Worried "here, let me help you" drabble thingy with Molan or Molanaeve. (Do I have a breakdown every time I imagine Lan or / and Nynaeve helping Moiraine cope with the consequences of 1x08?... Probably.)
Prompt List Here! | Send me ship prompts!
Literally everything I imagine post 1x08 is giving me a breakdown, anon, so I feel you in my bones. Also this got Long so I’m formatting it like my usual fic posts because I posted it on AO3 lol.
Title: To The End
Warning: SPOILERS for episode 1x08 of the show. Feelings of hopelessness/implied mentions of previous suicide missions/the expectation of dying. Typical cheery Mo stuff.
Summary: Post 1x08, prompt ‘here, let me help you’ Molanaeve flavoured. As the group begins travelling once more away from Fal Dara, Moiraine finds old habits hard to break, and continues reaching for the power to complete mundane tasks without thinking. After a tough day, she finally snaps. Hurt/Comfort, Lan POV.
Teaser: ‘ A quip in her mouth, and a smirk on her lips, she had taken his hand in hers, squeezing and slowly pulling back. Her face had fallen when she had stared at her own hand and found his blood staining it. Blood she had just bidden to return to his body. From a wound she had willed to heal. She had stared at that hand for far too long, her body rigid, her face set, and they had all noticed it.’
Link: AO3 or Read Below:
It had been a bad day. Lan did not need the bond, or even the history he had with her, to tell that. There had been so many things that had happened she had been unable to hide them.
Fal Dara was a day behind them now, and as they had sunk back into the routine of travel, old habits had become as much a torment to Moiraine as blood flies were to the horses.
At first, only he had noticed. The subtle way she reached instinctively for the Power to ease Aldieb's fatigue after a steep ascent. A faint flicker of her wrist that would ordinarily have let her sharpen her vision to peer further ahead of them. The look on her face as she'd turned to him with a mixture of confusion and frustration, wondering why he hadn't responded to something she had forgotten he could no longer feel. Realisation had struck harder than an arrow to the heart, and the shame in her eyes as she'd turned away from him would haunt him until the grave took him.
By far the worst had happened when they had broken for lunch. Lan had engaged her in a short sparring contest, her daggers against his sword. The aim had not been to test her skills, though he made sure she kept them honed as sharply as the blades themselves, but to allow her to work off a little steam. A mistimed strike had caught his hand, the cut not bad, but immediately obvious from the spray of scarlet that showered them.
A quip in her mouth, and a smirk on her lips, she had taken his hand in hers, squeezing and slowly pulling back. Her face had fallen when she had stared at her own hand and found his blood staining it. Blood she had just bidden to return to his body. From a wound she had willed to heal. She had stared at that hand for far too long, her body rigid, her face set, and they had all noticed it. The camp had fallen uncomfortably silent, until Nynaeve had made a very loud, and very obvious, comment about how they may not be in the Two Rivers, but that didn't mean she would accept them all standing around uselessly like Spring Poles at Bel Tine.
After that, Moiraine had covered the moment well, but the slips she experienced later in the day were more obvious, now the others were watching for them, unconsciously or otherwise. It was setting her more and more on edge. He could feel it in her, even without the bond. She was so tense he expected to hear the sound of bones snapping at any moment.
As they set up camp for the evening meal, Moiraine reached for the Source in a way she had done a thousand times before, to spark life into the cold fire at its centre. Nothing happened. Grinding her teeth, the eyes of the others upon her, stolen glances from beneath ducked heads, she snatched stubbornly at the flint he'd set beside it.
After eight failed strikes to have a spark catch, with the awkward attention of everyone upon her, Nynaeve finally got up from where she had been arranging bed rolls and marched over.
"Here," she said quietly, reaching out to take the flint from Moiraine's hands, "Let me do that for you.”
Her voice was gentler than Lan had ever heard it, when directed towards his Aes Sedai. Before, that would have been a cause for him to smile, yet this only made him wince, because he knew it was the last thing she needed.
"I am not useless," Moiraine snapped, "I can start a damned fire myself."
Most people might have cowered from the uncharacteristic flare of anger they'd managed to unwisely draw from her. Nynaeve being Nynaeve reacted exactly as only she would, which happened to be exactly what was needed.
"Could you get on with it, then?” she demanded, hands on hips, frown on face, “I’d like dinner some time before dawn, if it’s all the same to you.”
Egwene let out a small noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan, but Moiraine held Nynaeve’s challenging gaze, and favoured her with a faint half-smile. She took the flint back from her, knelt down, and attempted it again. It took her several more tries, but eventually the tinder caught and spread. The fire reflected in her dark eyes for a moment before she stood up abruptly, dropped the flint on the ground, and walked out of the camp without a word or a look at any of them.
Lan tracked her with his eyes to a spot towards the edge of the cliff, facing out towards Fal Dara, and the Blight, then moved towards the fire and started adding logs to it.
Nynaeve touched his arm, then looked immediately embarrassed that she had done so. Refusing to acknowledge it, she folded her arms over her chest and jerked her head in the direction Moiraine had gone, “Aren’t you going to go after her?” she asked bluntly, eyebrows raised.
“I never thought I’d see the day when you were concerned about Moiraine,” he said, unable to stop himself.
Nynaeve sniffed irritably, “I’m not concerned,” she said, and Lan thought it was just as well she hadn’t taken her Three Oaths yet, because if she had she certainly wouldn’t have been able to get that past her tightly gritted teeth, “But I am a Wisdom,” she said a little loftily, “It’s my job to make sure that everyone else is doing their jobs. And yours is to make sure that she doesn’t see the rest of us dead from frostbite because she’s too stubborn to ask for help.”
Lan blinked at her, wondering if she saw the irony in what she’d just said, given how it could have so blatantly applied to herself. From the steely defiance in her glare, he was rather sure that she did, and that further drawing attention to it would not be wise.
So he simply said, “She has never been very proficient in asking for what she needs. Not for herself,” he added, shaking his head, “She would stride into the throne room of any king or queen, in any nation of this land, and demand an army to help her protect this world. At the same time she did, she could be dying from a gut wound she’d hidden under her cloak and refused to bother anyone with.”
Nynaeve snorted a little at that, shaking her head, “I never thought I’d meet anyone as woolheaded and stubborn as she is outside the Two Rivers,” she said, almost sounding impressed, and perhaps even a little proud.
He sighed a little at that and said, “She has been running herself on stubborn spite more than food or air for the past five years at least.”
“That might be a good thing,” Nynaeve said, sobering again, “After what she’s been through. I suppose that’s the only reason she’s still on her feet,” then she frowned, looking irritable again as she added grumpily, “It’s also going to be the thing that kills her, if you don’t talk some sense into her. And quickly.”
“I have been trying to talk sense into that woman for twenty years,” he sighed.
Again, he found himself rubbing absently at a spot between his shoulder blades where he often felt a phantom pain that belonged to Moiraine. Her tension always seemed to gather there, and even without the bond, he swore he felt it still when she was distressed.
“Well try harder,” Nynaeve said bluntly, “Or I will. And you won’t like that.”
“True,” Perrin muttered as he passed, carrying fresh water for Egwene who had started to make a soup.
Nynaeve shot a withering glower after him. It made him smile, and, once he had turned away, she smiled as well.
Taking a deep breath, Lan murmured, “She will not be able to say it for herself, so I will say it for her, but she is sorry for the way she snapped at you.”
Glancing in the direction Moiraine had been swallowed by the darkness, Nynaeve muttered, “I honestly didn’t mean it to imply that I thought she was frail or that she couldn’t cope.”
“I know,” Lan said, winching, knowing that was exactly what had fired Moiraine up, touching on a nerve that was still too raw and freshly bloodied to react with anything but feral instinct. “She is just-”
“I know,” Nynaeve interrupted grimly, nodding, a deep sorrow in her eyes, “I know.”
Lan nodded and added quietly, “I think she would prefer it if you did not. She cannot hide her pain, or what has happened, which is how she usually deals with it. Having this exposed to everyone, it is making her feel vulnerable, as though she has painted a target upon herself.”
Nynaeve nodded, shaking her head and muttering, “Foolish woman.”
“She is,” Lan agreed, but his voice was fond, “But we all are, in our way.”
A charged look passed between them at that, words spoken on a balcony in Fal Dara in the morning of the day the world had ended. Words that he was not ready to face, emotion in those eyes that he found he could no longer meet.
Clearing his throat, he glanced towards the edge of the cliff and bowed his head, saying, “I should check on her. She’s had long enough to brood alone now, I think.”
Nynaeve nodded, her expression telling him that she had felt that moment as keenly as he had, but she did not fight him or try to keep him in place. She let him go to Moiraine without envy or judgement. At last she seemed to understand, in a way she had not before. She had found something in Moiraine that she could identify with, it seemed, and that had finally met with her approval.
***
Moiraine stood alone on the edge of the cliff, wind tugging at her cloak, as though urging her to leap from it and be carried away wherever it wished to take her. She resisted, legs planted firmly like the roots of an ancient tree that had stood long before kingdoms had risen, and would stand still centuries after they had fallen.
When he touched her shoulder gently, she started, one hand instinctively reaching for her dagger, the other trying to grasp the Power. She released both along with a slow breath, and frowned a little at him, even as she relaxed. He gave her upper arm an apologetic squeeze, moving closer.
“You have not been able to startle me since our little incident with the pond,” she said quietly, as he fell in beside her, following her gaze to the distant horizon beyond, the spec of Fal Dara just visible between the cradle of its sheltering mountains. She looked at him, such sorrow in her eyes, as she murmured, “I have always been able to feel you coming since then.”
He bowed his head, then met her eyes again and said quietly, “You do not need a bond with me to know that I will always come for you when you need me, Moiraine,” he told her gently.
The implication stretched between them, the thing they had not yet properly spoken of. The Blight, how she had left him, how she had expected to die, and had not even given him the chance to protect her, as was his duty. Yet there had been gentleness in it, too, and a kind of forgiveness. He would always come to her, when she was in trouble, no matter what might change or come to pass as the Wheel wove its inexorable patterns.
“I suppose not,” she allowed, inclining her head to him, accepting the sentiment and the comfort it had intended to offer. With a slight twist of her mouth, she added in a wry mutter, “But I’m still going to sew bells onto that cloak of yours.”
Lan smiled a little at that, releasing a steady breath, arms crossed comfortably over his chest, wind rippling through said cloak, making it seem for a moment like a piece of the night forged into liquid, melding around his body.
“That would be much more threatening if we weren't both very aware of the fact that you can't so much as sew a button back on,” he reminded her with a light smirk.
House Damodred had tried, repeatedly and insistently, according to Moiraine, to teach her embroidery and needlework, as was appropriate to a woman of her station. Surprisingly, it was something she had simply never taken to. Like trying to ask a fish to fly, she simply could not do it. Though her attempts had, admittedly, been deeply amusing, particularly as he could sew relatively well, himself. A soldier learned to patch clothes, and wounds, as needed. He’d been told it was a skill he had inherited from his mother.
Moiraine glowered at him, but he read the fondness in her eyes, even as she growled, “I shall have Egwene do it for me.”
“There she is,” Lan teased, “One can take Lady Damodred out of Cairhien, but they cannot take Lady Damodred out of Moiraine.”
She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and he allowed the blow to land, as he felt he had largely deserved it. It was worth it, to see her smile, even as she looked at him in a way that told him that, had she been able to channel at the moment, he’d have found ants in his smallclothes once more. He might, still, he thought, judging by the way she was glaring daggers at him.
Drawing herself up, she raised her chin and jerked it towards him before she said sweetly, “Well, you would be the one to ask about matters of royalty, wouldn’t you, your majesty?”
He rewarded her with an affected little shudder at those words, “Please never call me that again,” he muttered.
“Never?” she repeated, eyes twinkling with amusement, like a cat that had caught a mouse and was enjoying playing with it, “What if you some day reclaim Malkier and your title of King?”
Her words had started light, and teasing, a playful verbal spar back and forth of the kind they had favoured as they travelled alone together, seeking something to pass the time. As she so often did, she had flipped the tone of the conversation and somehow managed to effortlessly shift it on to a topic she must have known was on his mind.
Striding through the Blight to seek her it had been impossible, even in his feverish, near-panicked state, not to halt at the sight of the ruined city that should have been his home, and his birthright. A kingdom of shining lakes, and strong, proud people. His people. Scattered to the winds like ash from a funeral pyre after it had been consumed by darkness. It was something that had indeed been on his mind since.
“If there should ever come a time when I reclaim Malkier,” he said, feeling oddly emotional just putting that thought into words and speaking them aloud, “You will be at my side as I do, and I would not dishonour you by having you pledge fealty to me as your king.”
She smiled at that, perhaps the first true smile he had seen from her since the Blight, one that reached her eyes and finally stirred some warmth and life within them, “I would be proud to name you my king, Lan,” she said simply.
He touched his forehead to hers, an unusually thick wave of emotion sweeping through him. This was not the first time they had spoken of Malkier. She had confessed to him, some years ago, that if the Wheel willed that they should be successful in their task, and that they should both survive it, she would like nothing more than to help him restore his home, and stay there with him, and with Siuan, in peace, for the rest of her days. Yet there was something about the way she said it now, after having confronted the Dark One at the Eye. That she could still promise him that she dreamed of that for him, after all that she had lost, made his heart ache with the depth of his love for her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked quietly, frowning at him, head tilted slightly to one side, as though suspicious he was still mocking her.
The look in question had been a slight thing, indeed, something none of the rest would have noticed at all, save perhaps Nynaeve, and only if she’d been watching for it.
“It is good to see you smile again,” he said, a little sadly.
She turned away at that, the levity of the moment draining away, leaving behind a deep, emotional silence. He let her have it, let her stand, and think, and gather herself.
"I have not been at myself lately,” she murmured, rubbing the bridge of her nose, a habit she had picked up from him. Shoulders slumping with a soft sigh, she added heavily, “And I should not have lost my temper with Nynaeve as I did."
"She understands,” Lan reassured her quietly, giving her arm a soft squeeze.
Moiraine looked up at him, a shrewd glint steeling her gaze as she said flatly, "You apologised for me, didn't you?"
He refused to blush.
"I have always said this is why you consented to bond a Warder in the first place" he joked lightly, "So that when you make a mess somewhere, you have someone to apologise for you while you've already moved on to planning your next,” she glared at him with indignation, but not without a flush of colour in her pale cheeks as he nudged her shoulder and told her with amusement, “You have kept me on my toes, through the years."
The humour was forced, which he knew that she would see. Yet she still smiled. It had not been about the teasing, and her smile came from gratitude. He was trying. They were both trying. Yet he watched as the light died from her eyes once more, and she turned away from him, her thoughts obviously darkening again.
He let her stand for a long moment, the wind dragging rough fingers through her hair, sending it swirling around her face as though in agitation. She wrapped her arms around herself, as though suddenly cold, yet he knew the sudden rush of air had nothing to do with the gesture. Not compared to the shards of ice that had replaced her heart within her chest.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Lan,” she whispered, the words nearly stolen by the next gust. Exhaling, her body sagged, all of the strength leaving her at once, “I don’t know if I can be what I need to be for them, and for the world, when I feel so lost, and so wrong all the time."
She shook her head, eyes closed, despair lining her face, features suddenly seeming worn and ragged.
“You do not have to be everything that is needed alone,” he murmured, resting a hand gently on the small of her back, a small comfort, “I am here.”
“I know, I know,” she murmured, resting her head gently against his shoulder, “I do not know what I would have done without you after all of this, but...” she trailed off, swallowing tightly and falling suddenly still and quiet.
“What is it?” he encouraged gently, sensing that this was a time to try and coax a little more from her, as this was something she needed to say.
“I just- I didn’t think that it would be this hard,” she said, her voice cracking a little on that last word. “We were all told about it, you know. At the White Tower while I was training to be an Aes Sedai, it was required study for every Novice in the place.”
That word ‘it’ had come to contain so much dark meaning since the Eye. She had still not spoken the word aloud, as if doing so would force her to fully face it for the first time, and that was something she was not ready for. He had respected her wishes, and had spoken of her Stilling only in vague implications as well. This was a thing she had to choose for herself, and he would not force it upon her.
“They wanted us to understand what a gift our Power was,” she said, needing to swallow tightly so that she could continue, “And to feel utter terror at the threat of having it removed for misusing it.”
Lan rubbed her back gently as she continued, smooth, even circles with a steady grounding rhythm. It helped. Even without the bond to feel the drop in anxiety, he sensed the slight relaxing of her muscles, the barely perceptible way she leaned in to his touch, the hint of strength in her voice as she went on.
“They even shielded us once,” she said with a small shudder, “To give us a taste of what it would be like, to help us understand,” the final word twisted in a sneer and she let out a soft little noise of derision at that. Shaking her head, she muttered darkly, “We had no idea. None. It is not possible to understand a thing like this until you are forced to live with it. Not as a test, or a demonstration, or a flaunting of power, but something that is real, and awful, and permanent.”
A strained sob broke from her on that last word. She clamped her mouth shut around it, trying to hold in her grief, not wanting to break down out here, with the camp so close by. Lan wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him. Her body jostled slightly into his from the strength of it, but he knew that she would not mind that at all. She didn’t. She held him back, arms tight around him, face tucked in against his shoulder, a curtain of thick dark hair covering her face as it had at the Eye.
“I had seen it done before, of course. I have helped to do it,” she added, and he felt her shiver at the memory, even as he shared it.
He had been barely conscious as Logain had been gentled in that cave, but he remembered the feel of her as she had done it. The icy rage that had been a contained shard of emotion piercing through the logic of what she felt must be done. Emotion for him, for the life that man had almost taken so casually with his power, and the absolute conviction that he must never be allowed to threaten anyone she loved again.
“But I-” she swayed slightly, even with his arm around her, and he increased the support he was giving her, bearing almost all of her weight himself now, holding her up, “I never thought it would be this hard. This- This-” Words failed her, and he did not blame her, for how could something like this be explained to another who had no basis for it at all with something like words?
Burying her face in against him, she cried quietly, the first time she had let herself do so since she had confessed what had happened to her at the Eye and he had held her there as the enormity of what had been done shattered around them both. He held her again now, in the dark, on an unnamed cliff beyond Fal Dara, where no-one watched, and no-one cared but the stars, distant and cold, as Moiraine Sedai proved that she was so intensely human.
“How am I supposed to do this, Lan?” she rasped, voice hoarse from her grief, drawing her head away, and letting him wipe her tears with the cuff of his sleeve, “How am I supposed to do this?”
“You already are,” he whispered fiercely, giving her a gentle squeeze, “You are doing this. You are surviving, you are fighting, as you always do. And I-” his voice cracked, and he had to take a breath, drawing himself up, gathering his own strength as he added, words tight with emotion, “I am so proud of you. So proud.”
Her mouth trembled at that, but she met his eyes as she said, “I do not want to let you down.”
“You can’t,” he growled, tightening his hold around her, “Never.”
“You deserve better than this,” she said hoarsely, “An Aes Sedai who cannot channel. A Warder bond without the bond. Lan-”
“We have talked about this,” he said darkly, his expression hardening as he gazed down at her with iron resolve, “I will not stand to hear those things again, Moiraine. I will not.”
She laid a hand on his arm and nodded, “I know that,” she said, shaking slightly, “But I am so tired, Lan. I feel afraid, and I feel weak, and I feel hopeless and I- I do not know how to make it stop.”
Pressing a soft kiss to her temple, he rested his head against hers and said quietly, “It cannot compare to what you are going through, I know, but I have things in me, too, that have made me feel this way."
She instinctively reached for him, holding his arm as his throat worked around the tight lump that had formed there.
"My home. My family. They were taken before I even knew them. That is what I missed, knowing what those things felt like."
He paused a moment, gathering himself. These were old wounds, scarred over now, but they could still cause him pain. Moiraine knew that, knew the shape of them as intimately as if they had been seared into her skin.
"Those losses hollowed a chasm within me. It has never left, and it never will. This will not leave you, either. You cannot make it stop," he touched her face, finger tips caressing the soft skin of her cheek, "I wish that you could, I wish that I could take it from you, and carry it for you, so that you would not have to endure. But I cannot. It will not leave you, so you must simply learn how to stay and live with it," his words were as gentle as he could without diminishing what she would need to go through.
Her eyes darkened and a shiver trembled through her body. He drew her in closer to him, his arms draped around her, trying to bring her comfort
You helped me,” he told her, gently cupping her cheek in his hand, "You gave me those things I had never known. A family, in your heart, and a home at your side," she smiled at that, tipping his head down and kissing his cheek.
He rubbed his fingers up and down her spine, holding her to him, letting her feel his words vibrating through his chest. A hollow replacement for the bond he missed as much as she, perhaps more, but he knew the sensation would ground her somewhat.
“When I felt the void calling to me, rather than I to it, you were there. You were the flame that I needed to bring me back," he breathed quietly, "I will be that for you, Moiraine, for as long as you need it. It will not stop, and we cannot, so we go on. But we do not go on alone. You do not go on alone. You go with me, and I with you. To the end.”
She turned to face him, squeezing his hands in hers, and nodded, “To the end,” she agreed, voice choked with emotion, but strong and resolute once more.
Tears were glimmering in her eyes, but this time they did not fall, and nor did she, not while he was there to hold her. He would always be there for her, no matter how the Pattern tried to pull their threads apart.
