Little Pieces of Chaos [attn: Meranda Sedai] – 999 NE

[Sirayn]

ooc: This thread makes references to self-harm, incest and sexual abuse. If you will be disturbed by any of those topics, please step out of the thread.

 

Rain washed down ceaselessly while shadows slid through the night outside. The water ran down leaded glass panes and melted any image; distant lights painted blurs and buildings appeared to shake with each further moment the rain pelted against glass. Pattering filled the room with soft sounds. The warmth and calm after the passing of such a tremendous storm made her drowsy, contrasting as it did with the bitter and exhausting passage of feelings on this dark night, but such a fire still blazed within her that she could not have relaxed for a moment; instead she paced restlessly burning through composure as though by sheer intensity of concentration she could rip a path through the memories that plagued her.

 

Logic had never been her strong point ruled as she was by the iron determination which had driven her every step, but nevertheless it disturbed her somewhat to sense even the slightest framework of reason slipping away from her. No longer could she trust arctic cold wits; this total and all consuming hatred devoured any attempt at judgement, overrode all caution, demanding only blood. If it had only been possible she would have torn the world apart to get her hands on Amiarin Lucif, bane of her life, murderer of her beloved bondmate and the dark star responsible for her son’s bloody betrayal … yet starved of her revenge still she sought savagely for any way in which to wreak her own damage in return. In better days she had feared becoming like this, the very sinner she had made it her life’s work to destroy. Hate had long since swept aside all unnecessary concerns. Nothing mattered except how quickly and cruelly she could exact retribution on this stranger who wore that feared face and carried a name so despised.

 

Even as racked by fear and dreadful remembrance as she was beneath this colossal calm, possessed by half a hundred horrors which the passage of months had not laid to rest, she understood that some gigantic gaps remained in this whole broken picture; like how this dark sister came to stalk so openly through Tar Valon as though nobody would recognise the countenance she wore; like how her bitterest foe controlled such a fresh faced youngster in Tower terms. All the same regardless of how flawed her comprehension was it mattered not in the least. An error in tactical terms this might prove to be; a terrible mistake, possibly; but she would go a thousand miles and break everything precious in this world for even a fraction’s likelihood of getting her hard sought vengeance, even the shadow of a chance that somewhere Amiarin might some day hurt for this.

 

The sheer scale and intensity of this hatred both terrified her, a distant sort of terror echoing in the quiet spaces of her thoughts, and filled her with a consuming fire. In her secret heart she knew herself to be a hunter as savage as anything that stalked beneath the shadow’s shelter; she could no more have resisted this prospect of spilled blood than forgotten how one’s heart beat and the heat of lively fury. All her sleeping senses wakened bitter sharp to this fresh hunt. Only half a hunter though she might be, a craven and a cripple chained to a chair and her paperwork all day long while her instincts longed for battle, but she knew perhaps better than anyone the unbearable need to hurt. It had been long since fury and hatred raged so out of control beneath this uncanny composure. Intensely she wanted to wreak every inch of her dreamed of revenge on whoever wore that hated face.

 

Instead deliberately Sirayn exerted an iron control over her own features asserting the cool composure which all sisters wore as though nothing more than the evening’s meal troubled her. Already tonight she had been abroad once and the endless rain still glittered bright along the high bones in her face, in the dark hair beginning to curl a little damply at her temples, near to black beneath the hazy burning lamp. Carelessly she raked a hand through otherwise straight dark hair, slipped out of a black coat marked with scattered spots of rain, seeking to obliterate all signs of her recent visit as if it could be cut from her memory as easily. It had been idiocy to show such weakness. Now bitterer than ever she had to take care of her own business. If that included a little settling of scores all the better.

 

A knife seemed too clumsy for this black task. Certainly it would be satisfaction itself to slash the intensely loathed features beyond recognition, to leak all the red life out of her until the scene resembled some macabre imitation of how her own sister had died near a year ago, but even she might find it tricky to divert the blame if she were found literally red handed at the site of the crime. No, perhaps this called for a little more … subtlety. So many ways existed to destroy a woman’s life completely that it spoiled her for choice. A quick and brutal confrontation? Some slow, lingering erosion of everything important to her leaving her every opportunity to realise how far she had fallen? The echo of some similar threat troubled her briefly. She dismissed it; could not afford such failing now.

 

Decision coiled ice cruel through her. Never let it be said that she needed anything but her empty hands for this job. Her wits were as sharp and her plotting as intricate as might be asked for during this trial. And she intended never to stop until Amiarin’s similar seeming agent had suffered exactly as much as she had done. New purpose quickened her steps as she exited her quarters in a swirl of brown skirts; the plain simple garb not proclaiming her rank half as much as the timeless stamp the White Tower had put upon stern hard features. Only the silver chain at her throat, hiding a single ring concealed beneath the high line of her gown showed a wink of colour. It was a forbidding appearance and one calculated to impose maximum intimidation upon those who crossed her.

 

A foreign door in a foreign hall waited for her somewhere beyond her usual paths. Reaching it for an instant she hesitated; all her fears and the dark weight of history pressing in upon her like the shield that still bound her in her nightmares; but the hand she lifted to tap upon the door held barely a tremble. Her one surviving hand … the other, her strong left hand, which had borne a pen as capably as it had steel once upon a time. That among many other prices she laid at Amiarin Lucif’s door. So much bitter torment and death had been brought about by that woman in pursuit of her own twisted form of justice for Namandar beneath the ground. Her son, so bright and brilliant, reduced to a cruel shadow of his true self; Seiaman her much prized Gaidin gone down dead amid blood and icy mud at Dumai’s Wells; herself made a hollow shade with all her fabled courage ripped away. For this and so much more Sirayn Sedai wanted a revenge to make people shake in their shoes.

 

• ((I should rip the lenses from your eyes in their sockets and leave you blind as well as stilled. You will lose your arms and legs at the torso but keep your tongue so the world could hear your pathetic pleas. Abandoned in a land far from your precious White Tower, cut off from the Source without even the means to kill yourself. This is the hell I promise you if you mention Namandar again.))

Memory hit so rapid and intense that it choked her. For an instant defenceless she stilled, made herself small by instinct, as though cowering she could avert those dark eyes which still terrified her; by some bitter twist of fate it was at that exact moment that the strange door swung open and she found herself confronted once more by that frightening face. Everything about this was so exactly similar that a part of her wanted to flee in terror. She would rather burn than show an instant’s fear to this stranger sent by Amiarin Lucif. “Greetings sister.†The polished tones rang smooth as the whisper of silk; blessedly calm while inside beneath this still face she fought to master herself. “My name is Sirayn Sedai, Battle Ajah. You may have heard of me. I have matters to discuss which may be of importance to both of us. May I come in?†This time dread only checked her, shook her a little, a shard’s sharp spark of fear in her heart. No more weakness. Tonight she meant to take her first step toward avenging the past.

 

• ((But I am merciful. Feel the extent of my mercy.))

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

It was a night with such a wonderful rain. Meranda loved when there was a large rainstorm accompanied with a thounderstrom. Nights like these were so full of power. You could see nature in all it's wrath. If enough rain came, things would be drowned, if struck by lightning they would be burned with no hope of surviving. Nights like these were the reason Meranda was always in awe of nature. With a smile she turned away from her window to get some tea. She didn't understand how some people didn't like honey in their tea...some people were just weird. Warming it all with a weave of the Power, Meranda basked in the emotions and enhancements the Power always brought.

 

With a sigh she let the Power go and sat down to drink her tea. The storm showed no signs of letting up. I need to meet more Sisters...It's been 15 years and I still haven't made a single friend in my own Ajah But that wasn't for tonight. If it was going to happen then she was going to need to take the incentive and most people were asleep this late. Laying the tea aside Meranda went to her bed. Sleep was so easy with the storm going on. For some reason, nature showing it's wrath relaxed her.

 

 

Suddenly she was taken back to her home, it couldn't be anywhere else...she knew the smell of the barn too well. "What do you think your doing standing around? Get your ass working." Her spine froze. Not him...LIGHT! He's dead. I'M NOT HERE!!! "Oh so now you're not going to listen?" Falling to the ground, Meranda could feel the pain in her back from being hit by a bucket. Swerving her head around she could see him...her father. Getting up Meranda went back to the house...he always wanted her working in the house. It was never clean enough for him. No matter how much time she spent on something he would always find something wrong with it. As much as she tried to fight it down, she could feel her fear welling up inside of her. I can't let him get to me again...not again! LIGHT, HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. He deserves to die.

 

For some reason she knew it was a Wednesday, he wanted his roasted lamb like always. Like always he came in for lunch to see how things were going. "Girl, get over here." Here we go again. "You see this room here?" She nodded. "WHY AINT IT CLEAN?" Grabbing her arm he twisted it behind her. "When you gonna clean it girl?" Meranda couldn't think about anything but the pain. "Let me go, you're hurting me," she complained. "Oh yeah? Shut your mouth or I'll really hurt you," was the only reply she got. Hearing a sudden noise and feeling his grip slacken, Meranda got away and spun around to see her mother. "Get out before I do it again." Her father almost said something, but instead got a smack to his face. Her mother was such a strong woman...unfortunatly she was the only Wise Woman in the area...unlike most, her mother travelled. More often then not she was gone to tend to someone and that left only their father home most of the time. She didn't know why her mother did it that way, but she did.

 

Night came, and her mother was called away again. With just her father there, she wasn't sure what to expect. Well, if he got drunk she did. Serving the dinner, her father began drinking some Brandy and told her to go upstairs. NOOO! Oh light no. Not again, not again! Going upstairs, Meranda waited...there was nothing else she could do. She had no choice. Grabbing a knife she sliced her wrist again. Wincing from the cut going deeper then before she grabbed a cloth to stem the blood flow. She couldn't let her dad see it. It was an odd situation, she loved the pain, yet she hated it. She just couldn't win, if she didn't cut herself she had no release from the depression and hatred. Looking at her wrist, all she could think was one thing. I thought I wanted this... She hated what she did. It made her arms so ugly that she had to keep them covered all the time. No one but her father would want her with such ugly arms.

 

Right on que her dad stumbled in. Some nights he was drunk enough she didn't have to do anything but put him in bed. Hopefully tonight would be the same. "You should get to sleep dad." "Shut your mouth and get on that bed," with that one sentance went all her hopes. Apparently she didn't move fast enough cause her dad threw her on the bed. "Dad no...please," she begged. But it didn't help. All he did was smack her.

 

 

Suddenly she was awake in a pale cold sweat. The nightmare always ended there...right before her father did the vile deed. She needed the clear her head. I'm too scared to live... The thought made her shudder. Was she? She didn't have anything or anyone to live for beyond the Tower now. Taking a knife out, she carved the word "DEATH" back into her arm. The lines from past times were so familar that she didn't need to concentrate much to do it. Most of her other scars from past cutting experiences had faded.

 

Grabbing her cloth she always used to cover it, she wrapped flows of air around it to hold it in place. By morning it should be healed enough to not needd the flows so that attnetion wouldn't be attracted to her left arm. Putting on a dress Meranda headed to her door. She needed to walk and clear her head. Suprisingly there was another person at her door when she opened it. Had she been knowcking while I was asleep? I hope she wasn't here long

Quote:

“Greetings sister. My name is Sirayn Sedai, Battle Ajah. You may have heard of me. I have matters to discuss which may be of importance to both of us. May I come in?â€

Nodding, Meranda opened the door wider. What could I have done to attract those Green lightskirts?

 

_________________

Meranda

 

Only a silent nod and a gesture answered her civil greeting. She judged her own words courteous enough; this sister was either seriously irritated at being removed from her sleep, doubly so considering the gap in status between them and how much daring it required to speak to Sirayn Sedai like that, or possibly just ill mannered. It made no matter. In matters of revenge Sirayn was prepared to exercise an endless patience. To see this woman bleed would be worth a hundred insults, a thousand haunted nights, a million hours spent mired deep in scheming. In order to calm her racing heart Sirayn imagined this one broken at her feet already, a thread of blood winding its way toward her, and it reassured her immeasurably. All the subtle signs that warned her that suppressing so much fear was unwise eased. Retribution was a goal worthy of so much suffering.

 

Seeming careless she passed by the young woman, taking meticulous care that not even by the slightest brush of hands should they come into contact, and entered the unknown quarters. It was dimly lit in here, heavy curtains still drawn, and with a quick gesture Sirayn summoned light to fill the room; regardless of protocol which would ordinarily have instructed her to ask first, the child was so young that it seemed pointless, and the semblance of control eased her fears somewhat. She turned and the little light danced about her casting illumination wherever it turned. Amid darkness this stranger stood between her and security wearing a hated face. For a brief and fragile instant Sirayn wanted nothing more than to gather her paltry strength in saidar and smash her to pieces right here and now. Nothing else would satisfy her.

 

Easy now. Slow breaths cooled her down somewhat. Already she could tell that this evening would be a cycle of heightening fear; anger burning somewhere out of reach. Never again would Amiarin Lucif find her powerless. This time somebody else would burn. The other sister appeared somewhat pale, a little trace of imperfection in her nemesis’ impassive face, and vindictively Sirayn hoped that the woman was suffering right now. Injecting just the right quality of concern into her voice she inquired: “Sister, are you well? You look a little under the weather. I do apologise for calling so late at night. Come sit down. If you will point me in the right direction I shall make tea for us and perhaps we shall talk.†And while they were talking over their civilised tea, her and the woman she hated most in the world, Sirayn would finally devise a way to destroy her.

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

“Sister, are you well? You look a little under the weather. I do apologise for calling so late at night. Come sit down. If you will point me in the right direction I shall make tea for us and perhaps we shall talk.†Meranda didn't know what she was thinking. She may be more powerful then her, but that doesn't mean she can just come in an order her to sit in her rooms. "Sirayn Sedai this is a very unexpected visit." Warding her room from any listeners, she continued, "Now that the room is safe I think tea is unnecessary, but if you would like some itis over there." Pointing to the tea kettle Meranda's shawl slipped off her arm.

 

Eyes widening, Meranda threw her arm behind her. She didn't know what Sirayn would think. No one had seen her arm before. She had always been sure to hide it carefully. Light she's going to be able to blackmail me for years now. Oh Ligh what do I do?

 

_________________

Meranda

 

Protocol formed one of the many defences she had layered round herself. It shielded her as much as she turned it cutting sharp against those who crossed her; she liked the intricacies of decorum better than she liked half her sisters. Hence it was with a certain unease that Sirayn viewed half a hundred little breaches of decorum. It ought to have been her who decided whether a ward was necessary and a young sister did not presume to interpret her elder’s instructions in whatever way she pleased. Nevertheless, this one was yet young and she supposed that Blue Ajah teachers had merely been less strict than her own … but it unsettled her all the same; a world without strict and subtle etiquette was a world unpredictable, subject to every impulse of people neither old nor proven enough to be trusted, and solitary with a woman who wore her nemesis’ face it made her uncomfortable to think that this stranger might do anything she pleased.

 

She was getting cranky in her old age. Complaints distracted her from how much she wanted to hurt this pretty young woman, to spoil those sharp looks forever, and she stoked that hatred with great care; feeding it images, not vivid enough to overwhelm her, she kept it burning bitter inside. Back on familiar ground Sirayn waited lazily while the young woman spoke noting her presumption. Before much time had passed she would teach this one better than to question a word she spoke. Nothing less than complete, broken obedience would satisfy her before she exacted her last revenge and had the pleasure of watching this fresh faced child die. It made pretty images in her head: dark eyes and fear, submission, spilling out her life red and broken across the ground. Revenge was close. This was an odd sort of serenity.

 

Only a careless gesture disrupted her calm: exposing a cut and bloody wrist, fresh gore over old scars, a pattern spelling out some twisted letters. Such deliberate harm both gratified and disturbed her … on the one hand she thought briefly and vindictively that this was perfect; there was no need for her to even speak, the demon was hurting herself as much as she had wanted, even Amiarin with her courage could hurt behind that mask; and then she knew a tiny sense of shame. That feeling she stamped out immediately. She wanted this one to suffer even half as much as she herself had done. The presence of blood stirred her instincts and like a shark coursing through the water she narrowed in on that weakness, already calculating how to use it as a lever.

 

“Meranda Sedai!†Not difficult to channel some sort of suppressed horror into her voice, direct it from the cracks in her own memory, from what this woman’s duplicate had done to her. Briefly this whole scene seemed surreal, layers of intent and meaning, feigning concern for a young version of Amiarin, and her surviving hand tightened somewhere out of sight … a little bit of strain reminding her that this was as real and vivid as anything she might have imagined. She might be a liar and a deceiver, a hunter, who had broken every rule in the book and divorced herself from principle beside, but Sirayn was coming to understand a new facet of herself tonight. Something dark and wild and hating which nevertheless exhibited itself in ruthless calculation. “Are you hurt? Should we summon a Yellow Sister?â€

 

A careful step closer, surely so small and so fragile she could never be construed as presenting a threat to the fiend woman and thus justify any assault, and Sirayn continued in deceptively low and gentle tones: “Is the Blue Ajah not taking proper care of you? I should be ashamed if any of my new sisters were to be so … distraught.†She spread her hands … hand, the other wrist decently covered beneath fabric, another reason to wish this woman blasted to pieces … and added in a last piece of audacity, “I realise we are strangers, but perhaps we might address that, if you wished it so. Tell me what troubles you. Let me deal you what help I can.â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

What am I going to do? Oh Light, she has seen my arm! Before she knew what she was doing, Meranda was on her knees sobing into Sirayn Sedai's dress. "I hate him, I hate him so much and he wont leave me be!" Meranda knew Sirayn had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn't care. All she could do was sob into her dress now. After a few minutes Meranda finally had control over her sobbing. "My father died so long ago, yet he still haunts me. Why wont he leave me be?" At the mention of her father, his face flashed through he mind. She tried to supress it, but his face kept rising...until he heard a cool voice asking, "How did he die?" Meranda froze, could she tell her? Could she trust her? Light, she's already seen my arm. What could be worse? It's so ugly!

 

Picking her words slowly, Meranda quietly replied, "they all died in the fire I started." She knew it sounded bad, but she wouldn't regret what she did. That man that claimed to be her father deserved what had happened to him. If it hadn't been for that, Meranda would never had made it to the safty of the Tower...and wouldn't have known her mother knew but did nothing about it. She must have known to have planned for her to be sent off if her mother died. Why am I telling her these things? I don't even know her...but there's just something about her...have I found a.......friend?

 

_________________

Meranda

 

Half a hundred different outcomes had already occurred to her and been discarded by the time this dark masked woman had fallen to her knees. The swift movement startled her; a hand she no longer had wanted to stray to a knife she no longer carried; fiercely she controlled those sudden instincts. Dark head bent before her, hands coiled tight in her skirts as the youngster sobbed … and the world seemed to splinter into a thousand images. Even the smallest detail about that stance was so instantly and immediately familiar to her that Sirayn hit stone cold horror in a second. It was no longer a young Aes Sedai kneeling before her but somebody infinitely more terrifying and those narrow hands clenched tight and would never let go. Panic leapt up. Her heart raced. Intensely she wanted to escape the close confines of this foreign room.

 

• ((Do you want to hear about your father?))

Inch by inch she stamped out fear ruthless enough to startle anyone. In no way could she be seen to be the slightest bit flawed, the slightest bit … she shuddered even to think it … fragile. At her age and standing she ought to be totally in control of this situation at all times; never letting anything trouble her serenity. Sirayn told herself this ten times over while smoothing out her composure; thanking her lucky stars as she did so that the child had not so much as looked up wearing that hated face while she did so. Easy, she had to take it easy or she would crack … slow breaths … restoring some semblance of calm to herself.

 

Centuries’ hard earned composure masked any hint of feeling. If she concentrated hard she could assert the disguise of false friendship she offered, paper over the fractures, think herself back into the role of benevolent elder. Insistent reason told her that this youngster was distraught at her feet, a perfect opportunity, that she ought to return some sort of response; but now when she looked at that bent dark head Sirayn imagined something else in its place … somebody else. Not a threat this time but someone far softer and closer to her heart. Precious child. The picture twisted at her heart somehow, unsettled her and when she awkwardly lifted her hand to the dark hair for an instant Sirayn did not know how she should be feeling or if anything could make this right.

 

• ((Do it then. I’m waiting.))

Her mouth tightened into a hard line. Resolve firmed, she stroked the bent head with one hand, small and pale against the dark expanse of her skirts; registering only the sensation of soft hair beneath her palm; no longer knowing any pity. It still seemed surreal, bordering on the bizarre to be petting a young and trusting version of Amiarin Lucif in such a manner, but she dared not let doubts and concerns back in. Easily she heard the young woman’s tortured admission and not a shred of sympathy lit in her. “How did he die?†She spoke only with casual concern for in truth she cared little what happened to this woman except that she herself could inflict more suffering. Examining the pitiful sight at her feet Sirayn permitted herself a slow and creepingly cruel smile. No, she had no remorse whatsoever for what she meant to do.

 

The child had burned him herself. Briefly she contemplated advising Amiarin … and how unnatural swift she was getting used to thinking of this stranger in those terms … that she herself would have done the same just as easily; but perhaps it would not serve her cause to be caught in such confessions. She had to appear to be benign however much inside she seethed with hatred. “You must not blame yourself child.†Soothingly she stroked Amiarin’s head as the young woman knelt at her feet; a soft caress reminding her vividly of a razor keen blade skimming gently over her own skin. “The Green Ajah above all knows what a woman must do to survive sometimes … and it sounds as though your actions may have been fully justified. He is dead now is he not? You can relax at last,†still petting, her tone sank to something warm and comforting, “Relax for me.â€

• ((Ask me.))

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

Meranda didn't know why...but things just felt so peaceful. There was just a different feeling for some reason with everything. This must be what it's like to have a friend... As much as she didn't like to admit it, Meranda didn't have friends. But she was right. What happened was necessary. As much as she tried to convince herself of that.... Sirayn wanted her to relax...but she couldn't remembering that night.

 

She could still feel the blood running down her arm. Tonight had been the first night she tried to commit suicide, but her dad found her. She hadn't got near deep enough with the blade.... Her dad had asked her what she was thinking. She wasn't going to let him get close to her though. It was just a metter of hours until he became his other self. Well a few hours and a few drinks. Meranda didn't care though. She knew what she was going to do tonight and nothing was going to stop her...nothing. Checking her torch the thing still seemed alright. Taking the cloth her dad had wrapped around her wrists it had a lot of blood on it, so she started soaking it in brandy earlier then she planned. She didn't want the blood to stop it from burning.

 

Now it was just a matter of hours. But then...her mother came home. She wasn't supposed to be home, but Meranda wasn't going to let it stop her. She had planned this too long. For the past week she had been pouring brandy on the house. Her mom had always wanted a log home...so naturally her dad gave it to her. It wasn't like he had much choice...her mother wasn't one to settle. But her mom was recourcful, she would escape. She wasn't going to stop from getting her freedom...nothin would stop that one.

 

She had the flint in her room to light the tourch...just to make sure it caught she had put hay and soaked the room in Brandy. Her dad was always passed out when she did it...so he would always just think he drank more then usual. He never was smart enough to realize his brandy was more and more watered down. Meranda had been saving the straight brandy to make the house burn. She didn't want to ever see it again.

 

Lighting the torch, Meranda threw it in the hay and took off out of the house. Her dad was already passed out from drinking. He had started early tonight. There was only one door, so it wasn't hard to block it off. Her dad was too cheap to buy glass for any where but the windows for their house. It was expensive out of the country like they were. And the house was always full of unbearable heat during the summer. But one would have to just get used to it. Using the beds to block off the doors to the bedrooms, she had to get out of her room through her window. She had already blocked her parents door with their bed. It had taken her all day to move...and her mom hadn't been to their room yet, so she was bound not to have noticed. Taking off Meranda ran to the front door to use all the heavy things to block that door. Thankfully their rusty stove was mostly rounded, all she had to do was roll it infront of the door. It had taken her a few hours earlier to get it to the side of the house, but it was worth it. All she could think about was her freedom was so close as she struggled to move it. Her mom was asleep last she checked, but she knew she would find some way to get out. Her mom talked about precautions taken if there was trouble in the house, so she must have some kind of secret exit...

 

Finally getting the stove into place, Meranda went to the tree line to wait for her mom to come out. Their life would be better without her father. Hearing a scream, Meranda was confident her mom would come out. But she didn't. All she could do was wait...and as she did the tears fill her eyes. Her mother wasn't comming out. Busting into another sob, Meranda recieved relief from the memory...but that was only momentary...

 

Suddenly she saw a figure fall out of her window...but it was on fire, like the rest of the house. Her mother had finally escaped, but she was on fire... She didn't know what to do...her plan had backfired so badly. Suddenly, she saw her mom collapse. A head of burning flesh that sent a sent so horrible she wrinkled her nose instinctively. Her mom was...dead. And it was all because of her. Then the house collapsed. Her dad had to be dead now. But she didn't care about him. As tears welled up, she ran. She ran and ran until she came to another home...her mothers best friend's. She knew her mother went over there a lot, but had never talked to them beyond a hello whenever they visited. She couldn't bring herself to knocking on their door, so she just collapsed on their porch.

 

Before she knew it, Meranda had fallen asleep.

 

_________________

Meranda

 

So much sobbing grated against her senses like sandpaper. Strong feeling discomfited her at the best of times and coming from a child so unnatural similar to the woman she hated most in the world, it carried an extra dimension of unreality. Looking down at the striking pale face, all tears and tragedy, all she herself could think of was Amiarin Lucif and her contempt. Her gently stroking hand stilled for an instant on the child’s dark head; briefly Sirayn imagined crumpling her skull like bone, stamping out all sparks of life in her, until it broke memory as well and left only a small huddled form at her feet. Now that would be satisfying. Later, she counselled herself, everything she longed for would come given time … and she could be as patient and as inexorable as the passage of the tide if necessary.

 

Yes, she would wait as long as she had to. Benevolently she smiled down upon the bent head forgetting for a moment that Amiarin-who-was-not-Amiarin paid her no notice at all. Perhaps the child lost herself in dark memories in ways she herself remembered; perhaps she ought to feel a moment’s pity. Instead she murmured calming words as … no, she ought to work on that name … Meranda Sedai clutched at her some more and burst into a fresh spate of sobs. Did the Blue Ajah raise weaklings these days? No matter. The easier the child cracked now, with no other provocation but a little gentle nudging, the easier it would be for Sirayn to exact her punishment. She did not ordinarily hurt children, but that hated voice would break from screaming before everything was done, and that thought did not trouble her in the slightest.

 

• ((It seems your bondmate has no regard))

Her daughter was little different to this. It was an odd disconnected thought which skittered across the surface of her thoughts like a spider; troubling her a moment, then gone forever. “It’s all right, it’s all right,†distantly she wondered if the child would ever stop weeping, “your father’s gone. He’ll never hurt you again.†Plenty of competition for that already. She wondered if Meranda would crack as prettily if confronted by fire again, the same ravaging force that claimed all her family, and derived a black delight from that thought. No, nobody was allowed to hurt this one but her. Already she considered not-Amiarin her own secret project. It quite fascinated her to picture what stresses and strains might be piled onto this feeble child, how satisfying it would be when she finally broke irrevocably. And break she would. Everyone broke in the end.

 

Finally the storm of grief eased a fraction. The child edged a little closer to her, trusting, seeming sleepy now, and lapsed into a doze. Total control had lessened her customary fear of any touch. A tiny part of her still remembered how to hold somebody, and since there was nobody here to see, Sirayn took a seat and drew the sleeping child close much in the manner of a mother. In some twisted way she did not entirely understand, this felt … good. Maybe it was the control. Only asleep and defenceless were people no longer threatening to her. Another part of it was just the touching she supposed, foreign weight against her, soft hair beneath her hands … starved for contact: how pitiful. And these were disturbing thoughts to have about somebody so like her daughter, so like her most hated nemesis, a child she dreamed about hurting.

 

• ((for the suffering))

“I knew somebody like you once,†Sirayn told the sleeping child, gentle words, sounding empty of all feeling in the quiet. Nobody was listening here. “Somebody just as dark and strong … on the outside, at least. That other you was harder. The other you liked fire a little too much, didn’t she, do you remember that? Did you ever know? Not like you. You are like a doll, all empty, nothing to see.†It didn’t quite make sense. Oddly troubled, she stroked the dark head resting against her shoulder, and remembered … fire and metal, a thousand shadows, torment: and that cleared her thoughts somewhat. Battle Ajah did not falter. She would see this through to its conclusion.

 

Later once the young stranger who wore a hated face had relaxed completely, the soft sound of her breathing deep and even, she slid herself free and laid the child down gently on the sofa. It seemed the Blue Ajah taught its littlest sisters no wards that she could not get by, or at least none that had been set on these quarters, and in a matter of moments Sirayn had gathered up some blankets to lay over the sleeping sister; she pulled that warm covering tight, smoothed it over with a touch every bit as gentle as that of a mother. Last of all she stroked the smooth cheek with her fingertips imagining what it would be like to ruin that pretty face forever. Yes, this would be amusing indeed. Humming a forgotten tune from her childhood Sirayn exited the spider’s parlour and headed back toward her own halls with a light heart.

 

If her unwitting prey had slept heavily after their midnight meeting she might have been awoken at about nine bells the next morning by a crisp tap on her door. Outside waited one very composed member of the Green Ajah; all serene in white sirts with a twist of green silk knotted lightly at her throat. She did not ordinarily wear her Ajah’s colours, did not remember doing so until that great day she was raised Captain General, but this morning she knew herself to be Aes Sedai to her scheming fingertips and it seemed only fitting. “Meranda Sedai.†Only the fractional lift of a brow indicated that the events of last night had ever taken place. “I fear we cannot speak freely in these halls,†she painted that as a subtle apology for her coolness, not that she cared in the slightest whether the child liked it or not but it was best not to isolate her now that the young Blue seemed so touchingly dependent, “but if you will walk with me a little way, we have much to discuss.â€

 

So early in the morning the corridors still bustled with people. The Blue Ajah kept its halls fresh and bright with light; all about them waited the trappings of its proud history. So many Amyrlins had been raised from these quarters that it defied belief. It scarcely stirred her, of course, for if there was anywhere with a prouder story to tell it was her own Ajah’s home ... the hallowed halls of the Battle Ajah. Nevertheless, she got a few dubious looks from sisters passing her. She did not customarily enter this place and if anyone had glimpsed her last night as well, it might easily occasion comment that she who had previously had nothing to do with the Blue Ajah was now frequenting its corridors. No matter: she had something to amuse her for now and she would pick up the pieces later.

 

• ((of those she loves.))

Spare hours had not been spent idly. She led her young charge unerringly to the grandest hall here; a lofty ceiling towered above their heads while about them all the majesty of the Blue Ajah spoke from arches and rich panels. Portraits looked down upon them serenely painted in bright colours. Sirayn stopped in the midst of this vast hall, indicated the composed images about them with a careless gesture: “Do you recognise these people?†It was going to take a silver tongue and some skill to out-Blue Ajah a Blue Sister in the heart of her own halls, but if anyone possessed the necessary audacity, it was her. “That dark haired one who looks as though she hails from Ghealdan, that’s Deane Aryman, the Amyrlin Seat who lifted the Siege of the Shining Walls. You’ll have heard about her in your history lessons I trust … else your teachers have been lax.

 

“Up there you can see Marith Jaen, she of the eagle eyes; once a sailor, Noane Mosadim, whom kings feared; lion hearted Tamra Ospenya; all Amyrlins … and so many more legends still wait around you. Blue Ajah legends of the past have shaped this world. They have held power in their hands, given life to places dying of drought and war, carved up the land to suit their will. These women all have one quality in common. It is not their intelligence, though many were famously shrewd; nor their high birth; nor anything that one gains from heritage rather than from hard work. No, what marks these women out is their strength. They permitted none to hold them back nor any fear to stop them. Can you imagine the illustrious Deane Sedai ever weeping the night before she faced down the Hawkwing’s host? I trust she never did. Strong women do not weep, they do not falter, they carry on though all the world be against them. This is what we will make of you, Meranda Sedai. A sister to rival Blue Ajah legends of times past. All you have to do … is trust me.â€

 

• ((How unfortunate for you.))

Lightly she took the young woman by the shoulder, drew her close, much like a true sister might; yet for all her apparent concern the smooth sweet layers of her voice promising so much concealed a shard of hatred. “I am the only one here whom you can trust. In all this great unfeeling place I am the only sister who will look after you, the only one whose hand is not raised against you, the only one who does not whisper behind your back. If you trust me, I can shelter you until you are ready to be the Aes Sedai I think you can be.†She met the dark eyes with seeming sincerity. Sirayn had never been less sincere in her life. “Will you trust me?â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

[Corwin]

Meranda had been in this room a few times. Everytime she thought of them and becoming like them, thoughts of her father always burst in. But for some reason that didn't happen this time. Could it be because I finally shared my pain with someone? Is my guilt finally gone? She didn't have all the answers, but she felt like she might be on the right track. If sharing her guilt and pain really was the answer, then she was finally free.

 

Sirayn Sedai was talking about something. Meranda had been lost in her thoughts, but then Sirayn pulled her in and asked her, "will you trust me?" It wasn't like she had much of a choice, the woman knew too much about her. And Meranda wasn't about to murder the Green. Nodding her head, Sirayn seemed to sigh in relief. With a nod the woman led her back to her rooms. "Then we must begin imediately." Meranda didn't know what to think. Remembering vaugely what the woman had said, Meranda's head began to swim. What had she gotten herself into? The woman was ready to groom her into something...but she didn't know what.