Aunt Sira i want milk and cookies

[Liitha]

M'bela looked at the bundle on her bed, her son dead asleep from the

extra herbs put into his tea. Not how she would have liked this. She

lifted him and carried him out into the dark night, puting him over the

horseback and lead the mare on, it would take her some time on foot to

get out of Braem wood.

 

Yet nesicary she felt, at least till the edge of the wood, preferably

futher. It was not good to leave tracks back to her liar, not at all. It

was dawn when she stoped, she had managed to cross enough land between

her and the wood now, as well find a solitary cling of trees to hide the

mare in till she came back.

 

Lifting the boy off the back she checked to make sure the letter was

still in her pocket, and wove the gateway into Tel'aran'rhiod. Carying

the limp body through, luckily she wouldnt have to cary him for long. A

couple steps brougth her just where she wanted to be, she had let

herself douse in that cling of trees, before leving checking for the

dreams of the woman who inhibited these rooms.

 

She had found them, and as such the woman should be asleep, it had not

been that long ago. Slowly weaving another gateway she opened the door

into the room, was she doing the rigth thing, she put the questions out

of her mind. No she had thougth to much on this now to question it, it

would have to work and be the best option. Checking the room she held

thigth to her inverted illusion and the inverted defence weaves, but

none was there.

 

She put him down on the coutch, checked the ties, then placed the letter

on the table before kissing his cheek. Her beloved som, whispering words

he couldnt hear, "its best like this".

 

Turning she left through the gate and closed it after her, it had been

inverted like all else, no point in giving the witches any clues on

weaves, or let them see what was coming, or above all have felt a

channeler in there.

 

Leaps took her away through several dead locations should she be

followed, untill she was sure she couldnt be more safe, then opening

another gate and step back out of Tel. She knew Semirhage prefered to

enter in flesh, yet the dangers didnt make her totaly comfortable with

the way of traveling always.

 

And so it was she mounted the mare to ride for the borderlands, to the

summons of her mistress.

 

-----------------------

Hello Pet

 

Here is a litle prize for you, treat it well and I will be pleased. This

is my son, his name do be Damiean. However I must on before hand

apologise for his not beeing a very well behaved boy, its none of my

fault as Children kidnapped him as a baby. You do know how they can be

illogical, and I am afraid they twisted his mind, a sligth inconvinence.

Yet to your sure deligth it made him a proper lightfollower.

For now as such I entrust his safety to your hands as I have other

things on my hands that can not wait.

 

~Kitten~

 

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Sirayn

 

 

 

Joined: 18 Mar 2006

Location: England

 

PostPosted: Wed May 09, 2007 1:38 am    Post subject: Reply with quote Edit/Delete this post Delete this post View IP address of poster

Colourful though her life had been, the moment she discovered a boy sleeping uninvited on her couch at some Light-forsaken hour of the morning ranked among the strangest she remembered.

 

Moments passed in complete consternation as she stood, barefoot and wearing only a light robe, stirred from sleep by some cold finger of dread, looking down at her guest and the letter. In the wavering light she had conjured he lay lax as a puppet with the strings cut; black hair fell across a smooth dark face, long dark lashes shadowed his cheeks, he looked no more than fourteen … perhaps even younger. Looking at a child scarcely out of the cradle made her feel about a thousand years old. Then she figured out that the sleeping beauty had dreamed himself past a heavily warded door without so much as a whisper and the last remnants of sleep vanished.

 

For an old, slow cripple Sirayn Damodred still moved fast when the mood took her. She had the One Power at her fingertips and a weave laid into the boy’s black head before he drew another breath; thinner, more delicate than normal to compensate for her weakness in almost every element, but it would keep him asleep for a while yet. Then she crossed her floor in a few light steps -- not being one to stir once she had retired to bed, she had never noticed until now how damn cold the flagstones were beneath bare feet -- and investigated her wards: probing with saidar, at first tentative and then more confident, touch and sight and intent hearing applied to seek any flaws in her work. She found none. Half a channeller to all intents and purposes, she had nevertheless learnt how to ward a bloody door with what meagre strength she possessed, and she ought to feel it if someone had tampered with her work. An Aes Sedai ought to know.

 

Maybe the ravages of the past year had put her so out of touch with the One Power that she could no longer sense interference with her own weaves. The thought stung her; she had lost a lot on that bitter night before Dumai’s Wells and, frankly, she had little else left. She had failed to protect her Gaidin, save her own children from the Dark One or lead the Tower to safety … but she could still follow basic security precautions.

 

A deep breath she took and held, silencing herself, as she listened. Nothing stirred through her quarters save the sleeping boy; one dark arm outflung, fingers softly curled, he looked at once too natural and too bizarre to be true. Thus partly reassured Sirayn began the unfortunate but necessary process of turning her quarters upside down. She opened every door, searched every room, looked into a giant polished wardrobe, checked under the bed and behind heavy drapes and anywhere a person might hide … looking all the while for smaller things than men. In the end, foiled, she returned to the sleeper and his letter.

 

He was sleeping very deeply. She pulled up a chair and simply watched him for a time, learning the slow rhythm of his breathing, the dark planes of his face. Her son had spent his early years far away from his mother and her mad, dangerous life; she had never had the opportunity to watch him sleep, to stroke his hair, to whisper to him everything she dared not say in daylight. Maybe it was for the best. Even then he had carried the seed that would kill him.

 

Maybe he was booby-trapped. This revelation she pondered for a while until she realised that any trap should have been triggered by the touch of saidar; she returned to other diverting possibilities, focusing around the very real prospect that he might in some direct or indirect way kill her. It wouldn’t be a big loss to the Tower, she had always been dispensable, but it might have rather more dramatic effects on her enterprises … on the Order most of all … so she took every precaution before opening the envelope. She explored it delicately, looking for weaves, no matter how tiny, maybe a time-delay mechanism or a poison or something else, but found nothing out of the ordinary. So, with an inward shrug, she slit it open and unfolded the letter.

 

Hello, Pet.

 

It triggered a succession of images: a slow Domani drawl, dark eyes, collar and pain, fingertips against her bare skin. She pushed the letter away so fast it skittered across the table, snatched back her hand as if it had burned her. Pet. Her skin crawled.

 

Now she just wanted to go right back to bed, maybe hide under the covers until all this had gone away. No, what she actually wanted -- a thought that shamed any right-thinking Aes Sedai -- was for somebody to protect her. But she had forfeited the luxury of shifting her troubles to somebody else’s shoulders long ago when she first took the shawl. She took a slow breath, forced down the memory of paralysing fear, and took back the letter. This time she read it through, end to end, then did so a second time to be certain of her facts. Even in private the only outward sign that she wanted to beat her head on the desk was the steady tapping of her fingers.

 

The sheer absurdity rendered her speechless. If she thought a busy Aes Sedai could take time out to raise her errant son she had another think coming! What was the damn Dreadlord even thinking? Had she been drunk at the time? What sane person would leave their son, surely the most prized of their possessions, in the hands of an implacable enemy? Did she think the sins of the mother wouldn’t be visited upon the son? That little Sirayn Damodred did not want revenge? And … some kind of rabid Child of the Light barely out of his mother’s arms … the drumming of her fingers became a little more agitated. What was she even supposed to do with the boy?

 

Giving up on composure she flung the letter away snarling and ignited it mid-flight. Ashes fell. The little display of temper eased her frustration somewhat; she rose from her seat and began to pace.

 

Right. Despite its spectacular proof only weeks ago she had done nothing to fix the Tower’s most serious security flaw -- having no defence against gateways. That had been criminally irresponsible of her and she did not intend to let it continue. She had figured out how to hold the Tel’aran’rhiod line using the Night Watch and she would crack this problem too given time. But now, in the next hour, she had to decide what to do with the boy.

 

Any idiot could see that she ought to kill him. It was a simple equation: probable lethal risk plus privileged position in heart of the Tower equalled death. She had no idea what havoc the boy could wreak and to let him do it in Tar Valon itself would be negligent in the extreme. Liabilities shouldn’t get a stay of execution because the judge was a sentimental old fool. No, she knew exactly what she ought to do -- slip him something, or cut his throat, or touch something in his head so he simply never woke up, and throw him in the River Erinin so his body would wash up on a shore weeks later. That would be sense. That would be logic.

 

Only she didn’t want to. She didn’t know if she could face killing another child. Burn her, she didn’t even know how she had managed to kill the last one -- how she had ever found the nerve or the courage or the sheer strength … and she couldn’t imagine this dark perfect child choking his last at her feet. Didn’t want to imagine it. Maybe she could order some agent to do her dirty work for her but … that would just be plain cowardice. If somebody didn’t deserve to die at her hands, personally, they didn’t deserve to die at all.

 

He looked comfortable. She wondered if she should bring him a blanket or whatever it was mothers did. Momentarily the play of light over long black hair and smooth cheek fascinated her; her fingers twitched and she fought the desire to touch … to steal a moment when he was asleep, when she was alone, when nobody need ever know … to remember what it felt like to touch another person with no pain or fear or danger at all. It was a half-thrilling, half-frightening thought. She pulled her hand away.

 

Burn him, burn her and burn her stupid bloody cowardice. Seething, she made up her mind nevertheless. She had no idea how Corin Danveer had managed to remove her from her quarters, unseen and without raising any question, but she was going to learn. Quickly.

 

In the event she solved this little dilemma by application of her once-favourite method: brute force. All other avenues having been exhausted, since she had no skill at illusion whatsoever and no other method of concealment, once she had dressed herself in a more appropriate fashion Sirayn simply folded the child up like a blacksmith’s puzzle and wrapped him up in a blanket. Then, hoisting the shapeless bundle, she steeled herself -- flung open the door -- and strode out into a public space as if she had never considered semi-legally removing a complete stranger from her quarters in the middle of the night. She underwent a brief, heart-stopping moment when footsteps bounced all round the cavernous hall, but let it not be said that the Amyrlin could not remove herself and her illicit burden to a poky little cupboard at speed, and whoever it was passed by without noticing her. Afterward she opened the door, looked left and right, and crept across her own corridor like a thief. Her knowledge of the deserted servants’ ways had not deserted her; she and the sleeping boy scuttled through many floors until they finally emerged into Tar Valon itself.

 

Problem: she needed to settle a strange child close by.

Solution: she also possessed safe houses within Tar Valon.

Counter-problem: the best had been compromised in a long and involved situation involving Darkfriends, blackmail and a priceless stockpile of forkroot.

Counter-solution: stow the boy somewhere else … for the moment. Move the forkroot soon. It had to be protected at all costs.

 

Night cloaked them. In broad daylight she would never have dared this; so many prying eyes would have skewed the risk-benefit analysis heavily toward the former. Yet in darkness, perhaps her natural home, she moved freely. She owned a tiny little house on the waterfront overlooking the river. Stone and wood, it looked like a commoner’s home like the one she had been raised in, not the mighty stronghold she now ruled … but it was sturdy and well-fortified despite its humble look and she hoped she could safely keep the boy there for a while. All the same, as she stepped over the threshold, she felt a shiver of apprehension -- as she always did -- that maybe this time, just this time, her plans would go so spectacularly awry that her entire precarious career would crash down with them …

 

Banishing doubt, she laid her little bundle down on a bed and unwrapped the child like a gift. A lit candle provided a weak and wavering radiance; he still slumbered. Sirayn laid the blanket over him and tucked it in with a gentle hand, trying to pretend he was a little shorter, a little fairer-skinned, and that if he looked up at her it would be with her own grey eyes in her son’s face. It didn’t happen. But she made him comfortable all the same and withdrew to a hard wooden chair by the door.

 

Once he woke, she was still there, serene as a statue. “Good morning,” said his mysterious benefactor, in the coolest, clearest tones she could muster. “I’m going to take care of you.”

 

Sirayn Damodred

Amyrlin Seat

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Ata

 

 

 

Joined: 15 Feb 2006

Location: DM

 

PostPosted: Sun May 27, 2007 10:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote Edit/Delete this post Delete this post View IP address of poster

Owial opened his eyes slowly, feeling dizzy, as if he slept way to long. Blinking he waited till his head was collected before trying to locate where he was, as obviously it was a new place and not the hut he had fallen asleep in.

 

His dark eyes fell on a woman, a new one or was it the same looking diffrent, it wasnt good to know. He silently listened to the words spoken, slowly siting up and silently streaching till he felt bether. "A new game? it wont help, they will find me and they will kill you for doing this darkfriend...witch.." his voice held hatred and contempt. "Moving me around will only help for so long, and you must be really bored with your look to change it so often.." he hoped to taunt her to leave, if he was alone he migth be able to escape, find someone of the childs, someone to help him.

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