corridor door–a precaution against watchers who might monitor conventional approaches. He landed lightly on the worn rug, unwrapped a bundle set beside the single candle on the table, and revealed a simple Andoran dress: soft blue cloth trimmed in silver, cut for comfort and modesty. It could belong to any well‐mannered merchant’s wife or minor noble’s daughter.

Moiraine stopped pacing, the hems of her own modest travelling robes whispering against the floor. "We need to determine if the Mantear boy truly is the Dragon Reborn or if we’ve been lured into a trap," she said, her voice low. "But first, we must survive long enough to complete our assessment."

Lan spread out a small slip of parchment, ink faded but legible. "The family’s routine," he explained, pointing to the lines. "Dinner by candlelight at seven. The lady of the house typically receives visitors after evening meal. Visitors arrive soon after, as neighbors drop by with news or requests. That window, between meal and conversation, is when you can enter."

Moiraine examined the garment, feeling its weight and flow. "And our pretext?"

"You are Mistress Daene, recently arrived from Cairhien, seeking distant family connections," Lan outlined. "Heeding her courtesy, they’ll invite you in."

"I’ll speak of shared history, half-forgotten stories of ancestors," she said, thinking of the mask she had to wear tonight. "It should provide a natural opening for conversation about the boy without raising immediate suspicion."

The strategy was sound, plausible enough to enable Moiraine gain entrance into the house while providing her an opportunity to directly assess the boy's nature and abilities. She would need to observe his reactions, particularly any sensitivity to her channeling, without revealing her true purpose.

Lan folded the parchment carefully. "I’ll wait close by," he said. "In the alley across the street. If anything goes wrong, I’ll create a quiet disturbance, a carriage overturned, a shouted argument, enough to draw watchers away without alarming the household."

Moiraine nodded, her thoughts drifting back to Rahvin’s agent in the courtyard, his dagger, his smile. "He’s already reported our meeting," she said, brushing back a lock of dark hair. "No doubt fresh eyes shadow every doorway."

Lan’s lips tightened. "Then the approach must seem natural. If they suspect an ambush, they’ll turn the boy out to watch for us."

A moment’s silence fell between them, only the candle’s flame dancing. Then Moiraine reached out, clasped Lan’s forearm. "Be ready," she whispered. "We step into the mouth of danger tonight.

***

As darkness settled over the city, Moiraine prepared for the evening's approach. She changed into the Andoran dress, arranging her hair in a style that emphasized its dark waves while partially obscuring her ageless Aes Sedai features. The Great Serpent ring disappeared into a hidden pocket; its presence would immediately identify her to anyone with knowledge of Tower symbols. Lan remained in his customary attire, though without the color-shifting cloak. 

She left first, pulling up her hood and slinging the dress over her arm. Its silver trim caught the candlelight as she slipped through the door and into the hush of the inn’s corridor. Lanterns lined the walls, flickering shadows that could hide watchers or Darkfriends.

Beyond the front door, the streets lay empty of carts, lit only by the steady glow of lanterns hung from iron brackets. Moiraine’s cloak brushed her ankles as she walked, each footfall measured. She let her mind settle into that calm rhythm, the way a weaver feels the shuttle pass through threads–every step deliberate, every sense alert for movement at the edge of perception.

Across the street, beneath a wrought‐iron lamp, Lan waited, a silent sentinel among shadows. He dipped his chin as she passed, then disappeared down a narrow lane, taking position for the distraction he would later unfold.

Moiraine moved on, the slight rustle of her dress matching the distant murmur of voices from nearby homes. Soon, she would stand at the Mantear door, bearing news of kins long vanished. In that short span, she might glimpse whether the boy who lived beyond those walls held the fate of nations in his hands or whether he was simply another piece in Rahvin’s deadly game. Either way, she would know soon enough.

Chapter Text

The Mantear residence stood on a quiet lane just west of the Queen’s Walk, three weather-beaten stories of grayish stone hemmed in by ivy-strangled walls. Narrow windows, tall as a man and framed in chipped white paint, stared out like watchful eyes. In the tiny front courtyard an iron gate–blackened from age, not design–creaked whenever the night breeze pushed through. 

Compared with the glittering mansions that glittered nearer the Royal Palace, the house looked plain, almost shy, yet it still bore the bones of old grace: carved lintels above each window; the faint outline of a long-eroded family sigil over the door; a small brass knocker polished so fiercely it shone even in moonlight. Warm lantern-glow flickered inside, proof that the family had not yet surrendered to sleep.

Moiraine paused beneath the entrance, breathing in the scent of damp stone and late-spring lilac that floated over the wall. She schooled her face into pleasant composure, like that of a Cairhienin lady of appropriate rank arriving on legitimate business, and hit three measured knocks. The door swung wide. 

A lean woman with neatly pinned gray hair and the unblinking gaze of a hawk studied Moiraine from boots to brow. No flicker of emotion showed; this was a servant who judged worth in seconds and displayed nothing.

"Light illumine you," Moiraine offered, letting a polite smile soften her face. "Your household received notice, I trust, of a Mistress Daene, newly come from Cairhien? I seek a brief audience with Lady Mantear, should she still be awake."

The woman dipped the barest hint of a curtsey. "Your purpose, Mistress?"

"Family connections, good woman. My late grandmother often spoke of her Mantear cousins here in Andor. I would not leave Caemlyn without renewing the blood tie."

A moment stretched, just long enough to measure sincerity, before the servant inclined her head and stepped aside. "This way, if you please. I shall inquire if the lady receives visitors this evening."

Moiraine followed her to a receiving room whose lace curtains and high-backed chairs had clearly seen better decades. Silver candelabra gleamed on a low sideboard, their bases rubbed thin by generations of polishing. A scent of lemon wax and old books hung in the air. Portraits watched from paneled walls: stern men in crimson coats, proud women draped in brocade. The canvas colors had dulled over time, yet the painted eyes still glittered with that peculiar Andoran confidence.

She let her gaze drift, cataloguing every detail the way a scholar turns pages: sword hilts engraved with roses, ink drawings of ancient Mantear holdings, a cracked porcelain horse that might once have adorned a nursery shelf. All spoke of a lineage proud but quietly diminished, clinging to dignity with both hands.

She had only begun examining these potential clues when the door whispered open. Lady Mantear entered with the smooth poise of someone who had practiced graciousness until it fit her like skin. Mid-forties, perhaps: dark hair braided and coiled, streaked at the temples with silver. Her gown, a tasteful blue wool, was cut in last year’s fashion but sewn by a master tailor. From the gentle press of worry lines by her eyes, Moiraine guessed the lady carried accounts and responsibilities both.

"Mistress Daene," she said, voice low and melodious. "My servant tells me you claim kinship with our house."

Moiraine sank into a graceful curtsy. "Through the Damodred line, my Lady. My grandmother cherished memories of a cousin who wed into your family during King Mordrellen’s early reign."

It eased Lady Mantear's reserve a bit, enabling her to relax for just a fraction. "Ailena Damodred, yes. My mother spoke of her letters, full of intrigues and Daes Daemar turns I barely understood." A small smile touched her lips. "Please, be seated. It seems we are cousins of a sort, however remote."

They settled opposite each other beside the crackling hearth. Conversation unfurled: genealogies, half-remembered tales of distant weddings, old scandals whispered three generations ago. The Lady’s posture softened bit by bit; Moiraine’s courteous warmth invited trust without obvious probing, yet carefully guiding the conversation.

After a while, Lady Mantear sighed, fingers smoothing a crease in her skirt. "Our branch of the tree is thin these days. Only my son, Arendor, stands to carry the name forward. Ten winters, yet he reads histories that would tax many a man. His father," her voice faltered briefly, "fell near the Shining Walls. The Aiel War left more widows than we care to count."

"I grieve for your loss," Moiraine said, sincerity ringing clear. "If it would not trouble you, I would be honored to meet the young master. Even brief acquaintances often strengthen family ties."

A pause. Lady Mantear seemed to consider this request carefully. The hearth crackled, throwing shifting amber light across carved wainscoting. Then she inclined her head. "Very well. Arendor keeps to the library at this hour. A serious child, though the Light knows these times fashion children into little adults."

She rose gracefully, leading Moiraine through a narrow passage, with flames from candles in their holders lighting the walls. Moiraine kept her tone light, yet behind calm eyes she tasted the air for threads of saidin or darker taints. Nothing stirred. Only commonplace life-energy pulsed: sleeping maids, a cook humming in the distant kitchen, the faint flick of a tomcat’s tail on an upstairs sill.

The library spanned the back of the house, two walls lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves. Leather volumes exhaled the comforting musk of old paper. Maps of Andor, Cairhien, and the Caralain Grass spanned another wall, tiny ink notes annotating trade routes. A single tall window overlooked a moon-silvered garden, its curtains half drawn. At a broad oak table sat Arendor Mantear, quill poised above an open volume. Candlelight shimmered on ink pots and scattered parchment.

"Arendor," his mother said softly. "A visitor."

The boy lifted his head. Dark hair fell over thoughtful eyes the color of storm clouds moments before rain. He rose, executing a courtly bow so precise it might have come from a prince’s tutor rather than a house in dwindling fortunes.

 "An honor to meet you, young master," Moiraine smiled, warmth kindling in her eyes. 

"The honor is mine, Mistress Daene. We seldom entertain guests of blood."

Lady Mantear eventually excused herself briefly to arrange refreshments, leaving Moiraine alone with the boy. 

"Your mother praises your learning. I see she does not exaggerate." Her gaze flicked to the massive tome before him, lines of spidery script and battle diagrams. "The Trolloc Wars are heavy fare, such material would challenge students twice your years."

Arendor shrugged slightly, the gesture oddly adult on his young shoulders. "I find history fascinating, patterns repeating across centuries, the same mistakes echoing through generations. Understanding the past seems essential for navigating the future."

Inside, Moiraine acknowledged the echo of wisdom—one too weighty for childhood yet familiar among those touched by the Wheel. She embraced saidar with the ease of breathing, drawing only a whisper of the One Power, shaping the gossamer-fine web she had used on Perrin Aybara. The testing weave floated, unseen, like dandelion fluff around the boy.

Nothing.

Arendor answered her gentle questions with calm courtesy: favorite subjects were strategy and Old Tongue lexicons, his aspirations’ "To serve Andor, perhaps as advisor when Queen Morgase’s daughter ascends." He displayed no flicker of awareness at the brush of Power, no subconscious reach toward it. 

Still, Moiraine pressed on, inquiring about dreams.

"My dreams are ordinary," he said, shoulders lifting in a slight, weary shrug. "Usually I’m solving problems from the day. Mother says imagination simply processes daily thoughts during sleep."

Disappointment nipped at her, but she hid it behind a nod. Another thread unraveled. Not the one foretold.

"Your maps," Moiraine noted, moving to a chart of Andor pinned by brass tacks. "You annotate them yourself?"

"I track merchant caravan changes," he said, following her gaze. "Tarabon spice is slower this season; rumors say troubles at Tanchico’s docks. It will push prices here by midsummer." 

The analysis rang with crisp logic. Yet prophecy seldom chose minds merely sharp; it chose souls ablaze.

Lady Mantear returned, with tea and honey cakes, setting them just down as glass shattered outside, followed by a clatter of voices. Lan’s distraction was right on time.

Lady Mantear turned towards the sound, apology on her lips. "Some street scuffle, nothing more. Forgive me, but perhaps we should end the visit before unrest worsens."

Moiraine bowed. "Of course. I am already grateful for your grace. Mayhap I will call again before I depart."

"You will be welcome, cousin," Lady Mantear said, pressing her hand.

Moiraine bent to Arendor. "Serve the Light, young master. And do not let history trap you, use it."

He offered a solemn nod that felt almost adult. "I will try, Mistress."

Outside, the lane lay calm as though it had never echoed with breaking glass. The moon rode high above slate roofs, painting everything in silver glaze. Moiraine lengthened her stride toward a modest plaza two streets over, alert to each rustle in the shadows.

From a doorway Lan stepped beside her, his cloak already blending into stone and darkness, their pace unhurried to avoid drawing attention. "Two of Rahvin’s eyes on the house," he murmured. "A third tailed you."

"And?"

"Lost him," Lan said, tone flat as winter steel. "For now. Findings?"

"Inconclusive," she replied. "The boy is brilliant, insightful, yet untouched by the Power. He shows no response to channeling probes nor possesses dreamer talents. Another false trail, perhaps."

They turned a corner toward a fountain whose waters spilled soft music. Halfway across the plaza Moiraine felt gooseflesh crawl up her arms, the hairs of every warning sense snapping erect.

"Down!" she hissed, snatching Lan’s sleeve. They dove into an alley as a burning spear of flashing white slashed the spot where they had stood. Cobblestones exploded, shards whirring past like hornet wings. Heat pulsed against her back.

Saidar flooded her, cool clarity racing veins of molten ice. She wove Air and Spirit into a dome that flickered like mother-of-pearl around them. Another blast, ruddy flame this time, hammered the shield. The weave shuddered but held. 

The channeling attack had been powerful and precisely targeted yet there had been no warning, no preliminary weave, just deadly force directed with murderous intent. Only a channeler of extraordinary strength, a Forsaken, could launch such assaults.

"Rahvin." The name left her lips like a curse. She felt him: a storm of malice perched above, likely on a rooftop. The Forsaken did not skulk in gutters; he preferred an emperor’s vantage.

Lan’s sword whisked free, moonlight kissing its edge. "Need cover," he stated, eyes scanning. "Market square ahead is crowded."

A rain of arrows hissed through the alley mouth. One tore Lan’s sleeve, scoring a shallow line across his shoulder before sinking into the brick wall behind them. Dark, mundane shafts. Historical accounts described Rahvin’s preference for layered tactics, one that overwhelmed those he attacked with Power and steel alike.

Moiraine flexed her defensive weave wider, diffusing the arrows’ force. The air vibrated with the Forsaken’s next gathering of power. She felt the world draw breath.

"On my word," she said, feeding more power into her defensive shield. Three… two… one.

She slammed Fire and Air into the street at their feet. The stones erupted, a geyser of dust and grit veiling them. In the same heartbeat she shaped their shield, pushing it forward like a battering ram. Together they burst through the gritty veil, sprinting toward the market lights.

A barrage of ice spears shattered against her barrier. Behind, an explosion roared, the Forsaken venting fury on empty stone.

Crowds swallowed them: merchants hauling barrels, hawkers closing stalls, tavern songs drifting through open shutters. Even Rahvin would hesitate to reveal godlike fire before dozens of witnesses. Still, Moiraine kept a thread of saidar woven, a second shield ready, as they maintained a brisk pace without drawing undue attention.

"He will adapt," Lan muttered, hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder.

"Then we outpace him." She caught his eye, pupils shining with reflected lanterns. "Blue safe-house by the North Gate?"

"Aye."

They slipped into the tide of people, two shadows borne along by chatter and clinking coins. Overhead, clouds slid across the moon, dimming its honest light. Two weary figures walked on, hearts beating in unison with the night’s unvoiced promise:

The battle was far from over.

Chapter Text

They angled north-and-west toward the district that hugged Caemlyn’s North Gate, keeping to the busiest streets they could find. Peddlers still hawked roasted chestnuts; a troupe of jugglers spun torches in a widening circle of admirers; wagon wheels rattled over cobbles slick with evening mist. Yet amid the clamor, Moiraine and Lan moved like stones in a river, eyes always a little too watchful, steps always ready to break into sudden flight.

"Rahvin knows exactly who walks in his web," Moiraine murmured, voice pitched for Lan’s ears alone. "That strike was too sharp, too immediate. Either the Mantear house is laced with his eyes or he has a net stretched across half the city."

Lan’s mouth thinned. "His hunters were waiting long before tonight. You do not coordinate arrows with balefire-bright weaves on a whim."

The prosperous storefronts dwindled into the plain-faced shops of smiths and merchants, then into rows of squat brick homes where lamplight glowed warm behind linen curtains. Here Caemlyn smelled of coal smoke, yeast, and river mud–honest scents that masked the tang of danger only a little.

The safe-house crouched at a corner where two narrow lanes met. Its plastered front was exactly as shabby as its neighbors’, the signboard above the door blank save for flaking paint. Only a finger-length swirl, scratched so lightly into the door post that passers-by would swear it was a knot in the wood, marked it as Blue Ajah ground.

Moiraine tapped a rhythm: three slow, two quick, one slow. The door cracked open at once. A woman with graying curls and a seamstress’s calloused hands ushered them inside.

"Welcome, Sister," she said, her accent as hard to place as her age. She performed a subtle bow that named Moiraine an equal and Lan a trusted blade. "The back room is yours."

They followed her through a dim hall into a snug sitting chamber at the rear of the building, one lit by a single brass lamp. No windows, no creaking floorboards, only a small hearth where coals glowed low. The woman, who had identified herself as Marille–a name that floated like a feather, meant to be forgotten–proceeded to set out cups of steaming tea, brown bread, and a crock of soft cheese. She waited for no thanks before melting into the corridor.

Lan barred the door, tugged a thread on the shutters to verify the peephole latch, and took up a silent post near the hearth. Moiraine unrolled her cloak and accepted the slim folder Marille soon slid through the gap: loads of eyes-and-ear monthly reports, each penned in the same fine, school-trained hand.

Moiraine’s gaze skimmed from sheet to sheet while Lan read over her shoulder.

"Six months of ripples," she whispered, tapping entries that charted the watchers’ presence: first a dockworker’s idle question, then a hawker who lingered where he had no wares to sell. "By three months ago the shadows stopped bothering to hide."

"Slow boil," Lan muttered. "Folk stop noticing the cook-fire if it warms degree by degree."

The reports spoke of a boy who was followed to tutors, to the tailor, even to the temple on feast days. Names of suspected agents repeated: "Namen," "Orielle," "the man with the ink-black gloves" milling at street corners like stubborn crows.

Yet the tested weaves had found nothing in the child. No seed of saidin, no tickle of prophetic dreaming. Why would a Forsaken lavish such care?

Lan straightened, fingers drumming the chair arm. "Rahvin conquered by placing puppets on thrones, not by burning them. The Mantear name once stood higher in Andoran nobility. If Rahvin seeks political control within Caemlyn, an impressionable Mantear heir could fit a future plot, Dragon or no."

Moiraine paced, skirts whispering. "And if we chase a false trail, the true quarry steps deeper into shadow." Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, as if piercing the floors above to the stars beyond. "We may need the Queen’s archives. Bloodlines, dowries, any dormant claim the boy could revive."

"Accessing them requires either noble status or royal permission." Lan noted. 

"Or Aes Sedai authority," Moiraine suggested after brief consideration. "A calculated risk revealing ourselves as Aes Sedai on official Tower business. We need something plausible yet unrelated to our true purpose."

Lan considered different angles, "The recent tensions between Andor and Murandy would justify an Aes Sedai investigating border dispute negotiations."

They spent the next hour developing a detailed plan of who Moiraine would approach the following morning, what documents needed to be created to support their fabricated mission, and  which withdrawal routes would appear more consistent with diplomatic travels.

As they finalized preparations, an urgent knock, three crisp taps, froze the room. Lan flowed to the hinge side of the door, sword half-drawn, silent as breath. Moiraine spun a lattice of Air and Spirit on her palm.

"Message," Marille called softly. "Tower seal."

"Under the door, if you please," Moiraine answered.

A parchment slid across the rush mat. Moiraine retrieved the document without releasing the defensive weave or approaching the door directly. The rising-wave sigil of the Blues shone unbroken.

Footsteps retreated along the corridor as Moiraine examined the document more thoroughly. Only when every swirl matched the secret pattern did she crack the wax. Inside, ciphered lines unfolded into Renalle Gishen’s tidy script:

Unexpected visitor bearing highest-priority word from Tar Valon. Riding hard from Baerlon, due Caemlyn South Gate within two days. Contact sign at the Crown and Lion. Blue wave rises.

Moiraine exhaled through her nose. "Hand-carried, outside normal couriers." Her fingers tightened around the page. "Either our pigeons are no longer safe or the message burns too bright for ink alone."

Lan sheathed his sword with a soft click. "I’ll watch the South Gate at dawn. You keep your appointment with Andoran clerks. If Rahvin’s spies believe we’re merely sniffing border treaties, they’ll lose the scent of this."

She nodded, mind already shaping a diplomat’s mask: calming cream silks, a scroll case stamped with the flame of Tar Valon and the lion of Andor intertwined. The White Tower often settled quarrels between Andor and Murandy; it would provide cover thick enough to hold water.

When the plans were finalized, they prepared to sleep in shifts on narrow cots, enabling them to maintain constant vigilance through the night.  The air, warm with coal heat, smelled faintly of beeswax and dust. Moiraine’s rest came in scraps. Each time her eyes drifted shut, visions drifted in: 

Perrin Aybara among misty sheepfolds, hammer hanging forgotten at his side. Arendor Mantear bent over volumes whose pages turned by themselves. And another boy, his face hidden yet rimmed by a pale, violent dawn, standing on the slopes of Dragonmount while red snow whirled like embers.

She could feel heart thudding, certain some vital thread ran through them all. Yet when she reached for the meaning it slipped like silk through her fingers.

In the silence Lan’s silhouette stood by the embers, cloak blending into darkness, eyes reflecting a dying glow. He nodded once, he had seen her start awake, and turned back to the door. 

The night held until the first blush of gray crept under the shutters, promising a day knotted tight with questions, perils, and the echo of Rahvin’s cruel laughter high on Caemlyn’s rooftops.

Chapter Text

Moiraine woke before dawn, the chill of half-remembered dreams still clinging to her skin. She could not name what the Pattern had tried to show her, only that it pulsed just beyond reach: a silver arch wreathed in blue fire; a young man with rust-red hair hesitating at a mile-marker where four dusty roads met; a raven-haired woman whose eyes were fathomless, devouring night. Each vision felt like a puzzle piece held inches from her face, close enough to blur all meaning, too close to fit to the whole.

The safe-house bedroom offered scant comfort; its unremarkable sparseness was armor. She poured cold water from a ceramic pitcher into the washbasin and splashed cold water over her cheeks. The shock, sharp as a slap but welcome as a friend, anchored her to earth until her heartbeat slowed. By the time dawn’s first gray seeped through the curtains, every movement was deliberate, each thought filed into its proper drawer.

She chose dignity as her shield today: deep blue silk that whispered when she moved, cuffs and collar stitched with tiny Damodred crescents only the sharpest eye would spot. The Great Serpent ring flashed openly on her finger, no more hiding her allegiance in shadow. After weeks of playing mouse, she meant to walk into the lion’s den wearing her own skin.

Who is the Dragon Reborn…and what game do the Forsaken truly play with him?

The question coiled through her mind while she twisted her hair into a Cairhienin knot: simple, functional, authoritative. 

Assassination, they had always assumed, was the Shadow’s strategy. Yet, Rahvin seemed intent to groom Andoran politics, while Lanfear placed half-hidden lure within villagers’ dreams. The meticulous watch on likely boys all whispered a different strategy: shape the Dragon rather than slay him.

She stared into the spotted mirror. The face staring back carried twenty hard months of dust and danger, and a steel none of her teachers at the White Tower had foreseen. Only in the rarest moments of stillness like this did she allow herself to feel the weight of all she had sacrificed. She allowed herself one breath of naked weariness and folded it away. There would be time for reflection if they survived what was coming.

She turned as the door eased open. Lan’s shadow filled the frame, lean and silent. Even in half-light she read the set of his shoulders: coiled vigilance, the ache of a shallow graze only Lan would dismiss.

"City’s stirring," he reported, voice as soft as oiled leather. He moved to the small table where their maps lay, indicating positions with practiced precision. "Rahvin’s hounds circle the district, four posts, sweeping patterns. They still hunt rather than guard."

"Good." She poured him tea, the ritual anchoring them both. "Then we are ghosts with substance. We seize the morning."

A fingertip traced their route on the map: royal archives, then a staged meeting with Lord Easven on the Andor-Murandy border tangle, a cover solid enough for prying eyes. Lan’s brow creased, that bare millimeter that signaled caution, not dissent.

"In plain sight, they expect subterfuge," Moiraine replied to the unspoken, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Let them watch me walk beneath the Palace banners. A lantern in daylight blinds more surely than a candle in dark."

Lan accepted it with a nod. Their partnership had never required constant consensus, only mutual respect and shared purpose. He would guard from the western approach, cloak shifting through crowds like ripples on water, unseen even when eyes laid on him.

Together they packed parchment, quills, a single velvet-lined box of rare documents, a plausible scholar’s kit, and parted an hour after sunrise. Lan departed first, melting down an alley toward the South Gate; Moiraine stepped into the broad morning street, her blue silk and Great Serpent ring catching the dawn.

The sun hung low over Caemlyn's golden walls when Siuan's carriage finally passed through the massive gates of Andor's capital. Seven days of hard travel. Siuan crunched stiff joints as her hired carriage rattled beneath Caemlyn’s red-gold battlements. Mud-spattered canvas smelled of horse sweat and road-dust, but her sea-bright eyes cut sharp as ever. 

Eight words passed through Renalle's network, Significant Shadow movement in Caemlyn. M possibly compromised, had meant she had to keep up her merchant guise as she had travelled across Andor.

Siuan massaged her stiff neck, trying to work out the knots formed by nights spent in constant motion rather than proper rest. The price had been worth paying; every day saved in transit increased their chances of success or survival. 

Caemlyn’s outer ring hummed with twilight industry–heavy steel clang, baker’s yeast, laughter already thick outside tavern doors. Ordinary lives unknowing that the Forsaken walked cloaked among them. Her carriage clattered to a halt before the Crown and Lion: white-washed walls, crimson trim, exactly the kind of inn where coin bought good service and silence in equal measure.

She disembarked, tipping the Far Madding driver an extra silver and a warning smile. Travel pack over one shoulder, ter’angreal box snug beneath her cloak, Siuan crossed the threshold as just another modest merchant tallying ledgers, although her eyes counted exits, vantage points, and faces that lingered too long.

Candles threw gold over beams and bench-tops. The common room beyond the heavy oak door bustled with early evening activity. Merchants discussed the day's transactions and argued tariffs over ales, travelers consulted maps spread across wooden tables, while servers navigated between groups with practiced efficiency. No gaze pinged with undue interest. Perfect.

She approached the counter where a matron kept order with a ledger and a flat, polite stare. The innkeeper assessed Siuan with experienced eyes, noting the quality of her travel clothes and distinctive accent.

"Light shine, mistress," Siuan said, slipping a copper toward the boarding book. "I’m here conducting business, Seahaven Shipping. I have a room under Mara Tomanes." The practiced alias tasted weird on her tongue.

The woman nodded, making a neat entry. "Room, meal, hot bath?"

"Aye, and information if you may. I expect a colleague riding hard from Baerlon who may wish words at ungodly hours. She visits from Cairhien, traveling with a single companion. Petite build, dark hair, reserved demeanor." 

A single narrowing of Mistress Coline’s eyes told Siuan she had thrown her stone into the right pool. "Parlor Three is quiet and has its own fireplace. I’ll see fresh candles set." No more was said; everything important had passed in undertone and nuance.

She placed another small stack of silver coins on the counter, payment indicating both importance and discretion required. Coline accepted the coins with minimal acknowledgment, tucking them away while making brief notation in the guest ledger.

Siuan climbed the stairs, muscles protesting every step. Inside the small chamber she warded the door and cracked the wooden box: the tiny blue-veined stone that linked her thoughts across miles. 

She did not channel yet, best to save strength, but the presence of the thing steadied her heartbeat. Soon she would find Moiraine, trade truths, and together fit those haunting dream-shards into a weapon sharp enough to pierce a Forsaken’s schemes.

Outside, Caemlyn’s lamps kindled one by one, and the long game quickened. 

The Palace guard’s spear glinted as they bowed her through the diplomatic archway. Courtiers murmured approval: An Aes Sedai. Light, perhaps the Tower will settle this tiresome border spat with Murandy at last. They whispered her titles, guessed at the weight of her influence, and bowed just deeply enough to appear dutiful without exposing envy. None imagined her true quest was buried in dusty genealogy ledgers rather than the gilded council chamber where treaties were haggled word for word.

Lord Easven appeared at the top of the marble steps like a well-polished bellows–broad smile, soft waist, hands spread in genial welcome. His doublet was Andoran scarlet, the row of mother-of-pearl buttons straining just slightly when he bowed. 

"Your insight is a balm to thorny matters, Aes Sedai," he declared in a loud voice. He offered an elbow; Moiraine placed two gloved fingers upon it, just enough contact to gratify his vanity, and allowed him to shepherd her down echoing corridors.

They passed beneath murals of Hawkwing’s victories and wars of Andoran succession: gold leaf catching lamplight, faces frozen in triumph or despair. At each junction fancy footmen sprang doors wide, revealing yet deeper layers of Palace splendor: panelled anterooms hung with Karien silks, niches where white roses floated in crystal bowls, a vaulted gallery whose floor was a river of green malachite. A faint aroma of beeswax polish and old paper clung to the air, spiced now and again by an under-note of ink from clerks scurrying past with armfuls of parchment.

At last Lord Easven paused before an unremarkable oak door bound in iron.

"The lesser annals, as requested," he announced, producing a heavy key that turned with a squeal no oil had touched in years. "The queen appreciates your willingness to lend Aes Sedai insight to these negotiations."

Inside waited a chamber far humbler than the ornate halls: narrow windows, shelves bowing under leather-spined tomes, a single long table scarred by countless quills. Dust lay thick on the uppermost ledgers; candle stubs stood ready beside inkwells crusted black. In this quiet vault of memory, Andor’s history slept.

Moiraine inclined her head, her gratitude measured and neat. When the door closed she moved with brisk precision, selecting volumes marked Succession Rolls, Years 900 – 950 N.E. Her fingertips scarcely brushed the pages, yet her mind took them in as a mirror takes light: forgotten lands ceded to obscure cousins, lapsed titles revoked after scandal, dowry clauses abandoned when marriages miscarried. 

Line by line she copied nothing to paper, yet photographed everything– her Aes Sedai’s trained memory snapping each passage into permanence. One entry glimmered like a dagger tip: should the Trakand line fail without living issue, the ancient right reverts to the senior Mantear branch. Here it was, perhaps, the quiet power Rahvin sought, a way to pry open Andor’s throne.

She worked until the last bead of amber sunlight withdrew from the crisscrossed windows, then smoothed her gloves, replaced each volume exactly where she took them, and walked back through vaulted hallways where chandeliers blazed for evening court. Lord Easven stopped her once more, anxious, flattering, keen for assurances. In response, she dispensed pleasantries that floated above his head like paper lanterns before slipping into the city twilight.

Each night the safe-house door closed on a different world. There, under a single guttering lamp, Lan spread his day’s sketches across the table. Black marks on rough parchment became Caemlyn’s veins: alley cut-throughs, rooftop sight-lines, corner by corner patrol routes. 

The sheets looked like raven feathers scattered by a brisk wind. A dozen watcher symbols ringed the Palace; another dozen clustered near the modest Mantear house. Some moved with the tide of court, others nested like spiders on the same web strand day after day. 

"They’re slipping," Lan murmured, tapping two marks that overlapped. "Confusion breeds hesitation; hesitation, opportunity."

Moiraine set her folded notes beside his map, the two collections of silent information–one of shadows, the other filled with ancient words–lay edge to edge like flint and steel. In the hush that followed they felt, more than heard, the city draw breath for the morrow. And beyond stone walls and flickering lamps, the Wheel continued its slow relentless turning, threads crossing in patterns only the Light could read.

Siuan made the Crown and Lion her watch-tower. Each afternoon she claimed the same dim alcove beside the hearth, the mulled wine steaming untouched while she sat half-hidden by curling smoke and low rafters. When the common room filled she seemed to fade into panel-dark shadows, just another clerk jotting figures in a ledger. 

After nightfall she returned to her rented chamber to cradle the ter’angreal in both palms, willing it to stir. She spun the delicate thread of saidar, sent thought after thought through the stone, and waited. Only silence answered, cold and flat. Either Moiraine had roamed beyond its reach or she simply was not listening. With the direct line dead, Siuan pivoted to the next best thing: information.

She built her net the Blue Ajah way, one careful knot at a time. 

On Day One she walked the river wharves, trading idle gossip for two coppers and a smile, learning which dock-boss had seen soldiers in plain coats asking after birth records that should have slept untouched in village store-houses. 

On Day Two she climbed Scholar’s Hill, where the Royal Library perched like a mother hen. Under the guise of researching Murandian tariff edicts she coaxed a gray-bearded cataloger into rambling about a rash of readers requesting wartime census books, always the same years, always men she did not recognize. 

Day Three saw her winding through the Warrens, the poor quarter where shutters stayed barred until noon. There she paid for a bowl of eel stew and listened while a washerwoman swore half her street woke screaming the same dream: a raven-haired beauty who offered silver crowns and protection if they would only name every child who cried out in its sleep .

Each tale was a frayed thread, but Siuan had the knack of weaving. She sketched crude maps on scrap parchment: red dots for forged inspectors, blue slashes for shared nightmares, black circles for taverns where Darkfriend mutterings outnumbered honest curses. Patterns bled through the ink. The dots and slashes clustered in a crescent that arced along the North Road and bent west toward Whitebridge, villages scarred by the Aiel War, places where boys born in the Blood Snow would now be near manhood. Exactly the trail Moiraine would ride.

By the fourth sunset, her desk was a storm of notes held down with a dagger point.

Four streets east, Moiraine flipped through brittle texts beneath the honey-light of Palace lamps. The days had passed with agonizing slowness for Moiraine, each hour bringing heightened anticipation tempered by necessity for outward calm as she methodically examined historical records documenting Andoran succession disputes. 

Dust motes drifted like slow snow. Line after line confirmed what rumor had only murmured:

House Mantear: descendant of Rhea Mantear, sister-in-law to Queen Maragaine.
Tithe exemptions renewed during the Fifth Succession Strife.
Conditional right of appeal directly to the Crown should the Trakand line fail.

The document smelled of age, but its implications were fresh as blood. A child of that house, groomed by a Forsaken, could slice Andor’s throne from beneath Morgase without a sword being drawn. Rahvin was laying foundations, not merely hunting.

Moiraine packed her notes, expression placid while inside her thoughts raced. But, tonight, she’ll head to the Crown and Lion, every Blue agent first stop for potential contact. Hopefully, this time she’ll be able to make contact with the Tower messenger. 

She approached from the eastern side, maintaining a casual pace appropriate for afternoon errands while scanning her surroundings for surveillance. She identified two watchers maintaining position across the street, men whose careful observation patterns matched Rahvin's established methodology, but no indication of immediate threat deployment.

The Crown and Lion, as usual, smelled of oak smoke, orange peel, and too many human secrets squeezed into one room. Siuan kept to the darkest corner, back to the wall, the mulled wine warming her palms more than her tongue. From under lowered lashes she watched the door swing on its hinges again and again. But only peddlers, drovers, two scarlet-coated Guardsmen on half-day leave walked in. None stirred the knot of anticipation tight in her chest.

Light, Moiraine, where are you?

A tally of her own risks flickered through her thoughts. Yet every time the fear threatened to bite, another feeling rose hotter, eagerness, raw and impossible to hide from herself. The anticipation that tightened her chest whenever she thought of Moiraine.

The latch clicked; a hush of cooler air swept in. She glanced up out of habit and the world narrowed to one silhouette. 

Blue silk, perfectly plain; a posture straight as truth; dark hair caught at the nape. Moiraine, alive and whole, framed by lamp-light like the answer to a prayer. The rush of relief stole Siuan’s breath; the answering flare of something deeper set her pulse hammering against the rim of her cup.

She schooled her face, Aes Sedai calm, but could not stop her body. Muscles remembered training: rise smoothly, make herself visible without commotion. No shout, no reckless wave, just a single decisive motion that said look here, look home .

Moiraine’s gaze swept the room once, twice, then caught on Siuan as if on a fishhook. Shock, joy, and fierce purpose blazed back at her across the taproom sea. Every sound in the inn fell away. For one beat they stood anchored by nothing but that line of sight, and duty at last felt bearable.

***

Noise greeted Moiraine first, tankards clacking, merchants disputing coppers, the low drone of a piper by the hearth. She paused just inside, letting her eyes adjust from bright street to lamplight murk. Instinct catalogued exits, potential threats, the rhythm of serving girls weaving through chairs. Only when the map felt solid in her mind did she allow herself to search for a face that bore an Aes Sedai truth. 

A figure shifted in the back corner, rising with purpose rather than leisure. The movement drew her gaze and the breath left her lungs. 

Siuan. Dust on her hem, travel fatigue in the set of her shoulders, yet power and poise leaking through every crack in the disguise. The shock struck like stepping from bathhouse heat into winter air.  

Here? Now? Light help us, what has driven her from the Tower?

Joy followed hard on the shock: hot, sharp, perilous. For the first time in many nights, Moiraine believed they just might yet win. Memories of moonlit leaves and whispered vows fluttered at the edge of thought. Duty screamed for precedence, but her heart vaulted duty in a single heartbeat.

Their eyes locked: questions, certainties, relief, and a yearning so fierce it made her fingers tremble against her skirts. She reined it in–Aes Sedai serenity settling over her features like glass over flame–but inside, everything blazed.

Moiraine inclined her head a fraction, the formal greeting of one sister to another. Siuan answered in kind. Two masks, perfectly worn, could not dim the brightness that leapt between them, an unspoken promise that the moment words grew safe, those masks would crack and fall.

Chapter Text

She threaded between tables toward the corner, each step measured, unstoppable, toward Siuan's position, each step bringing her closer to the woman whose absence had become a constant companion.   When they met at the rough-hewn table top, the air between them felt charged, alive, lightning coiled beneath glass.

"Sister," Moiraine murmured, voice pitched for the others in the room to overhear nothing more than polite recognition. The single word carried a dozen hidden verses: I have missed you; are you safe; Light, it is good to breathe the same air again. "May I join you?"

"Please," Siuan replied, hand indicating the vacant chair opposite her. To strangers the gesture was gracious, but Moiraine’s eye caught the tremor at Siuan’s knuckles, the same tremor she’d soothed once, from hands she knew intimately. 

Their knees brushed as Moiraine sat. Sparks shot ankle to spine. Beneath the table Siuan’s fingers skimmed a quick hand-talk glyph: Ears? Are we being overheard?

Moiraine answered with a curl of a little finger against Siuan’s own: Wait. Patience, but ready. In that fleeting hook of skin she felt a pulse of shared memory: nights spent trading secret dreams of who they would become.

They spoke of mundane things, like the summer storms on the Caemlyn Road, Murandian tariffs, the price of tabac, while the serving girl set down warmed wine and bread platter. Only when she drifted away and the nearest patrons leaned back into their own gossip did Moiraine tilt forward, eyes dark as midnight ponds.

"I did not expect personal contact," she breathed, letting concern and gratitude color the words in ways no observer would mark.

"Much has changed," Siuan answered, gaze softened, drinking in every line of Moiraine’s face as though afraid it might vanish. "You are summoned, by the Amyrlin herself, and in haste."

Moiraine’s brows flickered. Surprise, calculation, a shadow of annoyance that the timing threatened months of patient work. Yet, for the Amyrlin to send Siuan personally suggested a crisis beyond anything ever anticipated. And beneath it, a selfish gratitude that circumstances, however dire, had brought Siuan to her. But, first, duty first, always.

She nodded. "I've completed necessary preliminary work," Moiraine replied carefully. She allowed her eyes to hold Siuan's a moment longer than strictly necessary. "But findings suggest complications beyond initial assessment"

"My room offers privacy for detailed consultation," Siuan suggested.

Moiraine agreed with appropriate courtesy, both women rising to navigate toward the staircase leading to upper floors. Halfway across the room a hush brushed their senses. Moiraine felt it like a sudden drop in atmosphere pressure: conversations faltering, a lute string buzzing off-key. 

Three men entered, a wedge of intent in nondescript coats. One anchored himself at the door, the other two slithered along opposite walls, faces politely blank, hands too empty.

Siuan noticed her momentary hesitation, gaze following Moiraine's toward the entrance. Recognition flashed in her eyes, not of specific individuals but of the coordinated threat pattern they represented.

"Trouble," Siuan murmured through an unmoving smile.

"Three inside, more likely outside," Moiraine breathed back, adjusting course slightly to maintain maximum distance from new arrivals while continuing toward the staircase. "Lan monitors from position across the street. He'll move when the situation clarifies."

They did not break pace. They reached stairs without direct confrontation, climbing with measured pace that avoided betraying awareness of potential threat.  Up the stairs, down the hall, into Siuan’s corner room, a room chosen for its single narrow window over a side alley. 

As Siuan unlocked her door, their shoulders brushed, seemingly casual contact that nonetheless anchored them to each other in this moment of building danger. For all their years of separate struggle, all the longing-filled nights and duty-bound days, they moved in perfect synchronization when reunited, their bodies remembering what words often failed to express.

Once inside with the door clicked shut, both women dropped the pretense of casual meeting. Siuan established a privacy weave around the room's perimeter, a complex pattern of Air and Spirit, thin as spider-silk and sharp as razors. Her fingers moved with practiced elegance, weaving the familiar patterns while Moiraine moved to the window, checking sightlines to the street below where Lan would maintain observation position.

Sound-dampening weaves sealed the walls; Spirit threads blurred any residue of channeling. Inside the bubble of quiet, they could finally let their shoulders drop the tiniest fraction.

"Explain," Siuan’s whisper cut through the lamplight; she closed the distance between them until Moiraine could feel the warmth of her breath. Her hand found Moiraine's elbow, gentle, anchoring, urgent. Her eyes, sharp with intelligence.

"Rahvin," Moiraine said, turning from the window. She allowed herself the small comfort of leaning slightly into the touch at her elbow. "He’s built a spider-web of agents that watch House Mantear as if it were a treasury vault."

Siuan’s fingers tightened involuntarily on Moiraine's arm "You met Rahvin?" The fear and worry flaring in blue-gray eyes usually sharp as fish-hooks.

"His agents initially," Moiraine clarified, turning her hand to briefly cover Siuan's, a reassuring gesture acknowledging the worry while calming it. Her smile was taut, a glint of rueful humor the world rarely saw. "Then he struck three nights past, a Forsaken’s weave and arrows in the same heartbeat."

Siuan's expression hardened; a breath hissed between Siuan’s teeth. She cupped Moiraine’s cheek, thumb stroking a faint soot smudge. Her free hand rose, brushing an errant lock from Moiraine’s brow with the tenderness of a lover and the precision of a surgeon. "How much does he know?"

"Enough to consider us a significant threat," Moiraine replied grimly, allowing herself to lean briefly into the touch. "He clearly knows we search for the Dragon reborn."

Siuan’s hand slid from Moiraine's face to her shoulder, maintaining physical connection as if to reassure herself of Moiraine’s safety. Her thumb traced one slow circle on Moiraine’s shoulder, as if to say I’m here, still. Emotions surged, fear for the other’s safety, pride, an aching desire to halt time itself. It lasted three heartbeats, then practice reclaimed them.

"The Amyrlin's summons cannot be ignored," Siuan stated finally. "She needs you home."

She divulged the Amyrlin’s words about the binding ter'angreal that might bind a Forsaken long enough for stilling or shield . Moiraine relayed every detail of Rahvin’s ambush, of Arendor who despite not shining with the Dragon’s light still drew the Shadow like a lamp draws moths. Their hands kept finding each other with unconscious familiarity.

"We need to depart immediately," Moiraine decided. "If those men downstairs represent an advanced team, others are likely establishing containment—."

"I feared for you when I learned of Forsaken involvement," Siuan admitted, voice dropping to barely audible whisper meant for Moiraine alone. She had turned to fully face Moiraine, both hands reaching to cradle her face with unexpected tenderness. "The thought of losing you before I could reach you—"

Moiraine's hands rose to cover Siuan's, her thumbs tracing gentle patterns across her wrists, feeling the rapid pulse that betrayed the emotion beyond her calm exterior. "Yet here we are, together," she replied softly. "As always, we found our way back to each other."

For a heartbeat, they allowed themselves this moment, their eyes meeting in silent communication more profound than words could capture. Then, with shared understanding of duty's demands, they returned to immediate practical concerns without requiring verbal acknowledgment of the transition. 

Siuan went about gathering her few possessions into a traveling pack with practiced efficiency. While Moiraine grabbed a rough map to roll out on the table. 

"The road runs north," Moiraine concluded, fingertip tracing the parchment map. "Caemlyn to Kore Springs to Tar Valon."

Siuan’s ship-captain mind snapped into motion. North Gate was shortest to Tar Valon, yet now too obvious. They needed misdirection, Rahvin’s net would be thickest at the city gates. Noise in one quarter would enable a slip-knot escape in another. Slip through the tear, not the knot.

She paused her tasks, tying the saddle bag she had stuffed with her few possessions, to frame Moiraine’s face again between both her palms. "I thought I might arrive too late," she whispered.

Moiraine covered Siuan’s wrists, thumbs stroking the quick pulse beneath skin. "You never are." As she drew profound strength from Siuan's presence here, now. 

Then they both felt the subtle vibration of someone disturbing the privacy weave–someone approached the door with deliberate movement. They immediately shifted to defensive posture, Moiraine embracing saidar with practiced ease while Siuan reinforced the privacy weave to prevent external detection of their channeling. 

Without conscious thought, they positioned themselves protectively in relation to each other, mutual guardianship born of years facing danger together. Three distinct knocks sounded against the wooden door. 

Siuan cracked the door, her body angled to shield Moiraine though both knew the gesture was habit, not necessity. The corridor held a tall, stone-faced man whose presence felt like a drawn blade. Even without the formal bond, Lan Mandragoran moved already as Moiraine’s shadow, Siuan realized.

His eyes registered the protective positioning of the two women with a flick of his eyes, no comment needed.

"Six downstairs," he reported quietly as Siuan admitted him to the room. "Three in the lanes. They’re methodical, patient. professional."

"Rahvin’s best," Moiraine said, moving closer to Siuan as she spoke, their shoulders touching in simple reassurance that required no conscious thought. "Likely deployed specifically to capture rather than us"

"We have perhaps ten minutes before they move," Lan estimated, eyes constantly checking window and door as he reported, his hand never straying far from sword hilt at his side. "They're establishing a perimeter methodically, clearing bystanders first, to keep the streets quiet when they move."

Siuan listened, jaw set. Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to Moiraine and Lan. "We skip the doors," she said, the old captain’s command slipping back into her voice. She squeezed Moiraine’s fingers once, steady and sure. "We need a path they won’t expect."

Lan nodded, eyes narrowing on the dark gap outside. "The roof adjacent," he said. "From there, we can cross the warehouses and drop into the market. Fewer eyes."

As they finalized escape preparations, Moiraine felt Siuan beside her: steady as sunrise despite all the years and dangers that had tried to pry them apart. Together they moved as one piece, two halves of the same purpose.

No long debate followed; the plan settled between them like a stone in a pond. Lan would lead, blade and stealth ready for whatever waited. Siuan and Moiraine would guard their backs with the Power, quietly, unless quiet failed them. A glance was all it took to agree.

Siuan dissolved the privacy ward to a thin shimmer, just enough to feel if someone brushed it. Her hand slid into Moiraine’s, a brief knot of fingers intertwining  said everything words could not. Meanwhile, Moiraine reached for saidar herself, drawing only a trickle, the warmth of it pooling in her limbs, strength and calm alike. Siuan’s nearness made the Power sing all the stronger.

"Stay close," Lan murmured, testing the window latch. His gaze flicked to their joined hands and away again, the smallest glint betraying approval. "Move only when I signal and maintain silence throughout."

He swung the window wide. Below lay a narrow alley, empty but rich with shadows. A three-story warehouse squatted an arm’s reach away, its roof lower than their sill, close enough for a careful leap or a rope’s sway.

Lan uncoiled a length of rope, looped it round the bed-frame’s thick leg, and tugged once to test the knot. He checked his sword and knives with practiced motion, ensuring every blade sat where it should.

"I’ll clear the way," he said, voice barely above a breath. "Wait for my signal, then follow one at a time."

He was gone in the next instant, silent as snowfall, bulk flowing through the window and down the stone. The rope hardly quivered. A tug from below, then his shadow melted toward the warehouse ladder. 

At the sill Siuan and Moiraine touched shoulders, drawing strength from even this simple contact, watching until Lan’s hand rose from the distant roof–two fingers, all clear.

Moiraine’s palm rested at the small of Siuan’s back. "You first." The touch lingered; words were too slow. "I'll follow once you've reached the transition point." 

Siuan’s answering look was fierce. "Together on the other side." She swung out, descending with the Tairen sailor’s grace her Tower training never dulled. Moiraine watched her descent, heart caught between pride and fear for Siuan’s safety, the familiar contradiction that had defined their relationship through the years.

As Siuan made the transition from wall to alley floor, Moiraine heard boots thundering in the corridor outside. It would seem that Rahvin's agents’ patience had snapped, and time was even more precarious. She gripped the rope as the latch rattled. Calm settled round her like a warding; she slipped outside, descending at a steady, unhurried pace. Behind her the door crashed in, shouts flared, but she never changed rhythm, trusting Lan and Siuan to address any pursuit while she continued her extraction.

The door burst open as Moiraine reached the halfway point along the exterior wall. Angry boots hammered floorboards, but the women were already shadows against brick. Male voices shouted confirmation of targets fleeing through the window. 

She landed, freed the rope, and ran toward Lan's position. 

Siuan was already halfway up the warehouse ladder. She paused to wait for Moiraine, who was at the moment resisting the urge to look back. Moiraine could hear the pursuit behind her, window frame creaking as someone leaned out, followed by shouted commands.

 She resisted the urge to look back, focusing instead on reaching the ladder and beginning an ascent toward relative safety of the warehouse roof where Lan could better manage defensive position if needed.

She drew comfort in the sight of Siuan paused, stretching a hand down to her, not to provide Moiraine balance but rather offer comfort. Just as Moiraine grasped the ladder's lower rungs to begin her climb, an arrow hissed past, close enough to brush her sleeve, plucking a thread, before sinking into timber beside the ladder.

"Moiraine!" Siuan's voice came from above.

Moiraine spun Air into a clear shield and raised a woven wall without breaking stride. Additional arrows struck the invisible shield, deflecting harmlessly while she maintained steady ascent. Above her Siuan gathered power, holding lightning in reserve, her eyes blazed with half fear, half fury until Moiraine’s boots hit the rooftop beside her. As Moiraine reached the roof edge, Lan hauled Moiraine onto the flat roof with one arm. Siuan immediately moved to her side; her quick fingers scanning until she found no wound, only racing pulses.

The warehouse roof provided a temporary defensive position–it was elevated enough to show them multiple routes out of the city. They crouched together, maintaining a lower profile against the skyline while Lan assessed pursuit patterns below.

"Four pursuers in the alley," Lan reported as they moved away from the edge. "Others are likely forming a ring. We have minutes at most before coordinated response develops."

"Direction?" Siuan asked, shoulder pressing to Moiraine’s.

"North," Lan decided after momentary consideration. "Warehouse district would be less predictable and its roof provide cover."

With direction established, they moved across the warehouse roof toward an adjacent building. Lan leapt the first gap; Siuan followed, then Moiraine, the women catching each other’s forearms at every landing. 

Each transition took them further from initial pursuit while maintaining an elevated position that provided tactical advantage against ground-based containment efforts. Through it all, they maintained perfect coordination, Moiraine and Siuan moving as mirror images of each other, complementary strengths deployed with wordless understanding born of profound connection.

After four roofs, cries below told them the pursuers had recognized their movement direction. Lan immediately adjusted the route, leading them toward the eastern edge of the warehouse district where transition to residential quarters would provide different cover opportunities.

"They're establishing blocking positions ahead," he warned as they paused at the junction between commercial structures. "Looks like they’ve studied the map."

"Then, we need diversion," Siuan said. She reached to clasp Moiraine's hand as she spoke. "Something substantial enough to disrupt coordination without harming civilians."

Moiraine nodded agreement, linking with Suian, as the Power hummed between them. Together, they wove a complex pattern with Fire and Air curled into a tight globe. The weave took form, a round matrix of compressed energy. Siuan added final stabilizing elements while Moiraine directed its trajectory. They shot it into an empty yard two streets south. 

The weave produced exactly the intended effect: daylight exploded, a massive column of light erupting skyward, thunder cracked, like a thousand cymbals crashing simultaneously, and the city shouted back.

"West," Lan ordered as confusion boiled below.

They ran again, slipping across tar and slate, shadows folding behind them. At the district’s edge Lan pointed to a spiral stair clinging to a stone warehouse.

"Down there. We move through the houses to West Gate; there would be less patrols stationed."

Moiraine squeezed Siuan’s fingers. In the hush after thunder, each felt the other breathe, strength enough to keep running, side by side, unbroken. And behind them the night held its breath, waiting to see whether Light or Shadow would claim the dawn.

Chapter Text

They descended the stairwell in single file, Lan leading, Moiraine and Siuan behind him, silent, ready to channel, but at the moment holding back so their location couldn’t be detected yet. Siuan rested her hand on Moiraine’s shoulder–part signal for pace, part comfort–as they walked. 

Once they reached the streets, they blended into foot traffic: neither hurried nor idle, three travelers who merely shared a road. When their hands brushed, it looked accidental; the calm it gave them was anything but. The narrow streets, which housed modest houses and handiworkers’ workshops continued its daily activities, paying no mind to the three. 

Halfway to West Gate, Lan’s shoulders tightened. Moiraine, tuned to him, followed his gaze to a corner ahead where a merchant studied people walking around far too closely than he should.

"Eyes about to be on us," Lan murmured without breaking stride. "Prepare for confrontation within thirty seconds."

He was right. As they neared the crossing, the watcher saw them, then made a subtle gesture to his partner who had been partially concealed in an adjacent doorway. As the two set out to intercept them, two more shapes slipped in behind them, from side streets.

"Three front, two rear," Lan said, still walking. "Coordinated movement aimed at completely closing us in."

Eight men in total had stepped into position, seemingly materializing from surrounding positions with professional efficiency. Their objective though seemed to be to capture, not kill, the group. One glance between Moiraine and Siuan was enough. Siuan flicked a Tower battle-sign, simultaneous strike.

"Now," Moiraine breathed, embracing saidar with practiced ease, the Source flooding through her like liquid light.

A pulse of Air and Spirit rippled out of them both, expanding outward in pulsing rings, bending sound and distance. Rahvin’s agents stumbled as the weave subtly distorted their sense of direction and distance–the street seemed to tilt beneath their feet.

Lan drew steel in a single breath. "This way." He angled through a gap between houses while the men blinked, uncertain.

The three moved as one, darting down a cramped lane. Moiraine and Siuan maintained their disorientation weave lingering just long enough to muddy pursuit, just enough to provide them an advantage. But, the agents soon recovered; shouts rising as Lan led Moiraine and Siuan through a maze of cramped alleys and twisting courts, in a pattern that would force their pursuers to split up.

"Rahvin's agents work in pairs," Lan noted when they paused by a fountain. "If we break the pair, we can break the hunt."

Siuan nodded and turned to eye the three exits with a ship captain's precision. "We go Northeast," she decided. "The sharp turn ahead would provide cover for a weave should we need to channel."

They wove north through Caemlyn's winding artisan alleys, staying off the broad streets. Behind them, the pursuit lessened as the street formations meant the agents had to split off into different potential routes as they worked to smoke them out. However, when the three reached a corner, a whistling sound cut through air before a crossbow bolt embedded right into the doorframe just inches from Moiraine’s head.

Lan reacted instantly, shoving them both deeper into the doorway's protection while scanning surrounding rooflines. "Rooftop, northeast," he identified, spotting a shadowed figure who was adjusting his weapon for a second shot. 

Another quarrel sliced the air. They were precise shots, but not lethal, forcing them deeper into their improvised shelter.

"Full net," Siuan muttered. "Rahvin anticipated our potential escape routes and planned this street by street."

Moiraine’s mind raced. "We need a line he didn’t draw, an extraction route outside predicted patterns."

"The menagerie tunnels," Siuan whispered, as her expression shifted from calculating assessment to sudden inspiration. "The old floodworks under the eastern quarter. They are not mapped on the city charts. I only learned about them researching the Blue Ajah efforts during the Succession War. Nested in the records was a contingency plan to use these tunnels, unearthed from the Tower’s architectural surveys."

"We should reach the access point approximately four blocks east," Siuan continued. "It’s a bronze drainage grate with a lion’s head crest."

Lan was already moving. "We’ll need a diversion, something loud enough to direct all their eyes north."

Moiraine gathered Fire and Air, creating an illusion matrix, which Siuan laced into delay and shimmer, enhancing the duration and scope, as the weave formed in Moiraine’s hands. When it was ready, together, they launched the weave toward the market. A bloom of illusory flame engulfed a roof a few streets away, near the market center. Alarms rang like bells.

"Go," Lan snapped.

They moved with renewed purpose, emerging from temporary shelter; they slipped through the thinning cordon and reached a quiet court. A bronze-faced grate set into paving stones marked the drain. Lan knelt beside the grate. He examined its locking system, then produced slender tools from the inner pocket of his coat. He picked the lock with a savviness that would draw envy from the most gifted thief; within seconds, the lock yielded with a soft click, and cool air breathed up from the dark.

"I lead," he said, returning his tools into his coat and drawing out a small light source from another pocket. "Single file. Stay close, move only when indicated, maintain silence throughout."

Lan dropped first, lamp shielded. Siuan followed; Moiraine closed the grate softly behind them. The tunnel stretched into vast darkness beyond reach of Lan's modest light. It smelled of damp stone and deep earth, water whispering somewhere below.

"These tunnels runs under the whole quarter," Siuan murmured as they began moving along the passage. "While originally designed as a way to manage flood; these tunnels were the reasons the Royals were able to escape."

"Rahvin may know of their existence," Moiraine warned. "But he can’t guard every branch. If we can, we should avoid main junctions, stick to secondary connections points"

They moved in bursts, carefully timed intervals between listening pauses. Siuan guided them, relying on her recollection of the tunnel’s architecture. Fifty paces, they were deeper into the tunnel system–they could now hear a persistent rumbling of a water source nearby. And the air grew even damper, smelling more like mineral-tinged groundwater. The maze twisted, fell, rose again. Moisture beaded on the walls; their breath fogged the lantern glass.

"Eastern spur should break the wall line," Siuan said after a long stretch. "We’ll surface beyond the guard towers."

Lan raised his hand, asking for silence as he tilted slightly forward to listen. After a few seconds, faint footfalls echoed behind them–soft, even, disciplined.

"Three, maybe four," he whispered. "Perhaps four minutes behind us."

Despite the tight confines, neither woman flinched. Siuan turned north at the next fork. "We walk faster towards the exit point," she said. "We fight only if we’re forced; these walls won’t forgive a missed weave."

Neither Moiraine nor Lan questioned her judgment; they increased their pace accordingly as they  pressed on. Behind them, the hollow steps of Rahvin’s hunters matched their pace. And still Siuan’s fingers brushed Moiraine’s sleeve whenever the tunnel bent, a silent vow.

The tunnel slanted upward, water whispering round their boots. Damp stone gave way to running channels that were now ankle-deep, proof they were nearing the city’s edge that would give way to open country.

Siuan glanced back. "The hub ahead should be a central chamber with six spokes."

They spilled into a round vault approximately thirty paces across. A domed ceiling arched overhead; six identical black mouths ringed the walls. Daylight filtered in through an iron grate high above, faint but enough.

"Which exit leads beyond walls?" Moiraine asked, eyes already testing each opening.

Siuan studied the symmetry, matching it to the plans stored in her memory. "Northeast. It should surface in a ravine half a mile beyond the outer ditch."

Before they could proceed toward the identified exit, they heard the echoing sounds of boot-falls booming in the passage behind them, Rahvin’s hunters, sure of their mark.

"No time," Lan said. 

He angled into the northeast tunnel, the others hard on his heels, maintaining an accelerated pace despite the fact that the increased water flow and limited visibility could be disastrous. The passage narrowed, forcing Lan to duck, water churning round his calves. Far behind, the echo of pursuit quickened, but the tight walls and rushing runoff blunted sound enough to give them breathing room.

"Gaining distance," Lan judged. "The water covers our steps; they’re slowing to feel the footing."

The air cooled as the ceiling dipped. Slabs of rock jutted overhead, the tunnel’s neglect clear in broken braces and clots of debris. Still, they pressed on.

"Light," Moiraine whispered, sensing the subtle illumination change before she saw it.

The floor began to rise, water thinning to a trickle. Around a final bend a rust-eaten grate opening similar to their entrance point blocked pale afternoon glare. Vines curled through the lattice. Lan reached the exit first and tested the bars, with careful pressure. 

"Rotten," he reported as he applied controlled force against a particular section of frame. The steady shove tore the frame free with a groan of metal. Sunlight poured in, painting moss and leaf-litter gold. They stepped into a wooded ravine cloaked in undergrowth. 

Siuan exhaled a long breath. "Outside the walls at last."

Lan scanned the trees for optimal movement routes. "Rahvin keeps watchers beyond the city walls, at outlying watchpoints established along major roads. We need distance."

Moiraine wedged the grate back in place. While not totally fastened, she crooked it just enough that it would not be noticed or appear as an exit point from an initial glance. Then she pointed southeast. "The forest cover runs farther that way, and it keeps us clear of expected surveillance towards the road to Tar Valon."

Lan nodded and set off. His stride left barely a bent leaf behind. Moiraine and Siuan followed, hands brushing now and again–still wary, still together–as the city’s noise faded into wind-ripple and birdsong.

Chapter Text

They pressed on through the increasingly dense woodland for nearly an hour, the forest deepening around them, the city a memory behind the trunks. Lan set the pace south-east, slipping through briar and shadow with the ease of a wolf, while Siuan and Moiraine kept an eye on the sun where it bled through the canopy of leaves above.

"We should establish a temporary position before dark," Lan said at last, watching how the light thinned. "Somewhere we can maintain awareness while enabling us to defend properly if warranted."

"Half a mile, then choose," Siuan agreed. "We need water access and multiple approach lines of sight, no dead ground."

The rhythm of how they worked evolved without thought as circumstances demanded: Siuan took quiet command of logistics, Lan the blades and angles, while Moiraine maintained vigilant awareness of magical threats.

Eventually they reached a small clearing surrounding rocky outcropping that offered what they needed–an elevated position providing sightline advantage thanks to the high stone on three sides, and a brook whispering at its foot. Lan vanished into the greenery, set pickets, and reappeared so softly the leaves barely stirred. Moiraine traced warning threads of Spirit round the clearing, thin enough not to sing to any distant channeler but strong enough to prickle if steel or Shadow stepped inside.

"Two-hour watch rotation," Siuan ordered as they established their position, the captain in her resurfacing. The rule left unspoken: talk only after the perimeter is sure. 

Lan took first watch. When his shadow slipped to the edge of the rocks.

With darkness fully settled around them and the immediate pursuit seemingly diverted, the women settled against the warm stone. Shoulder met shoulder, and the ache of months apart eased by degrees—the warmth of Moiraine's body against hers a balm Siuan hadn't realized she'd been desperately craving until this moment.

Silence held them until it became its own comfort. Siuan's hand found Moiraine's in the growing darkness, fingers intertwining with the practiced familiarity of those who have mapped every contour of each other's skin in intimate detail.

At length Moiraine turned her hand, twining fingers with Siuan’s. "Have you kept well?" she asked, voice a leaf on evening air, barely above a whisper despite the distance from Lan's position and the established wards surrounding them. Her thumb traced slow circles against Siuan's palm, speaking in the private language they'd developed through years of stolen moments.

Siuan's expression softened completely at the touch, showing the earnest vulnerability she allows only Moiraine to see. "I breathe easier now," she replied. Her eyes sought Moiraine's in the dim light, drinking in beloved features she'd conjured in dreams throughout their separation. "The Tower though, Elaida stirs every pond she can reach."

Moiraine leaned closer, heat seeping through travel coats. "She never forgave us our own minds."

"It’s more than spite," Siuan murmured. Her free hand rose almost involuntarily, fingertips brushing a strand of hair from Moiraine's temple with tender reverence. She lifted a lock of Moiraine’s hair, tucked it behind an ear with aching care. "The Reds rally, some Whites and Grays tilt her way. They framed the last special Hall session as ‘concern for prophecy research.’ Meaning us."

Moiraine absorbed this information with characteristic thoughtfulness. She filed this new update into her existing mental file of Tower dynamics. But heavier beneath her analysis threaded a deeper, profound gratitude for Siuan's presence, that she was sitting here now beside her rather than sharing information through coded messages and distant couriers.

"The pattern fits," Moiraine said, studying Siuan’s face in the gloaming. She allowed herself this moment of simple observation–memorizing the familiar lines of her face, the determined set of her jaw, the subtle crease between her brows that deepened when confronting particularly complex problems. "Increasing Shadow activity ignites political pressure within the Tower, especially during moments when we’re on the cusp of truth."

Siuan squeezed her hand. "The Amyrlin’s summons carries new weight," her voice barely above whisper. "Given the Forsaken now meddle openly, the prophecy timeline must be accelerating beyond our initial estimate."

Moiraine’s breath caught; she rested her temple to Siuan’s shoulder in mute agreement. "Rahvin knows the Dragon stands close," she replied, grateful for the warmth Siuan provided as evening chill settled around them. "He wouldn’t spend gold and knives without certainty."

She made no move to create distance between them, letting herself linger against the familiar curve of Siuan’s cheek. She'd missed this—the ability to speak freely without layers of codes and calculated omissions, to simply exist beside the woman who understood both her purpose and her heart with equal clarity.

"And that binding ter’angreal?" Moiraine asked.

"Found during the Aiel War," Siuan whispered, brushing her lips to dark hair—a vow and apology in one. "Locked in the Browns’ vault. It takes a ring of sisters to activate it, cuts a Forsaken from the Source long enough to bind or still. But using it is perilous."

Moiraine straightened, eyes bright with the thought. "A knife sized for the forsaken then, if we can bring it to bear." She turned slightly to study Siuan's profile in the fading light.

"That’s why Tamra wants needs us both. No one knows what to do like we do, including her selected allies, who she personally vetted against potential Shadow influence." Siuan met her gaze directly, their faces close enough that Moiraine could feel her breath against her cheek as she spoke.

The implicit trust Tamra must have for them spoke greater volumes about their unique position within the Aes Sedai hierarchy. The Pattern always seems to place them precisely where their particular strengths could best serve Light's interests. Also, such service had come with great personal cost, requiring numerous sacrifices over years, including an extended separation.

"How did you find me?" Moiraine asked, softer than before.

"The stones still pulse," Siuan answered, meaning the paired ter’angreal hidden on their persons. Her thumb traced gentle circles across Moiraine's knuckles as she she began scanning the forest perimeter again with trained vigilance. "Weak at distance, but inside Caemlyn it led me by the heartbeat. After that, the Blue eyes-and-ears."

Moiraine shut her eyes for a moment, gratitude and weariness rolling together. 

"I wasn't certain it would function properly after so much time," Moiraine admitted, her eyes still closed. "The distance often seemed too great during previous attempts."

"Perhaps greater need strengthened the connection," Siuan suggested, momentary softness crossing her face. "Or proximity to a Dragon candidate altered the Pattern sufficiently to enhance resonance between paired devices."

Moiraine opened her eyes when Lan’s boots padded over moss. He settled into position that maintained clear lines of sight. 

"No sign inside half a mile," he reported. "Forest remains clear; one old hunter’s spoor to the east, nothing more."

Relief flickered but none of them eased their guard. Rahvin's operation had already demonstrated sophistication and resource commitment. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be able to trace their escape route.

"We should cross the border by midday if we keep to the trees," Lan went on. "From there, we’ll ply quiet lanes; they're safer than the Queen’s Road."

"We should plan for intercepts all the same," Siuan said, the fisherwoman turning the chart in her mind. "Rahvin's reach likely extends well beyond Caemlyn. We should establish clear contingency protocols before departing at first light, including predetermined fallback points in case we have to split."

Her voice caught on the word split, and Moiraine felt the same knot. They had only just found each other again; the world already spoke of partings.

As they discussed optimal route planning, Moiraine found herself studying the subtle interplay between Siuan and Lan, two profoundly different individuals who had naturally developed respect for each other's capabilities despite just recently meeting for the first time. Their focused discussion allowed her momentary distance for observation, appreciating how complementary strengths balanced them better.

After a while, Lan rose to reclaim his post "I’ll hold first watch," he offered. "You should both rest while opportunity permits. Tomorrow's journey requires full strength, regardless of whether we are being pursued or not."

Siuan nodded. Lan melted into the trees, the hush of his passing swallowed by night. For a moment the clearing belonged only to Moiraine and Siuan—an interval between tactics and sleep where duty could loosen its grip.

Siuan murmured in the old stubborn tone that always warmed Moiraine’s heart, "You should rest."

Moiraine laid her head against Siuan’s shoulder instead, letting tight muscles unclench by inches. Siuan slipped an arm round Moiraine’s waist and shifted on the narrow ledge, making them both more comfortable. 

"I missed you," Moiraine breathed, the words small but weighty.

"And I you." Siuan brushing a kiss to her temple. "Each day apart felt longer than the miles." 

No further speech was needed; the hush between them carried all. Their love, hidden from the Tower yet steadier than stone, had always been both shield and sword.

After a time Siuan murmured, though her arm remained protectively around Moiraine's waist, "Sleep now. I’ll wake you up when it's time."

They arranged themselves with a veteran’s efficiency: Siuan’s back to the stone, Moiraine curled against her, both within reach of staff or dagger should the night turn. Moiraine’s hand found Siuan’s at her waist; fingers twined. Siuan’s arms tightened in promise, chin resting lightly atop dark hair. Moiraine’s breathing slowed, softened, slipped into the even cadence of true rest—rare as rubies these days.

And as Moiraine slept, Siuan kept watch, eyes on the silver-lit forest yet often drifting to the face she had longed to see. Moiraine's lines of care had deepened, but the quiet strength remained, and seeing it eased something in Siuan she had not known was knotted.

Within this stolen moment, they were only two women in the dark woods, sharing breath and heartbeat while nightbirds called and the world turned on toward sunrise and toward whatever trials waited there. Yet in that closeness lay a power neither the Shadow nor the fractious Tower could break, a power that would carry them through dawn and the long road beyond.

The wind tutted through the leaves, the ward hummed, and for one fragile hour the Pattern left them in peace.

Chapter Text

The forest came alive the way it always did, in whispers and sighs that only those who truly listened could hear. First, the wind stirred through the leaves above—just a breath of movement that made the branches dance. Then came the birds, tentative at first, as if they weren't quite sure dawn was really coming. A robin here, a sparrow there, their voices growing bolder as the darkness slowly lifted.

Moiraine had been awake for some time, though she hadn't moved. There was something precious about these moments—she he allowed herself a moment to simply exist in this closeness before duty reclaimed her. Siuan's breathing was deep and even, her face smoothed by a rare unguarded sleep. Siuan's arm lay protectively draped around her waist, a steady warmth against the morning chill, a comfort she'd forgotten she needed. Even in sleep, Siuan protected her, just as she always had.

The sight of Siuan's face in the dim light made Moiraine's chest tighten. Sleep had smoothed away the lines of worry that seemed permanently etched there now. The strong jaw that had defied the Hall of the Tower countless times, the lips that had whispered secrets in darkened corridors, the faint crease between her brows that never quite disappeared—all of it achingly familiar.

"You're staring again," Siuan murmured, her eyes still closed but a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm memorizing," Moiraine whispered back, unable to keep the tenderness from her voice. "The Wheel turns, and we don't often get moments like this."

Those sea-blue eyes opened then, catching the first rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy. "Then we'd better make them count for something." Siuan's thumb traced along Moiraine's cheek, the gesture so gentle it almost hurt.

A twig snapped somewhere in the trees, and both women went rigid. Their hands moved toward saidar even as they recognized the careful, measured footsteps. Lan emerged from the shadows like he'd been part of them, moving with that deadly grace that marked him as one of the finest swordsmen alive.

"Dawn's coming," he said, settling beside their small camp with fluid ease. "Forest's quiet, but we should move before the light exposes our position."

They broke camp with practiced efficiency, erasing all signs of their presence. Moiraine carefully unraveled the threads of Spirit she'd woven around their sleeping area—warnings that would have screamed if anything dangerous approached. Siuan packed their few belongings with economic movements, every gesture precise. Within minutes, it was as if they'd never been there at all.

The forest floor was soft under their feet as they moved east, Lan leading with his hand resting on his sword hilt. Moiraine and Siuan followed, maintaining a careful distance between them despite the mutual desire to walk closer. Old habits of concealment died hard, even when the only witnesses were oak trees and morning mist.

By midday, they had covered significant ground. The thick woods had given way to rolling hills covered in shorter grass. They stopped at a stream that bubbled and chattered its way downhill, the sound almost cheerful after hours of careful silence. The water was shockingly cold against their faces, but it washed away the grime of travel and the last fog of sleep.

"The border's just over that ridge," Lan said, indicating a line of hills to the east. "Once we cross into Murandy, we'll be out of Rahvin's reach. Not safe, exactly, but safer."

Siuan knelt by the stream, cupping the clear water in her hands. "From there, we head north to Tar Valon?"

"Not directly." Moiraine's voice carried the weight of someone who'd been thinking three moves ahead all morning. "Too obvious. Better to take the long way through the small villages. It'll take longer, but—"

"But we'll actually make it there alive," Siuan finished.

Lan nodded once, sharp and decisive. "I'll scout ahead. Make sure the crossing is clear." He melted back into the treeline before either woman could respond, leaving them alone with the sound of running water and their own thoughts.

Siuan moved closer then, close enough that their shoulders touched. "The Pattern weaves as the Pattern wills," she said softly, "but I have to admit, I'm grateful it's brought us back together. Even under these circumstances."

Moiraine's hand found Siuan's, their fingers intertwining with the ease of decades of trust. "So am I. Though I can't help but wonder what we'll find when we reach Tar Valon. Elaida's been busy."

"Let her scheme." That spark of defiance flared in Siuan's eyes, the one that makes her such a formidable force. "The Tower has survived worse than Elaida's ambition. And we have what matters most—we know the truth, and we have each other."

Moiraine was about to respond when Lan reappeared, his face grimmer than when he'd left. "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "Six men at the border crossing, armed and watching the paths too carefully for ordinary guards."

"Rahvin's people?" Siuan asked, her hand slipping away from Moiraine's as they both shifted into readiness.

"Most likely." Lan's voice was flat, professional. "No insignia, but they're positioned like soldiers, not border guards. They're looking for something. Or someone."

Moiraine felt that familiar chill of being hunted. "We need another way across. Somewhere they won't expect."

"There's a gorge about two miles north," Siuan said, remembering old intelligence. "Steep and nasty enough that most people avoid it. We used it during the Succession Wars when we needed to move people across borders without being seen."

Lan raised an eyebrow—practically a shout of surprise from him. "Challenging terrain, but it would get us around their watch line."

"North it is," Moiraine decided.

They changed course, moving parallel to the border instead of toward it. The forest grew thicker here, branches catching at their cloaks and undergrowth slowing their progress. By late afternoon, they reached the edge of the gorge Siuan had described.

It was a brutal slash in the earth, maybe thirty feet deep, with a narrow stream glinting at the bottom. The walls were steep but not quite sheer, lined with gnarled roots and jutting rocks that might serve as handholds for someone desperate enough to try.

"I'll go first," Lan said, already testing the edge.

"No." Siuan's voice carried the authority of someone who knew what she was talking about. "I know this route. There's a path down, hidden but stable." She pointed to a section that looked particularly forbidding. "It looks worse than it is. The roots are old and strong."

Lan studied her suggestion with a warrior's eye before nodding. "Lead, then. I'll bring up the rear."

Siuan moved to the edge without hesitation, finding footholds that seemed to exist by magic alone. She descended with the sure-footed grace of someone who'd grown up on boats, each movement calculated and precise.

Moiraine followed, trusting Siuan's path completely. The earth was cool and damp under her fingers, the roots solid enough to bear her weight. Behind her, Lan moved more carefully, his greater size requiring extra caution on the narrow route.

They reached the bottom without mishap, the stream gurgling cheerfully around their feet. The gorge walls rose on either side like protective barriers, hiding them from any watching eyes above.

"We follow this upstream," Siuan said, already moving. "It crosses the border half a mile ahead, where the gorge gets shallow enough to climb out easily."

They waded through ankle-deep water that soaked through their boots within minutes. The stream twisted and turned, occasionally forcing them to scramble over fallen logs or around boulder formations. Progress was slow but steady, each step taking them closer to something that might charitably be called safety.

The gorge widened gradually, just as Siuan had promised. They found an easy way up and climbed back to level ground, emerging into sparse woodland on the Murandy side of the border.

"We're across," Lan confirmed after checking his bearings. "Though we should keep moving until we're well clear of the border zone."

Moiraine nodded, then stopped, her head tilted slightly as she felt something shift in the Pattern around them. "Something's coming," she whispered.

All three tensed, Lan's hand moving to his sword while Moiraine and Siuan prepared to channel. For several heartbeats, nothing moved but the branches swaying overhead.

Then a raven landed on a branch directly above them, its black eyes gleaming with intelligence no ordinary bird should possess. It cocked its head, studying them with far too much interest.

"Shadowspawn," Lan breathed, his sword half-drawn from its sheath.

Moiraine struck first, a precise weave of Fire and Air that turned the raven into an explosion of feathers before it could cry out or take flight.

"Too late," Siuan murmured, pointing skyward where three more ravens circled high above. "It already got word out."

"Then we run," Moiraine decided. "Northeast, away from the border and whatever trap they're leading us into."

They abandoned stealth for speed, pushing through the forest as fast as the terrain would allow. Behind them came the sound of ravens, more and more of them, their harsh cries forming a dark chorus that followed relentlessly.

"They're herding us," Lan realized after nearly an hour of hard travel. "Every time we try to go west, they appear ahead, forcing us back northeast."

"Toward what?" Siuan wondered, her breathing controlled despite the pace.

The answer came as they reached a small rise and the trees thinned. Before them lay a wide clearing dominated by a crumbling stone structure–the remains of an ancient watchtower, its walls half-collapsed but still offering some shelter.

And waiting beside those ruins stood three figures in dark cloaks, their faces hidden by deep hoods. Even at a distance, wrongness emanated from them like a cold fog. Darkfriends, certainly, but possibly something worse.

"A trap," Moiraine said quietly. "But maybe not one set specifically for us. These could be sentries positioned to catch anyone crossing this part of the border."

"Three choices," Lan assessed quickly. "Go back and find another path, fight them head-on, or try to go around their position."

"The ravens block retreat," Siuan pointed out. "And going around would take hours we don't have, with night coming."

Moiraine's face hardened with decision. "Then we face them. Better on our terms than theirs."

The three exchanged a look, a moment of perfect understanding that came from years of facing impossible odds together. Then, without another word, they advanced toward the waiting threat. Not in retreat or fear, but with the steady purpose of those who had stared into darkness before and refused to blink.

The figures stirred as they approached, hands moving to weapons hidden beneath their cloaks. The air around them seemed to thicken and darken, a subtle distortion that made Moiraine's skin crawl with recognition.

"Not just Darkfriends," she whispered to her companions. "At least one channeler among them. Be ready."

Siuan nodded grimly, already embracing saidar. The Power flowed through her like a river finding its course, sweet and terrible and alive. Beside her, Moiraine did the same, their strengths aligning in silent preparation for what was coming.

When they drew within fifty paces of the ruins, one figure stepped forward, pushing back his hood to reveal a face that might have been handsome once, before ambition and cruelty had carved their marks into it.

"Aes Sedai," he called, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance that confirmed Moiraine's suspicion. "You wander far from your White Tower. These lands serve another master now."

"The Light shines in all lands," Moiraine replied evenly, continuing to advance at a measured pace. "And we walk where we choose."

The man smiled, a cold expression that never touched his eyes. "Not today, I think. My lord Rahvin sends his regards and his invitation to return to Caemlyn. He is most eager to continue your discussion about young men of particular...interest."

"We must decline," Siuan answered before Moiraine could respond. Her voice carried the full authority of the Blue Ajah, brooking no argument despite the danger before them. "Your master's invitation lacks proper courtesy."

The Darkfriend channeler's smile vanished. "Then you leave us no choice but to insist." He raised his hands, and dark power began to gather around them like oily smoke.

The confrontation was inevitable now. As the three Darkfriends prepared to attack, Moiraine felt Siuan's presence beside her like a fire in the night—warm, fierce, and absolutely unwavering..

The ancient watchtower loomed behind their enemies, its broken stones seeming to lean forward like a curious observer. Ravens circled overhead, their cries growing more frantic. The stream they'd followed gurgled somewhere behind them, indifferent to the violence about to unfold.

Chapter Text

The first attack came not from the channeler but his two companions, who moved like striking serpents, curved blades appearing from beneath their dark cloaks as they charged forward with inhuman speed. Steel rang against steel as Lan met them head-on, his sword dancing between theirs in a deadly ballet that echoed across the clearing.

At the same moment, the channeler unleashed his power, hurling a wave of corrupted Power, one so twisted and wrong, like black lightning that made the very air writhe in agony. Moiraine threw up a barrier of Spirit and Air just in time, feeling the shield buckle under the assault. The wrongness of it made her teeth ache.

"He's strong," she warned Siuan through gritted teeth, already weaving her own attack with Fire and Earth.

"But sloppy," Siuan replied, her blue eyes narrowing as she studied their opponent's technique. "All brute force, no finesse. Like watching a sledgehammer try to thread a needle."

They struck back together, in perfect harmony. Moiraine sent precisely controlled flames spiraling toward the Darkfriend, forcing him to defend himself, while Siuan wove invisible bonds of Air around his ankles. He stumbled badly, surprise flashing across his scarred face as he suddenly found himself rooted to the spot.

Moiraine pressed her advantage hard, splitting her weave into three separate attacks—one straight at his chest, two more circling wide to catch him from the sides. He managed to block the frontal assault with a crude wall of Air, but the flanking strikes hit home like invisible battering rams. His cry of pain was deeply satisfying.

Meanwhile, Lan moved between his two attackers like water flowing around stones. These weren't ordinary fighters or tavern brawlers—they fought with the fluid precision of men who'd spent decades perfecting their craft. Their coordination spoke of countless battles fought side by side.

"Blademasters," Lan muttered as he parried a particularly vicious thrust. "Or near enough to matter."

The realization only sharpened his focus. His style shifted, becoming more economical, each movement calculated to preserve energy while maintaining his defense. He was buying time, trusting Moiraine and Siuan to handle the greater threat of the channeler.

That trust wasn't misplaced. The Darkfriend was powerful, yes, but he channeled like a man who'd taught himself in secret, dangerous but quite predictable. Against a single Aes Sedai, his raw strength might have been enough. Against two who moved together like dancers following the same music, he was quickly overwhelmed.

"He fights like a wilder," Siuan observed, her voice calm despite the complex weaves she was maintaining. "Dangerous as a cornered bear, but just as clumsy."

"Then let's end this quickly," Moiraine replied.

They renewed their assault with renewed coordination. Moiraine created a brilliant flash of light directly in front of the channeler's eyes, not an attack but a perfect distraction. While he blinked away the afterimages, Siuan struck from below, turning the solid ground beneath his feet into sucking quicksand. He sank to his knees before he even realized what was happening, panic replacing his earlier confidence.

Desperately, he flung his power in all directions—a wild, uncontrolled blast that uprooted trees and sent rocks flying. But it was too scattered to penetrate the shields Moiraine and Siuan had woven around themselves.

As they closed the trap. Moiraine wove threads of Spirit into an intricate pattern, wrapping them around his connection to the dark power like a fisherman securing his net. At the same moment, Siuan bound him physically with bands of Air, locking him in place completely.

With surgical precision, Moiraine pulled her Spirit weave tight. The channeler's scream was terrible: the sound of a man feeling his connection to power suddenly severed. Not permanently, but completely for now. He collapsed face-first into the mud, all fight gone out of him.

"Shield's holding," Moiraine confirmed, wiping sweat from her forehead. The effort had cost her more than she cared to admit.

Siuan nodded grimly. "One down."

They turned to help Lan, who was still dancing his deadly dance with the two blademasters. Though he'd kept them at bay admirably, the extended fight was taking its toll—a thin line of blood traced his forearm where one had managed a glancing cut.

Without needing to speak, Moiraine and Siuan split apart, flanking the ongoing sword fight. They waited for the perfect moment, when both attackers were completely focused on Lan's blade, then struck together.

Siuan caught one with invisible bands around his sword arm, her weave tightening until his fingers went numb and his blade clattered to the ground. Moiraine took a more direct approach with the other: a concentrated blast of Air that caught him square in the chest and sent him tumbling backward like a rag doll.

Lan didn't waste the opportunity. In one fluid motion, he disarmed the man Siuan had trapped, his sword point coming to rest at the Darkfriend's throat with the inevitability of sunrise.

"Yield," he commanded, and there was no arguing with that voice.

The Darkfriend's face twisted with hate, but he made no move to resist. His companion, picking himself up from Moiraine's blast, took one look at the situation and slowly raised his hands in surrender.

"Bind them," Moiraine ordered, maintaining her shield on the channeler who still lay face-down in the mud. "We need answers."

Siuan efficiently wrapped all three in weaves of Air, ensuring they could neither move nor speak without permission. Only then did they allow themselves a moment to catch their breath and check for injuries.

"You're bleeding," Moiraine said, examining the cut on Lan's arm with concern.

"Barely a scratch," he dismissed, though he let her clean and bound it with cloth from her pack. "They were better than most I've faced, I'll give them that."

"Not good enough," Siuan observed coldly, her gaze fixed on their captives. "Now let's see what stories they have to tell."

She approached the channeler first, judging him the most likely source of useful information. A careful adjustment to her weave allowed him to speak but not to move so much as a finger.

"Who sent you?" she demanded, her voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

The man glared up at her through the mud caking his face. "You already know," he spat. "We serve his will."

"As hunting hounds," Moiraine commented, circling to get a better look at him. "Posted here to catch anyone fleeing his influence in Caemlyn."

"Or to watch for anyone approaching," Lan added thoughtfully. "This position guards more than just an escape route."

Something flickered in the channeler's eyes, surprise maybe, or confirmation. Siuan caught it immediately.

"And Rahvin himself?" she asked with deceptive casualness. "Does he often leave the city?"

The man's laugh was bitter. "Lord Rahvin rules Andor now, though few realize it yet. The queen dances to his tune, seeing only what he allows her to see."

Lan's expression darkened at this confirmation of what they'd feared. "Morgase is under Compulsion," he stated flatly.

The channeler's smile was ugly as a fresh wound. "She believes herself in love. As do most women in the palace after he turns his attention their way. Amazing how eager they become to please him."

"But to what end?" Moiraine pressed, still circling like a hunting cat. "Simply controlling one kingdom seems beneath a Forsaken's ambition."

"What's Rahvin's real plan for Andor?" she demanded.

Something shifted in the man's eyes, a flicker of recognition that they understood more than he'd assumed. "The Mantear boy is part of it," he admitted reluctantly. "A legitimacy claim, should the queen become... inconvenient."

"What travels this way that interests Rahvin so much?" Siuan pressed, kneeling to bring herself to his eye level. "Why post watchers at every border crossing?"

The man's resolve cracked visibly under her stare. "Not just watching for young men traveling alone or in small groups," he said finally. "Especially those who might seem... unusual. But also watching for his rivals. Lord Rahvin trusts no one, especially not the others."

Moiraine and Siuan exchanged a meaningful look. "Rivals like Ishamael," Moiraine suggested. "And Lanfear."

At Lanfear's name, the channeler went white as old bone. "Don't speak that name," he whispered, genuine terror replacing his earlier defiance. "She...notices when her name is spoken with intent."

The warning sent an uncomfortable chill down their spines. Twice now, the Daughter of the Night had invaded their dreams, manipulating Tel'aran'rhiod with a mastery no living Aes Sedai could match.

"Does she now?" a melodious voice inquired from behind them.

All three spun to face this new threat. At the edge of the clearing stood Lanfear herself, her midnight hair cascading around her stunning features so perfect they seemed carved from moonlight. She wore a simple white dress that somehow managed to look both elegant and terrifying, and her smile was winter starlight—beautiful, cold, and utterly without warmth.

"Lanfear," Moiraine breathed, instinctively strengthening her defenses and stepping slightly in front of Siuan. The protective gesture came without thought.

The Daughter of the Night laughed, and it sounded like crystal bells being shattered. "How touching, little Damodred. Still trying to shield others from harm." Her dark eyes met Moiraine's with unsettling familiarity before sweeping over all of them, lingering briefly on Lan before returning to the two Aes Sedai. "We meet again in person, though under less...formal circumstances than our previous encounters."

Lan had moved to flank the Forsaken, his sword ready, but Lanfear paid him no more attention than she might a buzzing fly. Her focus remained entirely on Moiraine and Siuan.

"These belong to you, I assume?" She gestured negligently toward the bound Darkfriends. "Rahvin's pets, sniffing at your trail like faithful hounds."

"What do you want, Lanfear?" Moiraine asked, fighting to keep her voice steady despite the cold fear coiling in her belly. Against a Forsaken, even two Aes Sedai working together stood little chance without preparation and luck.

"Want?" Lanfear repeated, as if the concept amused her. "Many things, Moiraine Damodred. But at this particular moment, merely to send a message to my...colleague."

She made a casual gesture toward the captive Darkfriends. Without warning, they began to scream—horrible, tearing sounds that no human throat should ever make. Their bodies contorted impossibly, twisting in ways that defied every law of anatomy, blood erupting from their eyes and mouths and ears. Within heartbeats, they lay still, their forms barely recognizable as having once been human.

"Rahvin oversteps himself," Lanfear said conversationally, as if she hadn't just committed three murders in the most horrific way imaginable. "He forgets that the Great Lord's favor is fickle, and that some prizes are not his to claim."

She stepped closer, and despite all his training, Lan retreated a pace, his knuckles white around his sword hilt.

"Our last conversation in Tel'aran'rhiod proved insufficient, it seems," Lanfear continued, addressing Moiraine directly. "You rejected my offer of...shared intelligence. Yet here we are, our interests temporarily aligned once more."

Moiraine's eyes narrowed at this reference to their dream encounters. "What game are you playing now, Daughter of the Night?"

Lanfear's smile deepened, beautiful and terrible as a blade forged from midnight itself. "The same game we all play, little sister. The only difference is that I understand what the true prize is." She fixed her gaze on Siuan. "You believe you seek the Dragon Reborn to serve the Light. Rahvin seeks him to eliminate a threat. Ishamael would twist him to serve the Shadow's purpose. All of you are...limited in your understanding."

"And you would enlighten us?" Siuan asked, skepticism clear despite her caution.

"I would offer you a choice," Lanfear replied, her voice dropping to a silken whisper that somehow carried perfectly across the clearing. "The boy you seek is not here. Nor is he Rahvin's to shape or destroy."

She took another step closer, and both Aes Sedai tensed, ready to channel despite knowing it would probably be futile. "The Dragon was mine once," Lanfear said, and for just a moment something like genuine emotion flickered across her perfect features. "He will be again. Those who stand with me when that day comes may find mercy. Those who choose to stand with Rahvin or the others–" She shrugged elegantly. "Well. You've seen what becomes of obstacles in my path."

Before any of them could respond, she gestured, and a line of silver light split the air beside her like a door opening onto nothingness. "Consider my words carefully, daughters of the Tower. Our paths will cross again soon. When that time comes, and it will come, remember that not all who serve the Shadow seek the same end. Some would preserve what others would destroy."

She stepped sideways into the silver light, which sealed itself behind her with a sound like silk being torn.

For long moments, none of them moved or spoke. The clearing was silent except for the rustle of wind through leaves and the drone of flies already gathering around the mutilated corpses.

Finally, Lan sheathed his sword with hands that trembled almost imperceptibly. "She could have killed us all without breaking a sweat," he observed quietly.

"Yes," Moiraine agreed, her face pale but composed. "We're pieces on her game board now, whether we choose to be or not."

Siuan's expression had hardened into the implacable mask she wore when facing hostile Sitters in the Hall. "There's advantage in having the Forsaken plotting against each other as much as against the Light." She gazed northeast, toward their destination and the White Tower beyond. "But we need to reach Tar Valon quickly. If Lanfear's moving openly now, the others won't be far behind."

As they resumed their journey, leaving the ruined waystation and its grisly contents behind them, Moiraine felt Siuan's hand briefly squeeze her own, a gesture of solidarity and shared purpose that needed no words.

Chapter Text

They traveled until full darkness swallowed the land, driven by the need to put as much distance as possible between themselves and what they'd witnessed. No one spoke about the grotesque deaths of the Darkfriends or the chilling implications of Lanfear's words. The silence hung between them like a weight, heavy with unspoken fears and half-formed plans.

Only when the moon climbed high enough to cast silver light across the rolling grasslands did Lan finally signal a halt. He'd chosen their refuge carefully, a natural hollow ringed by ancient, twisted trees that would hide them from any eyes more than twenty paces away in any direction.

"We're well beyond Rahvin's immediate reach now," he reported as they settled into the shelter of the branches. "Unlikely to run into more of his hunting packs before dawn, at least."

Moiraine nodded, although her eyes kept scanning the darkness beyond their hiding place. After watching Lanfear simply step out of nothingness, nowhere felt truly safe anymore. "We should rest in shifts," she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. "One hour each, then move again before first light."

"I'll take first watch," Siuan said, already weaving subtle alarms around their camp's perimeter. The threads were nearly invisible, gossamer-fine warnings that would alert her to any approach.

Lan melted back into the shadows to scout a wider circle, returning some time later with a handful of wild roots and late berries—hardly a feast or a proper meal , but enough to keep them going. They ate without talking, each lost in their own thoughts.

When Lan disappeared again to establish a more distant watch line, Siuan shifted closer to Moiraine until their shoulders touched. In the moonlight, her face looked carved from pale stone, but her presence was warm and reassuring.

"Lanfear," she murmured, and the name itself seemed to darken the air around them. "Few sisters alive have encountered a Forsaken once and lived to tell about it. Meeting one twice—" She shook her head slowly.

"And none have been offered alliance," Moiraine added quietly. "If that's what we can call her proposition."

Siuan's expression hardened like granite. "A trap, obviously. The Daughter of the Night serves only herself and the Dark ."

"Without question," Moiraine agreed. "And yet, what she said about Rahvin and the others rang true. The Forsaken were always divided by their own ambitions, even during the Age of Legends." She paused, considering carefully. "That division could be turned to our advantage, if we're careful enough."

"Dangerous thinking," Siuan warned, though her tone suggested she was already weighing the possibilities herself.

Moiraine's hand found Siuan's in the darkness, their fingers naturally intertwining. "All our choices are dangerous now. But why would so many Forsaken be stirring at once?"

"The Pattern's tightening," Siuan agreed, her thumb tracing gentle circles on Moiraine's palm. 

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, feeling the weight of the secret work settling on their shoulders. Since the day Gitara Moroso had died speaking the Foretelling of the Dragon's rebirth, their entire lives had been dedicated to finding him before the Shadow could claim him. Now, it even seems more precarious than ever. 

"Do you ever wonder," Moiraine asked, her voice so soft it barely stirred the air between them, "what comes after? If we succeed, if we find him and guide him through to Tarmon Gai'don–"

"If we survive it, you mean?" Siuan's smile was barely visible in the moonlight. "I try not to let myself think about it too often. But sometimes...a small house somewhere quiet. Maybe near the sea."

"With a proper garden," Moiraine added, allowing herself to sink into the shared dream for just a heartbeat. "And room for all your books."

"And space for that harp of yours," Siuan said, her voice warm with affection. "The one you never touch anymore because there's always another crisis demanding attention."

The vision hung between them like something precious and fragile—a future that might never come to pass, but beautiful simply for existing as a possibility. The soft sound of Lan's return severed the reverie. With the practiced discipline of women who'd spent their lives setting personal wants aside for duty, they let their vision of such a future fade. Lan emerged from the shadows as silently as he'd left, moving like a piece of the night itself given human form.

"All quiet," he reported in a voice barely above a breath. "But these lands are too open for my liking. We should move within the hour."

They used the remaining time to snatch what rest they could, Siuan maintaining her vigilant watch while Moiraine tried to gather her strength for the road ahead. When the hour was up, they rose without complaint and resumed their journey northeast, keeping well clear of the main roads where Rahvin's agents might still be hunting.

There was only the steady rhythm of walking, the whisper of wind through grass, and the comforting presence of companions who would stand no matter what dawn might bring. The moon rode high above them, casting their shadows long and dark across the grassland. And as the night stretched on, full of shadows and possibilities, three small figures made their way across a landscape that seemed to hold its breath.

Chapter Text

Dawn crept over the rolling hills like a cautious animal, painting the grasslands in shades of gold and amber as they travelled northeast toward Kore Springs . Yet still, every shadow seemed to move wrong or every bird call sounded out of place.

"We should reach Jornhill by midday," Lan said, pausing to study the horizon with narrowed eyes that missed nothing. "It should be small enough that we won't draw attention, yet big enough to resupply what we need."

Moiraine nodded, fatigue beginning to show around her eyes. Yesterday's fight had taken more out of her than she liked to admit, and Lanfear's sudden appearance had shaken her in ways she wouldn't acknowledge even to herself.

Lan went ahead of them, again disappearing like a ghost among the scattered trees. When he returned this time, his expression was grimmer than usual.

"Road's clear for now," he reported, "but I found signs of recent riders. A dozen or more, all heading the same direction we are."

"Merchants?" Siuan suggested hopefully.

Lan shook his head. "Too disciplined. They rode in formation, and they were traveling light for a trading party."

Moiraine felt that familiar chill of being hunted. "More of Rahvin's people, spreading out from Caemlyn to search."

"Could be routine patrols," Lan countered, though his tone suggested he didn't believe it himself. "Either way, we should stay off the main road until we know more."

They changed course slightly, keeping to the edges of woodland and shallow valleys wherever possible. By mid-morning, the landscape was opening up around them, making concealment harder with each mile.

When they reached a gentle rise, a column of smoke appeared on the horizon, one too thick for cooking fires but too black for any kind of controlled burning.

"That's where Jornhill should be," Lan said, his voice tight as a bowstring.

They didn't need to discuss it. All three of them quickened their pace , urgency driving them forward. As they drew closer, the full extent of the destruction became clear. What had been a peaceful farming village was now nothing but burned ruins. Thatched roofs had collapsed into blackened skeletons of timber; stone walls stood like broken teeth against the morning sky.

They approached carefully, Lan scouting while Moiraine and Siuan prepared to channel at the first sign of danger. But the village felt empty; not just of people, but of life itself. Even the birds had fled this place of death. The only thing left behind was the eerie silence that followed such devastation.

"This wasn't an accident," Lan said as they picked their way through. "Look at the burn patterns. Each building was set deliberately, starting with doors and windows to prevent escape, trapping anyone inside."

Moiraine knelt beside a patch of disturbed earth, brushing away the ash to reveal something that made her blood run cold. A footprint, pressed deep into the mud: cloven, massive, definitely not human.

"Trollocs," she said, the word tasting like poison in her mouth.

Siuan was examining other tracks nearby. "I don't see any bodies. Were they taken, or–?"

"Some got away," Lan said, pointing toward clearer ground where multiple sets of human footprints led north. "Maybe a dozen villagers, all running together. With Trollocs right behind them."

Moiraine straightened slowly, her mind working through the implications. "This doesn't make sense. Trolloc raids this far south are rare, and when they do come, it's usually quick strikes for livestock and a few captives. This was different, methodical, thorough."

"Purposeful," Siuan finished, following her thoughts. "Not random raiding, but a specific mission."

"But what could they want here?" Lan asked, gesturing at the ruins. "There's nothing of value in a place like this."

Moiraine walked toward what had been the village center, where a stone well somehow stood intact amid the destruction. She placed her palm against the cool stone, closing her eyes and reaching out with senses beyond the ordinary.

"They were searching," she said after a long moment. "House by house, systematic but hurried. Like they were working against time to find something. Or someone."

Siuan moved to join her at the well. "Another candidate?" she asked quietly.

"Maybe. Or something connected to us, perhaps word that we'd passed this way."

Lan returned from checking the village's northern edge. "The trail's still fresh. Survivors heading toward Kore Springs, with Trollocs in pursuit. They can't be more than half a day ahead of us."

Moiraine and Siuan looked at each other, a whole conversation passing between them in that glance. Their mission to reach Tar Valon pressed against the immediate need of innocents fleeing for their lives.

"We follow," Moiraine decided. "If this attack connects to Rahvin's search or Lanfear's warnings, we need to know. And regardless—"

"We can't leave people to die when we might help them," Siuan finished firmly.

They salvaged what they could from the ruins: a waterskin that had somehow survived the flames, some dried meat overlooked in the chaos, a coil of good rope, and set out north, following the trampled path of flight and pursuit. Lan took point, his tracking skills letting them follow the trail without losing precious time.

As they walked, Moiraine felt unease growing in her chest like a physical weight. The Pattern seemed to be tightening around them, coincidences becoming too neat to be mere chance, events converging with a precision that suggested design rather than accident.

Late afternoon found them at the edge of a thick copse surrounding a babbling stream. Lan stopped abruptly, raising his hand for silence. He pointed to where the fleeing villagers had clearly entered the trees.

"They stopped here," he whispered. "Recently. The Trollocs followed them in, but—"

His frown deepened as he studied the ground more carefully. Moiraine crept closer, seeing what had caught his attention—the pursuit trail simply ended, as if the Trollocs had vanished into thin air.

"No sign of a fight," Lan continued, clearly troubled. "No blood, no broken weapons, nothing to show what happened to them."

Siuan scanned the surrounding woods with growing tension. "A trap? Something that was waiting for them?"

She broke off, her head tilting as if listening to sounds beyond normal hearing. Moiraine felt it too, a sudden shift in the Pattern, like ripples spreading across still water.

"Someone's channeling," she breathed, turning slowly to pinpoint the source. "Northeast, maybe five miles. Powerful, but—" She frowned. "Untrained. Raw."

Lan's hand moved instinctively to his sword. "Could it be him? The Dragon?"

"Impossible to say for certain," Moiraine replied, her voice tight with concentration. "But it needs investigating. Very careful investigating."

Siuan was already shouldering her pack, her mind racing ahead to possibilities. "If it is him, we won't be the only ones who felt that surge. Any Forsaken within a day's ride would sense channeling that strong."

"Then we move fast," Moiraine decided. "But not carelessly. If there's a male channeler ahead, with or without survivors, we're walking into something unpredictable."

They entered the grove cautiously, following the trail with heightened awareness. The trees grew thicker as they went deeper, branches weaving together overhead to create a canopy that turned afternoon into twilight. The air felt unnaturally still, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

The path led them to a small clearing where they found something that stopped them all in their tracks. Seven Trollocs lay scattered in a rough circle, their massive bodies twisted in death. But there were no wounds visible, no signs of what had killed them. At the center of the circle stood a single figure; a young man with auburn hair and the solid build of someone used to hard work.

Even from a distance, something about him drew her attention. Not his appearance, which was unremarkable enough: rough homespun clothes, patched shirt, boots that had seen better days. It was something in the way he carried himself, a quality that seemed oddly familiar.

He turned at their approach, his stance alert but unafraid. His eyes, she noticed, were an unusual shade of gray-green, and they held a depth that seemed strange in such a young face.

"You're from the White Tower?" he asked, looking directly at Moiraine. "I've been expecting someone, though I wasn't sure who it would be."

Moiraine felt Siuan go rigid beside her. They exchanged a look heavy with shared understanding; this was no ordinary village refugee. Moving with grace, Moiraine stepped forward.

"I am Moiraine Sedai," she confirmed. "This is Siuan Sedai, and Lan Mandragoran. We saw what happened to your village and followed the trail here."

The young man nodded as if this was exactly what he'd expected. "My name is Jain," he said easily. "Jain Farstrider, though that's not really who I am, of course. Just a name I'm using for now."

Lan's hand shifted toward his sword hilt. Either the boy was mad, claiming to be the legendary explorer whose adventures filled dozens of books or something far more complex was happening here.

"And who are you really?" Siuan asked, her voice carefully neutral.

The young man's smile transformed his entire face, making him suddenly compelling in a way that had nothing to do with his ordinary features. "You already know, or you wouldn't be here." He gestured at the dead Trollocs surrounding him. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Didn't know I could do something like this. But they were going to kill the others, and suddenly there was...light. Fire. Power like nothing I've ever felt."

Moiraine moved closer, studying him with the intensity of someone examining a puzzle piece that might not fit where it appeared to belong. "Where are the other villagers now?"

"Safe," he replied. "I sent them on toward Kore Springs with a story about Queen's Guards coming to help." His expression grew more serious. "They wouldn't have understood what really happened here. I barely understand it myself."

"What do you think happened?" Moiraine asked gently, though her heart was racing.

The young man looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "I channeled, didn't I? Like in the old stories about male Aes Sedai." He looked up, meeting her gaze steadily. "Which means I'm going to go mad and die. Unless—"

"Unless what?" Siuan prompted when he trailed off.

"Unless I'm him," he finished quietly. "The one who's supposed to be reborn. The Dragon."

The words hung in the air like a physical presence. Moiraine kept her expression carefully composed through decades of training, but inside, her thoughts raced. Could it really be this simple? After all their years of searching, to find him by following Trolloc tracks?

"What makes you think that's possible?" she asked carefully.

The young man—Jain, or whatever his real name was—glanced around as if checking for listeners before continuing. "Dreams," he said finally. "I've been having dreams unlike anything before. A man with eyes like flames tells me I have a destiny to fulfill. A woman more beautiful than summer itself offers me power and glory if I'll just...trust her."

Moiraine and Siuan exchanged another loaded glance. The description of the woman matched Lanfear perfectly, but that contradicted what they'd been told about the candidates showing no signs of prophetic dreams.

"These dreams," Siuan said. "How long have they been coming?"

"Months now. At first I thought they were just nightmares; everyone has those. But they kept getting stronger, more real. And then last week, I started seeing things while I was awake. Flashes of places I've never been, people I've never met, battles that haven't happened yet."

It matched the signs they'd been taught to watch for, the markers that would identify the Dragon Reborn. Yet something felt wrong about it all…too convenient, too perfectly arranged, as if someone had laid out exactly what they expected to find.

Lan had been circling the clearing during their conversation, examining the dead Trollocs and the surrounding area with a warrior's trained eye. When he returned to Moiraine's side, he leaned close enough to whisper.

"Something's not right about this scene. The Trollocs fell too neatly, almost like they were arranged. And there's another trail leading east, very faint, but someone else was definitely here."

Moiraine nodded slightly, filing the information away without showing her reaction. She turned back to the young man, who was watching them with eyes that seemed to see more than they should.

"You've been through a terrible ordeal today," she said. "We should find shelter before we discuss anything further. Night's coming, and even dead Trollocs might have friends looking for them."

The young man nodded agreeably. "There's an old woodcutter's hut not far from here. Been abandoned for years, but the roof's still solid."

"Lead the way," Moiraine said, gesturing for him to go ahead while she, Siuan, and Lan followed at a careful distance.

As they walked through the deepening shadows, Siuan moved close enough to speak without being overheard. "He channels, he has prophetic dreams—"

"And he appeared in our path exactly when we needed guidance," Moiraine finished. "Either the Pattern weaves very obviously, or—"

"Or we're being played," Siuan concluded grimly. "Lanfear?"

"Possibly. Or another of the Forsaken. Or something else entirely."

"What do we do?" Siuan asked, her voice steady despite the weight of the question.

Moiraine watched the young man walking ahead of them, moving with confidence despite his claimed confusion. "We proceed carefully. Test him, watch him, reveal nothing important until we're certain of what we're dealing with."

"And if he really is the Dragon?" Lan asked, having caught the end of their conversation.

Moiraine's expression remained serene, but her eyes held depths that spoke of destiny's terrible weight. "Then everything changes," she said simply. "For him, for us, for the entire world."

The sun was sinking toward the horizon now, casting long fingers of shadow through the trees. The young man who called himself Jain Farstrider led them deeper into the forest, toward uncertain shelter and an even more uncertain future. Behind them, the dead Trollocs lay in their perfect circle, mute witnesses to power unleashed. But by whom, and for what purpose, remained a mystery shrouded in growing darkness.

Chapter Text

The woodcutter's hut materialized from the gathering darkness like something from a children's tale: a simple structure of rough-hewn logs with a sagging thatch roof that had seen better years. Despite its humble appearance, the walls looked solid enough, and the single door still hung true on iron hinges that had somehow escaped rust.

"It's not much to look at," the young man said, pushing the door open with his shoulder, "but it'll keep the wind out better than sleeping under the stars."

Inside, they found a single room that spoke of simple needs simply met. A stone hearth dominated one wall, while a plank table and two crude benches occupied the center of the space. Dust covered everything like a gray blanket, but otherwise the hut felt undisturbed, as if its owner had simply walked away one morning and never bothered to come back.

Lan moved through the space with professional thoroughness, checking corners and testing the stability of walls before giving Moiraine a slight nod. "Defensible enough," he said quietly. "One way in, and the walls are too thick for anything to slip through unnoticed."

The young man watched this assessment with obvious interest. "You've done this before," he observed. "Checking escape routes, positioning yourselves where you can see both door and windows." His smile held genuine appreciation. "The stories about Aes Sedai never mention how practical you are."

"Stories often leave out the details that keep people alive," Moiraine replied, settling onto one of the benches with careful grace. She kept her hands relaxed in her lap, but every nerve was ready to embrace saidar at the first hint of danger. "Now, perhaps you'd be willing to share your real name? 'Jain Farstrider' might fool villagers, but it seems a bit theatrical for present company."

The young man hesitated, then gave a resigned shrug. "Logain," he said finally. "Logain Ablar. Though lately, I'm not even sure that's who I really am anymore."

"What makes you doubt your own name?" Siuan asked, her tone carefully neutral despite the implications of his words.

Logain moved to the fireplace and began arranging twigs with the easy confidence of someone who'd done it countless times. "Because nothing else about my life feels real anymore," he said, not looking up from his work. "The dreams keep showing me things...about myself, about who I might be. And now this." He gestured vaguely at his hands. "How can I be just Logain Ablar from Ghealdan when I can do what I did to those Trollocs?"

Moiraine and Siuan exchanged a subtle glance that spoke volumes. The name wasn't on any of their carefully maintained lists, but more troubling was his apparent age. This wasn't the ten-year-old boy they'd been seeking, but a youth on the verge of manhood, sixteen perhaps or seventeen years old. He was far too old to match Gitara's Foretelling about a child born during the Blood Snow.

"Where exactly were you born, Logain Ablar?" Moiraine asked, keeping her voice conversational.

"In the mountains of Ghealdan," he answered without hesitation. "My father held lands near the Altaran border, nothing grand but respectable enough."

Siuan's eyebrows rose slightly. "And when was this?"

Logain struck flint to steel, coaxing sparks into the tinder. "Winter of 971, near enough. Sixteen summers ago ."

The contradiction hit like a physical blow. If Gitara's Foretelling was accurate, and they had no reason to doubt the word of a woman who'd died speaking it, the Dragon Reborn had been born in the final days of the Aiel War. This young man was far too old to be who they sought.

"You mentioned channeling earlier," Moiraine said, fighting to maintain her composure despite her growing confusion. "When did this ability first show itself?"

"Started a few months back," Logain said, blowing gently on the growing flames. "Though today was the first time I did it on purpose. Before that, just...incidents. Strange things happening around me that I couldn't explain: animals acting wrong, weather changing suddenly, things moving when I got angry." He paused, watching the fire catch hold. "Then the dreams started."

"What kind of dreams?" Siuan pressed, leaning forward slightly.

Logain looked up, firelight dancing across his features. "Dreams of power. Of destiny. Of a woman with eyes like midnight who spoke to me like we were...intimate friends from long ago."

"Did she give you a name?" Moiraine asked, though she dreaded the answer.

"Lews Therin," he said quietly. "She called me Lews Therin Telamon and acted as if we'd been lovers once upon a time."

Moiraine kept her expression carefully neutral, but inside, her thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea. Lanfear appearing in the dreams of a young male channeler, one who was far too old to be the Dragon Reborn according to everything they knew, raised questions she didn't want to consider.

Could they have misunderstood Gitara's words somehow? The Foretelling had seemed crystal clear: "He is born again! I feel him! The Dragon takes his first breath on the slope of Dragonmount!" Yet here sat a young man who could channel, who dreamed of the Daughter of the Night, who clearly possessed considerable power.

"These dreams," Siuan said carefully, her voice betraying none of her own confusion, "they began recently?"

"A few months ago," Logain confirmed, feeding another stick to the growing fire. "At first, I thought they were just nightmares; everyone has those. But they felt different, more real than any dream should. And after each one, I'd discover I'd done something impossible while I slept. Moving things without touching them, starting fires, once even healing a lame horse." He looked up at them. "I didn't know what to call it until today."

Lan had positioned himself near the door, seemingly to keep watch, but his attention remained focused on their conversation. His hand never strayed far from his sword hilt.

"You understand what this means," Moiraine said carefully. "If you can truly channel the One Power—"

"I'll go mad and die," Logain finished matter-of-factly. "Unless I happen to be the Dragon Reborn, in which case I'll go mad after either saving or destroying the world." His laugh held no humor whatsoever. " Not much of a choice, is it? Not exactly what you'd call appealing choices."

Neither Aes Sedai confirmed or denied this assessment, but their silence was answer enough.

"The village elders mentioned Aes Sedai passing through recently," Logain continued, stirring the fire with a stick. "Asking questions about boys born during the Blood Snow. But I was born years before that war ended. Still, when the channeling started, when the dreams came—" He shrugged. "What else was I supposed to think?"

The contradiction gnawed at Moiraine like a physical ache. Their entire search had been built on Gitara's Foretelling: specific, detailed, seemingly unambiguous. Yet here was evidence that challenged their most basic assumptions.

"The ability to channel doesn't automatically make you the Dragon Reborn," Siuan said carefully. "Throughout history, men have channeled without fulfilling any prophecies."

"True enough," Logain agreed. "But how many of them dreamed of the Daughter of the Night?" He met their eyes steadily. "That's what she calls herself in the dreams. The Daughter of the Night, searching for her lost love across the turning of ages."

Another piece that fitted disturbingly well with what they knew of Lanfear. Moiraine studied Logain more closely, searching for any hint of deception or outside influence.

"You seem remarkably calm about all this," she observed. "Most men who discover they can channel react with denial or terror."

Logain's smile was as bitter as the winter wind. "Oh, I was terrified at first. Spent weeks hoping I was going mad instead of facing the truth. But fear's a luxury when your choices narrow down to acceptance or complete breakdown." He met her gaze directly. "And if there's even a small chance I'm something more than just another doomed channeler—"

"There are ways to test such things," Moiraine said slowly. "Methods to determine if prophecy truly speaks of you."

"Then test me," Logain said, leaning forward with sudden intensity. "I have to know. One way or another, I need to understand what I am."

The directness of his challenge caught Moiraine off guard. Most young men, upon learning the truth about male channelers, would react with denial or despair. Logain's acceptance, even his apparent eagerness, seemed almost unnatural.

"Such tests aren't simple matters," Siuan intervened. "Some require specific conditions, others need particular artifacts. We can't simply—"

A sound outside the hut cut her words short. Lan moved swiftly to the window, peering into the darkness with those pale eyes that seemed to catch every stray bit of light.

"Company," he reported quietly. "Multiple riders, moving with purpose rather than trying to hide."

Logain rose to his feet, tension radiating from every line of his body. "More Trollocs?"

Lan shook his head grimly. "Human. Maybe a dozen, all mounted."

"Darkfriends," Moiraine concluded, ice forming in her stomach. "Following the same trail we did."

Siuan moved to stand beside her, both women preparing to channel if the situation demanded it. "We could try to hide," she suggested, though her tone suggested she thought little of the idea.

"Against that many searchers, in a space this small?" Lan shook his head. "Better to meet them on terms we choose than be found cowering like rabbits in a hole."

Logain looked between them, his expression hardening with resolve. "I can help fight them. What I did to those Trollocs—"

"Absolutely not," Moiraine cut him off sharply. "Untrained channeling is dangerous to everyone around you, not just your enemies. If we have to fight, you stay behind us."

For a moment, rebellion flickered in Logain's eyes, but then he nodded curtly. "As you wish, Aes Sedai."

The riders drew closer, their approach now audible to everyone in the hut. Hoofbeats slowed as they neared, horses snorting and stamping in the cool night air.

"They've spotted our fire," Lan said grimly. "No chance they'll pass by now."

Moiraine rose smoothly, adjusting her shawl with practiced calm. "Then we'll greet them properly," she said. "But everyone, stay ready."

She moved toward the door, Siuan a step behind, their Aes Sedai serenity masking the deadly weaves both had already begun preparing. Lan positioned himself slightly ahead of them, his hand now openly resting on his sword hilt, while Logain retreated toward the back of the hut as instructed.

The door creaked open before Moiraine could reach it.

A figure stood silhouetted against the star-filled darkness—tall and well-dressed, wearing no uniform or livery that might reveal his allegiance. Behind him, more shapes waited on horseback, their presence radiating menace like heat from a forge.

"Aes Sedai," the leader said, his voice cultured and smooth despite their rough surroundings. "How fortunate to find you here. My companions and I have been searching for days."

Moiraine felt Lan's tension spike like a drawn bowstring. Something about this man set off every alarm Lan possessed, though nothing obvious betrayed hostile intent.

"And who might you be," Moiraine asked pleasantly, "to be searching for Aes Sedai in such remote places?"

The man's smile revealed teeth too perfect for someone who spent time in the wilderness. "Merely a humble servant of greater powers," he replied with mock modesty. "One who understands the value of...cooperation between interested parties."

His gaze shifted past Moiraine to where Logain stood in the shadows. "Ah, and there he is. The young channeler we've heard so much about." His smile widened like a predator scenting blood. "How convenient that you've already gathered him for us."

Moiraine maintained her serene expression while subtly adjusting the weaves she held ready. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. We're simply travelers sharing shelter for the night."

"Come now, Aes Sedai," the man chided with false warmth. "We both know better than that. The boy channeled earlier today, quite impressively, by all reports. Such power deserves proper...guidance."

"Your kind of guidance leads only into Shadow," Siuan said coldly, stepping forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Moiraine.

The man laughed, a sound completely devoid of genuine humor. "Such certainty, such righteousness. The White Tower always believes it alone knows what's best for the world." He extended a hand toward Logain in invitation. "Boy, these women will lead you only to captivity and gentling. We offer understanding, training, power beyond anything they would allow you to imagine."

Logain hesitated, genuine conflict playing across his features. "Who are you really?" he demanded.

"Someone who understands what you truly are," the man replied smoothly. "Someone who serves those who have been watching you for longer than you know."

Moiraine felt cold understanding settle in her bones. "Ishamael sends his regards, I presume?"

The man's smile faltered for just an instant before returning with forced confidence. "Names have power, Aes Sedai. Best not to speak them so carelessly." He turned his attention back to Logain. "Come with us willingly, and your companions may yet live. Resist, and—"

He left the threat hanging in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.

Logain looked at Moiraine, uncertainty and fear warring in his young face. "Is what he says true? Would the Tower really gentle me?"

"Eventually, yes," Moiraine answered with painful honesty. "Any man who channels must be gentled, for his own safety and that of everyone around him, unless he proves to be the Dragon Reborn."

"And you think I might be?" Logain pressed.

Moiraine chose her words with infinite care. "You possess certain qualities that merit investigation. Qualities that have raised questions we hadn't previously considered."

The Darkfriend leader laughed again, louder this time. "Such careful evasion! The Aes Sedai would study you like a fascinating specimen, boy, until they determined your usefulness or lack thereof. We offer certainty. Purpose. A place of honor in the world that's coming."

Something shifted in Logain's expression, a hardening around his eyes, a decision crystallizing. He stepped forward, moving past Moiraine toward the doorway.

"Logain," Siuan warned, "think very carefully about—"

"I have," he interrupted, his voice suddenly different, older somehow, carrying an authority that hadn't been there moments before. "I've thought about nothing else for months."

He reached the doorway, standing face to face with the Darkfriend. "You offer certainty?" he asked quietly.

"Absolute certainty," the man confirmed, triumph gleaming in his eyes.

Logain nodded slowly. "Then answer me this, if I truly am the Dragon Reborn, why would I need you or your master?"

Before the Darkfriend could respond, Logain's hands shot up, gripping the man's head between his palms. The air between them seemed to catch fire, distorting like heat above summer stones. Power surged through the space—not the wild, desperate channeling from before, but something controlled, deliberate, and terrifying in its precision.

The Darkfriend had no time to react, no chance to defend himself. His body went rigid, eyes widening in shock and agony, mouth opening in a silent scream as Logain's channeling coursed through him like liquid lightning. Within heartbeats, he crumpled to the ground, eyes vacant and staring, a thin wisp of smoke rising from his nostrils.

Outside, the other riders shouted in alarm, drawing weapons and spurring their horses forward. Logain turned to face them, his expression eerily calm despite the violence he'd just committed.

"I suggest you run," he said mildly.

Instead, they attacked.

What happened next unfolded so quickly that even Moiraine, trained to observe and analyze in the heat of battle, could barely follow the sequence of events. Logain raised his hands, and the air in front of him rippled like the surface of a disturbed pond. The charging riders hit an invisible barrier with bone-crushing force, men and horses alike bouncing backward as if they'd struck a stone wall.

Before they could recover their wits, Logain made another gesture. The ground beneath them erupted in defiance of every natural law, earth and stone fountaining skyward with tremendous force. Riders screamed as they were hurled into the air, then fell back to earth with sounds that would haunt Moiraine's dreams for years to come.

In moments, it was over. Where a dozen mounted warriors had been preparing to attack, now lay only broken bodies and terrified horses fleeing into the night.

Logain turned back to face them, and Moiraine saw that his eyes glowed with an inner light that slowly faded as they watched.

"I apologize for the deception," he said, his voice now completely different; now cultured, confident, ancient in ways that sent chills racing down her spine. "But it was necessary to draw them into the open."

"Who are you?" Moiraine demanded, ready to channel defensively despite knowing it would probably prove futile.

The man who had called himself Logain smiled with what looked like genuine sadness. "A player in the great game, like yourself. Though perhaps with a somewhat longer perspective on events."

"Answer the question," Lan growled, his sword now drawn and pointed at the stranger's chest.

"Names are complicated things," he replied, seemingly unconcerned by the naked blade. "I've carried many over the years. Logain Ablar is one I...borrowed temporarily. Though the real Logain Ablar does exist—a young nobleman in Ghealdan who will, in due time, declare himself Dragon and gather followers." He shrugged casually. "But that's still years away, and not particularly relevant to our current situation."

"You're not Logain at all," Siuan stated flatly. "You've been playing a role from the very beginning."

"Indeed." He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "A necessary deception to confirm what I suspected, that Ishamael has begun actively seeking potential Dragons, not merely to eliminate them, but to turn them to his purpose."

Moiraine studied him with growing suspicion. "And your interest in preventing this?"

"Let's say I have a vested interest in ensuring the Dragon fulfills his proper role when the time comes," he replied carefully. "Which would be rather difficult if Ishamael corrupted him first."

Lan's sword hadn't moved so much as an inch. "You channel saidin," he observed. "Yet you show no signs of the madness that should have consumed you."

The stranger's smile turned enigmatic. "Appearances can deceive, Dai Shan. Perhaps I am mad and simply hide it well. Or perhaps—" He let the thought hang unfinished in the air.

"You're one of the Forsaken," Siuan said with cold certainty. "Which one?"

The accusation hung between them like a drawn blade, but rather than deny it, the stranger laughed, genuine amusement rather than the cold mockery they'd heard from the Darkfriend.

"Not quite, Siuan Sanche. Though I understand why you might think so." He gestured toward the bench he'd occupied earlier. "May I sit? Channeling at that level is more taxing than it once was."

None of them moved or gave permission. After a moment, he sighed and remained standing.

"I am not your enemy," he said more seriously. "If I'd wished you harm, I would have struck when you were unprepared, not after demonstrating my capabilities."

"Then explain yourself," Moiraine demanded. "No more riddles or evasions."

The stranger considered her words, then nodded as if reaching a decision. "Very well. I am what you might call a...consultant. Someone with specialized knowledge about the turning of the Wheel and the role of ta'veren in shaping the Pattern."

"A consultant for whom?" Siuan pressed.

"For the Pattern itself, if you want to be poetic about it," he replied with a slight smile. "More practically, I observe, occasionally intervene when necessary, and try to ensure that certain crucial threads aren't severed before their time."

Moiraine's suspicion hadn't diminished in the slightest. "And we're expected to simply accept this explanation?"

"Of course not," he said with genuine understanding. "You're Aes Sedai. Healthy skepticism is practically part of your job description." He reached slowly into his coat and withdrew a small object, holding it out toward Moiraine with obvious care.

It was a seal, one of the cuendillar discs bearing the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, meant to secure the Dark One's prison until the end of time.

"Consider this my credentials," he said quietly. "One of seven, though most are broken or lost by now. I've been carrying it for...a very long time."

Moiraine didn't reach for the seal, but she could sense its authenticity even from where she stood. The craftsmanship was beyond anything the current Age could produce, the cuendillar itself unmistakably genuine.

"How did you come by this?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"I was there when they were made," he replied simply. "And I've been guarding this one ever since."

The implication was staggering. That this man had lived since the Age of Legends, yet was neither Forsaken nor showing signs of the madness that should have consumed any male channeler over such an impossible span of time.

"That's impossible," Siuan stated, though doubt had crept into her voice.

"Many things thought impossible have occurred throughout history," the stranger countered mildly. "The Breaking of the World, the Trolloc Wars, the rise and fall of empires—all seemed impossible until they happened." He tucked the seal away again with reverent care. "Time is a wheel, Aes Sedai. All things come around again, though never in quite the same way."

"If what you claim is true," Moiraine said carefully, "then you know who the Dragon Reborn truly is."

"I have my suspicions," he acknowledged. "As do you. But suspicion isn't certainty, and even I must respect the Pattern's design." He looked eastward, as if seeing something beyond the hut's walls. "The time isn't right yet. Too many threads remain unwoven."

"Then why reveal yourself to us now?" Siuan demanded.

"Because you needed warning," he said simply. "The Shadow moves more aggressively than in previous turns of the Wheel. Ishamael has awakened earlier than usual, and the other Forsaken stir restlessly in their prisons. Lanfear especially grows impatient, reaching out through dreams to touch potential Dragons."

He turned his gaze back to Moiraine. "Your search must continue, but with greater caution than before. The Pattern has marked you both for essential roles, but that same distinction makes you visible to those who know how to look."

Lan finally lowered his sword slightly, though wariness remained written in every line of his body. "You expect us to trust your warning when we don't even know your real name?"

The stranger's smile carried genuine sadness. "Names have power, as our departed friend correctly observed. Mine carries...complications that could endanger us all. For now, you may call me Jain if you need to call me anything."

"After Jain Farstrider?" Moiraine asked. "The name you first gave us?"

"A tribute to a man whose story isn't quite finished yet," he replied cryptically. "Though our paths are very different."

"Then why the elaborate deception with Logain?"

"To demonstrate how the Shadow will attempt to distract and mislead you in the days ahead," he explained patiently. "There will be false Dragons aplenty but also false leads, manipulated channelers, and deliberate confusion spread to complicate your search." He gestured to himself. "If I could convincingly play the role of a potential Dragon candidate, one who seemed to challenge your understanding of the Foretelling, others with darker purposes will attempt similar deceptions."

He moved toward the door with careful, deliberate steps that gave them plenty of time to stop him if they chose. None did, though all remained tensed for possible betrayal.

"You should continue toward Tar Valon with all possible speed," he said, pausing at the threshold. "The Amyrlin's summon grows more urgent with each passing day, though she herself may not fully understand why."

Siuan's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How could you possibly know about that?"

"The Pattern reveals much to those who know how to read its weaving," he replied. "And I've had considerable time to study its designs." He looked at each of them in turn. "Our paths will cross again when circumstances require it. Until then, trust your instincts; they've served you well so far."

With that, he stepped outside into the darkness. Lan moved swiftly to the doorway, peering into the night with all his enhanced senses, but the stranger had simply vanished.

"Gone," Lan reported, frustration clear in his voice. "No footprints, no trail, nothing, as if he just stopped existing."

Moiraine stared at the empty doorway, her mind racing to process everything they had witnessed and learned. The appearance of this mysterious channeler, his impossible claims, the ancient seal he'd carried—all of it suggested layers of complexity in their mission that she hadn't even imagined.

"We need to leave this place," Siuan said firmly, already gathering their few belongings. "Whether he spoke truth or lies, staying here is far too dangerous now."

Moiraine nodded agreement, though her thoughts remained fixed on the stranger's parting words. The urgency of the Amyrlin's summons, his warnings about Forsaken activity, the seal that proved his impossible age—pieces of a puzzle that refused to form any coherent picture.

As they prepared to depart into the night, Moiraine found herself wondering what other powers might be moving in the shadows, watching and waiting as the Pattern slowly revealed its grand design. For the first time since beginning their search, she felt a creeping uncertainty, not about the necessity of their mission, but about their ability to control its ultimate outcome.

The game was far more complex than she had realized, with players whose true natures and motivations remained hidden in shadow and flame.

Chapter Text

The journey back to Tar Valon stretched across eight long days, two more than Moiraine had hoped for, thanks to their cautious approach and deliberate avoidance of the main roads. They kept to moonlit goat paths that wound through the foothills of the Black Hills like silver threads, staying well clear of the King's highways where curious eyes might linger too long on travelers who preferred shadows to sunlight.

By day they rested in abandoned shepherds' huts and crumbling wayside shrines, Lan posting himself like a stone guardian while Siuan wove subtle threads of Air and Water to mask the small fires that warmed their meager breakfast porridge. Twice merchant caravans rumbled past within shouting distance, bells jingling and teamsters calling to each other in good humor. Twice Lan's hand settled on his sword hilt, ready for merriment to turn suddenly dangerous. But the Pattern, for once, seemed content to simply watch them pass.

On the eighth afternoon, they reached a wind-swept hill crowned with gnarled cedars, and there, cradled in the gentle curve of the River Erinin, rose Tar Valon.

Even from miles away, the island city gleamed like scattered jewels across blue water. Graceful bridges arched toward it like frozen streams of silver, and the White Tower itself pierced the sky—a flawless spear of bone-pale stone that seemed to gather sunlight and fling it back at the heavens. Light caught on its surface and shattered into rainbow fragments across clouds already blushing toward evening.

"The Feast of Lights begins tomorrow," Siuan murmured, her voice soft despite speaking no secret. Her sea-blue eyes reflected lanterns not yet lit, festivals not yet begun.

"Perfect timing," Moiraine replied, though the words felt inadequate to contain the storm of emotions churning in her chest—relief and dread, fierce pride and bone-deep exhaustion all tangled together. Homecoming and reckoning, wrapped in the same breath.

Lan materialized beside them, his boots silent on the rocky ground. "No sign of pursuit," he reported quietly. "But the river road ahead is thick as porridge with travelers. Gleemen, merchants, Tuatha'an, every one of them eager to drink wine and dance under the lanterns."

"The crowds will hide us better than any weave," Siuan said, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "Though the gate guards will be watching sharp. Every pickpocket and cut artist in the known world knows Tar Valon fills its purses for festival week."

They descended into the valley as shadows lengthened around them. Colorful kites danced above distant rooftops like bright specks against the darkening sky, and the rich smell of roasting chestnuts drifted on the evening breeze.

Dawn had barely touched the eastern hills with gold when they reached the westernmost bridge, a ribbon of shining white stone that seemed to float above the Erinin's mist-wreathed waters. Traders argued over tariffs beneath the iron-shod hooves of Shienaran warhorses; a troupe of performers in peacock-bright silks practiced elaborate tumbling routines while waiting their turn for inspection. Tower guards in pristine white tabards moved through it all like seabirds through surf, unhurried but ever-present.

"This is where we part ways, for now," Moiraine reminded Lan as they approached the first checkpoint. Beneath her practiced serenity lay an ache she refused to acknowledge. In moments, his steady presence would become just another memory until the Pattern chose to weave their paths together again.

Lan bowed formally, his warrior's braids swinging. "I'll take rooms at the Seven Towers inn." A flicker of concern, quick as summer lightning, crossed his granite features. "Watch yourself, Moiraine Sedai. Marble halls can hide as many knives or sharpened daggers as any dark alley."

"Three days," she replied, the words ritual as prayer. "If you haven't heard from me by then, follow your own judgment."

Lan melted into the festival crowds—a tall man in a plain brown coat becoming just another shadow beneath the green and gold streamers.

Moiraine and Siuan presented themselves to the Tower guards with proper dignity. The senior guard recognized them immediately and offered a respectful bow, though Moiraine caught the brief widening of his eyes. Rumors always traveled faster than horses, and the White Tower's walls had more ears than stones.

They continued through the Tower grounds, noting the festive preparations underway for tomorrow's celebrations. Novices and Accepted hurried about with barely contained excitement, while servants hung colored lanterns and arranged elaborate displays of candles that would transform the Tower into a beacon visible for miles by nightfall.

At the Tower's main entrance, a young novice guided them through marble corridors already decorated with evergreen garlands and strings of colored glass beads. The air held familiar scents—beeswax polish, pine resin, and something indefinably Tower : old parchment, brewing tea, and the subtle tingle of saidar held just beneath the surface. Every footfall echoed with memory.

Moiraine's chambers remained exactly as she'd left them months ago, maintained with meticulous care in her absence. The bed was made with its sea-silk coverlet draped just so, her writing desk held fresh paper and newly trimmed quills arranged with precision, and the rosewood wardrobe stood closed like a prayer book between readings. Even the small crystal vase, clear as mountain water and etched with tiny herons, held a single fresh lily, white as moonlight on new snow. Someone in the Blue Ajah had remembered, had cared enough to tend these small details.

She'd barely begun unbuttoning her travel-stained riding dress when a tentative knock sounded at her door. A nervous novice stood in the hallway, clutching a parchment sealed with the flame of Tar Valon: The Amyrlin Seat will receive Moiraine Sedai in her private study one hour past sunrise.

Below that, in Tamra's own familiar hand: Come ready to discuss all findings, no veils between us. The Wheel turns.

Moiraine carefully folded the summons away, pushing down her mounting worry. A second knock interrupted her thoughts, three quick taps followed by one slow one.

Siuan.

"Come," Moiraine called, and Siuan entered without ceremony, closing the door firmly behind her. Wards bloomed around the room like invisible flowers; Siuan's weaves light as silk but strong as steel, and a silence deeper than stone settled over them.

For a heartbeat they simply looked at each other, old barriers falling away like autumn leaves. Moiraine took in the new lines radiating from Siuan's eyes, the slight hollows beneath sharp cheekbones. Siuan studied the pale shadows at Moiraine's temples, the tension that hadn't been there the last time they were in this very room.

Then the distance between them vanished.

"Siuan," Moiraine breathed, her voice rough with months of careful formality finally abandoned. The single word held prayer and promise of untold intimacy, loss and longing all woven together.

Siuan crossed the space between them in two quick steps, her hands reaching for Moiraine's face with desperate tenderness. Moiraine remained rooted to the spot, allowing Siuan to dictate the pace, to claim her. 

Siuan reached her, her eyes, that impossible shade of blue, were intense. She lifted a hand, her touch tentative as she brushed a stray strand of hair from Moiraine's forehead. A jolt, electric and undeniable, surged through Moiraine at the simple contact. It had always been this way. Siuan could unravel her with a touch, reducing her to a yearning, needy creature desperate for her attention.

"Light, but I've missed you," she whispered, her sea-blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "Missed this. Missed us."

Their lips met in a kiss that tasted of homecoming and heartbreak, months of separation dissolving in the space of a breath. Moiraine felt herself melting into Siuan's embrace, all the careful control she'd maintained during their travels crumbling like a dam before flood waters.

"You're thinner," Siuan observed, saying the words when they finally broke apart that she had wanted to say the first time she had seen her, the words she knew she had to hold close to her chest until they were alone, her fingers tracing Moiraine's cheek with infinite gentleness. "And that shadow in your eyes—"

"The search weighs heavily," Moiraine admitted, leaning into the touch like a flower turning toward sunlight. "As does the separation from you."

Siuan's gaze dropped to Moiraine's mouth, lingering there before rising again with unspoken questions. Moiraine understood—she always understood. With a small sigh, she tilted her head in invitation.

Siuan needed no further encouragement. Her hand moved from Moiraine's face to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the dark braid that had come loose during their journey. She pulled gently, drawing Moiraine closer, and then her lips were on Moiraine's again—soft and hesitant at first, then with growing hunger.

Moiraine shuddered at the familiar taste of her, cool mint tea and sleepless nights, promises whispered in darkness and hope carried through impossible odds. She opened herself to the kiss, offering the vulnerability she showed to no one else in all the world. This was Siuan, who knew her better than she knew herself. Her anchor, her heart, her other half.

Moiraine answered with a hunger that trembled through bones and sinew. She met Siuan's kiss with a fervor that surprised even herself, her arms wrapping around Siuan's waist, pulling her close, desperate to feel every inch of her against her own body. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting, tangling, a silent conversation of need and longing.

Siuan broke the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against Moiraine's. "Creator help me, but I've missed you," she breathed, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

"And I you," Moiraine whispered back, her hands moving up Siuan's back to trace the familiar lines of muscle and bone. She could feel the heat radiating from Siuan's body, a warmth that chased away the chill that had settled deep in her bones during their separation.

Siuan stepped back slightly, her eyes dark with intent. Slowly, deliberately, she reached up and began unlacing Moiraine's blue dress. Her fingers trembled slightly, betraying her own eagerness despite the careful control she maintained. Moiraine watched her, mesmerized by the familiar ritual, as the fabric parted to reveal pale skin beneath.

The crackle of static from half-formed weaves, Siuan's ward reacting to rising emotion, made them both laugh, low and breathless.

"Even our weaves remember," Siuan murmured, her gaze roaming over Moiraine's form as the dress pooled around her feet. "How we affect each other."

Moiraine stood before her in chemise and stockings, moonlight streaming through the windows to paint her skin silver. Outside, Tar Valon's bells tolled the hour, their notes trembling through the white stone like an omen or perhaps a benediction. Siuan's gaze traced the faint freckles scattered across Moiraine's shoulders, the slight rise of gooseflesh that answered both the cool air and her scrutiny. Roamed over Moiraine's body, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, ...…the length of her legs. 

"Light," Siuan breathed, wonder coloring her voice. She cupped Moiraine's cheek again, thumb brushing the curve of her lower lip. "How did I survive so long without this? Without you?"

Moiraine caught that wandering hand and pressed a kiss to Siuan's palm, tasting salt and the lingering trace of soap. "You kept us on course," she said softly, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Someone had to keep us from founderin’ completely."

The borrowed  fisherfolk cadence slipped out unbidden, and Siuan's mouth twitched—half laugh, half softened ache. "Aye, and someone had to chart the stars. But we sailed back to each other, as we always do."

Words scattered then, because Siuan leaned in and set a line of reverent kisses across Moiraine's collarbone, slow as sunrise and twice as warming. Moiraine's head tipped back, her braid tumbling over her shoulder like dark water. She let the sensation carry her away: the sure press of Siuan's lips, the firm hands sliding to the small of her back, anchoring her to this moment, this sanctuary they'd carved from duty and danger.

With deliberate care, Siuan drew the chemise from Moiraine's shoulders. The silk whispered as it fell to join the discarded dress. Moiraine's pulse thundered in her ears, yet a profound stillness opened inside her, a harbor after storm-tossed seas. She reached for the buttons of Siuan's coat, her fingers steadier now, working each one free until blue silk parted to reveal the plain white shift beneath.

When Siuan finally stepped out of the last layer of clothing, Moiraine's breath caught all over again. Decades of shared intimacy could not dull the sight of her: strong arms touched with sun-gold, the faint scar just above her ribs earned during their first mission together, skin that told the story of a life lived with purpose and courage. Moiraine brushed that mark with her lips, a silent renewal of old vows.

Siuan's answering touch skimmed the curve of Moiraine's waist, settling at her hip with possessive gentleness. "Tell me what you need," she whispered against Moiraine's ear.

"You," Moiraine said, her voice rough velvet. "Just...you. Always you."

Their mouths met again, gentler now, tasting promise rather than desperation. Hands mapped familiar territory with new appreciation; knees bumped; soft laughter broke between kisses like bubbles rising to the surface of still water. They were not gentle in their loving; separation had carved raw hollows that demanded filling. Hands roamed with desperate certainty, mapping beloved landscapes as though fearful they might vanish again come dawn.

Pleasure built not in sudden blazes but like a hearth fire slowly stoked, amber embers quickening to gold, then white-hot flame. They moved together with the rhythm of long practice, each knowing exactly how to bring the other to the edge of reason and beyond. Siuan's touch was firm and knowing, fingers finding the places that made Moiraine arch and gasp. Moiraine responded in kind, her mouth and hands worshipping the body she knew better than her own.

Each sigh and soft cry became a melody only they could create, tight with longing, bright with relief. When release finally claimed them, they clung together, shuddering, every nerve singing like a plucked harp string. Wave after wave of sensation crashed over them until they lay spent in each other's arms, hearts hammering in perfect synchrony.

Afterward they lay tangled in moon-silvered sheets, breath syncing by slow degrees. Moiraine's head rested above Siuan's heartbeat while Siuan's fingers combed slow circles through dark hair still damp with exertion. No words were needed; shared breath, shared silence had always been their truest language.

But inevitability pressed at the chamber door like an unwelcome guest. Duty, politics, the search that had driven them halfway across the world and back again.

"Something feels wrong in the Tower," Siuan said finally, reluctantly returning to matters that could not be ignored. Her sea-blue eyes had darkened with both satisfaction and concern. "Elaida has been making waves in our absence, questioning the Amyrlin's decisions about certain missions outside the Tower."

"Has she named us specifically?" Moiraine asked, settling more comfortably against Siuan's shoulder.

"Not directly, from what my sources tell me. But she circles like a shark that's caught the scent of blood in the water." Siuan's expression grew grim. "The Hall remains divided on several key issues, and Tamra walks an increasingly narrow line trying to maintain balance between the Ajahs."

Moiraine listened with growing unease as Siuan catalogued the rising tensions within the Tower. They spent the remainder of the afternoon exchanging information and preparing for their meeting with the Amyrlin, their hands and eyes continually finding each other in small touches and glances that reaffirmed their connection. The intimacy of shared purpose and shared hearts sustained them through discussions of troubling developments and uncertain futures.

As evening approached, the sounds of celebration began filtering through the Tower walls: music and laughter, excited voices gathering for the night's festivities.

"We should make an appearance," Siuan suggested reluctantly. "Our absence would be noted, and we need to appear as normal as possible."

Moiraine agreed, though neither relished the prospect of forced socialization with so much uncertainty hanging over them like storm clouds. They changed into formal attire appropriate for the festival and made their way to the main courtyard where the celebrations would begin.

Night transformed Tar Valon into something from the most beautiful of fairy tales, almost like a jewel box flung open. Novices dressed in pristine white robes moved through the crowds carrying trays of tiny candles that guests used to light the elaborate displays arranged throughout the grounds. Thousands of lanterns hung from every tree and building like captured stars; mirrored dishes cast fragments of radiance into the darkness; the Erinin itself reflected countless soft fires, making the water appear to burn with cold flame. 

The mingled scents of sugared almonds and spiced wine drifted over music—pipes trilling like birdsong, drums steady as heartbeats, lutes weaving melodies that seemed to dance on the air itself. As full darkness fell, the effect became truly magical. The White Tower seemed to glow from within while the surrounding gardens became pathways of living light.

On a dais draped with banners representing all seven Ajahs, the Amyrlin Seat stood robed in stoles of every color, the ancient Flame of Tar Valon embroidered in gold thread across her breast. Tamra Ospenya's ageless face glowed in the candlelight as she raised both hands for silence.

"Light guides us, even when shadows grow long," she proclaimed, her voice carrying clearly without need of weaving, authority alone gave it strength. "As we kindle these flames, we remember our duty to be beacons of hope and wisdom in a world that grows ever more uncertain."

A thread of Fire flowed from her fingers, lighting the central brazier, a massive bronze bowl filled with rare woods and oils that would burn throughout the three-day festival. Pure white flame whooshed skyward, crackling and bright as a star brought to earth. Cheers rolled through the crowd like waves breaking on shore; bells answered from every Tower and spire in a symphony of bronze and silver.

From their position near the edge of the courtyard, Moiraine and Siuan watched the ceremony with perfect Aes Sedai serenity. Inside, questions coiled like serpents in their minds: What burden weighed so heavily behind Tamra's calm exterior? Which Sisters edged closer to the platform with calculation rather than celebration in their eyes? They noted carefully who stood nearest the Amyrlin, which members of the Hall appeared united, which factions seemed to be gaining influence in the subtle power struggles that defined Tower politics.

"Elaida stands with the Reds, but Alanna seems to have gathered support from several Greens," Siuan murmured, nodding toward a cluster of Sisters near the eastern entrance. "And the Whites remain aloof as always."

"The Browns appear divided," Moiraine observed quietly. "Verin watches everything from the shadows, while Janya has positioned herself with our Blues."

They drifted through clusters of shawled women like ships navigating familiar currents, trading careful pleasantries and filing away each scrap of gossip while deflecting questions about their travels with practiced vagueness. Throughout it all, they maintained the serene demeanor expected of Aes Sedai, while carefully gathering information about the Tower's current political climate.

As the evening progressed, Moiraine noticed Tamra in quiet conversation with the Keeper of the Chronicles, Aeldra Najaf. Something in the Amyrlin's expression—a tightness around her eyes, a particular set to her mouth—suggested concerns that went far beyond the normal pressures of her office.

"She looks troubled," Moiraine whispered to Siuan during a lull in the conversations around them. "More so than the last time."

Siuan nodded slightly, her gaze following Moiraine's. "The weight of secrets takes its toll, even on the Amyrlin Seat."

They continued their observations until the formal ceremonies concluded and the festivities evolved into general celebration. Musicians played in various corners of the gardens, temporary dance floors had been established for those inclined to such things, and tables groaning under elaborate spreads of food and drink invited guests to partake of the Tower's legendary hospitality.

Candles guttered low and the night grew deep before Moiraine finally caught Siuan's sleeve. "We've made sufficient appearance," Siuan decided, reading the subtle signal. "Better to rest now and be prepared for tomorrow's meeting."

They made their way back to the residential section of the Tower, maintaining appropriate distance in the public corridors. At Siuan's door, they exchanged a formal goodnight, words perfectly innocent while their eyes spoke volumes of promises for later.

Moiraine returned to her quarters, going through the motions of preparing for sleep while her mind continued processing everything they'd observed during the evening. She had just extinguished her lamp when the whisper of sound alerted her to the door opening and closing with barely a click.

Moonlight spilled silver across Moiraine's chamber when the latch lifted. Siuan slipped inside like a shadow made substance, her presence immediately filling the room with warmth and familiar comfort. Wards fluttered shut behind her like silent wings, ensuring their privacy.

"Did you really think I would stay away tonight?" Siuan asked softly, already shrugging free of her shawl. "After months apart?"

"I hoped you wouldn't," Moiraine answered with a kiss that stole what breath remained between them. "Need outweighs caution tonight."

Siuan pressed closer, their bodies fitting together as though they were halves of one whole. Her hands traveled down Moiraine's sides, tracing curves made familiar by countless nights like this, stopping to apply firm, possessive pressure that made Moiraine shiver with anticipated pleasure.

"You're still tense," Siuan murmured, her breath hot against Moiraine's neck. Her hands found the tie of Moiraine's thin nightgown, fingers working with practiced ease.

Moiraine arched into the touch, hands gripping Siuan's shoulders to steady herself against the wave of sensation. She could feel the heat radiating from Siuan's skin, a familiar warmth that chased away the chill that had settled deep in her bones during their long separation.

With gentle movements, Siuan drew the nightgown from Moiraine's shoulders, the fabric whispering as it fell to the floor. Her gaze swept over Moiraine with obvious appreciation, lingering on beloved curves and familiar beauty. "Beautiful," she breathed, her voice thick with want and wonder. "Always so beautiful."

Moiraine flushed at the compliment, the simple words hitting her with surprising force. It wasn't just what Siuan said, but the way she looked at her—as though Moiraine were the most precious thing in all the world. She reached for Siuan, pulling her close until there was no space left between them.

Siuan obliged, kissing Moiraine deeply, her tongue dancing against Moiraine’s in a slow, sensual rhythm. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of need, of a connection that ran deeper than words could ever express. Moiraine’s hands moved to cup Siuan’s face, her thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones. She deepened the kiss, her body trembling with anticipation.

Siuan responded in kind, her touch becoming more urgent. She kissed a trail along Moiraine's jaw, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin below her ear. Moiraine gasped, her hands gripping Siuan's shoulders. She felt her body flush, a wave of heat washing over her as Siuan's mouth moved lower, her teeth scraping against Moiraine's collarbone. Siuan leaned down, taking one of Moiraine's nipples into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive bud, teasing it into a stiff peak. Moiraine bit back a moan, her hips arching against Siuan's. The ache inside her grew, a burning desire that only Siuan could satisfy.

Moiraine shifted, pulling Siuan's nightgown off over her head. The moonlight illuminated her tanned skin, her lean muscles rippling beneath. Moiraine let her gaze travel over her lover, admiring the strength and beauty of her form.

I am yours, my love, heart and soul.

"You are so beautiful," Moiraine whispered, reaching out to trace a finger along the swell of Siuan's breast.

"Not as beautiful as you," Siuan replied, a smirk on her lips. "You should know that by now."

Moiraine laughed softly, her hands exploring the curves of Siuan's body, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the heat of her desire. She could sense Siuan's need building, matching her own, and it only intensified her own hunger.

"Light, but I missed you," Moiraine whispered, her hands exploring the familiar landscape of Siuan's body. "Missed this. Missed us."

"Show me," Siuan replied, her voice rough with desire. "Show me how much."

Moiraine chuckled, her hands sliding down Siuan's body, over the flat planes of her stomach, and lower still, her fingers tracing the softness of her folds. It was pure ecstasy, a blissful escape from the pressures of the outside world. Passion built like a slow-burning fire, heat spreading through them until they moved together in perfect rhythm. Each touch was a rediscovery, each kiss a homecoming. They knew exactly how to please each other, where to touch, how to drive each other to the edge of reason and beyond.

When release finally claimed them, they shuddered together in the silver darkness, hearts pounding in perfect synchrony. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over them until they lay spent and gasping, clinging to each other as though afraid the morning might steal away this perfect moment.

In the aftermath, they lay entwined, breath syncing by slow degrees. Beyond the mullioned windows, the Tower bells counted a late hour, their chimes muffled by thick stone; but within the room, time seemed to pause in recognition of what they shared.

Siuan stroked idle patterns along Moiraine's shoulder, fingertips leaving trails of gooseflesh in their wake. "Whatever Tamra says tomorrow," she whispered, her voice hoarse from their lovemaking, "nothing touches this."

"Absolutely," Moiraine vowed, sealing the promise with a gentle kiss pressed to Siuan's knuckles. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe that vow could ward off whatever shadows dawn might bring.

Sleep came softly, wrapping them in peaceful mercy. Outside, festival lanterns burned low and candles guttered in their holders, while the White Tower kept its eternal watch over the sleeping city. But within that borrowed sanctuary of night, two hearts beat in perfect rhythm, drawing strength for whatever storms the morning would surely bring.

Chapter Text

Moiraine and Siuan rose before dawn, separated by the cruel necessity of maintaining appearances rather than any desire to part. Siuan had slipped from the room like morning mist, pressing one last lingering kiss to Moiraine's lips before disappearing into the predawn darkness of the Tower corridors. The emptiness left behind felt like a physical ache.

Moiraine dressed with meticulous care, selecting formal attire appropriate for their planned audience with the Amyrlin. She had just finished weaving her dark hair into an intricate knot when a sharp knock shattered the morning stillness.

Opening the door, she found a novice whose face was pale as fresh snow, her eyes wide with barely contained distress. "Moiraine Sedai," the girl said, her voice trembling like a leaf in winter wind. "The Keeper requests your immediate presence in the Hall of the Tower."

"The Hall?" Moiraine asked, surprise coloring her tone. That was unexpected; their summons had been to the Amyrlin's private study. "Not the Amyrlin's chambers?"

The novice looked down at her feet, avoiding Moiraine's searching gaze. "The Keeper calls all Sisters to the Hall, Aes Sedai." The words came out in a rush, as if the girl couldn't bear to hold them any longer.

A chill of foreboding slithered down Moiraine's spine like ice water. "I see. Thank you, child."

When the novice had hurried away—practically fleeing, if Moiraine was honest—she gathered her Blue-fringed shawl and made her way through the Tower's corridors with growing unease. She encountered Siuan halfway to the Hall, her grim expression confirming that she also had received the same unexpected summons.

"Any idea what this is about?" Moiraine asked in a voice barely above a whisper as they fell into step together.

Siuan shook her head, her sea-blue eyes dark with worry. "Nothing certain, but the novice who came for me looked like she'd seen a ghost walk through walls." She met Moiraine's gaze, and in that look they shared the same unspoken fear—that their worst suspicions were about to be confirmed.

They reached the Hall to find it already filled with Sisters of all Ajahs, the vast chamber humming with tension and whispered speculation. The air felt thick enough to cut with a knife. The Keeper stood alone on the dais where the Amyrlin's chair normally resided, her face composed in the way that only came from years of practice, though her eyes revealed the strain of recent hours.

"Sisters," Aeldra Najaf addressed the assembly, her voice carrying the full authority of her office across the suddenly silent Hall. "Last night, Tamra Ospenya, the Watcher of Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat, died in her sleep. May the Light shine on her soul, and may she find peace in the Creator's embrace."

The Hall erupted like a disturbed ant hill. Gasps and cries of shock echoed off the marble walls as Sisters turned to one another, disbelief and calculation warring on faces trained by decades to reveal nothing. The Browns looked genuinely stunned, several Yellows were already demanding details about the manner of death, while the Reds exchanged glances that seemed almost...satisfied. The Whites maintained their characteristic detachment, though several appeared genuinely saddened by the loss. Among the Greens, reactions ranged from open grief to the strategic assessment of what political changes would follow.

Moiraine felt the blood drain from her face, her carefully maintained Aes Sedai composure slipping for a crucial moment before she managed to reclaim it. Beside her, Siuan stood rigid as carved stone, only the slight whitening of her knuckles betraying the depth of her distress.

"This is no coincidence," Siuan whispered, her voice barely audible even to Moiraine standing right beside her. "The timing—"

"Is too perfect by half," Moiraine finished grimly. "She calls us back with urgent need, then dies the very night we arrive? Before she can share whatever information was too sensitive for written messages?"

The implications hit like hammer blows. Someone had been watching, waiting, planning. Someone who knew about their mission, their connection to Tamra, their importance to whatever secret the Amyrlin had been protecting.

"In accordance with her expressed wishes," Aeldra continued, raising her voice to be heard over the growing murmurs of conversation, "her body will be prepared for viewing today, then consumed by fire and her ashes scattered throughout the Tower grounds by all Sisters. Her funeral pyre will be lit at sunset. The Feast of Lights will continue as she would have wished, though with appropriate modifications to honor her passing."

The announcement triggered another wave of reaction through the assembled Sisters. Such swift disposal of an Amyrlin's remains was highly unusual. Traditionally, the body would lie in state for three days, allowing distant Sisters time to return to the Tower and pay their proper respects. This accelerated timeline raised questions that few dared voice openly, but the unease was palpable.

More announcements followed regarding practical adjustments to the festival schedule and the process for selecting a new Amyrlin, but Moiraine hardly heard them. Her mind raced through implications and dangers, calculating what Tamra's sudden death meant for their mission and, more immediately, their own safety.

As the formal gathering concluded and Sisters began to disperse in small groups, Moiraine and Siuan exchanged one meaningful glance before deliberately separating. Each moved to blend with different clusters of women, gathering what information they could from their respective networks within the Tower's labyrinthine politics.

The remainder of the morning passed in a blur of ceremony and carefully orchestrated grief. Moiraine's personal seamstress arrived with several choices of mourning attire, and in a moment of self-imposed penance for having indulged in personal happiness the very night before such tragedy struck, she selected the most revealing and severe of the options —a high-necked gown of dark blue so deep it appeared almost black, with no ornamentation save thin bands of silver at cuffs and collar. The fabric felt like a fitting punishment for her moment of selfishness.  It would be agony to be seen so.

By midday, Tamra's body lay in state in the great hall, Sisters filing past in solemn procession to pay their respects. Moiraine noted with growing unease the frightening efficiency with which the transition was being handled, almost as if certain people had been prepared for this eventuality long before it occurred. Tamra looked peaceful in death, her ageless face serene, hands folded over her breast. But something about the scene struck Moiraine as fundamentally wrong, though she couldn't quite identify what.

The Yellows had examined the body thoroughly and pronounced her death entirely natural; her heart had simply stopped beating during sleep, they said. A peaceful end for a woman who had borne such heavy burdens. Yet somehow that explanation felt incomplete, like a story with crucial chapters missing.

As the afternoon waned toward evening, whispers began circulating through the Tower's corridors that the Hall had already selected Tamra's successor—Sierin Vayu of the Grey Ajah, a Sister known throughout the Tower for her rigid adherence to law and tradition. The unprecedented speed of the selection raised eyebrows in some quarters while others nodded with obvious satisfaction at such an orderly transfer of power.

At sunset, the central flame that Tamra herself had lit for the Feast of Lights was ceremonially extinguished, replaced by her funeral pyre. The symbolism was not lost on any who witnessed it—one light exchanged for another, celebration transformed into transition, hope dimmed by loss.

Wearing their shawls and maintaining perfect dignity despite their grief, every Sister residing in the Tower gathered at a secluded section of the grounds where Tamra's body lay on an ornate bier surrounded by carefully arranged wood. Moiraine was far from alone in weeping, for Aes Sedai serenity could not provide armor against all things, and Tamra had been genuinely respected even by those who had disagreed with her policies.

As ancient tradition demanded, the most senior member of each Ajah stepped forward to light a portion of the pyre. Seven streams of Fire merged and intertwined, igniting the carefully arranged wood in a display that was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Flames leaped skyward, consuming the mortal remains of a woman who had guided the Tower through two decades of growing Shadow.

"Too fast," Siuan murmured as they watched the pyre burn down to glowing embers. "Everything is happening far too fast."

"We need to make plans," Moiraine replied softly, her voice nearly lost in the crackling of dying flames. "And soon."

When the fire had burned down to ash and cooling embers, the Sisters performed the final ritual. Each taking a handful of Tamra's ashes and scattering them across the Tower grounds, symbolizing how her influence and wisdom would continue to nourish the institution she had served so faithfully. Moiraine felt a peculiar hollowness as she released her portion of ash, watching the gray particles drift away on the evening breeze like fragments of hope. Something precious had been lost—not just a leader, but the protection her knowledge and authority had provided.

They separated afterward, moving through the dispersing crowds with deliberate casualness. Moiraine circulated among various groups, listening far more than speaking, gathering impressions and information about the shifting currents of Tower politics. What she heard did absolutely nothing to ease her growing concerns.

The streets outside the Tower grounds bustled with early preparations for the continuing festival. Vendors were setting up their stalls, children ran laughing through the cobbled lanes, and colorful banners snapped cheerfully in the winter breeze. None of them knew yet of the tragedy within the White Tower's walls, the light that had been extinguished in the darkness.

And somewhere in those same shadows moved the hands that had extinguished the Amyrlin's flame, hands that might well be reaching for Moiraine and Siuan next.

Several hours later, after fulfilling all ceremonial obligations and maintaining appropriate appearances, Moiraine returned to her quarters to find Siuan waiting for her. Her confidant's face was tight with barely contained fury, her sea-blue eyes blazing with anger.

"They've already begun," Siuan reported without preamble, once Moiraine had established the strongest privacy wards she knew around the room. "Sierin Vayu will be raised to the Amyrlin Seat tomorrow morning. No deliberation, no debate, no consideration of alternatives, the whole thing has been orchestrated from the very beginning."

"So quickly?" Moiraine asked, though she had anticipated this from the whispers she'd been hearing all day. "The Hall usually takes at least a week to build proper consensus."

"This was planned well in advance," Siuan said flatly, her voice carrying absolute certainty. "And not just the selection process. Aeldra approached me in the corridor earlier, very discreetly, made it look like a chance encounter." Her expression grew more troubled. "She said she needed to speak with me privately. Tomorrow, after the raising ceremony."

Moiraine paced the small confines of her chamber, mind racing through options and contingencies like a caged animal. "We should wait to hear what she has to say before making any irreversible decisions," she said finally. "Aeldra was Tamra's closest advisor and most trusted confidant. If anyone knows what the Amyrlin intended to share with us, it would be her."

Siuan nodded agreement, though tension remained evident in every line of her body. They spent the remainder of the evening reviewing what they knew and what they suspected, planning for various contingencies depending on what revelations the next day might bring.

As the night deepened, they found themselves drawn together like moths to flame. The weight of loss and uncertainty pressed down on them, making their need for each other's comfort even more desperate. They came together with gentle urgency, hands reacquainting themselves with beloved curves and familiar warmth. Their lovemaking was both tender and fierce, a reaffirmation of their bond in the face of approaching darkness, a reminder of what they fought to protect.

They held each other close in the aftermath, sharing whispered fears and desperate hopes. Siuan's fingers traced patterns on Moiraine's bare shoulder while Moiraine listened to the steady rhythm of her lover's heartbeat. Outside their warded sanctuary, the Tower continued its restless activity, but within these walls they created a pocket of peace and love that no enemy could touch.

They slept little that night, finding more solace in simply being together than in actual rest. The Tower around them hummed with unusual activity for such late hours: messengers moving between Ajah quarters like shadows, senior Sisters gathering in small groups for hushed conversations, preparations for the raising ceremony continuing well past midnight.

Morning brought the formal elevation of Sierin Vayu to the Amyrlin Seat. The ceremony proceeded with perfect adherence to tradition, each step followed precisely as it had been for hundreds of years. Each Ajah presented their formal acceptance of the Hall's choice, each Sister swore the ancient oaths of fealty to the new Amyrlin. Sierin accepted the stole and staff with solemn dignity, her face revealing nothing of triumph, ambition, or humility.

In her first address to the assembled Sisters, she spoke eloquently of duty, discipline, and returning to what she called the "core principles" of Tower governance. Her words were carefully chosen to avoid alienating any faction outright, yet Moiraine noted the subtle emphasis on structure and strict adherence to tradition, qualities that had always defined the Grey Ajah's approach to Tower politics.

The ceremony concluded with appropriate pomp, and Sisters dispersed to their various duties. Siuan left to meet with Aeldra as arranged, while Moiraine returned to her quarters to wait, maintaining the careful appearance of a Sister simply settling back into routine Tower life after a long absence.

The waiting stretched into hours that felt like days. When Siuan finally appeared at her door, her expression told Moiraine everything she needed to know before a single word was spoken.

"Close the door," Siuan said quietly, urgently. "And set the strongest privacy wards you know how to weave."

Moiraine complied immediately, layering multiple barriers to ensure absolute secrecy for whatever conversation was about to follow. When she was finished, she turned to find Siuan removing a small wooden box and a folded letter from inside her robes, items that had been hidden with professional skill.

"Tamra left these with Aeldra," Siuan explained, placing both items carefully on the table between them. "To be given to us if she couldn't meet with us directly."

The letter bore Tamra's personal seal, not the official Flame of Tar Valon, but the simple sigil of her family from before she came to the tower, before she was raised to the highest office in the Tower. Siuan broke the wax carefully and unfolded the parchment, holding it so both could read its contents simultaneously:

"My dear daughters,

Your return gladdens my heart, especially in these increasingly troubled times. Events move faster than I anticipated when you first began your search. Shadow activity increases across all nations, coordinated in ways that suggest central direction rather than random malice. While you have observed disturbing patterns during your travels and research, what you haven't seen is the wider context that makes your findings so alarming.

Five False Dragons have declared themselves in the past year alone, each gathering substantial followings before being captured or killed. Normally, we might see one such claim in an entire decade. Such unprecedented patterns speak to coordinated attempts to either distract us from the true search or to flush the real Dragon out, encouraging him to reveal himself prematurely in response to these imposters.

But that is not why I summoned you both with such desperate urgency. I fear the true objective of your search is no longer hidden as securely as I had hoped. The protective bonds I placed around you both, for the knowledge we possess carries grave danger to any who hold it, fray and fail more each day. You were both driven to pursue different paths, one staying to gather information, one leaving to search actively, as though you could sense dangers of which you know nothing.

Daughters, my greatest fear was never the enemies outside these walls, for our fight against the Dark has been foretold since the Breaking. Rather, I fear the enemies within pose the most immediate and deadly threat to our mission. And if this letter reaches you instead of my own voice, it means I have failed utterly in my duty to protect you.

If I could have prevented you from waiting on Gitara and me that fateful day, sparing you this terrible burden, I would have done so. But the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and we are all bound by its pattern. I have dispatched other searchers to find the boy. But hear me clearly, it is crucial that you do not seek them out or attempt contact. It is essential that you continue to act as if you possess no knowledge of these other efforts, just as you must continue to act as if you know nothing about the Dragon's existence.

Continue your mission exactly as you have been but with even greater caution than before. You must both learn to hold the truth even closer, in ways that no one suspects. Until now, you have had my protection to smooth away your mistakes. That shield is gone.

May the Light illuminate your path and guard your steps.

T.O."

They read the letter twice in complete silence, absorbing its devastating implications. When they finished, Siuan handed the small wooden box to Moiraine with hands that trembled almost imperceptibly. It appeared unremarkable, simple oak with a hinged lid and brass fittings, but something about it commanded attention, as if it held more than its size should allow.

Moiraine opened the box with careful fingers. Inside, resting on deep blue velvet cloth, lay a small silver pin in the shape of a sword. She lifted it carefully, studying the intricate craftsmanship with trained eyes.

"I recognize this style," she said finally. "Tairen workmanship, unless I'm very much mistaken."

Siuan studied the box more closely, her sailor's instincts for hidden compartments automatically engaging. She pressed along the edges of the velvet lining, working her way methodically around the interior until she found what she sought—a section that gave slightly under pressure. When lifted, it revealed a small piece of parchment, folded tight and sealed with plain brown wax.

Moiraine felt her pulse quicken as Siuan handed her the hidden note. She carefully broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, her heart hammering as she read. The message inside was brief, written in an unfamiliar hand that trembled slightly, as if penned under great duress or fear:

"The boy is safe for now. Seek the Sword That Cannot Be Touched in the fortress where ancient kings sleep eternal. Time grows short. Others hunt what we protect."

"This raises as many questions as it answers," Moiraine said, staring at the cryptic message until her eyes watered. "Who wrote this? How did Tamra come by it? Why direct us to what sounds like Shienar? And what in the Light is this sword it references?"

"Fal Dara," Siuan said with sudden certainty. "The fortress where kings sleep eternal, it has to be Fal Dara. The ancient kings of Malkier are entombed beneath its foundations, and it's said their sleep will last until the Last Battle."

Moiraine nodded slowly, pieces beginning to fit together in her mind. "And the Sword That Cannot Be Touched...There are legends of such a weapon in the Borderlands. A sa'angreal perhaps, or something believed to be one."

She fell silent, considering everything they had learned. The situation was deteriorating faster than either had imagined possible. Tamra's death, the unprecedented speed of Sierin's raising, the cryptic messages pointing toward Shienar, all suggested multiple threats converging from different directions.

"You and Lan must leave immediately," Siuan said, breaking the tense silence. "Tonight, if possible. The Tower isn't safe for you any longer, and this new Amyrlin will certainly send Sisters to bring you back if you simply disappear."

"Let them try," Moiraine said, her voice carrying quiet steel. "The search must continue, whatever the personal cost."

Siuan reached across the table, taking Moiraine's hands in hers with desperate gentleness. "I had hoped we would have more time together before you had to leave again."

The simple statement carried all the weight of their long separation, their brief reunion, now to be cut short again by duty's relentless demands.

"There is one thing you should consider before departing," Siuan said after a moment of shared sorrow. "Bond Lan as your Warder."

Moiraine looked up sharply, genuine surprise evident in her dark eyes.

"He already acts as your Warder in all but name," Siuan continued earnestly. "Especially now, when the Amyrlin Seat herself might oppose our search, you need someone to share the burden completely—someone with whom you needn't speak openly about your purpose, someone who can sense your needs and dangers without explicit instruction. The bond would provide you both far greater security and balance than leaving him unbound."

Moiraine considered the suggestion thoughtfully, turning it over in her mind like a puzzle piece. "You're absolutely right," she acknowledged finally. "Though I had hoped to avoid drawing him deeper into our dangerous quest, practical necessity demands it." She squeezed Siuan's hands gently. "And what of you? Will you be safe here among the vipers?"

"As safe as anyone can be in a nest of serpents," Siuan replied with grim humor. "I'll continue gathering information from within, maintaining networks, and preparing for whatever comes next. Sierin doesn't know me well enough yet to consider me a threat, and I intend very much to keep it that way."

They spent the next hour planning Moiraine's departure in detail and establishing coded methods of communication for the months ahead. As they finished their preparations, a distant bell tolled the evening hour, signaling the continuation of the Feast of Lights celebrations—now tempered by mourning but continuing nonetheless, as Tower tradition demanded even in times of loss.

"I'll create a diversion near the West Gate around midnight," Siuan said as they prepared to part. "Nothing too dramatic, just enough to draw attention away from the North Gate where Lan will be waiting with horses."

Moiraine embraced her tightly, holding on with desperate strength for what both knew might be their last moment together for many months, perhaps years. The thought of another separation so soon after their reunion felt like a blade twisting in her heart.

"Come with me to meet Lan," she said suddenly, her voice soft but determined. "If he agrees to the bond, I want you there to witness it."

Siuan's eyes widened slightly. What Moiraine asked was more than a simple request; it was an invitation to witness something deeply personal, the forging of a connection that would bind Moiraine to another in ways even their own relationship couldn't match. It was also dangerous, increasing the risk of both being discovered together outside the Tower.

But as she looked into Moiraine's eyes and saw the vulnerability there, the need for this one last shared experience before the long separation, Siuan found she didn't have the heart to refuse. "Very well," she said with a slight nod. "Go ahead to the Seven Towers. After I create the diversion, I'll find you both there."

With that, they separated one final time. Siuan to play her part in the evening's ceremonies while preparing her carefully planned distraction; Moiraine to gather only the most essential items and make her way discreetly toward the western quarter of the city where Lan waited.

Chapter Text

Moonlight painted the streets of Tar Valon in shades of silver and shadow as Moiraine made her way through the western quarter, her hood drawn low to conceal her face. The Feast of Lights celebrations continued throughout the city like a river of light and music, providing perfect cover for her movements. Revelers danced in the squares with wine-flushed faces, lanterns bobbed in the hands of laughing children, and musicians performed on makeshift stages at nearly every intersection, their melodies weaving through the night air.

She slipped through the crowds with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years moving unseen, nothing in her bearing suggesting the urgency that drove her steps. To casual observers, she was simply another festival-goer, perhaps returning to her lodgings after an evening of celebration and too much wine.

The Seven Towers inn stood on a quiet side street, its weathered stone facade illuminated by a cheerful row of colored lanterns hung in honor of the festival. Unlike the more prestigious establishments closer to the White Tower, it catered primarily to merchants and travelers of modest means, precisely the sort of place where a man like Lan Mandragoran might stay without drawing the wrong kind of attention.

Moiraine entered through a side door, bypassing the common room where a handful of patrons enjoyed late refreshments and quiet conversation. She climbed the narrow stairs to the upper floor, counting doors until she reached the one Lan had specified in their earlier arrangements.

She knocked once, paused, then twice more: their agreed signal.

The door opened immediately, revealing Lan already dressed for hard travel, his sword belted at his waist and his few possessions packed and ready. His pale eyes took in her appearance with a quick, assessing glance that missed nothing.

"You're alone," he observed, stepping aside to let her enter the modest chamber.

"Siuan will join us shortly," Moiraine replied, moving into the room and immediately checking the window to ensure they hadn't been followed. "There's been a change of plans."

She summarized the day's devastating events with the concise efficiency of someone trained to convey crucial information quickly—Tamra's funeral, the lightning-fast raising of Sierin Vayu, the cryptic message directing them to Shienar, and the increasingly dangerous situation brewing within the Tower itself. Throughout, Lan listened with the focused attention of a battle commander receiving critical intelligence, asking occasional pointed questions but mostly absorbing the information with characteristic intensity.

"So we ride for Fal Dara," he concluded when she had finished. "To seek this 'Sword That Cannot Be Touched' in the tombs of Malkieri kings."

"Yes," Moiraine confirmed, then drew a deep breath. "But before we depart, there is another matter we must discuss." She met his eyes directly. "I wish to bond you as my Warder."

If the request surprised him, Lan gave no sign of it. His expression remained as impassive as carved stone, though something flickered briefly in his eyes, consideration, perhaps, or the rapid calculation she'd come to associate with his tactical mind.

"You've managed without a Warder thus far," he noted. "What has changed?"

"Everything," Moiraine replied simply. "We face growing dangers on multiple fronts. The Shadow hunts us more actively with each passing day, and now we may have enemies within the Tower itself. The search grows more perilous, and practical necessity outweighs my reluctance to bind another to my cause."

Lan studied her for a long moment, his gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. She could practically see him weighing the implications, considering the commitment from every angle. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we continue as before," she said without hesitation. "You have served the Light faithfully without the bond, and I would not presume to demand it of you. The choice must be yours, freely made."

He turned away, moving to the window that overlooked the street below. For several minutes, he stood in silence, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the festival lights beyond. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but carried the weight of absolute resolution.

"I have sworn to fight the Shadow until my last breath," he said, still facing the window. "If the bond will make me more effective in that fight, then I accept." He turned back to face her, and she saw something deeper in his expression, not just duty, but a kind of recognition. "But understand this, my hatred for the Shadow, my oath to avenge Malkier, these come first. Always."

"I would expect nothing less," Moiraine answered, feeling a surge of gratitude and something approaching relief. "The bond does not change who you are, only enhances what already exists between us."

A soft knock at the door interrupted them—three quick taps, then two slow ones. Lan moved to answer it, hand instinctively resting on his sword hilt until Siuan stepped into the room, her face flushed slightly from exertion and the cool night air.

"The diversion is in place," she reported, closing the door behind her and quickly establishing privacy wards around the room. "A small fire in a warehouse near the West Gate; nothing dangerous, but enough to draw guards and attention for the next hour at least."

Her sea-blue eyes moved between Moiraine and Lan, noting their positioning and the subtle tension in the air. "Have you decided?"

"We have," Moiraine confirmed, a hint of gratitude in her voice for Siuan's presence at this crucial moment. "Lan has agreed to accept the bond."

Siuan nodded, her face betraying nothing of whatever complex emotions might lie beneath her Aes Sedai serenity. She understood better than most what this moment meant—not just the practical advantages of the bond, but the profound intimacy it would create between Moiraine and another person. "Then we should proceed. Time grows short."

Moiraine gestured for Lan to sit on the edge of the bed while she took a position standing before him. Siuan moved to stand slightly to one side, bearing witness to the ritual that would bind these two together in ways that transcended ordinary human connection.

"The bond of Warder and Aes Sedai is not entered into lightly," Moiraine began, her voice taking on the formal cadence of ancient ritual passed down through generations. "It joins us in purpose and perception, in life and beyond death itself. Are you prepared to accept this bond, Lan Mandragoran, last lord of the Seven Towers, uncrowned king of Malkier?"

"I am," Lan replied simply, but his voice carried the weight of absolute commitment.

Moiraine closed her eyes, embracing saidar with careful reverence. The Power filled her like sunlight made liquid, a river of light and life flowing through her being. With practiced precision born of years of study, she began weaving the complex pattern of Spirit that would create the Warder bond: strands of energy twisting and merging, forming connections that would link her to Lan in the most fundamental way possible.

She felt Siuan's presence beside her, a steady anchor as she worked. Though Siuan did not actively participate in the weaving, her strength and support radiated through their own unspoken connection, steadying Moiraine's hands and heart as she completed the intricate pattern.

The weave was beautiful in its complexity—layers upon layers of Spirit interwoven with threads of all five Powers, creating something that was both binding and liberating, restrictive and empowering. It pulsed with its own inner light, responding to her will and Lan's acceptance.

When the weave was ready, Moiraine opened her eyes and extended her hands, palms forward, toward Lan. "With this bond, I offer awareness beyond normal senses, endurance beyond human limits, healing that surpasses nature's course. I ask only loyalty, counsel, and protection in return."

She released the weave, sending it flowing toward Lan like a wave of liquid starlight. For a moment, the pattern hung visible in the air between them, a shimmering web of light that pulsed with its own inner life. Then it enveloped him, sinking beneath his skin and disappearing from ordinary sight.

Lan gasped, a rare display of visible reaction from the stoic warrior. His eyes widened as the bond took hold, flooding his senses with new awareness. He could feel Moiraine's presence in his mind, a steady flame of determination and purpose. He could sense her physical location with absolute certainty, could feel echoes of her emotions washing against the shores of his consciousness like waves against a familiar shore.

And more, his body hummed with new vitality, muscles responding with enhanced strength and speed. His vision sharpened to notice details previously invisible, his hearing became acute enough to distinguish individual voices from the crowd in the street below. The very air seemed to carry more information, more possibilities.

"It's done," Moiraine said softly, steadying herself against the momentary disorientation that accompanied the formation of the bond.

Through their new connection, she felt Lan's reactions: his amazement quickly mastered by his disciplined mind, his systematic cataloguing of the changes, his rapid adaptation to this new reality with characteristic efficiency. She felt, too, the depth of his commitment, the steel-hard core of his nature that had drawn her to him as an ally from their first meeting.

More than that, she sensed the vast well of his grief for Malkier, the rage that fueled his war against the Shadow, the loneliness that had defined his existence for so long. And beneath it all, a growing sense of rightness, as if a missing piece had finally clicked into place.

Siuan observed them both, noting the subtle shifts in posture and expression as they adjusted to their newly forged connection. "How does it feel?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral despite the complexity of her own emotions at witnessing this moment.

"Like finding a piece that was always missing, yet never recognized as absent until now," Lan answered after a thoughtful pause. He looked at Moiraine with new understanding, seeing her not just as an Aes Sedai but as a complete person with all her strengths and vulnerabilities. "I see you more clearly now, Aes Sedai."

"And I you, Warder," she replied, the title carrying new weight between them.

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, each aware that a significant threshold had been crossed. The air in the room seemed different somehow, charged with the residual energy of the bond and the weight of changed relationships.

Then Siuan, ever practical, brought them back to immediate concerns. "You should depart within the hour," she said. "The North Gate will be least watched now, with attention drawn to the West. I've arranged for two horses to be waiting in the stable of the Fox and Hound tavern, just inside the gate."

Moiraine nodded, gathering her travel pack with movements that Lan now followed with enhanced awareness. "And you? When will you return to the Tower?"

"Shortly after you've gone," Siuan replied. "I must maintain appearances, especially with the new Amyrlin watching for any hint of irregularity." Her expression softened slightly. "We may not see each other for some time."

"The Pattern will bring us together again when necessary," Moiraine said, though the words provided little comfort against the knowledge of the separation to come.

The moment of parting arrived too quickly. Lan excused himself briefly, ostensibly to check the street below, though both women recognized he was granting them a moment of privacy for their goodbyes.

When they were alone, Siuan crossed the room to Moiraine in two quick strides, gathering her into an embrace that spoke volumes where words failed. "Find the boy," she whispered against Moiraine's hair. "And come back to me."

"I will," Moiraine promised, returning the embrace with equal fervor, memorizing the feel of Siuan's arms around her. "Keep yourself safe in that nest of vipers."

"I was born swimming with silverpike," Siuan replied with a ghost of her old humor. "A few Tower vipers won't trouble me."

They kissed once more, a desperate farewell that neither wanted to end. But duty called, as it always did, and they separated with the practiced discipline of women who had long ago accepted that personal desires must sometimes yield to greater purpose.

Lan returned, tactfully ignoring the lingering emotion in the room. "The street is clear," he reported. "We should go."

Final arrangements were quickly made. Siuan would return to the Tower by a circuitous route, maintaining the fiction that she had spent the evening participating in festival ceremonies. Moiraine and Lan would depart through the North Gate, then ride hard for several days to put distance between themselves and any pursuit from the Tower.

At the door, Moiraine paused for one last glance at Siuan. Words seemed inadequate for all that remained unsaid between them, so she offered only a small, sad smile before slipping into the hallway with Lan at her side.

Together, the newly bonded pair descended the inn's back stairs and emerged into an alley that would lead them toward the North Gate. Their path took them away from the main festival areas, through quieter streets where shadows provided welcome concealment.

Through the bond, Moiraine sensed Lan's heightened awareness—his mind constantly evaluating their surroundings, identifying potential threats and escape routes with the systematic precision of a master tactician. The sensation was both comforting and strange, this new presence in her consciousness that was distinctly not herself yet now inextricably linked to her.

They reached the Fox and Hound tavern without incident, finding the horses Siuan had promised waiting in the stable behind the building. A sleepy groom handed over the reins without question, pocketing the silver coin Lan offered with a murmured thanks.

Minutes later, they approached the North Gate. As Siuan had predicted, it stood with minimal guard; only two men who appeared more interested in the distant commotion near the West Gate than in scrutinizing those departing the city at this late hour.

"Travelers for Arafel," Lan stated as they drew near, his tone suggesting nothing unusual in their departure during festival season.

The guards waved them through with barely a glance, their attention drawn to the plume of smoke now visible rising from the western quarter where Siuan's diversion continued to work its magic.

Moiraine felt a curious mixture of emotions as they crossed the threshold: relief at escaping the increasingly dangerous situation at the Tower, determination to follow the cryptic lead toward Shienar, and a deep ache of loss at leaving Siuan behind. Through the bond, she sensed Lan's quiet support, his own resolution to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As they rode across the great bridge spanning the Erinin, Moiraine cast one last glance back at the White Tower, its pale form now illuminated by thousands of festival lanterns. Somewhere in those marble halls, Siuan was making her way back to her quarters, preparing to play her part in the dangerous game that would follow.

The road to Shienar stretched ahead of them, dark and uncertain. But for the first time in years, Moiraine didn't feel entirely alone. The bond hummed between them, a constant reminder that she now had someone who would stand with her against whatever darkness they might face.

Behind them, the lights of Tar Valon grew dim and distant. Ahead lay answers, dangers, and a destiny none of them could fully comprehend.

Over the following three days, as Moiraine and Lan rode hard toward the Borderlands, the new Amyrlin Seat moved with extraordinary speed to consolidate her power. Seirin Vayu proved herself to be everything the Tower had not expected and perhaps everything it had secretly needed.

Going against centuries of tradition, she did not grant the customary indulgences or relief from penance that normally accompanied the raising of a new Amyrlin. Instead, she imposed harsh new disciplines that sent shock waves through every level of the Tower hierarchy.

Her first controversial act was the appointment of Duhara Basaheen as her Keeper of the Chronicles and Amira Moselle as her Mistress of Novices, both from the Red Ajah, rather than following the ancient tradition of selecting high officials from the Amyrlin's former Ajah. The choice sent a clear message about the direction she intended to take the Tower.

All male servants were dismissed from Tower grounds within forty-eight hours, supposedly for inappropriate looks or remarks or for flirting with novices or Accepted. The dismissals were carried out with ruthless efficiency, and several men who had served the Tower faithfully for decades found themselves escorted from the grounds with nothing more than their personal belongings and a month's wages.

Three Sisters known to be close to Tamra were publicly exiled on charges of "undermining Tower authority" , accusations that seemed to come from nowhere and were supported by evidence that many found suspiciously convenient. Several others were stripped of their positions and subjected to public penance for infractions that would normally have merited much lighter punishment.

The most shocking display came when the entire Tower was assembled in the Traitor's Court to witness as two Sisters, both of whom had been vocal supporters of Tamra's policies, were stripped and stretched on the triangle, then birched until their screams echoed off the white stone walls. The punishment was carried out with methodical precision, each stroke administered by the Mistress of Novices while the new Amyrlin watched with cold approval.

Seirin Vayu proved herself extremely hard and strict as Amyrlin, imposing harsh disciplinary measures throughout the Tower that left no doubt about who held ultimate authority. The message was clear: the old ways were dead, and a new order was rising from their ashes.

Many Sisters who had previously enjoyed Tamra's favor found themselves subjected to public humiliation and severe punishment for even the slightest infractions. The Tower that had once been a place of relative openness and scholarly debate became a fortress of rigid discipline and unquestioning obedience.

And through it all, Siuan Sanche moved carefully among the shifting currents of power, maintaining her facade of loyalty while secretly mourning the loss of a friend and preparing for the long struggle ahead.

The game had changed completely, and the stakes had never been higher.

Chapter Text

A week into their journey north, the very soul of the land began to change around them. The gentle, rolling hills and carefully cultivated fields gradually gave way to something wilder and more untamed—dense forests broken by jagged rocky outcroppings, streams running cold and swift with snowmelt from distant mountains that seemed to pierce the sky itself. The road narrowed beneath their horses' hooves, a road less traveled now that they had left the familiar comfort of the main trade routes far behind.

Moiraine and Lan had settled into an efficient traveling routine that spoke of practice with hard journeys. They made camp before sunset each evening, choosing defensible positions with good sight lines, and departed again at first light with the precision of clockwork. They spoke little during the day's ride, each lost in their own thoughts and plans, though the bond between them created a kind of silent communication that required no words.

Through that mystical connection, Moiraine sensed Lan's constant vigilance: his awareness extending well beyond what ordinary senses could detect, his mind cataloguing every detail of their surroundings for potential threats or advantages. And Lan, in turn, felt Moiraine's focused determination, her agile mind working through problems and possibilities even as they traveled through the changing landscape. The bond had changed them both in subtle but profound ways; not altering who they were at their core, but enhancing their natural connection as partners in this increasingly dangerous quest.

On this particular evening, they made camp in a small clearing sheltered by a stand of tall pines that swayed gently in the mountain breeze. As Lan tended the horses with practiced efficiency, Moiraine gathered deadfall for their fire, using careful touches of the One Power to concentrate the flames for maximum heat with minimal smoke. Such precautions had become second nature during their weeks of travel together.

"We should reach the Shienaran border in three days if the weather holds," Lan observed as he joined her by the carefully built fire, settling onto his heels with the fluid grace that marked all his movements. "Four if it doesn't."

Moiraine nodded, adding another branch to the carefully constructed pyramid of wood. "And Fal Dara two days after that, if the roads remain passable."

"The passes may still have snow this early in the season," Lan warned, his pale eyes reflecting the firelight as he studied the northern horizon. "The mountains between here and Shienar trap winter like a jealous lover clutching her prize."

"We'll manage," Moiraine replied simply, though she could feel his concern through the bond, Not for himself, but for her ability to handle the harsh conditions they might face.

They ate their simple evening meal in comfortable silence: dried meat that had been properly cured, hard cheese that would last for weeks without spoiling, and journey bread that was more nutrition than flavor. Fresh food was a luxury they could rarely afford on the road, especially now that they traveled well away from settlements where supplies might be purchased.

As full darkness settled around their small camp like a familiar blanket, Moiraine withdrew Tamra's letter from her pouch, reading it once more by the dancing firelight. Her finger traced over certain phrases, as if seeking hidden meanings in the words of a woman now dead and beyond questioning.

"'I have other searchers finding the boy,'" she quoted softly, her voice barely audible above the crackling flames. "'It is crucial you do not find them.'"

Lan looked up from sharpening his sword, a task he performed each evening with ritual precision, the rhythmic scrape of steel against whetstone as regular as breathing. "You believe these other searchers may already be in Shienar?"

"Perhaps," Moiraine said thoughtfully, her dark eyes reflecting the fire's glow. "Or perhaps whatever awaits us in Fal Dara will lead us to them eventually." She folded the letter carefully and returned it to her pouch. "Tamra was always careful with her words, even in what she believed to be a private communication."

"Wise of her, considering what happened," Lan observed, testing his blade's edge with his thumb in a gesture so practiced it was unconscious.

The blunt reference to Tamra's likely murder might have shocked others, but Moiraine appreciated Lan's directness. There was no benefit in dancing around uncomfortable truths, especially between people bound as they now were.

"Indeed," she agreed, poking at the fire with a stick to send sparks spiraling up toward the star-filled sky. "Which makes me wonder what else she might have concealed or what she planned to tell us in person that she dared not commit to paper, even in her own hand."

Lan sheathed his sword with one smooth motion, the blade sliding home with barely a whisper of steel against leather. "We may never know the full truth. But we follow the path she left us, regardless of what shadows it leads through."

"Yes," Moiraine said, her gaze returning to the hypnotic dance of the flames. "We follow the path, wherever it may lead."

They sat in companionable silence for a time, each processing their own thoughts and fears. Through the bond, Lan sensed Moiraine's concern for Siuan, a steady undercurrent of worry beneath her outward composure. He had observed enough during their brief interactions to understand the depth of connection between the two women, though neither had ever spoken of it directly to him. Some things were too private, too precious to be shared even with a Warder.

"She is formidable," he said suddenly, his voice quiet but certain. "Siuan will navigate the Tower's treacherous waters as skillfully as any ship captain through the worst storms the sea can conjure."

Moiraine looked up, momentarily surprised by the insight and the kindness behind it, then offered a small smile of genuine appreciation. "Yes, she is. And she will survive whatever comes." She paused, then added with real warmth, "Thank you for saying that."

Lan merely nodded, returning to his contemplation of the fire. The bond made such moments of understanding possible—not mind-reading, which would have been an unbearable invasion, but a deeper awareness of each other's emotional states that allowed for greater empathy than either might normally express.

As the night deepened around them and the fire burned lower, Moiraine took first watch while Lan rested. She positioned herself at the edge of their small camp, her back against a sturdy tree that offered both support and concealment. From this vantage point, she could observe the surrounding forest while remaining partially hidden from any watching eyes.

The forest seemed peaceful enough, filled with the ordinary sounds of night: the occasional rustle of nocturnal creatures going about their business, the distant hoot of an owl calling to its mate, branches creaking softly in the gentle breeze that carried the scent of pine and distant snow. Yet Moiraine remained alert, her senses extended beyond the merely physical, touching the edges of what the One Power could reveal.

Two hours into her watch, a prickling sensation along her spine warned her of something approaching through the darkness. Not an animal, the forest had gone too quiet too suddenly, the natural sounds abruptly silenced as if every creature had simultaneously decided to hold its breath. She embraced saidar, the Source filling her with its familiar warmth and power, ready to weave whatever defenses or attacks might be necessary.

Through the bond, she felt Lan instantly awaken, alerted by her sudden tension even before she could consciously signal him. He rose silently from his bedroll, sword already in hand, moving to a position that complemented hers without needing any direction or discussion.

"Northeast," she whispered, barely breathing the words as she indicated the direction from which she sensed the disturbance.

Lan nodded, his pale eyes already focused on that quadrant of the forest with the intensity of a hunting cat. Together they waited, prepared for whatever might emerge from the darkness beyond their small circle of firelight.

The minutes stretched like hours, taut with anticipation and the kind of tension that made every shadow seem to move. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the sense of wrongness faded away like morning mist before the sun. The forest sounds gradually resumed. First, a hesitant cricket testing the silence, then a distant night bird, until the normal symphony of night creatures had fully restored itself.

"Gone," Lan said finally, though he did not relax his vigilant posture or lower his blade. "Or hiding its time, waiting for us to grow careless."

"I felt something," Moiraine insisted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not Shadowspawn, I know that wrongness well enough. This was something different. Almost like—"

She hesitated, reluctant to voice a suspicion so incredible it made her doubt her own senses.

"Like what?" Lan prompted, his voice patient but alert.

"Like someone channeling," she finished reluctantly. "Very distantly, very briefly. Just the faintest flicker of the Power being touched, barely perceptible even to me."

Lan absorbed this information with characteristic stoicism, though she felt his alertness sharpen through the bond. "Male or female?"

"I couldn't tell," Moiraine admitted, frustration creeping into her voice. "It was too faint, too fleeting. But it felt...strange. Not quite like saidar as I know it, but not entirely foreign either."

They maintained heightened vigilance for the remainder of the night, taking turns at watch but neither truly resting. The mysterious presence did not return, yet both felt the weight of unseen eyes upon them.

When dawn finally lightened the eastern sky with fingers of gold and pink, they broke camp quickly and efficiently, continuing their journey with both keeping careful watch for any sign of pursuit or surveillance.

The day passed without incident, yet Moiraine could not shake the feeling that they were being observed. Not continuously, that would have been easier to detect and counter, but intermittently—as if something or someone checked on their progress periodically before withdrawing again into whatever shadows concealed them.

That evening, as they made camp in another carefully chosen location with good defensive positions, Lan returned from his routine scouting of their perimeter with a small object held carefully between thumb and forefinger, as if it might bite.

"Found this caught on a branch, at exactly head height," he said, extending his hand to show her while keeping the object at arm's length. "Deliberately placed, I would say. No chance this was accidental."

It was a feather, jet black with an shimmering sheen that caught the fading light in a way that seemed somehow unnatural. Too large for any ordinary bird she knew, it seemed to absorb more light than it reflected, creating a small void in the air where it hung suspended between his fingers.

Moiraine did not reach to touch it, her instincts warning her against direct contact. "Raven?"

"No raven I've ever seen," Lan replied grimly, his voice carrying the weight of experience with creatures both natural and twisted. "And I've hunted in the Blight where things grow wrong under the Shadow's touch."

Moiraine wove a careful examination of Air and Spirit around the feather, probing its nature without risking physical contact. What she discovered sent a chill through her despite the evening's relative warmth.

"It's a construct," she said finally, her voice tight with unease. "Not a real feather at all, but a weave made solid, a message or a marker of some kind."

"For whom?" Lan asked, though his expression suggested he already suspected the answer they both feared.

"For us," Moiraine confirmed, her voice carrying certainty despite her wish it were otherwise. "Or for someone following the same path we travel." She considered for a moment, then added carefully, "It's not aggressive. I sense no trap or compulsion woven into its structure. But I would not touch it directly even so."

Lan nodded and carefully placed the feather on a flat stone at the edge of their camp, positioning it where they could observe it without being too close. "I'll keep watch tonight," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "You should rest."

Moiraine might have argued under normal circumstances, insisting on sharing the watch as had become their custom, but the bond told her Lan would not be dissuaded tonight. His protectiveness had intensified since discovering the feather, and she sensed his absolute determination to remain vigilant through the long hours of darkness.

"Very well," she conceded, recognizing when a battle was not worth fighting. "But wake me if anything changes, anything at all."

She settled onto her bedroll, arranging her travel cloak as both blanket and additional cushion against the hard ground. Though she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind, sleep remained frustratingly elusive as her thoughts worked through the implications of what they had discovered.

The feather was unquestionably a message. But from whom? Another of Tamra's searchers, perhaps, marking the path for those who knew what signs to look for? Or something more sinister: a Forsaken's calling card, a warning or a taunt designed to unnerve them?

Through the bond, she felt Lan's steady presence: alert, watchful, ready to respond to any threat with deadly efficiency. His unwavering vigilance provided a measure of comfort, allowing her to eventually drift into a light sleep despite her concerns and the questions that circled through her mind like hungry wolves.

She dreamed of dark corridors and winding stairs, climbing endlessly through a tower that seemed to have no summit. At each landing stood a mirror framed in silver, but the face that looked back at her was never her own—sometimes Siuan, sometimes Tamra, sometimes a woman she did not recognize with eyes like endless night and a smile that promised secrets. Behind each reflection lurked a shadow that grew more substantial and threatening with each level she climbed.

At what seemed to be the topmost landing waited a door of pure white, unmarked by handle or hinges, seamless as fresh snow. As she stood before it, frustrated by its apparent impossibility, a voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Not yet," it said, neither male nor female but somehow achingly familiar. "The key is not yet in your hands, daughter of the tower."

She woke with a start to find early morning light filtering through the trees in golden shafts. Lan knelt by a small, smokeless fire, brewing tea in their battered traveling pot with the same methodical care he brought to all tasks. The feather was gone from the stone where he had placed it.

"It disappeared just before dawn," he said without preamble, sensing her immediate question through the bond. "Dissolved into smoke and blew away on a breeze that touched nothing else in the camp."

Moiraine sat up, pushing her cloak aside and running fingers through her disheveled hair. "Did you see anything else during the night? Any sign of whoever left it?"

"Nothing visible," Lan replied, handing her a cup of steaming tea that smelled of mint and mountain herbs. "But something was watching. I felt it like eyes on my back."

She accepted the tea gratefully, warming her hands around the metal cup while the steam rose to fog her vision momentarily. "I had...unusual dreams."

Lan waited patiently, neither pressing for details nor dismissing the significance of the statement. Dreams were never simple matters where Aes Sedai were concerned, and both knew that the Pattern often spoke through the sleeping mind when other avenues of communication were closed.

"A tower with mirrors on every landing," she continued after taking a sip of the strong, bitter tea. "And a white door that could not be opened, no matter what I tried. A voice told me the key was not yet in my hands."

"The Sword That Cannot Be Touched?" Lan suggested, his mind already working on the possible connections.

"Perhaps," Moiraine acknowledged, though uncertainty colored her voice. "Or something else entirely. Dreams influenced by the Pattern can be literal or metaphorical, and they're often deliberately obscure until the moment of revelation."

They broke their fast with the last of their journey bread, then quickly packed their meager camp with the efficiency born of long practice. The morning was clear and cold, their breath forming small clouds in the crisp air as they prepared the horses for another day's hard travel.

"We should reach the border crossing by nightfall tomorrow if we push hard," Lan said as they mounted, his experienced eye reading the sky for weather signs. "From there, it's another day to the first Shienaran outpost where we can replenish our supplies."

Moiraine nodded, adjusting her cloak against the morning chill that seemed to bite deeper here in the mountains. "Then onward to Fal Dara and whatever awaits us in that ancient fortress."

As they rode out of the small clearing, she cast one final glance back at the stone where the strange feather had rested through the night. In the morning light, it looked ordinary and unremarkable, just another flat rock among thousands. Yet she could not shake the feeling that their discovery of that mysterious message had set something in motion, a sequence of events that would continue to unfold regardless of their choices now.

The road ahead wound higher into the mountains, toward answers they desperately needed and dangers they could only imagine. Behind them, the feather's vanishing seemed to mark the end of one chapter and the beginning of another; though whether that new chapter would bring revelation or catastrophe remained to be seen.

The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, Moiraine thought as their horses' hooves rang against stone, carrying them ever northward toward their destiny. But sometimes, just sometimes, those caught in its weaving could still choose which threads to follow.

Chapter Text

The walls of Fal Dara rose before them like a mountain carved by human hands, massive and unyielding against the backdrop of gray peaks that stretched to the horizon. Built of dark stone quarried from the nearby mountains, the fortress stood as an eternal bulwark against the Blight that festered like an open wound just leagues to the north. Banners bearing the Black Hawk of Shienar snapped and cracked in the cold wind that swept down from the heights, and armored guards patrolled the battlements with the tireless vigilance of men who knew the enemy never truly slept.

Moiraine and Lan approached the southern gate in the late afternoon, their horses weary and trail-worn from the long journey across increasingly difficult terrain. The last three days had taken them through mountain passes still choked with spring snow that reflected the pale sunlight like scattered diamonds, and the nights had grown bitter with a cold that seemed to penetrate even the warmest cloaks and lodge itself deep in the bones.

"Halt and identify yourselves," called the gate captain as they drew near, his voice carrying the distinctive accent of the Borderlands: harsh consonants shaped by generations of shouting commands above the clash of steel and the screams of dying Shadowspawn.

Lan rode forward slightly, his posture and bearing marking him immediately as one of their own despite years of absence from these lands. "Lan Mandragoran and Moiraine Sedai seek entrance and the hospitality of Fal Dara," he announced, his voice carrying clearly in the thin mountain air.

The captain's eyes widened slightly at Lan's name, though he maintained his professional composure with the discipline of a veteran soldier. "Welcome to Fal Dara, Dai Shan," he replied formally, using the honorific for a Malkieri battle lord with obvious respect. "And you, Aes Sedai. The Lord of Fal Dara will be honored by your presence."

He signaled to his men with a sharp gesture, and the massive iron-bound gates swung open with well-oiled precision that spoke of constant maintenance and care. As Moiraine and Lan rode through the stone archway, she sensed a subtle change in Lan through their bond, a tightening of emotional control as memories rose to the surface like bubbles in still water only to be firmly suppressed by disciplined will.

"It has been some time since you visited the Borderlands," she observed quietly, her voice pitched for his ears alone.

"Seven years," Lan replied, his voice betraying none of the complex emotions she felt swirling through their connection like an undercurrent. "Not since Lord Agelmar's father still held Fal Dara and the snows came early that winter."

They rode through streets that reflected the practical nature of a fortress city built for war rather than comfort. Buildings of sturdy stone with narrow, defensible windows lined the main thoroughfare, many serving dual purposes as shops below and residences above. Children played in small, protected courtyards, their games inevitably martial in nature: wooden swords clashing as they enacted battles against imaginary Trollocs with the fierce concentration of those who knew such battles might one day be real.

The people they passed bowed respectfully to Lan, many touching their foreheads in a gesture of particular honor when they recognized his hadori, the leather cord that marked him as a Malkieri warrior who had not surrendered, who still carried the weight of a fallen kingdom. To Moiraine they offered the deep nods appropriate for an Aes Sedai, though few met her eyes directly, as was proper when facing one of the Tower's daughters.

"They remember," Lan said, noting her observation of the people's reactions. "The Borderlands never forget their debts or their allies, no matter how many years pass."

At the center of the city stood the inner keep—a fortress within a fortress, its walls twice the height of those surrounding the city proper and thick enough to withstand siege engines that existed only in nightmares. Here they were met by a steward whose formal courtesy couldn't quite hide his genuine pleasure at welcoming such distinguished guests.

"Lord Agelmar is currently inspecting the northern defenses but will return by evening," the steward informed them with a bow that was precisely calculated to show respect without servility. "He sends his welcome and asks that you accept the hospitality of Fal Dara until his return."

They were escorted to guest chambers befitting their station. Comfortable though not extravagant, with solid furniture built for durability rather than display. The rooms spoke of a people who valued substance over show, function over form. Servants brought hot water for washing, and promised a proper meal once they had refreshed themselves from their long journey.

Alone in her chamber, Moiraine took the opportunity to truly bathe for the first time in weeks. The steaming water eased aches she had grown so accustomed to she barely noticed them anymore, and the simple pleasure of clean hair and skin restored some measure of civilization after so long on the road eating trail rations and sleeping on hard ground.

As she dressed in fresh clothing—still practical for traveling, but free of road dust and the lingering smell of campfire smoke—she considered their next steps carefully. A knock at her door announced Lan, similarly refreshed though still dressed in his Warder's color-shifting cloak that seemed to drink in shadows.

"Lord Agelmar has returned early and requests our presence," he reported, his voice carrying undertones that suggested the lord's eagerness was significant.

Together they followed a servant through the keep's winding corridors, past drop cloth murals depicting great battles and portraits of stern-faced lords who had defended these walls for generations. They were led to a modest study where the Lord of Fal Dara awaited them, surrounded by maps and reports that spoke of a commander who took his responsibilities seriously.

Agelmar Jagad was a broad-shouldered man in his prime, his face weathered by years of sun and wind and the weight of command. His black hair and beard were streaked with gray that spoke of wisdom earned through hardship, and his eyes held the steady gaze of one who had looked into darkness and refused to blink. He rose from behind his desk as they entered, clasping Lan's forearm in the warrior's greeting before bowing respectfully to Moiraine.

"Dai Shan," he said warmly to Lan, genuine pleasure evident in his voice. "It has been too long since you honored Fal Dara with your presence." He turned to Moiraine with equal courtesy. "And Moiraine Sedai, the Borderlands always welcome the Tower's servants with open hearts. How may Fal Dara assist you?"

"We seek information," Moiraine replied, accepting his offer to sit in a chair that had been positioned to catch the afternoon light from the chamber's single window. "About something called 'the Sword That Cannot Be Touched.'"

Agelmar's expression shifted subtly, surprise quickly masked by years of diplomatic training, but not before Moiraine had noted it with the keen eye of one trained to read faces and voices. He glanced at Lan, then back to her, his weathered features revealing the internal debate of a man deciding how much to reveal.

"An unusual request," he said carefully, settling back into his own chair. "May I ask what prompts your interest in such an ancient relic?"

Moiraine considered how much to reveal, weighing trust against caution in the scales of experience. Agelmar was known as an honorable man, but caution had become second nature in their search for the Dragon Reborn. "We follow a trail that may lead to something of vital importance to the Light's struggle against the Shadow," she said finally. "The sword is a marker on that path, though we do not yet understand how."

Agelmar studied her for a moment that stretched like a held breath, then nodded as if coming to a decision that satisfied both honor and pragmatism. "The Sword That Cannot Be Touched is not merely a legend, though few outside the Borderlands know of its existence. It rests in the tomb of King Eadon, the last King of Rhamdashar."

"Eadon?" Lan said sharply, his controlled composure cracking for just an instant. "I was told his tomb was empty, symbolic only, as his body was lost when the territories fell."

"So most believe," Agelmar agreed, his voice carrying the weight of carefully guarded secrets. "But the truth is more complex than the stories allow." He paused, seeming to choose his words with particular care. "King Eadon was your great-great-grandfather, Dai Shan. When Rhamdashar fell and the royal family scattered, his body was brought here in secret by those who escaped the destruction. He was interred in the deepest vaults beneath Fal Dara, and the sword placed with him, both to honor him and to protect the weapon from those who might misuse its power."

"What makes this sword special?" Moiraine asked, leaning forward slightly. "Why is it said that it 'cannot be touched'?"

Agelmar rose from his seat and moved to a bookshelf that lined one wall, selecting an ancient volume bound in cracked leather that looked older than kingdoms. He laid it open on his desk with reverent care, revealing illustrations of what appeared to be a simple sword with unusual markings along its blade that seemed to shift and dance even in the still drawings.

"According to the records kept by generations of scholars," he explained, his finger tracing the illustrations with obvious familiarity, "the sword was created during the Age of Legends. Not for combat, but as a key of sorts. It cannot be touched by living flesh without grave consequences, hence its name."

"A key to what?" Lan asked, his voice tight with the effort of controlling emotions that Moiraine could feel churning through their bond.

"That, the records do not specify," Agelmar admitted with obvious frustration. "Only that it would 'open the way when the time comes.' The scholars who have studied the texts over the centuries believe it may access some kind of storage repository, perhaps containing knowledge or artifacts from before the Breaking of the World."

Moiraine studied the illustration carefully, her trained mind cataloguing every detail. The markings on the blade resembled no language she recognized from her extensive studies, yet something about them seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had glimpsed similar patterns in ancient texts within the White Tower's most restricted libraries.

"We would like to see this sword," she said, looking up from the book to meet Agelmar's eyes directly.

"That can be arranged," Agelmar replied without hesitation. "The tombs are accessible through the keep's lower levels, though few have reason to venture so deep into the earth. However, I should warn you, there are protections in place beyond mere locks and guards. The sword's resting place is secured by weaves that only certain individuals can safely navigate."

"What kind of weaves?" Moiraine asked, her interest sharpening like a blade being honed.

"I cannot say precisely, as I am not privy to their exact nature," Agelmar answered honestly. "However, tradition holds that they recognize bloodlines, specifically, the blood of a specific Aramaelle's royal house and those sworn to serve the Light in ways that transcend ordinary oaths."

Lan's expression remained impassive, but Moiraine sensed his growing unease through their bond like storm clouds gathering on a distant horizon.

"When can we visit these tombs?" she asked, already knowing the answer would determine their immediate future.

"Tomorrow morning would be best," Agelmar suggested. "The hour before dawn is traditionally considered most auspicious for such matters, when the veils between past and present are thinnest. Until then, I invite you to rest and take your evening meal with me. There is much news from the Borderlands that may interest you both."

They accepted his invitation graciously, recognizing the value of such an alliance and the information it might provide. As they left Agelmar's study, Moiraine felt a growing sense of anticipation mixed with unease. They were close to something significant, a piece of the puzzle that had drawn them north through cold and hardship.

That evening, they dined in Agelmar's private quarters rather than the main hall, allowing for conversation without the constraints of public appearance or the need to maintain formal dignity before a crowd. The meal was simple by southern standards but hearty and satisfying: roasted meats seasoned with mountain herbs, root vegetables that had survived the winter in deep cellars, and dark bread that spoke of grain carefully hoarded against lean times. They drank strong Borderland ale and heated wine spiced with cinnamon and cloves that warmed them from within.

As they ate, Agelmar shared troubling news of increasing Shadowspawn activity along the Blight border; not yet a major incursion that would require calling the banners, but disturbing in its growing coordination. "They probe our defenses more systematically than before," he observed, cutting his meat with precise movements that spoke of military efficiency even at table. "Testing for weaknesses rather than simply raiding for blood and terror."

"Have you informed the Tower?" Moiraine asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

"Messages have been sent," Agelmar confirmed, his tone carefully neutral. "But the response has been...limited. A promise to consider sending assistance if the situation worsens significantly." His expression suggested he found this diplomatic response less than satisfactory for men facing Trollocs in the night.

Moiraine nodded, unsurprised by this news. With the recent changes in Tower leadership, priorities had shifted dramatically inward. Sierin Vayu would focus on consolidating power within the Tower rather than addressing external threats unless they posed immediate danger to Tar Valon itself.

"I will add my own report when next I communicate with the Tower," she offered, knowing it was a small gesture but one that might carry weight. "Sometimes a different perspective can influence decisions that bureaucracy might otherwise delay."

"Your assistance would be most welcome," Agelmar replied with genuine gratitude. "Now, enough of such grim tidings for one evening. Tell me, Dai Shan, how have your travels served you since last we met?"

The conversation turned to less urgent matters, though never straying far from the realities of a world increasingly troubled by gathering darkness. Throughout the meal, Moiraine observed the easy camaraderie between Lan and Agelmar—men born to similar responsibilities, sharing the unspoken understanding of those who had dedicated their lives to standing against the Shadow no matter the personal cost.

Later, as they walked back to their chambers through the quiet corridors of the keep, their footsteps echoing softly off stone walls, Lan broke his customary silence. "I never knew," he said, his voice low but intense with suppressed emotion. "About King Eadon being my direct ancestor, about his tomb containing his actual remains rather than just ceremony and symbolism."

"It was kept secret to protect you," Moiraine replied gently, understanding the turmoil she felt through their bond. "Knowledge is power, but it can also make one a target for those who would use such connections for their own purposes."

"Yes," Lan agreed, his expression hardening like stone cooling after fire. "And now that knowledge draws us to a sword that cannot be touched, supposedly linked to the Age of Legends and powers beyond current understanding." He stopped walking, turning to face her directly in the corridor's dim light. "This is no coincidence, Moiraine. We are being guided, perhaps manipulated, by forces beyond our current understanding."

"Perhaps," she acknowledged, meeting his gaze steadily. "But manipulation implies intent, which may be benevolent or malevolent. We cannot know which until we see where this path ultimately leads us." She studied his face in the flickering torchlight. "Are you having doubts about continuing?"

"Not doubts," he corrected firmly. "Concerns. The Pattern weaves as the Pattern wills, but threads can be influenced by those with the skill and power to tug at them in directions that serve their own purposes."

Through their bond, Moiraine sensed his deep unease, not fear, for Lan feared little in the conventional sense, but a warrior's instinctive recognition of entering territory where familiar rules of combat and strategy might not apply.

"Tomorrow we will see this sword," she said with quiet determination. "And perhaps understand better what role it plays in our search for the truth."

They parted at their respective chamber doors, each needing solitude to process the day's revelations and prepare for whatever the morning might bring.

In her room, Moiraine sat before the small fire that had been laid for her comfort, reviewing everything they had learned during this crucial day. The sword's connection to the Age of Legends suggested it might indeed be a sa'angreal or ter'angreal of some kind, though its description matched nothing in Tower records that she could recall from her extensive studies.

More puzzling was its purported function as a key. What could it open that would help them find the Dragon Reborn? And why had the mysterious message directed them to it so specifically, with such urgent need for secrecy?

She removed Tamra's letter from her pouch once more, reading the familiar words in the firelight that cast dancing shadows across the parchment. Something about the phrasing continued to nag at her, "I have dispatched other searchers to find the boy." Not "search for" but "find," as if they already knew his location and were in the process of retrieving him safely.

If that were true, then perhaps the sword was needed not to locate the Dragon Reborn, but for something to be done after he was found. A protective measure, perhaps, or a means to validate his identity beyond any doubt or deception.

Sleep came fitfully that night, her dreams once again filled with winding stairs and mirrors that reflected faces not her own. The white door appeared again at the top of an endless tower, but this time it bore a single mark, a symbol that matched one of those illustrated on the sword in Agelmar's ancient book.

She woke before dawn to a soft knock at her door, her mind immediately alert despite the early hour. A servant informed her that Lord Agelmar awaited them in the main hall when they were ready to proceed. She dressed quickly in her traveling clothes, anticipating that whatever lay ahead might require practicality over formality.

Lan met her in the corridor, his face revealing nothing of his own night's rest or lack thereof. Together they made their way to the hall where Agelmar waited, accompanied by an elderly man in the simple robes of a scholar whose eyes held the bright intelligence of one who had spent a lifetime in pursuit of knowledge.

"This is Master Rellen," Agelmar introduced with obvious respect. "Keeper of Histories for Fal Dara and one of the few entrusted with knowledge of the royal tombs and their secrets."

The old man bowed, his movements surprisingly spry despite his apparent age. "It is an honor to guide an Aes Sedai and the Dai Shan to the resting place of kings," he said, his voice cracking slightly with age but carrying the authority of one who knew his subject intimately. "Few have visited the deepest levels in recent years."

He led them through the keep to a heavy iron door set into the very foundation stone itself, worn smooth by centuries but still solid as the mountain that surrounded them. From a chain around his neck, he produced an ancient key of unusual design, more similar to the pattern-keys used by Cairhienin nobles than the simpler mechanisms common in the Borderlands.

"The way is protected by both physical barriers and other means," Master Rellen explained as he inserted the key with practiced ease. "Please remain close to me and touch nothing without explicit instruction."

The lock turned with a sound like distant thunder, and the door swung open to reveal a steep stairway descending into darkness that seemed to swallow their torchlight. Master Rellen lifted a lamp from a nearby bracket and led the way down, the light casting long shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own.

They descended in silence, the air growing colder and heavier with each step, as if the very atmosphere carried the weight of centuries. The stairway eventually gave way to a broad corridor lined with stone effigies: kings and queens of ages past, their features worn smooth by time but still conveying the proud bearing of a noble lineage that had stood against darkness for generations.

"The public tombs," Master Rellen explained in hushed tones, gesturing to sealed doorways set at regular intervals along the corridor. "Where most of the royal family rests in honor. But King Eadon's chamber lies deeper still, protected by measures that few understand and fewer still can safely navigate."

Another stairway, narrower than the first and carved from the living rock, took them further into the earth's embrace. Here the air felt fundamentally different, not merely cold, but charged with subtle energy that made the hair on Moiraine's arms rise beneath her sleeves. She embraced saidar instinctively, drawing just enough of the Power to enhance her perception without revealing her action to the others.

What she sensed surprised and unsettled her; weaves of great age and staggering complexity layered throughout the very stone around them. Not recently crafted by any Aes Sedai she knew, but remnants from an earlier time, perhaps even dating back to the Age of Legends itself when such works were commonplace.

"We are entering the protected chamber," Master Rellen announced as they reached the bottom of the stairs, his voice echoing strangely in the confined space. "From this point forward, only those of royal blood can safely proceed without grave risk."

He turned to Lan with formal solemnity. "Dai Shan, you must lead the way now. The blood of Eadon flows in your veins, and the protections will recognize it as they have been designed to do."

Lan looked to Moiraine, a silent question in his pale eyes. She nodded slightly, having detected no immediate danger in the weaves she could sense, though much remained hidden from her perception by their age and complexity.

"What of Moiraine Sedai?" Lan asked, his concern for her safety evident despite his controlled tone. "Can she safely accompany me?"

"The legends say that those bound to Eadon's blood by oath or deeper ties may also pass," the old scholar replied, with a significant glance at Moiraine that suggested he understood more about the nature of their bond than might be expected. "I believe your bond as Warder and Aes Sedai will suffice, but caution is still strongly advised."

Lan moved forward with careful steps, Moiraine close behind him, while Master Rellen and Lord Agelmar remained at the foot of the stairs, their duty discharged by bringing them this far. The corridor before them ended in a circular chamber carved from the living rock, its walls adorned with intricate mosaics depicting scenes from Aramaelle, Rhamdashar, and Malkier's glorious history: battles won, cities built, and moments of triumph that spoke of a kingdom that had stood proud before darkness claimed it.

At the center of the chamber stood a bier of black stone that seemed to drink in their torchlight, upon which lay the armored figure of a man. Unlike the worn effigies above, this figure's features remained sharp and clear, a face strikingly similar to Lan's own, though perhaps gentler in its set, speaking of a man who had ruled through wisdom as much as strength. King Eadon, preserved by means beyond ordinary understanding.

And clasped in his armored hands, resting upon his chest with reverent care, lay a sword.

It appeared deceptively simple at first glance, a straight blade with a plain crossguard and unadorned pommel that spoke of function over ornamentation. But as they drew closer, the markings became visible, symbols that seemed to shift and change when viewed directly, stabilizing only when observed from the corner of the eye.

"The Sword That Cannot Be Touched," Moiraine breathed, recognizing it from the illustration in Agelmar's book but finding the reality far more compelling than any drawing could convey.

As they approached the bier, she felt resistance in the air, not physical, but a pressure against her mind, testing, probing for something with the persistence of a living thing. Through their bond, she sensed Lan experiencing the same examination, though differently, less a test than a recognition, an acknowledgment of kinship and rightful heritage.

The pressure increased as they drew closer, until they stood directly before the bier where King Eadon lay in eternal rest. Here, the sense of being examined became almost overwhelming, as if invisible eyes scrutinized their very souls for worthiness and intent.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure vanished completely. The air around them seemed to sigh with satisfaction, and the faintest chime sounded from nowhere and everywhere at once, like crystal touched by gentle wind.

"We are accepted," Lan said, though how he knew this remained unclear even to him.

They stood before King Eadon's remains in respectful silence, studying the sword that lay upon his armored chest like a guardian of ancient secrets. The blade bore no signs of age or tarnish despite centuries entombed in this chamber, its surface reflecting their torchlight with unnatural clarity. The mysterious symbols along its length now appeared stable, no longer shifting when viewed directly.

"What now?" Lan asked quietly, his voice barely disturbing the sacred silence. "If it truly cannot be touched, how does it serve as a key?"

Moiraine studied the tomb and its surroundings more carefully, noting subtle patterns in the floor that radiated outward from the bier like the spokes of a great wheel. Following one of these lines with her eyes, she discovered a small alcove in the chamber wall that had escaped their initial notice, hidden in shadow and silence.

Moving closer to investigate, she found a stone box set into the wall itself with obvious care. Unlike the rest of the chamber, this box appeared newly made, or at least, more recent than the ancient tomb that surrounded it. Its surface bore the seal of the White Tower, specifically a completed circle—the Ring of Tamyrlin that spoke of highest authority.

"Lan," she called softly, her voice carrying new urgency. "Look at this."

He joined her at the alcove, his expression darkening as he recognized the seal and its implications. "Aes Sedai involvement," he murmured. "Recent?"

"Recent enough," Moiraine replied, examining the box without touching it directly, her caution learned through hard experience.

She extended her senses through saidar, checking carefully for traps or wards that might punish the unwary, but found only a simple recognition weave, one that would respond to a specific channeling pattern. Using the One Power with delicate precision, she carefully recreated what she perceived to be the unlocking sequence.

The box clicked softly, its lid rising a fraction of an inch with the whisper of well-oiled hinges. Moiraine opened it fully to reveal a folded parchment sealed with blue wax, the impression showing not the flame of the Amyrlin but a symbol of conjoined white teardrop and a black teardrop disc that she didn't immediately recognize.

Moiraine carefully broke the seal and unfolded the parchment with steady hands. The message was brief and cryptic, written in a flowing hand she didn't recognize:

"When the sword awakens, seek the lady in the south. She guards what we seek by water's edge, where two rivers meet beneath a broken tower. Trust only those who know the fish swims against the current."

Beneath these enigmatic words was a hastily sketched map showing a location in what appeared to be southern Andor, near the border with Altara, marked with careful attention to geographic details.

She studied the map more carefully, her trained mind cataloguing landmarks and distances. "This location...it's remote, far from major settlements or trade routes. A hiding place, perhaps, for something, or someone, of great importance."

They returned to the bier, studying the sword with renewed interest and growing understanding. If it was indeed a key, what did it unlock? And how could they utilize it without touching it, given the dire warnings about contact with living flesh?

Moiraine circled the bier slowly, observing how the faint light from their torches caught and reflected off the blade's surface in patterns that seemed almost deliberate. As she moved, she noticed something curious, the symbols along the blade seemed to respond to her movement, brightening slightly when she passed certain points in her circuit.

On a hunch born of years studying ancient artifacts, she embraced saidar more fully, allowing the Power to flow through her visibly rather than concealing it as she usually did. The response was immediate and dramatic. The symbols blazed to life, glowing with an inner light that cast strange shadows across the chamber and made the very air shimmer.

"It responds to the Power," she said, maintaining the flow of saidar with careful control. "Perhaps that is how it is meant to be used, not through physical touch, but through channeling."

Lan watched with fascination as she carefully explored this theory, weaving simple patterns of Air above the sword without making direct contact with the blade itself. The sword's glow intensified further, and the symbols began to shift once more, rearranging themselves into new configurations that spoke of hidden meanings.

"It's changing," he observed, his warrior's eye noting every detail. "Responding to your weaves like a living thing."

Moiraine nodded, concentrating on maintaining a steady flow while adjusting her weaves to match the shifting patterns on the blade. It was like working with a complex puzzle or an intricate lock, requiring specific combinations to progress through each stage.

For nearly an hour, she worked at this mysterious interface, trying various approaches based on her understanding of ancient weave structures learned in the Tower's deepest libraries. The sword responded differently to each attempt: sometimes brightening like captured sunlight, sometimes dimming to barely visible, occasionally emitting soft tones like distant chimes carried on wind.

Finally, exhausted by the sustained effort and the mental strain of maintaining such precise control, she stepped back with reluctance. "It's beyond my current understanding," she admitted, frustration clear in her voice. "There's a pattern here, a language of sorts, but I cannot decipher it fully without more knowledge than I possess."

"Perhaps that was never the intention," Lan suggested thoughtfully. "Perhaps simply activating it, making it 'awaken' as the message says, is sufficient for our purposes."

Moiraine considered this possibility, her analytical mind working through the implications. "You may be right. If the sword serves as a marker or signal rather than a conventional key, then perhaps we've already accomplished what we came to do."

As if in response to her words, the glow of the symbols suddenly intensified beyond anything they had seen before, pulsing with a steady rhythm like a great heartbeat. The chamber around them seemed to resonate with this pulse, subtle vibrations running through the stone beneath their feet and the air around them.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the glow faded back to a steady illumination that was brighter than before but no longer overwhelming. The sword lay as it had for centuries, but something fundamental had changed, a subtle difference in its presence that both could sense but neither could articulate.

"It's done," Moiraine said with absolute certainty, though she couldn't explain how she knew. "Whatever was meant to happen has occurred."

They left the chamber as they had found it, the sword still resting upon King Eadon's armored chest in eternal vigil, though now it emitted a faint, constant glow visible even without channeling to enhance their vision. Master Rellen and Lord Agelmar waited where they had left them, their expressions betraying curiosity carefully controlled by respect for mysteries beyond their understanding.

"You were successful?" Agelmar inquired as they rejoined them at the foot of the ancient stairs.

"Yes," Moiraine replied simply, not elaborating on the complex nature of their success. "Though perhaps not in the way we initially expected."

She shared only the basics of their discovery: that the sword had responded to channeling and had somehow been "awakened" to a new state, but kept the details of the message and its implications private. Some secrets were not hers to share, even with allies as trustworthy as Agelmar appeared to be.

As they climbed back to the upper levels of the keep, past the silent effigies of dead kings and through corridors carved from living stone, Lan and Moiraine exchanged glances that conveyed their shared understanding. Their path now led south, to a place where "two rivers meet beneath a broken tower," and to a mysterious "lady" who guarded what they sought.

Chapter Text

The journey south from Fal Dara stretched across nearly three weeks of hard travel, through mountain passes still locked in winter's grip and forests just beginning to show the first tentative signs of spring's return. They had deliberately chosen to avoid the main roads, selecting again the less-traveled paths through the foothills that offered greater privacy and significantly reduced their chances of encountering Tower emissaries who might be searching for an absent Blue Sister.

They spoke little during their travel, both still processing the profound revelations from the tomb beneath Fal Dara and the mysterious "awakening" of the ancient sword that had rested there for centuries. The map they'd discovered in the sealed box had directed them southward with careful precision, to a location near the border of Kandor and Arafel, where apparently someone or something awaited those who had successfully activated the sword.

"We should reach the valley by nightfall," Lan observed as they made their way along a narrow mountain trail that wound between towering peaks, "if the map's measurements prove accurate."

Moiraine nodded, studying the surrounding landscape with practiced eyes. The region was sparsely populated, just a few isolated villages clinging to protected valleys, the occasional shepherd's hut perched on a defensible hillside, but otherwise untouched wilderness that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a perfect place to hide something of great importance, far from curious eyes and grasping hands.

"Who do you think this 'lady in the south' might be?" Lan asked after another long stretch of contemplative silence.

"Someone with connections to the White Tower, clearly," Moiraine replied, her mind working through the possibilities, "though perhaps not someone currently in active service." She paused, considering the implications carefully. "The seal on that message was unusual, not the flame of the Amyrlin Seat, nor any Ajah symbol I recognize from my studies. It bore the ancient sign of the Aes Sedai, from before the Breaking of the World."

Lan's expression remained as impassive as carved stone, but through their bond, Moiraine sensed his growing unease. The Warder bond still felt new to both of them, an awareness that sometimes startled with its sudden clarity and depth. "Someone who predates the current Tower structure entirely?"

"It should be impossible," Moiraine said, though she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. "Yet all the evidence suggests connections to knowledge that was ancient when Tar Valon's foundations were first laid. First the sword with its Age of Legends markings and incomprehensible power, now this message with its archaic seal and cryptic references."

As the afternoon waned toward evening, the trail descended into a sheltered valley nestled between towering peaks like a green jewel set in a crown of stone. Unlike the barren slopes they had passed through for days, this valley was surprisingly lush and welcoming: a protected microclimate where trees grew tall and straight, and a clear stream cut through meadows already dotted with early wildflowers that painted the grass in brilliant colors.

Near the center of the valley stood what appeared to be ruins, the remains of a once-substantial structure now reduced to crumbling walls overgrown with vines and a single tower missing its upper third. The "broken tower" mentioned in the message, exactly as described.

They approached with the caution of experience, Lan constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of threat, surveillance, or hidden watchers. As they drew nearer to the ruins, Moiraine felt a familiar tingling along her skin, the unmistakable sensation of channeling, or at least, of weaves that had been established long ago and left in place to guard and protect.

"Wards," she murmured to Lan, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ancient ones, but still active after all these years."

Unlike the protection weaves commonly used by modern Aes Sedai, which typically formed simple barriers around their targets, these seemed to form a complex pattern throughout the ruins themselves rather than simply surrounding them. Moiraine studied them with professional interest and growing amazement, noting techniques and approaches she had never encountered in her extensive Tower training.

The broken tower itself rose perhaps forty feet before ending in jagged stone that spoke of violence rather than simple decay. Vines had claimed much of its surface in the intervening years, and birds nested in crevices where mortar had crumbled away. Yet despite its dilapidated appearance, it retained a certain dignity, the superior craftsmanship of its construction evident even in decay and abandonment.

At its base, partially concealed by decades of encroaching vegetation, they discovered a doorway leading into the tower's interior. Lan cleared away the vines with careful hands, revealing a stone archway carved with symbols remarkably similar to those they had seen on the sword beneath Fal Dara.

"The same hand created both," Moiraine observed, tracing the intricate markings with her finger. "Or at least, they come from the same era and tradition."

"Age of Legends?" Lan suggested, his warrior's mind already cataloguing potential threats and escape routes.

"Possibly," Moiraine agreed, her voice thoughtful. "Or perhaps the early years of the Breaking, when knowledge from that lost age was still preserved by those who remembered better times."

She created a small globe of soft light that hovered just above her palm and led the way into the tower's interior. Inside, they found a spiral staircase that wound both upward toward the broken summit and downward into darkness beneath the earth. The construction was truly remarkable, even after what must have been thousands of years, the steps showed minimal wear, the stones fitted so precisely that a knife blade could not have been inserted between them.

"Down," Moiraine decided after a moment's consideration, following instincts sharpened by years of seeking hidden knowledge.

They descended the stairs carefully, the air growing cooler but strangely not damper as they moved deeper underground. Instead of the musty dampness one might expect, it felt increasingly...alive, somehow, charged with subtle energy that made the hair on Moiraine's arms rise beneath her sleeves.

The stairway ended in a circular chamber whose design immediately reminded Moiraine of the Heart of the Stone, the inner sanctum of Tear's great fortress where, according to ancient prophecy, Callandor waited for the Dragon Reborn's hand. This room was smaller and less imposing than that legendary chamber, but it shared the same essential character: a space designed to contain and protect something of immense power and importance.

At the center of the chamber stood an altar of white stone that seemed to glow with its own inner light, and upon it rested...not a sword, as they might have expected given their recent experience, but a crystal sphere approximately the size of a man's fist that captured and refracted their light in mesmerizing patterns.

"Light preserve us," Moiraine breathed, recognition dawning like sunrise. "It looks exactly like the descriptions of the access keys for one of the great sa'angreal from the Age of Legends. But how is that possible? They were all believed destroyed during the Breaking, lost when the world itself was remade."

She approached the pedestal with extreme caution, extending her senses through saidar to detect any traps, wards, or additional protections that might guard such a precious artifact. What she found surprised her even more. The sphere was indeed an access key, but the altar itself was a ter'angreal of remarkable sophistication, designed to both conceal and protect its contents through means she could barely comprehend.

"This is not what I expected to find," Lan observed, staying close but allowing Moiraine the space she needed to work.

"Nor I," she agreed, her voice filled with wonder. "Yet it makes a certain sense, now that I see it. The sword was never actually meant to be a sword. It was a misdirection, a symbol representing this." She gestured toward the crystal sphere with obvious reverence. "A key that cuts and pierces, but not in any literal sense."

Around the pedestal's base ran a band of inlaid silver, inscribed with flowing script in the Old Tongue that seemed to shimmer in their light. Moiraine knelt to read it, her voice taking on the formal cadence required for proper translation:

"To the worthy who follow the path of light in shadow's darkest time: This key opens the way to power meant to seal, not destroy. Guard it well against those who would use it in folly or pride."

"Seal, not destroy," Lan repeated, his mind immediately grasping the significance. "Doesn’t the legends say that the Breaking happened because the male Aes Sedai tried to seal the Bore into the Dark One's prison using only saidin."

"And failed catastrophically," Moiraine added grimly, her knowledge of history coloring her words with appropriate weight. "But not entirely, the seals held for three thousand years before beginning to weaken as they have in recent times."

She studied the sphere without daring to touch it yet, noting how it seemed to capture and refract the light from her weave in patterns that suggested vast complexity. "This must be one of the female access keys for the Choedan Kal, the greatest sa'angreal ever created during the War of Power. They were meant to be used together, male and female working in perfect harmony, but Latra Posae Decume convinced every other powerful female Aes Sedai about the disastrous potential repercussions of Lews Therin's desperate plan, which she felt Lews was too pompous to ignore."

She moved around the pedestal with deliberate care, examining it from every possible angle. "The Choedan Kal were created specifically to fight the Shadow directly, to channel unimaginable amounts of the One Power in a coordinated effort to close the Bore permanently. But they were never used as originally intended. Lews Therin and his Hundred Companions attempted the sealing without the female Aes Sedai, leading directly to the taint on saidin and eventually the Breaking that destroyed civilization itself."

"And now we've found one of the keys meant to control these legendary sa'angreal," Lan concluded, already working through implications. "Hidden here for thousands of years, waiting."

"Yes," Moiraine confirmed, her voice filled with awe. "But by whom? And why direct us to it specifically now, at this crucial moment in history?"

As if in response to her questions, she noticed a small compartment built into the podium's base that had initially escaped her attention, concealed by both design and shadow. It opened at her careful touch, revealing another sealed message. This one written on parchment so ancient it threatened to crumble despite whatever preservation methods had protected it through the long centuries.

The seal bore the same conjoined teardrop symbol as the previous message they'd found, but this time the impression was made in gold rather than blue wax, suggesting even greater importance or authority. With the utmost care, Moiraine broke the fragile seal and began to unfold the ancient document.

The message appeared to be written in the Old Tongue, but as Moiraine began her translation, she quickly realized something was fundamentally wrong. Though she recognized individual words and phrases from her extensive studies, they made no coherent sense when put together. The syntax was deliberately scrambled, the meanings obscured by some system she didn't recognize. More troubling still, certain sections appeared to use characters that weren't part of the Old Tongue at all, but seemed to belong to an even more ancient script that predated anything in the Tower's archives.

"It's written in cipher," she said, frustration clear in her voice. "Not just composed in the Old Tongue, but encoded using some method I don't recognize from any of my studies."

Lan moved closer to examine the document over her shoulder. "Can you decipher any portion of it?"

Moiraine studied the cryptic text with growing concentration, picking out fragments she could understand like islands of meaning in a sea of confusion. "There are clear references to 'the Dragon,' 'the Circle,' and 'Shayol Ghul'. And here, " she pointed to a section near the bottom of the document, "something about 'completing what was sundered.'"

"Sundered," Lan repeated thoughtfully. "Could that refer to the division between male and female Aes Sedai during the original sealing attempt? The collaboration that never happened between Lews Therin and Latra Posae?"

"Very possibly," Moiraine agreed, her mind racing through historical connections. "The split that may have doomed their efforts from the beginning." She continued scanning the text with increasing frustration as the cipher defeated her attempts at systematic translation. "I can make out what appears to be a warning about failure, about dire consequences if 'the circle is not made complete before the final confrontation.'"

Despite her extensive Tower education, which had included intensive study of ancient texts and dead languages, this particular document remained largely impenetrable. It clearly contained vital information, perhaps detailed instructions for using the access key safely, or specific warnings about its limitations, or even crucial guidance for their ongoing search but without the proper key to the cipher, most of it remained tantalizingly beyond her reach.

"We need help with this," she admitted finally, her scholarly pride warring with practical necessity. "Someone with far greater knowledge of First Age languages and encoding methods than I possess."

"The White Tower's libraries?" Lan suggested, though his tone indicated he already suspected her answer.

"Absolutely not," Moiraine said firmly, her voice carrying iron certainty. "Not with Sierin Vayu as Amyrlin Seat. The risk would be far too great, and she would demand answers we cannot safely provide." She carefully rewrapped the ancient document in protective silk, preserving it for future study when better resources might be available. "We'll need to find another source of expertise, someone outside the Tower's current structure."

With infinite care, Moiraine lifted the crystal sphere from its millennia-long resting place. Unlike the sword in Fal Dara's depths, this object was clearly meant to be touched and handled—indeed, to be used eventually, if her partial translation of the inscription was correct. As her fingers closed around its smooth surface, she felt an immediate resonance, a harmony between the access key and her ability to channel, as if the sphere somehow recognized her as a potential wielder worthy of its power.

The sensation was both thrilling and terrifying, a connection to forces that had once reshaped the world itself.

She wrapped the precious artifact in multiple layers of the finest silk before placing it in a specially padded pouch within her saddlebags, treating it with the reverence due to one of the most powerful objects ever created. The ancient message she preserved with equal care, recognizing its immense value despite her current inability to decipher its complete meaning.

As they prepared to leave the underground chamber behind, Moiraine paused for one final look around the remarkable space. "Someone maintained these protections across the centuries," she observed, her voice filled with wonder. "Renewed the wards as needed, ensured the message would be preserved until exactly the right person arrived at precisely the right moment."

"The Aiel, perhaps," Lan suggested thoughtfully. "They're said to have ancient connections to the Aes Sedai from before they became the fierce warriors we know today, from before they crossed the Spine of the World and claimed the Three-fold Land."

"It's possible," Moiraine agreed, though she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. "Much of their true history was lost during the Breaking and the chaotic years that followed, when survival mattered more than preserving records. Another mystery to be explored as our search continues to unfold."

They ascended the ancient stairs, emerging into late afternoon sunlight that slanted through the broken tower's remaining windows in golden shafts. The peaceful valley around them seemed utterly unchanged, as if untouched by the momentous revelations they had discovered in the darkness beneath the earth.

They departed from the valley as the sun began its slow descent behind the jagged peaks, leaving the broken tower and its ancient secrets behind them like a dream half-remembered. The access key rested securely in Moiraine's saddlebag, wrapped in layers of protective silk, its subtle weight a constant reminder of the awesome responsibility she had assumed. The encoded message, carefully preserved between the pages of a leather-bound journal she kept for important documents, contained mysteries that continued to elude her understanding despite hours of careful study and analysis.

They traveled until twilight painted the sky in deepening shades of purple and amber, finally making camp beside a small stream that wound like a silver ribbon through a stand of towering evergreens. The location offered multiple advantages: dense foliage overhead to hide any smoke from their fire, the gentle gurgling of water to mask small sounds, and several potential escape routes should the need arise unexpectedly.

Lan moved with the practiced efficiency, establishing their temporary home with minimal disturbance to the surrounding area. 

His hands worked steadily at building a small, nearly smokeless fire while his pale eyes constantly surveyed their surroundings, alert to any sign of intrusion or potential danger. Through their bond, Moiraine sensed his quiet vigilance, a continuous awareness that both reassured and impressed her with its unwavering intensity.

As Lan prepared a modest evening meal from their steadily dwindling supplies, Moiraine once again withdrew the ancient message, spreading it carefully on a flat stone beside their fire. The faded characters seemed to shift and dance in the flickering light, teasing her with glimpses of possible meaning before retreating back into obscurity like fish diving beneath dark water.

"The cipher changes pattern midway through the document," she murmured, more to herself than to Lan, her finger tracing sections that clearly used different encoding methods. "As if it were designed to be readable only to someone with very specific knowledge. Perhaps it requires multiple keys rather than just one."

Lan approached, offering her a wooden bowl containing a simple but nourishing stew of dried meat and wild roots he had gathered during their day's journey. "You believe it relates directly to the access key we found?"

"Almost certainly," Moiraine replied, accepting the food with a grateful nod. "The references to sealing rather than destroying suggest hard lessons learned from the Breaking, from Lews Therin's partially successful but ultimately catastrophic attempt to imprison the Dark One using only half the power intended for the task."

They ate in companionable silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts while the forest around them settled into its nighttime rhythms. Owls called to each other across the darkness, small creatures rustled through the underbrush on urgent missions, and the steady murmur of the stream provided a peaceful backdrop to their contemplation.

"We should head north from here," Lan said finally, studying the dregs of his stew as if they might contain some form of guidance. "Toward the major Borderland cities. If we're seeking someone with extensive knowledge of ancient languages and sophisticated ciphers, the great libraries of Chachin or Shol Arbela might hold the resources we need. The royal collection in Shienar is particularly famous for containing texts that date back to the earliest days after the Breaking."

Moiraine nodded absently, her mind still engaged with the puzzle of the encoded text, turning fragments over and over like pieces of a complex game that refused to reveal its rules. "Yes, that seems like our most sensible course. Though we should avoid the major cities initially, at least until we're confident the Tower isn't actively searching for us. Sierin Sedai strikes me as the type to take any Sister's unauthorized departure quite personally."

"The Borderlands have always maintained a certain practical independence from Tower politics," Lan observed with the voice of experience. "Their proximity to the Blight forces them to prioritize immediate survival over ideological considerations."

As they finished their meal and began preparing for the night ahead, the distant sound of multiple horses interrupted the forest's quiet chorus. Lan reacted with lightning speed, extinguishing their small fire with a carefully aimed handful of earth and melting into the shadows with the fluid grace of a hunting cat, his hand already resting on his sword hilt. Moiraine embraced saidar in one smooth motion, the Power filling her with its familiar warmth and dramatically heightened awareness, ready to weave whatever defensive patterns the situation might require.

The riders, three men from the sound of their voices and the rhythm of their horses, slowed as they neared the clearing where Moiraine and Lan had established their camp. They didn't actually enter the small glade, instead passing along the nearby forest path, but their conversation carried clearly in the still evening air.

"...swear I saw smoke from a campfire rising through the trees back there," one said, his voice rough with the distinctive accents of the borderlands.

"Probably just ordinary travelers," another replied, his tone dismissive of his companion's concerns. "This road sees regular traffic between the border villages, especially with spring planting season approaching and merchants moving goods."

"Speaking of travelers," the third voice added, noticeably younger than the others, "did you hear about the commotion brewing in Canluum? Three merchants arrived yesterday claiming to have seen a man channeling near the Blight border. Said the ground split open like a wound and fire shot from the cracks like blood."

"Bloody fools and their wild tales," the first voice growled with obvious disgust. "Every time lightning strikes twice in the same storm, some wool-headed farmer starts crying about male channelers. It was probably just a natural vent opening up. The ground near the Blight does all sorts of strange things sometimes, what with the Shadow's influence seeping through."

"This wasn't some ignorant farmer's fantasy," the younger voice insisted with considerable conviction. "These were Saldaean gem merchants with established reputations to protect and substantial wealth at stake. They're staying at the Gates of Heaven in Canluum, absolutely refusing to continue their journey until the matter's properly investigated. They're even offering a substantial reward for reliable information."

"Well, channeler or no channeler, I'm not venturing any closer to the Blight than absolutely necessary," the second man declared with firm resolve. "Not with the raids increasing like they have been throughout this past winter."

"The whole border region's been restless lately," agreed the first speaker. "Captain says Trolloc sightings have more than doubled compared to last year at this time. Something's definitely stirring them up, making them bolder than usual."

Their voices gradually faded as they continued down the forest path, completely unaware of the listeners hidden nearby in the shadows. When the sounds of their horses had disappeared entirely into the distance, Lan emerged from his concealment, his expression thoughtful and calculating.

"Canluum," he said quietly, his voice carrying undertones of significance. "That's not far from where we found the tower and its treasures. Perhaps three days' hard ride to the northeast, if we push our mounts."

Moiraine released her hold on saidar with some reluctance, the loss of the Power's enhancement always a small disappointment regardless of the circumstances. She remained lost in thought, carefully considering the implications of what they'd just overheard.

"A man channeling near the Blight border," she mused aloud, her analytical mind working through possibilities. "That could easily be nothing more than a natural phenomenon misinterpreted by nervous witnesses, exactly as our unknown friends suggested. Or—"

"Or it could be directly relevant to our search," Lan finished for her, already beginning to rebuild their small fire with careful, practiced movements.

Through their bond, Lan sensed the subtle shift in her thinking: the quickening pulse of new possibilities being considered, the careful weighing of risks against potential discoveries that had become second nature to her. "You're seriously considering Canluum as our next destination."

Moiraine looked down at the encoded message spread before her, then at the saddlebag containing the carefully wrapped access key to unimaginable power. "The Pattern weaves in strange ways sometimes," she said thoughtfully. "We discover an artifact and message from the Age of Legends that I cannot fully decipher, and then immediately learn of unusual events unfolding in Canluum, a city that lies directly along our planned path north to the great libraries."

"The witnesses specifically described the ground splitting and fire emerging from the cracks," Lan noted with professional interest. "Those effects are entirely consistent with earth-weaving using saidin, particularly if the channeler lacks proper training or control."

"Exactly," Moiraine agreed, her voice carrying growing conviction. "And if there truly is a male channeler in that region, we have both a responsibility and an opportunity to investigate. If he hasn't yet succumbed completely to the madness that claiming saidin brings, he deserves whatever help we can provide or at least a clean, merciful end before he becomes a danger to innocent people."

"And if he has some connection to our broader search?" Lan asked, though his tone suggested he already understood her thoughts on the matter.

"Then we would be completely remiss to ignore such a clear sign from the Pattern," Moiraine replied firmly. "Especially when fate seems to be placing this opportunity directly in our path at precisely the moment we need guidance."

She studied the encoded message once more, her finger tracing the section that mentioned "the circle made whole" with growing interest. Something about it resonated strongly with their current situation. Moiraine sat in contemplative silence for a long moment, carefully weighing their various options against the potential consequences of each choice. The new information felt too significant to be mere coincidence. In her extensive experience, such occurrences were rarely the result of simple chance.

"We'll make for Canluum," she decided finally, her voice carrying the weight of careful consideration. "But cautiously, keeping to the smaller roads and avoiding unnecessary attention. We'll observe the situation thoroughly before taking any direct action. Learn what we can about these reports, study the city's resources and opportunities, and determine whether there's any meaningful connection to our broader mission."

"And the Gates of Heaven inn?" Lan asked. "It's widely known as the finest establishment in Canluum, favored by wealthy merchants and minor nobility traveling through the region."

"A logical place to begin our inquiries," Moiraine agreed with a slight nod. "Though we'll need to establish appropriate identities and cover stories. Perhaps a minor noblewoman and her guard traveling north on family business—routine enough not to draw undue attention, but sufficient to explain our presence in such an upscale establishment."

"As you wish," Lan replied, the simple words carrying his complete commitment and trust through their bond.

"It may hold the answers we desperately need."

"Or simply more questions," Lan observed with characteristic pragmatism.

"The two often go hand in hand," Moiraine replied with a small smile. "But I've learned over the years to trust the way the Pattern guides our steps, even when the destination isn't immediately clear. This feels...significant."

As they settled for the night, taking alternating watches as had become their established custom, Moiraine found her thoughts returning repeatedly to the encoded message and its tantalizing fragments. Somewhere within its cryptic text lay information crucial to their search. Perhaps detailed instructions for using the access key properly and safely, or specific warnings about the dire consequences of misuse, or even vital guidance about the Dragon's eventual confrontation with the Dark One himself. If they could find someone capable of deciphering the complete message, it might provide the guidance they needed to avoid repeating the mistakes that had led to the Breaking of the World. The key to preventing another catastrophe might lie within those frustratingly cryptic lines, waiting for the right person with the right skills to unlock their secrets.

The road to Canluum beckoned, promising answers to some questions while undoubtedly raising others. But that was the nature of their quest. Each discovery led to new mysteries, each step forward revealed how much farther they still had to travel. 

Chapter Text

Moonlight fell in silver sheets across the ruined courtyard, illuminating broken columns and crumbling walls with an ethereal glow that seemed to breathe life into the ancient stones. The remains of what had once been a grand palace, perhaps a lord's manor or regional governor's residence from the Age of Legends, now stood as silent testimony to the Breaking that had reshaped the world three thousand years earlier. Nature had slowly reclaimed much of the structure over the intervening millennia, with vines embracing weathered stone like old lovers, trees growing through what had once been magnificent floors, and wildflowers carpeting areas that might once have been formal gardens worthy of kings.

Yet in the central courtyard, where an ornate fountain had once flowed with waters channeled from distant springs, Lanfear stood motionless as carved marble, her face upturned to the star-filled night sky. Her gown of pure white seemed to capture and amplify the moonlight itself, creating a subtle aura around her slender form that made her appear more spirit than flesh.

She lowered her gaze from the wheeling constellations, focusing instead on the small object resting on her open palm: a crystal sphere no larger than a kid's marble, yet containing complexities that would shatter ordinary minds attempting to comprehend them. Within its polished depths, images formed and dissolved like dreams half-remembered: a sword glowing with inner fire in an underground chamber, a dark-haired woman and her stern-faced companion traveling northward through mountain passes, a tower broken yet still standing after millennia of neglect and abandonment.

"So predictable," she murmured, her voice melodious despite the slight contempt it carried. "Following the path laid out for you like obedient hounds tracking a scent trail through familiar territory."

With a graceful gesture, she dismissed the swirling images, returning the crystal to a silk-lined pouch at her waist. Her movements were perfectly controlled, precise, those of someone who had mastered her physical form to a degree impossible for ordinary mortals bound by the limitations of flesh and bone.

The air behind her thickened without warning, shadows coalescing into a tall figure whose edges seemed slightly blurred, as if his very existence wasn't fully anchored to the physical world. When his concentration lapsed, his eyes occasionally flickered with flames that belonged to no earthly fire.

"They found the sword," Ishamael stated rather than asked, his cultured voice carrying undertones of ancient knowledge and barely restrained impatience.

He stepped from the deeper darkness, his form not quite fully materialized; edges blurring and shifting slightly, features occasionally rippling as if viewed through water disturbed by wind. Unlike Lanfear's solid physical presence, he existed partially in the world of dreams, able to manifest his will but not completely anchor himself to reality.

"Of course they did," Lanfear replied without bothering to turn around. "The fools who have guarded it for centuries kept it 'hidden' in the same location their predecessors chose, as if secrets can truly remain buried forever when the Pattern demands their revelation."

"And now they travel north," Ishamael continued, moving forward to stand beside her with footsteps that made no sound on the ancient stones. "To Canluum, if my carefully placed sources report accurately."

Lanfear's lips curved in a smile that held no warmth whatsoever. "Yes, drawn by perfectly timed whispers of a male channeler that just happened to reach their ears at precisely the right moment. Amazing how coincidence can be shaped by those who understand the currents of fate."

Ishamael's eyes flared with momentary flame, the light reflecting off the broken stones around them. "Your manipulations grow increasingly tiresome, Mierin. This obsession with guiding the actions of one particular Aes Sedai woman—"

"Is not your concern," Lanfear cut him off with razor sharpness, turning to face him fully. Her perfect features had hardened almost imperceptibly at his deliberate use of her long-abandoned name from the Age of Legends. "I play my assigned part in the Great Lord's grand design, exactly as you do. Our methods may differ, but our ultimate goal remains precisely the same."

"Does it?" Ishamael asked softly, his voice carrying undertones that could freeze blood. "I sometimes find myself wondering what game you truly play, Daughter of the Night. These...remarkable coincidences that continually place your influence in events surrounding the Dragon's rebirth seem rather convenient."

Lanfear laughed, and the sound was like silver bells being shattered in the darkness. "You dare speak to me of obsession? You, who have pursued philosophical certainty about the Dark One's inevitable victory across countless turnings of the Wheel? At least my focus remains practical. The Dragon must be found and properly guided. He must grow to his full power. Only then can the Great Lord's final victory be assured."

"Or your own personal ambitions fulfilled," Ishamael replied with the certainty of one who had watched her for millennia. "Do not think our master remains blind to your true desires, Daughter of the Night. Your fixation on Lews Therin hasn't diminished by so much as a fraction in three thousand years of imprisonment."

Something genuinely dangerous flashed in Lanfear's dark eyes, a glimpse of the volcanic temperament that lurked beneath her carefully controlled exterior. For a moment, the ruins around them trembled visibly, ancient stones responding to her surge of anger despite being far beyond the reach of any channeling ordinary people might detect.

"My 'fixation,' as you so crudely call it, ensures he reaches full maturity with his powers intact and properly developed," she said, her voice dangerously soft. "While your brutal approach—armies of Trollocs ravaging the Borderlands, Myrddraal stalking through civilized lands, Darkfriends hunting every male child of the appropriate age—would eliminate him before he even discovers what he truly is."

"Sometimes a scythe proves more effective than careful pruning," Ishamael replied calmly. "The Pattern has chosen its champion from among the possibilities. Our task is simply to ensure he never reaches his full potential, by whatever means prove most efficient."

"Narrow thinking," Lanfear dismissed with obvious contempt. "The Great Lord doesn't seek merely to prevent the Dragon's rise to power. He seeks something far more valuable. To turn him. To corrupt him completely. To make the champion of the Light serve the Shadow's cause instead."

They faced each other in momentary silence, two of the most powerful among the Forsaken, each pursuing the same ultimate goal through fundamentally different philosophical approaches. The tension between them hung in the night air like a physical presence: ancient, complex, rooted in rivalries and alliances that had helped shape the very outcome of the War of Power itself.

Then Lanfear smiled, and the expression transformed her face from merely beautiful to utterly captivating in ways that could drive strong men to madness.

"Your methods consistently endanger our larger strategic goals," Ishamael said finally, his voice carrying the weight of millennia. "This particular Aes Sedai grows too knowledgeable with each passing day, acquiring too many dangerous resources. First the Mantear boy's location, now this journey north following ancient artifacts like a scholar pursuing forbidden knowledge. If she continues on this current path—"

"She follows exactly the path I intend for her to follow," Lanfear interrupted with supreme confidence. "One that keeps her mind occupied with intriguing possibilities rather than dangerous certainties, that draws her attention to candidates who may seem promising but will ultimately prove irrelevant to our true concerns."

"While the real Dragon remains safely hidden from her searching," Ishamael concluded, though his expression suggested he wasn’t convinced. "Yet every false trail you lay, every direct interaction you have with these women risks revealing far more than you intend. Especially that dramatically unnecessary appearance after their encounter with Rahvin's incompetent agents."

Lanfear waved a dismissive hand as if brushing away an annoying insect. "A completely necessary demonstration of power and purpose. Rahvin's clumsy efforts to secure a meaningful power base in Andor threatened to disrupt matters of far greater importance. His agents needed to be eliminated before they could cause real damage, and our Aes Sedai friends needed a timely reminder of the larger forces currently at play."

"And the cryptic warnings you provided them? The carefully crafted hints about growing divisions among the Forsaken?" Ishamael's voice carried undertones that would have terrified lesser beings. "You tread perilously close to betraying our cause for the sake of your personal agenda."

"I reveal exactly what serves my carefully calculated purpose," Lanfear replied with perfect composure that spoke of absolute confidence. "They already suspected my identity through their own deductions. Confirming it while simultaneously demonstrating my capabilities establishes the necessary parameters for their future decisions."

The air around them grew noticeably colder as Ishamael's carefully controlled anger began to manifest physically, frost forming on nearby vegetation despite the season. "The Great Lord grows increasingly restless in his eternal prison," he said, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying ominous weight that seemed to press against the broken stones. "When he breaks free, as he inevitably will, those who have served with divided loyalty will find their ultimate reward...appropriately calibrated to their true service."

"My loyalty to the Great Lord's cause remains absolutely unwavering," Lanfear stated, meeting his fiery gaze without so much as a flinch. "My methods simply recognize that careful subtlety can accomplish what brute force consistently cannot. The Dragon must be allowed to develop his powers naturally, must be permitted to come to his full strength before the crucial moment of choice arrives."

"And you genuinely believe you can influence that choice when the time comes." It wasn't a question.

"I know I can," Lanfear replied with the absolute conviction of someone who had waited three thousand years for a second chance. "When he stands at the precipice again, as he did all those ages ago, I will be there beside him. Not the self-righteous fools who constrained and limited him before. Not the White Tower with its fear-driven manipulations and narrow-minded restrictions. Me. "

Ishamael studied her with ancient eyes that had witnessed the turning of countless Ages, the rise and fall of civilizations, the endless cycle of hope and despair that defined mortal existence. "Your obsession blinds you to larger strategic concerns, Mierin. It always has." He gestured toward the night sky, where constellations had shifted over millennia into configurations that the people of the Age of Legends would no longer recognize. "While you plot endlessly to reclaim a love that rejected you once before, the great pattern of ages unwinds inexorably toward its inevitable conclusion."

For a single instant, genuine rage transformed Lanfear's perfect features, a terrifying glimpse of the volcanic temperament that lurked beneath her controlled exterior like molten rock beneath a thin crust. The air around them thickened as she embraced saidar with enough raw force to make the ruins tremble more violently. Broken columns swayed ominously, loose stones rattled across the ancient courtyard like scattered bones.

Then, with visible effort that spoke of iron discipline, she restored her composure, the dangerous trembling subsiding as she moderated her connection to the Source. "Careful, Elan," she said with deadly softness, deliberately using his long-abandoned name from before his fall to the Shadow. "Even among the Chosen, there are certain boundaries that are best left uncrossed."

She turned away from his burning gaze, pacing across the moonlit courtyard with measured steps that spoke of barely controlled power.

Ishamael's partially materialized form solidified slightly as he focused his own considerable abilities, preparing for the possibility of direct confrontation. "Your elaborate games endanger everything we have worked toward across the centuries," he said with cold precision. "I have allowed them to continue because they occasionally prove useful to our broader cause, but my patience is not unlimited."

"Neither is mine," Lanfear responded with equal ice, the temperature around her dropping until frost began forming on the vegetation that had grown through cracks in the ancient stones. "The Great Lord sees all our efforts, measures all our successes and failures with perfect clarity. When the time finally comes for rewards and punishments to be distributed according to true service, perhaps you should consider more carefully whose approach has yielded more meaningful and lasting results."

They stood at complete impasse, two immensely powerful beings whose rivalry had spanned ages. Around them, the ruins groaned under the pressure of their confrontation, ancient stones threatening to crumble further beneath the accumulated weight of channeled power and grudges older than kingdoms.

Finally, Ishamael stepped backward, flames momentarily brightening in his eyes before gradually subsiding to their usual smolder. "Continue your manipulations if you absolutely must," he said with utmost coldness. "But understand this clearly, I will no longer make any effort to correct your mistakes or clean up the inevitable consequences of your interference. When your precious Aes Sedai acquires too much dangerous knowledge, becomes too great a threat to our carefully laid plans, I will eliminate her without consultation, warning, or hesitation."

"Fair enough," Lanfear agreed, her own volcanic anger cooling to the calculated assessment of a master strategist. "Though I suspect you'll find that particular task considerably more difficult than you currently imagine. Moiraine Damodred is far from an ordinary Aes Sedai, and her Warder is something well beyond an ordinary protector."

"All mortals fall eventually to time and circumstance," Ishamael replied with absolute certainty. "Even those who believe themselves guided by destiny and protected by fate."

With that final statement hanging in the air like a threat, he stepped backward into a shadow that seemed to deepen unnaturally around his form, his partially materialized body dissolving into the darkness until no trace remained. The oppressive pressure of his presence lingered briefly in the cool air, then gradually dissipated like morning mist beneath a rising sun.

Alone once more in the moonlit ruins, Lanfear allowed her carefully maintained expression to shift from controlled neutrality to cold satisfaction. Ishamael was dangerous, perhaps the most genuinely dangerous of all the Forsaken in his philosophical certainty and ruthless efficiency, but his absolute conviction about the Dark One's inevitable victory made him predictable in certain crucial ways. Let him believe her actions endangered their shared cause; it mattered little as long as he didn't actively interfere with her more important and delicate operations.

She withdrew a different crystal from her silk-lined pouch, larger than the viewing sphere she had used earlier, its multifaceted surface etched with symbols that predated even the Age of Legends, reaching back to eras when the world itself had been young. With delicate fingers that moved in patterns older than human memory, she traced complex designs across its carefully cut surface, murmuring words in a language no living human remembered or would ever learn.

The crystal responded to her touch and voice, glowing with an inner light that cast strange, shifting shadows across her perfect features. Within its polished depths, new images formed and swirled: Moiraine and Lan making camp for the night, their faces illuminated by flickering firelight as they discussed their next destination; the distant gates of Canluum, where merchants gathered to gossip about strange phenomena reported near the Blight; and farthest away, nearly lost in the crystal's deepest layers, three young boys in different locations across the continent: one practicing seriously with a bow in a mountain village, one trading for small trinkets in a busy market town, one working with intense concentration at a forge where sparks flew like falling stars.

"So many possibilities," Lanfear murmured, studying each image in turn with the patience of someone who had learned to think in terms of ages rather than years. "So many delicate threads to weave into the proper pattern."

She lingered longest on the image of the red-haired boy working at his forge, her expression softening into something that might have passed for genuine tenderness in a merely human face. "There you are," she whispered with something approaching maternal affection. "Growing stronger every day, developing exactly as you should, completely unaware of what awaits you. What has always waited for you, across countless turnings of the Wheel without beginning or end."

With a sigh that carried echoes of genuine emotion, perhaps the only real feeling she had allowed herself in centuries, she dismissed the swirling images and returned the precious crystal to its protective pouch with reverent care.

She returned to the exact center of the ruined courtyard, where ancient stones still bore faint traces of the ceremonial patterns that had once been inlaid there. For several long minutes, she stood perfectly motionless, her face once again upturned to the wheeling stars, as if reading patterns there that others could never see or comprehend.

Then, with a movement that flowed like water, she knelt gracefully and placed her open palm against the cracked stone beneath her feet. At her touch, the ground trembled slightly as she channeled complex weaves of Spirit and Fire deep into the earth itself, sending threads of power spiraling downward through layers of soil and rock. A soft blue glow spread outward from her hand in perfect concentric circles, pulsing with a rhythm like a great heartbeat.

Rising with the same fluid grace, Lanfear surveyed the midnight sky one final time, her dark eyes reflecting starlight like polished obsidian.

"Soon," she promised the distant constellations and the turning wheel of fate they represented. "Soon the wheel turns to its appointed hour, and all debts accumulated across the ages come due at last."

With that vow spoken to the night itself, she stepped sideways, not moving physically through mundane space but shifting between the layers of reality that most people never suspected existed, and vanished completely, leaving behind only the faintest shimmer in the air that quickly dissipated in the cool night breeze.

The ruins stood empty once more. In the distance, a nightbird called once into the darkness, received no answer from the empty stones, and fell silent. The broken remnants of ancient glory held their accumulated secrets, as they had for three thousand years, waiting patiently.

Chapter Text

The merchant's wagon rolled through the dusty streets of Far Madding, its wheels creaking in rhythm with the driver's off-key humming. To any casual observer, the woman seated beside him appeared to be exactly what she claimed, a prosperous trader in fine silks from Tear, traveling north to expand her business into the Borderlands. Her dress was well-made but not flamboyant, her jewelry valuable but not excessive, her manner pleasant but appropriately reserved for someone conducting serious commerce.

Only her eyes might have given her away, had anyone looked closely enough. They held depths that no mortal gaze should possess, darkness that spoke of knowledge and power that could remake the world.

Lanfear maintained her assumed identity with the perfection of long practice as the wagon approached the inn where she had arranged to meet her latest tool. The man driving knew her as Silvie Coporal, a silk merchant with connections throughout the southern kingdoms and a reputation for discretion in her business dealings. He had no idea that his passenger could destroy the entire city with a thought, or that she had been alive when Far Madding was nothing more than a collection of fishing huts beside a nameless lake.

"Here we are, Mistress Coporal," the driver announced cheerfully as they pulled up before one of Far Madding's more respectable establishments. "Right on time, just as you requested."

"Excellent," Lanfear replied, allowing just the right amount of satisfaction to color her voice. "Your timing has been impeccable throughout our journey." She pressed a gold crown into his weathered palm, generous enough to ensure his loyalty should she need his services again, but not so generous as to arouse suspicion or undue attention.

The man's eyes widened at the coin's weight, and his grin broadened considerably. "Always a pleasure serving quality folk like yourself, Mistress. You just send word if you need transport anywhere else."

Lanfear nodded graciously and stepped down from the wagon with practiced elegance, her silk skirts rustling softly. She watched the driver depart before turning her attention to the inn, her senses extending outward to probe the building's occupants. Most were exactly what they appeared: traveling merchants, local officials, a few minor nobles conducting family business. But on the second floor, in a room overlooking the inn's courtyard, she found what she sought.

The man waiting for her radiated the particular mixture of ambition, intelligence, and moral flexibility that had drawn her attention weeks ago. Lord Captain Dain Bornhald of the Children of the Light, young, idealistic, but with cracks in his certainty that she could exploit. More importantly, he commanded significant resources and enjoyed his father's trust, making him a perfect conduit for the carefully orchestrated chaos she intended to sow.

She made her way through the common room with the confident stride of someone accustomed to being welcomed wherever she went. A few patrons glanced her way, men appreciating her beauty, women noting her obvious prosperity, but no one paid her undue attention. 

A discrete inquiry at the front desk confirmed that "Master Byar" awaited her in room twelve, exactly as arranged. She climbed the narrow stairs with measured steps, considering once more how best to handle the conversation ahead. Bornhald was intelligent enough to be useful but proud enough to resist obvious manipulation. The approach would need to be subtle, appealing to his existing beliefs while nudging him toward actions that served her larger purposes.

She knocked softly on the door. The door opened to reveal a man in his early thirties, tall and lean with the bearing of someone bred to command. His white uniform was immaculate despite weeks of travel, and his dark eyes held the fervent certainty that made the Children of the Light both dangerous and useful to those who understood how to direct their zealotry.

"Mistress Coporal," he said formally, stepping aside to allow her entry. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting."

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Captain," Lanfear replied, noting how his jaw tightened slightly at her use of his real title. Good, he was already off balance, wondering how much she truly knew about his identity and purpose.

The room was modest but clean, with a single window that provided an excellent view of the street below. Bornhald had positioned himself where he could observe both the door and the window, standard precautions for a man conducting business he preferred to keep private.

"Your message suggested you have information that might aid the Light's cause," he said carefully, his voice carrying the formal cadence of religious fanatics.

Lanfear settled into the room's single chair with graceful composure, arranging her skirts with the precision of someone who had mastered every aspect of physical presentation. "Indeed I do, Lord Captain. Information about the greatest threat to the Light that walks among us." She paused, allowing anticipation to build. "The witches of the White Tower."

Bornhald's eyes sharpened immediately, his posture straightening with the focus of a hunting hound catching a familiar scent. "What have you observed?"

She withdrew a small leather portfolio from her traveling bag, placing it on the table between them with deliberate care. "I have witnessed things that would chill the blood of any faithful servant of the Light. Aes Sedai moving in shadows, pursuing artifacts of terrible power, consorting with those who serve darkness." Her voice dropped to a whisper filled with carefully crafted horror. "I fear they prepare for something that will doom us all."

The first document she revealed appeared to be a merchant's journal, written in a feminine hand and detailing observations made during travels throughout Andor and Cairhien. The entries described strange meetings in remote locations, midnight gatherings where robed figures exchanged mysterious packages and whispered conversations.

"Where did you acquire this?" Bornhald asked, his voice tight with controlled excitement.

"From a trading partner who died under...suspicious circumstances," Lanfear replied with perfect grief. "She had grown too curious about certain activities, asked too many questions of the wrong people." She touched the journal's cover reverently. "Her final entries speak of terror, of realizing she had stumbled upon the beginning of something unspeakable."

Bornhald studied the journal with growing intensity, analyzing the information for patterns that confirmed his deepest suspicions about the Tower's corruption. The handwriting was feminine and natural, the observations detailed enough to suggest genuine intelligence rather than fabrication.

"This witch here," he said, pointing to a name that appeared frequently in the later entries. "Moiraine Sedai. She seems central to these activities."

"Yes," Lanfear agreed with carefully calculated recognition. "My friend became particularly interested in her movements. The Blue sister travels constantly, always seeking something, always asking questions about old stories and ancient artifacts." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "There are whispers that she searches for weapons from the Age of Legends, power that could enslave nations or worse."

She withdrew another document. This one appearing to be a report written by a frightened merchant who had witnessed one of Moiraine's meetings with local scholars. The account described seemingly innocent questions about historical texts and maps, but Lanfear had crafted the narrative to suggest darker purposes lurking beneath academic curiosity.

"The pattern becomes clear when you examine her movements over time," Lanfear continued, spreading additional papers across the table. "She follows a trail of ancient knowledge, seeking to unlock secrets that were buried for good reason." Her voice carried the weight of religious conviction. "The Creator sealed away certain powers when the world was broken. Only servants of the Shadow would seek to unearth them again."

The idea of Aes Sedai seeking forbidden knowledge aligned perfectly with the Children's teachings about the Tower's corruption and the danger posed by all who wielded the One Power. Bornhald's expression darkened as he processed this information through the lens of his faith. 

"What would you have me do with this intelligence?" he asked bluntly.

"I would have you serve the Light as your conscience dictates," Lanfear replied carefully, raising a hand in a gesture of deference. "I am merely a simple merchant who happened to acquire disturbing information. You are a servant of the Light, trained to recognize and combat the Shadow's influence." She paused meaningfully. "Though I would counsel patience over hasty action. Surveillance, careful investigation, the gradual gathering of evidence. These witches are cunning and dangerous; direct confrontation might drive them underground or provoke retaliation against innocent people."

She could see his mind working, weighing the possibilities and risks. Bornhald was ambitious but not reckless, intelligent enough to understand the value of careful planning when hunting dangerous prey.

"There is another matter," she continued, producing a final set of documents from her portfolio. "Reports from the Borderlands that may relate to these activities. Witnesses speak of strange phenomena near the Blight: unnatural fires, ground splitting without earthquake, the kind of manifestations that suggest either witchcraft or worse."

The new document appeared to be a collection of witness statements and scout reports, all describing strange events near the Blight border. Taken individually, they might be dismissed as natural phenomena or exaggerated tales. Taken together and viewed through the lens of religious suspicion, they painted a picture of coordinated evil that would alarm any servant of the Light.

"The timing is significant," Lanfear observed, her voice carrying subtle urgency. "These incidents have increased dramatically in recent months, coinciding with other...developments...throughout the continent." She gestured to the documents spread between them. "I fear we may be witnessing the early stages of some great working of evil."

Bornhald absorbed this information with the focused attention of a professional soldier evaluating intelligence reports. "You believe there's a connection between the Aes Sedai activities and these Borderland incidents?"

"I believe in being prepared for multiple possibilities, gearing for the worst while hoping for the best," Lanfear replied diplomatically. "The Shadow is cunning, Lord Captain. It rarely relies on a single approach when multiple strategies might prove more effective." She gestured to the documents spread between them and allowed her voice to tremble slightly with suppressed emotion. "It would use the Tower's witches as willing tools, convincing them they serve some greater good while actually advancing darkness. How many innocents will suffer if these preparations are allowed to continue?"

She allowed silence to stretch for several moments, watching Bornhald process the implications of everything she had shared. His face showed the internal struggle between his desire for immediate action and his understanding of the need for careful strategy.

"I cannot act on this intelligence alone," he said finally. "Such matters require consultation with the Hand of the Light, coordination with other resources dedicated to combating the Shadow's influence."

"Of course," Lanfear agreed readily. "I would expect nothing less from an officer of your caliber and faith." She began gathering the documents, but left the portfolio on the table. "Consider these yours to study and share as the Light guides you. I ask only that you exercise discretion regarding their source. There are many who profit from the Tower's activities who will not welcome exposure of the truth."

"You have my word before the Light," Bornhald said solemnly, recognizing the sacred trust she was placing in him.

Lanfear rose gracefully, smoothing her skirts with practiced movements. "There is one final matter we should discuss," she said, her tone shifting to something more personal. "Should our paths cross again as you pursue your holy mission, I may be able to provide additional intelligence as situations develop. The Light demands that all faithful souls contribute what they can to the struggle against darkness."

"Such assistance would be a blessing," Bornhald replied with genuine gratitude.

"Then may the Light illuminate our path forward," Lanfear concluded with perfect piety. "I will be traveling north within the week. Business requires my presence in Kandor and Arafel. Should the Creator will our paths to cross again, I trust we can continue serving His purposes together."

They concluded their meeting with the formal courtesies appropriate to their assumed roles, but Lanfear could sense Bornhald's excitement beneath his professional composure. He now possessed documents that would seem to validate many of the Children's deepest suspicions about Tower corruption, along with intelligence about Borderland activities that would demand investigation and action.

More importantly, she had planted seeds that would grow into exactly the kind of zealous pursuit that could disrupt other operations while keeping dangerous attention focused away from her own activities. Let the Children hunt Aes Sedai shadows while she pursued the only prize that truly mattered.

That evening, in the privacy of her own room at a different inn across the city, Lanfear allowed her assumed persona to dissolve like morning mist. She stood before her window, gazing out at Far Madding's lamplight streets while her mind worked through the complex web of manipulations she had set in motion.

The documents she had provided to Bornhald were masterfully crafted, containing enough truth to be convincing while subtly misdirecting attention away from her own activities. Every word had been chosen to resonate with the Children's existing beliefs about Aes Sedai corruption and the inherent evil of channeling.

She withdrew her scrying crystal from her belongings, activating its functions with practiced ease. Her awareness spread across hundreds of miles to observe her various pieces moving across the game board of nations and kingdoms.

In Caemlyn, Rahvin continued his clumsy efforts to consolidate power, unaware that several of his most trusted advisors were actually reporting to her. His obsession with controlling Andor's throne made him predictable, and his arrogance blinded him to the subtle ways his authority was being undermined.

Further north, in lands touched by the Blight's influence, other tools moved according to her design. Darkfriends she had carefully cultivated over decades were creating exactly the kind of evidence that would draw various factions into conflict with each other rather than focusing on her true activities.

The viewing crystal showed her glimpses of Moiraine and her Warder, still traveling toward Canluum in pursuit of the carefully crafted trail she had laid for them. They would find what they sought there. Not the truth, but a version of it that would advance her purposes while keeping them occupied with matters of secondary importance.

Lanfear smiled as she dismissed the crystal's visions. Every piece was moving exactly as she intended, every player following scripts they believed they had written themselves. Outside her window, Far Madding settled into the quiet rhythms of evenings.

Chapter Text

Siuan Sanche made her way through the White Tower's labyrinthine corridors with a measured pace, her face a perfect mask of Aes Sedai serenity that revealed nothing of the tension coiling in her chest like a serpent preparing to strike. The past few days had taught her the value of invisibility. In these halls where every glance carried meaning and every word held potential consequences, being overlooked was a survival skill.

She had maintained a deliberately low profile since Seirin's ascension, neither openly supporting nor opposing the new administration's increasingly draconian measures. The message from the seventh level of the Tower had been unmistakable: the old order of relative freedom and scholarly independence had ended, and a new, far more rigid hierarchy was taking its place with ruthless efficiency.

As a relatively junior Sister who had spent much of recent months away from the Tower, she possessed the temporary advantage of being beneath immediate notice amid the larger power struggles unfolding among Sitters and Ajah heads. But that protection would last only as long as she did nothing to draw unwanted attention to herself, which made her current errand particularly dangerous.

She turned into the corridor leading to the Brown Ajah quarters, adjusting her blue-fringed shawl. Sisters absorbed in their studies glanced up only briefly as she passed, each receiving a perfectly calibrated nod, cordial enough to avoid suspicion, but not warm enough to invite conversation. At the entrance to the main archives, she paused to compose herself, squaring her shoulders and adopting the slightly preoccupied expression of someone pursuing legitimate research.

"Siuan Sedai," came Verin's soft voice from behind, and Siuan managed not to startle despite her nerves. The Brown Sister had an uncanny ability to move silently when she chose, appearing where least expected like a ghost made flesh. "You're exactly on time. How refreshing."

"Verin Sedai," Siuan replied with polite respect, grateful that her voice came out steady. "Thank you for accommodating my request on such short notice."

"Knowledge waits for no convenient moment," Verin replied with one of her vague smiles that might mean anything or nothing. "The historical parallels between Third Age trade disputes and Second Age economic disruptions preceding the Trolloc Wars are particularly fascinating, don't you think? Study room seventeen should have everything you need for such research."

They walked together through the main archives, past towering shelves of books, scrolls, and manuscripts representing thousands of years of accumulated knowledge. The familiar scent of aged parchment and binding glue filled the air like incense. Sisters and Accepted moved among the stacks with quiet purpose, searching for specific texts or making careful notes at the scattered reading tables.

No one paid them any special notice; she was just another Blue consulting with a Brown about some obscure historical matter.

Study room seventeen lay at the end of a less frequented corridor, its plain wooden door indistinguishable from a dozen others nearby. Unlike the main archive chambers, which remained open to all Sisters, the private study rooms could be sealed against interruption and, with the right weaves, against eavesdropping as well.

Verin produced a small bronze key and opened the unremarkable door with practiced ease. "I've assembled the volumes you requested for your research," she said, stepping aside with a meaningful glance. "I'll leave you to your work. Please take all the time you need."

With barely a whisper of robes brushing the floor, Verin retreated, closing the door behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence.

Once the latch caught, Siuan immediately wove a complex ward of Spirit and Air that spread across the walls, ceiling, and floor like an invisible web. Subtle enough to escape casual notice but strong enough to defeat any attempt at eavesdropping. She held her breath until the weave settled into invisibility, then moved to examine what Verin had prepared.

On the low shelf sat several volumes of genuinely relevant references, legitimate materials that would support any official explanation of her presence here. But there, as Tamra's carefully coded message had indicated, were the three specific volumes that mattered: Seasonal Tariff Adjustments in Trade Alliances by Edrin Holms, Tairen Shipping Regulations and Port Authority Charters by Marin Delas, and The Evolution of Dialectical Variations in Tairen Commerce by Aeldra Noss.

She lifted them carefully, as if they contained nothing more dangerous than dry academic theory, and carried them to the small writing desk in the corner. Setting down the first two, she focused on the third, The Evolution of Dialectical Variations in Tairen Commerce . The binding was too perfect, the leather too pristine for a book supposedly written decades ago. She could feel the subtle wrongness about it, the weight distribution that suggested hidden compartments.

Opening it to page 197 as Tamra's instructions had specified, she felt along the gutter until her thumb found a faint ridge. Pressing carefully, the pages parted with a soft sigh of released magic, revealing a narrow compartment that should have been impossible given the book's apparent thickness.

From her robes she withdrew the folded envelope Aeldra had entrusted to her, a letter sealed with the Amyrlin's personal seal, meant for her eyes only, one she hadn't dared show even to Moiraine. The broken wax spoke of secrets already revealed, plans already set in motion. She unfolded it with trembling fingers and read by the lamp's flickering light:

"Should the need ever arise, and if I no longer stand to guide our cause, know that only one I trust completely can claim this burden. The Flame guards it from all eyes until the right hand opens it. Remember, Siuan: some chains bind more surely than weaves of the Power.

Channel Air, then Spirit's thread; Let Flame heed the path I led."

Her pulse thundered in her ears. She set the letter aside with reverent care, placed both palms on the book's spine, and wove Spirit into Air in the precise pattern the verse described. Ancient wards yielded to her touch like morning mist before the sun, and the spine opened further with another soft sigh of released magic.

From the hidden hollow came a flat disk approximately six inches in diameter, wrapped in plain linen and tied with simple twine. Nothing about its outward appearance suggested its true nature or the awesome responsibility it represented, but Siuan could feel the power thrumming within it like a sleeping heartbeat.

The implications were staggering. A Binding Disk, one of the most powerful ter'angreal ever created, capable of holding even a Forsaken helpless. How had Tamra acquired such a thing? And how many other preparations had she made that remained hidden, waiting for the right moment to emerge from shadow?

Beneath the disk lay a small leather-bound notebook that appeared at first glance to contain obscure linguistic notes on ancient Tairen dialectical variations. But careful inspection revealed lines of ciphered instructions embedded within the reviews of archaic grammar, perfect cover for any casual examination, but containing vital information for those who knew how to read it.

With fingers that trembled only slightly, she concealed both the notebook and the wrapped disk beneath her dress, tucked securely against her ribs where the fit of her garments would disguise their presence. She adjusted her shawl carefully, ensuring nothing showed, then smoothed the book's spine back into place. The seam vanished as if it had never existed, the ward-runes clicked shut with finality, and only an unremarkable book remained.

Still mindful of maintaining her cover, Siuan spent the next two hours making genuine notes on Third Age economic patterns and seasonal tariff adjustments, enough detailed work to lend credence to her stated research purpose. When satisfied that she had established a proper academic trail, she re-shelved all three books exactly where she had found them, then selected two untouched volumes on related subjects and made her way back to the main archive.

At the checkout table, Verin waited with ledger and quill, her expression pleasantly scholarly. "Ah, there you are, Siuan Sedai. I trust your research proved fruitful?"

"Indeed it did," Siuan replied, laying the two selected volumes before her. "I wish to check out these volumes on Tairen shipping regulations for further study in my quarters."

Verin nodded approvingly, dipped her quill in ink, and recorded the transaction with a swift, practiced stroke. As she wrapped the volumes in brown paper with efficient movements, her tone grew subtly more serious.

"You should know," she said without looking up from her work, "Elaida has been granted special authority by the new Amyrlin, a broad mandate to investigate what she terms 'unauthorized research into dangerous prophecies and forbidden knowledge.' She's quite convinced that certain Sisters have been pursuing studies that exceed their authority." She glanced around casually, then added in a lower voice, "Moiraine's extended absence has created what Elaida considers a very suspicious situation."

Siuan's heart clenched like a fist, but she kept her expression neutral. "What do you suggest?"

"Extreme caution above all else," Verin advised, tying the paper with neat precision. "Document every aspect of your activities meticulously. Ensure that every research request has a clear, defensible academic purpose that could withstand scrutiny. And keep your Ajah head fully informed of your work." Her eyes, usually so vague and scholarly, held unexpected sharpness. "Prepare yourself for difficult choices ahead. I cannot say more, but trust no one completely, not even those who seem sympathetic."

Before Siuan could formulate a response, Verin leaned closer and added in a whisper barely audible above the archive's ambient sounds, "Tamra believed there might be...complications within the Tower itself. Be extremely careful whom you trust with sensitive information."

The warning hung in the air between them, neither requiring nor permitting further elaboration. Siuan inclined her head in understanding, any more explicit acknowledgment would be dangerous for both of them.

"Thank you, Verin Sedai," she replied formally. "Your expertise in historical research has been invaluable to my work."

Cradling the wrapped volumes against her chest like precious cargo, she slipped back into the gentle bustle of the archives as though nothing more significant than routine scholarly consultation had transpired. Yet pressed against her ribs beneath her carefully arranged shawl lay the Binding Disk, a responsibility that felt as heavy as the fate of the world itself.

As she retraced her steps toward the Blue Ajah quarters, Siuan's mind raced through the challenges. Lost in these troubling thoughts, Siuan nearly collided with Anaiya as she rounded the corner leading back toward the Blue quarters. The older Sister's quick reflexes and steady hand prevented the stack of books from tumbling to the stone floor in a disaster that would have drawn exactly the kind of attention she couldn't afford.

"Careful, Siuan," Anaiya said, her normally warm voice carrying an undertone of tension that spoke of shared concerns. "These days, it pays to watch carefully where one is going."

"Thank you, Anaiya. I was lost in thought." Siuan shifted the books in her arms, grateful for the older Sister's steadying presence. "Has something particular happened that I should know about?"

Anaiya glanced around the corridor with the practiced caution of someone who had learned to weigh every word, her lips pressed in a thin line that spoke of discretion learned through bitter experience. Her voice dropped slightly though her expression remained pleasantly neutral for any observers.

"The Amyrlin has called a special assembly for tomorrow morning," she said carefully. "The announced agenda includes discussion of 'appropriate limitations on independent research' and 'standardization of field assignments for all Ajahs.'"

Siuan's chest tightened with understanding. Both phrases were thinly veiled threats to the autonomy that individual Sisters had enjoyed for centuries, especially Blues, whose personal causes often carried them far from the Tower for extended periods. This was another step in Seirin Vayu's systematic campaign to centralize control and eliminate any possibility of independent action.

"I see," Siuan replied with matching caution. "And how does the Blue Ajah view these...proposed discussions?"

Anaiya's shoulders squared subtly, a gesture that spoke of quiet defiance beneath diplomatic language. "With appropriate concern for the implications," she said evenly, her tone giving away nothing to any casual eavesdropper.

Only as they drew closer to the Blue Ajah quarters, passing beneath the archway marked with their symbol and entering territory where rich tapestries softened the corridor's echo, did Anaiya's posture relax slightly. Once safely within their own domain, she continued in a more direct manner.

"I need your analytical skills for an urgent matter, Siuan," she said, her voice taking on the tone of someone discussing vital business. "The documentation supporting these proposed changes contains inconsistencies that I would very much like you to examine with your particular expertise. I've assembled the relevant materials in my private study. Could you review them this evening?"

"Of course," Siuan agreed without hesitation. "I'll come to you after the evening meal, once I've completed my current research tasks."

"Excellent. I'll expect you then," Anaiya confirmed, her eyes taking in the books Siuan carried. "Tairen shipping regulations? That seems an unusual focus for someone with your background."

"Sometimes the most valuable insights come from studying subjects outside one's natural expertise," Siuan replied with a slight smile. "A ship captain's daughter brings different perspectives to economic history than a scholar born to the discipline."

Anaiya nodded with obvious approval. "Well said. We all view the Pattern from different angles, after all. Though I suspect your fishing village background offers considerably more than just fresh perspective."

"The currents here in the Tower run deeper and with far less predictability than those off Tear's coast," Siuan observed, pressing forward along the corridor. "But the fundamental principles remain similar: watch the shifting patterns carefully, respect the dangerous undertows, and know when to sail directly against the prevailing wind."

"Very sound advice indeed," Anaiya agreed, adjusting her shawl like someone thinking through implications. "Until this evening, then." With a courteous nod that contained layers of unspoken understanding, she continued down the corridor toward her own chambers.

Alone again with her burden of secrets, Siuan resumed her path to her quarters, her mind working furiously through this additional complication. 

In the privacy of her chambers, Siuan laid the two borrowed volumes side by side on her polished oak desk, their leather spines gleaming softly in the warm light of the oil lamp. The quiet click as she locked her door echoed almost too loudly in the small chamber, so she reinforced it with a carefully woven ward of Spirit and Air. A second, more subtle weave traced around the keyhole itself, insurance that no curious hand could slip inside to undo her precautions.

Only then did she allow herself to remove the linen-wrapped bundle from its hiding place against her ribs. Unwrapping the Binding Disk with reverent care, she held it by its edges and turned it slowly in the lamplight, watching the ancient runes pulse with a pale, steady glow that spoke of power beyond ordinary comprehension.

Such a small thing to hold such awesome responsibility: the power to bind even a Forsaken, or any channeler who might threaten their crucial search. Yet that very promise made it an enormous liability for anyone discovered possessing it. Elaida's new mandate to root out unauthorized research would seize upon such a discovery like a starving hound on fresh meat; proof, in her suspicious mind, that Siuan and Moiraine had been meddling with forces far beyond their authority.

Her throat went dry as she weighed her limited options. She could hide it deep within her own quarters, but warded searches conducted under Elaida's expanded authority would turn every shelf, trunk, and floorboard inside out. She could attempt to take it out of the Tower altogether, but that would risk exposure on the roads; and without the Tower's protections, she would be vulnerable to any manner of Darkfriend or Black Ajah agent operating in the countryside.

No, the hiding place had to be inside the White Tower itself, yet completely invisible to all but herself. Somewhere she could access quickly when the need arose, but where no search would ever think to look.

The answer came to her as she remembered the Blue Ajah's private library and its little-used maritime section—rows of dusty charts, old shipping logs, and navigation treatises that no one had consulted in years. Surely her interest in that particular collection would never seem odd or suspicious.

Later that afternoon, between her other obligations, she had pressed her palm to a specific floorboard beneath the ninth shelf, channeling a delicate weave of Spirit and Earth to loosen the wood's grain just enough.

The narrow hollow beneath would hold both the disk and Tamra's encoded notebook perfectly, their presence undetectable to any conventional search. A second, more complex touch of Spirit and Air would reseal the board so perfectly that even examining it under direct lamplight would fail to reveal the hidden join.

She committed the encoded instructions to memory through repetition and mnemonic techniques, then locked that knowledge behind mental barriers that would resist even determined probing. Later that evening, after the dinner bells had rung and most Sisters were gathering for their evening activities, she slipped back into the Blue Ajah library's maritime alcove.

The corridor was properly quiet; most Sisters were either dining or attending to their evening studies. Siuan paused at the carved column marking the maritime section, murmured a soft weave of Air to lift the prepared board with surgical precision, and gently eased both the disk and notebook into their prepared hiding place. She laid the plank back with infinite care, sealed the joint with ward-work that would resist any detection, and ran her palm over the shelf as though merely checking for dust, leaving absolutely no sign of disturbance.

With her most dangerous burden finally secured, she tucked her shawl around her shoulders and made her way through the evening-quiet corridors toward Anaiya's study, every step measured and calm.

After securing Anaiya's door with both physical locks and privacy wards strong enough to defeat any eavesdropping attempt, Siuan examined the documents that had been carefully assembled on the polished wooden desk. Spread across its surface were Tower records, meeting minutes, and historical precedents—some clearly genuine, others obviously manufactured to support Seirin Vayu's increasingly authoritarian agenda.

She settled into the carved oak chair opposite Anaiya's position by the hearth, letting her eyes travel methodically across the array of papers with the focused attention of someone trained to spot discrepancies and inconsistencies.

"You see it, don't you?" Anaiya asked from where she sat watching Siuan's systematic analysis, firelight playing across her concerned features.

"Oh yes," Siuan confirmed grimly, tapping a particular passage in what appeared to be an official council decree. "These 'ancient precedents' cited throughout the proposal, the language patterns are completely wrong for the supposed time period. Genuine minutes from that era consistently use this formal phrasing," she traced her finger along a legitimate historical document, "whereas this obvious forgery repeats modern idioms that only entered common Tower usage within the last century."

Anaiya nodded with satisfaction, rising to lean over the desk where candlelight caught the worry lines around her eyes. "And what about this supposed Council of Twelve meeting referenced here, dated 423 NE? I've searched every archive we possess, including the Blue Ajah's private records that survived the various disasters over the centuries. No trace of any such gathering exists anywhere."

"Exactly right," Siuan agreed, her analytical mind working through the implications. "Whoever drafted these supporting documents didn't think to cross-reference our Ajah's independent records. They simply assumed no one here would possess the knowledge or motivation to spot such glaring discrepancies." She tapped another problematic section with growing indignation. "Look at these proposed restrictions on independent field research and limitations on access to certain categories of ter'angreal. These aren't general administrative reforms. They're specifically targeted constraints designed to cripple Blue Ajah field operations."

Anaiya's expression hardened with understanding. She moved to a seemingly decorative cabinet and retrieved a small mahogany box whose surface had been polished to a deep, lustrous sheen. Opening it with careful hands, she revealed an array of narrow leather strips embossed with intricate symbol-patterns that seemed to shift in the candlelight.

"When you encode your findings for our records," she said, sliding the box across the desk with deliberate care, "use these cipher keys. They're based on communication codes the Blue Ajah developed for sensitive field correspondence, complex enough that Elaida's investigators won't recognize them even if they intercept them, but straightforward for anyone properly versed in our traditional patterns."

Siuan lifted one of the strips with reverent care, tracing the tiny runes with her fingertip. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the encoding system elegant in its complexity. "Perfect," she murmured with genuine appreciation. "I'll embed the complete analysis within routine shipping manifests and trade documentation, nothing about council minutes or administrative precedents will stand out against standard maritime data and port clearance records."

Anaiya closed the box and returned it to its hiding place with practiced efficiency. "I want an absolutely clean chain of evidence if this eventually goes before the Hall of Sitters," she said quietly but firmly. "We cannot afford to appear conspiratorial or secretive in our methods, only thorough, meticulous, and completely professional in our approach."

"I understand completely," Siuan replied, leaning forward to smooth one of the more problematic documents. "Tonight, I'll finish encoding everything according to the cipher protocols. By dawn, the analysis will be indistinguishable from standard commercial correspondence; no one will suspect it carries the proof we need to expose this deception."

Anaiya inclined her head with obvious relief. "The Blue Ajah must maintain its unity and purpose when other forces seek to divide and weaken us," she said, her voice carrying steady resolve. "We serve causes greater than Tower politics or personal ambition."

As Siuan carefully gathered the various documents into her leather satchel, organizing them for the detailed analysis work ahead, Anaiya added almost casually, "Cetalia Sedai has specifically requested to speak with you tomorrow after the midday meal."

Siuan managed to keep her expression neutral despite her surprise. "Did she mention what she wishes to discuss?"

"Your skill in piercing patterns in reports and trends has impressed her greatly," Anaiya replied. "Cetalia values efficiency, analytical insight and genuine talent, regardless of how long someone has worn the shawl."

Siuan rose from her chair, feeling the subtle warmth of the privacy wards still humming protectively around them. She tucked the precious documents securely into her satchel, already planning the careful work ahead.

"Thank you, Anaiya," she said softly.

"Be vigilant above all else," Anaiya warned as Siuan moved toward the door. "These corridors grow more dangerous with each passing hour, and we cannot afford to lose anyone else to carelessness or misplaced trust."

With a final nod of understanding, Siuan unlocked the study door and slipped back into the corridor's relative quiet. Her mind was already racing through the complex work ahead.

The soft whisper of Siuan's slippers against cool flagstones was the only sound as she made her way back to her quarters through corridors painted silver by moonlight streaming through tall windows. Midnight's hush wrapped around her like a protective cloak, offering temporary sanctuary from the day's tensions and tomorrow's uncertainties.

In the privacy of her chambers, with candlelight trembling across the scattered documents on her desk, she allowed herself a single moment of vulnerability.

Her carefully maintained composure cracked just enough to reveal the tightness in her chest when she thought of Moiraine forging dangerous paths far from the Tower's protection, the flare of frustrated anger at the political games that threatened their vital mission, and the flutter of doubt at the seemingly insurmountable obstacles piling up against them like storm waves against a failing seawall.

Then she closed her eyes, drew a deep breath of the faint sea breeze that somehow found its way through her open window, and summoned the iron discipline that had carried her from a humble Tairen fishing boat to the halls of the Blue Ajah. She set those emotions aside with practiced efficiency, locked them away where they couldn't interfere with the work ahead.

Her fingers found the worn leather of her cipher materials and the stack of documents requiring careful analysis, and she settled into the methodical work of turning dangerous truths into innocuous shipping records.

Outside her window, the White Tower kept its eternal watch over a world balanced on the knife's edge between Light and Shadow. Tonight, by lamplight and in silence, Siuan Sanche chose to strengthen the Pattern's threads, turning turmoil into purpose under the watchful gaze of the moon.

Chapter Text

Siuan arrived at Cetalia Delarme's quarters precisely at midday, finding the door standing slightly open, deliberately so, she realized, almost like a test of awareness and protocol. She knocked three times in quick succession, paused, then twice more: the traditional signal that identified a Blue Sister requesting entry for serious business.

"Enter," came the clipped response from within.

The chamber that greeted her defied every expectation of typical Aes Sedai living quarters. Maps covered virtually every wall like a second skin, some marked with colored pins and others connected by strings that created complex webs linking various points across the known world. Multiple desks arranged in precise formation held towering stacks of reports, coded messages, and correspondence bearing seals from kingdoms and cities spanning the continent. The only concession to personal comfort was a single high-backed chair positioned to command a view of the entire space.

The scope was far beyond anything Siuan had expected for even a senior Sister's private workspace; this looked more like a war room than someone's study.

"Siuan Sanche," Cetalia said without looking up from an intricate diagram spread across her primary desk, her voice carrying the brisk efficiency of someone accustomed to managing complex operations. "You're punctual. Excellent. Wasted time represents lost intelligence, and we can afford neither."

"The tides don't wait for stragglers," Siuan replied, drawing on her father's sea-wisdom as she inclined her head respectfully.

Cetalia finally raised her sharp gray eyes, studying Siuan with the intensity of someone evaluating a potential tool for delicate work. "Indeed they do not. Please, take a seat here." She gestured to a section of desk that had been deliberately cleared of papers. "Not in the chair, that's mine. I need you to examine something that requires a fresh perspective unclouded by assumptions."

Siuan positioned herself where indicated, immediately noting how the arrangement gave her a clear view of the elaborate diagram Cetalia had been studying—circles representing names connected by weighted lines marked with tiny numbers and symbols that suggested some kind of communication network.

"Your recent analytical work has caught my attention," Cetalia began, her tone suggesting this was more significant than casual praise. "The pattern analysis you provided regarding Shadow movements and their coordination. Most illuminating."

Without warning, she swept aside the current diagram and unfurled a massive sheet of parchment across the desk between them. It was covered with an intricate web of symbols, numbers, dates, and interconnecting lines that seemed to pulse with hidden meaning, a social network made visible, with circles representing individuals connected by lines of varying thickness marked with timestamps and frequency indicators.

"Tell me what you see," Cetalia instructed simply, her voice carrying the weight of genuine curiosity.

Siuan studied the diagram intently, her mind immediately engaging with the puzzle like a ship's navigator reading complex current charts. "A communication network," she said after several moments of concentrated examination. "Seventy-three names, all formatted as Aes Sedai based on the notation style, with additional symbols suggesting some have Warders. The connecting lines indicate documented interactions, with thickness representing frequency of contact." She traced one set of connections with her finger. "And these numerical annotations are timestamps?"

"Precisely correct," Cetalia confirmed with obvious satisfaction. "Every documented conversation, meeting, and correspondence over the past month that we've been able to verify." She indicated three distinct clusters within the larger network. "These represent separate operational groups working on different missions. By design and necessity, they should have absolutely no overlap or interaction."

Siuan's interest sharpened like a blade being whetted. "But they do have overlap?"

"That's exactly what I need you to determine," Cetalia replied, leaning back to watch Siuan's process. "Yesterday we received disturbing reports suggesting unauthorized coordination between these supposedly isolated groups. Someone appears to be bridging what should be completely separate operations."

The intellectual challenge sparked something deep in Siuan, the same focused intensity she'd felt as a child spotting the first subtle signs of a storm system forming over seemingly calm waters. Her fingers moved across the parchment with growing confidence, tracing conversation flows and timing patterns, searching for the anomaly that would reveal the hidden connection.

Years of calculating tides, weather patterns, and shipping schedules had given her an almost intuitive grasp of complex rhythms and their disruptions. Her eyes darted between the clusters, tracking timestamps with rapid mental arithmetic that turned numbers into meaningful patterns.

"Each group maintains its own distinct communication rhythm," she murmured, more to herself than to Cetalia as she worked. "Regular meetings here, predictable check-ins there, emergency protocols that activate only under specific circumstances. But someone connects them, someone who doesn't follow any of these natural patterns."

She reached across the desk to borrow a straight edge from Cetalia's collection of tools, using it to draw invisible lines between timing markers while her breathing slowed and her mind fully engaged with the puzzle. After several minutes of intense concentration, she paused, her eyes tracing a particular timeline sequence with growing certainty.

"Not simple random overlaps," she announced with quiet triumph. "Every seventeen and a half days, approximately, a single individual contacts one member from each separate cell in a carefully staggered pattern—first one group, then two days later another, then four days after that the third group."

She began marking specific nodes on the graph with small, precise dots using a quill from Cetalia's desk. Then she traced the pattern across the entire month-long timeline, her certainty growing with each confirmed connection. "Only one person in this entire network matches this exact temporal signature." She circled a name with decisive strokes: "Jala Bandevin."

Silence stretched between them like a held breath as Cetalia studied Siuan with new intensity, the kind of examination that made her feel as though she were being evaluated for purposes far beyond this simple exercise.

"Eleven minutes," the older Sister finally said, her voice carrying notes of genuine amazement. "Remarkable. Most skilled intelligence analysts require hours to identify such a complex temporal pattern, if they find it at all."

"Intelligence analysts?" Siuan asked, feeling pieces of a larger puzzle clicking into place. The elaborate chamber setup, the complex operational diagrams, the detailed communication records that spoke of resources far beyond normal Ajah business.

Cetalia's stern expression shifted subtly, revealing layers of purpose and authority that Siuan hadn't suspected lay beneath the surface. "I should have been more direct from the beginning," she said, rising to secure the door and establish privacy wards with the practiced efficiency of someone who performed such precautions routinely. "Let me correct that oversight."

When she returned to her position, her entire demeanor had changed to something more official and significantly more serious. "I am the head of the Blue Ajah's Eyes-and-Ears network," she stated without preamble. "And I am in urgent need of a qualified assistant; someone with the analytical skills you've just demonstrated, along with the discretion, loyalty, and judgment necessary to handle extremely sensitive information."

The offer landed with unexpected weight, like a stone dropped into still water. Siuan had entered this meeting expecting a routine consultation with a senior Sister about some academic matter. Instead, she found herself standing at the threshold of the Blue Ajah's most secretive and powerful intelligence apparatus.

Cetalia moved to her primary desk and retrieved a small blue crystal ter'angreal from a locked drawer, its surface glowing with faint inner light that pulsed in rhythm with some unseen energy. "As my assistant," she continued, extending the precious artifact, "you would help manage this entire network. The position comes with full access to our communications systems, intelligence from across the known world, and certain protections against the political currents currently roiling the Tower."

Siuan stared at the crystal, understanding that it represented far more than simple advancement within the Ajah hierarchy. Such a position could provide invaluable resources for their search: secure communications with Moiraine wherever she might be, intelligence about Shadow movements across the continent, and early warning of any official investigations into their activities.

"What exactly would you require of me?" Siuan asked directly, meeting Cetalia's penetrating gaze.

"Excellence in execution, absolute discretion, and the judgment to maintain operational security while supporting our Sisters' legitimate needs throughout the field," Cetalia replied, her tone carrying the weight of long experience with such responsibilities. "The work is demanding and sometimes genuinely dangerous, but it's also among the most important service one can render to the Light's cause."

Siuan reached out and took the crystal, feeling its subtle warmth pulse against her palm like a living heartbeat. "I accept the position and its responsibilities."

"Excellent," Cetalia said with obvious satisfaction. "We begin immediately. There's no time for lengthy orientation when critical situations demand attention." She moved to spread fresh charts and intelligence reports across the desk with brisk efficiency. "First priority is resolving the Jala Bandevin situation. Your analysis confirms she's compromised the security of three separate operations. Now we must determine whether she's merely careless, genuinely corrupted, or working under someone else's direction."

As Cetalia arranged new maps, detailed reports, and communication intercepts across the workspace, Siuan realized her understanding of her own position within the Tower had shifted dramatically in the space of a single conversation. She'd thought herself a relatively minor player trying to use whatever resources came her way. Instead now, she held direct access to the Blue Ajah’s entire operational apparatus.

"One additional matter," Cetalia said, pausing in her preparations to fix Siuan with a meaningful look. "This position comes with clearance to access information about certain private operations conducted by individual Sisters that require...special discretion. I trust such knowledge would be handled with appropriate care and confidentiality."

"Of course," Siuan replied, maintaining steady eye contact while her mind raced through the implications.

"Excellent. Now, beyond the Bandevin situation, we're tracking several other concerning developments that require immediate attention." Cetalia indicated different sections of her intelligence maps. "We've detected unusual interest in specific historical records by parties operating outside our network. The pattern suggests someone conducting their own parallel search using methods similar to ours. We need to determine urgently whether they're hunting the same quarry as any of our approved operations."

Over the next hour, Cetalia outlined the full scope of Siuan's new duties: tracking unauthorized interest in ancient records, scrutinizing parallel intelligence operations, safeguarding the Blue Ajah's field activities, and maintaining the security of their most sensitive communications. Each responsibility carried weight that would have staggered her just that morning.

As the briefing concluded, Siuan felt both exhilaration and the crushing weight of new responsibility settling across her shoulders like a heavy cloak.

Chapter Text

Hours past midnight, Siuan sat alone in her quarters surrounded by documents she had no official reason to possess. Her new position as Cetalia's assistant had granted her unprecedented access to intelligence from across the continent, and she'd been systematically gathering information that had nothing whatsoever to do with her assigned duties. What she'd discovered made sleep not just impossible, but irrelevant.

Spread across her small desk were death notices from different Ajahs, collected piece by piece over the past week through careful inquiries and judicious use of her new security clearance. Each represented a Sister whose name she and Moiraine had noted, women Tamra had asked them to deliver messages to, coordinate with, or simply observe.

Though they took Tamra's warning about not seeking out the other Searchers to heart, their natural curiosity had led them to identify likely candidates through careful observation and deduction. Siuan had kept her ears open for any news about these women, telling herself it was merely prudent awareness.

Now she wished she'd remained ignorant.

Aisha Raveneos, Gray Ajah. Killed by bandits in Murandy along with both her Warders. Siuan had retrieved the official incident report by claiming she needed to cross-reference security patterns. The details troubled her deeply. An experienced Sister with two highly trained Warders, ambushed on a well-traveled road during broad daylight hours by common criminals.

Kerene Nagashi, Green Ajah . Reportedly fell from a merchant vessel into the River Alguenya and drowned despite calm weather and no apparent cause for such an accident. Siuan had obtained the shipping manifest by requesting information about water route security for the Eyes-and-Ears network. Kerene had been an excellent swimmer since childhood and was certainly capable of channeling enough Air to save herself from any accidental fall.

Valera Gorovni, Yellow Ajah . Dead of a sudden fever in Ebou Dar that had claimed her within hours despite her own considerable Healing abilities. The medical report had come through official channels that Siuan could now access for intelligence purposes. A Yellow Sister of her skill and experience dying of any fever seemed not just unlikely but virtually impossible.

Ludice Daneen, Brown Ajah . Struck by lightning in Tear during perfectly clear weather while standing in an open field with no storm clouds visible for miles. Siuan had found this report in weather prediction archives, supposedly for comparison with shipping forecast patterns. An experienced Sister killed by lightning when she could have warded herself against such a threat with trivial ease.

And finally, Meilyn Arganya, White Ajah . Found dead in her bed just three nights ago.

This last death had required no special intelligence access. It had been announced to the entire Tower with appropriate solemnity. Chesmal Emry of the Yellow Ajah had made the official pronouncement that morning, stating that Meilyn had died peacefully in her sleep with no detectable physical cause and no trace of poison in her system.

But Siuan knew better. She had arranged to meet with Meilyn at dawn to discuss certain historical research they'd both been pursuing. Meilyn had been working in the restricted archives until well past midnight, then had gone to her private study, and not her sleeping chambers. Someone had moved her body to create the appearance of natural death in bed.

Five Sisters, all with decades of experience, all from different Ajahs, all dead within six weeks of each other. The pattern was undeniable once you knew to look for it, but who else would think to connect these deaths? They weren't linked in any official capacity, shared no known missions, belonged to no common organization that appeared in Tower records.

Unless you knew about Tamra's secret search. Unless you understood that these five Sisters had been chosen specifically because of their reputations for absolute discretion and unwavering adherence to Tower law. Unless you realized they had been hunting for the Dragon Reborn.

Siuan's hands trembled slightly as she began encoding her findings using a personal cipher that only Moiraine could decipher, a system they'd developed during their novice years for sharing observations about their teachers and fellow students. The implications were staggering and terrifying in equal measure.

Someone had identified and systematically eliminated Tamra's searchers. Someone with enough knowledge to locate them across different nations, enough skill to kill them without leaving evidence that would satisfy Aes Sedai investigation, and enough access to Tower information to know about their secret mission in the first place.

Black Ajah.

The Black Ajah was no longer a rumor or theoretical threat. They were real, they were active, and they were winning.

She had to warn Moiraine, but how? Any message sent through the Eyes-and-Ears network could potentially be intercepted by the very people she needed to warn against. She couldn't trust even Cetalia completely, not when the evidence suggested infiltration at the highest levels of Tower operations.

This was information that could only be shared in person, under multiple privacy wards, far away from the Tower's potentially compromised walls. But how could she leave without drawing attention to herself or arousing suspicion about her true purpose?

A soft knock at her door made her freeze, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Who is it?" she called, quickly but quietly gathering the scattered papers.

"Anaiya," came the familiar voice. "I noticed light under your door and thought you might need company."

Relief flooded through her as she opened the door to admit her Ajah head, but more her mentor. Anaiya entered with her usual calm grace, her eyes immediately taking in the papers Siuan was hastily organizing.

"Research?" Anaiya asked with deliberate mildness.

"Just reviewing some intelligence patterns," Siuan replied.

Anaiya nodded as though this explanation satisfied her completely, but her eyes lingered thoughtfully on the documents. "Siuan, I feel I should warn you to be careful about how deeply you dig into certain subjects," she said quietly. "Sometimes knowledge brings its own very real dangers."

"I'm being as careful as I can," Siuan assured her, wondering desperately how much Anaiya might suspect or know.

"I hope so," Anaiya replied, her voice carrying genuine concern. "Because I've noticed that some Sisters have been asking questions about you lately. Nothing direct or official, just...expressions of interest in your research focus, whether it has evolved beyond general scholarly curiosity about prophetic lore and defensive measures against growing Shadow threats."

A chill ran down Siuan's spine like ice water. "What kind of Sisters have been asking?"

"I'm not entirely certain of their motives, but one conversation I overheard involved Chesmal Emry." Anaiya paused meaningfully, letting the name hang in the air. "She seemed particularly interested in whether you'd been requesting access to archives beyond standard Blue Ajah business."

Chesmal, the same Yellow Sister who had pronounced Meilyn's death natural and unpreventable. Chesmal, whose Healing skills would include intimate knowledge of how to kill without leaving physical evidence that even Aes Sedai investigation could detect.

"Thank you for the warning," Siuan said quietly, meaning it more than Anaiya could possibly know.

After her Anaiya departed, Siuan sat in darkness, thinking furiously through her limited options. Her investigation had drawn some attention, but apparently not yet enough to trigger direct action against her. She still had time to act, but she needed to be far more clever about gathering additional information.

More critically, she needed to find a way to reach Moiraine in person; the only truly safe method of sharing what she'd discovered about the systematic murder of Tamra's searchers.

Over the following days, she developed a much more subtle approach to intelligence gathering. Instead of requesting specific reports directly, she asked for broader datasets that included the information she needed only tangentially. Each piece of intelligence obtained through completely legitimate channels, each individually innocuous when viewed in isolation.

The picture that emerged proved even more disturbing than her initial analysis. The deaths followed a clear pattern of escalating boldness and sophistication. Aisha had been killed in a relatively remote location where bandits might plausibly succeed. Kerene had died in an "accident" that required careful planning and timing. Meilyn had been murdered in the very heart of the White Tower itself, her body carefully staged to appear as peaceful natural death.

Someone was testing and refining their methods, growing more confident with each success. And they were systematically working through a predetermined list.

Siuan encoded her complete findings using maritime ciphers her father had taught her years ago, creating documents that appeared to be routine shipping logs documenting fictional cargo movements. Hidden within the manifest numbers and route descriptions was a complete analysis of each death, detailed warnings about the pattern she'd discovered, and her growing suspicions about who might be targeted next.

If she was correct about the threat, she needed to find a way to warn Moiraine without exposing either of them to the hunters who had already proven their deadly efficiency. The net was closing around anyone connected to the search for the Dragon Reborn. Using her new position's resources would require a cover story sophisticated enough to fool Aes Sedai who had spent decades perfecting the arts of deception and misdirection. But she had to try. Too much depended on getting this warning to Moiraine before the hunters claimed their next victim.

The answer to her dilemma came unexpectedly several days later, delivered at dusk by a young novice whose nervous manner suggested she was carrying important communications.

The girl bowed properly and extended a folded scroll sealed with blue wax bearing the Ajah's official emblem. Siuan accepted it with appropriate dignity and watched the novice hurry away down the corridor before breaking the seal.

The message was brief but potentially perfect for her needs:

Siuan—We have reason to suspect significant ter'angreal smuggling operations through Canluum. Not occasional trinkets, but substantial artifacts being moved with deliberate concealment. I need firsthand intelligence that our regular network contacts cannot adequately provide. Report to my quarters at your earliest convenience to discuss assignment details. —C.D.

An hour later, Siuan sat across from Cetalia in her private chamber, studying a leather-bound dossier filled with hastily compiled manifests, merchant guard reports, and rough maps marking Canluum's surrounding trade routes.

"We're detecting patterns that suggest organized smuggling through major trade hubs, with Canluum appearing as a significant waystation," Cetalia explained, her voice carrying the focused intensity of someone dealing with a genuinely serious threat. "I need direct, firsthand intelligence, actual shipping manifests, passenger lists, merchant behaviors and reaction patterns that our distant contacts simply cannot assess adequately."

Siuan's pulse quickened as she realized the opportunity being presented. Canluum lay in exactly the direction she needed to travel, offering both legitimate Blue Ajah business to justify the journey and time away from the Tower's increasingly dangerous political currents.

"The problem is that any Sister traveling officially would be noticed and reported through normal channels," Cetalia continued. "We need someone who can operate completely outside Tower monitoring systems."

"You have a solution in mind?" Siuan asked, though she could already sense where this was leading.

"Belisar's merchant caravan," Cetalia replied with satisfaction. "He's a completely legitimate trader with an established reputation, currently preparing for a eastward journey that will take him directly through Canluum. He’ll make the perfect cover for you. For Tower purposes, you would be conducting a routine ter'angreal authentication for the Bandelar family, who claim ownership of a pre-Breaking artifact that requires official verification."

She withdrew additional documents from her desk—travel permits, authentication writs, and detailed instructions for maintaining cover. "You'll attach yourself to Belisar's caravan as an official Tower representative conducting legitimate business. His own merchant wards will mask your presence from our standard monitoring systems. You can investigate the smuggling situation while appearing to pursue completely routine authentication duties."

Siuan studied the proposed route carefully, her mind racing through possibilities. The caravan would take her away from Tar Valon and toward the Borderlands, potentially providing opportunities to make contact with Moiraine or at least establish secure communication channels.

"The authentication assignment is genuine," Cetalia added, producing a small ornate cylinder from a protective case. "This ter'angreal supposedly belongs to a minor Andoran noble family with historical connections to the Bandelars. Your job is to verify its authenticity and provide a written assessment, standard procedure that will satisfy any official inquiry about your purpose."

The plan was elegant in its simplicity and completely convincing in its mundane details. Most importantly, her absence from the Tower would be officially documented as routine business rather than anything that might arouse suspicion or unwanted attention.

"I understand the risks," Siuan said quietly. "Operating outside Tower wards, alone, with potential enemies who might suspect ulterior motives."

"Exactly," Cetalia confirmed. "But you'll also have opportunities to gather intelligence that could help us identify and neutralize a significant threat to Tower interests. The caravan departs in three days, will travel eastward along established trade routes, and should reach Canluum within two weeks if weather and road conditions cooperate."

Siuan accepted the assignment documents and authentication materials, feeling pieces of a larger plan falling into place. "I'll need time to study the merchant protocols and prepare appropriate cover materials."

"Of course," Cetalia agreed. "Study these shipping routes and trading customs carefully. You'll need to understand their language, their concerns, their daily routines well enough to blend in completely. Return with proof of smuggling activities, and we'll ensure this network is properly uprooted."

As Siuan gathered her new materials and prepared to leave, she felt both excitement and apprehension about the journey ahead. This assignment would take her away from the Tower's immediate dangers while providing legitimate cover for her far more important purposes.

Somewhere out there, Moiraine continued her search, unaware that death had been stalking everyone connected to their mission. Soon, if the Pattern permitted, Siuan would find a way to deliver her warning and perhaps help turn the tide in their hidden war against the Shadow. For the first time in weeks, Siuan felt she had some measure of control over which direction the tides might go.

Chapter Text

Moiraine sat cross-legged by a small campfire nestled in a clearing between the towering pines of the Borderlands, their branches reaching toward a star-filled sky like ancient sentinels keeping watch. Lan had chosen this secluded spot with his usual care, far enough from the main road to avoid casual travelers, yet close enough to reach quickly if they needed to flee. The Blight lay somewhere to the north, its corruption held at bay by the constant vigilance of Borderland soldiers who never slept easy.

The Sword's awakening in Fal Dara and their discovery at the broken tower had changed something fundamental in the Pattern around them. Moiraine felt it like a subtle pressure against her skin, a sense of events accelerating and ancient threads finally beginning to converge after centuries of patient weaving.

The flames cast dancing shadows across her tired face as she sipped tea from a dented tin cup that had seen better days. Above them, the great pines whispered secrets in the night wind, and beyond their reaching branches the stars gleamed cold as distant judgments. Dawn still lay hours away, but sleep seemed as elusive as the Dragon Reborn himself.

Across the campfire, Lan cleaned and oiled his sword with the kind of meditative attention that spoke of ritual as much as maintenance. His weathered face remained impassive in the flickering light, but their bond, still new and occasionally uncomfortable in its unexpected intimacy, hummed between them like a taut string. Sometimes she caught flashes of his thoughts and emotions before she could properly shield herself, and she knew he experienced the same unwelcome glimpses into her inner life.

"You should rest," he said without looking up from his blade, though she felt his concern through their connection like warmth from a distant fire.

Moiraine sighed, setting aside her cup and unrolling her blankets with movements that felt heavier than they should. Tomorrow they would continue northeast toward Canluum, following yet another rumor about strange happenings and unexplained phenomena. Her immediate interest lay in investigating the reports of a man who could supposedly channel, though such rumors usually proved to be nothing more than frightened peasants misunderstanding natural disasters.

She settled onto her bedding, drawing her cloak tightly around her shoulders against the night chill as she curled against the rough pine logs that served as both seat and windbreak. As fatigue finally overcame vigilance, Moiraine slipped into the borderlands of sleep, that hazy territory where conscious thought dissolved into fragments of memory and imagination.

The campfire's warmth faded, replaced by the familiar comfort of her old quarters in the White Tower's Blue Ajah wing.

Moiraine's breath caught the moment she stepped into the achingly familiar room, her chest constricting with a pain so sharp it felt like drowning. Every detail pierced through her—the pale wood floorboards worn smooth by countless barefoot mornings, the single woolen rug in midnight blue that had cushioned stolen moments of laughter, the narrow bed with its neat navy coverlet that she'd smoothed each morning for years. The writing desk by the window seemed to pulse with memory, books arranged with the same mathematical precision that had once driven her to distraction with its stubborn beauty.

Warm lamplight spilled through the doorway like liquid gold, and with it came that voice, that beloved, impossible voice pitched in the comfortable cadence of everything surrounding

"There you are. I've been searching everywhere for you."

Moiraine's heart stuttered like a bird trapped against glass. She turned to find Siuan leaning against the doorframe with casual grace, a secretive smile playing around her lips. But this wasn't the Siuan she had last seen as she rode away from Tar Valon. This was her Siuan, wild free-spirited novice of stolen nights and whispered dreams, hair cascading in dark silk waves that caught the lamplight like water, eyes bright with that reckless laughter that had always made Moiraine feel like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, exhilarated and terrified in equal measure.

"Siuan—" The name tore from her throat, half plea, half prayer, and wholly desperate. Heat bloomed behind her ribs, not gentle warmth but something fierce and consuming, spreading through her veins like wildfire. Her hands trembled at her sides. "I wasn't expecting you."

Siuan pushed off from the doorframe, and the movement was pure liquid seduction, every line of her body speaking of strength barely leashed, of promises whispered in darkness. The door clicked shut with a finality that made Moiraine's pulse spike, a deep throb of want that she felt in places recently rekindled but still feel cold, as if as having been empty for far too long.

"I've missed you." The words fell like silk against skin, Siuan's voice dropping to a register that made Moiraine's stomach clench with sudden, overwhelming need. Hunger, raw and unashamed. "I've missed the way you taste when you first wake up. The little sound you make when I kiss that spot just below your ear."

Moiraine's knees nearly buckled. "I've been...busy," she managed, but her voice cracked on the word. Her skin felt too tight, every nerve ending screaming for touch, for relief, for her .

Siuan moved closer, and Moiraine could smell her now, not the harsh soap of the Tower but something intoxicating, roses and night-blooming jasmine and something darker underneath that made her mouth water. Each step was deliberate, predatory, until Moiraine could feel the heat radiating from her skin like standing too close to a forge.

"Tonight," Siuan whispered, her breath a caress against Moiraine's throat that made her shiver from scalp to toes, "duty can burn to ash for all I care. Tonight, it's just your skin against mine." Her fingertips found Moiraine's wrist, tracing the pulse point with maddening lightness that sent electricity racing up her arm. "Just the way you arch beneath me. Just the way you say my name when you're too far gone to remember anything else."

Every trained instinct screamed at Moiraine to step back, to rebuild her walls, but the sight of that beloved face drew her forward like gravity itself. She swallowed hard, feeling fire at the base of her skull, tasting something sweet and dangerous in the air that made her thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm,  a floral scent that Siuan never wore.

"Something's different," she managed, reaching up to adjust her collar as her pulse hammered against her ribs. Siuan's eyes held a gleam too bright, too knowing, like staring into the heart of a flame. "You feel different somehow."

Siuan's smile was sin incarnate, lips parting just enough to reveal the white flash of teeth that seemed to gleam with their own light. "Perhaps I'm exactly what you need me to be," she purred, voice like honey poured over broken glass. Sweet enough to drown in, sharp enough to cut. Her fingers drifted upward, across the racing pulse at Moiraine's throat, and Moiraine's breath hitched so violently it was almost a sob.

The sound that escaped her was pure need, desperate and hungry and completely beyond her control.

Her carefully constructed walls crumbled like sand castles before the tide. Longing crashed through her, not gentle yearning but something primal and consuming, the kind of desperate desire that made her want to claw at her own skin just to feel something real. "I—" The words died in her throat as Siuan's touch sent aftershocks of pleasure racing through her nervous system.

Siuan's gaze darkened with triumph and something deeper, more dangerous. "You're exquisite," she whispered, one hand moving to frame Moiraine's face with a tenderness that somehow felt more intimate than any caress. Her thumb brushed across Moiraine's lower lip with deliberate, tortuous slowness, and Moiraine's lips parted involuntarily, a silent invitation. "You've always been mine, haven't you? In every dream, every memory, every moment you thought you were alone."

The words seemed to bypass her ears entirely, sinking directly into her blood, her bones, uncoiling every carefully maintained restraint. It would be so easy to yield, to accept this gift her dreams had conjured from loneliness and longing.

Just as Moiraine felt her resolve beginning to slip, her rational mind drowning in waves of warmth and need, an edge of wrongness pricked at her awareness like a thorn. The pale lamplight seemed to dim without cause; shadows pooled like spilled ink in the corners of the room. She noticed the candles on her desk: three impossibly tall wicks with flames that danced without giving off any heat.

Her breath caught sharply. She blinked, focusing her mind with desperate clarity and the carefully maintained mask finally shattered. She could place the scent now: jasmine, rich and cloying, nothing like the simple soap Siuan had always preferred.

"You're not her," Moiraine said softly, stepping back as the sweet façade began to ripple and dissolve around the edges. "Who are you really?"

At her words of recognition, the dream wavered like heat distortion over summer stones. The familiar walls rippled and cracked with delicate spiderweb patterns, and behind the illusion of silk and jasmine, something much darker prowled in the shadows. The warm light from the lamps took on an unnatural bluish tinge that made everything look corpse-pale.

Where Siuan had stood moments before, a different beauty shimmered like a mirage in the desert. Hair as black as midnight spilled around shoulders left bare by a gown that seemed to be cut from shadow itself; eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. Her features had sharpened into that predatory perfection she knew all too well, regarding Moiraine with amused interest and cold calculation.

Lanfear.

"Oh, Moiraine," Lanfear said, her voice honey-dark and smooth as poisoned wine. Siuan's familiar Tairen accent had vanished completely, replaced by something cultured and ancient. "Did you enjoy my little performance?" She stepped forward with movements that dripped lethal intent, the look in her eyes possessive, hungry, utterly merciless. "I could taste your relief, your desperate need for comfort and connection."

Moiraine's heart didn't just thunder, it shattered against her ribs, each beat a desperate percussion of betrayal and fury that left her breathless. Revulsion crawled up her throat like bile, warring with the stubborn echo of desire that still pulsed hot and shameful through her veins, a poison she couldn't purge. "You—" The word scraped raw from her throat, but her voice splintered on the syllable like glass hitting stone.

Lanfear's smile was pure predatory elegance, beautiful as a serpent's strike and twice as deadly. "Yes," she purred, each step forward a calculated seduction that made the air itself seem to thicken with unnatural heat. Moiraine could feel it radiating from her skin, not warmth but something fever-bright and consuming that made her own flesh burn in response. "I know exactly what you wanted to believe, little spider. That she had torn through the very fabric of reality for you. That somewhere in this endless darkness, you weren't completely, utterly alone."

One perfect hand rose like a caress and a threat combined, fingertips tracing the line of Moiraine's jaw with mockingly tender precision. The touch sent electric shocks through her nervous system, not pleasure but something darker, more complex, that made her stomach clench with unwilling heat even as her soul recoiled.

"Isn't it exquisite," Lanfear whispered, voice dropping to that honey-dark register that seemed to bypass rational thought entirely, "to be so desperately, completely wanted?"

A tremor seized Moiraine's entire body, not fear alone but something more devastating, the terrible recognition of her own hunger being weaponized against her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of false comfort, the sweetness she had almost, almost , allowed herself to taste. "Stop this," she managed, the words grinding through clenched teeth like broken glass.

Lanfear's laughter was liquid silver poured over a blade's edge, musical and utterly without mercy. "Such beautiful discipline," she murmured with genuine appreciation that somehow made it worse. "Such exquisite control. But even perfect little spiders have needs, don't they? Even the untouchable Moiraine Damodred craves someone to take the weight from her shoulders, to let her stop being strong for just one moment."

The words hit like physical blows because they rang with terrible truth. Moiraine's hand moved without conscious thought, weaving the familiar patterns of protection, blue-white threads of saidar coalescing around her fingers with desperate urgency. The ward hummed with righteous power, a barrier of Light against the encroaching darkness—

But Lanfear was faster than thought itself, faster than fear or fury. With a languid flick of her wrist, the ward didn't just break. It screamed as it died, the sound drilling through Moiraine's skull like a physical violation.

Before she could even gasp, Lanfear moved with inhuman grace, covering the distance in a heartbeat that felt suspended in amber. 

Fingers closed around Moiraine's throat, not crushing but possessive, steel wrapped in silk, ownership disguised as caress, as she was slammed back against the cold stone wall with force. The impact against the stone wall drove every molecule of air from her lungs, left her gasping like a landed fish while stars exploded behind her eyelids.

"Such feeble resistance from such a brilliant mind," Lanfear purred, her voice maintaining that honey-wine sweetness even as her grip tightened with surgical precision. Just enough pressure to make breathing work, to turn every inhale into a conscious choice. "But I can taste your longing like wine on my tongue. All that desperate hunger for connection, for someone to see past the careful masks to the woman underneath."

She leaned closer, and Moiraine could smell her, not just the cloying jasmine now but something deeper, more primal. Desire and power and corruption wrapped in beauty so perfect it hurt to look upon. The scent made Moiraine's traitorous body respond despite everything, heat blooming in places she kept locked away from the world, from herself.

Revulsion and longing crashed together in her chest like opposing storms, creating a maelstrom of sensation that left her dizzy and nauseated and shamefully, achingly aroused. She could taste the poisoned promise of it, the sweet relief of surrender, of letting someone else carry the crushing weight of destiny for just a moment.

Then Lanfear's nails curved inward, finding the tender hollow at the base of her throat, and pain exploded through every nerve ending like liquid lightning. It wasn't clean pain. It was violation and pleasure twisted together until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Her knees buckled as the sensation tore through her carefully constructed defenses, leaving her raw and exposed and wanting in ways that made her hate herself.

"You're so beautifully broken," Lanfear whispered against her ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin there with calculated intimacy that sent shivers racing down her spine. "All that discipline, all that control, but underneath you're just a woman who's been left wanting for too long." The grip around her throat tightened fractionally, turning each breath into a gift. "Let me give you what you truly crave. Let me show you how exquisite it feels to stop fighting, to just...let...go."

Moiraine's vision wavered at the edges, darkness creeping in like tide water, but with it came something else, a seductive drowsiness that whispered of relief, of peace, of never having to make another impossible choice. The temptation pulsed around her like a living thing, seeping through her pores, promising an end to the endless weight of responsibility.

Her pulse hammered beneath paper-thin skin as shame flared white-hot alongside terror. Because part of her, Light help her, part of her , wanted to give in. Wanted to stop being the woman who made the hard choices and just be someone who was wanted, desired, chosen.

But deeper than shame, deeper than the dark promise of surrender, something else burned steady and bright. Not duty this time, no something more personal, more precious. The memory of Siuan's true smile, not the perfect seduction Lanfear had crafted but the imperfect, real thing that had first stolen her breath in a dusty novice quarter. The way Siuan's eyes often blazes with pride and terror. Love that transcended any physical manipulation, any twisted promise of comfort.

Slowly, agonizingly, Moiraine forced her eyes open and met Lanfear's gaze directly. The Forsaken's eyes widened slightly; perhaps she had expected tears, or surrender, or the glassy-eyed compliance of the broken.

Instead, she found defiance burning bright as a forge-fire.

Moiraine reached deeper into saidar, drawing power through the haze of pain and unwilling arousal, through the seductive whispers of surrender. The Source came to her not as the controlled flow she was accustomed to, but as a roaring torrent of righteous fury. Threads of the One Power formed like crystal blades in her mind, weaving together into patterns that sang with protective wrath.

A sphere of pure blue-white radiance burst into existence between them, its light so brilliant it seemed to burn away shadows that had never existed, revealing the room's true nature, not the comfortable novice quarters of memory but something altogether more sinister.

Lanfear released her grip with a sharp hiss, stepping back with feline grace, but her eyes held genuine admiration now alongside the ever-present hunger.

"Clever little spider," she said, voice rich with appreciation that somehow felt more dangerous than her threats had been. "Such beautiful defiance. But you cannot maintain that focus forever." She pressed her palms against Moiraine's temples with sudden force, and power crashed through the contact like a tidal wave. "See her true misery," Lanfear whispered, her voice carrying compulsion that tried to burrow into Moiraine's mind like a parasite.

The chamber shifted and warped around them, marble and lamplight dissolving into whorls of black smoke. Moiraine's world tilted sickeningly, and suddenly Siuan stood before her, but not the vibrant woman she loved. This Siuan was broken, bloodless lips cracked with sorrow, tears of inky darkness staining white robes that hung like burial shrouds. Her beloved's face was a mask of anguish that tore at Moiraine's heart.

"Your precious Siuan," Lanfear's voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere. "Begging you to end her suffering. Would you deny her the comfort she craves?"

Pressure built against Moiraine's consciousness like massive hands trying to crush her very sense of self. The false image of Siuan's torment clawed at her resolve, demanding she surrender to make the pain stop.

But Moiraine held firm, focusing on a single point of light within herself, the core of who she was, the part that remained untouchable by any outside force. She traced protective wards around her mind, drawing on willpower honed through decades of discipline and sacrifice.

"No," she said with quiet force, her voice cutting through the illusion like a blade through silk. "This is not real. She is not here."

With tremendous effort, she wrenched her consciousness free from Lanfear's grip, channeling every scrap of power she could touch. Blades of pure light flashed outward, carving a protective cocoon around her thoughts. The nightmare vision of Siuan's suffering splintered into harmless fragments that dissolved like morning mist.

From the swirling darkness, Lanfear shaped a spear of twisted power that hissed with stolen energy. "You cling to your pathetic illusions of duty and sacrifice," she hissed, genuine anger creeping into her perfect voice for the first time.

With every fragment of will she possessed, Moiraine forced the dream to crack along its foundations. Darkness swirled around them as the false Tower room dissolved into a void of hungry shadows.

Lanfear's triumphant smile faltered as Moiraine planted her feet and let blue-white fire burn in her eyes like captured starlight. She thrust both hands forward, and her defensive ward flared into a blade of pure power that cut through Lanfear's attack like it was made of smoke.

"Not today," Moiraine rasped, pouring every ounce of her determination into those two words. "And not ever."

The pressure increased desperately, pain lancing through her temples as Lanfear fought to regain control of the crumbling dreamscape. But Moiraine's will had crystallized into something unbreakable, forged by love and duty and the absolute refusal to yield to despair.

With one final surge of defiance, the dream cracked open like an eggshell. The black mists peeled apart, and Lanfear's perfect form fractured, dissolving into motes of shadow that scattered on winds that existed only in nightmare.

Left behind was an unmistakable promise that this was far from over, that Lanfear would return with temptations far more convincing and harder to resist.

The dream shattered around Moiraine like breaking glass, fragments spinning away into nothingness.

She jolted awake beside her campfire, back pressed against cold earth, gasping for breath as if she had been drowning. Her heart hammered so fiercely against her ribs that she thought it might burst. The forest stretched silent and peaceful around her, moonlight painting the pine boughs in silver, but her body was drenched in sweat despite the cool night air. Her hands trembled as the faint tingle of warding still vibrated under her skin like an echo of power.

She rolled onto her side, clutching her cloak against her chest, and stared up at the unchanging stars. The night air was still and heavy with the scent of pine needles and dying embers. She drew several shaky breaths, trying to slow her racing pulse and sort reality from the fragments of nightmare that still clung to her consciousness.

The fire had burned down to red coals, casting barely enough light to see her immediate surroundings. Through the Warder bond, she felt Lan's immediate alertness at her distress, followed by his silent approach from his watch position at the edge of their camp.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, one hand resting on his sword hilt as his pale eyes scanned the perimeter for threats.

Moiraine sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around herself as she fought to control the trembling that seemed to come from her very bones. "Lanfear," she managed, the name tasting like ash in her mouth. "She walked my dreams again."

Lan settled beside her, maintaining respectful distance while offering the steady comfort of his presence. Through their bond, she felt his calm strength like an anchor in stormy seas. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

There was something in his voice, a careful neutrality that made her look at him more closely. She couldn't tell if it was their bond or simply his perceptive nature, but she suddenly felt exposed, as if he could see everything that had transpired in the false refuge of sleep.

Moiraine looked away quickly, heat flooding her cheeks as she became acutely conscious of their connection. Of course he had felt everything, not just her fear and anger at the intrusion, but that terrible moment of temptation, that pull toward the false Siuan, the yearning for comfort and connection that she kept buried so deep most days she could pretend it didn't exist.

"The bond is still new to both of us," she said finally, struggling to find words for something she had never expected to discuss with anyone.

Lan shifted slightly, the dying firelight catching the strong lines of his face. His expression remained carefully neutral, but she felt his discomfort mirroring her own through their connection. "It is," he agreed simply.

After a pause that stretched between them like a held breath, Moiraine spoke to the glowing coals rather than meet his eyes. "I should have shielded myself more completely against dream intrusion. Lanfear has walked my dreams before, but this time—" She trailed off, unable to put the complex emotions into words.

"She appeared as someone you trust," Lan said, his voice carrying careful understanding. "Someone important to you."

Through their bond, he could still feel the faint echo of her terror and beneath it, deeper and more troubling, the hint of something warmer and more vulnerable than fear.

"Yes," Moiraine whispered. "She appeared as Siuan at first, trying to manipulate my feelings, my longing for—" She drew her knees up to her chest, making herself smaller. "You felt my heart racing. And something else. I know you did."

Lan was quiet for a long moment, adding a small branch to the fire with deliberate care. The brief flare of renewed flame illuminated his thoughtful expression. "The Forsaken are masters of finding our weaknesses," he said finally. "Using our deepest connections against us is one of their oldest and most effective weapons."

"It wasn't all fear you felt through the bond," Moiraine said quietly, forcing herself to acknowledge what they both knew. "There was...attraction. Desire. Even knowing it was false, even sensing something wrong, part of me wanted to believe it was real."

Lan met her eyes directly, his gaze steady and without judgment. "You're human, Moiraine. You have needs, connections, feelings that even Aes Sedai training can't completely suppress. That doesn't make you weak; it makes you who you are."

The simple acceptance in his voice, the complete lack of condemnation or disgust, sent unexpected warmth through her chest. "I miss her," she admitted in a whisper. "I've always missed her. I hate being apart, the distance our duties demand. Sometimes the loneliness is like a physical ache. And Lanfear knew exactly how to exploit that."

"She made you vulnerable for a moment," Lan said gently. "But only for a moment. You recognized the deception and fought free. That takes incredible strength of will."

Moiraine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, exhaustion and relief and gratitude all tangled together. "I'm not used to someone knowing me so completely," she confessed. "The bond shows you everything, doesn't it? Every weakness, every private moment."

"It shows me who you really are," Lan replied. "And that person is worthy of respect, not judgment." He hesitated, then added with quiet sincerity, "The Warders I've known spoke of the bond as something that requires adjustment for both parties. There are techniques for maintaining some privacy within the connection, ways to shield certain thoughts and feelings. We can learn together."

Moiraine studied his face in the firelight, seeing only dignity and understanding in his expression. No mockery, no discomfort with her admission of need and longing. Just acceptance of her humanity.

"I don't regret our bond," Lan continued, his voice rough with honesty. "It's made me feel more alive than I have in years. But I need you to know that whatever passes through our connection remains absolutely private. Your secrets are safe with me."

Her throat felt tight with unexpected emotion. "Thank you," she managed. "For not making this more difficult than it already is."

"We're partners now," he said simply. "In everything. That includes understanding and accepting each other's vulnerabilities."

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, the awkwardness gradually giving way to something deeper, two souls learning to navigate an intimacy neither had expected or prepared for.

"When we reach Canluum," Lan said eventually, "I can make discreet inquiries about how other Warders manage certain aspects of the bond. Without revealing specifics, of course."

"That would be wise," Moiraine agreed, grateful for his practical approach to their situation. "And I need to strengthen my dream wards significantly. If Lanfear returns, and she will, I want to be better prepared."

Lan rose smoothly, moving to rebuild their fire with quiet efficiency. As flames caught hold of the fresh wood, casting warm light across their small camp, Moiraine felt the last of her trembling subside.

"Try to rest," he said, settling back into his watch position. "I'll keep guard against more than physical threats."

As Moiraine arranged her blankets and lay back down, she felt a complex mixture of embarrassment, gratitude, and growing respect flow between them. The bond had exposed parts of herself she kept hidden even from her own conscious thoughts, but Lan had responded with quiet dignity and unwavering support.

Perhaps this partnership would prove stronger than she had dared hope.

She closed her eyes and began weaving fresh wards around her sleeping mind, barriers against intrusion, alarms that would wake her at the first touch of foreign influence. They wouldn't stop a determined Forsaken completely, but they might buy her precious seconds to resist.

As sleep finally reclaimed her, Moiraine's last conscious thought was gratitude, for Lan's understanding, for the bond that had revealed her humanity without diminishing her strength, and for the knowledge that she was no longer facing the darkness alone.

Chapter Text

Lanfear stood suspended in the void between worlds, rage coiling through her veins like molten silver. The walls of Tel'aran'rhiod didn't just shimmer; they pulsed with her fury, reality itself flinching away from the raw force of her wounded pride. Moiraine's rejection still burned like acid in her throat, the memory of being expelled from the dream by someone with such pathetically limited training. 

The humiliation was a living thing, clawing at her composure with razored talons, demanding blood in return.

She gathered saidar to her like a lover's embrace, the currents responding to her touch with eager submission. Power flowed through her in intoxicating waves as she wove the complex patterns that would let her trace the Aes Sedai's connections back to their source. 

If Moiraine thought herself beyond reach, she would learn how very, very wrong she was.

Lanfear's smile was winter personified, beautiful , merciless, and absolutely deadly.

The silver strands of her seeking weave unfurled through the Dream like hunting serpents, stretching toward Tar Valon with predatory grace. She sought the unique signature of Siuan's sleeping mind, that fascinating blend of steel wrapped in silk, authority tempered by unexpected vulnerability. 

Layer by layer, the defenses peeled away beneath her touch: strands of Air that parted like cobwebs, ribbons of Water that dissolved at her approach, a knot of Fire she untied with contemptuous ease.

She stepped forward, anticipation thrumming through her like struck crystal—

Her foot passed through what should have been solid stone.

The sensation was wrong, fundamentally wrong, like reaching for wine and finding ash on her tongue. 

The air itself seemed to recoil at the point of breach, Tel'aran'rhiod's fabric quivering like wounded flesh. Before she could strengthen her position, an unexpected current seized her. Not her own weaving but something vast and relentless, diverting her path with the casual certainty of a riptide.

The void around her solidified with dreamlike abruptness into a vast chamber of gleaming black stone. Massive columns rose like petrified screams toward a ceiling lost in perpetual shadow, and the air itself hummed with barely contained menace. At the chamber's heart leaned a pillar of living darkness, and against it, framed by phantom light that seemed to devour rather than illuminate, stood Ishamael.

His robes were the color of absolute void, his eyes twin embers burning with the cold fire of dying stars. Reality rippled around him in nauseating waves, as though existence itself recognized his fundamental wrongness and recoiled. He watched her approach with the lazy interest of a predator that had already chosen its prey, arms folded across his chest in a gesture of supreme, infuriating confidence.

Lanfear's breath caught, not in fear, but in recognition of the trap she'd walked into so blindly.

"I sought a dream," she said, her voice dropping to that deadly quiet whisper that had preceded the fall of kingdoms, "not your rancid company." One perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched in condescension that could have frozen flame itself.

Ishamael pushed off from the pillar with liquid grace, each footfall creating ripples in the black stone as though he walked on the surface of a midnight lake. 

"Your...diversions amuse no one," he replied, cold amusement threading through every syllable like poison through wine. "Especially when you behave like a petulant child playing with toys she's too simple to understand." His smile was a blade wrapped in silk. "Events accelerate toward their inevitable conclusion while you indulge in these troublesome games. The Great Lord grows... impatient with your self-indulgence."

" My games?" Lanfear's laughter was the sound of shattering crystal, beautiful and deadly in equal measure. She drew herself up to her full height, white dress gleaming like moonlight on fresh snow, power radiating from her in waves that made the air itself taste of ozone and approaching storms. "Tell me, Betrayer of Hope, how many children have your Darkfriends butchered in the Borderlands now? How many villages burned to satisfy your crude bloodlust?" Her eyes glittered with malicious delight. "Despite all your brute-force theatrics, the Dragon still eludes your fumbling grasp."

"While your subtle manipulations yield what, exactly?" Ishamael countered, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft register that had once made kings weep. His eyes flashed with something darker than mere anger, disappointment that cut deeper than any blade. "The Aes Sedai women grow stronger, more resourceful with each passing day. Three thousand years of existence, and you've learned nothing ."

The words hit like physical blows because they rang with just enough truth to wound. Lanfear's face hardened into something that would have been breathtaking if it weren't so terrifying, perfection carved from ice and fury. "And you've forgotten what it means to serve our Lord with precision rather than mindless destruction." She took a single step toward him, and power gathered around her like a gathering storm, the air crackling with barely leashed potential. "Your way leads only to failure, as it always has."

Ishamael's smile was a terrible thing to behold, beautiful as a plague and twice as deadly. "And yet it seems the Great Lord finds my methods... preferable to your romantic delusions."

"Does he?" Lanfear's voice was silken poison, each word precisely chosen to cut. "Is that why you've been relegated to appearing in peasants' nightmares? Reduced to jumping out of shadows like some common spirit?" She circled him with predatory grace, each movement calculated to display her power, her control, her absolute supremacy. "You understand nothing of long-term strategy, nothing of the patience required for true victory."

The shadows around Ishamael didn't just darken; they writhed , condensing into tentacles of pure malevolence that reached toward her with hungry intent. The temperature plummeted until frost began forming on the black stone itself. "You overstep, Mierin ."

The name hit her like a physical blow, striking at the deepest core of her identity. For a heartbeat, her perfect composure cracked, revealing something raw and wounded beneath.

"That name died in the Age of Legends," she snarled, lifting her chin with regal defiance. Power flowed through her hands as she wove an orb of silver light so brilliant it hurt to look upon, its radiance cutting through the reaching shadows like a sword through silk. "As did any authority you presumed to have over me." The shield of silver light that sprang between them didn't just deflect his attack. It devoured it, consuming the darkness with hungry fire. "While you sow chaos without purpose, I cultivate a direct path to the Dragon's heart. I seek to bind him before he becomes a threat we cannot contain."

The chamber shuddered under the pressure of their conflicting wills, hairline cracks appearing in the black stone. From these fissures leaked crimson light that pulsed like a diseased heartbeat, as though something vast and malevolent stirred in the depths below.

"You play a dangerous game," Ishamael said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the entire chamber, echoing from surfaces that shouldn't exist. "You seek to control the Dragon, to leash him like a faithful hound and drag him toward your designs." He waved a dismissive hand that left trails of absolute darkness in the air. "I would let him run free, test him against the world's cruelties, force him to earn his place through strength alone."

Lanfear's eyes narrowed to slits of glacial fury. "And if he breaks under the pressure? If he burns the world to ash before he can take his place at our Lord's side?" She continued her stalking circle, each step stirring phantom winds that carried the scent of roses and grave earth. "Your reckless approach risks everything for the sake of your philosophical certainties."

Ishamael's ember-eyes flared brighter, casting his gaunt features in hellish relief. "Better that he stand or fall by his own hand than be weakened by your coddling. I am prepared to destroy him before he becomes a threat our Lord cannot contain."

"Short-sighted fool ," Lanfear hissed, her voice carrying the accumulated venom of three millennia. "Destroy him, and he simply returns in the next turning of the Wheel. Turn him to the Shadow, and we break the cycle forever. We become the architects of the Creator's ultimate defeat."

Ishamael's laughter was the sound of breaking glass mixed with weeping children, beautiful and horrible in equal measure. "Your arrogance truly knows no bounds, does it? Do you genuinely believe you can accomplish what the Great Lord himself failed to achieve at the moment of creation? The Dragon rejected the Shadow when the Pattern was first woven. He will do so again, and again, and again , for as long as the Wheel turns."

"Unless approached differently," Lanfear countered, her voice dropping to a purr that somehow carried more menace than any shout. "Unless offered what he truly desires instead of what you think he should want."

The temperature of the dream plummeted so rapidly that their breath became visible, frost patterns spreading across every surface in fractal designs of impossible complexity. Ishamael straightened to his full height, and for a moment he seemed less man than force of nature, entropy given form and will.

"The Pattern has chosen its Champion," he said, coldness coiling through his words like winter wind through bone, "and I will see that he earns that title through fire and blood and sacrifice. The Dragon Reborn must be forged in the crucible of absolute despair, or he will shatter when the moment of final choice arrives."

He stepped closer, and each footfall seemed to drain warmth from the very air. "You chase petty revenge disguised as grand strategy while I pursue actual victory for the Shadow." His gaze sharpened until it felt like needles of ice piercing her skull. "When the Pattern demands sacrifice, he will betray you without hesitation. Love means nothing to the Dragon, duty his only true master."

The words burrowed under her skin like parasites, finding the doubts she kept buried in the deepest vaults of her heart. But she met his stare with equal steel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

"I've indulged your obsession long enough," he continued, his tone shifting to something almost conversational—which somehow made it infinitely more threatening. "The time for subtlety has passed. I have released the Darkhounds."

Lanfear went utterly, completely still. Even her breathing stopped for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the promise of retribution that would make the Breaking seem gentle by comparison.

"You did what ?"

"Thirteen of them," Ishamael replied with evident satisfaction, savoring each word like fine wine. "Hunting not just boys of the right age, but specific targets. Including your precious Aes Sedais."

The rage that erupted from Lanfear wasn't mere anger; it was wrath given physical form, a force that made the air itself scream in protest. The chamber around them didn't just shake; it convulsed , reality struggling to contain the full fury of her unleashed power.

"You overstep ," she said, each word precisely enunciated through clenched teeth. "The Darkhounds will expose everything we've worked to build. The Pattern itself reacts to such direct interference; events will accelerate beyond our ability to guide them toward any useful conclusion."

"Good," Ishamael replied with that same cold satisfaction. "Let chaos reign supreme. When the foundations of order crumble to dust, the Great Lord's hand will reach through the weakened Pattern and reshape reality according to his will."

Without warning, without the slightest telegraph of intent, Lanfear struck. A lance of pure Spirit woven through with threads of Fire sliced through the space where Ishamael had stood, but he was already elsewhere, having shifted position with fluid grace.

"Finally," he said, sounding almost pleased as he materialized twenty paces away, "honesty between us." His eyes flared like twin suns going nova, and the shadows around him erupted into a maelstrom of hungry darkness.

The dream chamber around them rippled like water disturbed by a stone, reality struggling to contain the unleashed power of two Forsaken in open conflict. Columns twisted into impossible geometries; floors buckled and reformed into patterns that hurt to perceive directly. The ceiling darkened to absolute black, lightning without sound flashing among murals that writhed and contorted, showing faces locked in expressions of eternal torment.

With a snarl that was barely human, Ishamael struck back. Tendrils of pure nothingness lashed out, not darkness but the complete absence of existence itself, seeking to bind her, to unmake her.

Lanfear met the attack with a barrier of silver light so intense it seemed to burn holes in the fabric of the dream itself. Where nothingness touched radiance, Tel'aran'rhiod screamed in protest, the very concept of reality straining under forces that shouldn't be able to coexist.

They fought as only those trained in the Age of Legends could, with precision born of centuries of study, creativity that turned the impossible into the inevitable, and power that could reshape the fundamental laws of existence. Neither moved physically; they stood facing each other across the warping dreamscape, only their hands occasionally gesturing as they directed forces that could crack the world's foundation.

Lanfear wove complex mandalas of destruction that expanded outward like blooming flowers of annihilation. 

Ishamael countered with barriers of crystallized Air and cages of living Fire, then retaliated with weaves of Shadow itself, techniques learned directly from the Dark One during his moments of partial freedom, knowledge that predated the creation of the Wheel.

"Your way leads only to failure," she hissed through teeth clenched so tightly they should have shattered, forcing his encroaching nothingness back through sheer force of will. "The Dragon will never be yours to break, not through fear, not through pain, not through any of your crude manipulations."

"He belongs to no one," Ishamael replied, his voice maintaining that terrible calm even as the fury of his attack intensified. "He is a force of the Pattern itself, and you delude yourself if you think love can chain what duty cannot bind."

The chamber around them began to dissolve, unable to maintain coherent form under their conflict. Patches of the formless void reappeared, swallowing sections of floor and ceiling with hungry efficiency.

"I was first among the Chosen," Lanfear snarled, her voice rising to carry across dimensions. "I opened the Bore that freed our Lord from his eternal prison! And you, you who came crawling after, you presume to lecture me on his will?"

Between them materialized a fountain of impossible beauty, its waters turning to blood, then liquid fire, then to a swarm of crystalline insects that flew at Lanfear with murderous intent. She transformed them mid-flight into shards of impossibly sharp glass that reversed direction, only to watch them shatter against a wall of solid nothingness that Ishamael erected with casual ease.

"You've grown soft ," he taunted, genuine disappointment coloring his words. "The centuries have dulled your edge, Mierin. Once you could have channeled enough power to shatter mountains and boil seas. But now?" His laugh was acid poured on open wounds. "Now all you do is chase Lews Therin's shadow like a lovesick child, hoping to reclaim what was never truly yours to begin with."

With a cry of rage that shattered what remained of the chamber's coherent structure, Lanfear unleashed her full power—not the careful, controlled weaves of their sparring, but the raw, primal force that had once helped tear reality itself asunder. The silver light around her erupted into a nova that drove back the encroaching darkness, forcing Ishamael to shield his eyes against the searing brilliance.

"You know nothing of my plans," she snarled, advancing on him through the chaotic storm of their combined powers. Her beauty had become something terrible to witness: features sharp as a blade's edge, eyes bottomless wells of ancient fury that had watched civilizations rise and fall. "You see only what I allow you to see, understand only what I permit you to comprehend."

Ishamael laughed then, a sound that could freeze blood in mortal veins and make the dead weep in their graves. "As you see only what he allows you to see." He straightened despite the pressure of her assault, seeming to grow taller as his shadow stretched to impossible lengths. "The Great Lord has shown me the turning of the Wheel, Lanfear. I have gazed beyond the boundaries of time itself, witnessed the pattern of ages yet to be born and ages yet to die."

His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more weight than any shout. "I have seen your end. The Dragon will destroy you, not because I will it, not because the Pattern demands it, but because your love for him will be your undoing. As it has been in every turning of the Wheel, as it will be until the Wheel itself is broken."

" Liar ," she hissed, but uncertainty flickered across her perfect features for just an instant, long enough for him to see, to catalog, to file away for future use.

"Your obsession blinds you to reality," Ishamael continued with something that might have been genuine concern beneath his contempt. "The Pattern itself resists what you attempt. Light and Shadow, forever in opposition. This is the nature of existence. You cannot change what is ."

"Until something breaks the Wheel entirely." Lanfear's smile was winter personified, beautiful and absolutely merciless. "That's what truly terrifies you, isn't it? Not that I might fail, but that I might succeed where your philosophical certainties predict impossibility. That I might accomplish what even you consider beyond reach."

Ishamael drew himself up, shadows gathering around him like a cloak woven from the dreams of the dying. They stood now in the formless void of deepest Tel'aran'rhiod, where only the strongest wills could maintain coherent existence.

" Enough! " Lanfear's voice cracked like thunder across dimensions, and what remained of their surroundings shattered completely. Fragments of reality spun away into nothingness, leaving them suspended in absolute void. "Call back your Darkhounds. They interfere with manipulations already set in motion, delicate work that your hamhanded approach will destroy."

"No." The word fell between them with the finality of a closing tomb. "The time for half-measures died with the Age of Legends. The Shadow rises now , not in some hypothetical future where your romantic schemes finally bear fruit."

"Then we are truly opposed," Lanfear said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of inevitability. "Not just in method, but in immediate purpose. Not just in philosophy, but in action."

With that final cry of rage, she unleashed power that went beyond the One Power itself, touching something deeper, more primal. The void around them didn't just tremble; it screamed as their wills clashed directly, bypassing physical reality entirely to war in the realm of pure concept and desire.

"So it would seem," Ishamael replied, his form beginning to blur at the edges as he prepared to withdraw from the confrontation. "But remember this, Daughter of the Night, when the Darkhounds find their prey, when the Dragon stands revealed before his time, unprepared and vulnerable, your grand scheme collapses into ash. Everything you've worked to build will crumble, and you will watch it happen from whatever prison I choose for you."

"As you should remember that I am not one of your terrified disciples," she retorted, power still crackling around her like caged lightning. "Threaten me again, and you will discover that three thousand years have only sharpened my capabilities. Test me, and learn why even the Great Lord himself treats me with respect you've never earned."

Ishamael's laughter echoed across the dreamscape, a sound like breaking crystal mixed with dying hope. "Always the same, Mierin. Always believing yourself the cleverest player in a game whose rules you've never truly understood." His form dissipated further, becoming little more than a suggestion of malevolence given shape. "The game approaches its final moves. I wonder, will you realize your fundamental mistake before it destroys you, or will you die as ignorant as you've lived?"

With that, he vanished completely, leaving only a lingering chill and the faint scent of grave earth to mark his presence.

Alone in the emptiness, Lanfear stood rigid with fury so pure it was almost transcendent. The void around her trembled with the force of her rage, reality itself bending under the pressure of her unleashed will. The current that had trapped her here slackened and died, leaving her free to pursue her original purpose.

But first—

She remained motionless for several heartbeats, considering the new variables Ishamael had introduced into her carefully laid plans. Darkhounds hunting specific targets. The accelerated timeline. The need to move faster, strike sooner, accept greater risks for the possibility of greater rewards.

With renewed and deadly purpose, Lanfear began weaving complex patterns that spread outward from her position like ripples in a pond, but these ripples carried messages encoded in ways only a handful of beings in the world could interpret. Instructions for her most trusted agents. Commands that would set new plans into motion.

Plans that accounted for Ishamael's interference.

Plans that would ensure his eventual destruction.

As she worked, she remained completely unaware of the faint, flickering connection that had formed before her confrontation with the Betrayer of Hope, a tenuous thread leading back through the pathways of Tel'aran'rhiod to a sleeping mind in the White Tower.

A mind that had inadvertently witnessed everything.

A mind that now knew far more about the Forsaken's plans than any mortal was meant to survive knowing.

Chapter Text

Siuan twisted in her narrow bed like a fish caught in a net, her body fighting against bonds that existed only in her sleeping mind. This wasn't the gentle drift of normal dreams with their impossible architectures and fluid logic; this felt solid , real, a place carved from nightmare and given substance.

She found herself suspended in nothingness, surrounded by mists that moved with predatory intent. No walls, no floor, yet she wasn't falling—simply existing in a space that defied every natural law she understood. 

The mist parted occasionally like curtains drawn by invisible hands, revealing tantalizing glimpses of other places: a mountain valley where snow fell upward, a city square where shadows danced without bodies to cast them, a forest glade where the trees bled starlight.

Before she could orient herself properly, the mists began to churn with violent purpose, and gravity shifted like a living thing. She felt herself pulled, not by any physical force but by something that gripped her very essence, dragging her toward a destination she couldn't see yet somehow knew she must not reach.

Fighting the sensation only made it stronger, like struggling against quicksand. With the desperate pragmatism that defined her core, she forced herself to relax, to let the current carry her toward whatever fate awaited.

The mist cleared with the suddenness of a curtain being ripped away, revealing a vast chamber of black stone that seemed to pulse with malevolent life. Massive columns rose like petrified screams toward a ceiling lost in perpetual shadow, and the air itself thrummed with power so raw it made her teeth ache. 

Every instinct screamed at her that she didn't belong here; this was a place of ancient malice, a private domain where mortals were not meant to tread.

She tried to retreat, to tear herself back to the safety of her own dreams, but found she couldn't move. It was as if she had become less than air, an observer trapped behind glass while history unfolded before her.

"I sought a dream, not your rancid company." The voice that cut through the oppressive atmosphere was silk wrapped around a blade's edge, beautiful, deadly, and immediately recognizable.

Siuan's heart didn't just stop. It shattered against her ribs as recognition and terror crashed through her in waves. At the chamber's center stood two figures: Lanfear, unmistakable in her terrible beauty, and beside her a man whose very presence made reality flinch away in revulsion. His robes were the color of the void between stars, his eyes twin embers burning with the cold fire of entropy itself.

It could only be Ishamael. The Betrayer of Hope.

Siuan remained absolutely motionless, hardly daring to think let alone breathe, though she knew it wasn't her physical body present in this nightmare realm. If they noticed her, if they sensed her presence watching from the shadows—

The conversation that followed was like watching the world's foundation crack. Each word exchanged between the Forsaken struck her with the force of a physical blow, revealing layers of a conflict that made the Tower's political machinations seem like children's games.

The Dragon will never be yours to break.

He is a force of the Pattern itself, and you delude yourself if you think love can chain what duty cannot bind.

I have released Darkforces.

Thirteen of them.

The words burned themselves into her memory with acid clarity. Thirteen Darkhounds, hunting specific targets. And from what she overheard, Light preserve them all, Moiraine was among the hunted.

As their confrontation escalated into something that made the air itself scream in protest, Siuan felt herself becoming smaller, more insubstantial, until she was nothing but consciousness observing forces that could unmake reality itself. She watched them wield the One Power in ways that redefined her understanding of what was possible, saw them tear at the very fabric of existence like children pulling apart a toy.

When their battle finally ended and Ishamael's presence dissolved like nightmare touched by dawn, Siuan felt a sudden, violent lurch, as if the invisible tether holding her in place had snapped like an overstretched rope.

She tumbled through nothingness, the void spinning around her in nauseating spirals, until—

Siuan bolted upright in her bed with a gasp that felt like drowning in reverse. Sweat soaked her nightgown despite the cool pre-dawn air flowing through her open window, and for a moment she could only sit there, fingers clawed into her blankets, listening to the frantic percussion of her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Outside, the first pale touches of dawn were just beginning to caress the White Tower's grounds, but the darkness in her chamber felt absolute, pressing against her like a living thing.

The dream, no, not a dream. The certainty settled into her bones with the weight of absolute truth. She had been pulled into something far beyond normal dreaming, beyond even the usual experiences of Tel'aran'rhiod. Somehow, impossibly, she had become a witness to a confrontation between two of the most dangerous beings in creation.

Words they had exchanged remained etched in her mind with crystalline clarity, their voices still echoing in her ears like the aftermath of thunder.

Your obsession blinds you to reality.

The Shadow rises now, not in some hypothetical future.

Siuan swung her legs over the side of the bed, pressing her palms against her temples as though she could physically contain the enormity of what she'd witnessed. Moiraine was in mortal danger. The Forsaken themselves locked in conflict that could reshape the very nature of their war against the Light.

She stood on unsteady legs, steadying herself against the bedpost as the cool night air raised gooseflesh along her arms. The familiar weight of responsibility settled across her shoulders like a mantle made of lead. She was the only one who knew, the only one who could act on this knowledge.

Moving with the quiet urgency of someone who understood that minutes could mean the difference between salvation and catastrophe, she lit a single lamp and pulled her robe over her nightgown. The flame danced in the still air, casting writhing shadows that seemed to move with predatory intent.

She had to think, had to plan. Every second she delayed was another second closer to whatever doom the Forsaken had set in motion.

Reaching beneath a loose floorboard, she retrieved the small notebook where she recorded her most sensitive observations. Using the same cipher she and Moiraine had developed years ago, a code so personal that breaking it would require knowing not just their methods but their very souls, she began to document everything she had witnessed.

Her hand trembled as she wrote, but her words were precise, clinical. Every gesture, every inflection, every hint of the powers they wielded and the plans they harbored. When she finished, dawn had fully broken over Tar Valon, bringing with it the familiar sounds of the Tower waking to another day: novices hurrying to morning chores, Accepted preparing for lessons, normal life continuing in blissful ignorance of the shadow falling across it all.

Siuan returned the notebook to its hiding place, reinforcing the concealment with careful weaves of Spirit that would make it invisible to any but the most determined search. Then she prepared for the day with mechanical precision, her mind racing through implications and possibilities like water through a broken dam.

The journey to Canluum suddenly took on new urgency. What had been a carefully planned mission to find Moiraine, to warn her about the darkness in the Tower became even more dire. She now seemed to race against time itself— 

But first, she had other responsibilities. The Tower needed protection, even if she couldn't tell them exactly what they needed protection from.

Siuan's hand trembled as she poured herself a cup of water from the pitcher beside her bed, the liquid sloshing over the rim as fresh images of the confrontation flashed through her mind. The raw power, the casual way they had reshaped reality itself, it made every threat she'd previously faced seem like a candle compared to a wildfire.

The death of the Darkfriends paled in contrast. The thought struck her with unexpected force. 

She finished pinning her shawl with hands that barely shook, the blue fringe hanging in perfect alignment against her dress. On the surface, she appeared completely composed; inside, her determination crystallized into something harder than steel.

By midday, she had completed her preparations for departure with the focused intensity of someone preparing for battle. The merchant caravan would leave at first light, traveling eastward before turning south toward Canluum, a route that should get her tantalizingly close to where Moiraine had last been reported. If she could break away from the caravan, even for a day—

But first, there was Anaiya.

The corridors of the Blue quarters were hushed in the way that only ancient stone could be, holding secrets in their very foundations. Siuan made her way to Anaiya's study with the measured pace of someone who understood that appearing too urgent was its own form of betrayal.

The door stood open, Anaiya visible at her desk, absorbed in a sheaf of papers that probably contained a dozen different crises requiring her attention. The afternoon sun slanted through tall windows, painting everything in shades of gold and amber that should have been peaceful but somehow felt ominous.

Siuan knocked lightly on the doorframe. "Anaiya? Do you have a moment?"

Anaiya looked up, her serene expression flickering with surprise. "Siuan. I thought you'd be entirely consumed with preparations for your journey."

"I've finished the essentials," Siuan replied, stepping inside with the careful casualness of someone who knew she was about to walk a tightrope over an abyss. "But something's come up that requires your attention."

Anaiya gestured to the chair across from her desk with the sort of gesture that had probably welcomed a thousand petitioners over the years. "Come in, then. Close the door if you wish."

Siuan did so, adding a light ward against eavesdropping, nothing so obvious that it would raise suspicions, but enough to ensure their privacy. The room was a monument to organized knowledge: walls lined with bookshelves, a large map of the known world spread across a side table with small markers indicating the locations of Blue sisters on various assignments, the accumulated wisdom of decades spent in service to the Light.

"I had a...disturbing dream last night," Siuan began carefully, watching Anaiya's face for any flicker of reaction. "One that left me quite shaken."

"A dream?" Anaiya's expression remained neutral, but her eyes sharpened with the sort of interest that had made her one of the most effective intelligence coordinators in the Tower. "What kind of dream?"

"I believe someone, or something, was attempting to access my mind." Siuan met Anaiya's gaze steadily, letting just enough truth shine through to sell the partial deception. "To walk my dreams."

Anaiya set down her pen with the sort of deliberate care that suggested shifting from routine concern to potential crisis. "That's a serious claim. Are you certain?"

"Yes." Siuan kept her voice even, matter-of-fact, as though discussing an unusual weather pattern rather than a potential infiltration by forces that could reshape reality.

"I see." Anaiya clasped her hands on the desk before her, the gesture unconsciously mirroring a judge weighing evidence. "Were they successful? This dream-walker?"

"They were interrupted," Siuan said smoothly, the half-truth sliding off her tongue with practiced ease. "But the attempt itself worries me. If they tried with me—"

"They might try with others," Anaiya finished the thought, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had spent years anticipating the next crisis before it arrived. "Perhaps those with less sensitive information, but valuable nonetheless."

"Exactly." Siuan leaned forward slightly, letting urgency creep into her tone. "And it made me realize how vulnerable we might be. The Tower's wards protect against many things, but dreamwalking—" She let the implication hang like a sword over their heads.

Anaiya was silent for a long moment, her gaze turning inward as she considered possibilities that most Aes Sedai would never have to contemplate. The afternoon light caught the subtle signs of age that even channeling couldn't entirely forestall, highlighting the accumulated weight of secrets and responsibilities.

"The Aiel have dreamwalkers," she said finally, her voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone stating facts rather than drawing conclusions. "As do the Sea Folk, though they guard that knowledge more closely than most of their secrets. But neither would have reason to target Tower sisters specifically."

"There are other possibilities," Siuan said carefully, threading the needle between truth and deception with the skill of a master weaver. "Darkfriends seeking information for the Shadow. Or other threats we haven't yet identified."

A flicker of understanding crossed Anaiya's face, not full comprehension, but recognition that the currents running beneath this conversation were deeper and more dangerous than the surface suggested. She didn't ask for clarification, and Siuan didn't offer it. This was how they had always worked: sharing just enough information to act, without compromising what must remain hidden.

"What are you proposing?" Anaiya asked finally.

"We need stronger protections for our sisters' dreams. Especially those who carry sensitive information." Siuan kept her voice reasonable, professional, even as every instinct screamed at her to grab Anaiya by the shoulders and explain exactly how much danger they were all in. "And we need new protocols for our information network. If someone is attempting to access Tower secrets through our dreams, our current methods may no longer be secure."

Anaiya studied her for a long moment, the afternoon sunlight catching in her gray-streaked hair like threads of silver. "You're not telling me everything, Siuan."

"No," Siuan admitted, the truth stark and uncompromising. "But I've told you what you need to know, for now."

A faint smile touched Anaiya's lips, not amusement, but recognition of a game well played. "And that's why you'll make an excellent Sitter someday, assuming Cetalia doesn't work you to death first." She rose from her chair and moved to a cabinet against the wall with the sort of purposeful grace that suggested she'd already decided on a course of action. "There are methods to protect against dreamwalkers. Not foolproof, but better than leaving ourselves completely vulnerable."

She unlocked the cabinet with a small key and removed a slender book bound in faded blue leather, the sort of volume that looked innocuous but probably contained knowledge that could shift the balance of power across nations.

"This contains exercises to strengthen one's mental barriers," Anaiya continued, handling the book with the reverence reserved for truly dangerous knowledge. "They were developed during the Trolloc Wars, when the Shadow used dreamwalkers to infiltrate Tower defenses."

Siuan kept her face carefully neutral, though her heart quickened with something that might have been hope. "I didn't know such records had survived."

"The Blue Ajah has always been thorough in preserving knowledge that others might consider...obsolete." Anaiya handed her the book, and Siuan could feel the weight of centuries in those fragile pages. "We've learned that today's obsolete knowledge has a tendency to become tomorrow's salvation."

"Thank you." Siuan took the book, resisting the urge to open it immediately and devour its contents. "This could make all the difference."

"As for the broader concern..." Anaiya returned to her desk and pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her with the efficiency of someone who had turned crisis management into an art form. "I'll work on increasing security for our communications network, training in dream protection for our most valuable agents, and perhaps a review of our older records regarding dreamwalking threats."

"That would be prudent," Siuan agreed, relief flooding through her like cool water after a fever. Anaiya had taken the warning seriously without demanding more details than Siuan could safely provide, exactly what she'd hoped for, but more than she'd dared expect.

"It's unfortunate that you won't be here to assist with implementing these measures," Anaiya commented, dipping her pen in the inkwell with deliberate precision. "Your organizational skills would be valuable."

"I can serve the Blue better by continuing with my mission," Siuan replied, and for once the careful half-truth felt more like simple truth. "There are patterns emerging that require firsthand observation."

Anaiya glanced up, her pen pausing momentarily as she caught something in Siuan's tone. "I see. In that case, your journey becomes even more important." She resumed writing, the afternoon sun glinting off the wet ink like drops of liquid light. "Take care, Siuan. The Borderlands are never truly safe, and if your dream-walker can reach the Tower—"

"I'll be cautious," Siuan promised, rising to her feet with the sort of controlled grace that masked the trembling in her knees. "And I'll practice these techniques diligently."

"See that you do." Anaiya didn't look up from her writing, but her voice carried the weight of genuine concern. "The Blue Ajah can ill afford to lose sisters of your potential. Especially now."

Siuan recognized the dismissal for what it was, not rejection, but acknowledgment that they had both said what could be safely said. She slipped the book into her pocket, where it seemed to burn against her ribs like a coal.

"Thank you for your trust, Anaiya."

The older woman finally looked up, her expression softening just enough to reveal the person beneath the Aes Sedai mask. "It isn't trust, Siuan. It's recognition. Few sisters would have come to me with such concerns, preferring instead to handle them alone. Fewer still would have recognized the broader implications for the Ajah." She smiled briefly, and for a moment the weight of years seemed to lift from her shoulders. "Now go. You have preparations to complete and techniques to master before you leave."

Back in her own rooms, as the afternoon light began its slow fade into evening, Siuan opened the slender volume with the reverence usually reserved for religious texts. The pages were fragile with age, the ink faded to rusty brown, but the words were still legible, still powerful with the accumulated wisdom of sisters who had faced the Shadow in its previous rising.

She skimmed through the early chapters with hungry intensity, absorbing techniques for mental fortification that seemed both impossibly complex and desperately necessary. As she read, her mind kept returning to what she had witnessed in Tel'aran'rhiod, the casual way the Forsaken had torn reality apart, the implications of their conflict for everything the Tower stood for.

Thirteen Darkforces, hunting specific targets.

Including Moiraine.

Siuan closed the book and moved to her window, where the evening sun was painting the Tower grounds in shades of gold and amber. How many other threats moved unseen in those lengthening shadows? How many pieces were already in motion on a board far larger and more deadly than she had ever imagined?

Drawing a deep breath that tasted of roses and the approaching storm, Siuan Sanche returned to her preparations. This war might be fought in whispers and shadows long before it ever reached the battlefield. And in such conflicts, information, and the careful wielding of partial truths, might prove to be the most valuable weapons of all.

Time was running out, and the darkness was closing in from all sides.

Chapter Text

As the first pale light of dawn settled over the White Tower like a blessing turned curse, Siuan dressed with the methodical precision of someone preparing for war. Each garment was chosen not just for appearance but for what it could conceal. The muted blue travel gown that whispered "respectable scribe" while its hidden pockets could hold secrets that might topple kingdoms. Her small silver penknife nestled against her ribs like a lover's promise, both practical writing tool and last resort. 

Everything else of vital importance was tucked away in places that would require intimate knowledge of her body to find, including the slender book of dream protections that seemed to pulse with its own warmth against her spine.

The preparations had been thorough enough to satisfy a spymaster. Every document supporting her cover identity bore the subtle imperfections that marked genuine bureaucracy rather than careful forgery. Her letters of introduction carried seals that would pass even close inspection. The travel permission filed with the Tower Guard struck that perfect balance between vague enough to deflect curiosity and specific enough to appear legitimate.

She cast one final look around her quarters, memorizing details she might never see again. Everything valuable was now either with her or hidden so well that only another Blue sister would think to look for it. The Binding Disk remained in its hiding place beneath the maritime section's floorboard, waiting like a patient spider for her return.

If she returned.

Siuan dismissed the thought with ruthless efficiency. Self-doubt was a luxury she couldn't afford, not when Moiraine's life hung in the balance.

The Tower's eastern gate loomed before her as she crossed the courtyard, her travel pack a familiar weight against her shoulders. The earliest morning light caught the white stone, painting it with the pale gold of new beginnings that felt more like endings. Few sisters were about at this hour, and those she passed were too preoccupied with their own concerns to do more than nod in greeting.

As she walked, Siuan felt eyes on her like a physical weight. Through peripheral vision sharpened by years of navigating Tower intrigue, she caught the flicker of movement at an upper window, someone watching with the focused intensity of a predator studying prey. She didn't need to look directly to recognize the watcher: Elaida, her presence at such an early hour as deliberate as a blade between the ribs.