The mirror reflected back only serene composure. An elegant white gown in keeping with the colour of the Tower’s cause she wore cut as conservatively as a Cairhienin: little wonder there considering the message her diminutive height and pale colouring told. Some lace at the wrists concealed her stump from the casual glance. She had never had much liking for lace in the past, too delicate and too flowery, but in the past months enough scornful looks and whispers had been directed her way to beat into her the necessity of covering up that disfigurement if she ever wanted the courage to leave her halls again. Fortunately the gossip had died down a bit. She had thought mortification to be an over played card until some novice asked her, in loud, carrying tones, if she had truly severed her own hand when the Blight corrupted it and bludgeoned somebody to death with it. In hindsight possibly her response had been a little severe …

Memories and regrets. Carelessly she twisted dark hair into a knot and pinned it back, somewhat hampered by not having the necessary number of hands for this task. If she hadn't accustomed herself to that lack by now she might as well give up. She had more or less mastered writing again, although she suspected she was always going to pick another medium for her scathing missives after the endless frustration she'd been through, but harder and rather more necessary gestures such as the intricate motions of weaving still eluded her on occasion ... not a secret she had confided in anybody lest they draw the obvious conclusion. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve and meant to display them before her career ended. An emerald green shawl she arranged about her shoulders, if others had to wear uniform it seemed only proper that they all suffer together, though she drew the line at full dress garb and campaign medals such as somebody had once proposed. It was an oaths ceremony not a bloody torture session.

Deneira l’Spada was the perpetrator of this particular offence. On their encounter the other day the child had seemed willing enough, if shackled by some curious refusal to improve herself, and though she had previously known little enough about her quarry she had made inquiries after this request came through. A prankster apparently, with no political allegiance and apparently no prospect of a career thereof, thus posing little interest to her; the folk around her all seemed to be equally unaffiliated Tower Guards. To her knowledge they inhabited an entirely different world free from such concerns as who was likely to turn double-crossing traitor next … but then they would doubtless think that she had it easy free as she was from repetitive drill and wall duty. And maybe they were right.

The sun sparked along glass and stone and metal while she crossed through the city toward her destination. Tar Valon thrummed around her caught in the grip of a day’s business; once she entered the glade the cool silence welcomed her in. Tall trees towered about them. A cool breeze filtered through the branches and the warmth, stirred about this calm place, and the stillness eased her tension somewhat. The new commander … and why there had been so many Commanders of the Tower Guard of late escaped her entirely … waited there; he presented an intimidating Borderlander front to the casual glance, but scarcely posed a problem to the likes of her, and Sirayn greeted him with a civil nod. Some reprobate of a Tower Guard with an insolent smile completed their assembly for the moment.

His greeting raised her dark brows a fraction: how did one respond? None of those present were players on the political scene, but it was difficult to remember how ordinary people spoke without the Great Game weighting the smallest word or gesture. "You are gracious, sir.†A cool response derived from courtesy seemed somewhat insufficient to the situation. Somebody had actually made an attempt to engage her in conversation, although possibly with an ulterior motive … and Light but this constant suspicion irritated her as much as anyone else … and it seemed harsh not to respond in kind. Humour was not her strong point: she made a cautious attempt at a rejoinder: “Those sideburns must have been the height of fashion in Paaran Disen. Had I known this was a fancy dress occasion I would have come prepared.â€

Gibberish covered a hundred papers scattered messily beneath her gaze. Corners curled, ink smudged and smeared, books lay half open across the desk: the Brown Ajah would certainly never have approved. In the past few minutes a curt hand had written over all those sheets in something that looked rather like the Old Tongue but differed in some crucial aspects ... enough to utterly confuse the unwary reader. If that code was half as intricate as she had designed it to be the only people who would be deciphering the contents of those letters were those in possession of a certain book, a certain symbol, enough tricks to figure it out. Briefly she examined the results of her hard work, compared it to something written several years beforehand. Nobody was going to make her as fluent a writer with her surviving hand as she had once been with her good left hand, back in the days when she had been a bit braver, but this would suffice.

Frustrating months she had worked on teaching herself how to write all over again. Drills after endless drills, practice in every spare moment, working herself to the point of tears; always she wound up asking herself how this was possible, how an Aes Sedai who was supposed to be perfect ended up one-handed and useless and her script about as legible as the scratching of chickens. Half of that period she could not write so much as a simple note to pass outside her quarters in case anyone caught sight of her witterings and figured out how much trouble she was actually having with a trick most novices had mastered. These days her writing was much smoother, good enough not to actually shame her if anyone saw it, and it was time to pick up correspondence with her eyes and ears again. Their densely written and informative reports had shaded toward worried queries during her long silence and doubtless that let anybody who intercepted their letters know too much.

Adequate writer again or no Sirayn classed herself as too busy an individual to trudge through a hundred different copies of the same letter. She had Ajah Head business to attend to, unruly children to discipline, and a watch to keep out of the window in case a certain dark haired Dreadlord turned up some day ... not that she ever had, thank the Light, and maybe it would be better to forget exactly what she had done to somebody wearing her face and her name. She needed a minion of some sort to do this repetitive, thankless task while she herself got busy doing something far more important; something that required her supervision; possibly something that involved cut-throat political business, she was feeling in a ruthless mood today. Making somebody suffer like a fish wriggling on a hook seemed a far more tempting prospect than writing any more.

Looking for prey she had scarcely exited her quarters when a likely looking boy sidled up to her. Sirayn fixed him with a severe grey glance. In her day people hadn't even dared to approach Aes Sedai without a stack of excuses and apologies already on their tongue ... although possibly her memory was skewed with time, she also remembered a good deal of insubordination. His excuses about having a package to deliver slipped off her like water off the proverbial duck's back. A likely story: trainees did not wander in and out of the Ajah Halls for innocent reasons. "Kaylan Sedai is far too busy for the likes of you, boy. Luckily I am not." Perfectly cool her tones rang like iron in the busy corridor; children in white skirts scurried up and down but none came within several feet of her. "Can you read and write?"

Taylie! *bear hug* Long time no see. :D

Will you be on AIM at work? I'll catch you. :)

ooc: I had such good intentions, but turns out this is the only post I got done on holiday. :D It's a long one!

Over the years and through all the harsh storms they had weathered together Sirayn had come to see her old rival in a number of different lights. At first she had resented the older woman for her fabulous beauty and charm, two skills granted seemingly at random which made life immeasurably easier, and coveted those qualities for herself; later she had held Dena in high regard, though as always secretive over her feelings, she kept most of that to herself; still later she had learnt her current bitter resentment that Jaydena had taken so effortlessly everything she wanted for herself. In the midst of her ever more intense jealousy and her determination to get the upper hand … complicated further by their messy Ajah Head contest which by luck and hard judgement she herself had won … she had lost sight of those strengths which had made Jaydena Mckanthur such a formidable friend many years ago.

Now watching the other woman pick up the pieces of her shattered looks amid shock and terrible grief, Sirayn glimpsed something which had long been hidden beneath paint and precision and delicate court ways … a layer of true Battle Ajah steel. It took a genuine soldier to pull herself together after a blow on such a scale; anyone could speak soft words and learn to nod one’s head at the right moment; only courage somewhere on the edge of madness could do this. It was this that she had initially come to like in her opponent, the cut-throat edge, not easy tricks like good looks and glamour. For a while she had come to think that Jaydena had lost that hard character somewhere along the way, lost her Green Ajah self amid luxuries like wine and pretty women, confused being a diplomat with extravagance and lack of restraint. This morning once again Sirayn recognised something better in her old opponent: and renewed her respect along the way.

Even through her injuries and suffering Jaydena had already figured that this matter needed to be held under tight silence. It smoothed her own path immensely and shaming though it was she had to admit to relief that she would not have to exert herself over much to bring this situation under control; if she had not gained that total and unquestioning co-operation from the battered Sitter … this scene might have turned messy. It was not unknown for her to have to argue the case of ruthless control in a crisis situation, always a difficult job, and she remembered a certain conversation with a certain Gaidin as an excellent example of how her iron strong sense of duty had led her into conflict before. She cared little for how cruel people thought her; that battle had long since been lost; but she would rather not be having that conversation all over again with the burnt and beaten woman who had once comforted her on the night of a friend’s death.

Swiftly she put up the requested ward, watched as Lwena Sedai drew warm blankets around her injured sister. If she had been easier with these people she might have done so herself, her instincts toward comfort were not yet so dead, but she would rather burn than be seen awkward where the Green Ajah needed nothing less than total authority. Instead she simply listened while Jaydena recounted her disturbing tale. Such innocuous beginnings to bring them to such a harsh pass; she herself had gone looking into that store room a thousand times, all of them had, none of them expected to wind up burnt black in an infirmary. Hopelessly as always when she knew children had been hurt she pictured Lyssa in their place and kept her composure only by an effort. One had been an aspirant. That should not touch her at all if she had any strength of her own. Burn her for thinking that maybe every child who came to the Green Ajah might be their future saviour.

How had a study into angreal brought them to this? Two children dead and one priceless Banner Captain struck down? It seemed so surreal. She knew the dangers back to front but they struck so rarely that she had imagined them safe. Angreal carried a lurking threat in them always, doubly so where they had only just arrived in the store room and not been fully examined by a thousand years’ study before them, and on occasions trouble broke out … but never in her life had she heard of such a violent reaction affecting so many people. Three sufferers, two incidents, one weave. It held the calculated look of a scheme. Yet suspicious though she counted herself she could not jump to conclusions; it made no sense for the Black Ajah to break in where they could go openly; had the two in whites gone looking where they should not? Half a hundred precautions ought to have protected them, wards and warnings among them, but children had high spirits and one could never be entirely certain that one’s charges were protected.

But how had that other weave come to be there … the burning weave which had struck Jaydena down as soon as she laid a hand on the necklace angreal from Namandar, that black weave which had brought them all here like flies trapped in a greater web? No angreal she had ever heard of could achieve that. Nor could the Black Ajah to the best of her knowledge and she had become rather closely acquainted with many of their tricks in far flung Tear. Frowning she immersed herself in thought while Lwena convinced her injured Sitter to rest. Her old rival had evidently already concluded that some malice lay behind this incident, that people did not get disfigured forever … and she rather suspected that was exactly what had happened … by accident, and by the suspicion in her tones the Yellow Sister had the same feeling, but Sirayn herself was not so certain.

It made no sense. The Black Ajah could enter any time they liked. For what reason would they strike down Accepted and lay traps everywhere? It only brought further attention to them and heightened the likelihood of their discovery. Even rattled by the closeness of this assault Sirayn had determined that much; the possibility of the Black Ajah being involved was close to zero … unless somebody had been careless. Maybe something had been let slip and those two had been cut down to stop them talking. But why leave traps all over the place? If the incident had merely needed containment the two deaths could have been passed off as an accident. If the intent had been to get at an Aes Sedai there were far more efficient ways to do so which did not involve the spotlight being brought to bear on the Black Ajah themselves, her dark sisters had to know that that was exactly where the remnants of the Black Ajah hunt would be looking right now, and it was dangerous to assume that they were simply all stupid.

If the weave had been targeted at Jaydena in specific … Now there was something to consider. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would go after the Banner Captain unless Dena had made a habit of stealing people’s Warders and even then, she herself had never lifted a hand to Jaydena, much less laid vicious traps for her. And why would anyone who wanted to get at Jaydena do it so crudely? Something could have been slipped into her tea much more subtly, no suspicions there simply an unexpected illness, or a shadow in the dark … a knife, a crossbow bolt … none of which would have involved such a chaos. It could have been done a thousand other ways. Sirayn did not make a practice of stalking sisters, at least not usually, but she could still have achieved the same or much better results with a fraction of the effort and still kept the whole business neatly under wraps.

No, unless her opponents were all fools, this incident had been deliberately calculated to be as messy and high profile as possible. Had somebody attempted to frame the Black Ajah … no, surely not … the Three Oaths would prevent any Lightfool from arranging this, assuming that all sisters were either Black Ajah or bound by the Three Oaths. If she herself had acquired that knowledge independently and wanted to gather together anyone else who knew about the Black Ajah might she have done it like this? Might she have tracked down the Oath Rod, cut herself free of those constraints and done this like a black beacon to gather together a fresh Black Ajah hunt? She might have done, but then again she was extraordinarily ruthless … but so might others be. Scheming was hardly rare among sisters and more than just one called themselves masters of the Great Game.

And this got her musing on a different track. Had this strike been somehow obliquely aimed at her? It was commonly known that she and Jaydena were long time friends, though their association had been acrimoniously ended some weeks hence, and if she had wanted to get at her mistrustful and sharply defensive self might she have gone through a lesser protected target? Again … she might have done. Or, as she had initially suspected, it might have merely been an accident. Not everything carried a thousand levels of meaning. And if she could convince herself of that she might sleep a lot better tonight. “Yes, let our sister rest. She has been brave far beyond the call of duty and deserves her sleep.†She kept her intervention smooth, betraying no hint of the circuitous and maddening route of her thoughts, lest anyone guess at her hidden surmise. No hunter worth their salt would speak of the Black Ajah openly, and despite the ward against eavesdropping this was extremely open … and something rather dark had just occurred to her.

If she had been a sister of the Black Ajah, say … an expendable one … with a good chance of being accepted by known hunters who had famously been her friends; might she have staged a supposed Black Ajah assault against herself in order to exonerate herself from all suspicion? Might this, in fact, be all a calculated plot to involve Jaydena in the Black Ajah hunt and thus to undo them all?

Burn her but she wished she did not think like this sometimes. She had schemed herself into a corner and convinced herself to suspect everyone in this room and outside it; a bleak but familiar situation. “Perhaps,†and now she felt a thousand times more exposed, anyone in this room could be Black Ajah, even Lwena Sedai for all that she had been a companion on the original hunt to Tear, “we might leave a number of your fine sisters to watch over Jaydena Sedai while she sleeps? This weave is unknown to us. There may be some delayed effect.†If luck was with her this unfortunate idea might distract the other woman somewhat while she schemed; similarly, the words communicated to a Black Ajah hunter the need to get as many sisters as possible to stay in the room; lest somebody came back for a second shot. Her suspicion that Dena herself might somehow be involved was best kept for later times if conveyed at all.

Casually she let the eavesdropping ward stop just about cancelling all further conversation about the intricacies of this situation and the causes thereof. “This appears to have been a tragic accident.†The words remained steady and pitched for her companions alone but every fibre of instinct she possessed warned her that she was now speaking to an intensely interested audience. “Angreal are volatile of course, and mistakes happen all the time, but by its very nature this is a doubly cruel incident.†She directed a cool grey glance toward her injured comrade. “You have done your shawl a credit tonight Jaydena Sedai. Your duties as Sitter can of course wait until you are feeling somewhat better … although I fear there may be people around to ask you for your account somewhat sooner than that. Tell them exactly what you told me -- and,†the barest trace of emphasis, “I do mean exactly.†If the other woman whispered even a word about her suspicions it was going to cause a stir like a kicked hive of bees. “Rest now. Lwena Sedai and I will take care of this.â€

As soon as arrangements had been made Sirayn lured her Yellow Ajah counterpart out of that busy room as delicately as possible. The infirmary was not part of her own kingdom and she had no authority with which to challenge the younger woman, nor anywhere outside her Ajah Halls considering that her own rank remained secret, and besides she needed to be careful not to offend Lwena in case she turned out to have need of her fellow Black Ajah hunter in the future. Nevertheless … she suspected that while Lwena Sedai had some undoubtedly unique and outstanding qualities, she herself was better suited to bring this to a conclusion, and she intended not to be questioned on that point.

The corridors proved cool and quiet; few stirred among them this morning and Sirayn figured it secure enough that she could communicate oblique instructions. “I think I may come with you to the store rooms, sister. Many hands make light work.†Many hands would better protect them from any traps left in the store room, as well as the possibility that someone who had set them might return for another go. She had not ruled out what struck her as the strong chance that this was entirely an accident but Sirayn liked to be very careful about her own security. “And we will, I think, be counting the angreal. Twice.†She trusted that she need not point out why to the other woman. After all, both had begun on a dangerous quest with no more warning than that of an assault against a Tower store room, a mission so secret it had still never come to light ... and that perilous pursuit had come to be known as the Black Ajah hunt.

Some weeks after the fallout from Dumai’s wells a letter arrived in Cairhien by messenger. It was an unremarkable sort of letter, plain parchment marked by careful writing, and sealed in black wax; only a keen observer might have picked out the faint outline of a rose stamped in that black seal. Once opened some sheets of parchment slithered out accompanied by a heavier, more solid clink … that of a small, silver ring. It bore an emblem most familiar to all those in Cairhien. Anyone might have recognised it as a House Damodred signet ring. In a code known only to members of the Order of the Rose the letter read:

Serena Sedai,

My apologies for not sending this letter earlier. I regret to say that conditions back home are not, shall we say, conducive to open action; all affairs must be conducted in great secrecy. If the Hall of the Tower were to find out that our party even existed, much less its scale and accomplishments, everyone would suffer for it. I for one do not want my career shot down in flames for obeying the Amyrlin Seat’s order, and I should be a poor benefactor for the Order of the Rose if I let any of my agents go down so easily for following me … hence why this and all our other transactions will be encoded to protect ourselves. However, do not show this letter to anyone; giving the Aiel and the Dragon Reborn’s lackeys some credit for intelligence we must assume that they have code breakers among their staff.

Reports tell me that you and your fellow Dragonsworn are being held in Cairhien along with the boy’s mad troops and all the other trappings of his so called rank. I must have more information if I am to break you out of there. Unfortunately I cannot attend to these matters myself, since unforeseen circumstances oblige me to remain in Tar Valon, but rest assured I will not permit you or anyone else to languish there until the boy Dragon finds some use for you. That would scarcely give the proper impression of the White Tower; as though we would allow our finest sisters to be imprisoned and controlled in such a manner. No, you will be returning to Tar Valon shortly if I have anything to do with it, and I will need your co-operation in this.

Tell me everything you have observed so far in your stay in the Dragon’s camp. In what part of Cairhien is it located and where are you living? What security is there around you? I saw for myself on the field at Dumai’s Wells that the boy Dragon has channellers other than his fanatical, so called Asha’man; do they work for the Aiel? As many details as you can gain for me about their numbers, their strengths and arrangement would be useful. If there is any obvious place at which to strike I must know that as well. It is not in our best interests to wage open war against the Dragon child, sorely though he deserves it for his treatment of my Aes Sedai, but perhaps … it might not be too closely questioned if, for example, some nameless mercenaries were to make a strike there. A distraction, no more, and certainly not linked to the White Tower.

Have you had audience with the Dragon Reborn himself? If he has said anything of importance … if anything untoward has happened … let me know. I must know exactly which sisters are being kept as Dragonsworn and which others remain in your camp. I know which ones went missing at Dumai’s Wells, but some were scattered, some injured and some slain, and it is anyone’s guess as to which ones went over to the Dragon Reborn. The Hall of the Tower has been greatly interested in these absences. For some reason I have found it difficult to explain what happened to me and my companions without referencing at any time the rescuing party at Dumai’s Wells, which officially never happened, although regrettably the Hall has found out about the Dragonsworn.

You are, I trust, being properly treated? I imagine that the boy would not dare give the White Tower such direct offence, but if you are being mistreated in any way -- Light forbid that anyone should dare raise a hand to you -- only speak the word and I will have you out of there as soon as possible. No, burn them, if anyone has hurt you then I will come myself and I will get you out if I have to do it with my bare hands … damn it, hand. However, if your imprisonment should be under acceptable conditions … I am reluctant to propose this, I know that being a lackey for the Dragon Reborn is no position for any sister … then you may see this as an opportunity to gather further intelligence for the Tower. I will not instruct you to risk your life for our information: that is not my place. On the other hand, anything you could give us would be gratefully received.

On a side note, I see I owe you some thanks. You risked your life to save me at Dumai’s Wells. I am rather mortified that that was even necessary in the first place, the loss of a bond is no excuse, but I am properly thankful for your assistance. I have one question though … before you came to get me … there was a woman who came by briefly. A tall woman, dark haired and dark eyed, hard looking; she would have moved with a limp; I think we scarred her face once. Did you see her? Even a glimpse?

You are one of my finest agents. The Order of the Rose is fortunate to have you. Stay strong.

Under the Light,

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Sister of the Battle Ajah

Her quarry’s feeble attempts to escape the trap drawing tight about her proved to be a fascinating diversion for Sirayn. Insults and fury at first, shading gently toward outrage, and finally toward what the other woman doubtless thought was well concealed resentment: the poorly schooled features told a wealth of stories. She had met children still wearing whites who had a better sense of propriety. This whole messy scene put her perilously close to laughter; restraining herself firmly she stamped out the urge to push Christine a little further just to see her fume. A tempting picture but one of them had to stay in control and she rather suspected it would have to be her. Everything was about control of course … exerting the subtle and the not so subtle command she held over this brash youngster, so confident that she could get around her Ajah Head, asserting herself at another’s expense … and if there was any field in which Sirayn Sedai excelled it was control.

A fine line existed between provocation and merely showing a glimpse of her supremacy, much as a swordsman permitted an inch of his blade to flash steel in order to warn his opponents, and walking that was all the thrill she needed. It escaped her why anyone involved themselves in shallow liaisons with strangers when they could match wits with the greatest players in the world, why people settled for crude activities when they could find games of fire and smoke and shadow here among the white halls. “Do you think a year would be sufficient to teach you respect, little sister? Your Ajah Head does not appear to have had that result and I do pride myself on being rather effective.†She favoured her companion with another smile, slow and cold and rather daunting, and completed the effect with a genial: “Ten years may not be enough to make you what I require you to be. Request denied.

“Distressingly, you do not appear to have listened to a word I said. Approximately thirty seconds after I lay down some ground rules you are already wriggling like a weasel in order to get out of it. I distinctly remember telling you not to question me, to obey your orders instantly and without hesitation, and yet here you are attempting to bargain with me … I could continue, but based on your response so far I might as well talk to a wall. Therefore we shall solve this by a very simple method. You remain in this office until you can tell me, honestly and bound by the First Oath, that you have disgraced the Green Ajah through your conduct and submit yourself for punishment. Then your initiation begins again … and it will last until I say otherwise. You can, of course, attempt to wriggle out of this, but this will only add further time onto the length of your initiation.â€

Captivating though it was breaking this insolent child apart, she rather suspected that Christine would lose much of her ill manner soon, and ideally before she was forced to show her hand entirely. She had not been making a jest when she spoke of a court martial and while that was a tactic of last resort, to which an Ajah Head had not resorted for many a year … if necessary she would drag Christine kicking and screaming before a full court of her betters and conduct this in the proper and traditional style. Given how many people had complained to her about the half wit child’s behaviour she imagined she would find no shortage of speakers. Maybe the child would only lose her disrespect when the court martial had visited its last and most cruel punishment upon her … and there was an interesting image. “I can wait all night.†She studied the Domani child opposite her, grey eyes steady, only a slight crinkling round her eyes to speak amusement. “I suggest that you come to terms very quickly with the fact that your career is as good as over. Only I can save you now.â€

Kinky. :roll:

The nights played hard games these days. Every time she dreamed herself back into places she had thought herself long freed from; dark dungeons trapped beneath the ground, mazes made from fear, strangers whispering promises she would burn rather than see fulfilled. Months had passed and only covered over the scars she kept inside. In the bitter light of day perhaps she could feign being all right, as smooth and cold on the outside as sheet ice, and maybe it had even taught her a lesson … never to trust, never to falter … taught her a subtler, slower way of scheming. Only at night did the past claim her again. So she worked late into the timeless hours when all was black and only a candle burned to keep her company, turned all her concentration to the formidable task of making herself a proper Ajah Head, striving to perfect in a month everything she should have had years to learn.

Once she had worn herself out and depleted whatever black imagination gave her such a difficult time she put out her candle, a last lonely light in the dark, and retired to bed. For a long time she lay awake and pensive; thinking over her strange, awkward meeting with Telcia Sedai many hours ago; puzzling over each exchange and subtle sign. She had given a good account of herself, or so she liked to think, shown herself not as a defenceless child any longer but an ice cold and skilled player in her own right … or maybe she had been fooling herself all along and her Domani mentor had only been laughing at her behind all those pretty words. It seemed eminently possible. How could she trust anyone when she knew perfectly well how much corruption and black schemes lay beneath the Tower’s smooth surface? She had been a fool to place her faith in an unknown Red Sitter all those years ago; but she was older and harder now and she knew better.

Eventually she lapsed into a troubled sleep. Morning came like a gaoler whose key released her from dreams … or so she thought; when a swift tap at her door stirred her from restlessness. The interruption came at a rather disturbing point. She woke in the dark and twisted about by sheets, panicked, clutched for saidar and made light. The familiar surroundings of her sleeping quarters, a chamber so private nobody had been permitted to enter it since the loss of her last bond, calmed her somewhat. Hardly the first glimmerings of pale light slid in between heavy curtains to paint a faint line across her covers; frowning she asked herself who would trouble her so early in the morning; only for her memories to supply the answer coloured in tones of regret. Telcia had warned her last evening that they would meet again, if some hours from now, according to her words … Meet her in the Ogier Grove indeed. Did the woman have no concept of business hours? Or, indeed, of the Ogier Grove?

Sleepy and rattled she took her time about dressing, slipped into an elegant, dark gown; as always so conservative in cut that a proper Domani woman would likely have looked at her and despaired. Part of her snarled throughout the whole business like a bear with a sore head at being woken so early. She did not care for startlement, cared even less for being caught sleeping and defenceless, cared less still for the uncomfortable knowledge that she was keeping her guests waiting. It wanted her to hurry and she was damned if she was going to rush about like a bat in a box and present anything less than a cool, composed front. Swiftly she pinned back her hair, pulled on slippers and cut herself a last glance in the mirror: if it could have done it would doubtless have shaken its head even as she did so at her stern reflection.

It seemed the Red Ajah had much still to teach its sisters about not snatching people out of bed before dawn. Still irritated she did her best to compose herself as she crossed her empty quarters, lighting candles as she did so to cast the place in a soft and wavering light, and by the time she reached the door had smoothed out her features into perfect serenity. She cracked open the door. Telcia Sedai stood outside, as stunningly beautiful and flawless as ever, accompanied by someone with whom she was not acquainted: a slim, red-haired someone with a heart-shaped mark upon her fair cheek: a woman she recognised as … and this raised her dark brows a fraction … no less than a Blue Sitter. Young though she might be by comparison Elyssa Lliet represented a whole world of trouble to her companion and vice versa.

Her wrath dissipated in a matter of moments. Dear Light, what had possessed the two women to be seen in company together? Had they no sense of propriety? She was a neutral observer and even she could see that this was a huge breach of tradition. Burn her if she knew what the two sisters were thinking and what excuses they planned to present to their respective Ajah Heads when they were caught. Both had put themselves in line for a lecture, if not worse … and Telcia Sedai could scarce afford worse given the disgrace she had heaped upon herself with her marriage and children. Briefly she amused herself imagining the particular shade of red both their Ajah Heads would turn if they could see the sight she had laid eyes upon just now. Oh, temptation.

This little interlude had improved her mood a hundred times. Feeling infinitely more in control, a most reassuring feeling for her, now that they had both served themselves up to her on a plate, Sirayn greeted both with a courteous smile keeping her disbelief and brimming laughter behind iron hard composure. “A Red Sister and a Blue Sister walk into the halls of the Green Ajah … Sounds like the start of a joke, doesn’t it?†Noted, her cool smile said, noted very well. “Greetings, ladies. This is an uncommon hour to be visiting; I am most fortunate to be graced with your presence before dawn. Do come in. I would have prepared some tea for you, but for some reason I had missed the note letting me know that our meeting plans had been altered … Nevertheless, an Aes Sedai is never short of tea in a crisis.â€

Smoothly she let both sisters enter her quarters, shut the door, raising a brief ward against eavesdropping with a careless gesture as she did so. Technically speaking Elyssa Sedai would be expecting to have the upper hand here, she did hold Sitter rank after all and had no way of knowing that she was currently in company with the Battle Ajah’s leader, but she was less than half their respective ages and a little pushing of some boundaries might be let pass. Not to mention both women now had a serious interest in keeping on her good side in case she decided to let a few word slip to other Sitters … Sitters, to make a point, who might be less amused than she was to find a Blue & a Red in company on her doorstep before dawn. It was scarcely worth the bother for her mentor, considering how utterly Telcia had ruined her previously glittering career through her own voluntary actions, but there was one Blue Sitter who ought to be feeling very fearful about now. “Tea, anyone? Might I inquire as to what brings you to my door, Telcia Sedai? And in such … illustrious,†just the faintest shading of emphasis there, “company?â€

I remember you! You participated when I killed my TPC character Dayne, right? He was bonded to Eleanor Sedai (although she was a Lightfool at the time and didn't actually kill me). *remembering* :D

The pale colour that crept into the youngster’s composed face, the rapid step back, were the only outward signs of her shock. Inwardly Sirayn had to forget her vindictive satisfaction for a moment and reluctantly give her points for the discipline and control she displayed this morning. Not for her the disgust her now Ajah Head had stormed with centuries ago; nor the fabled fury with which others had been confronted; half a hundred legends spoke of a barrage of abuse and even assault coming the way of previous Captain Generals … although possibly those less terrifying than she herself … nor even the horror one of her predecessors had shown not very long ago: a meeting which had ended with blood spilled red and fresh across this same floor. No, Aramina sur Dulciena scarcely seemed to register the words at all, and her chief response was calculation. It spoke well for her future career in the Battle Ajah.

Apologies? Now there was something new and unexpected. Her mouth nearly quirked into a smile of amused disbelief but she stamped out that urge. Burn her if she knew what the child had actually intended or what sign she meant to convey by these apologies. The chances of Aramina Sedai actually regretting her words seemed pretty slender by her judgement, or at least if she did regret them, she was somewhat at a loss as to why the young sister would say so. Perhaps she was analysing this too much, maybe she had given the child too much credit, although there was no such thing as too much distrust when playing politics … or maybe her next recruit was playing a deeper game than she had initially suspected. It had been long since she last recognised so much potential in the Great Game. Other recruits struck her as future soldiers, others as future spies; she had seen courage and discipline and discretion, intelligence alongside cunning and cruelty; but she recognised a little piece of herself in Aramina Sedai and that warned her sharper than anything else.

Not a drop of wariness coloured her expression as Sirayn observed, not without a certain satisfaction, the child curtsey before her: another rather flattering gesture. She suspected that she was being deliberately defused and, in all honesty, it was hard to sustain fury when Aramina played so prettily at contrition. For long moments Sirayn simply studied her new recruit narrowly doing her best to figure out what was crossing behind the calm face, doubtless, she thought with a twist of irony, as the child was trying to do in return. Perhaps the girl had genuinely spoken without thinking and regretted the words: although that credited her with rather less coolness than Sirayn had originally suspected. More likely she had spoken so swiftly to tempt an equally quick response, one which Sirayn had to admit she had gained if more controlled than had been expected, and now resolved the situation herself to see what control she could exert over an Ajah Head and three Sitters. Impossible to tell.

Life was more complicated now than she had ever imagined before taking on this rank. Nevertheless, the next words were ritual and required no input from her and, fortunately, none of the trust she did not currently place in Aramina sur Dulciena: not that she doubted the other’s wit and cunning, far from it, but the child’s intentions seemed as devious as certain others present in this office … mentioning no names. “You are bound to us now and the Green Ajah does not give up easily.†Smoothly she moved into the well practised words. “You will not leave here a free woman; nor will you ever be free of us if we have our way. Over the next months you will be given a place among the lowest of our rank. If you learn well and willingly enough, if you demonstrate the qualities we require from our sisters, you will be permitted to petition again for acceptance.

“This chance is one you have earned by passing the Aes Sedai test. Few will be permitted as you will be to learn from a Banner Captain of many years’ standing; you are being given an opportunity many would swear their lives into servitude for. If there is anything in you which wants the shawl … if there is anything in you which deserves the shawl … let it follow the example set to you by your initiation leader. She has been tasked with preparing you for your second petition, at which, let me warn you now, you will have to pass my scrutiny as you failed it this morning. Jaydena Sedai is your only chance now. If you have any sense you will be as her shadow: discreet, hard working, and obedient in every way. Should you trouble her you will answer to me.â€

Ceremony complete, Sirayn inclined her head briefly to the recruit across from her, acknowledging her on more levels than one … as a student, as a future sister, as, possibly, a future tool to fit her hand. Only time would tell whether Aramina sur Dulciena rose to the challenge before her and thus gained herself a place in something she did not currently know existed. Yet reading determination into that still face Sirayn did not have many doubts on that score. “Jaydena Sedai, this recruit is yours. You may begin her initiation. Dismissed.â€

Oh dear lord, your sig pic Ellorian. :shock: :shock: I think I am scarred for life. Scarred I tell you!

Peaten al'Kar is our Padan Fain character, right? Is it chronologically possible for your character to have been fathered by Peaten al'Kar during his dark assassin phase if this only began, as in the series, in the late 990s NE? I can't find much information on the main plotline character. Physical description seems to have been skipped as well.

Cheers!

Sirayn

The name Christine Segreto was fast becoming a curse around the Captain General’s office. Every week another complaint about her disgraceful behaviour arrived. Presumably the young woman was actually doing something practical and constructive during business hours, but nevertheless, all her harassed Ajah Head ever heard was a succession of similar offences: drinking too much, being seen in public wearing something scandalous, making tactless advances on young men and generally making herself the subject of a hundred scurrilous rumours. Had the child gained nothing from her initiation? Did she lack even the slightest grasp of how Aes Sedai were expected to behave?

The whole sordid business irritated her on so many levels. She ought not to have to interfere in the private affairs of a sister; by the time they gained the shawl her folk ought to know how to conduct themselves in the proper manner. Particularly so new to the shawl … and after scarce more than a decade, she was still very new indeed … Christine ought to be devoting herself to diligent work in order to gain the expertise and respect she needed to ascend through the ranks. Instead the child distracted herself from work with drinking and dishonoured herself through senseless, shallow affairs with cheap men into the bargain. Some sisters taken from the same generation were already starting to take on more significant tasks, inching toward that all important first command, while the supposedly promising Christine Sedai played games like a common whore.

On a tactical level also this made difficulties for her. The Battle Ajah was saddled with an unfortunate stereotype, that of the hard drinking, empty headed lightskirt, and this irritant appeared to be living every inch of that image. It brought shame on hard-working sisters and lowered her Ajah’s standing … and if there was anything Sirayn would fight to protect it was her Ajah’s standing. Something needed to be done about it. Half a dozen sisters had come to her of late to lay down their objections but as far as she knew none had taken it up with Christine directly. The child surely had no excuse for not knowing what was expected from her, or rather demanded, but while part of her wanted to call the first court martial in many years the greater part recognised that at least some warning was necessary.

Unfortunate for her young target, that reasonable part had immersed itself in deep concentration late at night when Christine staggered in blind drunk, and stopped feeling so forgiving shortly afterward. The thump of a heavy vase being knocked into shattered her concentration. Any patience she might have retained vanished when she lifted cold grey eyes to her open door and caught the child offering her an extremely crude gesture. Her icy stare lasted some moments longer than was comfortable; she did not tolerate such disrespect from anyone, much less insolent pups dazed by drink and sex, and people had suffered for much less. It seemed her work would have to be shelved for the night. Time to bring a little Ajah Head retribution.

Leisurely she laid her pen and parchment aside and anyone might have detected a certain iron constraint about her movements. She rose, crossed the floor in a few swift steps, and laid hands on the child: she had not exerted force on anyone in a long time and it satisfied her on some wordless level to simply haul Christine into her office. “Sit down, child,†snapped Sirayn and gestured toward a chair. Petulant as ever the child resisted her orders. She looked drunk, she smelled drunk and she moved with the graceless imprecision of the seriously impaired. Getting any sense into her empty little head was going to be a matter of force. Truth to tell the prospect of a bit of hands on discipline, as it were, posed a tempting diversion from the dullness of work … and nobody would question her for a moment given the provocation.

Even so the insults narrowed grey eyes and tightened her mouth as she stamped out the urge to cause this child some serious harm. She stepped into the way when Christine made to leave. “Not so fast, girl,†an edge of sheer glacial cold crept into those few words. A careless threat served to move her not one inch; if she couldn’t handle a drunken youngster she had no business calling herself Battle Ajah. Flailing attempts to push her aside spent themselves uselessly. A stray slap caught her a light but stinging blow across the cheek, possibly more by luck than judgement, and abruptly Sirayn ran out of tolerance for these games. Saidar leapt to her grasp. She trapped the child in silent restraints, closed her mouth for good and flung her into a chair like a bundle of cloth.

The deeply insulted glare which Christine shot her made everything worthwhile. To see that she was causing some greatly justified offence warmed her up from the inside out. “I suggest you shut your mouth, girl.†This comment came accompanied with a benevolent smile. She took a seat in the Captain General’s chair, the fabled greatsword behind her to mark her rank further, and surveyed her bound and silenced captive with a great deal of satisfaction. Sirayn meant to make certain that the child never crossed her again; people still spoke with reverence of the punishments visited by her famous predecessors, the great and good Ajah Heads of the past, and she intended that this should be the same. “Are you sober? Recite your Oaths. In reverse order.†She removed the gag briefly. The sounds which emerged did not appear to be the Three Oaths in reverse order; some of the curses used raised her brows a fraction. “I can only assume that you are a little the worse for wear. This is, therefore, regrettable but necessary.â€

Moments later her intoxicated prey found herself deluged in freezing cold water. The chill was so intense that it stole the breath. Chin on hand, watching Christine with an expression of polite concern, her Captain General measured its effects. “You are feeling sober now? Yes? Excellent. You and I are going to have a little discussion. This has been waiting for some time and you have just insulted, threatened and assaulted me, so you will forgive me if I take some time to conduct this properly.†The implied threat that she would take all necessary time in order to hammer her point home, possibly in ways that Christine would not find enjoyable, went unspoken. “I am less than amused by your behaviour of late.†She lifted her surviving hand, realised with a small and uncomfortable jolt that she did not have the necessary number of hands to tick off points on her fingers, and settled for holding up a finger at a time.

One finger. “First, you are drinking too much. I will not tolerate my sisters being seen intoxicated. This goes no matter where you are, whether it be in the city itself or in these very halls, and you had best remember it very well. From this night onward you will not touch a drop of alcohol until I give you specific permission. If I ever catch you drunk in public again … ever … you will be doing penance with the Mistress of Novices every day until I am satisfied you have learnt your lesson.â€

Two fingers. “Second, your conduct with young men is unacceptable. There is no possible circumstance in which I will permit you to be seen engaging in the sort of behaviour I have had reported to me. In public an Aes Sedai must at all times bring credit to her shawl; the only image you are spreading is that of an empty headed lightskirt. There is no leeway here. You will cease your fraternisation with men starting immediately. Once I give you word you will be permitted to exercise discretion over your affairs in private. Similarly, if you ever act improperly with a man in public again, you will not be sitting down for months.â€

Three fingers. “Third, your other behaviour is not up to the standard I expect from my sisters. I had anticipated that you would possess at least some sense of your own, but since it seems I must guide you myself, I will lay down strict rules for you to keep to. You will speak to your elders and betters with respect; you will obey their orders unquestioningly; you will complete the work you are given and be grateful that you are tasked at all. Your private business will not be permitted to interfere with your work for the Green Ajah. You will act at all times in a manner fitting to your rank as a sister of the Battle Ajah. Children and strangers are looking up to you as an example. The example you are currently setting is one of a drunkard and a lightskirt. That ends and it ends tonight.â€

Four fingers. “Fourth and finally … you will learn proper respect toward your Ajah Head and you will learn it if I have to tattoo it into you myself. You do not insult me, you do not threaten me, you do not question me. You do not lift a hand to me. You obey my orders instantly, without hesitation, and you will think yourself lucky for being given that opportunity. I am not here to engage in debate with children such as yourself; I am here to be your Captain General and I require your obedience. If you want to see another year in the Battle Ajah, much less any kind of rank for yourself, you will learn that this instant. I will not tolerate the slightest disrespect.â€

Fifth: she examined her fifth finger briefly before closing her hand and placing it back on the desk. “I would ordinarily court martial people like you,†the lazy words held a whole new level of threat. “That would be your career over in the space of an hour. Finished forever. Your name would still be repeated in a century’s time as one of the few so unfit for service that they were hauled through trial. And I admit … that I am very tempted, in your case in particular, because you have shown me contempt and far more importantly you have disgraced the Battle Ajah. However, because I am merciful, I am permitting you one last chance. One foot out of line … one word wrong … and I will have you before a full court before you can even twitch.

“So here is your last chance to save your career. You are demoted as of this moment to the status of recruit. If you truly want to be Battle Ajah, and from your performance so far I have grave doubts, you will earn that rank. No longer will you be able to trick or deceive your teacher … and I suspect that is precisely how you gained your shawl the first time around for no qualified sister would turn out a student like you … because I will be that teacher. From this night onward you go nowhere outside these Ajah Halls unless I am with you. You do not drink. You do not so much as speak to a man. You speak to your elders only when spoken to. You do exactly as you are ordered, no questions, and certainly no insolence. Break the terms of this bargain and I will court martial you. Half an excuse and I will court martial you anyway.â€

Sitting back the Captain General fixed her unfortunate victim with a steely grey gaze. The bonds fell away somewhat so that the other woman could at least speak in response. “Is that fully understood, recruit?â€

Like the whisper of a thousand tiny leaves papers slid across one another and cascaded onto her desk. Polished dark wood vanished beneath a scatter of parchment bleached into ivory and cream. A hundred different hands had written out their words in black ink, blues and browns bright against the paper, columns of cramped figures, codes so impenetrable it would take her an hour and a code book to decipher them; the plain wicker basket into which she had shuffled all her reports in a moment’s hurry should have been spacious enough, but these were harsh years, and the rate of reports had doubled of late. Messages flitted in and out of her offices with dizzying speed. It took organisation to manage them all, a sharp memory to remember the key points, and excellent analytical skills to sort the truth from the lies and alter plans accordingly … unfortunately, what it got was her.

Crippled and a coward, plain, awkward and too cold for her own good: those were the shadows passing across her thoughts while Sirayn lazed in a comfortable chair, boots propped carelessly on the desk in a manner most unbecoming of an Ajah Head, and scanned through the latest reports. Through some conspiracy she never had half the time she needed to run this Ajah. She suspected somebody was lurking somewhere, stealing an hour here and an hour there, like a particularly skilled thief. As soon as she got settled in with pen, ink and parchment to start directing her agents, a distant general controlling troops across a vast field, time seemed to slip its grasp and race onward at a mad speed. Only minutes later she would raise her head to find that all had gone dark and still around her and it was already late at night.

Sometimes she figured that no amount of hard work would make this work, that all the nights spent burning candles down had gone for nothing, that all the early mornings seen through a haze of tiredness had equally no effect. If one pictured time and the course of fate as one colossal river, poking it with a stick did no good … but that was defeat talking. Too long she had let fears and doubts limit her. Now she called her own tune. It was a demanding job, fraught with danger and difficulty, and a part of her still feared most bitterly that the failure she was so well acquainted with would strike again, but having had her taste of command she would never let that cup pass on. If there was any life she had been made for it had to be this.

Nevertheless, for reasons best not examined too closely she felt half the woman she was supposed to be in comparison to the object of her current scrutiny. Discounting for a moment the other great influences on her life, the beautiful and brilliant Jaydena McKanthur had undoubtedly been a star around which her duller life revolved: once her rival, later some shining image to aspire toward, the long time Sitter had flaunted that perfection and that success for year upon year. Stunningly gorgeous and favoured with intelligence, skill and charm, Jaydena had enjoyed her rank as Sitter for many years, not to mention the company of her devoted lover, who incidentally happened to be bonded to an Aes Sedai she had rather less loyalty toward … but that was quite beside the point. Now the other woman was merely a tool to be directed where her plainer, smaller, less beloved rival chose.

Did it sting these days to know that despite her fabled beauty, her charm, her political skills and all the other innumerable unfair advantages she possessed, it was one Sirayn Damodred and not her privileged self who stood as Ajah Head? No way of knowing; but vindictively Sirayn hoped that it did. She had spent too long in her glorious rival’s shadow. It was time for somebody else to feel lessened. Better contented than she had been for some time, she leafed through the reports coming from her old friend’s quarters, sorting the information gained into its proper place, and as she did so a part of her remembered. Since you have already broken tradition I am older than you by four years, your superior in rank, and stronger in the Power, that means you listen to me … I came here to find out why you became a coward in the face of danger …

Coward. Danger. Two words about which that painted, perfect diplomat knew nothing. Oh yes, she did not regret for an instant what she had done to bring Jaydena Sedai under control. No amount of mortification arising from her rival’s present situation, at her mercy, would make up for everything the other woman had done in the past. By all rights the Sitter should have been exiled from the city; undoubtedly she would have done the same to Sirayn if she had prevailed in their clash of wills; they had all risked that price by entering into the Ajah Head succession. If the woman cast even one dazzling look in her direction which could be construed as dangerous Sirayn would make good on her promises, strip her of her Sitter position and exile her from the city … and that harshest threat would keep anyone in line. In the mean time perhaps Jaydena might contemplate what happened to women who stole other people’s Gaidin and thought themselves so fine because they happened to be through no effort of their own tall, strong and beautiful. Triumph was sweet indeed.

A thump on her door snatched her thoughts back from lazy satisfaction. Rising leisurely to her feet she had scarcely laid her pen aside when that thump sounded again: rapid, demanding response. Half of her frowned that anyone should summon her so crudely. The other half, remembering … dark hair and silence, a woman kneeling at her feet, bloody hands stamping a red print on white walls … found her pulse pick up a bit and a left hand she no longer possessed stray to a dagger she no longer carried. In ten quick steps she crossed the floor and flung open the door. The sight that greeted her eyes showed her again most vividly other times and other threats: a young Gaidin bloody and panicked at her door: a stammered story …

By the time logic had caught up with her instant and overwhelming fear she had crossed half the Ajah Halls with Raisa Gaidin at her side. Her pulse raced; dread had her in its cold grip. Light burn her but she would not let this happen again! The Green Ajah had lost too many good women already to the outrage of assault under their own roof and she would not be the latest Captain General to fail her sisters in such a manner. If she let her thoughts stray from their rigid control she could see red blood still covering her hands and it was not injured Jaydena she was heading to see but someone altogether colder … icy, flawless Jehanine, too glacial edged perfect for this world, snatched away from her before their centuries-long feud could ever be resolved. Memories weighed too heavy on her. She took a tighter grip on herself, pushed away nameless terror, ordered her thoughts.

The infirmary proved to be full of red and panic and chaos. Its indisputable ruler Lwena Sedai was being cool and capable somewhere in the midst of all this hurry; frowning, she bent over a table crowded about with sisters, and her ageless features had set into determination. Little pieces of remembrance splintered away. No trace of that she permitted to show on her face. She was ice and iron, and if somebody most beloved had perished at her feet in a similar way, nobody would know that from her composure now. “I’m here,†two cool words, exerting control over the gathering. Moving forward she scattered the gathered sisters with a sharp gesture and looked down remotely at the woman lying there.

Some intense heat had ripped away half of that perfect beauty and replaced it with something burned and black and dreadful. Half a stunning face, half a ruin: one green eye, one unsightly pit, if anything still lived among the blackened flesh it was hiding well. Blood slicked bone and char. It was fascinating in a terrible sort of way. Beneath her colossal calm Sirayn clutched for some kind of sense; she had no time to be shaken, no time to be horrified and repulsed, she had seen more hideous injuries in the past although she had never imagined that even in the heart of this white city her friends might be in danger … her surviving hand tightened on the table where Jaydena lay in pieces and she took a slow breath striving for control. No, she would not be tired and shocked and frightened. She was an Ajah Head now and she had to be in command.

“Lwena Sedai.†Nearly without her intervention she lifted a hand to seek out the other woman laying it lightly on her shoulder; once she had known Lwena Sedai when they were both young, certainly they had shared the ordeal of the Black Ajah hunt; now she could only trust. “What under the Light has happened?†something harsh in her voice, so nearly showing everything she hated to expose, and she got herself in hand again and continued in smoother tones, “Some kind of accident?â€

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.â€

Dark brows drew together in a frown and she fixed the door through which Aramina sur Dulciena had recently departed with a forbidding look. The polished wood told her no secrets, nor did the silence offer up any whisper of what had truly gone on here, beneath the layers and lying which any fool might have picked up on. These days it took a brave child to match her in her own halls and there was a distant possibility that that was just what had come to pass here; a chance meeting its only surface significance, yet deeper down, a hundred more meanings waited for those with the wit to seek them out. She rather suspected that a challenge had been laid down this day: recognition between two sides in a greater game: a circumspect message that in banded hems waited a skilled young player whom she would do well to observe closely.

Or possibly not. Her concentration shattered to hear a light tap at her door. Half suspicious, half distracted by other plots that might need to be laid to take one Cairhienin Accepted into account, Sirayn crossed her quiet quarters and opened the door; her cool grey gaze fell upon someone not unknown to her … slim and near as short as she was, flawless Domani features and fiery red curls. The young target of her overtures: Lavinya Sedai. She matched the fractional lift of a brow with one of her own, subtle cues conveyed by look and bearing, transmitting through half a hundred deliberate signals that she recognised the other woman and any danger she posed; and had assumed a control so complete that their discussion had better remain civil.

The first words from those perfect lips bore out her suspicion that it would be pointless to dissemble any more. She had to work out how under the Light Lavinya had pulled this trick … and fast; she did not care for being left in the dark; it was a perilous situation to be in. “Sister. Do come in.†Coolly she stepped back and gestured for Lavinya to enter, all composure, covering over frantic thought. The letter had gone out, that much she knew, and the Accepted claimed that it had gone to its target; only it had made its way back here intact and Lavinya seemed to know its contents, or had done so when she had that discussion with Aramina sur Dulciena in the hallways if that had ever happened, or figured she could feign it well enough to discuss it with her. Mysteries: she liked them best when she herself still called all the shots.

Not having the slightest clue what was going on nevertheless Sirayn did not intend to make any inquiries; that would only make her confusion all the more obvious. She had the brief and unfortunate suspicion that she had poked the proverbial dragon and gotten herself a bit more trouble than she had bargained for … but she had not feared to take on an opponent since the Dreadlords of her past acquaintance and the Grey Ajah’s youngsters, while possibly better educated, were certainly not half as formidable. “Take a seat. Some tea?†Smoothly she moved about her quarters readying something to drink, these days she did not accept anything from other people’s hands where discretion permitted, and placed a cup at Lavinya’s elbow. The interlude gave her time to gather her thoughts.

Not long ago she had sought out one Serena Morrigan, Blue Ajah and nearly a contemporary of hers in comparative terms, and that meeting had gone far better than she had expected: possibly better than she had deserved. She still recalled how the Saldaean had knelt at her feet, so bold and so determined, and sworn over her loyalty and her cause forever. In new circumstances, with a new and more suspicious acquaintance, she could not expect it to so go easily … but nevertheless she knew exactly what goal to aim for. Sipping her tea she watched Lavinya Sedai for a time, considering, and when she finally spoke her tones remained cool and business like. “I imagine you already know why I wrote to you earlier this morning. You have talents; I have a use for them. You have ambition; I have ways of seeing that come to pass. Do you wish to hear more?â€

As Vanion walked through the corridors, he heard the whisper of feet. Light steps. A woman's steps... And Vanion knew that he was in all likelihood a dead man, just as he'd thought. Just walk right on by... Oh, Light, just let her keep walking, he thought to himself. But the Light appeared not to have heard his plea, as the footsteps stopped directly infront of him.

A hand grabbed onto the sheath of his sword and pushed the point to the floor, and then he heard the cold tones of the woman who had taken hold of the sheath of his sword...

"You appear to be wandering blindfolded in the corridors. I will give you the benefit of the doubt, assume that you have at least a spark of intelligence, and permit you to explain why before I banish you into the city."

As soon as she started speaking, Vanion knew the woman was Aes Sedai and that he was on very thin ice. Trying to think quickly, he decided it best to simply tell her the truth, and fast, before she grew impatient with him.

Bowing gracefully, he smiled at the woman nervously and said, "My apologies, Aes Sedai. Embarassing as it is to admit... I am actually a little lost. My name is Vanion al'Makor, and Im a Trainee. The blindfold was the idea of my mentor, Orion, who is blind. Its part of my training, ma'am, honestly it is. Its to learn to fight without sight. I was instructed to go about my day to day activities while wearing this, so as to help accustom me to being blind."

Reaching up with his free hand, Vanion pulled the blindfold off, squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted to the light. Looking at the woman who was still holding onto the sheath of his sword, he saw he was indeed correct in his assumption. And her ageless face seemed rather put out with him at the moment. Looking her straight in the eyes with his own amber colored eyes, he thought it best to try and difuse the situation.

Once more making his best leg, Vanion motioned to his sword and smiled, "Honestly Aes Sedai, there is no danger. You may release my sword. I came here because I wanted to become a Warder one day. My father once told me that a man is only as strong as the cause he is fighting for, and what better cause could there be than defending an Aes Sedai?"

In an ink black night, smooth as satin, a thousand stars glittered bleak and distant. Lying cold and solitary among her blankets she contemplated the remote mysteries of the night sky as a bright distraction from her own, less significant concerns, a jumble of fears and uncertainties too intense to put into words. Part of her had never needed friends more than in this dark hour; a listener, a protector, somebody to lessen the burden she bore; part of her would rather dance across burning coals. She suspected both options would have similarly disastrous results. Her people were not made for gaining comfort from common folk. The shawl she had not brought isolated her as much as the ageless features that spoke her rank most clearly of all for Aes Sedai had to be nothing less than perfect at all times.

Days passed by in chilly silence. Ice greys turned to black at night and back to silver with scarce a trace of colour; here a dash of rose in the east, there a whisper’s touch of deep blue where some water raced far beyond them. Made small by scale and majesty they inched across vast plains, tracked by their own fleeting shadows, and only the wind whispered their names. Ice and snow battered them; they crossed raging rivers flooded by snow, toiled across expanses of mud and frost crisp grass, wound round canyons and gorges which stretched far beyond the reach of light. It was a lonely journey … isolated by silence, trapped together beneath the immensity of the skies, and it pared away all unnecessary distractions.

Time and silence clarified her thoughts into something harder and colder. Though she feigned a lack of interest she watched Seiaman constantly, all the time, craving something she didn’t quite understand; feeding this nameless hunger on bits of images, moments trapped forever in her memory. Stars glittering bright in green eyes: quiet and strength and lean muscles: always so business like, they never spoke, the silence remained forbidding as a wall between them. It was never entirely clear to her whether she actually wanted conversation with Seiaman, whether this complete and icy silence was better, if she ought to feel content with this. She remembered … quieter times, warmer times … and a tiny and treacherous part of her wanted that instead. Seiaman had already communicated in the clearest possible terms that she never wanted anything to do with that again. And what did it matter what she herself wanted?

Some other times she preferred to forget. Being cold, being exhausted, letting Seiaman hold her close for warmth and security: that she chose to forget because it shamed her, because she had not been all an Aes Sedai should be: and the frustrating part was that once enough time had passed she actually could not remember if that had ever happened, or if so, when. Maybe in the long cold winters of their time as bondmates … or maybe in this same chill that held them now … or maybe not, maybe neither, maybe nothing at all. Precision of memory was starting to break down beneath the bright skies and maybe that did not matter either. These days none of it mattered so long as nobody ever got that close again.

In the grip of this harsh cold the north had no respect for her contemplation. Beneath a pale and glittering sun they skirted some foreign forest, most likely so old that nobody had dared give it a name, and an arrow shattered the stillness. It seared some way past them: the quick movement spooked their horses: nevertheless in the space of an instant Sirayn blazed with heat and light imperceptible to all those present. Iron composure got her skittering mount under control, old tricks never quite forgotten, and from her rather diminutive height she looked down with great disdain upon the bandits hurrying to surround them. Decent arms, decent armour, decent discipline. A flash of her serpent ring might not be enough to get them out of this one … but she was one of the Battle Ajah’s best with a heron-marked blademaster at her side and she had no fear for the likes of these.

A brief quelling glance toward her companion served to hold her silent; or at least she hoped so although Seiaman had not notably recognised an order from an orange in the past. It would be rather optimistic to think that losing a bond had made Seiaman more inclined toward obedience. “Children,†deliberately she named them that in ice cold Tar Valon tones, “you have picked the wrong women to … entertain you. Ten times as many men as you have would scarcely be enough to trouble us.†Ceremonious, she lifted her good hand, and her long sleeve fell back to expose the serpent ring; a scatter of gasps; those closest to her drew back a step in fear but the group held its ground. It satisfied her on some wordless level to see them mark her for the first time as something other than a small and defenceless woman. They had to be desperate to take on an Aes Sedai.

A sharp gesture and some ten feet away somebody yelped as the shortbow in his hands burst into flame. A second and she had their outspoken leader lightly by the throat; still some distance from him yet tendrils of air coiled round him so gently he might have missed them but for the icy look she shot him. She kept her hand extended toward him, palm up, perfectly steady as she controlled the weave. “I shall ignore for the moment the disrespect you have shown us.†Gently she lifted her hand upward. The weave hauled the bandits’ leader onto his toes, up into the air, suspended like a rag doll from her grasp. Sirayn remained perfectly cool as though she was not a fraction from smashing the life out of her unfortunate quarry: “Is there … shall we say … a discount for Aes Sedai?â€

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quote:

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

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

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Meranda

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

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

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

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

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

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

_________________

Meranda

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

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

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

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

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

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

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

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

_________________

Meranda

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

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

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

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

• ((Do it then. I’m waiting.))

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

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

• ((Ask me.))

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Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before she knew it, Meranda had fallen asleep.

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Meranda

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

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

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

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

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

• ((for the suffering))

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

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

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

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

• ((of those she loves.))

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

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

• ((How unfortunate for you.))

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

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Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

Ooc: 999 NE, post Dumai’s Wells, covering the resignation of our previous Ajah Head & the beginning of the resulting political conflict. Present at this initial meeting should be Tiassale Sedai, Halvie Sedai & (with permission) Alyria al’Vire as Alyria Sedai.

: : : : The stars had not yet begun their nightly procession across skies of black velvet & only the subtlest sheen of twilight still remained across halls now marble quiet and empty when the news came. It started first as a whisper on the still air; a sense of stirring excitement; even from the solitary confines of their own quarters a wakeful sister might have heard a scatter of steps upon the flag stones outside, a murmur in hushed tones, as the message spread like wild fire across those grand halls. For those watchful folk who had long sensed currents about them perhaps this was only the confirmation of long held suspicion. For others, at a single stroke all the foundations they depended on were cut away beneath them leaving only an uncertain future. Little did any of them suspect the response which had been plotted for just this circumstance many months in advance & which only now was coming to pass.

: : : : Outwardly the dark door was much like others along the same hall but a sister with good contacts might suspect that behind it in those severe quarters lay a great deal more knowledge than its occupant admitted to having. It was from here, as from the centre of a spider’s great web, that plans had been laid; here one might come for information … should one be daring enough to disturb its peace … although for all of those who asked there was a price. Tonight more than ever this dark door held its usual imposing look and few of those who crossed these white corridors, in increasing numbers now, dared to linger there. Still only whispers stirred beneath the serene light of rising stars & the smallest look or word between two sisters in public, on this night fraught with significance, sparked further speculation.

: : : : It was a matter of great frustration to Sirayn Sedai once she recognised that the tumult she had been waiting for these past weeks had finally come to pass; that at first despite the pivotal role she planned to play later on all she could do was wait and listen for confirmation. Being held to silence chafed at her. Long in advance she had prepared certain of those properly placed in the chain of intrigue to report to her, in the event of this occurring, and even in this first hour so much could go wrong that she burned for solid information; just a note, that was all she needed, to distort the reality that she had been ready for this long ago & make it look more as if she was as stunned as anyone else; then and only then could she begin to place her pawns about the board where they were most needed.

: : : : Finally came scuffling steps, the long awaited knock on her door. Quickly she rose and went to greet her caller; notes passing hands, a swift exchange of words; then closing herself back into her quarters. Now everything could be put into motion that she had imagined all those weeks ago. Summoned to her side were those few friends and supporters whom she trusted to be part of her machinations: just a handful of names but each rich with meaning for her. About her she had gathered the subtlest and most cunning of her generation and the ones below it. It was these folk more than anyone on whom she depended for support. Let them be true this night. Even the smallest hesitation could mean failure … and failure, for those engaged in this task, could have severe consequences.

Sirayn Sedai

Sister of the Battle Ajah

Andular brought her the note, sealed with a green wax so dark it was nearly black. With barely a glance at the parchment he pushed open the door to her study but Tiassale was deeply engrossed in yet another massive tome she’d wheedled out of the Brown Sisters and did not hear him approach.

He tucked the letter in his belt and struck flint to steel and lit several candles scattered amidst the books and parchments of her desk. She glanced up then, blinking owlishly.

“You’ll ruin your eyes reading in the dark,†he teased and handed her the missive.

She studied it for a moment before sliding a nail beneath the wax. Freshly sealed by the smell and written in Sirayn Sedai’s hand. Wistfully she glanced at the book again and sighed. Behind her the fireplace, empty and cold a moment before suddenly flared to life and she tossed the note to the flames and stood. The book could not be left unattended. Carefully she wrapped it in a length of wool, hissing slightly as an edge crumbled a bit. As tenderly as if she were carrying a babe she placed it in the false bottom of her desk drawer and for extra precaution added a rather nasty ward.

“You know who sent the note.†It was not a question and he did not answer, only grunted and followed her into the bedchamber where she rummaged amidst her gowns for her shawl. Normally such affectations were beyond her notice, in point of fact she never wore her formal shawl unless….Unless one is summoned before the Captain General.

Andular sprawled on the bed, watching as she fussed with the shawl and debated changing, dismissing the idea almost immediately. The shawl would have to do.

“You look as if your armoring for a battle, Tia.†His tone was light but his eyes were not.

“Perchance I may be, at the least a council of war, so to speak†she leaned across him and kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, “I shall be back before dawn I would hope.â€

“An escort perhaps?â€

She shook her head, “I believe I can find my way to the end of the hall, love.â€

Which lay empty save for servants scurrying up and down the corridor, dipping and curtsying as she passed. Sirayn’s apartments were not far but Tiassale walked slowly, giving herself time to marshal her thoughts. And her arguments. When she finally knocked upon Sirayn’s door her face and eyes were expressionless.

Tiassale Sedai

Battle Sister

Bonded to Andular Rojvas

Alyria had been walking the tower grounds as of late. Sleeping had become quite an issue for her: her thoughts kept rolling back to where she was. She was uneasy about something but could not put her finger on it. Walking through the garden late at night, often helped her to solve most of her problems. The evening dew was just starting to settle on the flowers as she wandered through them. She found herself stilling her fingers from tapping lightly on her lips: it was a habit she was trying to break, but without much avail.

She headed back to her chambers, feeling refreshed from the cool night air. How long had it been since she felt at ease with her surroundings? She felt that slow itch start between her shoulder blades, the one that meant she was restless and needed a small change about herself. When she had been a novice, it was easy enough to get rid of: she could act like a child and get into some sort of trouble.

As she arrived at her chambers, forehead furrowed in thought, she realized there was a person standing at her door waiting. She felt the itch suddenly stop as the messenger handed her a piece of parchment and took off down the hall. Alyria slipped the missive quickly into her pocket and entered her room, locking the door behind her.

She took off her green silk cloak, laying it gently on the bed. Walking over to her sitting room, she lit a fire and sat in the chair to read. Turning the note over, she saw that it had been freshly sealed in the darkest green imaginable. Alyria smiled, she knew exactly who this was from.

Sliding her nail under the wax, she read the missive, first once, and then again. She dropped the note into the flames of the fire as she walked into her room ro change quickly. Dressing in a light lavender gown, accented with small green flowers, Alyria donned her shawl, quickly combed through her hair, and headed down the hallway.

She moved quickly, gliding down the hall. She smoothed the furrows of thought out of her forehead as she reached Sirayn Sedai's door. Giving a quick but firm knock, she made her face as blank as she could, looking down into Sira's eyes when she opened the door. She saw Tiassale was already in the room and began to wonder what would unfold from this meeting.

Alyria Sedai

Battle Sister

Ooc: Catch up when you’re up for it Halvie. No pressure. :)

Half a hundred candles placed about the room cast a soft and guttering light across her quarters; softening harsh planes, colouring severe shades to warmth, lit through with red and gold. By the time sisters started arriving everything had been pushed back to the walls leaving only an assortment of chairs before the great stone hearth. Many thousands of years past their distant ancestors had gathered in much the same way seated about a clear space where anyone daring enough might prove themselves … as those with some idea of history might recognise. Before the leaded glass window lit by a delicate flow of starlight she presented an image of composure as the fire burned behind her and time inched onward.

By the time the candle had burned down a quarter mark the first tap at her door heralded an arrival. Quickest on the scene proved to be her old mentee Tiassale for whom she had such illustrious plans. If she judged correctly, and the coming days would show clear enough whether her assessment of the situation was as sharp as she liked to think it was, it might be that Tiassale could serve them in a far greater capacity. Dismissing all such concerns for a moment Sirayn greeted the other woman warmly and welcomed her in; a brief enough show considering their long and shared history but telling from one so cold. Idly she observed the woman she and her sister had mentored together imagining her as Ajah Head, as their new and fabled leader, guided only by herself. It was a tempting image. Tiassale had wits and the determination to make a success of the job. Backed by the faction she herself intended to assemble, the Far Madding woman would make a formidable Captain General.

But those matters would be reserved for later when all had gone successfully tonight. Soon one by one those sisters whom she had made part of her coalition gathered to her summons. Close observation had permitted her to select the most promising from younger generations and bind them to her … should they be willing, of course … should they have judged that her service meant better opportunities for them, more skills to learn, sights to see that outweighed the danger and inconvenience of working with her. The brightest stars among these Sirayn knew as thoroughly as the battered books stacked around her quarters. Tiassale Sedai, already named; the devious Halvie from whom she expected so much; young Alyria al’Vire, so strong willed and so cunning. From these links she intended to forge a great chain.

Once everyone had gathered the firelight and shadow drew them close together on this tumultuous night. Rare was the occasion on which she spoke as bluntly as she meant to do tonight and it was an opportunity to make the most of. Brief words passed between them and the youngest sister present, as protocol instructed, warded them away from all listeners. She looked between their composed faces, the Battle Ajah’s best soldiers, soon to be the heart of a new executive if she played her cards right, and the equal determination she read in them solved any fears she might have had.

Possibly they staked their careers on this gamble. She herself knew beyond conviction that whoever stood against her would be exiled from the white city; not a hint of dissension would she permit in the new regime she intended to raise. Caution therefore dictated that their opponents would not hesitate to do the same to them … or more likely, just her. And this was a game so new to her that it was frightening; the only one in which she could hold her own crippled and battered as she was. Yet for all this, Sirayn held a fragile certainty that the small council she had assembled would prove true. “Thank you all for attending me this evening.†She kept her tones cool betraying no hint of feeling; at no point could she be seen to be anything less than decided. “Many of you have known for some time that this summons would come. Let me confirm the rumours you may have heard. Taya Gille has announced her resignation as Captain General. The Battle Ajah is leaderless tonight.â€

Any fear that might have been shown at the news that they were now a lost ship, with no captain to guide them, among the shifting seas of this dark year came and went without comment. For once she kept her grey gaze steady and did not note the most minute changes in those about her; in a troubled hour they all deserved their secrets. “Let no woman here be in doubt. This is a moment we have been preparing toward for some months. Sisters, you are attending a council of war! Make no mistake, though we shall not raise a hand against our sisters for they are not our enemy, we cannot hesitate to seize our chance; for we are the only ones who can guide this Tower through the Last Battle and beyond.

“No more will we be a power in waiting, known only in intrigue and conspiracy, where a whisper is all we dare make. In this room we have enough wit, cunning and ambition to take control of this Ajah openly at last. This month we raise an Ajah Head of our choosing from among our number here today and we will see them become great. And when Tarmon Gai’don takes us all by storm, we will be on the front lines, and we will lead the defence of the Tower … and the Light.â€

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Sister of the Battle Ajah

“Thank you all for attending me this evening. Many of you have known for some time that this summons would come. Let me confirm the rumours you may have heard. Taya Gille has announced her resignation as Captain General. The Battle Ajah is leaderless tonight.†Sirayn said calmly.

Alyria felt the breathe catch in her throat. She did not make a sound, her face remain the perfect picture of composure. She felt eyes upon her as Sirayn looked them all over, no doubt looking for any signs of weakness. Alyria tried hard to remain still and unchanged by her news, but knew she would find something to pick up on. 'Leaderless at a time like this? How can she walk away like that?' Alyria turned her attention back to the woman speaking.

“Let no woman here be in doubt. This is a moment we have been preparing toward for some months. Sisters, you are attending a council of war! Make no mistake, though we shall not raise a hand against our sisters for they are not our enemy, we cannot hesitate to seize our chance; for we are the only ones who can guide this Tower through the Last Battle and beyond. Alyria felt the conviction of Sira's words deep in her bones. She was right; the Green Ajah was the only one who could lead the tower through whole. They would stand beside the Dragon, in his defense and support, fighting side by side with him when the day came. Alyria watched the others out of the corner of her eyes, seeing the response there.

“No more will we be a power in waiting, known only in intrigue and conspiracy, where a whisper is all we dare make. In this room we have enough wit, cunning and ambition to take control of this Ajah openly at last. This month we raise an Ajah Head of our choosing from among our number here today and we will see them become great. And when Tarmon Gai’don takes us all by storm, we will be on the front lines, and we will lead the defence of the Tower … and the Light.†Alyria gave a small nod at the woman, knowing they were on the same page. She sat there for a moment, letting what Sira was proposing sink in. She felt excitement take over her eyes when she realized she was speaking out loud.

"You are proposing that between the 4 of us, we take over the Ajah and lead the Tower through the greatest battle of all time. Raise one of us to the Ajah Head position, and us that as our way of taking over the Ajah. It is a great plan and an even better idea." Alyria looked away from the picture that was holding her attention. She looked into Sira's eyes and continued. "You know as well as I do Sira, the Ajah Head has plenty of say in what goes on within the Ajah itself, and is the most respected position, yet they all have eventually bent to the will of the Ajah itself. How do you propose first of all, that one of us is raised to the position, second, how will we use that position without bending to every nuance of the Ajah itself, and third, lead the Tower itself through the Last Battle? It will not be easy with the fighting that the Ajahs are doing with each other."

She watched the expression that was on Sira's face, waiting for it to change with Alyria's words.

_________________

Alyria Al'Vire

Mentee to Tiassale Morobin

Mentor to Taei Mirel

“Let no woman here be in doubt. This is a moment we have been preparing toward for some months. Sisters, you are attending a council of war! Make no mistake, though we shall not raise a hand against our sisters for they are not our enemy, we cannot hesitate to seize our chance; for we are the only ones who can guide this Tower through the Last Battle and beyond.

“No more will we be a power in waiting, known only in intrigue and conspiracy, where a whisper is all we dare make. In this room we have enough wit, cunning and ambition to take control of this Ajah openly at last. This month we raise an Ajah Head of our choosing from among our number here today and we will see them become great. And when Tarmon Gai’don takes us all by storm, we will be on the front lines, and we will lead the defence of the Tower … and the Light.â€

Sirayn’s words seemed to obliterate the room, casting it in shadow and sending it spinning out of control. This is it, Tia thought to herself, heart pounding. What better time for the Shadow to make its move ~ whilst its hardiest opponent lay in shambles searching for a leader.

There were very few women who could handle the reigns of the Battle Ajah and steer it in the direction it needed to go. In fact as she ran them through her head Tiassale could count them off on one hand. Kaylan Sedai and Vairine Sedai had been absent from the Tower for several years each, though she would put it past neither of them to show up at the last second and sweep the spot away from any other contenders. Within the Tower that left Jaydena Sedai, Viviane Sedai (who was completely unacceptable in Tia’s view) and perhaps Tiassale herself, though some events in the distant past had set several Sisters at odds with her, not to mention her opposition to the alliance with the Reds. And…..blinking in surprise Tia’s absent gaze finally settled once more on Sirayn….of course….Sirayn Simeone-Damodred.

Alyria spoke into the heavy silence that had decended on the room, "You are proposing that between the 4 of us, we take over the Ajah and lead the Tower through the greatest battle of all time. Raise one of us to the Ajah Head position, and us that as our way of taking over the Ajah. It is a great plan and an even better idea. You know as well as I do Sira, the Ajah Head has plenty of say in what goes on within the Ajah itself, and is the most respected position, yet they all have eventually bent to the will of the Ajah itself. How do you propose first of all, that one of us is raised to the position, second, how will we use that position without bending to every nuance of the Ajah itself, and third, lead the Tower itself through the Last Battle? It will not be easy with the fighting that the Ajahs are doing with each other."

Tiassale cast Alyria a warning glance, one of us? Though she had soared through her initiation and classes, achieving full Battle status more quickly and efficiently than most Alyria was too young to considered for the post of Captain General..unless. Was Sirayn searching for a puppet whose strings she could pull as she wished? That might explain her own presence at this meeting.

She tipped her head, green eyes considering, “I think perhaps Sirayn had a different plan in mind, Alyria. Not one of us so much as one of our choosing, our…values. But you bring up an excellent point.â€

She turned to Halvie Sedai beside her, “Why not one of us? In fact why not the one person in this room who might be the final hope for the Battle Ajah, the Light, for humanity itself?â€

Her gaze swung back to Sirayn, no longer thoughtful but decided and perhaps a bit calculating. “I propose we throw our support behind Sirayn Simeone-Damodred. It is time, Sirayn. Time for you take your rightful place.â€

Tiassale Morobin

Green Sister

Bonded to Andular Rojvas

OOC: I apologize if Kyle has tweaked Alyria’s timeline so she isn’t “young†in Tia’s view any longer, I checked and she wasn’t listed – I can edit as needed. When perusing that timeline I couldn't come up with another reason why Kay wouldnt be considered, other than absence - again, willing to edit if needed.

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.

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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.

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

Dorian Ayerell - Tower Trainee, Mentee of Yrean

Satine Whyre - Acrobat in Simon Jornin's travelling Circus

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.â€

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.â€

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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.

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

Dorian Ayerell - Tower Trainee, Mentee of Yrean

Satine Whyre - Acrobat in Simon Jornin's travelling Circus

Stamped in pure black wax, the seal bearing no trace of any emblem which might determine the sender’s name or rank, the letter might have seemed sinister if one was inclined to be perturbed by such matters. Its outside was entirely unmarked save for that obsidian seal; both cover and paper being of a rich and expensive make, flawless as few types were in this age, and only the letter contained within held any sign which might remotely catch the observer’s interest … though in truth, it was an intriguing letter indeed. No signature and no obvious sign of the sender: one might be forgiven for assuming that somebody wished their identity to be kept secret.

Lavinya Sedai,

It is with great interest that I finally write to you, who have held my interest for so long; you do not know me in turn, or at least you cannot match my name to this letter, but perhaps in time you shall. For the moment rest assured only that I am watching you as I watch all those of your potential. It became apparent to me some years ago that you and certain others of your generation bore the promise of greatness … a promise which has not yet been proven, but which perhaps another hand might guide toward its proper place. A certain wit, a certain initiative which many are lacking; a little short on discipline maybe, but so many are, much to the Tower’s loss.

Let us be blunt. So many new sisters never rise above insignificance. They grasp only half of what the world might offer them; the, shall we say … more acceptable half. It takes more than that to rise above the crowd. One needs a quality of ruthlessness, cruelty some call it, which I find so lacking in many of your peers; the capacity to see an opportunity and seize it; the determination to look beyond the immediate threat to what a fool might call honour toward one’s long term goals. Dedicated purely to the Tower’s cause, such skills may lead you to previously unimagined heights. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the perils of such a life may prove beyond your mastery. That is not for us to know at so early a stage.

A letter is so easily intercepted. I shall not speak too openly of matters which should be kept between us. Nevertheless, let it be made plain that we could be of some use to each other. You possess certain qualities which I might be able to … perfect, shall we say; you also harbour certain ambitions which I am excellently placed to advance, should I have the correct incentives. If I may be frank, I am a master at some skills you should like to know, if you are half what I think you are. And I could make use of a woman like you. Interesting uses.

Should you be interested in making further contact, I have left you sufficient clues to divine my identity. If I should find out … and my contacts are spread wide … that you are discussing this with others, I shall consider that my offer is rejected. Consider this your first test. Start with what you know, be discreet, and do not let me down.

Good luck.

ooc: If any novice or Accepted should want to deliver this letter to its recipient, feel free to post bringing it to Lavinya Sedai ... however please bear in mind that your character would be ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN to mention the sender's name since that would spoil the effect completely. ;) If nobody's up for it, the ball is in your court, Lavinya. :D

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Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

Aramina sighed as she walked towards Lavinya Sedai's quarters. She'd been swamped with her studies lately and because she'd been walking through the Tower with her mind elsewhere an Aes Sedai thought she needed some work to do. Not that she would put it in that manner to the Aes Sedai. Aramina turned the letter over in her hands. Interesting. Nothing on the outside to say who it came from. Dutifully, she walked quickly to find Lavinya Sedai's room and knocked on the door. "I have a letter to deliver to you Aes Sedai." She said as the door opened.

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Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

A knock on the door to her chambers roused Lavinya from her thoughts. She frowned, torn between relief at the interruption to the menial task of checking novices essays, to annoyance. She sighed and pushed aside the poorly penned words, before rising and gliding to the door, opening it without a word. She was greeted by a girl in a banded white dress, the child speaking barely before the door open.

"I have a letter to deliver to you Aes Sedai." Lavinya managed to look down her nose at the Accepted, even though the girl stood a good few inches taller. She took the letter from her silently, turning it over in her hands. "Who is it from child?" She demanded coldly. The outside of the missive was blank, excepting the simple black seal.

"Well girl? Speak." She frowned slightly as the girl quailed, before sighing loudly. "Never mind, I'm sure the sender is written on the inside of the letter. Off with you now." She made a vague shooing gesture, barely taking in the hasty curtsey as she whirled and shut the door behind her.

Curiosity roused, Lavinya moved over to a comfortably over-stuffed chair, curling her legs beneath her as she slipped a fingernail beneath the seal to break it, her eyes scanning the page as she read the smooth, flowing text quickly. Somehow unsurprisingly, the note was not signed. Lavinya chewed her lower lip in thought. The letter was certainly nothing she had expected. She had an admirer of sorts? She had already deduced it to be another sister.

Lavinya reread the missive, her mind ticking over the contents. She couldn't help but feel a small surge or satisfaction, at having her talents noticed and appreciated, though the identity of the sender still escaped her. Lavinya would be lying if she said her interest was not piqued. How she hated the thought of living a menial life in the tower, with no more achievements to her name than a few measly students, and several illicit affairs. No, she strove for power, and influence, wanting them above all else. Light, it was the reason she had begun her journey to the White Tower all those years ago.

Who would be in a position to advance her ambitions, let alone want to utilise her skills. Lavinya would find out who her pursuer was, and find out just what she had to offer her. She was loathe to track her down and discover this was a malicious prank, though the creator shelter anyone who sought to play such a prank. Lavinya did not consider herself a fool, she was far to arrogant for that, and anyone who tried to paint her as one was an enemy in her eyes. Either way, she would know the author of the note in her hand.

Folding the simple parchment carefully, Lavinya glided over to her desk once more, lifting the lid of the small box placed on the centre. She tucked the mystery letter inside, sealing the lid and warding the box for protection. Possibly not necessary, but in this situation Lavinya preferred to err on the side of caution. With a small satisfied not, she turned on her heel and strode from the room. She would find the Accepted and question her more thoroughly as to the identity of the writer. She doubted the girl would know much of any use, but she may be able to give her some clue.

Not a simple task, considering Lavinya did not know the name of the Accepted she sought, though she knew she would recognise her on sight. She may have appeared disinterested, but Lavinya made a point to not let even the small details pass her. Eventually she spotted her, striding down the corridors towards the classrooms. Lavinya halted before her, forcing the girl to stop in her tracks or trample her.

"I will keep you but a moment girl, do not worry yourself so." she gave a vague wave at the Accepted's worried expression. "I want you to tell me everything you recall about the sister who instructed you to deliver the note to me this morning. Think hard girl, and tell me everything you remember." Lavinya's shrewd gaze never left the child's face, looking for any hint of a lie or evasion in her words.

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

Dorian Ayerell - Tower Trainee, Mentee of Yrean

Satine Whyre - Acrobat in Simon Jornin's travelling Circus

Aramina's face didn't betray her surprise at being hungted down so quickly by the Aes Sedai. The letter had intrigued her and if the inside of the letter was as anonymous as the outside she had expected something, but not this. "There is not much to tell Aes Sedai." She said dropping into a curtsy before the woman. "I was on my way to class and wasn't paying much attention. I was already late and I the fear of being sent to the Mistress of Novice for it kept me from noticing anything."

Not far from the truth, but her mother had always taught her that lies worked best if they were the truth. She had been running late, even if she hadn't noticed it before she'd been asked to eliver the letter and she certainly was in fear of that trip to the Mistress of Novice now!

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Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

Lavinya frowned in thought, making her way back towards her quarters after dismissing the Accepted. All she'd been able to tell her was that she was near the Green Ajah quarters when the note was given to her. That did not mean the note necessarily came from a Green, but it increased the liklihood. The biggest clue Lavinya could think of was the wax. Simple black, and there had been no seal. An obvious attempt at anonymity, yet in itself it was not common.

Turning these thoughts over in her mind, Lavinya stalked back into her chambers, shutting the door behind her with a thread of air. Unravelling the ward on the box, she lifted out the note, scanning the words on the page once more. She could find no real clues in the text, other than the fact that the sister held a position of considerable influence. The only way Lavinya could think of to trace her was the black wax. Or perhaps the note, if abandoned in a conspicuous location, could lead her back to the original author. She would ward it, of course, a trace. She just couldn't think of any other way to find the author of the mysterious missive.

Embracing the source, Lavinya wove tiny threads of fire, melting the wax enough so that she could reseal it, cooling it again with a thread of air. She gave her work a critical eye, gently manipulating the soft wax with air until she was satisfied it looked untouched, before weaving a trace, letting the weave sink into the letter until it was no longer visible to a channeler. Of course, anyone who bothered to check would notice a residue, but Lavinya was counting on the fact that whoever wrote it would be more concerned in hunting and punishing the novice set to deliver it, than studying the note too closely.

With the ward complete, there was nothing left for Lavinya to do save plant the letter. Clutching it in her hand, she made her way from the Grey Quarters, following the twisting tiled floors, as they grey turned to white, then to green as she made her way to where the Green sisters habited. The novice had been only near the entrance to the chambers, so Lavinya decided not to take the letter any further. Taking careful note to make sure no one was watching, Lavinya dropped the note, letting it flutter to the ground. Walking on, she could sense the letter where she had dropped it. Now came the waiting game. If this didn't work, she was back to square one.

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

Dorian Ayerell - Tower Trainee, Mentee of Yrean

Satine Whyre - Acrobat in Simon Jornin's travelling Circus

Arrogance was an occasional danger for the seasoned player of this greatest game; most of all perhaps for one skilled enough and certain enough to play it in the very halls where so many of the world’s last heroes had once walked. It took a particular sort of cunning to set oneself against women who could obliterate one in one’s steps. Yet reckless though it might make her, knowing full well as she did all her failings … the temper, the scathing sarcasm, past mistakes, half a hundred fears and secrets she kept close to her heart … Sirayn Sedai considered herself such a woman. Armoured in iron hard composure she had made herself the spider at the heart of a vast web; a whispered word might make its way to her as silently as a careless brush of hands in the corridors. A daily deluge of information filtered through her quarters by letter and even now half a hundred reports littered her dark desk which she would not like to fall into the wrong hands.

All this jealously hoarded intelligence did not protect her, however, from the difficulties inherent in using other people for her work. Some wise man had once said that if one wanted anything doing well one should do it oneself and, staring at the black sealed letter on her desk in some confusion, Sirayn was currently trying to work out how exactly one messed up such a straight forward task. To deliver a letter to a specific sister was scarcely a task she would have thought beyond the grasp of an Accepted … however, seemingly it was too complicated for the simple minds of initiates. Maybe her fearsome hold over those in whites had waned somewhat and they no longer feared her too much to turn in anything but a perfect performance because, truly, she could not imagine any reason why this letter had not been delivered. For it to come back unopened was a deeply puzzling occurrence.

Some kind of prank perhaps? She could not recall irritating anyone that much recently despite her best attempts. Total incompetence seemed the only answer. It frustrated her beyond words that her attempt to lure in a fellow sister had been foiled … and she was not the type of person to let such contempt go past easily. Rising swiftly from her chair she crossed the polished floor and opened the door looking out into busy halls. A brief gesture summoned a novice to her side: “Child! Fetch me Accepted Aramina sur Dulciena immediately.â€

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Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

"You'd better go quickly." Aramina curiously eyed the Novice who spoke to her. "She seemed angry."

"I am aware of the speed such a request should be answered in." Aramina said coldly. "Perhaps you need a reminder for how you handle your own chores. Go down to the kitchens and see if they need help scrubbing the pots. It will give you time to reflect on how you should properly act."

The novice scowled but flittered off quickly with the barest of nods before Aramina could say anything else to her. Aramina's emotions were always kept closely controlled but a summons to Sirayn Sedai concerned her. She had delivered a letter for the Aes Sedai and had then been hunted down and questioned about the letter. She hadn't revealed anything, especially not who it had come from. Why was she feeling that this summons was going to be bad then?

The thoughts kept running through her head as she made her way as quickly as possible to the Green Quarters. When she arrived at Sirayn's door, she knocked. "You wished to see me Sirayn Sedai?" She asked.

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Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

Every courtesy and a civil greeting offered nevertheless only served to stoke her temper further. How did one learn the protocol offered to sisters so well and yet be so clueless a single letter could not be properly delivered? Now all her plans were thrown off track and she would have to spend time thinking about how to best address this gaping hole in her schemes. Briefly from her own diminutive height she examined the initiate before her; slim and tall, honey brown hair richly curled, blue eyes holding a spark of intelligence. The child was unnatural tall for the Cairhienin origin her accents told though Sirayn had long become accustomed to being the shortest in a hundred leagues. Cairhien ought to have taught her better than to offer insolence to a sister. So many mysteries it puzzled her.

A picture of ice, Sirayn indicated for the child to enter her quarters, sharp grey gaze tracking the progress of white skirts across her floor. “You may recall that earlier today I instructed you to deliver a letter anonymously to one Lavinya Sedai. I can see that delivering a letter without making mention of any name might push any intellect to its limits,†a touch of bitter irony on the words, cutting enough, “but may I ask how it came about that this letter was not delivered at all?†Plucking the offending article from her desk Sirayn held it up to indicate that it was still freshly sealed and untouched. “Fear not that a fraction of blame might rest on your shoulders. Crossing through the halls can be an arduous journey indeed. Did you, perhaps, get lost on the way to the requisite quarters? Did you find the corridors somewhat more dangerous than I anticipated? Perhaps there are letter thieves who run about snatching missives and directing them somewhere else.â€

Her sarcasm was getting out of hand. Controlling the urge to rip another piece off the child so temptingly in her grasp, instead Sirayn laid the letter gently down on her desk; resolving to properly question an initiate before giving them a task in future to remove those whose intellect was actually on holiday in sunny Tear. “Take your time and spin me an amusing story,†gentle tones now, carrying the threat of much greater wrath than her previous scorn, “I appear to have more time on my hands than I originally planned thanks to a certain errand not being performed and I will be more than pleased to spend it addressing this small difficulty.â€

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Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

It was the most embarrasing, annoying, and outrageous thing that had happened to Aramina. She was no fool though and showing anger in front of an Aes Sedai was sure to lead to only one thing, humiliation. Instead, as she listened to Sirayn Sedai demean her, Aramina kept her composure. She was not the match of a full Sister with years of experience, but Aramina was Cairheinian and she knew how to control her behavior to keep from giving away her emotions.

“You may recall that earlier today I instructed you to deliver a letter anonymously to one Lavinya Sedai. I can see that delivering a letter without making mention of any name might push any intellect to its limits, but may I ask how it came about that this letter was not delivered at all?â€

Sirayn grabbed something off her desk and Aramina was surprised to see the letter she had delivered earlier that day. Seal in tact. She frowned slightly as the Aes Sedai continued.

“Fear not that a fraction of blame might rest on your shoulders. Crossing through the halls can be an arduous journey indeed. Did you, perhaps, get lost on the way to the requisite quarters? Did you find the corridors somewhat more dangerous than I anticipated? Perhaps there are letter thieves who run about snatching missives and directing them somewhere else.â€

Aramina was outraged at the Aes Sedai's accusations but before she could find the words to speak, Sirayn was speaking again Her tone was almost caressing but it was far more threatening to Aramina's ears.

“Take your time and spin me an amusing story, I appear to have more time on my hands than I originally planned thanks to a certain errand not being performed and I will be more than pleased to spend it addressing this small difficulty.â€

Aramina took a deep breath before speaking. She had always kept her temper on a short leash and this was the worst time for her to lose it. She had no doubt that Sirayn Sedai would find a way to make her life miserable if she couldn't convince her, in a properly reverant tone, that she had done as she was told.

"I don't understand how this letter is here Sirayn Sedai. I took the letter and delivered it as you asked of me. In fact, as I was walking to my next class Lavinya Sedai stopped me and questioned me about the letter. I told her only that I had been running late and feared a trip to the Mistress of Novice so I hadn't paid attention to who gave the letter to me. I can't say if she opened the letter or not, but I did deliver it as you asked."

Her tone had been respectful and her body still, not giving away any tell tale signs of her anger. Perhaps Sirayn Sedai was allowed to take her anger out on an Accepted, but it would put Aramina in the kitchens for weeks, she was sure, if even a hint of hers leaked out.

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Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

ooc: Is this okay Aramina? Think it might be time for Lavinya to come visit me if that's okay with everyone. :D

Few had the daring to so much as question her these days; a narrow grey gaze contemplated the serene child before her. Perhaps the stamp of a foreign court lay in that schooled composure. Cairhienin played subtle games, bitter history had taught her better than to miscalculate the effects of such a culture, and it would be just her luck if her careless search had picked out the one initiate who might have the learning and refinement to meet a sister on her own grounds. No matter. Somewhat battered from various trials though she might be Sirayn counted herself a match for any initiate and capable of dispensing a little discipline.

Dark brows drew further together as the child ran smoothly through her tale. Stopped in the corridors? A likely story. If she had been in the other woman’s place she would not have resorted to so public a place for any questioning she might want to exact … nor would Aramina sur Dulciena have judged herself able to repeat it afterward. But then again the Gray Ajah worked by a different set of rules and perhaps they derived some sort of thrill from being covertly observed by everyone passing through. Even if that corridor meeting had come to pass as the child claimed, how did the letter come to be in her own possession again, and why had it not even been opened? The seal bore no mark to distinguish it from anonymity and the outside was also unmarked. By all rights it ought to have intrigued a player of Daes Dae’mar … unless Lavinya imagined herself so unassailable that she need not even acknowledge the contact of a similar spider in this great web. Could this be some kind of hidden warning?

All the reasons why a young sister of such promise might return a letter unopened occupied her thoughts. If there had been some small means by which Lavinya might determine her identity without opening the seal she might have imagined it to be a threat of sorts … a shot across her bows … showing an unexpected abundance of skill where she had not looked for such before. She couldn’t think of any possible way in which that had happened. Brash though it might be Sirayn considered herself seasoned in these matters and if she could not work out any means by which the younger woman might have divined her identity, likely such a means did not exist. Even if that were true, why send the letter back? Maybe it was an overt refusal of her approach. Maybe it meant some other sign for which there was not enough information to make a judgement.

Her pensive silence had whiled on long enough. Sternly she surveyed the not very penitent Accepted before her. Did she accept the child’s story? It seemed so full of holes and credited to the Gray Sister, an absent third party in this discussion, a skill which she had not yet outwardly displayed. Briefly she considered mentioning, if reluctantly, that there was a distant possibility that she might have been a trifle careless in her accusations, but such an admission of defeat burned her. She owed neither apologies nor explanations to anyone. “Fortunate for you I suspect that there is some outside chance that you may be speaking a word of truth. Or possibly not. I shall make my own investigations … and if I should find that you are playing some game with me, child, I shall be back again and our next discussion shall be less friendly than this. Dismissed.â€

Aramina sur Dulciena: a name to remember.

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

Aramina watched as her words sunk in with Sirayn. She could see the wheels turning in the Aes Sedai's mind and as the silence between them grew, Aramina feared something far worse than the kitchens if her story wasn't believed.

“Fortunate for you I suspect that there is some outside chance that you may be speaking a word of truth. Or possibly not. I shall make my own investigations … and if I should find that you are playing some game with me, child, I shall be back again and our next discussion shall be less friendly than this. Dismissed.â€

Aramina didn't let a sigh escape her lips, though she wanted to. Her rigid composure remained the same. "Thanks you Aes Sedai." She said with a very proper curtsy. She left the Aes Sedai's quarters and walked away from the Green Quarters. She put off the thought of going to the library to complete her studies today and instead went straight back to her rooms. As her own door closed behind her, Aramina allowed herself to take a deep breath before she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and found the same face she knew Sirayn had seen. Had such a skilled layer seen what was happening behind her own fascade, or had she been so caught up in the events that she hadn't paid attention to her? Or perhaps Aramina's calm fascade had worked. Not that she had lied in the slightest, not even by misleading or ommission, but the way Sirayn had reacted to her made her wonder. Perhaps Sirayn was someone to watch closer. As an Accepted she tried to emulate the Aes Sedai. As a player in the game though, she sought to learn by watching those more skilled than she.

A smile broker her fascade and a laugh escaped Aramina. Somedays, life made her glad she had made her way to the White Tower.

_________________

Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

Lavinya noticed when Aramina left Sirayn's quarters. She had been sure before that the rooms beyond that door housed her warded letter, but now she was certain. No doubt the Accepted had received quite the tongue lashing. Did the girl admit that she had indeed deliver the letter? Or did she simply clam up under the formidable glare of her elder. It was of little consequence to Lavinya now, no doubt the girl had found some trouble, but that was the least of her concerns. What concerned her was why Sirayn had sent her such a letter, under the cloak of anonymity.

Curiousity piqued, Lavinya knew she had to confront the Green directly, or be forever tormented by her own imaginings. The letter had made reference to advancing her ambitions. How the woman knew about them, she was unsure, but her mind was aroused at the concept nonetheless. Since her arrival at the tower, indeed, even long before, Lavinya knew she was destined for greatness. She knew she belonged in a position of power and authority. Discovering she could channel was the first step in that direction, but since then, nothing had proceeded as she had planned it to in her girlish fantasies. It was harder than she had expected, convincing others of her rightful greatness. Why Sirayn could use her, she did not know, indeed she would raise the question when the time came, but for now she was too centred on what she could gain from such a venture.

As irritating as the thought of a test was, Lavinya believed she had passed it with flying colours. She had only received the note that morning, and already knew the identity of the author. Pride in her own acheivements swelled within her for a moment, before she quashed it once more. She was nothing, if not arrogant, yet even she was not so foolish as to relish in her own accomplishments for too long. Especially when a sister such as Sirayn was playing what appeared to be a deep game.

So, with a slight straightening of her spine and a firming of her resolve, Lavinya set about assuaging her curiosity. Approaching the door from which the novice had left, she lifted a hand and knocked three times, before stepping back and waiting for a response. It came soon after, Sirayn herself opening the door. Lavinya raised a brow, almost certain she was witnessing the closest thing to surprise that ever passed those features. "I realise you probably weren't expecting me so soon, Sirayn Sedai, but I was hoping I may come in." Her eyes flicked past into the simply furnished room, her eyes resting on the letter adressed to her, which sat on the desk. "I believe you have something belonging to me, which we should discuss." She brought her brown gaze back to Sirayn, waiting for her to make her move in this intriguing game.

_________________

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

Dorian Ayerell - Tower Trainee, Mentee of Yrean

Satine Whyre - Acrobat in Simon Jornin's travelling Circus

Despite her best attempts a fraction’s movement toward the fire arrested her thoughts and riveted every petrified instinct immediately. Fear gripped her so intense that she could barely draw breath but for the icy hand clenched tight on her throat; the foreign space around her seemed in an instant both immense and threatening. Any coherent sense shattered into fragments. Panic seared through her, beat out a rapid rhythm in her heart, and it took every shred of steel she possessed to master that all consuming terror … to lock down strength born from driving horror, to bring hatred and terror and memory under the same strict control … all to no success. Fracture lines existed in what passed for her courage that no amount of time had fixed and she could not seem to make herself be as fearless as Battle Ajah ought to be.

She disgraced herself and her people with every moment she spent frantic with fear. Her folk never panicked, they did not know shame, no force on earth could disrupt their flawless composure. All her life she had driven herself to match that perfection. If she could not keep herself together despite the most intense pressure, if all it took to break her was a drop of some drug or other and a little bit of intimidation, she might as well be dead for she was useless to the Tower & to her beloved Battle Ajah. She had to be stronger than steel … so strong that no amount of threats carried out or otherwise could daunt her … strong enough never to fear again. Near two hundred years ago she had promised herself that danger would never stop her: she could not betray that now; not and still live with herself afterward.

Once the poker went away her dread loosened its grip a fraction. Immobile as ice cold marble, she watched permitting no expression to mar her composure as her captor drew a dagger: briefly and intensely her memory supplied another image, her son and his sword, minutes before he rendered her forever a crippled coward: a skitter of terror along the edge of her calm. Panic stole in like a whisper’s passage in the darkness. If she let that occupy her thoughts with its deceptive strength it would never let her go and she had to stay nothing less than in control at all times. For some reason she had not been paying over much attention to whatever had distracted the boy; it seemed insignificant beside the imminent threat of losing something else quite precious to her; equally still she only watched and waited as the boy slipped outside.

Only then did she let herself draw a deep, shaking breath and relax a bit. The intensity of feelings in quick succession, fury and terror and despair, left her exhausted; she hated this, hated feeling so exposed, all her most secret fears open for anyone to see. At least this unseeing cabin could tell no stories. Cautiously she flexed her hand again seeking to assess how much control she might have recovered over drugged muscles, found scarcely a fraction more than she had ten minutes ago, it was going to prove difficult to escape. If she couldn’t even sit up how was she supposed to escape this cabin, much less haul herself out of whatever snowy unknown it was located in … how was she going to defend herself until the One Power returned to her? A stutter of images showed her in cruel clarity that she did not want to test her meagre strength against a fully trained Tower Guard. Burn her but she needed the Power and needed it now.

His sword still lay with its sheath on a table not far from her. She surveyed it thoughtfully, calculated the distance: asked herself again what she thought she could accomplish crippled and drugged and useless with somebody else’s blade against a proper swordsman: but if there was anything she despised and feared it was being helpless. Light only knew there was nothing else in the cabin that might be of use to her. Concentrating hard she managed to lift her hand, her head, got that useless arm beneath her and pushed herself up an inch; but the drug was too Light forsaken strong and everything felt heavy and unfeeling as lead. The damn sword was probably longer than she was tall anyway. Blood and ashes! How had she ever got herself into this mess?

If any Aes Sedai had ever been as pitiful as to wind up paralysed and robbed of the One Power in the hands of a dubiously motivated man she had yet to be acquainted with them … and surely anyone else would have made a better job of escape. This was immensely frustrating; helplessness shamed her nearly to tears; it would have been the ultimate disgrace to break down in these circumstances and she made herself hard and cold as iron. Footsteps crunching through snow outside warned her. Composing herself once more, centuries old instincts smoothing any trace of expression from her face, she waited much in the manner of a doll for his return though she had no choice over it.

A tiny and forgotten part of her cried bitterly in fear, in distress, wanting nothing more than to escape somewhere quiet and safe. The greater part of her held it an iron conviction that nobody would see this mask slip even in the slightest. Harder times had come before this, would doubtless do so again, and she would outlast them all. Inch by inch she made herself relax, feigned disinterest, though she remembered only too vividly her last encounter with deranged children who had access to fire and iron … she had not become scarred and battered and one handed of her own accord, that was for certain, not even if one reckoned that by such carelessness she had brought it on herself … and even touching lightly on such memories came precious close to undoing her.

Last time around had broken her utterly. It had taken her weeks to put the broken pieces of herself back together. A thousand times she had promised herself that that would never, ever happen again, that nobody would ever lay hands on her again, that she would protect herself first and foremost even if it smashed any claim she might have made to being a good Aes Sedai. The difficulty lay in actually meeting that promise. She was coming to imagine, bitter and incredulous though that thought might be, that complete and total disintegration on a quite spectacular scale was preferable to the kind of existence she would be left with if she let fear make a coward of her. After all what price could be put on life if everything else was gone? If one had betrayed one’s identity and one’s loyalty and everything else that mattered?

Such was the exalted life of an Aes Sedai. A twist of irony lightened her thoughts momentarily; she kept them deceptively easy, thinking too much only added to her current burden. Her objectives were simple. She had to convince the boy not to dose her with more of the drug or otherwise get herself out from under its influence. If she could extract from him his extremely dubious motives in the process she would count that an added success. Most importantly she had to remain as composed as befit an agent of the White Tower’s great reputation. High goals: she had extracted herself from tighter corners in the past, through luck more than judgement perhaps, and she was beginning to suspect that this would be easier said than done.

Grey eyes narrowed when the boy came to sit beside her once more. Her skin crawled in anticipation of some further unwanted touch but he managed to restrain himself, probably plotting something else she thought bitterly, and that idea was enough to turn her to ice. She had tracked that dagger back into his sleeve and it irked her beyond words that it waited so close yet still stubbornly out of reach; possibly the only type of blade with which she had half a chance of defending herself; it might as well have been on the moon. Her fingers itched to pick up steel or saidar, something to fool herself that she was capable of holding her own, to stamp out any possibility that what she feared might come to pass. Even the tiniest trickle of saidar would cause the boy some serious damage. If only she could reach it.

A few words was all it took to render her nearly speechless with fury. How this child had found the impertinence to snatch her from her comfortable rooms, drug her stupid and then threaten her family she had yet to grasp. Presumably he had no way of locating them, the last folk precious to her who survived in this harsh land, but even the implicit menace stirred every protective instinct to outrage. She would have burned down the world to protect Heartswood, the Last Hearth, and it stung her like nothing else to have to lie here defenceless while he all but taunted her with that knowledge. If he had even gone near them … if they had so much as been troubled … there was going to be some vengeance.

Retribution might have to wait until she was not in fact completely helpless any more. Anger and the savage need to wreak revenge seared her; there were important scores to be settled here; nobody threatened her, nobody threatened her family. “You know nothing about Heartswood.†Soft as a whisper, yet harsh and holding a wealth of fury. “The reason why is simple … I never trusted you enough to tell you any more; and judging by today’s little outing I was correct to doubt you.†She wanted this one to suffer even a fraction as much as she was doing right now. His study outraged her; an intensely secretive person, she wanted little less than to have all her most intimate thoughts pried out of her now that she could not lift a hand to stop him; in fact, everything about this situation irritated her greatly.

Fortunately, paralysed though she might be, he had not yet stopped her speaking and Sirayn was quite capable of exacting a bit of reprisal via words. “I knew a boy like you once,†in deceptively careless tones she touched on a story so great he would never know the half of it if she had anything to do with it, “equally so deceitful, and he played much the same game as you … only a hundred times more dangerous. I did not sever my own hand, after all, regardless of rumours to the contrary.†Coldly she watched to see if that hit home, searching for a tell tale narrowing of the eyes, all the hundred small cues that might warn her. “I have known Darkfriends who put less consideration into assaulting me. Small wonder that I should be a little confused as to where your loyalties lie. But I dealt with them as I will deal with you; and if I should imagine for even an instant that you pose a threat to the White Tower, insolent child, I will send you a message that the densest fool could not misconstrue.â€

: : : : At the crack of dawn the palest hues of light slid in softly to colour the sleeping city in shadow. Beneath brooding skies the city appeared as some great dragon, white as ice, coiled gently about its towering prize. As a blazing sun rose somewhere distant beyond the cloud banks, molten gold burst forth across the sky, tinting everything the same delicate shade as though painted with gold leaf. That night a frost had set in and now lay in a white shroud across arches and spires so that each peak glittered like the point of a diamond. Down in the darkened streets chill still lingered in among the elegant wrought structures; ice water dripped somewhere among the mist hazed maze of streets, the echoes soon drowned out by the stirring sounds of the city. It was a sharp sort of morning meant for a journey.

: : : : A shadow passed swiftly across the smooth surface of a hall, the polished stone reflecting back an image distorted as though viewed through water. Small and slight the passer by looked no more than a wraith amid the mist and the swirling frost; a careless gesture with a black gloved hand drew her hood closer over the dark hair to conceal her features. Shadows covered all but the hard set of her mouth. At first glance nothing about this tiny woman cloaked and garbed for travel was worthy of remark, but a closer look might have picked out some stern quality to her bearing, a subtle stillness about her, which spoke of menace. The chill did not seem to touch her as it did others nor did the mist delay her progress. Her steps echoed softly through the empty streets as she wound her way through the city in its drowsing daze.

: : : : The band of gold across the horizon had broadened a notch and the light in among these graceful houses had brightened by the time she strode into the stable yards in the shadow of the White Tower itself. Above her the citadel itself soared in ivory glory. Here and there a line of frost glittered beneath the sun; where shade lay too impenetrable for sun to break through the ground was hard and crunching with ice. Two sleek horses stood under the sun, steamed gently in the cold air, while stable hands hurried to tie on their saddle bags and check the track. Shouts dropped to softer pitches at her appearance and those whose curses had rang out across the still air fell abruptly silent.

: : : : She spared no attention to any of them for her companion had arrived before her. Laying eyes on the Ebou Dari woman, lean and strong as a cat and with a hunter’s effortless way of fascinating, sent a strange shiver through her but she kept a stone mask. Lazily feigning ignorance of anyone else’s presence she lifted a gloved hand to push back her hood; pale sun slanted in to pick out tints of red and copper in her dark hair, gilded the harsh lines of her face, and she raised an impassive grey glance toward the other woman. Their eyes met despite the servants scurrying across the distance between them … held, in a timeless moment, and something twisted in her heart like a knife; she wanted to slap Seiaman, wanted to snarl at her, wanted to stalk away and never come back; wanted something she could not put into words. It was as though there were a barrier between them crafted by time and loss and pride.

: : : : This failure to find words filled her with a sudden and irrational anger. None of this made sense. “You are ready, I suppose?†She made the words curt caring little how they came across. The edge in her tone made the servants jump in finishing their work. Their movement distracted her; she frowned at them, as though she was interested in anything except Seiaman in this moment. It gave her a brief sense of satisfaction to think how Jaydena must be fuming right now … so lately united once again with the love of her life and the subject of her secret marriage; only to have it all snatched away by the cripple whom she had openly called a coward. How did it feel to know that their much treasured happiness could be shattered by somebody so despised at a moment’s notice? She hoped it stung and stung hard. Maybe that would teach Jaydena to cross her from now on.

: : : : Or maybe, if she managed to carry out her plans, she would find a much more agreeable form of revenge … defeating the Sitter on her own grounds amid the complex intrigues of Daes Dae’mar as completely as she had once done in a tourney. Images: brightness and blazing banners and the cold bite of steel; vividly she remembered kneeling amid the dust and the broken ground where they had fought and holding a dagger to her quarry’s throat. Perhaps she should have turned it inward then and let that eager point seek out the red life so near and so tempting. But no … soon enough she would have her own vengeance; gained without a drop of blood spilled; a point proven to those who had dismissed her as witless and lacking in subtlety, merely a tool to fit their hand. Let them kneel to her in turn some day. Now that would be sweet.

: : : : Perhaps she would send her rival a letter later, all the same, detailing as vividly as she liked all the time she was spending with Seiaman. Doubtless this journey would cause Jaydena more grief than it ever gratified her, cursed as she was with the constant presence of her ex Gaidin, but this prospect at least seemed bright. She let the vindictive thrill of that thought soften her irritation a little, smooth out the hard lines made by her frown; the easing of pressure across the stable yard was clear to all but the most oblivious observer. “Let’s be off.†Carelessly she crossed the yard toward her waiting mount, stilled, once she reached its side; Seiaman waiting at her shoulder in order to offer her a leg up. Her mouth compressed stung briefly and bitterly though she could not say why. Maybe it was a gesture born of chivalry, but to a skilled player, half a hundred meanings could be read into it; that was the reason she gave herself.

: : : : In the space of an instant she weighed up the benefits of starting a quarrel right there in the yard for anyone to see, a tempting prospect, but discarded the thought immediately. A less than gracious silence prevailed as she accepted her ex Gaidin’s assistance; ignoring as best she could the memories brought back too keenly by strong hands on her. Intensely she remembered how Seiaman had given her up battered and defenceless to the most horrifying experience of her life. An icy dread took hold of her. All of a sudden the sun was too bright, too many people watching, the clamour about the yards too loud; everything was close and immediate and shut out all thought. And for long moments half of her was trapped once again beneath the ground in a choking tangle of fear and torment.

: : : : No. Nobody was going to pity her ever again. It was pitiful for a grown woman to be so torn up about something which had happened a month and more ago … besides, and this she told herself fiercely, it hadn’t been that awful, many women went through the same during the course of their lives. It had been nothing. Less than nothing. Only a coward would still be hurting so much. She took a slow breath, relaxed her grip on the reins, tried to be less rigidly tense; if she could just make herself understand that this weakness was shameful maybe she could let it go. “Are you waiting for a tip?†she inquired coldly arching a brow toward the woman still waiting at her side. The tones were too harsh, rough with memories better suppressed, but nobody would expect anything less from her. “This morning would be an excellent time to start moving.â€

: : : : Having thus dismissed any inclination toward pity, or so she hoped, Sirayn waited in stony silence while the other woman mounted up; turned her gaze toward the white city and the open road which lay beyond like a promise of freedom. Maybe if she rode far enough and fast enough she could escape the clutching shades of times past. Maybe she could work out the secret of how everyone else managed to live with themselves. After all, there were many lands and many people out there, far beyond the reach of the white city. Perhaps if she was lucky she could even learn to work around the loss of her hand. Such fanciful thoughts beneath the sun on this crisp day. Her mouth curled in an ironic smile, and she put her heels into her horse, starting out on the road through Tar Valon. If this was the last time she stood beneath a winter sun as a soldier, a hunter among men, let it be well done.

Sirayn Sedai

Sister of the Battle Ajah

Seiaman stepped out of the winter store, having picking a few items for the trip north. It was rumored by recent visitors from the north that the winter was still bitter, threatening to ice the life out of any travellers who came unprepared. I hope that Sirayn is prepared. A part of her thought to send a note of forewarning to the woman but she quickly shot that idea down. If she does not come prepared, it is her own fault. Stop worrying about her and start worrying about yourself. She stepped into a weaponry store and started to look over the cleaning kits that was meant for travel. The unease still lingered in the back of her mind at what was said nearby the rose garden - she could not believe what she had said, that she would still die for Sirayn. She shook her head slightly, Well, it's true. It's what is expected of you. Picking out a small leather kit with sharpening and cleaning supplies, she turned towards the daggers and pole staff accessories. She knew it'd be icy - it would be best to perhaps wrap some sort of twine around where she held the staff to offer friction. The soft voice in the back of her mind dared to speak, Yes, that is true. But you know that is not why you would die for her again. Anger silenced the voice - she would not allow herself to fall into that trap again. She would do what was expected of her to do, nothing more.

After she picked out a good twine that she could wrap around the areas where she held the pole staff, she paid for the the items and stepped out of the store. There was nothing more she needed, she still had most of her travelling necessities prior to her arrival to the Tower. She headed towards the stables where Storms was kept to notify the master to prepare her horse for the departure. It is due time that she picks a youngling to bond, she would not want someone who is nearly out of their prime. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that replacements were common in the White Tower, resentment and jealousy still stirred within. She knew she could not depart in this condition, lest it distracts her from the mission at hand. But all those that she could trust to speak with were no longer at the Tower. Perhaps it is time to find a bond, Seiaman. Someone new to focus on. The soft voice laughed in the back of her head, To replace Sirayn and what she means to you? Not bloody possible. She growled lightly, wishing that the cumbersome voice would be a humanly body so she could destroy it once and for all. She stepped in the stables and headed towards Storms, whom immediately recognized her scent and walked to the end of her stall to share greetings. "Hello, my dear." Storms nudged her nose in similar sentiment. "We're off in the morrow, hm? Rest and eat." Storms shook her head and moved her head to offer her ear for scratches. A rare smile crept on Seiaman's lips as she obliged, "So demanding you are." After a few moments, she nuzzled her horse and stepped away to discuss the trip with the stablemaster.

The details were worked out and Seiaman stepped out of the stables and headed towards her quarters to pack. The sun had slowly faded away already as the stars were climbing to their rightful places among the black sky. What of the boy? She couldn't help but shake her head. It was not like she could fault him for his behavior, having been selected for attention by one of the most prestigious Green Ajah sisters in the White Tower. If he knew anything of the history she carried with Sirayn, it could be that he felt threatened by Seiaman's presence. Or is it that he is just very protective of her - being groomed to be her Warder? Seiaman opened the door into her quarters and went to the small fireplace to start a fire and pulled the chute half-closed. If there was no one in the Tower that could help, there would be others. She changed into more comfortable clothes and opened her chest to pull out a pouch filled with wood chips and sweetgrass. As she learned from her time away, there were certain aromas that played a part to mediation - it helped induce a more relaxed state of body and mind, creating a mediation session deeper than experienced before - it would be difficult to bring the person out of it.

Tossing a handful of the wood chips and sweet grass into the small fire, Seiaman extinguished all candles in the room but one - leaving the fire to be the only source of light and heat. The only candle left was meant to mark time past. She sat on the floor, softened by a fur rug - she crossed her legs and rested the back of the hands against her knees. Gazing into the firelight, she slowed her breathing and let the fire consume all around her. The flames danced, the sweet smoke rising towards her - her eyes closed slowly, her mind stopped racing, her heartbeat slowed down - and peace enveloped her.

Seiaman walked across a plain of tall green grass, the tendrils of the wind whipping them around. The sun rays beamed down against the earth as a small stream trickled nearby. In this place of her mind, she was not a warrior. She was not a Tower Guard. She was Seiaman Kera of Ebou Dar. She rarely felt like this anymore. With her arrival to the White Tower and learning that her once Aes Sedai still lived - the mere thought of it brought a sudden flood of dark clouds raced across the sky, thunderbolts and lightening silenced all other sound - the rain threatening to destroy all peace she knew. "You are a very chaotic woman, my daughter." She swiveled around and faced a woman she had not seen in a very long time. Roseli stepped across the stream, the water now racing furiously to whatever destination fate held. "I cannot help it, Mother. Chaos seems to be fond with me." The older woman smiled, taking a seat on a boulder that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Why do you keep tormenting yourself?" Seiaman looked away from her mother, refusing to answer.

"Resentment, anger, and jealousy will be your undoing, daughter. The more you allow these emotions consume you and strip you of any ability for rational thought - you will destroy yourself and any chance of happiness." Seiaman let out a scoff.

"I think, Mother, I do not deserve to be happy. It was bound to happen - from the pain and suffering I have inflicted upon those that I once loved, it was due to return back to me. Sirayn has found another - perhaps to bond or to bed. The boy that has attached himself seems to be telling her lies about my doings, what his purpose for doing so, I do not know. And I do not feel the same as I once did for Jaydena. All of my friends are gone. And my family is too far. Happiness is an illusion to me now, just like you are."

"Well," the woman was playing with a flower, "You seemed to have summed up your misery well. Do you think that perhaps the negativitiy is being created by yourself - not the Wheel?" A small smile appeared on her lips, "And yet you seem content to keep inflicting pain on those who want nothing but to have you by their side. Did Sirayn not embrace you when she first found you? Did Jaydena..."

Seiaman spoke up, "Enough. I do not need reminders." The older woman raised her eyebrows and shook her head softly. "It is not me, I know what I want." She turned to face her mother, "You've been dead many years past. What do you know of what I want?"

The older woman slid off the boulder and stepped towards Seiaman, becoming more transparent with each step. "What you think you want is not what you need. The Wheel is trying to show you that but you keep going off on your own path. Stop making yourself suffer, Seiaman. If Sirayn chooses this boy you speak of, so be it. Another will come along to take her place. Just as one came along for her to take yours. You may still have love for the woman - even if she is convinced that you are out to make her miserable - in due time, if you let whatever that is meant to happen ... it will happen. If you stop denying what you feel - it will happen."

The woman was now inches from Seiaman and her hand brushed against Seiaman's cheek. Her voice was soft as was her touch. "You are not your own Judge. You committed a wrong," the woman shrugged, "learn from it. Don't repeat it."

Seiaman looked into her fading mother's eyes. "It's not as easy as it sounds." The older woman just smiled, "It never is, my sweets. It never is."

The fire popped loudly and Seiaman opened her eyes. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she wiped them away as she brought her knees up against her chest. The fire was reduced to a dull glow by now and she glanced at the candle, it had burned near to the bottom. Hours for a minute. Her mother's words echoed in her mind. Just let things happen, Seiaman. Don't push nor pull. Just be led by the Wheel. She rose from the ground and stretched her stiff muscles as she walked over to the window. Pulling out a small pipe and stuffing it with sweet tobacco leaves, she lit it as she looked up at the stars, her mind deep in thought yet she felt a strange peace.

***********

The ice glittered on the grass as Seiaman stood outside of the stables, attaching her saddlebags to her saddle and making sure all was accounted for. Sirayn's horse was nearby, a stableboy was doing the same with the items that Sirayn had sent down shortly after she had arrived. She turned to check Storms' hooves as a figure departed from the White Tower, heading straight for the stables. She went over to Sirayn's horse and patted its rump to let it know that she was not going to cause harm. Battlesteeds at the Tower were sometimes unrelenting creatures, only allowing the rider nearby. She was glad Storms was not like that, she was capable of surviving a battle just like a battlesteed but her heart was still wild and pure. What are you doing, Seiaman? She doesn't care if you help her on the horse or not. Sirayn was now a few feet away and the conflict appeared in her eyes as if she was offended by Seiaman's gesture. At least I can show her I still have my manners even if we are at war. After a very brief moment, the Aes Sedai seemed to have settled the argument in her mind as she stepped forward and accepted her assistance, saddling her horse. Touching her again stirred an emotion deep behind her walls of ice, probing a weakness in them as if it was about to break through. Memories threatened to surface, those of times past. She watched Sirayn's face, fighting to still the chaos within - looking at her hard face and trying to remember the painful moments of their past relationship. The small voice spoke up in her mind, What about the good memories?

Sirayn's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "Are you waiting for a tip?" The tone was sharp and Seiaman ignored the woman's intent to make her feel small. "This morning would be an excellent time to start moving." Her mother's voice seemed to whisper in her ear as Seiaman walked to Storms and saddled the horse with an affectionate pat on her neck, No matter how much you want to despise something - a simple pleasant memory of what once was is enough to remind you that the sun is smiling down on you. She shook her head and nudged Storms into following Sirayn on the North road out of Tar Valon. The town surrounding them bustled with activity, children shouting and running around as if it was a warm summer day. Merchants shouting out their wares and occasionally succeeding in baiting a tourist wanting a piece of the legendary town.

They approached the North gates without incident; the Tower Guards recognized the ageless face and the battered Tower Guard that followed, granting them leave of Tar Valon. Once the road opened up, Seiaman nudged Storms to the side of Sirayn's horse and let her horse catch up yet still remain behind of Sirayn. She would not be the first to speak, there was nothing she wished to say to the woman she once revered. You still do, Seiaman.

~ Seiaman Kera

On the second day, the sun was starting to fade away. The trip so far had passed silently - the only time they spoke up was to announce time to make or break camp. Seiaman was riding behind Sirayn, her eyes sweeping across the land for any telltale signs of company. At the moment, the bitter cold wind swept away any opposition on their path. Bitter weather makes desperate men. Her eyes fell onto Sirayn's back and she shook her head softly. Why did I agree to this assignment? Suddenly the woman reined in her horse and waited for Seiaman to pull up to her side. "It's time to set up camp." Seia nodded her head quietly and turned Storms towards the outlining forest. She rode closer to the edge and dismounted her horse, leading her into the forest to find a decent campsite. The wind howled through the trees as she searched for shelter and any signs of food when her sight came across an enormous tree with a grove inside. She looked inside and was pleased to see that it was large enough for the horses and plenty of space between herself and the Aes Sedai. And more pleased to see that it was unoccupied by creatures as well as there being a cold fire pit left behind by the last tree occupant.

Making her way back to Sirayn, she kept an eye out on prey. But there were no tracks besides her own and Storms. Breaching the edge of the forest, Sirayn noticed her immediately and started to make her way towards her. Seiaman went back into the forest, the woman could follow her tracks without needing Seiaman's person to lead the way. She reached the tree and led Storms inside, loosening the saddle. Her warm breath frosted in the air before her as she unlatched her cot and blanket. A memory threatened to uproot her icy behavior, a time when setting camp was merrier. And on cold nights like now, Sirayn had once let Seiaman sleep close to keep her warm. She shook her head to be rid of the memory and set up her own sleeping spot on one side of the fire pit. That won't be happening any more, Seiaman. Stop being so wishful. Sirayn approached the enterance, prompting Seiaman to grab the waterbags from Storms' saddle and strapped them across her back. She pulled out a line and hook as well as her polestaff with the sharp edge attached. She opened her mouth to announce to Sirayn where she had seen the firewood on her way to the campsite when she thought better. The woman can do this herself. If she has a hard time of it, her own fault. A twinge of guilt shot through her as she turned around, seeing that Sirayn had already started to set up her own sleep space. She doesn't deserve to be treated this way. Not after what I've done. With a mental sigh and a quiet voice, Seiaman spoke up as she turned towards her saddle to pull out the flint to leave by the firepit. "There is some decent firewood that rested near the trail here." Turning towards the entrance and making her way back out to the bitter forest surrounding them, "I heard a river nearby, I will see if I can get us some fish." Without another word, Seiaman disappeared into the forest, walking slowly as not to frighten any possible dinner. And watching for other human tracks. You could always disappear in here, Seiaman. She'd never miss you. Seiaman shook her head softly, that was not an option. She had spent a lifetime making and breaking oaths - she was not about to do it some more. She picked up the nearly-silent trickling of water and she made her way towards it, it was not too far from where they were camping.

She stepped out to the outbrush and watched the river water flow past her. Well, at least I spoke to her which is better than the beginning of the trip. She crouched to the ground and began to set up a line. Before she had left, she pulled out a small can that was filled with fish bait - if there was fish in the river, this would entice it to its death. Tossing the completed hook into the river, she rose and saw that there was a decent sized boulder close to the river bed. "Hm, that'll do." It reminded her of the boulder in Radzy's Creek, a vital tool in her trainings. "Need to work out these cramps anyways." Before she leapt her way to the boulder, she crouched upstream of the line and filled up the water bags to the brim. Then she leapt on a few smaller boulders towards the bigger one and crouched on it to look into the water. A sliver of light proved that fish still resided in the river and that they, for now, were unaware of her presence. Just like what Sirayn is trying to do. With a soft sigh, she straightened and unstrapped her pole staff, going through the motions of warming up her body. You know, there is another way to warm up your body. A picture of Sirayn flashed before her eyes before she drowned it quickly and effectively. Not going to happen and you know it, Seiaman. Her movements became quicker as her invisible opponents came at her from all sides. The cold air whistled as the pole staff sliced through it. You know that she wants you. A sliver of light flashed before her eyes and the line went taut. She wants me far far away from her. Or dead. Wrapping up her workout, the muscles flowed with warmer blood and her cramps were gone. She sheathed her pole staff and leapt back on the river bed, grabbing the line and pulling the fish out of the water. The fat fish fought as its bringer of death flinged it onto the shore, grabbing her dagger and beheaded the fish. It went still.

Series of pictures flashed before her eyes once more - that of death and blood, her sword squeaking as she pulled it out of the dead body. The rush of adrenline and the feeling of enjoyment coming through the bond - she shook her head and beckoned the memory to be gone. There is no bond anymore. No point in remembering it. It still hurt too much to feel that void in her mind. To know that ultimately, she had failed the one person who mattered the most. You see, Seiaman? You still.... "Shut up. Not another word from you, Mother." She proceeded to gut and clean the fish, the fire would've been built and the campsite ready by now. She set up the line once more for her to check later in the evening - it'd be good to gather food for the trip. The colder it got, the more scarce food became if they had to make camp. You know what is uncanny, Seiaman? She refused to answer. Do you realize that you and Sirayn are doing the tasks that you have done in times past? The sudden truth hit her - she grudgingly recalled those camping moments and what they did. "What's your point?" She washed her hands off in the icy water and grabbed the full waterbags to make her way towards the campsite with dinner. If you two are still doing what feels most comfortable, it's a sign of times to come. "Enough. I don't want to hear your matchmaking schemes."

~ Seiaman Kera

As the chill deepened and the vast skies above their heads turned on relentlessly toward night Sirayn distracted herself with all the small signs of winter. Frost cut crisp lines out of the crawl of grass across harsh and barren ground. Skeleton trees clawed at the sky. The north in the grip of a hard winter was pretty in an apocalyptic sort of way; it made one aware of the fragility of life, their small sparks of warmth moving across a world so immense and unfeeling it had ground on for billions of years, and how quick it could be taken back; it chimed with the bleakness in her own thoughts. Empty spaces echoed with the subtle sound of their passing. This was a place so great it had raised its own kings and stood proud against the march of centuries. Yet at the same time these gigantic lands were prisoned in by the severity of their winters, the harsh clasp of snow and ice, sealing away all that grandeur at the turn of each year.

For a woman struck so speechless by the merest mention of feelings Sirayn painted the grandest pictures for herself in the quietness of her own thoughts. Tales she had learnt at her mother’s knee some two hundred years ago resonated within her now as from horizon to horizon broken lands made a vast sweep of grey. She looked toward the sky and pictured all the hundreds of miles which lay between her and those distant stars, now sparkling as a distorted field, a thousand thousand pricks of light, and imagined them whirling dizzily about this world; and all the majestic pictures in the world shut out troublesome thoughts only for a passing hour. She looked back at the earth and the grass and the stark trees, not seeing them at first, only their blurred outlines against a smear of grey and green, and in the midst of her contemplation those smudges resolved into another form. Seiaman.

During the course of years she had become accomplished at seeing only what she wanted to see … yet it was difficult to look at her one time Warder and not see how strong she was, the smooth muscles and the grace as intrinsic as anything; how stunning, with the kind of looks that only deepened as time wore on; how bright a green her eyes, and the weathered skin, how even the lines round her eyes and the old scars only added to her brilliance. So hard to look at her and not remember the sharp intensity of yearning. To remember Seiaman together with her fabulously beautiful lover cut like the slide of a knife, but she did it anyway, deliberately, because she deserved it. She had seen them so many times: laughing together, close and warm, the very picture of contentment; something reserved for other people. She ought not to sit and stare and remember being bonded, precious moments stolen and held close … but she was weak willed where she should have been as iron and never strong enough to do what had to be done.

A pace’s worth of space was all that stood between them and it might as well have been a chasm. Too many years had passed in silence. It was simpler to turn away, to keep her thoughts to herself, and to transmute all that useless loneliness to anger and hatred. That at least she understood. A long time on the wrong side of glass, clear enough to look yet not to touch, had taught her all about bitterness. It seemed unfair somehow that Seiaman should get so much while she was left with only ashes: a failed friend, a broken bondmate, out in the cold: but then life did not make any pretence at being fair … and perhaps she had earned it, who knew? Did all this loss spring from her faults and failures or was it the other way about? That she would leave for the philosophers, but what she understood in her heart was that this was not for the likes of her, that small unsightly cripples from backwater places ought to be grateful that even their lives had been spared.

“Firewood.†She echoed the word, a little empty, a little careless. That was all Seiaman wanted from her? It was an unreasonable thought, she knew, but something like a shudder ran through her briefly; a bit of disbelief, that while she had been thinking about matters much greater than herself, Seiaman was only concerned with making camp. It seemed obscurely like another insult but she supposed somebody had to be practical while she herself was dreaming of times long past. Irritated with herself and her fool’s thoughts she left the camp site without a backward glance, stepping careful over twisted roots and across the uneven ground, making herself focus on the crystal cold land around her rather than the hazed world of her memory. Life went on and winter turned around them. For a while there was nothing but chill and the keen watch of a hawk.

Later she built up the fire using those bundles of dry wood that she had gathered, meticulous, in the manner that somebody had taught her when she was just a child; all other details of that meeting had slipped from memory, but her hands still remembered how to make a fire. The briefest spark of saidar set a tiny red blaze to flickering amid the branches like a secret heart. It beat steadily, grew, devoured more wood. The sweetness of saidar called; she let go of it, stinging fast, rather than know its enticement any longer. There were some definite drawbacks to being so tiny. The chill took her harder than most other folk; cold to the bone, she crept a little closer to the fire for warmth, drew her fur lined coat closer about her. Most like she wouldn’t be properly warm until they reached proper cities.

Staring into the hungry heart of the fire she let herself slip a little further into memory. Half a hundred nights before this one, camping in some far flung land, and sometimes in even harsher cold than this … always she had been too proud to tell Seiaman that she was cold, it was beneath the dignity of an Aes Sedai, but if the other woman asked she had on occasion permitted Seiaman to keep her warm. Not many times; that was a whole new world of temptation which she had sworn not to enter. It was just as if nothing had changed and yet everything had. No bond, no reason for Seiaman to stay here. If she wanted she could just head south to a warm bed and a willing woman. For all she knew that was exactly what the ex Warder was planning to do. And if one night much like this Seiaman never came back, even this night, what then? Did she spoil even a single more hour of her time being bitter over what she couldn’t have? No: she would have to go on alone. She was a Sister of the Battle Ajah, after all … and the Battle Ajah did not permit cowards or weaklings among its ranks.

Once night as dark as her suspicions had properly fallen Seiaman came back, all grace and coiled power amid the gathering shades, and set to doing whatever it was one did with fish. The firelight played across her hard face and made a dark hollow of her ruined eye. Pretending to be interested in the fire Sirayn watched under her lashes instead, fooling herself for a moment, imagining what it would be like if this woman had for some strange reason fallen in love with her instead of some perfect, powerful Sitter; the thought turned her bitter and her mouth twisted. So swiftly all her regrets and longing turned to ash.

“I heard about the flowers and the gifts she sent you.†She made her tone lazy as though she did not care at all. “It is satisfying to be met by passion at every step, I trust? To know that she is all but destroying her career for you? The course of true love doth never run smoothly, so it is said, but I think the one obstacle to your romance with our fair Jaydena … and I am but a small obstacle, I admit, there is scarcely five feet of me … has been removed. I suppose it is as well that I was under no illusions that your promises of everlasting devotion to me prior to Dumai’s Wells had a grain of truth in them.†Nearly savage on the words. Her surviving hand coiled tight somewhere out of sight. “Otherwise when you decided I was no longer good enough for you I might actually have been a trifle hurt.â€

The fire’s heat washed against her in steady waves. The close confines seemed even closer with the dark and the warmth; she took a careful breath, made herself relax, tried to be cold inside. No matter how she tried to deceive herself, she reflected, when it got down to feelings she was dreadful at pretending she did not care. “She wasn’t even faithful to you, you know. As soon as you were … gone … she moved on. Right after your-“ death, she nearly said, and bit her lip; “departure, she came to meet me in this gown-“ couldn’t even finish the sentence, the whole memory horrified her so much, the glass and then that tongue, and everything too close and too hot all at once. “For all she knew you were barely cold in the ground and all she wanted to do was sit in somebody else’s lap. That’s the woman you pledged your life to! You think about that when you crawl back into her bed.â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

The night fell and the stars slowly appeared in groups - the nearly new moon gracing the sky, denouncing all efforts by the clouds to shroud its natural beauty. It was nearly enough to make Seiaman forget that she still lived in a chaotic world - one that she never dreamed herself of living in. Bringing her attention back to where she currently stood, the surrounding forest was quiet except for the wind blowing through the trees and the nearby river. She listened for a minute, becoming familair with all natural sounds - if an intruder was not careful in being quiet, she would know by the unnatural sound. Seiaman started towards the campsite, reflecting back to when Mikala and the wolfkin had taught her a few tricks in living in a forest - she was grateful for the lessons and allowed the fleeting emotion to stay a moment longer. She came into the makeshift cave in a tree and stepped inside, welcomed by the warmth of the fire - yet the campsite was still cold. Sirayn crouched near the fire, her face carved from a block of ice but no amount of fire would ever warm the bloody woman. It's just as well, that's exactly how she wants to be. And that's how I'll leave her be. She hung the fish from the wall and shedded her person of weapons and the flasks of water.

After tending to the horses and feeding them, she crouched on the other end of the fire and started to prep one of the fish to cook directly over the fire for the eve's dinner. Whether Sirayn was watching or not, Seiaman tried not to care. After a brief moment of silence and the first fish was directly over the fire - Seiaman started to work on the rest of the fish and Sirayn's voice broke the peaceful quiet. Seiaman held her tongue and listened as she worked on the fish - sparing an occasional glance towards the other woman as she spoke. Do I even dare let her continue to think of those lies of me bedding Jaydena? Or try to win the fruitless battle to convince her otherwise? She did not know if it was worth it to meet Sirayn's challenge that no such relationship existed between herself and Jaydena. She was still angry that the boy told her the lie but yet she knew he didn't know any better. He did not know how he made Sirayn suffer even more in the waves of pain that followed his words. Yet I do. Do I dare free her from the sufferings that I initially caused her? With a mental sigh, she knew she must. She owed her former Aes Sedai that freedom.

Sirayn continued on her rant in her personal war against all things Jaydena - but the news was a surprising stab of pain. So soon she sought out a companion? Yet she dared not show how the information has affected her - she knew what Sirayn was trying to do. But she could not ignore the wave of pain and betrayal - It would've made sense if Jaydena pursued Sirayn after my false death but I would've thought the woman would do so after a bit of a mourning period. And yet after Seiaman's return to Tar Valon, the woman went about her pursuit as if no such thing happened. She looked up at Sirayn, Suppose it is a lie? She shook her head, Can't be. Sirayn is bound by the oath of truth. But yet she is able to believe a lie and voice it. She took the fish away from the fire, deeming it ready to be eaten. The silence fell onto them once more as Seiaman split the fish in half and gave the first half to Sirayn. But what was her purpose of saying what she did? Why did she even ask the boy to spy on me?

She placed the rest of the uncooked fish on a hot slab of rock that was warming up by the fire then took her half of the meal, eating it in silence. The woman is still trying to convince herself that she is over me. That she feels nothing for me anymore. The voice in the back of her mind decided to speak up, Something that you are doing to yourself. Don't you see? With a quiet sigh, Seiaman made a decision. "For someone who is unable to trust even with those that she is close with - you are quick to believe the lies of a boy who seeks either your bond or your companionship in bed. Did he tell you that I returned all of her gifts? Did he tell you that she pursued me only to be turned away?" Seiaman met Sirayn's gaze. "Of course not. He wants something from you - so he will tell you whatever lie he can to rid your heart of me - so he can get closer. So he can get what he wants from you." Seiaman finished the last of her meal, "Of course, you do not believe me. For some reason, it is easier for you to believe that I will always be in love with someone else and never you." Returning her attention to the rest of the cooking fish, "No such relationship exists between Jaydena and I. Perhaps you should go back to your boytoy and reaffirm his intentions towards you."

~ Seiaman Kera

The fish tasted good. Despite her numerous failings, too many to list in a single evening, Seiaman could at least cook. She finished the fish and licked her fingers, precise as a cat, and tipped the picked clean bones into the fire; sisters did not fear flames nor anything else, but it would not take much of a skilled observer to detect mistrust in her gesture, in her gaze staying wary on the blaze. She was better with fire now, could be around it again without panic her constant companion, but it still brought back memories of horror. Not that she would permit anyone to know it. She might as well set a dagger to her throat herself. As the wind swirled in an icy rush into their little hollow she pulled her coat closer about her, thin hand pale against the darkness of the cloth, and moved closer into the fire’s heat focused hard on not shivering; the other woman did not need any further excuse to laugh at her.

Even the sound of Seiaman speaking touched something in her … anger perhaps, that at least she knew, a feeling she could put to her own ends. Much easier than considering that she might be hurt, that she might want something else … no, too much had happened between them for any sort of peace. Unsettled now, bitterly resenting that this woman could still make her so upset, she met the words with a flat grey stare; eyes narrowing in disbelief, in mounting fury, at the slander levelled against an absent boy. The mere idea that Corin should be about her business for such crude reasons, to bond her or bed her like she was just a piece of meat, irritated her like fire and a stinging response came to her immediately to prevent any further assault on his character only to find yet more support for this bizarre lie.

She might not fully grasp what motivated the boy, what dark and complex thoughts lay behind the mask of seeming innocence, but it did not take a first class wit to work out that this was certainly not it. The first claim was simply inconceivable; nobody had ever wanted to bond her save a brave young man many years ago, a man long fallen by the road, whose grave she still visited from time to time. Not even Seiaman had wanted to bond her and she was supposed to be a loyal Gaidin: her mouth compressed at the memory, at all the long years of shame, just second choice to a beautiful and brilliant Sitter. No amount of words would ever reverse that. No way she could ever forget that Seiaman had never wanted to be her Warder and that she had never stayed loyal. No, the thought that the boy might want to cast away his life so lightly on the likes of her was not to be entertained for a moment.

The other seemed equally ludicrous. It did not seem necessary to search her memory for the last person who had shown any kind of interest in her because she remembered all too bitterly well, and what a disaster that had been, too hot and too close and her revulsion too great to tolerate. Her old friend and arch rival had wanted something else from her, that much she suspected by now, but just the pretence that she was after some sort of intimacy was enough to disgust Sirayn; how anyone looked at a crippled little creature all scarred and stern and their thoughts immediately leaped to bedding was beyond her. Some time ago now she had promised herself that nobody was ever going to lay hands on her against her will again and … surely she could never countenance even for a moment that somebody else might touch her. How could this not be obvious? How did one pretend to know her and not understand something so fundamental, so critical as her greatest fears?

Careless slanders had given her enough cause for thought; this was manipulation pure and simple and Sirayn did not intend to be subjected to it any further. An ice sharp sort of fury was rising in her: the anger of a woman relegated to second best over and over; for whom it had taken years to even understand her feelings, let alone express them, and who had taken rejection bitterly hard; a woman for whom anger and bitterness had been the only constants for many a year. And this was simple at last, solid ground beneath her feet, where all she had to do was work out how best to twist words until Seiaman suffered … a fraction as much as her, perhaps, but enough for now. Anger was a cleansing feeling.

“If you must mock me, at least have the courtesy to keep it somewhere I will never hear it!†An autocratic snap. Suppressed wrath ran harsh in her tone, twisting her usual coolness out of recognition. “I realise that I will never compare to the all perfect Jaydena but I will thank you to give me enough credit to know when you deride me. Bonding or bedding? Do you take me for a fool? Has anyone ever-“ breaking off, on second thoughts, that was one sentence that should never be finished; making herself relax she took a calming breath, tried to summon up her wits. All night would not have been enough to sum up the whole complicated situation involving the boy and she did not intend to make any such attempt with Seiaman here to pick holes in everything. It insulted her even to think of some outsider’s logic being applied to this. It was purely her business and and Sirayn meant to defend her territory.

“The boy has served me well. I will not hear you insult him.†She went for a more moderate tone now. “It is entirely up to me what I do with Corin Danveer, and I think we have already established,†a brief cruel twist to her mouth, “how little you want to be involved in anything to do with me. So keep your slander to yourself.†The boy could not be trusted: that much she understood in her bones, but she kept him around anyway … why, gave her pause for a moment, for she had not previously been known for her liking for courteous boys. Perhaps that was just it; when one entered the twilight of one’s life, a touch of contempt on the thought, one was desperate for any kind of company. He was just a pawn to do her bidding! She would permit no other connotation to be put to it.

The other part was scarcely more credible to her. After all the times Seiaman had claimed to love the third part of their circle forever, should she take that so lightly as a lie? How could one ever take back such words? She stopped abruptly, hating this, hating herself. It was none of her business who Seiaman was bedding this week. Or whether the blademaster would stay loyal to this one either.

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

Seiaman rose from her seat as Sirayn apparently soaked in her words. She knew the woman would deny that the boy sought her bond or affections. The woman denied anything that had to do with people's desires. She started to brush down Storms and inspect his body for anything out of the unusual and of course, the horse basked in the attentions. At least someone wants my attentions when I give it. Instead of someone who pushes me away entirely - and instead of someone who sucks me dry. Sirayn spoke up and she listened her wearily as she went on her rant of false beliefs. Amusing. She's so protective and riled up about the boy. She would rather vehemently deny anyone could ever be attracted to her bed or to her bond than to admit that it may be a possibility. Perhaps it may be that she returns the sentiments but does not wish for me to know it. The mere thought brought a surprising surge of jealousy and she quickly quelled it. Not any more, Seiaman. She wouldn't go down that path until she knew she had a decent chance. And even if that chance presented itself, she'd still be cautious.

Sirayn ended her rebuttal and Seiaman smelled the fish starting to crisp up. Patting Storms down, she returned her attentions to the fish and started to prep them for preservation. Slander. If that woman ever learned who slandered who, she'd be in the pits of guilt. But she'd deny she was ever in there. With a soft shake of her head, she wrapped up the fish and tucked it into her saddlebags. Pulling out a bag of oats, she walked over to her horse and started to feed him, letting him munch and lick all of the oats and seeds from her hand. A shuffle of sound nearby proved that Sirayn tired of waiting for Seiaman to challenge her words, to argue that she was wrong and that the boy was in fact using her instead of the other way around. A quick glance proved that the woman was tending to her horse but Seiaman wouldn't give her any satisfaction tonight in thinking that she won the argument. I wonder what she would do if I walked over to her and gave her what she deserved. A moment of passion might be enough. But Seiaman decided against it.

Finishing up her last tasks, she went to lay down by the fire and laid on her belly, watching the entrance of their lair. An owl hooted outside as Seiaman committed to memory the shadows outside. If one of those shadows moved or a new shadow came in, she'd know that they had company. Relaxing her body and her eyes, she kept her gaze pointed to the entrance. Another shuffle told her that Sirayn was lying down on the other side of the fire. She knew that the woman still believed that Seiaman was a no-good lying womanizer. The small voice spoke in the back of her mind, If only you didn't push her away. She silenced the voice mercilessly. He has never lied to her, Seiaman. But she believes you have. Gods, why do I have to be the bad one here?

"A difficult task for you, Sirayn," her voice was soft, "is to determine who's telling the truth. You think I am not because you believe the ghosts of our past. 'What once was must always be.'" She paused slightly, considering her words, "You think he is because you believe in his innocence. 'A flower can be beautiful. And poisonous.'" She shifted to push a rock out from under her hip, "I'll take first watch. Good night."

~ Seiaman Kera

Ever since that night in the hollow stump of the tree, hardly a word was exchanged. They only spoke when it was utterly necessary. Seia's gaze fell onto Sirayn's back, she rode ahead slightly as she seemed to favor being in the lead. She could not figure out what the bloody hell the woman was thinking most of the time - like what had happened the other day. They had come to a large river but apparently the bridge was taken out. Seiaman's eye seemed to suspect that someone had a hand in it but before she could say a word or even scout to find a way to get safely across - Sirayn had prompted her horse into the water. Why am I not surprised? She followed the Aes Sedai into the water and luckily, they both had made it across. Seia had to wonder if the Aes Sedai's Earth ability had something to do with finding the shallow crossing of the river. Or even making it. But she had to admire the woman - it was her assumption that most Aes Sedai would have sought another way around.

The stops occured without much event - the previous night, camp went up without a hitch and Seiaman had returned from hunting to find Sirayn had already tended to her horse, built the fire, and was lying in her bedroll, apparently asleep. Oddly enough, she felt more lonely than ever. She brushed the thought aside and went to work on dinner - the air was cold but their cover was good enough to have a decent fire. Seia started to cook the skinned hares and brought a small cooking pot filled with herbs and water to hang from the spit. Her gaze fell onto Sirayn's face as the shadows of flame danced on her features. So destructive ... yet beautiful. She let out a quiet sigh, for the first time in a while, she wished she had not acted so prematurely and childish while she was Sirayn's bondmate. She could only imagine how things would've been different. You are what caused her to be this way, Seiaman. She turned her attentions to the hares and turned them over. She knew nothing would be solved by wishful thinking - but she also knew there would many things she would've changed if she ever had the chance to go back in time.

At that moment, she felt her walls weakening as the emotions of failure, loneliness, and misery overpowered the Spring. If only I didn't push her away. If only I didn't push her to what I knew she could be. The empty space where the bond was ached painfully. It took Seiaman all that was left of her will not to go over to Sirayn and beg for forgiveness. She rose to her feet and walked over to Storms, getting a firmer grip on herself. This is not the time nor place. You made your decision and now you need to deal with the consequences. Seiaman shook the dreary thoughts out of her head and focused on making sure the horses were tended to, the food was cooked and preserved, and that the fire was banked down to a low simmer. Do your duty. Get her back to Tar Valon safely. Then stay away from her. Sirayn didn't want her around and it was misery for Seiaman to have Sirayn around. Pushing that last thought of her mind, she assumed her night guard duty as she leaned back on the boulder.

*~*~*~*~*~* (dream)

Seiaman jolted away at a touch and glanced to see Sirayn standing above her. Light. I must've falled asleep. With a deep frown, she scolded herself and started to rise. Only to find Sirayn placing a hand on her shoulder, keeping her down. The woman sat on her lap and brushed her good hand across her cheek. Seia moved to speak softly only to find a finger pressing against her lips when the woman started to lean over...

*~*~*~*~*~*

Something nudged on her head, prompting Seiaman awake. Storms was nuzzling her and she blinked, realizing that she had fallen asleep. But she was even more stunned by the dream she had. What the bloody hell was that about? She sat up and added some more dry wood to the fire, her gaze glancing over to the still sleeping Sirayn. She would rather gut herself before doing that. With a sigh, she buried the memory of the dream.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ (couple days later)

The sun was high in the sky and they were approaching the edge of a forest but they would not have to enter the forest. Seiaman kept a close eye at the underbrush, riding to the left of Sirayn but still a few paces behind her. She did not trust the cover it could provide for bandits. Suddenly an arrow whizzed behind her head, missing it far off, their horses danced as a group of bandits jumped out and surrounded them quickly, baring their teeth and weapons. The apparent leader stepped forward, covered in armor and wore a battle-hardened look. "Practice hitting your targets, Tul." A man behind her, the only one with a bow, grunted. Her gaze swept over the lot of them, they all seemed to be seasoned. But they were still bandits.

Seia settled her horse and rested her hands on the pommel of the saddle. The leader spoke, "There's a toll for going further north, ladies." One man snickered. "It'd require your money, your horses ... and entertainment." Seia's expression was empty, she didn't move an inch. Nor did Sirayn.

~ Seiaman Kera