The Wheel of Kin: A Daughter's Journey

Unspoken Secrets

After Elara's harrowing ordeal in the dream world, Moiraine hadn't let go of her for hours. Even once they'd returned to their quarters, she sat at her daughter's bedside, gently stroking her hair as if trying to smooth the fear from her skin.

The room was quiet but tense, as though the very air held its breath.

"Elara," Moiraine said softly, adjusting the blanket around her daughter's small frame, "I need to know what happened in that dream. It's important that we understand it, so we can protect you."

Elara pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her small fingers clutching the fabric. Her eyes darted to the floor. "I... I don't want to talk about it right now, Mother."

Her voice was small, fragile. A shadow passed across her face that no six-year-old should ever wear.

Moiraine leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know it was frightening, but—"

"Moiraine," came Siuan's voice from the doorway, calm but firm, "we don't have to speak about it tonight. Not now."

Moiraine glanced back in surprise as Siuan stepped into the room with careful grace. Her presence was composed, but her eyes were lined with worry. She didn't cross the threshold fully—only far enough to see Elara, only far enough to let her voice be heard.

"We can talk in the morning," she said gently. "In the light. Dreams are less powerful when the sun is up."

Elara turned to Siuan, gratitude glimmering in her tired eyes. "Thank you...Mother." She said the last word softly, a hesitant acknowledgment of something she hadn't quite named aloud before.

Siuan smiled—just a hint—and nodded. "Sleep well, Elara."

She turned and stepped out before the warmth in her eyes could betray her station.

Moiraine watched her go, then turned back to Elara, heart aching. She slid into the bed beside her daughter, drawing her close. "close your eyes little bird," she whispered into Elara's hair. 

Her tiny body nestled tighter against her mother's. The weight of dreams still clung to her, and sleep came slowly—uneasy, but needed.

Outside the room, Lan  stood as still as a statue, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, the other folded behind his back. His eyes remained fixed on the shadows stretching down the hall, but his thoughts were on the girl within.

He had faced Myrddraal, wars, and worse—but nothing rattled him like seeing Elara screaming in a bed she couldn't wake from.

The moon was high when the blanket beside Moiraine rustled. Elara, eyes still red and face flushed, slowly eased herself out of bed. Her feet touched the cold stone floor, and she winced—but didn't stop. She opened the door quietly, heart hammering, and stepped into the corridor.

Lan looked down as the child approached, the lines of his face softening. "You should be resting, little one."

"I tried," Elara murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. "I can't."

Lan crouched down until he was eye level. "Nightmares?"

She shook her head. "It's not just the dream. It's... everything. Too many secrets. And I don't know what to do with them."

Lan was quiet for a moment.

Elara looked up at him, eyes shimmering with exhaustion. "Is that what grownups feel like all the time?"

Lan let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "More often than we care to admit."

Elara's lip trembled. "I'm scared I broke something. In the dream. Or in Mother. Or both."

Her voice cracked.

The tears came next—hot and sudden and choking. Her small shoulders shook, and she made no sound, only sobbed as though her soul were too tired to hold itself up.

Lan pulled her into his arms without hesitation, cradling her carefully, like she was made of glass and fire all at once.

"You didn't break anything," he murmured. 

"I don't feel strong anymore," she whispered into his shoulder.

"That's how you know you are," he said. "True strength isn't the absence of fear, it is the bravery to confront it. "

Elara's fingers twisted into his cloak as she cried harder, then quieter, until her breathing slowed.

Lan didn't speak again—he only held her.

❃  

The golden light of dawn spilled softly across the ceiling beams as Moiraine stirred beneath her blanket, instinct stirring her awake.

The warmth beside her was gone.

Her hand reached out, brushing cold linen.

"Elara?" she whispered.

Silence.

Moiraine sat bolt upright. Her heart pounded wildly as she scanned the bed, the room—empty. The blanket where Elara had lain was rumpled, but her daughter was nowhere in sight.

A terrible stillness bloomed in her chest.

She threw off the blanket and rushed to the door barefoot, flinging it open with a force that rattled the hinges.

"El—"

She stopped.

Just outside, in the pale light of morning, Lan Mandragoran sat against the corridor wall, still and steady as a mountain. Elara was curled in his lap, wrapped in his cloak, her face tucked beneath his chin. One small hand gripped the edge of his sleeve, her breathing slow and peaceful.

Lan looked up at Moiraine with calm, tired eyes.

No words were needed—but Moiraine stepped closer anyway.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice rough with both fear and relief.

Lan's arms remained wrapped securely around the child. "She couldn't sleep," he said simply. "The dream left more scars than she let on."

Moiraine's hand rose to her chest. Her heart ached.

"I've never seen her like that," Lan added quietly. "She didn't speak much. She just... needed to cry."

Moiraine lowered herself to her knees beside them, her eyes never leaving Elara's sleeping face. "She always tries to be stronger than she needs to be."

"She's your daughter," Lan murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

Moiraine let out a breathless laugh—part relief, part sadness.

Gently, she reached out and stroked Elara's hair, fingers brushing soft strands from her forehead. The girl stirred slightly in her sleep but didn't wake.

"It's going to be alright, love," Moiraine whispered. The words were meant for Elara, but also for herself. And maybe even for Lan.

Her hand lingered protectively over her daughter's cheek. "We'll carry this together from now on. No more secrets in the dark."

Lan met her gaze. "She'll ask questions."

"And we'll answer them," Moiraine said softly. "We all will."

Lan nodded.

Then, slowly, Moiraine eased Elara into her arms. The child shifted in her sleep, instinctively burrowing into her mother's chest with a soft sigh. Her little fingers curled against the fabric of Moiraine's robe.

Lan stood and silently followed as Moiraine stepped back into their chambers, cradling Elara against her heart.

The corridor grew still again.

And as the morning sun reached through the windows, spilling warmth across stone and shadow, it found the three of them held in a moment of quiet unity.

The darkness had not yet passed.

But they would face it together.