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Cadsuane

Channelers and the Men Who Love Them, Season Three

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What better place to revive a dead fanfic than in a comatose forum. :ddd:

 

(it goes without saying I am so incredibly out of practice)

 

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Season Three - Episode 1 - Ain't Messin' Around

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"Mother's milk in a cup, I thought we had an agreement." Mat's outburst had no effect on his target, who simply rolled her eyes skyward.

 

"You are not helping, Mat" whispered Min, who by all rights should have stayed in her hidey-hole.

 

“A little warning would have been nice, Elmindreda,” he spat back.

 

Min’s eyes grew wide. “How was I to know? This surprised me too.”

 

“Seriously? You can…I mean…are we really going to argue about you knowing the future?”

 

“I have viewings not Foretellings, Mat.”

 

“Quiet, Toy.”

 

Mat closed his mouth; because he wanted to, no other reason.

 

Tuon stood as short, bald, and overconfident as ever. She stared at him like a hawk does a mouse.

 

“I have altered the agreement. Pray I do not alter it further.”

 

Min’s face told him Tuon was totally going to alter it further.

 

Mat took a deep breath and tried a different route. “We haven’t seen each other in over a decade. I’m married. A father. My wife is about to have another baby. And another war. I have no time for this, whatever ‘this’ is.” He gave a friendly smile for extra effect.

 

“Have you forgotten your marriage to me?”

 

“I have tried very hard.”

 

“Well, I have not forgotten.”

 

“But have you tried? I highly recommend giving it a go. Makes life so much better.”

 

“You are an uncouth, Trollac faced, fool.” Selucia the Annoying said.

 

Before Mat could reply, Tuon made a motion and a panel slide aside enough to allow a young boy to enter the room.

 

“Light burn me, tell me he is not mine.”

 

Tuon gave a very unfriendly smile.

 


 

Moiraine could sense Matrim’s distress through the bond, but she was far too distracted to fuss over what ever could be bothering her husband. He would have to handle whatever crisis he had created on his own, just as she had her own mess to clean up. A mess with a face almost as pretty as hers. Almost.

 

Galad was smiling at her while twirling a strand of hair; he was apparently trying to grow his hair out. She was mildly irritated at how quickly and shiny it already seemed to be growing.

 

“My Dearest Aunt Moiraine, I so do wish we could come to an agreement about this. In fact, I thought we already had. Otherwise, things will only get awkward for you.”

 

Moiraine sniffed. “They are already awkward.”

 

“Even more awkward,” The boy didn’t miss a beat.”

 

“This cannot happen, and blackmailing an Aes Sedai. Blackmailing a queen. Blackmailing an Aes Sedai queen! You tempt fate, Galad. Your father tempted fate once.” Moiraine paused dramatically. “He is dead, in case you forgot.”

 

Galad finally stopped twirling that damned hair. “Did he blackmail someone? No matter, I have been successfully blacking you for months. I simply wish to conclude our transaction.”

 

“My country is already at war,” Moiraine whined.

 

“Think of it as a two-for-one bargain, pretty Aunt.”

 

“That is not how it works,” she grumbled. “Fine, go tell your tales about me. I no longer care. Cairhien will not attack the Seanchan for you; go find someone else to do your dirty work.”

 

Galad huffed and puffed and stormed out of the room. Moiraine felt quite mature and queenly over the whole matter. Until her daughter toddled over to vomit all over her new silk shoes.

 


 

Cadsuane had concluded she was in fact dead and was trapped in the Pit of Doom to forever suffer in this pitiful and pointless trial. It was never ending. Witness after witness, accusation after accusation. Thankfully those she had truly done questionable things to were long dead, but then again, if this was the Pit of Doom, they could very easily be called from the grave to testify. Oh dear. This trial really would never end.

 

“Cadsuane Melaidhrin! Are you listening to me?”

 

“No,” she answered truthfully. “What was the question?”

 

Serancha Colvine took a deep breath and glared. “Are. You. Bound. By. The. Oaths.”

 

Cadsuane laughed. “If I wasn’t, I could lie and say I was, so what good is that question? But, yes, of course I am. Next question, please.”

 

“We have it on good authority you are not. After all, you did manage to…give birth…despite your age.” Serancha seemed rather uncomfortable about that.

 

“Which authority? My own authority is the only that matters.”

 

“Verin Sedai— “

 

“Oh her, she’s a liar. Can’t believe anything she says.”

 

Serancha’s eyes narrowed. “You are accused of being unbound and your only defense is the other Aes Sedai is a liar?”

 

“Yes? I mean, she is a liar, so, this whole line of questioning is rather silly, don’t you think?”

 

“Why do you dye your hair gray, Cadsuane?”

 

“Who said I dyed my hair? Verin? Please don’t tell me it was Verin. We have already established how unreliable that Brownish Sister is.”

 

Serancha smiled. Probably for the first time in 200 years. “Your roots are showing. Lovely color of brown, I must say.”

 

Well, shit. “I retired from the Tower ages ago. What does it matter about Oaths or hair or Rand al’Thor babies? It is none of your concern.”

 

“All channelers are a concern to the Tower,” that from the baby Amyrlin. “How did you get rid of your Oaths, child? And when?”

 

“Objection!” Romanda, once again, said the word without any backup plan. “Um, she, uh, shouldn’t answer that.”

 

Unfortunately, Cadsuane couldn’t think of a better argument. “Yeah, I’m just going to not talk about myself anymore. “

 

Egwene laughed. Serancha guffawed. Romanda cried. And Cadsuane tried to plot her way out of this hole.

 


 

What Egwene wanted most of all was a good night’s sleep. But Elayne had been quite insistent on meeting in Tel'aran'rhiod, and Egwene’s thought it best to just get it over with.

 

They meet on the green of Emond’s Field, although it looked almost nothing like it once did when she lived there. Elayne was wearing a full gown meant for a queen including a glistening crown. Egwene wore the plain garb of her Aiel training days; clothes and crowns did not bestow power, a fact Elayne did not grasp apparently.

 

“Egwene, uh, Mother,” Elayne did a perfect curtsy. “I am glad you agreed to meet me and— “

 

“Enough, Elayne,” Egwene had no time for this. “I only came to tell you to give back whatever ter'angreal you have to the Tower.”

 

“But, don’t you want to know what Moiraine has done? Is doing? And, and…I deserve to be back on the Lion Thorne. And the Sun Throne. All the thrones. Not yours of course. You can keep that.”

 

Egwene was tempted to throw Elayne into a pit of vipers and see how she liked that kind of dream, but decided against it. Besides, she really was tired. “I will send someone out to Emond’s Field to collect it. Maybe Moiraine. She probably does deserve some punishment for something, I’m sure. And I do like to see families spend quality time together. Do not contact me again without permission.”

 

And with that, she was gone.

 


 

It was lonely down in the dark. In the wet, cold cell. There weren’t even rats or mice to keep him company. Not even a sole roach. A guard came by at regular intervals with food and water, but he never spoke. It was very lonely.

 

In fact, if Rand didn’t know any better, he would think the Aes Sedai had forgotten he was down here. But that would never happen; he was the Dragon Reborn, after all.

 

Even so, it had been quite a while and he was starting to get afraid he really was forgotten.

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