With or Without You ~Saline and Lillian~

[ashara]

My hands are tied

 

My body bruised, she's got me with

 

Nothing to win and

 

Nothing left to lose

 

 

 

So herein lies the return. A dusty cloak, splattered with streaks of blood as if brushed on by the fingers of those suddenly enthused. Drops of blood and defeat, the result of his first mission as Tower Guard. Face shadowed by dusty cloak, in hope that he wouldn't be recognised easily. Rather he resembled suspicious lurking stranger, than returned and defeated member of the Guard. Lips set in a thin line; his thoughts were grim. It had all gone smoothly at first, really. He had bid farewell to Forge and the others with a cheerful twist of mouth, the first taste of success a blissful one. They hadn't succeeded where it concerned the venom Selandre, but many of the others were now mere memories of dust. He had set back towards the mansion of Seshir, all who remained from the Dark now fled, ready to return and show the others the mark of victory. He had returned, scarred once more and escaping, once more. Tightening his grip on Ayende's reins, Nerome steered his way into the stables.

 

 

 

He had never known anything quite like it. The memory was seared of course, like all other shameful days. He remembered the thoughtful finger on her lips, the glitter in her eyes. He remembered that she was Taraboner, her voice was strong, with the power of suggestion. The burns were still there, from that memory of his: the memory of her, with flames leaping from her palms. Fire licked his skin as she laughed, and now Nerome Seshir of the Tower Guard knew just one thing, feared it above all. There were women and men out there right now, laughing as someone else's brain registered in dull shock, that there were such a folk as Dreadlords. Controlling the shudder that was wrestling within him, Nerome began to make his way towards the place he had decided on that endless ride back.

 

 

 

The apple tree they had chosen was a distinct one. Rather than because it provided large stretches of shade-although it did- or that it gave them a comfortable sense of privacy-although, thank the Light, it did- it was a memory, and mere chance befallen upon them that caused it to be the tree for meetings. He reached it quickly enough, it was towards the outer edges of the yard which made it even more convenient. When he had left for Cairhien, he had asked that she would wait for him at just this time so that they would have a chance to talk, get caught up on each other's lives. And perhaps, she would have news of Rossa again. Rushing past the familiar sight of hedges, he looked furtively towards the tree, waiting for a glimpse of rich honey curls to bound outwards, toward him. He found…no one. Disappointment gushed through Nerome, adding to the heavy heart he had carried back to the Tower. She would be there, he told himself. She had said she would. Sitting down, beneath the cool of the tree, Nerome let out a sigh.

 

~Nerome Seshir

Tower Guard

Wincing :)

[ashara]

Lily's Post

 

See the stone set in your eyes,

See the thorn twist in your side,

I'll wait for you.

 

 

 

"Egg whites and syrup -- don't forget to stir it!

 

Mix it round and round, till it stays in the bowl while upside down

 

Add the nex ... add the next. Add the next what?"

 

 

 

She paused, knowing there was another part. Staring into the bottom of the bowl, she looked for answers. What she found, naturally, was the mix of ingredients she had put in there. Oh, she did hope he liked it, after all he had only just arrived back and it would be a shame for her to ruin it.

 

 

"Miss?"

 

 

 

Her brow creased at the boy clad in Tower livery who cleared his throat. A servant then, from his garb and the way he touched his forelock. Smoothing the frown, Saline smiled. She was perplexed, but her encouragement bade him to go on: "Miss, Timmons sent me with the reply that Ayende is in the stables."

 

 

Oh, right… her notification. Knowing that the horse, his horse would be watered down and groomed well, she thanked the young stable boy with a coin, and a candy for his throat. Treats for the messenger with good news, she reasoned as she turned her attention from the intelligence back to the confectionary she would make him.

 

 

 

What was that line again?

 

 

 

Ah, right: "Add some sugar and flour to sweeten that sour!"

 

 

 

Saline whipped those in, asking aloud: "Is there any felicity greater than the return of a good friend?" Not even cake batter tasted better, she smiled, savouring her own answer.  He would have to eat every bite, full from a celebratory dinner or not.

 

 

 

And what boy did not appreciate a liberal dose of meringue blended with thick cream, and strawberries? She reassured herself with soft snatches as she worked. Cooking, it was not work so much as a pastime, and although she had put in a great deal of effort, over the past month she enjoyed the slicing fields of zucchini the old fashioned way. Believe it or not, a task as simple as cracking eggshells empowered her the way she felt in the Yards when Lyssa had her strike at the quintain. That solid smack at the device when you know you've hit the target, it was a smack better than all the ones the dummy would give you when your strike was off.

 

 

 

She pushed futilely at the sweat sodden curls, snatching up a bottle of good wine. It brought back fond memories: Vera Sedai had toasted her, both flushed with success. And here was another occasion for celebrations. They would drink to him when Dorian was free, she decided as she put the peach brandy back, that now they would simply catch up without. The liqueur remained corked, yet a smile curled her lips as if they've already tasted of the peach brandy. A blissful expression gave her away, as if some psychedelic painter had dabbed onto a doll's face crimson oils, then lacquered it as to bestow lustre. Silver tinkled as she tucked the bells in, taking her sweet time in their placement amidst the honeyed curls. She must not appear too eager, though her heart cavorted willfully.

 

 

 

She had taken to cooking when she could not sleep. Every night she would pray for her friends, and perhaps prayers procured safe passage for him. That would be neat. Normally she slept soundly, without dreams. Before he left she was never susceptible to nightmares. Nowadays, every once in a while a dream showed the beetles congregated in the soil of his skin, succulent blood flowed freeing. Spread-eagle his limbs embraced that stone, and flies littered his tomb. Always, when that dream recurred, his eyes were broken. Needless to say, she was not used to having these sorts of dreams.

 

 

 

In an unexpected way, her nightmares brought her a certain measure of peace. She had never known serenity until she found the chicken shed, and it was there that she found solitude. Of course, she had always been a daydreamer, but the solitude in which one could reflect, and still relax was rare.

 

 

 

So he was back: alive, hale, him.

 

 

 

She assessed this as she shucked off the oven mittens, and bore the ring that was stuck into her pouch. One her fourth finger was Serpent that ate his own tail, which represented both beginning and end. As its eye glinted at her, she had an epiphany.

 

 

 

What had been a bad beginning slowly evolved into friendship between herself and Nerome Seshir. The Cairheinian should not be on amicable terms, not after she had wronged him, but as time ran its course, she found beneath all the bluster a good heart. The generous soul had forgiven her. He was kind where she wanted kindness: more and more kindness akin to water dripping into a cup, until the cup overflowed. Kindness had finally won her over. Perhaps all one needed to make a friend was the kindness, and no matter what walls one had set up, there was always a way in… and that was through the gate.

 

 

 

"Now the hour draws a closure on our soiree, oh ma cherie so happy were weee"

 

 

 

Once in a while, though there was the possibility of getting into trouble, she would steal away to that meeting place of theirs when he was in Cairhein. She was a sucker for old things that bring back memories, and that apple tree was where they sealed their friendship that fateful night.

 

 

 

It was there she hurried, now late, to see her good friend.

 

 

 

Unto the rendezvous she went, with that secret smile when good friends return to keep company. At the apple tree he promised to return, re-entering their lives as if he never left. He would want to change first from the road, and eat after his bath. Perhaps even now he was scoffing the meals in the barracks, and then, then onto the apple tree.

 

 

 

Under the apple tree, caramel eyes scoured for him, lingering on a sleeping figure. It was festooned in materials so splotchy she could not make out their colours from the distance.

 

 

 

"Softly, softly, ooo so softly, sooooftly he lies a-sleeeeping!" She pranced into the clearing, not at all softly. "Hoy 'Rome. I come bearing cake!"

 

 

 

Cake, he smiled at that. But the smile failed to reach his eyes. They were accusative, and he flinched visibly as she drew near, as if she reminded him of a grievance.

 

 

 

"Here 'Rome, I'm here." Hoarsely, for the sight of him pained her. Putting on her best, she still felt afraid of his fearful eyes, though she could not say whether it was she or he who was more frightened. Wrong, it was all wrong. Where was the smile that lit up his face, now so pale? Wanting to run her hands over him, to heal him from whatever he had seen. Her body wanted to curl from that stare. Yes, he had grown. More mature now, less like the Rome she knew. The dried blood that covered his cloak caused her to exclaim: "Mon dieu, are you hurt?"

 

 

[ashara]

And you give yourself away

And you give

And you give

And you give yourself away

 

Singing in the distance; a buoyant Taraboner croon that pronounced the entrance of his friend. The latter bit of the realization surprised Nerome. Saline Westrel didn’t sing unless she was found in one of two circumstances. The first, was if she was solidly passed over the fine line of tipsy and into the depths of being drunk. The second-and he fervently wished it was the latter-was if she was found in boundless cheer, spirited by something. Even without the Spring, Saline’s steps were loud to his ears, and fluttering eyelids revealed that she was before him, grinning broadly. It came like a blow to greet her like this, so unlike the soft voiced, ever steady Saline he had met with in their first days of acquaintance. Was the unbridled effervesce caused by his return? The thought made him cringe, and although he tried hard to keep the feeling out of his eyes, he knew she knew. His jaded appearance would be cause for concern for anyone, he suspected.

 

For a moment he stared hard at the ground. She was coming closer to him with every step, and soon she would see. Battered clothing, bloodied cloak and eyes that saw little. Anyone could put such obvious lesions together, and the little gasp that came from Saline confirmed this time. He pushed himself slightly deeper into the rough garb not wishing for Saline to see him like this, in the same clothes that had once gleamed with shine as he had left on his dusty path. She would remember that day clearly too, and evidently, had expected him to return in the same state as he had left. So had he.

 

Her words came to him like an arrow, snapping him out of his bitter reverie with a start. Hers, like that of the person he had ‘chanced’ upon in Cairhien, was a Taraboner accent, and the similiarity between their two voices was unnerving. But she was nothing like that monstrosity he had met, Saline wasn’t!, he thought fiercely as he looked up at her anxious, questioning gaze. He waited for the horror to unleash itself, waited as he anticipated her drawing back, and his heart felt itself stretched and tightened all at once, bringing forth bitter shame.

 

But she didn’t.

 

His friend drew closer, whispering his name in a hoarse manner, reassuring him that she was here. A pause, and inches away as she was, Nerome felt her eyes assess his face and stony eyes. He recognized the way she braced herself, the building of the mountain under the pelting storm, and waited for thoughtful words to come. Instead, he received an outburst.

 

"Mon dieu, are you hurt?"  Hasty, unrestrained and most of all, he thought with a weak smile, thoughtless. Was he? He looked down and turned his arms side to side, studying the pale bruises impassively. Mostly the result of strained, hard riding on the way back. Physically, he was. The flames that had run him down, the biting pain in his joints, such things the woman had healed him from, leaving no scars. The real damage had been done to his pride and wits- rattled an old cage with appalling violence after he had believed for such a long time that those pasts would stay locked. Setting his shoulders straight, Nerome looked up at Saline and began to narrate.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he had talked for, and certainly hadn’t anticipated that a matter so simple to understand would be so difficult to explain, but his words came out slowly, in dull fashion that would bore anyone, had it been on another subject. “So you see, I’m fine really, unscathed as such. But…” He trailed off, hesitant to continue. As heavily as defeat had burned into his mind, there had also been another door that opened. A sliver at first, that grew wider as he had thought on it, and was now a wide space of light. His only hope, as far as he could see.

“There is something I would ask of you,” He began, turning to look at Saline. “Do you think you have it in you, oh Saline the slapper, to listen for a little more?” Some of his former personality returned, and with the smallest smirk he waited for her approval to continue. Unexpected, but more welcome than ever before, Nerome accepted hope in his heart.

 

[Lih-Lyh]

Sleight of hand and twist of fate

On a bed of nails she makes me wait

And I wait without you

 

She set down the cake, listening to words, words that rushed out of him. They saddened her, for these words delineated to Saline a tragic story all too common in the world, of disillusionment, fear, and despair. His mouth moved, but she had a hard time connecting the sound of his voice to what it used to be. She had known this Guard since he was a trainee in the Yards, and his voice, while not particularly deep, was a pleasant mid-baritone spiced with liveliness and laughter. No smile animates this voice, though its range is similar to the one she misses. He spoke without sparkle, in quiet tones unexcited by the offer of cake she set before him. He did not even notice her treat, and she had to force the sudden rage at being spurn away, stuffing the cake into her pocket before replying in a somewhat more sedate fashion.

 

“Yes I would care to hear more, please.”

 

So he spoke on, and she listened. As he spoke she could tell that he was becoming more agitated, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. She could tell that because his accent thickened involuntarily, clipping the ends of his r’s. His tainted words saddened her. They saddened her, for she was the quiet one, and now that she felt enthused it was as if she had absconded with his happiness, though in her heart she knew it was not so. It was only toward the end that it appeared as if Nerome came back, albeit a lusterless ‘Rome.

 

Protests came unbidden to her pursed lips, but did not pass as the Guard implored her. Against the argument of his eloquent eyes, she did not have the heart to tell him that the Dreadlady, for she must have been one, could channel while the Guard knew nothing of the Source: he would never taste of its flavour. Lucky him, she stared at the bloodstained figure.

 

There is a shame in standing in the presence of a friend, feeling stupid. She sat down, unconsciously clenching the immaculate dress by the fistful. The slightest of frowns furrowed her brow as she looked at him, feeling closer to him than she had when she looked down. Her heart bore affections for the new Guard as she would a brother, and that heart was sore to see him so unhappy. "Hush, I will help you. Come on, dear." No sooner had she said so did she lend him what comfort she could; with her small, grubby hand she squeezed his warmly as she led him through the Yard, not releasing until they reached the entrance of the Tower. Once inside, the Accepted and the Guard stepped lightly through the Novice door into the Tower Library.

 

She was perched on a rickety stool precociously. Across her was ‘Rome where she situated him on a tall backed chair, in an equal state of discomfort. Perhaps those chairs were designed so that one bows her head while hunched over the books, to pay homage to the guardians – she did not know if the effects were deliberate, but it had gotten so that she learned to avoid the chairs even if she had to stand, or sit on a stool with two legs and a stump.

 

The Library was sparsely dotted with an initiate here or there. Quickly she dealt with the eyes on, nay, who was she fooling, past her, on the Guard, as the young women eyed him. He, preoccupied with working the index, did not notice the spectators, but she did, sending the most ferocious of the watchers off with a scowl or three. If ‘Rome noticed any of her fearsome expressions, he probably took them for her frustrations. It was a particularly frustrating search, and didn’t she know it as she attended the pile of books stacked between them. She skimmed over accounts of Guards, skirmishes at the Borderland, and high chants concerning the Horn-sounder. There was no actual systematic way to how they worked as they ploughed through the tower archives, pausing here or there to denote a significant name, or scrawl down a reference to another text.

 

Over the next two hours she became dimly aware of a white dress leaving here or there, for the Novice curfew was strictly enforced, and the Brown Sisters would scour the aisles to remind any dozing initiate. They were permitted to stay, but only because Accepted had a later curfew. When Nerome asked if she found anything yet, Saline whispered that she had not, but would keep reading.

 

And they read on until Saline went to retrieve another text, this one a brief history on how Illuminators came to be. Written secrets to how the flowers that made the shows possible had been too much to hope for, but it gave her a few ideas. In their need they did not know what they searched for, but they knew what would be useful or not. If the finest minds throughout history had not come up with a masterful course of action, beside the obvious  (run away, fast) of course, then no single train of thought would help here; they wanted all sorts of miscellaneous titbits which could spark either insight or ideas as to where next.

 

The flickering candlelight reminded her that curfew was in a half hour. Since the last infringement of curfew landed her in the Kitchens under the watchful ministration of Mistress Laras, Saline contained her activities within the confines of the Tower. She gestured to Nerome, who helped her gather the books they needed, and return the ones they did not need, before whisking off.

 

“Whereto?” He could not go to her room like she suggested, because Tower Guards were not allowed there. The same rules went for his quarters, where they would be very, very private. She flushed at the lack of propriety, but they were laden with several journals and notes, and her arms certainly needed no permission before they came off if she did not resort to a contingency plan.

 

The night was lit with thousands of stars, and she shuffled to gaze at them, so gloriously bright. Amongst the cache of the most powerful, there must be an answer. There must. For Rossa's sake. And hers. Her steps quickened at this thought. Though she did not watch the cobblestones, her feet knew the path for they traversed it often. Nor was it the first time they led another there. She had taken many a Novice here before in the daylight, and a girl named Salandrian during the evening once. O, good times.

 

The last bell tolled, bringing her out of the daze. They were here now, safe from any curious eyes. She built a fire in the wooded grates, not caring for the smoke that might go up the chimney. Many nights she had cooked up a frenzy in this shed, but to-night was one of the rare times when she had company. Setting the kettle on to boil she unwrapped the cake, bringing it from its niche. She smiled at ‘Rome as he placed the books, and a plate for each of them before they brought their heads together to exchange notes.

 

There was no need to whisper now, as they had in the library. This talk was more leisurely, random, and once she even surprised him into laughing. He asked her about how channeling felt, so she answered that, and more as the night went on. Whenever an idea sounded true to either of them they would confer, and if both agreed it was a worthwhile venture, in it went to the list.

 

Many of the ideas that passed the initial inspection, on their compilation, dabbled with supplies that were unavailable. Particularly interesting was the fire of the Illuminators. In the chapterhouse back home she watched the shows, and ‘Rome told her about the shows in Cairhien too. It would be better if they could buy some.

 

Barely morning, they discussed how to procure Firedust, and other means of addling the wits. Stabbing a piece of fruit, she envisioned the inventory of poisons in her breakfast, and could not help but to shudder. A necessity, it is a necessity.

 

Clearer, it came through conversation as they talked: Amongst the cache of the most powerful, there was an answer. There were many answers, as many as there were the powerful ones. People, she realised – Sisters with experience were the perfect resource for them to learn from. But who did the Guard know? Would he bear the shame of confronting the woman he had sworn to protect, to admit to her that he was likely to fail, and fail miserably?

 

Who will he trust?

 

There is a power in me. She realised this as she cut out some holes for his eyes, and examined the mask they made. It was sturdy and would protect his face from the flames long enough that he could tear it off before they burned through. Then, half teasingly, she asked: “O 'Rome, how stealthy are you? When a woman channels, all her sense will be more developed, sharper.” Saline picked up a rock. “This can be a weapon. With something on its edge, you could knock out a channeller from a distance, but only if she does not see it coming…”

 

He listened now as they strolled to a clearing, far from the toasty shed where they spent the night. She would not channel unless he agreed to her terms. Wide awake, she asked him, “are you sure you can dodge the fireballs?”

 

[ashara]

Through the storm we reach the shore

You give it all but I want more

And I'm waiting for you

 

Time had zoomed through boundless hours, and so had he. The fervent nature of their collected ponder had gripped him as tightly as it had his friend, so that unshed shames were nestled somewhere darker and only determination remained, and strengthened. First in the Library, hushed and mostly silent musing on where to go now that the story was clearly unfolded. He had been worried that she would be ashamed of him too, and shun him just like he felt the need to do himself, but his friend had not. Instead she had proceeded to lead him somewhere safer and calmer, and sat with him while she ignored the last ringing of the bell. Together they had considered armour and distraction, speed and stealth. Together they had dismissed silly but imaginative ideas of visiting Tarabon, and settled on the more practical idea of a peddler instead. Together, he marvelled, people could vanquish their worst demons.

 

Then had come the matter of actually facing Saidar? yes Saidar, on his own. She had looked to him in question as they sat there, fire crackling as it devoured the wood. She had not been impatient though, merely suggestive; a rock would be gestured at here, or the gift of dark provided by a tree, there. So, Nerome thought. Where he lacked might, he made up with a shrewd mind. He assessed himself bluntly- a man of the Tower Guard raised after three years while most were deemed worthy in one or two, who lived by the discipline of Speed. His weapons were chosen due to their light frame or vicious nature- if violence was to be needed over defence, he would prefer that it ended quick, or that he weakened the enemy to such state so fast, that escape would be easy. One Power users were different though, Saline taught him. Demonstrations hadn’t come as yet, but they concocted their plans. Sitting facing each other, with the fire as their source of light, he nodded as she explained what he reckoned another must’ve passed on to her, just as Shawn had passed to him the Spring, which the man himself had learnt from Rosheen. One day he decided he would teach her too in return, but one day would not be soon, unless she asked it of him. For now, he would merely listen.

 

Again and again he would nod as seconds fell into minutes, and those into hours. They had left their fire and shed, and were now roaming, but not aimlessly. There was need to find a clearing if she was going to test him, but while they sought, she could teach, Saline had said as they had dampened out the last smoking twigs. She was telling him of the gifts that came to a channelling woman, and he couldn’t help but think that the gifts Saidar endowed were the same he had practiced to endow himself with for weeks. Still, he reasoned with his grudging mind- all channelers had practiced too. Especially Dreadlords, he realized.

 

Nerome understood what she was trying to lead him too, though. Stealth before steel, distraction before action and most of all, intelligence before brawn. The Power didn’t hone the mind and turn it faster than it was, and he Nerome would have to take every ounce of street smart he possessed if he were to escape. Do not run, but do not attack in the open either, he told himself, repeating words Saline said. When her questions came he would answer after a little thought, feeling stupider certainly, but also better. Better to consider all possibilities now and seem a little slow, rather than facing an opponent again who he could not match. When she asked about the fireballs though, there was not much thinking involved.

 

“Well…” He pictured it. Taraboner Dreadlady opposite to him, teeth revealed under glossy lips as she prepared herself to attack again. Dodge. “I’m fast. I have been taught to be aware always, sharp so that my reflexes are sharper than the average man or woman’s. However, you said a channeler herself grows more sensitive when using Saidar. The only way to do this would be if you-” A flicker of something, only a few paces away from Saline. Then a shadow. He cut off his speech and watched, but not without caution. This may be the White Tower, but no wall would be high enough to keep everything out without ensnaring oneself as well. The flicker grew however, into a stranger's face and his eyes glanced with interest at the banded hem. She noticed him too, but she seemed more fixed on approaching Saline. Another night walker? Hardly.

“We’ve company. Turn around; I think she’s come looking for you.”

 

~Nerome

Tower Guard

[Sam]

She had tried, really she had, but despite her attempts she could not sleep without Saline being safely tucked in beside her. It was not a staggering dependence issue; more the uneasy belief that her roommate could be getting into mischief without her, or even trouble. Fortune prick her if anything happened to Saline while she was lazing beneath the blankets. Rory would have to search for her and then bring her back to bed, she wasn’t going to get any rest else, and that was that.

 

Rory had been searching practically everywhere; even made a detour the juniper tree. In so doing she may have cut the edge of curfew but it was nothing compared to the all-nighter Saline had pulled. And do you think Rory had slept two winks during the night? Not likely. The room was too silent solo and simply reminded her that her roommate had yet to come home. Well, when Rory found her, she’d be in for it.

 

Rory was less than enthused when she found her. Tired, hungry; grumpy, yes, it would be difficult to be any less enthused. After all the time Rory had spent worrying she would have expected to see Saline injured. No matter. There was no rule saying she couldn’t inflict an injury herself. And with a boy? Typical. Just typical!

 

Sound travels well in the night, and Rory was able to make out the last statement spoken. As she closed the distance between herself and her targets she responded, infusing her terse reply with more venom than was genuine, “Please, please, no do be stopping on my account!”

 

She stopped in front of Saline and punched her in the arm with all the force she could, “that do be for keeping me up all night.” A painfully intense embrace and hard kiss to the cheek, “and that do be for being safe!” The scent of Saline’s hair and the residue of soap on her skin took a lot of steam from the pique, but not before she was able to round on, Narome, was it? She jabbed him hard in the chest with a finger, “ you do be knowing better than to keep a woman out all night!”

[Lih-Lyh]

It was not until the Guard warned her that she became aware of somebody coming toward them, but Saline did not turn around. She was none too eager to face the music. Instead, she trained her eyes on Nerome, studying his face intently. Having recognised the voice, and that accent for her roommate’s lilting voice her insides went soft with joy, though she stiffened at the tone. Rory was furious, she realised as the Illianer stalked into her view, positively bristling. More concern than anger, one could tell by her walk as she faced Saline, and then… Saline smiled as the other pulled her into an embrace, and leaning just a step on her tippy-toes, she returned a peck on Rory’s cheek then cradled her bruised arm ruefully. It was painful, but she deserved the punch, and secretly appreciated Rory coming in search for her, although she wished Rory had picked her other arm, so that she could aim better with her left.

 

Rory was advancing on ‘Rome, obviously blaming him for Saline’s night out. Grabbing her roommate’s hands quickly before ‘Rome received a punch as well, Saline assured Rory that this was not so, nervous that her two friends would not like one another. Saline caught Rory up on what had happened, explaining quickly their dilemma, and, with an apologetic look, why she had not slept in their room. Still clutching Rory’s hands, she spoke warmly of helping Nerome fight a group of elite Channellers they had never seen before, but her enthusiasm faded as her words went on, until finally Saline’s smile, too, receded.

 

Rory was confused about the mask, this headgear that Nerome wore. Saline took advantage of this momentary distraction to scrabble for evidence of the research they did during the night, and withdrew from her pouch the list they had compiled. It was but a short leaflet, but one filled with diagrams and whatnot. She felt rather proud about the drawings, proud enough to press it into her roommate’s hands in hope that the other might think well of ‘Rome. Humming tunelessly she busied herself adjusting ‘Rome’s mask as Rory scanned their list, pausing whenever Rory cocked her head in thought.

 

Saline glanced impatiently at Rory; was she impressed yet? Nay, the Illianer did not look as disgruntled as she could have, but the expression was definitely not that of pleasure either. Taking up Rory’s hands again Saline began to worry. What if ‘Rome got burnt by her fireballs? What if he was caught in an explosion of Earth? Saline was mediocre at best, and less skillful than most. Even Rory outstripped her considerably in technique, and Rory had come to the Tower years later than Saline. For such an exercise, it would take somebody very accurate, and confident about what she was doing. Even with her friends around, Saline did not think she was the woman needed to get the job done. The will was there, but her ability might be, lacking. And Rory knew it as well.

 

Then Saline had an idea. She set free the hands she had captured for so long, and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You disagree, dear?” In her dark, sleep deprived eyes came a familiar gleam, one intended to provoke, and to spur.

 

[Sam]

Even tired and a little on edge, Rory was intrigued by the small collection of knowledge before her. She devoured each and every hand-copied word. Unlike the Brown Ajah that collected knowledge for the sake of study and research, Rory was interested only in those weaves with “practical” applications. This wasn’t to say that she downplayed the importance of archiving and securing, she approved of this very much, but she preferred to be the explorer than the recorder, and she knew that much kept within the Tower’s Library would never be used by her.

 

The collection was incomplete to the eyes of the Accepted; it was logical to assume that a full sister would consider it “foolish.” She could run and fetch an Aes Sedai, like a good little Accepted and simply accept whatever truth she was given, or she could take this opportunity with Saline and discover something for herself. In theory there were ways for a normal man or woman to defeat one possessing the “art,” but would that theory stand tall in the face of repeated testing? Would it indeed….

 

“Hmmm. It do no be a matter of ‘disagreeing’, you have put a lot of effort into this. I do be impressed. But what if, say, you were to shield him first, not that do no be looking cute in his outfit,” wink, “but a simple shield would be offering more protection, I’m thinking. No? Here … will show you.”

 

Rory fumbled for the source, managing to glare at the other two at once and daring them to mock her shortcomings in anyway. It was not long before the soft glow of saidar surrounded her, bringing with it the transcendental ecstasy, and most importantly the double vision. She gave Saline an unpleasant look roughly translating to, “pay attention or I’ll box your ears!” and waited for her roommate to surrender to the power.

 

No verbal communication was needed. Rory had the necessary skill to make a saidar blueprint, but lacked the strength to see complete it as functioning weave, well, a weave with more than scant and really quite useless protection. She would show Saline what she had in mind, and then Saline would have to perform the weave over her tower guard friend.

 

The basic concept was an inverted amplification weave, a cone surrounding the body, but this weave was not woven so tightly as to stop the passage of all air. More like a lattice work of air, interlaced with water and earth, even though the former’s inclusion was an added protection rather than necessary. Rory knew from a little experiment that too much concentrated air in any one place when brought close to fire had a very explosive reaction. The bind of earth would dampen the air’s flammability … in theory. Saline did not need to know that Rory was as of yet unsure as to whether or not this was truth.

 

Repeating the weave several time in miniature so that she and Saline were familiar with the idea, she gripped Saline’s hand for support. There was no real reason to do this, but moral support was nice, and so was the feel of Saline’s touch.

 

[Lih-Lyh]

Yes, she could see that. A sound ward in essence, Rory’s layer of protections was convenient in that it would also be able to keep track of the times they scored a hit. Now they had to keep nothing back, seeing how any fire would fizz before reaching the man inside the cone. So long as shield was well built and tied off, ‘Rome should be fine. It was much better than their mask idea, and she was glad Rory had suggested it. She also felt a tad jealous that Rory had suggested the shield, as well. A shield had also occurred to her during the vigil, but Saline had dismissed the thought, deeming a typical shield of Air to be too unsuitable, or rather foolish to suggest. After all, she would be casting fireballs at her Tower Guard friend, and it would hardly do if ‘Rome went up in flames.

 

Peering closer at Rory’s designs, she admired the intricate netting of threads, Air, Water, and Earth, the latter two interwoven into the flammable element that was the building blocks of a Shield. It was cleverly done, especially with the addition of Earth, and Saline felt a moment of pride, one laced with sympathy as she embraced the Source and drew on the two elements, melding Water into Air slowly. She liked to add the new threads incrementally to ensure the stableness of the weave, and was especially careful in the framework, asking Rory to re-draw the lattice structures in detail before laying another thread on. Keeping in mind to keep the design how Rory specified, Saline took her time with the thickness of the elements, making sure that the Air were thin, though many. Rory could only watch as Saline worked to recreate what she drew, and Saline hoped the result would not be disappointing. Sweat dripped down the Taraboner’s nose as she held the incomplete weave.

 

She would be drawing on Earth, her weakest element. Trying hard not think of her weave collapsing, she concentrated on wrapping broad flows of Earth around the structure, covering each strand of Air with a blanket of Earth. It would be dusty inside the cone, she would imagine, but better soil than burnt, which would happen if the Air caught on Fire. Perhaps Rory had not mentioned anything like that explicitly, but a squeeze in her hand told the Taraboner to make this count. Her friend’s life was in her hands, Saline realised as she set the base around Nerome’s feet, twisting the strands as it rose steadily to his chest. Sometimes Saline made her own improvements upon the regions specific to where the weave was; she knew that if the changes were illogical Rory would stop her. Up and up her cone grew, until it reached his chin. At his head she knew there was a gap, a variance as it permitted more room for the Guard to breathe through, and speak clearly. Perceptive as usual, Rory repeated her model for Saline again, without being asked this time. Saline was glad that they had left Nerome’s mask on as a precaution, for it would cover his face should a small ball of flames eat through the thinner layer on top. Finally it was done. Sagging slightly against Rory, Saline released Saidar and asked if this was all right. It was not an exact replica of Rory's weave, but it was close.

 

[ashara]

He couldn’t help but feel trickles of doubt, but he remained silent. Eyes would dart from one face-Rory, Saline had named her- to that of his friend’s, and then back as the questions flitted from one to the other, each pausing for a few as the question was considered, and then either moved forward rapidly or brought down with understanding. What they said made the thinnest, most vague line of sense to Nerome- occasionally he’d nod while they mentioned more understandable words, such as barriers, but mostly he’d just be baffled, for what did he know about elements of Air, Earth and what did they mention? Water? Light, he couldn’t even see what they were talking about. So he let the conversation wander over all hills and passageways, noting with some disappointment that while the discussion being held spoke of preserving his body, spoke of teaching him how to defend himself, there was hardly any input he could give. Perhaps when he was bonded to Rossa, he would ask her to teach him more.

 

As he mused, he didn’t notice the sudden shift of the two Accepted’s attention from each other, to him. He thought of ways to fling it back, picturing a muddy ground as his mind raced to find ways to distract the Dreadlady. Mud would do no good, other than perhaps irate the woman if she were pretty and looks conscious. Besides, his mother used to believe mud packs were the next revolution. It would be good if there was more space, but at the same time, clumps of cover would be welcome. From what he had gleaned, as long as he moved fast enough for her not to be able to weave around – What in the name of the Creator…?

 

He only had time to notice the slightest shimmer in the air, a slight subtle colour mesh as his mind urged him to run. Saline is my friend. Rory is her friend. They are not the Dreadlady, neither one of them. His pulse had quickened though, which would be no good to them in their want to aid him. Gulping some air, he succumbed to the Spring, folding memory after memory into a bundle. There. He was calm now, and stimulated. Gaze steady on Saline’s face-which was now deeply furrowed, he noted- he watched. There was an aura of purposefulness to her, in the narrowed brown eyes and the manner in which she paid no heed to the beads of sweat forming on her brow. He felt the bonds twist and tighten around him, and tried hard to keep his attention on the two people ahead. Rory was not Saline had mentioned much in their interaction, except during the night of Dorian’s party and that too, due to a rather large amount of downed alcohol, came to Nerome in the most fuzzy of recollections. He did remember that the words had been spoken fondly however, and it was clear to him that they were in fact, close.

 

Fiddling with the mask they had made previously, when the tightening stopped, Nerome didn’t even realize. It was only when he looked back towards Saline and Rory that he noted their expectant looks, and felt a shudder of fear through the Spring. He was too shaky, he decided. Might be good to review his lessons with Shawn again, or ask Lyv for some help. Upon deciding that, he moved slowly towards his left. And then to his right. “Comfortable.” He said, and not without a tinge of surprise in his voice. He had expected by the looks and feel of the weaving Saline had been doing to be pressured down with the weight of the shield, but he could move freely. On whim, he did a short sprint around and stopped when he reached his old spot. Using his arms, bending his knees, ducking as if a fireball was out to singe him at the very moment…he tried them all. He was doing fine.  “I think now would be the time we actually tested this,” he said quietly, looking from Saline to Rory. Which one would it be?

 

~Nerome

Tower Guard

[Lih-Lyh]

Well, he was comfortable. Saline counted that as good. It certainly did not look comfortable as it stretched before their eyes, almost obstructing her view of 'Rome, as she raised her gaze to meet his.

 

Her hands however were still around Rory's, squeezing gently as she spoke. "Okay, let's go." She was nodding as she tried to control the trembling in her voice, for 'Rome; she could ask Rory to do this seeing as she had already woven and the other would gladly take on some of Saline's burden, but it would not feel right. 'Rome was her friend after all, and though Rory had more skills with weaves once she managed to touch Saidar, Saline reckoned 'Rome would feel better knowing the person throwing fireballs at him. Was she feeling nervous? Oh yes. What sort of woman would not feel edgy about having to direct fireballs at her friend? Still, it was 'Rome's project, and she had to honour her intention to help him. It just looked better on paper to Saline than actually having to do what was required of her.

 

The structure had bent when he hunkered down, and now as 'Rome moved it proved to be quite flexible, which was, again, good. She had this sudden image of weaving a fireball almost on top of 'Rome only to have him dodge, and leave his shield behind, watching as she destoryed him accidentally. Could a fireball be taken back? No, she did not suppose it could be unravelled, not without damage to the channeller and everybody around her as well.

 

Despite her trepedations she released Rory's hand with a final squeeze and forewarned 'Rome before channelling, making him jog a little as he stretched for a warm up. Saline gritted her teeth. She was no Dreadlady, and this would help her friend grow. Better her than the real thing, she thought as she made the weave, spinning Fire and Earth and letting the weave grow. Then directing a medium sized fireball she aimed it at 'Rome, ignoring the temptation of casting it elsewhere, anywhere but at the target moving in front of her. Real Aes Sedai might not do this, she thought in horror of the three Oaths, but she had already released, and watched with a quickened heart as 'Rome... dodged, unscathed.

 

Still touching the One Power she felt laughingly disappointed that the sound system Rory designed in structure could not be tested upon, so to speak. But it would be a hard request to make of anybody, even if he trusted you to throw fireballs at him, to ask him to stand still while you throw them. Well, he could not keep up the pace for long. It would have to wait as they tired him out, and whenever fire fizzed against the cone, hopefully the structure would emit a loud shriek, instead of 'Rome.

 

It had taken 'Rome a great deal of bravery to trust her, and Saline appreciated that as she tucked the knowledge away, and readied her second fireball weave. That, and Rory's smile at her gave courage to her arm as once again, she released her fireball, and watched hopelessly as it burned through the air at 'Rome.