Surfaces & Lies [attn: Moridin]

[Sirayn]

Ooc: Continued from Basic Etiquette 101 and especially here.

 

Though she kept watching the two miscreants, inwardly she noted the boy Moridin coming toward her, catching her interest further. He remained a mystery to her; the only surface clue he gave was maybe a little bit of education in his voice, which suggested to her that he had been raised in or around a big city, or possibly to a family of independent wealth. But he ought to be too old for a trainee and he had a dangerous name into the bargain. No reasonable mother would name her child Moridin and pack him off to Tar Valon where the Old Tongue was taught as a matter of course; she might as well call him Ishamael. “As it happens, young man, I did have something in mind for you.” Sirayn added a benevolent smile for effect. Gently, she had to move gently in a class full of empty-headed novices or she would spook someone and spoil the game altogether. “I’ll be your partner for the moment. You have the advantage of me, Master Moridin, so why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

 

Moridin was speechless. This was far from what he had been expecting and even further from what he was prepared for. He didn't even know this information about himself and now here he was being asked about it and expected to give a detailed answer. Blood and ashes. Where did that phrase keep coming from anyway? Another problem linked quite closely with the one at hand. But that didn't help that fact that she was still waiting for an answer.

 

Could he make something up on the spot? Could it work? Suddenly his mind went back and he regretted not having paid more attention to her earlier words when she had introduced herself to him. What in the light could he say? He was from a forest near here and aside from that had absolutely no background what-so-ever? He didn't even have the luxury of turning this conversation around back on her as was his usual tactic in these situations. His mind once again thought of how he could escape and the door was looking more and more inviting by the second. His life may very well hang on this! Running would almost certainly mean capture and questions while atleast attempting an answer had the chance of working. How many times had he said to himself he needed to come up with a story for his background. Light, if she noticed the scar on his neck...

 

And then something occured to him. If she was playing with him, why could he not play with her? Let her determine what she would from what he said. "My name, as you know, is Moridin. It is not my given name, but it is the name I've had for as long as I can remember. While not originally, I'm currently from a small outlying area to the south of Tar Valon in the forest region and have lived there for alsong as I can remember aswell." His ambiguous response would no doubt be thougt provoking but it gave the impression of a great deal of time. It most certainly didn't give the impression that he'd woken up there merely a matter of months ago.

 

Immersed in the intricacies of the Great Game, Sirayn had learnt to turn old Battle Ajah habit to her advantage in a different and subtler war, and recognising threats ranked high on her list. She knew danger in her bones like a sailor’s awareness of current, read it at every glance, in subtle tension and faces gone too impassive. Danger came in many forms -- and something about Moridin triggered old, cold instincts beneath Aes Sedai composure. Despite the busy, chattering surroundings a chill went through her and she gave a moment’s serious consideration to backing off until she found out what under the Light she was getting herself into. But some had found her dangerous herself, civilised as she took care to be in this company, and a tactical withdrawal from a Tower Trainee went against the grain.

 

Sirayn studied her prey coldly instead. He had told her nothing of any worth, certainly not to explain the black name he bore, nor to tell her just what he was covering up. As an Aes Sedai she ought to be the smartest person in the room and she had no compunctions about using it to her advantage; Moridin was no sulky child, like that pup Talcontar, nor one of the Tower’s white-skirted children, so she had no need to stay her hand. “Really?” Dark brows rose as she played at surprise. “You acquired that name somewhere? Do tell me where, I’m quite fascinated to hear who disliked you enough to call you Death in a dead language. And, by the way,” this simple etiquette class was turning out to be quite the puzzle, “you use the phrase as long as I can remember rather too much. If you’re lying, at least make it watertight, yes? It shows respect for your opponent that you give them a challenging lie.”

 

Moridin & Sirayn Damodred

Tower Trainee & Head of the Green Ajah

[Death Incarnate]

OOC: really sorry about how long it's taken me to get back to this. Since I finished school I've been working full time and time's been scarce.

 

IC: He watched her expression carefully once he'd finished to see how she interpreted his response. The fact that she seemed to have a very well practiced mask that simply stared unreadably back at him didn't help his guesses. While he couldn't read her he could certainly feel the effect of his ambiguity. If he'd been in hot water before it was quickly turning icy and deep, with him far from land. He had to stop himself from glancing at the door as the thought of escape once again crept into his mind.

 

“Really?” He'd failed. When he saw the look of surprise come to her face he knew she was playing with him. He'd told her nothing of importance or clarity so surpise was the wrong reaction were she to have believed him. “You acquired that name somewhere? Do tell me where, I’m quite fascinated to hear who disliked you enough to call you Death in a dead language."The old tongue, he mouthed as she said that. That was what she had said when she had introduced herself. He'd ignored it at the time but her mention of a dead language brought the memory back. His name meant death? His hand twitched to a sword that wasn't there. Alantin a'Moridin was what it said on the blade. Something to do with death... Had he been a killer? a murderer? Why else would he have a sword that had the word death on it? Plenty of people had swords and their purpose was obviously to kill, but how many advertised it? He had hoped he had been a good person before he woke up. Someone who tried to do the right thing. But what if he hadn't been? And, by the way, you use the phrase as long as I can remember rather too much. If you’re lying, at least make it watertight, yes? It shows respect for your opponent that you give them a challenging lie.” He could feel a chill as sweat ran down his back. He was cornered. She knew that he hadn't told her everything but she was thinking that he was simply making it up. How in the light was he going to get himself out of this one? He nearly screamed with frustration again at not knowing why he kept using the word "light"!

 

"one would think that lying to begin with would be showing a lack of respect." his mind was elsewhere as he responded though. Who had he been? Blood and Ashes who in light had he been! His mind snapped back to the moment at hand, "Speaking of which, that's a pretty big conclusion to jump to for such an educated woman. What makes you so certain I've lied to you?"

[Sirayn]

For a liar he was a very cool customer indeed. Had his story not been so strange and her instincts clamouring distrust so loudly Sirayn might even have been fooled by his outward manner; perhaps if she listened hard enough she might have detected a subtle intonation, or observed a moment’s fleeting expression which gave the game away … but he could have been listing his shopping list for all the guilt and shiftiness he showed. She admired it. As a sister of the Tower she had had many a year to perfect her composure and the boy Moridin did not share her advantages.

 

Now thoroughly suspicious Sirayn considered the possibility that his last lines were a hook of some sort and this was all some cryptic play in the Great Game. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would say straight-faced that lies were disrespectful except as irony or sarcasm. “Oh I don’t know, I think lying is sometimes inevitable.” Sirayn favoured her victim with a somewhat hard smile. “I’d lie to many people I respect if I could. I fear the Three Oaths limit many options … but that is the point, is it not?”

 

What made her so certain he was lying? Nothing concrete -- except maybe that name, Moridin, a name no sane person would bear to a city full of Old Tongue speakers. But so many subtler clues: the story he told, the words he framed it in, the strange and indefinable sense of danger she got off him … Sirayn gave serious contemplation to pulling this one in after class one day to carry out a prolonged and possibly colder interrogation. “Go ahead and tell me you speak only the truth, young man. I’d like to hear you say it.”

 

He listened as she stated her thoughts on lying. A hard woman indeed… She was far too casual about what she spoke of. He knew she was far from trusting him and yet she was so forward about something like that. What was she playing at? He hadn’t liked where this was going to begin with but now he was more concerned then ever. If she took dishonesty so casually what other things might she take casually? Calling guards to have him thrown in a cell, or worse…? She mentioned something about three oaths and he vaguely wondered what she meant by it. How did these oaths limit her? Could he use that to his advantage? He made a note to look into that on another occasion but for now it was useless as he had no way of knowing what she meant. Given her disposition he wondered whether she might have merely been making it up. Something to throw him off...

 

“Go ahead and tell me you speak only the truth, young man. I’d like to hear you say it.” He found himself at a loss for this. He hadn’t really thought on it but, had he really lied since coming here? Aside from the fact that his entire life was a lie. He knew Moridin was not his real name yet he used it daily. He knew nothing of his past and yet he had said things about himself as if he did. He acted as if he belonged here or as if he knew what he was doing though he was in constant fear of being discovered. But what was he supposed to do? How could he tell them the truth? Their satisfaction was not worth his life! Speaking the truth… Ha! He spoke what was necessary to stay alive! But he didn’t do what was unnecessary. Maybe it was time to re-evaluate his choice to remain in this city. This was the trouble only one woman’s questions were causing. There was still an entire city that had yet to take their shot.

 

“I never said I only speak the truth. But that doesn’t mean that I lie either. I don’t take a lie casually, nor would I lie to someone I respect.” He wondered about her and her conceptions of respect. He worried about it even more. Where was she going with this? He wasn’t certain he really wanted to know the answer to that question.

 

Every passing moment made him sound shiftier. No wonder all her instincts clamoured to take him outside and, preferably, stuff him in an unmarked wagon bound for snowy Kandor, where he could have some heroic but luckily unremarkable death far from Tar Valon. Unfortunately she had yet to gain the authority to accept or dismiss Tower Trainees based on only her whim … but if she did, shady-looking young men with sinister Old Tongue names would be top of her list for summary deportation to harsher climes.

 

“You don’t take a lie casually. You don’t lie to people you respect.” She kept her tone neutral, though frankly his performance deserved a little more sarcasm than she was prepared to show in a class full of chattersome children, and only raised her dark brows. “I see; you only lie within self-imposed, subjective parameters then?” Burn it; sarcasm it was. “Why, that makes you … just like everybody else!”

 

Sirayn thought it pretty damn unlikely that her dubious student could see the moral high ground from where he was standing. Personally she found the aforesaid high ground to be rather lower than the stories made it out to be, stony, infertile land and full of treacherous little quirks ... but maybe that was just her. “I feel reassured already. Since we’re making promises that set an old woman’s mind at rest, why don’t you go a step further and tell me all about how you’re not lying to me, personally, right now?” She prepared herself for the sad fact that whatever he said she wouldn’t believe a word of it.

 

Moridin & Sirayn Damodred

Tower Trainee & Retro Head of the Green Ajah

[Death Incarnate]

The sarcasm in her voice seemed odd given her previous stony disposition. It was also irritating. The bloody woman wasn't buying it and she was taking a self-important standpoint that seemed to come naturally to noblewomen. Aes Sedai... Whatever that bloody well meant. He didn't understand how it was that these women came to rule the bloody city. A bunch of bloody self-venerated aristocrats with nothing but personal agendas. He wondered if there was a single one of them who thought beyond themselves.

 

“Why, that makes you … just like everybody else!” He burned to snap back wondering what that made her. He knew though that that would land him in a worse situation then he already was. Light, if only the bloody woman had shown even the slightest bit of understanding... Calculating and scheming was all he saw. Her trying to see how he fit into one of her plans. His life was merely a minor part of some bigger plan and how he wound up was inconsequential. Why didn't he leave yesterday when he had the chance? Now that chance was gone and he was trapped like a rat. Like a FLAMING RAT! That's what he had been reduced to! An inconsequential rat to be disposed of at the earliest convenience! He hoped he hadn't let any of that rage show on his face... He remembered tha lesson Ginae had tried to teach him before about that focusing technique and tried to focus his thoughts on a flame. It reduced his eratic thoughts but it hardly got rid of them completely. He hadn't got it then and he still didn't now. He'd stick with his swordsmanship. Atleast he could rely on that, even if he didn't know how he knew it.

 

His eyes darted briefly around the classroom as he quickly evaluated the other trainees. Most of them were just barely past half his age and the rest were barely past that. He even recalled seeing a few of them fight in the yards. No, he was by far the most advanced swordsman in the room, but did he really want to cut down that many kids? They weren't a part of this but he knew they all had some sense of misplaced loyalty to this place that some of them would hold up with their lives. No doubt due to some stories they'd heard off their mother's apron strings. He didn't know how he knew it but he knew that in a matter of seconds a life could end an that was it. Stories or no, the life was over and it hardly mattered how you had died, you were still dead. These kids were too young to know that and hardly deserved to face it yet. He'd have to get himself out of this another way.

 

“I feel reassured already. Since we’re making promises that set an old woman’s mind at rest, why don’t you go a step further and tell me all about how you’re not lying to me, personally, right now?” She wasn't going to beleive any more... That left only two choices. One was to tell her the truth and leave the room probably in her custody. The alternative was to fight his way out, no doubt killing countless of these kids who didn't belong in this fight. He couldn't bring himself to do it. His life wasn't worth that many lives. He briefly wondered if a single one of them would have thought the same but dismissed it. He briefly recalled a saying he must have heard in his previous life but it came to his mind all the same. Death is lighter than a feather, duty is heavier than a mountain Blood and ashes...

 

"Fine, you want the truth?" His tone held more anger then he'd have liked or intended. "The truth is that I woke up an a Forest not far from here with no recolection of who I am and wandered here by mere fluke. I don''t Remember anything from before I woke up and now I'm wandering blindely in a world I don't understand." He he could barely hold back the glare that was dying to get out as he finished but guessed it must have looked more like a mild scowl.

[Sirayn]

For reasons possibly related to her resounding lack of persuasive skill, at least on the evidence of all the times she’d failed to convince somebody to love her, Sirayn hadn’t truly thought that she would convince this strange and suspicious young man to spill all his secrets. So when he snapped at her that he had lost his memory and his identity in a wood near Tar Valon it caught her a little bit off guard. Perhaps she had improved so much at applying pressure, at the subtle interplay of tone and glance and positioning, that he had given up the truth … or maybe not.

 

His story struck her as so massively implausible that for a moment she didn’t even know whether she was supposed to believe it or not. She didn’t know a damn thing about this, but she did at least know that there were different types of memory -- semantic, episodic and procedural being the three that concerned her -- and the boy Moridin didn’t seem to have lost the right ones to be a real amnesiac. He sounded genuine. Unfortunately anger did not authenticity make and Sirayn knew herself that feigning a little wrath often got the opposition to back off. It all added up to something even more suspicious than she had anticipated.

 

Why would he lie? That at least she could answer in a hundred different ways. But why that particular lie? He hadn’t picked the right story to get an Aes Sedai off his back -- something sufficiently scandalous to explain why he had covered it up in the first place but not enough so to maintain her attention -- which led her to think that either he was very bad at it, an impression not backed up by the coolness it took to lie to an Aes Sedai at all, or he had intended her to see straight through it. If she took this story apart as well she might get to another one. But even then she couldn’t trust it. Perhaps the boy contained lies within lies like a giant lying onion.

 

He’d said that he didn’t understand the world. That brief line rang her alarm bells like nothing else. If he was lying, he had tripped himself up there … because amnesiacs ought not to lose that kind of memory. Episodic memory: the recollection of episodes from the past. Semantic memory: knowledge about the world around one. Somebody who received a knock on the head would lose the first kind of memory. But he seemed to be saying that he had lost both.

 

It was the wrong setting to prey further; the last thing she wanted was a scene in front of half a hundred wide-eyed children. Nevertheless, she considered herself equally as intrigued as suspicious just now, although she frankly had even less of an idea what was going on than she did before. “Young man.” Putting her head in her hands ranked alongside causing a scene in actions not to take in a busy class, so she restrained herself. “Do you expect any intelligent person to believe that?”

 

Sirayn Damodred

Retro etc etc