milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It is an impulse that drives her this evening; an impulse and a restlessness, the combination of which leads her to lay aside her current work and enter Milliways, instead.

Soon enough, the Aes Sedai is settled at a table with a pot of tea gently steaming near at hand, and a delicate china cup in front of her.

As she sips, she observes the bar and its patrons with definite interest.

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"Is it so?"

Her glance rests for a moment on the other woman's face, almost as if searching for something, and then she lifts the pot of tea and pours a cup for Nynaeve.

"I have not, of late. Should I expect to?"

"Thank you."

Nynaeve's face settles into softer lines, just for a second. Softer, and maybe a little sad.

"With the Last Battle coming up so quickly, I'd almost hoped he'd found his way here again. Just to give him more time."

She exhales gently, lifting up the teacup and taking a quick sip.

"Though I will say he was a great deal better than he'd been in quite some time, when I left him."

Here she meets Moiraine's gaze quite directly.

"It almost went very wrong, Moiraine. We came within a hair's breadth of disaster."

It would take one who knows her very well to spot the instant's frozen stillness before she reaches for her own teacup and curves her fingers around the china to prevent them from trembling.

It cannot be. Oh, Light--

"How so?"

Her entire attention is given to Nynaeve now, and much more sharply than before.

"He thought he had to be hard. Emotionless. He destroyed an entire fortress with Balefire. He almost killed Tam."

Nynaeve takes another long swallow of tea.

"It's different now. I can see it when I Delve, though I doubt many others can. He's able to fight the corruption of the Dark One with his mere presence."

Her mouth curves in something that she is trying very hard to turn into a smile.

"Fortunately Min remains with him, to keep his pride in check. But even she could not reach him, for a time."

"I could have wished you were there."

Far moreso than Cadsuane, though she was still the best choice of a bad lot.

"I could have wished to be there, were it possible," she murmurs, very softly.

"There is very little I would not undertake to see Rand succeed in what he must do, as I think you know."

"I do know that," Nynaeve says, setting her teacup down with a decisive clink.

"And I find myself in much the same situation, as I will be accompanying him into the Bore once he is prepared to go."

She cannot say she is looking forward to it, but it must be done.

(And she wouldn't particularly trust anyone else.)

For a dizzying instant, it is as though she is back on the other side of the redstone ter'angreal, where questions, answers, and possibilities all are joined.

"Of course you will."

She curves her right hand around the teacup. Her left hand settles gracefully out of sight under the table... where her fingers clench tightly in the wool of her skirts.

Light. Oh, Light. So much time, and yet so little. Is it enough?

"Has he given any hint as to his intentions?"

"Some," Nynaeve says tersely, fingertip clinking where she taps it against the side of her mug.

"Though I think he hasn't yet chosen all that his strategy will be. More than he might like depends on the choices of others, Egwene not least among them. And the Borderlanders, as it happens."

She purses her lips.

"Not to mention the Seanchan."

"The Seanchan. Indeed."

She thinks of a treaty, drafted by Rand and passed to her in secret, and thinks of a prophecy, as well.

"The Dragon Reborn must kneel before the Crystal Throne before Tarmon Gai'don, or all is lost..."

"What of Egwene and the Borderlanders?"

"Egwene questions his desire to break the seals to the Dark One's prison."

She huffs out a quiet breath, lifting her tea up to her mouth again, though she does not take a sip.

"If they dealt with each other as Amyrlin and Dragon Reborn it might almost be easier than when they are simply Egwene and Rand. Ah, well."

Nynaeve's exhale this time is quieter.

"As for those Borderlanders, he tried to meet with them before, which was nearly an utter disaster. As of yet he has not approached them again, but. Well."

She sets down her tea, folding one hand over the other, expression gone calm.

"I admit I have some hopes that he will send them after Lan. Eventually."

"I share your hope," she murmurs.

Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelash does she reveal her thoughts... or her memories.

"It is the most complicated of games that Rand is playing," Moiraine adds. "Harder, in many ways, when so richly laden with layers of nuance, but no less critical. I fear that which served him so well in Cairhien will not serve him now."

"At least now he is not convinced that he needs to do everything alone."

She doesn't scowl, but it is a near thing.

"I think -- and I am hardly alone in this -- that such a change may well be the saving of him, and indeed of us all."

Here she shakes her head a little.

"And he has Lews Therin to help him, as well. Even if that Lews Therin is also himself."

She raises a hand in Moiraine's direction.

"Don't ask me how that works. Even Rand has a difficult time explaining, and he hasn't even seen what it looks like."

"It may, at that."

She arches an eyebrow, and a faint smile touches her lips.

"Is it so? Then I shall not ask."

Moiraine has more reason than most to know the intricate weaving required to incorporate the threads of more than one life, after all.

Her grip on her skirts loosens, finally, and she picks up her teacup with both hands, cradling it with her fingertips.

"You mentioned that Rand's presence alone now serves to push back the touch of the Shadow?"

Moiraine is an overachiever. Raven would doubtless agree, were he here.

But in his absence --

"So I did, and it's something many of the lands should be grateful for, particularly Arad Doman. They'd be in a great deal more trouble than they currently are, had he not been able to save all the rotted grain."

Here she smiles very slightly. It is necessary to take pleasure where one can, when it all may be gone in the next hour.

"He makes it easier to get a good cup of tea, these days, as well."

"Ta'veren," she murmurs, tapping one finger against the edge of her teacup in thought.

"The Pattern bends around him more as matters escalate, it seems."

Nynaeve bites back a snort, huffing out a quiet breath instead.

"I'd say around all of them, as far as that goes."

"There is that, of course," Moiraine acknowledges. "They are all central to what lies ahead... but Rand more so."

Nynaeve merely raises a brow, the rest of her expression remaining composed.

"As I have firsthand knowledge of that, I can't say I disagree with you, Moiraine. But the other boys -- men now, I suppose -- are no less fundamental, even if their role may be smaller. Strange at that may still seem for Mat."

She takes a careful sip of her tea.

"They would not be ta'veren, else."

She thinks of a letter; thinks, too, of the Tower of Ghenjei, and of Mat's role there.

"Matrim Cauthon has hidden depths."

A small smile touches her lips.

"Although he would deny them. Fervently."

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