(no subject)

[ladyfirestarter]

It's late in the afternoon of an ordinary day at the Taos installation, a fairly pleasant day in early spring.


Nobody is currently in a particular hallway on the second floor of Main, where one particular door (known only to a very few) is a fixed gate to a place called Milliways.

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[ladyfirestarter]

Doctors can't help; and Susannah Toren would know.

Charlie reaches the door in four long strides, and throws it open.

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

And it takes no time at all for people to enter from the other side; Susannah's chair thunders through the door, with Lan at the handles. She's disoriented for less than a second, her eyes rolling as she takes everything in--and quickly honing in on the only thing in the room that matters, as far as she's concerned.

Her face is stricken. But it's in Nynaeve's hands now.

[taishar_malkier]

She's not the only one taking in everything; cold blue eyes sweep the room, scanning entrances and exits and people. Lan looks deeply out of place in this modern room, with a sword at his hip and clothing a few centuries (and worlds) out of date, but that doesn't matter in the slightest.

Nynaeve is Lan's priority, now and always. He halts Susannah's chair near Rose, but far enough back to be out of Nynaeve's way, and lets go. Moves, too; enough to guard (whether it's needed or not), and, probably more importantly, enough to catch Nynaeve if he needs to.

She and Moiraine are alike in this: when there's a patient to be healed, they never guard their own strength. That protection, too, is a Warder's job.

[not-only-wisdom.livejournal.com]

Nynaeve channels through the angreal on her hand, the light of saidar sun-bright around her to anyone that can see it.

She ignores the rest of the room as she hurries over to the dark girl--who must be Rose--sprawled out on the floor.

Light, this is worse than she thought it would be. Delving takes a moment, then two, and she's gritting her teeth as she considers the damage that will have to be repaired.

But there's nothing for it but to begin. So she does, spinning Fire and Water and Earth into the girl, followed by a cross-flow of Air and Spirit.

Call it an anchor. Or a hook.

And then the real work begins.

[ofthatantet.livejournal.com]

The weak spot in the aorta has blown full open, like a popped seam in a tennis ball; blood is leaking out into her chest cavity, and her circulation has faltered and slowed. Her breathing hasn't stopped entirely, but the air isn't going anywhere, and shock is gripping her.

She can hear voices up ahead, and kind laughter. But there's something else.

It's him, standing by the side of the road, with one more glass. One more toast. One for the road, and the third time seals the deal.

Well, all right.

The power thrums through her, and her hazel eyes fly open to stare unseeing at the sound-dampening tiles of the ceiling.

[not-only-wisdom.livejournal.com]

Nynaeve's teeth score her bottom lip as she weaves red and green strands together, clearing out the blood and burning it away, at the same time as she spins a delicate network of silvery-blue and yellow filigree to stitch the blown-open heart back together.

And then--then she can start putting the rest of Rose's body back together. Sweat beads on her hairline--less from the power required than because the work is delicate, every weave precise and well-placed.

But eventually she sits back, hands still resting lightly on Rose's shoulders.

"Rose? Answer me, girl."

Her voice is rough, eyes a little unfocused.

She is, after all, still embracing saidar.

[ofthatantet.livejournal.com]

"--and the season of mists," she slurs; blinks.

(it was RED--)

Focuses, impressive speed. "I'm here," she says. "I'm okay. I'm here."

[not-only-wisdom.livejournal.com]

"Good. You just--stay where you are for now. Catch your breath."

Nynaeve needs to do that, too.

Just for a moment.

And this time, when she sags backward, Lan is there to catch her.