milliways_bar | (no subject)

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She cannot see Raven, exactly, not in his current state. It does not matter. If he is present, he will make himself known; if not, well, the Wheel weaves.

It is not as though Moiraine does not have other matters with which to occupy herself. Currently, she is settled at her old familiar table, studying the open sentences she has written in a new journal, tapping pen absently against page as she considers the notes she is making.

Whatever is occupying her, it seems to be holding a great deal of her attention, but not all of it.

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"I cannot return to the world that was once my home," Moiraine tells him, simply. "And remaining here has its own... difficulties."

"Dale has done what he could to see that I have been made welcome, and those in the town have been far from unkind."

For the most part.

"...you can't go back home," he says, softly.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you," she murmurs, accepting his sympathy with grace, but dark eyes are intent upon him.

"This surprises you?"

"No, I ... I should've figured, I guess. Or you would have been there."

For the final battle, he means.

"Could I have, I would, yes; you are right about that," Moiraine confirms.

"Is it because of what you did? To reweave the seal?"

It's genuine concern, genuine sympathy -- but it's also purely academic curiosity.

As such, it is visible to one such as her, and the faintest hint of a smile touches her lips.

"It is, I believe."

A pause.

"Would you hear more of it?"

He nods. "If -- if you're okay with talking about it?"

"If I were not, Andrew, you may be certain that we would not be having this conversation," the Aes Sedai tells him, still with that faint smile.

A pause.

"How familiar are you with the Mirrors of the Wheel?"

"The alternate timelines?" he says at once. "Different possible ways the world could be, or could have been. Right?"

She nods.

"You are right. All the worlds that might be, with all their possible lives and existences therein."

A single beat.

"Including mine, once, although no longer."

He starts to answer. Stops.

His mouth hangs open, for a moment, with nothing coming out.

Something flickers in the dark eyes just for an instant as she watches him.

(Something very like satisfaction, or confirmation - there and then gone, almost too quickly to be seen at all.)

Moiraine nods again.

"I thought you might grasp the complexities of such a thing."

A pause.

"I used those threads to weave the patch," the Aes Sedai concludes, simply. "It was all that I had to work with, given the nature of the weaving."

"...you used yourself." Wondering. "All your selves. Across all the timelines...."

There's more than wonder in his tone: something like fear, and something like fascination.

"How did you even do that?"

"I had an expert teacher," she replies. "And once I realized that it might be possible -- for the past several years in this place, I have spent a great deal of my time in study and practice, preparing to make the attempt."

He takes a deep breath, and says "Wow," very softly.

"...And if you go back, you're thinking it could affect the seal? Or is it that you physically can't go back now that you wrote yourself out?"

"I dare not risk it," Moiraine says. "For exactly that reason. If I were to return, and it were to have an effect-- I cannot risk that happening, even now."

A pause.

"Although I suspect that I would not be able to, in any case. There was nothing truly left of myself apart from the weaving aside from that which Raven found--"

She indicates herself with a small gesture.

"-- as you see."

His glance follows her gesture.

Cautiously: "You, um ... you look like you, to me."

"I am," she reassures him. "Even as I was. It is only that-- the existence that remains to me now is the thread that was woven when I first came here, not one of those from any of the Mirrors, insofar as I can tell."

A slow nod.

"But ... you still remember your life in the timeline you grew up in? What you did there, and everything?"

Moiraine nods assent, but quickly cautions,

"That is not unexpected, however, as I recalled those things when I first came here."

She gives a very small shrug.

"I have given this much thought, as you might expect, and I believe I have reasoned out how it must have happened."

A pause.

"Of course, if you have other insight to offer, I should be interested in hearing it."

The remark is made as if from one colleague to another, as it happens.

"..."

He blinks at that, a little, and then recovers. "Um, first -- how do you think it happened?"

"It would be easier with string," she murmurs, and looks around for a waitrat.

Andrew digs experimentally in his pockets, but fails to turn up any string.

The waitrat's happy to bring some from Bar, though.

She takes the small skein of yarn with a word of thanks, sets it on the table, and pulls one end free so that Andrew can easily see.

"I suspect it was something like this," Moiraine tells him, as she begins to unravel one strand from the rest of the woolen thread. "See how this smaller piece is part of the whole, from the same source, and yet separate from it?"