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Jan. 14th, 2006 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_ajahThe battles in and around Caemlyn have escalated.
In a small secluded room, isolated at the end of a corridor in a remote part of the palace, "Syrenne" has succumbed at last to a desperate need for a few hours' rest. And yet, for the first time in months, her dreams are anything but restful.
The Pattern itself seems to shiver, and the Aes Sedai moans softly in her sleep.
The world is burning, Moiraine Damodred Aes Sedai.
Fire. She can see fire in her dreams, lightning bolts flashing from a cloudless sky into dark armies, as buildings begin to burn behind them. Mad howls surge from their twisted forms in an incoherent coughing roar of rage, and thousands of Trollocs surge toward their enemies.
Rand al'Thor stands at a window, his hands clenched on the sill -- not moving, not moving, and even asleep Moiraine screams wordlessly, helpless to do anything.
The tolling of a brazen bell echoes over everything and she seems to hear the sibilant hissing of the Aelfinn above her head.
The two must become one. Death is promised at Tarmon Gai'don.
The window shatters, and Rand's hands come up in front of him. Fire blooms among the attacking armies, fire blasts from his fingertips, and Trollocs explode and die howling as blood and flesh shower everywhere.
By the hundreds they fall, then by the thousands, as lighting strikes and fire rises, coloring the world in death and destruction--
The world is burning.
She jerks awake, both hands pressed over her mouth to stifle her own scream, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. "No," Moiraine whispers. "It cannot be -- I have never had the Talent of Dreaming--" Except, of course, that she has had dreams like this before, twenty years and more ago. And yet, this feels to her not like a dream only, however; she almost expects to hear the whisper of paper, the dry rasping of turning pages.
In the stillness, she hears something else instead. Someone is moving outside, coming toward her small room. Moiraine barely has time to scramble from the cot and slip into the shadows to the side of a wardrobe before the door opens.
Reanne Corly enters first, moving with a strange staggering gait, and followed by another of the Kin, a woman Moiraine knows vaguely by sight and only as Lyrene. The Aes Sedai flattens herself against the wall as Lyrene gloats,
"You are too stubborn, all of you-- anyone with sense would have fled by now. But if we have to kill you all one by one, still it will be done and you will be no less dead-- and the Great Lord will reward me for my loyalty!"
Reanne makes a strangled noise, a small choking sound, and Moiraine realizes that what she is witnessing is murder. As the feel of saidar prickles over her skin, the Aes Sedai moves-- but not quickly enough, not quite.
Still, given the advantage of surprise, it does not last long.
Soon, Moiraine stands over Reanne's fallen form, looking down at it dispassionately. Lyrene's body has already been burned to ash and dispersed, and she rubs absently with her free hand at her wounded, blackened shoulder, badly charred by the traitor's sole successful strike.
"I am sorry that I was not able to save you," she murmurs, "and yet if I had been able, there would have been far too many explanations needed. The Wheel weaves. Light illumine you where you have gone, and may you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand."
"You will be found soon enough, I am certain, with the residues of saidar that resonate in this room -- but I must not be. Not like this."
With a small, weary sigh, the Aes Sedai opens a gateway and steps through.
In a small secluded room, isolated at the end of a corridor in a remote part of the palace, "Syrenne" has succumbed at last to a desperate need for a few hours' rest. And yet, for the first time in months, her dreams are anything but restful.
The Pattern itself seems to shiver, and the Aes Sedai moans softly in her sleep.
The world is burning, Moiraine Damodred Aes Sedai.
Fire. She can see fire in her dreams, lightning bolts flashing from a cloudless sky into dark armies, as buildings begin to burn behind them. Mad howls surge from their twisted forms in an incoherent coughing roar of rage, and thousands of Trollocs surge toward their enemies.
Rand al'Thor stands at a window, his hands clenched on the sill -- not moving, not moving, and even asleep Moiraine screams wordlessly, helpless to do anything.
The tolling of a brazen bell echoes over everything and she seems to hear the sibilant hissing of the Aelfinn above her head.
The two must become one. Death is promised at Tarmon Gai'don.
The window shatters, and Rand's hands come up in front of him. Fire blooms among the attacking armies, fire blasts from his fingertips, and Trollocs explode and die howling as blood and flesh shower everywhere.
By the hundreds they fall, then by the thousands, as lighting strikes and fire rises, coloring the world in death and destruction--
The world is burning.
She jerks awake, both hands pressed over her mouth to stifle her own scream, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. "No," Moiraine whispers. "It cannot be -- I have never had the Talent of Dreaming--" Except, of course, that she has had dreams like this before, twenty years and more ago. And yet, this feels to her not like a dream only, however; she almost expects to hear the whisper of paper, the dry rasping of turning pages.
In the stillness, she hears something else instead. Someone is moving outside, coming toward her small room. Moiraine barely has time to scramble from the cot and slip into the shadows to the side of a wardrobe before the door opens.
Reanne Corly enters first, moving with a strange staggering gait, and followed by another of the Kin, a woman Moiraine knows vaguely by sight and only as Lyrene. The Aes Sedai flattens herself against the wall as Lyrene gloats,
"You are too stubborn, all of you-- anyone with sense would have fled by now. But if we have to kill you all one by one, still it will be done and you will be no less dead-- and the Great Lord will reward me for my loyalty!"
Reanne makes a strangled noise, a small choking sound, and Moiraine realizes that what she is witnessing is murder. As the feel of saidar prickles over her skin, the Aes Sedai moves-- but not quickly enough, not quite.
Still, given the advantage of surprise, it does not last long.
Soon, Moiraine stands over Reanne's fallen form, looking down at it dispassionately. Lyrene's body has already been burned to ash and dispersed, and she rubs absently with her free hand at her wounded, blackened shoulder, badly charred by the traitor's sole successful strike.
"I am sorry that I was not able to save you," she murmurs, "and yet if I had been able, there would have been far too many explanations needed. The Wheel weaves. Light illumine you where you have gone, and may you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand."
"You will be found soon enough, I am certain, with the residues of saidar that resonate in this room -- but I must not be. Not like this."
With a small, weary sigh, the Aes Sedai opens a gateway and steps through.
