blue_ajah | (no subject)

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Moiraine's chambers in the House of Arch are well appointed and tasteful.

Still, to a discerning eye, it is apparent from the lack of personal touches that they are a guest residence and not a place where she stays enough to have become truly comfortable.

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"Tarmon Gai'don."

Her voice is flat.

"Tarmon Gai'don, on whatever scale, and you went alone?"

She'll never convince Nynaeve she is not mad, now.

"You're as bad as Rand bloody al'Thor!"

Moiraine's eyes narrow.

"It is not as though I was precisely expecting it," she informs them, a little tightly.

"You won."

It's not a question. (Or, at least, any question is not yes or no.)

She is, after all, here to talk about it.

Nynaeve's stare is still flat and more than a little bitterly angry.

Moiraine might have died.

Again.

Nynaeve will not have that.

"Precisely? What do you mean by 'precisely'?"

It pays to be careful of an Aes Sedai's word choice, after all.

Nynaeve is learning that very well indeed.

"I mean what I have said," she replies, levelly. "I will not deny that I expected there might be some difficulty-- but I did not expect this."

A pause, and a nod to Lan.

"Yes. We won."

This time, goes unsaid.

Ordinarily, at about this point in the visit, Lan would be dropping unsubtle hints that Moiraine should go sleep as soon as the tea was done.

Not right now.

Not with another world's Last Battle newly won.

He says nothing, but his head shifts slightly, and his eyes are cold and narrowed. The question -- how? -- is clear.

Nynaeve merely yanks on her braid, several times in rapid succession.

She is not quite spitting in outraged irritation, but it is close.

For her part, she is too tired to be as careful of Nynaeve's temper or Lan's silent questions as she might otherwise be.

"Light send that we may all be so lucky, in our own world."

Dark eyes meet Nynaeve's, and hold.

"Although there is something you, in particular, should know. It appears that there is a way to Heal death."

Nynaeve's scowl darkens.

"Light send--"

Then she pauses, brown eyes gone wide.

"What? Can--How? How was it done? Did you see? Might you duplicate it?"

Damn it, woman, tell her!

Lan is listening. Very closely indeed.

"It was-- she would call it a 'wizardry,' I believe," Moiraine says quietly. "Nita Callahan. It was she who died, and was brought back, somehow, through the efforts of two others there-- and after she was restored to her body, I was able to Heal her with more conventional means."

She shakes her head, slightly, and the look in the dark eyes is distant.

"I would have sworn it was hopeless, before. I believed it was."

Nynaeve's mouth tightens into a thin line.

"It may yet be, if we cannot find those other two and mimic what they did."

She does not look at all pleased by this fact.

"Though regardless, I will do what I can to see that such a thing does not come to pass."

Even if she has to kill Alivia herself.

Light grant it does not come to that.

She does not tell Nynaeve that she had not actually meant Rand's situation, but Nita's. Instead, the Aes Sedai lets her silence on that score imply agreement.

After all, there are some secrets Moiraine still keeps-- from everyone.

"I know that you will," she murmurs. "And I know who they are, as well; if Nita herself cannot elaborate, I will help you find them. They frequent this place as well, you see... and it is possible to work linked with those of their power, after a fashion."

It's hope. Not much, but more than they've had.

Lan is still stony and grim. And silent, listening to both Aes Sedai.

Nynaeve's eyes narrow again.

Her attention, it would seem, has been soundly diverted from the topic-at-hand.

Then she almost visibly pulls herself up short.

"We will speak of this later, you and I, Moiraine."

"If you insist," she replies, tranquilly.

Dark eyes are filled with exhaustion, and she looks very small and fragile in the silk dressing gown, but her voice is clear and strong.

"I do."

Nynaeve's reply is firm, and her gaze on Moiraine is critical and assessing.

"And I think, given that you are home safe, now, that Lan and I should go, and leave you to sleep. You need it."

"You do."

Lan is not EXACTLY saying so you're going to, right? Right.

If the subject of this conversation were less important, or Moiraine seemed more inclined to be stubborn about the matter, he would be.

"I will not argue that," she says, a little dryly. Moiraine neglects to point out that she was sleeping when they arrived.

Carefully, she stands, and gestures for them to precede her to the portrait.

"Light illumine and protect you both."

"And you, Moiraine."

Nynaeve stands, hands smoothing down her skirts.

She most definitely does not mutter 'you bloody well need it' as she heads to the portrait.

She is not that kind of woman.

Of course she's not.

"Light illumine you, Moiraine Sedai."

It takes a certain amount of talent to discreetly hover while being politely escorted, but Lan manages it. He has had a great deal of practice.

A light touch to the portrait's frame, and he and Nynaeve disappear from the room.

Moiraine sighs wearily and turns away from the portrait, then looks through the door toward her bedroom, where Raven lies sprawled out across her bed.

She shakes her head, with a faintly amused smile, and goes back to the small sofa instead.

Soon afterward, the Aes Sedai is curled up there under a coverlet, sound asleep.

Eventually Raven stirs, nose scrunching up as he wakes.

There is no Moiraine.

Heaving a huge, put-upon sigh, he heaves himself out of bed, tiny child's feet padding softly on the floor.

His mouth twists in wry amusement as he looks down on her, curled as she is on the couch.

"You, I think, are a very silly woman."

Then, abruptly taller, he slips his arms underneath her and heaves.

Not that she is so very heavy.

It is the work of a moment to deposit her on her bed, tucking the covers firmly around her.

Then he resettles himself in the chair, humming softly.

His sister needs all the sleep she can get.

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