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Siuan Sanche prided herself on many things. Her quicksilver wit, her ironclad command of both politics and the One Power, her ability to bend will with a look, and her stubborn refusal to ever back down. Especially not when it came to the woman she loved beyond all reason. Moiraine Damodred. But lately, Siuan had developed a new obsession. One that had nothing to do with strategy or survival or the fate of the world.
Blueberries. Not just any blueberries, these were wild, sun warmed, glistening jewels tucked behind a mossy ridge near the stream, where the light slanted through the canopy just right. Fat and ripe and bursting with flavor. Perfect for the porridge Moiraine loved so dearly, now that Siuan had finally learned to cook it without burning it into charcoal (though not without incident).
It was supposed to be a surprise. A romantic gesture. Something sweet and simple in this quiet life they’d carved out on the banks of the Tear river, hidden from the world in a snug bamboo walled hut warded tighter than the Tower’s deepest vaults.
But for three mornings now, Siuan had risen with the dawn, made her way barefoot through dew wet grass, and found the blueberry patch…raided. Not stripped bare, no, but picked over. Enough to spark a fierce territorial rage she hadn’t felt since her days at the docks in Tear.
“Some sneaky, Light blasted rabbit,” she growled on the forth morning, crouched over the violated bushes, squinting at the pawprints in the soft dirt. “Or a deer. Or a gluttonous badger. But I swear, whoever’s doing this has declared war.”
When she returned to the hut, empty handed and bristling, Moiraine was seated on the porch, a book balanced in one hand and tea in the other. She arched a brow as Siuan trompled past her, mud on her hem and fury in her glare.
“No berries today?” She asked, voice calm but her eyes sparkled.
“It’s a conspiracy,” Siuan snapped. “I’m being robbed. Systematically. And I will find the culprit.”
Moiraine gave a soft, knowing chuckle but wisely said nothing as Siuan stormed inside to plot her revenge.
The next morning, Siuan came armed. A spool of string, some old fishing bells, and the righteous determination of a woman scorned. The day after, she added a fishing net she hadn’t touched in years. She rigged tripwires, dug shallow pits, crafted decoys out of stones and berry juice and even stayed up one night, lurking in the shadows with a blanket over her head, peering from beneath the fringe like a hunter of legend. Moiraine, for her part, observed all this with increasing amusement and not a little affection.
“You’re going to get tangled in your own snares one of these days,” she murmured, brushing a twig from Siuan’s hair as she stumbled back to the porch, covered in leaf litter and looking thoroughly unvictorious. “And then I’ll have to rescue you.”
“Not before I catch the Light cursed thief,” Siuan huffed. “Red pawed. Mark my words.
On the seventh morning, it happened. The mist still clung low to the grass when Siuan crept toward the patch, every sense honed. The bushes rustled ahead. She crouched behind a rock, breath held and then there they were.
A family of raccoons. Plump, glossy, and completely unrepentant. They moved with swift, practiced ease, raiding the berry bushes with tiny, clever hands. One especially large raccoon sat directly in the center, juice dripping from its whiskers, its round belly resting on a bed of flattened moss like it ruled the realm. Siuan’s eyes narrowed. She had never seen an animal look so smug.
“...Light,” she whispered. “There’s a whole blasted clan.”
The big one looked up. Met her gaze, and chirped. Not fearfully. No, it was taunt.
“You,” Siuan muttered, pointing a finger. “You’re the ringleader. I know your type.”
She returned to the hut like a conquering hero, flinging open the door with a dramatic flair that startled a bird off the windowsill.
“Moiraine! I saw them! I caught them! A whole bloody family of raccoons!”
Moiraine looked up from her embroidery, utterly serene.
“Mmm. That explains the paw prints on the porch.”
Siuan stared at her in disbelief.
“You knew?”
“I had my suspicions,” Moiraine said, lips curving into a secret smile. “But you were enjoying the mystery far too much to interrupt.”
“You let me wage war on a raccoon colony?”
“You needed a hobby.”
Siuan sputtered, then flopped down beside her, arms crossed.
“I’ve named the bold one Elaida.”
Moiraine blinked then snorted.
“That poor creature.”
“She’s greedy, arrogant, and thinks she owns the whole patch. It fits.”
Moiraine laughed. A soft, utterly delighted sound and, leaned in to kiss her cheek, her fingers trailing affectionately through Siuan’s tousled hair.
“Well,” she murmured, “ perhaps Elaida and her little rebels can keep that patch. I spotted another one further uphill yesterday. You could try picking from there tomorrow.”
Siuan brightened, though she tried to hide it.
“Oh? And what will you be doing while I’m toiling in the sun like a farmer?”
“I’ll be here,” Moiraine said, brushing her lips against Siuan’s. “Thinking of how to reward you when you return.”
Siuan blinked. Her ears turned pink.
“All right. The raccoons can have their cursed patch.”
Outside, just beyond the porch, the fat raccoon known forevermore as “Elaida” perched on the railing like a queen surveying court. She chirped once and licked the last of the juice from her paws with gleaming satisfaction.
Siuan stood at the window, arms crossed, lips pursed, and one eye twitching in slow, suspicious rhythm. Beyond the bamboo walls, the trees swayed gently in the breeze but it wasn’t the wind that had her attention. It was a dark blur of movement nestled just at the edge of the porch.
“She’s watching us again,” Siuan said, her voice flat and heavy with accusation.
Moiraine didn’t look up from her embroidery hoop. Her needle dipped and danced, precise and unbothered.
“I’m sure she is.”
“She’s sitting like she owns the place. Right on the porch rail. Legs dangling, like it's her bloody hut.”
Moiraine hummed, the sound light as a breeze.
“Perhaps it is.”
Siuan spun to face her, finger raised in righteous fury.
“You’re enabling her.”
Moiraine, calm as a lake at dawn, did not flinch.
“I’m feeding you. With charm and beauty. And soon porridge. Assuming you don’t burn it again.”
Siuan muttered something entirely unrepeatable that included the phrase “Light burn that smug faced trash cat,” and padded off to the kitchen nook.
The small pot of oats over the fire gave a lazy bubble as if in response, the flames licking gold over the bamboo walls, warm and flickering like the quiet heart of their home. Moiraine peeked over her hoop just in time to see Siuan jabbing at the porridge like it had personally betrayed her.
“Should I be worried,” she asked, voice full of amused affection, “about how violently you’re stirring breakfast?”
“I’m thinking about Elaida.”
“The raccoon.”
“The disrespectful, blueberry thieving menace.”
“She’s cute.”
“She’s chaos,” Siuan growled.
Moiraine finally set the embroidery aside and rose, the fabric falling in soft waves around her legs as she moved behind Siuan. Her arms slipped around her lover’s waist, a gentle press of warmth and serenity. She rested her chin on Siuan’s shoulder, sighing against her neck.
“So are you.”
Siuan tried, truly tried, to maintain her scowl. But Moiraine was soft, and warm and always smelled faintly of roses and logic, and worst of all, she wasn’t wrong. With a huff, Siuan leaned back into her and muttered.
“Tomorrow I’m trying the upper patch. If that’s one’s raided too…”
“You’ll declare war?”
“I’ll draft a letter to the Hall of the Tower demanding immediate backup.”
Moiraine snorted delicately, laughing against Siuan’s throat.
“And what would the Hall say to that?”
Siuan stood taller, voice suddenly grand and dripping with sarcasm.
“The Amyrlin regrets to inform you that the White Tower cannot currently spare any sisters to wage war on feral rodents, no matter how impertinent. With love Leane.”
That did it. Moiraine completely lost her composure, laughing so hard she had to hold onto Siuan’s shoulders for balance.
“Oh, Light help me,” she gasped between giggles. “We’re feral now. Aren’t we?”
Siuan stirred the oats with far less fury now.
“You’ve been feral for years. I’m just finally catching up.”
They ate together on the porch, curled into the cushion Moiraine had embroidered with tiny silver fish and blue blossoms. The sun filtered through the canopy, dappling their laps and warming their hands. The world was quiet and peaceful. Until a chirp split the silence.
There, bold as brass buttons, the raccoon known as Elaida waddled up the steps and settled herself squarely on the railing right where Siuan had just been glaring minutes before. Her beady eyes sparkled with entitlement. Her tail twitched.
“She’s back,” Siuan muttered around a spoonful of porridge.
Moiraine, ever gracious, held out a slice of apple.
“Be polite.”
Siuan narrowed her eyes.
“I was the Amyrlin Seat.”
Elaida blinked at her.
“You don’t care, do you?” Siuan asked dryly.
“No,” Moiraine said, amused. “But I do.”
Elaida took the apple from Moiraine hand like a visiting dignitary and sauntered off toward the treeline with the elegance of a queen who had just won a negotiation. Again.
Siuan, a veteran of wars and prophecy, buried her face against Moiraine’s shoulder with a growl.
“One day. One day I’ll reclaim my berries.”
Moiraine kissed her temple, smiling into her curls.
“And when you do, I’ll bake you a pie.”
They both looked out toward the trees, where Elaida was now triumphantly gnawing on the apple core like it was a tribute.
“I’ll let her have the next patch.”
From the edge of the clearing, Elaida chirped again. Loud, proud and just smug enough to suggest she knew exactly what had been said.
“I think she just insulted you,”Moiraine murmured, sipping her tea.
Siuan closed her eyes, shoulders relaxing as she leaned into her wife.
“She’s lucky I’m in love.”
The next few days drifted by in golden blur, afternoons that smelled of grass and river water, and quiet laughter that echoed through the trees like a lullaby. The bamboo hut was peaceful but not entirely still. Siuan was on a mission.
Each morning she rose with purpose, determined to outwit a growing menace. The raccoons. Armed with baskets, gritted teeth, and Moiraine’s quiet encouragement, she set out for the upper patch of blueberries Moiraine had whispered about with conspiratorial glee.
The first morning, she returned victorious smudged with dew, hair wild, arms full of fat, sun warmed berries. Moiraine had kissed her like she was a hero returning from battle But after that… the war escalated.
“They followed me,” Siuan groaned on the third day, kicking the door open and stomping into the hut like a thundercloud. Twigs clung to her braid, and there was a suspicious streak of berry juice across her tunic. “I thought the patch uphill would be safe. But no. There they were. All of them. A full Light blasted delegation. And the bold one climbed into my satchel!”
Moiraine didn’t flinch. She was reclined on a woven cushion with a cup of tea in hand, her expression was the picture of tranquility.
“Which one?” she asked mildly, as though discussing garden pests and not guerilla warfare.
Siuan stared at her.
“The one with the lopsided ear.”
“Ah,” Moiraine said with a knowing nod. “Elaida.”
Siuan threw her arms up.
“You say that like she’s a pet!”
“She is,” Moiraine said without a flicker of shame.
Siuan’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re feeding them behind my back, aren’t you?”
Moiraine took a very calm sip of her tea.
Siuan gasped.
“You traitor.”
That afternoon, Siuan returned to the field of battle but this time, she carried no nets, no bells, no misguided hope. Instead, she brought offerings. A pot of porridge, a bowl of fruit, a wooden spoon, and the faint glint of madness in her eyes. She set herself down on a mossy rock near the patch, legs crossed, arms resting on her knees like a monk preparing to negotiate with barbarians.
She waited. The bushes rustled. Siuan didn’t move.
“Knew it.”
Out came the raccoons brazen, methodical, and entirely unafraid. One scrambled up a log. Another waddled straight past her boot. Then, emerging with the kind of slow, self important gait that spoke of lineage and misplaced confidence, came Elaida.
Siuan narrowed her eyes.
“There you are, you furry little usurper.”
Elaida sat. She tilted her head and raised one paw.
“Are you waving?” Siuan asked. “Or threatening me?”
Elaida sneezed.
“I’ll take that as both.”
But instead of launching into a tirade or swatting the nearest bandit with a spoon, Siuan did something unexpected. Something radical.
She shared.
With great ceremony, she scooped a small spoonful of porridge onto a broad leaf and laid it out on the grass. Elaida sniffed and took a cautious nibble.
Siuan folded her arms.
“If you think this means we’re friends, you’re sorely mistaken.”
The raccoon ignored her completely, delicately licking every grain of porridge off the leaf with a smug glint in her eyes.
By the time Siuan returned to the hut, the sun was sinking low and the baskets in her arms were brimming with ripe berries. A daisy, how it got there, she wasn’t sure was tucked behind her ear. She walked up the steps with the solemnity of someone who had struck a treaty after years of bitter resistance.
Moiraine looked up from her seat on the porch, blinked at the bounty, and very nearly dropped her tea.
“Success?” she asked, voice light with amusement.
“I made a deal,” Siuan said grimly, setting down the baskets like war trophies.
“A deal?”
“She gets a scoop of porridge each morning. In exchange, I get the patch.”
Moiraine nodded slowly.
“Diplomatic brilliance.”
“Oh, and the one with the bent tail? I’ve named her Alviarin.”
Moiraine covered her mouth, shoulders trembling.
“You’re naming all of them after people you hate, aren’t you?”
“They’ve earned it.”
"Who's the one that's always scratching her butt?"
"That one's Tessy. She sniffs her paw afterwards."
“And if you find a small, clever one who bites the others and stares like she knows your secrets?”
Siuan didn’t miss a beat.
“That Leane.”
Moiraine broke. She collapsed sideways against the porch rail, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her tea. Siuan smirked, knelt beside her, and leaned in with exaggerated seriousness.
“I’m not proud of it,” she said. “But I also kind of am.”
That evening, with the last glow of sunset spilling gold across the porch, Siuan and Moiraine baked. Their hands were sticky with berry juice, the kitchen smelled like sugar and woodsmoke, and the little bamboo hut glowed with warmth and laughter. A perfect pie took shape under Moiraine’s expert fingers, extra filling, and just the right touch of lemon.
Outside, in the shadows beyond the porch, the raccoon clan waited. Elaida crept up once the lights inside dimmed. With royal delicacy, she stole the crust Moiraine had left out “by accident.”
The treaty held.
And that night, with full bellies, warm hearts, and the sounds of chirping raccoons at the edge of their garden, Siuan curled into Moiraine beneath the quilts.
“You know,” Moiraine whispered, trailing her fingers over Siuan’s arm, “we should probably start calling this what it is.”
Siuan cracked one eye open.
“What?”
“The Blueberry Accord.”
Siuan chuckled sleepily.
“Light help me. You’re worse than they are.”
But she didn’t argue. Not when Moiraine kissed her forehead. Not when the scent of pie lingered in the air. And not when the tiny, paw printed peacekeepers outside finally quieted for the night.
For the first time in weeks, Siuan Sanche, former Amyrlin Seat, seasoned schemer, and now a truce broker with a pack of produce plundering raccoons, slept soundly knowing her breakfast was safe.
Probably.