Starlight & Revelry - White Tower Ball [OPEN]

[tismeb4u]

The sigh almost escaped him at her response before his will could snatch it from his tongue. Renewed frustration writhed inside him at the simple dismissal and refusal to spark even the basic of conversation. Are you truly so cold and distant that we can not even carry a civil conversation. Surely the penalty can't be that harsh for shaking some common sense in to the stubborn women. The thought, although warming in it's vision, was quickly stuffed aside and forgotten as reason intervened and kept him placid and presentable on the outside. A brief sparkle in his eye the only silent indication that perhaps he had found something amusing in his thoughts.

 

Granting her unspoken command they continued in silence floating over the floor cascading from one song to another. He led her through the various dances along the outside of the mass on the dance hall floor for the most part to ensure she had the opportunity to observe her students. It also gave him a chance to see who had arrived and make plans to meet a certain women he had a task for. What he did not expect to see so early on was a trainee who was obviously too far along in his love of alcohol. The snide Malkieran fellow he was talking to was of no real concern to Corin, then again neither was the unstable trainee. The Mistress of Trainee's was here and it was her job to deal with the wayward children that got out of hand. Tonight his focus was the attempted repair or construction of a bridge to the one he would lay his life down for.

 

But the granted silence only lasted so long before he could no longer resist the opportunity to try again and make conversation with the object of his focus. “There are indeed interesting rumors about those poor cursed men that have set up shop in Andor, but then I am sure you are more then versed on them Mother.” Taking her though a final spin he watched almost mesmerized as her dark hard bounced lightly in it's recoil after sweeping over her shoulder with the momentum. Again he found it hard to resist the craving to reach up and stroke it. Instead settling for pulling her in close for the spin and then quickly stepping away, his arm around her releasing, as he dropped into one more deep bow and kissed the back of her hand lightly. “You dance exquisitely Mother, but as he rose and began to turn and slip her arm around his own again a new distraction appeared before them offering honoring words to Sirayn, Amrylin of the White Tower.

 

A trainee, of all things a pair of trainee's were to interject on his plan and purpose. The cool look toward the women who was obviously the one behind the plan was brief before he settled back into the game. The fellow at the girls side, Fior, looked like he was making a good attempt at maintaining calm detachment from what was surely a pressure situation for him. A brief thought of the shock and worry that raced though him the first time he had met met the Amrylin flashed across the plain of his mind as his eyes finished the survey of the two present before flicking back to Sirayn's face. Her smooth ageless face beguiled nothing of her feelings toward this interruption or the scales in which she measured her response and Corin found his amazement in her renewed. He had know from early own that she was the one he would tie his skill and life to, each time he witnessed her skill in action such as now only reaffirmed and strengthen that belief.

 

Beautiful gray slate met his emerald green for a brief moment before she acknowledge the question with a slight nod to release him to this new dance partner. He would have paid a life time of wages to know what was going through her head during that moment but, as so many things with her, it was something he would most likely never know. Stuffing down the agitation at having to leave her side his mind began on the new puzzle before him and a way to find a silver thread in it. “As it pleases you Mother”, his head dipped with his words of acquiesce before releasing her arm. For his new partner he offered her a formal bow as well though only a deep as protocol would require, “I would be honored lady Covenry, my name is Corin Danveer of the Tower Guard.” Collecting her arm in his own he lead her back in toward the middle of the dance floor.

 

The music began in slow soft swaying tones as Corin stepped in; one arm softly encircling her as the other hand collected hers before they stepped out in unison. The colored lights played off the soft flow of red hair that adorned Sahra's head and for not the first time this evening a brief memory of Lavinya surfaced before he could wash it back into the dark depths of his mind. His eyes itched to wander the room and find Sirayn, to search her face; to search her eyes and know her thoughts. But she was not his charge at the moment. He had a new one and this young girl, who held herself tall and straight in posture, was a new puzzle to figure out. They floated smoothly across the floor in several varying circles; moving amongst the other patrons. “So Sahra, what is it that interest that pretty mind of yours? Judging by the look on the young fellows face that escorted you I doubt it is me, and if it is not me then I ponder on what it would in fact entail?” He offered her a warm and friendly smile, eyes light and voice relaxed and equally warm.

 

She had a connection to a certain guard that worried him; more so when it appeared the interest might be in relationship to Sirayn. The last time he had talked with Aran it had been over Sirayn and he still worried over her security with that man's idea's loose in the Tower still. But as with all things, protocol and delicate conversation were the tools of this game, not outright interrogation and forceful persuasion. His eyes scanned the room once more as if ensuring they would not run over anyone and noted some fool boy rising from a knee; more for the Mistress of Trainees to concern herself with. His eyes continued there sweep looking for anything he may perceive as a threat to Sirayn and paused on them briefly. Boy you had blessed hope nothing happens to her while you are at her side or I shall gut you myself. His eyes returned to Sahra's as they wove around another couple, she followed his lead easily and floated through the change. It was obvious she had danced before, whether self taught or instructed, her foot work was good and he found himself appraising her potential swordsmanship skill mentally. Something that he seemed to do more often now around the yard as he watched the trainees and other guards alike.

[Sirayn]

Another quality she disliked about Corin Danveer, since she was moving down the list, was how little she understood him. People had always been incomprehensible to her, governed by their own internal rules, neither logical nor even consistent by their own standards -- but as they went, the Danveer boy was a particularly confusing specimen. One day he would be ready to sit at her feet and learn. The next he turned into a homicidal Darkfriend bent on introducing her to forkroot’s more unique properties. On the same day he had knelt and begged her to kill him. The next he went back to acting as if she had treated him unfairly, the next he snapped at her in the infirmary, then when she brought him here to keep him under close attention he started to lie and flatter like any courtier …

 

It just made no sense. The inconsistency, the sheer lunacy of it all frustrated any attempts to compose a logical order from the madness; she had inferred that his apparent changes stemmed from the orders of a darker master, but even they, subject to the rules of their dark family, would act in accordance with some kind of plan. Unless that plan was to perplex her as much as possible -- perhaps in order to miss some crucial detail, but no sane person would expect her to give the boy a second chance to turn on her -- her soft-spoken young companion wasn’t even following a lucid plan of any sort. Either that or his Darkfriend master was the one suffering a slow slide into insanity.

 

Certain people being incapable of leaving her alone, she had figured that her instructions to lay off the lying would fall on deaf ears; it seemed improbable that even capricious Corin Danveer would so far turn upon his own path that from trying to kill her he would begin to follow her every command like a puppy. Her prediction proved correct. Her skills on the dancefloor were quite undistinguished, competent at best, not that she even needed access to the facts to know that the boy was a liar of monumental proportions. She had allowed him to feed her all sorts of lies because it comforted her to hear them, because she had heard the opposite so many times that she craved the slightest word of praise, but no more. It shamed her that an Aes Sedai should have fallen for sweet talk. That she consigned, along with the three words she had forbidden Seiaman to speak, to the land of things she would be better off not hearing again.

 

Perhaps he was just amusing himself. Maybe young men of questionable loyalty liked to mock bitter old women when they were bored. It was an oddly painful thought, which went only to show just how much of an idiot she was. Maintaining an impassive expression, she permitted him to spin her briefly, though she greatly preferred to keep more distance between them; most likely the boy shared her thoughts. She hadn’t killed him, she couldn’t face the prospect of killing another child, yet she didn’t know if she could let him live … young and fair of face, almost certainly a Darkfriend, working to some bizarre plan she couldn’t comprehend, and armed with everything she had taught him. Lanfir would have known what to do. Lanfir had never been confused or afraid or uncertain in her life.

 

Just in case she hadn’t had enough on her plate, two stripling children sidled up to them in what she considered a deeply suspicious manner. Next time she resolved to stamp the word DARKFRIEND all over her companion to gain a little peace in which to calculate her next move. Instead, wearing perfect Aes Sedai serenity, Sirayn contemplated the miscreants in question while wondering if her predecessor had been plagued by these little visitors while she was working; probably not, she decided, the golden Lanfir Leah Marithsen had charm enough that everyone remained at a dazzled distance. Only inferior brands of Amyrlin had their partners unashamedly stolen at the beginning of a formal ball.

 

It perplexed her both in itself and the brashness of it. She resisted the urge to look over at the boy to see if she’d missed something; handsome enough, she supposed, but she hadn’t noticed him driving crowds of strange women wild recently -- save perhaps that lightskirt Lavinya and the less said of that the better -- and she certainly couldn’t say he set her heart beating faster. Perhaps he exercised a strange and unnatural pull over redheads of every stripe. Other than that she couldn’t imagine why young women would risk an Amyrlin’s wrath over him. The boy himself being a Darkfriend, it gave her cause to wonder about these fresh-faced, smiling children and their own allegiance, though Sirayn deemed it possibly less than prudent to say so in public. Bemused, she gave up.

 

At least she need not be jealous. Not the stupid, wretched jealousy that had ground at her every hour that Seiaman had spent with another woman, poisoned her relationship with both parties and left her lonely and insecure for the Light knew how long. Occasionally, for reasons unknown to her, she had felt a twinge of possessiveness over the boy and certainly she had fumed at the prospect of him falling into the clutches of that hussy Lavinya, just because the latter had red hair and ample curves, but since he had turned out a Darkfriend anyway she hoped and expected never to feel like that again. So she had not the slightest reason to prickle a little bit that somebody younger and prettier and redder-haired had turned up yet again to interfere.

 

That being so, Sirayn presented them both with her most serene smile. “By all means, daughter.” Not only younger and prettier but taller as well, by a truly ludicrous nine inches, and far sweeter curves as well, though admittedly these were points she ticked off with almost everybody she met. No doubt they would have a great deal of fun together. And she certainly was not irritable about the whole business. “Enjoy yourselves. I trust Master Canain can amuse me for a short time.” A likely story. Most likely provide a distraction while his red-headed accomplice led the Danveer boy into wicked ways. Youth these days!

 

Dismissing the unfortunate pair with a slight nod, though she had to strangle a cold instruction to Corin Danveer not to poison anybody if he could possibly avoid it, with an inward sigh Sirayn turned her attention to a complete stranger. Borderlander, short for a man though still plenty taller than her, and painfully, unbelievably young like his red-headed friend … if her son had lived, would he be older than this now? Trying to remember how many summers her son had seen before his untimely death made her feel old and bitter. She had never grieved for him, hadn’t known how to be frank, and this was no time to find out. Keeping a pleasant if noncommittal smile Sirayn extended a hand to the young man: “Care to dance, Master Canain?”

 

Ooc: Hit me with a little paragraph on Skype if and when you’re ready. :)

 

Sirayn Damodred

Ye Olde Amyrlin

[Arette]

A small breath of relief escaped Sahra as the Amyrlin Seat acquiesced with her borrowing Mother's partner for a dance. After the dismissal she bent her knees in another fluid curtsy. "Thank you, Mother." She did not dare to wish out loud that the Aes Sedai would have a pleasent time too even if she hoped for it. If there was annoyance underneath that smooth facade, maybe it would be lessened by that. Before claiming her new partner, she laid her palm briefly on Fior's shoulder in a gesture that became a quick caress toward his neck: like a vixen marking her territory, she thought with amusement. But that was what this whole thing was about and she doubted that the Amyrlin and her companion would much appreciate being used in such silly way. "Fior, I'll see you in a bit."

 

Turning to her new partner, she noticed the curtness of his bow. It seemed like he was doing this only out of politeness and she experienced a slight inner stab of guilt for stealing him from his lady's presence. But he would live, it was just one dance after all. She responded with a nod and a genuine smile. "Just Sahra if you would please. And the pleasure is mine." She wasn't quite certain whether to call him Corin or Master Danveer so she just didn't the address him.

 

He danced well and their bodies worked together admirably but him there wasn't a connection and even the slightest tinge of passion. Sahra believed that it was because he was doing this just out of duty thanks to the command of the Amyrlin. It had been very much arranged between them two and to her understanding usually women didn't take that much initiative, letting the men to keep their illusions of leading in the dance floor at least. She didn't really miss any kind of spark but still it was a bit aggravating to have your partner scan the room and eye longingly his own companion as brief as it had been. At least she could keep her eyes off Fior for a short dance although it might be because she got such large doses of him daily. Now with more arrangement than before Aran had gotten back, but still. Not that there was such thing as spending too much time together.

 

And then he changed, warmed, and she knew that she finally had his full attention. It coaxed a bright smile from her in return even if it dimmed a bit his words. So he at least had seen through her smoke curtain even if he maybe hadn't been able to guess why she had done it. His eyes resumed their investigative look and moved around the room, but she realised that that was how a good Tower Guard likely was, always on guard. Or maybe more like a prospective Warder, making sure nothing threatened their charge. She wondered if that was their relationship. If they were something closer, they definately hid it well. But then she was very much not a schemer and observant judge of human nature so she could never gauge veiled things like that. Fior always claimed that she herself was like an open book, expressing and showing exactly what she thought. Maybe sometimes too much of so.

 

She wanted to think on her answer for a moment and just let Corin twirl her in silence to the lilting and fast paced music. The truth might be a bit insulting but she couldnt think of a polite lie or way to dodge the question. "Well, it is exactly because I want to dance with him for the rest of tonight. And even more. Not that I mind dancing with you", she hastily added. "I am just sorry that I stole you from the Amyrlin's company since it seems like we both would rather have someone else in our arms. And soon enough we will." She sighed.

 

"I think that I might have erred, though. I don't know how much the Aes Sedai dare and what exactly catches their interest but maybe someone who danced with the Amyrlin Seat is exactly that. We still have a year left of our training, plenty enough time for someone to peg him down and even more when we are Tower Guards." It was a selfish desire but a trained warrior could serve the Tower as well wearing the red cloak as she could by becoming Bonded. But who was she to try and steal away his childhood dream when he was so supportive of hers. He had always wanted to become a Warder and her petulance and jealousy should not ruin it for him.

 

Then there was of course the bait. The rememberance made her eyes smoke as she bit her lip sensually in anticipation. "Anyway, the hook for him was a bet. He can claim something in return from me." She cleared her throat slightly embarrased. "But I think that that was alot more information than you expected. I hope that you can still bear to finish the dance with me after the confession of my true motives. And if you would still speak with me... well, I have been wondering how does one meet an Amyrlin Seat? Or did you know Mother even before her ascension to the position?"

 

Before he had a chance to answer, a spectacle at the door caught her attention and made her chuckle. Maegan Sedai made an entrace that would make any Green jealous with two males at her arms. Fine choices both, Jaz with his sweet but mischievous nature and she knew that Aran and Maegan were close and enjoyed teasing each others. Corin turned to look too and Sahra decided to give him a back out option if he did not want to speak of his Aes Sedai companion. She shook her head amused. "That is just so like Aran. Do you know him? I have the misfortune of being the mentee of his mentee so he is a pestilence I shall never get rid of." Her grin revealed that she didn't really even want to be ridded.

[Los]

Calen had always had a soft spot for social outcasts; alcoholics, thieves, beggars and villains, their company made one feel alive and superior. Therein lay the danger, the enemy you don’t respect would most likely be the one to have you by the toes, upside down in their basement. Faerthines seemed more confused then any potential threat however. An alcoholic’s lack of inhibitions often gave rise to a certain unintended clarity of expression. His countryman’s tone when talking of his lost heritage was the perfect illustration of this clarity. Perhaps if he had cared more or if Faerthines had been someone of greater means Calen would have, while not asking directly, found out more about what had his inebriated new acquaintance so vexed. It was, however, not wise to burn bridges before you knew what wealth lay on the other side. As such Calen did not dismiss Faerthines lightly, besides was he not here to network.

 

Being the epitome of civility, despite perhaps tarnishing his reputation slightly by being associated with a man who was an obvious drunkard and influenced by his already aforementioned appreciation of social pariahs Calen offered “Please, my dear countryman, call me Calen. At a more convenient time and place I would be overjoyed to depart with as much as I know of tradition and custom born to us by the blood of our lost borderland home. I fear, however, that this is not that time, nor that place. I will recommend that you scour the library of the White Tower. There you will find more then I would be able to tell. The social writings of the Brown Ajah are thorough indeed.” With that said Calen was able to excuse himself from Faerthines’ company. His love of a rebel only went so far.

 

In some ways it was a worry to him. The more he acted at this false vanity the more serious it became. He often had to remind himself of the humility he needed inwardly. Surely service to the Creator was not meant to be this confusing, perhaps this assignment was truly beyond him. To keep to the tenets and remain undetected would be impossible. This way he would at least be able to socially integrate with the influential and elite in Tar Valon, his father had always said ‘the one thing money would always follow was more money’ and it was the rich who were powerful. A swordsman could train all his life but a rich man could simply hire ten or more men to dispatch him without having to draw steel, or blood, himself. Thoughts of steel brought A’dore to his mind and he caressed her ever so lightly. He found she whispered to him as they danced together in the yards. It seemed his lady-wife was ever so eager to dance, how she longed to see the wolf!

 

The dancers here, however, did not have steel drawn. Calen wished he was closer to observe the particular goings on. It seemed the Amyrlin and her escort had been separated but Calen was too far away to discern any thing of interest. He doubted he would have been able to make any thing of it had he been closer. It seemed it was the Aes Sedai’s lot to live behind masks, their lives eternally a serene masquerade. As for Corin Danveer, he doubted that the man found himself on the arm of the most powerful woman in the world by sheer incident. Allowing himself to get caught in the current of movement Calen drifted towards the dancers like fine foam caught upon a gentle ocean tide. Here he could watch more advantageously and of course he just happened, again, to be near a mirror in which he could admire himself for all to see.

[tismeb4u]

He almost had to laugh at himself as he listened to her explanation; quick flicking glances verified her expression and features matched the openness of words from the girl in his arms. It had been so long that he had almost forgotten what it was like to converse with some one completely open; not trying to play the multi layered game Sirayn had introduced him to. Her remark about his desire to return to Sirayn's side immediately posted warnings in his mind and began a rethink of his outward appearance both now and as a reminder for the remainder of the night. If she felt that he was happier in Sirayn's presence then others also might start to wonder. That could only lead to a lecture he would very much like to avoid.

 

Gently his hand added a little more pressure to her back; tried to add more reassurance that he was here with her and not of the mind of another. So the boy and the girl are of a liking to the other. His mind splintered off into a mired array of ways the information could be used for leverage and persuasion. A natural reaction now, only where at one time that planing would be in relation to furthering Sirayn's needs. It now worked to further the chance of returning to favor in her sight and resuming a place in her service. Chuckling he offered her an understanding smile as a hint of jealousy washed over her before exclaiming it had been a dare and he would have equal returns. Taking advantage of a brief lulu in the melodies tempo Corin leaned in close to Shara both to ensure his words would meet her ear only and to raise question and wonder in any eyes that followed them, Sirayn's included.

 

“You have honorable goals and a fresh openness about you Shara, don't loose track of that in this place. But as for your plan to avoid the eyes of the Sisters, you have perhaps gone about it in a slightly wrong way. Games are played in the Tower at all times, especially at a social gathering. Who is granted what time with the Amrylin is something that would indeed be closely watched and pondered over. Not to mention she may well be doubly interested in why a guard trainee would be so brash as to approach the Amrylin seat for a dance; especially this night. She may even assume you are trying to ensure a pass of her class personally or for another. Either way you may find her presence and eyes one you two all the more.” Leaning back from her again he lead them around a small cluster of dancers and into an open pool of space before his head once more tilted to hers. The soft scent of flowers, blended in the soap she would have used to wash her hair, met his nose as some of the wispy strands brushed Corin's cheek. “Do not try so hard to be invisible here. That is what they are watching for the most. The one's that try not to be seen usually have a reason and the Sisters hate not to know the reason a person does anything. Perhaps I can help distract Mother's eye from you. Think of it a favor for a fellow soldier and beautiful women, but I can not guarantee the others.” His smile was rich and wide for her as the music returned to it's livelier tempo; Corin taking a moment to spin her out from him slowly. His nod spoke of approval as she turned after the appraising words.

 

His next step was to figure out how he was going to redirect her question about Sirayn and their history. But the light was shining on him this night; at least for this moment in the Wheel's weaving. The entry of Maegan Sedai gave him several opportunities the least of which meant the subject of Sirayn could be quietly tucked away after a simple transition of conversation. “One of the ways one meets the Amrylin has just been displayed to me in the boldness of a fine young girl.” He offered her a wink as if confirming an inside joke between them. As for your mentor's mentor, I have seen and talked with Aran on a few occasions, but alas our circles of work and time seem to spin in opposite directions more then not. He is certainly quiet a character.” A slippery snake of a character if you ask me. One best kept under glass where you can see what he is up to and know exactly where to find him. The whole blackmail thing with Sirayn still sat uneasy on his mind. If for no other reasons, he could not confirm Sirayn had been able to properly deal with him, or if the fool man was still bent on the same quest. Then there was the whole practical poisoning thing. Instead of fighting like a man Aran had practically drowned him with alcohol forced down his throat until he blacked out. Corin still very much wanted to find a way to even that score.

 

It took concentration to ensure none of his misgivings toward the man touched his face or voice. A feat he believed even his precious Sirayn Damodred would have been impressed by had she known and felt the inner turmoil that surged through him at just the sight of Aran. “It is good to see him back from ..... hmmm ... well they say the mind is the first thing to go,” he chuckled lightly. “If only the Yellow had a cure for forgetfulness. Oh well, do you receive any training from him, perhaps insights or is his pestilence strictly reserved for social occasions? He is quite skilled with his foot work you know.” Corin's eyes scanned the room in a seemingly casual manner once more but made careful note of Sirayn's progress and position in regards to Aran's. A slight correction in mid turn as if to avoid another couple set them on a path to remain between his self sworn charge and Aran.

[Arette]

Coren hand against Sahra's pulled her slightly closer against him and she complied but couldn't help the wondering rise of her eyebrows when he leaned slightly forward to speak to her ears only. Honorable goals indeed. Obviously he hadn't been able to understand all her motivations, but she was doing the right thing by trying to keep down her urges to own Fior. She wouldn't react kindly to that herself and she had no right to it either. Corin's comment about the Amyrlin Seat taking interest to them was a disconcerting one if not very likely. They were nobodies and, to her embarrasment, she was fairly certain that Corin would recite her reason to his partner once they were re-united if she happened to ask. That should put them off her mind as frivolous youths, or her at least. Light only knew what kind of an impression Fior would make.

 

She disagreed with his assesment that she was trying to be invisible. It went against her nature to be a wall flower and her dress choice spoke its own language. Still she smiled genuinely at his promise to help them out: a smile that turned amused at his flattery. Oh, she was certain that he could distract even an Aes Sedai if he set himself at it. He wasn't unpleasent to the eye and he danced well and he and Mother had to have established some kind of an relationship already since he was here with her tonight.

 

She merely smiled in return to his wink, still not convinced that approaching the Amyrlin Seat and borrowing him had been the best of ideas. But she could at least enjoy it as long as they were dancing and deal with what ever would come later when and if it became topical. He seemed to pick up her escape route Aran and she didn't mind talking about him. There were some paths she did not want to step to but she would keep his tip about hiding in plain sight in mind. Avoiding things just aroused interest so openess elsewhere could act as a diversion.

 

"Aran was gone for almost a year in the Borderlands and yes, his footwork is excellent as are his spear techniques too. That's what he showed me a bit before he left and I hope to learn more from him. Sana, me mentor that is, told me to learn the basics of all weapons when an opportunity presents itself and it is a sound advice." The fondness in her voice when she spoke of him could not be missed. She would have done alot to please Sana and make him proud of her. And Aran too, although she much preferred Sana's teaching methods. She could still remember the awful panic in Cairhien when she had thought that Sana was dead and he had let her to believe so in some weird imitation of a similar trip Aran had arranged for him. And the discussion that had ensued after Aran had caught her and Fior from his room... he never let you off the hook easily and poked and prodded your weakest spots. Not that Sana was a lax teacher but... no, she wasn't getting any special treatment. It was just vain wishful thinking that she was still even a bit special to him and not just as his first mentee.

 

She realised that she had just been frowning in her thoughs and gave a start with an apologetic smile. "But yes, that is pretty much it. We have had some serious conversations about my training and motivation but mostly it is just socialising and him being his 'charming' self." She bit back a smirk as she reminesced their family dinners. They would have to revive the odd tradition now when he was back. It would be good to go out with Sana again with a proper chaperone around, although Fior likely wouldn't view Aran as a proper anything. Still, he would just have to live with it or she would have to bite his head off.

 

"And I am sure that there is nothing wrong with your mind; we all have difficulties remembering unimportant trivialities, even when they have taken human form. Your own footwork isn't half bad either", she added with a mock praise. "Nice moves indeed. If I may ask... which are your chosen weapons? And who mentored you?"

[Jorality Algaranna]

When the door shut behind Fior, Jory leapt to her feet, and opened her trunk. In her life as a thief, she'd aquired quite a bit of both money and frippery, and she was delighted to be able to use the pretty gowns and jewels for more than infiltrating noble houses.

 

She pulled out a dress of Domani cut, frowned at it, and laid it on the bed. A little too much. Besides, they were hard to hide weapons in. After that went her rigid Cairheinen gowns. Finally, she settled on the daringly cut but still weapon friendly Ebou Dari dress she'd bought last time she'd been south. The dress was a brilliant emerald, with the petticoats in paler shades of green until the very bottom one was a pale new leaf green color. She paired the dress with a pair of white slippers beaded with dark jade pearls, and wore a necklace of gold and emeralds, her hair pinned up with two thin stilletos tipped with dangling strings of green beads. In the bodice of her dress, she hid a blade, and two beneath her skirts. With a touch of rouge to her lips, she smiled at her reflection in her small mirror, and headed out the door. What had taken Fior only a few minutes had taken her hours,and the time for the ball was at hand.

 

**

 

Jory prowled the ball, seeing Fior a couple of times, dancing with a woman who looked like she knew her way around the practice rings. She assumed that she was his beloved Sarha, and smiled to herself. Still fairly new at the tower, Jory knew few of her fellow trainees, though she could see a number of girls who smacked of novicehood running around and fawning over the menfolk. It made her grin, and when she turned towards a decorative mirror to check her hair, she was amused to see a young man, obviously a trainee, doing the same bloody thing.

 

She crossed the dance floor, and sidled up beside him. "Well, aren't we the prettiest peacocks in the room? Tell me handsome...is it possible for me to convince you to dance, or should I try asking that mirror?" she asked teasingly, with a broad inviting smile.

 

(Hey Los...I thought our two flamboyant characters might have some fun...besides, you said you LIKED theives...)

[Sirayn]

Taking the proffered hand, Fior swallowed his nervousness and bowed lightly. "If you please, Mother." He began to lead her towards the dance floor. As the slow waltz began to play, he bowed again, crossing his right leg behind his left and lifting her hand. As he raised himself back up he pulled her hand to the right, guiding her through a quick turn and pulling her close, resting his left hand on the small of her back.

 

His throat tightened as he began to lead her through the steps of the dance. This was the Amyrlin seat that he was handling... the most powerful woman alive. But she was so small. Almost frail looking. Taking a half-step back and spinning her again, her flowing white dress twirling up with the speed of the turn, he stepped under her arm and pulled her back towards him.

 

His mouth was dry and he opened his mouth in an attempt to make conversation, but nothing would come out. Closing it again, he simply focused on the rythm of the dance and continued to push the nervousness that he was feeling into a dark corner of his mind.

 

He bowed well, at least, though the fact that she couldn’t stop comparing every strange young man she met to her lost son unnerved her behind what she hoped was an impeccable Aes Sedai manner. One day she was going to pass a law against dancing; it involved far too much being held close and permitting people to touch her for her liking. Unfortunately people might begin to ask questions if she started outlawing forms of entertainment and if she banned everything that irritated her there wouldn’t be any time for hobbies like saving the world. So she held her tongue and let him lead her in the dance.

 

The boy turned out to be the strong, silent type. Either that or he had been born with some defect of the mind; at least she drew this conclusion from how he opened and shut his mouth like a fish without delivering a single word. Still, the art of making light and witty conversation with strangers was known to few, and she wasn’t exactly a master herself. Sirayn fixed her unfortunate partner with a cool grey gaze and sallied forth into the treacherous seas of small talk: “I am passing curious as to what crime you committed against the young lady to make her inflict the Amyrlin Seat on you.”

 

Fior couldn't stop the chuckle at her words, and the wall of tension broke inside of him. "Well, I wouldn't say it was inflicting, necessarily." He replied with a bit of a blush.

 

Guiding her through a turn, he spun her out away from him, stepping under her arm, and pulled her back into close position. "Truth to tell, it's something of an honor." Her face remained unreadable, and he couldn't help thinking that it wasn't fair. He was used to gauging people based on their facial expressions. A quick turn and a moment later, he added in explanation, "My mother trained here as a girl."

 

Another flatterer, she thought wryly, knowing full well that any situation involving an Amyrlin and a trainee by necessity had some element of compulsion. Inflict it certainly was. “Save your honour, boy. If you’re short on it I’d as soon you earned it by remaining alert and on guard.” On second thoughts, hearing quite how unnecessarily harsh her comment sounded even when devoid of the slightest inflection, Sirayn figured she might have made a slight misstep. No doubt the boy still had stars in his eyes and all the other trappings of youth that made him fit only for ceremonial purposes -- making her comment useless anyway -- but it was scarcely fitting conversation for a social occasion.

 

So much for the etiquette master. She had never been good with people; she preferred them faceless, nameless, just statistics and writing easily dealt with from a distance. Apparently even at a crowded social function she couldn’t disguise the fact that her attention was elsewhere … on the Tower’s security, on the Blight and, ultimately, on Shayol Ghul itself. Against this prospect the flame of casual conversation dimmed somewhat. “So,” she attempted to lighten her tone, “you have a family history of service to the Tower?”

 

Her initial comment bristled him a bit, but he decided to overlook it. He suspected that she wasn't very good at dealing with commoners, and he wouldn't be surprised if she was annoyed with his intrusion.

 

Sweeping her around him in a complicated turn made all the more difficult by her missing limb. Nevertheless, he pulled it off and turned back to face her. "I know that they recruited my mother as a girl, but she wasn't strong enough in the One Power to make it to the rank of full sister." As the music swelled he remembered something else. "Actually, every second son of my family comes here to train." Turning around and changing hands, pulling her through another spin that twirled her dress about like a schoolgirls, he pulled her back to him.

 

"If I have things my way though, I'll be the first in my family's history to become a Warder."

 

Had she not been in public she might have frowned to hear that his mother had been turned away because she lacked the strength to become Aes Sedai. That was another tradition she intended to overturn some day; she herself had made it to the ring by a whisker and the shawl by an eyelash, to the best of her knowledge she was still the weakest sister in the Tower, and it had only forced her to get smarter. In her opinion the One Power had very little to do with being Aes Sedai -- unlike, say, the ability to make small talk with a stranger on the dance floor while ensuring that Darkfriend partners did not poison anyone.

 

Become a Warder? Brows raised, she looked the boy over again, strangling out a succession of cutting comments. On reflection she didn’t think young Master Canain would be flattered by being asked why under the Light anyone would want to bond him any more than why under the Light he would want to bond anyone. “Really?” a polite murmur as Sirayn pictured this one in the mud and blood and chaos of Dumai’s Wells and wondered how long he’d last with Asha’man breaking the ground beneath his feet. Maybe he would hold once fully trained. Maybe not. But either way, what good would he do anyone?

 

People had failed to understand that the advent of Dreadlords, the Black Tower and Aiel channellers had fundamentally changed warfare. The sweetly romantic concept of the swordsman sworn to service might set all the novices to giggling, but the cold reality was that Gaidin no longer had a purpose and all the precious time spent training Tower Guards should be better spent amassing a force of channellers. Her theories had been proven right on the field at Dumai’s Wells when essentially every non-channeller they had brought, including one bonded to her, had been massacred by channellers. They just didn’t have a chance.

 

So she had little sympathy for that particular goal and just as much respect for the intelligence of those who pursued it. She kept her tone neutral: “I wish you the best of luck with your training.” She also wished he would develop some sense, or possibly mutate into a female channeller, before his choices killed him, but people had difficulty accepting their own futility. “Do you have anyone lined up to bond you?” Any idiot who either didn’t or refused to see that they would wind up just like her -- alone, grieving and wishing she had exercised some intelligence when there was still time.

 

Her face betrayed little, though he hadn't really expected it to. She was an Aes Sedai, after all. Her responses were short and polite, not really giving him much to react to. Fior was, admittedly, thrown off by her. He was normally able to make conversation with even the most laconic of characters, but she threw him, and that drove him to push at her. Even the Amyrlin seat had to be a person. She hadn't always been the most powerful woman in the world.

 

Guiding her through yet another complex turn, he smiled at her question. "No, not at the moment. Haven't really been looking all that hard. I figure things will happen when they're supposed to. Wheel weaves and what'not."

 

As their bodies parted, connected only by their hands, another thought struck him and it amused him enough to go with it. Pulling her back in close, he tried to keep the garish grin from his face as he asked, "Why, are you looking?”

 

The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. Her mother had told her that often, when she was just a tiny child, illiterate and happily so in the distant forests of her home. That just went to show how much her mother had known. Sirayn found it hard to believe that any inhuman driving force would intend for her to live, even to stand as Amyrlin Seat in the heart of the greatest organisation in the world, when so many others had fallen: when dark Jehanine de’Gavrielle, the Green Ajah’s brightest star, had been mistaken for her one black night and never lived to forgive her; when both her Gaidin had died for her own stupidity; when the last ever night was drawing close, the last great civilisations of man were falling and the end of the world was only a few years away.

 

She had never intended this either. She had been happy to serve Lanfir Leah Marithsen. Ironic that it had taken so much time, so much tension and not a little bitterness to work out just how much faith she had placed in the Tower’s saviour, golden Lanfir, the only hero they had ever needed. She had never willingly bent her knee to anyone but the rightful Amyrlin and, if she were honest with herself, she had never wanted that place for herself. What did she know about ruling? What did she know about anything but war -- war and winter and being harder and colder than both? Nothing. But it had fallen to her and this cup could pass to no other before Tarmon Gai’don came.

 

Against such thoughts she found it startling to be asked about her personal life. In fact startled was but the first of many responses; discomfort, aversion to discussing such a private matter, and the kind of old pain she had never learnt to deal with. The question hit far too close to the bone for her to take it quietly. She killed a number of sarcastic responses, but when she considered telling a little of the truth … that it was considered proper to leave a certain gap between the death of one’s last Warder and priming one’s next and that these were mourning colours for a reason … she didn’t even want to think about this in public much less talk about it. Sirayn substituted a chilly: “If I want my quarters in a state of disarray, my work interrupted at every opportunity and my every order ignored, I’ll get a puppy.”

 

It was clear to Fior that he had struck a nerve. Her Aes Sedai demeanor never dropped; he couldn't read the what or why of her response, but he could see that the subject of warders was one that she was not keen on. He pondered the matter for a moment, but it could be any number of reasons.

 

And there was the tickle in the back of his head. The one that told him to push the subject, to press that sensitive spot and force her to deal with whatever was bothering her. His common sense spoke against it, but as Sahra said, he never was very pragmatic.

 

"I'll keep that in mind for your next naming day." He said with a friendly smile. "Surely having a Warder has some merits."

 

On the one hand, she kind of liked it in a masochistic way when people took her sarcasm as it was intended and responded in kind. It showed courage as well as composure and she valued both qualities highly -- or at least she had done until her unwise weakness for polite young men had put her in a stranger’s bed forkrooted so heavily she couldn’t lift a finger. On the other hand, she definitely disliked having her personal affairs pried into. She had been harassed by some real experts and Sirayn considered herself to be uncannily good at uncovering duplicity in the most harmless-seeming question or, as others would put it, being paranoid.

 

Warders had no merits. If she was lucky they might occasionally behave like seeing her did not disgust them, but whenever she had let them try to comfort her, it had always been a prelude to a particularly unfortunate incident; a random act of violence, betrayal or worse. In her experience a Gaidin had an awe-inspiring ability to work out exactly when she most needed them and choose that moment to abandon her. That made them worse than a liability. Allowing oneself to rely on or even just to like somebody who could turn homicidal at any moment was just setting oneself up for a blow.

 

She hated even thinking about this. It just reminded her that in earlier years, before Sirayn Damodred, icily composed Amyrlin, there had been a coward who had permitted herself to be systematically mistreated and betrayed by the people she had stupidly put her trust in. She still winced to think of how fiercely she had grieved for her first Warder although he had chosen to kill himself as a last act of revenge against her. It didn’t take a genius to work out which precise moment her second Warder had chosen to abandon her. She wasn’t ever going back to that -- that dependence. Nobody deserved that level of trust.

 

Only fools got miserable over the consequences of their own folly. She didn’t believe in all this flower-child rubbish about talking about one’s feelings; emotions were to be mastered and, ideally, got rid of altogether. In fact, the only people who asked her meddlesome questions about her private life had almost universally turned out to be Darkfriends, which led her to consider Master Fior Canain speculatively. “I wonder, young man.” Even and calm, that was her, nothing to suggest that she had any feelings whatsoever on any topic at all. “Do you know a Tower Guard by the name of Aran? Are you a friend of his at all?” She rounded it off with a cool smile. If he was another of Aran’s bloody agents he had been found out.

 

Sirayn & Fior

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Nerome had excused himself with a trace of his former character returning; the shock of Rossa’s acceptance of his pledge, their pact to be Aes Sedai and Warder beginning to sink in and he seemed to realise that they were, in fact, at the culmination of a lesson rather than a privately arranged rendezvous. Her lips curved into a smile, a secret smile reserved for Nerome, and she watched him leave feeling happier than she had done in a long time. It was time for Rossa to go and present herself amongst her fellows to show off her exquisite courtly manners. This was what she had been born to do!

 

She left her glass with a servant holding a silver tray, and glided across the floor to where the others were mingling. Trainees and novices, accepted and Aes Sedai mixed with tinkling laughter and sly glances at the others. The political undercurrents in this room bubbled like soup unattended on the stove. Everyone was on their best behaviour and putting on the best face they possibly could, but there were undertones. Rossa’s ears almost pricked up like a cat’s to catch snippets of conversation that might be useful in one way or another. This was a chance to mingle with the highest and the lowest of the White Tower – what information could be gleaned from this?

 

An image flickered to her mind of how she might have been. The High Seat of her house, or married to another house of high repute and being the lady with her every action and decree. So far removed from the near-scullery maid she had been at times in her novitiate, and so far from the weeping girl that had cried tears of pained vengeance on her bed, night after night. Rossa was a different person now.

 

The trainees held most of the younger girls’ eyes. It wasn’t really a surprise; they had a catlike grace that Rossa appreciated and they had not likely seen men at this close proximity in a long time. Behind a cool mask that held merely a tinge of amusement, Rossa saw butterflies wearing novice white attempting to land on a lion’s nose. When they were batted away, or eaten, Rossa’s smile grew a little.

 

Most of the room was an opportunity for a wonderful study, but she merely kept her opinions to herself and waited for a time she could pick up her sketchbook and charcoals and draw her scenes from her mind. Captions came and went; a few of the more memorable ones, the ones that made her satirical mind laugh, stayed with her and she would note those down. One never knew when such material would come in handy. Ruefully Rossa remembered the time she had been less than discreet with her first attempts at drawing, adorning the walls at strategic points of the walls in the Blue Ajah quarters. It had brought her closer to her Ajah choice and given her a bit more reticence – Daes Dae’mar was played by experts here, and while Rossa was good, there were some far superior to her.

 

Her eye was drawn to likely targets for her wit to portray, but she did not. Using the ball as an exercise for self-control in more ways than her temper or humour, Rossa decided to walk around and attempt some of the conversational gambits they had been taught as part of the Basic Etiquette lessons.

[tismeb4u]

A fondness entered her voice unmasked as she spoke of Sana her mentor. It was refreshing to hear a bond formed between mentor and mentee that would run deep enough for those emotions to surface in conversation. It showed a great deal of respect and understanding on both parties side; something Corin had reveled in with his mentor when he still trained in the yard for the approval of another. In reality he still did but the source of the approval was vastly different now. His eyes took in the movements of Sirayn and Fior from the corner of his vision without pointedly looking to them then brought Aran in from the other corner. A sweep of his hand sent Shara out in a light spin in front of him before drawing back in to his arms again.

 

It was hard to determine so far from their conversation whether Aran was included in her admiration or just a close thread in a shared patterned tapestry. Either way it appeared she held him in regard and good favor. He would have to watch his conversation from here on to ensure nothing unexpected made it's way back to the scoundrel himself. The smirk after her comment about Aran being charming would have bee in stark contrast to the frown and glower that would have painted Corin's if he would have let the emotion surface. “Yes charming,” there was no edge to his voice but it did not hold the wave of enthusiasm his partner's certainly had. There was a weasel in the hen house and he could due precious little about that for the moment.

 

He smiled at her words of flattery. Many months of bruising and pain had gone in to learning the fluidity that graced his steps now; years of continued practice to keep and further refine them. Reikan had transformed him in so many ways; Sirayn furthering the refinement. In a way, for a good portion of his trainee years he had two mentors. One assigned by the Tower to teach and build him into a tool to aid the Towers purpose, and one quietly adopted to refine and create the minute details that would make that tool of value to the Tower's occupants. Teachings from the first had ended with the reaching of the cloak, but the teachings of the later had only ended by his own stupidness by falling prey to his own desires. His mind noted the way Sirayn flowed out into a full spin and then returned with perfect easy to Fior.

 

“For weapons I am much like most in my choice of a sword. The Bastard sword for it's mix of grace and power. The sword had often fascinated me when I was young and seemed like the logical choice when presented with the vast array of weapons when I arrived here. But I also maintain a solid proficiency in the bow. A weapon taught to me by my father and the one comforting feel of home that stayed here with me while I trained.” His voice lightened slightly with the remembrance of home and a youth forgotten. In other circles he would have stamped the emotion as it rose giving it no chance at life. But in the company of Shara he allowed the edges to surface, appearance to keep from sounding cold and distant. “I still enjoy a good day at the bow more then the sword, but the blade has grow on me. As for my mentor ... Reikan was a fine man and a very skilled instructor,” and friend. “I don't know if you have heard of him or not. He left before you would have come to the Tower, a shame to loose someone of such bearing. But we all must find our way as the need inside dictates. He was a great mentor and I was very proud to have trained under him. Perhaps our paths will once more cross in the future.” The corners of his mouth curled slightly as he spoke of Reikan, the one man that had been like a father to him.

 

“It is good that there is no conflict in training gaols or idea's between Sana and Aran, at least you do not mention any. Sometime the odd issue will arise, but when it does not a person can reap a great benefit from two different views and methods.” As he had from Reikan and Sirayn. “Does Fior train with you or Aran at times as well or is this just a benefit you receive through the past association of a mentor who still has access to his own prior mentor?”

[Arette]

Sahra listened with interest as Corin explained his weapon of a choice and motives behind it. That was the most intriguing part. Some claimed that the weapon told much of its carried but since so many chose the sword, she was more interested of their reasons. She smiled as he spoke of his father and home, they had clearly been important to him. She wondered if he had kept in touch. Likely.

 

"I'm afraid that Reikan indeed left the Tower before I came here. He sounds like a fine man, though and I am sure that you two will meet again. Why did he leave, do you know?" She was curious why such an established Tower Guard would leave the service. A mission gone bad or just personal reasons?

 

She frowned at Corin's question about Fior and Aran. That was a tangled issue and one that she had tried to stay away from. It was between the two of them and even though she liked Grandpa, it didn't mean that her love had to. Aran likely felt like Fior had been the fool and expected him to make the first move or just come to his senses and leave it all behind him. She could understand why Fior was upset with him but then she really couldn't. And she hadn't pressed the issue because he didn't seem to like to talk about it. Fior was a grown man and could handle his own problems with someone if he just wanted to. Of course she would have prefered him to get along with her little family but it was impossible already because of Sana. A small sigh escaped her at the thought of him.

 

"Aran certainly has his unique ways", she muttered remembering the way he had handled walking on them. "He and Fior do not always quite understand each others. They don't associate much so Aran is just mine and Sana's personal bane." The smile indicated that there was really no vehemence behind the word. But she was not going to divulge anymore since their personal affairs were not something she wanted to shout to the whole world. Therefore a change of topic was needed.

 

"Bastard sword is my chosen weapon too although I can see why Sana changed into using mainly the staff. Why did it fascinate you so much as a youngster?" Slight blush tinged her cheeks and she struggled for a moment pondering whether she would tell him of her silly dreams or not. She finally decided against it since he was an almost complete stranger. Maybe, if he would be interested of sparring with her even though her skills were much inferior, they could get to know each others better. "Have you seen your family since becoming to the Tower?" There was a slight longing in her voice. "You are lucky to have had such a normal childhood. I suppose I did in a sense too but then I also didn't. I am an orphan. But it is such a gloomy topic. Still, I think that that is part of the reason why Aran is so important to me." Even if their little family worked in quite peculiar ways.

[Guest Estel]

Faerthines glared drunkenly at the man’s retreating back after his obvious dismissal. “Bastard.” The boy cursed aloud but the sound was swallowed up in the din of conversation and music. All for the better too, inebriated as he was, there was no way Faerthines could stand his ground in a fight.

 

Snatching a drink from the closest server, he was too drunk to recognize what type of wine it was, he drained it in a long draught that staggered him. In the process, he bumped up against a group of flirtatious Trainees and Novices who took one look, recognized that he was completely out of his mind with drink, sneered and then turned back to the slightly more sober trainees.

 

“Burn you all.” he muttered, grabbing another drink. No longer being able to stand the constant condescending looks of his peers, he stumbled outside for a breath of fresh air, taking care to avoid Aes Sedai.

 

ooc: I've got him away from the action 'til you're read Sira

[Sirayn]

Ooc: Many thanks to the charming Master Canain for the play!

 

Fior didn't even bother to hide the look of disgust on his face at the mention of Aran's name. "Know? Yes. Like? Not so much. I don't get along well with sadists." He cocked his head in thought for a moment before adding, "Why do you ask?"

 

Sadists! She began to see the Canain boy in a whole new light. Evidently she had been wrong to think that he was a liar and a flatterer, or possibly an empty-headed fool who had misjudged the tactical situation so gravely that he wanted to get bonded or, in her preferred terminology, commit suicide; clearly the young man possessed an unusual amount of perception. In fact, his insight into the blackened little heart rather than how many tankards of ale one could knock back made him a remarkably astute individual. If he didn’t ask so many unwanted questions she might have considered keeping this one.

 

The rest she disregarded; Sirayn was currently mastering the art of ignoring or subverting questions she didn’t want to answer. “All of a sudden you fascinate me, young man.” She put a dry twist on the words. “That’s quite a name to call a fellow man of the Tower.” Did he make Fior touch him too? Who else had nightmares about being trapped in too small of a room with someone who kept making them touch him? She bit off the question, though it twisted at her with a sudden, stupid desire to know; she wasn’t entirely sure she could control the discussion which would inevitably follow -- at least not without making a complete and utter fool of herself in public. “Has he insulted you?”

 

Fior eyed her carefully for a moment as she spoke. Her face still betrayed little, but he found it odd that the Amyrlin would be so casual about a trainee insulting a man already raised to the Red Cloak. He couldn't help but wonder if she was baiting him. If she was he'd likely be in a great deal of trouble. If she wasn't... now that was an interesting line of thinking.

 

"It's a name well earned. No, he hasn't insulted me... technically." He stopped speaking as he raised his arm, twirling her under it, behind his back, and returning her to facing him again. "I simply don't agree with his methods when it comes to handling those around him. Trainees in particular." He locked eyes with her and held her gaze steadily, carefully considering his next words. "But surely these are matters above your concern, Mother. You shouldn't let me trouble you."

 

Technically: the word covered a wealth of possibilities. Maybe the wretched man was blackmailing young Master Canain too, although she considered this improbable, unless the boy Fior had a penchant for stockpiling hazardous drugs as well. Sirayn did her best to imagine this fair-faced youngster hoarding a supply of forkroot but her imagination broke down. Procuring something like that took time, effort and contacts … not to mention a certain deviousness. She needed to see a little more from this one before she ascribed that level of effectiveness to a half-trained stripling.

 

Despite her best efforts she wasn’t entirely certain what to make of his last words. Perhaps she was being cued to drop the topic, possibly because the perpetrator of all these offences might be lurking at any moment, or maybe it was just a hook for her to continue. It wasn’t her job to translate the subtleties he was leaving unspoken, so Sirayn settled for a pleasant smile: “You’re quite right, young man, and I’d hate you to trouble me.” An interesting little aside, all told. She wondered how many more people had secret, well-hidden grudges against her least favourite midget. “Is the young lady a friend of his?”

 

The song was nearing it's crescendo, which meant that it would be over soon, and then Sahra would be back to pull him into her arms to dance away the remainder of the evening. He still had a few moments though, and mother here was begining to truly intrigue him.

 

"Sahra? Yes, she is. Though I imagine it's largely by virtue of the fact that Ursana's her mentor, and he trained under Aran. That's not to say that she doesn't get fed up with the way he handles certain things. I just think that she's so commited to the tower that she'll accept any punishment, just or otherwise, in order to see her training through. That and, well, Aran does have a certain charm when it comes to women." He smiled down at the slight woman in his arms. "But everyone's entitled to their own opinion, 'eh?”

 

So at least one of them was an agent. She didn’t like this new development at all. Not only was the young lady working for Aran, but her friend wasn’t even attempting to hide it … which fitted in with the senselessly brash way Aran liked to conduct his affairs but not with any kind of logic at all. It led her to strongly suspect that green-eyed Fior Canain had his own master -- but perhaps not one she knew of. That she cared for least of all. If she was to be surrounded by liars, flatterers and instruments of other powers she at least wanted to know who was stalking her so she could judge how harshly to deal with their minions.

 

“Charm when it comes to women?” Her dark brows rose a fraction. She hadn’t found him remotely charming. Offensive certainly, sadistic often, and skilled at applying so much pressure she wanted to crawl into the nearest dark corner and hide … even tolerable would be too strong a word. “I’ll take your word for it. Perhaps you know him better than I do.” Perhaps he had never felt the cold crawling horror of being trapped in a room with somebody who kept touching them. She banished the thought; it was an ill-judged memory to bring up while some stranger’s shifty agent twirled her like a doll. “I trust you two will solve your … differences when you both wear the red cloak.”

 

Fior raised an eyebrow at the older woman. "Somehow I doubt that. I simply don't like the man. I'll serve next to him, if I must, but I don't know that I could ever trust him. I'll always be half expecting to find his knife in my back."

 

As the music began to trail off and couples began to leave the dance floor, Fior spun the Amyrlin seat one last time, drawing her in close for a half-dip. Stepping back and holding her hand out before him, he smiled up at the woman the world called 'Mother'.

 

"I believe that ends our dance. It has truly been a pleasure talking to you. Perhaps we can do it again sometime?"

 

Frankly she didn’t blame him; if the boy knew that Aran preferred subtler methods than a knife he might have real cause for concern. But an Amyrlin Seat should not foster discord in her own ranks, even if one participant was the least discreet Darkfriend in the history of creation, so she did not confer her infinite approval upon the young man and possibly suggest that he get his own knife in first as a kind of pre-emptive self-defence, nor supply resources for the use thereof. Even if she wished somebody would kill the wretched Darkfriend so she could disclaim all knowledge.

 

In fact, all she did was step away as the music slid into a low diminuendo and the intricate protocols of partner-swapping began anew. For reasons as yet unknown to her he kept hold of her hand; she eyed her hand in his, four fingers and a thumb, the price of her independence, and stamped on the urge to pull away. Truly a pleasure? Yes, she bet the prospect of reporting all this to his master had young Master Canain positively thrilled. Now if only she could get him to release interesting information to her too they could both be pleased together.

 

His parting words puzzled her. Convoluted as her thinking might be on occasion, she recognised a cue to continue the conversation elsewhere when it was served up on a platter. Her first instinct was to inform him that she hadn’t fallen for that line since she was about sixteen years old, her second to murmur some open-ended platitude and make good her escape, but on reflection … why turn down a beautiful opportunity to learn more? The boy was practically begging her to use him. Somebody’s sinister agent himself, not to mention a gilt-edged chance to hit the bane of her life where it hurt, he was a tool she could use with a clear conscience to many a good effect.

 

Her mood improved markedly. She detached her hand from his, as courteously as possible, and bestowed at least half a smile upon her victim. “Now you mention it, perhaps I could find time for you in my schedule, Master Canain.” Let him ponder when and, indeed, if he might be summoned; maybe time would allow him to polish whatever story he planned to give her. “Have fun with your lady tonight. Good evening to you.”

 

Sirayn & Fior

[tismeb4u]

Sahra seemed to wear so much of her emotions on her face that is was almost alarming. After spending so much time in the presence of one that showed nothing at first he had thought perhaps she wove a trick to guide him to a dance he would not readily step out on of his own accord. But the more they chatted the more he became aware that she truly was that fresh with her display of emotion. The smile during his words of home and family was warm and thoughtful had he not been a student in Daes Dae'mar then he would have found a great compelling in that look to continue further in his heritage. Likewise the frown at his question in reference to Fior and Aran spoke of a subject she had hoped to avoid, secrets she preferred to keep buried. Curiosity and a burrowing need to know the reason behind her resistance swept through him; mind working on other avenues to broach the subject for a new crack.

 

There had to be a reason the two did not get along. Corin could think of several of his own for why he hated the man. But those all revolved around Sirayn and her protection. Why Fior would find hardship with the fool was a mystery that needed to have light shown on it. “ No I am afraid beyond his own personal need to find something in himself, I have no idea why he departed us. But it was with great well wishing and sorrow that we all saw him off. Last I had heard he was somewhere in the northern regions. But with the delay in news he could be anywhere really. If our paths should meet again I will be greatly pleased, but if not I know he will find what he seeks and be all the more because of it.” Corin's eyes shown briefly with pride for a man he had trained under. Once again emotion carefully placed to keep a warm and remembered air about them. “Your personal bane? You say that with such a warmth there is obviously more to the three of you then simple training. It is a shame that Fior could not see things as you do. After all the two of you are obviously fond of the other and you are found of your mentor and his, if in another way all together.” A twinge of concern wrapped Corin's words as he steered Sahra through a cluster of dancers. “It must be hard on you to have unrest between the three.”

 

Leaving the unasked question hang there between them Corin took the opportunity in the crescendoing tempo to twirl Sahra in a series of tight twirls around himself and then back into his arms. “The Bastard sword, you have chosen a fine instrument. Even with some of it's inherit hindrances it is still a fine

work of art in the hands of a master. You really must demonstrate your skills for me one day, I think I would like that. As for my fascination with it. I would say a lot stemmed from watching the soldiers in training on those clear summer days of my youth. The flash of steel in perfect fluidity as they whispered through the air. That same effortlessness lent by it's power would slip through the training forms armored or not. That was a weapon a man could live by.” He smiled back at Sahra, “silly childhood fancies. But they stuck with me and bubbled to the surface when I was presented with the option to choose, in a way it completes me much like a human relationship helps complete others.”

 

The greatest benefit of how free and open Sahra was with her feelings was the opening she returned to Corin to broach the Aran topic further by tying it to family. A jem he was not about to let slip uncapitalized. “Yes and no really. I have not seen them since I left to travel to Tar Valon in hopes of training with the Guard. But I have been able to have a little correspondence with them since then. It has been very sporadic for the most part but any letter form home is a welcomed one. I must say I do not envy your upbringing. I am not sure I can even imagine not being raised in the family as I was. But perhaps you are right.” Swinging her out as the music came to a halt, Corin dropped in to a perfect gentleman's bow before her and placed a light kiss on the back of her hand. “It has been a honor to have had this dance lady Sahra. We really must do this again some time.” Rising he pulled her gently to his side as he slipped her hand though his arm and lead her off the dance floor. “ Perhaps the missing father figure is what binds you to your bane. That being the case it would certainly lend true to the friction between Fior, a suitor of sorts, and a fatherly type associate who feels the need for protecting.”

 

He left the thought for her to ponder a moment as they slipped off the dance floor and into the surrounding pockets of conversation. Stopping in an open spot he turned to face her again, a brilliant smile painting his face. “But I suppose I am boring your with my babble. I do hope you take me up on the offer some day, I would enjoy seeing the style in which you make the Bastard sing. Perhaps then we can continue our conversation, but I am sure you are eager to be back in familiar arms so I will keep you no further.” His head dipped slightly as he released her hand.

 

OOC: Sorry for the delays Arette, it's just been a bad run RL wise. PM me if you are interested in something outside the ball. :)

[Arette]

Sahra murmured a polite wish that Corin and Reikan would meet one day and that his mentor would indeed find what he was looking forward. She nodded and smiled slightly in confirmation that she, Sana and Aran were more than just trainer and trainees but then Corin continued on the topic of difficulties between Aran and Fior. Sahra cringed slightly before schooling her face to neutrality. She considered herself faulty of all the difficulties between the men of her life. First Sana and Fior and it had been her bright idea to use Aran's room: a wonderful joke, yes, but it was a shame how it had ended. "Thank you for your concern but all three are pretty reasonable about it and just avoid each others. And Fior didn't really spend that much time with us even before the... ahem... well, he just didn't."

 

Thankfully he broke the awkward silence by speaking of weapons. She nodded eagerly to signal that she would enjoy a spar with Corin. He was much better than she but that kind of matches were always very instructional and she could possibly gleam some new techniques from him. And if his reason for choosing the long sword was silly, then surely hers was foolish. Imagining that she could one day parallel Artur Hawkwing and his Justice or Gaidal Cain or Jearom. But a girl had to have dreams and if she one day was even one tenth of what the great heroes had been, she should be satisfied. Or then not since she liked to set her aims high.

 

She listened compassionately Corin relating how little contact he had had with his family but even having just correspondence was better than nothing. And he could always go and visit. She didn't mind him mentioning her upbringing, after all she had people too to go to, aunt Emma and old Jak. It had been very ungreatful of her to complain at all.

 

The music was over and he gave a perfect courtman's bow that she returned with a graceful curtsey even as he kissed her hand. It definately warmed her even though it was just a polite gesture and she didn't spare the radiance of her smile. "The pleasure has been mine, Corin. You really are a wonderful dancer and I will happily swirl around with you any time, be it with blades or in more peaceful signs." She followed his lead back to their own partners and was a bit surprised when he continued on the topic of Aran. But then that was the last thing she had mentioned so he was just being courteous.

 

His assessment of Aran as a watchful father elicited a hearty laughter from Sahra. She was sorely tempted to slip a bit of a truth and for a moment she was taken by the Dragon and did just that. Her eyes shone with mirth as she turned to Corin. "Oh if only you knew. He suggested to join us when we..." She kept a small effective pause and was quite certain she picked surprise and maybe even shock from Corin's face before he arched a questioning eyebrow. "A jest", she added with a chuckle and never specified if she meant that Aran's proposition had been one or that the whole thing was a joke.

 

They spoke no further until it was time to part. He looked quite handsome with a smile lighting his face. "I wasn't bored for a moment and like I said, I would welcome a further conversation or dance or spar or all three. Have a wonderful evening, Corin. You should return to the Mother so she cannot accuse me of stealing her partner for overly long." Her shiver was only partially fake. With a last nod Corin slipped into the crowd and she began to wander herself and look for Fior who would better be trying to find her too. She had no intention of sharing him with anyone else tonight. Though the 'price' of this one dance should be quite enjoyable to pay. Her love could be very creative with thinking up things like that, she thought with a smoldering inner smile.

 

After a while of futile meandering in the mass, an arm wrapped around her waist and twirled her around.

 

 

OOC: Of course I'd be interested of further RPs :) I shall start us a spar thread this weekend that can then lead to more chatting. I just wanted to drop some more hints ICly and thusly this last post ;)

[Sirayn]

Having finished with the Canain boy she had been expecting to return to her original partner -- peel him off the latest in his succession of redheaded love objects, warn him that she was always watching him, perhaps dissuade him from poisoning anyone … and find out what information he had gained from Aran’s little agent. Indeed, when she cast a glance across the dancefloor, she found Corin bloody Danveer and his new paramour without any trouble at all. To nobody’s surprise they seemed to have taken to each other. Perhaps she ought to warn him about the dangers of canoodling in public as well.

 

In one of those unfortunate little coincidences she moved away from the boy Fior Canain, intending to cut in and remove her partner from the temptation of so many unattended glasses, such pretty redheads and so little critical supervision, only to spot another teenage troublemaker slinking off. She fixed Estel’s wretched son with an unnoticed but icy stare: why she had to tolerate so many lackwits around her she had never figured out. No rest for the wicked. Thoroughly irritated, she wound her way through the crowd, beginning to wish she hadn’t worn the seven-striped shawl like a banner, and slipped out after the halfwit boy.

 

Evidently it was her lucky night. The only person for whose intelligence she had such little respect that she did not believe he could possibly be an agent was staggering drunk -- not only that but still carrying another drink even now. She surveyed the miscreant with thinly disguised disgust. She had hated the drink ever since a little incident in Ebou Dar she never spoke of, and to find somebody so defenceless, made so graceless by the hard stuff repelled her. Did the boy have no control? No dignity? She kept her voice low, controlling her tone. “I believe I said it would be the rain barrel for drunks, young man.”

 

Faerthines had gotten roughly as far as say… a dozen stumbles and lurches out the nearest door, cradling his already empty cup like a small child. Very little went through his hazy mind except a certain revelry in being alone with a cup of… what used to be alcohol. That and pride for having managed to get so completely drunk in a roomful of Aes Sedai and his superiors without being caught.

 

Of course, the commanding, painfully familiar voice behind him stopped this as dead as if she had obliterated it with the Power. Of all the people to catch him, even Ginae would have been better! Light, it wasn’t even just that she was the Amyrlin Seat but the fact that she connected him with his mother. His Light-forsaken disappointment of a mother.

 

This mental debate was, of course, not seen by Sirayn, but the piteous whine, the stumbled turn-around- during which he managed to trip and fall flat on his behind- and the “Damnit.” were.

 

Night had closed darkly about them. Behind them the lights burned on in the great hall; a few solitary lanterns flung their shadows long across the street. She regarded the boy on the ground, quite impassive, only the slow open and close of her fingers to show any motion at all. And inwardly she worked hard to cut all the ties -- to ignore many and subtle connections to earlier times, to shades and memories … Many a year ago she had given her precious little children up to strangers. They had come back to her many years later, but strangers themselves, grown tall and unfamiliar to her. Neither had needed her for anything. Neither had wanted her.

 

Briefly she contemplated offering him her hand, helping him up, seeing that he returned safely to his quarters. A fool’s thoughts: he didn’t need her either. It would be far better if she simply ducked him in the rain barrel, as she had promised all along, and left him dripping and half-sober on the cobblestones. Instead she looked up and down the street, checking that they had no little observers, then leaned against the barrel of possible impending doom and folded her arms. Her voice remained level … even gentle. “Why do you not go to your mother, boy?”

 

Even in his inebriated state he noticed this odd change in Sirayn’s manner. His eyebrows drew down and his face was fixed in a stupid, confused expression as he sort of stared at her. Every so often, he tilted his head as if the new angle would somehow give him a better perspective and understanding of this sudden change in temperament. Reasons floated through his mind but were made slippery by wine and were forgotten as soon as they were thought.

 

Had she caught him sober, or asked the question using any other emotion, she would have gotten nothing out of him but an explosion of angry resentment. As it were, even from a person so foreign and aloof as the Amyrlin Seat, that touch of gentleness- even if feigned- was what he craved. He was an outcast, disowned by his mother, the disappointment of his mother and generally hated by his fellow trainees- beggars can’t be choosers and he took the scrap she dished out.

 

“Why? To be rejected again. To be told ‘you weren’t supposed to happen, you were a biggest mistake?’” Faerthines snorted sadly.

 

Her brows drew down in turn. Light only knew she knew the many perils associated with having children, especially for those whose highest calling must always be the Tower, but she did not hold with mothers taking their own sins out upon their children. Nobody had told her that Estel spoke to her son so harshly. She had no right to interfere here, she told herself that firmly, but … it didn’t seem right. Estel still had a son. A drunk and a fool he might be, but he lived, he was strong and healthy, why turn him away? Did she not see that some day he would die? That each day he still lived was precious -- a transient, passing gift which once gone could never be recovered?

 

A small and cynical part of her marvelled at the symmetry: she had been rejected by her children, he by his mother. She could no more discuss her beautiful, lost children than walk on the moon while it seemed his only friend was a bottle. How typical of the Tower. It demanded so much of them, set such impossibly high standards that only a machine could reach them, and when they fell short it turned on them. She didn’t even know what to say. How could she speak freely to a drunkard in a city full of spies? What was she even supposed to tell him anyway? She couldn’t be certain that his mother did love him; perhaps Estel was just that stupid or unfeeling that she couldn’t love her son.

 

Light spilled from the open doors behind them, lost itself amid the shadows and turning curves, outlining them only in the softest colour. Lanfir, she thought, Lanfir would have known what to say. Lacking her predecessor’s charm and certainty, all she had was the stupid fear that she might ruin this … possibility somehow. But she ventured it anyway. “Is that why you drink?”

 

Staying where he fallen to the ground, Faerthines curled him into a tight ball as if that could possibly protect him from drowning in his own shame. He averted his eyes from studying her when she began to survey him in turn as if probing him for the answers that were too painful to give. For all her gentle and what seemed understanding and his drunkenness, this would have been no more painful in any other situation, but neither would this had happened under different circumstances.

 

In response to her question, he nodded sheepishly like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

 

Half-shadowed, safe from scrutiny, she looked down on somebody else’s son and imagined. Even drunken and wretched in the mud … for reasons she did not quite dare examine … she could picture this boy as the most precious thing in the world. Her children had never looked to her for anything; she had given them up, tiny little babies, and years later she had gained back strangers. She had lost the best years of her children’s life. How could she call herself their mother when she had never sat by their cradles and rocked them to sleep, or sung them the old Andoran lullabies her mother had sung to her, or raised them after they fell or taught them their letters or showed them how to live honourable lives?

 

In a bitter moment she wondered if slow, stupid Estel Liones had any idea what she was doing to her only son, what she was losing, the black kind of future she was making for her little family. Surely even a halfwit Blue would have done something before now if she had realised … but how could she not look at her own son, a drunk and a wastrel, and not even ask him why he spent his time and coin so recklessly? If she knew how he responded to even the slightest touch of gentleness -- and for the Light’s sake, even Estel must have some scrap of love in her -- how would she still deny him?

 

She had no place here. Her seven-striped shawl might get her far in the Tower but it did not give her the right to interfere between family. Yet she craved her children, a chance to fix the irrevocable damage she had done, to fool herself she was not a failure as a mother and a woman. And the boy looked like a small half-drowned puppy. He needed her. She imagined that so hard it almost hurt.

 

She knelt, slow and careful, and held out her hand, not quite believing that this was even happening. “You don’t have to do that.” She kept her voice gentle. “Come to me.”

 

Even drunk, the awesome wonder of that moment didn’t escape him. Faerthines didn’t comprehend all the little nuances of the situations, such as being knelt with in his misery by the most powerful woman in the world or how, kneeling with a wretched, miserable boy, the Aes Sedai was truly fulfilling the title of ‘servant’ better than on her throne before which thrones trembled, but he did know that he was finding comfort and understanding in the most unlikeliest of places.

 

Lines of reality were fuzzed by his inebriated mind and seemed to him that the woman kneeling with him flickered between Sirayn and Estel or else both were kneeling there, sometimes it was a combination of the two meshed into one body. The two women shifted like the sands of the beach and like those sands, every time one receded it was immediately replaced by the other; he was never alone. Never alone again with wine as his tears and ale his regrets.

 

He had still been clenching the glass in his fist when he had fallen. It was shattered now and he clutched only the glass stem while the rest lay broken on the ground in a strange parallel to himself. Tears fell down his cheeks and silent sobs wracked his body while he let go of the cup to take the proffered hand.

 

Kneeling amid broken glass and mud, she held herself entirely still as his fingers closed over hers, though a part of her marvelled at the sensation; she had forgotten how it felt to touch somebody not because duty demanded it but because she wanted to. His skin felt rough and warm and real. It didn’t hurt. She couldn’t quite fit her mind around the concept that touch might not always mean pain or discomfort. But those cold old thoughts she banished -- by some strange miracle this child needed her, somebody else’s son, and this time she wouldn’t mess it up. She clasped his hand firmly, as she had done to someone else in a hazy hall not far from here, and drew him to his feet.

 

It had been long since she last dealt with a drunk. The fact that this half-Domani stripling towered over her did not make assisting him any more convenient, nor did the expensiveness of her white gown, but the former could be ignored and the latter cleaned if necessary. Harder to explain would be her absence from the ball. She cut a glance over her shoulder toward the busy room, calculated how many minutes it would take her to return the boy to his quarters, and gave up; they would just have to move fast.

 

Moved by a sudden, stupid impulse, neither the first nor last tonight, she slipped her fingers under a fine silver chain round her throat and lifted it over her head. A signet ring dangled on the chain: small, silver, and marked with the tree and crown of legendary House Damodred, it winked in the variable light. It pained her to let it out of her sight, when she had kept it so closely for so long, but … just for a little while it should be all right. She kept her voice steady. “I want you to bring this back to me. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, maybe next week. I’ll have time for you. Show the ring to my Keeper and we’ll make time. Now bend your head, boy, you’re too tall.” Careful, she lowered the chain over the boy’s dark head and dropped the ring beneath his shirt where nobody would see it. “Don’t let anybody see it, I’d have a hard time explaining. You will bring this back to me.” She put force on the words. “Soon.”

 

Maybe if she had let him live her son would have taken her hand. Nobody went so far under the Shadow that they could not be brought back into the Light. Maybe she could have done something, anything, instead of killing him. She would never know now. “Come on.” She steered the boy into an alley. “Let’s get you home.”

 

He eyed her quizzically as she reached for something around her neck. Sirayn kept piling surprise upon surprise as she explained that he was to meet with her in a few days’ time and to keep her signet ring as a sort of ‘pass’ to get obtain a block of her time.

 

It wasn’t until she asked him to bend down that Faerthines realised how small she was. Before now, he had never actually stood anywhere close to her. She had always been a distance off, either at the front of the classroom or at the front of the ballroom or else he had been lying on the ground. Now that he had some sort of perspective, it amazed him that she was so small; a full head shorter than he!

 

As she was settling the chain around his neck, a sudden urge to hug her came across him. He was already moving to do so when her commanding “Soon.” dissuaded him. Despite being the closest thing to a mother he’d had since his grandmother had died, if only for these few minutes, Faerthines was reminded that Sirayn was still ‘mother’ and it wouldn’t become the most powerful woman in the world to be seen hugging a drunken Tower Trainee.

 

Having sobered up mostly since this exchange began, he managed to whisper a clear “Thank you.” before being steered towards the nearest alley. In an attempt to make less work for the tiny Aes Sedai, the boy tried to take the first few steps on his own but ended up stumbling and nearly knocking Sirayn over in the process. Blushing crimson, and not just from the alcohol, he managed an embarrassed “Sorry.” Laying a hand on her shoulder, he took as much of his own weight as he could manage as they set off back towards the Yards.

 

Trust her least favourite woman to produce a giant of a child. Inwardly she grumbled but took his weight, or as much of it as her smaller frame could bear, without complaint. If she’d been born tall and strong like so many other Aes Sedai she wouldn’t even have noticed. Instead she braced her shoulder beneath his arm and they staggered onward together. She had had harder tasks than this by a mile … but few stranger than steering a drunk child home to a safe warm bed. She had never held with all this sentimental rubbish about Servants of All, about healing the sick and feeding the hungry and the whole hangover from the Age of Legends, but just for a secret moment she could see what the philosophers raved on about.

 

Being a person who only thanked others on pain of pain, and usually not even then, she did her best to appear unmoved to be thanked herself. It didn’t even matter, he was just a boy and this drunk he probably didn’t even know what he was saying, but … no, it meant nothing. She kept her voice even; it would not do to show any feeling. Let him think she rescued stray children and possibly birds with broken wings on a daily basis like some kind of demented Yellow Sister. “Don’t thank me. If you’d had the sense to be discovered dead drunk by any other Aes Sedai you wouldn’t be facing such a terrible headache in the morning … but no, you have to pick the Amyrlin Seat, who can’t heal so much as a paper cut.”

 

Healing featured high on the long list of skills she did not possess. Keeping her children safe, unharmed and happy was one of the few which ranked higher. But she didn’t have to let Estel bloody Liones make the same mistakes. She glanced up at the boy, all hazel eyes and hair the same shade of hazel curling against his throat, at the glint of silver half-hidden beneath his shirt, bit her tongue and assisted him onward into the half-light.

 

Good as she was at keeping her voice unemotional, Faerthines detected in the wording that the subject or Healing was something of a sore spot with Sirayn. Since she had done what no other had, show him this small kindness, he felt obligated to assure her of his gratitude. “I deserve the headache, mother. And besides,” he continued on, gentler “no other Aes Sedai would have done what you did.”

 

The boy lowered his eyes in submission, doing everything possible to show gratitude. He was a bit disconcerted that she hadn’t accepted his thanks the first time and Faerthines had to calm the rushing torrent of questions racing through his brain. She was the Amyrlin Seat; it was not his place to ask questions nor should he expect her to confer in him, a mere Trainee.

 

On reflection, she had absolutely no idea how a good dose of alcohol and an offered hand had transformed sulky, fractious Faerthines Talcontar into a boy full of affection and praise. Her own children had never wanted her assistance; she had given them all the care she dared, risked her career and their safety to keep them close, but they had turned from her. She couldn’t even speak to her daughter any more she was that unwelcome. Yet it had taken approximately thirty seconds to open up this child like a box of secrets using no more than a gesture. Could it be that Estel bloody Liones had never spoken gently to her son in his entire miserable life? Perhaps he did deserve the headache, she had little sympathy for drunks on the whole, but more likely it was his fool of a mother who should have it on his behalf.

 

One of these days she was going to grab Estel bloody Liones by the collar and shake some sense into her empty head. Being tall and blonde and beautiful meant precisely nothing when she couldn’t even keep her affairs in order. Perhaps she should lock the two in a room until they forgot their legions of inadequacies and insecurities; if she was very lucky indeed it might take the pair of them off her hands altogether. Light forfend that the Amyrlin Seat should have any actual work to do other than holding people’s hands. But she had given him her ring, for however brief a period before he returned it to her, and she intended to see that obligation to its end. “You’re quite right about the headache, young man. Deserve it if it pleases you.” The boy had certainly given her enough of a headache.

 

Fortunately for her back, not to mention her continued political survival, they came swiftly to the Warders’ Yard. Shadow and silence cloaked the familiar ways. She had not come back here since the first time she met Corin Danveer, and before that, when she recovered the belongings of her last dead Warder. Even then she had thought she might never need to return. It had never occurred to her that her next visit might be staggering along with a drunk boy whom she had sort of accidentally taken under her wing. A last wary glance around and she helped the boy the last few metres to the entrance to the barracks; it would not be proper for her to go inside, in fact she seemed to remember it was expressly outlawed, and much as the rules did not apply to her she didn’t want to break them where it could be traced back.

 

Briefly she surveyed her possible ward: luckless Faerthines Talcontar, unwanted by his mother, his only friend a bottle. She felt pity. The sentiment was quite alien to her. “Go on in, boy,” her voice a little gruff, “and don’t you forget to bring that ring back.”

 

Alone, she returned to the ball.

 

Sirayn & Faerthines

[raposa]

It was surprisingly difficult to avoid the notice of a drunkard and an Aes Sedai, much to Bethelynne's dismay. Being a novice--and a new one, no less--placed her at the lowest of social standings of those gathered at the ball, and this required a heavier degree of demureness and meekness than she was accustomed to. Nonetheless, she had spent the majority of the evening hiding behind her fan lest Faerthines stumble into her or Sirayn's hawk eyes spot her.

 

She knew full well that she risked a failing grade for the class if Sirayn was able to pull her attention from her own personal matters to notice Beth was not on Faerthines' unsteady arm, but the very thought of him spilling any of that wine on her dress was enough to drive her into the deepest shadows of the hall. Light, but she could smell him from halfway across the room!

 

She purposefully arrived late, having waited for the largest group of giggling novices possible in which to hide herself. Few engaged her except to comment carefully on the... "elegant simplicity" of Beth's gown, but it was all the same to her. She was hardly dressed to impress.

 

Sirayn's announcement of a ball had excited her at first, but her excitement soon turned to anxiety when she informed them they would all attend the ball with their assigned partners. Before Bethelynne had left the lecture hall, she had resolved to avoid Faerthines at all cost. Surely Sirayn would understand the impact such a potentially disastrous evening could have on Bethelynne's social future. Surely the woman knew the seriousness of her plight. Surely.

 

As each new group of prettied faces, bedecked hair, and abundantly laced would-be ladies arrived, Beth breathed easier. There was a surprisingly large turnout, and the more the merrier as far as she was concerned, so long as they stood between herself and the two most inconspicuous people in the room.

 

The evening began very smoothly; Beth even helped herself to some of the punch. But as the evening turned into night, she caught sight of Faerthines making his way in her direction more often than she would like. Sirayn, luckily, seemed much too preoccupied to even offer the most basic of greetings, but the buffoon was another story.

 

Every time she saw him, he was either talking much too loudly or else was bumping into someone on his way to get another drink. And no matter where she stood in the room, he was still too close for comfort. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn she was a lodestone and his pockets were full of iron fillings.

 

She tried her best to get past more than an introduction and casual small talk with the young men and women of the Tower she saw, but she was too distracted to focus on any conversation of substance. By the time she noticed both of her targets exiting the building, she had already been exiled to the wall furthest from the festivities as possible, her fan long-since folded and the punch that remained in her glass lukewarm.

 

Sigh. "What a night."

[ashara]

After having bid adieu for the time being, the tugging urge to leave the glittering ball and take a long, long walk become prominent in Nerome’s mind, so prominent in fact, that all the while that he resisted the temptation it grew in momentum, until Nerome could almost suspect a vague tune to its drone. He wondered distractedly if it was a tune he knew, and looked towards the approaching attendant with a smile. Yes, of course he’d like some red wine. Thanking the man, Nerome sipped at the corners of his glass and pondered what to do next. Had this been another day, and had the cause of this desire to run been another, the matter wouldn’t have required any consideration. However, this wasn’t ‘another’ day. Nerome realised with an alarming amount of maturity, that for him, this was a day that changed everything that made him, him. It threatened him, questioned him, filled him with all sorts of qualms about himself. It also, made him more straight backed than usual- not puffy though, puffy was all wrong, and indeed if the Amyrlin Seat was watching her students, it would be a shame if she were to look at him critically now, after he was a promised Trainee to her protégé. He wondered thoughtfully if Sirayn Sedai was well acquainted with Rosheen, and then wondered with slight paling to his cheeks if he had ever mentioned Rossa to Rosheen.

 

He hoped not. He had taken a serious promise tonight, said words that no words he had ever uttered before to a maiden quite matched. He had proffered himself to Rossa, promising not only protection but aid in thought and feeling. He was her promised Warder.

 

Warder. A human shield, a mind of steel and a fighter of cultivated grace. Warders didn’t run away and Warders certainly never looked bad in front of the Amyrlin Seat, for that would put their Aes Sedai to shame. He hoped most vehemently he hadn’t been foolish enough to mention Rossa, hoped that the little he knew about Daes Dae’mar had aided him had gripped his mouth and kept it well shut. It wouldn’t do after all, if the Amyrlin Seat, Sirayn Sedai thought of him as some love sick puppy, worth only enough thought as to how she should remove him from Rossa’s life. One word of disapproval could change a lot, Nerome feared.

 

Still, he had promised her he would prove himself. If he started now, worked harder than he had ever before, have that lacking ‘vigour’ in his training brought in, he knew he could be raised to the Guard. Nerome knew that there were others who were more naturally skilled with the blade than him, but he had speed, and quick thinking on his side. Good friends to any warrior, or rather, warrior to be. Change, change, change, it was flowing in the music too. The song flowed violently through the keys, and the dancing pairs had whirled accordingly. Tapping his foot unconsciously, he watched them for a few moments. Accepted Saline was there, smiling coolly at a face that Nerome realised, with a frown, was unfamiliar to him. It was such a colourful night, he noticed as she twirled from her partner’s left to right, her red crisp against the male’s green. Almost painfully colourful, he added with a grin. He realised that a few stands away was Rossa, who was part of a cluster of White Tower initiates, some of whom had been there during their Etiquette lessons together. There were much fewer women and men left though, for the night was growing on the ball, and people were one by one taking their leave.

 

As if on cue, the music dimmed gently into a wistful, soothing melody, and a few of the more embarrassed pairs left the dance floor, while the smarter, perhaps even bolder ones chose to increase the closeness of their bodies until the proximity was appropriate. A slow dance. The music would rise and fall, cleverly displaying the reluctance of those-not unlike him- who had to say farewell, until next time. He would have to leave soon too he knew, but not without the polite goodbyes to his acquaintances, and certainly not without wishing Rossa farewell first. He waited patiently as she spoke to her friends, pretending -with good practice- to be watching the dancers with a mixture of jealousy and interest in Saline. It was after his wine glass was only half full that she began to wish them goodnight one by one. Nerome left his glass on the table nearby, and made his way upto her. Her final goodbye having being said, she had turned away from the circle and Nerome found Rossa’s eyes fall on him with what he could only describe as a sparkle.

 

“I’ve come to wish you goodnight,” he started, suddenly wondering what exactly he should tell her. Did he want to reconfirm his previous sayings to her? Or did he merely want to thank her for such an evening? “It’s growing late, and training starts early tomorrow- Rosheen will have me buried alive if I don’t show up...” He trailed off, waiting for her to speak before he said what was on his mind.

“So you see, there is really more to the situation in Altara than first meets the eye.” Rossa stated, concluding her discussion with the small group gathered around her. A little impromptu object lesson so that they did not forget her intelligence behind the glamour of the night. She hid it sometimes, so people would not feel so threatened, but behind those mahogany eyes lay a sharp mind, sharper still for not showing it often. She finished her wine and put her glass down on the tray of a passing servant, and turned to look straight at the man she had been missing since they parted. She blushed to think of it, quickly hidden behind a hand raising to her face and then pretending to check her coiffure to give her time to compose herself.

 

Nerome. She really had missed him, which was understandable but she still couldn’t quite believe the night’s events so far. Promised to be bonded when they were both of suitable rank to do so… It didn’t seem possible. All of a sudden it only seemed like yesterday she was dressed in her ragged grey dress, worn and weary, and being eaten from within from grief and vengeance. The pain she had grown accustomed to, but the desire for revenge still burnt inside her. It would not be attained in such an open way as before though, no, not now. Now, she would work far more subtly. Daes Dae’mar, the tool used to bring down her House would be the tool she used to bring those people down.

 

Whoever they were.

 

His words fell like honeyed silk. I can’t be infatuated! Nerome had come to wish her goodnight, (he doesn’t have to go yet!) and Rossa did not know when she would see him again. Trying to push foolish thoughts from her mind, Rossa pictured her mother and her mentor both looking sternly at her, her mother then cackling good-naturedly at her daughter’s predicament; her mentor wearing the seven-striped stole of the Amyrlin with the full force of the White Tower behind her. She could not let either of them down, nor would she. Rossa ran through a novice exercise to attain calmness; a small rosebud opening to the warmth of the sun, the river flowing, guided by the banks but not controlled. She did not let herself embrace Saidar, but she did feel more peaceful. She turned to face him.

 

“Master Seshir.” So formal… It hurt her heart to have to act so coolly when her passionate Altaran side was beginning to manifest itself in a way previously unexpected. “I am glad I got the chance to see you again before we parted.” Rossa’s hand went to her throat where the locket lay, her pulse feeling impossibly loud to her fingertips. “I completely understand. It is getting late and I shall no doubt retire soon myself. Thank you for a lovely evening, but would you care for one more dance before you retire?”

 

Gah! Stupid of him to have addressed her so casually, what if the fading steps of the women Rossa had been talking to had listened in? He kept forgetting that this was a public affair, that there were people other than Rossa and himself in the large hall, some of whom were there to keep there eyes out for the slips and falls of those from the Etiquette class. Not to mention that Rossa’s polite but reasonably clear reminder of the fact got to him loud and clear. “Of course, My Lady.” Extending one hand so that she took it, Nerome tightened his grip on her hand as they fell into the positions for the dance. He felt silly for not having thought of asking her for a dance himself- it was the ideal ending for their spent evening. Much easier too, than trying to fumble to find the right words to express his sentiments. He placed his other hand on her waist, and looked up at her. Giving her one small smile as the song curved its way out, Nerome felt an odd rush of anxiety as he noted the dance’s pace. It was like the one before, but this was more tense, a little more definite in terms of ‘need’, and one that allowed just the tiniest decrease in the distance between the two dancers. Truly a song that sang for other days, other meets.

 

He felt the melody of the song taking hold of him, stirring those feelings that were rapidly becoming crystal clear to him and causing him worry, for he had never quite come across such…simple understanding that here was a woman, he would do anything for. What if he missed her too much? He didn’t exactly have time to spend hour upon hour of the sand glass to press into hopes of meeting her soon, but he couldn’t see himself coping well with studiously working his way through training, while all his thought was bent on another. “When may I see you next?” he asked, old formality forgotten in his voice, but present in thick layers on his face. He could feel the eyes upon his back, and surreal as it was that they were here together, he worried for what could be said about Rossa because of him. He had procured a certain reputation after all, but that was before Caemlyn, and since his return he had been trying his best to make amends. Perhaps, at this very moment someone was sizing them up, plotting with a thoughtful finger on the lips as he or she wondered, just what would the futures of Rossa Venye and Nerome Seshir be like? And would they be a collective future? That particular question haunted him too.

 

The dancers began to form a circle that was rotating constantly, but the movement itself was little in nature other than ensuring that the circle was maintained. Rossa still hadn’t answered, and a glance told him that she was mulling over the right reply. It occurred to him that perhaps she desired to focus on her training as of now, and move forwards towards the ultimate goal of being Raised. “Of course, if you wish it that we don’t for some time and instead we carry on with our training, that is fine, but it would mean a lot to me if I could see you, even if it would only be for a little while.”

 

He had to ask that question. If she saw him tomorrow it would be too long to wait, but they had to work within their limits. Could they arrange a chance meeting perhaps … would that be out of the question? She shook her head imperceptibly, knowing full well that someone would catch them, and chores or worse would be the result. Rossa bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully and smiled, nodding serenely at him as she moved in the steps of the dance. The dancers twirled, the epitome of grace in the epitome of prestigious company, and Rossa considered how much like a dance life could be.

 

If you made a wrong step, someone would laugh at you. All you could do is hope that there was someone kind enough to help you get back up on your feet and get back into the dance, keeping as good a face on things as you could. Rossa made the steps without much thought, almost doing them by rote noticing nothing more than Nerome’s comforting presence on her hand.

 

What if I’m raised soon and … what if something happens…?

 

She couldn’t think like that. Rossa Venye, High Seat of House Venye, giving up before the one event that would begin the rest of her life? No. It was not going to happen. Rossa tightened her grip on Nerome’s hand, still mechanically making the steps, but more determined, if possible, than ever to succeed.

“We’ll meet again. It is one of those inevitable things, since you are now promised to me.” She looked into his eyes. Oh, a girl could get lost in eyes like those. “Nerome, I know I asked you to wait for me, just as I will wait for you. We’ll see each other before then. You do trust me, do you not?”

“Of course I trust you!”

 

The words came without a trace of doubt, and Nerome looked at her puzzled. Why had she asked him that? Why had such a question entered her mind? He gave her hand a little squeeze, and smiled. Which struck him a second later as quite ironic, come to think of it-it had been his aim a few minutes ago to reassure her about himself, not on any qualms he could have about her. Never about her, Light! She must know that too, after all he had told her tonight, and in the past. She was the only one who knew about his past, the only one who he had allowed to see a little more than the laughing, mocking jester most thought of him as. And for Light’s sake, he wanted to be her Gaidin, her brother in battle. That should be sign enough, my little Aes Sedai.

 

Still, he would admit that her words were rather comforting. The relief that descended upon him had an immediate affect, inside out. His face lightened rapidly, and his shoulders felt…less, tense. His insides? Pure, crystalline joy. The look she had given him had been determined, a look which he had seen once before, when she had mentioned to him her past life in Altara, and the House she had once belonged to. It was the look that courted winners, seekers, and always, finders. So yes, of course he trusted her. And yes, they would meet. The thought made his feelings shift yet again, and the joy that he had lifted his head with became pride.

 

He looked at Rossa with this pride, as he twirled her into what seemed to finally be the crescendo of the dance. Seeing as it was a slow dance, the tempo remained gentle, but the pitch increased, which caused the movement required to become a little more elaborate. She was a good dancer, he realised. Quick on her feet, and with a natural ear for the rhythm. Which was good, because he didn’t have any such knack. Any skills he possessed, had come from several years of Selandre insisting that dance, could change days of war into peace.

 

As the song eased down again, he spoke. “I am honoured to be promised to you, M’lady Rossa. I am honoured to wait for you, and more honoured that you would wait for me. But when it comes to being able to meet you, I am delighted, my Lady.”

 

The steps wound to a graceful halt, Rossa dropping a neat curtsey to Nerome to show her appreciation and gratitude for the dance. The hour of their parting was drawing near, and Rossa could feel an almost palpable sense of sorrow at the moment this evening would end. She had to be professional. She had to be calm. The stern eyes of her mentor would not tolerate any slack behaviour in a lowly trainee, and she certainly would not tolerate an Accepted of Rossa’s standards to display feelings so openly.

 

She turned to Nerome, their slow dance over and the inevitable parting of their ways beginning. Her eyes flickered to the floor, noting the shine on the tiles and, a little further into the marble, reflections of the walls and the feet of others standing around, either talking or dancing. There was an incredible atmosphere of politics in the air.

 

Neither of them spoke – there was no need. His emerald gaze met her dark, shining one, and everything moved as though ripples around them. Was that her pulse beating so fast? Opening her mouth, Rossa closed it again, suddenly unsure of how to end their conversation. Something along the lines of “It has been a pleasure, Master Seshir” would have been in order, but the words would not come. She smiled.

 

“Thank you, Master Seshir, for everything. I look forward to our next encounter, for we will meet again.” Rossa dropped a deep curtsy and straightened; a calm expression on her face but her eyes tinged with sadness. Feeling her throat become a little thickened with tears close to the surface, Rossa turned and walked towards the doors. The ball was over for Rossa, but she could not show her relief or dwell on any of the events until she was safely behind the walls of her small room. Her blankets would be her solace then, until she could bury herself in studies to advance her goal. She had another reason to become Aes Sedai now.

 

A whisper, a smile promising times to follow, and she was gone. “Goodbye then, my Lady.” He said as he watched her vanish through the doors. For a few minutes, he let himself stay, roaming around a little aimlessly, wishing good night to the few trainees he knew. In truth, he merely didn’t want the night to end completely. Leaving, would be the full stop, the final line between the time he had spent with Rossa, and his necessary requirement of sleep if he was to satisfy Rosheen tomorrow during training. It was only after Amos, a fellow trainee demanded that he returned to the barracks with him that he left. Amos, who had drunk a little too much for one night chattered loudly all the way through once they had left, laughing often at his own stupidity and then asking Nerome for his opinion on the matter. Nerome, on his part, mumbled back, which to the cheerful Amos, was answer enough.

 

It was only when he was in his own room that he felt a little more able to do more than grunt, or while away time so as to not put the night away, lock it up as a memory and remember it some other day. He lay down once he had rid himself of the evening wear, and sat staring at the ceiling. Change had come. He had promised it would, he had been promised it would. And, he thought with a certain level of satisfaction as he pinched himself that it wasn’t a dream either.

 

Training, he decided, would be good tomorrow.

 

~Rossa Venye and Nerome Seshir~

Promised