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1. First Year
They move in on the same day.
Same university accommodation, same floor. Moiraine’s room is E5; Siuan’s is the one next to it.
In the beginning, they do not speak much. There are simple greetings and pleasantries.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Siuan asks that first day, in the hallway, as Lan carries a box of books into Moiraine’s room.
None of her family have accompanied her here, of course. They would have sent staff in their place, probably, if Moiraine had asked for their help moving in. Lan is all she has.
“My best friend,” Moiraine corrects her. “Lan and I went to the same school.”
Neighbouring single-sex boarding schools, technically, with shared grounds. They had separate lessons and dormitories, but were allowed to mingle in their free time, and had events like sports day and the leavers’ ball together. Moiraine attended almost her whole life, since before she had even learned how to tie her own shoelaces; Lan was enrolled later, as a fourteen-year-old, after entering the care of his foster mother Edeyn.
Moiraine suspects that mentioning things like boarding school will not endear her to the people she meets at university, however, and she doesn’t want to gain a reputation for being stuck-up (again), so she has already decided to be vague about these kinds of things.
“That’s great!” Siuan says, though Moiraine cannot see why Siuan should care one way or the other. “Is he studying at TVU too?”
Moiraine nods. “He is staying a few floors below us, actually.” She is extremely glad that he will be so close-by; Moiraine is not sure what she would do without him.
Lan ducks his head out of her room to say hello for himself, then, and an older man who Siuan introduces as her father comes up the stairs with an armful of fish-patterned bedding, and they all soon return to their unpacking.
After that, Moiraine gets to know Siuan in fragments. She sings loudly, badly, endearingly off-key in the shower, and laughs often. Every evening, she speaks on the phone to her father, and on many occasions Moiraine falls asleep to the soft, muffled hum of Siuan talking, waking up in the morning with her head pressed against the wall, as though her body was drawn in the direction of Siuan’s voice overnight.
In their shared kitchen, Siuan cooks colourful, fragrant meals. The whole floor always smells lovely after she is done.
Moiraine subsists mostly off toast and granola, as well as whatever Lan cooks in his kitchen a few floors down (lots of chicken and steak and beans, he is forever trying to hit some sort of protein goal), and as she sits at the kitchen table, she often watches Siuan with a kind of awe.
“Do you want to try some?” Siuan asks once, and when Moiraine nods shyly, Siuan passes her a little bowl of some kind of white fish in a red sauce.
It is delicious, and Moiraine tells her as such, though she turns down Siuan’s next offer to share a few days later, not wanting to sound greedy.
There are more scattered brief conversations as they bump into one another throughout the week. The obligatory, “What are you studying?” and “Light, have you seen how expensive the laundry here is?” and so on.
Siuan is studying law. “I want to specialise in something environmental post-grad, maybe maritime law,” she says. “It’s a bit silly, but I like the idea of helping to save the world.”
This is the main thing Moiraine learns about Siuan: goodness shines from her with all the light and warmth of the sun itself.
“I think it sounds very noble,” Moiraine says, already hoping—as she secretly has been for a little while now—that she and Siuan will one day grow to become friends. That maybe some of Siuan’s goodness will rub off on her.
She tells Siuan about her own degree, archaeology. She has a lifelong interest in fallen cities, places like Manetheren and Harad Dakar with long and ruinous histories. Perhaps it is something about coming from a very old dynasty herself, the Damodreds being able to trace their bloodline back to the old kings and queens of Cairhien; a part of Moiraine hopes that if she goes back far enough, she can pinpoint the exact moment in time when her family became so tainted, and find a way to make up for all the wrongs they have committed since.
(She does not mention this last bit about her family to Siuan, of course).
“Archaeology,” Siuan repeats approvingly, and then says, as most people do, “So, what, you’ll be like Jain Farstrider?”
The comparison has long gotten tiresome at best, but Moiraine cannot bring herself to be annoyed at Siuan, the way she would be with anyone else. Not when Siuan is looking at her like that, eyes all wide and shiny with interest.
“Not exactly,” Moiraine says. “It would be a lot of slow, careful work, more focused on learning about history itself than finding ancient artefacts—and no running around the jungle with a whip either.” She adds the last part with a small laugh.
Siuan gives her a teasing smile. “I dunno, maybe keep the whip, I reckon you could pull it off.”
It makes Moiraine ridiculously flustered, and she runs off with some weak excuse only a moment later.
At the end of the week, the other girls on their floor—Leane, Sheriam, Myrelle, and Alanna—make plans for the six of them to go clubbing together.
Moiraine has never clubbed before and suspects she will not like it, but she likes the idea of being the only one left behind even less; she does not want the other girls to think of her as a stick in the mud.
When she confesses to Siuan that she is not sure what to wear, Siuan gives her an assessing look and says, “I have something that might fit you.”
She brings out a slinky, dark red dress that brushes Moiraine’s mid-thigh. It must be obscenely short on Siuan.
Moiraine puts it on in her room, then comes back out to show Siuan, and Siuan nods at her approvingly. “There. You look beautiful.”
She is probably just being kind, but the words make Moiraine feel tingly all over regardless. The dress smells like Siuan, her mineral seaside scent that Moiraine sometimes catches little whiffs of when Siuan leans past her to hold a door open or reach for something from a cupboard, and something about that makes Moiraine feel more confident. Every time she starts getting anxious, she just rubs some of the dress’ silky fabric between her thumb and forefinger, and it soothes her.
They have pre-drinks in their kitchen. Moiraine asked earlier if Lan could come, and then Alanna insisted that they invite all the guys from Lan’s floor too, so Lan brings up a group of boys who introduce themselves as Stepin, Maksim, and Ihvon.
With the ten of them all together, the kitchen has become rather crowded. At Siuan’s instruction, the guys push the kitchen table back against the wall to make more room. Myrelle pours drinks (later, they will learn that this is a mistake; Myrelle is far too generous with the alcohol and far too stingy with the mixers) and makes sure that everyone has one.
Moiraine sips self-consciously from her cup, following Lan around. Thankfully, it is not just her being awkward—everyone is still shy and unsure, getting to know one another.
“I know,” Alanna declares. “We need an icebreaker.” Several people groan, Moiraine among them. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”
“Spin the bottle is not an icebreaker,” Leane scoffs.
Alanna grins at her cheekily. “What better way to get to know one another than with our mouths?”
She is far too convincing—or perhaps Myrelle’s drinks have simply already made the rest of them pliable—and soon they are all sitting in a circle on the floor around an empty beer bottle.
“I’ll go first,” Alanna volunteers herself. She spins the bottle so enthusiastically that it rolls across the whole circle, stopping finally with its top pointed at Ihvon.
Ihvon does a pleased little shrug. He and Alanna move closer to each other, then kiss rather more enthusiastically than necessary for several seconds.
Moiraine averts her eyes, blushing, and feels Lan do the same next to her. She hopes that not all the kisses will be like this one; she would not want to be so close with Stepin or Maksim or Ihvon herself. With any luck, when it is her turn, she will be able to angle the bottle towards Lan—at least she knows that Lan would keep it short and chaste.
Finally Ihvon and Alanna part, and Ihvon spins the bottle, which lands on Maksim. Moiraine is half-expecting him to insist on spinning again, but the two of them do not hesitate at all, and kiss just as passionately as Ihvon and Alanna did.
Maksim spins Siuan. Moiraine watches the two of them kiss very carefully—only because she wants to make sure that this Maksim boy does not make Siuan uncomfortable—but it is only a brief peck, their mouths staying closed, their hands kept to themselves, nothing like the earlier displays of passion. Moiraine is very relieved.
For herself, of course. Because it means that she will not have to kiss anyone passionately either. There is no other reason.
Then it is Siuan’s turn to spin the bottle. She is looking at Moiraine intently, her eyes dark and already a bit glazed over from the alcohol—Siuan must be on her second or third drink by now, Moiraine will make sure she has some water before they leave—and it must make her too distracted to spin properly, because she gives the bottle a weak twist, so that it only turns by a fraction, landing on Moiraine, who is sitting next to her.
Moiraine’s breath catches in her chest.
She has only ever kissed on a handful of occasions before, always with the same person—Cormanes, who went to school with Lan. He was one of the only boys there who did ballet, and so was allowed the special privilege of attending dance classes at Moiraine’s school. The two of them played the lead roles in a production of Gaidal and Birgitte in their final year, which culminated in an on-stage kiss. They ‘practiced’ a few times beforehand, staying late in the dance studio after the official run-through, and though she liked Cormanes well enough as a person and he was always a gentleman, Moiraine never really felt anything when his lips were on hers.
Siuan is not like Cormanes, however. She is wearing sparkly eyeshadow and a sleeveless top in a Tairen pattern that shows off a series of geometric tattoos on her chest, and her body is all small, soft curves and hints of wiry muscle. She used to work on her father’s fishing boat back home, she has told Moiraine. Moiraine can tell.
Somehow, Moiraine knows that a kiss with Siuan will be a good kiss, perhaps the best kiss of her life, and she wishes that she had practiced more with Cormanes, so that she could have the confidence that she will not disappoint Siuan now.
“Come here,” Siuan tells her.
She brings her hand up to Moiraine’s face, tilts Moiraine’s chin gently but firmly up towards her. Moiraine is suddenly far too aware of how close they are, she can feel the heat of Siuan’s body next to hers, one of Siuan’s lovely spiral curls has fallen forwards and is tickling Moiraine’s cheek.
Everyone must be watching them. Moiraine—who, in any other circumstance, would have been completely mortified by the attention—cannot bring herself to care. She closes her eyes, leaning into Siuan, feels Siuan’s breath on her lips.
At the last moment, there is a loud thud, followed by the whoosh of an explosion of liquid and a squeal. Maksim has tried to open an over-fizzed bottle of Coke to refill his drink, and it has erupted all over Alanna and Sheriam.
“Burn me, I’m so sorry,” Maksim says, as Alanna erupts into senseless laughter and Sheriam begins to cuss him out.
Moiraine and Siuan are startled apart by all the commotion, and then forced to scramble to their feet as liquid seeps across the floor towards them. Siuan stumbles from getting up too quickly, and Moiraine steadies her.
“No harm done, it’ll wash out,” Alanna is telling Maksim and Sheriam. “The two of us will change, and then we can all leave.” She grabs Maksim by the wrist, then Ihvon, beginning to tow them out of the kitchen. “Here, as punishment, the two of you can help me decide what to wear.”
“That’s not a punishment!” Sheriam complains.
“Why am I being punished?” Ihvon protests, but much more mildly, and with a grin. He does not try to wriggle out of Alanna’s grip.
“I guess that is the end of the game,” Moiraine murmurs, barely loud enough to be heard over the music blasting from Myrelle’s speaker.
She realises that she is still holding onto Siuan’s arm from steadying her, and lets go quickly.
Siuan stares down at where Moiraine was touching her. “Yeah.” Then she gives Moiraine a cheeky smile of her own, cheeks dimpling. “Next time, though, eh? We’ll finish where we started off.”
“Yes,” Moiraine promises, stomach fluttering. “Next time.”
2. Second Year
They are in the kitchen, baking, though perhaps it is rather too generous to say they; Siuan is the one doing all the heavy lifting, things like folding and kneading which Moiraine has heard about before but would not know how to do without research, and even then would not be able to do half as well as Siuan, who is always her better.
It would be frustrating, how easily everything comes to Siuan, if Siuan was not so easy to like.
Moiraine is mostly just handing her things, weighing and pouring ingredients when asked to. She keeps getting distracted, watching the muscles in Siuan’s arms as she kneads the dough, the flex of her strong fingers. Sometimes Siuan has to repeat instructions to her two or three times before Moiraine really hears what she is saying. Each time she is caught out, she feels her face go warm with what is surely a damning blush, and Siuan grins at her with sparkling eyes.
“Sorry,” Moiraine says, the fifth or sixth time it happens. She sprinkles more flour over Siuan’s hands and the counter, as requested. “I feel as though I am barely any help at all.”
Siuan nudges Moiraine’s side playfully with her hip. They are friends, they touch all the time, but the Cairhienin in Moiraine is still unused to these casual displays of affection, especially from Siuan, and it burns through her. She wishes Siuan would do it again, but does not dare to attempt reciprocating herself, in case it is too much.
“Don’t be silly,” Siuan tells her, tone light. “You’re plenty helpful, you’re my sous-chef.”
It has the potential to sound patronising, but it is not. Siuan has a way of making Moiraine feel special. It is a little pathetic, how much Moiraine likes it.
Soon, Siuan announces that they are done. She splits the dough into ten evenly-sized balls, then shapes them.
“The oven, please.”
“Yes, chef!” Moiraine replies with mock seriousness, holding the oven open as Siuan slides the tray with the dough inside, then closing it and setting the temperature to the one Siuan tells her.
Siuan dusts off her hands, which are still floury. “There, done! Now all we have to do is wait.” She casts her gaze over at the counter, which is a mess, and the sink, which is overflowing. “Well, that and clean up.”
“I can wash, if you will dry,” Moiraine offers. It is only fair for her to take the more labour-intensive task, since Siuan has been doing most of the work so far.
They stand side-by-side at the sink. Moiraine’s hands damp, studded with soap suds, fingers sometimes brushing Siuan’s as she passes her a bowl or measuring cup.
Conversation spills between them as easily as always.
“We made these a lot when I was little,” Siuan says, voice all soft and fond. “The ingredients are pretty cheap, we usually had plenty of them. Sometimes we’d have to skip the almonds, but the cakes still come out fine without them.”
“Were you in charge then, too?” Moiraine teases. She can picture it easily, little Siuan with the same fierce expression she wears so often now, hands on her hips, fully embodying the role of head chef.
“Oh, of course. I ordered poor Papa about even worse than you.”
I do not mind being ordered about when you are the one doing it, Moiraine thinks, but does not say. It is not bad at all. I would do anything you asked me to. Go on, try it. Please ask.
There must be something wrong with Moiraine. She has never been so willing to hand herself over so completely to another person before.
“I was a proper greedy little shit,” Siuan continues, smiling. “I’d put myself on honey duty, sneaking spoonfuls every time Papa turned his back, and insist on licking the spoon clean after.”
Moiraine corrects her, “Sounds like you were adorable.”
She is met with an eyebrow raised playfully. “You say that like I’m not adorable now.”
A scoff, forced out of her chest. Moiraine’s cheeks feel hot again—damn her pale skin! “I don’t know, are you?”
As though she is not regularly overwhelmed by the cuteness of Siuan’s dimples, has not pictured how sweet it would be to press a kiss to one. Just a kiss on the cheek. Friends are allowed to do that, it is even a custom in some places.
“Of course,” Siuan says, bold as ever. “I’m a bloody sweetheart.”
Moiraine cannot bring herself to agree out loud, though of course she does. There is this irrational fear, deep inside her, that Siuan says these kinds of things as a trap, and that if Moiraine reveals the extent of just how much she likes Siuan, Siuan will laugh and mock her—as if Siuan is even capable of being so cruel!
Instead, she changes the topic. “Cook let me do that a few times, when I was very small,” she offers. “Lick the spoon when she made cakes. It made me feel like such a little rebel.”
“Ah, so that’s where your rule-breaking tendencies originated.” Siuan nods solemnly.
Moiraine elbows her in a playful way, knows that she executed the friendly gesture correctly by the way Siuan’s grin slips back onto her face, and thrills at having done well. “As if. Those are all you. You have corrupted me.”
“I would never! I’m a paragon of innocence,” Siuan protests, but she winks at Moiraine as she says it.
That wink sets a fire in Moiraine’s chest.
She stares down determinedly at the bowl she is scrubbing, the last of the dishes. Bits of wet dough cling to it stubbornly. “Anyway.” Moiraine clears her throat. “I made the mistake of showing off to Taringail, and he—being jealous I suppose, because he certainly could not have cared less about my well-being—convinced me that I would die from eating raw batter.”
“The little silverpike!”
“I ran sobbing to Father—in complete hysterics, really—but Father being himself, he gave me a well-meaning, rather detailed explanation of the dangers of e.coli which was no comfort at all, and inadvertently only convinced me even more of my own doom. It took me weeks to accept that I was actually going to be fine. Poor Cook, I do not think I ever trusted her properly again.”
It is almost a fond memory now that it is over and so long-ago, as frightening as it was at the time. Moiraine would never have dared to share this memory with anyone else, bar Lan; often when she tries to join in this kind of reminiscing with others, the things she mentions make people look at her strangely.
Siuan, though, has made it clear that she does not judge Moiraine for her upbringing any more than Moiraine judges Siuan’s humble childhood in a little fishing village. Siuan is perfect that way.
“Well, you won’t have to worry about dying from honey,” Siuan declares. “Today you can lick the spoon as much as you like.”
A warm, yeasty smell has begun to fill the kitchen. She hands that last bowl to Siuan, who dries it off quickly and puts it away.
Siuan wanders over to the oven, peers through the glass. “A few more minutes, I reckon. They’re rising nicely.”
She wipes her hands absent-mindedly on her apron. KISS THE COOK, it says in bold letters, above a cartoon image of a fish with puckered lips. Moiraine cannot ever look directly at that apron for long, she is not sure why, perhaps it is something unnerving about that stupid cartoon fish.
“They smell good,” Moiraine offers.
Siuan throws a smile her way. “Hungry?”
There is nothing suggestive about the way she says it, but Moiraine goes just as hot as if there was. Her mind has been far too filthy lately.
“No,” Moiraine lies, panicking.
As if on cue, her stomach rumbles loudly. Betrayed by her own body. She wishes she could sink into the floor.
Siuan only laughs, that loud carefree sound that Moiraine finds so dear. She grabs an open bottle of ale off the side—they used it to dissolve the yeast—and gives it a shake, listening out for its contents, then holds it out. “Here, there’s a bit left, if you want something to tide you over until the honeycakes are done.”
Moiraine pulls a face, wrinkling her nose. “No thank you. You can have it. I will wait.” Siuan has terrible taste in ale; Moiraine hopes the taste of it won’t come through in the cakes.
She shrugs, lifting the bottle in a cheers motion. “If you insist.”
It is entirely indecent, the dip of Siuan’s throat as she swallows, the little bead of alcohol that escapes from the corner of her mouth, which Siuan wipes away on the back of her arm.
Moiraine turns away, scrubbing at imaginary stains on the counter with a damp cloth, but cannot stop herself from glancing back continuously.
Finally, Siuan declares that the honeycakes are ready. She pulls the tray out from the oven and sets it down on a trivet on the counter. They are golden and steaming and look delicious.
“Now we poke little holes in the top,” Siuan explains, doing just so, “then fill them with honey, like this. It sinks in, so we might have to do the whole thing a few times.”
It only takes a few minutes, and then they are done.
Moiraine pulls a honeycake over, breaks a piece off and pops it into her mouth. It is lovely, soft and warm and honey-sweet. “Light,” she tells Siuan, “I think this is the best thing I have ever eaten.”
Siuan grins at her. “I know, right!”
She is still holding the spoon they used to fill the cakes, and now—like it’s nothing—she licks the back of it idly, gathering golden liquid on the pink tip of her tongue. She makes a pleased little humming sound.
Suddenly, the room feels a bit too hot, the air too thick. Have they left the oven on? Moiraine glances over; no, they have not. She is not sure where to look.
“Here.” Now Siuan is holding the spoon out to her. “Do you want a go, for old times’ sake? It definitely won’t kill you.”
It might, Moiraine thinks. She is feeling ridiculously faint.
Still, she takes the offered spoon.
Moiraine is not in the habit of sharing food with others, let alone cutlery. She loves Lan like a brother (a good brother, how she used to wish Taringail would be), like a long-lost twin, but she would not exchange sips of the same drink with him unless it was a matter of life or death dehydration. Usually, she finds the idea of exchanging saliva with others entirely repulsive.
But this is Siuan, and for some reason, that means something different. She could spit in Moiraine’s mouth, and Moiraine would not mind it. Siuan’s spit would be holy. There is nothing Moiraine would like more than to share this spoon with her. It is practically the same thing as pressing her mouth to Siuan’s; a second-hand kiss, with none of the associated fears or risks or impropriety.
She licks the other side of the spoon, the honey even sweeter than the cakes, slides it briefly into her mouth. It is still warm from Siuan’s tongue. Moiraine’s eyes flutter closed for a second, imagining…
No, it is better not to imagine. She puts the spoon down in the sink.
“Done, already?” Siuan is watching her, one hand gripping the counter tightly. “You can have more. That’s the joy of being on honey duty.”
“I hope you are not suggesting we double-dip from the jar,” Moiraine says. “That would be entirely unhygienic.”
The irony does not escape her.
Then, she notices… She would not, if she was not always watching Siuan’s lips so closely, Siuan having such nice lips…
“You have some— Hang on,” Moiraine says. She reaches up and swipes her thumb softly over Siuan’s bottom lip, gathering syrup. Siuan’s lips are as soft as Moiraine has always imagined—it is strange, the kinds of things the mind wanders to late at night, or as it drifts during class—and, for a second, the tip of Siuan’s tongue darts out again—it must be instinct—and brushes the tip of Moiraine’s thumb. Moiraine shivers.
Then, as the moment feels like it is perhaps stretching for too long, Moiraine finally withdraws, and—some instinct of her own—licks up the honey she gathered from Siuan’s mouth.
It tastes better like this.
Siuan is staring at her, mouth ever-so-slightly open, eyes dark.
Moiraine feels breathless. She is hit with the completely improper urge to do it again, to slip her finger inside Siuan’s mouth this time and collect any honey that might have been left there.
Then she realises just how completely inappropriate this all is—Siuan is her friend! What is Moiraine doing? Siuan is going to think she’s so weird—and mentally shakes some sense back into herself.
Her throat has gone dry, though her mouth still feels so wet. “Tea!” Moiraine blurts out, so loudly that Siuan jumps and breathes out, “Fishguts!”
“To have with the cakes,” Moiraine says. She is certain she must be bright red in the face.
“Yes,” Siuan repeats faintly, though she still looks somewhat bewildered. “Tea for the cakes.”
Moiraine busies herself with the kettle determinedly, using it as an excuse to avoid making eye contact. By the time she has added the teabags to their mugs and poured hot water inside to steep, the tension in the room has melted away, and they do not mention it again.
3. Third Year
“Swap tents with me.”
Lan looks at Moiraine strangely. “Why?”
It’s the end of reading week, and the six of them are marking the occasion with a weekend spent camping in the woods outside Tar Valon.
Earlier in the day, they went fishing. Siuan showed off by catching more trout than anyone else with just her hands, no need for one of the fishing rods, then taught Moiraine how to do the same; guiding Moiraine’s hands into the cool water alongside her own, Siuan’s strong arms folded around Moiraine’s, Siuan’s chest pressed firmly against Moiraine’s back.
Afterwards, the guys built a fire, which they roasted the trout over with vegetables for dinner. Almost everyone ate with their hands, and Moiraine had clutched her fork (Alanna teased her mercilessly for bringing actual silverware on a camping trip) and paper plate tightly, trying not to stare as she watched Siuan lick grease off her fingers.
Now, it is nighttime. The moon winking down at them from the star-speckled sky. They’re all sprawled lazily around the campfire. Everything is winding down—except for Moiraine, who has never felt more tightly coiled.
She can’t stop noticing Siuan. The little exposed v of her softly-rounded stomach, where she has unbuttoned her trousers, groaning that she’d eaten too much. The way the firelight dapples gold in her cheeks, pooling inside her dimples every time she smiles, and is reflected in her dark eyes.
She can’t stop noticing Siuan, and that is a very bad thing, because the more Moiraine notices her, the more she wants her, and she isn’t allowed to want Siuan. Siuan is her friend. There’s no way Siuan could ever want her back.
“Because I do not want to sleep with Siuan,” she tells Lan, keeping her voice low so that Siuan, over on the other side of the fire, will not hear. She cannot help blushing at the words sleep with Siuan, even though she does not mean them that way.
Lan raises an eyebrow. “You would rather share a tent with Maksim,” he says flatly, clearly sceptical.
She waves him off. “We all know Maksim is going to end up in Alanna and Ihvon’s tent, anyway.”
“You sleep in the same bed as Siuan all the time.”
He is right; there have been countless sleepovers, nights when they stayed up late and one or the other simply could not be bothered walking all the way back to her own room. Moiraine is used to the way Siuan kicks in her sleep, like she is swimming even in her dreams, and the soft rumble of her quiet snores. The spare pillow in Moiraine’s room is known as Siuan’s pillow, just as the spare in Siuan’s room is known as Moiraine’s.
But tonight is different. They’re in unfamiliar territory; what if this deviation from their usual routine makes Moiraine forget herself?
“Yes,” she tells Lan, “but I have been drinking tonight, and I am worried that I will do something stupid.”
Lan scoffs. “You had one beer. I don’t think you even finished it.”
“I am small. Alcohol goes to my head easily.” And she doesn’t drink often, either. He knows that.
“It’s 2%.”
Moiraine stands strong, hands on her hips, chin tilted up into the air. Siuan told her she looked imperious this way once—but, like, in a good way, Mo, like a queen looking down on her devoted subjects. Moiraine had not entirely liked the comparison at the time, though a compliment from Siuan is always treasured, but now she hopes that it will be to her advantage.
“If all it takes for you to confess your love to Siuan—”
“Sshhh!”
She glares at him, though Siuan is laughing loudly at something Alanna just said, and is too far away to have heard Lan anyway, given Lan’s default volume is practically a whisper.
He rolls his eyes, then lowers his voice even more. “If all it takes is less than one beer, maybe it’s a sign that you should just. Do it.”
“And when she does not reciprocate my feelings?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Well, I would rather not risk it.”
Moiraine is perfectly willing to pine for the rest of time, if it means that she gets to stay close to Siuan. Their friendship—and Lan’s, though the two are fundamentally incomparable—is the most important thing in her life.
If she tells Siuan how she feels and Siuan turns her down, that friendship will be irrevocably changed.
“And if she meets someone else, some other man or woman, and falls in love with them?”
Moiraine’s chest hurts at the very thought. “Then I will help that person plan her dream proposal, and be the maid of honour at her wedding, and play aunt to all her children and grandchildren,” she says fiercely, though the very idea makes her want to cry.
She has always known that she was not deserving of a happy life. Why, then, does the thought of that one cause such pain? Siuan having all those things should be enough to make Moiraine content. Once again, Moiraine is being the worst kind of best friend.
Lan sighs and shakes his head. “I hope you know that watching the two of you dance around one another brings me actual, physical pain. It was cute in first year. Now it’s just getting sad.”
Moiraine grits her teeth. “So will you. Swap. Tents with me?”
“No.”
So the night continues to wind down. Alanna and Ihvon stumble, giggling, towards their tent, and Maksim does not even pretend that he is going to his own, following after them with a big dumb smile on his face.
Lan puts out the campfire, gives Moiraine a very pointed look, then declares that he is retiring too.
That leaves Moiraine and Siuan. Somehow, at the end of things, it is always Moiraine and Siuan.
“Help me up,” Siuan tells Moiraine, holding out her hand, and Moiraine takes it—their hands fit together so well—and hoists Siuan to her feet.
Their tent is in-between Lan’s and Alanna, Maksim, and Ihvon’s.
“I hope the three of them don’t keep us up all night,” Siuan says, pulling a face as she glances towards the trio’s.
“Light,” says Moiraine, horrified, going hot in the face.
She had not even considered that it was a possibility. It would be awful to not only have to sleep so close with Siuan when she pines for her so badly, but to also have to listen to Alanna and her boyfriends having fun at the same time. The confusing jealousy and mortification and desire of it all might just eat her alive.
Siuan laughs at her expression. “Don’t worry, if they get really loud, I’ll go over and tell them to shut up.”
“Brave of you.”
“That’s right,” Siuan says. “Just call me your knight in shining armour.”
Moiraine is glad that it is dark, so that Siuan cannot see the pure want reflected in Moiraine’s eyes at Siuan being Moiraine’s anything.
In the tent, they change quickly, pulling on soft, comfortable clothes. Siuan is wearing her TVU jumper, though it has seen better days, thick socks and some joggers and a bonnet. She looks lovely. She always looks lovely.
It is as tight a fit as Moiraine imagined, just enough room for them in their sleeping bags, backpacks tucked under their heads in lieu of pillows.
“We’re packed in like two sardines in a tin,” Siuan laughs.
Moiraine manages a nervous smile. She can smell the woodsmoke from the campfire on Siuan, and some stupid, sick part of Moiraine is screaming at her to lean over and lick the exposed crook of Siuan’s neck, taste it there alongside Siuan’s sweat. Urges like this one have been getting harder and harder to ignore lately.
Siuan slips her arm out of her sleeping bag and pokes Moiraine gently in the side. “You alright, pufferfish?”
“Just tired.”
“Are you really?” Siuan flops onto her back. “I’m not at all. Think I’m over-excited from the rest of today, or something. I had half a mind to drag you back out there, a second ago.”
Her curiosity gets the better of her. Perhaps that would be easier, the two of them out in the open. “What would you want to do?”
Siuan hums thoughtfully. “We could stargaze, you’d like that. Or I could take you night-swimming.”
“I did not realise you took a swimming costume here with you.”
Siuan grins at her wickedly, white teeth glinting in the darkness. “I didn’t.”
“Oh.”
Moiraine’s head goes fuzzy just from picturing it, the two of them clothed only in moonlight, watching the river swallow up Siuan’s bare ankles, her calves, the addictive little dip of her waist as she stepped into the water. How Siuan’s body might react to the cold. How they might swim side by side, arms brushing, Moiraine’s wet skin grazing against Siuan’s.
It sounds entirely too tempting.
“I am not sure if that would be safe,” Moiraine says, carefully. She is not as good a swimmer as Siuan, anyway, and neither of them knows the river here very well.
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Siuan sounds disappointed; in moments like these, she must resent how boring and unadventurous Moiraine is. She probably wishes she was sharing a tent with Alanna. Now Siuan turns her hopeful gaze on Moiraine. “The stargazing, though?”
Moiraine does not have it in her to let Siuan down a second time.
They climb out of their sleeping bags, then drag them outside, grabbing some spare blankets from the back of Moiraine’s car for extra warmth. The two of them settle on a bit of soft grass near the ashes of the campfire.
She was stupid to think that out here, Moiraine could create more distance between them. They have always been drawn together. It is cooler than in the tent, and Siuan shuffles closer to her for warmth until their faces are touching, cheeks pressed together. Siuan’s is hot against Moiraine’s.
“I don’t know these ones as well as I do the ones back in Tear,” Siuan whispers, looking up at the stars. “They’re all different.”
“I do,” Moiraine replies. Cairhien isn’t far enough south to have different constellations to Tar Valon.
“Funny, to think we grew up looking at two different skies.”
“Is it?”
For the two of them to have grown up so far apart, yet ended up this close. Cheek to cheek. If Moiraine were a romantic, she might think it meant that the universe brought them together, that they were always fated to meet.
Which would be silly. And self-absorbed. The universe could not possibly care less about Moiraine.
Siuan points up. “That one looks like an eel.” She traces the shape of it with her finger.
Moiraine smiles. “Nearly. That one is the Serpent.”
“Ah! Well. Close enough.”
They go on. Siuan draws lines across the sky and Moiraine tells her what they are, and the stories that accompany them, if there are any.
Soon, she really does become tired, eyes growing heavy, her head slumping against Siuan’s. Her lips are brushing Siuan’s cheek now, but Siuan does not seem to mind. Surely, if she minded, she would have moved away already.
“That one?”
Moiraine squints up sleepily. “Those are the Five Sisters, I think. I read in a book once that there were supposed to be seven, but two died.”
Siuan has turned her head to the side a little, to look at Moiraine while she speaks, and it means that Moiraine’s lips skim the corner of Siuan’s mouth as she talks.
It would be so easy, Moiraine cannot help thinking in that brink-of-sleep daze, to move her lips just one tiny bit to the left. To press them to Siuan’s. To kiss Siuan sleepily, contentedly, here beneath the stars. She is so close to dreaming, she can almost believe that Siuan would kiss her back.
She has stopped talking. Run out of words, maybe. Siuan isn’t saying anything either; she is just watching Moiraine.
Something hard swings into Moiraine’s shoulder—she cries out in pain, and is answered with a surprised yelp—and then a heavy weight falls on top of her and Siuan, making them grunt.
“Blood and ashes,” Alanna groans, crawling off them. “What are the two of you doing, lying there? You gave me a heart attack.”
Moiraine sits up, rubbing her shoulder. She is probably going to have an Alanna’s-foot-shaped bruise there tomorrow. “Why weren’t you looking where you were going?”
“The moon is so bright, I didn’t think I needed a torch. I wasn’t expecting the two of you to be laid out here like roadbumps.”
“What are you doing sneaking around in the dark in the first place?” Siuan complains. She reaches over to run her hand soothingly over Moiraine’s shoulder too.
“I was going for a piss, obviously. You still haven’t said what you were doing.”
“We were stargazing.” Siuan sounds almost defensive, Light knows why.
Alanna raises her eyebrows, expression turning amused. “Sounds romantic.”
“Not necessarily,” Moiraine says, voice going far too high. She feels herself stiffen, a bowstring pulled tight, and Siuan takes her hand off Moiraine’s shoulder.
“Alright,” Alanna says, still looking far too happy with something about the situation. “I’ll leave the two of you to it, then.”
“Wait!” Moiraine scrambles to her feet. It is extremely undignified. She trips over her own sleeping bag that she was zipped into twice. “I will go with you.”
Both Siuan and Alanna give her odd looks.
“Not with you, with you,” Moiraine rambles. “I will go in some other direction. As in— I just need a piss too,” she finishes limply.
It is almost certainly the first time she has ever used the word ‘piss’. She is making a complete fool of herself—but it would be even more foolish to stay, when she was just lured into such a stupid sense of safety that she came close to actually kissing Siuan, and ruining everything.
Alanna shrugs. “I mean, sure. Go piss, girl.”
By the time Moiraine returns to camp, Siuan has already returned to their tent. Her face is buried in her arms; she is breathing evenly, probably already fast asleep.
Good, Moiraine thinks, even as she is inexplicably crushed by a wave of disappointment.
She curls up next to Siuan and does not sleep a wink.
+ 1. Post-Graduation
The year after university ends is bittersweet, marked by absences. No more breakfast with Siuan, walking Siuan to class when their schedules overlap, sitting side-by-side in the library, sprawling out on Siuan’s bed and quizzing her for an upcoming exam.
It is not that Moiraine is having a bad time.
The postgraduate degree apprenticeship in the Aiel Waste that she secured a place on is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, the opportunity to learn from Latra Posae Decume herself while assisting in the excavation of Rhuidean. Moiraine spends most of her time there in a constant state of fascination, drinking in all kinds of new knowledge, and gains skills that she knows will be a huge boon to her career in the future.
It is just that she would be having a better time if Siuan were here too.
Siuan has stayed behind at Tar Valon University to pursue her masters, get that one step closer to her dream of saving the world.
They speak as often as they can, but phone reception in this part of the Waste is spotty at best, if at all present, and the nearest postal service only runs once every few weeks from Chaendaer.
To have such little contact with Siuan is the worst kind of torture.
When she has the opportunity, Moiraine often sends several letters at once. Weeks’ worth of letters. Dearest Siuan, they all begin. Long, rambling things detailing her research, the Aiel culture, anecdotes that Melaine has told her, the things she misses about Tar Valon (Siuan most of all, though Moiraine does not dare bare quite this much of her heart), a spiky plant she saw in the desert that reminded her of a pufferfish…
Moiraine would be embarrassed of how much love she pours into these letters—except that, when Siuan’s replies arrive, they are equally long and heartfelt.
Some weeks, when he has time off (he has much more of it than Moiraine), Lan visits. He is completing a postgrad apprenticeship of his own, working on a conservation project on the outskirts of the Blight. It is a long drive, even longer than the distance from the Waste to Tar Valon, so when he stays it is usually for several days at a time.
Lan’s familiar presence is a welcome comfort, though Moiraine has—by some miracle—managed to make a few new friends on-site, including Melaine, one of the local students, with whom she is closest.
The Malkieri have old ties with the Aiel, and Lan ends up being even more at home in the Waste than Moiraine, who is forever a little bit self-conscious about her Cairhienin heritage, which feels more evil here than it already usually does in the Westlands. Together, in the evenings, she and Lan drive out to explore the desert, or visit the peddlers’ market in Cold Rocks Hold, the nearest big city.
When Lan leaves, Moiraine gives him bundles of her letters for Siuan, tied together with ribbon, to be posted from Cairhien on his way back to the Blight.
Sometimes there are packages too, which she would not be able to send from Chaendaer without risking damage; a clay jug with a fish painted onto it, which Moiraine brought from some passing Tinker caravans; a bottle of oosquai; a hand-woven Aiel shawl, threaded through with golden strands of fabric that catch the light; a little jade statue of a woman in a long robe with flowing hair, which looks a little bit like Moiraine, and which she hopes will remind Siuan of her.
The days tick by slowly—the work satisfying, the distance from Siuan frustrating—until, finally, it is the summer. It is too hot for Moiraine and the other postgrads to safely spend their usual long hours on-site, and when the weather reaches its peak, Latra gives them a precious few weeks off.
Of course, the first thing Moiraine does is get a lift to Jangai Airport and catch a flight back to Tar Valon.
Siuan is already there, waiting for her, when Moiraine steps out into the departures lounge. She is holding a big bouquet of starblaze, which is Moiraine’s favourite flower.
Without speaking, Moiraine drops her rucksack to the floor and flings herself into Siuan’s arms. She holds on tightly, burying her face in Siuan’s shoulder and breathing in that familiar Siuan-scent that she wishes she could bottle. Absurdly, she realises that there are tears in her eyes.
When they pull apart, Siuan’s eyes are shiny with tears too. “Ashes, look at us, what a pair we make!” she laughs, and then she wraps her arms back around Moiraine to hug her a second time.
Siuan gives her the flowers—a little squashed, now, but that does not matter—and insists on carrying Moiraine’s rucksack for her, though it is rather heavy.
“You look good,” Siuan tells her, eyes running over Moiraine.
Moiraine wrinkles her nose. “I feel disgusting.” All those hours on the plane, with no opportunity to wash off the sweat from the Waste. She is certain there must still be sand in her hair.
Regardless, a different part of her is very pleased to have Siuan’s approval, even more-so than usual. Moiraine knows that the last year has changed her; her body is stronger from the long hours of walking and digging, her pale skin unevenly tanned—she had not even known, previously, that it was possible for her to tan, rather than just burn—and her hair longer, still frizzy from the heat, woven through with lighter strands where it has been bleached by the sun. Left to her own devices, it would be easy for Moiraine to become self-conscious—she already so rarely feels comfortable in her own skin.
“You can shower back at mine,” Siuan offers. She is renting a little two bedroom flat with Leane, who is also remaining in Tar Valon for the foreseeable future. Moiraine is going to stay with them while she is in the city.
“Yes please.”
Moiraine does not linger on how nice it will be to use Siuan’s shower products, to step out from the steam of the bathroom smelling like Siuan, to borrow one of Siuan’s towels, that Siuan will have used on her own body in the past.
They catch a bus from the airport back to Siuan’s place. Evening is falling, a light summer breeze in the air. Moiraine, too used to the heat of the Waste, gets cold.
“Here,” Siuan says, shrugging out of her jacket and handing it to Moiraine as she notices her shivering.
Moiraine shrugs it on gratefully, zipping it all the way up and wrapping her arms around herself.
“It suits you.” Siuan gives her a small, fond smile. “You should keep it.”
I love you, Moiraine almost tells her, out of nowhere. She has missed these small gestures of care, which Siuan gives away so freely. The thought that she will have to leave again in a couple of weeks—that another year apart lies ahead of them—makes her want to break into tears all over again.
Instead, she reaches out and strokes along the lines of ink running up Siuan’s now-bare arm. “These are new.”
“Birds,” Siuan tells her, eyes meeting Moiraine’s. “I got them at the start of the year. They’re supposed to symbolise safe return.”
Siuan has not travelled anywhere lately.
Moiraine swallows, breaks her gaze away. “They are beautiful.”
The lift in Siuan’s apartment building is broken, apparently for the nth time this year, so they climb up five sets of stairs to her flat, huffing and puffing, Siuan coming up with increasingly creative sailor’s cusses for her building manager.
Inside, it is cosy. Moiraine can see Leane’s influence in the gauzy curtains and a series of beaded pillows scattered over the couch, as well as Siuan in the seagrass rug beneath the coffee table and the overgrown, severely tilting monstera in the corner, which Siuan bought on discount during a plant sale in their first year of uni and lovingly named ‘Jenny’.
It’s Moiraine’s first time seeing it in person. She’d had to leave for the Waste before Siuan had even had the opportunity to sign the lease.
“It is even better than in the pictures you sent.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Siuan says. “We spent all of yesterday cleaning to make sure it was presentable. It’s usually a complete tip.”
Moiraine smiles at her. “I am more than aware of your messy habits.”
“Mine?” Siuan complains. “It’s all bloody Leane!” Which—based on all of Moiraine’s years spent sharing a kitchen with Leane—does likely have some truth to it, but it is more fun to tease Siuan than to admit as such.
Siuan tosses Moiraine’s rucksack down in the hallway and puts the flowers in a vase with some water, then takes Moiraine through to her bedroom. It is much like Siuan’s room in their old university accommodation, with the same colourful fish-patterned sheets and a rope net hung above the bed.
The little jade statue, to Moiraine’s delight, is sitting on Siuan’s bedside table, next to a framed picture of the two of them at their graduation.
Siuan follows her gaze. “It looks like you, don’t you think?”
“I had not noticed,” Moiraine lies, while secretly so pleased that Siuan saw the resemblance too, that she kept this little reminder of Moiraine so close.
“Right.” Siuan reaches into her wardrobe and plucks out a fluffy blue towel, which she drops into Moiraine’s arms. “Do you need pyjamas too?”
“I think I will get cold in the ones I brought back from the Waste,” Moiraine admits, though it is mostly because she likes the idea of borrowing more of Siuan’s clothes.
Siuan raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you mention in your letters that the desert was freezing at night?”
Ashes, she has been caught out. “Well,” Moiraine stammers, “I layered.”
“Fair enough.” Siuan shrugs, though Moiraine can tell she is hiding a smile.
She hands Moiraine a pair of modest white silk pyjamas with little pearl buttons.
“These are mine!”
“Oh, you have plenty of sets, you clearly haven’t missed them,” Siuan says. “Besides, it’s not like you were going to take these kinds of clothes to the Waste.”
She is right. Also, Moiraine likes the idea of Siuan wearing her clothes—out of choice, when Moiraine is not even there, carrying a piece of Moiraine with herself—almost as much as Moiraine likes wearing Siuan’s clothes. Moiraine does not push the matter.
Siuan points her to the bathroom, and Moiraine steps inside, the door shutting behind her. She sets the towel and pyjamas down on the bathroom counter, then begins to undress, pulling off Siuan’s jacket, the tank top she arrived in, so that she is left standing only in her shorts and sports bra.
Then the shower catches her eye, a mess of several completely unlabelled knobs and levers, and she decides that it is better to figure out how it works before she finishes undressing and has to do it while shivering naked in the cold of the bathroom.
Several minutes of experimenting does not prove particularly useful, and eventually Moiraine decides that she may as well just ask for help.
She pokes her head out of the bathroom door. “Siuan?”
Siuan wanders into view from around the corner. “Hm?”
“I cannot quite figure out the shower.”
“Fishguts, sorry!” Siuan shakes her head. “I should have told you before, it’s so old and unnecessarily complicated. We took cold showers for days when we first moved here, until we finally managed to make heads or tails of it all. Here, it’ll be easier if I just show you how to use it.”
She makes out as if to step into the bathroom, and Moiraine, whose first instinct is always to follow Siuan’s lead, moves aside and holds the door open to let her, completely forgetting her own state of half-undress. It is not like they have not seen each other like this before; the two of them have tried on clothes in shared dressing rooms plenty of times.
Siuan leans half-way into the shower cubicle, reaching towards some of those complicated knobs. The hem of her shirt rises up, revealing a glimpse of the smooth brown skin of her back, the tempting flick of a tattoo just peeking out.
“You just…” Siuan fiddles with the settings. “Lift this, and turn this, and…”
A burst of water shoots out from the showerhead. Siuan ducks out of its way quickly with a little laugh-yelp, tripping over Moiraine’s pile of discarded clothes, and falls into Moiraine, accidentally pressing her against the sink.
There is water beaded in Siuan’s hair, the front of her shirt is wet. She is grinning loosely. She has braced one warm, calloused palm on Moiraine’s bare hip.
“There you go.” They are so ridiculously close, it is like Siuan has not said the words out loud at all, it is as though she has just breathed them from her mouth into Moiraine’s.
“Thanks.”
The word comes out very quiet, barely audible over the hiss of the shower. The water is hot; already, steam is rising around them.
Neither of them tries to move away from the other.
Moiraine licks her lips. She feels Siuan’s eyes follow the movement of her tongue.
“Siuan,” she says. Her voice low. “I have missed you, Siuan.”
Siuan’s hand tightens on Moiraine’s hip. “I’ve missed you too.” The words come out a little rasping, and it sends heat straight between Moiraine’s legs.
“I have missed you more than I think I am supposed to. As,” her heart thuds in her chest, Light this is such a bad idea, she is literally sharing Siuan’s bed for the foreseeable future, it is going to be so awkward if Siuan rejects her—but then Siuan lifts her other hand and places it flat gently over Moiraine’s chest, over her heart, as though to soothe its terrified rat-a-tat-tat drumbeat, and it gives Moiraine the burst of confidence she needs. She does not think Siuan is going to reject her. “As more than a friend,” Moiraine finishes.
“Yeah?”
Moiraine nods, a tiny little movement of her head. It makes the tip of her nose brush Siuan’s. She never thought such a fleeting bit of contact could feel so erotic. “Yes.”
“I’ve missed you,” Siuan says quietly, “like a lover. The way the moon loves the tides, the way a ship loves the sea.”
“Oh,” Moiraine whispers. Oh.
She had hoped, of course, yet never truly dared to believe… It only seems natural for Moiraine to love Siuan. Siuan is the best person in the world. But for Siuan to love Moiraine…
Moiraine closes the almost nonexistent distance between them and presses her lips to Siuan’s.
It is everything that Moiraine has ever imagined, and more. Like tasting sunlight itself. Siuan’s lips are soft and warm against her own. Moiraine’s heart races beneath Siuan’s splayed fingertips.
She pulls back, embarrassed, having forgotten to breathe, panting a little. A small, wanting sound slips out from Siuan’s mouth as they part, and it makes Moiraine smile.
“Are you sure you want this?” she checks, just to be sure.
Siuan looks at her like she’s an idiot. Maybe Moiraine is. “You’re killing me here. I don’t know how I could make it any more obvious. I was fully intending on snogging you senseless at some point in the next month. You’ve just beat me to it.”
“What changed?” Moiraine asks, self-consciousness creeping in. After all, it’s been nearly four years. She knows her own excuses for staying silent for so long, and speaking up only now, but who’s to say that Siuan’s are the same? Perhaps Siuan was revolted initially, by the thought of having feelings for someone like Moiraine. Moiraine would be, in her place.
But then, Siuan has always been a better person than her.
“Nothing changed. I’ve been bloody desperate for you since the beginning. I was just never one hundred percent sure that you felt like I did, and I didn’t want to scare you off. But this year…” Siuan groans, and presses a series of wet kisses along Moiraine’s jaw. “This year has been torture. Do you know what it was like for me, reading all those letters, picturing you sitting naked in a sweat tent, always going on about that fucking Aiel girl…”
Moiraine feels breathless all over again. “You’ve been picturing me?”
Siuan’s hand that has been on her chest drifts down, cups one of Moiraine’s breasts and teases her nipple through her bra. Moiraine whines, arching into the touch. “I’ve pictured this.” She kisses Moiraine’s throat, nips at her pulse point with just a hint of teeth, then soothes the bite with her tongue. “And this.” The hand on Moiraine’s hip moves to the waistband of Moiraine’s shorts and slips inside. “And this.”
She gasps, head falling forwards against Siuan’s shoulder as Siuan touches her.
“I have not showered yet,” Moiraine reminds her.
“Good. I plan on getting you very dirty.”
Moiraine pants into Siuan’s skin. “Siuan...”
"Moiraine," Siuan purrs, teeth and warm breath grazing the tip of Moiraine's ear, her clever hand adding a perfect amount of pressure, and it teases a soft moan out from Moiraine's mouth. Her hips tip toward Siuan. The sink is digging into Moiraine's back; she doesn't care.
Then Siuan pulls away, takes away both her hands. The fingertips of her left are shiny with the evidence of Moiraine’s want. Moiraine could sob. She reaches for her.
“You’re right,” Siuan says, neatly side-stepping Moiraine’s hands, and then taking off her own shirt in one swift swoop. She is so beautiful. “This will be much more efficient if we both just get in the shower.”
Moiraine has always known that Siuan was a genius.
She fumbles for the buttons of her shorts with one hand, the clasp of her bra with the other.
“I will still have to leave again,” she warns Siuan, the words thick in her throat, as Siuan slides out of her jeans.
She cannot afford not to go back to the Waste after the time off she has been allotted here runs out. She loves Siuan, but Moiraine has worked hard for this fieldwork opportunity. With luck, there will be others in the future too. Other countries, different corners of the Westlands. Siuan is not going to follow her around the world. They both value their careers; neither of them is going to give theirs up. Already, their separation is as inevitable as this collision of mouths, bodies, souls.
“But you’ll come back again too, won’t you?”
“Yes. Yes.” Moiraine nods, and this time reaches for Siuan more successfully, trailing kisses down the tattoos on Siuan’s sternum. She can taste Siuan’s heartbeat. She lowers herself slowly to her knees, hands finding the backs of Siuan’s thighs. “I’ll always come back.”
Siuan twines her fingers in Moiraine’s hair, pulls her closer. “Then I don’t care if you have to leave. I’ll wait for you.”
At some point, they make it into the shower, then into the bed. At the end of her apprenticeship many months later—and again and again, across the years—Moiraine will make it home to Siuan too.