The practice yard was quiet this early, just the sound of boots scuffing against packed earth and the hiss of steel parting air.
Aerhuin moved with his back bare to the wind, his skin slick with sweat, bronze-gold in the early light. The Tower's blade flashed in his hands, but not like a sword; more like a spear, or something that wished it were. He hadn’t yet shaped his grip to it fully, but he wielded it with precision honed in a thousand sun-blind battles beneath a harder sky. His motions were lean, deliberate, and patient, not with wetlander showmanship, but Aiel efficiency. No wasted breath, no wasted blood.
His veil hung on the haft of his spear, which stood upright like a totem in the dirt at the edge of the ring. He’d wrapped it tight before dawn, leaving the weapon untouched as a kind of offering and acknowledgment that this wasn’t his fight, not truly. He was practicing with the Tower’s blade now. Practicing to become something else.
The man opposite him—Wyldin of Shienar—grinned through a bloody lip and raised his own sword in salute. "You're favoring your left again," Wyldin said, rolling his shoulder as he circled. His voice was hoarse with exertion, laced with fondness. "How is it a desert-blooded savage fights like he’s read every scroll in the vault?"
Aerhuin gave a small shrug, tilting his head. "I had time. Sand doesn’t make for much conversation."
Wyldin snorted. "Burn me, you’ve been in this Tower too long."
They moved again, impossibly light on their feet despite the hour and their exertion. Wyldin had the edge in reach, but Aerhuin closed the gap with a dancer’s silence, feet whispering over the earth. He caught the Shienaran’s next cut on the flat of his blade, twisted, and dropped low, spinning to unbalance, then rising into a counterstroke that stopped a hair’s breadth from Wyldin’s throat.
The other man froze. Then, stepping back, laughed. "I’m not convinced you're human," Wyldin called incredulously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But I’ll take the bruises gladly. Tomorrow I’ll best you."
"You won’t," Aerhuin shot back easily, flashing a grin that tugged more with the eyes than the mouth, "but it’s good to have goals." The morning wind tugged at his hair, unbound today, silver-blond and damp from sweat. Somewhere behind them, the kitchens were just starting to stir. The Tower bells hadn't rung yet, but they would soon.
Aerhuin rolled his shoulders and let his stance ease. His eyes drifted once toward the spear. Toward the veil. Toward the moment that was coming. Soon.
He would be bound. And the woman who would carry his toh... whose face he had not yet even seen.
Wyldin had just retrieved his discarded shirt, though hadn’t yet bothered to wear it, when a new voice carried lightly over the courtyard wall.
“I would’ve placed a wager on you, Aerhuin. But I’m glad I saved my silver, you were leaning too far into your pivot again.”
Aerhuin didn’t turn right away. He wiped a streak of sweat from his temple with the back of his wrist and exhaled a long breath through his nose. “Kisa Sedai,” he said as he straightened. “I was hoping you were still asleep.”
She stepped into the ring with neither formality nor ceremony, blue-fringed shawl draped loosely over her arms rather than around her shoulders. Her hair was swept up and pinned in a way that managed to look effortless while still controlling every strand. The lines at the corners of her eyes hinted at dry wit more than age, and her expression as she looked between the two men was warm but unflinching. “I was, until the noise of you two trying to out-flail each other woke me.” She arched a brow at Wyldin, then let her gaze settle on Aerhuin. “You still haven’t learned to rest your weight in the hips, not the heel. I told you: blades aren’t spears. They don’t forgive balance.”
“I was distracted,” he replied, only half-defensive. “Wyldin was being clever again.”
“Light help us all,” she murmured, and Wyldin grinned. She approached, stopping at the spear’s post. Her fingers brushed the wrap of the veil where it hung, gently, like a woman reading a memory off the cloth. Aerhuin’s eyes followed that gesture, then dropped slightly.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said softly.
“Yes,” he hummed back, “I do.”
Kisa studied him a moment longer, then nodded with no argument. Just acceptance, born of long acquaintance and mutual understanding. She had earned his trust not by demanding it, but by knowing when not to. “You’ll be meeting her soon,” she announced, brushing a few fingers across the edge of her shawl. “Try to smile once or twice. Greens can be charming, but they don't always respond well to brooding silence and unblinking stares.”
Aerhuin raised a brow. “So I should stare and smile? I’ll frighten her.”
Kisa laughed lightly, and for a moment the weight in the yard lifted. She touched his shoulder briefly, more than a Sister might usually offer, but well within bounds between them. “You’ll do fine, Warder-to-be. Just remember that your toh doesn’t chain you. It makes you strong.”
Aerhuin watched her go, and only once she’d turned the corner did he glance again toward the spear. "I hope so," he murmured. Then, with a deep breath, turned back toward Wyldin. "One more round?"
The garden was quiet, except for the hush of wind moving through ivy and the faint trickle of water from the old stone fountain. A single sparrow rustled in the hedge, took one look at him, and thought better of staying.
Aerhuin sat on the low edge of the fountain wall, elbows on his knees, watching the slow ripple of the surface. His boots were dusty from the walk, forgoing the usual paths. There was no sense parading; let the Tower whisper when they saw him afterward. The ceremonial uniform they'd given him—dark wool, polished boots, a silver pin shaped like a falling leaf—was folded with absurd care in the corner of the bench behind him. It was not rejected, exactly, just... deferred. Maybe he'd wear it tomorrow.
The cloak, though... That he wore.
It was good cloth. Better made than most things in the Waste, and better-suited for this morning's chill. It draped heavy over his shoulders, the clasp a simple bronze disk bearing no sigil. The hem dragged lightly behind him when he moved, and the green silk lining, faint and almost black in this light, caught at the corner of his eye sometimes, like a shadow that knew more than it let on. Beneath it, cadin'sor. Pale grey, soft-worn. His belt carried no weapon today, his sword left in his quarters when he had gone up to change. That had been part of the instructions, and a detail he thought about more than he should.
He glanced toward the archway where ivy climbed over old stone columns, tangled but deliberate. A single lantern hung unlit from an iron hook. The sun hadn't cleared the eastern walls yet, but light was beginning to warm the leaves, catching in dew that clung like breath on steel. The center of the garden was a ring of carved flagstones, smoothed by years and likely hundreds of boots—Sisters and Warders both. He wondered, not for the first time, how many had stood where he would soon stand. Whether they'd felt the same weight.
His thoughts were with him, as always, and, also as always, they were bordering on unkind. She will carry my oath... but I will carry her burden.
That was how it had been explained to him. How Kisa had put it, long ago, with that sharp glint in her eye when she told him he didn't have to kneel to repay his life... but he could fight. The idea of the bond didn't unsettle him, not truly. But this moment before, this stillness before the knot was tied... that was something else entirely.
He rubbed his palm across the rough edge of the fountain and exhaled slowly through his nose. Not nervously, but aware. Deeply aware.
He didn't know her face. Rinaeve Honyron. Green. Raised quick, they said, from fire into steel. A Sister born among Whitecloaks, of all things. He admired that, in a way, the choice of it and the force of it. It was no doubt something he would have endless questions about, considering his own unpleasant experiences with the Children.
He'd meet her soon. He wasn't ready... but he would be.
Walk in the light. It was something that Rinaeve had heard almost every day of her life. It was more than a saying it was a way of life. The life that the Children of the Light devoted themselves to. Within the brotherhood, it had never been clear to the small golden haired child what her people were like. How they were feared and hated across the realm. She never saw their authoritarianism. No, all she saw was the love of her family. Kindness and care. Far from the front lines of the war that all brotherhood fought, to route out dark friends.
It wasn’t until she turned five that she could feel the threads of the one power. It had been magical, that first brush and it had filled her with a sense of wonder and yet, even at a young age, she knew to keep this gift to herself. A child’s intuition perhaps. It wasn’t scary or harmful so she felt no guilt keeping her secret.
Upon turning eight, it was announced that she would marry a high ranking member’s son. He was a few years older than she and while their first interactions were pleasant, she soon found that within the light of the brotherhood, there was darkness. She was not witness to the atrocities, but the screams would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. It was the way they had talked about the woman that had made her heart stop for a moment. Aes Sedai. Not quite hatred, though it was there, but the revulsion. They spoke of her wickedness and how they were dark friends. It was what she did though, the power she wielded that had given Rinaeve pause. It sounded a lot like her secret.
Two years and that fear had only grown. Careful questions had been asked, behind a veil of innocence. What was the one power? Why was it evil? What were the women that her betrothed’s family hunted? Where was the White Tower?
That last question had come a week or so after turning ten, a plan laid the best it could be for a child. To run away, not some childish little game, but to truly flee from her family. She had seen it in their eyes too, when she had asked about the Aes Sedai. If one could touch the power and not be evil. The answer was a resounding no and while she was unsure if her secret was her touching the one power, she knew that if anyone ever found out, it would be her they turned on next.
Three weeks after turning ten, she fled in the night. A simple note was left for her parents. It read simply I am sorry and I love you. Perhaps she could have told them why she was running away, but the fear that had slowly been crushing her for two years was still weighing down on her slender shoulders.
Butterflies spun in her stomach as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. The dress had been a gift from Alanna, the head of her Ajah. Finer than anything she had ever owned, the sage green fabric, threaded with copper stitching so fine that it looked like the diaphanous wings of a dragonfly. It fit to her slender body, hugging her soft curves like a second skin before flowing around her hips. Panels were transparent and gave flashes of her legs as she moved. It made her feel beautiful. Something she had not truly felt in a long while. Though she didn’t seem to be older than nineteen, Rinaeve was nearing her twenty-fifth birthday.
There were whispers about her and her power and the meteoric rise she had from novice to accepted. In that time, she had grown close to one woman who though she would never be her mother, had looked after her almost like one. It was she who had decided that Rinaeve should look the part. Alanna had always been there, to offer council or advice when the younger woman sought it. Quick with a smile and a joke, she had a way of drawing out that which Rinaeve kept hidden. That she had picked green had not come as a surprise, though other Ajah had desired her within their ranks.
A smile curled on her lips and in a swirl of skirts, she left her room. She was to meet the one that the tower had picked to be her warder. She knew little of him, but when offered to know more, she had declined. Their friendship would form naturally, she had decided.
Around the tower, novices were waking to begin their chores. It was still as unusual to have them dip their head in greeting to her as it was to see the green stone set in her ring. In time, Rinaeve would grow accustomed, she was sure. Flickering candles illuminated her path, the sun just rising. Nearing the garden, she paused and exhaled.
To meet the one who would become her other half. Sword and confidant. The one who would know her the best. Among the green, it was common for sisters to wed their warders or to have a harem of men to serve them. Alanna being a perfect example. A smile curled on her lips and she gave a small shake of her head. One man would be a handful, and she was not even in love with him. Didn’t know if that would be their fate. Nor was now the time to think upon such things.
Quietly she entered the garden, her pale white blonde locks catching the light of the lantern, his eyes on the surface of the fountain. Aiel. That much she knew and like her, there were whispers of him. Hands folded before her, she smiled, her pale lips quirking to flash a dimple. “Hello, Aerhuin.” Lavender eyes gazed at him from beneath a fringe of dark lashes as she took a step closer.
Aerhuin stood as she stepped into the garden. The fountain murmured behind him, low and constant, like a second heartbeat he hadn’t noticed until it stopped matching his own. His boots scraped softly against the flagstones as he turned, but he didn’t step forward, didn’t bow, as he took her in. The cloak settled down his back with the motion, green silk catching faint morning light, but his eyes were already on her. Pale hair like moonlight. A dress that moved like breath. Lavender eyes, watching him not coyly, not testing, just… watching. He didn’t look away. Not yet.
"Rinaeve Sedai," he greeted quietly. He let out a slow breath and inclined his head, not deeply, but respectfully. “You’re early,” he said, something dry and almost wry in the line of it. “I’d heard you Greens prefer to arrive precisely when it suits you.”
The smile that curled on her lips grew a fraction. "Am I?" she asked from the doorway, still watching him. Amusement tinged her voice as she asked, "Do you judge all, by the hearsay of others, Warder?"
"Judge? No." He spread his hands amicably, his half-grin mirroring hers. "But one can't help but build expectations on what he hears over the years."
"Perhaps. But then when most build such expectations they come in with preconceived ideas. It may color and hide what lay before them." Slowly, she moved from the doorway, the firelight crating a halo of flame along her locks.
Aerhuin hesitated a moment, unsure whether to offer his hand. That wasn’t Aiel custom, but it was Tower custom, and this moment belonged to both of them now. Instead, he shifted slightly, leaving the space between them deliberately open. “I’m told we’ll know each other better soon,” he offered, more thoughtful this time. “But today… it’s strange. Standing in front of someone you’ll fight beside, die beside—” his eyes met hers again, level and unflinching “—and not knowing the sound of their laugh or what kind of tea they prefer.”
The soft, slippery sound of her dress along the paving stones and her legs as she moved joined the hush of the fountain as she came to stand a few feet before him. Her head tilted and the silvery locks shifted with the movement, cascading down her shoulder and a stray lock falling into her eyes. "Do you plan to die so soon?" The question was serious, perhaps, but her voice was almost teasing. "While I have no cause to laugh, I can at least share that I prefer my tea creamy and sweet and preferably warmed with spices."
"Life is a dream from which we all must wake," he recited almost automatically, but the quirk of his lips suggested he was enjoying himself more than he was willing to let on. "Cairhienen, then," he added with a nod, visibly filing the information away for later use. "I'll keep that in mind." He trailed off, then, seemingly at a loss of where to go next. He peered across at her in a state of almost suspended-animation, searching for something clever and coming up empty-handed.
"Will you not share how you like your tea, Aerhuin?" His name was said with a caress, softened as she took another step closer. "It would be fair, at least. For tomorrow, we may wake."
"Not much tea in the Waste," he answered. "Tried the kaf out of Tarabon once, too bitter even for my tongue. Willowbark from the Wise Ones now and again. Hadn't had a proper tea just to drink until I came here." With a wry twist in his voice, he added, "Had more oosquai than tea, in my life," as he dropped back onto the fountain ridge, leaning back on his hands.
"Oosquai?" Her lips curled and she playfully wrinkled her nose. "I can't say I have had it, maybe you can share some with me." Wine had been far more common than the harder liquor and tea was by far her most consumed beverage. Nodding to the seat beside him, she asked, "May I sit?" He had spoken openly of his own feelings. She had not, but she felt them. He nodded, scooting aside more symbolically than of any need to make space on the fountain edge. She settled beside him with that uncanny Aes Sedai grace, colliding with his senses like a loosed bull. "Does it bother you?" This close, the sweet scent of apple, a mix of herbs and the warmth of cedar could be smelled. "Being assigned, rather than choosing?"
Breathing in her space was a confusing mash of emotions, his perception of her as a Sister grinding against the perception of a woman. "I did choose, really." His eyes dropped from hers and he leaned his elbows on his knees, hands folded together. "My life was saved by one of your Sisters. My toh was to her, but of course the Tower would never allow me to serve my year as gai'shain. So she suggested this, instead. And I accepted."
Gai'shain. She understood the word, but the concept was harder to wrap her head around. It was duty, bound to serve as repayment for saving a life. Toh. As he leaned forward, arms on his knees, she studied him. "I see." The response was soft. She herself had not known what to look for in a Warder and felt that though she'd risen through the ranks fast, there as much she didn't know. To pick a Warder? Seemed not daunting, but unwise, given her lack of life experience. So she'd asked to be assigned one, trusting the Tower and her Sisters.
He tilted his head toward the center of the ring, to the lantern hanging dim and cold in the early morning gray. “I didn’t light the lantern,” he said. “Didn’t know if it should be you.”
Biting her lower lip she held in her laugh. She knew about as much as he did, but she also knew that the lamp held no significance. Her smile was soft and her fingers moved, the light flaring to life with a thought and a tug on the weave. "The light holds no purpose. It is about the binding... I believe." Rather than appear all-knowing, she reached out a hand and, after a moment, laid it on his shoulder. "I feel like I am meant to be all-knowing. Maybe even a badass?" Now she laughed, though at herself, rather than him. "In truth... I know little more than you and I am..." She offered a breathy exhale and a shy smile. "I am nervous."
Slowly she withdrew her hand and laid in her lap, fingers joining as she gazed down at her ring. "The One Power is oddly simple for me." It wasn't a brag, as she tried to put her feelings into words. "But... this, what I am meant to do? It seems harder, binding myself to another. To guard and be guarded?"
He turned his head just enough to see her in profile. "I'd like to learn. If you'd have me." The silence that followed wasn't heavy, but aware. The garden had shifted again—lighter, maybe, or simply more still, like the Pattern itself had paused to listen.
Aerhuin exhaled softly through his nose, then straightened. The movement wasn't abrupt, but it carried a kind of finality with it, the way a spear is planted before a line is drawn. His hand passed over his thigh, brushing away a speck of dust that hadn't mattered until now. "I think... it's time?" It was a question as much a statement, a suggestion as much asking permission. He turned his hand over, palm up, and held it forward, panning it over to her in offer. He knew well and good that she need not touch him—or even look at him, for some Sisters—to assemble the binding weaves, but something about the gesture felt right and good and warranted. Aerhuin stared at his hand for a moment longer than was sensible, taking great note of the lines on his palm and the small scar at the base of his ring finger from a now decade-old spear wound. Finally, though, he dragged his eyes up to meet hers, the offer flickering in his eyes like the first embers of a building fire.
Angled, his head had turned to catch her profile. They were both off balance as they stood at the precipice of what their life was to become. Before them stretched what would become, unseen and unknown. Not all may view it the same as she did, but it would bind their souls. Two halves of the same whole. Steel and Magic. Grace and Strength. Cunning and Bravery. Temperance and Flame. Together, they would learn to compliment one another. What she lacked, he would give and what he needed she would be.
An exhale had her looking up and his back straightened. She knew, before he said anything, that it was time. A hand was extended to her and Rinaeve looked up at him, pale lavender eyes searching his own before her hand slipped his own. His hands told the story of his life. Warrior hands. Her own did as well. Though her skin was soft, there were traces of her own skills with a blade.
Allowing him to help her stand, her other hand slipped to his free hand. Both hands shifted and their fingers laced. “Did you know that Aes Sedai can cast without their hands?” Her words were soft as she held his gaze. It was hard to not notice how beautiful his eyes were. “Or rather some can?” Most could not, she knew. They needed to use the movements. To feel the threads of the one power. Like lighting the lamp. Her fingers had pulled at the power, weaving it, bending it to her will. “Only one other knows of my ability to cast without my hands.” It was the first of her secrets that she would lay bare before him. Others would come in time.
Fingers laced, she focused, pulling on the weave. Alanna had told her what to do, explained it.. But from what she understood the binding was almost entirely up to the Aes Sedai casting it. Spirit was the core thread that would bind them. Some may add water or air, if they were specialized in them. No two bonds would ever be exact. Silvery threads wrapped around them. He wouldn’t see them as they stood there, hand in hand, snaking around their joined hands and up their arms.
Rather than relying on her training alone, Rinaeve pulled on her intuition. From the ground, she pulled earth. In her mind, it would ground them, green threads slid along their legs like vines. Air came next, coiling around them like a net. To bring them courage. Water was plucked from the air, circling their foreheads to grant wisdom and growth and finally, fire linked like chains between their hearts. To light their path and guide them in darkness.
From where they had begun, they strands slithered between them and knotted, trying them together. Binding them to one another. From that moment on they would never be the same. As the bond settled on them she could feel the subtlest of shifts. The bond would take time to settle fully, for them to learn, but it was already there, a pearl of a seed that would only continue to grow.
A shy smile curled on her lips, her hands giving his a small squeeze. “I’d ask if you feel different, but..” her laugh was soft, husky like her own voice and sweet as bells. Her weave would be like no other and though she had acted on what she felt was best, the effects would not become known until later. Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. And slipped her fingers from his own. “We are, however, bound. Warder and Aes Sedai.”
He didn't know what he expected. Not light, not thunder. Not a voice from the sky, or some great flash. But something more than this... more than the quiet weight that settled into the hollow of his chest like a stone dropped in still water. And yet... he felt it. He felt her.
Not as a whisper, not as a shadow, not even as presence. It was sensation. The feeling of standing in a room and knowing the shape of another person without seeing them. The echo of breath he hadn't taken. The tension of a second heartbeat that didn't belong to his own blood. There was warmth, too. Heat in the center of his spine, pulsing faintly; not pain, not even discomfort, just… awareness. Of her. Of being seen, finally, in a way no one else had ever managed.
And still, she stood before him. Slender and strong and luminous in the garden light. Lavender eyes steady. Her lips curled into that soft, uncertain smile.
And then she kissed him.
It was not a claim or ceremonial in any significant way, just the touch of her lips to his cheek like a gift left quietly at a doorstep. He froze—not out of surprise, but because it had never occurred to him that she might do such a thing. That it could be part of this moment, that someone might offer softness after binding him with such precision.
By the time she slipped her fingers from his, he hadn't moved. He exhaled, slowly and deliberately, and let his arms lower at his sides.
He was hers now.
The thought came not as dread or weight or resistance, but as something much quieter. A fact that had always been true, waiting for a name. Rinaeve Sedai.
He turned his head toward her again, taking in the fine lines of her dress, the set of her shoulders, the way she didn't quite look away. And though he felt the stirrings of that unfamiliar tether pulsing between them, his voice, when it came, was simple and honest.
"I feel it," he half-whispered. He looked down at his palm, flexed his fingers once as if to test that he was still himself, then looked back up. "You said Aes Sedai could weave without their hands. Seems you can bind without them too." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Can't say I expected vines around my ankles or chains through the chest. But I suppose I should've known a Green wouldn't settle for anything plain."
He let the words hang there for a breath. Then, quieter, he added, "Thank you... for not rushing it." The last part was just for her. And with that, he stepped back—not away, but just far enough to take up position by her right shoulder. A familiar posture. Not of submission. Not of protection. Of a presence.
A promise.
He was hers now. And that meant she was his, too.
Laughter spilled from her lips and her eyes danced with her mirth. “It had little to do with showing off, Aerhuin.” Her voice was soft, but held the remnants of her laugh. Nor had that laugh been cruel. Fingers lanced before her and she wrinkled her nose slightly. “There is.. A template,” That last word searched for. “For bonding. Normally a sister might pull on an element she has affinity for. Each bond is different from the last, because it is personal to the Aes Sedai and her warder.” Her hands spread slightly. “But, I went based on my instinct. I doubt I did anything wrong, but I feel if we were to share how I formed the bond..” Her words trailed off. It would have been highly unusual.
Bowing her head slightly, her eyes closed for a heartbeat. There were no words offered for his thanks and Rinaeve’s soft smile was warm as they left the garden together. Everything would be different now. Sharing her life with another in a way many would never know. To trust her life to him without question.
তততততততততততত
Shifting in her saddle, Rinaeve bit back a soft groan. They had left before dawn from Tar Valon three days ago and while neither she nor Aerhuin were unused to hard travels it could wear on the body all the same. Not that she’d ever complain, it wasn’t like her. That small shift in the saddle was the only hit he’d have that she was uncomfortable. The trail beneath the hooves of their horses was well worn, a common road for traders.
Suddenly she stilled and Rinaeve pulled at her reins, body ridged. Many horses, many boots. They moved in a formation by the sound of it. There was no standing army within the province and no war brewing. Nor was it the people of the leaf, for it was not their way to carry weapons nor to wear armor. Which meant she knew exactly who approached. The life she had fled from. Nudging her horse closer to Aehruin she slipped her ring off her finger. Seven months since they had met in that garden and she’d not removed her ring once.
Though no one could hear her, she spoke softly. Had he not seen her body, he would have known by the anxiety that spilled within her that something was wrong. “Whitecloaks approach.” Her voice held no tremor, outwardly, she was the picture of serenity. She didn’t hide her fear from him though.
No, it was hard to bare that part of herself to anyone and at first, she had shielded him. It had been him asking her about the bond and if she was shielding which had allowed her to slowly open to him. That had been three months ago. Beneath her, Ghuni danced uneasily. She’d named the andalusian in the old tongue for smoke, picking on his rider’s unease. Slowly her hand extended to him and in her palm was her ring.
Never had they spoken about her relation to the brotherhood. He’d not pressed and she had not offered. Even now, so many years later, the hurt lingered as did the fear. Whetting her lips with her tongue she met his eyes. “We are a lady and her guardian on the way to Whitebridge.” When his fingers brushed her palm, taking the ring from her hand she closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. This day would have come sooner or later. There was no avoiding it. Slowly Rinaeve opened her eyes and nudged Ghuni into a walk.
Dressed as she normally was, she wore a dress of forest green. It was embroidered with threads of gold, and would help sell the fantasy they were creating. A supple leather corset cinched her waist, the shoulders made of the same material. Though, it was hidden beneath her dark grey cloak that fell down her back. Her boots were worn, but of equally fine make.
Pale blonde locks, so light it was almost white was braided away from her face, leaving her delicate feature bare. Lavender eyes flicked ahead. They would see them soon. In theory, they shouldn’t be bothered. While white cloaks were growing like wild fire, they didn’t make it a habit to harass travelers unless they suspected something untoward.
Ten minutes later the front of the convoy came into view. Leading her horse off to the side, to allow them to pass, she kept her eyes ahead. The warm sunlight beat down on her, warming her skin and making her hair seem to glow. Perhaps it was her hair that drew his attention as he passed. Rinaeve would never know.
It had been fifteen years since she’d seen him. He was no longer a boy with golden hair and a carefree smile she knew. Nor was she the child he had once known with endless questions. Neither had seen the other grow and the years apart had changed them both. His voice rang out, deep, commanding. “Hold”
The road had settled into him the way silence did, slowly, and without announcement. Three days from Tar Valon wasn’t much in the span of their travels together, but the rhythm of it had become familiar. The way her shoulders shifted when she thought too long. The barely-there tilt of her head when she was weighing something. The careful pauses she left in conversations, like a woman trying to give everything its due weight before speaking.
She had kept the bond muted, at first, carefully and quietly restrained. He hadn’t minded, not truly... The bond had always felt like it belonged more to her than to him. He’d asked once, in camp, while they cleaned fish over a low fire. Not as a challenge, but as a question. “Is it difficult? Holding it closed like that?” She hadn’t answered, not directly. And he hadn’t asked again. It wasn’t his place. Not yet.
Still, over the months, she’d let the threads loosen, bit by bit. He’d begun to feel the shape of her moods in subtle tugs, gentle pressure changes in the weave, like currents shifting beneath still water. So when she shifted in the saddle that morning—barely enough for anyone to notice—it rang through him like a bell. It was not pain, not even discomfort. Just… tension. And then came her words.
“Whitecloaks approach.”
He didn’t react visibly, but inside, something locked into place. She nudged her horse closer, and he felt her presence draw nearer not just in space, but in the bond. Her fingers uncurled in her palm, and there was her ring. She hadn’t removed it once in the seven months since that garden. Aerhuin took it with quiet hands. His fingers brushed hers, warm and steady, and closed around the band without a word. The simple gold felt heavy. Not with magic, but with history.
She didn’t need to explain. The fear humming through the bond told him more than words could. He didn’t understand it all, but he didn’t have to. He was here. He would be whatever she needed him to be.
When she said, “We are a lady and her guardian on the way to Whitebridge,” he barely nodded. He slid the ring into a pouch at his side and pull his cloak from his shoulders, rolling it and tucking it into a saddlebag. It wasn’t much of a disguise—no Warder could hide the way he rode or carried himself—but it might buy them enough time to pass without notice.
“Hold.”
The voice was deep. Familiar in shape, though Aerhuin had never heard it before. That tone didn’t ask for compliance, it expected it.
He guided his horse forward a step, pulling just slightly ahead of Rinaeve as they eased to the side of the trail. His posture remained relaxed, but his eyes swept the approaching line without flinching. He counted horses, armor types, spacing. No banner, but formation spoke volumes; Whitecloaks, indeed. They rode like wolves in formation, disciplined, but looking for a reason to snarl. Aerhuin didn’t move his hand toward a weapon, as his presence was its own deterrent. He let the reins rest loose in his fingers and kept his shoulders turned slightly toward Rinaeve, subtly blocking line of sight to her without seeming to. Aerhuin's horse was a lean, smoke-grey mare with sharp withers and high endurance, bred not for show, but for silence and distance. A desert creature by nature, like her rider, she rarely whinnied and never spooked twice. Silt's eyes followed the same figure that her rider's did.
When that lead rider approached—clean-shaven, pale-haired, eyes sharp with recognition—Aerhuin felt the bond stir again. It was not fear this time, but anticipation. The man brought his horse to a stop a short distance off, iron-shod hooves clinking lightly over the packed earth. His armor bore the sunburst of the Light, pristine and burnished, catching the morning sun like a weapon in its own right. He was older than Aerhuin had expected, in his late thirties, perhaps, with a jaw cut from stone and pale gold hair pulled back in regulation ties. But it was his eyes, clear, intelligent, and already narrowing in faint suspicion, that told Aerhuin everything. This man didn't just lead. He watched.
The rider kicked forward to rein in beside them, and inclined his head with military precision. "Good morning, travelers."
Aerhuin matched the nod with calm restraint. "And to you, Captain."
"Sergeant Commander Nichloaus Rayner," Nicholaus corrected smoothly. "Though rank means little outside our walls."
"I meant no offense."
"None taken," Nicholaus replied, though his gaze was already shifting past Aerhuin, toward the woman at his side. His eyes lingered there, just long enough to take her in before returning to Aerhuin. "You've the look of a soldier. Or something close to one."
Aerhuin's smile was small. "I've served."
"Under whose banner?"
"No banner anymore. Mercenary work. Caravan duty. The road keeps me honest."
Nicholaus considered that, lips pressed together. "And your lady?"
Aerhuin kept his voice even. "A minor noble from the Marches. Traveling to Whitebridge to see family."
Nicholaus's eyes narrowed. "A noble without attendants?"
"She prefers quiet roads. And I've found a single blade is often safer than a parade of targets."
A faint smirk touched the Whitecloak's lips just for a moment, then vanished. "Odd, though. You're dressed plainly enough, but your horses are fine. Your gear too. Not the sort of mounts I'd expect from a merchant's escort."
Aerhuin didn't answer immediately. He let the pause stretch just slightly. "The lady's brother cares for her safety. As do I."
Nicholaus's gaze slid to Rinaeve again. "Does she not speak for herself?"
Aerhuin's posture didn't shift, but something in his presence tightened. Not overtly hostile, just ready. "She may speak whenever she pleases," he said softly. "But she's not required to answer strangers on the road."
Nicholaus raised a single brow. "No. I suppose not."
For a moment, the two men simply regarded one another, still, quiet, the road dust curling up faintly in the morning breeze. Behind Nicholaus, more riders were beginning to take notice. A few slowed, and one or two turned to glance. Nicholaus let his gaze settle again on Rinaeve, and this time it stayed. He didn't speak at once. His head tilted, just slightly, and his brows drew in a hair's breadth.
"I don't mean to alarm you," he said, tone carefully neutral, "but you bear a resemblance to someone I knew. Years ago, in Amador." His horse shifted beneath him. He let it, one gauntleted hand loosely holding the reins as he studied her with the measured patience of a man trained to watch for cracks. "A girl with hair like sunlight and a thousand questions." His lips curved, not quite into anything as friendly as a smile. "She had a fondness for maps. And for asking whether Light could exist without shadow."
Aerhuin didn't move, but the bond tightened in his chest like thread pulled taut through his ribs. Rinaeve hadn't spoken yet. Her pulse, through the bond, beat steadily, but not calmly. It was the stillness of held breath, of something bracing for impact.
Nicholaus went on, gently. Too gently. "She vanished one night. Left her family behind with nothing but a note. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, my lady?" The last word wasn't mocking, but was something worse: Familiar. Nicholaus Rayner didn't sound like a man speculating anymore. He sounded like a man starting to remember.
Aes Sedai had many roles in the world and though many hated or feared them, their talents were values. While Rinaeve had not picked the blue, she had paid attention to her lessons that her blue sisters had taught her. Cool, calm and collected as the patrol of men drew closer, she fell into a persona. It was one of many and with this man, it would be the only one he ever knew.
Allowing Aerhuin to take the lead, she kept quiet. There was no doubt that the way he held himself would draw attention. Though they might not suspect warder at first, they would know that he was a man who knew violence. Knew how to wield a weapon. Part of her wondered if like recognized like. Warrior to warrior.
When his eyes slid to her the first time, she lowered her lashes and dipped her head respectfully. It was a motion many made before them, one she remembered from her childhood. The details that he created were filed away. Minor lady of Marches. Naturally his suspicion came to their lack of attendants. She’d known it was a risk, however they were both dressed too finely, even if it was understated and their steeds were purebreds.
There was a shift along the bond as fear, unbridled, hit him. Outwardly she’d not change and her smile was suddenly shy and her voice was higher pitched and airy, not the husky sweet voice he knew. “Syr.” Her accent was that of a maid from Marches. The cadence and lilting tone flawless. “Amdor, Syr?” Puzzlement filled her face and there was almost a hint that this lady may not have been too bright. When he spoke of maps, there was a parting of her lips. “Maps are fine things, but I struggle to read them.” Her cheeks blushed and she shrugged, laughing, high and nasily. “I prefer to read things of other natures. They don’t make my head hurt. All the lines..”
“Vanished?” Worry filled her eyes. “Her poor family!” it was the correct thing to say, but the emotion was false. That sort that only nobility had when they didn’t care, but must keep up appearances. “But no, Syr, I do not.” Her eyes moved to her companion. “Amador, Amador... that is to the east, is it not?” Her mouth seemed to roll the vowels out.
A flicker of annoyance feathered in Nicholaus’ jaw as she turned back to him when she suddenly said. “Are the roads safe, Syr?” A fine little tremble in her voice as if she suddenly noticed the force that they displayed. “Surely, they are?”
Aerhuin didn't so much as glance at her when the timbre of her voice changed. He felt it through the bond, the strange shimmer of her fear giving way to that persona like silk pulled taut over armor. She stepped cleanly into the role, and he followed her cue without hesitation.
His own tone cooled, not the rough edge of challenge, but the crispness of a man who'd had to speak clearly through wind and blood. "The Lady has a good memory for faces and poems, but she's no map-reader. That's my duty, Sergeant Commander." He dipped his head slightly to Nicholaus, more acknowledgment than deference, and shifted his reins so his stallion stood more squarely between Rinaeve and the line of Whitecloaks. Silt stilled like stone. She bore no foreign braid or exotic tack, just a sturdy leather bridle and worn gear, but she held herself with a war-trained posture that spoke volumes. Aerhuin's own hand dropped lightly to the saddle horn, near the hilt of the long knife at his thigh.
"The Marches are her father's holding, near the eastern highlands," Aerhuin added steadily. "We're bound for Whitebridge to see the river and the bridge, nothing more." He paused, then added as though mildly chiding himself, "I didn't think we'd draw attention riding this road. If there's danger afoot, I thank you for the warning."
He kept his eyes level with Nicholaus', unflinching but not confrontational. And all the while, through the tether of their bond, he watched for the tremble beneath her mask, ready, if it cracked, to catch whatever fell.
Nicholaus didn't answer Rinaeve's question right away. He stared at her the way a hound might stare at a hedge, uncertain what lay behind it, but certain something did. His eyes were too sharp for the expression he wore, too calculating for the mild, polite smile he gave. "Aye," he said at last. "The roads are… well enough. Bandits sometimes." He shot a glance to Aerhuin. "Though I suspect your man would be more than enough to dissuade them."
Aerhuin didn't blink. "That is my purpose, yes."
The Whitecloak's gaze flicked back to him. "And where did you serve before this?"
Aerhuin didn't so much as tighten his grip on the reins. "I've served many banners in my time. The last under a merchant-patriarch in Cairhien. I left when he grew too fond of drink and too careless with his coin."
Nicholaus grunted. "And this lady here. She's no attendants, no guard but you, no banner on your saddle or crest on your cloak, and... she travels to Whitebridge for what, exactly?"
Aerhuin offered a faint smile, more with his eyes than his mouth. "She intends to see the river. Paint it, I believe."
"A noblewoman traveling three days out of Tar Valon to paint."
"She's eccentric," Aerhuin said flatly, "but harmless."
Nicholaus stepped his horse forward, just one pace, as if considering whether to close the distance further. Silt shifted, hooves scraping the road faintly, and Aerhuin's hand dropped lazily to her neck, more for her than for himself. "You carry yourselves like soldiers," the Whitecloak said, now lower, quieter. "Not like dainty artists and hired blades. You speak too well. She looks too calm."
Aerhuin met his eyes without fear, but without threat either. "Perhaps you're simply used to different kinds of women."
A long moment stretched between them. The men behind Nicholaus were quiet now, watching, and only the wind moved, tugging at cloaks and manes. Nicholaus smiled tightly. "Indeed. And perhaps I've seen too many masks to miss one when it's worn." Then he stepped back, raising a hand to wave his men on. "No law broken. And no proof to hang on. The roads are still yours, for now." He leveled a final look at Aerhuin. "But I remember those who lie prettily. I'll remember her face."
He turned then, calling his men forward, and the column began to pass, dust rising in its wake like a veil being drawn over the moment.
As the soldiers sights became small behind them, Aerhuin let out a breath through his nose and looked sideways toward her. Not sharply or accusingly, but thoughtfully and pointed. His body remained still in the saddle, but there was a thread of tension still wound beneath his voice when he finally spoke. "They'll remember us." It wasn't a warning, just a fact laid bare, the way a tracker noted a broken branch, or a hunter marked the wind's shift. Quietly, he added, "You did well. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought you grew up among silk pillows and governesses."
His mouth turned at one corner, almost a smile, dry and rueful. "But next time you remove your ring without telling me why…" He glanced at her hand, now bare. "I'd appreciate a word of warning. I nearly leapt off Silt when you offered it to me like a keepsake before battle."
His eyes lingered on her for a moment, curious and caring in equal measure to perplexed and perturbed. "I won't ask what he meant to you or who he was. Not unless you want me to know." He reached down and gave Silt a quiet pat. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wondering how close that blade of his was going to come to your throat."
Finally, he offered, "We should ride. If he doubles back, I'd rather be somewhere else."
Adding too much would have been suspicious, but nothing too, would have drawn attention. So while Aerhuin talked to Nicholaus she listened intently, her eyes not on the object of her fear but on the man who spoke. Her eyes slipped between them. Little additions added. When he said she was no map reader, she blushed faintly and gave the Commander a shy, embarrassed smile. Though she said nothing, it seemed as if she were recalling a mishap of an adventure.
Mention of bandits had a flicker of fear and then relief when the commander said that her ‘man’ would be enough to handle it. “Thank goodness. I am sure it is due to your diligence.” She offered again. A simpering little noble woman. The look of a hunter and prey was not missed, but on her face, there was almost a vapid airiness. Her expression brightened. “Have you been to Whitebridge? I am excited to see it for the first time.”
His words made her frown and hurt shown in her eyes and that hurt turned to her companion. Tears misting her eyes. “There is nothing wrong with finding pleasure in the world.” Her voice clearly showed the hurt she felt. Sniffling and still pouting she answered his claim. “Should we fear you? You are here to keep us in the light, to protect the people..” They way she said it was both spoken with a simple belief in the truth and a slight stab, one of an injured woman rather than the crafty mind of an Aes Sedai.
When he came to her defense, she still looked pouty, but there was a change in her gaze as she looked at Nicholaus. As if she was wondering what kind of woman he sought and finding the picture.. Unappealing. Her nose wrinkled some. It was when he implied that they were lying that the teary eye gaze left and something that only an entitled bitch of a lady could pull off. “How dare you, sir!” That voice became shriller as she all but screeched. “I want to speak to your commander! To talk to a lady this way..”
The way his back stiffened was entertaining to her, and though there was fear in their bond, there was also dry amusement and the indignation that spread across his face. The leather of his gloves groaned softly as he gripped his reins tighter. His voice was harsh and clipped as Nicholaus spoke. “I am the Commander of this platoon” And when she looked down her nose at him, a fancy trick for being shorter than he, she could almost hear his teeth crack as he ground them “I answer to no one.” he growled out. “Perhaps not here, but you answer to someone!” She called out after him as he turned his horse and called to his men.
Relief sagged through the bond and Rinaeve sighed, wearily as the troop filed past them. “I know.” Came her soft answer, knowing it was nothing more than a fact. Had it not been Nicholaus, they would have gone unnoticed. Unless the brotherhood had changed greatly, harassing noble women wasn’t common. A choked laugh left her and Rinaeve rolled her eyes. “There was a time, for a short while, I considered the blue.” It was from her Blue sisters that she’d learned the trick she’d employed. There were a number of personas she could adopt at a will.
Softening, her eyes and face became gentle as he looked at her hand, at the ring that had become a part of her as much as he had. That hand rose and brushed his own, a soft caress. It was that touch and the feeling of guilt that slipped through the bond that were her apology to him. “I wasn’t sure I had time.” Looking away, she nodded. He deserved to know and she would tell him, but not at that very moment, because he was right, if he doubled back, she didn’t want to be found again.
তততততততততততত
Camp was made well off the road and she hadn’t even needed to ask Aerhuin to mask their trail. While she doubted Nicholaus would hunt them this far, there was nothing wrong with an abundance of caution. While he doubled back, making sure the pair were safe, Rinaeve indulged herself in a bath within the cool waters of a shady lake they had stumbled upon. Clean from a day of hard riding, dirt and dust, she dawned a soft gown. One of the many small things that her Chair had caused Rinaeve to fall in love with.
Cloth faded from sea green to deep blue. The pleats were simple, elegant even as they molded to her breasts. Long sleeves fell around her elbows and numerous slits showed her pale legs as she moved. As if the gown were not made of fine silk, she cradled twigs and sticks to her chest, her long silver white locks almost grey were twisted into a messy bun, curls falling free as she made their fire. Without looking up she began to speak.
“You know, as many in the tower do, that I was born to the brotherhood.” Her voice was soft as she flicked her fingers, fire kindling to life. “My family is,” she sighed softly. “Or was favored and a match had been made. I would marry another child of the light, propelling both families higher, within rank, within the brotherhood.” Curling on the mossy floor of the woods, her bare legs stretched on one side, she continued, looking at the fire. “Nicholaus was older than I was, the son of an inquisitor. Learning his trade..” Quieter now, her voice held pain and fear as she let that memory wash through her and by extension him. “I already knew something was odd about me, the power I could wield.” Slowly her eyes met his. “Not that I knew exactly what it was. I suppose that is a lie, but one I told myself. I wasn’t evil.”
Raw vulnerability shown on her face. “Because anyone who can touch that power, the one power, is darkfriend.. Is evil.” the amethyst of her eyes darkened. “Her name was Delayna Sedai, though I wouldn’t know that till years later. She wore the yellow Ajah..” Her grief was raw.. “She had been healing the sick when she was taken. When she was tortured.” Tears fell silently down her cheeks as the nightmare she often had was bared before him. “I can remember her screams.. As the man I was to marry tortured her. I was nine and I knew then, that night.. That the same fate would await me.”
Inhaling she closed her eyes. “It took me a year to plan my escape and I fled into the night, leaving behind a note saying I was sorry. I didn’t want to hurt my parents, but when I asked questions, I could see their disgust.. Their hatred. And to marry an inquisitor? One who rooted out Aes Sedi?" A hollow laugh left her. “It would have been my death at his hands.” Lashes slowly opened and her eyes met his. “I made my way to the tower and.. Well” Her shrug was nonchalant, or tried to be. “The rest, as they say, is history.”
He stepped into camp with the woods still on his shoulders. No sound preceded him but the soft hush of his cloak around his ankles and the light crush of pine needles underfoot. Dusk hadn’t fully claimed the clearing, but the light was bending low, fire-split and copper-washed, when he caught sight of her again.
She had changed while he was away. No longer cloaked in dust and saddle-wear, she wore something soft, something shaped in shades of sea and twilight. It clung with elegant restraint, but what he noticed first was not the gown, not the way it caught the color of the fire—no, it was her silence.
She didn’t look up when as approached. Aerhuin did not interrupt her.
He crossed the clearing without a word, unbuckling his sword and laying it beside his pack. The ring she’d given him was secure in its wrap inside his cloak pocket, but he didn't reach for it yet. He listened, instead as she wound open a truth that didn’t fit neatly in any saddlebag or Tower archive. One made of screams and choices, fear and firelight. It moved through the bond like blood. Her grief. Her shame. Her rage.
His time in the Tower had taught him more than how to wield a sword at another’s side. From Kisa, he had learned the intricacies of Aes Sedai—their tics and tells, the rituals that bound them to one another, and the ways the world mistook silence for secrets. The truth was subtler. Aes Sedai were misunderstood and precisely understood at once, seen as puppeteers and peacekeepers, feared for the power they held and envied for the freedom they seemed to possess. He had learned to look past the surface, to see what the shawl concealed and what it did not. From Kisa’s calm discipline to Rinaeve’s sharp quietude, he had begun to understand that Aes Sedai were neither goddesses nor monsters. They were women who had chosen to become something more, something shaped by burden and brilliance in equal measure.
When her voice fell quiet at last, when the words gave way to the sound of the fire crackling between them, Aerhuin knelt. His knees folded into the moss, not with reverence but with intent, across from her, beside the flame.
“I knew it was something,” he said, low. The words came slowly, not carefully, but weightily, like they cost something to give. Like she deserved more than easy kindness. “But not that.”
His eyes met hers, steady and unwavering. “I was raised to think Aes Sedai were liars, that they used people and manipulated the world to keep it bent in their favor. 'An Aes Sedai never lies, but—" his fingers came up next to his ears and twitched in quotation “—the truth she speaks may not be the one you think you hear.'” His brow furrowed, a quiet huff easing out of him. “But the worst liars I ever knew were men. Men who beat their children and claimed it was for discipline, who made themselves gods with torches and nooses. Men who used the Light like a cudgel and called it mercy.”
He glanced down, then, finally, he reached into his cloak liner and drew out the wrapped ring. “I carried this because you asked it. Not because I doubted. Not because I was waiting.” He laid it beside the fire between them, a span from her feet. “I don’t need the bond to know what kind of woman you are. You walked away from everything that made you. You chose who you are now. And I honor that.”
He kneeled before her as a man with no oaths left to give but the ones he’d already sworn. There was something lingering in his posture, a too-relaxed look that made his languid crouch look like it was asking permission for something and a twitch in his eyes that betrayed his calm.
Her laugh was soft as he said he’d know it was something. “You are.. One of two people that know the real story.” Many knew where she came from, it had never been hidden from her sisters, but her story? It was hers and she’d shared it with Alana and now Aerhuin. It was so personal, that truth.. Sharing it with him, by her own choice.. It was that very moment that Rinaeve felt that bond they shared most deeply.
He had been her warder for almost a year and it was the lowering of that wall, that baring of her soul to him that made it real. Rinaeve nodded some, understanding that better than most. While most viewed Aes Sedai as crafty liars or dark friends.. Some knew it better. Her lips spread into a smile and she nodded some. An Aes Sedai could not lie but it was an art to make someone hear what they wish. Even before, she’d not lied, not exactly, to Nicholaus. It was another reason to allow her warder to speak for her.
Darkness colored her pale eyes when he spoke of the worst sort of liars. For a moment her eyes slipped from his and she nodded again. Tears prickled at her eyes and she exhaled. She wouldn’t hide it and she knew he’d feel it along their bond. In the firelight her eyes looked glassy. Rinaeve understood all too well.
Blinking, her first tear fell, slowly trailing down her cheek as her eyes fell to the ring he set near her feet. “Aerhuin.” It was far from the first time she’d said his name, however, she had never once said it like that. She felt like the girl she’d never been. Had never allowed herself to be. Someone shy, unsure and with something akin to hope. His name was a caress that wasn’t a touch, but he’d’ feel all the same.
Eyes on his, she reached out and brushed her fingers against his jaw. Unsure if she was reading everything wrong. Shifting, she leaned closer to him. It was like the wheel for a moment, spun slower. Lips hovered next to his for a moment before her lashes lowered and she kissed him.
It was a sweet kiss that lingered for a heart beat, two and then she was pulling back, her cheeks flushed. Lashes still lowered. It was her first kiss and she was happy it was with him. Something for her at least was shifting between them. Growing and changing. Lingering, their breaths tangled before she made to pull back.
Something shifted in the space between them when her fingers touched his jaw. Not the bond—that had been humming steadily since the garden, a constant presence he'd grown accustomed to like his own heartbeat. This was different. This was her choice, deliberate and unhurried, the pad of her thumb tracing along the edge of his cheekbone with a tenderness that made his breath catch.
When she leaned closer, he didn't pull away, and moreover, couldn't even if he'd wanted to. The firelight caught in her pale hair, turning silver to gold, and her lavender eyes were so close he could see the darker flecks around her pupils. Her breath was warm against his lips, sweet with the lingering taste of the tea they'd shared earlier.
The kiss, when it came, was soft, tentative. The kind of kiss that asked a question rather than made a demand. Her lips were warm and slightly trembling, and he could taste the salt of her earlier tears. It lasted only a heartbeat, maybe two, but it felt like something fundamental had shifted between them, like a door opening that had been locked since the moment they'd met.
When she began to pull back, her cheeks flushed pink in the firelight, he moved. Not away from her, but closer. His hand came up to cup the side of her face, fingers threading through the loose strands of hair that had escaped her messy bun.
"Rinaeve," he said quietly, her name shaped differently on his tongue than it had ever been before, no longer Rinaeve Sedai in that moment.
He studied her face in the dancing light, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the vulnerability that lingered in her expression despite the kiss she'd just given him. This woman who could weave the One Power without moving her hands, who could slip into a dozen different personas like changing clothes, who carried scars from a childhood that should have broken her... and she was looking at him like she was afraid he might reject what she'd offered.
"That was your first," he said. It was not a question; he could feel it through the bond, the nervous energy, the way her heart was racing. "Wasn't it?" he offered generously, allowing her to feel less transparent. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, gentle and sure. The ring she'd given him lay forgotten between them, catching the firelight like a promise waiting to be reclaimed. But this moment belonged to them, not to duty or bonds or the Tower's expectations.
"I'm honored," he said simply. And then, because the moment called for it, because she'd been brave enough to reach for him first, he leaned forward and kissed her back. This kiss was deeper than hers had been, more certain. She tasted like courage and firelight, like the woman who'd stood up to a Whitecloak commander and the girl who'd fled into the night to save her own life. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing a little too quickly. "The ring can wait," he murmured against her lips. "This... this is more important."
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
