Destiny (attn: Guido)

[Corwin]

Sirayn had convinced her that the next step toward her fixing things with herslf was getting her scars Healed. She didn't like it. Her scars were her own. But Sira assured her she would find someone who wouldn't ask many questions. She wasn't so sure though. Dragging her feet as she went, Meranda wanted nothing more then to hide her secret from everyone else.

 

Opening the door Meranda had to take a deep breath and close her eyes...but when she opened them she might as well have not been breathing. There might have been 50 people there, but Meranda only had eyes for one of them....surprisingly enough it was a man.

[Lih-Lyh]

A sick man rose from the coils of his pungent bedding, and the hollows of his cheek flushed with the emotion he partook of. Alcohol reeked from him in such thick atmosphere that intoxication was a danger for the white robed attendents. Other unsavoury scents pervaded the fumes, the rank soiled affair made the other patients listless and eager to return, or to move on, rather than to remain in the midst of the undesirable connection.

 

By the shutters he opened where the fresh breeze wafted from the sun-heated window to recycle the stale stagnancy of decay and recovery, Guido turned the page to where darkened script gaped. His mouth twisted in contemptuous distaste at the ill-bred manners of his fellow guards waiting in the infirmary. The quiet suited the man, reserved as he sought to follow the heroes through the vicarious experience of the story. Language was mind-boggling how it captured the philosophies he questioned were explored thoroughly by minds better than hosts of brilliant thoughts married into the compilation before him. His own Great Story in comparison had been unspectacular, and he seemed to be stuck in that limbo as he transitioned abruptly from his late youth cynicalism to an ancient and reproachable want in needing society to entertain, to juvenate the meaning of his existence. More frequently than ever, he second guessed himself with a ferocity that tended toward impotence of action.

 

Rustle of the approaching skirts alerted him to the discomfort of his position. Cramped into the narrow chair carved with ornate nymphs and sweating profusely into the shades of the mahogany, Guido coughed into his handkerchief, embroidered with his initials GC on an idle campaign. His hand twitched toward his belt loop, but the axe was not with him. Lain in the barracks were his usual weapons, for there was neither necessity nor effectiveness in the sickbay should anything untoward happen he was helpless to do more than the women would. He studied the Aes Sedai with meticulous care, noting the ageless beauty, the great serpant, and the unsufferable calm before withdrawing to his book. But his concentration had been shattered by the resolve not to look up again, and the determination was obvious in the tightness around the square of his jaw.

 

He must have caught cold a week ago during that miserable shift when he prostrated himself in the rain, a slow and heavy paralysis that smacked upon his body in fat celestial penance. Restraint over his sensibilities, a strong misliking for healing, made him present an impassive face, purposefully not flinching as the Yellow reached with plump gloved hands that startled into its flight. The Sister cupped that dark head shot with grey firmly, and her shawl of intricate lugardy lace tickled his forearms as he unclinched his fists and relaxed. A slight convulsion was the only indicator of her having delved and healed the guard. Through his downcast glance, perhaps they would mistaken it for gratefulness, or deference, he saw how she wove her way about the aisles, thank the light directed her attentions away from him. He did not trust anything he could not see, and though he valued the elegance of discretion, in his regard straightforward honesty weighed more.

 

Wham!

 

Guido fixed his gaze upon the brash newcomer who slammed the door so noisily but it slid smoothly past to behold another. He locked eyes with the dark haired woman aloof from the injured party. She had no apparent wounds, but he fancied that there was a desperate property about her countenance, and the intensity of her eyes confused him into speech for the first time in since his entry into the bowel of the White Tower. "I am Guido Cecil. How may I help you, Miss...?" Tucking his book into the fold of his full coat, he stood slowly from that half crouch of a seat, towering at his prestigious height and strode to cover the distance between them. The grace with which she carried herself took him by surprise, for the air of fraility was no longer percieveable. He began doubting his own conclusion as she impressed upon him her assurances in a melodious lilt. Shamed at his impropriety he trained his attention on her hand and realized she was Aes Sedai. Fool!

[Corwin]

Meranda had her gaze fixed on the man and didn't intend to take it off. He didn't realize she was Aes Sedai...no matter. She didn't have the ageless face after all. "Meranda Sedai master Guido. And I've forgotten why I came here in the first place..." For some reason just looking at the man made her head swim. The thought came, YOU can't trust HIM!! But Meranda dismissed it. She didn't mind his company for an intriguing reason. He had a book, so that meant he read.... Which was good, men these days never seemed to read books. "What book do you have there Master Guido?"

[Lih-Lyh]

He thought back to how once he had professed to his Mentor that he did not believe in anything he could not see, and his Mentor gave him this book, with the words of a sage, "Guido, were you born? Do you believe in a womb?"

 

"It is the best romance written," he said and smiled with pleasure that she did not blink, though she must have been surprised. His eyes flicked from that of his book to lock with the Aes Sedai's. "And I have read many good ones."