A Rose for you, perhaps? ~Rossa~

[ashara]

Summer swelters had never quite complimented her skin.

 

Summer heat along with mud and weeds however, now that was particularly bad. And it had swallowed her down in one of those rotten moods Vera rarely indulged in, having seen what they did to people and what the outcome almost always was. Mud and sweat clung to her hair and her cheeks had got that awful red colouring to them that often gave people the impression that she just been slapped very very hard. Uncomfortable, Vera pulled at the hugging banded dress she was garbed in, trying to give herself some air. Oh how she hated gardening sometimes. Roughly she yanked a weed out, trying her level best to keep the mud away from her dress. White dresses were always terribly hard to clean, she had learnt over the past several years. Besides, it would be disgraceful to walk back into the Tower garbed in mud and sweat.

 

Her friends had often asked her why she bothered to do such work on her own and Vera as always had said because she believed a “little physical labour couldn’t hurt anyone.†They’d all looked at her strangely and after giving her a glare pushed off. But Lyra, dear Lyra had rolled her eyes and given her one of those priceless mocking smiles Vera had grown to love. “Quite the righteous little do gooder, aren’t you?†she had said. And Vera had laughed and agreed with her. However, as of now, grimacing the way she was, Vera could understand perfectly why the other girls looked at her the way they did. Perhaps, a little aid would not hurt anyone. Rising, Vera began to look around. And almost instantly, she found a suitable girl.

 

The Novice was new, she could see, from the way she stood a little away from the rest of the girls. A slight figure met Vera’s grey eyes- tall too, with nice brown hair and lovely olive skin. The typical Altaran pretty. Her eyes though. Now those were truly exquisite. Big and brilliant and flashing. An expressive face, she noted. For a few minutes she waited, watching the way she interacted with the others. A sweet girl. Quickly she made her way to the backs of the Novices and short as she was, instantly there was a silence. Except from Sasha’s side of course. Lyra’s sister Sasha, was every inch the mischief maker in the group as Lyra herself had been. Now she gave Vera a broad, pearly smile that she returned with a warning grimace. Instead she looked straight at the Novice she had caught sight of earlier and said, “Novice, please follow me.â€

 

Turning almost instantly, she walked towards her original site, her head high and angry. True, she had never been in such a mood before in front of the Novices, but a little anger from her side might be worthwhile. And still that pang of guilt for the new girl would not quite disappear.

“Have you ever done any gardening before?â€

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

The weather today was reminding her of home. Home before it had been replaced by a different heat, the destructive flames that had claimed her life. Everything Rossa had known up until she had started her journey to the White Tower had been destroyed on someone’s seeming whim, to advance in the Great Game as her family’s expense. In spite of herself, her personality had always been to know everyone, whether she knew them or considered to be a friend or not and to know as much as she possibly could in case she needed it. Information was a powerful commodity when one’s defences were low. So far Rossa had stored every little detail to help advance herself both in terms of her learning and her own development, fearing for being pulled down in such a political place as Tar Valon. In spite of the hurt and suffering, long nights spent in anger or tears, she put on her face by day so that no one saw the real her. The last of her line could not afford such a luxury.

 

Lots of notes bulged from her white belt pouch, along with the pencil and a few other bits and pieces. She had taken to wearing the thing after she had seen other novices drop papers and books they had been carrying and so it had seemed a very practical solution to a common problem. Not that she wore it all the time. There were occasions when even wearing the thing was impractical, such as chores, but she was usually assigned those in advance and had time to take it up to the small room she had. It contained her most treasured possessions. Nothing remained of her life prior to here except the carvings she had made on her way here, small but highly detailed sculptured miniatures of her father, mother and siblings. If anything happened to those, to her memories, then everything would be lost for her. Even memories as strong as hers faded with time and knowing that she was going to channel the One Power meant that Rossa would be faced with the longest of times. Acceptance may come to her; revenge would certainly, but if she lost her past she did not know what she would do.

 

Now the lesson was over and she had an amazingly free period, Rossa intended to go to her room and prepare herself for her next one. She studied her fellow novices as she walked through the blistering heat of the gardens, noting the make up of the group and how people seemed to fall into the categories her father had more or less described. There was the shy one, the very forward one, and the seeming predator all of which played a large part in the social circles of the nobility, particularly at court. Her attention was distracted for a moment by a girl in a white dress the same as hers, but with the seven bands of colours that marked her as an Accepted. Chestnut hair glinted with red highlights in the warm summer sun that fell to her shoulders in softly curling waves and a pair of eyes that seemed to pierce Rossa to the heart, so expressive they were. Shorter than herself, and curvy, the Accepted still had a commanding presence despite her lack of stature. Rossa looked at her with a hint of a smile on her face and curtseyed.

 

Gardening? What would a noble know of gardening? There had always been old Jeb to take care of the gardens back home. Which tacitly reminded her that her home no longer existed and if she wanted to rebuild she would have to learn how to do all manner of things herself until she was able to bring people in to help. When she straightened from her curtsy, she had a calm expression on her face and the same hint of a smile.

 

“Gardening, Accepted? If you would like me to help you, all you have to do is ask.†The sun seemed to be paining the older girl somewhat, and a surreptitious examination of her hands revealed her hard labours, stained as they were with soil and mud. Rossa knew her rank in every situation, and here she knew she had to defer to the older woman. Time for going over her notes between classes would have to wait.

[ashara]

There had been something, Vera was sure of it. Something in the way she had shifted slightly while curtseying. Surely gardening could not lead to such a strange reaction? Perhaps, rather than gardening, it was something related to it that had triggered some memory or the other? And Novices and Accepted of the Tower certainly had their memories to remember and hide, she thought a little darkly. Every face, every smile- the fact that there was some secret behind each one always disturbed her. It was almost as if, they were brought here with the idea that trust, as a sensation, was disencouraged. She was already good at the Game, Vera realized. She could tell, with the way the Novice’s face was so very calm and her smile was just…too right. A noble perhaps?

 

 

“Gardening, Accepted? If you would like me to help you, all you have to do is ask.â€

 

Oh yes, this one was definitely noble. Not snotty though, she noted with a small smile. But there was that superior air that the girl wasn’t even aware of that urged Vera to ruffle her hair. Not in this heat though, she decided. She was dripping with enough sweat as it was. “Well, Novice, actually I think you shall learn that Accepted don’t ask. They usually snarl or command, depending on the deterioration of their mood. I am, as it happens, in a terrible mood, so please, don’t take my words the wrong way. As for your chore-†Gently she pulled the girl down to the soil and pointed straight at a weed. “See these? I need all of these removed by the end of this. Just yank them out,†she said, demonstrating as she did so, “and then put them in the bucket beside you.â€

 

“Easy enough I think?â€

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Her knees sank to the soft, grassy surface alongside the flowerbed. The Accepted had shown her what she had wanted doing, removing all the weeds from the dark soil and putting them into a bucket ready to go to who knew what ends. What happened to those that were not good enough for the White Tower? Idly, Rossa realised that some of the weeds resembled wildflowers she had seen in the meadows as she made her solitary way to Tar Valon, yet she was having to dig them out in order to maintain the stately dignity and regal appearance it required. Everything here was to such a high standard; it was almost like being at home.

 

Rossa cast her eyes over the flowerbed. Although there were quite a few holes where weeds had lived prior to the efforts of the Accepted, there still remained a number of the extraneous grasses that had taken root. Hands unused to such toil but growing accustomed the longer she spent there grasped the stem of a rather large looking weed and with a tug, Rossa tried to wrench it from the ground. There was no dignified way without toughened gloves and a little trowel to dig with, so she almost fell backwards when it gave suddenly, spraying the dress of her pristine white dress with black motes of earth. The root went into the bucket with a disgusted look, and Rossa lightly swept the surface soil away, dropping it lightly into the earth from whence it came. The Accepted was also removing weeds right next to Rossa and was making it look easy in comparison but she was definitely unused to the heat. Another large, ugly looked weed with spiked leaves looked harmless, but made her yelp in pain as the plant decided to bite back with barely perceptible thorns on the stalk. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, a combination of vague outrage and the sting it had caused.

 

She would never have had to do anything like this if she had been able to stay at home! Bitter, silently muttered curses filled her mind for a moment; breaking the one taboo her mother had told her. Never curse. When you least expect it, you will voice it. Then you’ll lose the upper hand. Her mother had never spoken with a gentle voice, she had been full of the Altaran fire, but that phrase had stuck in her memory and served to remind her of lots of things. Daring to stop for a moment, she put her hands to the belt pouch at her middle as if to seek comfort from the carvings therein and dug inside to lay the burning skin against the cool of the wood. She drew one out briefly to examine it to make sure she had not somehow transferred some of the mud to it and marred the surface. Thank the Light; the little figurine of her mother was unblemished. A reassured smile and renewal of purpose returned to her and she forgot the pain. In the attempt to transfer it back to her belt pouch, it tumbled from her slightly numbed grasp onto her lap.

[ashara]

The girl really tried, Vera had to give her that. Yanking and pulling and struggling, she really did look sweet. One of the better nobles she had met till day, and Vera in her past twenty six years had met quite a lot of them. Her family had served them for two generations now- a long enough time, she felt, to be able to judge between the ones who were actually worth respecting. Fondly, she thought of Jocelyn, the one noble back home who had ever bothered befriending her. Jocelyn had been a plain, plump girl with the strangest sense of humour Vera had ever encountered, but oh, she had been a darling. And smart too. The best perhaps, of all of Lord Shearen’s children. Shayna on the other hand- Shayna had always been liked by several of the nobles. Often, it had been rumoured that Lord Shearen’s eldest son, Kitai, had been quite besotted with her. The roses Shayna would occasionally find in her room after all, could not just appear. But then, everyone had loved her sister.

 

A pang of hurt suddenly caught her and she grabbed at the nearest root, her eyes unfocused and clouded. She would not have her day blackened further with memories of Shayna. Had she not spent most of her Novitiate doing just that? A waste. What a waste that had been. She wondered where she would’ve been right now, had it not been for those squandered years. An Aes Sedai, perhaps? Instantly there appeared a picture in her mind and almost immediately, it disappeared in a flash, as a crash suddenly interrupted her thoughts. Hastily she turned from her side to look upon the Novice. And so beautiful was the sight before her, that Vera could not look away. Dark brown waves of hair fell softly against olive skin as the girl stayed crouched on the ground clutching…silently she moved a little closer. Surprise filled her as she found herself looking upon five tiny figures. They seemed to be of a…family? Her family? Unable to resist, Vera picked one up, giving the Novice an apologetic look as she did so. And that was when she was amazed.

 

Detail, so exquisite, so well thought out, that had it been painted as well, it would look startlingly real. Carefully, Vera smoothed her face, emptying it of any excitement she was feeling. Talent. So much talent. “What is your name?†she asked calmly as she continued to turn the figurine in her hands.

 

“Did you make these?â€

 

~Vera

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

She felt a large pang of resentment as the elegant, capable fingers picked up the dropped carving from her lap. Her memories in the hands of another, whom she did not know yet – it made her uncertain. The rational side of her was trying to say that the other woman was only interested in what they were, little carvings rather than trying to steal them or in any way cast aspersions. The Accepted turned the little figure of her mother over in her hands, examining it with a critical eye as she asked her name and whether she was the creator of the carving. She still harboured traces of resentment; myriad questions raced through her mind as to why she wanted to know what intent lay behind her interest, however Rossa knew full well she could not show a hint of disrespect to a superior rank, so she stifled her questions. Judicious use of observation could pick up the details she would miss by asking questions.

 

“My name is Rossa Venye, Accepted, and yes, I did make those.†Her eyes remained on the flowerbed, concentrating on which weed looked the safest option to remove so as to not aggravate her stung palms. Finding one that did not seem to have any thistles, she grabbed at it and pulled it out, shaking the excess soil from the root and disposing of it in the bucket with the other discards. “I made them on the way here.†Another weed tore off as she tried to remove it, but tenaciously the root remained in the ground. Forgetting her own noble birth, she dug at the ground, trying to extricate the root, prying it free for that too to join the rest. “Old and fallen branches, really. I had nothing to do, nor any company to amuse me in the evenings,†Her expression changed to a wry smile, recollecting how her parents had always tried for an “evening event†as they had called it to get their children used to the seemingly endless parade of balls and festivities. How it had “amused†her. She had preferred her own company for the most part, but the evenings had served her well in the long run given that she had time to hone her skills at watching people, noticing little ploys, nuances of speech and the like. Not that she had thought she would have to use it for a good few years yet. Rossa sighed.

 

“They are to remind me of my family. Already gone, but with these they will never be far from my mind, or my heart.†Her eyes lit up fiercely at the thought of anyone trying to take those memories from her - just let them try! Rossa noticed that the older woman was still turning the piece over in her hands, examining every tiny detail with such a scrutiny that made her feel as though every carved curve was being tested for emotions. “Is there something wrong, Accepted? Am I not allowed to own such things now I am a novice?â€

[ashara]

Create like a god, command like a king, work like a slave.

 

Finally.

 

Finally she had encountered someone who bore talent in this field. And oh, what talent too. Every detail, every incrinate carving had been thought out carefully and cut out with care. This had been done out of more than love she realized, such accuracy had been brought out by need. Need, Vera believed was the key to success. And this held true for all forms of art too. One needed to feel the urge, the necessity to create the very best. One needed to feel the urge to make sure that nothing spoilt it. For example, she could feel the vibes of resentment coming from the girl beside her. Of course it had been wrong of her to pick them up so suddenly, but in complete honesty, she had not been able to herself. This…skill, it was something new to her. It also showed, she realized with a slight blush, how very proud she was of her own artistic competence. Well, she thought with unseeming practicality- she deserved it. “My name is Rossa Venye, Accepted, and yes, I did make those.†The soft voice was a pleasing one, and yet, Vera could sense the mingled caution and pride in her tone. Without any reaction showing on her face, she continued to admire the convolution, every arc and etch speaking a dimension of praise for Rossa Venye. How many days must they have taken? “Old and fallen branches, really. I had nothing to do, nor any company to amuse me in the evenings.†A loner then? Or perhaps an only child? Either would make perfect sense.

 

“They are to remind me of my family. Already gone, but with these they will never be far from my mind, or my heart.†Immediately-almost as if shocked, actually-Vera looked up at the Novice, her face a smooth canvas of empathy. Not pity, not sorrow- simply understanding. She knew what it felt like after all. Better than most. Rossa’s eyes were suddenly even brighter than they’d been before and this added spark gave them a beauty no work of art or painting would ever quite be able to imitate. She had tried to do so before using a different person, and still she was unsuccessful. Upon hearing the girl’s last words, Vera gently set down the sculpture, her fingers carefully letting it go in a slow, reluctant manner which depicted well how she felt. Without a word, she went and sat a little closer to Rossa, whose eyes had grown brighter with every action. Clasping her hand, she squeezed it tenderly, her eyes large pools of emotions, some of which were unreadable, while others yet stood out stark as if a shooting star against the velvet night. “You do not need me to tell you that they are beautiful. But then, that is not the aim behind them, is it? I have not ever met your family Rossa, but know this-they’re as human as can be.†With a considering look, she picked up the sculpture again. “Every detail, every curve has some feeling behind it and that is what counts. And also-†for a moment she hesistated, looking straight into Rossa’s eyes. “Know that you do not need sculptures or endearing sketches or pictures to remember the ones you love. If you want to remember them, you will, without any of these things.â€

 

“Also, as for my remarkably strange reaction to your work. You are definitely allowed to pursue such hobbies- I was simply struck by the need behind it, that’s all. You are talented and it seems, you know how to use it as well. Rarely do people find both.â€

 

“Did you make any others?â€

 

 

OOC: Aaaaargh, parts of this is what I wanted for Nerome and Rossa, not Vera and Rossa.

 

*sulks* Couldn't put anything else up so stuck with it.

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

At least she was allowed to continue with the simple carving she had taken up as something to occupy her mind and hands on the road. Of course, Rossa felt pride in her work – the figurines were important to her after all, but she did not know if she would be able to do that again. Sometimes, everyone around her had told her she was older than her years and she had not truly realised it until the weed had bitten her hands. Naturally gifted… I doubt it. She hadn’t been able to save her family, there were likely myriad things she could not do, such as cook or sing, the latter in spite of countless lessons in music paid for by her father. Their children were showpieces and heirs, nothing more.

 

She took a deep breath in, feeling the pain in her hands lessen further with the passing of time. In answer to the Accepted’s question, Rossa removed the other figures from her belt pouch and handed them to her one at a time, watching with a mild look of concern painting her features in case they were dropped and damaged. The words she had mentioned before, about wanting to remember her family, were poignant to her. The one of her mother was joined by her father, sisters and her brother, all lined up in a row on her white-clad lap, waiting for the older woman to examine them as she had done the first.

 

“These are all I have, Accepted. I could not make any more.†A large spiked leaf weed caught her eye and she dug at the root of it with her hands, not wanting to touch the sharp foliage. Once bitten, Rossa did not intend to get stung once more for her trouble. Thankfully the number of weeds between the brightly coloured petals and healthy green stems was dwindling; the chore having been divided between two people was proceeding a lot quicker than she had originally thought it would. Residual suspicion lingered, but it was fading towards the woman that had praised her artistry, pleased to have received positive commentary on something she had made with her own hands. She smiled, out of growing warmth towards the Accepted, a thing that had not happened since her arrival at the W“I take it that you also like art, Accepted?†She could not help but ask that, as it had certainly provoked a reaction in the woman that was akin to her own.

hite Tower.

[ashara]

“I take it that you also like art, Accepted?â€

 

Smiling warmly at Rossa, she nodded. “It is a little obvious that I do, isn’t it?†she said cheerfully. “I guess you could say Rossa, that good art and even better talent always puts me into a good mood,†she stated, her eyes twinkling. Stretching towards the satchel she had brought with her in the morning, she took out an old sketchpad from it. Faded although it seemed now, it had been one of the loveliest things Vera had ever seen when she had first laid her eyes on it. Given to her by Aoife and Gaiya during her Novice years as a birthday present, not only did it now hold faces and sketches who were important memories to her, but the book itself was a much cherished memory. Covered in thin dark blue cloth, the book had been swathed in delicate silver embroidery that tangled up in webs. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,†Gaiya had stated jokingly and they had all laughed. Light, she missed them sometimes. Ignoring the sudden nostalgia she felt, Vera opened the notebook and came back to where she had been sitting originally, near Rossa.

 

Fondly and carefully, Vera flipped through the pages of her work, every space of time between the different work showing the changes that had come upon on her sketching. For a few moments, her eyes would linger on particular faces, for there were many in this sketchpad that held more importance than others. Passing it onto Rossa to save herself from further reminiscence, she said, “These is what I do in my free time. I paint as well, though. I’m afraid I have never tried sculptures, which is why it is something completely new to me.â€

 

“If you like, we could set a time where you and I can spend time doing only art work together- perhaps I can teach you the little I know about painting and you could help me with sculptures and such.†Glancing for a few moments at the wretchedness of the garden, she said humourously, “Whoever knew that weeds could lead to such a conversation?â€

 

~Vera

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

“That would be nice, Accepted Vera.†Rossa turned a grateful face on the older woman, pleased that she had received such a reaction to her small work of carving. The sketches she had seen depicted in the small book that had been handed to her seemed so full of life, as though they had captured a single instant forever yet you could almost tell the situation in which they had been drawn. Faces seemed animated or full of the emotion that they most likely lived by, some happy, some sad, one very determined looking person and a beautiful face that held no expression at all apart from a vague light in her eyes. She was indeed talented, and if Rossa could learn something from her then she ought to take the opportunity with both hands and study. Artists could make a fair wage – they had to be good to earn their money, but the best ones could name their fees and it would be nice to have something to fall back on if everything fell around her ears.

 

“Thank you. I feel a little better today, as though I might settle eventually. It is all so new still to me.†With utmost care she handed the little sketchbook back to the Accepted and placed the small carvings in her belt pouch, closing it so as to not get any dirt in it and potentially ruin her memories. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills…†Her hands closed back around the stem of another angry looking weed, ignoring the sting this time because it needed to be uprooted and nothing was going to change that, pulling back sharply to remove it from it’s earthen bed and dropping it into the bucket with a thud.

 

She had more questions to ask, but her time was running out before her next lesson began. Rossa did not want to be late for anything as it reflecting badly on a person. Hastily, she reached for more of the weeds to attempt to clear as many as she could.

[ashara]

“Enough.†She said firmly to Rossa, gently pulling her hands away from the sprays of earth that surrounded them. “You’ve done more than enough for one day, Rossa.†Turning Rossa’s hands around, it was with tightly hidden dismay that Vera eyed the stinging red palms, thorns and scratches staring her in the face as if taunting her. Guilt flecked anger slipped into the newly acquired hush her emotions had gained, anger both at herself and the white-clad beside her. “You should’ve told me you were having difficulties.â€Foolish. Foolish of her to have not thought better in her temper. Quickly she embraced Saidar and with strong, well yielded weaves, she healed Rossa’s palms with a dexterity she found numbing. “Light Rossa.†She began accusingly, “the next time this happens, do not be afraid to tell anyone. You cannot waste your hands-your talent-on weeds you cannot pull.†Rising smoothly, she extended a slender hand. “Come, lets go clean ourselves up. There is a pond nearby that is in dire need of being utilized,†she said with a wink.

 

Pulling her by the arm, she lead her to the little pond of water, which as it happens was merely a few yards away. Sparkling as it did in the sun, the pond what with the heat and the layers of mud that had entrenched themselves upon her body had never seemed as tempting. Falling onto the grass, she splashed the water onto her face and arms, relishing the slow trickle with which the water ran down her body. Suddenly, everything seemed so far away; reality, the universe, responsibilities were but a roaring ocean she could not hear. And in truth, they were quite hidden from the usual buzz of Tower activity, Vera realized. They were deep into the gardens, covered in a lush green foliage that Vera had often painted in the past years. Tilting her head slightly so that she could look upon Rossa, she found the Novice was scrubbing the muck from her hands anxiously; what was most amusing however, was that she had not lost one shred of dignity while doing so. Still the poise stayed present, she noted, her back straight as ever, with her legs folded carefully beneath her knees. Without a second thought, she removed the sketchbook from its beloved satchel, flipping the pages with the quietest of rustles. She must have the girl sit in the same position.

 

“Rossa, would you care to tell me a little about your home?â€

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Bending to the water’s surface, her knees kept together preserving her modesty in the white dress and her back straight; Rossa dipped her hands in. They still felt strange from where the Accepted had healed them of sting and irritation, a little tingly in places, yet as good as new. It felt as cool as the Healing had done. She washed the dirt from her hands, paying particular attention to under her fingernails as her mother had always told her – her hands were another thing that the nobility paid attention to in first impressions – if a person had dirt under their nails it was likely they worked on a farm. A noblewoman should not display such things or else it would appear that she too laboured the land. Her mother would have had apoplexy if they could see her digging holes and removing weeds. She dabbed the sweat off her face too, and put some of the cool water over her neck to remove some of the sweat and grime she had accrued from her chores with the Accepted.

 

“Rossa, would you care to tell me a little about your home?â€

 

Oh, Light, why had she had to ask that? She felt her resolve starting to crumble as her hands were halfway to her face, the scooped water trickling through suddenly still fingers and tears beginning to mingle with the droplets falling from her forehead, coursing down her cheeks so as to appear a torrent. That single question could peel away her hardened layer of calm to burn her away to her very core. All the water had now dropped from her fingers, falling back to the surface like sorrowful teardrops on a late spring day, splashing from whence they came to the small pond. Frozen, as though in tableau, her hands halfway to her face and her eyes leaking angry tears that appeared far worse than it actually was. Why did the Accepted have to ask her that? She was grateful for the other woman’s kindness, but she did not want to reply to this – Rossa would rather have escaped from her burning family home again than to relive the memories in her mind to someone she did not know. Final drops of water returned to their home.

 

Her backbone stiffened in her already upright frame. Suddenly aware of her situation, Rossa looked over at the Accepted and her eyes flashed angrily, the epitome of the daughter of a noble house, respected and dignified. She bit back her angry comments, knowing they would only get her sent to the Mistress of Novices, and cast her eyes back and forth. The girl was sketching her? Light, was she just an insect on a leaf to form a study of? It was not fair. Time was pressing on anyway. If she did not get to her lesson soon, she would be in trouble with the Mistress of Novices anyway. The pencil seemed to fly across the paper, capturing details as though making notes. This was tiresome! Brushing specks of earth and grass from her white skirt with still damp hands, Rossa rose, curtsying with infinitesimal grace and just the right amount of respect she could get away with before making her apologies about having to be in another class and having to leave now in order to make it.

 

An icy fist was clawing at her stomach, trying to get out through the still pristine front of her dress. The effrontery of the woman! She could not tell anyone else how she felt, how her rising tide of vengeance was falling, rapidly being replaced by a large irrational need to tell someone everything, to confess, to pour her heart out and cry one someone’s lap with her hair being stroked. As her mother had done. Biting back sobs, a hand flew to her mouth to stop her from crying openly and each step hurried her to her next lesson and away from the memories that threatened to ruin her composure. The path crunched beneath her feet, taking her away from the Accepted and taking her on towards her life. She wouldn’t forget her family!

[ashara]

Nerome felt like swearing.

 

Not that he didn’t do that incessantly already, but the idea of suddenly ripping out a large snarl of insults towards someone, anyone, had become rather tempting. Almost disgustingly so. Step by step he dragged his weary body towards the gardens, a place that had recently become a favourite haunt. It calmed him down usually to be lying in there, under the summer sky. No one was around to push him around, to criticize him, to question his choices or laugh at him. Damn this place. Bloody people with their bloody opinions on his bloody decisions. He should have never bothered talking to anyone about his past. Look where it had lead him? A tight slap on his face and a barely touched glass of good beer thrown in his face. And Sylvie had been pretty too, he thought with a sigh. Lovely Arafellin curls with matching black eyes. Oh and she had had the nicest smile. Well, that’s that. No more deeply thoughtful talks about his “decisionsâ€. It was a slap on the face though, nice and hard, right where it hurt. Angrily he pushed through the deep green flora cascading all over him, ignoring the little stings he got as his hands brushed by innumerable thorns and twigs. Such sensations had become dead to him in the past two years- training was a boiling pit of lava and constantly he would be falling and crying out. Thorns were nothing to him.

 

Who ever thought he would become so bitter because of some girl?

 

Was it even about her?

 

No. It was about people. It was about him. It was especially their opinions of him. Now then, he was quite happy to jest and to poke fun-why, it was practically the very fundamental he survived women like Aramina Sedai and Aeveryn Yewlis with. But this utter lack of faith and belief that had become the new outlook people had of him…it was annoying. More than annoying. It was cruel and usually made by people who were the worst judges of character. And it hurt, he found himself adding bitterly. He was not one for hard work, Rosheen had told him, when he’d mumbled his thoughts to her. You don’t work for it boy, you won’t get anywhere. When did she turn so damned knowledgeable and well worded? She was right of course. She always was. He had noticed that about her, and disliked it immensely. He hated it when most people were right about him though, come to think of it.

 

It was with this very thought running through his head and a particularly angry scowl that Nerome found himself walking straight into…

 

This better not be Aramina again.

 

What met him however, could really not be further from the composed Green Sister he had gotten 'acquainted' with previously. Large brown eyes flashed an angry glare at him as he tried to steady her, extending his arms around her as he did so. An Altaran, he realized as he took in the glossy dark hair and olive skin. Pretty too, considering how distraught she seemed. And I thought I was having a bad day.

 

"Are you alright?" he said, loosening his grip on her slightly as he looked at her with concern.

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Her face was still wet from where she had dabbed it to clear it of the sweat and grime from her exertions in the garden, the moisture that had mingled with the saline droplets of her sorrow. And anger. She could not forget the anger that had risen in her - everyone asked that question! Why couldn’t they just let her get on with her own life here? Rossa made the effort and was polite to everyone concerned, but they had to meddle in things that they had no business in knowing. Oh, it was fine for them to take an interest in how she was progressing, but if they all found out that she intended revenge and other things in a violent line she would never find her way anywhere unsupervised; most likely chained to the kitchens to scrub pots for the rest of her natural existence and accompanied to lessons by a guard of sisters. Her head shook from side to side as she studied the path in front of her, watching her footsteps rather than the way ahead and bits of her fine dark hair escaping thong and clasp to fray around her face, framing it prettily, if somewhat unkempt.

 

What right did they have anyway? The White Tower is omniscient and as such, they had to know everything. Fair enough. Rational thinking was not being very forthcoming, although Rossa could see the point in knowing all about everyone that studied there, in order to preserve their well-maintained image. It would be bad publicity indeed for someone with a dangerous history to be let loose knowing how to channel the One Power, but surely that did not include her? Her brown eyes flashed and her head turned to the side, not even realising the folly of her own thoughts. She did not see the feet of the figure approaching her, nor the legs or body, not even hearing the sound of footsteps drawing nearer, not until her head bounced off a brick wall. Oww, why did I do that?

 

The eyes flashed right back, dazed slightly and angry that someone had seized her wrist, gripping her strongly until Rossa realised that it had not been a wall she had rebounded off; it had been a man. As far as he went, he was rather good looking, in a way, but Rossa could not see it - her entire focus was taken up by the fingers gripping her, although it had loosened when he had seen her stare. Good. It helped to have that air of command sometimes, even though she still wore novice white. His arms followed and went around her.

 

“Are you alright?â€

 

She hadn’t thought men were allowed here, except for Warders, and they were seldom to be found separated from their Aes Sedai. What was he doing here? With her free hand she dried her eyes, scrubbing at them with the cuff of her white dress while his hand gripped her other one. It did not feel unpleasant, his touch. Was it appropriate though? Mentally, she chided herself. He had only been trying to stop her from falling over, which she likely would have done if he had not been there. Truth to tell if he had not been there, Rossa would not have hit her head and would not have been in the situation anyway. Such is life. Choking back harsh words and more tears, Rossa spoke.

 

“I am fine… thank you.†Truly, she was, just a little shaken up by her encounter doing the weeding with that Accepted. Even her hand had stopped tingling. Now, if she could just get her soul to settle. “Are you alright? I think I hit you fairly hard.â€

[ashara]

It amused him how quickly his anger had vanished upon seeing another in distress. Admittedly, the girl before him was in pain far worse than his, but he had never believed himself to be the sensitive sort. She was running away from something, he realized. Still holding her, he scanned the distant scenery, trying to find who or what it was she had fled from in so violent a manner. Nothing but beautiful rolling landscape met him. It was with a firm grip over his emotions that he resisted hugging her for as he studied her face, he did not understand what else he could possibly do. Her face was a splash of resentment and fear, as if stalked by something she wished would disappear. For a moment she looked like she was going to bite his head off, causing Nerome to move a little away from her; he had met with more than enough controversy concerning women for a good two or three weeks. “I am fine… thank you.†Startled by her voice, he looked down at her, his green eyes showing clearly the disbelief he felt. At the same time though, he did not sneer at her. He could not even if he tried, not with her being in the state she was in.

 

“Are you alright? I think I hit you fairly hard.â€

 

Affection flickering in his eyes as he heard her, he let go of her abruptly. Polite one, she was. Noble? “I am fine,†he started reassuringly, his own Cairhienin accent suddenly coming back in rigid epiphany, oozing in high bred manner. “Training in the Yard cancels thorns and bumping into people quite well, really.†Again his eyes roved her length, as he tried to look for some sort of scar or blemish, either caused by that which she was escaping from, or by him, himself. “What are you running from?†he asked, his tone giving away the mixture of confusion and worry he felt. “Is anyone following you?†Light. When the hell did he turn so manly? He could barely protect himself.

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Training in the Yard? He was likely in training to be a Warder - doubtless someone else that had likely been lured with tales of glory, pledging their lives to protect the righteous sisters of the White Tower. Rossa wondered when she had become so cynical. He had his own reasons for being here, just as she did. Her eyes sparkled with the suppressed fire of her temper, sorrow and pain; struggling to break free from the tight control that had been instilled in her from early childhood. It had always amused her father to watch the young Rossa trying to hide her temper. She had been feisty and fiery; both traits inherited from her mother, but over time she had learnt the iron control she now had in place. She had had to, to protect herself from the lack of favour amongst her brother and sisters. To shine in a field of brilliance, you either had to suppress yourself and bide your time, or be extravagant and over the top. The latter was not encouraged in case it showed up the family name, so while her sisters and brother shone, Rossa set her sights on twinkling occasionally, knowing her time would come. Why did it have to be so bloody long in arriving though?

 

She was in a different world now, although the same laws applied. Bowing to those you were uncertain of hierarchical rank, doing as you were told lest punishments be handed out, eating and sleeping when told to… all of which she had endured as a child and it had continued even here, learning different things. Such as how to deal with those that would be Warders when meeting them in gardens, I suppose. The thought tickled her mercurial fancy and she smiled through the mask of anguished loss. He was tall for a Cairhienin, with strong arms and a tone that made his voice sound thoughtful, as if he were thinking elsewhere. Did he doubt her bravery though? What had he said? “What are you running from? Is anyone following you?â€

 

Silently, she stood looking up into his green eyes, pondering how to reply. She was Altaran. She ran from no one. Her backbone stiffened in spite of herself. As to whether anyone was following her, well, not yet, but given time and effort she would rebuild her family name and then people would follow her. No, that had not been what he had meant, had it? He was probably wondering why she was crying, and walking so purposefully away from chore with that Accepted that had tried to sketch her. Nature gives no rewards or punishments in life… only consequences. Rossa did not really believe that though, even when her mother had told her about the effect of ripples as a result of a single action, like throwing a stone into a pond, and how it compared to the Great Game of Daes Dae’mar. Those early lessons had bored her, but as Rossa had delved more and more into it, she saw its use. She found how to shine even while hiding her brilliance until the perfect moment to unveil it. Now it was one of the few things she had to remind her of her precious family, and the one means to achieve her vengeance.

 

“I am not running away from anything. Altarans do not run from anything.†Chin lifted, she kept a haughtily regal face that made her seem older than her fourteen years. Light, she was tired. “I am on my way from a chore to a lesson, and will be punished for being late if I do not hurry.†Remember her tactics she had developed on the way to Tar Valon, Rossa extended her hand politely, and introduced herself. “My name is Rossa Venye and I am a Novice. You’ve probably noticed that already.†Now clean fingers plucked at the white fabric as though it were something alien to her. It would be good to know someone in the Yards though…

 

“Might I know your name?â€

[ashara]

A player of the Game. But of course.

 

It was there in the considering glance that she had given him; green fire clashing against brown stones stronger than any earthen rock- this Novice was filled with the Ebou Dari ferocity he had chanced upon so rarely before, but upon having done so, had recognized it for what it was and stepped back lightly. His mother had told him often that when faced with a people known for their temper and stubborn will, it was more than foolish to suggest any form of lacking courage or weakness in strength. “Who are you running from?â€As soon as the words left his mouth, it dawned on him that he had made a mistake. Perhaps it had been the sudden darkening of her face, or how stiff she felt in his arms or even the long glance that he found he did not want to tear himself away from as yet. And suddenly, for a few seconds only, the anger disappeared, clouded by some even deeper mystery hidden beneath the glossy waves around her face, the little pools of white in her eyes. Every player has his secret, and some are better left just so. Ironic coming from Selandre, he thought with a twist to his mouth. Ironic.

 

“I am not running away from anything. Altarans do not run from anything.â€

 

At this, Nerome’s spirits lightened and his eyes glittered wildly as his tightlipped concern broke into a very familiar smirk. Daes Dae’mar she might play; well too, but at hiding some feelings the girl was a Novice still. It would cost her in the future, these little sensitivities. He toyed for a moment with the idea of telling her so, but before he could ponder much further, her voice continued on, became icier with every last word, considering how very heated the sentences were in nature. What surprised him even more was the sudden appearance of a hand towards his own, almost a complete contrast to the earlier friction he had felt in vibes. Had she suddenly decided that it would be reasonable to have other contacts? Light, she was simply supposed to be some girl in distress, not another potential Aes Sedai. Taking her hand and completing the gesture smoothly, he bowed as he responded, his back hiding the mocking smile playing on his lips. By the time he had lifted himself up again, the smile had disappeared. “I am Nerome Seshir. A Tower Trainee, hoping to join the Guard some day.â€

 

“Have you been here long?â€

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Nerome Seshir and a Tower Trainee. Well, that made them on a similar level, Rossa supposed, although he appeared to be a lot more at ease in his surroundings than she did. Light, if she did not get a move on, the Mistress of Novices would have her backside for a paperweight on her desk! The day had not stopped to admire the flowers, even though here she was talking to a Tower Trainee. Still, it would do no harm to answer his questions, maybe even forging an alliance for the future. As she had previously considered, it was wise to have friends or at least acquaintances everywhere, and one that had a passing knowledge of the business end of a sword was indeed a good thing. Particularly when it comes to quelling rebellions against House Venye… That made her smile.

 

Had she been here long? Long enough… Thinking of how long, Rossa would have probably said months, but in truth so far she had only been here a matter of weeks. It had been long enough though. No real friends made, no real advances in the looking for clues to her family’s killers either.

 

“I have been here for a little over a week now – not very long, but long enough to know the things I need to avoid.†She made a small face, as though suffering from mild indigestion. In truth, it had been a long time since she had last eaten, and her stomach was churning a bit in a semi-permanent state of nerves. It almost hurt. Almost. It would undoubtedly be a long time before she could eat again; more chores and lessons awaited her, barely giving time for her own studies.

 

“I know, for example, that I should not be here. I should be on my way to lessons so that one of the Aes Sedai does not have reason to send me to the Mistress of Novices.†Rossa’s face darkened at the thought, having experienced the sharper side of the formidable woman’s wit once already. A challenge for her own, even though Rossa knew her own needed much more honing than the meagre amount experience had blessed her the fortune to accrue so far. She had managed on her wits before, and would do many times in the future; particularly given the augmented lifespan of one that worked with the One Power, and the ageless look. How would that feel? Would that hurt? Would it cost her anything? Oh, she was still so new to it all! It made her want to throw her hands up in despair and dismay some days. She would learn, with time and patience, but it was those very things that held her back.

 

“What are you doing here?†She resisted the urge to cry on those strong shoulders, noting with a sudden flash of girlish need that they were wide and looked comfortable if she needed to let her fears out via her tears. Rossa had missed a male presence in her life. Her brother had been around most of the time, except when he had been sent to join the army for a time as an officer to give him some experience of life. He had been at home when the flames had claimed everyone save her; a bad piece of timing if ever there was one. “What are you doing in the gardens?â€

[ashara]

“I have been here for a little over a week now – not very long, but long enough to know the things I need to avoid.†Dramatic as well then? For once, Nerome did not show any sign of derision; no scornful smile lifted his lips, for suddenly, he felt none. Something had obviously gone wrong, terribly wrong. Let her continue. Let her finish. It was an easy thing to tell himself, but with every word he felt himself pitying her further and at the same time, getting more exasperated. He had never been one for darkly coloured words with strange underlined meanings- that was Cairhien all over again and that…Cairhien was the past. A past he would bury so well and deep that until the right time to seek it out came, he would forget. Live for the moment, he had decided so many months ago, upon first entering the Yards. The very opposite infact of what Rossa was doing; the thought dawned on him as once more her eyes gained that liquidy farsightedness and no longer was she in the gardens with him, no longer was she eyeing him coldly while toying with the idea of him being a worthy contact. That amused him though- the idea of him, Nerome Seshir, past thief and even further past noble to be a useful contact. Things were grim indeed. It was then that it came to him that he infact, played no part in this scene at all. He was, for all he knew, just another part of the landscape. This was Rossa’s time for herself, where the external environment had little influence on the eddy of thoughts rushing through her head. He was merely an outlet, a suitable station that allowed her a chance to distract herself from that which was hurting her so obviously. And he fit in well did he not? Under the birds and the trees and the blossoms, a pleasant faced man was more than welcome, his cousin Anya had once jested.

 

“What are you doing here?â€

 

Eyes locking with hers, Nerome showed nothing of what he felt, for indeed, what did he feel about this? Was he surprised by this sudden outburst? No. Bouts of emotion the Novice had no control over and yet, that was exactly what good players of the Great Game prided themselves for: control. And Rossa Venye, he decided, was a good player. She would be very successful he suspected, if only she would let go of whatever it was that disturbed her so. She needed help, a sort of aid he was very unsure about how to give; he was good with kisses and wit and charming words, but true comfort from one soul to another? When was the last time he had done something like this? With certain helplessness he looked at her, for need was a strange thing that drove a lot of people to do very very strange things. Frustrated, apprehensive and a new fear of maladroit behavior that would cost him. “I am running away from a reality I dislike,†his eyes stressing the meaningfulness of his words. “I come here to calm myself on a bad day. Rossa…†he paused, half tempted to hug her and tell her things would be alright. Instead he moved away from her and his eyes glittered once more with a familiar dryness. “Do not let your past haunt you. It will only cost you. You play the Game well, better than many I’ve met your age. These feelings you are unable to hide- either accept them completely or lose them completely. Being stuck in between is hampering your skill.†He then reached out for her hand and gave it a slight squeeze, not looking at her or seeking her reaction to all that he had said. “Vengeance is not a pretty thing.â€

 

With that he turned around, walking back in the direction he had just stepped in from.

 

Was he in a mood any better than the one he had arrived with?

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

The remembered pressure on her hand brought back a thousand memories. All of them played in the forefront of her mind like some mental symphony, flashing between one image and another. Her father, sternly telling her off for some infraction, her mother standing with her hands on her hips and looking at her daughters lined up with a twinkle in her eye as she told them the basics of how to fight. Her sisters playing with dolls as High Ladies while she was relegated to play the maid. All images of her youth, the times she had played, cried, or smiled imprinted on her memory, searing in the fires that had claimed them. She would never forget them.

 

What did he know? This stranger? Oh, Rossa knew she was good at the Great Game – she did not need reminding of that – but she had not been intending to play it. Maybe she was becoming too embroiled in her own vengeful schemes, but one did not get over grieving for a family burnt to death easily or lightly. How could she put her past behind her when it was still too raw, too fresh in her mind to ignore for more than a minute? What did he know?

 

Angrily, she dashed more tears from her eyes. Her composure fled like frost disappearing under a winter sun and she brought her head up to regard his departing back. Burn him! Leaving after making such a comment! How dare he? Her voice rang out, rich with the tones of Altara on her tongue and she vented pure angst at the departing figure of the Trainee.

 

“Why should I put my past behind me? It is who I am!†The figure turned to regard her curiously, as though looking at her surprised for her honest outburst. Grief could take control of many emotions when it was displayed, but this was the Light’s honest truth. “You know nothing of my past. My family burnt to death around me. I should have died along with them. The Great Game caused their deaths, so I have no love for it. I use it because if I don’t, people will come and kill me with it.†Tears rolled down her face. Rossa did not know if the man listened, sympathised or even cared, but she had built up her defences so much and a single phrase had destroyed them. Creepers of doubt had been planted in those cracks now. Heedless of the effect it would have on her skirts, her weeping overtook her and she collapsed to her knees. Hands went to her mahogany gaze, large and hurt. There was so much pain, and so much loss. Her family were no longer there for her; she was so completely alone - alone and afraid, with only herself to rely on in the entire world. It was all very well and good having something to aspire to, something to cling to, an ideal, but it could not bring them back. They were as lost to her as yesterday’s sunrise. Her heart poured out her grief and alone in the middle of the garden, Rossa cried.

[ashara]

I am never going to do this again.

 

Easy to say, easy to believe, but was it easy to do? The answer came slapping back to him instantly, a clear cut sharp ‘ no!’ existing in a tone as derisive as Nerome himself. The truth was, he disliked the idea of leaving so obviously miserable to her self, who upon having so much to bother about already was now further burdened by cutting words that although had not been intentioned so, had come out exactly in that manner. Sad that it had happened, because it would probably ensure now that Altaran that the Novice…the girl was, she would take it deeply and tighten around it the vague memory she would have of him, instantly plunging any thought of him in an ocean of regret. But then, maybe it was expected. He for one was certainly no good at the Game. Too rash or too direct or too dry; Selandre had always been the first to point at these weaknesses and almost always the first to tell him he would never be a great player. Was that what had stemmed the instant dislike for all things connected to it? He remembered the first time she told him clearly enough- a pleasant weathered day, he had been more than a child of eleven. It had been his birthday and Selandre had given him his very first horse. She had kissed him on his cheek lightly like all young mothers tended to do, telling him to come sit next to her just before dinner. That was when she had said it. “Darling, I believe you should know a few things. You are too honest and easy going. Your temper gets the better of you far too often. You are brash and on the whole, quite insensitive.â€And so she had continued in the same easy manner, listing points that explained exactly why he was going to be a terrible player of the Game.

 

“Why should I put my past behind me? It is who I am!â€

 

An interruption of more than just exquisite brilliance; cutting through his thoughts with a razor like sharpness, it caused him to freeze his motion instantly. In her words, Nerome could feel the waves roiling his way; loud, boldly marked emotions that seemed damp with hurt and fear. He felt for her. He pitied her. But what in the name of Light could he do? He was a stranger with a past as dark as her own. Darker probably, according to most. But her wounds were fresh, raw and open and bleeding quicker than any cut he had met with. With a dragging reluctance and fear of what he was going to see, he turned around.

 

He should’ve just kept walking.

 

He did not stare, or wait for his eyes to dissolve in a river of sorrow for the stranger. He was scared, of course he was- do the wrong thing here and he was done. Closer and closer he went, his eyes seeing but not watching, for he disliked such displays of feeling; if anything was uncomfortable, this was it. Kneeling, one shaky hand went towards Rossa’s face and he brushed a tear from her face. She’s so…so…what word was he looking for? He didn’t know. “Rossa…you’re better than this. I don’t know anything about you- yes, I’ve known you for less than an hour- yes, You’ve every right to feel like this- yes…but. But.†Wiping a few more tears from her face he turned it slightly towards his, eyes stressing painfully how awful he was beginning to feel. Memories, memories. “But you’re better than this. You’re so much better. You’ve reached too far to give up now. Do not put your past behind you, but do not let it shadow the present either. It will do no good. And you know it.†A new startling awareness of responsibility sank deep into his shoulders and with as much reluctance as he had sat down, Nerome got up, letting go off her hand abruptly. “Get up Rossa.â€

 

Extending one hand towards the still kneeling figure, he repeated himself. “You’ve to get up.â€

[Winter Mist]

~Rossa~

 

Better than this. How can I be better than this? This is what I have become, not by choice, but by the Light’s will. I cannot change who I am!

 

Tears rolled down her cheeks, landing silently on the white of her novice dress. It was a release. The tears did not fall from sadness, or grief, or pain, but because she was at her absolute limit and could handle no more. No more harsh words or instructions. No more accusations or thoughts that tormented her – she had had enough.

 

Dark brown eyes luminous with tears turned up to see his standing figure. The one person that had shown the remotest amount of sympathy with her had grown tired of her, it seemed, and was now leaving. Tears fell anew as Rossa battled her hopelessness, trying to reconcile the fact that her passed was just that, past, and as untouchable as last week’s moon, but she could not give up on it just yet. Her family needed avenging. If nothing else, she would be seen as politically weak for not doing so, or else criticised for failing to act. Failing to act, or if her measures were not drastic enough, again, seen as politically weak for not being able to carry out a simple ploy of Daes Dae’mar. She was embroiled in it, and if her plans were not laid carefully from the beginning, Rossa knew she would be swept away in someone else’s problems, forgetting her own, her claims to her name and every other facet of her personality that had made her, her.

 

But he had a point. If everyone saw her weakness, they could exploit it easily. Vowing to cry at night, suppressing her emotions during the day – she knew how difficult it would be. Once, as a girl, she had wanted a necklace so pretty and so much that she had pestered her father for it nearly every waking moment. He kept refusing, telling her that a pouting girl was not attractive and he would not even consider giving her such a gift while she wore a face like that. In time and as she had learned her lessons in the Great Game, Rossa had picked up the trick of not letting any expression display on her face apart from those she wanted to be seen, keeping all other feelings of teenage hormones pulled tightly in until they gnawed uncomfortably at her middle. It hurt, but it helped. The tiny glass necklace, the gems in the shape of a purple flower, was tucked away in the belt pouch after it had been commented on that it might cause dissension amongst the other novices to wear such fripperies. Now he had let go her hand, she dashed away the tears and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, and eventually it worked.

 

Her mother would be laughing at her. They would be calling her a little girl for crying over what she could not change and that she should move on. Iron strength clenched her backbone, and she knew her mother would be right for her derision. With a sigh that felt as though it could move a mountain, Rossa pushed herself to her feet and stood looking up at the Trainee, thinking over the words best to say. Thanks, pure and simple, would be a start, but from there…?

 

“Thank you for your kindness.†Fingers quickly wiped away more tears and tried to push errant strands of her night dark hair into order. It would not do to be chided for being both late and in a state of disarray – what would people think? “I… You are right. I should not dwell so on such things. Forgive me?â€