WoT Ficlet: Appleading
Feb. 21st, 2026 10:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Appleading
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Wheel of Time (technically just the books but it's not really contradicting anything re the show either)
Pairing: Liandrin Guirale & Moghedien, Liandrin Guirale/Moghedien
Tags: Ficlet, Control, Power Dynamics, Choking, Torture
Rating: M
Word count: 632
Summary: In an old townhouse in Amador, Liandrin begs with eloquence she didn’t even know she possessed. It’s a wonder what fear can do, to loosen tongues and inhibitions.
Author notes: Response tomerryfortune's prompt of You're appealing to emotions that I simply do not have (from 'It’s Hard to Say ”I Do”, When I Don’t') over at likealighthouse's Fall Out Boy Femslash Febrary Ficathon. Takes place during Book Five when Moghedien catches the Black Ajah in Amador. This is unbetaed so if you spot a typo/mistake, please do let me know. Except for the title which is me mangling the English language on purpose. For my amusement.
Appleading on AO3
In an old townhouse in Amador, Liandrin begs with eloquence she didn’t even know she possessed. It’s a wonder what fear can do, to loosen tongues and inhibitions.
“Mistress,” she says and means it. She meant it for Lanfear too and were Lanfear to appear now and put Moghedien on her knees next to Liandrin, she would mean it again.
Moghedien knows it. That doesn’t matter. She expects nothing else, after all. In the night, only the darkest shadows will stand out, and among Darkfriend, only the strongest are worth kneeling for.
“I can be useful,” Liandrin promises. She very carefully doesn’t say ‘I can be of use’ because she doesn’t want to put that idea into Moghedien’s head, just on the off chance that it isn’t already there.
Moghedien regards her, head cocked like a tiny bird. She’s so small, smaller than Liandrin, and were the world fair Liandrin could pick her up and put her in her place with one hand, no One Power needed. But the world is not fair, which is why Liandrin is where she is in the first place, why she said yes to a man who showed her an illusion of kindness close enough to be the real thing, why her knees ache now from the cold, unforgiving stone floor.
“Yes, I’m sure you can,” Moghedien says, stepping closer on dainty feet, silent and quick like a spider she is. “To someone. To yourself, certainty. But whether you are of any use to me… I doubt it.”
An icy tendril of fear, one strong enough to break through the numbness of constant threat that she’s used to living with, slithers down Liandrin’s spine.
“Mistress,” she breathes it out, desperate and pleading. “I have networks, contacts, Darkfriends in Tear, in Andor, in Illian, every corner of the world. The Black Sisters follow me, they—”
Moghedien’s fingers, cold and thin, press against Liandrin’s lips, cutting her off mid-sentence.
“You and the other Black Sisters are nothing but flies,” Moghedien says. She leans close enough that Liandrin would be going cross-eyed if she hadn’t lowered her gaze already. “Not even that. Gnats.” Moghedien’s voice is soft and her thumb brushing against Liandrin’s mouth is soft and the weaves of One Power cutting off Liandrin’s airwaves are soft too. “Edible. But often more trouble than you’re worth.”
Liandrin doesn’t gasp. She can’t. Her airways are immobile, stuffed full of Moghedien’s silky weaves, aching with it. Her vision grows dark around the edges, panic fills her mind, but there’s no point in struggling. Liandrin could grab at the hem of Moghediesn’s skirts, could claw at the body underneath them, but that would only result in a quicker death.
And maybe there will come a time, even very soon, when Liandrin will regret not taking the option of a quick end when it was within reach, but she’s not there yet. With effort, she lifts her gaze. Above her Moghedien is a blur of shadows, her pale face like a moon, distant and uncaring.
For long seconds Liandrin thinks it’ll be the last thing she’ll see.
Then the pressure in her throat vanishes, air rushing in like a tide, cool and sweet. Liandrin tips forward, falling onto the floor, panting. Her whole body feel electric, pins and needles piercing every inch of skin.
Moghedien’s small feet step into her slowly clearing field of vision again.
“Talk,” Moghedien instructs. “And be precise. I do not care how you’ve got who or what you have, will not admire your cleverness or daring or even your depravity in the service of our Lord.” She leans down, her cold fingers trailing through Liandrin’s braids. “I care about the results,” she says. “Not who gets them.”
Liandrin scrambles back up to her knees and starts talking.
***
Title: Appleading
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Wheel of Time (technically just the books but it's not really contradicting anything re the show either)
Pairing: Liandrin Guirale & Moghedien, Liandrin Guirale/Moghedien
Tags: Ficlet, Control, Power Dynamics, Choking, Torture
Rating: M
Word count: 632
Summary: In an old townhouse in Amador, Liandrin begs with eloquence she didn’t even know she possessed. It’s a wonder what fear can do, to loosen tongues and inhibitions.
Author notes: Response to
merryfortune's prompt of You're appealing to emotions that I simply do not have (from 'It’s Hard to Say ”I Do”, When I Don’t') over at likealighthouse's Fall Out Boy Femslash Febrary Ficathon. Takes place during Book Five when Moghedien catches the Black Ajah in Amador. This is unbetaed so if you spot a typo/mistake, please do let me know. Except for the title which is me mangling the English language on purpose. For my amusement.Appleading on AO3
In an old townhouse in Amador, Liandrin begs with eloquence she didn’t even know she possessed. It’s a wonder what fear can do, to loosen tongues and inhibitions.
“Mistress,” she says and means it. She meant it for Lanfear too and were Lanfear to appear now and put Moghedien on her knees next to Liandrin, she would mean it again.
Moghedien knows it. That doesn’t matter. She expects nothing else, after all. In the night, only the darkest shadows will stand out, and among Darkfriend, only the strongest are worth kneeling for.
“I can be useful,” Liandrin promises. She very carefully doesn’t say ‘I can be of use’ because she doesn’t want to put that idea into Moghedien’s head, just on the off chance that it isn’t already there.
Moghedien regards her, head cocked like a tiny bird. She’s so small, smaller than Liandrin, and were the world fair Liandrin could pick her up and put her in her place with one hand, no One Power needed. But the world is not fair, which is why Liandrin is where she is in the first place, why she said yes to a man who showed her an illusion of kindness close enough to be the real thing, why her knees ache now from the cold, unforgiving stone floor.
“Yes, I’m sure you can,” Moghedien says, stepping closer on dainty feet, silent and quick like a spider she is. “To someone. To yourself, certainty. But whether you are of any use to me… I doubt it.”
An icy tendril of fear, one strong enough to break through the numbness of constant threat that she’s used to living with, slithers down Liandrin’s spine.
“Mistress,” she breathes it out, desperate and pleading. “I have networks, contacts, Darkfriends in Tear, in Andor, in Illian, every corner of the world. The Black Sisters follow me, they—”
Moghedien’s fingers, cold and thin, press against Liandrin’s lips, cutting her off mid-sentence.
“You and the other Black Sisters are nothing but flies,” Moghedien says. She leans close enough that Liandrin would be going cross-eyed if she hadn’t lowered her gaze already. “Not even that. Gnats.” Moghedien’s voice is soft and her thumb brushing against Liandrin’s mouth is soft and the weaves of One Power cutting off Liandrin’s airwaves are soft too. “Edible. But often more trouble than you’re worth.”
Liandrin doesn’t gasp. She can’t. Her airways are immobile, stuffed full of Moghedien’s silky weaves, aching with it. Her vision grows dark around the edges, panic fills her mind, but there’s no point in struggling. Liandrin could grab at the hem of Moghediesn’s skirts, could claw at the body underneath them, but that would only result in a quicker death.
And maybe there will come a time, even very soon, when Liandrin will regret not taking the option of a quick end when it was within reach, but she’s not there yet. With effort, she lifts her gaze. Above her Moghedien is a blur of shadows, her pale face like a moon, distant and uncaring.
For long seconds Liandrin thinks it’ll be the last thing she’ll see.
Then the pressure in her throat vanishes, air rushing in like a tide, cool and sweet. Liandrin tips forward, falling onto the floor, panting. Her whole body feel electric, pins and needles piercing every inch of skin.
Moghedien’s small feet step into her slowly clearing field of vision again.
“Talk,” Moghedien instructs. “And be precise. I do not care how you’ve got who or what you have, will not admire your cleverness or daring or even your depravity in the service of our Lord.” She leans down, her cold fingers trailing through Liandrin’s braids. “I care about the results,” she says. “Not who gets them.”
Liandrin scrambles back up to her knees and starts talking.
***