creator_raven | (no subject)

(no subject)

It has been some time since he has seen at least one of his sisters.

Given this one's tendency to get lost in her own head, Raven is likely not best pleased.

Possibly that is why Moiraine will find her study door tugged open, and her couch full of obnoxiously cheerful Bird.

Also cookies.

More cookies than even Raven can eat in a day.

There is no tea.

"You are not so much for hermiting, yes?"

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Silence, for several long seconds, and then Moiraine says carefully,

"I was her, rather. For a time."

Raven tugs her hair, fingers light and careful.

"Mostly that was only seeming, I think."

Mostly.

"Precisely so."

Raven just studies her, careful and oddly calm.

"You are, I think, missing the point. So."

"Then what," she says, with careful deliberateness in each word, "is the point that you wish to make?"

Raven does not sigh.

Really.

"Dignity is boring, yes?"

He tilts his head, still watching her.

"And you are not so good at letting go."

She considers him for several moments.

"I am not certain why it matters so."

Raven does not blink.

At all.

"You are human."

Beat.

"And it is not so bad a thing to be happy."

"... I would not disagree," Moiraine says, tilting her head to one side as she watches him.

Raven tweaks her nose.

Because he can.

"And are you?"

It is, perhaps, not so easy to tell.

Perhaps.

She is still for a moment, and then--

"I am as well as I may be, at present, Raven. It may not be as well as you would wish, but it will do for now, will it not?"

"No."

It is a simple word, that.

"Some things, perhaps, there will never be time for. So."

Dark eyes widen in visible surprise, and Moiraine opens her mouth as if to say something--

--and does not speak.

Silence remains, for several long seconds.

Raven does not blink.

It is possible that, for a moment, he looks a little sad.

Just a little.

She stays still for some moments longer, and then takes a single step forward, looking up at him.

Her dark-eyed gaze meets Raven's black one.

"There are some things that must yet be, if it may be so," she says, finally. "I cannot say for certain what lies beyond that point, or how long..."

A pause.

"... may be allowed, before."

His smile is small and very crooked.

"Certainty is not a thing I am much familiar with. So."

He hugs her then, because he can.

"And endings are not, perhaps, always so terrible."

But his voice is very quiet.

Possibly it is good that, while hugging, she cannot see his face.

Endings are heartless.

She bites back the words, but she cannot hide the tension that threads through her, nor can she so easily discard the memory of the phrase, of the tale, that so closely lies intertwined with the loss of a friend.

(More than one, it might be said.)

Especially not now, with Charlie Pace so recently himself lost.

Moiraine says nothing at all, but simply slips an arm around his waist and rests her head against Raven's shoulder.

Raven takes one breath.

Two.

But other than that he doesn't move.

"You have, perhaps, not always found it so."

Beat.

"But you are young yet."

Beat.

"And this, I think, is not so much an easy truth."

"It is one of the more difficult truths that exist," she replies, quietly, but without any uncertainty.

"And yet it remains true."

He tugs her a little closer.

On occasion there is, perhaps, nothing to set right.

"Sometimes that, too, does not so much hurt."

This time, she does not resist.

"It depends, I suppose, on for whom."

A faint smile, whether or not he can see it.

"The Wheel weaves."

He snorts, but it is less derisive than usual.

Perhaps.

A little.

"Sometimes, perhaps."

Beat.

"It is a question of whose hand is moving."

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