Keep Your Pity [Corin]

[Sirayn]

Ooc: Thread comes after Spirited Away & sister thread A Soul Given. It leads onto Little Pieces of Chaos and should be seen as part of the aftermath of the Solin Affair Arc, which is archived in its entirety on the White Tower Div site, links ordered here.

 

No two ways about it, from her earliest years one diminutive Aes Sedai had been singled out as a magnet for danger and difficulty. She had long ago resigned herself to a succession of tight corners, dictated in part by her career path as a member of the fabled Green Ajah, and in the most part those occasions had not been beyond the call of duty; she had signed up for battle, after all, even if she had not imagined poison and knife-wielding shadows and work so black she was still bound to silence centuries later to be part of that bargain. And mostly, if one glossed over the harsh years, that constant menace had forged her identity.

 

On the other hand, there had been some times so terrible that even to touch on them lightly in remembrance brought her grinding to a halt: that coloured sleep and brooding moments and every time left defenceless: that showed her vivid flashes of blood and iron and darkness if she did not guard her thoughts closely. Possibly the blackest of those times had been the Solin affair. If she had ever given serious consideration to laying aside her shawl it had been then. In hindsight she could not imagine how she had possibly carried on functioning holding that much sheer misery inside, coping with disgrace and dreadful fear, stitching together the shattered pieces of her pride, convinced that this time surely she would never recover.

 

It had taken one public disgrace at the hands of her mentee Sasra Sedai, one instance of complete disintegration, some dedicated and desperately needed protection from her then Gaidin and a great deal of lonely dignity to even survive. Matters had not been improved by losing her beloved bondmate straight afterward. However, duty had called and she had been compelled to answer, and fortunately for her life had been gentler since then. She had grieved for Seiaman and for herself behind closed doors, where nobody could mock her weakness … and though she had sometimes thought it impossible she had recovered and gone on with her solitary life.

 

Dreams and silent nights still posed an ordeal for her. Apart from that and a nearly pathological fear of any sort of intimacy, one might have judged her unmoved from her outward appearance: a little colder, a little harder, her games more ruthless, but generally the same. She had long been a schemer, hiding her true intent behind a succession of masks, and that observer might have been forgiven for being fooled. Yet between one change and another her life had been set into a new course … one which she liked far less than her previous careless life as soldier and spy for the Battle Ajah. A last keepsake the Solin affair had left her she had hidden far better. Some might call it a dangerous fixation, others a drive for revenge that bordered on homicidal; however, those folk judged without understanding; she knew its true face to be complete and obsessive hatred.

 

It was a simple matter for equally simple resolution. One woman had ripped her from her comfortable life and shattered her forever, made threats so terrible she still shivered at the memory and then made good on them, left her in pieces and desperate and never to recover. One woman had stalked her like some sinister shadow for months until finally her opportunity came to strike again. One woman had slain her Gaidin with a quick white-hot blow far across a crowded field from where she lay trapped and bleeding. One woman had, as a last gesture of contempt, pressed a ring into her hand … the outline of which she still remembered burning cold when times were quiet. One woman had made her a cripple and a coward, taken away everything she loved, and ruined her forever. Therefore she would find that woman, track her down and destroy her life as completely and utterly as Amiarin Lucif had once done for her.

 

It perpetuated the cycle of violence between them and she did not care in the slightest: had no regard for anything that intruded upon her secret quest. Mountains could have fallen and she would never have noticed so wrapped up was she in her vengeance. Though she immersed herself in Ajah Head work, schemed coldly in her new and ruthless style, part of her waited always poised on the edge for anything … the slightest sign, a word, a gesture … which would signal that the time for her retribution had finally come. She would burn down the world to get her hands on Amiarin Lucif. Months passed and other matters distracted her: but in the end, as she had known it would, the time came.

 

*

 

“I’m sorry, Sirayn. I need more information about that Dreadlady … What did she want to know?â€

 

At first listening so intensely, strained with the fear and yet an awful hope that the Amyrlin Seat was going to punish her as she deserved, it took her long moments to understand what Lanfir was saying … comforting words, offering condolence, so foreign she could barely grasp them. She should have been relieved, but instead, she only felt cold and uncertain, striving for some anchor by which she might plot a new course. It did not seem proper to sit beside the Amyrlin Seat while another looked on, but she let herself be guided, sat, closed her hand round a cup of tea. The warmth soaked into her. It felt strangely unreal. She clasped her hand round the fragile porcelain, sipped at the hot liquid, thinking of emptiness; imagining herself so hollow inside that none of this would touch her.

 

She wanted to forget. Her desire to blank out every memory of what had happened was so powerful it had even succeeded, for a time. And the dread that something she admitted would cause Lanfir and Lyanna to be ashamed of her was paralysing. But one did not refuse a direct request from a superior … especially when that reason was fear. She imagined herself telling Lanfir no, a thousand times no, that this was too much to ask; that she was scared to remember and scared to confess; imagined their disbelief and contempt. That thought stung. She took a deep, steadying breath, pushed away the choking weight of horror, and tried to think.

 

The silence was stifling. Broken images of blood and pain and darkness. Had to focus. Her voice came out level and calm; she blessed her training. “They wanted me to tell them everything I knew of you; trivial seeming questions at first … your habits, your friends …†a harsh, rasping laugh, “harmless tidbits only a dear friend could know. After all, what harm could it do?†Dark eyes. A stream of questions, innocuous at first, building to the more difficult ones. Sardonic smile, always controlled, until provoked. She lifted her surviving hand, touched her cheek lightly, where Amiarin had struck her with the cane … unseeing of her surroundings, of cool white stone and concerned looks; she had returned to a darker place.

 

Another careful breath. “She knew Boyaelle was dead. Asked me who the other Hunters were, the name of their new leader. If you knew about them.†She spoke with difficulty, tangled in bloody memories. “I knew what they were trying to do. It’s all in the books. Ask the easy questions first, to get the prisoner talking, then build up. I thought …†she rested her head against her hand, unmoving. Amiarin had wanted to still her, blind her, cripple her, and leave her a pitiful remnant of the woman she had once been. “… never mind what I thought. That’s the whole of it.†I didn’t tell them, I didn’t tell them anything; she wanted to wail the words, to prove somehow that she had meant well at least but she kept her silence. She had said too much already.

 

*

 

Later, when only the smallest scars still patterned her in lines of silver, to be seen only if she ever showed bare skin, she got her moment. All the waiting meant nothing in the end; the months that she had spent poised like a spider in her web twitching the lines to discover secrets; that moment came so fast, in a bright flash, and her best-laid plans fell apart utterly. Not that she knew it when it first began, for it started in an innocuous way, much like that day so long ago when she had gone out into warm Tar Valon on her Warder’s arm and found a special kind of hell. No day this time, no brilliant sunshine, and of course no more bond … but ordinary life became madness just the same.

 

Night had closed in. Rain lashed against the leaded glass panes nearby, soft pattering blurred into a tapestry of sound, all sharp lines and colours outside washed out into a smear of black. On the desk the candle flared and burned casting a maze of shadows across her work; absently she moved it away a distance so she could continue writing evenly, a pool of black ink shadowed further by the candle’s stand, the page beneath her fingertips covered by line after line of writing. Those were the images she kept later: each a slice of frozen time: the rough texture of paper, the concentration necessary to set down her thoughts in coherent and concise terms, words to fix a few problems. Once she had finished penning the letter she rolled it up and secured it tightly. Despite the inclement weather it needed to be sent north immediately. Drawing a heavy shawl about her shoulders Sirayn tucked the bound letter into its folds and bent her steps outside her quarters.

 

Above her the oppressive weight of the Tower lay dark and silent. This hour had its drawbacks, such as that nobody answered their doors awake, alert and ready to communicate, but nothing interrupted her either; like a spider she moved freely at night twitching strands of her web as necessary. Swiftly she passed through deserted corridors. The moment she cracked open a small side door the wind snatched it from her grip, her weak right-handed grip, and rain veiled everything; she had picked quite the night for her travails; absently checking that the letter would survive unharmed she hauled the door back into place and set off toward the aviary where messenger birds roosted.

 

Under the night’s heavy cover the citadel’s surroundings, so intimately familiar to her after all those years, looked subtly different: traced with shadow, a glitter of light on torrential rain here, there an edge softened to velvet smoothness. Head bent she continued on her path. The storm’s lashing discouraged her from being too wary, the thrashing sound of the rain and the myriad sparkles of misdirected light made it difficult to tell real from imagined danger, and at first she did not notice the shadow hurrying toward her.

 

If only she had been more suspicious she might have taken a different route so as not to pass by a stranger in the night. If she had not been busy dealing in secrets she might not have been out and about in the hammering rain in the first place. Had she not been crippled … robbed of her dignity and her independence, of the soldier’s life she had believed she was meant for, marked so that she could never even vanish in a crowd again … she might have had nothing to prove at all. Of course, given that she had broken every bond that bound her to her friends one by one with a single-mindedness that nobody would have believed not to be deliberate, perhaps it was only her own fault that she delivered this with her own hands; perhaps she should have used a friend she didn’t have, an agent she had no faith in … trusted somebody somehow. But all the ifs and onlys went for nothing the moment she looked up at that passing shadow.

 

A swaying lantern illuminated the stranger’s face beneath the dark hood for just a moment. Knife slim and strong beneath her heavy weather proof garb, she stood tall so that for just a second her towering form shut out the light. A tangle of dark ringlets framed a striking face and intense dark eyes; she looked lean, fit and hard with the single-minded quality that few had even in the Tower. Amiarin. She tasted the name silently, imprinted it on her memory and now the past had her in a murderous tight grip. Shadows and blood: a flash of silver from nowhere: pain sharp and startling: the colour of sunset over Tar Valon and for some stupid, stupid reason she remembered quiet quarters-

 

*

 

“Can we speak freely?†Her tones quiet, controlled, betraying nothing of her thoughts. A sense of resignation had come over her like a shroud and she knew the bitterness of defeat. Knowing the words as a warning Jaydena warded her quarters but even in the reassuring silence Sirayn found it hard to relax or to quell her gathering nervousness. She dismissed the offer of a seat and remained standing hoping to add an edge of formality to the proceedings.

 

“I came to thank you for saving my life.†The words awkward, she was not accustomed to thanking anyone much less for the rescue of a life she had long resigned to more pain. But she needed to discharge this debt somehow. She stamped on the small voice that asked why they couldn’t have come earlier, if they had just ignored Seiaman’s pain, if her hand and her pride and self respect might have been salvaged: “I realise you had to ask the Amyrlin for permission and maybe there will be repercussions from that, and, you didn’t have to so I appreciate your work on my behalf.†Light but this was humbling. She could only be thankful that her voice remained perfect steady and showed nothing of her true feelings. “Figured since those two attacked you and all I should tell you what the story was back there.â€

 

The air was beginning to press in on her with an ominous tension. The room seemed somehow smaller than she had remembered. She wanted to ease the restless strain with movement but she dared not show any weakness. “The woman was a Dreadlady. She held a grudge against me from Namandar.†It surprised her how coolly she could name that expedition, the mission that had made and broken her reputation forever. “The young man, he …†Damn. Choking. She fixed her eyes on the far wall and wished with a sudden fierceness that she was anywhere but here. You are such a coward, Mother. But he had been so bright and golden, so magnetic, even in hurting her.

 

“It’s a long story.†Her voice trembled, just a little on the words and she cursed herself silently and swallowed hard. “I don’t .. I don’t want you to think badly of me, but …†She was no silver tongued charmer and any pretence at eloquence abruptly deserted her. “He was my son. I have a daughter too. Twins.†The stark words told of a shame long hidden, secrets kept, and desolation too great for words. “I know I should never have let it happen, but I didn’t want – and I was scared-“ her throat closed on the words, she no longer knew which of two tragedies she was referring to and she stared resolutely at the far wall through a haze of impending tears striving to keep her face impassive-

 

*

 

No amount of logic could convert that one blinding instant into words: not quite knowing where the memory ended and reality began, good solid now that one could touch and, dear Light, Amiarin Lucif. For a time that seemed endless she couldn’t draw breath for the freezing grip of fear, couldn’t think. Nothing existed for her but those dark eyes and the smile she remembered for its cruelty.

 

Panic shut out all thought. Only that kept her rooted in this moment, in the cold lash of rain and the heavy folds of the shawl drawn tight around her, tasting rain and salt. Images she barely saw, sensations she barely felt while the greater part of her concentration locked somewhere in the past. It lasted forever. Then the shadow moved past her without turning and time kicked in with a jolt; movement and sound swallowed up the silence. Everything reassembled itself frame by frame. Her heart hammered. She felt cold and hollow as ice. Nothing quite made sense, thinking a little bit disjointed, she forced this into some kind of order.

 

Amiarin. Amiarin here. In her home, among her friends and family, walking where she herself had gone. It outraged her and yet petrified her too, fear too huge to express. Ought to go after the demon in her own home. Couldn’t. Couldn’t find that supposed Green Ajah strength. Even the thought of crossing Amiarin again made her shudder, a nameless kind of horror beyond her capacity to describe; she remembered too much blood and fire and iron to ever face that again. It still stung her to think of herself as a coward … but if she couldn’t make herself do that again, even at so high a price, what else did that make her but a craven, how could she look her sisters in the eyes …

 

Rain had closed over the shadow’s path long before she scraped together enough nerve to move. Cold and fear still had hold of her; she moved away stiffly, overriding the insistence of her memory that she should find somewhere to hide right now, but then stopped in irresolution. Had to go after Amiarin. Some day, somehow, she had to stop that woman, had to find some strength from somewhere. If only she had the courage of her Battle Ajah predecessors she would have ended this already.

 

Instead she clutched the shawl tight with a hand that now shook and, eventually, feeling older than she had ever felt in her life, went back. Felt small. Felt shaken. Maybe if she made herself quiet enough and small enough Amiarin would never notice her again. Or maybe not. She didn’t understand this, didn’t know how to stop it and maybe it would be like this forever.

 

• Salvation going under
  they say I won’t survive you
  I wish I never knew you
  your name is sanctuary
  I call you catatonia
  - “Strung Outâ€, Katatonia

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[tismeb4u]

Rain lashed the leaded glass in disjointed time; echoed it's anger on the roof above as Corin sat in earnest study at the small desk adorning the simple room that had been what some would call home. Simple in it's design and decor like the man who occupied it, at least he had been at one time. Rising from the desk briefly he collected the pitcher of water tipping a portion of it's contents into the small clay pot that adorned the opposite corner. The tree had been carefully selected as a seedling, and since that time he had pruned and nurtured it with great care. Tenderly he plucked new grow buds from the ends of a couple branches; adjusted the thin strip of shave lead that held another in place; shaped as he imagined it's future was to be. Many symbolisms adorned his quarters if one had the eye and mine to see what was truly there.

 

The tree had been collected from the vary woods that hide the cabin, a dry and brittle needle removed with an a skewed look of apprehension for the tree's health; she would remain healthy. Thoughts drifted back to him as the weather outside echoed his frustration. Simple things, simple purpose. His parents had been simple folk and raised him as such; respect for authority, strength to help those unable to help themselves, dedication to family, and to cherish love. Water ran in rivers down the window, across the image of a face he sometimes no longer recognized. The reflection that returned to his eyes often was one of a troubled and purposeful man, he could almost hear what his mother would say if she too were to see him of late. “What has become of my boy who was so full of life when he left us? Where is that boy now?” She would not understand, Corin did not understand how could he expect her to.

 

His mind played out events since his arrival to Tar Valon, searched to find where the course had run a ground, the turn that had taken him to this point. Something his mind had done often since their separation at the cabin. A broken mirror reflecting pieces and shapes; whole in there individuality but still a part of a larger and complete picture. Still it's logic eluded him, left him in a constant field of questions, and assumptions; perhapses and what ifs. Reikan had such clarity to his teaching, simple mannerisms and readily defined lines to guide and build on. He had know exactly what was expected of him and where the boundaries lie. Discipline and dedication had been ingrained in him from childhood, but his old mentor had taken that knowledge and polished it to a rich luster, it was more then second nature to him. It had become him in every way ... almost every way, had been until that night not unlike this one. She had succeeded in taking that innocence and dedication and bent it to a new form. Like a smithy at the bellows, her hammer had rung out on the raw piece she had placed on her anvil.

 

It was that project that now looked back into his soul, the leaded glass reflected back the blank yet purposeful expression that had become him. Imperfections in the glass distorted the reflection, rivulets of water down the pain furthered the distortion, carved insidious furrows across his face but it was him. The new creation she had forged and crafted for a purpose he no longer was sure existed. How long had it been since he had truly laughed? He remembered times with genuine friends; Rosheen and Orion. Had he also pushed them away on this pursuit? He was not certain anymore, they had all changed. But the separation, was that him or just the requirements of the oaths they had taken? She had carefully, slowly isolated him from them; build a guarded distance around him that questioned everyone's motives; honed suspicion to a fine edge. Why can she not be like Reikan? With boundaries and distinct lines he would know his place, know how to become for her what he knew was there.

 

He had followed her in search of a new knowledge, a skill that would aid him in not having to spill blood; or so he had thought. That was not your true intent now was it? A steady finger traced the line of his jaw, pondered on the true intent that had been there in the beginning. He could still of course play that card. It would be difficult but she had trained him well enough to dance that step if it was required. But that was no longer the direction the arrow was aimed. Somehow in his quite and purposeful journey she had subtly changed the game, placed a new target in front of him and set the course with out him realizing her hand at work until he had fallen far to deep to escape.

 

Returning to the desk he shuffled through the few papers stacked there. No where near the quantity of reports and observations she received. But the couple he got from old acquaintances and new were all he had to go on; at least they offered him a small and trivial glimpse at what her movements were. He was still not sure how effective Faile was. She gave him eyes in the tower were he may not be able to go, but she was also limited in her exposure to Sirayn. To try and force her further would only end with mistakes or worse. He was in enough hot water already without it becoming common knowledge that he was blackmailing a novice. If she despised him now for the misunderstanding of there private meeting then she would publicly have his hide with vengeance if she knew he had blackmailed one of the towers precious children. What is it you want of her? the question was so simple in form, but to answer it he would have to admit something he was trying to keep safely buried; protected from the outside world least the shadow find leverage in it's knowledge against her.

 

The Commander had glimpsed at its shape and purpose; had put enough pieces together to see a pattern even if the picture was not clear enough to name the face. That meeting had brought out right panic at first when he thought he may be forced into a choice of revealing Sirayn or leaving the Tower service forever. She would have nothing to do with him beyond requirements and still he defended their agreement; held close their secrets. Looking back at the tree on his desk, a reminder of his over zealous plans, memories of how soft her face had looked that day in the cabin as slumber still held her. “Why are our threads so tied together and yet the world may as well be between us for the closeness we share. I would do anything for you Sirayn. Why will you not see that?” His closed hand smacked against the stone wall; head bowing to lean against the cool surface of the glass.

 

It took long moments wallowing in self pity before he regained his composure and straighted from the comfort of the cool glass. Even as he went about straightening his clothes and ensuring certain documents we safely stowed away or destroyed he knew where he would end up. The armory had pulled him almost every night since his meetings with the Commander. It was there were this journey, what should be his future, began. It was wear he could most feel her presence when he was quiet and still. Slipping on the dark oiled cloak he quickly stepped out into the embrace of the storm as if returning to a friend and began the journey again.

 

The crack; disjointed light illuminating everything in brilliance for the span of a heart beat and then plunging it back into even deeper darkness. The storms fury only painted further emotion to the picture in his head; a picture of betrayal and hurt. He had driven this chasm between them and now she rightfully would rather he be dead then of this world. No! No there is a way, must go back to the beginning and find that way. The warmth of the armory would help to slow the mind, the familiar rattle of steel and wood would focus thoughts. If he could not physically be in her presence then what the mind offered would do.

 

No one should have been out in weather as it was, most safely wrapped in the warmth and security of their rooms or the Tower proper. Only guards manning the wall and on patrol; even those he did not expect to bump into. So his thoughts and attention were turned in deeply as the small form materialized out of the darkness before him; drenched in the nights offering of rain. Even in startlement, recognition was quick, indecision it's married partner. She was before him once more, could almost reach out and touch her; wanted to, to prove she was real and not a figment of mind and mist.

 

Timing had him bent well into a bow when realization of the picture before him registered and froze him; confusion sat openly on his face as he took in her familiar features. Her normally demure size seemed to be hunched lower as if to disappear in the veil of black surrounding them. Fair complexion seemed paler, a look of almost ... No, no it can not be. He wanted to rub his eyes, clear the distorted image before him. Her hand clasped abnormally tight to the shawl as if it hide her from sight. Unable to let it go for ... fear, it was the only description Corin's mind could place on the strong and fierce woman before him; had normally been. Fear, an emotion he would never associate to Sirayn Sedai yet he could depict her no other way at the moment. His mouth clicked shut as realization burst to life in him at the gawking expression he must be wearing. But that also brought a new and growing emotion. Protect! From deep within where a purpose lay dormant, life sparked; hand itched to touch hilt, to draw forth a dagger. The guard in him wanted to be in motion; eyes should be scanning, he should be moving her to a safer more defend able location. It beat to get out from under a stronger emotion; he needed to reach out and touch her. To prove she was indeed flesh and blood and bone before him.

 

“Sirayn?” bewilderment laced his voice as her name slipped matching his expression in it's betrayal of the confusion that gripped him. Sparked the mind into remembered actions; a separated mask once more slipped into place. He tried to force himself into the rest of the bow, eyes to search the surrounding. It was all for not as jade green locked on to slate gray in a deep and penetrating gaze.