Chapter Text
Blood and bloody ashes, this was awkward.
A woman from her past was staring at her with impossibly large eyes and parted lips, a fish taking asphyxiating breaths out of the water.
Ever since Siuan spotted her on the train, she’d felt thoroughly out of her depth. Tsutama hadn't really left her time to process anything before trying to call her directly. Leane had pushed a little too hard and spooked the Red. Siuan had been fielding calls ever since.
Something was in the wind.
Tsutama had no concrete evidence Elaida could effectively make a move. And satisfied as the board was with Siuan's work, there was no reason to suspect they would challenge her, let alone for the wild card that was Elaida.
Yet, Siuan felt like she was losing her footing.
By the time they reached Taren Ferry, she had verbally fistfought Sheriam, reasoned with Tsutama and vented to Leane. She'd almost forgotten about her little ghost when she stepped from the platform into the drafty station and noticed her engaged in what looked like a quarrel with the station chief.
Just her luck.
Not only had Siuan no clue how to handle the impromptu reunion with Moiraine, but it seemed she would spend more time with her until the end of her journey.
Siuan had never been shy, but then she and Moiraine hadn't parted on the best of terms. Their goodbye had involved tears, on Moiraine's face, on Siuan's, and Moiraine turning her back on what was to become Siuan's first heartbreak. It had hurt with the edge and depth only a teenage heart could experience. Siuan weathered worse since, but the memory of that stubborn girl had marked her as surely as the ink on her arms.
Moiraine did not bear a face easily forgotten, or a heart, for that matter.
Approaching Moiraine and the man, any remaining doubt dissipated completely.
Those wide eyes and tempestuous brows, that dimpled chin, that proud mouth, and most of all that appearance of control and stillness, refuted by a temper welling up under the surface like a famished school of fish. Siuan silently followed the sparring match, hoping to perhaps catch a detail, a gesture that would belie her suspicions.
None came.
Drowning in thoughts, Siuan could have frozen in the night had Moiraine not given her the opportunity to confirm her identity at last. Upon hearing her name, the bloody woman still took ages to remember how to talk.
“Moiraine Damodred,“ Moiraine said in an even but rich voice as she gestured toward herself.
It seemed Siuan had thrown her off-balance.
"Yes, I know."
The sarcasm in Siuan's tone prompted Moiraine's expression to contort into a snarl. Even that was familiar.
"Well, I was not exactly expecting to run into old classmates in the middle of a snowstorm," Moiraine bit back. "Pardon me if I am a little out of my depth."
Snapper.
She really hadn't changed at all.
Siuan raised an unimpressed eyebrow and her companion of misfortune had the decency to lower her gaze, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.
Time had been generous to her old classmate, albeit not in the way it spared her aging but magnified her features. In her memories wandered a slight girl with unruly brown hair, and eyes so large they seemed to capture all light. She found before her a grown woman, settled gracefully in her early forties with gaze as penetrating as ever. Her hair certainly hadn't been tamed.
Light, she still looks like a beautiful porcelain doll.
"Listen, I—" Moiraine started in a whisper.
"Ladies, if you please," the station chief called out from the car.
The boulder of a man had all the discretion of an eel waiting on its prey to swim by, but it didn't really excuse the fact that they had forgotten Lan Mandragoran.
For how long he had been following the conversation, she could not tell, but Siuan and Moiraine both exchanged a sheepish look and hurried to the car waiting. Without a comment, Lan grabbed their luggage and put them into the trunk while they both climbed into the backseat. They shuffled with unease, almost afraid to touch in the dark.
Which they had, quite fondly, when they were younger.
The stark contrast between the icy, fresh-scented night and the warm synthetic compartment suddenly brought to the surface Siuan's physical exhaustion. Her limbs were leaden and sunk into the comfortable cushion. A subtle perfume lingered in the enclosed space, distinctive and refined. Sandalwood? Whether it was Moiraine or Lan, she wasn't sure.
Outside, someone called out to Lan as he was rounding the car. A few words were exchanged in hushed tones, before a female silhouette dressed in dark red silently slipped into the front passenger seat.
For some minutes after Lan started driving, only silence and the sound of the turn signal filled the car.
Although the snow had stopped falling, the night was so dark now that Siuan could barely distinguish the silhouette of the trees around them. The headlights revealed a road covered in compacted snow with knee-high banks accumulating on the side. If there were buildings nearby, Siuan could absolutely not tell.
She was acutely aware of Moiraine's presence beside her, yet profoundly unable to get a read on how Moiraine felt about their encounter. Perhaps Moiraine didn't remember how close they had been. Or she was naturally ill at ease. She'd always been a bit of an oddball.
It was probably for the better.
The third passenger, face hidden in a large shawl, wasn't paying them any mind, engrossed in the study of the obscured landscape.
With the rubbish signal, Siuan didn't even have the luxury of raising her own blood pressure by doing some digging on Elaida to distract herself. If everything had happened as it should, she would have been on her way home by now and ordering takeout. The dried fruits she nibbled at in the train did not make up for a full meal and she had expected to eat on the plane.
Gradually, Siuan became aware that Lan was selflessly trying to maintain a conversation about the weather and the state of the road. It was like pulling teeth from Moiraine, her face in the half darkness unreadable.
Because Siuan could distinguish so little of her features, her mind was completing the picture with fragments, constructions of who this woman could be as a continuation of the girl she'd known.
Secretive. Cowardly. Too proud, definitely.
It was strange, seeing a face she last saw in childhood on the edge of puberty. She must have been 13, 14 the last time they saw each other?
Her father had found a better job in Northharbor and although her mom hadn’t been happy about the move to Tar Valon, they’d followed along. Siuan had hated the school, posh as it was. If nothing had made her appreciate the White Tower Academy in the years she spent here, she had come to enjoy other aspects of the life.
When she’d arrived at the school, three weeks after everyone, there had been another girl just as late. Rather quiet but intense. And while Moiraine clearly belonged to another social class, she was so busy behaving strangely and off-puttingly to her peers that she never was off-putting toward Siuan.
And soon they would care more about each other than Siuan had cared about anyone until then.
Lan's desperate attempts not to self-immolate through small talk drew her back to the present.
"What are you fine ladies doing around here?"
The woman in the front seat emphatically exhaled, but didn't offer any answer to ease Lan's plight.
"Did you look up how to chat to your passengers?" Moiraine asked suddenly. "It looks like you are following a script."
Her tone sounded perfectly serious.There was no trace of irony or patronizing whatsoever.
"I'm not a taxi driver," he replied between gritted teeth.
"You work at a train station," she answered without missing a beat. "Same difference."
Beside Lan, the stranger tried to conceal a snort.
What was it with these two?
"I work at the White Tower museum in Tar Valon," Siuan intervened out of pity. "If anyone is interested."
Moiraine certainly looked it, attention fully turning to Siuan. Lan for his part nodded his gratitude to Siuan in the rear-view mirror.
"I've never been there, but I heard their collection of ancient weapons is impressive," he said. "You have heron-marked blades, right?"
Siuan leaned more comfortably in her seat and hummed. This was her fishing spot, where she could shine. Part of her wanted to leave an impression on Moiraine and show her who she was. Not a little sea urchin who didn't know her place.
And certainly someone worth remembering.
"Kerene has done remarkable work sorting everything from our archive in order to showcase them. We've considerably spruced up the way visitors interact with exhibitions, even with old pieces. You should definitely come visit us."
The shadow of Moiraine shifted by her side. "What is your position there precisely?"
"Basically, I rule," Siuan quipped.
What had gotten into her, she had no idea, but when laughter escaped Moiraine's lips, breathy and warm, a tingling sensation spread in her guts like a nascent hot spring.
Siuan looked at her askance, trying to make the outline of Moiraine's features. Beside a row of pearls where her mouth was, it seemed Siuan would have to wait to catch her smiling.
Careful, these were quicksands she had no desire to wade into.
"Have you been Head for long now?" Moiraine pressed her further.
"I was appointed ten years ago."
If Lan seemed to have abandoned all pretence of presiding over the conversation and was focused on the snowy terrain, the fourth companion had turned her head slightly and did not miss a bit of their exchange. Definitely a woman, with light hair and a strong jaw. Something about her, or rather the little Siuan could distinguish, set Siuan on edge.
"That makes you the youngest director of the White Tower museum and one of the longest in position," Moiraine commented, a hint of admiration in her voice.
Strange that Moiraine did know that considering she did not seem ready to acknowledge they knew each other. But it also pleased Siuan that Moiraine would know that.
"It does," Siuan simply offered, absently brushing her hand across her thigh.
Moiraine took a deep breath, still turned toward Siuan. Perfectly motionless, she seemed to be studying Siuan despite the darkness.
"And you have not grown weary of it? It has quite the reputation for being a mammoth, albeit a remarkable one. Does it not get stale?"
Siuan narrowed her eyes.
The White Tower museum in its current state was a testament to the years of work Siuan and Leane had put into it. From the outside, it was the jewel of Tar Valon, a hub of culture and research, praised by artists, tourists and academics alike.
None but someone who had connections would know about how much polishing and cutting that jewel would require.
"You are familiar with the museum," Siuan stated, inviting more.
"I hear the whispers of the art world."
Oh, she was very good at twisting her words. Siuan was fairly sure she'd read Moiraine's name over the years in association with restorative work, but if Moiraine was hell-bent on keeping her secrets, as she'd always been, that ship could sail.
Siuan would not beg Moiraine for anything, not again.
"Then you know there is much to do with the museum," Siuan continued. "Much to explore and uncover, change above all. We are custodians of knowledge, our role as educators, curators, is paramount in today's society."
"I agree." Moiraine's words had the roundness of someone smiling with her whole face. "I am merely surprised that unlike your peers you disclose so openly your lack of attachment to the prestige of the position, its power."
Siuan tilted her head, mimicking Moiraine in her contemplation. Close as they sat now, Siuan could detect the perfume was definitely Moiraine's. "It is precisely because I understand power that I consider with great caution my position."
"It is to your credit, Ms Sanche."
The way Moiraine said her name, in a rasp, shouldn't have sent a shiver down her spine.
"You may call me Siuan," she couldn't help answering either.
Everyone called her Siuan. But, childishly perhaps, it mattered now that Moiraine said her name in her grown voice.
That grown voice and face, so unfamiliar and distant from the bittersweet memories, reassuring in the way they isolated Moiraine from the pain she caused.
In the thick darkness only lessened by the dashboard light and reflected headlights, Moiraine's silhouette seemed like an invite, a fresh promise for a second chance. Her breaths came even, deafening.
Lan cleared his throat.
Both women drew back as if burnt, Moiraine all the way to the window on her side.
Siuan rubbed a hand across her forehead, not caring if her makeup got smudged. The silence settled again in the car, as profound as the obscurity. Outside, a few blinking dots hang across the mass of the mountains and indicated the presence of inhabited farms up there. They were nearing Emond's Field.
Burn Moiraine.
Nearly thirty years ago one evening in the spring, Siuan had snuck into the garden of the fancy house where Moiraine lived with her parents and sister. They were meant to escape to the riverbank to sit by the pier as they often did, and trade kisses and sweet vows under the stars until they were too tired to disentangle. Drunk with happiness, they would lean against each other as they stumbled back home.
They hadn't gone that night.
Moiraine had told her she couldn't come.
Not now, not ever again.
When Siuan had pressed her, Moiraine simply had told her that she would be leaving Tar Valon tomorrow, indefinitely. Moiraine had known for months. Her family's situation had been complicated to Siuan's knowledge, but Moiraine obfuscating the truth like that was a betrayal.
Each had thrown at the other some of the harshest words Siuan had experienced in her short life. They had known each other too well at that point not to cut as deeply as they could in their panic.
Had Siuan left Moiraine's garden gutted and scaled that night, it would have hurt less.
More than disgust for the girl, Siuan had felt a profound loneliness. Like finding out the river she so loved had been singing in a language she thought she understood. But its words were in fact ugly and mean. The only consolation Siuan had was that she had been able to give as good as she got.
She had hoped the wounds, then the scars, would hurt Moiraine.
And then she had turned 15 and the worst pain she’d ever felt was merely a step in becoming herself.
The car slowed down. They all blinked when they looked at the central square of the village, aglow with dozens of lanterns for the Feast of Lights, surrounded by brick and wood houses white from frost. Directly behind them an imposing modern-looking building displayed a sign for the Town Hall. At the other end of the square rose a massive two-storey building, with a distinctive half-timbered façade. The activity in front of it made it obvious this was the promised inn.
To Siuan's dismay, what should have been a street leading to it was a field covered in snow, with deep trenches where the people had crossed.
Siuan looked at her shoes, sensible, but not enough for what was to come, and grimaced.
With her arm on the front seat, Moiraine leaned toward Lan, causing the silent woman before her to stiffen imperceptibly.
"Could you drop us closer to the inn rather than the Town Hall?" she asked their driver.
Checking his phone, Lan grunted. "I am really not a taxi driver. I have to go back to the station to—"
"Ms. Sanche is not equipped to walk in the snow," Moiraine cut him off. "The closer we get to the Inn, the better."
He muttered something under his breath about getting home too late, before looking over his shoulder to glower at her, but there was no bite here, almost amusement.
"You're not the type of woman that hears no often?"
"I am not," Moiraine simply said.
Quite an understatement given her family. The grand gesture could still be self-serving, but it was arresting that Moiraine noticed how underdressed Siuan was.
The station chief shook his head, but pushed the car further with extreme care through the snow. By her side, Moiraine was putting on her gloves and readjusting her shawl to brave the cold as if nothing had happened.
She hadn't used her name.
It had taken Siuan college and a better understanding of geopolitics to learn about the Damodred scandal and make the connection with Moiraine's name. Chances were Moiraine had left because of her family's trials, but by the time Siuan was old enough to understand that, she had made up her mind about what kind of person Moiraine had grown up to be.
A spoilt, rich brat.
Siuan wasn't that proud of the assumption, but she had been struggling to make herself a place at university, surrounded by pampered kids who went to garden parties during the weekend and had their flat bought by their parents. Whatever they did, however badly they would fail, they would end with a job in their parents' business. And they would thrive there because from birth, their skills, their appearance, even their affections, had been nurtured to thrive there.
Meanwhile, Siuan had a small scholarship, a part-time job at the local fish market and a visceral detestation of rich people. A Domani herself, Leane was all too aware of how people from Andor or Cairhien treated her accent as well. They had bonded over it and their love of art. Fish out of the water.
But perhaps the Moiraine before her was a different breed altogether.
Best she could do before she figured Moiraine out was play nice, especially if Moiraine didn't remember her well.
The car stopped a good 20 meters from the inn by a raised curb in front of the building. The third passenger was already out scurrying in the snow before Siuan could start closing her coat as best as she could. Before her, Moiraine slipped out of the car smoothly and scanned the village. Few were outside at half past eight, despite the music coming from the inn.
The moment Siuan stepped out of the car, the cold whipped her blood awake and she stumbled on her feet. Lan was quick to steady her before heading for the trunk to retrieve their bags.
Under the streetlight, Moiraine's expression was far more decipherable, although the blend of worry and tiredness on her face wasn't what Siuan had expected from her tone. As much as Siuan was watching her, Moiraine was studying her in return.
The attention wasn't entirely unpleasant.
Once Moiraine had grabbed her backpack, she didn't go to the inn, instead waited for Siuan to take her carry-on bag.
"You will check in with me tomorrow," Lan commented after they thanked him and said their goodbyes.
Moiraine's eyes lit with mischief. "Is that an order?"
"It's an oath. Until you reach Baerlon, you're my responsibility. Have a good night's rest."
With that, he gave them a polite nod and got back into the car to drive off, leaving Siuan and Moiraine to brave the last stretch of the journey before rest.
Moiraine cast an apologetic look in her direction and started advancing in the snow. The trenches dug weren't that deep, 20 cm at most, but it would be enough for Siuan to have a rough time in her shoes.
Siuan took a deep breath and started carefully putting her feet in Moiraine's steps. She would not freeze to death so close to the inn.
"Your shoes are completely impractical for the weather," Moiraine called from a few steps ahead. "Do you want me to carry you?"
Siuan huffed in answer before elaborating, her focus entirely on the ground. Her shoes would be absolutely ruined. "I think that would be the surest way for both of us to end up with broken bones and frozen on the ground. "
Moiraine didn't seem that buff and would crack like a spindle-shell.
"I restore paintings for a living." Siuan looked up at the confession, stopping her cautious progression. Moiraine was deliberately walking slowly to match Siuan's pace. "You would be surprised how efficient a workout hauling paintings around is."
"But you never worked for the Tower," Siuan inquired further.
"I am a private restorer. My client portfolio mostly consists of private collectors, but I know of the work done at the White Tower. It is impressive."
So, Siuan had been right. Moiraine was working in the field. She never looked her up in depth because frankly she thought Moiraine did not care enough to do it for her.
Not the way they had parted anyway.
Even if she had truly spent time, it seemed Moiraine was not eager to leave a digital footprint. Understandable given her name.
It was foolish to hold a grudge against a stranger for sins committed in childhood. Well, barely sins. Just the feeling Siuan had her heart finished off and gutted like a trout.
But the first time she had caught Moiraine's name in an article, she had used her next visit to her parents in Tear as an excuse to go rummage through the albums and photos in search of a stubborn girl.
With time, she let the memory fade and the photos gather dust at her parents' place.
Siuan was a little bit hurt that Moiraine didn't seem to remember her. In all fairness, she had spent the majority of her life not thinking about her either.
"So you went to study art."
Siuan snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Moiraine's voice at her side. The woman had walked back to her in the untrodden snow, boots sinking in the white blanket. She was peering at her with that same placid, cool intensity that she had as a teenager.
"As you did," Siuan shot back.
Moiraine's study stretched for a few more instants, enough for Siuan to wonder again what exactly the woman was remembering. Her gaze darted back to the inn and Moiraine silently offered her arm for Siuan to lean onto.
Siuan's feet were too unsteady, too frozen to refuse.
They shuffled in silence toward the light pouring from the inn, echoes of songs and laughter getting closer and closer with each freezing step. Moiraine hadn't lied about her strength. Their arms interlocked, Siuan could feel despite the layers of fabric how steady she was, how powerful.
It was a very different kind of power than the one Siuan expected in a proud rich girl.
Well, not a girl anymore.
Moiraine heaved a sharp breath, marching on with Siuan. "You would think that given this sort of nonsense happens every other month in the winter time, they would be prepared with a snowtruck. Light, even an inn in Taren Ferry."
Siuan couldn't help laughing softly.
"What?" Moiraine asked with a quick glance toward Siuan.
The door of the inn was almost within arm's reach and a tantalizing smell was lingering in the fresh air.
"You still get prickly like a pufferfish," Siuan explained.
"And you still abuse fish metaphors."
Siuan stopped dead in her tracks. The sudden change made their arms disentangle, Moiraine's gloved hand catching Siuan's wrist out of instinct before she released her.
"So you do remember," Siuan marvelled.
Siuan was used to be the one who remembered everything. And Moiraine remembered her similes from thirty years ago.
There was no blood left in her feet or her face, but the temptation to get an answer now and not let Moiraine step into the inn, separating again perhaps forever, was too pressing.
Moiraine seemed to search her words for a few moments before carefully speaking in a crisp voice. "Just not as well as you de—" She shook her head and turned her head toward the door, just before them. Siuan almost wanted to grab her hand and yank her back. "Well, not enough at least. What is done, is done. Come on, we are there, at last."
Oh, Moiraine, you don't get to do that. Not to me.
They had been for two years as close as any girl of their age could be. Spending as much time as they could together, in locked steps. Moiraine had been her first love, her first kiss, her first heartbreak.
Now, a mere anecdote to share with partners. The prequel to her life.
For thirty years, Siuan had been content with having let go. Not anymore.
Moiraine had already her hand on the handle, when she glanced back at Siuan as if asking her to lead the way.
They pushed the door and stepped into the light together.