New Style Fic:

[FortyFiveAuto 1]

My writing is usually pretty dark, so I decided I'd cater more to the MW Audience at large, whom, near as I can tell, love things of taboo romances, mussing up sheets, and sexual intrigue.

 

So without further ado, here is the first episode of just such a work. I will not write out the entirety -- my stuff is lengthy at times, but it's only because I have huge visions of the way things play out.

 

I'll just use this first one to gauge your interest. Just a heads-up, this is a prequel type fic -- takes place before the events of TEOTW, but after New Spring. Enjoy!

 

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The rooms of the Echoing Zephyr were not generally quiet, as the soothing nature of the name suggested, but this room, at least, was comfortable. It was large, too, and conducive to meetings, or even parties, which Levana Nasif supposed she ended up having last night. Her breath still smelled of the brandy from last night, but she was much too seasoned at this type of thing to suffer from hangovers, unlike her guests, who still lay asleep next to her.

 

Mohad was a nobleman from a minor house who could not have seen more than twenty naming days, she guessed, and Seara was a thirty-something merchant of fine textiles who had made a tidy fortune in the past three years. She smiled at their impropriety; that woman was insatiable, and for a man so young and inexperienced he was surprisingly...deft. Suppressing a giggle, she rose out of the large bed and began rolling on a fresh pair of silk stockings. Seara noticed her absence in her sleep, groggily groping around until she found a pillow to throw her arm over. Mohad remained nude without coverlets upon his statuesque nudity and snored softly.

 

Levana fastened the last of her buttons on her green riding dress with divided skirts. There was business to attend to yet, and she couldn't let her morning be squandered by romping in the sheets, much as the idea appealed to her. They'd wake up to each other, she thought with a grin.

 

The innkeeper, Leota Hasan, catered her business to all types of clientele, both common and noble, which boded well for gathering information. This was one of very few places in Bandar Eban, or Arad Doman, for that matter, in which one might throw some dice with a street tough or sellsword in one room, and have an informal council meeting and fine wine and foods in another. Leota brooked no nonsense, and her cadre of shoulder-thumpers ran her ship tightly for her. Besides, the way she smiled at Levana, she might actually have a fancy for voluptuous, red-haired young women. Levana always returned her leers; you never knew what advantages might be gained from making a special friend. It had helped her achieve her objectives in the past, and last night, she forged two new alliances which she might call upon later. It was all in the name of keeping the purses full. Mostly.

 

The common room was not crowded, but a clamor in one of the corners of the room gave off the impression of a card game that had either started early or had not yet finished from last night. Hopping onto a barstool, Levana called for a mug of ewe's milk and a plate of scrambled hen's eggs. She would need energy after last night, and today she was going to see Sareta, who would no doubt have some menial task for her to perform. Levana wondered why she even took jobs from that insufferable woman. "Vital to the Gray Ajah," she said in a mocking voice, checking over her shoulders as she ate. You had to be careful where you mentioned Aes Sedai. Aes Sedai always attracted attention, and in Levana's business too much of that could lose you your pay, or even your life.

 

Leota appeared from a door behind the bar to regard her patrons with a falcon-like eye, which softened into a giving smile as she met Levana's eyes. Levana smiled back at her as she swallowed her food, daintily wiping her mouth and placing her folded hands on the bar in front of her. Leota was always dressed immaculately; silk was all she wore, but it was very finely cut with delicate lace trim nd embroidery across the full bodice. As Levana herself preferred, Leota's dress hugged her feminine curves and swells beautifully. She sauntered over to her with that quintessential Domani grace, the gentle, swaying motion all daughter of self-respecting Domani women were taught, and taught early. "Did you sleep well, sweetling? You three made quite a racket last night. The patrons next to you complained," she reached for Levana's hand, stroking it softly as she admired it. "I...might have to raise the rate for you."

 

Levana placed her other hand on top of Leota's, reciprocating the caress. "Aww, do you mean it?" She leaned in closer and gazed into the other woman's eyes. Levana lowered her voice to a whisper, "Surely I could make it up to you somehow?"

 

A half-smile crept onto Leota's face. "We'll see," she said simply. "For now, I have a message for you, left by a runner for Sareta. She wanted you there an hour ago. The boy is still here, eating in the kitchen. Poor thing, Sareta must never feed him. Shall I give word for her to wait?"

 

Levana winced. Sareta was a harpy, but she paid well, and in Levana's currency of choice, which was itself useful when Tar Valon gold crowns might be a liability. "No, I will go now. See if that boy wants the rest of this." She slid her plate forward as she fished a gold crown out of her purse. "And this is for last night. Please tell your guests I am sorry for the noise." She pressed the coin into Leota's supple hand.

 

"They already left. I'm keeping the change, Levana," Leota replied, dropping the coin in the purse on her belt. "Come back anytime," she cooed.

 

***

 

Levana drew rein when she saw the sign with the spool of thread on a blue background. Sareta was not a seamstress, though Levana had heard eyes-and-ears for the different Ajahs often performed their trades from behind the backdrops of such establishments. Supposedly peculiar flags were flown by the representatives of the eyes-and-ears to draw the attention of other Sisters as they rode through the various towns in Arad Doman. Levana herself didn't have to keep a lookout for the three triangles sewn into a quilt patch hung from a window. She had taken many jobs from Sareta before, and while she enjoyed the wages, she dreaded the jobs before she even heard them. They weren't difficult, they just usually ended up fruitless. Sareta also seemed to think that Levana never slept, ever. The last job she took involved spying on a member of the Council for four days straight. No clear objectives, just report his activities. It's vital to the diplomatic success of the Gray Ajah, she mocked.

 

Ducking into the side entrance of the seamstress' shop, Levana gave a small start when she saw the short, rotund woman before her with her fists on her hips. Sareta had an attractive face, but her roundness should never have been stuffed into a Domani dress. It bordered on travesty, Levana thought ruefully. The Aes Sedai paid her even better, she thought as she grinned to herself, if her waist was any proof of that. Sareta tapped a small, slippered foot on the stained wood floor. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

 

"I had an issue to attend to at the Zephyr. A young boy desperately needed help finding his mother, and then I decided to pay for his breakfast, and --"

 

"Enough of your lies, woman. Close your mouth and listen." Levana could never get anything past Sareta. She could tell if the Dark One himself was lying to her. "I have a job for you. This one comes from up on high -- a Sitter of the Gray Ajah in the White Tower. It pays six thousand gold crowns."

 

Six thousand gold crowns? Levana tried not to let her eyes bulge out of her skull. This was ten times more than any job she had received from Sareta in the two years she had known her. She'd spy on Council members for that much money. Light! She'd strip to her shift and beg for the lewd attentions of ruffians, for six thousand gold. "Er...uh...of course, I accept. What is the job?"

 

"As always, you must swear on the Light and your hope of rebirth and salvation that you will keep this knowledge to yourself. What you are about to hear is sealed to the Tower and the representatives of the Tower, and by accepting payment you yourself are by proxy a Tower representative." Levana swore the oath, eager to find out what was so important that a small fortune would be paid. "You are to find a boy. A particular boy, who should have seen no more than about fifteen naming days till now." Sareta went on about what information she knew about this golden child. Finally, Levana would actually be employed the way she was meant to work, the way she was used to working. Thief-takers were a legendary and unique group of men, she was told, and she agreed. But being a woman meant she could employ all manner of...other techniques...that men could not possibly perform. She would find this boy and bring him to Sareta in a burlap sack. Her vision was tinged with gilt.

 

"One last vital piece of information, Levana," Sareta said in a low voice. "The boy you are looking for was born on the slopes of Dragonmount. This should narrow down your search."

 

Dragonmount? Where Lews Therin had killed himself? Levana wasn't sure about all the stories and prophecies. She didn't hardly believe in the Dark One, even though she never worked up the nerve to call out his name. It didn't make any difference. She could find this boy, and afterward she would spend a year in Leota's inn drinking, feasting, and rolling around between the bedsheets, preferably with a friend or two.

 

Levana carefully placed her promissory notes of three thousand gold crowns into her saddle bags and headed East. She wondered if anyone else might be on the same mission as she was. At that price, it was an inevitability. She would have to be wary of other bounty hunters looking to eliminate their competition. She reached down to the pommel of her sword. The scabbard lashed to her horse held the blade her father gave her before his death. Inlaid in the finely wrapped grip lay the gilded impression of a heron. His arms business died shortly after he did, but while it was operating she had learned a thing or two about the sword and bow, sometimes from his customers. She now gripped the pommel of the blade he said she was worthy of wielding, even if she thought she still needed few more years yet to practice it. "Every little bit helps," she mused as she brought her dun mare up to a gallop.

Edited February 11, 2011 by FortyFiveAuto

[Jaime Jai'melar 1]

Nice You're really good I wish I could write just like you Edited February 11, 2011 by Jaime Jai'melar

[Marie 73]

As president of MW I approve.

[FortyFiveAuto 1]

Try EP2. I think you will enjoy the fic as it develops. Several installments waiting to be transcribed from neurons to paper...

 

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EP2:

 

Levana's mount Star clomped heavily as she came to a canter near the secluded clearing in the woods, situated near a small brook that fed from the River Akuum further East. It was important to herself, as well as her horses, to keep well hydrated in case she needed to ride out in a hurry. Outside of Bandar Eban, village folk tended to create some fanciful stories about beasts the height of houses and fades that disappeared when they turned sideways and struck fear in the hearts of the hardest men. Levana herself had never seen a fade or a trolloc, nor any so-called Shadowspawn, and suspected they were mostly the fever dreams of battle-weary soldiers.

 

That was not to suggest, however, that she should not be prepared for any and all contingencies. Traveling alone, she would have to sleep lightly and keep an ear out for horse thieves, bandits, and any other brigands that might be about. Her father used to always say that brigands were like cockroaches: they always came out at night, and there were always more of them than you saw. She dismounted and tied Star to a low branch of the thick yew that grew near the brook.

 

The yew reminded her of the bow, which her father had taught her early on as a girl. He taught her how to pick out the best type of wood from the tree. "Half heartwood, half sapwood," she recited as she fingered the tree's branches. Her father was a dealer in arms, and sold to mercenaries and at times fulfilled minor contracts from conscript armies for the Council of Merchants. He squandered much of his earnings in taverns, gambling and drinking, but he had always loved to teach Levana the fine points of self-defense. She was heartbroken when he had died of a sleeping sickness shortly after her fourteenth naming day, which left her to live with an aunt in Solanje.

 

She ran away after a week living there. Aunt Freia not only scorned things like the sword and the bow, but she also tried to make Levana attend finishing school for Domani girls. She had hitched a ride on a Murandian merchant's wagon headed toward Falme. She had no money, only a few of her father's best pieces of the collection she had taken with her. The merchant, with his oily mustache and greedy smile, grabbed her by the arm and threatened to leave her on the road. "No one rides for free, you see." She had serviced his needs for three weeks before he caught sight of her father's heron mark blade -- her heron mark blade -- while making camp one night. "What's a pretty young girl doing with a thing like this?" he had asked as he tried to wrest it from her hands. She had tried telling him that she wouldn't sell -- she would demean herself and fulfill his sick pleasures before she let the man take anything of her father's, but he wouldn't hear it. He got as far as yanking the scabbard free before she split his collar with The Courtier Taps His Fan, bleeding him out. She panicked and left him and his wagon full of dyes and paints where they lay. She didn't want anything of his, and she certainly didn't want to be caught with any of his wares lest the Merchants' Guards suspect her of murder. They did find her, but they took her back to her aunt's instead of questioning her about a murder. Maybe his wagon and his skeleton were still out there somewhere?

 

Afraid of being apprehended, she did finally agree to finishing school. After becoming accustomed to the suggestive yet prim ways of Domani womanhood, she realized that everything seemed muted and dull. Nothing was quite so exhilarating as fighting, and nothing even as much as killing, she shamefully admitted to herself. There had been a time during school that she had participated in formal social gatherings, as part of her school's evaluation. The young men she had met were pretty enough, she guessed, but they were all painfully uninteresting. She thought with one mustached fellow how she might cut his throat should he decide to force his desires upon her. Her evaluation didn't go as well as her headmistresses had liked, and she had to repeat the social three times before she passed. She was not alone, and the headmistresses were beginning to suspect that Levana had something to do with the other girls' failures. They had, after all, been pillow friends, and Levana treated them to stories of her childhood somewhere south of propriety. She had embellished somewhat about running away from her aunt, but did not divulge the detail about how that little foray had ended. She hadn't told anyone.

 

Upon graduation, Levana had actually tried to conscript into the King's Guard of Arad Doman but was turned down because she was a woman, nevermind the fact that she bested all seven of the King's best pages with the practice sword. Trainees, she thought, hardly worthy of holding the sword. Despite her promise as a swordswoman, the Captain in charge of the selection told her it was not a job for women, no matter how good they were. "You'll end up with child, and then what?" he said. She never wanted to sell weapons, like her father; she'd rather use them. Her aunt had tried to get her interned with the Council of Merchants, as an apprentice to one of the liaisons to the Sea Folk. Domani women were supposed to be some of the best bargainers in the entire world, but Levana knew her fate lay elsewhere.

 

When she had found that wanted cutpurse in the city, she beat him senseless and nearly killed him. She remembered how the feeling of being in danger reminded her of the satisfaction she had felt when she sank her blade into that merchant long ago. The cutpurse had attempted to fight back with his long, skinny blade, but her bludgeon was too fast and met its mark too many times. She had dragged him by his collar onto a sedan chair and paid the fare to deliver him to the Hall of the Council for the reward money. Five gold crowns was enough to make any poor young city girl's eyes gleam. It was then she knew she had found her calling.

 

Dinner was smoked beef slivers over a bed of white rice. She had forgotten to pack her favorite lacquered sursa, and so ate it with her hands. As twilight fell, she cleaned up her campfire and buried the ashes, leaving some hot embers for the morning and for her mirrored lantern, which she left on for as long as long as the tallow would burn. She carried it with her back to the brook so that she could wash the grease from her hands. She would have to wash the smell of food off completely or her tent would attract wolves or bears. The wolves she might deter with a few well-placed arrows, but she was not equipped to discourage hungry bears.

 

Shining her lamp toward the babbling stream, she unfastened the feed bag from around Star's head. As she folded the empty canvas behind her belt, she noticed a flicker of light from behind a tree copse a hundred paces beyond the far bank of the stream. Squinting, Levana could see the outline of trees and the intermittent glow of fireflies among them. She was about to dismiss them when she noticed that the fireflies appeared...strange, somehow. It was as if they were behind a very hot fire which warped the air and distorted their image.

 

Scanning her surroundings with quick glances, Levana hurriedly extinguished her lamp and padded lightly back to her camp area. She prostrated herself behind some low bushes as she looped the heron-mark sword onto her belt. Other bounty hunters must be after the same boy, she remembered saying to herself. The sound of the brook would do well to conceal footsteps, and if there were brigands about, she would need to use her eyes and nose to detect them.

 

And then she saw it, approaching her mount from downwind, so as not to alert her to its presence. A floating head? The head was high off the ground, as high as her own horse's. In the faint moonlight, she could make out the angular features of a hard face. Below it she could see the same light-warping phenomenon she had seen with the fireflies. It was a man, and he was concealing himself, with some sort of fantastic camouflage she had never seen in her life. How is this accomplished, she thought as she gaped at the man reaching her mount. She supposed that someone the White Tower wanted this bad must have some well-funded hunters looking for him, too. A hand stuck out from underneath the nothingness to stroke Star's muzzle. Pondering the man's technology, a horrendous thought made her stomach turn. What if the man is channeling the One Power? She wouldn't even know if a woman was channeling, having been tested long ago by an Aes Sedai that came into Bandar Eban while Levana's mother was still alive. It had to be that. Star grunted contentedly as the man patted her nose. Just then it hit her; she knew what he was there for. He's going to steal her! Domani razors were prized horses, some said even more so than Tairen stock. Without a ride, Levana would be thirty-five leagues away from the nearest township, and on foot. Not going to happen, she said as she rose to a crouch, exposing an inch of steel from the scabbard.

 

She began to inch forward as silently as possible while keeping her eyes on the apparently floating head. Her father taught her how to stalk game with some success as a girl. With every soundless step the man's face became clearer, those hard planes and angles catching the moonlight just so. He appeared to have something around his head, a band of some sort, which held his hair from his eyes. A borderlander? thought Levana. She didn't have a plan, nor a hope against channeling. She'd have to strike first, and she'd have to strike hard enough to prevent a counterattack with the One Power. That is, if he's the one doing the channeling, she thought ruefully. She could not let him take Star.

 

Levana was within 7 paces of the man when all of a sudden her boot snapped a twig. The man moved inhumanly fast. Sparks flew as his blade fell on hers, which she had drawn in the nick of time and braced with her left wrist to prevent her skull from being split. The distortions in the air parted briefly to reveal the man's clothing. It was not of a cut or style that Levana recognized. His blade retreated for another strike. She thought she might track his blade as it caught the moonlight, but he hesitated as he loomed over her. It was the opening she needed. She broke into Parting the Silk to plunge her blade into the man's midsection. He parried and brought his blade high once more. Her Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose met his Low Wind Rising with a thunderous clang. He was a very tall man with a very long reach, but he was defending more than attacking. Perhaps he was not that skilled with the sword, Levana thought? Levana was not nearly as strong as the man, but she was fast, just as her father had trained her to be. Besides, a blade didn't need much force to kill, and the faster it moved, the better your chances of staying alive. Kicking dust with her left foot toward the man's face, she put her full power and speed behind Arc of the Moon, aimed right at his neck. Her sword whistled as it sliced through air. A heavy fist knocked Levana square in the center of the chest. She reeled backwards and slid through the dirt, sword still in hand. She thought she heard her opponent gasp.

 

Expertly she leaped back onto her feet, assuming Lion on the Hill to guard against a high attack. Not sensing one in the second it took to regain her breath, she unleashed The Cat Dances on the Wall, yelling out wordlessly with each slash. Her sword was a hurricane in her hands, a brutal storm of flashing steel hungry for blood. Sweat beads formed on her brow as she rushed towards the distorted figure with Striking the Spark, feeling her energy being sapped by her sword with each swing. Amazingly, the man hardly had his sword raised at all! He stood there with his sword in one hand as he dodged each of her strikes simply by swinging his head. Dodged! Once every few swings, when she felt like her sword might hit home, his blade came up to parry. As if that weren't enough, when she recovered to attack again, his form retreated into Folding the Fan, sheathing his sword in the scabbard over his shoulder. Levana couldn't help but gawk. What an insult! she thought. Did the man think he could take her without a sword to defend himself?

 

The clouds parted briefly to reveal the harvest moon. From this light Levana could see the man's hard, handsome face. He regarded her with cold, almost regal eyes, more fitting on a king than on a horse thief. She would peel the arrogance off his face with her blade! The clouds covered the moon once more to obscure the man. "Die, bandit!" she roared, running forward with all her might as she feigned Boar Rushes Down the Mountain. Levana turned her sword slightly as she finished with Thistledown Floats on the Whirlwind. She felt a slight resistance in her sword as it hit flesh. Success! she thought with an exhausted smile.

 

Abruptly she jolted forward with a yelp as the man reeled her in by her sword. The moonlight reappeared to reveal the man's face, marred by a tiny cut over his left eye which oozed blood onto his cheek. She looked down to her sword blade, only to feel the point of a long-bladed knife pressed not-so-gently against her chin. His left hand wore a steel-backed glove, wrapped firmly around her sword, razor sharp edge and all. Curse gauntlets, Levana thought with a hiss. Light, but the man was tall, head and shoulders taller than she was. She had never seen a man this tall in Arad Doman. Except for the pitiful gash she managed to make, he was very handsome, much more so up close. Levana wondered if she might convince him to allow her to live. If she could seduce him, perhaps she could get to Star and make a run for it. She didn't have a chance to work her charm before he spoke.

 

"Who taught you the sword, woman? You are good," the man's brow furrowed under that headband, a braided leather cord. "Light, I haven't had a fight like that in years. Who are you, and why were you trying to attack me?"

 

Levana's eyes bulged out as her mouth worked furiously for a response. She tried attacking him? All that came out was a flustered stutter. She shut her mouth, took a quick breath, and screamed "You attacked me you filthy vermin!" She let go of her sword to plant her right fist hard into his ribs.

 

His body was like a piece of iron. He grunted and grabbed her wrist in his stone grip, prodding the point of his knife a little harder into her chin. Levana winced as her pulled her closer to his face. "Answer me," he growled.

 

She looked into his eyes with a level gaze. "Marya Jefar. My father was Aden Jefar -- he taught me. Please, let me go. I can't lose my horse, but I can give other things. Please," she pulled his hand to her breast. "I can give you this, if you want it," she whispered softly into his ear, "I can give you more if your heart desires it. Let me show you--" he cut her off as he jerked his hand away. Was he blushing?

 

"Grab hold of yourself, woman, I wasn't trying to steal your horse!" He let her go completely as he adjusted his peculiar cloak that made one dizzy to regard up close. Light, he really was flustered! "I was just trying to secure the area for Moi...for my liege lady, Mistress Alys. I am Andra," his stern look reappeared. "My apologies for striking you, Mistress Jefar, I was simply trying to defend myself, you understand. I meant what I said earlier -- you are superb with that blade. My compliments to your father, he has made a fine blademistress," the tall man eyed her, or was he leering? Suddenly she realized her dress had taken a slash to the sleeve, leaving the tops of her breasts completely naked. With a gasp she seized the tatters and held them over her decolletage. "Please, join us by our camp," he continued, "my lady will have suitable replacements for your damaged clothing."

 

Levana slowly nodded and Andra turned around toward Star so that she could gather her things. Andra, and Mistress Alys, he said? Men used to convention made mistakes when confronted with an uncomfortable situation, she had been taught. It was a part of what made Domani women such excellent negotiators in trade. This man may have seen the worst kinds of brutality in battle, but he was still a man, perhaps with a weakness for feminine grace and beauty. He was hiding something from her. Carefully she pinned on her cloak and secured her sword fastenings. Andra was already leading Star across a shoal in the brook. "Are you coming?" he called from the night.

 

"Coming," she responded. He could have easily slaughtered her, but he didn't. Perhaps he was not a threat after all? She'd find out what Andra and this Mistress Alys were about, if she was worth her salt at all. If nothing else, it would be good to have traveling companions to help keep watch at night. They might be good for...other things, too, Levana mused with an impish grin.

Edited February 15, 2011 by FortyFiveAuto

[Erika 4]

Oh! I love this!

[FortyFiveAuto 1]

Moiraine sat on a stump in a small clearing near a tributary of the Akuum River. Embracing the True Source, she wove a curtain of air for privacy as she lifted her skirts to address her saddle soreness. She and Lan had been on the Bandar Eban road since dawn with nary a rest between them. The bond made long hauls somewhat less grueling, but she was certain even he could feel her throbbing rear. How he rode that warhorse of his without tire, she would never know.

 

She had finished rubbing a salve onto her naked hip when surprise and determination came through the bond suddenly. Hurriedly she let down and adjusted her skirts while releasing the weave of air. With saidar filling her, she could make out the silhouette of Lan in the moonlight, his sword nimbly flitting to catch the blows of a ruffian swordsman, who as Moiraine could see, was no slouch with the blade himself. A trickle of something trembled down the bond. She had never known Lan to be worried in battle, but that is what is most closely resembled. She drank in more of the One Power to strain her vision. That sweet ecstasy wanted to consume her, and she wanted to let it, but she maintained control. Moiraine gasped as the ruffian swung his blade with inconceivable quickness right at Lan's neck. There was definitely worry in the bond, that time.

 

Moiraine felt the blood rush back to her face as Lan punched the brigand, knocking him down. This time surprise was profound in the bond, unmistakable. What had gotten into the man? Lan carried no heron mark blade, but he was a blademaster, perhaps one of the best in the Borderlands. Moiraine had never even seen him lose a sparring match; she had witnessed his lethal efficiency with a sword more than once, and against numerous opponents, too. What had the brigand done to catch him so off-guard?

 

In no time Lan's opponent was up on his feet again, with a practiced leap from supine. He unleashed the Dark One's own fury against Lan, a flurry of slashes and thrusts only a man of Lan's skill could counter. He was very good -- certainly the best of Lan's foes she had ever seen. Moiraine watched as Lan dodged and parried, and the concern in the bond grew thicker with each deadly stroke evaded. He was better than this man -- why was he hesitating? Moiraine had the slightest notion of wrapping the man in flows of Air, but promptly dismissed it. She would grieve her gaidin should he fall in battle, but he had expressed very strongly to her that she was not to interfere in a fight of his again.

 

Moiraine's heart skipped a beat as she felt the reflection of Lan's pain as steel rent his brow. He cut him? In addition to his perfect battle track record, Lan had never so much as received a wound from a single opponent. This was a first for her, if not for him. Moiraine sent her own worry down the bond, but suddenly Lan's confidence was back again, that familiar feeling she'd feel from him whenever he beat his opponents. The battle was over. She'd have to chide him for insisting that he patrol alone. Sighing, Moiraine tended to her sore hip once more.

 

Moments later, the whistling of a warbler signaled Lan's return through the wards she had set. Another whistle came unexpectedly. Moiraine let her privacy weave vanish, just escaping the notice of a very pretty young woman who had evidently followed Lan back to camp. No, she was more than just pretty -- she was voluptuous, yet slim and graceful. Moiraine gathered all the height she could muster to regard the newcomer with trademark Aes Sedai poise. The woman's large brown eyes were wide with fright, perfectly situated on her smooth, enviably beautiful, bronzed Domani face. Long black hair framed her features and fell neatly onto the slopes of her somewhat exposed cleavage. Her dress was in tatters, as if cut by a sword...Moiraine's eyes widened a trifle. It couldn't be. This was the brigand? The Domani woman's plump lower lip trembled as she bit it. She was nervous, and rightfully so, having just assaulted an Aes Sedai's Warder, though she didn't know that.

 

"I-I'm..." she spread her skirts in a curtsy, allowing the tatters of her dress to fall and press her bosom precariously outward. Moiraine tried not to leer. "Forgive me, Aes Sedai. I was simply trying to prevent my horse from being stolen. She was my father's horse, you see, and I'm a long way from home, and if you could please show me mercy, Aes Sedai, please--"

 

"Enough, child," Moiraine said calmly, approaching the bowing woman. Light, how did she know? She placed her fingers gently beneath the woman's chin to lift her head, then found the answer to her question. When she and Lan made camp that evening, Moiraine had placed her Great Serpent ring back on her hand. There was something about this woman swordfighter. Was she Tower trained herself, or just very observant? Those dark pools seemed endless and pleading. Light, she was gorgeous. Moiraine felt her cheeks warm as she admired her. "Please, stand up. You have done nothing which warrants an apology." That earned a harrumph from Lan. Fool Warder should have let her come along. The woman straightened to reveal her full height, only a hand taller than Moiraine herself. "You'll have to excuse Master Andra. He would rather strike first then ask questions later in his service to protect me, isn't that so, Master Andra?" So she had been careless, but it was no reason to give away all her secrets.

 

Lan's face hardened, and frustration was tangible through the bond. The woman piped up again. "By your leave, Aes Sedai, Master Andra informed me that you might help me replace my damaged clothing. I seem to have torn it during the course of our, uh, scuffle." She shot a sidelong glance at Lan, who had taken to leaning against a nearby tree with that cat-like Warder's ease, ready to spring into action again should the woman turn hostile.

 

"I will," Moiraine began, "but first, I should ask where you learned the sword. Master Andra here is a blademaster, one of the finest in the North, and you managed to cut him. I am very impressed, Mistress..."

 

"Jefar," the woman replied perhaps a touch too quickly. "Marya Jefar, of Bandar Eban. My father was Aden Jefar, a minor merchant in arms for the Council of Merchants. He taught me the sword, Aes Sedai, ever since I was a girl. Forgive me, Aes Sedai, but how may I address you?"

 

"You can call me Alys Sedai, young Marya," Moiraine said coolly, emphasizing the woman's false name. "Come into my tent. I have a dress that I was going to have altered. Light willing it will fit you without too much trouble. Will you accept Healing for your hurts?"

 

She led her into the tent and cinched the flaps behind her, then embraced the True Source and Warded the tent for eavesdropping. Lan must have noticed the silence, because consternation was the only feeling in the bond for a time after that. "Now then, let's have a look at these scratches. You have done well to avoid Master Andra's blade. I suspect that had you been any lesser a swordswoman, you might be dead" Moiraine fingered the straps of Marya's dress, which prompted her to tug her dress down to her waist. Moiraine's breath caught as she took in the other woman's nude curves and lines. Her face felt flushed as she tried to focus on the Healing. She held her hands against the scratches on Marya's chest, causing her skin to pebble slightly. "Please try to relax. This may feel a bit cold." Moiraine's breath grew heavy with effort, but the necessary concentration seemed leagues away.

Edited February 22, 2011 by FortyFiveAuto

[Marie 73]

Bow chicka wow wow

[Kaitlin 22]

Young Moiraine has the hots for the 'brigand'. Why does this not surprise?

 

Also, I love this. I will pay you in internets to continue.