Lazy afternoon shaded somewhat toward evening in a display of subtle scarlet tones. The dying light fell hazy and rich across gardens dappled in shadow; where a chill breeze wandered it set all the bushes to whispering in their foreign plant tongue. Coolness gathered beneath shady trees and stamping out the urge to shiver instead Sirayn drew her drab shawl more tightly about her shoulders. This afternoon she had a meeting here … with a complete stranger to discuss intimate political matters pertaining to her Ajah. Not an ideal situation. Impassive, she waited until footsteps crossed the ground behind her. A quick cool glance surveyed the younger woman. “Good afternoon, Sister.â€

 

Near silent footsteps marked the path that Nyssa followed, through the hall, down the stairs, to the garden of Sirayn Sedai’s choice. Acting surprised as she received the summons was not hard at all, as she had been genuinely surprised. There had been talk, about her infiltration of course. Talk of who to approach. Yet to receive an opening so soon… she smiled slightly. It was fortunate that some sisters within her Ajah still knew how to work efficiently. As she stepped into the garden the small pebbles of the path creaked softly under her feet, and the grass reached up to touch the hem of her dress. Not purely white this time, as the humour of such a choice would surely be wasted on Sirayn. Instead she wore a deep indigo gown that was almost modest. Almost. She was a young sister after all. The signs of her Mayener heritage still showed in her sense of style. She also wore her shawl, not because she was intimidated by Sirayn Sedai, but because the elder Sedai would expect it. Sirayn noticed her as she approached, which ruined the element of surprise a bit. Not that it mattered, Opportunity would come. “Good afternoon, sister.†She echoed Sirayn’s greeting. “I am here, as you requested.†She shifted slightly, and pulled her Gray shawl a little closer. Ever the insecure young sister, if she had to be.

 

Dark haired, dark eyed and beautiful; a graceful sway and a height to tower over her. Nothing new there then. Briefly she examined the touches of some foreign culture about the other woman’s garb … by the accent perhaps Mayene or one of its southern relatives. This choice intrigued her. The name Nyssa Deschain was not entirely new to her, though they had never met directly before, and perhaps through a little gentle discovery she might ascertain what motives the Gray Sitter had had in recommending her in the first place. If she was sharp enough a new player in this great game they all played might show her identity this afternoon. “You are most gracious.†Her tones remained cool, not coloured by any feeling, and Sirayn contemplated the distant swirl of a fountain in seeming detachment. “I have requested your presence on behalf of the Gray Ajah so that we may discuss certain matters of interest. Not to put too fine a point on it I may have a task for you soon. Has anybody told you anything?â€

 

Nyssa kept her face as expressionless as Sirayn’s as the elder woman spoke. Not a great effort, but she had to keep in mind that Sirayn was not yet fooled, and would probably not be fooled easily either. The woman had survived a long time, after all, and unlike some of her sisters, Nyssa chose to think it wasn’t all because of sheer luck. “I am most grateful for the opportunity you have offered me Sirayn Sedai.†She said. She didn’t quite curtsy, as that would be a little too obvious. She turned too look at the other Aes Sedai’s face though. Then she looked away for a moment, before returning her steady gaze. Every move was well practised. Well thought through. She didn’t survive this long because of sheer luck either. “little was told to me about the reasons of out meeting. I can only guess. Perhaps the tensions within the Green Ajah? Perhaps a different matter of politics? I must confess I can not read your mind, and pluck the cause of our meeting out of it, even if I might wish it.â€

 

Most grateful was she? She wasn’t quite certain whether to take this at face value. Sirayn did not ordinarily consider herself easily swayed, but if there was one weakness she had, it was for civil and properly courteous people … but then again, the Gray Ajah was not best known for its honesty either. Registering movement from the other sister, but nevertheless moving not a fraction, Sirayn contemplated the delicately lit gardens with something like regret. Half the time Daes Dae’mar was the only fire that burned for her in this world, the only possible replacement for everything she had lost, her hand and her pride and her soldiering days; and half the time it irritated her to bits. “I see you have already heard a little.†A cool grey glance as she calculated the possibilities: what this smooth young woman might have heard, what she might have guessed, who was friendly with who. Half a hundred might want to pluck all sorts of knowledge out of her mind. That particular half a hundred Sirayn intended to hunt down and bring before the Amyrlin Seat in chains before her career was done. “I fear that my beloved Ajah is having some … difficulties, shall we say … adjusting to the current political situation? Perhaps you might lend a little Gray Ajah expertise to our … tribulations.â€

 

Nyssa didn’t bother to hide her smile, as a smile was quite appropriate in this case, this… act. Ajah troubles. Of course she’d heard. Even before her path had turned darker, she had made it her business to know as much as possible about as many people as possible. Her face turned solemn, as if she only now remembered that she was not here for pleasure, but for business. “Perhaps there is somewhere we can sit?†she asked, already moving over to a bench, situated close enough to the fountain to hide their words from eavesdropping. Not that she didn’t expect Sirayn to pull up a ward if she really feared the secrets of her Ajah would become public knowledge. “You must tell me more of these difficulties if I am to shine my light upon your… situation.†She said, her eyes locked on Sirayn’s face. She wondered if it would unnerve the woman.

 

Dark eyes so steady and intent brought back a host of unwelcome memories for her. Always the past waited with her, only a shadow’s weight away, and an instant could bring it back vivid to life. Despite the sudden chill that visited her prickling in warning Sirayn kept an iron calm about her. “Perhaps there is indeed somewhere we can sit.†The smallest trace of irony upon the words as Sirayn moved to join her young companion on the bench; straightening her skirts with a careless gesture as she sat beside the Gray Sister, two pictures of serenity on the same bench. “The Green Ajah is not so … artless as some might like to think. Not all conflicts end with a swung fist among our corridors. Some among us have a little more penchant for subtlety than that.†Ordering her thoughts, she considered the necessity of the eavesdropping ward she herself could not create; not that she would make that plain in so many stated words unless she had to. Protocol was not for her to craft it in the first place. Making her tone light she concluded: “I will speak more. Will you make us private, sister?â€

 

Seemingly effortlessly Nyssa created the weave that Sirayn herself could not. So effortlessly in fact that it seemed as though she was making a show out of ease. Nyssa was in no way the most powerful Aes Sedai within the Tower, but she was strong enough to make Sirayn look pitiful, except when it came to Earth weaves. Still, Nyssa also made a show of apologising for her rudeness. She had broken protocol, after all, if deliberately. Sirayn didn’t seem to feel the need to make an issue out of it. “I suppose I’m not as immune to the… stereotypes that cling to Ajah’s as I had hoped, Sirayn Sedai. I must admit I had thought that the Green Ajah stayed clear of the politics that we Grays are known for.†She sighed, as if the stereotype that clung to her own Ajah bothered her. “But I stray from the task at hand. There is strife within your Ajah. Does this come from but one person, or are there actual factions?â€

 

An apology scarcely served to ease her suspicion that she had been deliberately mocked in some way. It was rare to find somebody her equal in terms of basic intelligence and Sirayn found it no less disturbing to contemplate that this smooth, beautiful deceiver might be twice as sharp as she herself. “Ask a hundred people and you would gain as many answers as to where the blame lies. I like to think that no one person has brought about this … awkwardness … but rather a multitude of factors. The rise of the Dragon Reborn has put many pressures upon an Ajah dedicated toward Tarmon Gai’don. I suspect that most if not all of my sisters will not survive another five years … and they feel it as close as I do.†Distantly she recalled how close she had come to the Dragon in Tear, stalking her black sisters amid corridors and chaos, how immediate she had felt the Pattern at work. “All of us are responsible. There are, let us say, certain people who are more responsible than others. I fear the problem lies more in that some people feel that their faction, for want of a better word, has been shafted … perhaps for lack of the political skills needed to win their own war? I am not qualified to judge, not sharing their views, but I suspect there is some resentment from the … losing side.â€

OOC: This is part 2 of the "Spirited Away" thread found here: http://dmpsw.com/dr/viewtopic.php?t=813

 

IC:

 

The clouds; gray wind carved patterns, threatened to release snow upon them before days end as the two horses continued up the barren dirt road. Sun obscured by the thick blanket above offering light without source. A single shadowed rider looked back down the road, nothing in sight moved, tension still held shoulders tight and knotted. Turning off the road a packhorse in tow carrying supplies it appeared. He had changed the red cloak of the guard for a drab dark gray woodsman’s cloak, the red tucked away safe from sight. Nothing out of the ordinary unless one took the time to see the minute white mist of warmed breath wisping now and then from the end of the rolled carpet across his lap.

 

The wind, it’s bitter cold edge tore at the wool cap pulled low over the riders head, it’s heat stealing chill biting through the cloak and layers the man wore. Raced through the trees, pulling at the last remaining leaves as it swept on it’s way away from Dragonmount. The symbolism should have had him laughing, but no warmth touched the flat emotionless face that seemed carved from the very wind that blew here; matched the weather of the day, mood dark and distant. He looked back once more as a hand eased the sword at his side. The trail still, void of all movement, behind them as the light weightless crystals began to float from the sky like bits of cotton falling from the sheaving cards of a weaver. Good, a masking for the trail granted we arrive before it begins to collect on the ground too much. The thought only half felt as his eyes fell once more on the white rug draped over his legs, eyes softening slightly as he denied the emotion trying vainly to gain life; heart pulling at sense and reason. Each bounce the carpet roll took across his lap seemed to stab at him, but the journey was almost over. Once they arrived the real adventure would begin; a silent pray he could remain strong enough to finish what he had started.

 

Near the foot of Dragonmount itself sat the small square hunting lodge, though few would consider it a lodge other then it’s owner. The small cabin tucked neatly into the woods seemed in a permanent embrace from the surrounding trees. Only two other buildings marred the cropping of trees, both worn and weathered to match the cabin. The outhouse to the side offered little in the way of comfort beyond the necessity; a door from the side of the cabin offering a direct route, and the small shelter in which to bed the horses. The two would fill the building; their own body heat and the blankets he had brought earlier would suffice to keep the building warm enough for them. Stopping the horses at the front entrance he swung down, stretching for a moment happy to be out of the saddle at last. It had taken almost twice as long to arrive here with his precious cargo; the pace slower then he had hoped for to keep the package safe from strains or other damage.

 

Stopping next to the roll his eyes studied the frosted end, waiting for the tell tail sign of the life within; his heart beginning the accusations anew. As the fine soft mist appeared at the edge he felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease before reaching up to untie it from its place. With great care he lifted the rug, as if picking up a baby; fearful of dropping it. Swinging the door to the cabin open he stepped out of the gray light and into darkness, a small pool of light infiltrating the space from the open door and around the shutters of the only window. He set her carefully on the worn and tattered blue rug near the hearth and began to build a fire to add the needed heat to the building no longer void of life. Taking a moment to ensure she still had an adequate opening for unrestricted breathing, he stepped back out into the curtain of increasing snow to tend to the horses and the few supplies he had brought with them.

 

With horses watered, fed, and bedded in for their stay, he returned to the warmth of the cabin, hanging his cloak on the peg near the door he light the few lamps in the room. It’s contents where simple, the building open as one room. Moving back to the white rolled rug that lay on the floor he carefully began to unbundle it’s precious cargo. Sirayn lay there still, her chest still rising and falling lightly with even breath. A dark path traced its way from her mouth across and up her cheek to just below her eye. Dried tea from the trip, it had dribbled from her mouth as he feed her to keep her unconscious until their arrival. Gently he reached under and lifted her relaxed form for the second time studying her passive face before crossing the short distance to the bed off to the side of the fireplace.

 

Retrieving a cloth he pour some water from the kettle near the fire into a wash pan and returned to where she lay. Sitting on the edge of the bed he carefully cleaned her cheek and face with the cloth, his fingers brushing a stray lock and then trailing along her soft warm cheek. She looked so peaceful, so innocent and defenseless; the welling in his heart growing ten fold. He knew otherwise but allowed the thought to linger a while as he enjoyed its presence before rising; the cloth and pan returned to the nightstand. With equal care he unpacked the things he had collected from her room and placed them in the closet. Once more trying to set the shifts neatly with out actually looking at them, cheeks coloring just the same.

 

Moving to stand over her once more a memory of their first meeting pulled to reason a thought until now that had eluded him. She had come in search of daggers; logically she would have some on her person. With a deeply furrowed brow he reached out with hesitant hands as he prepared to search her; cheeks already deeply flushed at the thought of what he was about to do. After a careful and rather uncomfortable search he place the found items with his own daggers, minus one should he need it, in a small lockbox; the key on a cord around his neck, before laying sword and sheath on the table.

 

With a last look he ensured the supplies where still safely stowed away; brought earlier on his trips to prepare the cabin for his guest. Flowers would be nice, his eyes resting on the empty table. The thought was quickly replaced by puzzlement on my he felt such a strong urge to make the place perfect for her when she woke. Even unconscious it seemed she weaved spells around him; a sigh escaping as he surveyed the room once more.

 

With everything placed, as he liked, he moved to the rug in front of the fire and sat cross-legged facing her. She would wake soon, but he still had time as he closed his eyes and drew the void around him. Emotions and sensations turned to smoke and dissipated to nothing as he fed the flame, the black wick growing; swallowing all light as it devoured the flame. Quiet emptiness embraced him in the void as he set into his meditation practice. He was determined to learn the skill his teacher Lonrick had demonstrated. Slowly he allowed the world in; her soft steady breathing, the crackling of the fire, the sound of his beating heart, heat and the sensation of light off to his side. He concentrated first on each one and then on none, allowing his mind to notice things as they came to him. The soft scrape of snow as it slid from the roof, the quietness of the room around them, the stillness of the forest void of motion.

 

How long he had meditated he did not know, but his mind picked out the change in her breathing pattern, she was waking up. His eyes remained close as he listened to the sounds around them, trying to gauge her level of alertness; to steel his emotions. This would be a pivotal point, he had to maintain control of his emotions and the situation or he would loose greatly. She would try once she realized her position to gain control; he could not afford that. Slowly he opened his eyes and let them lock on her’s, intent and focus radiating from them. Confusion was just starting to turn to open shock and he braced himself for her fury. His voice matched his expression soft, yet like the twinkle that danced in his eyes, leaving no doubt as to who was in control this time. “Good morning Sirayn Simeone-Damodred, I trust you slept well? Worry not, you are safe here, we have much to discuss you and I.â€

 

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

"The pupil becomes the teacher"

 

Darkness shrouded her like some comforting shelter. All her strength had leaked out of her and lead weighed her down choking out any fleeting desire to move. No fears or other feelings crossed her thoughts; oblivion was a gentle master, sought to no success, and made her as anonymous to herself as a shadow across water. Not even the icy air stirred her. Quiet, she drowsed on while the world moved on around her. Even movement brought only distant interference … a spaced scatter of confused feelings, cold turning into wetness turning into careful touch, each image lasting no more than an instant, all disjointed and forming no complete sense. It did not occur to her to connect them. Nothing disturbed her.

 

Later perhaps two random thoughts collided, or maybe some spark was finally permitted to light that usually burned as a blaze, or it might have been some other contact from a strange outside world that stirred her from her daze. For long instants nothing made sense; the taste of mint puzzled her as much as a quiet crackling sound like fallen leaves which seemed to have no source; still only formless dark surrounding her. A tiny sense of warning glinted within her, as the stone which lay at the bottom of a rushing river, unnoticed until a stray shaft of sunlight caught it. That caution trapped her. Some semblance of intelligence stirred beneath the still tremendous weight that seemed to burden her and grasped at anything to make sense of. Distant crackling and the slow even sound of her own breathing; the scent of burning; cloth against skin, something soft beneath her, confused glimpses; and still that maddening taste of mint. It all meant nothing to her. Putting sense to it was like trying to assemble a coherent sentence from dissonant syllables.

 

Clarity returned like a dash of freezing water. A sudden breath caught harshly in her throat; her eyes snapped open, a chaos of colour and strangeness confronting her, and that instinct for danger seized her sharply. Fear cut through muddled confusion like a bitter knife. Every ounce of iron will she possessed behind her she lunged for saidar. An instant’s time was all it took to prepare herself for the precise weave she had selected. In so small a space the shattering concussive effects of a good grenade would stupefy anyone in the room. Yet even as she went for it saidar slid away from her just as promptly. Failure shocked her speechless. It had been centuries since she last failed to embrace at will. Now stunned, filled with a sharpening sense of disbelief, she grasped again only to find emptiness. This was some kind of bizarre mistake; saidar was the sun around which her life orbited, it could not be beyond her, that was madness. But the more frantic her attempts became the further saidar eluded her.

 

Panic so near to her now like a shadow cast by some towering menace. Her breath came harsh and fast as dread seized her too tight and choking cold; no reason now, only savage desperation. Made reckless by fear she reached for a dagger she no longer carried with a hand she no longer had and not the smallest response came as much as a twitch. Only by the fiercest effort of will could she manage the fractional lifting of one finger. Some crushing weight pressed her down and turned all her muscles to liquid. Defenceless now she remembered bright as burning: terror and a torrent of black memory drowned her. An age might have passed for all that she registered it trapped in the past.

 

Firelight painting a small cave in tones of red and gold. Shadow and flame. Her cheek stung: phantom pain, contempt and searing heat; the taste of fear and shame bitterer than she had ever known. In two hours they had smashed her fabled courage and ruined her forever. If she had just had the chance she would have dispatched the ruins of her Battle Ajah identity and begged them like the most spineless craven that ever lived for them to stop hurting her. Now still surviving this mask of composure covered some dreadful chasm that no amount of pretending could ever fill; it haunted her dreams, cracked apart any courage she might have laid claim to, drove her always onward into ever more reckless attempts to prove herself. All for nothing. Nothing could fix what was broken inside her.

 

That night had been the single most dreadful time of her life. The prospect that anything like that might be happening again was too terrible to put into words. Moments drew out into shattering silence; powerless, plagued by the past, something small and utterly essential in her disintegrated into paralysed terror. Years might have passed unnoticed while locked into her own horrors, too heavy a burden for her fragile mind to handle, she knew nothing but a weight of black and choking fear.

 

Somewhere among bleakness one facet of an iron will asserted itself; like the side of a gem turned to wink at the sun flashing hard colour back at the intruder. Some qualities had been beaten into her so intensely that even in the darkest hour a fraction of her still strove for dominance. Maybe it would have been better to give up, to start putting her own well being first as she had never been able to do, but stone cold unyielding pride did not permit it. Control: she had to find some way to recover herself before terror and fury drove her mad. Fixing her gaze on the ceiling she imagined herself somewhere else, not defenceless in menacing company like a butterfly pinned down for all to see; pictured it so fiercely it was nearly true.

 

Shattering fear loosed its icy grip a fraction. A careful breath, seeking to check her racing pulse, and she made herself relax. Deliberately she flexed her fingers as much as her paralysed muscles would allow, strove for further control against the forkroot’s interference, mastered herself inch by inch. Intense feeling left her shaking and she stamped that out hard in case anyone caught the slightest trace of her weakness. Now most bitterly of all she could not be the terrified damsel in distress who a gleeman might have cast in this role; she was too old, too plain and too terrified for that. How in the name of the Light had she resisted them before? How had she found the steel to defy them even for a moment? If anyone knew the meaning of despair it was her and she searched desperately for some sort of salvation.

 

Once she was certain that a mask of cold composure covered her true terror, a little harder looking than usual perhaps, brittle with intensity, and that she could trust herself to speak … a trace of roughness in her voice which she could not cut out … she did so; icily, brooking no interference. Drugged and rendered paralysed she might be, but an Aes Sedai had tricks up her sleeve which the likes of common folk scarcely comprehended, and she herself possessed more than most. “I have taken you to task over this once already.†Each word came out weighted with venom. “That will be Sirayn Sedai to you, boy, and I answer no questions under duress.†Still desperately close to the edge she clawed back more of her fabled control; exerting all the restraint she possessed over fear still clamouring fiercely. Aes Sedai could not … ever … be seen even the merest fraction imperfect.

 

Concentrating distracted her from terror. How had the taste of mint on a quiet evening become this muddled travesty? This was no dream. All the images and sounds this strange place presented were too intense for anything but reality … and besides, when she dreamed, she had both hands. If she could just figure out what in the Light’s name was happening maybe she could regain all the control she ought to have, piece together her fractured defences, hide how distraught she truly was. Nobody would ever see her weak. Nobody would lay hands on her again. Nobody. “I advise you to get rid of whatever illegal substance you are in possession of,†her voice scraped, blessedly cold, “and start working out the quickest way to flee from here … because let me assure you, you have never seen me truly furious before and it will not be an experience you enjoy.â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

Slowly her words, cold and authoritive, harsh with venom washed over him though she moved little. Her voice pulled at emotions he held deeply buried, clawing at them as if to bring them back up. They slithered and slid over the void’s surface demanding his attention; each one that threatened to break through he quickly put to the flame. He could not afford to show any emotion though his heart wished to pour itself out to her wishes. He knew she would fight to gain control of the situation, it was her nature and he had spent time studying her. But even so, no training in the yard he had taken could prepare him for the conflicting emotions that hammered at the void as he watched her laid out on the bed.

 

Rising slowly he moved to the fireplace and shifted the logs that where ablaze; fire consuming and altering forever their form. A cascade of sparks burst forth like an illuminators night flower before the rushing air swept them up the chimney; used the time to gather his thoughts and ensure his emotions where solidly in hand. So many things she could say, would say; you must be strong no matter what. Harshness will be spoken for control and freedom, let it slide …. Only words. Eyes flicked to glimpse at her from their corners, the same person she always was; so different from the peaceful vision she had been. So many years of anger and control, could she ever be anything different? Heart taunting mind. Dangerously he let the thought live, tucking it back in a corner; not ready to have to answer it yet.

 

He turned from the fire to face her bed once more, his mind replaying the thorough search of her clothing and person for weapons; the effects of the tea, how long each level took to regain control from. Calculations met his minds approval; casually he walked over to wear she lay, turning slightly he lowered himself to sit on the left side of the bed next to her. Soft and reassuring his mothers words came to him, a saying she reminded him often, â€you can catch more with honey then with vinegar.†Warm memories washed over him as he looked down on the hard sternness of Sirayn’s face. Memories of home; a mothers embrace; life before Daes Dae’mar. Things he my never again get to enjoy, his mothers soft face filling his minds vision before he could muster the strength to push it to the back. He could not afford time for revelry in the past, even for his mother.

 

Conscious; focused control help to keep the warmth of emotion from gaining his eyes as he looked deeply into the gray windows to her soul. Searching for something he could use to solidify the situation in his hand. “Come now Sirayn, there is no need for this,†his voice low and soft as his finger tips brushed back hair from the side of her face. He fought to keep the shudder at the touch of her warm skin from racing through him. “There is no one here to see, you needed not wear that facade here, let us talk openly with civility.†His hand returned to the side of the bed, blunt did not work perhaps honey will, or a least add confusion to her mind; how many emotions will you make me ride Sirayn. How far was he willing to go; he had known once, but now everything was in question. No change offered the slightest crack in her appearance save a tightening around the eyes.

 

Silently he bit off a curse, why did the bloody women refuse to let emotion touch her, to slip out behind that damn stony exterior. He knew life must live in there, somewhere deep she held it imprisoned and refused it life. He did not want to fight her; did not wish to break her spirit in the process of what may yet happen before either left this cabin again. Was emotion really that much to ask for, even a sliver from her would make this task easier. But she’s not about to make it easy for you is she foolish man. No man will ever understand the intricacies of the female mind. Bitter defeat tried to lung for him but he pushed back, holding it outside the void.

 

He broke their mated gaze, eyes rising to look at the wall behind the headboard. “So many possibilities lay in the future of this age. So many lessons from the past learnt,†his voice drifting lower toward a whisper, “so many not.†Eyes darted to look down at her again, studying her face. Nothing ever seemed to break that stone blank expression; memories of how peaceful she had looked just a short time before. A pity it had to play out in hard and angular tones; but it was only temporary. Sooner or later one of them would give, many possibilities if she did; a possible slow and bitter death if he did. His stomach tightened at the dark thought before he could snatch the emotion, crushing its existence. “The feeling will pass,†he offered hope to soften the sting of believed betrayal that hinted in her eyes. Should the need arise it would also help cement the weight of the unspoken threat that he would not allow it to return complete.

 

“I do not doubt your fury, it is legendary, little study was needed to know that. But I don’t think I am quiet ready to face that, perhaps after a talk if you still feel the need of it,†he paused briefly as his hand gestured in the air. He forced his voice light and carefree, “perhaps then we can discuss such unfortunate matters. But for now I have simple questions for you and I am sure you have ones for me. I was always taught that a gentleman allowed the lady to go first and as a sign of good faith I will allow you the first question to help ease that calculating mind of yours.â€

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

 

The slightest brush of his fingers across her cheek woke every nerve to exquisite, screaming terror. It took every ounce of control she possessed to freeze her muscles to iron stillness. Inward and intense she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry somewhere quiet where nobody would ever get to touch her again; instead ruthlessly she closed out all the horrors clamouring in her thoughts, cut them out as pitiless as a surgeon with ice keen scalpel, focused herself on something beyond the racing of her panicked heart. If he touched her even an instant longer she would surely scream; only desperate strength shut down that cry trapped in her throat like all those other words unspoken. So simply he reduced her to a mass of quivering fear … all coherent thought as far from her grasp as saidar … the Light only knew what he might do when he truly put his mind to it.

 

Careful slow breaths kept under rigid control restoed her hammering pulse to something only a notch above normal; freezing fear releasing its grip on her somewhat. Civility? Panic bubbled up laughter inside her and she trapped it down just as hard; surely this was difficult enough without being mocked so openly. She had never been docile and compliant under coercion in her bitterly fought life and she did not intend to give up on pride and independence so easily. It appeared that it was easier than she had anticipated to creep past her wards and the cautious layers of protection she had laid around herself, to reduce her to a helpless state, but no amount of paralysis was going to steal her wits and her scathing tongue. Again she flexed her fingers a fraction, even so small a movement weighed down with heaviness, muscles unwilling to respond … making herself remember that she did at least have a tiny bit of control to push back fear.

 

Stung pride wanted to point out exactly how little she intended to comply with brute force and demands; nobody defeated her so easily. Passing indeed! So nearly she snarled her frustration and fury at being kept so defenceless; held it close and secret instead in case an unwary slip should reveal more than she dared. The unspoken threat, that he might not permit this state ever to be lifted … chilled her a little, but on the scale of threats she had previously received while helpless, it scarcely registered. She had half a mind to draw a comparison directly for his benefit to let the boy know how little she thought of his menace but perhaps actual provocation might not be her best option right now … and the sheer cowardice of that thought shamed her; that she should so easily be reduced to thinking about her own interests and security.

 

Fury still seethed black and bitter in her heart kept under pressure too great to be allowed free; burning with resentment at how easily she had been fooled. Inner suspicion had been right in telling her not to trust the boy but as always, caught up in her own stupidity, wanting so keenly to believe that somebody might actually want her company, she had allowed herself to be tricked lying as much to herself as he had done. Had she learned nothing from so many other treacheries? How long did it take for this lesson to be battered into her enough to finally stay? If she got out of this scrape, and she had weathered worse in the past, she promised herself she would learn better … that nobody would come close enough to lay hands on her again. Shameful loneliness and desire for company had brought her nothing but betrayal. No more weakness. None.

 

Statues had been carved from marble which showed more softness than her stern face at that point; expression a mask of ice and stone, bitter determination in every line. Mock her though he might, she was not yet enough of a fool to swallow this line about an exchange of questions … as though anybody drugged and abducted a sister for such a simple purpose. If answers were all he had wanted the damn boy could have asked in the safety of her quarters and not risked the wrath that was now certain to sweep him away. “I am at a loss to imagine what you think you are doing, boy, but credit me with enough intelligence to know that asking you is not likely to be a step forward.†Anger suppressed so hard not even a hint showed in her tone; being defenceless heightened every feeling since she could not even move to release the tension steadily building in her. “Get a move on with whatever you have planned. Listening to you talk is not as riveting as you might like to think.â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

The ice-cold set of her face echoed the absence of emotion as her words bore in to him; cutting as if to cleave him in two. Bore into the inner recesses of his mind and fanned the fire of confusion and anger that he fought to hold at bay. Emotions seethed and surged against the void like colors of a painters pallet; mixed and layered into the thick black mud that cling to it’s surface trying to crush his resolve. Rising swiftly he tore his eyes away as he stalked to the fireplace once more; it’s dancing light casting hard angular shadows across his face.

 

What had started as a foolish though of adventure and control of a legend had twisted bitterly. Awe and childhood pride had set the jib of his sails to eagerly clutch at the branch of smoke and mirrors she had tempted him with at there first meeting. The world around them surged and echoed of the stormy future their agreement reached in darkness offered; impending loss of himself to her; child like ears unable to sense. Squatting in front of the fire he retrieve the poker and pushed at he fire’s fuel.

 

Slowly she had drawn him in and buried him under her thumb. He did all for her, never questioning her direction or reasons. The tip of the metal beginning to take on a reddening tinge; his hand flexing on the shaft. It felt good to have steel in his hand while he worked this problem in his mind. Had she but simply asked of him he would have spilt blood on more then one occasion; an uncontrolled shudder raced through him, eyes flicking to her prone body before returning to the hypnotic dance of the flames. “Get a move on with whatever you have planned. Listening to you talk is not as riveting as you might like to think.†the words played over and over in his head. Disbelief blooming from a heart he tried desperately to hold at bay. The fact that she obviously did not trust him rent deep cavers across its tender surface.

 

Tingeing pain in his hand brought eyes back to the metal still in the fire, the end a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges glowing fiercely. He drew the poker from the fire, the glow casting eerie shadows and coloring across his face as he stared intently, seeking answers and guidance in it. How could she not see the life I have offered her; my life time and again. Bitterness stabbed through the heat; mocked him at how simple her use of him had become. A careless object to be directed when needed and pushed aside at a moments desire. Seiaman’s face floated disembodied in front of him; one of the deep roots of dissension between them. The glowing end of metal stabbed out in to the air in front of him a slight hiss escaping his mouth.

 

Sirayn had tossed him aside for her, no thought or care for his desire and dedication to see her safe. Instead love for that cold woman had left him heading south with another while they went north; thoughts of Seiaman’s hands on Sirayn caused his knuckles to whiten under the strain of his grip. His revenge on her would come with time, already he had what little network he had built watching everything she did. Another lesson he had taken deeply to heart from his teacher. Though it seemed he had failed miserably with his emotional control compared to the marble statue that occupied the bed.

 

Setting the rod back in the holder he rose to face her once more and caught sight of the box; it’s rich waxed surface highlighting the woods coppery grain. Perhaps …. the unfinished thought tossed away like refuse as his ears picked a faint creak from outside. Spinning fluently toward the door, a dagger flashing from his left hand; firelight played along the sharpened edge. Perfectly still his ears strained for further indication of a possible threat. He floated alone in the darkness of the void now; thoughts and turmoil that had moments ago been deep in battle were lost as if they never existed. Eyes closed he listened as he did during his practices; her breathing, the crackle of the fire, the beat of his heart; no other noise met him in the darkness. With a swordsman’s grace and light steps he moved to the door and slipped out.

 

Snow, thick white flakes of cotton, continued to fall from lead grey clouds. His eyes roamed the surrounding area and stopped on the only indication of change since their arrival. A branch, leaves still attached, lay on the ground. The weight of the snow had pulled it from the tree before him. Drawing a deep breath he relaxed muscles tense like a spring ready to strike. The distraction allowed him to regain control of emotions and thoughts. Though he lectured himself briefly on his jumpiness he was glad for the chance to regroup. He would allow nothing to harm her, but he could not be jumping at every noise if he was to complete his task.

 

Warmth washed over him as he stepped back into the cabin; eyes readjusting to the dim light. Now where were we dear Sirayn, his eyes found the box again and he crossed the room to it; the dagger flashed once more as it disappeared into the sheath in his sleeve. Thoughtfulness mixed with remembrance drew softness to his face as he collected the box and returned to sit next to her. “I see you received the gift I sent you,†his hand slide over the smooth surface. “You have taught me through Daes Dae’mar that meanings can be read from everything said, seen or given.†His fingers began to tap lightly on the box, “I remember our first meeting in that secluded garden and the ensuing conversation.†His hands stopped their movement on the box as his voice became soft, “the box is made from the center of an alder tree, heartswood.†He left the last word hang there between them no more then a whisper for her ears alone as his eyes flicked once more to her hoping for a change in that chiseled face void of emotion. Please not rage again… the thought frozen like his breath while he awaited her reply.

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

ooc: Reposted from some time ago. Timeline is 999 NE.

 

When Sasra had heard through the grapevine about what had happened to her old mentor, Sirayn Sedai, her heart had sunk and her stomach turned somersaults. The woman had lost her left hand, the one that she fought with. The fact that Sasra had seen such a thing happening years ago when she had tested for Acceptedhood, regardless of whether the circumstances were the same or not, chilled her to the bone. The rumours she had heard about how Sirayn had come to lose her dominant hand had varied, from it being cut off by a Fade, accidentally severed during a sparring session with her Warder, one even suggested that her whole arm had been bitten off by a trolloc, with Sirayn going on to kill the creature with her remaining hand. Needless to say, Sasra didn't believe a single word of the rumours that had spread like a fire in a hayloft on the woman's return to the Tower. She had sent a number of novices to see Nynaeve Sedai to be punished for gossipping, and sent others to the kitchens for extra duties there in the hope of silencing the rumour-mill which was in the business of producing ever more fantastic stories surrounding the loss of Sirayn's hand.

 

She had wanted to give the woman a chance to recover, both physically and emotionally after such an event, but had made subtle enquiries as to how she was. So far all that she had managed to glean was that Sirayn had remained mostly in her rooms, having been attended to by Yellow sisters. She had to do something for the woman who had been her guiding influence for her first twenty or so years in the White Tower. Sirayn meant too much to her for her to just ignore the woman's plight. While practising with her sword one morning she had decided to try using it in her left hand instead of the right, to see if she could appreciate at least a little of what the woman would have to be going through. It was far from easy. Years of use had gradualy shaped the leather strapping on the handle to her own grip, and the change of side made it uncomfortable, and the sword felt too heavy, because of course she wasnn't used to carrying the weight of a blade in her left hand.

 

She had gone to the finest swordsmith she could find in Tar Valon, and given him very clear and precise instructions on what she wanted. A katana, but one which was a little lighter than usual. The blade was to be highly polished, with a winter rose etched onto it, and the handle was to be shaped to make it easier to use right-handed, without having to wait for the leather to wear in. The scabbard was to be lacquered in green, also with a winter rose on it in silver inlaid wire. This was more than just a new sword for a friend, it was a way for Sasra to say thank you to Sirayn for all that she had done for her. Once the sword was ready to be collected she had decided that she would visit the woman, and persuade her to visit Tar Valon with her, where their route would conveniently take them past the swordsmiths, at which point Sasra would take her into the shop and present her with the sword, so that any final adjustments could be made to her requirements.

 

She was rather pleased with herself as she set off towards the Greens' quarters, a journey she had made many times over the years, and as she walked she reflected on what the woman had come to mean to her. Despite the fact that she had been a good deal shorter than Sasra, even when she first came to the Tower as a girl, she had always looked up to Sirayn, and Sirayn had somehow managed to tower over her. Whether that was a trick with the One Power, or something more subtle and subconscious to do with the woman's stature and reputation was neither here nor there. What mattered, was that Sirayn Sedai had been a more closely personal and guiding influence than Sasra's own parents. It was Sirayn who had first spotted the signs that Sasra might be destined for the Gray ajah, and had encouraged those traits, steering the girl towards her destiny. It was Sirayn who had given her her first knife, Sirayn who had arranged for Sasra to train with Urien, who had gone on to become her Gaidin, it was partially through Sirayn that she come to realise her love for Tayline. All in all, she certainly had much to thank the woman for.

 

Finally she arrived at the door with the winter rose carved into it. She had stopped off at the secret garden and picked one fresh - the simple bloom had always been precious to Sirayn and the winter rose bush in the secret garden was kept in bloom all year round, and was well tended. She paused before knocking - for years she had simply knocked and entered, knowing that if Sirayn hadn't wanted her to come in for whatever reason she would've locked or warded the door. She embraced Saidar briefly, and probed at the door, which was warded heavily. A little too heavily, perhaps, as if the occupant of the room was trying to keep the entire world out. Choosing not to follow her normal protocol, Sasra simply knocked at the door and waited, until a voice from behind - Sirayn's voice, but somehow lacking something of what made it her - called out "Who is it?". The voice was not cold exactly, but seemed empty in a way, and possibly frightened. Sasra had never heard fear in the woman's voice in all the years she had known her, and it wasn't right, Sirayn never feared, and if she did, she never let it show.

 

"It's me, Sasra.", she said, not too cheerfully, but not cold or formal either. She waited for an answer, but instead of a voice, the ward disappeared from the door, and it swung open, pulled by threads of air. She walked slowly in and glanced around. The room had not been tidied in some time, which wasn't like Sirayn at all, and the woman herself was seated by the window, looking out through the leaded glass. Sasra only walked halfway across the room, a half smile on her lips

"I came to see how you were. I brought this."

 

Sirayn turned from the window and stared at Sasra. It was Sirayn, but it wasn't her face. The eyes were hollow, empty, and cold. There was barely a flicker of recognition in them. Dark circles ringed the eyes, and her cheeks, always pale even before this, seemed sunken and pallid. It seemed as though a lifetime of suffering had finally settled onto her, she looked like a woman who was impatient to embrace death, to finally be welcomed back to the arms of the Creator, to end the strife, and the struggle and the suffering and sacrifice of life.

 

A flash of a half smile barely touched the woman's mouth as her eyes took in the winter rose with Sasra held carefully in both hands, but only for an instant. The empty look which soon overtook it pulled at Sasra's heart as surely as if someone had stuck barbed fish hooks into it and now pulled at lines, trying to drag it from her chest.

 

She took two steps to bring her close to the woman, was it her imagination, or did Sirayn actually flinch as she approached? Sirayn had on many occasions done her best to be motherly towards Sasra. She had seldom managed it, it seemed to be an emotion that she had trouble opening herself to. Sasra, however, had no such difficulty. She had looked on all of her mentees as children, and even though she knew she would never marry or bear children she always felt that she would've made a good mother, had the Wheel of Time chosen this path for her instead. Almost as a reflex action she put her arms around the shoulders of the still-seated Sirayn, pressing the woman's head against her stomach, and stroking her straight black hair tenderly with one hand.

 

"My dear sweet sister. My dear Sirayn.", she said, as she held her and stroked her, "What has become of you? What did they do to you? How have they so nearly destroyed you?"

 

She held her close for several minutes, before releasing her arms and looking down into the woman's eyes. Dark cold pools, they were, filled with pain and suffering, but with anger and hatred and passion still burning, faintly at the back. So she was not completely destroyed. There was still something of Sirayn left, some embers, smouldering quietly at the back. All Sasra needed to do was to find a way to fan those embers and bring them back to life.

 

Sasra Cooper

Bonded to Urien Santra

Mentor to Dawn and Mira

Proud mentee to Sirayn Sedai, once upon a time.

 

*

 

: : : : She had not stirred from her bed since Seiaman had laid her there, barely conscious, for Lwena to work on at the end of her ordeal. The skilled healer had attended to the wounds her body had borne, both inside & out, but as for those that could not be seen so easily … no mastered art such as healing could patch together the damage her son & his consort had done to her. She lay curled up, one arm held across her belly protectively, in a gesture that would come often to her & become a deeply ingrained habit, before this affair was done; and she stared into the corner where shadows still gathered away from the searching sunlight, and held herself entirely empty of thought and memory. As long as she lay with perfect silence and stillness she could be all right. No words got past her determined ignorance, nor visitors to draw out her attention … nothing disturbed … harmony.

 

: : : : Her thoughts wandered, stealthily, lightly, touching over subjects with the delicate hesitation of a butterfly. The sun was bright … dancing motes of dust in its stabbing shafts. She was still cold & the blankets wrapped tight around her small form had done nothing to dispel the chill that diffused through her. Lwena had gone long ago, days, years, it meant nothing, but as she stirred slightly to get comfortable a twinge stabbed through her and she froze, a nameless horror stirring in her memory, like some dark leviathan poised to surface & held perfectly still until it eased. Then she let out a slow, careful breath and relaxed. A brief and painful hope that she could just stay here, like a wounded animal gone to ground & sheltered from the curiosity and contempt of her fellows … but … even something dark and cold stirred at the back of her mind warning her that she could not hide here forever, pricking her insistently but there was nothing left to shrivel at its scorn.

 

: : : : Could she be dead already? Was it possible to still breathe, to think, her heart to still beat and yet some vital part of her -- her will, perhaps, or her spirit -- was utterly gone and only a shattered shell still lived on. Perhaps this was death. Or maybe that was just the taste of despair. Sunlight fell golden across the blankets twisted round her, across her surviving hand seeming pale and skeletal almost translucent with only the harsh lines of bone to define angles and hollows. She flexed those fingers slightly watching them move; frail seeming, but all she had, now that her good left hand had been reduced to a stump so hideous she did not want to look at it; twined them in a fold of the blanket, clenched bone tight but the tough fibres resisted her grip. The inside of her arm burned where she had been holding onto … something. Didn’t want to think about that. She forced it from her mind. She couldn’t imagine that that fragile and scarred hand would ever wield steel and saidar again.

 

: : : : Self pity, she thought tiredly. A faint restlessness had uncurled in her and she viewed herself now in a colder & more objective light. Lying abed festering in her own misery for days was a pitiful occupation even for one as reduced as she. But those thoughts drew out pain from the dark place it had been buried, showed her for a vivid instant the depth of her own inadequacy and everything lurched dizzily as though she had been leaning over a pit. She shut her eyes tight and tried not to think. For a time, it even worked.

 

: : : : Later she got out of bed, more out of a suppressed desire to fill time with movement than any wish to face the world. Her first attempts to dress were clumsy, fumbling, and in the end, doomed to failure. Her already weak right hand grew more tired with each feeble attempt. She gritted her teeth and kept trying doggedly but couldn’t seem to make her surviving hand work properly. Frustration rose up dark and bitter but she turned away from it not wanting to realise the distress … the grief … the knowledge of her loss that she had so far kept out. No, to be unfeeling was by far the better choice. She could fetch someone to help her dress, she reflected, then dismissed the thought immediately. Better to try and fail than to show her weakness to everyone. A tired sigh, and she continued her solitary struggle.

 

: : : : Finally she was dressed, tousled dark hair combed, and some measure of readiness restored to her appearance. She couldn’t think why she had bothered. Her quarters were still strewn with bloodied clothes and dirty cups and plates from Seiaman’s long vigil by her bed. She seemed to remember sending Seiaman away shortly afteward. Standing in the midst of her quarters she looked around blindly, trapped in listless apathy and tried not to contemplate the thoughts which welled up more insistently in her mind … memories … of something she wanted desperately to forget. So successful had been her attempts so far that she could barely remember what it was she tried so hard to force any vestige from her mind. All she knew was that the consequences might be terrible if she remembered.

 

: : : : A knock at the door. She turned, suddenly afraid. She had warded the door some time ago, when exactly she couldn’t remember, and for a brief and intense moment she wanted to wake those wards and turn to ash anyone that thought to disturb her refuge. “Who is it?†She barely recognised her own voice. And the name that followed … Sasra. She frowned twisting and turning at that name to fit it into her mind. A memory sharpened, of a young woman standing blankly behind her, a man shrouded in shadow and bleeding away his life at her feet. Yes Sasra, Sasra Cooper, her mentee. Saidar was eager to her bidding, she had not forgotten those skills that made her livelihood, and Sirayn opened the door silently allowing the Gray Sister to enter. She turned her eyes away, toward the sun drenched vista that her window presented her and waited mutely.

 

: : : : The next words drew her attention away again. She turned her gaze obliged by duty to the gift Sasra held in her hands. It was a rose. A black rose, slender stem spiky with thorns, and a perfect white bloom. A hesitant smile curled her mouth, she loved roses, but then … staring at it in uncomprehending horror, the white rose represented far more than she wanted to dwell on, both days long past tarnished by the passing of time & the raw memory of blood and steel that still tormented her. And now Sasra was approaching holding the rose in her hands and suddenly the flower was a weapon, her stance threatening, stronger than she by far … arms closing round her and there would be the metal taint of blood and her voice scraped hoarse by screaming … a scream that now echoed silently through her as she fought not to shrink back not to let them see any flinch no no no.

 

: : : : Moments passed instant by grinding instant. No violence was offered her. No insistent voices prying out any sliver of courage that still remained. But they would be waiting, only waiting for her to let her guard down for an instant. She unclenched her surviving hand, carefully, noting with a distant surprise the ache of a too hard grip and raising her hand pushed at Sasra blindly until the other woman let go. She dropped her eyes to the floor seeking with the instinct of a wild animal to hide her weakness. “I do not want you here.†There was a curious kind of dignity about her then, the only shards of pride she could still cling to; something old and grave and irreparably damaged. “Please go,†her voice cracked on the words, she hated that breach with a sudden violence. “Please leave me alone!â€

 

*

 

Although Sasra had never seen tears in Sirayn's eyes - the woman had always been as strong as the Tower itself - she half expected to see them now, but when she looked down at Sirayn's eyes they were just as cold and empty as they had been since she arrived. Cold dark pools of nothing. Somewhere in the back there was still that light of passion burning, but it was dim and distant, and whatever embers of the old Sirayn remained, Sasra's tenderness had failed to fan them. Sasra released her arms, and let them fall to her side, and Sirayn simply returned to her sitting position, staring out of the window.

 

Sasra felt an icy chill begin to spread through her body, starting from her heart and spreading outwards through her blood. She was watching a friend die. More than a friend, really, Sirayn had come to mean so much more to her than that, from her very first day in the White Tower. She could not bear to see this pathetic shell of a woman any longer. Sirayn wanted her to leave - was that real? Did she really want Sasra to leave, to be left alone for the Creator to come and take her, or was she just trying to protect Sasra from having to see this? That would fit with the old Sirayn, but this broken and empty woman sitting by the window waiting for death wasn't that woman any more.

 

She turned, and walked slowly across the room, and the sense of relief that she felt behind her was almost tangible. Reaching the door, she took hold of the handle, but something in her wouldn't allow her to open the door and leave. She had given up any idea of traditional family to come to the Tower. She had walked away from her parents and her friends and, it turned out, her unborn brother, although she hadn't learned of that until years later. That was history now, they all were. The gift of longevity that came with the One Power was also a curse - so much extra time to regret not having returned to look after her parents at the end of their lives, as any other child would have. Of course, she had ensured money was sent, to keep them in comfort, and they had been visited by numerous other sisters, they had always been cared for, but she hadn't been there, duty had kept her too busy. Tayline, Urien and Sirayn had been the family she could never have.

 

"Can you just walk away? She helped you to mourn the death of man you didn't know, a man who's life you took. Can you just walk away from her now, now that her spirit is crushed? Can you forget about how many times she was there for you, and desert her?"

 

"No!", she exclaimed forcefully, with words intended for the voice she had just heard in her head, "No, I can't. I can't and I won't!". She released the door handle and walked back to the middle of the room, not too close to the woman who turned back from the window to stare at her, almost incomprehensively, as if she still barely recognised Sasra.

"Burn me Sirayn, I won't, and I won't let you make me! Call yourself a Green sister? A sister of the Battle Ajah? What kind of Green sister gives up the way you are giving up? You once told me that as long as there was breath in your body you would fight the shadow, and you would die fighting the Shadow. How are you fighting the Shadow now Sirayn Sedai". She emphasied the last word, not with a snarl, not insultingly, but to reinforce that Sirayn was still Aes Sedai, no matter what happened, "Well I promise you now, Sirayn, that while there is breath in MY body, I will not let you give up. I will not allow you to let hope wither and die, do you hear me? Blood and bloody ashes Sirayn!"

 

She realised she had taken two steps closer without thinking, and with a sudden movement she flicked her hand upwards, overturning the book on Sirayn's table. Light, but the woman was definitely cowering. It wasn't much, but she was trying to press herself back into her chair, as if she feared a blow to herself.

 

"I won't hurt you.", Sasra continued, not shouting, but still forceful, "The Light knows you mean more to me than that, and you should know it too. I cannot let the Shadow have you, Sirayn, and have you it will, if you don't bloody fight. The Shadow or the Creator will, at any rate, but if either of them wants you, they'll have to pass me first. I'll fight them, and I'll fight you if needs be."

 

Was her own passion starting to stir something in Sirayn? There was something in her eyes, she was sure of it, maybe just a flicker, but there was something. Light, but this had to work, she didn't know what else she could do. She hid one hand behind her back, clenching her fist desperately, and offered up a silent prayer to the Creator for help. As if in answer to her prayer, she remembered that Sirayn still should have no idea that she had learned to use a sword.

"I'll make a deal with you.", she said finally, with a half smile, "Come down into the yard and fight me. If you win, I'll leave you alone. Now, do I have to drag you down to the yard and kick some life into you?"

 

She stood then, firmly, in the middle of the room, doing as good an impression of the Sirayn that she used to know as she could, her arms folded, her eyes cool and unblinking, and waited.

 

Sasra Cooper

Sister of the Gray Ajah

Bonded to Urien Santra

Once-proud mentee to Sirayn Sedai

 

*

 

: : : : She remained huddled in the chair as Sasra walked away from her … her expression empty, like the surface of a mirror reflecting only a hollow where once there was life and passion; the wide grey gaze that followed the other woman seeming devoid of its usual edge, the sharp defensive anger of a woman holding too much pain and too many secrets to hide … missing. It might have seemed as though the woman she had once seen was dead, and perhaps in a way, she was; as though something precious and wilful and necessary had been torn out of her leaving nothing more than this … a scarred husk cast in the same likeness. The only spark of life that burned in her was a remnant of the all consuming terror that had seized her once Sasra presented a threat. She quieted that fragile flame, held it suppressed, and watched warily.

 

: : : : Lettting go a long breath she relaxed a little as Sasra made to leave, but just when the other woman had been about to leave her in peace, instead Sasra turned on her seeming angry. The words were intense, even half accusing and the woman was so strong; the force of her presence impressed on her and she too hollow to resist it. She shrank back, puzzled, half fearful. Why did Sasra want to hurt her? She struggled to conceive of what she had done wrong that Sasra wanted to punish her for; though even so battered and losing any semblance of a grip she remained firmly convinced that she had sinned grievously and must be condemned for it. Perhaps this was the justice she had escaped all along before this. “I don’t want you to hurt me.†It was a bare whisper, soft, like a child hurt and yet still trusting. “Don’t hurt me. I just … please leave me alone.â€

 

Sirayn Sedai

Sister of the Battle Ajah ... technically.

 

She had grasped at straw, but now Sasra had nothing left, no way remaining to help the woman she had so loved and so admired for all these years. Sirayn Sedai, the woman who for the entire time Sasra had been at the White Tower had come to epitomise strength and determination was now more pathetic than a child. Sasra sank to her knees in front of the woman, still desperate to find some spark of life in her eyes, some sign of spirit. Perhaps the woman would be better off dead. She knew she had it in her to kill – the thought of it never gave her any joy, knowing that she had the mental and physical capabilities to take a life, to snuff out someone’s existence like a candle – but she didn’t think she could kill someone she knew, or cared about so deeply. And yet she could no more bear to think of Sirayn suffering in this way than she could bear the thought of the woman dead. She could leave one of her knives, within easy reach, and give Sirayn the choice herself, but it was probably pointless – the woman had always carried more knives about her person than a travelling knife salesman, everybody knew that. People used to joke that it was a wonder she didn’t clank when she walked, there were that many concealed blades in her clothing.

 

She almost reached for one of her own knives – there was no need for a sister to carry any kind of weapon in the White Tower, although many Green sisters wore a sword of some description, but Sassra always carried a few well hidden knives as a habit – but she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t find it inside her own heart to give the woman a way to die, not while there was any hint of life in her own body.

 

She had sounded cold, angry even, when she had spoken before, and it had made Sirayn flinch. Now she softened her voice once more, using the tone she always used with new novices, girls who were often frightened by their surroundings and made nervous by the presence of Aes Sedai.

“Do you know what goes through my mind when I’m faced with a difficult task? I think ‘What would Sirayn do? Would she give up? No, she wouldn’t so nor should I.’, that’s what I tell myself. When I was tested for the shawl, I nearly gave up twice. I never told you that, and I’m not proud of it, but I was just too hurt, too exhausted, too frightened to go on. But as I tried to force myself to remember the weaves, I thought about you. I thought ‘Would Sirayn ALLOW you to fail?’, and I knew I couldn’t stop fighting then. I thought of how strong you were, and that gave me strength. You’ve always been my strength, Sirayn. Always.â€

 

There was a tiny glimmer in the woman’s face, a suggestion that Sasra’s words had been heard, listened to, maybe even comprehended, but there was no real reaction. She could’ve nodded, or moved her head, or something, but she just sat there, staring, her eyes barely moving. Sasra could bear it no longer. She placed her hands gently on the woman’s knees – she felt cold, as if she was already dead, and so she let her hands linger for a while, to maybe transfer some warmth to the woman’s blood.

“I love the woman you were Sirayn Sedai,â€, she said, very softly, “and I always will.â€

 

Her eyes began to sting with unwanted tears as she pulled herself upright and turned to leave. Just before she reached the door she turned back to the woman, who had not moved at all in her chair.

“I thought all your strength and courage was in your heart and your blood.â€, she said, fighting to keep her voice from cracking as she felt a warm tear slide down her cheek, “but I see now it was all in your left hand. I’d say that losing your hand has turned you into a coward, but that would be unfair to cowards. A coward doesn’t know what it is to show courage. You’ve become worse than a coward, Sirayn, because you’ve chosen cowardice over courage. You had a choice to fight, or to crumble, and you’ve chosen to crumble. The Sirayn that I knew didn’t let life happen around her, she grasped it by the throat and made it do what she told it. If it’s all the same with you, that’s the woman I shall choose to remember, and not the feeble, pathetic….â€, she fumbled for another word, but could think of nothing better than, “..short coward that you’ve become.â€

 

She turned away again, her vision misting as her eyes began to fill properly, and reached for the door handle…

 

Sasra Cooper

Sister of the Gray Ajah

Bonded to Urien Santra

 

Once a mentee, always a mentee.

 

Coward.

 

Like a line cast out across previously still and untroubled waters it dragged across the serene surface of her calm, caught at her focus, brought ripples of disquiet in its wake. The word still resounded in her thoughts fraught with such significance that even her mentee who had once known her so well did not grasp the half of it. Just a passing mention meant too much to her … a weight of remembrance never lightened by time, images not permitted to dull or tarnish. It disturbed her, touched some precariously balanced sense of self which she had worked so hard to keep shielded from all but the most fleeting troubles.

 

Briefly she frowned; the slightest drawing together of dark brows, a shadow passing across her ageless and empty face, and her lips tightened a fraction at a sudden rush of memory. That single word reverberated through the ages for her. For a brief and vivid instant she looked back across the years at a stern face, jade eyes holding nothing but contempt where she had once looked for acceptance, and made young and small again her heart quailed in the face of another’s disdain; another instance where what might have been straight and true had been twisted into a distorted mirror.

 

And now discomfort touched some far more priceless well within her. Anger seemed so new and strange to her in her current state that its bitter taste gave her pause … yet … even as she did so every inch of her will recognised it so strongly; fury to feed her strength and defend her from anyone who might presume to touch her heart; a deep and abiding sense of outrage. A rising sense of wrath which devoured all clouding confusion like a cleansing flame and brought every edge to bitter sharpness, and stamped its mark across her so that her surviving hand tightened bone white on the chair and her grey eyes lifted in a gaze holding such intensity that anyone might be stopped in their tracks.

 

Coward.

 

In the earliest years of her life she had been much like this woman perhaps; knowing little of which she spoke, full of wit and fire, signifying nothing. Once she had been a child even as all others had once been a child. Now two centuries had passed and she no longer had the luxury to speak so lightly of the most harrowing ordeals. Only her kind understood the true burden of courage. Had her mentee ever known what it was like to see one’s friends dying around one and be powerless to lift a single hand because one’s duty lay elsewhere; even when she would have spent everything she had for the opportunity to die in their place? To let even those terrible events sway her from her course would have been a worse failure. All the losses she had taken since then … her closest friends, her sisters, her companions … still she kept those wounds close to her heart and yet still her duty obliged her to take on hardship of similar immensity so that soft and insolent women had the freedom to criticise where they liked.

 

Coward.

 

Decades upon decades she had brought shawl and saidar to a hundred campaigns in the north, across the great uncharted wastes of the world, into danger far more dire than could be set to words. She had slain more people for their one and only precious cause than her mentee had likely ever met … had given up far more than her mentee had ever known. She had put aside her two children when they were just babes in arms and forgotten all but their names. That much she had sacrificed for the only cause that meant anything.

 

Coward.

 

She had stalked the Black Ajah in halls far from home knowing all the while that if she were discovered channelling her life would be forfeit; knowing much harder and colder that if she did not use every ounce of wit and skill she possessed it would be pieces of her that they were sending home to the white city. And though she brought her most prized companion into cruel danger and left another to wither and die alone like a seedling in frost she had prevailed there and never wavered an instant, even when she woke dazed in Black Ajah captivity, even then she had had more courage than a Gray Ajah diplomat could ever know.

 

Coward.

 

She had made a mother’s hardest choice to gentle her own son, done it with her own hands, and later drunk bitter tea with the Red Ajah to make vivid and real her failure, while all the while her son plotted with Dreadlords against her. And most bitterly she had lost her pride and her good left hand in one fell swoop guarding the Tower’s secrets … had lost far more than that, but resisted even an attempt to put words to it. Never … for even an instant … had she permitted herself to be a coward. Never. All the years in the world would never make a coward of her. If she had ever let fear make her decisions even in the smallest way … if she had ever let herself be less than a sister should … it did not bear thinking about. She might as well be dead.

 

A part of her mourned that it took this much sheer provocation to break through the wall she had made for her battered heart; that she had never learnt to speak the language of gentleness, never understood how to work except to be battered into obligation. Part of her quailed: still trapped in a dark cave far below the ground at savage folk's mercy. Some small fraction of her always would be. Yet the greater part of her ... the much greater part of her ... had suffered so long and so hard for the Battle Ajah that the whole of her iron will was too great a challenge for anything else. There never would be time to rest or to look after the grievous wounds she kept close to her heart. This was not a time for mending. It was a time for breaking. And still the word lingered trapped and tasting of despair.

 

Coward!

 

In the space of a jagged instant she surged to her feet; chair tumbling, the world swaying for a dizzy instant, she seized the table rather than show a moment’s disorientation. And her snarl held a world of wrath. “How dare you speak to me like that!†Harsh and rasping her voice echoed with the strain of not enough days past; stressed, as no doubt was obvious, by too much screaming. It belonged to the mentor she had once known but Sasra Sedai might have been forgiven for not recognising it at first … torn as it was, rough with a creeping cruelty, and expressing an old and proud dignity irrevocably outraged.

 

“Coward? You call me a coward? You speak to me … to me, a sister of the Battle Ajah, a soldier for the Light … as though you knew the smallest fraction of what I have known in my lifetime! As though I have not hunted enemies the likes of which would haunt you to your grave! You …†breaking off as fury consumed any further words, she took a slow breath as she fought to master her rage, bringing herself to a simmering calm. “If a duel is what your heart desires, Sasra Sedai,†nearly a snarl on the words, recklessness heady in her; she was wounded and weak and useless and she would rather be battered to a bloody pulp again than back down now, “a duel it shall be! And I shall have my satisfaction of you, hand or no bloody hand!â€

 

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

Sasra’s hand froze on the door handle as she heard the sound of movement behind her. The clatter of wood was unmistakable as the sound of Sirayn’s chair tipping over. Two unsteady steps followed, and then a muffled thump. She could hear Sirayn’s breathing – years of listening through walls and doors, and eavesdropping on conversations had taught her to shut out sounds that weren’t important, focussing her attention on what she needed to hear, and these days she didn’t even need to use a weave to listen when she was close. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Sirayn would be steadying herself – standing up so suddenly after a long period sitting would make anybody dizzy. The sound that came from the woman next started as a long low growl, almost primal in its anger.

 

â€How dare you speak to me like that!â€

 

Sasra’s mouth curled into a pleased smile.

“Welcome back, Sirayn Sedai.â€, she whispered to herself, before wiping the smile from her face and turning around to face the woman who had been, who would always be, her mentor. She walked back towards the table, her face a blank mask, betraying none of her feelings. Sirayn was standing, as she had guessed but leaning on the table with her good hand, her other arm still hanging limp by her side. Her dark hair hung partially over her face but the redness that flamed on her normally pale cheeks was as welcome to Sasra’s eyes as a clear sunrise after a month of dark and stormy skies. Her tirade continued unabated, and the anger, the fire, the passion in her voice took Sasra back to the day she, a novice then, had once suggested that Sirayn might not be as dedicated to the Light as an Aes Sedai should be, the day the woman had almost cut her throat with a weave of air. That was the woman she remembered, and that was the woman she faced now. She didn’t care if Sirayn was offended by her words, and she didn’t care if the woman hated her for the rest of her days because of them, so long as she continued to be that woman that Sasra knew and loved.

 

â€..a duel it shall be! And I shall have my satisfaction of you, hand or no bloody hand!â€

 

Once upon a time, an outburst like this would’ve left Sasra cowering in the corner, but she was stronger now, she was a woman grown, and she wore the shawl of an Aes Sedai. Although she would never consider herself so, she was in effect Sirayn’s equal, and shrinking back was not an option. Besides, had she shrunk back she might’ve missed a second of Sirayn’s fire. The fire that continued to burn in her eyes even after she had finished speaking. The strain of such effort was clear, she swayed slightly, despite her hand on the table, and her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breathing. Her eyes were narrowed, still, and her mouth was slightly open, as if she was trying to find more words to throw at Sasra.

 

“Well, at least you can still remember that you ARE a sister of the Green Ajah.â€, Sasra, said, her face softening a little, almost a smile. Her voice wasn’t harsh now either. It wasn’t exactly soothing – that might be what a homesick novice needed to hear, but to Sirayn it would’ve been patronising – but it wasn’t hard and ice any more either.

“I have spent more time in your care than I spent in the care of my own mother,â€, she began, “I know well that you have suffered, and that you have loved, and that you have lost. I may not know the full extent of your sacrifice, but I know that you have sacrificed much for the good of the Tower, the Light, and the World. But you are not alone, Sirayn, we all make sacrifices, we all give up our own families when we come to the Tower, we all know what it means to be Aes Sedai.â€

 

Sirayn seemed to take a deeper breath, and opened her mouth to speak, but Sasra didn’t allow her to get a word in. She had, over the years, made an art of it. She had interrupted powerful and influential people across the world, without actually interrupting them. She had faced royalty and talked to them without letting them speak, she could certainly face one of her sisters in the same way.

 

“You have nothing to prove to me, Sirayn. You always used to say that you could beat another sister in a spar with one hand behind your back, and I have never had reason to doubt you. And you have years of experience as an advantage over me. I may be able to throw a knife, but can I match your ability? No, Sirayn, it is not I who needs any proof of anything from you, not now. But spar with you I shall. There are other people who need proof, sister. The people who whisper that Sirayn Sedai is dead, or reduced to a vegetable, the people who think you’ve disappered, the people who murmur to each other in the novice and Accepted quarters that the Green sister everybody feared had been stilled, or burned herself out. I will spar with you, Sirayn, to prove to everybody else that you are still alive, that you are still a sister to be reckoned with. I will not let the Shadow have you, Sirayn, I will not let darkness claim your name, and consign to memory. You are alive, Sirayn, you still have your heart, you still have the One Power, and you still have your right hand. Show the rest of the Tower that, show the world, but most of all, show the forces of the Dark, and let them fear you.â€

 

Sirayn seemed to be forming a reply, but Sasra didn’t allow her the opportunity. She turned from the table and stalked towards the door, opening it and then pausing in the hallway outside. Turning back, she looked at Sirayn, still leaning on the table. She turned her mouth to a friendly half-smile.

“Are you coming, or do you want a day to get ready?â€

 

Sasra Cooper

Sister of the Gray Ajah.

Bonded to Urien Santra

ooc: 999 NE, post Dumai's Wells, prior to the resignation of our current Ajah Head ... buzz me if the plans we made over chat are presenting any difficulties; otherwise, take it away!

 

: : : : Late though it was, and the prickle of stars glittering like scattered diamonds in the ink black sky above bore witness that it was indeed late at night, sleep had not yet stolen in to claim her … nor, she suspected, half a dozen similarly intentioned sisters still busy in the dark watches of the night. No, these shadows provided a haven for those who preferred to keep their affairs closed away from watching eyes, and Sirayn counted herself among such; it was after all a gentler excuse for her wakefulness than to mention certain memories which troubled her dreaming moments. These latest days had been filled with such portent that anyone must have seen chaos coming. As for students of that greatest of games, the stirrings among their sisters were as an open book, and she had read enough to know that she needed to bring her plans to completion immediately. Much work still remained to be done before everything should fall out … and the Light send it be as she had guessed; as she had laid her plans so precisely to take into account; for the smallest mistake could mean ruin.

 

: : : : Such were the dark thoughts which troubled her this night. Part of her had waited keenly for these coming moments all her life, ever since she had accepted that because of her lowly origins, her isolation, and the crude approach which had been all she knew until she discovered intrigue … she was not welcome in these hallowed halls; and so closely waited her best chance at recompense that the excitement of it would have trembled through her bones, had she let it. Fear: that was the consequence of how important this whole scheme was to her. Bitterly she knew the face of failure, but this once, surely, if her wit and cunning and the complexities of ambition, anger and determination could stand her in good stead … perhaps she could achieve what she had been waiting for these many years.

 

: : : : In these grim days the success of her scheme was more essential than ever. Though she hated the thought with all the force of her will, she was beginning to suspect that her son had taken a lot more from her than her strong left hand and the remains of her pride … perhaps, just perhaps, she was finished as a soldier. That left hand had drawn steel as surely as it had crafted the colossal chaos which had made her name on the field. Now left only with the weaker, a poor substitute to signify the remnants of her freedom, it was anyone’s guess whether she could recover even a half of those now lost skills. So long and so hard she had placed her whole identity in being a soldier, one gifted part in a gigantic machine, that the idea of being restricted to paper and pen and the myriad difficulties of administration frightened her more than she liked to admit … but where lay the alternative? In being a ruined shadow of herself? Holding on to something which might be denied her forever?

 

: : : : It was no choice at all, but if she could have had that moment back, bloody and horrified in a dark cave far below the earth, she would have done a lot worse to her son than give him a swift end. He had known what he was doing to her much better than she had allowed herself to accept. How he would have laughed. Maybe as a scholar and a boy he might not have understood what it was to be Battle Ajah, a soldier for the White Tower, but he recognised suffering when he saw it … and the thought of his warrior mother confined to a desk all day ordering others to go out and do her dying for her, when she had sworn to herself no others would die as Seiaman had; trapped amid unfeeling paper work, far from the chaos and the keen delight of battle; that would have amused him indeed.

 

: : : : Dismissing this line of thought, somewhat with difficulty, Sirayn set herself to the task she had reserved for this silent night. Hours ago in more business like hours she had written to her young sister to be prepared for her visit, some time after the dying of the light; it was for the benefit of one Halvie Sedai that she lasted through the night hours, always a hard time for her, in order to keep her appointment. It was anyone’s guess how much Halvie had suspected by now. If any of her sisters could have sensed the currents and whispers which lay through their silent halls, she would have put good coin on it being Halvie, that strange, devious young woman with her secret interests in matters nobody like her should have been intrigued by. However, whether Halvie could analyse and apply that information … that was another matter altogether; and a task in which many older sisters would have failed.

 

: : : : It had taken her less than a minute to decide what Halvie would want from this exchange and exactly how far she was prepared to grant that wish. Death. No doubt the child still had her fascination which she had disclosed so unwisely all those years ago. Secrets they all possessed in some number, but Sirayn was most reluctant to divulge anything of what she knew on this topic … nor would she unless she had to. There were other incentives she could offer Halvie, after all. Only a fool would have thought that Halvie would obey her for anything less than good promises, worth as much as coin to women bound by those blasted oaths, but she still reckoned herself canny enough and reserved enough to wring the best out of this deal. That much, of course, remained to be seen.

 

: : : : Silent as a shade in these well known halls Sirayn wound her way onward; her steps whispering across flagstones marked with vivid green symbols. Over the years a sister changed rooms on numerous occasions as more advantageous ones became open. A subtle but none the less present ranking was obvious in where one’s quarters were placed; with those most favoured being placed closest to the Banner Captains, whereas those youngest and least distinguished being far away next to the entrance, while new recruits of course occupied those quarters at the door. So many years since either of them had stayed there. Pulling a white knitted shawl about her casually against the chill Sirayn arrived at the correct door, tapped once, entered hard upon that signal. The quarters before her she spared no more than a single glance; it would not do to demonstrate too much curiosity, although it was not often she visited these rooms.

 

: : : : Drawing all her dignity around her she graced her opposite number with a brief inclination of her head. “Halvie Sedai.†It took her a moment to calculate whether anything further was necessary between them; some semblance of an apology for keeping her up so late would have been due toward an older sister, or somebody of markedly higher rank, but for a younger one … not. There was no reason to be discourteous, but all the same, she had no intention of granting Halvie any more leeway than the other already possessed. She shut the door quietly behind her thus sealing in their words: “I’ve come, as my note informed you, to discuss some matters which may be of importance to us both …†careless, she took a seat, never interrupting her speech; her tones remaining serene as still water, “for the moment, perhaps we will talk about ambition.â€

 

: : : : Fraught with many complications that word alone most likely warned the other woman. If it did, let it be so; she might get to see a little of what Halvie had learned over the years since they last spoke in great depth. Discretion. Perception. Judgement. Those were the three instruments of an intriguer’s game, and each one fundamental to success; it remained to be seen if she had instilled an understanding of those same values into Halvie during her initiation. “Ambition.†She gave the word a twist of irony this time. “A dangerous quality, is it not? Or so many would have you think. I, myself … feel that a little bit of ambition goes a long way; but perhaps it may lead one to great height, if one possesses the necessary other qualities to temper it. Tell me sister … if I may be so bold as to ask ... what are your ambitions?â€

 

Sirayn Sedai

Sister of the Battle Ajah

 

~’*’~ The moment her eyes caught sight of the crisp slip of paper, she had known the urge to burn it. Steady hands had lifted it up yet held it at roughly an arm’s distance, tilted at various angles in golden light, as though attempting to identify some unknown trap about it. Halvie disliked notes, especially those she had never anticipated. They were bound to be the harbinger of something not exactly suited to her taste or at best merely did not fall within her sphere of influence. She loathed being pushed aside like a little rag doll, deemed negligible, trivial. It wasn’t half so bad these days, but it still happened. Resentment still grew though she had vowed it would not affect her daily attempts to grasp more power, but it was hard. It was a disease, a heady alcohol, addictive. And the past decades did little to dissuade its advancements, which in turn eroded her personality. She already agonized over a multitude of past scenes, careless words that had slipped away together with other matters she had executed; all potentially suicidal. Her slate was no longer clean; a myriad of events had blown up spectacularly before her stunned eyes, but she was young yet in comparison to others. Aes Sedai who still stood above her and it was purely stubbornness to usurp their position that saw her enduring each complicated day in the Tower or volunteering for precarious missions beyond the Shining Walls. But it was not enough. It was never enough. She needed assistance, much as she was loath to admit.

 

~’*’~ Cursed were the light rays of the day, when her tension & paranoia heightened amongst walking, living people. Always she strove to look into the future, shift through the increasing pile of administrative work hurriedly yet thoroughly enough to be able to absorb its more crucial contents. The merit of gaining an extra branch of eyes & ears contacts from a fellow Aes Sedai did not cut her much slack, far from it. There remained too much to weigh in the information forwarded to her, too much lingering uncertainty. Another painful lesson in relation to misinterpreted material, a shameful recollection she shoved right back into the darkness where it belonged. She had been asinine child, to assume easily that all knowledge handed over would mostly be true, had placed too much confidence in her abilities to secure a solid deal, a loaded arrangement. Light curse her former naivety!

 

~’*’~ High up in the belfries came the ringing resonance of polished bells, clear even in the dead of night. Once again, Halvie found herself approaching the door of her quarters with a certain measure of reluctance. She ought to leave her room and let the older sister stew in mixed confusion & outrage; it might later prove interesting, even expedient. But no, that was a simple fallacy. She was too intrigued to be able to walk away and had she a shred more courage, would admit to being too fearful to do so. Her hands began twirling a curved blade in the air with almost meditative motions, its cutting edge making silvery slashes against the mostly shadowy room. Fingers pressed firmly against the intricate grooves worked into its handle, as she contemplated her stand in current political matters. Unstable at best.

 

~’*’~ Anxiety ran high nowadays, whispers & rumours sweeping through the halls in the wake of many a grim event. Now if ever would be the moment to sneak further up the echelons, if only she knew how. Her relatively young age disqualified higher aspirations though it had never hurt to try, until now. Now heads would turn at the slightest oddity, inquisitive hands would meddle in areas they normally would not because… because everyone knew that they were facing the beginnings of a whole new ball game. The fall of Tear had been shattering news, confirmation of the existence of the Dragon Reborn even if the Tower would not openly admit and more ominous, of the advancements of Tarmon Gai’don itself. Time was running out for all of them, and she for one hated it. Her position was not entirely secure; she was still placed too far below for much major power play – the same old worries.

 

~’*’~ And there was the other Tower that stood when it should never have existed, holding untold numbers of mad channelers. It was a terrifying prospect that such an… institution of sorts could have ever been conceived, let alone carried out. Halvie knew better than attempt to approach its terrain unassisted, alone… though won’t it be a feat, to be able to tie a string around them? Powerful children who would easily succumb to her political manoeuvres, yet the idea of being surrounded by the tainted side of the One Power was enough for her to sick up. She could not send another in her stead, especially when there remained no person whom she trusted to deliver a notable job on her behalf; no, the White Tower folks would be too busy planning her downfall as opposed to assisting her gain leverage within the ivory tower. Her other spies, she felt, did not possess enough discretion and lack of ambition either; spineless whores she’d rescued from poverty’s lethal hand. Those were the folks Halvie aimed at, acting the benefactor & saviour to those poor, uncultivated souls in another guise, tying them strongly enough to her before revealing the Green Serpent ring. The reaction during those revelations… they differed drastically according to personalities. Halvie smiled ruefully at several tender memories; she’d been overeager sometimes.

 

~’*’~ She burned the remaining missives on her table, clearing cluttering objects to present a neater look. A tidy pile of paper lay in the middle, ink & feather by its side; ready to be used. All the books had been stowed away along the bookshelves that lined the walls; a growing collection though sadly, she had yet to read most of them. There simply wasn’t adequate time when so many other matters demanded her attention. Standing on the hearth, Halvie manually added more logs to increase the blaze, to dispel the gloomy impression the room emitted. There was hardly a need to allow Sirayn to wonder of her inner turmoil, of the kind of environment she lived in day by day when alone. It angered her to consider the older sister intruding upon her private haven simply because she requested it so, but had seen no other way to deter her arrival except by plain refusal. And such an action would most definitely do more than raise several sardonic eyebrows.

 

~’*’~ The harsh knock upon wood came just as she reached a hand to draw back the curtains, a brief glance at a starlit sky before wrenching green eyes from the heavenly vista. Halvie drew in a sharp breath to sooth her speeding heart before hurrying to the front of the room. The door opened by itself much to her indignation, admitting a woman of a dignified stature; proud, serene, and eternally confident. Many days had passed since their last meet and certainly, it had been nothing like this. She stiffened her spine as Sirayn took initiative to take a seat, eyes barely narrowing an inch. There had been no need to further emphasise her lack of standing!

 

~’*’~ Always would come the mixed feelings when she was in contact with the opposing Green; she had figured it to be awe in her younger days, mixed with envy, a strong desire to please and gain favour. Now she accepted it to be hatred, animosity so intense it frightened herself to the core. The woman had everything she wanted, a higher position, better contacts, quality work, successful missions… too numerous to list, far too painful to ponder upon. Every time the woman returned in exaltation Halvie had had to choke back on dismay and often, she would find herself stalking the halls with fury written into every line of her pale, drawn face. The odd insomnia would then descend to further distress her, driving her near mad with frustration at times. She wanted so much, knew she deserved that little, but didn’t know how to achieve it. Always just a mile too further, a little above her abilities, a little late in receiving the latest updates. It was always so. And when she did do something right… she would remain too stunned to do anything further. Then, others would come to takeover, placing her glory mantle upon their shoulders while she stirred in regret. Too often was it so, but she vowed that vengeance would soon come for them.

 

~’*’~ Words slid over her as she intently judged the true intention of one she considered to be a nemesis, noting the familiar sophistication in which Sirayn phrased her sentences in, with such ease. Bitterness. Exactly what had she given away to the sister all those years ago, as a child barely out of her mother’s embrace? The scenes used to be so distinct but it had faded, until only sentences here and there remained and now, that memory had fragmented into words that made no sense when pieced together. A frustrating jigsaw puzzle and Halvie faulted only herself for having lost her journal all those years ago, and wonder as to where it was now, should it still exist. No excuse to have lost it in the first place; Halvie struggled for an equally cryptic retort. It was unnerving to be playing a war of words with so experienced a player. If only Sirayn was an ally instead of an opponent, she of all would ensure a steady ascendancy… but dared she trust a cripple?

 

~’*’~ “What is your definition of ambition, Sirayn?†she asked coolly, opting to remain standing where her shadow fell half on the seated sister. “What is worth the sacrifice for ambition?†She clasped her hands firmly behind her back, fingers twining slowly around her dress to keep from tearing out skin. Tension had to be released somehow, before she stuffed up. “The lives of people, to destroy or reconstruct or dare we consider, take away?†A sneer crept its way onto her closed facade, twisting her features momentarily. “Is that ambition to you, Sirayn Sedai, o’ beloved warrior of the battlefield? And dare we consider how far has it brought you?†Halvie allowed her gaze to fall carelessly upon the missing limb, a suggestive smile on the verge of breaking out.

 

Halvie Sedai

Sister of the Green Ajah

You can pretty much guarantee that any death I'm involved with is going to be dramatic. ;) I'm looking into my options for creating a possible new Warders Div character afterward. :)

back on topic - I'm here and finally about to start the death of my current character. :D

off topic!

It had been nearing noon, and the day had been growing warmer. Even though Vanion was blindfolded, he could judge the hours by how the heat of the sun touched him. He found it amazing the things you learned when you took away sight. But that had been some time ago now, and all he knew was that he was indoors somewhere at the moment.

 

The blindfold, a simple black scarf given to Vanion by his mentor, Orion, was part of his training. He had brought this on himself, wanting to learn how to defend himself while not being able to see. It had been difficult at first, the lack of sight, but Vanion was becoming more and more adept at finding his way. He had begun to form a mental map of the Warder Yards and the Trainee Barracks that was fairly accurate, and he was much better at avoiding obstacles in his path. An adaptation he was rather forced to make, as some of the other trainee's had thought it would be funny to throw things in his path to trip him.

 

Today though, Vanion had wandered outside of that mental map he had taken such care to create. Orion wouldnt have a mental map to work with when going somewhere new, so why should I? , thought Vanion.

In reality, Vanion had actually been hopelessly lost for the better part of an hour, and still had not the slightest clue of where he was. It was only foolish pride that kept him from removing the blindfold, but having only been alive for sixteen years, his pride meant a lot to him.

 

All he knew was that he was still somewhere on Tower grounds. Stopping, Vanion tried to trace his steps in his mind, how far he had come, which turns he'd taken, and how they lay in relation to his mental map.

 

Then it hit him like a bolt of lightning and he sighed deeply, shaking his head at himself. With a rougish half smile, he started to chuckle, "A right fine situation I have myself in now", he said to himself, "lost and blindfolded somewhere in the White Tower."

 

And somewhere dangerously close to the Novice areas. But with no real idea of which way to go, he just continued foreward, a slight smile on his face as he casually swung his sheathed sword just infront of himself to avoid walking into something. And all the while, he couldnt help but thinking to himself, the Mistress of Trainee's is going to kill me... One wrong turn and I'm a dead man...

 

Vanion

 

Bright sunlight spilled through the window and fell in tawny tones across her desk. It painted pretty patterns on the polished wood, lent a welcome warmth as well to these cool quarters, but the pages in her grasp were so sheer a white that the sunshine set them to blazing; for the hundredth time she narrowed her eyes, adjusted the book a fraction so that the reflection did not actually blind her, and addressed herself once more to her writing. Part of her figured it was useless, the sun would continue tracking across her desk remorselessly until her patience finally snapped and she went elsewhere, but it seemed rather absurd to break her concentration because it was such a fine day outside, and besides … Aes Sedai were supposed to be the world’s only hope of salvation: they did not give up working because it was sunny.

 

A satisfying advantage of her rank lay scattered across her desk in half a hundred loose papers. All the Green Ajah’s eyes and ears reported to her in the end, if examined first by somebody of dubious intent … and there was one position she meant to do away with if she could … and while many told only tales taller than she was others contained treasure. Fires still burned in the smoking shambles which had once been Chachin. Folk massed to the Dragon’s Amnesty where those black coated fools had set up a staging post in Tear. Some far darker forces were at work in the world. Rumours. She counted her own network as substantial, but getting information from her own sources was one matter, and possibly equally as amusing as having other people offer it from their own spies; a thousand subtly different stories pieced together some clearer pictures of what was actually happening.

 

Nevertheless, it grated a bit that she could no longer ascertain the truth for herself. She trusted her own observation and judgement far better than that of all those unknown sources, each with their own agendas, half barely literate and the other half schemers as much as she, but if she left Tar Valon for even a month she would undoubtedly return to find a modernist Ajah Head in her place. Disorder raged up and down the land, great events fell out every hour that she remained locked in this ivory tower, and she could not stir so much as a step to answer them. Half of her rather wished for matters to fall out as they had done some eighty years ago so she and the entire Green Ajah could go to war in a grand campaign. Yet she knew her history well, knew what had happened to that other Captain General, and Sirayn did not intend to suffer the same fate.

 

Burn it: to investigate these latest reports from Tear properly she needed to get her hands on some rather more recent works on Tairen history than currently lined her shelves. One would think that folk so superior could manage their own affairs efficiently, but apparently that required a modicum more intelligence than they possessed, at least according to her few brave sources in that Aes Sedai-hating land. Books it was. At this hour the Tower Library would be quiet and cool, and if she happened to drop by the sunny gardens for an hour to catch up on the requisite information, it was scarcely out of her way.

 

All this contributed to a considerable amount of irritation when, crossing by the novice quarters, she found herself briefly menaced by what appeared to be a safely sheathed sword. Memories told her sharply about being at the point of a blade; she stamped out her wretched, instinctive response to perceived threat, trapped the sheathed blade lightly in her hand, and pushed it down to point at the floor. Sirayn surveyed this makeshift cane and rather makeshift blind man much with the air of one surrounded by fools; an ire only compounded by the knowledge that her perfectly calculated look of disgust was being wasted upon its sightless wielder. “You appear to be wandering blindfolded in the corridors.†Chilly tones conveyed her judgement on that pursuit. “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 out into the city.â€

“Aramina sur Dulciena, you are summoned to be tested for the shawl of an Aes Sedai.†The words broke Aramina out of the book she sat studying. She couldn’t seem to move. She knew that she should say something to the Mistress of Novices, but nothing would come out. How had they decided to come for her so soon? Wasn’t there some sort of notice they gave that you were reaching an end to your life as you knew it? “The Light keep you whole and see you safe.†Faerzyne Sedai said, breaking Aramina’s frozen moments.

 

“Yes, Aes Sedai.†She said as she took a deep breath and left the safety of the library table and it’s familiar contents. Books had long become a favored companion of hers and Aramina looked regretfully back at the stack of books she left for others to clear up. She shook her head then, turning back to the matter at hand. The matter, of course, that her mind was trying to avoid by noticing inane things. Like the edge of her slippers were showing wear and would soon need replaced. Or that her left hand had an ink mark from her writing. Or that all sound seemed to stop as she passed through each area and all eyes were on her as she continued to follow Faerzyne Sedai through the Tower.

 

Logically, Aramina knew her mind was diverting her attention, just as she knew sound did not stop, and that any eye that followed her and the Mistress of Novices was more than likely wondering what Aramina had done to deserve a visit to her office. Irrationality made these things large than life to her. Logically. She must think that way now more than ever before. Of course she knew the weaves she must complete. She had practiced until ever her dreams were of practicing. She had asked others to distract her. She had put herself into every place she could think of that would distract her properly. In the beginning she outdid herself 9 times out of 10, having to move to quieter locations to work the weaves, but she had passed that point some time ago. Now she had asked the help of other Accepted to keep her on her toes for the testing. She was competent with the weaves. It was what she didn’t know that worried her, about what would happen during the testing that no one talked about. All these years later a shiver still stuck with her whenever she thought of the Arches and personal truths she had passed through to become Accepted. She prayed the light saw her through this with less trauma than she had felt then.

 

They passed into the bowels of the Tower and Aramina found herself staring through a set of doors at a beautiful ter’angreal. She took a deep breath, and then looked to the Sisters that stood around the room. She drew herself up and brought all the composure she could muster to her attention now. She stilled her hands at her sides though she wanted to dust her skirts and check her hair. She schooled her face to the same polite facade that she was known to be. She forced her breathing to be clam and steady, listening to the beating of her own heart as a guide in her need.

 

“Attend†As Faerzye Sedai said the word the Aes Sedai in the room surrounded them.

 

“You come in ignorance, Aramina sur Dulciena, how would you depart?â€

 

Alive, she thought. “In knowledge of myself.†She said calmly.

 

“For what reason have you been summoned here?â€

 

“To be tried.â€

 

“For what reason should you be tried?â€

 

“So that I may learn whether I am worthy.†The words were said by rote and the familiarity of that soothed her even further.

 

“For what would you be found worthy?â€

 

“To wear the shawl.†There was no doubt in her that she would end all today. She would come out Aes Sedai or die. Those were the only options left to her. Her own determined nature left no room for anything else. Relief welled up in her at the thought. To die and be with Nat today, or to join the cause she had died for. A small smile graced her lips then as she began to disrobe. When she was clad in the Light, as tradition said, she turned to the Mistress of Novices for continued instructions.

 

"Therefore I will instruct you. You will see the sign upon the ground." As Faerzyne channeled a six pointed star in the air with fire, a sister channeled behind Aramina, touching the back of her head with the weave as she said "Remember what must be remembered."

 

Faerzyne continued. "When you see that sign, you will go to it immediately, at a steady pace, neither hurrying nor hanging back, and only then may you embrace the Power. The weaving required must begin immediately, and you may not leave that sign until it is completed."

 

The sister spoke again. "Remember what must be remembered."

 

Faerzyne spoke again. "When the weave is complete, you will see that sign again, marking the way you must go, again at a steady pace, without hesitation"

 

Another repetition. "Remember what must be remembered."

 

"One hundred times you will weave, in the order you have been given and in perfect composure", said Faerzyne.

 

"Remember what must be remembered."

 

It was time. Aramina took one last look at the small pile of clothes she left behind. Not much of a legacy really if she didn’t make it out. She took a deep breath and nodded at the Mistress of Novices. It seemed right, somehow, to acknowledge her hand in her training over the years. As she took a step forward she felt the Aes Sedai watching her closely. Keep your facade, Aramina reminded herself. Keep your attention focused and think about what you’re doing. Work the weaves and keep moving. Keep your facade and focus. With those words lingering in her mind she stepped into the ter’angreal …

 

 

And into a storm. The trees around her whipped furiously with the wind throwing dead leaves and loose branches into her path. She could hardly see through the force of the rain but something caught her eye ahead to the left. She started walking towards it, knowing without understanding, that she needed to reach it. She shivered in the cold and realized that her clothes were gone. She had no reason to be in these woods, in the middle of a storm, without her clothes. Logic almost stopped her then but Aramina pushed ahead. Get to the star. Answers had to come from there; she knew it, without understanding. Facade and focus, her mantra came to her as she continued ahead again. As she stepped into the circle that contained the star she embraced the One Power and began weaving immediately. Competant, unrushed, she completed the weave and began moving on …

 

Into a desert. Heat. She understood heat. She preferred it to the cold actually, but this was insufferable. There was nothing but heat and… the sun was doing something to her eyes. She thought the sand had moved, but it was far too hard where she stood for it to move like that. She looked up and saw the star that she needed to get to. She took the first step and her feet burned on the rocks underneath. Facade and focus. Her movements were unhurried even though each step felt like walking on coals. Another step forward and she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her calf. She looked down at a small snake that had bitten her. Not poisonous, but certainly painful for the bite it had taken. That would explain the movements her eyes had been unable to decipher, she decided. It struck again as she moved past it. Another was in her way and it took a bite of her too. Each step she took was dodged by the small pains of tiny teeth, but she knew she had to continue. She had to reach that star. As she did she began her weaving again. The snakes moved closer but as she completed the weave they disappeared completely. She took a deep breath and composed herself again, mustering herself to move on with the pains she had already endured.

 

Snow. Tornado. Earthquake. Natural disasters moved onto man-made disasters as mobs came to destroy her, to destroy her family for what she was. Men tried to beat on her, women gossiped behind her back and scowled to her face, her village denounced her. Animals tracked and hunted her. Thorny vines crawled behind her steps and wrapped around her ankles. Physical injuries mounted and she walked over jagged ice and chards of glass , through pools of salt water and mounds of hot coals, to reach her destination. She was chased by shadows and shadowsworn, trollocs and myrddraal. Dreadlords taunted her and draghkar stalked her. She saw life stripped away in front of her for her defiance to move ahead and saw death lay at her feet that she could have saved. Each step hurt worse than the next. Pain blossomed from wounds she knew, but didn’t understand. Façade and focus. Her mantra kept her head up high and her emotions so buried in herself that she didn’t blink as the trollocs made their lunch as she weaved 99.

 

And she founds herself surrounded by fire. The building she was in was in ruins as walls and ceiling began collapsing around her. She knew this. How did she know this? She walked deeper into the building, somehow through the smoke and heat and flames, seeing the star that must be reached. Slow and steady as chunks of roofing came down around her. Slow and steady as voices called out around her. Slow and steady when hands reached her. She pulled away, trying to get to the star. “Don’t leave me Ara!â€

 

Her steps didn’t falter even if her heart did. She knew that voice. The voice she heard every night in her nightmares. “Help me. I can’t find my way out.â€

 

Tears filled her eyes, but Aramina blinked them back. Façade and focus.

 

“Ara, please!â€

 

Façade.

 

“I need your help.â€

 

Focus. Take a step.

 

“Ara… I’ll die here!â€

 

Façade. Step closer.

 

“Light forsake you Ara!†The young woman began coughing then, the smoke becoming too much for her.

 

Focus. One more. She was in the circle then and began her weave. She diverted her weaves, tired as she was, and began clearing the smoke from the room as she worked the last weave of her test. It wasn’t enough and she saw the young woman fall to her knees.

 

“Ara…†a weak rasp was all that came out. “Please…â€

 

 

The light was too much and Aramina lurched blindly out of the ter’angreal. Aramina barely managed to stay upright as the flood of memories came to her. Each horrible ordeal after another slammed into her and she bowed her head for a moment, refusing to let anyone see the pain that was now written on her face. They had done all of it, these Sisters who sat watching. One of them had known about Natalie. One of them had used the most horrific thing in her life to keep her from gaining the shawl. There was no way of knowing who did it or how they knew. Aramina took a deep breath and looked at the Sisters around her, remembering their faces. It would be a long time before any of them held her trust. Her physical pain could be dealt with, but the emotions she had been forced to play out in her last test were something to be answered for.

 

“It is done.†Faerzyne’s voice and following clap broke through Aramina’s study of the Aes Sedai around her. “Let no one ever speak of what has passed here. It is for us to share in silence with she who experienced it. It is done.†She clapped her hands again before continuing. “Aramina sur Dulciena, you will spend tonight in prayer and contemplation of the burdens you will take up on tomorrow, when you receive the shawl of an Aes Sedai. It is done.â€

 

Done. No, not done. Far from done, but her test for the shawl was complete. Life with all it’s pain and pleasures still had a long way to take Aramina. A yellow sister came and offered healing and Aramina accepted readily. The snake bites had been a problem since they still all bleed freely. Her steps were tortured from the desert, not to mention what she had walked through to get to the stars. Too many injuries for her tired mind to catalogue, though she knew once she was rested the catalogue would be in the back of her mind anyway.

 

In a moment all pains were washed away, though the Yellow Sister had to hold Aramina up for a moment after the healing. She was led back to her room then, where food sat waiting for her return. She took a sniff of it, but ravenous as she was, she couldn’t make herself eat when her mind swam around one trap. Only one truth had come to her tonight. She had loved Nat with everything in her. How then, had it been possible for her to leave the girl to her death? Not once, but three times. Her Arches had shown her doing that twice. She had clung to Nat that night and told her that she would never leave her. It had been a lie then; one that Natalie had later given Aramina back. A lie neither of them had been able to understand as a lie. Aramina took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her one truth. She was no longer Aramina sur Dulciena. Years of study had made something more of her, and something less. Aramina sur Dulciena did not leave friends to die. The woman looking back at her in the mirror, however, did, had, and would again. She was about to become Aes Sedai and the woman she was now, was not just a simply woman anymore, but a tool of the White Tower. It was… oddly comforting. She hadn’t understood back then but she did now. Just as Nat had understood when she had left the White Tower and died in its service. A sense of pride filled Aramina then as she looked back at her plate and picked up the bread that had been left. Her appetite was ready after all.

 

 

The next morning found her tired, but ready. Her brown hair lay in perfect curls around her crown and down her neck and back. She walked in silence as the Sister’s led her on for the morning’s ritual. She was brought before the Amyrlin then, her keeper at her side.

 

"Who comes here?" She asked from beside the ter'angreal.

 

Aramina held her head high, her voice steady, and her expression as calm as an Aes Sedai. “Aramina sur Dulcienaâ€

 

"For what reason do you come?"

 

"To swear the three oaths and thereby claim the shawl of an Aes Sedai."

 

"By what right do you claim this burden?"

 

"By right of having made the passage, submitting myself to the will of the White Tower."

 

"Then enter, if you dare, and bind yourself to the White Tower."

 

Aramina walked at the same measured pace she had in her testing through the ter’angreal and knelt in from the Amyrlin. The Oath rod was placed into her hand and she channeled a small about of spirit into the end of the slender white rod. With the Aryrlin’s nod, Aramina was ready for her Oaths.

 

"Under the light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow that I will speak no word that is not true."

 

"Under the light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow that I will make no weapon for one man to kill another.â€

 

"Under the light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow that I will never use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, or in the last extreme of defending my life, or that of my warder, or another sister."

 

With each Oath, Aramina had felt the words settling into her bones. It was like snakebites all over her body. Like poison oak that she couldn’t scratch. Like a spider had laid a web on her bones and had tightened it as each word was said. It was disconcerting but she kept her face steady.

 

 

"It is half done, and the White Tower is graven on your bones." The Amyrlin said as she took the rod out of Aramina’s hand and placed it back on the pillow. "Rise now, Aes Sedai, and chose your Ajah, and all will be done that may be done under the Light."

 

Aramina rose then and curtsied deeply for the Amyrlin and her Keeper, then turned to look at the Sisters present. She didn’t know if they knew where she was headed, but she took her time as she took a deep breath. She had thought of a million things to say as she approached her intended Ajah, but at the moment not a single one of them came forward to her mind. She walked steadily until she stood in front of the Green Ajah. “I would be a Green Sister, if I am permitted.â€

_________________

Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

 

She molded the clay, working it between her hands, wishing that she could meld people in such a way. The vase took shape in her hands and her hands moved gracefully upwards, slimming the vase as she went. Jade supposed in a way they did meld the Green recruits that came to them wanting be Green. They wanted it with all they were worth and they denied them, denied the thing they thought was their right. Jade had had her day at being denied and she had survived that task and many others that had come before her in her time as Aes Sedai. Denial was something she was well used to in fact, it seemed these days that she was denied everything she wanted. Denied her lover, denied a chance at love with anyone else, denied the right to sanity, denied the Ajah Head position. She sneered and thought of Sirayn Sedai who had everything she wanted, not by any means other than being smarter, brighter, and better. Jade looked down as the clay in her hands snapped at her and crumbled. She knew better than to let anger consume her while she was working the clay but these days she seemed to have no control over her emotions or the way they swamped her. The worst was the little voice in her head that kept whispering things to her when she was alone in her room. It was quiet when she was in the room, but when she was alone in her room it tore at her soul and took her apart piece by small piece.

 

She made the motions with the clay and began to reshape the vase that she had been working on, it was a present for a friend and she wouldn't let her anger stop her from doing something that pleasured her. Time passed and she floated in the Void, devoid of any emotion and she worked on the vase. Adding details would come once it dried some. With a loud sigh she stopped the wheel and carried the vase to the workbench. Tomorrow she would add the details and then she would fire it in the kiln that had been built in the Green Quarters. Turning to the basin she washed the clay from her hands and face. She groaned and messaged the sore spot in the center of her back, missing the days when she could go back to her quarters and share love with someone. When Seia would message her sore joints and muscles and Jade would do the same for her. Jaydena smiled softly as she remembered the love they had shared and wished that it had never ended. She walked from the pottery room and made her way down to her quarters. Embracing the source she removed the weaves from around her room and stepped inside. On the floor lay a sealed envelope which she recognized well. Another chit was going through the testing and had passed, tomorrow the girl would be raised to the shawl. She sneered and laughed as she thought that if the girl chose the green she would find out that she would have no shawl til she was molded like clay.

 

The next morning she woke up quickly and began to dress for the day, she washed her body and long auburn hair with rose hip soap. She rubbed lotion on her body and wondered why it mattered if she dolled herself up. There was no one there to care anymore anyway. Just the big empty bed that she had to make by herself every morning, for she wouldn't leave it for the servants. For if they didn't know that she slept alone they would look at her with sympathy in their eyes. Jade slide her legs into the silk stocking she wore and hooked the garters. She stepped into a emerald green sating dress with the Aes Sedai symbol embroidered along the hem and neckling. A matching gold belt cinched her tiny waist and an emerald necklace given to her by her first Gaidin went around her neck. The matching earrings and bracelet completed the outfit. She let her auburn hair fall down her back and hooked her shawl with a pin. Her feet slid into a pair of green slippers and she walked from her room. Giving her gaidin a smile she ignored the worry in the woman's eyes, the worrry that was always there and always in the bond. The woman feared for her and wondered when she would crack. Jade knew it and ignored it, she would never crack and she would never give up.

 

She ate her breakfast in silence and looked up absently as her gaidin kissed her forehead and walked from the room. The worry still pulsing through the bond like a living thing. Jade finished her breakfast and walked out of her quarters, setting the weaves that protected her rooms from unwanted eyes and hands. She walked through the quiet halls and soon reached her destination. Taking her place beside the other Sitters she looked on as the ceremony began and a new sister joined their ranks. Soon the young woman was finished and she walked toward the Greens. So it was to be that way, another broken spirit. The new sister approached them and spoke, “I would be a Green Sister, if I am permitted.†Jade nodded and spoke, "We will take you to our Ajah Head Aramina Sedai." She motioned to the other Sitters and they made their way from the room. They walked through the Halls with soft foot falls and soon reached the Green Quarters. Their feet fell on the green sword inlaid tiles and Jade knocked loudly on a matching door when they reached it...

_________________

Jaydena Sedai

Sitter of the Green

 

"We will take you to our Ajah Head Aramina Sedai."

 

Aramina Sedai. It took everything in her not to smile at the title. She had worked years for it and though her emotions were still raw from the previous days trial, she felt relief and pride at hearing herself named Aes Sedai. She nodded to the Sister and followed along as they made their way through the Tower to the Green Quarters. Most people that knew Aramina wouldn't be able to tell by her appearance that she felt any different today as she followed the Sisters. Her sisters now. Her head was held as highly as she always held it, her posture as good. Her steps were firm and unhurried. No fluttering of hands or impatience gestures to show her excitement. No flush of skin or tear of joy showed on her face. Not even a smile to show that everything she had worked for in all her years had been attained, as she walked towards her meeting with the Head of the Green Ajah.

 

Inwardly Aramina was a mess. Her carefully placed facade that took no more effort than breathing was taking all her concentration now. She worked to keep the corners of her lips from turning up or from trying to hurry the other Sisters. As the Aes Sedai came to a halt Aramina took a deep breath and waited to see if her Ajah would take her in.

_________________

Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

 

Kareja followed Jaydena and Maechalla matching her step to the newest Green Recruit, Aramina Sur Dulciena, studying the young woman from the corner of her eye. She looked as calm as the full Sister she thought herself to be, her face expressionless as any Aes Sedai. The ageless look was of course missing and it would take years to work its way into her features but she wore her Accepted’s dress as if it were a silk dress and stepped as gracefully as any royal.

 

I hope she bears disappointment as regally.

 

Sirayn’s apartments were well known to most Accepted, they avoided them studiously unless commanded there. Sirayn Símeone-Damodred was not known for her patience with Novices or Accepted, Kareja thought wryly, though she could be kind Kareja knew. But still Aramina showed no hint of expression.

 

Jaydena knocked sharply and they stood for a moment before the Captain General’s voice bid them to enter. The rooms reflected the woman. Sparse but elegant, a richness and depth with a hard edge of effeciencly. Sirayn sat at her desk studying the four of them silently as they approached. Jaydena gestured gracefully toward Aramina, "We have brought Aramina Sedai to you, Captain General. She wishes to speak of becoming a Sister of the Battle Ajah."

 

Kareja had watched many supplicants to the Green quail before that gray eyed gaze but Aramina still stood expressionless, her hands at her sides, her gaze as equally unreadable as Sirayn's.

 

Is the poor thing in shock? Or is she really so inscrutable?

 

Kareja Niatari

NSW Green Sitter

 

She had looked into these eyes before and seen anger, heard scorn and debasement in her words and tone. Today there was no trace of emotion that she could see. Aramina sur Dulciena stood before Sirayn Sedai, barely having taken her vows and wanting nothing more than to go back to bed, to sleep away her memories of the night before and scrub the bone tightening words from her body. It was unsettling and the last thing Aramina needed at a time like this was anything that distracted her from her true goal. She needed to be more prepared. If she had known who she would stand before she would have spent the night in earnest preparing for the confrontation instead of trying to erase the memories that closed around her. She had lived with her haunted memories for years. One more night could have waited.

 

This was not just another Sister she was stepping up to. Her other meetings with Sirayn had made her use her wits in ways that she hadn't since she had first began learning the Great Game. In a way, she was learning all over. As a child she had learned from her mother who was quite skilled. By her death Aramina no longer saw her mother as a master but simply as one who had supplied her with the basics she needed to get to the next level. In Sirayn Sedai, she saw a true Master and one that she desperately wanted to learn from.

 

She wanted to clutch her skirts to keep her hands from scrubbing at the oaths in her bones, but she didn't allow either. She didn't let her own need to learn show in her eyes. She was not a Master yet but she knew well how to control herself and she wasn't about to give any chance away to Sirayn Sedai. She bowed her head slightly, acknowledging that she was indeed the supplicant in these matters. "As you know, I have passed my test for the Shawl and have been named Aes Sedai. I come to you today so that I might join the Green Ajah in it's fight against the Darkness. Will you have me?" She asked, her eyes soaking Siryan up for any sign of reaction.

_________________

Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

 

All her life she had wanted to be a soldier. Nothing less than the wild life out beneath immense and turbulent skies, all the world her hunting ground, called to that solitary part of her that remembered stalking her quarry through Dumai’s Wells amid sparks and mud and madness. Being bound to this city burned in her like fire; so many concerns required her presence, not only in the north but way over in the land she called home where Aiel burned the Topless Towers, that it frustrated her all over again to be trapped here within these walls. On mornings like these when pale sunlight blazed across a city glittering like spun glass the open road seemed all the more tempting.

 

Instead she stood before a window locked tight inside the white citadel. Stone walls closed in on all sides. A narrow frame shut in her view through leaded glass panes. If she had not been a sister she might have permitted herself a moment of discomfort, might have remembered how much she despised being restrained even in the smallest measure, but her folk could never be less than perfect. Rather than look out any longer at a life now forbidden to her she turned her eyes downward and contemplated instead her surviving hand laying lightly on the stone window sill … small and still, fragile as a white spider, the price of her independence. She coiled that pale hand into a fist and made herself remember nothing about fire and darkness. Like reeds and rushes those images trailed about her waiting to drag her down. Nobody was ever going to control her again.

 

The hour wound onward while she brooded like a novice turned down for a dance. Such innocence was beyond them all in these dark times; the world was harder now and they had to be as iron. Light spilled in through a clear window and gleamed along planes of polished wood. Mechanic in her movements she set the office to rights, cleared up the evidence of another night’s hard study, returned papers to hidden places where only she might examine them. So new to this rank and already she had come to master a few of those secrets which had once belonged to her predecessor. If only she could master being Ajah Head the same way: through scanning papers, making notes, analysing; holding everything distant enough that it tested her intelligence and nothing of any more importance to her. This meant more to her than she could possibly express. Half a commitment might as well be none at all.

 

Sometimes she figured she had forgotten how not to be Aes Sedai. At other times she remembered only too keenly. This morning, seated in a patch of bright sunlight in an office made for better women than she, Sirayn reflected on half a hundred hours she had spent as a tiny novice staring, in fear and wonder and something near to worship, at all the grand Green Ajah soldiers in their fine garb. Those soldiers now followed her every command. Her summons brought them, her orders guided them, her will guarded them. If they fell their blood stained her hands. If they succeeded the Battle Ajah ascended still further. The thought was at once thrilling and infinitely terrifying.

 

A hundred years would never be enough to sort out everything this meant to her. Instead she focused on the morning’s black work. First petitions were possibly the most challenging part of her duties so far; even applying a little discipline, a tricky affair for one not best acquainted with the orderly process, was firmly rooted in the knowledge that the offender deserved every inch of what she was getting. Taking bright children new to the shawl and smashing apart their dreams was a filthy business. Blood and chaos in another raising not long before now had only steeled her determination to play the perfect Ajah Head … an impartial judge, even handed and fair to all, despite her misgivings … but she did not care for this at all.

 

Outside a steady hand tapped at her door; keeping cool tones she bid them enter. One by one the party filed into the Captain General’s office. Ice grey eyes tracked each woman for an instant’s space, measuring the subtlest cues written into them, from fabulously beautiful Jaydena to diminutive Maechella only a fraction taller to herself to polished Kareja with her determination and her schemes: and for an instant pale light trapped the three Banner Captains together and she knew a brief moment of pride. These serene and iron willed women were the Green Ajah’s shield. And this child with them illustrated the brightest generation of recruits they had seen in many years.

 

Aramina sur Dulciena. Their meetings had been intermittent to date, and neither had let anything slip beyond composure, but Sirayn counted herself intrigued by this particular raising. In purely economic terms somebody possessing all the qualities of cunning, discipline and Cairhienin heritage that came along so rarely made for a sound investment. She predicted a bright future for Aramina in the Battle Ajah … and given the auspicious way rank and age had fallen out it presented a unique opportunity for she herself to make a move. Her policy was to pick out only the stars of each generation and bind them to her cause; if she let Aramina sur Dulciena pass by, as she had let one or two slip through the net in earlier decades, it would be a great misfortune.

 

Had she but known it a place already waited for Aramina upon her second petition. All that depended on successful testing: and the rigour and sometime cruelty of the Battle Ajah’s testing had passed into legend by now. Severe herself, her timeless features set into icy composure, she acknowledged the newest Aes Sedai’s words with the merest inclination of her head. The dice had already been thrown. It remained to see who would win this gamble. “Many have spoken the same words before you … Aramina Sedai.†Scrupulously she granted the other woman her new title, nobody would fault her on her manners, but the grey eyes remained measuring. “Why should we welcome you in where so many others have aspired? Do you bring any skills or qualities which might benefit the Battle Ajah?â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

Her outer stillness was a perfect mask ask she watched Sirayn Sedai, watched her appraising eyes and found contempt in her voice again. “Many have spoken the same words before you … Aramina Sedai.â€

 

The title out of her mouth seemed as a joke beneath those eyes that hunted for weakness and failure.

 

“Why should we welcome you in where so many others have aspired? Do you bring any skills or qualities which might benefit the Battle Ajah?â€

 

Aramina took a deep breath to still the anger that rose in her. She had taken the light forsaken test, had stood her night of vigil, and been put to the oaths. What more did she need to know about her? Oh, this wasn't someone who forgave or who easily put aside the past. Sirayn Sedai might say the right words at the right time, but there still lurking between them were the incidents that had brought Sirayn Sedai close enough for Aramina to know her. Perhaps she had not been so controlled on their first meeting as she had thought. Perhaps a hint of her anger at the Aes Sedai's denouncement of her had come through. There was always a price to pay. Today, petitioning for her Ajah, was apparently her day to pay the piper. Or perhaps this was to make her atone for asking her of the strengths and weaknesses of the Green Ajah. To display before all her own strengths and weaknesses. Aramina looked at the other woman again. Or perhaps she was just cruel in nature and thus taunted her for her own glee. She passed on that thought. The words so far had brought no satisfaction that she could see and Aramina refused to give her a response that would give her one.

 

"Does any woman reach the shawl without something to give her Ajah?" She asked back, her voice serene and cool. "No woman that takes the Test is without gifts Sirayn Sedai, which you well know. I am stronger in the One Power than some in the Green Ajah," The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. It wasn't appropriate to talk about strength and in it she made the error she hadn't meant to. If Sirayn noticed, she would surely know that Aramina's calm was only surface level. Well, she made no mention of names, but the point was certainly made. She had no choice but to continue now. "So I have met any requirement you seek there. I am intelligent and play the Great Game as well as many I have met in the Tower, yet I know there is much to learn there, if perhaps there was a greater teacher. I handle a sword well, though I have known no battles. I am certain the Battle Ajah will see to it that I am not long a novice in this regard. These are the strengths and weaknesses that I possess, laid out at your feet to pick up or tread upon. Beyond these, I have the will and determination that you seek in your Sisters. Neither words, nor pain, nor grief, nor distance, nor time will sway me from my purpose here today and forever more."

 

She looked at Sirayn Sedai, her chin up and her voice as stead as always. No sign indicating that she had been unraveled enough to speak inappropriately to the Green Ajah Head. Only the calm, collected expression that she always wore. "Tread on me if you will, or pick me up and send me to Battle."

_________________

Aramina Sur Dulciena

Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah

 

As the rough and gravely voice called for them to enter she swung the door opened and closed her heart against the pain that wrenched at it each time she set eyes on one of the women she loved. She nodded her head to the Captain General, also known as Sirayn Sedai and then spoke, "We have brought Aramina Sedai to you, Captain General. She wishes to speak of becoming a Sister of the Battle Ajah." Sirayn barely moved her head and never quite locked eyes with her. Jaydena pushed down the pain at the rejection and took her place at the desk. Aramina faced them all and spoke in a controlled voice though her eyes showed the desperation she must be feeling. "As you know, I have passed my test for the Shawl and have been named Aes Sedai. I come to you today so that I might join the Green Ajah in it's fight against the Darkness. Will you have me?" Jaydena kept her eyes straight ahead and steady, just wondering if this one would cry her eyes out, yell and rage, or try and kill herself. Her lips curved in a smile as she wondered if she should expect a trend in the green recruits after that foolish move by Christine. Sirayn spoke in her controlled voice, “Many have spoken the same words before you … Aramina Sedai. Why should we welcome you in where so many others have aspired? Do you bring any skills or qualities which might benefit the Battle Ajah?â€

 

Jaydena noticed that Sirayn addressed the woman by her title and Jade knew that Sirayn must be feeling slightly cheerful to even throw her that small bit. Aramina stood for several moments as though considering her words and eyed each of them in turn before she began to speak. "Does any woman reach the shawl without something to give her Ajah? No woman that takes the Test is without gifts Sirayn Sedai, which you well know. I am stronger in the One Power than some in the Green Ajah." Jaydena's eyebrows shot up at those words and she almost laughed out loud. Not only was in rude to talk about strength in power front of anyone, she had picked entirely the wrong Green to say that in front of. Sirayn Sedai was one of the weakest in the power but what she lacked in the power she made up for in many other thing. The girl would soon learn her lesson for uttering those words in front of the Captain General. "So I have met any requirement you seek there. I am intelligent and play the Great Game as well as many I have met in the Tower, yet I know there is much to learn there, if perhaps there was a greater teacher. I handle a sword well, though I have known no battles. I am certain the Battle Ajah will see to it that I am not long a novice in this regard. These are the strengths and weaknesses that I possess, laid out at your feet to pick up or tread upon. Beyond these, I have the will and determination that you seek in your Sisters. Neither words, nor pain, nor grief, nor distance, nor time will sway me from my purpose here today and forever more." The girl had recovered quickly, but nothing would save her now and especially after that little comment. "Tread on me if you will, or pick me up and send me to Battle." Jaydena almost cackled in delight as she waited for Sirayn to take this little upstart down a few pegs...

_________________

Jaydena Sedai

Sitter of the Green

 

Ooc: I was kidding that I should take Aramina down a notch for every point her One Power score was higher than mine … then I noticed that her potency is only 3 points higher. ;)

 

In her two centuries Sirayn had weathered a good deal of provocation. These days she played a cautious game, laid her schemes behind the scenes and brought them to light only when her own position was assured; the gambling days were behind her and she certainly hoped that matters would never again become so desperate that she had to risk everything … but nevertheless, despite her best attempts at composure, there were certain topics which could still strike past her best defences. Another woman present in this office had discovered only to her cost that one did not ever call Sirayn Damodred a coward. Their youngest companion had, perhaps unwittingly, touched on another subject which caused immediate and serious outrage.

 

By some trick of fate she had come into this world as nobody. Common born, illiterate and far removed from the kind of courts she now frequented, she had been possessed of scarcely enough strength to be worth the Tower’s time.. Any less and she would have been put out of the city and told never to return: a fact many had delighted in telling her many years ago before she got old enough and cold enough to make them regret it at length. She had scraped to the shawl only by a whisper, spent decade after decade clawing for power, exerting every ounce of her iron will to get to her current illustrious position. Nobody had given her anything. Everything she had she had earned through drive, determination and courage: all qualities she possessed in spades and which even perfect porcelain dolls like this one could not be gifted through their rich families and influential connections. She had never forgotten being the feeble one, the failure, always at a disadvantage. And nobody was ever going to use that against her again.

 

Hence why that insult pushed her a long way toward the kind of wrath she had not unleashed since a certain other incident not so long ago. Insolent wench! Quick as a striking snake she wanted to lash out in response but to show the full extent of her fury in front of so many untrusted folk would undoubtedly be a mistake. A scathing retort was on her tongue; only with a great effort did Sirayn manage to control herself, to smooth out the impulse to teach this one a little respect. Inwardly she seethed. Had everything always been served up to this child on a plate, was life truly so easy when strength and beauty and everything else came as second nature, had she ever had to work for anything in her life? Burn her if she knew where Aramina sur Dulciena got the cheek to speak to her as if she had any right to confront an Ajah Head on her own ground, as if she should not be kneeling right now, as if that might even save her. No amount of kneeling was going to get Aramina newly Sedai out of the hole she had dug for herself.

 

Her anger was getting out of control. Easy, she told herself in the calmest tones she could muster, easy. The other Sitters watched her with the tension ordinarily reserved for something caught caged and prone to bite; they knew, firstly, how unseemly it was to speak of strength so openly and, secondly, that that had been a direct and open taunt; how a mere scrap of a child newly raised to the shawl got the gall to speak so to her Ajah Head escaped her completely. None had seen her properly furious before, with the exception of one Jaydena Sedai, and she did not intend to give them that hold over her … but Light did she mean to make Aramina sur Dulciena regret her indiscretion.

 

By the time she spoke again she had herself under tight control so iron it let no hint of feeling escape. “I do declare, Aramina Sedai, if I needed somebody to give grave offence you would be the first person under consideration.†Dark brows lifted a fraction in icy query. Those few cold words communicated a great deal: that her taunt had been registered and remembered; that she did not intend to let it pass; that if Aramina dared … dared … to speak to her in the same manner again it would be long and long before she opened her mouth around an older Aes Sedai again. “One does not speak openly of strength in public. That is not fitting to our station. As a side note, should you be interested in hearing it … every woman in this Ajah could destroy you in ways you don’t even know exist … and they have proven themselves a thousand times over.â€

 

Intensely she wanted to say more. Given her unprecedented strength in one particular element she was willing to bet that she could put on a show to silence any doubter; her skills were so concentrated in a narrow field that in many others she was useless but few matched her for causing massive destruction. Yet to make such an offer would be a crude attempt at intimidation and there were subtler, more acceptable ways of getting her revenge. She had honed those particular skills on a certain rival and as that woman might testify she had got very good very fast at keeping people down.

 

“You have spoken passably well,†all business now Sirayn moved into her ceremonious speech, if with a twist of sharpness on the words, “yet I am not satisfied that you are ready to be Battle Ajah. I am looking for soldiers; you are but a child yet, young and green as a new leaf.†She derived a certain satisfaction from going through these now well known phrases; although she had turned people down before, it was usually a hard task rather than something she vindictively felt that Aramina Sedai deserved. The young sister before her had made a very grave miscalculation in crossing her Ajah Head. “You are not worthy. I will not accept you into the Battle Ajah.â€

The harshest part of this game they played was that the result was set in stone right from the beginning. Everyone who found the courage to enter this office exited with their dreams shattered, regardless of how bravely they spoke, their valiant intentions and their fortitude all rendered equally useless. Though she might rail against it in the silence of her own thoughts Sirayn had never had the slightest intention of making an exception for this one child … if she had stood by and watched better women than her denied, how could she possibly single out a lesser … but a part of her dark and intense had wished that her challenge would be taken up; that the response would be so bold and so glorious that all here would be unanimous in their acceptance. A single bright hope remained.

 

All that broke when Alyria al’Vire made her response. Nothing waited there to lift one unprepared child from a hundred others, no truth hidden in her words, nothing to hold onto. It gave her a strange and sudden chill to think that all this time she had still been looking for something special … as though anybody was coming to save them but she herself; as though her dark duty could be passed onward one last time: but no, nobody got deliverance this time. She had imagined herself prepared for this job now, prepared for leadership in the hardest hour the Battle Ajah had ever faced, but maybe some small part of her still wished for a better hero. This morning proved it a false hope. Nobody would lift this weight from her: it was only her and her own determination. And these dark times called for every scrap of command she could summon up.

 

“That … will be enough.†Lazy tones concealed a wealth of steel; harsh edged with an irrevocable finality. Regrets she had in plenty but she would not disgrace herself through her conduct now. “I have given you fair chance to speak and now you will speak no more. I told you to convince me that you are ready to be Battle Ajah; that your name deserves to be listed in the same sentence with Battle Ajah legends who still walk these halls; that you wish nothing less than to be a soldier. You had one chance to take your place among the Green Ajah. You have told me instead that you are not prepared. You are bound by shallow feelings; you remain loyal to others, your heart lies elsewhere and your head knows nothing but stories … and if I cannot depend on you, if I cannot be completely certain that you will navigate always by the light that is the Battle Ajah rather than your feeble feelings for this other child, then I refuse to take you in.

 

“I will put no trust in you until I am satisfied that you are in your heart a part of the Battle Ajah machine. I have no sympathy whatsoever for your weakness; you will put that aside or life here will destroy you. However grand you think your passion is, the lust of two children it is as nothing beside the Ajah, the Tower & the Light; beside the futures of a million million people; beside the turning of this great wheel that provides life for us all … and I count myself among the fool’s attachments you must drop. I do not want your love. I want your discipline and your obedience. You will give me nothing less than that before I trust you. In two hundred years’ time, if you stand here beside me, if this citadel and this city and this world even survive, you will know very well the truth of that.

 

“You are denied entry to the Battle Ajah now and for all time until I am convinced of your value. Once you are ready to stop being a child and start being a soldier I may hear your petition again.â€

Her instructions were being questioned. This was a concept rather strange and unreal to her; when she snapped her fingers, people jumped, and this was only correct for a sister of her age and standing. The proper order had been turned on its head when unlettered children tried, with all apparent reasonableness, to change her mind. Sirayn considered pointing out to her that she had had two centuries more in which to form her opinions than the child herself had ever lived but ... on second thoughts, possibly that would lead her back down the road to great irritation, and she did not have so much time to spare for insolent young ones who made it their life's work to go around thumping things with wooden swords. She scarcely had the time of day for some sisters let alone this child.

 

"Firstly, you do not talk back to an Aes Sedai," she gave her prey a severe look, "and secondly, you do not talk back to an Aes Sedai. Ever. Much less question her judgement. However, since you lack even the wit to see what opportunities lie around you in this city, and I cannot get the slightest use out of illiterate children, I have no further time for you. If you wish to be of any use to an Aes Sedai ... and I presume that you do, seeing as you are one of many children who follow Warders round like lost ducklings ... find out what it is to better oneself. Look it up in the dictionary if you must. Or ask someone who actually puts some effort into addressing their shortcomings." Sirayn was not yet certain that her quarry was properly chastened, but her patience was running to its end, and she must not raise her voice even a fraction over something so insignificant. Grey eyes lingered for a moment, before she turned with a careless gesture toward the door. "You may leave."

Raise a hand. :D