Rory Accepted thingo!

[Sam]

“Two things that no woman hears until she enters this room. Once you begin, you must continue to the end. Refuse to go on, no matter your potential and you will be very kindly put out of the Tower with enough silver to support you a year, and you will never be allowed back. Second. To seek, to strive, is to know danger. You will know danger here. Some women have entered, and never come out. When the ter”angreal was allowed to grow quiet, they - were - not - there. And they were never seen again. If you will survive, you must be steadfast. Faltering leads to a failure.”

 

The third time Rory had heard those words, and the first time she truly felt their impact. She had refused the Arches twice before, to waste everybody’s time. Both times she had had no genuine desire to test herself. This time was different. Her cleverness had come with a steep price, and there could be no turning back, no genuine fear would be heeded. She would either succeed, or she would fail, and she had come too far, done too much, to lose her resolve.

 

She pressed the flats of her hands into her abdomen, an unconscious battle against her inner nervousness. Saline, her mentor, could not help her here, nor could Lillian, her friend. She would have given a chilled glass of anything to have had them there with her now, but she was alone, and she was more than a little frightened.

 

Rory had experienced much, as a novice. While her rage and being confined against her will was not forgotten, nor perhaps ever would be, it had cooled considerably. It had been immensely pleasing to annoy her teachers, she would not dispute that, but she saw now that the White Tower maintained good points, as well as those bad, which had occupied all her attention for so long.

 

She gulped then cursed herself internally. She did not wish them to see that their little test frightened her. Especially the Mistress of Novices, with whom she had had so many dealings in the past. Tender sections of her body well remembered those visits, and the subsequent switching. A small branch of pride rose from inside her, and she held fast to it for strength. It had been worth every second.

 

“This is your last chance, child. You may turn back now, and you will have only mark against you. Twice more will you be allowed to come here, and only at the third refusal will you be put out of the Tower. It is no shame to refuse. Many cannot do it their first time here. Now you may speak.”

Her last chance … she could not, would not fall. Oh no, she would prove to them all in their fancy shawls with their fancy powers that she was every bit as deserving of the title as they were. More so, quite frankly. Not that she’d utter that one aloud.

 

Plucking at her dress self-consciously she answered, too fast and filled with jitters, but Rory was too pleased at having been able to answer to notice, “I-I am ready.”

 

“Whom do you bring with you, Sister?” An unknown voice.

 

“One who comes as a candidate for Acceptance, Sister.” The Mistress of Novices.

 

“Is she ready?” The unknown sister again, who Rory automatically disliked.

 

“She is ready to leave behind what she was, and, passing through her fears, gain Acceptance.”

 

“Does she know her fears?” Rory, who had been listening quietly thought, not really!

 

“She has never faced them, but now is willing.” Not so willing as all that, actually.

 

“Then let her face what she fears.” No thanks!

 

The Mistress of Novices asked Rory to remove her clothing. Rory stood very still. They do no be serious? Ho—why—what? She couldn’t, they didn’t really expec—did they? They did! Rory’s face coloured to deep scarlet as she fumbled to remove her clothing, and luckily she was too busy trying to decide how best to cover herself from view as the Mistress spoke her final, ominous words: “The first time is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.”

 

The fire from the hearth was roaring, and sweat beaded on Rory’s forehead and she moved quickly through the dancing patrons to serve ale to those taking rest from the festivities. Her mother and father would be dancing somewhere, probably in the kitchen, bothering the cooks with their cheery presence as always.

 

Her patrons smiled gratefully as she placed the foamy mugs on their tables, and she reciprocated with a fond smile of her own. An outer reflection of her joy at being where she belonged, doing what she loved, with those people she most cared for. The inn would be hers one day and maybe she would have less time then for gaiety, but not now, where there was nothing more to life than living from song to song played by the hired musicians. Gleemen, who needed them?

 

As she wound her way back through the dancers she could not help but swish her long skirts in a few impromptu dance steps as she headed back to the kitchens. Later that night, when business slowed down, she would have time to dance properly; no one would mind if she had a little fun between trays of ale!

Later that same night, when business slowed down, she did indeed have time to dance properly. Her mother and father flitted about cleaning here, speaking there, laughing over there. There was, in Rory’s mind, no greater place on earth than her father’s inn, and she had no goal in life more earnest than that of continuing to work and dance and play until she was too old to step in time with the music.

 

Her father beckoned, arm out stretched. She quickly moved toward him, when she noticed a bright circle of light behind her. How long had that been there? She turned back to her father, his eyes alit with laughter, and she smiled. He always made her smile. He motioned for her, and once more she headed toward him, but something in her mind made her stop. The archway called to her, she did not know why, but it was important that she step through it. Her father continued to beckon, and the smile slipped from her face as she glanced from her father to the arch and back again. She made her decision.

Rory was back in the chamber of the arches, cursing furiously and remembering how much she’d have preferred to have remained behind.

 

When she had composed herself, the unknown sister who she had decided she did not like poured water on her—cold water—and said the ritual words. Rory still did not like her.

 

“You are washed clean of what sin you may have done and of those done against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul.”

 

The Mistress of Novices brought her to the second Arch: “The second arch is for what is. The way will come but once. Be steadfast”

 

Rory frowned and muttered, even while Saline and Lillian sat on the grass opposite her, all encouraging smiles and mellifluous phrase. There was no way to console her over her failure. How many years, and still she could not touch saidar, still had not felt that most desired of connections. It was easy for them to say, they had already succeeded and well beyond the point of failure.

 

What was so difficult? Why couldn’t she surrender? It was simple. In the back of her mind came a vague sensation that she knew what it felt to be connected to Saidar, but she dismissed this. Now was no time for fantasies, now was the time for success. Much easier if saidar would submit to her, she was sure she could find a club big enough.

 

She looked down at her hands, they were thin and sallow. Her obsession with the source had been draining her strength; she knew this but did not care. She had to succeed. She would not be left behind again! Again: where had that come from? She was losing focus again. Focus Rory, focus!

 

Lillian tried to get her attention by grasping her hand, and Rory snatched it back with a glare. Lillian looked hurt, and Rory regretted the act, but now was no time to be distracted, she needed to succeed. She had to. What was left for her if she failed? She would be laughed right out of the tower, down each and every step. Out of Tar Valon, along every street and turn, and then she would return home a failure that could not even succeed at the most basic of lessons.

 

A sudden light flicked and broke her concentration. Rory turned to see a shimmering arch in the distance, some accursed Accepted showing off the fact that she could grasp the source, no doubt. Rory had a mind to go over there and punch her in the eye. No. Now was no time to become distracted by a silly Accepted. She had to succeed!

 

After several moments the thought drifted back. A black eye … just like Saline! Rory gasped and leapt to her feet as quickly as possible. Despite the protests of both Saline and Lillian she ran across the grass towards the arch. She could not be sure, but it appeared to be shrinking, and she was far away, too far away.

 

The young novice tore her skirts as she ran with all the speed she could muster; still she did not believe it would be enough. Her vision became filled with the glowing archway and at the last minute she made a lunge … and landed hard on her knees. She grunted with the pain and gasped for breath, only to find herself once more in the hall of arches.

 

“You are washed clean of false pride. You are washed clean of false ambition. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul.” Oh shut up!

 

The Mistress took her gently by the hand and led her to the third arch: “The third time is for what will be. Be steadfast for the way back will come but once.”

 

She could not cry. She wanted to, needed to, the tears would not come. She sat in a chair next to the hearth, eyes red with unshed tears and lack of sleep. Rory did not remember how long she had been sitting in that seat, her father’s favourite. It did not matter how long she intended to sit by the cold, dead ashes of the hearth, for he would never again kiss her on the cheek; take her into his arms and dance. No, he was dead now, his body as cold as the ashes of the unlit hearth.

 

Her mother had taken to bed, unable to deal with the stress and grief, and so she sat, alone, wishing she could have seen him one last time: danced, one last time. Never again would music play within the inn, never would its doors open, not now that the spirit of life had been torn from it.

 

Rory had received the message; Saline had read it to her. Even as her mentor had faltered over the words, Rory’s heart had broken and now she was here, in the place she had longed for, for so long but never been able to reach. Now she was here and it was too late.

 

Why had he not told her he was ill? Why had no one told her, until it was too late? It was not so sudden that she could not have been there, held has hand, touched his face, or even seen his smile. A pale light began to gleam, but she ignored it. Her father had died, and with him her hopes and dreams, where could she go now?

 

Saline was waiting for her, outside somewhere. She had needed to be alone with her thoughts and the memory of her father, Saline had understood this; she could not bear the sympathy on the face of her mentor. She would return to the tower … but could she truly resume her studies? Knowing now, what she did, that there was no home to return to?

 

Rory stepped through the archway, even as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

 

 

"Blood and bloody ashes!” Rory’s eyes widened as she remembered where she was. She had just enough presence of mind to slap her hands over her mouth, she had spoken quietly, but it was enough to receive a sharp stare from the Mistress of Novices. When Rory saw that the Amyrlin Seat herself stood there, she almost died.

 

Rory walked to the Amyrlin Seat and knelt as directed, blushing furiously at her own faux pas. A third chalice of water was poured over here, and the Amyrlin Seat, arguably the most powerful woman across the world intoned the final pieces of the ritual.

 

“You are washed clean of Rory of Illian You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world. You come to us washed clean in heart and soul. You are Rory, Accepted of the White Tower.”

 

“You are sealed to us, now. Welcome, daughter,” Rory felt cool metal against her finger, and lips of formality pressed against her cheeks, “welcome.”

 

Rory tried to smile, but she could not force herself to do so. She felt empty, empty and tired as though the arches had sapped all emotion and strength from her soul. Just as soon as she woke up, she would go tell Lillian and Saline all about it ... just as soon as she woke up.