Steam - Attn: Sallie

[Winter Mist]

“I bathe alone, I bathe alone

And no one else is there

At least I hope that none shall scope

For I am bathing bare.”  

 

The little bath-time rhyme her mother had never liked her to sing was one that always came to mind whenever she had a bathhouse to herself.  Purely alone, Dilora sank into the large copper bathtub and set the bucket of steaming water alongside her, the dipper resting at its edge so she could sluice the grime of days from her body.  Fragrant steam filled the room from corner to corner, and the bath maid sat on a stool just outside the door in case anyone wanted anything.  The privacy of this inn was renowned; as it should be for the price she was paying for it.  Lifting her head so she could slide a little deeper into the tub, Dilora began to sing the second verse.

 

“I like the steam, it’s like a dream

And never do I mope

For life’s a dream when I am clean

So tell me, where’s the soap?”  

 

The water, hot, splashed over the edge of the tub as an exuberant arm gesture came down a bit more happily than she intended.  Her dark hair was pinned up so Dilora could wash her body first, and then she could let it down to wash afterwards.  On a chair on the other side of the room, her clothes had been neatly folded; her belt pouch containing treasured possessions had been left in her room under lock and key.  Dilora was not going to take any chances.  The wagon had also been locked and hopefully Altie was enjoying a rub down in the stables.  Tar Valon would be a memory soon left behind.  She was making the most of its hospitality while she could.  

 

Dilora stretched and reached for the soap.  It was one of the rose-scented pieces from her wagon, the one with pieces of pressed rosebuds in, and one of her best sellers.  Making lather in her palms, she set to work on getting herself as clean as she could.  

 

[Lih-Lyh]

A bead of authentic lapis-lazuli bartered for at great expense to herself, and the inventory of goods she delivered, but the customer had promised to not only reimburse but also a great sum for the service, and the courier had taken the package on faith that when she returned, there would be a buyer with a reasonable, if not generous offer. Reasonable would be fine. Her charge was not dear, although she had to tough out the pains in her joints, the hands especially; on those days she was thankful to grip Ashleigh firmly with her aching knees as her mind grappled for relief from the arthritis the courier was riddled with. On those days she had wondered about retirement, rare beads of value or no, and take a hiatus from the constant travelling. Perhaps she would live in a Stedding and play Stones with the Ogier; now, that would be grand, and a new experience she would cherish, if only in dreams. Her nights, sleepless, plagued with of settling down into a smaller world where she would raise a family of carrots and peas in the garden, reading fanciful stories

 

Other days her retirement plans had seem so far, on the good days where any more stability than a moving path seemed farcical and presumptuous, and on those days she would feel the pain was bearable, that smiling felt good, and find the sun warm upon her leather-cured face. Other days, she had coined ‘the in-between times’ she wanted nothing but solitude, without taking a part in either extremes she would find the need to indulge, to pat herself on the back for a delivery well-done.

 

As it happens, here was a bathhouse she frequented whenever her business took her into the city, and as she found Ashleigh a clean, spacious stall beside that of a familiar mount, she was looking forward to a nice, long-awaited soak, one that she spared no expenses in procuring. As she walked toward her destination, a strong, clear voice rang out in song, one that she recognised, and the melody registered she stopped in front of the source, or would have had there not been a wooden door barring access, which an attendant guarded. The courier ignored the askance gazing of the washermaid, and cried out “What-ho, the Dilly-o!” Privacy might have been ensured, but Sallie was certain her friend would not mind some company. It would be marvellous to catch up with Dilora again.

 

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

She bemoaned the lack of someone to wash her back, twisting this way and that in an attempt to cover herself with lather.  The soap was one of her success stories.  She had set aside a few days to try and see if she could make the useful commodity in order to sell; cheap to produce, yet for some reason scented items could be sold for more if aimed at the nobility.  The song wavered for a moment as she angled and arched herself to try and reach a spot between her shoulder blades, and then resumed at full pelt for another verse.

 

Now that’s a voice I haven’t heard in ages!    Her own voice called out in response: “Sallie forth, Sallie forth!”  It was part of an exchange between the two friends that was almost as old as the friendship itself.  Two people whose lives were dictated by others, but always followed the same roads would eventually, inevitably, find each other and they had.  A few stories shared over a nip of something from Dilora’s wagon to ward off the chill and they had been firm friends. 

 

Travelling as a woman alone, Dilora had quickly disregarded any notions of modesty she held.  Bathing in secluded forest pools where villages had inns without facilities was not unheard of in Dilora’s book, and as to attending the necessary … well; there were ways and means.  You did not get to be one of the nation’s favourite peddlers by being overly dainty.

 

Her face split into a wide grin as her old friend came through the door, her face painted with a similar smile.  “It has been a long time, old friend.  The road has taken us apart, but somehow it always leads back to the same place.  How’ve you been?”

 

[Lih-Lyh]

The rich, womanly voice paused but for half a moment before picking up the strong, hearty cries of Sallie’s name, affirming her suspicions. Some people sounded similar, and Aes Sedai could even mimick voices with their Saidar tricks, yet no other person in the world ‘cept for Dilly-o would have replied thus. Hearing the forthright invitation, the courier smiled and sent the liveried lass for more buckets of suds and heated water, then barged in with a tin bent ladle, and peeked through the door, sporting a broad, wrinkle-stretching smile.

 

They had known of each other, and then known one another for ages, the longest Sallie’s ever had a friend, in fact. It was not at all a conscious effort to become friends, but more like a long time of just being around each other, and knowing who Dilly was, her core values, her likings and aspirations. Sallie had not asked for these deliberately, but through the medium of conversation and other forms of communications, such as a constant stream of letters exchanged for a while, chaste as the intelligence within, discussing only of the world around them, they somehow became as dependable as good friends could be. And all too rare did the opportunity came that a friend would come along, for stories and companionship, especially when both women went wherever the road took them, into the agendas woven for their threads. If she were asked to give a clearer explanation for the process, she would have to resort to the song allegory, you know, how you’d listen to a song over and over again, not even realising it was in the background, and then, then one day it occurred to you that you knew the lyrics, every single word to the song without ever trying to learn it. That was how Sallie met Dilly, and the friendship had deepened. With others she had to endeavour to learn the songs, like a Madhi she sought to commit to memory the songs, while her friend had an impressive repertoire of songs, without even trying. Following the songs to friends, it was little wonder how Dilly was the most popular peddler around, ‘cause she had the voice, that strong, clarity to follow through.

 

She’ll admit, she had not loved Dilora as she had Ashleigh, who was her dearest love of all, but he also had the advantage of not having to talk back, and being a gelding had excused him from the drudgery of conversation. There lurked certain weariness when one could not get the “real thing”, even if Ashleigh gave his equivalent of a smile, as his muscles were constructed differently to show, or neigh approval. Caring for Ashleigh now that he was getting on in the years had grown to be quite demanding on the old purse-string, not to mention travel time of an express courier. But he wasn’t heavy, was never the milestone others had only to look at his teeth to suppose he was; he was her horse, and constant companion.

 

“Passing well; passing well.” She tipped the ladle at her younger counterpart, admiring the smoothness of the other’s flesh as Dilly thrashed prettily. “I don’t know about you, but the road goes ever on, I want to soak until my toes double as prunes before it takes me again.”

 

She undressed slowly, not out of care for her modesty although she had turned her back toward the other tub. Unfastening her hair, a coil of dark chestnut peppered with silver strands, from the severe bun Sallie had arranged was as meticulous a process as pulling it up again, her fingers maneuvering the buttons as if she had spouted all thumbs; back stiff despite her efforts to hurry, she tackled her riding dress, not wanting any help, nor was any given, as she avoided seeing any mark of sympathy, no, empathy she could have imagined on the lovely, wincing face.

 

The small of her heart flip-flipped as she both dreaded and wanted her bath, just the process of getting into one required planning. Now, she eyed the familiar copper design with a comical wariness, and approaching ever so slowly, one mud-splattered foot then another, she lowered herself to her knees, then sat waist deep in the water. 

 

When she was younger, as young as Dilly she could have pranced into the tub without a thought or regard for the structure of the tub, embracing fully the carelessness of youth. The itchiness as the hot water sprayed into her, nipping the chaffed skin into stings. This rawness she barely felt, as she scrubbed furiously at the old skin until they sloughed into the bottom. When the road took her again she was determined to leave without the caked grime on the pads of her elbows, and funny enough, when she reappeared, a thinner woman. A wash of companionable silence settled over them as they unwound; closing her eyes she soaked. The pain receded to throbbing, and she could have cried.

 

When she opened her eyes, her mind had turned to the oils. Dilly always had interesting satchels of herbs, and nabbing one jasmine fumed pouch she grinned. “Mind if I help myself?”

 

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

She shook her head, fully intent on letting her old friend from the road enjoy every pleasure that she herself was enjoying.  Relaxing in the rose-scented bliss, Dilora raised her voice to draw Sallie’s attention to the small side stand of soaps and oils, and began to go through each of them.  It was as though she were trying to make a sale.

 

“Jasmine, very romantic, that will also make your headaches go away and lift your spirits like nothing you could believe.  Oddly, if you add a little honey and make a gel of sorts, it works wonders for the skin – make sure to get it all off though!  I once forgot, missed a bit, and was chased by bees and dogs for a goodly while!”  Dilora laughed and sank a little lower into the tub.  The dirt and grime of ages finally seemed to be loosening.  Confidingly, Dilora turned to Sallie and winked.  “Eventually, I had to climb a tree, but I did notice that my skin was soft!”  The wicked twinkle in her eye said she had enjoyed the event.  There was a nice feeling to running, although being stung or bitten because of improper ablutionary methods left a lot to be desired.

 

“And then there is pine.  Pine, if used in a bath, will create a scent like a forest glade (obviously) and it works surprisingly well for clearing the head.  A few drops of this in your morning bath and you’ll find traces of your morning head are far easier to deal with.  Lemon oil is faintly astringent so that will make your skin feel very clean.  Rose is sovereign for relaxing and, oddly, headaches – I reckon the soothing smell makes your brain feel so much at ease it forgets it hurts.”  Dilora smiled at Sallie and picked up a large flannel and began to scrub one pale shoulder.  Parts of her body were tanned from the exposure they had received on the open road, and parts of her were still as white as milk. 

 

“Mint is good for clearing heads, too.  Sometimes I think that’s why they say a hot bath stills the mind, you know.”  Her scrubbing became vigorous and she considered what she knew of other countries bathing rituals.  The Shienarans bathed together; men and women, something that had, at first, made Dilora blush brighter than an Andoran Palace Guard’s uniform.  After the first few days of it, however, she began to grow accustomed and entered into the spirit of it fully.  Aiel, as Cor told her, bathed in tents because there was so little water to bathe in it was anathema to them.  Hot rocks would be placed on a stone in the middle of a tent and water flung on them from a gourd, creating billowing steam enough to scrape the dirt away.  As much as the idea had appealed, Dilora much preferred to be submerged to her shoulders in warm water. 

 

“I personally prefer the rose oil, but I just like the smell.  Please, help yourself.”

 

[Lih-Lyh]

She indulged, availed her body of Dilly’s generosity, as the other spoke, sensing the happiness of one at ease with her craft. Her saleswoman tongue worked through her wares quicker than molten silver, fastening on any fancies it could draw out. Properties of this scent and that oil, some names familiar, and others less so, made Sallie smile even more at her erudite friend. That want for learning kept her mind keen on what she was told, and Dilly had a never ending repertoire of knowledge to go with her inventory. No doubt about it, she sounded brilliant!

 

The hot bath must have stilled her pains too, for though arthritis was a chronic pain it dulled to a very bearable definition of mild. Turning aside to the petals, its fumes were as divine as she dared to hope, and she could easily see how one’s headaches would be alleviated, although she suspect that “lift of spirits” Dilly touched on had less to do with the jasmines and probably more to do with the good company. Being around Dilly was always an adventure (excitement always followed in her wake), and certainly the stories were wild enough. It’d be really neat if somebody went around collecting these tidbits into a book, and one shouldn’t have any difficulty finding a writer either, since, and let’s face it, who wouldn’t want to travel by Dilly’s side, and record the events for posterity? She was not the ideal perfection of a heroine, but this protagonist focused on quite ordinary objects, and although she was no taver’an, Dilly had brought together many meaningful relationships.

 

When first Sallie told a story about Ashleigh around the wagon, Dilly had given such a look of approbation as to secure most of Sallie’s discourse to herself. Then Dilly talked, and she listened. Sallie thought Dilly’s conversations interesting, and the gentleness of her nature gave exercise to her good breeding. Throughout the years she proved exceedingly kind and helpful; a valuable asset to enrich the flavour of Sallie’s life. Yes, the courier too enjoyed just listening as the other made light and wit of the mundane drudgeries such as morning heads. If most people confronted a delicate situation with a less than delicate solution, then Dilly was exceptional in that she had sense, which would always attract Sallie more than pure passion, or material effectiveness.

 

Sallie had no need for pine or mint at the moment, but she did feel a need to clean out her fingernails. Swapping the jasmine for some lemon oil, she polished them until they shone; never minding the hands as they rubbed the oil around, so much that she could literally taste the air. It blanketed her hair, settling into the curls like the fog over Far Maddings, and scrubbing her fingers through they squeaked.

 

Her head lifted higher, above the lemons that stung at her eyes. Faintly she could catch a whiff from Dilly’s corner. “Thanks for sharing. It’s nice to take the time and smell the roses.”

 

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

 

Sinking down once her ablutions were complete, Dilora smiled across at her friend.  “I hope the road has been treating you kindly,” she said, closing her eyes and letting the warmth permeate her bones.  She shifted a little in the tub to make herself more comfortable and sighed happily.  “I would not say it has been kind to me; everything has been retreat after retreat after retreat, and I am getting tired of looking over my shoulder every moment.”  It was true.  From angry tavern-goers in Caemlyn to Darkfriends on the road to Tar Valon, Dilora had not been able to rest easily since before that event with the bubble of evil. 

 

“Does it ever pall with you?  Travelling, I mean.  You must have had your fair share of adventures in your lifetime, right?”  She sighed and opened her eyes, dew drops of sweat and water clinging to her long, dark eyelashes.  The scent of her companion’s bath was a sharper smell than her own floral one, and it seemed to cut through the roses, making her thoughts clearer.  Shaking her head sent her hair over her shoulders and into the bath with a splash.  More of the rose soap worked into a later in her palms and she massaged it into her locks, cleaning the dust and grit of ages from it.  Soon, her head was covered in suds and it looked like she wore a cap of snow.  Dilora sank under the water and rinsed it, not surfacing until every trace of it was gone.  Light, but she hated when her hair felt dirty. 

 

“It is nice to stop and smell the roses.  You know, this is the longest time I have remained in one place.  I rather like being settled.  For nearly fifteen years I have been a peddler and not had a real home other than my wagon.”  She turned her mahogany gaze on the courier, and for once her eyes held absolute seriousness.  “I think it is time for me to stop peddling.  I want to settle down.”

 

[Lih-Lyh]

Stop    peddling? Such an unexpected avenue for Dilly to discuss with her that she sat up in alarm. A smoke bomb would not have surprised her more, so delicate was her guard. Fear bubbled through her, she who had cherished Dilly’s zest for life on the road. It was true that the road wore plenty thin, but this was Dilly she was staring at, the Dilly who was always in the thick of things, a presence to excite, to inspire, and forge along new pathways for others to follow by. Could it really be that Dilly would have grown weary of her quest and calling, to settle down elsewhere and give up, even sell her wagon?

 

By her tones the other was not taking the piss, and the gravity of her situation appalled the courier. Sallie had seen Dilly a bit of a daredevil, and that she seemed so youthful – thanks to a little honey and gel, Sally suspected - made her real age easy to dismiss. Fifteen years was a long, dreary some journey, even if she’s had her fun. Surely it was understandable, after being so active and ceaselessly moving around, to want to retire from work.

 

Sallie had settled once, and the uneasiness of its obscurity had almost destroyed her. Disengaged completely from her adventures, her withdraw from all that made her feel less alive. Bargaining was how she identified herself, and engrossed by this loss she turned her tongue, her heart bitterly on the people closest to her until she lost them. That had brought the road back to her. At first travelling was more a form of escape from her failures than anything else, then she bought Ashleigh from the market, and by existing he had changed everything for her.

 

Dilly’s eyes sparkled as she awaited a response. Somehow what appeared impossible but a moment ago became so real to Sallie as she considered. As suitable to hers and Dilly’s professions, she would probe. The peddler would not have brought up the possibility if she did not want questions, and the courier would fulfill this; while she truly desired a bottom to this endeavour, that craving seized information for its own sake, and knowing how much thinking Dilly had put into her future would help tremendously at the present. Composed once more, Sallie resorted to a habit she had fallen into, that was, whenever she didn’t want to give a straight-out answer concerning her own feelings of dislike, she quoted, and again her mind supplied her with something that would do for the time being.

 

“A poet once said, when autumn’s wind blows, discard the fans. The thick wick of an oil lantern burns fast, the thin enduring. All things pall with time, but passion cannot be forced once that interest is stymied, and perhaps this particular retreat would do you good. So, how do you plan to settle down, Dilora?”

 

[Winter Mist]

~Dilora~

 

Sallie had asked a good question, one that she was not entirely certain of as yet.  The wagon had been her home for so many years she could not possibly imagine living without the closeness of its four walls, and to leave behind Altie would be a shame.  Her horse was getting old though, and the mare she had enjoyed so many adventures with deserved a bit of a retirement too.  Dilora reached for some lemon oil and rubbed it into a couple of places where the wagon seat was seemingly more comfortable these days.  Its toning properties should help to keep those breeches fitting well, she thought as her hands made small circles to massage it in. 

 

“I think, my friend, that every autumn leaf comes to rest eventually.  It turns to red or gold before it falls from the tree and will only die in the cold if it remains there.  However,” she turned a sparkling eye at the courier “if you put that leaf somewhere secure and dry, and preserve it to the best of your ability, it lasts a lot longer.”  Dilora shook her head and sighed.  “I don’t know, is the honest answer.  I am tired of the road, tired of bathing in pools where I cannot find an inn.  There are lots of hardships to travelling as we do, as you well know, and I am tired of them.”

 

The lemon scent lifted her spirits.  Dilora raised her voice and called to the bath-maid to bring them some wine sweetened with honey, and to put the cost on her tab to settle later.  They sat in steamy silence for a short time, the sound of gently lapping water against the sides of the tubs when one of them moved the only noise that disturbed Dilora’s contemplation of the future.  She accepted some of the honeyed wine and raised a toast to her friend.

 

“Sallie, I cannot think of anyone better to be discussing my future with.  I want to run an inn, or some house that people can stop by anytime and get a nice meal or a comforting hug.  There are too few places like this in these dangerous times.  If I can make one person feel happier while I am myself content and planning a secure future, then I shall do.”  She looked away and downed half of her cu p of wine.  “There is something else.  I am lonely.  I want to be settled; such a life I have never known.  And, I guess, I wouldn’t mind a husband.” 

 

[Amalasan]

Tar Valon, a city that had long been a place of Malic’s imagination since he heard stories of it in his more youthful years, it sure stood up to expectations so far. There were many reasons for him to come here, and none of them were to mix himself up with Aes Sedai! But a handy Gaidon…he might have need for. But avoiding Aes Sedai while being around her protector? That would take some top class tumbling.

 

Malic laid sprawled out on the grass under a clear, sunny mid-day sky, plucking away at his golden harp below a huge tree. The location had quickly become special to him since he arrived in Tar Valon. It was a large open symmetrical square, filled with four large trees, patches of grass, flowers and white tiling; centred around a gigantic fountain statue and bordered with the hustle and bustle of the inner city. The statue itself was an Aes Sedai holding open a stupidly large book, in awe of her own grandeur…that suited Aes Sedai ego very well Malic realised.

 

While his mind wondered in and out of thought, his harp suitably reflected the mood he was in today, which was calm and happy to be alive. Just knowing that Dilora was also somewhere in the city kept his mood on a high most days; in amongst one of the great white domes or spiral towers, probably taking full advantage of the luxuries the lavish life this great city holds.

 

Malic was staying at a rather nice inn called “The Captain’s Salute”, this being his fifth day. He paid his way by singing and entertaining each night, which was a usual way of life for him. This job gave Malic the day to himself, and today, he needed to visit the library for research. It was all well making way through life just entertaining where he slept, but there were other area’s of expertise that caught his attention. At the top of these area’s was history, or a more accurate description would be historical items, and more accurate still would be the worth and fame of such items. Squatted to pack away his harp, he heard loud shouting coming down the alley he was facing to the south, followed by the clash of steel. Interested in the commotion, Malic all but jumped up to his feet, it was odd for trouble to occur around these parts of the city.

 

Forgetting to brush the grass off his backside he started off towards the fuss, when out of the alley came a face he recognised, all but leaping over people to evade half a dozen rather large ruffians armed with drawn swords. The lone flying man went by the name of Jaishoa Spitz, a roguish looking man with a very long beard Malic met in the inn. He could be the most remarkable man Malic had ever met; he was in fact an archaeological researcher. The stories he told were legendary and fascinating. As much as Malic respected the man, he wished Jaishoa was not leading the group of thugs his way Oooh, great. Here we go “Whoo Whoo, not so fast my friend whats...”

“Don’t ask, just run…they’re going to kill me and they’ll kill you if you get in their way.”

With that, Malic started off at a sprint with Jaishoa, Oooooh great!...