we_bring_hell | (no subject)

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Harrowhark is in the bar, wearing the style of facepaint known as the Vanitas, with no lower teeth and sharp angular edges. It's good to be back in her makeup, even if the consecration was a greater undertaking than anticipated.

Although she is formally painted from the neck up, she is wearing some of the more informal clothes her room had supplied; soft trousers and a hoodie all in black. She is not wearing gloves today, because her palms are wrapped in bandages, but it is the kind of wound she is used to dealing with and it is healing quickly. The pinpricks of pain around her lips are worse, if only because it's been a very long time since she underwent the ritual of the Sewn Tongue.

She is diagramming spirals on paper, working in ink rather than blood right now. She can't spare any blood currently. She has refreshments to share, if you like faintly cucumber-flavored water and very bland, crumbly biscuits.

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"But that only replaces one riddle with another," Harrow says ruefully. "Because I do not know how to detect or define evil, either."

"I know what is illegal, what is heretical, what is dishonorable, what is distasteful... ordinarily, I would say oh, but this is philosophical sophistry, and move on, but it is not, is it? These things, these... intellectual phantasms, have weight. Have substance, in the world you know."

"Once scientists believed a man's weight changed in the moment of death, as his soul left his body. This was eventually disproven. But it seems if they had your scales they might have found it... or at least measured the weight in sin their own souls accrued for their methodologies."

Edited 2020-09-15 21:34 (UTC)

"I wish you could have met Verin," she murmurs. "She would have loved speaking with you."

"The sisters of the White Ajah tend to engage more in such philosophical debates, and I suppose might be inclined toward such measures. For myself, I would say that there is some level of malign intent, which is itself a corruption of sorts, and leaves a mark."

"Yet not sufficient," she says, with a sort of brittle lightness "because I know in my life my intent has not been beyond reproach in all matters. Unless you sense the mark of Shadow upon me and are too polite to mention it?"

She doubts it. Whatever the Dark One wishes, I oppose, is a pretty stark statement. But as one in love with a force God himself Bound in the moment of his triumph, she feels like she has to ask.

Dark eyes narrow at Harrow's tone.

"There is a difference," she says, slowly, "between the imperfections of human behavior and malicious intent to maximize all the worst aspects of human nature in order to cause as much harm as possible."

A beat of silence.

"I have not. Why do you ask?"

"There have been others," she says quietly, "who have seen such marks on me. Perhaps if you do not, then I can be glad to hear the stain has not set so very deep."

But what can poor Wei Wuxian have done that is worse than what she can put beside her own name?

The Aes Sedai studies her very closely.

"I should be interested to hear more of this."

She looks thoughtfully at the table. "What can I say? There are those with sight that goes beyond the ordinary, who saw on me the marks of a secret of the Ninth I would have taken to my own grave." She fidgets with her gloves, a telltale sign of her stress.

"It troubled them, as indeed the facts trouble me. It has perhaps made me fear that I am a transparent piece of flimsy to the people of this bar. As one who has made a lifelong habit of privacy, not to say paranoia, it has been disquieting."

Edited 2020-09-15 22:41 (UTC)

Silence hangs in the air between them for several seconds, and then,

"I told you once that I would accept an omission until such time as you might see fit to explain further."

She tilts her head very slightly to one side as she considers.

"I shall presume this secret of the Ninth is related to the explanation you may not yet be ready to give."

Another beat.

"I have not seen the taint of the Shadow upon you, Lady Ninth. Only the touch of the thanergy that you use, and that in part because of the trials that we have made."

She could be mistaken, of course, Moiraine thinks. She is not infallible, and there are ways to hide such things, as those of the Black Ajah used all too well. Time will tell.

"You will find all manner of unusual things here, I am afraid. It can be extremely disquieting, but adaptation can be learned."

"I fear I must hold myself to one tearful saltwater confession per week," she says, with cool irony at her own expense in every word. "But I regret that I..."

"I would not claim your company under false colors," she says finally. "There are those in Canaan House who will not share a table or a room with me, and I welcome their scorn. While I doubt you would care about the heresy that troubles them, the principle stands--I do not wish an esteem I have earned falsely, whatever the advantages."

"In that case, you need not be concerned," Moiraine replies, with perfect serenity.

"My esteem is given for good reason."

Harrow isn't sure if that's a compliment or a burn, but either way her face is flaming under her paint. Thank goodness she has paint.

~~Thank goodness she doesn't have ears~~ oh wait.

"Well," she says weakly. "I have carried us far afield."

"I assume that you discovered your Dragon Reborn? Since the world did not end."

"I did," she says. "Rand al'Thor. And was able to aid him in his endeavors."

To the very Pit of Doom itself, although she does not say so.

"And you were victorious? After a detour through Milliways, as you said."

"But how does that end with you leaving your world behind?"

For all her serene composure, her expression suddenly turns very wry.

"Before the Last Battle, I acted as Rand's advisor for some time. However, there came a point where I became aware that something was about to happen - one of Rand's most dangerous enemies was going to confront him, and if she won, all would be lost."

"I told no one of what I knew. And when the day came, and she struck, I ... leaped at her, carrying her through a portal and away from Rand, into imprisonment in another realm."

"Rand believed I was dead. Almost everyone did. It was necessary that they continue to do so, to preserve the best chance of success. To that end, I remained in captivity for ... quite some time."

Her tone, although still calm, is very, very level.

"But one day, I discovered a passage to this place, and things changed."

In Harrow's mental picture of these events, it must be said, even Moiraine's ageless countenance is much younger; it makes it easier to imagine Moiraine in her shoes, as the desperate and lonely adept clinging to the slim advantage this place could give her and her precious secrets that mean nothing to people from beyond her reality.

"Did you meet established residents who recognized the shape of your plight if not the details, and gave you sage advice?" she says. "Or perhaps unexpected and unlooked-for counterparts from other worlds with similar stories to tell?" Harrow doesn't laugh and rarely smiles, but there's just possibly a twinkle in her eye.

Edited 2020-09-16 00:36 (UTC)

She smiles, very slightly.

"Among others."

"And then?" she says. "You said eventually you were called back."

She inclines her head in assent.

"I was. Rand found his way to Milliways, and we encountered each other here. As there was great need, he summoned me back."

"First I was returned to my imprisonment, but Rand acted together with others here to rescue me from the Tower of Ghenjei. Afterwards, I was able to travel freely between here and my world, which enabled me to influence matters in secret. Eventually..."

She hesitates, considering.

"... there were things I learned here. I was able to use them to buy time for Rand to act."

Harrow considers the exceptionally small amount of things she knows about Moiraine and tries to put them together, and fails utterly.

"Was he your Warder?"

Edited 2020-09-16 01:45 (UTC)

Amusement is bright in her eyes.

"No."

Although she had considered it, once, until the visions of Rhuidean had shown her the possibilities.

"That would have been an exceptionally bad idea, for several reasons. I was his advisor, only. My Warder was Lan Mandragoran, Lan Gaidin."

Harrow nods, at home with people who have multiple names for different contexts. "But you said you and he parted? Was it because of your apparent demise?"

The Aes Sedai nods.

"The bond between us broke when I acted that day and fell through the portal. He was one of those who believed me dead."

She frowns. "So were you reunited when you returned? Or had he moved on? Had you?"

~~She's only had Gideon a month and a half but if anything happened to her she'd kill everyone in Canaan House and then herself.~~

"His path lay elsewhere," she says, very simply. "I acted as best I could to ensure he remained alive to take it, and in time he forgave me for it."

She nods solemnly. "But--I still don't understand. You saved your world, why didn't you go home?"

There's just a note of plaintive concern in her voice; just a speck, but Moiraine has dedicated herself to composure even more thoroughly than Harrow, for much much longer. Harrowhark knows perfectly well Lyctors don't go home afterwards.

"Where did you go?"

Edited 2020-09-16 02:25 (UTC)