Chapter Text
The sun has not yet crawled over the ridged mountain range in the East as Moiraine climbs up the uneven slope of a hill. Behind her, at its foot, last preparations are made in the Wise One’s camp where the wounded will be tended to today. Under the steely eyes of Sorilea, Bair and the other Wise Ones, an army of gai’shain are scurrying around, cutting long strips of bandages, stoking fires, lining pots with water next to them, mixing ointments. Moiraine will join them in a moment, entrusted with those that can’t simply be stitched together or bandaged, though she hopes it takes a while for her services to be needed.
Rand has attempted to hide it, and not very well at that, but she knows he was secretly relieved she would stay here. Far from the thick of battle to Heal the injured. The decision was not made freely. Her Oaths forbid her from using the One Power against anyone other than Darkfriends and Shadowspawn unless her life or Lan’s is at stake. And as reprehensible as the Shaido have acted on their raid of the Westlands, they were still no Shadowspawn.
Halfway up the hill, she pauses a moment to catch her breath. One would think a modest rise such as this would not be a challenge after crossing the Spine of the World. Or maybe the reason why her heart is racing is a different one.
She is no stranger to battles, recognises the tense silence of the world holding its breath before the eruption of violence. She remembers the same feeling of impotence as she and her Sisters were confined to the Tower during the first Aiel War, relegated to watch and do nothing as the Aiel plowed a path of destruction through the lands. In the end, their pursuit of her uncle brought them to the slopes of Dragonmount, on Tar Valon’s doorstep, close enough to be visible from the Tower. And now the boy that was born in the midst of that violence would lead an army of Aiel into war again. This time, against themselves.
Moiraine reaches the sparsely grown crest of the hill in time to see the first rays of the sun caressing Cairhien in the distance. Awash in golden light, her home town looks almost welcoming. The land spreading out around her in gently roiling hills was once familiar to her in a way Tar Valon had become. As she watches the rising sun touch the wooded hill tops, swallowing the shadows of the valleys in between, she muses that there is no place she can truly call her home anymore. That doesn’t mean she wants to see her old one destroyed.
Which is one of the reasons why she has accompanied Rand here; why she helped him rally the nobles to take in the commoners from the Foregate and hold the city until Rand’s army and the Tairen forces arrived. It is not the main reason, though.
Lan walks up behind her, a low thrum of tension pulsing in their bond.
Moiraine throws him a glance over her shoulder.
“Disappointed you can’t be in the thick of it?”
“I’m sure I won’t be bored today.”
She gives him a faint smile.
Abruptly, the soft breeze rustling through the leaves picks up. Trees begin to groan and bend under the force of it, branches snap with cracking sounds, loud enough to be audible over the howling wind. It grows more and more forceful until strong gusts whip her hair around her face. That must be Rand’s doing. Her gaze rises towards the sky. Thick clouds are beginning to form over Cairhien, swallowing most of the golden light. They accumulate and darken, as she and Lan watch, until the first growl of thunder rumbles in the distance. The birds have long fallen silent.
Moiraine lets her gaze sweep over the nearby hills, now cast in shadow under the darkening sky, but it’s impossible to tell where Rand is. Not for the first time, Moiraine wishes she could see his weaves. A slight movement in the far distance makes the tension spike in their bond.
“Time to go back to camp. The first wounded will need your help soon,” Lan urges.
She doesn’t move right away.
“He will be fine, Moiraine.”
The moment her name passes Lan’s lips, a blinding white bolt of lightning pierces the sky, stabbing down where she had seen movement in the distance.
To the south, a smaller fork of lightning flashes across the sky, touching the ground much closer to them. This time Moiraine can see the weave flowing skywards from a hilltop to her left. If Rand hasn’t left Aviendha behind, that’s where he must be.
Clamping down on the tug of worry, Moiraine turns and follows Lan down the hill, toward camp.
By noon she begins to feel the strain as she makes her way slowly down the line of the injured. The men lying in a row in front of her are the ones who can no longer stand on their own. The ones who still can are waiting patiently in another line to be taken care of by the Wise Ones. White-robed gai’shain dart between them, handing over ointments or fresh bandages, while others are solely focused on keeping a fresh supply of water, heating it over fires and exchanging boiling kettles with new ones.
Every now and then the ground shakes with a distant explosion, followed by a booming rumble that echoes in the small valley. A small bud of relief blooms inside of her whenever she feels it, as it’s confirmation that Rand is still well enough to channel.
At one point the acrid smell of burning wood reaches them, superseding even the metallic tang of blood, and when she looks up, she sees dark tendrils of smoke joining the black clouds above.
“Some of the surrounding hills are burning,” Lan tells her without her having to ask. “He’s trying to force the Shaido out into the open.”
Moiraine acknowledges the information with an incline of her head and leans over the next Aiel lying before her. He can’t be much older than Rand, his hair several shades lighter, green eyes meeting hers unflinchingly out of a sun-darkened face. Dark red blooms on his thigh where a spear had pierced him. A few more moments and he would have bled out. The young man convulses under her hands as she Heals him. Heaving a weary sigh, Moiraine moves onto the next one. This time it’s not a man but a Maiden. Slender and darkhaired, she makes no sound of pain despite the nasty gash across her ribs. Not all of the Maidens of the Spear followed Rand into battle as his guard, some are fighting with their clans, yet Moiraine can’t help fretting at the sight of her.
Lan stays mostly at her side, a reassuring presence at her back but when a slow murmur rises from the edge of camp, he disappears to investigate. It only takes a few moments for him to reappear, face set.
“A group of Shaido has been spotted. Several hundreds at least. They are on their way here. We need to leave.”
“Why would they…”
“They are coming for you.”
Moiraine blames her exhaustion for not making the connection. It wasn’t a secret anymore among the Aiel following Rand that the Car’a’carn shared more than his roof with his Aes Sedai. Could the Shaido have learned of this as well? Spying was deemed dishonourable for an Aiel but the Shaido haven’t shown any particular regard for their honor since they split from Rand at Alcair Dal.
At the edge of camp, in the shadows of the towering trees, a large group of Aiel gathers. Some were just released from the Wise Ones’ care, bandages glowing white in between the earthy tones of their clothing. Others Moiraine had brought back from the brink of death and all of them were ready to Dance the Spears again. She can’t help but lament the waste of it all.
“Show me where they are coming from.”
Lan looks at her stone-faced.
“I’m allowed to protect myself. Show me.”
Without another word, Lan leads her toward the hill they had scaled in the morning. Once they are halfway up, Moiraine can’t keep in the small gasp that escapes her when she takes in the changed landscape around her. Lan had told her what had happened but the sight of the blackened, scorched crests of the nearby hills comes as a shock nonetheless. Some mounds appear considerably lower, as if the top had simply melted off. Moiraine knows no weave that could have done this amount of damage.
Now covered by fewer trees, Moiraine can see the large group of veiled Aiel approaching them through the valley ahead. They don’t even bother to hide.
Lan nods at her questioning glance.
Even as worn out as she is, it feels exhilarating to tap into Rand’s storm above and pull lightning down to where Lan directs her. Jagged bolts stab down into the valley over and over again. By the time the last clap of thunder has died off, there aren’t many Shaido left standing and those who are, are being taken care of by the Aiel who had arrived from their camp.
Breathing deeply, Moiraine allows herself only a small moment of rest, before she lets Lan guide her back down, back to the wounded who will die without her.
The afternoon fades into a blur as she keeps wandering up and down a never-ending line of Aiel. Whenever one could rise after her Healing, another one would take his place. The camp is already filled to the brim but the numbers of the injured keep increasing. And these are only the ones who could make their way to them. Countless others must be lying somewhere in the surrounding fields and forests, too injured to move and breathing their last breath alone.
It had started to rain in the late afternoon and it takes Moiraine until dusk to realise that she hasn’t heard a clap of thunder or seen a bolt of lightning in a while.
Swaying slightly, she straightens and turns to Lan behind her.
“Can you find out if there’s any news?”
“You can barely stand, Moiraine. I’m not leaving your side.”
She just looks at him.
Face twisting slightly, Lan quickly hurries towards Amys.
Moiraine tilts her head towards the darkening sky and feels rain kissing her face. When she bends over the next Aiel, a sturdy looking man in his middle years, the body has grown still.
“It’s over.”
Lan has to repeat himself before she understands what he is saying.
“It’s done. The Shaido are fleeing. Couladin is dead.”
Her heart starts to beat faster. “Where’s…”
“They are looking for him. No one has seen him in a while.”
Moiraine closes her eyes briefly then moves onto the next Aiel.
Fires are stoked and lamps are lit on poles around the encampment as darkness settles over them. Moiraine has long stopped Healing every Aiel that ends up in front of her but is now forced to select between those who would die without her and those who can hold on until tomorrow when she has regained her strength.
Suddenly, a ball of bubbling blue flame shoots high into the night sky, burning like a thousand stars, and bathing everything in a harsh cold light. It takes a few moments for Moiraine to regain her sight after it has winked out, but when she does, she sees several Wise Ones speaking to a group of Aiel that appear to be mostly unharmed. They disappear shortly after in the direction where the strange light had shone.
Moiraine turns to Lan who meets her gaze with a reassuring nod.
As she kneels next to a young Maiden, hands hovering over the wide slash in her gut, a murmur rises through the throngs of people, like the buzz of insects, even drowning out the moans of the wounded. When the flesh underneath her palm has knit itself together, Moraine looks up.
At the edge of the camp, crowding in the small valley between two hills, a large cluster of Maiden has appeared. Far less than had followed Rand into battle this morning but still several hundred strong at least. And in their midst, swaying in his saddle, is Rand.
Lan is sprinting up to him but Rand seems to barely notice, eyes scanning the rows of the injured until they find her.
Their gazes meet over the heads of the Aiel who are still standing, over the bodies of the dead and injured who cannot.
Relief floods her so strongly, she loses her grasp of the One Power.
Then Rand convulses and topples from his horse.
“Moiraine!” Lan shouts, but she is already running.
The Maidens catch Rand before he can hit the ground. Moiraine shoulders through them until she reaches him, hands outstretched so she can Heal him that fraction of a moment sooner. Embracing saidar, she doesn’t let herself be distracted by how ashen his face is as she clutches his head in her hands. The sheer strength needed just to get his heart to beat in a steady rhythm again makes her knees buckle. Once she is sure he won’t slip away, she releases the Source. It wouldn’t help anyone if both of them burned themselves out.
“Take him to one of the tents. And find Aviendha or Bair. Quick.”
Maybe it’s the urgency in her voice or the Maidens closest to him sense the direness of the situation but they do as she says without waiting for the Wise Ones to affirm her order. As Moiraine staggers after the women carrying Rand, Aviendha appears at her side.
Moiraine glances at her sideways.
“Are you uninjured?”
“Nothing but scratches.” That could mean anything from a knife wound to a gash the length of an arm with an Aiel, but Moiraine has no choice but to take her by her word.
Inside the tent, she sends everyone out except for Lan, Aviendha and the gai’shain hovering near the entrance, a middle aged, wiry woman with grey in her hair, juggling clean bandages and a bowl of steaming water in her hand.
“Undress him. I need to see whether he is injured anywhere else.”
Aviendha doesn’t move at first. She never struck Moiraine as shy or unsure but here she seems oddly uncomfortable.
“I do not think he would approve. Wetlanders are weird about that.”
“Now!”
The gai’shain is already pulling off Rand’s bloodied coat and after another moment of hesitation Aviendha helps her.
Kneeling down next to them, Moiraine looks Rand over. Except for the old wound above his hip, reopened and bleeding steadily again, he appears to be outwardly unharmed. She raises her eyes to Aviendha who seems to have gotten over her initial trepidation as she tugs Rand’s pants off.
“I need you to link with me. I don’t have enough strength left and he needs to be Healed more or he won’t last the night.”
Aviendha pales, looking down at Rand’s unconscious body in shock.
“What do I need to do?”
“Just embrace the Source and let me in, once you feel me.”
As she reaches out for Aviendha with the One Power, Moiraine realises just how much she had grown used to linking with Rand. Compared to the wild, chaotic torrent of his flows, Aviendha almost feels tame and gentle if less polished than her Sisters from the Tower. She can sense that Aviendha is exhausted too but combined they might be able to scrap together enough strength to repair what Rand had so carelessly done to himself.
When she lets go of saidar, black spots are dancing in front of her eyes and Moiraine would have toppled over herself if not for Lan catching her. Even Aviendha has sagged to the side, leaning heavily on one arm and breathing hard.
“Why has he not woken up?” Aviendha is still panting, something akin to worry in her voice.
“He needs to rest now,” Moiraine murmurs.
“As do you,” Lan says gravely and Moiraine for once agrees.
“What happened?” She can’t help but ask.
Aviendha straightens into a sitting position, eyes still on Rand’s slack face.
“We were attacked. By a Shadowsoul I think. We did not see who it was, only saw lightning come down on us. Many Maidens woke from the dream today. He drove the attacker off but he had wielded the Power without pause since this morning. He wouldn’t listen.”
A glare has taken over the worried expression on Aviendha’s face.
At least he had not risked himself for an entirely foolish reason, Moiraine thinks, though it’s hardly a consolation seeing the state he is in now.
Cautiously, testing whether her legs will hold her while supporting herself on Lan’s shoulder, Moiraine rises to her feet and moves to the entrance of the tent.
“I must speak to Bair. We need to have all the Wise Ones that can channel close by in case he worsens,” she says quietly at Lan’s disapproving look.
From the corner of her eyes she sees Aviendha unfolding a blanket and wrapping it around Rand’s body with a gentleness that appears strikingly at odds with how she usually behaves around him.
“You have taken away what we are, what we were. You must give us something in return, something to be. We need you,” Aviendha says in a quiet voice, staring hard at Rand.
Moiraine ducks out of the tent into the night.
Instead of the darkness she expected, it’s a golden twilight that greets her. More lamps have been lit, now that they don’t have to fear being attacked by Shaido, illuminating the campsite with warm, glowing dots of light. Laughter and conversation is now mingling with the pained groans of the wounded. The low, pulsing beat of drums echoes through the valley.
Moiraine walks the tents as if in a haze, when Bair materialises in front of her, ivory bracelets clinking softly.
“You asked for me?”
“Yes. But Aviendha and I saw to it.”
“So he is well now?”
“He is stable. We’ll have to see in the morning if it was enough or if he needs more Healing.”
Bair doesn’t seem particularly concerned. Either the Wise Ones know more than Moiraine does, on account of their dreams, or they simply expect their Car’a’carn to be as hard to break as they are.
“Aviendha is still with him?” There is a curious expression on Bair’s face that doesn’t quite match the casualness of her tone.
“Yes, she is. That’s what I wanted to speak with you about. There needs to be at least one of you who can wield the power close by at all times through the night in case…”
It’s a struggle to get the words out but she can’t risk Rand for her pride.
“...in case I need help.”
Wiry hands grab Moiraine’s arms like a vice and Bair pulls her down with a strength that no woman her age should possess so she can peer into Moiraine’s eyes. She even has the audacity to grab her chin and tilt her face into the light of a nearby lamp.
“Your legs are barely holding you up, child. Has the Car’a’carn tired you out that much?”
Before Moiraine has the time to get her expression back under control –because different cultures and strange humor or not that is no way to speak to an Aes Sedai– Bair smiles at her.
“I saw you today. You have done well, child. There will be one of us nearby throughout the night. Now off to bed with you.” She nods at the tent where Rand is hopefully sleeping soundly and with another chime of her jewellery she is gone.
For a moment Moiraine can only stare at her retreating back, indignation burning through her exhaustion. Faint amusement pierces through the worry still pulsing in the bond and she gives Lan a sharp look that irritatingly seems to have no effect.
When she returns, it’s not Aviendha but Mat who is kneeling beside Rand, one end of the blanket lifted slightly, clutched in his fist as he stares at the wound on Rand’s side. Worry and guilt are etched deep into his face, and he looks a bit battered himself, with mud and bloody gashes all over him.
The moment he notices Moiraine, he lets go of the blanket and leaps to his feet.
“I was just about to go…”
“Sit down, Mat.”
Of course, the boy doesn’t listen. She needs to stop thinking of him as a boy, though. It was Mat who had devised their battle plan, who had organised Cairhien’s defense during the siege. And he had been successful in both.
“So he really got knocked out, huh?” Mat still hovers uneasily at the back of the tent, eyes darting to the entrance every now and then.
“Not gonna lie, almost seems a relief to see that he’s still just a man. On the other hand, if that took him out, how is he supposed to save us from the Dark One? I take back what I just said,” he mutters. “We’re all doomed.”
Fearing that her legs won’t hold her for much longer, Moiraine strides to the cushions on the side of the tent and motions for Mat to join her.
“Give him a bit of time. He is still learning,” she says as she gratefully sinks down onto a pillow. With a last longing glance at the tent flap, Mat joins her reluctantly.
An awkward silence stretches between them.
“That was a brave thing you did. Killing Couladin.” Lan had told her the news on the way back to the tent. “Who knows how much longer the fighting would have gone on otherwise.”
Shrugging carelessly, Mat doesn’t seem to think it is a deed worth boasting about. He almost looks uncomfortable.
“It’s not like I planned it. Bastard came for us when Rand had his hands full trying to keep us from being fried into cinders.” A shudder runs through him.
“That’s no way to fight a battle,” he murmurs almost to himself. “But that’s the way it’s going to be, isn’t it? When you’re near him, you have to expect lightning to strike you down or a bloody Forsaken to jump at you from behind a tree.”
Summoning the last dredges of her strength, Moiraine pins Mat with her most authoritative look.
“You can’t leave now. You have to stop running.”
Mat freezes, looking like a rabbit caught by a fox.
“Your place is at his side.”
“Might be a bit crowded there,” he says under his breath, eyeing her sideways.
“I won’t be here forever. He’ll need you when the time comes.”
“Is that so? Funny, since you were once pretty intent on keeping me away from him. Don’t think I have forgotten that you sicked the Reds on me. I might have forgotten other things but not that.”
“It was you who chose to leave him and your other friends behind.”
Mat’s face twists in shame at the reminder, his dark eyes tightening.
“I’m no bloody hero,” he mutters at his feet.
“How can you say that when you are a Hero of the Horn? When you are the reason we won this battle? Without you, he is going to fail.”
The sulky frown on Mat’s face is distinctively familiar. Without a conscious thought, Moiraine’s eyes drift to Rand, still lying unmoving in the middle of the tent. There is no frown on Rand’s face, his expression slack in sleep. Something twists inside of her at the sight, tugging at her memory. She has seen him die nearly as many times as she saw her own death. And most often by her own hand. Mat's voice reaches her through the fog of her memories.
“Why did you do it? Selling me out to Liandrin?”
A mistake in hindsight. But she can hardly admit to that, especially now when Mat seems poised on escaping his responsibilities once again. Back then she had feared the darkness in him that the dagger had only amplified. As if he had been the only one. There is darkness in all of them. In Rand. And most certainly in her.
“Six months I was rotting in that flaming cell. Does he know that you did that?” Mat needles, clearly not ready to drop the subject anytime soon.
“You can ask him when he wakes.”
That only produces a fierce scowl but when Mat’s eyes dart to Rand, his face softens.
“Bloody Aes Sedai and their bloody ways, I don’t know how he can stand it,” he tells no one in particular though she is the only one to hear.
A sharp rebuttal burns on her tongue but she swallows it. Through hard won experience with Rand she has learned it often has the opposite effect and that a bit of sugar could go a long way.
“You did well today, Matrim Cauthon, as I knew you would. I might have underestimated you once but I’m not going to make that mistake again. Rest now. Or celebrate. You have earned it.”
Mat’s mouth actually falls open as he gapes at her, surprise and a little contrition sweeping over his face. Shaking his head, he rises to his feet.
“Tell him, I…,” he pauses. “Well, I can bloody tell him myself,” he mutters as he strides towards the entrance. Before he ducks out of it, he throws her another look over his shoulder as if he still can’t believe what she said or that she would let him go. Moiraine meets his gaze with a faint smile. That seems to unsettle him even more for some reason and with a last glance at Rand’s sleeping form he quickly leaves.
The moment Mat has disappeared, Lan pokes his head through the flap.
“And now I will rest as well,” she promises.
“I will stand guard outside. Me and a little over two hundred Maidens,” Lan responds with a wry smile though she can still feel his concern flooding through the bond.
“Then you won’t be bored at least.”
With a weary sigh, Moiraine grabs a pillow and another blanket and settles down beside Rand. Despite her bone deep exhaustion turning every muscle in her body to lead, she sleeps fitfully, rousing often and at the slightest sound. Which is why she wakes the instant Rand stirs in the dark hours of the night.
With clumsy movements, he blindly pats the space on his left side where she used to sleep, when they were staying in her room in Cairhien during the siege.
“Moiraine?” He calls, voice hoarse from disuse, when he can’t find her.
“I’m here.”
It takes him a bit to coordinate his limbs but then he turns towards his other side and only settles when he feels her next to him.
“What were you thinking risking yourself like that?” The words slip out without her permission.
“Saw you. Knew I’d be in good hands,” he slurs sleepily.
“You can’t be this careless. You could have gentled or killed yourself.” The other litany of worries she keeps strictly in her thoughts.
What if she had not been there? What if she had been too weak to Heal him? What if he had burned himself out? There would have been nothing she could have done.
Unaware of her turmoil, Rand shifts closer, burrowing his head in the crook of her neck and becomes dead weight again.
Moiraine sinks her hand into his hair and waits for sleep.