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Whitecloaks in the Night (Chapter After "Closing the Distance")


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Whitecloaks in the Night

Rated M

 

Moiraine opened her eyes, the light in the room seemed bleary and her head felt heavy. She found herself staring up at a white ceiling, or least what looked like a ceiling at first. But then as her vision started clearing, she realized it was made of fabric: the top of the inside of a tent.

 

Memory rushed back in quickly

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The three men moved over to her. She held onto Saidar. They smelled of ale and tabac, the scent rank in her nose. They crouched down around her and one spoke, while putting his hand on her leg. “Mmm, she certainly was worth the trouble. A very pretty catch. Cairhienin I'd say, with that dark hair and milky-white skin. If I remember right from the inn, she had dark eyes too.” The man was moving his hand higher, stroking the inside of her thigh. With Saidar still flowing through her, she felt every ridge of his finger, as it moved across her skin. She could hear him lick his lips. Her skin crawled, recoiling at this touch. She held an expression of serene sleep on her face, but inside she fought the overwhelming urge to vomit.

 

Meanwhile, Lan heeled Cat Dancer, but the animal was already at its fastest pace. He felt that Moiraine was awake now, and he felt that hand moving up her thigh. He felt her repulsion. He heeled the animal again, fury burning in his blue eyes. He was still far off, but he he could feel he was heading toward her. “I will reach you in time, Moiraine” he said, as if she could hear him. He had to reach her in time.

 

Thankfully, the man pulled his hand out from under Moiraine's shift. Thought moved through her mind at a fast pace. Judging from this bit of conversation, there was a strong possibility that these men did not know she was Aes Sedai. Perhaps they had brought her here for other reasons. She tried not to shudder at the thought. She quickly moved through her options. If they did not know she was Aes Sedai, it would be easier for her to use the Power against them—they wouldn't be expecting it. But then again, since they weren't Shadowspawn, she could only use the power to bind them. Binding three Whitecloaks in their own camp would be an enormous risk, becase even if she did manage to bind all three of them, she still couldn't turn her head enough to see the ropes on her wrists, eliminating the possibility that she could free herself. If another Whitecloak walked in on her while she waited for Lan and saw three men held by invisible binds, she would have an sword through her middle in a heartbeat.

 

The same man spoke again. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get started. I'm hard as a bloody rock.” The other men chuckled darkly again, and she could hear the sound of him rubbing his hand against some fabric on his body. No, she would not let it be this easy for them. She would put up some kind of fight until Lan got there—hold them off as much as she could.

 

She opened her eyes and turned to face them, hatred and scorn plain on her face. She made no effort to pretend to look drowsy. She didn't care if they realized she was faking sleep. It wouldn't matter now.

 

They were taken aback, but not displeased. The same man spoke mockingly, “Such an angry look on that pretty doll's face!” His mouth twisted into a disturbing, hungry smile. “I think she might attempt to put up some kind of fight.” As he said that last part, still smiling that disgusting smile, the two other men grabbed her ankles, one on each side of her legs. He crouched over her, rubbing his hand between his legs. He made no effort to conceal it from the other men. He had no shame. Moiraine was sure that whatever he did, he would gladly let the other two watch.

 

Still rubbing himself, he brought his finger to touch the side of her face. Hatred burned in her eyes as she looked at him. She did not look away, or let her expression change in the slightest, as he ran his finger down her neck and over the silk of her shift, across her breasts, and down her stomach. She would not let him humiliate her.

 

But even as she stared at him, she released Saidar. She still did not want to take the chance of using it and landing herself in a death-trap, and embracing it caused a heightened awareness which made her body even more sensitive to his roaming finger. Whatever else this man managed to do her before Lan got there, she wanted to feel it as little as possible.

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“You know, when I saw you come in the inn,” he said while he moved his his finger to her thigh and began caressing it, the other hand in between his legs, “I decided that I would be deep in between your thighs before I slept tonight.” He moved his hand to touch her between her thighs. Moiraine willed her body not to shake as she continued to stare him down, her dark eyes like caverns of hatred. The man continued, “You'd be surprised what a couple of coins and a fool scullery-maid can get you.” He snickered, accompanied by the other men.

 

Lan grasped the hilt of his sword, knuckles white. Anger surged through him at what he felt was happening to Moiraine, but he kept his face calm and his body steady. The glimmer of light from the Whitecloak tents looked like specs in the distance, but at least they were in his view. He could feel Moiraine's hatred and her determination to fight them. He hoped somehow she could feel him willing her to hold on.

 

“Open her legs,” he said to the other men in almost a whisper, his face wearing a twisted expression of hungry anticipation. The other men exchanged glances, wearing the same expressions as the first man, and they opened her legs, pushing her knees up, while the first man sat in between her thighs.

 

“Now, to begin with,” he said, “this will have to go.” He grasped the top of her shift with both of his hands and with a loud rip that made Moiraine's heart leap to her throat, he ripped her silk shift right down the middle, each half falling to the ground on either side of her, her shoulder straps being the only part of it that still hung onto her. “That's better,” he smiled. He moved up over her, bringing his face over hers.

 

He wet his lips as he grabbed her chin with his hand, a merciless grip that dug his fingers into her flesh, and opened his mouth, smelling of sour ale, and put it onto hers, kissing her. Moiraine clamped her mouth shut as he tried to force his tongue inside. He dug his fingers deep into her cheeks and chin, forcing her mouth open. His tongue moved around inside her mouth, pressing against her tongue, her upper lip held between his lips. The urge to sick-up was overwhelming again and her stomach tied into a knot. His hand moved down her neck and chest, and he cupped one of her bare breasts in his hands. She could feel a slight, rhythmic movement coming from both the other men. They were enjoying what they saw.

 

When the man came off her mouth, he looked at her with a satisified experession, his hand still grabbing her breast, which he squeezed while he looked at her, trying to flaunt her helplessness. Rage flowed through Moiraine. With one whipcrack motion she lifted her head and spit in his face.

 

The man's satisfied expession flashed into surprise, then anger. With a swift movement he sent a slap across Moraine's face that sent her cheek burning and her ear ringing. She pursed her lips, straining to hold back a tear that smarted in the eye above her slapped cheek. She would not let this man see a single tear.

 

“Now,” he said in a livid whisper, grabbing a handful of Moiraine's hair and pulling, “you listen to me, wench.” He pulled tighter, the roots of of Moiraine's hair stinging painfully, her eyes smarting. She gritted her teeth against the pain. “I'm going to bang you so bloody hard you're going to beg me for mercy. And you'll be blessed under the Light if I don't slit your throat when I'm done.” He let go of her hair, slamming her head back into the ground. Then he stood up, pulling of his shirt forcefully. He undid his pants, but before he let them fall to the ground he removed a dagger from his belt. Then he pulled off his smallclothes. Despite his anger he was still completely aroused. Moiraine looked away. Until now she had maintained eye-contact with him, staring him down. But seeing his naked arousal was something she couldn't bring herself to look at, as if her eyes pulled themselves away of their own accord.

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Lan could now clearly see the fires in the Whitecloak camp--fires that matched the one is mind. He fed unabated rage into it. He was one with the horse, one with the sword in his belt—the sword that he would be sure drew blood tonight. He heeled Cat Dancer again, and the animal gave a loud snort as sweat slicked its neck. He stood in the stirrups, one hand on the pommel of the saddle, the other drawing the sword from its sheath. He was almost there. Just a few minutes. She needed to hold them back just a few minutes longer. He held is sword at the ready, the steel of the heron-mark blade shining as if it pulsed with his furious energy.

 

The man came down between Moiraine's legs again, and brought his chest over her, his hands on the ground holding his body above her. His companions tightened their grips on her ankles, pushing her open as wide as they could. She could feel him aroused right over her. The tip of him just touched her lightly, but just that much of him touching her felt unbearably disgusting. He grabbed her hair again and brought her face up to his. “You know, I haven't heard you say one bloody word since I brought you here.” He paused as if thinking, then continued. “By the looks of you, I'd guess your from Cairhien, is that right?” Moiraine, looked away as if ignoring him. Hair in his hand, he drew her head back, making her arched neck vulnerable. He put the tip of the dagger to her throat. “Answer me, wench.”

 

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice hot with anger.

 

“You look young. How old are you?”

 

The point of the dagger still held its place. “Twenty five.”

 

“Hmm. Twenty five...and that bloke at the inn didn't look like your husband, by the way he was dressed. Cairhienin women are known for their modesty. Answer me this, and if I...discover” that twisted smile returned,”that you're lying I'll slit your throat when I'm done with you. Tell me, wench...are you a virgin?”

 

Moiraine's dark eyes seethed with anger--with hatred. The pressure of the dagger increased at her throat, stinging. She knew exactly what he meant, so no answer with Suian in mind would work. She was desperate to lie but her oaths would not let her. She was silent, so the dagger pushed more, bringing a trickle down her throat. “Yes,” she breathed, vehemence pulsating through word. She maintained eye-contact, despite how her eyes begged her to turn them away. She would not let this man use this to weaken her. He grabbed his aroused self in his hand now, positioning himself to go inside her. He still wore that disgusting smile. Moiraine would not look away. Her heart thundered in her chest and blood rushed in her ears. She tensed her body, tensed the area between her legs, ready to resist him as much as she could. As he held himself there, touching her, part of her screamed to look away, to cry, to beg him not to. The other part, the part that she clung to so desperately, told her to hold on, to be strong. She felt for Lan. Just moments. Only moments now.

 

Lan's left foot left the stirrup, then his right, as he jumped from Cat Dancer's saddle, the animal still not even completely halted. His blood burned, anger threatening to burn his veins. He did not even slow as his boots hit the ground. He knew what was about to happen to Moiraine. His hand begged him to bring the sword it held to its destination.

 

The man licked his lips, returning Moiraine's stare, holding himself ready to go into her. “I'm about to bang you bloody hard, wench. Bloody.” He smiled, “It's going to hurt, but I'm not going to stop. Are you ready to beg for mercy?”

 

Moiraine returned the smile, a mockingly twisted and satisfied smile. She shook her head, embracing Saidar. “No,” she said quietly, “But I'm ready to hear you beg for mercy.”

 

At the same moment that the man's smile slackened into an expression of surprise, Lan entered the tent, his footfalls sounding hard on the earthy ground, his sword gleaming with the promise of death. Moiraine gave the men just enough time to turn around, to feel terror at what they saw, before she bound them and gagged them with a flow of air. With one swift motion, Lan sent one man's head rolling and then the next, killing both the men that held Moiraine's legs. Finally, he came to the one that sat between her thighs. Lan stopped at looked at him, a flame of fury burning in his blue eyes. With the stealth of a leopard he removed what was between the man's legs in one downward swipe. The man's mouth moved as he attempted to scream in pain. Lan let him feel it a few moments longer, and then with a hard, angry swipe, removed the man's head.

 

Lan's expression didn't change as he moved over to Moiraine and with one strong pull he removed the tent-stake that had fastened her binds to the ground. Moiraine stood and then channeled a flow of fire to remove the ropes, but was halted by Lan. “Leave the binds,” he said, removing his cloak and wrapping it around her. He wrapped it just below her shoulders around her chest, and tucked the edge in, so it looked like a long, sleeveless dress that made everything below her shoulders vanish into the night. “Come,” he said, the firmness of his voice sounding of determination and fury that had not yet subsided. He picked Moiraine up, one arm under her knees and the other under her the back of her neck, his hand resting on her bare arm.

 

The other Whitecloaks didn't notice them. The tent where Moiraine had been taken had been at the edge of the camp, a location most definitely planned by the now-dead men. Lan carried Moiraine over to the dark forest that stood beyond the edge of the camp. Lan whistled loudly and called for Cat Dancer, and the animal came trotting out of the trees. Lan lifted Moiraine onto the horse side-saddle, the cloak still holding snugly around her. Lan swung himself on behind her, and then turned her body to face his. He looped her binded wrists over the back of his neck, the side of her face brushing against his. As her head came back, they looked into each other eyes. She hung there, her face so close to his, at just the perfect angle—her lips were so close to his. Their gaze held for a moment longer, heartbeats quickening, before the urgency of the situation returned to their minds.

 

Lan felt himself enjoying this near-embrace, although enjoyment was not his original motivation for holding her in this way. Moiraine could feel his enjoyment through their bond. “Keeping the binds...this position...will make it much easier to ride out quickly,” he said, his voice low and quiet. Then he draped her legs over his right thigh. With his right hand he gripped the pommel and reins, and with his left hand he held the back of Moiraine's head, pressing her into his chest, his arm supporting her bare upper-back and shoulders.

 

Then he heeled the animal off at a run into the darkness of the forest.

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She was a bit silly not to fight them off with her powers but I guess she's lots young still and not all comfortable with taking on lots of enemies yet.

 

Hurrah for Lan rescuing her! Me isn't sure the two Whitecloak helpers deserved to die though. Maybe they were just bullied into it or had a loveless upbringing and knew no better or something?

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She was a bit silly not to fight them off with her powers but I guess she's lots young still and not all comfortable with taking on lots of enemies yet.

 

Hurrah for Lan rescuing her! Me isn't sure the two Whitecloak helpers deserved to die though. Maybe they were just bullied into it or had a loveless upbringing and knew no better or something?

 

yea i really wanted Lan to have save her. i tried to put her in a position where she couldnt use the power (or at least didnt want to)--in this case it was for fear of revealing that was Aes Sedai which is like a death-sentence with the WCs.

 

with this scene i really tried to mesh Mo's bravery/strong character/temper with a need for Lan to come to her rescue. <3

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ok guys so i guess i just blew my cover here oh boy although im sure the admins know about IP addresses and all that. so yea, liverella was posting her fanfics under a different name (i had my reasons) but we're the same person. oh well! :lol:

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How interesting. Well as the resident Forsaken/Gleeman I know a thing or two about false alias and names, that and storytelling. Welcome to both of you, who is in fact one of you. You did blow your cover, but the question is still to be begged, is there other installments to come? And who will be writing them? :P

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Thank you for your welcome, Asmodean. I did think eventually I would make that slip of not logging out and making a post *sigh*

 

I do have some other ones I'm writing and I do plan on posting. Perhaps this thread will slip away unseen so Iris will continue to post those.

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