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Feb. 6th, 2005 06:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_ajahAfter leaving Meg and the others downstairs, Moiraine glides into her room and hesitates for a moment. The sweet scent of naphalot is strong, here, but she does not glance at the flowers in their glass dish; instead, she goes to the table and sits down there, studying two blue flowers in a waterglass along with a sprig of greenery, entwined with a scarlet spike of blossom.
It is hard, very hard, to care, to keep resisting, and not to simply succumb and allow the strength of the emotions across the bond to suffuse her mind entirely, remaking her into a pale mortal reflection of the Lord of Nightmare. Harder still to remember a time when it was not so, particularly now -- her memories of Morpheus are weaker than ever. Weakened is not gone, however, and she has had some respite; and so the Aes Sedai uses long years of training and experience to force her mind to some clarity as she reaches out to brush her fingers over bright red amaranth wrapped around green rosemary. "Unending remembrance, to never forget," she whispers.
She is aware that there may be little time left, and of the acute danger that she is in, along with the rest of the bar. "I do not understand you. I shall some day." It is threat and promise together, she knows; in the end he will not be denied, and he would see her destroyed before losing her.
Moiraine pulls the waterglass with its flowers to the edge of the table, where it will be the first thing she sees when she wakes. The scent of apples seems stronger, perhaps somehow enhanced by the crisp green.
But here is all the sweet of dreams,
The grace of prayer, the boon of rest,
The spirit of old songs and loves
Dwells in this garden blossom-blest.
Here would I linger for a space,
And walk herein with memory;
The world will pass me as it may
And hope will minister to me.
It is hard, very hard, to care, to keep resisting, and not to simply succumb and allow the strength of the emotions across the bond to suffuse her mind entirely, remaking her into a pale mortal reflection of the Lord of Nightmare. Harder still to remember a time when it was not so, particularly now -- her memories of Morpheus are weaker than ever. Weakened is not gone, however, and she has had some respite; and so the Aes Sedai uses long years of training and experience to force her mind to some clarity as she reaches out to brush her fingers over bright red amaranth wrapped around green rosemary. "Unending remembrance, to never forget," she whispers.
She is aware that there may be little time left, and of the acute danger that she is in, along with the rest of the bar. "I do not understand you. I shall some day." It is threat and promise together, she knows; in the end he will not be denied, and he would see her destroyed before losing her.
Moiraine pulls the waterglass with its flowers to the edge of the table, where it will be the first thing she sees when she wakes. The scent of apples seems stronger, perhaps somehow enhanced by the crisp green.
But here is all the sweet of dreams,
The grace of prayer, the boon of rest,
The spirit of old songs and loves
Dwells in this garden blossom-blest.
Here would I linger for a space,
And walk herein with memory;
The world will pass me as it may
And hope will minister to me.
