Intolerable II

[Sirayn]

Icy water shocked her into focus and chased away the last shades of sleep. As the surface stilled the image resolved once more, like a mirror shattering in reverse, and gave her back her own reflection. Her night had been disturbed by ghosts she hadn’t laid to rest, the price of too long a life, but nothing disrupted her Aes Sedai serenity; her image looked back at her, timeless and impassive, and showed her nothing. It satisfied her. Her job this morning required all her concentration, if she didn’t keep her wits about her she might miss an opportunity to secure herself and her people, and to show any feeling would be as good as giving her enemy a lever on her.

 

Outside dawn had come cold and clear. Its pale light slid through the curtains, fell on the letters scattered at her side, which she had been reading over a final time before she got to work; letters she now glanced at briefly and set aside. They held a number of seals, some personal, others private, one bearing the stylised image of a rose. All reports from those faithful to her … and all telling the same tale. She hadn’t even credited it at first, it was such a wild story, but by now she had come to acknowledge that for whatever bizarre and unfathomable reasons he had, a Tower Guard was indeed stalking her.

 

Stalked was the only term she could put to it. Aran had interrogated his way through her entire circle of acquaintances, including some who should never have been let off the leash near a determined questioner, she did not trust their judgement under any kind of pressure. Perhaps the one could have been a coincidence, two even a warning … but all of them? Initially she had done her best to make it into some kind of exceedingly cunning plan. It did not matter if he spooked her entire circle because Aran was a decoy. The risk to his person, ably illustrated by one Corin Danveer, did not matter because Aran was … expendable? Because the information gained was so useful?

 

She couldn’t see it. There was no logic whatsoever. Aran had angered everyone she knew, put her even further on guard than usual, blown his cover sky high and for what? To see how a group of total strangers would respond to her name? Had they even given him the satisfaction of a response? It didn’t make sense. She had considered setting a watch on him herself, but frankly, she already knew all she needed to know. He was either a Darkfriend or a Cairhienin agent and in either case he didn’t have half the intelligence she supposed. Therefore her resources should be put to more efficient uses. It was of no matter in the end; he needed to be silenced regardless of his questionable loyalty and intelligence.

 

At least she had learnt a valuable lesson. She had been a fool to strike up conversation with him at the Tower Guard raising and doubly a fool to let him anywhere near Aramina sur Dulciena. The latter was far too precious to be risked in such a manner; she should never have let an unreliable, undisciplined red cloak accompany her into the seething intrigues of Cairhien. And she had been triply a fool to think that it was safe to talk to him, at all, in any possible circumstance. Shame on her to be so easily hoodwinked by a laugh and a ready smile. Evidently she had learnt nothing at all from the forkroot episode.

 

It was the bloody loneliness again. Not the first time it had got her into trouble, nor was it the first time it had got her a Darkfriend for her pains, but this had to be the last time she let it draw Darkfriends and hostile agents from the woodwork. In a way her own idiocy disgusted her. Lonely or not it was indefensible; she would never have tolerated such indiscretion from anyone working under her. If she could cut out every single shred of stupid, pathetic loneliness she would do it without hesitation. Aes Sedai needed nothing and nobody.

 

No more, she told herself, for the hundredth time. No more people, no more talking, no more careless misjudgement. No more friends, no more family, nothing. Lanfir had never been so feeble that she needed other people to lean on. She had promised herself she would be strong enough this time, that nobody would ever lay a hand on her again, that she would trust nothing and nobody and that way everything would be fine. That the defences she made herself would be enough.

 

It wasn’t bloody working. Instead of being the last line of defence, a guard she could raise at the darkest times, her spiderweb had turned out to be a weakness in itself; there was no way she could ignore someone targeting her agents one by one, it was just that easy to draw her out. She had monumentally failed to factor in that people working for her could not be relied on to handle problems themselves. Now she had to take care of them too. Seiaman had been absolutely right -- she didn’t deserve to be Aes Sedai. The words still echoed in her head across fifteen-odd years, across all the rows and the treachery, from Ebou Dar to Dumai’s Wells. Some words, once said, could never be unsaid.

 

Distractions she dismissed as she made her way to the yards, speaking to nobody, intent on her work. Some might think the hour unsociable, and she preferred the late hours of the night for their silence, but otherwise it was all the same to her; if it disturbed those around her, all to the better. Few stirred as she entered the barracks and made her way through its corridors. She hadn’t come here since she cleared out Seiaman’s old quarters: a black memory, quickly suppressed. Finally reaching the right door she paused a moment, looked up and down the corridor, then let herself in.

 

Two steps inside and something fell from above the door with a clatter. So much for a discreet entry. She shut the door regardless, closing them in, and contemplated the scene resignedly. A bar of bright light fell across the bed and painted its stirring occupant … occupants … in shades of gold. An unfortunately familiar man and someone still covered up; she glimpsed a bare shoulder, a spill of dark hair, and turned her eyes away. A can lay at her feet as though it hadn’t been making such a racket. “How discreet.” Dark brows raised, she pushed the can aside with her toe, producing another clamorous rattle. “Good morning!” and she treated her victims to a somewhat venomous smile, “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

 

Lyssa smiled at Aran and noticed his leering wink at her, she knew exactly what that meant and she was game. She knew he was sleeping with not just her but she was hoping at this point to keep him so exhausted that he felt no need to go to anyone else. He sure was keeping her busy, she spent more time sleeping in his bed and well not sleeping so much rather than her own bed. Lys ate her food quickly, knowing she would need her energy, honestly she would rather be in bed with Aran than eating or sleeping or anything else. The man has more talents than one and he uses them well, she thought as she finished the chicken. Taking a deep drink of the milk on her table, she stood up and returned her dishes to the cleansing area. Leaving the room she swayed past Aran's table and walked to the barracks. She climbed the stairs to her rooms, picking up some clothes for the night, she took a quick bath and then walked to his room, she checked all the corners to make sure no one was around and then walked into his rooms. He hadn't arrived yet and she smiled before, undressing and laying down on his bed with her book.

 

Laying on her stomach with her bare rear in the air she continued to read the book on military giants. She chuckled as she read a part on the rise and fall of a nation though the utter stupidity of the counselors to the leader and shook her head. How could anyone be that stupid or gullible she thought? A few minutes had passed before Aran walked into the room, he stopped in his tracks and chuckled low in his throat. She could all but feel the heat coming from him, she turned and looked over her shoulder, winking at him with her big blue eyes before turning back to reading the book. It wasn't long before the man had distracted her so badly that she could no longer read or focus. Time passed and eventually she was worn out to the point of crashing with no clothes on in his bed. They slept spooned together with their faces facing the wall away from the door.

 

Only a few hours later Lyssa woke to the can Aran had put in front of the door, being pushed forward. She blinked and was about to roll over and see who had entered the room without permission when she heard a voice she had known since birth. “How discreet.” Lyssa blinked as the can moved again and cringed into the wall. “Good morning! I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She almost cried out in fear. What are the odds of my mother showing up in the room of my lover while I am in it asleep and wearing no clothing. There's no hiding what I have been doing. I can only imagine her thoughts about this, and what in the light is she doing here. I didn't know they had a huge amount of contact, not enough for her to come to his room before dawn. Her forehead creased and she wondered if he had slept with her mother.

 

Lyssa Simeone

One of many lovers of Aran

 

It was not everyday that Aran woke up to find Aes Sedai in his room. That wasn't to say that it hadn't happened before, but it remained a rarity nevertheless. The fact it was Sirayn meant that he had drawn her out, pushed enough of her buttons to force her to reveal that he had her worried. She would not have bothered with him at all if he hadn't been on the right track and it meant that he was ready to move forward. Granted, it would have been easier to do so when he was a little bit more awake but there it was.

 

Of course, having Sirayn's grand niece in his bed complicated things slightly. More so because he could feel from the way she had tensed up that she was awake, and from her lack of overt action, pretending to be very very deeply asleep. He didn't blame her, all things considered between those two that he knew, and what he knew of Sirayn, he wouldn't want to have been in Lyssa's position. Freeing his arm from under Lyssa's head gently, Aran's voice was quiet as if he didn't want to awake her. "Well, this is a first. Would you mind not doing that? Thats really rather rude. I don't suppose it occured to you to knock at all did it?"

 

No answer on that except a smile. This was rather petty of her and it also spoke volumes about why she was here. He doubted she would have been so quick to try and rile him with such thoughtlessness if she wasn't antagonised. She knew about her people being questioned one by one, a weak spot he had been sure to press as obviously as he could. People who played the game like she did relied on people's silence and their willingness to play the game in secret. Aran refused to play the game, therefore the same rules didn't apply to him and that was what had made Sirayn nervous. It was amazing what one could accomplish when one was willing to cheat.

 

"Well, you can at least go wait outside while I get changed then. Or you can stay and watch, either way I'm putting some clothes on." Slipping out from the covers rather unashamedly, he proceeded to ignore Sirayn as he got changed. Underclothes, breeches, shirt, padded boots, all the things that would keep him warm wherever they decided to wander. In fact, why leave the decision with her at all? It would be better if he decided on a place they could talk.

 

"Well, no doubt what you've got to say is important, let us go someplace private no?" He knew of a spare room that they could easily use, one which was not near Lyssa's room. "Follow me." Leading the way out the door, Aran frowned as he noticed he couldn't hear any steps behind him. Turning to see Sirayn looking into his room, the expression on her face seemed no different than usual and she had said nothing so he presumed that she was simply trying to divine who the woman was by sight. "Leave her to sleep and close the door would you?"

 

That snapped her out of it and it wasn't long before they found the room that Aran was after. Holding the door open for Sirayn, he was quick to close and lock it before helping himself to one of the two beds in the room. He might have to be awake, but he was going to be comfortably so. He wondered if she'd warded the room from people trying to listen in. No doubt. Slipping his hands behind the back of his head, there was an easy grin on his face as he looked at her. "So? What brings an Aes Sedai of your esteemed standing to visit a both lowly and humble Tower Guard such as myself? Have you decided to give in and talk?"

 

Aran

Tower Guard

 

Having her good manners insulted by someone who had systematically interrogated his way through her circle capped off her deep and increasing irritation. She did not take protocol lessons from people whose idea of proper behaviour was harassing Aes Sedai. The little interlude reminded her all the more why she hated Tower Guards; they spent all their lives living off Tar Valon gold, sheltered by Tar Valon might, bedding Tar Valon women, yet offered such casual disrespect to Aes Sedai that it took her breath away. Actually she couldn’t think of a single one so far whom she had known in any meaningful way who hadn’t tried to kill her. Her misgivings doubled.

 

Just in time to coincide with an unexpected view of this stranger in the altogether. So much bare flesh repulsed her with a suddenness and a ferocity starting even to her and she had to take a choke hold on the urge to step back, just as far and as fast as it took to get away from here, asserting ruthless control instead; she wanted to leave, or possibly just hide behind the door until he was decent again, but then it occurred to her that he might make a break for it through the window and she forced herself to stand in the doorway like a sentinel averting her eyes. How bloody crude. Faced with a Cairhienin Aes Sedai, culturally and politically held to strict propriety, he decided to start taking everything off. Her mouth twisted and keeping her disgust and anger under control, she waited in stony silence.

 

Fixing her gaze anywhere but on the unpleasant view she found herself watching the sleeping woman. Something about the curve of shoulder beneath the heavy blankets, the lovely dark hair brought memories to mind; frowning, she moved a bit closer, got a brief glimpse … a mirror image of her own face, only softer and sweeter and prettier, framed in glossy black hair … a sight that sent an electric jolt through her. Lyssa? In bed with a womanising drunkard? She couldn’t believe it at first but a second glance showed her the same intimately familiar features. Only by dint of some effort did she keep immobile: perplexed and infuriated on the inside, on the outside, no sign but the slow drawing together of her dark brows.

 

Why under the Light would she find her daughter here? The obvious answer seemed too simple. Lyssa had been brought up in southern Andor, not exactly a haven of the high life, and Cairhienin blood ran through her whether she knew it or not. Besides, surely she had inherited more intelligence than to fall into bed with the first properly equipped person she came across. It didn’t take more than ten seconds’ thought to see that this wretched man was a malignant influence; she found herself reluctant to conclude that her daughter was an idiot. Perhaps … a cold hand ran down her back and she considered the situation with a new and icy clarity. Aran had been plying her friends with alcohol to induce them to talk. Then he turned up in bed with her daughter. She had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer but even a fool could draw the obvious conclusion here.

 

Taking advantage of her innocent, clueless daughter simply so he could worm some information out of her was one of the most vicious tricks Sirayn Damodred had ever seen pulled in the Great Game and she had watched some real bastards at work. Fury overrode even her ferocious control. Aran was saying something to her from the corridor and in that moment she genuinely thought she might hit him; the temptation to ensure other mothers’ children remained safe from him in the future was overwhelming; but an Aes Sedai should never, ever show emotion and inch by inch she strove for composure.

 

Easier said than done. Every maternal instinct she possessed burned to protect her daughter. Lyssa lay so still; what if she was scared, what he had hurt her? It was a bloody myth that sex was pleasant or even tolerable. Presumably the girl had discovered that for herself by now. She might need a mother to take care of her right now. Even, Light help them, a healer. Her blood was beginning to run seriously cold at the possibilities her imagination presented her; Sirayn reconsidered her decision not to rip the bastard limb from limb. She remembered Lyssa tiny and helpless, remembered cradling her as a child, the irresistible desire to keep her safe and warm and loved. Instead she had given her daughter to Tar Valon, a hive of Darkfriends, where filthy men could trick her into bed because of the name she carried. Some mother she made.

 

Naturally she couldn’t stay to look after her daughter. That would be too bloody simple by half; the shawl forbade such luxuries as being a decent mother. She had come to protect the Order of the Rose and its irregulars, she couldn’t let herself to be distracted from that goal. Her duty as an Aes Sedai and as a defender of the Tower in the Great Game precluded anything … personal. After all what was the worst that could happen? She could lose her daughter -- two dead children in as many years -- but that meant nothing to the Tower. On the other hand, if she let her carefully constructed network slip into Darkfriend hands because she was too busy being stupidly sentimental to hold the line, that would mean rather a lot to the Tower. And in the end, as always, the Tower was all.

 

It took a considerable effort of will to unclasp her fingers from the door frame. Once settled in proper Aes Sedai composure, showing not a hint of feeling, Sirayn followed the man she’d rather see dead in a ditch to another room. His levity jarred her, since she was now damn near convinced he was a Darkfriend or at least the kind of Cairhienin agent not to be trusted until in a lead-lined box six feet under, but she managed to ignore the temptation to say so. The mockery she did not take so kindly. He could take his esteemed standing and his lowly humbleness and put it where the proverbial source of light did not illuminate. And as for the implication that an Aes Sedai would ever spill Tower secrets to a scheming, whoring drunk … well, she hoped he’d had a good time with her daughter, it would be the last time she let him take advantage of anyone else’s defenceless children.

 

“How curious.” Given concentration she achieved a pleasant smile and fixed it in place. Locked door. Silence ward. The only drawback was the setting; she knew from an eventful past that it was damn hard to get blood out of the furnishings in a hurry. It would be unfortunate if she had to terminate this meeting, particularly since she was running out of good excuses as to why all Lyssa’s companions ended up messily dead, but Aes Sedai were supposed to be resourceful and she would think of something if she had to. If enough was at risk. “I was about to ask you the same question. Find out anything interesting?”

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[Wayfarer]

Chuckling, Aran stretched on the bed as he yawned. Arching his back as he forced it out, even in that moment he knew he had her now. She was fishing, but in the act of coming to him first she had revealed that she was in a weaker position. He could no longer be ignored, and if she was asking then either she wasn't sure what he had turned up and feared the worst or she knew what he had turned up and was verifying it. He wasn't sure which but neither mattered, he had her over a barrel and there wasn't a thing she could do about it except comply. His price wasn't going to be so high as to force her to sacrifice everything, well, except her pride. "I learn something new with every passing day. But, come now lets not play games, you would not have come here if you could ignore me and clearly now you can't. Why is that?"

 

Her brows raised a fraction at his yawn; she managed not to roll her eyes and ask if she was keeping him awake, but his insolence toward Aes Sedai was fraying her remaining patience. She disliked Tower Guards, womanisers, drunks, men and Cairhienin agents, or Darkfriends depending on which version she found more likely at any given moment, so her patience had never been too high in the first place. Nevertheless, she could play at being Aes Sedai for as long as it took to put a stop to this. Not only could she, but since her beloved Order was at stake … she must. Failure was, as the saying went, not an option. “You heard nothing then? Shame. I trust you aren’t too out of pocket.”

 

Laughing, Aran raised an eyebrow at Sirayn. She was still skirting the issue and play the game. A true marriage of Cairhien and the White Tower, but he could work with it. After all, he had already won unless she had managed to dig up anything about him, and if she found more than a heavy drinker and womaniser he would be quite surprised. That wasn't to say that he wasn't those things, but there was at least a tad more to him than that. "Bribery? How Cairhienin of you. As to heard anything, was there anything to hear?"

 

Still, his cagey response indicated that he had nothing of any interest on her, a matter of some relief considering what sensitive information his targets had had, so she anticipated wrapping this up very shortly. It was almost discouraging. She had been prepared for total carnage, figuratively speaking, but instead he hadn’t got a single word. Darkfriends had been much smarter back in her day. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with. I gather you didn’t find anyone talkative, so you can keep questioning until the Fourth Age if you like, do let me know how you fare.”

 

Sirayn's response merely caused Aran to laugh once more, how prickly she was and how precarious her position. He contemplated stringing it along, the way she played with her words was amusing to no end. There was more to be learned about her from the way she used them, but then, he would have plenty of time for that in the future. But now, now she was relieved and now was the time for the knock out punch. The moment where everything would change for Sirayn, and it all came down to a single word which he delivered with a pleasant smile. "Forkroot."

 

Forkroot: a word of incomparable importance, it signified all the months she had spent laying plans for the Black Ajah. It caught her sharp as a hook. She stilled, sudden and complete, transformed to stone in an instant; a spark of panic alive in her now and she ran through all the bitter memories associated with forkroot, through mint tea and helplessness and a knife to the solemn Order meeting, to the precious cargo even now hidden somewhere safe … a sense of cold fear tightening in her like an icy fist. Only after a long moment did she look back to her opponent, Aes Sedai calm to her fingertips, inwardly striving to recover her balance.

 

Forkroot. Hell. If he’d been fishing for a response he’d certainly got one; damn it, damn it, she should have been smarter, should have been better at this. So many people’s careers all staked on her intelligence. She should have let Jehanine tell her the truth instead of trying always to prove her wrong. But which particular forkroot encounter did he refer to? She couldn’t exactly mention both and see which one he picked up on. Certainly she would rather have the proverbial encounter with hot coals than discuss the Corin Danveer incident and as for the Order mission … it did not bear thinking on. How badly wrong could this go?

 

Burn her but she’d been an idiot. Now she was trapped in a locked room with a Darkfriend who’d thought nothing of using her daughter like a toy. Someone had talked: she fixed her concentration on that thought. Someone would regret it very much indeed by the time she was done with them. Her voice steady, she drew on Tower training and scraped for a smart answer. “Is this a word association game?”

 

Chuckling, Aran knew he had her well and truly now. That one lapse on her part, that was all he had needed to confirm it and now he had her. There was a certain joy to managing to go one better than Sirayn, normally it was just something to be done but after having worked on it for long enough, there was satisfaction to be had in success. As to her attempt to bluff her way through it, he suspected that she knew just as well as he did that it was wasted. "We're well past that now I think. In fact, we've moved forward to discuss the matter of price. I have a service to render, my silence. You have a service that you can perform in turn, one that will cause no harm save perhaps to your pride. Are you ready to listen or shall we banter more?"

 

The bastard chuckled. If there was anything she found unbearable, apart from being held down in the savage darkness and everything that had transpired then, it was public humiliation. Luckily they had not progressed to an audience so far but she felt that same spark of fear burning, cold and lonely, reminding her how defenceless she actually was for all her tall talk; how Amiarin Lucif had taken her so easily, how even Master Corin Danveer had needed one little cup to bring her down, how everyone had laughed when she knelt in the dust … and she could actually feel the ground crumbling under her now, the sensation as immediate as her phantom hand, another loss due to her complete idiocy.

 

She still felt cold. Here came the consequences of talking to people, of letting her guard down even an inch, of letting people make their own decisions. Never again. If she could just dig herself out of this she promised herself nobody would ever get within arm’s length again. The situation was getting rapidly out of control; she gave nothing to men who liked to play with people’s daughters. Than the Light for a good White Tower education. “I don’t believe I owe you a price for mentioning the word forkroot.” They had all laughed. She’d been barely out of the infirmary, had enough difficulty even keeping her feet and when the other Aes Sedai had struck her they had laughed. Oh yes, she remembered, she always remembered disgrace.

 

Raising an eyebrow at Sirayn once more as he looked up at her, he shook his head at her. It seemed she was desperate to continue playing but seemed incapable of realising that the game had already been over the moment she had walked into this room and revealed she was worried. There was a very simple rule when it came to playing games like this, those who were willing to go the furthest and had the least to lose always won. That wasn't to say he had little to lose or that he would go to any length, but Sirayn knew too little about him to realise that and she had too much to lose. "You're trying to play a game you have already lost, Sirayn. If you aren't willing to listen to my price, then there are others who will be willing to listen to my words. Do we understand each other?"

 

“That will be Sirayn Sedai.” It was an automatic response from an immovably certain part of her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had dispensed with her title; she’d even broken Corin Danveer of his unruly habits given time, only for him to turn up with a cup of mint tea of course, but he did at least accord her her proper title. She did not hold conversation with people who did not recognise her rank as Aes Sedai. It was a simple and fundamental rule of her dealings with the outside world and one principle on which she did not bend.

 

His complacency unnerved her, but whatever he liked to think about losing games, the Green Ajah did not admit defeat until the last shovelfuls of earth had been piled on top. It seemed a bit suspicious that he consistently refused to admit to actually knowing anything. If he was that cautious perhaps he actually knew nothing at all. Could be it was just a bluff; no need to think about Amiarin Lucif at all, about chains, about dust and fire and smoke. “As far as I know you have no words anyone would be remotely interested in listening to. Forkroot. Two syllables. Meaningless.” Her turn to raise a brow coldly. “Do we understand each other now?”

 

Aran grinned with an impudence that was entirely him. "Are you ten kinds of daft? Let me try something blunter than a warhammer. You are beaten. End of story. He who can destroy a thing controls a thing, and I can destroy both your reputation and position. If you want to figure out what I have learned, well, you no doubt have had me observed. You know who I've spoken to, you can figure it out for yourself. Not that it will do you any good, your oaths bind you and if you are asked certain pointed questions that I can give to other Aes Sedai to ask, short of refusing to answer you won't be able to conceal a thing and refusal will be as good as an admission."

 

"We are not here to barter for information, we are bartering services. And since you are stubbornly clinging to the hope you can weasal out of this, I am going to push the agenda forward. You've solidly refused to train and to relearn how to defend yourself, and not just from me. You've used your missing hand as an excuse and a shield. That ends as of today because the price of my silence is that you renew your training. As to who your teacher will be, you are looking at him." Aran smiled as he saw the reaction to his price.

 

The red cloaks’ tendency to have more brawn than brains irritated her no end. He pushed where he lacked the intelligence to see she would not give way, not to mention the gaping absence of anything to motivate her to pay him any sort of price. At this rate the meeting would end soon. He could take his insolence and shove it. “Firstly, my name is Sirayn Sedai and I will accept no less from you or anyone else. Secondly, if you won’t show me anything incriminating, you can’t show me anything incriminating. Thirdly, I don’t cut deals with would-be blackmailers. You have nothing worth that or any other price.” His tutor should have set him to study the Great Game a bit better before he let the boy loose. She had been worried for nothing.

 

Raising an eyebrow, Aran sighed. Fine, he would give her a tidbit if it would wake her up to the implications, he would not name names though. "You're whatever I call you in private, your title is as much a crutch as your missing hand and I won't tolerate either." Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Aran got to his feet easily and smiled at her. "For a woman numbered amongst the Damodred's, you're surprisingly foolish. Others would know when to cut their losses and investigate themselves. But I will make you this concession, me being the magnanimous fellow I am."

 

"You've had unpleasant encounters with forkroot in the past. But you... I'm not sure what it is, ambition or fear? Perhaps both. You weren't content to simply put it behind you though, no, you had to level the playing field. I would have suspected you for a darkfriend for bringing such a thing into the Tower in quantity if I hadn't known of your previous history with it. So, instead of reporting you I've decided to put this secret to good use. As of now, you are my student. That or you are before your sisters explaining why you brought such a thing into the Tower. And when you try and worm your way out of it, all they need do is ask is whether you contemplated using it beyond study. If they follow that line of thought, well, you know the consequences as you have no doubt contemplated the risks yourself."

 

Grinning, Aran stepped forward and poked Sirayn's shoulder. "As of now, you may call me master. And no, even if you dispose of such evidence I can still hold your contemplation of using it for your own schemes over you and explain your disposal or handing it over as motivated by my use of the information. As to your training, it shall commence today. Do you have anywhere private we may train? Your quarters or somewhere in the Tower where will not be disturbed? I'm willing to make you that concession." She would hate him with every fiber of her being for it too. Not just that he had her, but the fact he showed her mercy as well. But, if he achieved his goals, then she could hate him all she wanted.

 

It was a point of pride with her that she had never once raised a hand to anyone save in battle since Lanfir Leah Marithsen. She had never come so close to breaking that record until now. Not for his absurd attitude, nor even attempt at blackmail, nor even at his abuse of the very material she had hoped to use to destroy the Black Ajah once and for all -- but because he did not recognise her as an Aes Sedai. That outraged her on a level so deep she couldn’t put it into words.

 

Foolish she could just about swallow, if she worked hard at it, but nobody took her title away. She had made so many sacrifices for the Tower she could fill a book with them, given up her family and her children, let Amiarin Lucif do her worst rather than whisper a word of the Amyrlin’s secrets and nobody … nobody … would take that off her. Nobody who had not been with her in Black Ajah captivity in Tear, taking all a Dreadlord’s creativity could come up with later, or losing a Warder on the bloody fields of Dumai’s Wells had the right to speak to her like that. She bent her knee only to the rightful Amyrlin -- she had told Amiarin that, screamed it until her throat ran raw, only the Tower called on her -- and she was thrice damned if she would ever, ever call a Tower Guard her master.

 

Her anger burned, stamped down hard, but still a red and rising urge to hit back had hold of her. “For the third time, my name is Sirayn Sedai and I will answer to nothing else, and it will be a cold day in hell before I call you or anyone else my master.” He had settled that one for her when he told her to call him by that name. Amiarin had never got that from her, for all the fires and the long drawn out horror, it had claimed half her Warder’s sight and her strong left hand, but her identity as an Aes Sedai was worth all that and more.

 

“Get out.” It was a genuine snarl from the normally composed Sirayn. “Show me your worst, I’ll take it. Nobody but the Amyrlin Seat has the right to tell me that and I’ll not hear it from you.”

 

Smiling as a parent would at an errant child, Aran refrained from patting her. He'd cracked her shell, her manners and later on she would no doubt realise it as well. "If you didn't call the one who instructed you on how to use your Katana either Mistress or Master, I'd be rather surprised considering your keen sense of etiquette. You are my student as of now and you will address me as such. If you cannot bend then you will break, and if you think the sisters will stop with you, you are sorely mistaken. They will root out every single person who was involved with the Forkroot and they will suffer alongside you. You might be quick to embrace martyrdom to spite me but I wonder whether you will so readily consign those who serve you to a similar fate."

 

“No. I will not.” Her surviving hand flexed, fingers coiling tight, as if imagining someone’s throat. It betrayed her driving tension; she had not shown anyone a glimpse of emotion since … she could not remember when. It mattered not. She had not endured this long to let an upjumped Tower Guard strip her of her identity. It hurt her to think of anything happening to Aramina sur Dulciena, her special project, hurt like a fist clenched on her heart; but there was a reason why she led and Aramina followed. Aramina had trusted her to make these kinds of decisions. And her decision was that the price was too high. “I am an Aes Sedai. I call nobody master. Not for any price. You have no authority over me and I will not accept it.”

 

"Am I to understand then that you are not going to accede to my price?" Frowning at her, Aran didn't bother to take a step closer, it was unecessary. "Because if you're denying my authority over you as a teacher then you are not willing to pay my price. Instead they will have to pay it for you, the willing and the unwilling because a Damodred could not spare her pride for even a moment. Tell me, are you truly so weak underneath that shell of a title that you're hiding behind? Are you truly so cowardly that rather than face a private humiliation you would drag those who serve you down with you? It is a shame, for I know Green Sisters who would sacrifice themselves for another sister, but all you can do is ask others to sacrifice for you. Unless you'd care to prove me wrong?"

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[Sirayn]

Aes Sedai exercised discretion even in the most trying of circumstances. She was the image of calm. She was not going to hit him … damn it, she wanted to introduce him to the back of his own head. Call him master! She still seethed. Heads were going to roll when she worked out which of her bloody useless Order had spilled all their secrets to a womanising, blackmailing Darkfriend. Unfortunately for him she wasn’t so stupid by half and while she found it infuriating that a minion like him had the cheek to question her courage, she chalked it up to sheer ignorance, a Tower Guard either too illiterate or too uncaring to have the first idea who he was speaking to. The scathing thought calmed her down somewhat. The man was a halfwit but, nevertheless, she needed to think in tactical terms.

 

It galled her no end that a Tower Guard thought it seemly to lecture her, inaccurately no less, on the Ajah whose traditions she had upheld for the past two centuries. Did she look like she’d been blind all that time? He didn’t even know what he was talking about. Rookies and gleemen spoke of the Green Ajah sacrificing itself heroically for one’s sisters, but they were all as empty headed as each other, and real Aes Sedai knew the blacker truth. Much as taking a blow for one’s sisters might fill one with a complacent glow of valiance, an Aes Sedai’s job was to carry out her duty, not to put her name in the history books. The lesser sacrificed themselves for the higher. She belonged to the latter category.

 

A difficult code to follow but nevertheless vital. As the last survivor of that desperate hunt to Tear, and perhaps the only woman with knowledge and resources enough to run their dark work, she had her sights set on the future: on purging the Black Ajah and winning the Last Battle. No longer was she a nameless pawn in the Battle Ajah’s ranks. It was her job not to make war, but to send others to make war on her behalf; not to find some good clean danger, but to pick the best underlings she could find to take her place; not to die herself … but to survive. She’d found it bloody hard to accept, when she had been a soldier all her life and wished for nothing else, but the Black Ajah Hunt demanded that much. Let fools and children speak of sacrifice. She needed success. Nothing else would save the Tower.

 

Burn it but she had to be there when the last dice were rolled. Nobody else was preparing to cleanse the Tower of its darker sisters; unless Lanfir Leah Marithsen had something up her elegant sleeve, she and her carefully stored resources would be the Tower’s only chance. She had known a long time how hopeless her mission was. How innumerable the Black Ajah, how vast their power, how she couldn’t trust anyone but herself. That she needed everything she could get her hands on. Like forkroot … the only method she had access to of mass incapacitation for channellers. Forkroot, her ace in the hole, her secret weapon. Forkroot was how she was going to defeat the Black Ajah.

 

Light blind them, when she got her hands on whoever had talked, she was going to do something to them even the Shadow had never thought of! It incensed her beyond words. How bloody hard was it to realise for the halfwit sheep who didn’t suspect about the Black Ajah that when an Aes Sedai was storing up forkroot it was for her own good reasons? Reasons that maybe shouldn’t be shared with the first passer by? More than the sheer, unparalleled idiocy, what grated with her was that someone had broken her trust. Yes, the Order life could be harsh at times but she had extended her faith and protection to a select handful of people, ones she had planned as a new Tower leadership for a later time. And they had taken her best laid plans and smashed them. Somebody was going to pay for this. Light were they going to pay.

 

What was the idiot Darkfriend even playing at? She hadn’t paid a blind bit of attention to the other part of his price; her attention had been trapped very neatly the moment he told her to call him master, still a phrase that inspired total revulsion in her, a primal rejection so strong she couldn’t frame it in words. He wanted to train with her … it wasn’t even a reasonable excuse. All right, he didn’t want to tell her his actual purpose, but she found it most insulting that he hadn’t even put any effort into lying. He might as well have told her that his price was for her to stand on her head once every day. She couldn’t see any reason why anyone, Lightfool or Darkfriend, would want her to practise with the sword at little more. Actually, the last person to make the same request had been a Darkfriend as well, so presumably there was some reason she had yet to discover.

 

Corin Danveer. The name stirred memories -- trapped in a shell that refused to obey her commands, helpless to defend herself, staring at a slow death or worse. She dreamed of it sometimes. In terms of good slow torture it had been nothing short of inspired. Charming: she’d got herself into a cross between the forkroot episode and the Solin affair! Only this time nobody was coming to save her. It was one of those laugh-or-cry moments. All her painstaking efforts had come to nothing if she couldn’t keep the bloody forkroot safe for that far-off day when the Black Ajah finally met its end in the white halls of the Tower.

 

Take the long view. Easier said than done. It took some concentration to relax her tightly wound shoulders, find again the usual composure, convince the part of her that still worked on soldiering lines that this particular threat should not be blasted off the face of the earth. Light, what a sadist, he must have done that deliberately to outrage every fibre of Aes Sedai instinct she possessed. If he was a Darkfriend maybe he already knew about Amiarin Lucif … a thought that might have tipped her into cold paralysing horror if she let it. Could she let someone else pick up where the Dreadlord had left off to preserve the forkroot? She wanted never to find out. She hadn’t slept properly since it had happened, couldn’t forget, couldn’t even relax in case it all came back. Couldn’t stand anyone to touch her. They had been experts; it took a certain kind of mind to understand that whatever one did on the outside, the real damage could be done on the inside.

 

“As you like. We train.” Still too much tightness in her voice. She took an iron grip on the desire to rip this fool into little pieces, or possibly just leave, and deal with the consequences as they happened. It was the thought of a Battle Ajah member, one secure in her own competence to handle a difficult situation, but not one who had the Black Ajah on her mind. “I don’t give a damn where or when,” once again he did not credit her with the intelligence to realise that a blackmailing Darkfriend had no more regard for her daily routine than for her, “but I answer only to Sirayn Sedai and I concede authority to nobody but the Amyrlin Seat. If that’s unacceptable, take your price and be damned, I’ll give you no more.” She hated every moment of this. Let her control just last until she found herself a member of the Order. A tactical withdrawal, that was all, until she got hold of whoever was responsible for this shambles and made their life a ruin … It was still too bloody much.

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[Wayfarer]

There was more to have been said, but as Aran was about to respond to Sirayn's rant he paused. Blinking at the diminutive woman, what began as a criticism ended up an amused laugh instead. He could work around it, and she was too strong. Not a thought that was a compliment either, the strong were always the ones to break whereas those who were flexible could bend and twist in the winds of fortune. One of the reasons that he had gotten the better of her, he could adapt his tools and his methods to the person where she seemed to lack the innovation.

 

But then, maybe she had just needed the right motivation and she would have it now. Yet, her counterstroke if there was one would be some time in coming. Besides, he could keep her off balance for the moment. She had said that they could meet anytime and anywhere for training, there was no better time than the present. Well, soon at least. "I suppose thats the best I'm going to get out of you. As to when we start, I think we shall start in half an hour. I will see you in your quarters then, no?"

 

Not waiting for a response, Aran shot her a grin before letting himself out of the room. He had preparations to make, starting with washing himself. He still smelled very much of the previous night and of Lyssa, the training would put him alot closer to Sirayn and the last thing he needed was the woman to recognise her grand niece's scent upon him.

 

Or perhaps it was a wasted effort, Lyssa was no longer in his room when he returned to it. Had she awoken to Sirayn's words? Had she revealed herself to Sirayn? Maybe, he would have to speak to Lyssa about it later as she was likewise not to be found while Aran bathed. There would be time for that, and he would have to speak to her about what he was up to. He trusted her not to speak of it to Sirayn if he asked her to keep it to herself, and if it were forced out of her by Sirayn then Sirayn would believe he was duping her grand niece.

 

It wouldn't have normally taken him long to get ready, but with half an hour he had time to waste. By the time he strode into the Green Ajah quarters he was thoroughly relaxed. Aran had his doubts as to whether Sirayn had allowed herself a similar luxury, more probably than not she was either wracking her brains for a way out of their new arrangement or to get some advantage over him, or she was focusing on something else entirely to distract herself.

 

Stopping before Sirayn's door, Aran didn't bother to knock as he let himself in. Closing the door behind him with his left hand, his right had a pair of mock daggers that he waved at her. "Meet your knew best friend. All things considered, I think you may have better use for one of these than the Katana you used to wield. Swords are all well and good, but if you don't kill someone with the first inch or two of a blade, another foot isn't really going to make any difference."

 

Helping himself to a seat next to Sirayn, Aran grinned at her as he put the wooden training tools on the table. "So, how well do you know your way around these? Beyond slicing a cheese wheel or a side of beef."

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Sirayn]

On reflection, although the whole farce outraged her, one point that reserved itself for especial irritation was his idea that she needed to train again. The last episodes requiring her to defend herself had involved either Dreadlords or forkroot, and … why yes, during neither incident at any time would such skill have been remotely useful! Actually she couldn’t even remember the last time she had need of it. Much help it would have been against Amiarin Lucif, who had had her on her knees and shielded before she even knew the other woman was there, or the boy Corin and his forkroot when she couldn’t lift so much as a finger to protect herself. The only defence an Aes Sedai could rely on was her own fortitude.

 

Perfect. She could be intelligence gathering or administering various schemes or maybe even doing her actual job as Captain General. Instead she got to spend an unspecified amount of her time uselessly trying to relearn something she couldn’t go back to and wouldn’t even need anyway. It infuriated her no end; the soldiering times were over for her, she knew that, it had been difficult enough to adjust to a different life as a spider and schemer without raking up so many dead ashes. She would never go to war again, no amount of Darkfriend interference would make her half the soldier she’d been and pretending she hadn’t lost damn near everything -- her good left hand, her independence, the life she’d made for herself -- when Amiarin Lucif decided to step up the pressure only spun out fantasy. Sentimentality was a luxury she couldn’t afford. It was done, no going back, time to move forward.

 

Except some halfwit of a Darkfriend thought it would be amusing to show her the full extent of her incompetence. It wasn’t even necessary; she had had plenty of opportunities to find out that she was indeed quite worthless now. She still remembered dust and bright fire as sunlight winked along steel, still suffering from the terrible exhaustion of a massive healing attempt and they had laughed … no, damn it, she wouldn’t think of that. She wasn’t going to be weak and crippled and stupid for everyone to laugh at ever again. Or at least, it seemed, for anyone other than this drunkard Aran. No doubt he’d get his fair share of entertainment from watching her make an idiot of herself again.

 

Light but she needed a drink. She’d made the right decision after that Ebou Dari disaster that alcohol was too much of a risk, and now she didn’t even have to tolerate her Warders drinking since they’d both managed to get themselves killed, but sometimes she wanted something to make all this a bit more bearable. A dose of daily humiliation until such time as the lackwit got bored of her was a bleak prospect indeed; but starting to drink again while under severe stress was a one-way road to dependency and there was a limit to how much like the Amyrlin and her illustrious Keeper she actually wanted to be. She waited out her half hour in silence instead and did her best not to think.

 

The intrusion tripped her alarm wards and sent chills racing over her skin. Idiot: he should know better than to try an Aes Sedai’s door, for all he knew her door was warded so heavily it would take his fingers off. The door to her bedchamber was warded to be impassable, at least without a good half hour’s concentration on undoing the wards, so someone ought to knock some sense into his empty skull before he went around triggering any more weaves. Sirayn considered the wooden implements he brought with a fractionally raised brow keeping her disgust on the inside. Practice daggers. How dull. She could be doing proper work right now, something that would actually advance her preparations for Tarmon Gai’don and the end of the Black Ajah, instead she got to play with wood.

 

She kept it curt. “It’s been a while.”

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[Wayfarer]

Smiling at Sirayn's shortness as if she'd just paid him a compliment, Aran pushed one of the daggers over to her as he spoke. "Well then, lets see what we have to work with, up you get." Slipping out of his seat, he stepped into the middle of the room and adopted an easy stance with his empty left hand leading while he held his mock dagger in a murderer's grip. The easy smile always present, he gestured for Sirayn to attack first. After all, it was all about testing her and seeing what she was already capable of. "Ladies first, you get first strike."

 

She had actually never felt so stupid in her life. No, she told a lie, there had been one or two interesting little moments involving a Dreamwalker not long ago but since then she had managed to avoid this kind of idiocy; she must look so ridiculous in her skirts clutching a wooden dagger in the only hand she still had, no wonder Aran was bloody smiling. Long view, she told herself, think of the Black Ajah, but it was an exercise in slow humiliation the likes of which she hadn’t faced in some time. Feeling ten kinds of absurd, she picked up the dagger and made her no doubt hilariously awful first strike. Presumably somebody was getting a good laugh out of this; she certainly wasn’t.

 

Diverting the first first blow away with his free hand, Aran allowed himself to fall back bit by bit. He let her attack repeatedly without the need to fear a counter attack, analysing how she fought as they went. Sirayn focused only on using her dagger, everything else remained unused. Using a soldier's grip, she didn't seem to use the point much and more than anything her training with a Katana showed. Her blows were strong swings, trying to batter or slip by his guard and it was only every now and then that she thrust. Dancing only a step ahead, it was a few minutes before he turned his own dagger against her. He wouldn't strike her, he would simply let his wrist go slack as he ran the mock dagger over her with every slash. But while he increased his intensity, he didn't necessarily put in more hits. His concern was to study, not to beat thoroughly.

 

Ten seconds into this farce she realised that knife work had to be done at close quarters. It sparked fear like ice water, a sudden coldness that crippled any confidence she might have found, and momentarily the urge to put some distance between them overrode her best attempts to hide it; she hadn’t let anyone close enough to touch in a long time and given the intensity of her inward response she had no difficulty at all remembering why. She had had nightmares like this sometimes: trapped in close quarters with a Darkfriend and her useless right hand. The sheer number of ways she could disgrace herself occurred to her in rapid succession, opportunites like this didn’t come along often, no doubt Aran was rolling on the floor laughing on the inside. She couldn’t figure out why he made such a show of not hitting her either. Good clean pain didn’t do anyone any harm and at least it would put this farce on a footing she understood.

 

"Stop." Stepping back as he let his arms fall to his side, Aran looked Sirayn over quite openly but not the way one would have looked over a bar wench. More the appraising look a smith gave a blade that had just been quenched, studying, all the while going over the results of their quick spar in his mind. Her dagger ability was like that of an untrained flailer. This was further compounded by her inability to close, dagger work required that level of closeness but she shunned it. Not just as one unfamiliar to it either, it was as if she wasn't entirely there, perhaps trauma of some sort. A bad experience could easily make a person timid, and Aes Sedai were no exception.

 

Or perhaps it was simply because he was the man who had blackmailed her. Then again, she seemed to be in much better control of herself, what did she fear then? Possibilities as to what to do came to mind, but there was something else he wanted to do. A simple test to either eliminate or confirm a possibility. Pointing to where they had been sitting, Aran gestured for her to take her seat even as he walked forward and took his own.

 

Relieving her of the mock dagger, Aran put them aside and then placed his hand closest to her on the table palm down. His fingers splayed, it rested there easily enough and in need of a partner. "Our next exercise, you're skittish around me. Place your hand ontop of mine, your task is to try and leave it there as long as you can while we speak. The first thing we shall speak of is how you think you went and what needs to improve."

 

"Remember, your hand on mine as long as you can manage."

 

 

Aran

Tower Guard

[Sirayn]

His assessing glance struck an old, cold note in her memory. She prickled all over and did her best not to show it. Even her vocabulary was running short on inventive ways to frame her discomfort; she couldn’t figure out why under the Light they were even doing this, she’d confessed quite freely that she had lost any skill she once possessed, why other than to amuse himself would he force her to demonstrate it? Relief and frustration battled as he relieved her of the practice dagger and directed her to a chair. She’d just failed a test, no doubt about that, and though she’d been expecting no less it still burned. How had she been trusted with the Battle Ajah at a time like this? Her only remaining skill was at making an idiot of herself.

 

It took some effort not to move away when Aran placed his hand beside hers. She found its proximity deeply suspicious; her brows drew together as she contemplated that hand. Four fingers, a thumb, outwardly so harmless. Her suspicion turned stone cold as she heard what she was supposed to do for her next trick. Put her hand on his? He had to be joking. He made it sound so simple, as if ordinary people touched all the time, but … the very thought made revulsion and fear tighten their grip. No, not now, not ever. Aes Sedai did not touch. It was better, safer, more detached. This time she did take her hand back, returned it to her lap in a possibly futile attempt to be less obvious, and frowned. “What? Why?”

 

Aran raised an eyebrow, it appeared he had been right after all. Her instant unwillingness was a little too hasty to be just simple defiance, combined with what he had noticed while they had sparred at least. It would be interesting to see whether she could at all, and if she couldn't then why was that? Even if she did manage it, the question of why would still be important as why was everything. Smiling, Aran decided to give her a bit of a prod, her reaction would tell him more and that was something he could work on then. "Why not? You're an Aes Sedai, capable of great feats with a power only a few possess and you command respect from most people with the shawl that gives you authority. Surely something as simple as placing your hand on mine while answering my question is not beyond you?"

 

The irony of her blackmailer telling her how much respect her shawl commanded deserved to be pointed out, but since a sharp response was unlikely to improve the situation, she bit her tongue. Everything about this put her on edge; he might call this simple, but she knew how an expert went about applying pressure, she had felt it at first hand. Amiarin had started with simple questions, not even bordering on Tower secrets, only to work up to the Amyrlin Seat and the Black Ajah. Trapped in her own quarters with a hostile Darkfriend it would be the same bloody story all over again; first touch his hand, then find something else she couldn’t stand to do, until he found the limit of her compliance. It made her skin crawl. “I believe I agreed to train with you, not to touch any part of you.”

 

Chuckling, Aran shook his head, so this was how she planned to wriggle out of it? If she thought that line was going to work with him, she was sorely mistaken. There was clearly a problem to be fixed here and he would be fixing it as best he could. If she was afraid to touch another person, then how was she going to be able to fight when she was unable to lay a hand on them? Though where her reluctance came from was still something to be contemplated, not just yet though. The first priority was to have her comply, then they could move forward. "This is training, in a knife fight the fighters are close together, the way you moved and lashed out along with your attempts to stall now tell me that you are afraid of touch. Perhaps just by me, but a real opponent will not give you the luxury of retiring when you feel like it. So, you must learn to be able to maintain contact, to control it. This is much like swimming, you have to dive in to learn. So, place your hand on mine and tell me how you perceived our spar, not just what you did right or wrong but all of it."

 

Her brows drew down further still. This conversation was going dark places fast. “This is ridiculous.” She stamped out her frustration, just about, but this irritated her speechless. Why under the Light did being blackmailed have to involve someone touching her? She could tolerate a lot if she had to, indeed had done so in the past, but she couldn’t even see the point of this. Apparently something she hadn’t yet figured out made Darkfriends like this one and Corin Danveer eager to train her. That alone she could have ignored, at least till she got her chance to strike back, but … touching? Stalling was only making it more obvious. She’d walked into a trap. Now she had labelled herself as someone who could easily be discomfited by being touched and that was her own stupid fault. Steeling herself, she reached out and put her hand on his; nothing happened except the overwhelming desire to remove it again. She couldn’t quite convince herself it was safe enough to relax, continued to watch his hand warily, in case he made a sudden move. “Happy now? How does that help?”

 

Aran just smiled at Sirayn's words, he'd managed to convince her to place her hand on his without having to resort to other means. A good sign, even if it was no doubt motivated by a desire on her part to prove him wrong and show no weakness. There was of course the other thing she was required to do, another prod would get that easily enough. How the physical contact would affect how she answered would be another matter. Everything was a test, and with evey test he could understand her a little better and then perhaps be in a better position to train her. Training was more than just a workout and a spar. "You should be able to answer that one for yourself, eventually. In the meantime, I'm still waiting for an answer, and that hand stays there while you're at it. And eyes up, as fascinating as my hand is I didn't quite expect it to capture your imagination that much. Come on, talk."

 

As far as she knew this might go on forever. She contemplated that thought dismally, keeping the urge to pull away under control. If this was a sophisticated attempt at warfare she had to give him points for creativity; using her own obstinacy to force her to touch him was particularly sadistic. Telling her not to watch his hand was another good touch. His reflexes were better than hers and he would be able to grab her before she could pull away. She still had the One Power, but if he really wanted to, what he might do … she needed to stop thinkng before she paralysed herself with fear. She looked away instead and concentrated very hard on showing nothing. “I now know exactly as much as I did before we embarked on this little enterprise, which is that all I can do with a dagger is embarrass myself. Not that surprising since I used to be left-handed. I could have told you that before -- in fact, if I remember rightly, I did. What else do you want?”

 

Chuckling, Aran shook his head at her with the realisation that this was going to take a little longer than expected. Surprising considering the fact that the sooner they got through it, the sooner she would be allowed to remove her hand, he would have thought that would be implicit. It seemed he was wrong on that account though, she was more focused on her own distaste of him, and perhaps fear? Probably, if her body language was anything to go by. Still, that didn't bear mentioning just yet, answers were what he was after and then after that perhaps he would give a few of his own for her to ponder. "You're not thinking, and that would have been the last thing I would have thought to have to accuse you of. You have trained and sparred before, analyse what happened and why it did. For example, why did you only use your dagger when you had more weapons than that available to you? Its easy to blame your disability, but thats not the answer. Look at what happened and why."

 

Keep still, keep still, she repeated to herself, though with every passing minute she felt more exposed. She had done this to herself by being so stupid as to trust the Order. Some day she would remedy that mistake for good. In the meantime he was mocking her and she hated it; it was damn hard to give a convincing answer when she had to touch him like that. It distracted her all to hell. “Because it’s been a while since I last fought and I forgot?” Because she had wanted to forget; no use being a schemer when the open road still called to her, when she still remembered how to incapacitate a room full of crossbow men in under ten seconds, when she would rather talk war with the Borderland lords than play at court. “It’s a common curse, I hear. So?”

 

"Half truths won't get you anywhere." It was time to be a little more direct, otherwise she was just going to dance around it as long as she could. While it wouldn't do her any harm to have continued contact beyond her pride, he would rather step her up to it slowly bit by bit. Softening his voice in contrast to the sharp reproof he had given her, Aran continued more mildly. "I shouldn't need to remind you of this. A fighter, much like anyone else, must have confidence that they will prevail even if the odds are that they will not. You have no shortage of will as far as I know, but why didn't that translate into your fighting? And don't even try pawning your lack of will off to having your arm twisted into training. That might be part of it perhaps, but it most certainly isn't all of it. Now try again."

 

Confidence. So many reasons why she had none without the One Power. Master Corin Danveer had taken pleasure in stripping away all her defences; going back further, she remembered … how she had woken half blind in the dark, bound down and shielded … no, she had promised herself she wasn’t going to think about that, never again. A Tower Guard had come after her with a knife when she was still in whites. She hadn’t forgotten that either, being small and weak and defenceless, the incredulous realisation that nobody was coming to her aid. And as for the first and last time she had tried this after losing her hand -- when she had knelt beaten in the dust and they had laughed -- how was she supposed to even try to communicate that? Knowing she’d disgraced her famous Ajah in everyone’s eyes? She didn’t talk about that either. Aes Sedai were perfection itself. They did not know fear or petrifying shame. “I’m just not very good at it.” Her smile was somewhat barbed.

 

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were outright lying." Retaining his smile at those words, Aran decided it was time to push things forward. If she was going to abandon the dancing for repeating the same old tired line, then he was going to have to shove. Not too much though, it was still her first day and there would be time for working on specific things later. Now how to lend his thoughts voice, that was what he considered carefully before he spoke. "You're afraid, fearful. I have my suspicions as to why but we shall set aside the question of why for now. Instead we shall deal with the effect. To simply keep your hand on mine is taking you a great deal of effort, something that should be a simple act. Because of that fear of contact, you couldn't use anything else other than that dagger in our spar. You have shins, knees, elbows, even your head, all of these weapons along with the dagger were available to you but you used none of them. Fear held you back and crippled you far more than your missing hand ever could."

 

"But, that is something we shall see to. You may remove your hand." Waiting until she had done so, Aran's smile fell as his expression was more thoughtful than anything else. "Your fear isn't unusual, I have known others who have suffered from it. The reasons are always different but they all share a common cause, trauma. Some people overcome it, others do not, but the ones that want to survive learn how to function regardless. That is something we shall see to alongside your bladework I think, because without it you're going to be useless with a blade and you have the potential for better than that. No matter how much you may tell yourself otherwise." Pausing, Aran decided to round it all off with a question. "Did you ever receive training beyond a blade? To use the rest of your body as a weapon?"

 

So much tension unwound when she finally removed her hand to safety that it left her speechless. Not to have that weight of sheer fear distracting her, filling her silent thoughts with echoes of times long past, was a blessing beyond words. The rest she did her best to ignore; whatever he had planned for her and her -- what was his word for it, trauma, such an alien term -- she didn’t want to know. Left to herself, she managed fine so long as Darkfriends weren’t trying to make her touch them and that was all she needed. “No.” Again she stuck to terseness. If she said anything else she might betray how badly she wanted to get away from him and then no doubt it would be back to the touching again; Darkfriends were uncannily good at spotting exactly what one wanted least.

 

Laughing, Aran stood from his chair and gestured for her to get up as well. Perhaps it was time to wrap up, but not before they did one last thing, something that would end things on a high note for her. Standing in the middle of the room together again, Aran didn't bother to put up a guard as he spoke. "Well, lets start. Seeing as we don't have a bag here, so we're just going to have to do it the old fashioned way. First thing you need to do is learn how to punch, so I want you to punch me in the chest as hard as you can. Lets see what you can do." Tapping himself on the chest, he prompted her again. "Now, and no don't take a big wind up. Just a normal punch. Do it."

 

Disgruntled, she abandoned her hopes of escaping any time soon. She remembered how to punch, it wasn’t that long since she had forced Lanfir Leah Marithsen to defend herself with the One Power, she just didn’t want to; wrong hand, wrong instincts, wrong everything. Far be it from her to pass up yet another opportunity to make a fool of herself for Aran’s amusement. So she hit him exactly as she remembered: in the centre of the chest, wrist straight, all the force in the twist of her shoulders. Lanfir had had the last laugh in the end. She wouldn’t be punching anyone for real any time soon.

 

Well, she knew how to do that much at least. Grinning as he rubbed the spot she had struck, Aran could see at least one point that needed improvement, her blow didn't carry as much power as it could have. She only used her upper boddy, she didn't know how to use her hips. Strange considering she used a Katana, but then it had been a time, or maybe she was just trying to do it as quickly as she could. Turning so he was sideways to her, he decided to demonstrate it to her. "The first thing you need to learn, the entire body is a weapon. When you punch, you seem to be thinking of your fist connecting, rather than you connecting. Let me show you."

 

Imitating her blow, he then repeated the motion a couple of times more slowly as he spoke. "See how the upper body is doing all the work? Yet for all that work, its wasted. Why?" Patting his hips, he then demonstrated a punch using his entire body, his hips swivelling with the blow which allowed the entire body to travel with the fist. Once again he repeated the motion as he spoke. "Rather than ignoring your hips and legs, you utilise everything and much more power in the punch is found. Now." Aran turned to her and patted his chest. "I want you to do it again, this time your whole body. Put everything into it."

 

It felt indecent to be stuck in her quarters with a stranger watching him demonstrate the ideal swivel of his hips. She couldn’t remember if or why she had ever been interested in men. Frowning, she set her feet and punched him as she had been taught, pivoting to put as much power behind the blow as possible. It jolted her right to the shoulder, that was for certain, and whether it was genuine or overselling it made Aran step back. She eyed him suspiciously but bit off the sharp comment that she found it improbable that a crippled midget would score a point off a Tower Guard. “Great.” It was a little dry. “Next time I’m facing creative death at the hands of a Dreadlord, I’ll think very hard about how I could punch them if I had the chance.”

 

Laughing, Aran couldn't help but add to her comment. "If you have the chance, be sure to aim lower while you're at it." This seemed like a good place to wrap up the day with her. He'd managed to force her to take up her training, the fruition of a great deal of agitation on his part. Now he'd learned more about her, he also had a bit more of an understanding about how she thought. How her mind turned and twisted things, as much to save herself as to satisfy ambition. It was a bundle of knots that needed undoing, whether he would be successful in any manner remained to be seen but that was up to the wheel to weave. "Perhaps there is meaning to be drawn from this beyond improving your punch? A body in harmony and that moves together is more powerful than one that does not. The same can be said of the mind, something to reflect on no?"

 

"But, that is enough for today. Today was to learn what you were capable of and your weaknesses. Tomorrow we can begin to work on them, I am thinking mid afternoon I shall come by. I will leave those wooden daggers here, it might be a bit obvious if I traipse into the Tower everyday with them. I may even bring one or two more things to use, we shall see. Tomorrow's session will be alot longer, so be sure to leave yourself time for it. In fact... Hmm, instead of your quarters, do you know of a room that is not frequented in the Tower? One that I can bring a few things too? As fun as it was for you no doubt, I don't plan on being your punching bag. Hmmm?" Aran smiled slightly as he waited for her response, if nothing else she might be a little more amenable to the suggestion so he wasn't frequenting her quarters.

 

The sheer relief of getting rid of him overrode any enthusiasm she might have had for tomorrow’s plans. She disliked the sound of a longer session, given that they had spent most of this one discovering new and inventive ways to damage her without leaving any marks, but as per bloody usual she had as much choice as a lamb being led to the slaughter. “The place is mostly empty. There are rooms.” At least by the time she met him again she’d have the name of her traitor and, if all went to plan, the sweet memory of their pleas to keep her warm. And they had a good deal to plead for. She intended to make sure that person suffered twice as much as she had.

 

"Then I'll meet you here tomorrow and you can show me a room which has not only enough room for us, but will also leave us undisturbed. Over the next week I'll get what equipment is needed there unseen and we can go along without the entire Tower needing to know." Technically he would need permission to remove equipment, but there were ways and then there were ways. He could always claim the equipment broken and already disposed of. That or hit people up for a few favours that had been earned in dicing games. It was all doable. But that was something that could be organised for tomorrow, for now he had other things to do and it was time to give Sirayn a chance to recover. "Tomorrow afternoon, be here. I'll see you then." Smiling, Aran let himself out of her quarters. He wouldn't say he'd won a victory of any sort, but the process had begun and that was the main thing.

 

“Yes, sir,” she muttered in the silence after he had gone; feeling colder and wearier than she had done in quite some time. So this was the price of scheming her best for the Black Ajah: a daily dose of torture until future notice. It was the only name she could put to it after she had stupidly managed to show how much she didn’t want to touch him and yet he had gained some kind of sadistic pleasure in making her do it anyway. She smoothed her good hand over her skirts as if she could rub off the memory of his touch, but it refused to leave so easily, a source of fear as bitter as anything Corin Danveer had done. Yes, she was definitely the Green Ajah’s finest, she had raised being outraged and terrified by Tower Guards to an art form.

 

The silence closed her in with the crippling weight of shame past and present. How under the Light did people like Lyanna al’Ellisande and her Amyrlin move through life so gracefully, never tainted by anything as weak as fear, spreading their good Green Ajah charm and courage like some kind of demented fairy dust? She didn’t know. Aes Sedai were supposed to be perfect and she couldn’t be. She couldn’t even manage to present a convincingly neutral front to some halfwit Darkfriend, oh no, that would be far too smart for the likes of Sirayn bloody Damodred. Instead she had served him a gilt edged invitation to hit her right in a career’s worth of fear.

 

She needed a drink. But she wasn’t going to get one. Instead, just maybe, she might get her revenge instead.

 

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[Jaydena]

Lyssa stayed tensed as she felt her mothers eyes on her, the woman was watching her and she was sure that there must be something about her that would give her away to her mother. Aran eased gently out from under her head without moving her head to much, she didn’t know if it was because he thought she was still asleep or because he didn’t want her mother to know who he was in bed with. She could imagine what she would do if she found out who was in bed with this man. "Well, this is a first. Would you mind not doing that? Thats really rather rude. I don't suppose it occured to you to knock at all did it?" Lyssa held her breath,and waited for her Mother to explode, she couldn’t imagine him being able to disrespect her like that without there being hell to pay. "Well, you can at least go wait outside while I get changed then. Or you can stay and watch, either way I'm putting some clothes on.” Aran stood up from the bed and she almost laughed at what her mother must be seeing. Aran wasn’t exactly fresh as a daisy, they had made love many times last night and he was naked to boot. "Well, no doubt what you've got to say is important, let us go someplace private no?" Again her mothers eyes on her and at some inner level, she knew that the woman had figured out who she was. There would be very large problems when she next saw her mother, and she was in no way looking forward to it. They weren’t exactly on speaking terms, and this could do nothing but worsen their realationship and most likely kill it. "Follow me. Leave her to sleep and close the door would you?" Lyssa glanced over her shoulder as the door closed and pulled her clothes on, she waited a few minutes and then walked from the rooms. She looked both ways and then prayed that Aran hadn’t taken her anywhere near her rooms. Walking quickly she made her way to her room and then began washing up. When she was finished she walked out of her rooms and made her way to the yards to work the aggrivation of what had just happened…

 

Lyssa Simeone

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

Ooc: Lyssa/Jade Care to carry this over to a different thread for Cunning/Betrayal? ;)