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Siuan smoothed Moiraine’s hair, the motion repetitive and soothing. How many times had she done this over the years, comforted Moiraine as she lay with her head in Siuan's lap?
One thing was certain; Moiraine had needed comforting far more times than she had been able to provide it.
And this, this facsimile of reality, was the only way she could do even that, now, when Moiraine needed her most, when she had gone through a week of unimaginable horror.
“You saw something about yourself, didn't you?” Siuan said finally, quietly. “About us. That was the second thing.”
Her hands in Moiraine's hair didn't stop, hardly slowed, but had there been anyone else there to see, they might have noticed them shaking, faintly.
Moiraine closed her eyes for a moment, as if to chase a deeper sleep, to hide from a truth inescapable even in a dream as beautiful as this one.
“Yes.” She said hoarsely. “Myself and Rand, we cannot—” Moraine stopped abruptly, like the words themselves had stolen her breath.
“We cannot both live,” she said, finally. “We cannot both be at the final battle.” Her voice shook, but there was an unshakeable firmness of belief underlying it.
He must live, she said, though the words went unspoken. And so I must die.
Siuan’s hands stilled, finally, shoulders slumping. It was as bad as she had feared, then. They breathed together, cried together, in the silence.
Siuan wanted to scream, to shout: How could you think of keeping this from me? She wanted to ask more questions, to interrogate, to find a loophole or solution, a way out for Moiraine. She wanted to rage against the Pattern, that demanded far too much: the protection of Rand Al’Thor, a child who still refused to accept his duty; the destruction of her beloved, who had given everything for hers. Would now truly, give everything.
But she knew, too, that it would do more harm than good. Moiraine did not value her life as much as Siuan would have liked, that was true; but neither would she throw it away, not while she still believed herself useful.
To force Moraine to repeat herself now, just to convince Siuan, would be selfish. The least—and perhaps most—Siuan could do, was to willingly share the burden of the knowledge.
Siuan swallowed past the lump in her throat, but she couldn't stop the tears from dripping silently from her cheeks into Moiraine's hair.
“How do you do it?” she asked softly, half-wonder, half-heartbreak.
“Do what?” Moiraine asked. Her voice, usually so smooth, was hoarse with tears.
“Give up your life,” Siuan said. “For a world that has given you so little happiness and so much duty and suffering. Sometimes—” she broke off, looking as ashamed as she had when she'd spoken of her wish never to have entered Gitara’s study. “Sometimes, I hate the Wheel and the Pattern for what it has done to you. To us. What right does this world have to ask for your life to protect it? What has it given you, to earn such loyalty?”
For a long moment, Moiraine was silent. Finally, she reached up a hand to take Siuan's, still resting on her hair, and pressed a kiss to the palm.
“It gave me you,” she said gently. “However fleeting, it gave me moments with you.”
Moraine looked up at Siuan, the anger mixing with shame on her face, and sat up to take it between her hands.
“Oh, love, just because I never say my wishes aloud doesn't mean I don't have them,” Moiraine said. “I wish for that life—this life—too,” she said, gesturing to the hut around them. “Now more than ever, more than you can know. Wishing for more, being angry—it doesn't make you weak, or dark. Only human.”
“And you're right to wish for it. I saw a thousand, thousand futures in the rings of Rhuidean,” Moiraine said. “And the only time I saw myself smile was here. With you.”
“As my fishwife?” Siuan cry-laughed.
“As your bloody awful fishwife,” Moiraine chuckled and leaned in to give her a short, sweet kiss, before lying down and tugging Siuan down beside her. They lay facing each other, not unlike they had as Accepted in the White Tower, so many long years ago.
“I've sent you off to your death before,” Siuan whispered. “In a hut not so different from this one. I'm not sure I have it in me to do it again.”
She gripped Moiraine's hand between them, suddenly, tightly. “It should be me. I have failed to uphold my side of the bargain, failed to relieve you of this burden even in the slightest. But you must know that I would,” Siuan said urgently, desperately. “I would take your place, take your fate, quick as the current if only I could.”
“I wouldn't take yours,” Moiraine said, a doomed attempt at lightness. “I would take death in a heartbeat over dealing with Elaida again—”
“I'm serious, Moiraine—”
“So am I. Perhaps this is the pattern's final gift to me, that this is to be my fate and not yours,” Moiraine said. “I left you once, in anger, unsure whether you would live. I pray the Pattern never demands such a thing of me again.”
I wish it would, if it meant it would not demand it of me, Siuan thought, and felt ashamed. There was no winning this. They were both going to lose, and perhaps it was for the best that they were not the ones to decide how.
“Let me hold you for this one night, at least,” Siuan said, and took Moiraine into her arms.
She wasn't sure when they fell asleep, hadn't even known it was possible; they were, after all, already inside of a dream. But for once, the Pattern granted them a blessing and a curse: a night of sleep that felt longer than it was—and the beautiful dream of a life together.