The best kept secret

Chapter 4: Moiraine

Moiraine watched the scene unfold with a sense of helplessness she hadn't felt in years. Rand's departure left the room shrouded in a tense, eerie silence, broken only by Guinevere's muffled sobs. Moiraine's heart ached for the young girl, yet her mind was racing with the implications of Rand running away, of him slipping through her fingers once again. I have no other choice now. She had to inform Siuan, she couldn't keep her in the dark any longer. I can't do this alone anymore. Moiraine wearily closed her eyes, as she put the palms of her hands on her forehead, feeling the weight of her own failures pressing down on her.

She glanced at the young girl's persistent tears falling through her cheeks, and couldn't help but feel irritated. From what she had observed of the two youngsters, it was abundantly clear they had feelings for each other, making it reasonable that Guinevere would feel sad about his departure. And sadness, she could understand, but the girl's apparent immense anguish was beyond her comprehension. It's just a silly crush. Why is she crying so much? She realised right there, it had been a mistake letting the child into her mission, she was far too young, volatile, and naive; Moiraine cursed herself, as once again feelings she should've kept aside had taken the better of her. She had been so eager to share something with her, to have a fraction of what Guinevere and Anvaere shared, that she'd let herself be foolishly dragged by it; she should've put an end to the girl's involvement the second she confronted her about it. I won't make such mistakes anymore.

"Guinevere," Moiraine said harshly, trying to keep her voice steady, "you must understand, there are far greater things at stake here."

Guinevere looked up towards her, her eyes wide with hurt. "I-I know aunt Moiraine, I-I myself can't even explain—

"Just make sure to tell no one about this, about Rand, about what we've done, alright? I'll find a solution. In the meantime, keep a low profile, return to your usual activities." Moiraine felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside, knowing she couldn't afford to be soft now. She straightened her posture, turning her back on Guinevere, and headed towards her room. She had a letter to write.

Moiraine crumpled yet another piece of paper in her hands, before bitterly throwing it into a bin beside her desk. It was the third time she'd done so, unable to find the right words for the letter.

"Dear Siuan," she began writing on the fresh parchment, "something has happened to me. Something I should've told you a long time ago..." the quill hovered over the paper, ink pooling dangerously under its tip, as she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry, mustering enough courage to write the following words. It'd been six months since it happened, but putting into a letter that would eventually reach Siuan... it made it feel so real. So deficient. So irreparable. "I've been stilled."

Moiraine ruefully stared at the word in the paper, her teeth grinding in frustration. Stilled. She didn't feel still. She felt void. Doomed. She felt as if something were being brutally ripped away from her everytime she tried reaching for the Source; her mind flooding with a torrent of morbid images of her gashing her fingers away from her body, as idle and useless as they had become. She felt like carving her eyes out every time she saw one of her sisters reaching for the One Power. She felt so maimed. She shook her head. Stilled doesn't do it justice. Death would greet me with far kinder hands.

Moiraine grabbed on a new piece of paper, and took a deep breath. She was about to start writing on it, when a soft knock on her door interrupted her. She sighed. First it had been Barthanes with that pointless monologue about sandwiches, what is it now?