acrookedpath | [pfsb]

“Yes,” he returns, unmoved. “It is.”

He has his suspicions about Wei Ying’s reasons, but chooses not to mention them.

He wrinkles his nose, amused, and saunters away to grab his bag.

"Then yes, I suppose we're ready." He slings the bag over one shoulder. "Shall we?"

“I am ready.” He moves to Wei Ying’s side and opens the door for them both.

As they exit, Wei Wuxian fishes out the coin and cups it in his palm. He isn't sure how it will direct them -- will it hum, growing louder as they move closer to Moiraine's room? Will it fly from his hand and expect them to follow?

It does neither. Instead, there's a soft, warm pulse, a shimmer of light, and then the feeling of being tugged, as if the coin will slip from his palm if he does not move.

Holding out his hand, he exchanges another look with Lan Zhan, and lets himself be guided.

The faint gleam of silver light that emanates from the coin does not change, but the sense of being drawn along in a particular direction does, depending on where they are in the hallways and corridors that make up the Milliways upstairs. Eventually, however, they are brought to stand in front of an unassuming door of the same dark wood as every other on this hall, but without a number. A small plaque contains the silver flame from the coin - matched with an ebon-black fang in a single circle.

(There are very few who will recognize the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai from before the Breaking of the World as such, but it serves well enough for her purposes.)

Large pieces of his last conversation with Moiraine have been washed away by time -- not to mention the copious amounts of wine he consumed afterward -- but he remembers a few moments, here and there, where they looked across the table and acknowledged their similarities.

It seems fitting, in a wry, resigned way, that another similarity should adorn her door like this.

He raps his knuckles against the door just below the plaque. "It's us," he calls.

Silver light glows around the edges of the door and fades to nothing. "You may enter," the Aes Sedai calls.

The room inside is simply appointed, with a desk in the far corner, a tall glass-fronted cabinet in the other corner, and a series of bookshelves in between. A small sofa covered in deep blue velvet, with a low table in front of it, stands further down along the wall. On the opposite side of the room from it is a fairly new addition: a drafting table of the sort that architects might use, covered in paper and with a series of spirals and circles sketched out upon it.

Moiraine is sitting at the desk, writing a letter. She folds and seals it as they walk in, and for an instant it glows in her hand before she turns to look at them.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"I believe so," says Wei Wuxian, but absently; his full attention has been snagged by the drafting table, gaze sharpening as he recognizes the loops and whorls of a thanergy theorem. Without thinking, he steps closer for a better look.

He never had the chance to ask Harrow how she charts her work. There was so much else to discuss, he thinks wistfully.

Moiraine arches her eyebrows. "Do you recognize this one?"

Behind Wei Wuxian, his white-clad friend drifts up silently to examine the drawing as well. She notes with mild inward amusement that at no time does he let her out of his sight.

He frowns, very slightly. By now he is close enough to skate his fingers over the sweep of the theorem, not quite touching the paper.

"Warding, yes?" he murmurs. It is like trying to read a distantly related language; the arrangement has a vague similarity to a ward talisman, though the sigils curve oddly to form characters he cannot decipher. "And this -- "

He sketches a circle with one fingertip along another part of the theorem.

"That looks similar to a channel for blood." A small sigh; he pulls his hand back. "I never did learn as much as I wanted about Harrow's theorems."

"It should," Moiraine tells him. "It is a blood ward. A simpler one than the model I saw, but still."

He nods -- and then, as her words catch up to his ears and jar his concentration loose, glances her way.

Quieter: "Have you seen Harrow recently?"

"I suspect not, given how long it has been for you since I last saw you," Moiraine tells him, even as her dark eyes narrow. She looks back and forth between them.

"How long has it been since you have seen her? Or Gideon Nav?"

"Too long."

There's a rueful twitch to his mouth, far less smile than pained reflex.

"Since even before we last saw you, I think."

"Ah," she murmurs. "I see. Light protect them, then."

He nods, his attention drifting back to the second theorem on the table: another ward, but far simpler, its sigils and bisecting lines aligning with spirit rather than blood.

"I've long hoped it's only -- well, similar to what you experienced," he says. "A displacement of time. I hope whenever they return, it's only been a day or two in Canaan House."

"It is not uncommon," Moiraine says. It is the most hope she can give; she suspects they know the risks, and there is no need for her to be unkind. "So perhaps."

"Perhaps," he echoes with a sigh.

Wei Wuxian examines the theorems for another moment, lost in his thoughts.

Then: "Are these both wards you have placed on the anomaly?"

"They are among them." Moiraine studies Wei Wuxian. His cultivation partner, she notices, has made himself as unobtrusive as possible while he listens, but she has no doubt from his manner and positioning that he would react in an instant to any perceived threat.

"A question, first: how much do you know of the circumstances surrounding that which Harrow mentioned you observed about her?"

It is circumspect enough to express her meaning to one who already knows, but not to reveal which she thinks of as the 'salt water secrets' of Harrow's background and the history of the Ninth.

Wei Wuxian eyes her sidelong. Whatever he sees eases his suspicion; he turns to face her in full.

"I know of the Tomb," he says. "I know of her relationship to it. I also know what her parents did to ensure she would be the greatest necromancer of her generation."

He tips his head toward his husband.

"As does Lan Zhan."

Moiraine studies them both, then nods.

"That ward," she says, indicating the blood ward, "is based on the one around the Tomb. I was able to observe it closely when she took me there. It is much simpler, of course."

"She -- "

He stares.

"How?"

"Through a Gateway," Moiraine replies. "It is among the weaves known to Aes Sedai. You may think of it as creating a similarity between places, then opening a portal between them."

Her manner is serene and even utterly tranquil. "As I have mentioned before, Harrow and I spent some time working on methods of linking her thanergetic power with what she describes as my thalergetic weaves, which are of the One Power, drawn from the True Source, which is the force of creation itself. We were able to find a way to work together to reach the Ninth from here."

Wei Wuxian breathes out, quick and sharp.

His indignation has caught him off guard: you could do this all along? And after he gave her a teleporting talisman! But he should know by now: Moiraine will never speak a word of what she can do unless she deems it relevant.

(That is not even touching her work with Harrow. He had forgotten its specifics; he wonders, now, about its difficulty, its possibility for replication --

It's been a while since he has missed his friend quite this fiercely.)

With effort, he wrenches his thoughts back around to the blood ward, forcing himself to study it again.

He can read Wei Ying’s annoyance as clear as calligraphy. Lan Wangji places one hand against his back in silent support, then shoots a sharp look at Moiraine as she asks,

“Does this bother you?”

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