Chapter Text
The water was still warm, scented with jasmine and something muskier. It curled against Lanfear’s skin as she shifted, lifting her leg slightly above the surface before letting it slip beneath again. Candlelight flickered across the brass tub, casting slow-moving reflections on the damp stone walls.
It was a modest room by her standards, though nothing she ever touched remained simple for long. The innkeeper had not known who she was, only that when she asked for the best chamber, it had been made ready within moments. Now, perfumed water lapped at her collarbones, and fine silk sheets awaited her on the bed beyond.
Not that she was going to use them. There was work to be done in her domain, where Rand al'Thor wouldn't have protection from her.
Meeting the woman had been something inevitable, knowing the boy never strayed far from the Aes Sedai for long. Lanfear had studied her mark carefully, his weak points, his dreams, his Egwene. But she hadn't dwell much on her, expecting her presence to be fleeting, something easily overshadowed by the greater power Lanfear was able to wield.
But Moiraine Sedai had proven more resilient than Lanfear had anticipated. And far more clever. The Forsaken had not expected stupidity from her, but neither had she expected that. The strike had been just one part of a larger plan, a single move in a carefully laid trap. Moiraine had known Lanfear would survive. The point had never been to kill her outright.
It had been to get away.
Lanfear let out a slow breath, head tipping back, eyes half-lidded as she recalled it. She had underestimated her. And she was magnificent.
Heat coiled low in her stomach, something sharp and consuming. She should have been enraged. Instead, leaning back against the curve of the tub, she trailed idle fingers down the center of her chest, surprising herself as she found a thin, pale scar just above her heart.
It should not have been there. It should not have existed at all. Her body was a tapestry she could weave and unweave with complete ease.
She had healed herself the moment her body was hers again, shattered bones mended, torn flesh rewoven, the ruin Moiraine had left behind seemingly erased as if it had never been. The mark of her slit throat, gone, the back of her shoulder, where the blade had punched clean through, flawless once more. Smooth, untouched.
And yet, the front had remained. A single, raised line of silvered skin where Moiraine’s sword had pierced her.
The Forsaken exhaled slowly, pressing her palm against it. She had not left it there intentionally, had not thought to keep it. Her lips parted slightly at the realization that something deeper within her had decided.
Moiraine’s blade had been quick. No hesitation, no flourish. Just the sharp, clean thrust of steel through flesh. Moiraine had not waited to see if it would work, had not lingered to watch her fall, but Lanfear had felt the way her fingers had gripped the hilt just a fraction tighter, the way her breath had caught.
Moiraine had felt her agonize.
Anger surged through Lanfear´s body, fierce and searing, a sharp, wild fire that consumed her from within.The wound had been treachery, had been an insult. That fragile little woman, devoid of the One Power, had dared to think she could destroy her. Had dared to touch her in such a way.
And yet…
Her nails scraped against the scar, slow and deliberate and the sensation sent a shiver through her core.
She had learnt Moiraine Sedai was dangerous. That quiet, careful mind. That restrained strength. A woman who spent years weaving a single plan, waiting for the moment to strike. And that night, she had struck her.
Lanfear’s head tipped back, eyes dark as she breathed in the memory. The anger and the hunger twisted together, indistinguishable.
She could erase it. The scar, the proof of it. A single thought, and her skin would be untouched once more. But she didn’t. Instead, her fingers lingered, pressing more firmly into the mark Moiraine had left.
And she knew that the dreams she would visit would not be Rand al’Thor’s.
Rather, she wanted to rip the Aes Sedai from sleep the moment her body succumbed, to drag her into the darkness of Tel’aran’rhiod and see what lay beneath that iron-willed restraint, to feel that sharp, startled resistance, to watch the moment Moiraine realized she was no longer in control.
It was delicious, the way Moiraine fought it. How Lanfear felt her walk the razor’s edge of exhaustion, forcing herself back to wakefulness the moment her breathing grew too slow, her mind too quiet. As if sheer will alone could keep the Forsaken at bay.
There was something far sweeter in being patient, in letting Moiraine linger on the precipice, knowing she could be taken at any moment.
It lasted for days and it would have been impressive…if it had mattered. But even Moiraine Sedai had limits. And when the body finally betrayed her, when her strength cracked beneath the weight of it, Lanfear was waiting.
Still, she did not take her immediately, choosing to let the silence stretch, let Moiraine feel the suspicion, let her wonder, Is it tonight? Tomorrow? Not at all?
Then, when the time was right, Lanfear stepped through the veil and found her.
She had felt it the moment the Aes Sedai entered into Tel’aran’rhiod, the edges fraying, warping beneath her presence: The dream was bleak.
Moiraine stood alone in an empty field beneath a sky without stars. The grass around her swayed in a soundless wind, stretching endlessly in all directions, as if the world itself had unraveled into nothing but waiting space.
Lanfear smiled. How telling.
She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, letting her presence seep into the space around the woman like a slow-rising tide. She wanted Moiraine to feel the weight of her attention curling around her like a hand at her throat.
The grass did not rustle beneath her steps. The dream bent instead, shifting to accommodate her as she approached, a shadow bleeding into Moiraine’s carefully guarded world.
As the woman finally turned, the Forsaken could see her chin high, her expression carefully still. Still fighting. Still pretending this was not a battle she had already lost. She was composed as ever but the exhaustion had clearly taken a toll, evident in the quiet, resigned tension in the way she held herself.
Lanfear stopped just within reach, tilting her head, drinking in the way the dream softened the hard edges of Moiraine’s face. Being in Tel’aran’rhiod, in her domain, suited her. Oh, it suited her so well.
The Forsaken debated how to proceed, and her next words were voiced quietly, filled with dark amusement beneath it, a slow, deliberate drawl meant to scrape against Moiraine’s raw edges. “You had me waiting, manshimaya.” The old tongue curled sweetly on her lips—an endearment, an amusement.
Her fingers ghosted through the air between them, a deliberate almost-touch, waiting to see if Moiraine would move away. She did not flinch. Of course, she did not flinch. But there was something in the set of her shoulders, in the slight, controlled exhale, that made Lanfear’s blood sing.
“I wondered how long you would resist,” Lanfear murmured, her hand shooting forward, fingers catching Moiraine’s jaw, tilting her head back just enough to feel the shift in her breath.“how long before your body betrayed you.” Her grip tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to remind her. “Do you feel it now? How can I linger?”
Moiraine did not fight her hold. She simply looked at her, steady and unreadable, her silence its own answer.
But Lanfear could feel her pulse. She let her hand slide lower, the backs of her fingers tracing down Moiraine’s throat, resting just above where the artery thrummed beneath her skin. Her nails pressed in just a beat later, enough to make her pulse jump.
“You will think of me even when you’re awake too,” she whispered, lips so close to Moiraine’s cheek she could almost taste her. “You will feel me, even when I am not there. You will never stop wondering if I am out to get you.”
Moiraine’s voice was soft, but cutting. “And would you?”
Lanfear’s smile sharpened. Oh, Moiraine was exquisite. Even now, with exhaustion weighing down her limbs, with the dream bending at the seams under the weight of Lanfear’s presence, she still thought she could wield her tongue like a blade.
“And would I what?” the Forsaken murmured, tilting her head as if genuinely curious, but her fingers did not loosen their hold. Instead, they traced the delicate ridge of Moiraine’s throat, slow and lingering. She could feel the resistance beneath the surface. Not fear, not yet, but a quiet, iron-willed defiance that made her want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath.
Moiraine did not answer, of course. She only watched her, steady, waiting.
Lanfear laughed, a low, dark thing curling at the edges of the silence between them. “Would I haunt you? Would I slip beneath your skin, settle into your blood like something inescapable? Do you even need to ask?” Her grip tightened, just for a moment, before she let her fingers slide away, curling instead around Moiraine’s wrist.
She lifted it, slow, deliberate, studying the fine-boned hand caught in her grasp. Her thumb traced over the pulse point, feeling the steady, controlled rhythm beneath.“You are clever,” she said softly, almost thoughtful. “You understand what this is.” Moiraine’s lips parted slightly, the barest shift of breath.
Lanfear smiled again. “You still resist. How long do you think you can keep this up?” she whispered, the words barely a murmur. “It would be easier if you simply let go, everyone else does.”
She was enjoying toying with the Aes Sedai way too much, relishing in how the impassive woman was slightly trembling under her. Finally, she had managed to break her. Or so she thought.
But when she pulled away slightly to gauge Moiraine’s fearful reaction, she saw something completely different.
Was she… Was she laughing?
The realization hit Lanfear like a slap, sudden and sharp. Moiraine’s lips had curved, not into the terrified grimace she had imagined, but into something far more dangerous: a calm, collected smile.
For the first time since they entered this tangled dance, Lanfear felt the ground shift beneath her feet. She took an involuntary step back, her mind racing to regain control. She had obviously miscalculated. Moiraine had been watching, waiting for Lanfear to make a mistake. And somehow, it appeared as if she made one.
The Forsaken went still and her breath hitched as Moiraine’s eyes, steady and unyielding, locked onto hers with an almost knowing gleam. “You don't scare me, Lanfear. Your attempts at domination won’t work, Forsaken” Moiraine said softly, her voice a whisper in the thick, heated air. “Not in here and not in me, not in the way you think.” The words were like a sting, sharp and precise.
The reality of the situation settled over her like a cold wave. She had expected Moiraine to be like the others she had tormented, easily broken, weak under the weight of her manipulations. A flicker of something darker passed across Lanfear’s features and curled in her chest, something that felt too much like frustration. Like fascination.
Her fingers, still encircling Moiraine’s wrist, twitched, almost as if she wanted to tear away but was compelled to hold on. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected Moiraine to be this composed, this unshaken by her.
People fell for her. They worshiped her, feared her. They would sooner die than deny her their attention. And yet, here Moiraine was, acting as though Lanfear was nothing more than an inconvenience, a passing shadow in the dream, a performance she had already seen the ending of.
And Light help her, that only made Lanfear want her more.
Exhaling sharply, she tried to mask the growing impatience in her eyes. She had Moiraine in her grasp, near enough to touch, to claim. And yet the Aes Sedai remained as rigid as steel, her control infuriatingly intact. “You cannot hide from me forever,” she murmured, tilting her head so her lips hovered just over the delicate line of Moiraine’s jaw. “You do not want to.”
Moiraine did not answer, but her breath had quickened just a fraction, just enough for Lanfear to notice. Encouraged, she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin at the base of Moiraine’s throat. She felt, more than heard, the sharp inhale, the way Moiraine’s fingers curled into fists at her sides.
A reaction. Small, but there. Proof that beneath the composure, something stirred. Lanfear’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she brushed her mouth higher, just behind Moiraine’s ear, where she knew warmth pooled and shivers followed.
She felt Moiraine smile again and then, without warning, the dream cracked. The world wavered like a reflection on rippling water, and Lanfear felt the space between them collapse into nothingness.
Moiraine was gone. She had managed to break free from her dream and from her.
The air where she had stood was still warm. Lanfear clenched her jaw, her hands curling into fists at her sides as frustration twisted through her, a sharp, unfulfilled hunger coiling in her chest.
“Coward,” she hissed into the emptiness, her breath coming faster now, her body still thrumming with the remnants of that fleeting closeness. She could have had her, just a moment longer, just a little more pressure, a little more coaxing. And yet Moiraine had slipped away, leaving Lanfear standing alone in Tel’aran’rhiod, fuming and burning with something far more dangerous than rage.
Desire.
"Rest well, Moiraine Sedai. And don't you dare forget me" she murmured into the night when she managed to slow her breathing.