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DRAGONMOUNT

A WHEEL OF TIME COMMUNITY

Sirayn

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Posts posted by Sirayn

  1. I am really sorry that you don't want to RP Sirayn in DM anymore :( *hugs* Hopefully the new site is all that you wanted.

     

    Will you be staying around with your other characters at least?

     

    Thank you, but no, I'm leaving the roleplay.

  2. Hi all,

     

    I retire my character and resign as Amyrlin Seat. I would like my character to have disappeared unexpectedly - if I need to resurrect her I will invent reasons. Thanks to some very special writers and my wonderful colleagues past and present for making my time at Dragonmount fun.

     

    Cheers,

    Sirayn

  3. It had occurred to her that Jagen Halin might turn out to be one of the bleeding hearts whose only concern, irrespective of the impending end of the world, was to make the Tower a warmer, cuddlier place for everyone. Personally she suspected those people were sublimating their own weak need for human contact into some grand drive to give everybody a hug. Even Dreadlords, Asha'man and Seanchan, some of the most murderous sadists ever to disgrace the world, did not escape. Everybody could see that between the White Tower, an institution which existed only to safeguard and shelter the world, and such illuminaries as the Black Tower or Shayol Ghul, which were built to destroy, the madmen and the murderers deserved sympathy ...

     

    So when Jagen displayed not only intelligence, but an unexpected grasp of the imminent end of everything, it cheered her up no end. She didn't exactly hail the other woman as a kindred spirit, although she found few enough of those in a Tower excessively concerned with rules and ethics to the detriment of such trivialities as saving the world, but Sirayn looked upon her Red Ajah daughter with a new benevolence. In fact, the young lady mirrored her own thoughts so eerily she was half tempted to pinch her to find out if she was a hallucination. It sounded like Jagen had missed one or two key facts -- and who wouldn’t, she had only received the shawl yesterday, she had scarcely begun her Aes Sedai education -- but she sensed a potentially first-class mind lurking behind that Taraboner veil.

     

    “Where have you been before today, Daughter? I’ve been missing out.” She kept her smile in case anybody threatened to take her seriously. “It is not novices we need. Not while the Dragon Reborn is burning Cairhein and the Shadow holds half the Borderlands and the Seanchan wait for another Return. Novices will not take up arms to fight the Last Battle. What we need most of all … are soldiers. I do not refer only to the Green Ajah; she also serves who does not swing a sword. It may be our healing that wins us the Last Battle, or our knowledge, or even the Red Ajah who protects us from another Breaking. But these are all soldiers nonetheless, in our war without end, our long campaign against the Shadow.

     

    “As a new scrap of an Aes Sedai, unburdened by preconceptions or, it seems, excessive knowledge of Tower Law,” she did her best to rob the comment of all offence, though this much smiling was starting to irritate the hell out of her, “how else would you go about building up the Tower’s strength? Bearing in mind that we may have only a few years left before Tarmon Gai’don?”

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Amyrlin Seat

  4. Oh dear Light, this was it, she had finally lost her mind.

     

    Not content with recruiting a private army, engaging in a kind of cold war with the Black Ajah, engaging in a much hotter war with the Shadow in general, sending off half the Tower’s troops to Kandor to fight a northern campaign, letting a pack of deranged Darkfriends run loose across Tar Valon because she either liked them or feared the consequences of killing them, cutting her daughter off and, incidentally, trying to save the world … she had also, for reasons she could not remember but for which alcohol really ought to have been an excuse, decided to adopt her pet traitor’s son.

     

    If only she had had more than that one symbolic sip at the White Tower Ball she could have called it a drunken mistake and forgiven herself. But no, she distinctly remembered being stone cold sober when she slipped out of the light and heat of the ballroom and -- yes, Light help her, the details were coming back -- found the Talcontar boy on the ground amid the stink of drink and the glitter of broken glass, and somehow stupidly, miraculously needing her … She couldn’t let this madness persist into the cold light of day. He did not need her, nobody did, she had lost her little children and she would never get them back, nobody would ever turn to her as to a mother. And yet she had knelt, and held out her hand, and he had taken it. She remembered that quite distinctly. She closed her hand now, replacing the memory of his fingers with the reality of her own, and told herself not to be so appallingly stupid.

     

    Only then she remembered the ring. She lifted a hand to her throat, found no chain beneath her fingertips and, yes, she hadn’t dreamed it, she genuinely had given Faerthines Talcontar her House Damodred signet ring. How hugely insane one person would have to be to give their ring, not only costly but of considerable sentimental value, to a drunk child she did not know. Had she really believed that … she didn’t even know what she might have really believed, couldn’t quite put into words what she needed, how intensely she craved a chance to make everything right with her children.

     

    It was stupid. She had a war to run, she couldn’t mother anybody, her son was dead and she hadn’t even been able to hold her children and … it was stupid. She shouldn’t be remembering how she had put her shoulder beneath his and helped him home. Not that she should have done that anyway, what if anybody found out, what if conclusions were jumped to, what if anybody thought the Talcontar boy might be a good way to get at her, so many what ifs. No, it had been a moment of insanity, she would recover her Damodred ring later and in the meantime she ought not to think about it.

     

    So she spent that day resolutely not thinking about it. And then the next day. And then the next.

     

    On the fourth day, by which time she was beginning to wonder if the aforementioned moment of insanity had resulted in losing her ring for good, she heard in passing that the boy Talcontar had been absolutely sober since the ball and she had to hide a big stupid smile.

     

    It did not surprise her, therefore, when that afternoon, as she consulted maps of Tar Valon in a futile effort to plan for any future defence of the city, her Keeper poked her head round the door and informed her that a young man was here to see her. She did not look up from her papers, chewing on the end of her quill in a most improper fashion, and nobody saw her smile as she instructed her Keeper to send the boy in. She did glance up at the boy briefly upon his arrival. He looked not only better -- not difficult when she had last seen him drunk and miserable -- but positively good: clean, smart and generally presentable. The boy had his mother’s prettiness. She hadn’t noticed before.

     

    People didn’t even get second chances, she had known that when she killed her son, so why she was looking at somebody else’s lad she didn’t know. She wondered if maybe she should touch him but she didn’t quite know how, she had been busy having a row when the Creator handed out social intuition, so she simply gestured him to a seat with her quill. “Take a seat, boy. I’m afraid you failed Basic Etiquette,” her tone a little dry, “but I trust you’ll not do it again. How have you been?”

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Amyrlin Seat

  5. Ooc: Hi zemi -- it seems like you’re having fun with the ignored/insecure angle for Aeveryn, so I had Sirayn continue to not notice her, but let me know if you’d like me to edit in having noticed and/or spoken to her. :)

     

    Frankly she did not regret leaving the gathering. Most sisters present were strangers to her, a fact not uncorrelated with their general youth and inexperience, but no matter how smooth her face Lillian Tremina never failed to give the impression that she was laughing at her. And why would she not? The woman might be an apologist for mass murder and a liberal so extreme her political views were a scaled-up version of holding hands skipping round in a field of flowers, but she was young and strong and beautiful and, not least, in no way crippled. Sirayn wondered what life must be like for a Domani Aes Sedai -- sailing serenely through life, everyone about her captivated by her gorgeous Domani looks and awed by her sparkly serpent ring … but no, there she was getting bitter again, it had to be a false impression that the Tower was a gigantic catwalk where the unnaturally beautiful coasted through their privileged little lives.

     

    Giving up all hope of her scone, she directed her new companion toward the next exit from the dining hall; as was her habit -- and how many new habits she had had to teach herself to hide it, she hated people noticing, absolutely hated it -- she let Jagen pass through the door first so nobody had to see the Amyrlin Seat being obviously crippled in public. She had done her best to get used to it. It wasn’t going away and anyway everybody knew. But she remembered Aran so strongly that she couldn’t stand to draw any attention to it. It still struck her as the height of irony that Lanfir Leah Marithsen, the Tower’s last hero, had been succeeded by a cripple: look, everybody, symbolism at work!

     

    The corridor outside stood half empty even at this hour, filled only with a scatter of white skirts and a few passing Aes Sedai, all of whom stopped to curtsey to her. She greeted them in passing, this curtsey business was gratifying, and briefly considered her companion. Initiates being too politically and personally insignificant to spend her time on, not to mention a huge proportion never made it to the shawl anyway, she had never met Jagen Halin before yesterday’s ceremony. Naturally she had made one or two enquiries before raising the woman Aes Sedai but learnt only that this one was, thank the Light, not given to needless sentimentality or weakness. The lack of information did not trouble her overly at this point; she intended to test Jagen Sedai herself before she accorded the Taraboner any personal trust.

     

    “So, Jagen Sedai!” She continued to smile, although she considered this much good cheer unnatural, she had to learn to use this tactic too. “I have an appointment in an hour for which I cannot be late,” much though she would love it, irritating people unnecessarily did not tend to get her what she needed, “but until then, I am at your service.” She didn’t recall any hints as to the subject matter of their upcoming discussion, but she steered a course toward the Tower gardens nevertheless, one never knew when one might need immediate and certain privacy. “What can I do for you, Daughter?”

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Amyrlin Seat

  6. Her smile went a little stiff when she heard the kind of language her own Aes Sedai were using to refer to one another in a busy place, she despised public infighting with the fire of a thousand suns, but it struck her that laying down the law would have the same effect as introducing a shark to a tank of silverpike: more blood in the water. So she pretended not to have heard anything untoward. Only internally did she make a note to take the two women aside, separately, and discuss with them exactly when one should address another Aes Sedai as “wench” or suggest that she looked “as tacky as a Tinker” -- a charming little phrase she would have pulled up had she been remotely interested in Tinkers.

     

    Like corn beneath the scythe, a simile she often wished she could make literal when people irritated her, her new companions curtseyed to her. She inclined her head graciously to acknowledge them and did not strangle anybody, not even Estel bloody Liones, whose son she had had to put back together personally due to his mother’s criminal irresponsibility. Both the miscreants did their best to impersonate shining beacons of innocence; smiling far more than was natural Sirayn impersonated somebody who did not want to bang their heads together while she mourned the passing of her scone. She had had a dream -- of a perfect scone, a thing of beauty, an apotheosis of … whatever ingredients went into a scone … well, an uninterrupted breakfast was her real hope, possibly in a quiet place not filled with a plague of political locusts, but she would have settled for the damn scone.

     

    It gratified her a little bit that both women put aside their argument. She hadn’t expected them to defy her, not at this precarious stage of their fledgling careers, but an irrational part of her hadn’t quite believed that Sirayn Damodred, once the Tower’s least favourite daughter, could quell a quarrel with a well-placed smile. Half the time she didn’t understand or even like other people, in their infinite complexity, their irrationality and their frequent and inexplicable outbursts of violence, and she still had a soldier’s instincts when it came to people who crossed her, but she had resolved this little skirmish without any bloodshed at all. She felt rather proud of herself. Progress announced itself with a smile.

     

    Entirely too little eating of scones having been done so far, she hovered on the point of sending Estel bloody Liones to fetch the item thereof, but it struck her as poor form to employ Aes Sedai as table waiters -- even ones who deserved to be stabbed with that butter knife -- and therefore she told herself sternly to resist temptation. She hoped the damn woman had had kittens at her unexpected arrival, but who was she fooling, all her effort had gone for nothing; Estel was no more a fit Aes Sedai now than she had ever been.

     

    One day she might face trial. She knew that; it was a risk she had taken on freely. But perhaps the most grievous of her crimes, yet one for which she could never be tried, was her failure to raise an Aes Sedai army to fight the Last Battle.

     

    She had an uncanny knack for bringing the imminent end of the world into everything. Scones, she told herself, think of scones! Perhaps if she separated the two women for now and then made a dash for the kitchens she could finally get her scone while still feeling righteous. Unfortunately she had always suspected the world was conspiring against her ever having a moment of peace and, just when she was preparing to pack the offenders off in different directions and make good her escape, the next moment only proved it true.

     

    An apparition in eye-gougingly garish garb, topped off for some reason by a musical instrument, arrived from the approximate direction of the kitchens. Only through urgent application of a mental brake did she not point out that the service entrance was elsewhere; her level of amusement lowered still further when she recognised Lillian Tremina. She reserved a special category of dislike for women who, while purporting to represent the Tower, actually undermined all it stood for and Lillian Sedai, whom she suspected despised all things Tower, ranked high in that category. She had distrusted Lillian since their first meeting, railed and cursed at every word of Lillian’s supposed master work with its apparent desire to turn the Tower into a gigantic breeding factory, and generally marked the woman as completely untrustworthy. The horrific offences against colour didn’t help either. But what irritated her most at that point in time was the fact that she had interrupted her own morning, much against her will, to enforce a little peace between quarrelling Aes Sedai, which she had done as pleasantly and effectively as she could, only for some dribbling infant to decide that the Amyrlin Seat couldn’t possibly keep two stripling sisters quiet and their meeting needed to be broken up at once.

     

    She said nothing injudicious; she had to stamp hard on her sarcasm to do so, but the Amyrlin did not engage in territory-marking, even if she felt her toes had been thoroughly stepped on. Estel answered to one master and one only: her. She told herself that, anyway. Not that she even cared what Estel thought about pretty young women in the first place. “I do like to see such a happy gathering of friends and sisters,” Sirayn said with her brightest smile. “By all means, don’t let me hold you up. I’m sure you two have much to discuss.” She smiled at Estel too, something she hoped the younger woman found unnerving, and promised herself that they would have yet another conversation about fitting behaviour … one which Estel bloody Liones would not enjoy. “Perhaps Jagen Sedai and I will go for a little stroll.” She bid a plaintive inner farewell to her scone. “If you will excuse us, Daughters.”

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Amyrlin Seat

  7. ooc: The thread's still open, right? I just wanted to drop in - let me know if I'm interfering in a planned showdown. :)

     

    Being nominally the most powerful woman in the world had its drawbacks, in fact it had enough drawbacks to populate the island of Tar Valon many times over, but one Sirayn Damodred particularly hated was not being able to get her breakfast in peace. She had had some fanciful idea that when she put off the seven-striped shawl at the end of a ceremony she could at least pretend to be an ordinary Aes Sedai. In fact people seized on her every appearance, no matter how casual, as an opportunity to further their personal interests. As the Amyrlin Seat she had a duty to represent her Aes Sedai and she respected that … usually. She just wished they didn’t want representing when she was trying to get some bloody breakfast.

     

    Tomorrow she might give into temptation and just have a tray brought up to her quarters. At least she could work on something concrete, something she could touch, rather than facilitate positive communication or whatever the humanists babbled about. She might even face up to something she had studiously avoided so far and get herself a maid -- an impending decision that still made her shudder. It was tradition: the Amyrlin Seat had to have a maid. Tradition was as strong as law … but she had been raised a commoner, she could have been a maid, it just wasn’t right.

     

    But this morning, despite the determined efforts of half the Tower to engage her in tiresome political conversation while she waited in line, Sirayn had set herself one goal: a scone. Just an ordinary scone, maybe still warm from the oven, perhaps a bit of butter and some jam. She planned to sacrifice the rest of her day on the altar of political interests, for which she deserved a sainthood let alone the baked item of her choice, but for now she had every intention of getting that scone if she had to bake it herself. And considering she baked with all the skill of a drunken sailor it really would be much better for all concerned if she could just get … to the front … of the queue.

     

    She was about ten tantalising steps from her goal when in a momentary lull she heard the sweet tones of her most favourite person in all the world: “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised I needed an invitation to this party.  Should I perhaps change my dress?  Fix my hair?  Do tell me when they’ll be serving champagne.”

     

    And the response of somebody she could just tell was about to become her second favourite person in all the world: “You look almost as tacky as a Tinker and in a rough enough state to match a Domani tavern maid on a weekend's evening … Why don't you go back to bed because both your attitude and appearance could really use it.”

     

    By dint of biting her tongue she managed not to say anything unflattering at all about Estel bloody Liones … but she definitely thought it. She couldn’t just ignore it; the wretched woman could pick a fight in an empty room and, shawl or no shawl, she had limited faith in the self control of anybody she did not know personally. Therefore, though her heart cried out scone! in the most mournful fashion, Sirayn left the queue resignedly and followed an oblique course through the crowded room until she could approach right behind the Domani object of her wrath. She had few enough little amusements in life that she still liked to watch people realise that the Amyrlin Seat had materialised two steps behind them.

     

    In political terms the three women -- the Grey Ajah’s darling, the Blue Ajah’s millstone and the Red Ajah’s newest member -- made a strange little trio united by nothing she could see. She would ordinarily have assigned the latter two points for being in the same room together without starting a kind of no-contact war but, by the sound of it, the opening shots had already been fired. Normally she would not have intervened, the sink-or-swim policy ascertained that only the strongest or indeed most creatively poisonous survived, but that rather relied on the senior members of various Ajahs enforcing discipline and she didn’t see anyone else looking either senior or forceful. Senior and forceful being her default settings, she nominated herself to intervene.

     

    So, resigned to her doom, at the earliest possible moment she interjected “Good morning, ladies!” and switched on a smile which suggested that, this indeed being a morning, she encouraged them to see it as good. “Congratulations on your raising yesterday, Jagen Sedai, and are we all having a pleasant and productive morning?” And why, she wondered plaintively, had she had to give up her precious scone to enforce a ceasefire in the dining hall?

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Amyrlin Seat

  8. So the First Return struck simultaneously in whatever our version of Falme was (think it was Tanchico, definitely not Falme itself) and Saldaea? That's confusing ... ah, whatever, that'll do. :P

     

    edit: by which I mean thanks. :D

  9. I don't remember the series very well, but I think the Sea Folk don't accept Aes Sedai passengers - they're afraid that the Aes Sedai will realise all their Windfinders are channellers and abduct them all to be novices - which is why every year a few, very weak, Sea Folk channellers are sent to the Tower as a kind of cultural sacrifice. I could definitely be on a ship in the High Seas though. I'll come up with some reason or other why I was there. :D

  10. No, I got your PMs - sorry about the wait - takes me a few days to get around to PMs sometimes. I'll hop to answering now. :D I ended up skimming over the Seanchan incident for various reasons, but it was supposed to happen during a recent trip to the Borderlands, the Seanchan having invaded Saldaea by that point. I can do something else and, er, kind of gloss over the inconsistencies though. I'm flexible where it comes to leashing goodness. :D

  11. You're definitely looking for a marath'damane rather than a damane, right? I was approved long ago to have my Aes Sedai captured by the Seanchan during her travels. The timeline is a bit complicated but my approval still holds as far as I know and I'd happily volunteer. :D

  12. "Give me your trust," said the Aes Sedai,

    "On my shoulders I support the sky.

    Trust me to know and to do what is best,

    And I will take care of the rest."

    But trust is the colour of a dark seed growing;

    Trust is the colour of a heart's blood flowing.

    Trust is the colour of a soul's last breath.

    Trust is the colour of death.

    - Chapter 44, "The Colour of Trust", Lord of Chaos.

     

    Green Aventurine eyes swept trepidly over the addressed letter in his hands. He had checked the seal twice now and it still sat firmly in place, no signs of tampering apparent. His gaze flicked to follow the diminishing white gown of the Novice who’s delicate pale hands had placed the missive in his own. A missive he had not expected. The recognised handwriting and flow of loops brought a mix of wanted anticipation and fear. Surely he had not upset her further already? He had done as she requested … mostly anyway.

     

    Taking a seat on a near by bench his gaze moved to that of the horizon, a hand lifting to shade his eyes. The large blazen red ball sat just above horizons edge and promised a good day for the morn. The only question in his mind now was whether he would see it. The missive turned over and over in his hands as he pondered its contents, almost unwilling to open it. An unshakable feeling of a pin poised over a bubble filled him when his fingers finally positioned on the seal to open it’s protected contents.

     

    Drawing a deep and steadying breath the seal broke between fingers and the parchment flaps folded back to reveal further familiar lines and flows in dark ink. Eyes quickly scanned the few words, less then a true sentence in reality. But most definitely an order, an order to appear. He did not need words of threatened promise in regards to what would happen should he not show. Or even should he say anything to another. Far to long had he dealt with her. Short on words scared him more then any harshness she could have added in form of promised spite.

     

    The letter slipped into an inner pocket as his eyes checked the horizon once more. An earlier notice would have been nice … Perhaps the Novice was late in her delivery, found a trainee to be smitten with for a spell. Even as the thought formed it was pushed aside. She still truly did not trust him. She would not offer him the chance to scout the meeting grounds before her. Moving swiftly it took only a short span of time. But in that span the fiery ball and sunk to only two thirds it’s full size showing above the horizon. This was far closer then comfort would allow him. But it was still something, and it was not a summons to the Tower Hall either. A slight twinge of relief eased the knot in his stomach slightly as his hand found the familiar gate to the winter rose garden they had used for many other meetings.

     

    He should not have been shocked to find the gate swing open at his grasp. It was always locked, but then she probably had sent the missive to him on her way to the garden. Slipping inside he pulled the gate closed with a soft click, turning to see her sitting on the bench he had squatted near before. Moving no more then from the waist up in a formal bow he intoned his greeting, part of him still wishing the gate was still open. “Good evening Mother. I come to serve as you have requested.”

     

    Even when he missed a second morning meeting, then a third, Sirayn Damodred could not quite convince herself it had ended. It felt like a lie; he had invaded and corrupted so much of her life, of her most private places and feelings that she couldn’t believe she had even a little time to herself. Her quarters had been commandeered by the enemy and now when she sat at her desk working, a practice she had followed for the past two hundred years as thrones rose and fell, the back of her neck prickled as if in response to some unseen threat, like somebody was reading over her shoulder. She had resorted to keeping an arm around her work to stave off the uneasiness. It wasn’t enough.

     

    She lived in fear. No other word could be put to it. In her own damn Tower she had been harassed and insulted, blackmailed and threatened, her every freedom stolen and even the privacy of her own mind, which she had held as sacred ever since her disastrous bonds, violated. He had said he was leaving for a time and she didn’t believe it, couldn’t convince herself, feared that someone might touch her at any moment. Frankly she despised her own weakness but there was nothing she could do about it … except take an action which even she realised might be a little on the dangerous side. But not too much so: if the Tower Guard could work with it every day, a clutch of yapping children and rabid Aes Sedai killers, she could master it too.

     

    So after she had got rid of every damn dagger she owned, just in case cowardice overwhelmed her resolve and she scuttled off to practise in case he did anything more terrifying to her, and once she had resumed her normal routine to the extent that she could pretend to herself she wasn’t doing this out of some uncontrolled reaction to having her puppet strings twitched … she summoned one of her least favourite people to an audience with her.

     

    Ordinarily she would not have tolerated a lunatic in her garden, however pretty his face or flattering his lying tongue, but she needed a secure location screened from prying eyes and, anyway, if he caused her any grief she could damn well send him back. She had had enough of other people’s intermittent insanity. Besides, the peace and the green leafy surroundings calmed her fractious nerves in a way she had almost forgotten from her novicehood. She had built parts of this garden with her own hands, back when she had had enough hands to do proper hard work, and she had not forgotten.

     

    Her letter had been deliberately late; perhaps it was childish of her but she didn’t want to turn up to find yet another interloper in a precious place, not to mention that the boy had no key to her garden, and never would at this rate. If she received lunatics on her territory she would at least do so herself. So she waited, skirts smartly arranged, face impassive, for the boy to arrive. He did so quietly and without fanfare; his bow raised no more than her eyebrow in response. “Good evening, young man.” Last chance to back out, she thought, but in truth she was pretty damn desperate for this trick to kill all her troubles. “I have two weeks to learn the Flame and the Void. I assume you have nothing more important to do?”

     

    Even the schooling she had trained him in could not stop the hesitation partway through his rise as her command, neatly dressed as a question entered his mind. She, the Amrylin, a woman who could have the very masters of the teachings surround her in knowledge and skill. The women who of late only seemed to tolerate his presence for only as long as it served her immediate need. Sirayn wanted him to teach her, to bring her to an understand with the emotionless art of the Flame and Void. A valued tool of the Guard and many a soldier.

     

    He finished his rise and began slow steps toward her perch on the bench. Regal perfection would have been an understatement in the position and statue that Sirayn sat the bench. She had it all, she ruled the Tower and thus the nations. She had Saidar at her want and a composure that even the statues of the garden proper would envy. Why was it a woman of such stature would be in need of such a tool? Stopping several paces from her to honour an unspoken boundary he had begun to understand she needed. He motioned to the spot on the soft velvet green grass. With a slight nod of approval he sank slowly to a cross legged seat, eyes still searching her’s for a reason he knew he would never find there. “I am flattered Mother that you would choose me for this task. Though I am confident in its embrace and have received my training from one that is great in it’s following. I am somewhat surprised you would request this of me and not a full master as the Tower holds?”

     

    This made no sense, he was a tool; a runner it seemed for the most part. Secure passage of information and on occasions the direct reporter of such. But she had asked nothing of him in the way of training since she had used the daggers as a means to ensnare him to service. What was it she intended to tie him to this time?

     

    Though she did not show it, a tiny knot that she hadn’t known existed eased when he sat at a distance from her. She had always disliked having people near her and the constant, inexorable touching had only terrified her more; she preferred madmen and murderers to keep their distance. He had sat at her feet once and told her such lovely lies, spoken to her as if her stupid, stupid cowardice wasn’t clear for all to see, and as she watched him coldly Sirayn promised herself that she would not fall for the same tricksome flattery again.

     

    It took a moment’s self control not to snap that she had had enough of his insolence. Being questioned when she had given clear instructions rankled with her, though on consideration, perhaps she had become too powerful for her own good if she refused even to be questioned. He had stroked her face as she lay helpless. Why had he done that? Did he just like his women helpless? Her fingers drummed, very slightly on the arm of the bench; cold stone beneath her fingertips. It didn’t matter. He could like whatever he wanted so long as he kept his hands off her.

     

    She thought it unwise to say that if she could look at his face without the memory of fear and fury she would count her training complete. Since she also didn’t think it proper to point out that she preferred to keep her enemies in plain sight, she had rather run out of replies and it galled her to make up some excuse for a lunatic. Sirayn kept her tone curt: “If you are incapable of it I will find somebody else.”

     

    If he was not so worried as to his own threads length he would have broke out in mirth at her curt comment. So like the Sirayn he had come to both adore and slightly fear. The years in her service, and out, had given him ample time to build his own conclusions about the woman who commanded so much. The woman that held a part of him he could never get back, never wanted back. As it was a smile tickled at the edges of his mouth for a moment before being cast aside. Openly allowing the smile would only have her furious and hard like a stone. That was the last thing he needed if he was to have any success at her request. As it was, taking someone so use to complete control; someone with such hardness, and teaching them the Flame and Void was going to be a challenge enough on it’s own.

     

    Allowing his eyes to release her gaze and float over the peacefulness of the garden Corin made careful assurance that his face still remained empty of the confused emotions that continued to swirl inside. If nothing else it would be a blessing to slip back inside the protective covering of the void and watch the storm of emotions from its vast emptiness instead of its embrace. A stinging thought touch his consciousness and fled. Was that what she feared, emotions embrace? The thought was absurd, foolishness from a fools mind.

     

    Settling his gaze upon her again, his eyes suddenly emptied into cold separation. His face took on a natural relaxed slackness to it. “If the Void is what you seek Mother then I shall lead you to it as best I can.” Hollow emptiness echoed in his voice. He had become so familiar with its embrace that he hardly had to think of the process to slip into its separation. “But to know its touch, you must be willing to let go of everything and trust.” His empty eyes held her’s for a short span, and then the guarded mask of composure returned. A mask she had trained him to wear. “Can you do that Mother? Can you do that with me?”

     

    He sounded quite devoid of emotion as he spoke. She liked it already; if she could get rid of shame and insecurity, anger, jealousy and indecision, and most of all fear … she might have a shot at being a decent Amyrlin.  Until she got rid of the last trappings of sentiment she had no right to wear the seven-striped shawl and take the title Mother. Briefly her fingers resumed the drumming. The thought of trusting somebody frankly scared her; she had enough difficulty engaging in conversation with comparative strangers, she knew she could never in a hundred years put her faith in Corin Danveer, flatterer and liar. Sirayn fixed him with a hard stare. “Trust what exactly?”

     

    The look would have sent Novice and Trainee alike scattering. Not so long ago it would have him as well. It was not that he had gotten use to it with all the distance between them for so long a time now. But it had lost a measure of its weight. Or was he just fooling himself so that he would remain here in the quite peacefulness with her. Regardless of the reasoning she awaited an answer and history had told him that she did not wait on anyone for long.

     

    “There is no exactly what Mother. There is only trust. I can lead you to the point, guide you to the very door. But you must have the trust to step through it. The trust to allow me to guide you. To release the suspicions and tension you have, to release everything and in that release become nothing. Only by doing that will you find the Void that you seek.” His eyes measured hers for indication. Registered each and every tightening and movement. It was the only thing he had learned to read her from and it was only in set measures he was even able to read that correctly. His hand started to stray from his lap as if to collect her hand as he had done back in the beginning. But he stilled it quickly before it had gone far. Touch … she despised touch, even though he longed for it. Lavinya had …. He stamped the thought out. This was hardly the time or place to revisit that mess.

     

    Risking further humiliation and score he allowed some of the softness he felt for her to touch the edges of his eyes, to add depth to the softness of his words. “If you can trust me on this journey and let go of everything then I will teach you what you need to know.” His eyes fell to his lap, fingers pulling a thin blade of rich green grass to keep the tension form showing. “The only hindrance to learning is yourself.”

     

    Aes Sedai did not know anger, so she told herself the slow, incredulous tide sweeping through her was merely a trick of her imagination, rather than the urgent desire to hit him. In truth had she been alone she might well have hit something; this kind of corrosive fury needed release. But first and foremost she observed Aes Sedai decorum in public and therefore she made no such move. Only the slight curl of her fingers inward, as though the first step toward making a fist, signalled anything at all.

     

    Luckily she had bitten her tongue before she started sputtering in outrage; the sheer jaw-dropping insolence had rendered her, for the moment, quite incapable of coherent speech. She came within a whisker of leaving without another word. Let him sit in her garden and cackle to himself about how clever he was, how he had driven the Amyrlin Seat off her own territory, even that had to be better than hearing another word from him; his cynical lies offended her that much; but the old dislike for being seen to be weak overcame her and she forced herself to stay.

     

    But it burned. She had given this total stranger everything she valued most. Her time, her attention and most of all her hard-won knowledge, all this she had poured into his schooling. She had ignored his moments of immaturity, his violence, his dalliance with lightskirt women to the exclusion of his duty, she had even showed him private fears and insecurities, facets of herself she never let anybody see. She had convinced herself he could be the perfect agent … and perhaps she could even talk to him, just occasionally, she hadn’t asked for more. It was her stupid loneliness again. Seiaman had driven a lever into that and wrenched it wide open and she had permitted some murderous child to flatter her because she was so, so desperate for something she couldn't even define.

     

    Even now she could actually hear herself inventing excuses for him. He was just a child, what did he know, maybe he hadn’t meant it. Perhaps poison was a form of greeting in whatever toxic place he came from. He could even have done it under duress of some sort. Only he had looked at her just now with those green eyes, wearing the face of an honest man, and told her she needed to trust him. How utterly and hugely he did not comprehend the situation she couldn’t even express: how could he have poisoned her, petrified her and shamed her, made a coward out of she who should have been brave, and yet look at her like that and ask her for her trust …

     

    She wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to suffer as she had, to feel such fear, to be so intensely ashamed of his own cowardice that he couldn’t stand to live with himself. She had never told anyone what he had done, but it had become part of the tapestry of her nightmares, one more reason why she needed the Flame and the Void. Only that would protect her from fear and shame and weakness. Only that would make her a proper Aes Sedai.

     

    “You will not speak to me of trust.” Her voice didn’t even crack. She thanked some hard teachers before she reached the shawl. “I have no desire to plumb the depths of quack psychology with a poisoner. Teach me or leave and I will find another.”

     

    Sirayn Damodred & Corin Danveer

  13. Age is a very important factor, but I like to think of our hierarchy as a little more flexible - a character's experience, leadership skills, particular field of expertise and other factors could all be relevant to who outranks who in any particular situation.

     

    Feel free to PM me when you're done breaking your scores down. Here is the One Power scores page. You aren't listed on this page right now because we only add people's scores when their elemental breakdown is complete. Scores which have been assigned but not broken down, like yours, are logged on a staff page. Once you've sent us your scores and I've checked them out you'll be right up on the page I linked with everyone else.

     

    By the way, I wonder if I could entice you to roleplay with me! I'm enjoying reading your thread with Vera but I don't want to interrupt - perhaps we could get together at some point. :)

  14. Hi Jagen,

     

    Our super-secret database says that you were assigned a One Power score in February last year. Your skill is 35 and your strength is 33. Please break this down into your elemental scores using this system - it may look complicated, but I hope you'll only have to do it once. Give me a buzz if you need any help.

     

    I'm afraid you can't raise the strength you've been assigned. You can earn an extra three skill points, normally by taking or teaching One Power classes (half a point to each class). If this seems harsh, please bear in mind that you have 35-33 when the cap is set at 38-34 - your randomly assigned score makes you already twice as powerful as my character, if not more. The Aes Sedai hierarchy here is, luckily for me, not based on One Power strength. :)

     

    Hope that helps!

     

    Cheers,

    Sirayn

  15. Being a sister of considerable means, possessing a complex network of contacts across the white city and beyond, no gossip passed her by and it took her a matter of hours to catch word of certain people’s misdeeds. Perhaps it was all to the good that she found out only from a tersely written letter which she had opened in the quiet of her own quarters; fortunate, because her expression at that moment must have been a picture written in wrath.

     

    The news darkened a previously fine morning by no small measure. An unexpected development and unwanted on so many levels, signifying as it did a fresh threat, another factor to add into her calculations, evidence which cast doubt upon her young apprentice’s loyalty and even on how much he had learned from her … for to allow one’s mistakes to become so widely known spoke of a great deal of carelessness. Had he not been listening when she instructed him on the merit of discretion? Had he taken leave of his wits entirely? And what strange and shallow idiocy took over young men with too little to do and too much vigour to spend so unwisely?

     

    This piece of mischief meant too much to her in unwelcome ways. It meant anger, that a different kind of hunter had moved so boldly into her own grounds; a sense of rivalry, that she meant to take back what was hers, though she certainly would not be shaming herself by such childish lack of caution; frustration, that her plans should be compromised further by some witless lightskirt barely out of whites. More than that it meant disenchantment. That her apprentice with all his wit and composure, who should have known much better, could get mixed up in stupidity with strange women as easily as any other youngster driven by his lusts was a troubling thought. If she could not trust him to keep his head around women, how could she trust him with the many and subtle currents of Daes Dae’mar?

     

    Lastly and perhaps most importantly … dread, in some hollow way, of seeing the same old story repeated for the hundredth time … fear, of what other ways in which he might let her down. Anger came so easily at herself for trusting him, at him for breaching that trust. It was a bleak time, on the whole, chasing round the same old decisions. Deciding what to do about it all was easy by contrast. By no means could she allow such events to pass without her intervention; she risked losing everything she had schemed so hard to build. That was how she ended up passing on a curt note to a novice to deliver:

     

    Lavinya Sedai,

     

    I trust this letter finds you well. However, well or not, you are to attend me in my quarters this evening at the turn of sunset. No excuses.

     

    Regards,

    Sirayn Sedai

     

    It was a terser note than she would have dared pass to a sister who stood above or even next to her, but in her experience a good sharp put down tended to put youngsters in their place … if not, then a reminder of which side their bread was buttered often performed the same function. An ambitious young sister ought to know that much without having to be told but one never knew these days. Every generation had its crop of fire brands, most of whom never fulfilled even a half of their full potential, being too busy with their own cleverness; she could only hope that this one would not prove to be the same. Sirayn had little patience left over from this morning’s disaster and if the child were to be sensible it would prove best for all concerned.

    _________________

    Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

    Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

    White Tower RP Co-ordinator

     

    Lavinya made her way to her appartments, hands clasped casually behind her back. Her features were smooth and serene, but mirth danced in her eyes, as she hummed softly to herself. Life was grand. So it seemed at present, anyway. Things were looking her way, for a change, and her lips still tingled slightly from her stolen kisses. She felt the urge to giggle, but held herself in check. The sight of an Aes Sedai wandering the halls and giggling to herself like a novice with a crush would not do at all.

     

    Breezing into her chambers, Lavinya sat before her mirror, finally allowing herself a smile as she brushed her curls back from her face. Lavinya had been labelled many things, but she was not a fool. Contrary to popular belief, anyway. It often worked in her advantage to be underestimated. Her weakness was her love for pleasure. Lavinya often lost herself in the thrill of the forbidden, or at least the frowned upon, almost going so far as to rub her exploits in the faces of those would be persecutors.

     

    Lavinya felt no remorse. She and Corin had met under perfectly normal circumstances, and she had been equally taken with him, as he had with her. That first meeting, in the gardens, still brought a smile to her lips when she thought back on it. She was won over by Corin's wit, and his charm...not to mention his good looks, and later his other...skills. She smirked to herself, pressing her fingers to her lips, where the pressure from Corin's could still almost be felt.

     

    A knock on the door brought her out of her reverie, bidding the intruder come in. A novice entered, dropping a deep curtsey and holding out a missive with one hand. Lavinya dismissed her with the wave of her hand, barely touching her with a glance as she took the note. Spreading it out on her table with her fingers, Lavinya read the note quickly. She twisted her lips. It was a summons plain and simple. A muscle jerked in her jaw, as she clenched it. She did not take well to summonses, regardless who they were received from.

     

    Being a younger sister had its distinct disadvantages, as Lavinya clenched her fingers into a fist, crumpling the note with it. She swore to herself to never let anyone treat her the way she was as a novice, not ever again. Why she had been summonedm she did not know, nor did she find she particularly cared. She was not a fresh faced girl in white, trained to jump when an Aes Sedai so much as batted an eyelid. She too was Aes Sedai. Of course, to obey the summons would be giving in from the start, and Lavinya refused to show any weakness to this woman.

     

    Yet curiosity got the better of Lavinya, the possible reason for the note toying with her better judgement. There was no way she would arrive promptly at the turn of the sun, as ordered, but perhaps she would pay a visit to the Green Sister. The terse not spoke volumes of Sirayn's ire, something Lavinya always found vastly amusing. She'd often made a point of pushing people to the point of fury, yet it seemed Sirayn had gotten there without any goading on her part. Intriguing indeed. Perhaps she would go along, and provoke the already irate sister some more. Yes indeed.

     

    Lavinya deliberately wasted time in her apartments, wanting to be extremely late for her meeting. Once she had deemed she had waited sufficient time, she gathered her shawl about her shoulders, her fiery curls flowing down her back. Her dress was silver, embroidered delicately with red, the fine silk swishing softly as she made her way to the Green Ajah quarters. Whether Sirayn knew it or not, Lavinya was dressed for battle. Reaching the right door, she knocked twice, confidently, and waited.

    _________________

    Lavinya Morganen - Aes Sedai of the Gray Ajah, Mentor to Elyna and Kilivia

     

    The evening turned on into silence and stillness. Red light filtered through the leaded glass panes and painted her severely furnished quarters in rich tones of amber and crimson; reflecting like a blaze from the opposite mirrors and casting everything in a confusion of light and shadow. A pretty enough image it made and it might even have distracted her had she not been busy seething over this lightskirt child who not only fooled around with men in public but also couldn’t even keep a simple appointment. Had somebody been drunk when they permitted her to take the Three Oaths? By today’s performance she should never have gained the ring let alone the coveted shawl. Truly standards had slipped somewhat of late.

     

    Finally a brash knock sounded twice upon her door. She took a moment to compose herself, smoothing out any trace of ire lest it gratify her visitor to see her thus provoked, and calmly serene answered her door. “Little sister.” A deliberate diminutive to recall sharply to them both the gulf in their respective positions. She, an old and much respected general pushing forward an equally starry diplomatic career, though news of her appointment as Ajah Head had of course not passed through Gray Ajah ears; the other, merely another overly smug and barely tested sister a little too impressed with her own wit. Rarely did she engage in a competition so evidently skewed in her favour but considering the provocation levelled against her this day Sirayn held no pity for the lackwit fool.

     

    One dark brow arched, to see how finely Lavinya Sedai had dressed; a statement of wealth perhaps, an attempt to intimidate maybe, if so surely wasted in these quarters. Most like the flipskirt was trying to lure someone else into her bed. The very notion of her getting those painted claws into her agent stoked her wrath but she controlled the temptation to comment on Domani women and their unbecoming obsession with cleavage. “Do come in. I had expected you somewhat earlier but, fortunate enough, I still have a little time for you.” A careless gesture with her good right hand indicated the as always immaculate quarters before her furnished with a Cairhienin’s clean and austere tastes. “Take a seat. We have much to discuss.”

     

    Crossing to the window Sirayn fixed her gaze through the leaded glass, toward the chaos of fire and red shades colouring the west. Such colours recalled to her briefly and bitterly an incident not long enough ago, fire and blood and the loss of her first bond … but not the smallest sign of weakness could be permitted to trouble her appearance now. “Your timekeeping leaves something to be desired little one. Have you perhaps been waylaid by bandits between your quarters and mine? If so, I shall instruct the City Guard to keep a closer watch on the entrance. If not I beg to ask where you got the impression that you were given any choice in the time of your arrival. Regardless of what colour shawl you lay claim to you are equally required to show respect to those who have done it more honour than you.”

    _________________

    Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

    Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

    White Tower RP Co-ordinator

     

    Lavinya had always shown proper respect to those above her, while a Novice and as an Accepted. All except for a few cases, in which case she believed she was warranted anyway. The one thing that had helped her maintain her calm had been the knowledge that once she attained the shawl, things would be different. She would no longer accept being treated as an inferior, rather she would be the one demanding respect. Of course the dreams of youth were never what one anticipated, and she had found that even though she was Aes Sedai, still she stood low amongst most sisters, being newly raised, and what they considered young, despite her advancing years.

     

    So it was when Sirayn opened the door, that Lavinya was forced to grit her teeth, lest she speak her mind then and there. Little sister indeed. Sirayn Sedai held a position of some power and respect in the White Tower, her years being far more than Lavinya's. While age was never discussed, nor strength in the power, the Aes Sedai were aware of where they stood in the silent heirarchy. Knowing she herself stood so low only infused her ire further, as she hastily gave the Green a bright smile, her small white teeth flashing from beneath her lips. She had not come to be ridiculed, and burn her if she would let this woman make a mockery of her, regardless of her standing.

     

    “Do come in. I had expected you somewhat earlier but, fortunate enough, I still have a little time for you.” Lavinya noted with some pleasure that she had irked the formidable Green by her lateness, though her facial expression never changed. Sweeping past Sirayn, she waited for the elder to sit, but she instead headed to the window. Without a word Lavinya sat, her eyes boring into Siray's back. Much as she was loath to admit it, she was incessantly curious as to what Sirayn wanted to discuss with her.

     

    Despite all appearances, Lavinya had a begrudging respect for the woman with her back to the room. From all she had been able to discover, Sirayn was a dogged woman, one who had fought her way to the top, commanding respect along the way. Lavinya did not know who headed the Green Ajah, but she would not have been surprised to learn that Sirayn herself held that position. What mostly appealed to Lavinya, was the knowledge that they were close in strength, in the One Power. Even know, Lavinya let herself feel Sirayn's strength, and knew they were so close to be almost unable to determine who was the stronger. Lavinya knew she was not considered a strong channeler, and in the same regard, neither was Sirayn, yet she still held an enviable place in the Tower, one Lavinya herself longed to hold.

     

    “Your timekeeping leaves something to be desired little one. Have you perhaps been waylaid by bandits between your quarters and mine? If so, I shall instruct the City Guard to keep a closer watch on the entrance. If not I beg to ask where you got the impression that you were given any choice in the time of your arrival. Regardless of what colour shawl you lay claim to you are equally required to show respect to those who have done it more honour than you.” Instead of anger, slow amusement filled Lavinya. Sirayn spoke with obvious sarcasm, something which she herself was no stranger to. Sirayn did not turn until after her statement, and her features were so calm, one would almost believe her made of stone. Yet her words indicated otherwise, hinting to someone possessed of Lavinya's nature that she was extremely annoyed. Lavinya had always enjoyed goading others to anger.

     

    With an arrogant toss of the head, Lavinya let her curls flick back behind her shoulders, before responding. She felt she owed nothing to Green staring her down from across the room, yet rather than making a statement that would have irritated the sister further, and quite likely result in a meeting between Lavinya and the sitters of her own Ajah, she changed tack.

     

    "I apologise if my delayed arrival has disturbed you greatly, sister." Her tone was soft, and though her expression appeared penitent, she was anything but. Deliberately, Lavinya refused to explain her actions. "However, I am here now, and I must say I am most curious to discover what it is you wanted to discuss with me. Please, by all means, enlighten me." She rested her hands in her lap delicately, her spine straight as she gazed silent challenge at Sirayn. Her words had not been disrespectful, yet she knew Sirayn would be fuming at having her question, no her demand, pointedly ignored. Well, let her fume all she wished, Lavinya had made a promise to herself long ago, to never again be treated as a lesser, by an Aes Sedai. Regardless of her standing, that applied to Sirayn, and Lavinya waited silently, her gaze cool, wondering how the sister would react.

    _________________

    Lavinya Morganen

     

    Insolent child: her composure became rather fixed while she mastered the urge to sit this wretch down and give her the talking to this disrespect demanded. If her own scathing tongue did not suffice … she had little acquaintance with the Grey Ajah’s current leadership but rather suspected that they would back her up if she wound up hauling their precious Lavinya Morganen to them by the ear and requesting them to give her a penance she would not easily forget. In her experience sisters of a certain age, a certain rank, tended to back one another up … and there was a whole new world of intrigue and authority out there in which one Lavinya Sedai was nothing more than a pawn.

     

    Such soothing thoughts smoothed out her irritation and she let herself relax once more. Doubtless she could make this child’s life a misery if such proved to her taste; doubtless also half the city would be grateful to her for limiting these disgraceful excesses; it remained to her only to exercise a bit of restraint. Nobody was going to step on her territory again. Light only knew that she did not want to be fooling around with total strangers in public, she had a better sense of propriety, not to mention more self respect than to label herself a lightskirt for all and sundry to scorn, but the idea that all her hard work might be undone so easily … and by a Domani woman using nothing less than attributes as cheap and unfulfilling as an undoubtedly empty head … frustrated her beyond words. She had no intention of competing for the boy’s affections, lust was ever shallow, but his loyalty and his wits, those interested her far more.

     

    Perhaps the morning’s business would serve some small measure of revenge. Her inheritance had not been good to her, leaving her small, plain and deeply suspicious, but she watched the progress of all those beautiful and brilliant women with the jealousy reserved for life’s second choices … those folk with plenty of intelligence and courage but who would never be as beloved as their comrades because they simply were not pretty enough. It was a trifle cold of her to judge it so, perhaps, to assume that everyone was so shallow, but in her experience it was nothing less than the truth. She had observed with Jaydena Sedai perfectly well what occurred when gorgeous, stunning, perfect women deigned to mix with ordinary people like herself and she did not intend to ever let those unflattering comparisons be drawn again. Maybe it was time for somebody to find out that looks were not everything.

     

    Initially nothing but deep concern she permitted to colour her tone; playing for all the world like an elder worried over the child’s future. “It troubles me greatly to have to take you to task as though you were nothing but a naughty child, little sister, but I fear that that is my burdensome task. I trust that you will listen to my words most carefully and take them to heart … for otherwise we may need to speak to your Sitters and I do not doubt they will be less gentle on you than I intend to be.” Sirayn gave a benevolent smile: yes, this was sweet indeed. “It has come to my attention that this morning you have, shall we say, indulged yourself? A little more than was wise. In fact,” and suddenly and sharply her tone turned to iron, “one might go so far as to say that you have smashed all the bounds of decency which govern Aes Sedai conduct and put yourself in line for a severe penance.

     

    “Fondling strangers in public? Have you taken leave of your senses entirely? I had marked you as a child of some common sense, at least, but it appears you are ruled entirely by what you keep in your skirts; much as the dull boys with whom you occupy your time keep their wits beneath their belts. Dear light child, one would have imagined you to be a common lightskirt, not somebody raised already to the shawl. This morning the Tower’s fine reputation has been dragged through the mud. Your career is most likely damaged beyond recovery. In a century’s time people will still remember you as the fool so empty headed she allowed her shallow lusts to overtake years’ worth of indoctrination. You should be ashamed of yourself; you have disgraced your shawl. If you want to save yourself the penance you so richly deserve you had better give me some very good reasons for your behaviour this morning.”

     

    Sirayn

     

     

     

    A naughty child? Lavinya bristled inwardly at the remark, but stubbornly refused to let her annoyance show through. She would not give the woman any such satisfaction, nor would she reveal the uncertainty at just what she was being taken to task for. The morning's events were indeed still fresh in her mind, but could Aleanda have spread word of what she had seen so soon? And why should the mornings exquisite happenings reach the ears of Sirayn? Indeed, why would they prove something which the Green believed was enough to berate Lavinya for? She had asked Corin, he was not bonded to anyone, nor had he mentioned even the possibility of a previous attachment...so why?

     

    These questions whirled in her mind, while on the outside she adopted a cooly aloof expression, which quickly changed to barely veiled surprise as the tirade continued. Common lightskirt? Digraced her shawl?! Straightening her spine, Lavinya's dark eyes flashed with a dangerous light, a muscle in her jaw tensing as she struggled to stem the flow of anger which threatened to over flow and spew forth onto the self-righteous sister before her.

     

    "If you want to save yourself the penance you so richly deserve you had better give me some very good reasons for your behaviour this morning.” As she considered a reply, suddenly things cleared in Lavinya's mind. Corin was not bonded, no, but he had made reference to being 'directed by a Green'. Sirayn was obviously that sister, and for some reason she was threatened by what had transpired between Corin and Lavinya. Interesting indeed.

     

    Anger made way for wry amusement and she lifted her chin, meeting the stone cold grey stare of Sirayn Sedai. "I must say I am intrigued as to why you have taken it upon yourself to chastise me, sister. Clearly I have unwittingly infringed a border set by you. I have my sincerest doubts that you have any true concern with the nature of my activities this morning. Rather, I believe it was my companion that interest, or indeed bothers, you more." Lavinya's eyes flashed once more in silent challenge. She would not cower and simper, regardless of what ties this woman held to her.

     

    It was a dangerous game, nipping the hand that fed you, and while Lavinya had never considered herself a fool, now she found it difficult to rein in her temper. She was a lonely woman at heart, virtually friendless in this tower she called home. Why should she be denied the simple pleasures that can be derived from a pleasant day with a wonderful man? Why was she expected to live a cloistered life, married to duty and the Tower? While she was loyal to her home and her sisters, she was still her own person, a woman who chafed at the shackles that held her bound - propriety and deference. So often she longed for simplicity once more. To be free from prying eyes and duty. She had felt free and enjoyed herself that morning, for the first time in a long time. She would not feel guilty for being a woman, burn her!

     

    "You are a woman who wraps mystery and intrigue about herself like a cloak, Sister." Lavinya toned, a whit of her anger clear in her harsh tone. "Do not be fooled into thinking I will continue to play that game. Tell me why you are so offended over my actions, and I shall deign to see if I cannot explain myself to you in a satisfactory manner." Folding hands in her lap once more, Lavinya levelled a steady gaze at Sirayn, for once weary of the games that seemed ensconsed in the White Tower. She had made what she hoped would be a lasting friendship with an admirable and witty man today - she would not allow that precious and rare tie be taken from her by a jealous Aes Sedai.

    _________________

    Lavinya

     

     

    A long and colourful life had taught Sirayn many truths. Dispute her views though some folk might, she had seen for herself how the world worked, and she knew with immovable certainty that all beautiful women were the same. Commonly she practised detachment to a heartless extent, but if there was anything that drove her up the wall it was shallow, gorgeous women who had received a stroke of luck they never earned and found themselves living a life of luxury and privilege as a result. Anything they wanted got served up to them on a plate, they were never required to show the least dedication or to dirty their fine hands by actually working, everything was simply a gift for having sultry eyes or whatever the fashion was this time. This lightskirt was clearly one such.

     

    Not only was this child incapable of keeping her legs together, apparently a common trait among youngsters newly come to the shawl, but she had somehow managed not to acquire an idea of what behaviour was suited for an Aes Sedai. The rigorous standards demanded of Aes Sedai were clearly either too complicated for her to comprehend or she simply believed they did not apply to her, that she could flutter those long lashes at anyone and get her way. Being able to flash some cleavage clearly made an excellent substitute for actually useful qualities like wit, intelligence and commitment. Everything about this disgrace incensed her to the limits of her hard earned composure. Of course she herself had been taught better than to resort to a good slapping, even behind closed doors, but she found herself definitely tempted to damage those shallow looks a bit.

     

    No. Sisters of her age and standing represented the Tower. She conducted herself with the dignity required by her station, even if witless children like this one had seemingly not heard of either dignity or station, she did not intend to lower herself to the same level. She took some time to smooth out her tones to the clearness of glass, her features set composed as ever, not a hint of feeling to be seen anywhere about her. Inwardly she still fulminated. Had anyone had open access to her thoughts at that point they would undoubtedly have been shocked; although many had forgotten it by now, she had originally been a bastard child and a nobody, and she still possessed a colourful range of language when the mood took her. Fortunately her inner thoughts were veiled. On the outside, thanks be to centuries of schooling, she remained impassive as a statue graven from stone.

     

    “I do not make a practice of explaining myself to the likes of you any more than I would disgrace my Ajah by behaving like a tavern maid in public.” How dare this child demand that she explain herself? “Apparently you do not believe yourself bound by the same standards that govern the other thousands of Aes Sedai … as to why I shall not inquire, although perhaps you think that anyone who might have the temerity to expect you to obey the same rules as we do will be so mesmerised by your cleavage that they will become your obedient slave instead. I can assure you, little sister, I am not at all entranced by any part of you. I have seen the likes of you before.” This wretch reminded her of nobody so sharply as her cousin, who of course had perished in questionable circumstances. Let it not be said that the Battle Ajah did not cut back dead wood.

     

    “Clearly you cannot survive without somebody to warm your bed, their identity being irrelevant compared to having the correct anatomy, and I find it discouraging that any Aes Sedai should be so …” she picked her words with relentless precision, “weak. If you had any wit or intelligence you would use that instead of lowering yourself in this manner. Lightskirts and fools use what they keep between their legs; all others, including anyone with a shred of cleverness or worth, use what they have in their heads. Therefore I can only conclude that when your looks desert you, you will be reduced to nothing. Such a shame.” How this pup had ever made it to the shawl passed her by completely. The real shame was that they were not both members of the same Ajah; had she had direct command over this wretch, rather than the indirect authority of all elders, she would have done something far more drastic.

     

    “If you are incapable of understanding that the rules apply to you as well I will summarise for your benefit. It is, after all, extremely simple. Exercise some discretion … that of a four-year-old child would be a welcome addition in your circumstances … and a little intelligence would also be a bonus. Too many syllables? Let me clarify once more.” There was something infinitely satisfying about a round of good, old-fashioned abuse. She might be plain and drab and taciturn, everything this painted strumpet was not, but she did at least have a mind like a steel trap. “Keep your hands to yourself in public. Don’t answer back. And do as you’re told.”

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Head of the Green Ajah

     

    Lavinya felt like screaming. Anger whirled at the cutting words, her fingers twitching slightly in her lap with the desire to lash out at the cold woman who would speak to her so. How dare she! Lavinya had been insulted before, even treated with disrespect many times, but the verbal abuse Sirayn slung at her was more than she could bear. This stony woman knew her no better than she would the newest initiate; yet she felt at liberty to presume much about Lavinya.

     

    Perhaps the worst part of the tirade was the effect it was having on the Gray. Wounds that were already raw and open from that morning were suddenly laden with salt. A lightskirt? Yes, she was. No, had been. Too much of what Sirayn said was true, and yet much was also so very, very wrong. No one knew the true Lavinya, the only one who had even come close had been Corin. Pain was causing tears to prick her eyes, adding to the mortification she felt. Was it not enough that this woman thought she was no better than a local prostitute, a terrible exaggeration to the truth, without disgracing herself by falling into a pathetic flurry of self-pitying tears?

     

    Why did the creator mock her so? Today she had met a man, a wonderful man. One who had made her smile, laugh, like she had not in many years. A man with whom she had felt comfortable enough to lower barriers she had spent a lifetime to erect, one who had taken hold of her hand and heart. She had been intoxicated by his kisses, it was true; but she had not used any of the tricks to lure him that were her cultural heritage. The only thing that she had done was be true to herself. And now, on top of all the confusion and hurt she had endured at the discovery, this...crippled, bitter, Green put two and two together and resulted with a damning dozen. The creator was cruel, giving her a glimpse of a warmer future, before snatching it away and mocking her loneliness.

     

    "You don't know me at all!" The words escaped as a hiss as Lavinya fought a losing battle to maintain her composure, the only thing left to allow her any dignity at all. No one knew her. It even seemed Corin didn't want to know any more. Friends, he had said. Everyone was so quick to judge and abuse Lavinya. Why? Why couldn't she just once be the one that found happiness, love. Why couldn't she receive praise over scorn? Lavinya did not want to fight any more, did not want to be the cold, lonely Aes Sedai who thought only of herself.

     

    In a horrendously embarrassing moment, Lavinya lost control and a sob escaped as the first of her tears spilled over onto her cheek. It was as though a damn had burst, and suddenly for the second time that day Lavinya wept openly, this time however there were no strong arms to offer comfort, to kiss the tears away. And if Sirayn had her way, there never would be someone to take that place, at least not Corin. Maybe she was just as Sirayn Sedai said - a worthless, foolish, lightskirt, that would soon be nothing.

     

    The thought was so utterly depressing that another wave of sobs shook her small frame and she buried her head into her hands, crying for the light she would never have shine into her life. Let the woman tear her apart all she wanted; Lavinya was already a hopelessly broken wretch, getting what she clearly deserved. Light, how much this one chance meeting had been able to change her view. If only...no, dreaming of what would never be was as foolish as believing Corin could truly rescue her from herself.

     

    Lavinya

    One hell of a mess.

    _________________

     

     

    One moment she had been poised for blood on the walls, serene in the knowledge that she had struck a much-needed blow for the Tower’s reputation, the next moment her victim inexplicably began to sob. Startled into frowning, Sirayn spared a moment to puzzle over the benefits of being able to crumple in tears on demand, but as the lightskirt wept all the harder something about the pitch and intensity of the sobbing called up memories … in the dark, hiding from everything, not knowing how she could ever live with shame like this … and she couldn’t convince herself it was feigned any longer.

     

    It made her uncomfortable. Aes Sedai should not weep. Tower tradition stronger and older than law dictated that as far as other people were concerned Aes Sedai had no feelings at all. The sight of a fellow sister in tears disturbed her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on; she should not be faced with this within the white walls themselves, it just didn’t fit. She didn’t even know this woman. A lifetime’s ice cold practice of Daes Dae’mar told her to take this unexpected prize, a glimpse of somebody else’s weakness, but for some reason she remembered her daughter -- a tiny warm weight in her arms -- and all of a sudden she lost her appetite for taking people apart.

     

    She hadn’t realised that her tirade would upset a fellow Aes Sedai. In hindsight she couldn’t figure out why; she had meant to give offence, she had even wanted to, she had known that most people would be outraged and possibly hurt by her insults. It just hadn’t quite clicked with her that she might be successful. Half startled still, half guilty, she lifted a hand as if to touch the other woman, then dropped it quickly, embarrassed by her own stupid instincts. Aes Sedai should not give comfort. She didn’t even know how. It would be useless to try. She should just sit tight, wait for this fool to stop crying, then think of something suitably cutting to say to show that she didn’t give a damn about anybody’s tears. Anyone else would have done the same. Even to her little girl.

     

    Later she didn’t know what thoughts had linked themselves into a chain in the depths of her mind to make her move even when she knew she shouldn’t. One moment she was sitting tensely, wishing she had never opened her mouth, the next moment she was beside Lavinya as though someone had pulled her strings like a puppet. One arm slipped round the small shoulders to pull her close and she stroked the soft red curls with her free hand. “Hush, it’s all right.” She kept the words to a low murmur, gentle with touch and words, as if even a stupid useless failure like her could soothe the tears away. And for a moment she closed her eyes, her cheek against a stranger’s sweetly scented hair, and pretended it was somebody else she held.

     

    It wasn’t her daughter. It would never be her daughter. Lyssa didn’t even want anything to do with her and comforting somebody else as if it might get her forgiveness somehow, as if it could make up for not being a proper mother, was futile. Only she felt a little bit better just to hold somebody again. Had the Danveer boy felt the same? Did everybody need somebody weaker than them before they could be content with themselves? Bleak thoughts. She whispered nonsense to the young Aes Sedai and told herself she could do this with her little daughter any time she wanted.

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Retro Head of the Green Ajah

     

    It took several moments for it to register in Lavinya's mind that the arms encircling her were not, indeed, her imagination. How had it happened? One moment she was being berated like a child caught with their hand in a sweets sack, the next she was being embraced and soothed. Was it a calculated act? Did Sirayn seek to disarm her, by showing her feigned caring? Or was the concern and comfort in that voice turned gentle genuine? Lavinya tried hard to regain her composure, though it was proving difficult. How long had she yearned to find such comfort freely given? Granted, it was in the last place she'd imagined that she now found it, but for that moment, she could almost convince herself that the Green actually cared about her emotional well-being. And that was disconcerting.

     

    How long they stayed thus, Lavinya could not say; but inevitably there comes a time where tears are stemmed, and lucidity returns. For Lavinya, it brought a fresh wave of humiliation and unease. What was she doing, indulging herself in comfort given out of politeness, leaning into the embrace and lapping up the warmth like a flower starved of sunlight? She was Aes Sedai; a grown woman who was strong and independent in her own right. A breakdown like this must be just what Sirayn had wanted, a clear opening into her vulnerability from where she could tear her to shreds.

     

    Blushing hotly, Lavinya sniffed quietly, lifting her head from where she had allowed it to rest against the small frame of her better. She must look an awful sight, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained and salty, a far cry from the impeccable, defiant Aes Sedai who had entered the room so haughtily. She was pathetic. Unable to meet the piercing gaze of her would-be chastiser, Lavinya wiped delicately at her moist cheeks. "I apologise for my outburst." She managed between clenched teeth as she desperately sought outward composure. Light, she had come, fully intending to throw Sirayn's words back in her face, and here she was apologising! This was not the way it was supposed to be, knowing one's own vulnerabilities should make one stronger, not a snivelling disgrace to her shawl.

     

    It had been so long since she held anyone that she had forgotten how it felt. The child felt heavy and warm against her, head against her shoulder and she stroked the soft red hair with a careful hand, touched by an obscure fear that she might just wake up and the child would vanish. She didn’t want that; she hadn’t felt secure with another person touching her for a long time, but this felt … fine, she felt … safe. Nothing hurt, nothing had scared her. Perhaps it didn’t count if the other party was young and needed her.

     

    Eventually, once she had stored up a small precious memory, the tears stopped. She loosened her grip on the child and braced herself for the inevitable round of confusion and miscommunication; in her personal experience everything tended to go wrong as soon as somebody opened their mouth. After their earlier row she had half expected the child to come out all barrels firing, but instead, the younger Aes Sedai merely apologised, although through gritted teeth.

     

    Frankly she didn’t know what to say. Should she apologise too? Had she overstepped the mark in comforting a strange Aes Sedai? Well, she never apologised if she could help it and she’d be damned if she’d start now. “I should think so too, young lady. I am shocked and appalled.” Her tone remained low and steady, even gentle, though on consideration possibly she was taking a bit of a risk by making a joke of this. She wanted to touch again; she missed the contact. It was a stupid thought, one which she stamped on. “Shocked, I say. I shall endeavour not to let you darken my door again if it leads to fits of the waterworks.” Very carefully, pretending she wasn’t doing it, she continued to stroke the child’s hair.

     

    Some of Lavinya’s earlier fire rose to the surface at the low pitched comment and she lifted her head, a sharp retort already coming to mind. Yet something made her stop the words before they could leave her lips. Was…was she jesting? Surely not, there were few enough Aes Sedai who liked to admit they had a sense of humour, let alone Sirayn Simeone. The tone of voice was entirely different now to the tirade she had endured before. A tiny smile tugged at her lip. It was an absurd situation, to be sure. Lavinya had been well blessed with a wicked sense of humour; it was just hard to imagine Sirayn herself caught with mirth.

     

    It was ironic; the last thing Lavinya had ever wanted was to be weak in front of another, and breaking down in tears was clearly disastrous. Yet somehow it had served to perfectly diffuse the tension that had thrummed between the two earlier. Awkwardness remained, yes; though Lavinya was attributing it more to the completely unusual situation she now found herself in, rather than anything else. The gentle touch on her hair was not going unnoticed, but nor did Lavinya wish it to end. Truth be told, it was one of the few touches Lavinya had experienced that brought such a sweet, homely warmth, like that a mother might bring to a child. It was a far cry from the amorous embraces she usually sought, and at once entirely more satisfying. She was loath to break the moment, but did not know what else to do. Perhaps in following Sirayn’s lead, would she find escape, though Lavinya was also unsure as to whether that was what she wanted.

     

    “I assure you it is not something which I would wish to grow to a habit.” Lavinya returned what she hoped had been humour; if not, no doubt the older sister would soon be tearing strips off her once more. Would she continue to chasten, while stroking her hair so? It was hard to think in the straight manner she needed to. The softness was disarming, dangerous. And simply nice. “In fact, I would rather not darken your door in such a manner that provoked tears.” Again her lips twitched slightly on her suppressed smile as she lightly toyed with the silk of her skirts, daring not to move too far away lest she break the serene spell.

     

    Nobody moved away, or shouted at her or anything, so she relaxed a little bit and continued to stroke the red hair. This had to be the stupidest idea she had ever had in her life -- another Aes Sedai, good Light, she wasn’t even supposed to speak to one in a friendly way, let alone give the impression that something other than the incarnation of a glacier lurked under this ageless face -- but she kind of liked it. She had always wanted to hold her daughter in her lap like anybody else. Surely nobody would think the less of a mother for holding her child.

     

    It was on the tip of her tongue to say that reducing people to tears was her favourite pastime, children could come crying to her any time, but she thought it untrue given her occasional but fixed hatred of sentimentality. Instead the corner of her mouth turned upward, just a little, in half an answering smile. She ought not to be doing this, she really did know better, she had raked Corin bloody Danveer over the coals for operating some kind of illicit Aes Sedai harem … but she hadn’t even done anything, just comforted a crying girl and was that so wrong?

     

    She added awe-inspiring hypocrisy to her carefully maintained inner list of faults. “Good plan, young lady.” She fixed the child with a deceptively stern look. “You will have to find yourself another Aes Sedai to cry on. I suggest advertising. Possibly a round of interviews before the final selection. Perhaps even a practical test.”

     

    There was nothing else for it; Lavinya let out a soft, tinkling laugh as she swiped ineffectually once more at her damp cheeks. If he had ever imagined she could avoid trouble with tears she would have done it more often, Light knows it could have helped her plenty as a novice. “I don’t imagine it would be easy to find a reliable shoulder to cry on, in this day and age. Though just picturing the reactions practical tests may bring is almost tempting me to try.” Lavinya flashed a smile at Sirayn, the mood of only moments ago completely changed. What the change signified, she did not know, but she liked it. It was almost comfortable. This was what girlfriends did, wasn’t it? They chatted, they cried, they joked, and in the end they both laughed at the hapless man?

     

    Ahh Corin. Lavinya briefly wondered if he realised just what he had done that day, in kissing her. Lavinya herself wasn’t entirely sure at the change in her, but she could well feel it. She was freer, somehow. Truer, maybe. Not just a façade to match that of the other Aes Sedai, but actually experiencing emotion and showing it. Not just emotion, vulnerability. It was terrifying and at once exhilarating.  And strangely enough, she did not feel exposed – not her, not now. Sirayn did not have a reputation for making people feel safe, so it was most bizarre. The question was, how long would it last? Would it end once she was alone once more? Or when the tongue-lashing began anew? Hard to say, at the moment it looked like any displeasure was far behind her.

     

    When she had come to yearn for anyone else’s approval, Lavinya didn’t know; but under the gentle touch of Sirayn’s hand, she remembered the secret pride at being chosen. And with it came the tiniest hint of guilt. Sirayn had put a certain amount of faith into Lavinya; it was natural for her to be irate at seeing Lavinya supposedly dallying with a man of the guard. That was not what it was deep down, but it did not show the discipline of one worthy of the Order of the Rose. And Lavinya did not want to lose the foothold it had given her. She should swallow her pride and apologise, yet like a child reluctant for a switching, she did not want to renew the heated discussion from before her humiliating breakdown. Nor did she ever want to see the hand that ever so gently stroked her hair, ever raised in violence against her. A conundrum, to be sure.

     

    “I’m afraid the natural course of action is to continue with the shoulder I already have.” She murmured softly, lowering her gaze with an almost shy smile.

     

    Having a pretty girl smile at her for no other reason than that she had been amusing was kind of incredible. She actually didn’t know how to respond; she had forgotten many of the tricks ordinary people took for granted, such as how to carry on a conversation with no ulterior motive at all, or how not to look embarrassingly desperate for any kind of human contact. So she ventured another smile, that had seemed to work earlier, and just kept stroking her head; a small gentle movement, fingertips against the long plane of her throat, trying not to think too much.

     

    She ought not to feel so pleased with herself that the child would rather stay with her. “I suppose I could be a martyr to the cause if absolutely necessary,” Sirayn informed her in a tone of great seriousness, thinking how amazing this people thing was when it worked, how much of her constant, unremarked loneliness had just gone away. It probably wasn’t safe. It definitely wasn’t smart. It just felt good.

     

    “So, young lady.” Now she felt doubly jealous at the thought of this girl practically having it off with Corin bloody Danveer in broad daylight before a horrified audience. She resisted the urge to repeat, in less offensive but no less forceful tones, everything she had been saying before. “I imagine you have already worked out that you have accidentally uncovered one of my agents. One whom I have been teaching for some time. But,” she did her best to stay relaxed, to keep her voice even, “it really is none of my business whom either of you conduct your dalliances with.”

     

    None of her business. She hadn’t even asked for the boy to follow her round like an oversized puppy anyway; it was in her instincts to control everything, she ought not to let that instinct rule her. “Just … keep it behind closed doors. Yes?” She smoothed down a stray curl.

     

    Sirayn & Lavinya

  16. Not much, no. This one Dreadlord ran a suicide mission into the Tower which ended up causing some moderate structural damage to, er, fairly central locations (as well as burning out the Amyrlin and killing the Keeper). So there are parts of the Tower internally which are still being repaired. Apart from that, the only changes are psychological ... for now. :P

     

     

  17. That won't be a problem. It's actually better, I should think, since the character's relative youth would account for why she doesn't know the other current Aes Sedai. I'll just notify the other staff. :D

     

    Current affairs: in the aftermath of Dumai's Wells, the Amyrlin & Keeper have just perished in a Dreadlord attack on the Tower, leaving one Sirayn (gulp) to take over; the White Tower forces are engaged in a war to take back Kandor from the Shadow; the Aiel hold Cairhien; and ... we're all feeling very paranoid!

  18. A small pool of soft light broke the unrelenting blackness that normally filled the room at this hour. The dance of a single flame set the shadows in a sinuous dance to the sound of a pen scritching over the plain parchment. In another place or time the movements of the shadows might have even been called erotic. But the lone occupant that maned the pen had no time for such thoughts or dreams of such trivial contact. An innocence lost to that flash of heat and carnal imagery of the mind had seized him once in a moment of weakness. It would not happen again. For all the challenges he had endured in the name of trying to win back his place. He had succeeded only in drawing others into the world of suffering and isolation that was his price to pay for inadequacies. Too many times now he had played the fool, stepped up to the table for the game with the knowledge he held the winning hand. A knowledge born and fostered in a lie and of a lie. He was no match for the decades of experience and wisdom that flowed through her veins. How could he; a mere boy, a child chasing after a wild stallion with the purest of bloodlines. Only a self blinded fool would not see the stallion was far outside his own abilities and understandings. Pity, pity for a foolish boy with thoughts of grandeur was what had been bestowed upon him then. Pity that had limited patience even for a boy as simple minded as himself. Patience that he had worn thin with his games and trivial attempts.

     

    Thus the pen continued it's movements in flowing forms across the parchments surface trailing a line of liquid black like the blood of the shadow itself. Blood that tried to bind him and pull him from lights path; to remove her from the world that needed her wisdom so desperately. The more he had tried the less he had succeeded and the further they had drifted. Perhaps if it was this, just a single flow of black over the cream white parchment. Perhaps taken back to one of it's more basic forms would allow her to speak to him once more as she had. Remove the tricks and traps and foolish idea's his mind harbored and bring him back to a state where he could fully express everything to her. Isolated from ageless face and penetrating eyes. Through the broken flow of ink they might find once more a common place in which to build back from the depths he had singlehandedly taken them. Shadows continued their dance over table and wall, but in silence now as the strong hand of a soldier placed the quill lightly in it's stand. The yard had changed much about him. Soft thin hands of a boy had thicken; callouses from the hours at work with the sword and bow now marred there one time smooth soft surface. Strength born from continued use in training had broadened them and created tools for the use of a soldier. He was no longer a boy, a child playing at the games of adults. He was a man with lives under his watch and command. The petty desires of a child had to be put aside and the duty of a man brought forward. But even the oldest and wisest of men still have the boy at heart.

     

     

    Dearest Mother,

     

    It seems like an eternity since we last traded the flow of dark color in broken and simple flows for a purpose other then that of our calling. It is not as if we have run out of games or ways of this age to deal in. But simply that an unforeseen twilight has over shadowed that which we originally sought to prepare for the coming times. Each has had a purpose and goal that directed the movements and choices that have passed between us; neither truly comprehending the other. This I believe is the root at what has placed us at the points of the pattern we presently stand. Unfortunate in it's coming. A far different future I has foreseen.

     

    When the ashes are sifted and the final pieces pulled from the ruble that had once been a mutually beneficial future I pray to the good of the Light that we are not left to morn that which might have become. Troubled times are in the future of this Age though to you I need not preach the prophecy. You have a busy and trying time ahead with little time to spare on matters of triviality such as has been created from these misplaced steps. At one time you saw a future; a use when others did not have the time to even look. That use still exists, do not abandon all hope for it yet. We can still rob the gave of it's cold embrace and breath life back into that which you had the fortitude to envision so long ago.

     

    Though the flow of this ink over parchment so common may offer little to those who's eyes need not see. I know in the end that your skills will deduce the origin of this missive you now find in your grip. Consider it an open invitation to further confer that which was, that which is, and that which the wheel may still hold for us all. I stand ready and willing to follow your lead in this matter. Should word or note from you find me in regards to what you now posses I will welcome the terms you set out for this exchange. Tear does not hold the only stone in the world, but the White Tower does hold Lights only hope. If silence is all that finds me from this offering then I shall accept that as your answer and let what might have been be that of smoke.

     

    Sincerely,

     

     

    His eyes traveled back over the letter studying every loop and slant. They did not see words as they pasted over the parchment following the black trail. They were intent on their study of his hand and it's match to a writing intimately familiar with his mind. Years of study and practice had taken a need and turned it into a fine tool of trade. His hand at forgery had become exceptional and the years of service to the Tower and Sirayn had given him ample examples of her writing in which to study. It would take a trained eye and a great deal of study to detect it's lack of authenticity. But even then it would still not tie to him beyond simple suspicion. The benefit was in the delivery. If for any reason the letter fell in to the hands of someone other then the attended or for that matter eyes other then hers. It would offer nothing in the way of true information in word or technique. A confusing letter to the Amrylin from the Amrylin. Perhaps confusing enough for others to believe it a test of loyalty if it's arrival was compromised. But he had plans for that as well.

     

    His eyes took one more pass over the parchment and stayed in contemplation on the signature. He was not about to sign her name; unsure how she would react to seeing her own hand in the writing never mind her own signature. This was a judgment on the side of caution. So in it's stead he had drawn out the tree and crown from her signet ring as best as he could remember. Having never seen her draw the sigal, he was at a disadvantage as to how she might. This was the one and only part of the letter that might not look entirely like her hand. But from the studies he had done, it should be close enough for the average eye. Their focus would be more on the body of the letter anyway.

     

    Rising from the table, Corin collected his red cloak and fastened it upon his shoulders. The solitary candle light glinted off the polished gold clasp and reflected in the mirror above the desk. The cloak in the dim light seems to float below a disembodied head. He had dressed in black woolens from head to toe to help avoid the eyes notice. But should he find attention in someone's gaze, it would be the cloak of the guard that would get him free from too much scrutiny; or that was his hope. Folding the letter carefully he collected the stick of ebony sealing wax and warmed it over the candles flame briefly before pressing it to paper. The side of a dagger finishing it to a smooth unmarred surface. There would be no mark in wax to trace it's origin but he knew she would figure out the clues he left her.

     

    Slipping the folded missive into his shirt he extinguished the candle flame between dampened finger and thumb before stepping out into the moonless sky. This night had been chosen for it's light less sky save that of the million pin pricks that danced above the sleepy city. Swift purposeful steps lead him through the slumbering yard; momentary words with a foot patrol adding only a slight delay in which to offer grumbled words about summons to the Tower at such an hour.

     

    The Tower corridors themselves remained quiet and vacant for the most part. Occasionally a sister passed through their spacious passages. But soft leather boots and a keen ear kept him in the shadows and servant passageways out of sight. The servants passageways offered a blessing to both the Tower occupants, in the unobserved passing of servants throughout the Tower, and Corin for his journey to the Amrylin's room. He had remembered her room fondly from his audiences with her in the Green Quarters during his service. It would be interesting to see if her taste and decor had changed since her ascension; something he would, for the most part, not have the opportunity to take in. If she indeed was in her room asleep then the moment his hand pressed to her door she would be stirring. That he was sure of. If she was not then it would be a gamble as to when she would return. To be caught in her room would be suicide for any hope he had in this letter.

     

    The passage through the tower to her door had gone well though it was far from without incident. The greatest blessing so far was that none of these happenstances had reviled his presence to any of the Tower occupants. Drawing a deep and calming breath Corin embraced the void and stilled himself at the door for a moment to ensure he could hear no movement inside; closed his eyes to adjust them to the darkness within. There still remained the chance she could be awake in her room with guests, the sound shielded off from those outside. But some caution was better then none and it was all he had. Preparing himself mentally he slipped the latch from it's bedding and swept into the room. Eyes adjusted quickly to the deep darkness of the room, enough to guide him to the table. Placing the letter quickly in it's center and a small wooden heart on top he wheeled on heel and swept from the room with haste; the door latch sealing the room from him again with barely a sound. There was a chance that she might search the immediate hall as well so he moved quickly on soft leather boots using the shadows between the pools of light. If she caught him in the Tower dressed as he was she would have him locked up and watched for sure. Slipping back into the servants passageway he narrowly adverted running into the back of an older man slowly plodding down the steps polishing cloth in hand.

     

    It took far longer to safely exit the Tower then it did to make his way to her room. But anonymity was far more important on his leaving then the arrival had been. Only after a thorough search of his room and the trips he had placed to indicate if anyone had entered while he was away did his head finally rest on the pillow. But sleep did not find him quickly as anticipation keep his mind reeling with the many possibilities this latest play may produce.

    _________________

    Corin Danveer

    Tower Guard

    Tied to the Flame

     

    Sirayn Damodred had reached the final conclusion that she just did not understand people.

     

    She had built her life on immovable foundations. She did not change her opinions. She did not betray her vows -- only the one meant anything to her and she meant to stand by it until the skies turned to dust. She did not give her affection lightly, nor, once she had done so, did she take it back without good reason. She acted rationally and consistently as far as she could. Not everybody followed her internal logic, but until she worked out how to forcibly insert an ounce of common sense into every empty skull she came across, she had resigned herself to drawing clear and logical conclusions by herself.

     

    So she did not understand the unpredictability, the stupidity and moronic behaviour a clutch of dribbling idiots inflicted on her on a regular basis. She most certainly did not understand what insanity possessed someone to break into her quarters at the dead of night like a robber … to invite her to discuss their future together! Had it not occurred to the wretched man that requests for reconciliation should be delivered by, say, a passing novice rather than by demonstrating the very height of disrespect, discourtesy and inconvenience to all involved? Had he never thought that a grovelling apology or even a word, one single word of explanation for his random, murderous behaviour might be better suited to the situation than a rambling letter attributing their interpersonal problems to misunderstanding rather than psychotic violence? Perhaps he thought that she found his mindless aggression in some way impressive. She could see no other reason and frankly she had run out of patience.

     

    Not only did she not understand people, she did not want to. She had had her fill of liars and traitors, fools and lunatics, lightskirts and halfwits, murderers, blackmailers and sadists and the teeming masses of every stripe. She had been duped by Seiaman for so long due to her pathetic, useless need for affection and she counted that among the worst mistakes of her life -- she’d be damned if she’d do the same to a man this poisonous.

     

    Master Danveer,

     

    Let me give you some advice as a former tutor to a former student.

     

    Your skills at deception are extremely poor. This pains me greatly. I personally taught you to lie better than this and I dislike seeing somebody misuse my teachings. Had I set this as a field test, you would have failed it so hugely, so resoundingly that the verdict of FAIL would be bouncing off the stars even now. Even more unsatisfactory, you have failed for no good reason.

     

    It is clear that no cohesive plan lies behind this hazardous little enterprise. I see no conceivable reason which would account for your farcically aggressive and unstable behaviour; I can only conclude that not even you know why you swing from homicide to sobbing submission at the spin of a coin. In short, you are psychologically unbalanced and I have neither time nor incentive to rewire your brain in a more satisfactory fashion. I suggest that it would be the better for both of us if our association came to an end -- before I regret showing lenience toward my would-be murderer.

     

    If in future you find a person who is intellectually limited enough to tolerate you, may I suggest that if you wish to kill her you do so in a competent manner, and if you wish to ally with her you restrain your outbreaks of mindless violence?

     

    Polite regards,

     

    Sirayn Damodred

    Amyrlin Seat

  19. Kneeling on the ground, Aran knew he was early by a good while and that Sirayn would only arrive at the very moment she was required.  But, it did give him time to prepare himself, that much was important because today he had been faced with a number of choices, this was one of them.  The training of Sirayn had persisted even after she had become Amyrlin, she might have gained status but a spill to the Hall would have been just as decisively disastrous if not more so.  The example of Karana was still in the memories of those in the Tower and the Hall would not look kindly on the Amyrlin having ever dealt in Forkroot and having brought it into the Tower, whether she'd gotten rid of it or not.

     

    Still, Aran was glad that they had achieved some progress.  As reluctant a student as Sirayn had been, ever since he had released her from grappling instruction, she'd been a tad more pliable because working with daggers was better than the alternative.  That and given time, she had to pick up some things and that she did.  Of course, losing an hour from her day as an Amyrlin didn't help her temper much, but Aran was determined that after everything he'd gone through, and put her through for that matter, some good had to come of it to justify it.  Not exactly the best motive, but it suited as much as a couple of the others that had persisted the entire time.  There was always the chance that she could change after all, given the right pressure.

     

    But, today there would be no training, it was a way to help engender a bit of unwitting good will from her and besides which he had other things to focus on.  Tomorrow, he would leave for Cairhien and meet with his brother.  When his brother called, he would go and would do so regardless of consequences, especially when things were so dire with the Aiel occupation of his homeland.  Brand had already given permission for his leave, under the impression that Aran was going to visit a dying relative and then bury them.  He'd been as vague as possible and Brand knew better than to pry, it had been hard enough for Brand to convince Aran to really test himself in a duel and reveal his ability, he certainly wasn't going to try prying into something that personal.

     

    So, Aran waited, hands on his lap as he stayed there, straight backed and focused inward while outwardly aware.  Eventually Sirayn would arrive, then they could have their discussion.

     

    It struck her as a kind of black irony that even in the hour of her so-called triumph, when she should have been satisfied with her own achievements and ready for a new challenge, some crazed psychopath popped up to poison everything. She had an entire stupid, stupid world to save from the consequences of its own idiocy -- of course the Dragon Reborn would solve everything, a frothing-at-the-mouth rabid teenager who seemed to have hired a whole new breed of Dreadlord and went around invading countries at random, that was clearly a recipe for success -- a near-broken Tower to push forward, even the Black Ajah to hunt and kill … but instead of doing any of the above, she had to waste her priceless time being ordered around by a complete stranger who seemed to veer between his Murderous Darkfriend and Patronising Darkfriend personalities at random.

     

    Having no interest in whatever worthless exercises he was supposedly trying to teach her, and indeed taking pleasure in expressing this, she had spent her entire time failing everything as badly as possible. She stumbled, she misunderstood and mishandled and misapplied, she took care to forget everything from last time as soon as she arrived; it didn’t take much effort to be clumsy, considering she was always wrong-handed, but she aspired to reach new heights of failure. She had even contrived to drop her dagger once or twice, although the ghostly tones of her long-past instructor dripped sarcasm in her memory. She firmly hoped that she was the worst student in the history of creation. And she had every intention that when she finally got shot of the Darkfriend she would get rid of every dagger and knife she owned -- even the special ones, given to her by friends or family, the ones she remembered and treasured. This shameful little episode had demonstrated, as she did not doubt it had been meant to, that she was crippled and useless and might as well give up what she couldn’t put to good use.

     

    Given their long lives, Aes Sedai did not normally retire until they were even older than her, and on cold mornings she felt very old indeed. Certainly she had no intention of retiring any time soon. But she knew that a part of her life was over, probably for good, and her son had ended it deliberately when he took her good left hand. A cripple and a coward couldn’t be a soldier. She had lost too much of her competence and her confidence. She still had other tools -- her intelligence, her cunning and her determination -- but she expected she would never take the field again. If anything she would be a danger to herself and others and a liability to her beloved former Ajah. Perhaps it was as well that the Darkfriend had shown her how weak she was.

     

    Never let it be said that the Amyrlin Seat had anything better to do than serve the whims of a psychotic Darkfriend; ashamed, infuriated and apprehensive in equal measure, as normal, she went to see the madman.

     

    Hearing Sirayn enter, Aran opened his eyes and looked up at her.  While the stole was something he was never going to become used to, the look on her face was certainly familiar.  Dripping with resentment, hate, fear because of how he knew her yet because she couldn't understand him.  Brand him and justify her hatred perhaps, but her inability to perceive his motive, or rather accept it, left her unbalanced all the more unhappy with his presense anywhere in her life.  Well, she was going to be ecstatic, never let it be said that he never gave her a moment of happiness, even if she would quash it just so she could return to her favoured state of miserable.

     

    "Well, seeing as you're an Amyrlin it would probably be unseemly for you to laugh in elated joy, clap your hands and do a little jig, so don't worry my imagination will fill in the blanks while you just do cartwheels on the inside.  I depart tomorrow and I'll be gone for a time, during which you're to continue to working on your dagger." Noting the effect his news had, Aran added.  "And try not to impale yourself while I'm gone, while Amyrlins have been coming and going the past few years I'd rather you didn't go and put much teaching to that much shame."

     

    Her eyes narrowed; she did not smile, much though he seemed to anticipate it, because naturally enough she didn’t believe it. He’d made all sorts of grand promises in the past and followed through with none of them so why he thought she’d buy this one she didn’t know. How many times did she have to demonstrate that she didn’t believe a word he said before he stopped making these stupid jibes? “Funny. I suppose this is like the last time -- you offer to leave me alone for a while if I do something … on the strict understanding that even if I fall for your little joke, a source of hilarity all round I’m sure, you certainly won’t hold up your end.”

     

    "Its a good thing you're an Amyrlin or I swear the Yellows would confine you and there are some days I think they should.  This isn't an offer, I'm telling you, I will be gone for a time.  I am thinking perhaps a couple of weeks, maybe a month.  You're to continue practice without me"  Aran stood.  "And considering your persistent attempts to weasal out of our bargain, you're lucky I haven't branded you black and just reported you."  Normally she didn't get under his skin, and she hadn't, but her childish persistence in her stupidity was beginning to wear, even if she couldn't help it.

     

    She had endured enough genuine shame and terror that the threat of being labelled Black Ajah raised not a flicker of apprehension; it would take her thirty seconds with the Oath Rod to disprove any such accusation. The only part of interest was that it finally confirmed her assumption … that he was an agent of the Black Ajah. Not that it mattered much; one lying, murderous piece of Darkfriend scum was much like another. She did find it mildly amusing that a blackmailing psychopath who liked killing people’s children pretended to be all offended by her resistance, but mild was as far as it went, since it was in fact her daughter whose life was on the line.

     

    “Sure you’re leaving. Just like those were genuine offers. You might blackmail people and threaten their families but you’d never, ever lie.” As soon as he left she intended to get rid of the damn daggers and never touch another one in her life. Then she would learn the Flame and the Void. She would never have to fear again, never be a coward, never wait shaking on the inside while some Darkfriend put his filthy hands on her. “But do continue, you haven’t even threatened to kill my family yet so you can’t be finished.”

     

    Rolling his eyes, Aran waved aside the comment with a contemptuous flick of his hand.  "Your inability to trust your own judgement to the point where you can't discern simple truth from your delusional grasp of reality will have to wait for another time.  Simple fact is that I will be gone, make sure you practice, and try not to get yourself into trouble."  Nothing left to add, Aran began walking for the door when he realised there was one final thing to mention, which he proceeded to do so over his shoulder as he made his way out.  "And do something about that look, if you were anymore severe you'd be a heart attack."  Maybe the pettiness of it would help distract her.

     

    She trusted her own judgement plenty. She had concluded that this person was a Darkfriend some time ago, based on the facts she had to hand, and her decision had been borne out at some length; she had, regretfully, realised that Seiaman Kera was a serial traitor and she couldn’t have ended up with any more proof for that if it had been stuffed through her letterbox. Maybe only Aramina had been harshly judged … and even then she didn’t feel much guilt for jumping to conclusions about the lover of a psychopathic Darkfriend.

     

    It appeared quite clear to her that yet again the Darkfriend was concocting some amusing little lie for his own entertainment, but she supposed she would find out tomorrow morning. The thought of finally, finally escaping him -- never ever having to show anyone her fear and shame again -- tempted her like nothing else but she crushed down that hope; no doubt he got a good laugh out of stupid gullible Aes Sedai. Ugly ones as well, she deduced from his parting comment. No matter; having the face that broke a thousand mirrors had probably protected her from her daughter’s fate. It was still early and she felt tired already, and old and inadequate, how she had ever ended up Amyrlin she didn’t know.

     

    The next morning, when he didn’t turn up, she followed her plan to the letter: she got rid of every dagger, even the rose-stamped ones from her mentee, even the one she had bought that last golden evening with Seiaman before Amiarin Lucif invaded their lives, and then she went to learn the Flame and the Void.

     

    Sirayn & Aran

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