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Moiraine is seventeen when she loses the ability to channel.
You’re one of the most powerful channelers the White Tower has seen in centuries. Elaida’s voice – deep and seductive – echoes in in Moiraine’s head.
It doesn’t take one of the Yellows who specialize in healing the mind to understand why Moiraine finds herself completely unable to channel. Siuan can’t understand it, not really. She’d kissed Moiraine softly and promised she was good. Siuan doesn’t know the things in Moiraine’s heart, the things in her blood. Moiraine can’t bring herself to tell Siuan, can’t bear for Siuan to stop looking at Moiraine with such pure, uncomplicated love.
Siuan’s touch last night was too loving, too soft. She’d pressed kisses to every inch of Moiraine’s body, caresses and licked, and make love to Moiraine so painfully gently. Moiraine had refused to share Siuan’s bed tonight, had rushed away at the hurt expression on Siuan’s face. Moiraine doesn’t deserve the reverence with which Siuan touches her, not when it’s built on the lie Moiraine tells Siuan, the half truths about who Moiraine is. Siuan doesn’t understand that Moiraine can’t be allowed to hold so much power, that she was raised for power, that she was raised to take and take and take. She once believed channeling was her way out, the White Tower a safe place for Moiraine, a place that could contain her, but now she sees that Aes Sedai play daes dae’mar every bit as well as Damodreds, that what they prize in her is the same thing that Uncle Laman prized when he named her his successor.
It’s well past midnight, but Moiraine can’t sleep. If she were as good of a person as Siuan believes, Moiraine would go to Siuan’s room and apologize. Siuan has been comforting, reassuring Moiraine that she’s good, that she’ll channel again in time when she’s ready, that Siuan loves her so much. It’s only made Moiraine pull away. She doesn’t want soft and gentle. She wishes Siuan would tell her she was bad, would fuck her hard, would punish her. The thought of it makes Moiraine ache. She reaches between her legs and imagines Siuan throwing her against the wall, fingers inside Moiraine, taking her hard from behind. Siuan would never want Moiraine like that, likes to be gentle, likes to look at Moiraine while she touches her. Moiraine shoves down the shame and keeps touching herself. She needs to get off, needs to do something with her frustration before she explodes.
A knock on the door stops Moiraine, and she bites her lip hard to stop herself from screaming. She wants to be alone, wants to make herself come enough times to finally be able to sleep and stop thinking. Moiraine sits up.
Elaida walks in without even waiting for Moiraine to give her permission to enter. Elaida’s eyes roam Moiraine’s body, her chest and neck exposed, her nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. Moiraine stops herself from reaching for her blanket to cover herself.
“You’re stronger than this,” Elaida says. Moiraine hates the way her body reacts to Elaida’s voice, how it always makes her ache. She’s already wet and swollen, presses her legs together to try to quiet the ache. Elaida must notice because her smile grows smug. “Perhaps you’re having trouble surrendering.” Elaida sits down on Moiraine’s bed next to her. There’s a millimeter between them, and Moiraine knows her body is flushed, wonders if Elaida can feel the heat, can smell Moiraine. Shame overwhelms her. Siuan is a room away. Siuan who Moiraine loves, Siuan who wanted to hold Moiraine all night, wanted to reassure her and take care of her. “I could help you.” Elaida’s voice leaves no room for doubt about her meaning.
Moiraine wonders if she’s been leading Elaida on. Moiraine has wanted so badly for this woman to like her, has reveled in her praise, her attention. Moiraine stands from the bed, crosses her arms over her chest to hide her nipples. She feels so exposed. She doesn’t want to reach for her robe, knows it will show weakness. “Oh Moiraine,” Elaida coos, her voice mocking now. “There are other ways to make you surrender.”
White hot pain strikes Moiraine. Again. Again. Fire burning her back, her arms. It’s only when she sees her hands, red, blistered, that she realizes Elaida has been whipping her with weaves of fire. Moiraine grew up in the Sun Court. She knows torture. She can endure torture. She will not cry out. She weaves continue, burning hot pain. A weave of air hits her back, her legs, and she falls to the floor. Hits her again like a whip. She’s on her belly, face down on the rug, biting her lip so hard she tastes blood. She will not cry out. Her body feels like it’s on fire, and it’s only after a few minutes of the pain continuing that Moiraine realizes the ache between her legs is intensifying. She doesn’t know what’s worse, the blinding pain or how desperate she feels. Light, what is wrong with her body that she is so desperate to touch herself? What is wrong with her that the thought of a soft touch sent her running, and this unbearable pain has Moiraine so close to coming?
Suddenly the weaves stop, and Moiraine lies on the floor panting. She’s soaking between her legs. She doesn’t have time to wonder if Elaida knows because the weaves of air are precise now. Cold on her burning hot skin. A shiver that shoots right to Moiraine’s clit, that makes her use all her will power not to come on the floor of her room with Elaida watching. The inside of her thighs. Higher, higher. The weaves hurt, make Moiraine bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. But she can feel how she grows wetter with each strike, each weave that moves up her inner thighs. The next weave of air huts her cunt, then directly on her clit. Moiraine scream, unable to stay silent any longer.
“That’s it Moiraine.” Light, that voice does things to Moiraine, makes her shudder. A soft weave of air on her clit, teasing. Moiraine’s cheeks burn with shame, but then before she can think any longer, the weaves of fire are back, hot against her cunt. Again, again, until Moiraine can’t think, can only feel the burning, the mounting pleasure, more and more, coiled hot and tight. A strike of cold pain to her clit spikes her pleasure, and then she falls, body spasming, clenching around nothing. The release is so intense, so all consuming, such mind numbing pleasure, that it isn’t until Elaida kneels by Moiraine’s head and coos, “Good girl. I knew you could do it,” that Moiraine realizes she’d channeled.
She reaches for the Source, and it comes to her freely. The One Power’s euphoria mixes with her body’s pleasure. Faintly, beyond the way her body feels so good, her mind so blissfully empty, she hears Elaida’s footsteps as she leaves Moiraine alone, panting on the floor of her room.