Chapter Text
Lanfear can sense Moiraine before she enters the room. The feeling of her power is so distinct. It is something so subtle, darkness deliciously mixed with that lingering sweetness of whatever soul she has left.
She’s so young, still. Seventy years of age, and yet only with the Dark One for less than one. She’s still so new. There’s something almost pure to it. Sure, she’s no saint, but the way her soul hasn’t entirely been touched by the darkness… It reminds her of the woman she used to be. Clever, curious, so eager to please, with those big dark eyes searching for answers she will never find, not in this life, maybe not ever.
Lanfear notices other things about Moiraine, too. The way her breath hitches when she gets too close to her. The way she inhales when they touch, as if she is trying to ground herself. The way her eyes wander, always lingering a little too long when she thinks Lanfear isn’t watching. The way she trembles when they touch.
Moiraine fears her. Moiraine hates her. Moiraine adores her. It’s why she’s Lanfear’s favourite.
When she walks into the room, the heels of her shoes announce her presence. She’s shrouded in a blue dress, a shade so dark it’s almost black. Lanfear thinks one day she’ll tell Moiraine to switch to black completely. She likes the dark blue, it suits her, but Moiraine seems to be holding on to her old self so tightly and she just cannot have that.
Moiraine needs a clean slate. She needs to be willing to surrender. She cannot fully give herself over unless she lets go of her old self, completely, the way she did.
She’s not saying everyone should pick another name to go by once they join the Dark One. But it helps.
Lanfear sits on the Amyrlin seat. The white marble is a sharp contrast to the black dress she wears. She’s been meaning to make some alterations in this place, make it a little less uptight and rigid, but all in due time. Right now, she has other things on her mind.
Lanfear looks down when Moiraine finally stands in front of her. She’s wearing her hair down the way Lanfear prefers. There’s a regal air to her presence. It seems that no matter how hard she tries, she cannot fully shake the shadow of the Lady Damondred she used to be. Lanfear tilts her head. “Is it done?” She asks with a feigned indifference.
“Almost.” Moiraine answers. There’s no hesitation, but Lanfear can feel her fear in the air. “I am doing the best I can, but he is very stubborn.” She pauses. “As you must remember.”
This is exactly what she had been afraid of. When she tasked Moiraine with getting the Dragon to join them, she had her doubts. She would be lying if she said she enjoys standing on the sideline like this. She prefers to handle these matters herself. But Rand Al'Thor is a boy who grew up without a mother, and Moiraine is just gentle enough to remind him of what he missed out on. She… presses the right buttons, when it comes to him. And she’s patient, which is a skill Lanfear has never possessed.
So, long story short, it should work like this. But Moiraine might be a little too patient for her liking. It is taking her forever. If she had been working on this herself she would've fucked him ages ago and he would've been sitting by her side like a little puppy by now. But Moiraine insists on the slow approach. She thinks she gets it, it is definitely more reliable than bribing a man with sex, but the wait is infuriating.
To step in now would mean the last few months were a waste. So, she settles, and she waits. She considered ordering Moiraine to start taking more… invasive measures, but she knows she could never get her to agree to it. Honestly, she doesn't think Moiraine would let any man touch her, no matter the stakes.
She likes it that way. Men are beneath her.
“I do remember.” She crosses her legs. “It is a shame, though. I really thought you were up for the task.” She pretends to look at her nails, as if there is something more interesting to see on them than Moiraine. As if there would ever be anything more interesting than Moiraine. “Maybe I’ll ask Liandrin to take over from you.”
Now, in all honesty, she would never actually do that. But it is fun to see Moiraine sweat. And aside from that, she needs to remember her place. She needs to realize that out of the two of them, Lanfear holds the power. Moiraine is important because she allows her to be.
“Respectfully, I disagree.”
Lanfear puts her hand down and looks at her. “What was that?”
“I said…” Moiraine clears her throat. She hesitates. Say it, Lanfear thinks. Don’t crawl back now. “I said I disagree, mistress. Respectfully.”
Lanfear grins at the title. Mistress. It was one of the first things she changed around here after she executed the previous Amyrlin and took her place. ‘Mother’ is so informal, not to mention, such a farce. The truth is she is no more hated than the previous Amyrlin, or any of the ones before that. If you hold power, there will always be those who fall in line and those who try to fight you. Those previous women simply fought in the shadows, with words, behind each other’s backs. She’s different from them only in the way that she terminates the competition before they get the chance to terminate her.
A monarch who kills all her enemies does not have enemies to begin with.
“My, my, Moiraine. I thought you would have learned your place by now.” She’s only pretending, mostly, to see how far she can push her. Show me what you’re made of. “But alright. Elaborate.”
“I think- I think you need someone subtle. Someone who can at least pretend to be on his side. Act like they’re not a Darkfriend.” The way she spits out that word makes Lanfear think there might just be a little too much of the old Moiraine still buried underneath the surface, but she stores that thought away for a later time. “Liandrin will not try to convince the Dragon to join us. She will be bored after a day and kill him instead.”
“Alright.” Lanfear is not an idiot, she knows that. She’s almost offended by Moiraine believing the lie. “But disappoint me again and I’ll have no choice but to think you are an enemy of mine. And you know what I do with my enemies, don’t you, Moiraine?”
Moiraine nods quickly. “Yes. Of course. It won’t happen again, mistress. I’ll work harder.”
“Good.” She sits up straight, the jewelry around her arms clinking when she moves. “Come closer.”
Moiraine obeys. Lanfear thinks she might never get used to this; how willing people are to listen to her now that she’s sitting on a throne. She would almost laugh. She is no more powerful than she was before. A Forsaken. The strongest one of them all. But only now that she has a title do they suddenly follow her. It is offensive. But it is also useful.
“I think you owe me an apology, do you not?”
Moiraine only nods, but slowly, as if she’s less convinced.
“Do you disagree again?”
Moiraine shakes her head. “Of course not.” She says, but there’s a hint of sarcasm underneath it Lanfear almost chooses not to ignore.
“I thought so.” Lanfear raises her eyebrow. “What are you waiting for?”
Moiraine swallows. “I'm sorry, mistress.”
“Come on, Moiraine. Do better.” Lanfear laughs. “You know the rules.”
Moiraine frowns. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Sure you do.” She leans back in her seat. “Kneel.”
Moiraine hesitates. Too long for Lanfear’s liking. Something flashes over her face, something that she would almost think is defiance. Don’t even think about it, she wants to tell her. She does not want a reason to kill her, not yet. At the end of the day her one true goal is and always has been the Dragon, but she likes toying with Moiraine in the meantime. “I said, kneel.”
Moiraine stays in her spot, rooted like a tree, but then there’s finally movement before she drops to her knees. “Forgive me, mistress.” She says, and it sounds so submissive that it makes her body tingle. She is tempted to wrap her legs around Moiraine’s head and curl her fingers in those beautiful brown curls, but no, not yet. What she wants and what she needs are not the same thing. She needs Moiraine in her corner, at least for now, so she cannot scare her off. She’d hate it to have to kill her. It would be such a waste; so much power, such a pretty face.
“Do you know your place, Aes Sedai?” Lanfear asks. She raises her foot and places the tip of her black boot under Moiraine’s chin. “Do you?”
“Yes, of course.” Moiraine swallows thickly. She looks up at her. When their eyes meet, she trembles. “My cabal are loyal to me, and I am loyal to you.”
“I thought so.” She moves her foot away. “In that case, you are forgiven.”
“Thank you, mistress.”
Lanfear smiles. It hasn’t gone unnoticed to her that Moiraine doesn’t move from her spot, simply because Lanfear hasn’t told her she could. It’s magnificent. She’s so eager to please. “Why did you join me, Moiraine?”
“Because I agree with what you want.”
“You don’t even know what I want.”
Moiraine fiddles with her fingers. Her knees must be hurting by now. Good. Let her sit in it a little while longer. “Because my warder died.” She finally says, her voice shaky.
“There you go.”
“He-” she can see tears start to well up in her eyes. Lord, she’s such a beautiful crier. “He was all I had. After he died, I had nothing.” She looks up at her. “I did my best, you know? I worked hard. I was a great addition to the tower. The Amyrlin trusted me. I looked for the Dragon. I traveled, I-I helped people, I took care of the city. I put everything in this world, in the Wheel, and it cost me so much that in the end all I had was him.” She looks down at the floor. Is it guilt or heartache? “And then the world took him from me too.”
Good girl. Lanfear uncrosses her legs. “Get up.” She tells Moiraine. She gets up from her throne and stands in front of her.
Moiraine stands up straight. She wobbles, unsteady on her legs. Lanfear catches her before she falls. “It is unfair.” She says. A tear falls from Moiraine’s eye. Lanfear catches her with her thumb and cups her cheek. She leans into her touch. Lanfear smiles. She is so easy. It has never required any compulsion with her. Such a lonely soul. So starved for attention, for touch. Even for love. Lanfear cannot meet her needs in the latter, but she can give her the rest, at least for now. “But now, you have me.”
Moiraine huffs. They both know that’s a lie. If it came down to it, they’d both turn on each other faster than either one of them could blink.
“I know you do not consider me a friend. You don’t have to.” Her thumb briefly caresses her lower lip. “And I know you do not trust me. But you are meant for more than the grief stricken woman who dies alone from a broken heart.” She says, remembering how she had first found Moiraine; alone in the forest, in a lake, unconsciously floating in the water. If Lanfear hadn’t been there, she would’ve drowned.
Lanfear saved her life. And Moiraine was reborn.
“You were meant for greatness. You earned it.” She takes Moiraine’s hand and presses her lips against her fingers. “There is more power in the tips of your fingers than most people have in their entire bodies. You deserve to use it. Truly use it, the way you were always meant to.”
Moiraine lets out a shaky breath. “So you only want me here for my power?”
“I hold more power than you.” She says, because it’s the truth, but also because she has to remind Moiraine where she stands. She’s high up the food chain, yes, but not that high. “If this was only about power, I would’ve gone on by myself. Truth to be told, I do not need the Black Ajah for anything. Most of them are more of a liability. They all want to sit on the throne in my place.” She kisses the inside of her wrist. She can feel her rapid pulse beneath her lips. “But you? You’re different. You proved yourself worthy. You are so willing to please me. So… submissive.” She catches the way Moiraine inhales. “The Darkness loves you, Moiraine.”
Moiraine stares at her. “Is it the darkness that wants me here, mistress, or is it you?”
Lanfear raises an eyebrow. She doesn't like how easily Moiraine can read her. “Is there a difference?”
Moiraine leans in, then. It's subtle, barely noticeable, but Lanfear catches it. She pulls away a little, but internally she's laughing. This was exactly what she wanted, and Moiraine thinks it's her own idea. “We shouldn't.” Lanfear pauses. “You're hurting. You're…” what could she say that would make her angry? “...fragile.”
That does it. Moiraine glares up at her. “I am not fragile.”
“You're not?”
In response, Moiraine grabs Lanfear by the collar of her dress. It is almost crossing the line, but Lanfear tolerates it. “I'm not.”
(She tolerates a lot when it comes to Moiraine. She tries not to dwell on it.)
Moiraine pulls her closer. She leans in, but Lanfear pulls away. She bites her lip. “Not so fast.” She moves a strand of hair behind Moiraine's ear. Lord, her hair is so soft. She's so perfect.
(She truly is perfection. It is so unfair.)
“You know this will not look good for me. If it looks like I prefer one member of the Black Ajah over the other. Like I have favourites.”
Moiraine tilts her head. “Don't you?”
Bold. She should do something about that. She has to make sure Moiraine doesn't get too… courageous, around here. And yet…
She leans down. She wraps her lips around a nipple. It is covered by at least three layers of fabric, but she can hear Moiraine shudder. She stays like that, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of her breast. She wants to draw blood but she doesn't know if that’ll scare Moiraine off, so she settles for bruises instead.
Moiraine pushes her away after a while, seemingly overwhelmed. Lanfear grins. “What do you want, Moiraine?”
She knows there's only one thing Moiraine truly wants: death, salvation, and one day Lanfear will be the one who grants her the gift of that freedom. But that day isn't today. Today, Moiraine will be on her knees, worshipping her the way she should be worshipped: with her head between her legs.
Moiraine inhales. “To forget.” She whispers. Funny way of putting it, Lanfear thinks. If she truly wanted to forget, she could. The women of the Black Ajah have weaves for that. “For a little while.”
Lanfear nods. “Do you surrender, Moiraine?”
Moiraine nods and oh, so eager. Her most loyal servant. “Yes.” Lanfear would like to hear her say it out loud, how Moiraine belongs to her, but all in due time.
Moiraine goes to bow, but Lanfear stops her. She sits back down on her throne and pulls Moiraine with her. “The darkness sees you, Moiraine. It sees that you belong here.”
And maybe it's the fact that they're both so eager for each other, or maybe it's the fact that Moiraine is just so starved, so desperate to be wanted, but Moiraine drops to her knees in front of her. Lanfear smiles. She requires no instruction, either. Truly the best she has.
Moiraine gathers the skirt of her dress in her hands. She stares up at her with hazy eyes. She trembles.
Lanfear places her hands over Moiraine's. And her skin is so soft, her gaze filled with so much longing, that Lanfear forgets for a second that she's supposed to want her to suffer.
(She looks so much like the woman she used to be.)
“Don't be scared.” She whispers. She stays like that until Moiraine's hands stop shaking. “You are safe here, Moiraine. Nobody will ever hurt a hair on your head again.”
Moiraine smiles weakly. “Not even you?”
And against her better judgment, Lanfear whispers, “not even me”, so quietly it can barely be heard. But she said it, and in the moment it feels like a promise, because she genuinely thinks she'd burn down this tower if it meant keeping Moiraine by her side.
(She might burn down this tower anyway.)
After that, she allows Moiraine to proceed. Her hands are no longer shaking and she seems more self-assured. Lanfear parts her leg on autopilot. She runs her hands through Moiraine's hair, soft and gentle, and it slips through her fingers like water.
Moiraine pulls up the skirt of her dress. Lanfear sits on the edge of the seat. Moiraine presses her lips against the inside of her thigh. It is all so soft it makes her ache. Lanfear doesn't deserve anything soft or gentle. She used to, when the name Mierin still meant something to her, when she was still a believer in evil and good. Before He chose her.
He won't get to touch her, she decides. She will protect her. And when He gets too close, she will kill her before He can destroy Moiraine the way He destroyed her.
She pulls Moiraine's hair, though not unkindly, just to tell her it's fine, go ahead. But she's so reluctant. “Let go, Moiraine.” She whispers. “Take what you deserve.”
And in a way, when Moiraine's lips finally press against her clit and her tongue moves against her core, Lanfear is the one who surrenders to her. Maybe, when her tongue presses between her folds, it is Lanfear who gives herself to Moiraine.
She is skilled. Honestly more skilled than she expected. She licks at her like her life depends on it. Maybe she thinks she has something to prove. Maybe she was too hard on her.
Time stretches on around them, and there’s only this. The feeling of Moiraine’s tongue working against her. She doesn’t know how much time passes; could be minutes, could be hours. All she knows is that with every touch, she finds herself craving more. It is dangerous.
Lanfear clamps her mouth shut when a particularly loud moan threatens to spill from her. She whimpers.
“Let me hear you.” Moiraine says against her core.
Lanfear puts her legs on Moiraine's shoulders. “Use your teeth.” She says between little gasps and whimpers.
She can almost feel Moiraine grin. “Of course, mistress.”
“Don't-” Moiraine grazes her teeth over her clit and fuck, she should not have asked her to do that because this feel so magnificent she can feel her hatred slip away from her. “Use my name.”
“Don't use your name?” Moiraine asks. She looks up at her, her eyes dark.
She's so vulnerable and distracted now, Lanfear could slit her throat and she would never see it coming. But for the first time in maybe ever, she finds herself too preoccupied to think about murder. “Use my name.” She demands, but there's an edge of a whimper under her voice that makes her sound almost pathetic.
“As you wish…” Her mouth is back against her. “Lanfear.”
Lanfear gasps. “Yes.” She whispers. She puts her hand on Moiraine's head and scrapes her nails down her scalp. “Again.”
“Lanfear.”
Two fingers press inside her. Lanfear has stopped caring about silence, almost unable to think at all. She takes about a second to consider the risk of this all. Someone could walk in at any second, and then she thinks, let them. Let them see she belongs to me.
There’s tongue and teeth against her clit and two fingers stroking her from inside. Her hands are buried in Moiraine's hair to keep her head in place, and she rolls her hips against her over and over again until she starts trembling, until she sees stars on the edge of her vision, squeezing her eyes together when her orgasm washes over her, so intense she almost blacks out.
Moiraine gets up, letting out little gasps as she tries to catch her breath. She’s wet down to her chin. Lanfear isn't thinking, blissfully turned on, so she grabs Moiraine by her neck before she can truly think about what she's doing.
Something flashes across her face - is it fear? - but then Moiraine leans in and kisses her, hard and rough and invasive.
Moiraine's mouth falls open and welcomes Lanfear's tongue so willingly. Lanfear pulls her on her lap. She keeps kissing her and fuck, the taste of herself on Moiraine's lips is making the lines between hate and adoration blur until they're practically non-existent, until she feels herself wanting to sink to her knees herself to make Moiraine feel wanted the way she deserves.
Thank the Lord Moiraine is currently on her lap, grasping at the fabric of her dress until it starts slipping down her shoulders. She's so overcome with need - they both are. Lanfear's hand finds a zipper on Moiraine's back and pulls it down. The dress falls open, revealing Moiraine's bare shoulders, and she's still too covered for her liking, but she's way too turned on to think about the logistics of taking the dress off and - well, patience has never been one of her skills.
She slips her hand under her dress. Why does it have so many layers? When she finally has all the fabric out of the way Moiraine has slipped her arms out of her sleeves and Lanfear finds herself staring.
There have been so many men and so few women over the the course of her life. It has been so long since she's had a woman like this: in her lap, panting, her chin still wet. So long since she saw a woman naked, that she forgot how beautiful they are. How they're so much more beautiful than the mediocrity of a man. Her brain short-circuits.
Her free hand finds Moiraine's nipple. She pinches. Moiraine gasps.
Lanfear tilts her head. “Does that hurt?”
Moiraine stares at her. “Yes.” She whispers. “Do it again.”
Lanfear's grin only grows. “Who knew this side of you existed, Lady Damondred?”
“Enough people. You're not special.”
And that pisses her off, because she is special, she is Lanfear, a fucking Forsaken, the most powerful of them all, and of course there have been people before her, but they're not her. Lanfear pulls her underwear to the side and sinks her fingers into Moiraine wet heat, and it is petty, but she whispers “that begs to differ”, into Moiraine's ear because, let's be honest, she's never been the bigger person in any situation.
Moiraine glares at her. “Move.”
“You move.” Lanfear challenges.
They stare at each other, waiting to see who will break first, but Moiraine truly is drowning in her own need, so it doesn't take long for her to start rolling her hips on Lanfear's fingers. The angle is a little uncomfortable, her wrist bent in an unnatural way that will undoubtedly start hurting at some point, but she'll make it work. “So obedient.” Lanfear whispers, because she just cannot help herself.
At that, Moiraine snaps. She rearranges herself on Lanfear’s lap, and her knee finds its way between Lanfear’s thighs, pressing against the cold marble of the seat. It must be hurting, there's no way this is comfortable for her, but her eyes are dark and she curls her hand in Lanfear's hair. Sharp nails scrape down her head. Her hips still. “You move.” Moiraine whispers.
“Don't tell me what to do.” She snaps back, but it is more of a formality, a reminder. Because yes, Lanfear doesn't let other people tell her what to do, but when she rolls her hips and her clit slides up Moiraine’s knee, she knows she's too far gone to care about her image.
She would've liked to watch Moiraine fall apart on her fingers, to lean back and let her do the work, but she thinks she prefers fucking Moiraine herself anyway.
She thrusts her fingers inside her, and Moiraine is so soft and warm she briefly wonders how she managed to go so long without ever touching her. Her palm presses against her clit every few thrusts. Moiraine is gasping, pulling at the top of Lanfear’s dress to slide it further down her body, and at some point she's pretty sure she hears it tear before it finally uncovers her chest, but she doesn’t care.
Moiraine leans down, lips pressing against her shoulder, her neck, and Lanfear allows it until she grows impatient again. With her free hand she grabs Moiraine's face and pulls it to her own, kissing her roughly, to get some resemblance of control back. For a second Moiraine doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands, but then one starts pinching her nipple until it hardens under her touch and the other one snakes around her throat. She doesn't squeeze. Lanfear doesn't expect her to. Who knows, maybe next time.
They kiss, messily, hungrily, biting and scratching at each other's skin. Lanfear's fingers pump inside Moiraine while she rides her knee, chasing after her own pleasure. Moiraine pulls her hair. “Does that hurt, Lanfear?” She asks, playfully, but there's a darkness in her eyes that makes Lanfear think deep down she enjoys inflicting the pain.
“Why, Moiraine? Would you like it to?”
Moiraine falters, her gaze dropping.
“Would you?” She urges.
“Yes.” She gasps, pressing their lips together, open-mouthed. Her tongue slips into her mouth.
And perhaps it is her orgasm building in the pit of her stomach, but a wild part of her cannot help but wish that Moiraine were the Dragon Reborn, so she wouldn't have to settle for the male mediocrity that is Rand Al'Thor in order to be with Lews Therin again, so she could have this, all the time, unapologetically. And it is that part of her that kisses Moiraine roughly, biting her lip as she mumbles “you're mine” into the kiss.
And Moiraine, ever submissive, obedient Moiraine, tells her to "prove it" as a response.
Lanfear speeds up her fingers. “Next time…” She starts. Focus, she thinks, the slide of Moiraine's knee between her thighs making her head spin. “Next time, I will fuck you properly.”
Moiraine whimpers against her lips. “What does that mean?” She says. Her voice is unsteady.
“It means I will show you the possibilities of using the One Power when you fuck someone.” She presses her thumb against her clit. “Have you ever done that, Moiraine?”
Moiraine shakes her head. “How-”
Lanfear cuts her off before she can finish. “You'll see.”
Moiraine starts trembling, then, her moans echoing around them, and thank the Lord she put weaves around this room to make it soundproof a few weeks ago, because there is no way this would have gone unnoticed if she hadn't.
She feels Moiraine's walls tighten around her fingers so she only presses in harder, letting pain melt into the pleasure when she comes. She fucks her through her orgasm and well after that. Moiraine gasps her name, over and over like a chant, her head against her shoulder, whispering come for me into her ear when Lanfear explodes.
She kisses Moiraine, hard and dirty and filthy as she comes, spilling over Moiraine’s knee. Moiraine grins against her lips. “Mine.” She whispers, and it is not true, Lanfear has never belonged to anyone except the Dark One, but it sounds so wonderful she lets it seep into bones like it is a truth she cannot deny, cannot avoid.
Five minutes later they're both somewhat collected again, but traces of sex are written all over their bodies. Moiraine is still sweaty, her dress sticking to her skin in a way that cannot be comfortable, her hair falling in messy curls down her back. Lanfear's dress did actually tear a little but it'll do for now, she'll fix it later. A bruise is blooming in her neck. She could heal it, it would require no difficulty at all, but she thinks she'll let it stay for a while; she will wear it with pride, if only to remind Moiraine of what happened here tonight and how she belongs to her.
"Can't you heal that?” Moiraine gestures at her bruise.
Lanfear nods. “I can.”
“Aren't you going to?”
Lanfear bites her lip. “No.”
“In that case, I hope everything has been to your liking.” Moiraine says, a bold gleam in her eyes. “Lanfear.”
She looks down at her. She should be careful with calling her that. One day she might have to punish her for it. “It has been, Moiraine.” She smiles lightly. ”How about you? Did I make you forget?”
Her expression darkens, as if she’s only now remembering again. “A little.”
“Well, better luck next time.”
Moiraine raises her eyebrow. “Next time?”
Lanfear ignores that. “How long will you be in the Tower for?”
“How long would you like me to be?”
Lanfear considers it. She really should get on with the Dragon. But then, she could just pay him a few visits in his dreams. For now. “Stay a while.” She eventually says. “I'll handle the Dragon.”
“You won't scare him off, will you? I'd hate for him to go back to the Two Rivers.”
Lanfear looks at her, surprised. “He's in the city?”
Moiraine smiles. “You didn't think I came all this way without a gift, did you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“You didn't ask.”
Lanfear chuckles to herself. “Behave, Moiraine. You don’t want me angry at you.”
Moiraine looks up at her, her eyes wandering down to her chest. “Maybe I do.”
“Careful. Don't tempt me.” Lanfear shakes her head. “I'll see you around.”
Moiraine nods. “I'm sure you will.”
Lanfear watches her leave. She's so collected, almost cold, as if nothing happened. She should work harder next time. Make sure she carries the bruises. Can barely walk.
Next time. Lanfear grins to herself. “Welcome home, Moiraine.” She calls after her before the door closes, and then she leans back into her seat, and she feels so blissfully content, probably for the first time since she's been awoken.