[pfsb] the mirrors of the wheel

[blue_ajah]

The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and all things are part of the Pattern. There is little that she can do now but wait, guard against events worsening as best she can, and watch.

As a result, Moiraine is in the bar this evening, musing over her thoughts with a cup of tea at hand and a slender, leather-bound journal open to a blank page before her.

Comments

[blue_ajah]

“Surely you are aware that is an encouragement to ask,” she murmurs, before taking a sip of her own wine.

“Is, perhaps, a connection with wolves one of the other effects?”

[bialy_wilk]

He shrugs at her statement, then again at her question. "Only in the sense that I'm a product of the School of the Wolf," he tells her. "Instead of Cat, Griffin. Any of the others."

There's a beat, before he adds: "And it's a nickname. White Wolf. Something they call me. Why?"

[blue_ajah]

She makes an intrigued sound and takes another sip of wine. “In the world where I was born, those who manifest the golden eyes are often called Wolfbrothers.”

[bialy_wilk]

"Manifest?" He sets his goblet down, but keeps hold of it.

All of this is feeling especially strange after the job he'd just completed. "Not made?"

[blue_ajah]

She shakes her head, very slightly. “It is an old gift, an old power. Inborn, from what is known of it, which is not much.”

[bialy_wilk]

He shakes his head right back at her. "We have witchers. Werewolves. Never heard of anything like that."

[blue_ajah]

“I am familiar with werewolves from this place,” Moiraine tells him. “But I have not met a witcher, until you.”

[bialy_wilk]

"Probably for the best. Even the world that made us doesn't generally like having us around."

He lifts his wine for another swallow. "So your wolfbrothers aren't werewolvbes?"

[blue_ajah]

She tilts her head a little to the side, considering him. “Why is that?”

“And it is difficult to say, exactly.” More than he may yet realize. “There are certain similarities, and it is not unknown for the man to lose himself in the wildness of the wolf. But the physical transformation that seems to be characteristic of those I have encountered here is not known in that way in the world where I was born.”

[bialy_wilk]

He hums, low in his chest, at her answer, and sips long and slowly at his wine before setting it back down.

"I'm a mutant," he says, blunt. "All witchers are. They made monsters to fight monsters. No surprise they wind up hating us, too."

[blue_ajah]

“People often hate and fear what they do not understand,” the Aes Sedai murmurs. “Or what is different.”

She taps one finger absently against the side of her glass. “To fight monsters?” Her glance flicks to the sword hilt visible over his shoulder, then to the shivering amulet of a wolf’s-head at his throat. “With weapons, Power, or both?”

[bialy_wilk]

"If you can call what we use power, sure. Both."

He studies her a moment later, then leans forward to unbuckle his swords, sliding both from his back to rest against the table. It's a little more comfortable to sit that way. "Parlor tricks compared to a real magician."

[blue_ajah]

“It is not always how much power one wields, but how skilled they are in the weaving of it,” she counters.

[bialy_wilk]

He snorts at that, but there's an amused glint in his golden eyes. "Pretty sure the real magicians I know would say that's not a factor with me."

Yen would, anyway. Even if she doesn't mean it.

[blue_ajah]

Moiraine takes another sip of her wine, then smiles at him over the glass. “Oh?” she asks, her tone inviting him to elaborate. “Why is that?”

[bialy_wilk]

Sorceresses and their smiles. "The Signs we use require different skills," he tells her. "Meant to be quick. Easy to use in battle."

He lifts a hand, makes the sign of Igni, allowing a small flame to bloom in his hand, flickering like a tiny heart. "Can't, for example, heal up gashes from a werewolf's claws."

His yellow eyes are steady on her. "Or affect old scars."

[blue_ajah]

“Would that I could heal such an old injury permanently,” she says, watching the flame dance in his hand the way the stylized flame of Tar Valon does in its renditions. Coincidence, that he should have chosen such an example, or something more?

All things are part of the Pattern. Moiraine glances up at him, meeting his steady golden gaze without hesitation or evasion. “But that lies beyond my skill, I am afraid, although I can relieve discomfort for a time. Newer wounds are easier.”

[bialy_wilk]

He drops the Sign, allowing the little flame to burn out, and lowers his hand. "Appreciated the help with the gashes," he says. "I'm used to the knee."

If the Isle of Avalon couldn't heal it, what could? "So where do your skills lie?"

[blue_ajah]

She gives a very slight shrug. “I am not at my strongest when working with Earth and Fire. Beyond that, it is a matter of the weave.”

[bialy_wilk]

He has no context for what her strongest looks like, and suspects that's why she'd answered how she had.

"Weave. That's what you call your magic?"

[blue_ajah]

“It might be better to say that is how I use it,” she explains. “I am Aes Sedai. I channel saidar, the One Power, drawn from the True Source, which is the very force of Creation itself. There are five powers that comprise the One Power - earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. To combine these in useful configurations is to weave. Some might call these configurations spells, I suppose, instead of weaves.”

[bialy_wilk]

Sorceresses. Always getting caught in the details. Pedants, every one of them. He listens, logging it all away and trying not to think about how Yen would latch right onto all of this. Magic and weaving. Sources of power.

Except Moiraine had said the true Source. His eyes narrow, thoughtful. "This Source," he says. "It ever take human form?"

[blue_ajah]

Absolute, stunned shock flashes in the depth of her eyes before she lowers her gaze to the wineglass, thinking as quickly as she can. It will be too much to hope that he will have missed her surprise. So be it.

“Why do you ask?”

[bialy_wilk]

Seems he's struck a nerve. "Just sounds familiar."

Familiar enough, anyway. Wearyingly so. For a second, he spares some pity for whatever poor sap the people in her world might be chasing. "I take it there's something to the question, for you."

[blue_ajah]

“It is complicated to answer, you see,” she murmurs. “And I may speak no word that is not true. What do you mean, familiar?”