not_only_wisdom | (no subject)

There is only a faint pause before Nynaeve nods once, sharply, and turns to pour the tea.

She only spills a little, knuckles white on the handle of the pot.

Moiraine affects not to notice this at all. The faint golden glow of saidar surrounds her as she quickly reweaves the wards in a now-familiar pattern.

Once complete, she releases the Source and turns to accept one of the cups from the other Aes Sedai.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

"You are quite welcome."

She tries to keep her voice tart. It almost works.

Throat-clearing helps.

Sitting, too. It gives her an excuse to fold her hands together, fingers tightly laced.

It would be better if she was holding someone's hand other than her own.

She takes a sip of tea, and it is no accident that Moiraine's gaze remains focused on the cup rather than on the other woman, almost as if she is meditating.

Even in a single room, certain illusions of privacy may be maintained.

"When I first arrived here," she says, after a moment, "it was in an unexpected manner, and from... elsewhere."

Her tone remains perfectly controlled, and calm.

"I thought that perhaps, just perhaps, I might have found a way back."

Nynaeve snorts, the sound thin and sharp in the quiet room.

She, too, is looking at her tea.

"If only any path were so simple."

Light burn the bloody Wheel.

"It is often that the easiest path is the one most likely to lead into danger and deception, I have found," Moiraine says serenely. "Still, the opportunity seemed to be present."

A pause, and her fingers tense slightly upon her cup.

"I was unable to return directly, as it turned out. I destroyed another's gateway in my effort, and even when Rand attempted to draw me through the door after him, the way was blocked."

"Bloody capricious place."

To cover the slight shaking of the cup in her hand, Nynaeve takes a sip of tea.

Breathe, you fool woman. Breathe.

"But indirectly?"

Her throat is tight, and the question is, perhaps, slightly higher-pitched than one might expect.

But only slightly.

She inclines her head slightly, meeting Nynaeve's glance.

"Eventually." A pause. "The waiting is often the hardest part, especially when one knows that there is need in the world without."

After a moment, Moiraine looks to the side, where a slim, oft-read volume of poetry rests upon an old, leather-bound Bible with a blue slip of ribbon marking a place in its pages.

"Others have found it wearing, as well; but eventually they, also, moved on."

Nynaeve's gaze follows Moiraine's.

"We both know, I believe, that I am often considered short on patience."

Her voice only wobbles a little, and she swallows heavily, sipping at more tea to wet her suddenly dry throat.

"Perhaps--Mat said--"

Another breath, soft and strangely quick. Her voice, when she speaks, is teetering on the boundary of harsh.

"Perhaps that is part of the lesson, after a fashion. If there is, indeed, a point to any of this."

"Perhaps it is," she replies quietly. "It is quite possible that there are other reasons, as well."

Moiraine takes a sip of tea, focusing on the cup once more and allowing Nynaeve time to find her composure.

"This place is unusual in that it touches on so many worlds... and I have spent quite some time noting the similarities between them."

Nynaeve's hands clutch tightly to her teacup, but she grits her teeth and looks up, breathing carefully.

"Have you, then?"

"I have."

She looks up, and her dark-eyed gaze locks with Nynaeve's.

"The struggle against the Shadow is far-reaching, even touching here... as you yourself have seen."

Nynaeve flexes one hand, ring-and-bracelet angreal clinking softly against the cup. Her own return look at Moiraine is level.

"So I did. And if I am to stay here indefinitely, as it seems I must, doubtless I will see much more of it."

There is a slight pause.

"So it is the same Shadow, then?"

"It is difficult to discern exactly, at times," Moiraine admits, "but the feel is the same, and the battles are often so similar as to be startling."

She shrugs, slightly.

"All things are part of the Pattern, Nynaeve. It is possible that we came to find this place by accident... but I do not believe it."

Nynaeve purses her lips, breathing sharply through her nose.

"The Wheel weaves, I suppose. That is what was coming next, is it not?"

She shakes her head.

"But no, I think you're right. Two bloody ta'veren, and you--"

And the Forsaken.

"There would appear to be no need for me to say it, if you are already aware," Moiraine tells her crisply.

"It's a simple enough explanation."

Mutter.

"And bloody annoying, to boot."

Nynaeve exhales sharply, tugging her braid over her shoulder, settling her hands back around her teacup.

"Do you think it likely, then, that this place--something here might give Rand---might give Rand a chance?"

Not just Rand, of course, but all of them.

Silence, for several seconds, before Moiraine says softly,

"Light willing, it shall be so. There may be something here that was not foreseen, that will tip the balance for him..."

She breaks off her words there, instead taking another sip of tea.

"If you think I'm willing to let him die--"

Nynaeve's brown eyes flash with temper, and her mouth tightens.

"Well, I'm not. And I'll do what I can to that end, you may be certain."

It is exactly the reaction she had expected.

The faintest hint of a smile touches the corners of her lips. After a moment, Moiraine looks up at Nynaeve.

"I am certain of it, as it happens." A pause. "You came after them in the first place, did you not?"

She knows the answer perfectly well. Nynaeve had trailed them to Baerlon-- and as a result, had not been there during the first part of the journey to hear Moiraine tell Rand flatly that she herself would see him destroyed rather than lost to the Dark One.

"All of them. Yes, I did."

She tilts her chin up a little, expression almost composed.

"Someone had to. They were children."

Were.

Everything is different, now. Well, almost everything.

Watching her, Moiraine thinks of just how much the two of them have in common -- things that the other woman may never realize.

None of this shows on her face. She merely inclines her head in silent acknowledgement of Nynaeve's remark.

In the face of acknowledgement, and, indeed, in the face of silence, it is often difficult to hold on to stubborn belligerance.

At this moment Nynaeve does not even try. Instead she nods in return, taking a slow sip of tea.

"They are not, not any longer. And yet I see little need for that to prevent giving them what aid I can."

'I' was almost 'we', a half-formed thought buried half again as quickly.

"I do not disagree," she replies simply.

Nynaeve attempts to disguise the wary look she is giving Moiraine, busying herself with refreshing her cup of tea.

"That should be a benefit to us both, then."