A number of responses ranging from the sarcastic to the downright offensive came to her tongue. She was not accustomed to having her motives questioned. Instead she took a slow breath, stuffed the scorn back where it had come from, and told herself to be gentle; she had been precipitous in writing Estel off as a dead loss, the Blue Ajah must instil at least some qualities worth having in their sisters, and her insults had provoked exactly the wrong kind of response. She wanted to see the real steel in this one, not the petulance so easily brought out, and there must be some somewhere. Unfortunately the child had turned out to be a damn sight less intelligent than legend painted the Blue Ajah; but with careful handling she might still be useful and that required a certain subtlety of touch.

In all honesty there were many reasons why, half of which she would not repeat in public lest somebody get the wrong idea. It took a moment’s thought to sort out the private from the permissible. She had no wish to further damage the child’s spirit unduly, nor to put her back on the defensive, better that Estel served her willingly than required a controlling hand always on her shoulder. So she made her tone even and reasonable, much against her normal manner, and attempted a different tactic for this particular quarry. “It is unacceptable that anyone should publicly insult an Aes Sedai. It damages the Tower’s image and gives offence to all right-minded sisters. The shawl is your friend in this … and so am I.

“I have no reason to want you undermined in this manner. It is an affront to you, and through you, to me. As of this moment you are unguarded against a repeat performance; I suspect I may be more effective than you at convincing the offender in question not to do it again. It is only logical that I seek out the person in question and apply my, how shall I put it, persuasive talents to discouraging them from an encore.” Sirayn contemplated the other woman critically for a moment measuring the effect of her words. Finally she wove a silence ward around them, just briefly, and went for the kill.

“You are in my hand. I shelter you, I direct you; I have a duty to you and you to me. If you are punished, it will be by me alone. You have a right to call upon me for protection or guidance. By my judgement you need both right now and I will provide them. I will make you a soldier for the Tower and the Light if I have to break you down and build you anew with my own hands. Tarmon Gai’don is coming and, like it or not, you will be at my side when everything ends.”

Sirayn Damodred

Big trouble in a small package

No matter how long she stared at the papers spread out in front of her she couldn’t make sense of them. Outwardly everything looked as it always did; half a hundred reports scattered across her desk, a few books piled haphazardly, ink on her fingers and concentration in her furrowed brow; but when she looked over the sheaf in her hand, though her gaze tracked the densely written lines, she read no more than a few words. It concerned the refugee situation in Cairhien, she had figured out that much, but that and many other topics had lost all their interest for her overnight.

Partly remembering distracted her too much to fully focus on the spidery script. Some bloody Aes Sedai she made; she couldn’t stop thinking about bright flowers and sunshine and the glitter of tears, the sound of silence and bitterness, how much reliance and -- affection, she supposed, though that was a deceptive term -- she had invested in Aramina. Ultimately it had all been for nothing. Like a flawless mirror Aramina had given her back images of what she should have been, had filled up a secret place inside her that craved acceptance, a luxury she couldn’t afford. She would have to manage without it now. Times had changed.

Darker than that she remembered how Aran had made her touch his hand. She didn’t even want to think about it; another vivid little piece of fear and humiliation to be stuffed into her memory as far back as she could; but she had never been much good at forgetting and every time she relaxed it would steal into her thoughts again, the sensation, the crawling fear that he might make a move at any moment. An echo of that coldness touched her now. Stupid to feel defenceless in her own bloody quarters, where anyone who walked through the door could meet the One Power, but the knowledge that Aran might enter at any moment and it would be back to touching again horrified her. She really ought to ward that door heavier than she did. Knowing from the alarm ward when anyone entered was no longer sufficient.

The other part making it difficult to concentrate on her work was simple. How much good had all her hard work done her when it counted? She did not let people touch her, absolutely did not, Corin Danveer had had to poison her to get his opportunity and even then she had pushed him away twice as hard for his bizarre, dangerous presumption. But until she came up with a good plan -- and she was mulling over a few -- she had no way to prevent Aran doing whatever he wanted to her, save by killing him, and it terrified her. Why had she toiled so long to marshal her defences in lands far from here when she couldn’t stop a Tower Guard from touching her at his leisure? Discouraging was too gentle a word.

Naturally enough Aran pushed in the moment she might have got down to some actual work. Triggering all her wards, cluttering up her orderly quarters, peering at her work as if he had any right to intrude on her private affairs: it would be difficult to find anyone who hated Aran more than she did at that point. She gathered the papers together and locked them in a drawer safe from prying eyes, warded them as an afterthought, trying not to wish he would stand further away.

“Don’t do that.” She remained curt. “If you keep opening doors without permission you’ll lose your fingers. You can’t sense a ward at ten paces like an Aes Sedai can. Learn to knock.” Idiot, she added inwardly.

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

In all their long and colourful acquaintance she had never seen Aramina wear such pain. To see the tears trapped in dark lashes like diamonds, the heat in her brilliant eyes was to know it as truth. No performer had ever feigned it as convincingly as the Aes Sedai before her did in that moment. Too vivid, the image burned itself into her memory even as Sirayn looked away discomfited by the outward show of sentiment; she didn’t want to see other people’s displays of feeling and especially not from Aramina. Let the woman remain an island of Aes Sedai standards in a sea of indiscretion and unseemly behaviour.

Not the only reason why she turned her gaze away. Contrary to popular opinion she did not leap to conclusions, she reasoned logically before reaching a decision she relied on like iron, and she did not care to have her carefully ordered beliefs upset at all; better to ignore such signs than to entertain the possibility she might have been wrong … even where that possibility would remove the taint of treachery from someone she had counted as very close to her. After all, if she could be wrong once, she might have been wrong before and that didn’t even bear thinking about. No, she had considered all the information at length, and she would not go back on her deductions now. Aramina had betrayed her. Case closed.

Damn it, she didn’t even know how Aramina did this, how her performance could be so beautifully modulated and each word so perfectly pitched even when the First Oath was supposed to stop her lying like that. It was a lie; she didn’t want to hear anything else. She had poured too much time and care into Aramina, wanting to possess her, to change her, the same dark jealous urge she had had to put aside on many an occasion and every moment of it had been wasted when Aramina turned on her. “That’s not true.” Harshly spoken. It wasn’t true, she wouldn’t let it be. “Nobody else talks to Aran. Nobody. He-”

He had made her touch his hand. It was an offence so deep she couldn’t explain it, could never hope to find her way through all the layers of fear and shame just by talking, and the fact that she could never admit how much it distressed her capped off the whole episode. She had got herself so far tangled in the past that she didn’t think she would ever see sunlight again -- something Aramina would understand, or might have understood if she hadn’t been a traitor, and maybe it was safer that way. “I don’t understand why you did it.” Her voice cracked on the words. “What did you tell him? Why? I gave you my hand. I raised you above your peers. I taught you everything I knew, I sent you out into the world, when you returned I honoured you. I -- you didn’t have to do this, I would have let you go if you’d asked, if-" she was just making an idiot of herself again, damn it, how was Aramina so much better at this?

If she concentrated hard enough she could smooth out her face, her voice, a hundred subtler signs. Aes Sedai were supposed to be calm at all times. “It was unnecessary.” She ended on a hard note.

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

She hated this. The tension between them put her on edge; she kept wanting to back down, to reach out and the next moment she remembered that this was all a cleverly crafted web of lies. If the other woman had just nodded, accepted that the game was up and prepared herself for whatever price came from being caught in treachery … she could be done with this by now, not engaged in a terrible kind of duel with a younger, smarter, better version of herself, and she hadn’t even realised it would hurt this much to hear Aramina sur Dulciena speak to her as if nothing had changed. As if she were the one who had gone mad, as if Aramina had started this herself, as if the first she herself knew about it hadn’t been when Aramina had already turned on her.

Had to be cold. Aramina lied extraordinarily well, a performance worthy of Cairhienin theatres let alone a room full of Tar Valon sunlight, but lying was all it was; she sought to cap off her successes by convincing her one-time benefactor that she hadn’t even done anything. A daring attempt, skilfully done, but resigned to failure. Damned if she’d be played a fool for Aramina’s amusement any longer. “As you wish.” Only ice in her voice, mercifully, and her memories all tinged bitter with regret. How easily she had been tricked. All it took to hoodwink her was a pretty smile and skill at flattery. “I gave you a job once -- maybe the most important job I ever gave to an Order member -- because I trusted you above all others. And you went to Cairhien for me, with some sisters, to bargain for and retrieve some forkroot. Job done with your usual consummate skill.

“The forkroot is compromised.” Frustration and fury pushed so hard she wanted to hit something, to release just a bit of her tension, but she dared not let anything but iron show through to her tone. “I have encountered someone with highly privileged information. Information that tells me we have a traitor.” Her hand opened and closed in a steady rhythm as she fought the urge to hit something. “Someone talked. Someone put me in -- a difficult and dangerous situation. Someone ruined my plans. Someone risked our entire mission. Somebody betrayed me.” It was a real snarl; the next moment she had her wrath tightly under control. “And what tipped me off that it was you? I imagine you know why, but just in case you need another cue to protest your innocence, why don’t you share with me exactly what you told your charming friend Aran?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Some could extract truth cold and white and beautiful as a diamond from the darkest matter. People like Lanfir Leah Marithsen had found honour in everything; like a compass, they turned always toward the Light, it was an immutable law of nature. Others were exceptionally skilled at lying. She put Aramina sur Dulciena into the latter category. To invoke the Three Oaths in such a situation, after the magnitude of her betrayal, shook her even as it outraged her; it called to her, the Three Oaths had defined her life in sharp lines, but then again it had been designed to do precisely that. Of course she felt an indefinable chill at the words. Aramina had calculated that effect to an inch.

Shock tactics. She held that thought close to her heart. The one and only reason why Aramina would say that to the woman she had betrayed was to lie her way out of an otherwise hopeless situation. She had to know that while inadequate in every other respect, two qualities Sirayn Damodred possessed in spades were tenacity and a vengeful streak a mile wide, and now that her treachery had been uncovered Aramina would know the moment called for desperate measures if she was to escape punishment. Yet while many would have been moved by a call to the Three Oaths … they did not include Sirayn. She had seen a little too much of the colder side of Aes Sedai politics to be taken in so easily.

“If you had any respect for my intelligence, any at all,” began Sirayn on a bitter edge; but then she caught herself before she gave this liar another opportunity to make a fool of her. Call me master. Light what a mess, what a stupid mindless tragedy, what had she even been thinking? Aes Sedai did not trust; they knew better than such idiocy; trust was a soft comfortable lie for people with nothing to lose. She kept it terse. “The Three Oaths are worth nothing to a sufficiently determined Aes Sedai. Nothing. Their sole purpose is to give a false sense of security to the masses. Just because I can’t hear the cracks where you escape the First Oath doesn’t mean you’re not doing it.”

Sunlight and flowers and pretty colours dazzled her temporarily. She stared at them while she got herself under control, fury warring with shame, a vindictive desire to wreak the same havoc here that Aramina had done to her. It relieved her immensely that her voice remained steady and unfeeling. “You had the right to walk away. I would have given you that. If you’d just told me you wanted to leave the Order we could have sorted it out. But this,” rising wrath rendered her temporarily speechless, she had a second attempt, “this -- travesty wasn’t necessary. So perhaps you could spell it out for me in words of one syllable. Why?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Ooc: I’ll wrap this up since you’re leaving. Sorry to see you go. :(

Nyssa. The name rang some very dark bells indeed since their interrupted chat one time long ago. Bright young Nyssa Deschain and that image of stern Grey Ajah solidarity, Phaedra Eskarne, judge and lawmaker … a most persuasive duo, no doubt, and what kind of convincing exactly might those two do? The lack of activity from a certain quarter was making her doubly suspicious; she saw Black Ajah in every shadow. Lanfir Leah Marithsen was dead and gone, and with her all her bright plans for the rise of a different type of Ajah, but it might be time for her to gather a Black Ajah hunt of her own. There was only so long she could continue to ignore them while gathering her own strength. Soon enough she would have to strike.

And when that time came she would need everything to hand. Including this strange, powerful gift from the Age of Legends … and perhaps a few other tricks she had in hand, both from that long-ago age, and from times and places rather closer to the present. It would take time and concentration to plan out all the tactical repercussions of this weave, and of course she needed to find out who else outside the Tower had knowledge of it, and what that meant for their defences. Presumably no Aes Sedai was fool enough to go round teaching anything to the Black Tower or the Shadow, much less something of this magnitude, but should anyone have a little … incident … outside her control they could find themselves faced with a nightmare scenario in record time: half a hundred mad male channellers who could step straight out of nowhere in the heart of Tar Valon.

Fingers crossed that not long from now somebody would walk into her quarters with the knowledge and skills necessary to block anyone from Skimming directly into the Tower itself. They would come to need that technique like never before. Otherwise the Black Tower and, worst of all, the Dreadlords could pluck them like apples off a low-slung branch. Yes, a lot of work needed doing before she could call her Tower safe again in this new and dangerous world. Pensive now, she gathered up her two visitors, including Kaylan Sedai who kept fidgeting with her skirts for some reason, and dismissed them. “Your call is appreciated. That will be all, daughters.” And the rules of the game had changed again.

To nobody’s surprise Aramina did not show so much as a trace of feeling; the only hint that she was even startled came when she closed her mouth again without speaking. Of course proper Cairhienin, raised on the city’s murderous intrigues, would be able to exercise discretion far better than half-breeds and pretenders like her. Yes, she had to admire the quality of that control, even as it infuriated her that the other woman would politely invite her to explain herself after what she’d done. Betrayal had a bitter, bitter taste even for one as well used to it as she and she did not intend to let it poison her for much longer. Traitors needed to be cut out like a cancer. She meant to wield the knife without remorse.

Even the mention of tea gave her a moment’s sheer incredulity. Now it was her turn to remain silent, ice crystallising on the outside, as inwardly her mind worked furiously. How in the midst of a forkroot crisis could someone offer her tea and think it in any way an innocent gesture? As far as she knew only she had access to the forkroot’s current location, but Aramina could have skimmed some off the original shipment for her own purposes, she herself would have done nothing less. It wasn’t even much of an attempt as intimidation went since unless she was very much mistaken she could just tell Aramina to drink the Light forsaken stuff herself. It made no sense at all. Or perhaps it wasn’t doctored with forkroot, she could just about accept that as a possibility, but the memory of Corin Danveer and his little cup of magic left her cold all over. There was no way she could take it; the boy Corin had made certain that she could never accept anything from someone’s hands again.

Maybe it was just a subtle attempt to disconcert her, in which case it had succeeded admirably. She had to tip her hat to her adversary; Aramina was nobody’s fool. “No thanks.” She bit off the words letting her tone convey that she had not missed the little jibe. “You take me for a fool if you think I’ll believe that. You know why I’m here as well as I do. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? No doubt you’re cleverer than I am, this little episode proves that, but I assure you I am quite capable of basic reasoning.” Corrosive anger edged into her voice despite her best efforts at composure. “There’s a quote I think sums it up neatly. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” And she was damned if she’d let Aramina sur Dulciena ever fool her again.

“But I admit,” she took a good grip of herself, smoothing out her tone, “while a good deal has become clear to me now I know you’re a turncoat traitor, I still have some questions to ask. Like why did you do it? And how much of-” her throat closed on the words, for a moment she couldn’t even say it; hadn’t realised until now how much she had relied on Aramina to outweigh the chorus of voices from the past; Aramina who had given such a brilliant performance at pretending to look up to her; “how much of what you said was a lie?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Nobody’s gonna stand in my way

Give it up son, I’m doin’ this my way

Nobody’s gonna stand in my way

Give it up son, I’m doin’ this my way

Did you want to be the one who pushed me off the wall?

Did you want to be the one who let me fall?

- Seether, “Out of My Way”

Aramina sur Dulciena. Estel Liones. Lavinya Morganen. Serena Morrigan. Four women, all of whom she had taken into her circle, whom she had sheltered, to whom she offered guidance and protection, in whom, hardest of all, she had put her faith. All of them had knowledge enough to blow her schemes sky high. She had placed certain restrictions on them, of course, to protect the whole mad venture, but other than that she had supported them in everything. It was she who had found Aramina worthy of the Green Ajah, she who had defended Estel when everyone else had found her wanting, she who had seen potential in Lavinya despite the lightskirt behaviour, she who had promised to free Serena from her captivity. She had their obedience and she had damn well earned it.

Aramina sur Dulciena. Estel Liones. Lavinya Morganen. Serena Morrigan. One had betrayed her. One had broken their Order vows, rejected her leadership, smashed a precisely calculated plan and ruined months’ worth of hard work. All that time she had lain awake at night thinking on the Black Ajah, sleeplessly turning over the tactical dimensions, how to take on an enemy whose number and position she did not know … the forkroot gamble and all its associated dangers … the encouraging knowledge that though the battle would be long and bitter she had prepared for it as well as she could: all had gone for nothing because of one traitor. Even now her hard won forkroot was stored in a safe place and if … just if, everything went to hell overnight, she might be able to access it in a hurry; but if the Shadow waited any longer than that for its big move she might find the forkroot taken off her bloody hands before she got half a chance to use it.

Aramina sur Dulciena. Estel Liones. Lavinya Morganen. Serena Morrigan. She had no idea what had brought one to turn on her, nor would she ever know as far as she knew, and in truth it was irrelevant she supposed. Someone had proven themselves unworthy of her faith. They were unreliable; the contract between she and them had to be terminated. No longer could she trust her most secret and valuable work even to those she had brought together for that specific purpose. Light but it galled her! The time and care she had put into the Order, all her hard work, her careful use of all the skills she had gained … all thrown away like something to be discarded in the day’s rubbish. But it did not trouble her as much as it might have. She had always known she took a risk in trusting anyone. A stupid risk of course, and one she planned not to take again, but one known to her all the same.

Aramina sur Dulciena. Estel Liones. Lavinya Morganen. Serena Morrigan. The real reason why she wasn’t clawing the walls right now was simple. In the back of her mind, ticking over like a machine, she was calculating which one had turned on her. Detached though she might seem she observed very closely at all times and in her memory, one of her best and most relentless assets, was stored enough information to make that judgement. And when she did decide who was to blame … heads were going to roll. More than that: somebody was going to find that all the shame and fury they had inflicted on her would bounce back tenfold. Short of ripping out all their tongues she could never be totally sure that nobody would betray her, but one thing she could be certain of was that nobody would do so and walk away afterward. The power to punish lay entirely in her hands. Hand. And she meant to use it.

Aramina sur Dulciena.

It discouraged her deeply but the thought made a very final kind of sense. Aramina, her most prized possession, an exquisite example of Cairhienin intelligence and discretion; Aramina whom she had thought would be her second in command one day when she was running the Last Battle with all the world on her shoulders; Aramina whom she had been so certain of, whom she had trusted, not just with Order work, but with little pieces of her private secrets … was the last person, the very last person in the world whom she would ever have wanted to suspect. But she had known ever since she sent Aran to the hard games of Cairhien that the two were acquainted. Though she felt little such sentiment herself, she knew logically that even Aes Sedai had had their head turned by men in the past, even ones as disagreeable as the Darkfriend.

Was it even just the forkroot? Light only knew what Aramina had spilled to him in pillow talk late at night. Her blood ran cold when she thought of what else she had told Aramina … secrets not to damage her career but to absolutely destroy it. Stupid, careless risks on her part. She should never have told anyone anything, even women who reminded her so much of a dead sister, and for what purpose even? To make herself look better to Aramina? To offer the first inklings of two-way trust? Bloody stupid. She hadn’t lost her head so much since she was in whites. Well, it would end now, it had to end.

Exacting a slow and satisfying revenge did not amuse her so much any more now she knew it would be Aramina she had to punish. She didn’t want to. If she had never taken Aramina into her confidence, would this betrayal still have happened? Did the woman just possess a streak of disloyalty, was she a turncoat, had the opportunity just been too much to ignore, had she said a little too much by accident? No, surely not. Aramina did not let anything slip, she spoke deliberately or not at all. Not that it was much of a comfort right now. A calculated betrayal then; Sirayn contemplated this and its ramifications bleakly. It was going to take no end of work to tie up all these loose ends completely and no loose end daunted her quite as much as confronting serene, flawless Aramina sur Dulciena over the inconvenient fact that she was a lying traitor.

Still, she had faced harder tasks, she supposed. Lingering in her quarters at least let her replace the bitter, frightening memories of what Aran had done with harder truths, but some time she was going to have to face the music, and better now than later. So she straightened her skrts, putting everything back into place after her little interlude with Aran, obsessively enough that she could look at herself in the mirror and pretend nothing had ever happened: no sir, nothing to see here, move along now. She still had the compulsive and overriding urge to clean her hand on something until the memory went. Instead she let herself out of her quarters, quietly, finding some proper Aes Sedai composure as she did so, and went in search of Aramina sur Dulciena.

Once before the right door she paused a moment calculating her approach. She had gained good results from an earlier interrogation by being the most callous bastard she could manage while obeying the Three Oaths; she felt too old and too miserable to impersonate Semirhage any time soon, dramatic as that had been at the time, but a bit of righteous fury wouldn’t do anyone any harm. And after all … she had liked Aramina, valued her, even trusted her, shown her a side of herself she normally kept secret. In return she had received pretty lies and betrayal. Painted, perfect faces hiding disloyalty and malice: the story of the Tower in distilled form.

All her work had gone for nothing because for some reason Aramina just couldn’t resist the opportunity to get at her. It had been wildly successful judging by how shaken she still felt on the inside, weakness she couldn’t show anyone, and she didn’t even know why. What had she done to deserve such treachery? Hadn’t she offered Aramina her open hand? Hadn’t she brought Aramina into her innermost circle and relied on her to be there when the necessity came? It infuriated her. She found it murderous hard to extend the slightest trust to anyone and when she did, she ended up being taken in by yet another flatterer, someone who could talk the talk while walking a very different walk altogether. It was Corin bloody Danveer all over again.

Forkroot. The memories stung her and she pushed open the door rudely without knocking, heedless of anyone who might be inside, entered to interrupt any such meeting. Only silence and the faint scent of flowers ruled across the elegantly appointed quarters; but opposite from her a door stood slightly open and she glimpsed sunlight … Discarding all caution she crossed the floor and pushed open that door too. Brilliant sunshine fell through the glass window and onto a broad sweep of flowers in vivid bloom, their scents painting the air like a different kind of colour, books in many different sizes. Just as pretty as its owner; she considered Aramina coldly. Traitor and turncoat. She hardened her heart.

“Are you proud that you pulled that off?” Her voice stayed even and cold. “I’m impressed. Full marks for creativity. But you really shouldn’t try something that can be traced straight back to you.” Call me master, she remembered, and stuffed down the memories of fear and shame and horror before they could overwhelm her. “I trusted you,” said Sirayn Damodred in tones bordering on the glacial. “Rest assured I won’t make that mistake again.”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

His assessing glance struck an old, cold note in her memory. She prickled all over and did her best not to show it. Even her vocabulary was running short on inventive ways to frame her discomfort; she couldn’t figure out why under the Light they were even doing this, she’d confessed quite freely that she had lost any skill she once possessed, why other than to amuse himself would he force her to demonstrate it? Relief and frustration battled as he relieved her of the practice dagger and directed her to a chair. She’d just failed a test, no doubt about that, and though she’d been expecting no less it still burned. How had she been trusted with the Battle Ajah at a time like this? Her only remaining skill was at making an idiot of herself.

It took some effort not to move away when Aran placed his hand beside hers. She found its proximity deeply suspicious; her brows drew together as she contemplated that hand. Four fingers, a thumb, outwardly so harmless. Her suspicion turned stone cold as she heard what she was supposed to do for her next trick. Put her hand on his? He had to be joking. He made it sound so simple, as if ordinary people touched all the time, but … the very thought made revulsion and fear tighten their grip. No, not now, not ever. Aes Sedai did not touch. It was better, safer, more detached. This time she did take her hand back, returned it to her lap in a possibly futile attempt to be less obvious, and frowned. “What? Why?”

Aran raised an eyebrow, it appeared he had been right after all. Her instant unwillingness was a little too hasty to be just simple defiance, combined with what he had noticed while they had sparred at least. It would be interesting to see whether she could at all, and if she couldn't then why was that? Even if she did manage it, the question of why would still be important as why was everything. Smiling, Aran decided to give her a bit of a prod, her reaction would tell him more and that was something he could work on then. "Why not? You're an Aes Sedai, capable of great feats with a power only a few possess and you command respect from most people with the shawl that gives you authority. Surely something as simple as placing your hand on mine while answering my question is not beyond you?"

The irony of her blackmailer telling her how much respect her shawl commanded deserved to be pointed out, but since a sharp response was unlikely to improve the situation, she bit her tongue. Everything about this put her on edge; he might call this simple, but she knew how an expert went about applying pressure, she had felt it at first hand. Amiarin had started with simple questions, not even bordering on Tower secrets, only to work up to the Amyrlin Seat and the Black Ajah. Trapped in her own quarters with a hostile Darkfriend it would be the same bloody story all over again; first touch his hand, then find something else she couldn’t stand to do, until he found the limit of her compliance. It made her skin crawl. “I believe I agreed to train with you, not to touch any part of you.”

Chuckling, Aran shook his head, so this was how she planned to wriggle out of it? If she thought that line was going to work with him, she was sorely mistaken. There was clearly a problem to be fixed here and he would be fixing it as best he could. If she was afraid to touch another person, then how was she going to be able to fight when she was unable to lay a hand on them? Though where her reluctance came from was still something to be contemplated, not just yet though. The first priority was to have her comply, then they could move forward. "This is training, in a knife fight the fighters are close together, the way you moved and lashed out along with your attempts to stall now tell me that you are afraid of touch. Perhaps just by me, but a real opponent will not give you the luxury of retiring when you feel like it. So, you must learn to be able to maintain contact, to control it. This is much like swimming, you have to dive in to learn. So, place your hand on mine and tell me how you perceived our spar, not just what you did right or wrong but all of it."

Her brows drew down further still. This conversation was going dark places fast. “This is ridiculous.” She stamped out her frustration, just about, but this irritated her speechless. Why under the Light did being blackmailed have to involve someone touching her? She could tolerate a lot if she had to, indeed had done so in the past, but she couldn’t even see the point of this. Apparently something she hadn’t yet figured out made Darkfriends like this one and Corin Danveer eager to train her. That alone she could have ignored, at least till she got her chance to strike back, but … touching? Stalling was only making it more obvious. She’d walked into a trap. Now she had labelled herself as someone who could easily be discomfited by being touched and that was her own stupid fault. Steeling herself, she reached out and put her hand on his; nothing happened except the overwhelming desire to remove it again. She couldn’t quite convince herself it was safe enough to relax, continued to watch his hand warily, in case he made a sudden move. “Happy now? How does that help?”

Aran just smiled at Sirayn's words, he'd managed to convince her to place her hand on his without having to resort to other means. A good sign, even if it was no doubt motivated by a desire on her part to prove him wrong and show no weakness. There was of course the other thing she was required to do, another prod would get that easily enough. How the physical contact would affect how she answered would be another matter. Everything was a test, and with evey test he could understand her a little better and then perhaps be in a better position to train her. Training was more than just a workout and a spar. "You should be able to answer that one for yourself, eventually. In the meantime, I'm still waiting for an answer, and that hand stays there while you're at it. And eyes up, as fascinating as my hand is I didn't quite expect it to capture your imagination that much. Come on, talk."

As far as she knew this might go on forever. She contemplated that thought dismally, keeping the urge to pull away under control. If this was a sophisticated attempt at warfare she had to give him points for creativity; using her own obstinacy to force her to touch him was particularly sadistic. Telling her not to watch his hand was another good touch. His reflexes were better than hers and he would be able to grab her before she could pull away. She still had the One Power, but if he really wanted to, what he might do … she needed to stop thinkng before she paralysed herself with fear. She looked away instead and concentrated very hard on showing nothing. “I now know exactly as much as I did before we embarked on this little enterprise, which is that all I can do with a dagger is embarrass myself. Not that surprising since I used to be left-handed. I could have told you that before -- in fact, if I remember rightly, I did. What else do you want?”

Chuckling, Aran shook his head at her with the realisation that this was going to take a little longer than expected. Surprising considering the fact that the sooner they got through it, the sooner she would be allowed to remove her hand, he would have thought that would be implicit. It seemed he was wrong on that account though, she was more focused on her own distaste of him, and perhaps fear? Probably, if her body language was anything to go by. Still, that didn't bear mentioning just yet, answers were what he was after and then after that perhaps he would give a few of his own for her to ponder. "You're not thinking, and that would have been the last thing I would have thought to have to accuse you of. You have trained and sparred before, analyse what happened and why it did. For example, why did you only use your dagger when you had more weapons than that available to you? Its easy to blame your disability, but thats not the answer. Look at what happened and why."

Keep still, keep still, she repeated to herself, though with every passing minute she felt more exposed. She had done this to herself by being so stupid as to trust the Order. Some day she would remedy that mistake for good. In the meantime he was mocking her and she hated it; it was damn hard to give a convincing answer when she had to touch him like that. It distracted her all to hell. “Because it’s been a while since I last fought and I forgot?” Because she had wanted to forget; no use being a schemer when the open road still called to her, when she still remembered how to incapacitate a room full of crossbow men in under ten seconds, when she would rather talk war with the Borderland lords than play at court. “It’s a common curse, I hear. So?”

"Half truths won't get you anywhere." It was time to be a little more direct, otherwise she was just going to dance around it as long as she could. While it wouldn't do her any harm to have continued contact beyond her pride, he would rather step her up to it slowly bit by bit. Softening his voice in contrast to the sharp reproof he had given her, Aran continued more mildly. "I shouldn't need to remind you of this. A fighter, much like anyone else, must have confidence that they will prevail even if the odds are that they will not. You have no shortage of will as far as I know, but why didn't that translate into your fighting? And don't even try pawning your lack of will off to having your arm twisted into training. That might be part of it perhaps, but it most certainly isn't all of it. Now try again."

Confidence. So many reasons why she had none without the One Power. Master Corin Danveer had taken pleasure in stripping away all her defences; going back further, she remembered … how she had woken half blind in the dark, bound down and shielded … no, she had promised herself she wasn’t going to think about that, never again. A Tower Guard had come after her with a knife when she was still in whites. She hadn’t forgotten that either, being small and weak and defenceless, the incredulous realisation that nobody was coming to her aid. And as for the first and last time she had tried this after losing her hand -- when she had knelt beaten in the dust and they had laughed -- how was she supposed to even try to communicate that? Knowing she’d disgraced her famous Ajah in everyone’s eyes? She didn’t talk about that either. Aes Sedai were perfection itself. They did not know fear or petrifying shame. “I’m just not very good at it.” Her smile was somewhat barbed.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were outright lying." Retaining his smile at those words, Aran decided it was time to push things forward. If she was going to abandon the dancing for repeating the same old tired line, then he was going to have to shove. Not too much though, it was still her first day and there would be time for working on specific things later. Now how to lend his thoughts voice, that was what he considered carefully before he spoke. "You're afraid, fearful. I have my suspicions as to why but we shall set aside the question of why for now. Instead we shall deal with the effect. To simply keep your hand on mine is taking you a great deal of effort, something that should be a simple act. Because of that fear of contact, you couldn't use anything else other than that dagger in our spar. You have shins, knees, elbows, even your head, all of these weapons along with the dagger were available to you but you used none of them. Fear held you back and crippled you far more than your missing hand ever could."

"But, that is something we shall see to. You may remove your hand." Waiting until she had done so, Aran's smile fell as his expression was more thoughtful than anything else. "Your fear isn't unusual, I have known others who have suffered from it. The reasons are always different but they all share a common cause, trauma. Some people overcome it, others do not, but the ones that want to survive learn how to function regardless. That is something we shall see to alongside your bladework I think, because without it you're going to be useless with a blade and you have the potential for better than that. No matter how much you may tell yourself otherwise." Pausing, Aran decided to round it all off with a question. "Did you ever receive training beyond a blade? To use the rest of your body as a weapon?"

So much tension unwound when she finally removed her hand to safety that it left her speechless. Not to have that weight of sheer fear distracting her, filling her silent thoughts with echoes of times long past, was a blessing beyond words. The rest she did her best to ignore; whatever he had planned for her and her -- what was his word for it, trauma, such an alien term -- she didn’t want to know. Left to herself, she managed fine so long as Darkfriends weren’t trying to make her touch them and that was all she needed. “No.” Again she stuck to terseness. If she said anything else she might betray how badly she wanted to get away from him and then no doubt it would be back to the touching again; Darkfriends were uncannily good at spotting exactly what one wanted least.

Laughing, Aran stood from his chair and gestured for her to get up as well. Perhaps it was time to wrap up, but not before they did one last thing, something that would end things on a high note for her. Standing in the middle of the room together again, Aran didn't bother to put up a guard as he spoke. "Well, lets start. Seeing as we don't have a bag here, so we're just going to have to do it the old fashioned way. First thing you need to do is learn how to punch, so I want you to punch me in the chest as hard as you can. Lets see what you can do." Tapping himself on the chest, he prompted her again. "Now, and no don't take a big wind up. Just a normal punch. Do it."

Disgruntled, she abandoned her hopes of escaping any time soon. She remembered how to punch, it wasn’t that long since she had forced Lanfir Leah Marithsen to defend herself with the One Power, she just didn’t want to; wrong hand, wrong instincts, wrong everything. Far be it from her to pass up yet another opportunity to make a fool of herself for Aran’s amusement. So she hit him exactly as she remembered: in the centre of the chest, wrist straight, all the force in the twist of her shoulders. Lanfir had had the last laugh in the end. She wouldn’t be punching anyone for real any time soon.

Well, she knew how to do that much at least. Grinning as he rubbed the spot she had struck, Aran could see at least one point that needed improvement, her blow didn't carry as much power as it could have. She only used her upper boddy, she didn't know how to use her hips. Strange considering she used a Katana, but then it had been a time, or maybe she was just trying to do it as quickly as she could. Turning so he was sideways to her, he decided to demonstrate it to her. "The first thing you need to learn, the entire body is a weapon. When you punch, you seem to be thinking of your fist connecting, rather than you connecting. Let me show you."

Imitating her blow, he then repeated the motion a couple of times more slowly as he spoke. "See how the upper body is doing all the work? Yet for all that work, its wasted. Why?" Patting his hips, he then demonstrated a punch using his entire body, his hips swivelling with the blow which allowed the entire body to travel with the fist. Once again he repeated the motion as he spoke. "Rather than ignoring your hips and legs, you utilise everything and much more power in the punch is found. Now." Aran turned to her and patted his chest. "I want you to do it again, this time your whole body. Put everything into it."

It felt indecent to be stuck in her quarters with a stranger watching him demonstrate the ideal swivel of his hips. She couldn’t remember if or why she had ever been interested in men. Frowning, she set her feet and punched him as she had been taught, pivoting to put as much power behind the blow as possible. It jolted her right to the shoulder, that was for certain, and whether it was genuine or overselling it made Aran step back. She eyed him suspiciously but bit off the sharp comment that she found it improbable that a crippled midget would score a point off a Tower Guard. “Great.” It was a little dry. “Next time I’m facing creative death at the hands of a Dreadlord, I’ll think very hard about how I could punch them if I had the chance.”

Laughing, Aran couldn't help but add to her comment. "If you have the chance, be sure to aim lower while you're at it." This seemed like a good place to wrap up the day with her. He'd managed to force her to take up her training, the fruition of a great deal of agitation on his part. Now he'd learned more about her, he also had a bit more of an understanding about how she thought. How her mind turned and twisted things, as much to save herself as to satisfy ambition. It was a bundle of knots that needed undoing, whether he would be successful in any manner remained to be seen but that was up to the wheel to weave. "Perhaps there is meaning to be drawn from this beyond improving your punch? A body in harmony and that moves together is more powerful than one that does not. The same can be said of the mind, something to reflect on no?"

"But, that is enough for today. Today was to learn what you were capable of and your weaknesses. Tomorrow we can begin to work on them, I am thinking mid afternoon I shall come by. I will leave those wooden daggers here, it might be a bit obvious if I traipse into the Tower everyday with them. I may even bring one or two more things to use, we shall see. Tomorrow's session will be alot longer, so be sure to leave yourself time for it. In fact... Hmm, instead of your quarters, do you know of a room that is not frequented in the Tower? One that I can bring a few things too? As fun as it was for you no doubt, I don't plan on being your punching bag. Hmmm?" Aran smiled slightly as he waited for her response, if nothing else she might be a little more amenable to the suggestion so he wasn't frequenting her quarters.

The sheer relief of getting rid of him overrode any enthusiasm she might have had for tomorrow’s plans. She disliked the sound of a longer session, given that they had spent most of this one discovering new and inventive ways to damage her without leaving any marks, but as per bloody usual she had as much choice as a lamb being led to the slaughter. “The place is mostly empty. There are rooms.” At least by the time she met him again she’d have the name of her traitor and, if all went to plan, the sweet memory of their pleas to keep her warm. And they had a good deal to plead for. She intended to make sure that person suffered twice as much as she had.

"Then I'll meet you here tomorrow and you can show me a room which has not only enough room for us, but will also leave us undisturbed. Over the next week I'll get what equipment is needed there unseen and we can go along without the entire Tower needing to know." Technically he would need permission to remove equipment, but there were ways and then there were ways. He could always claim the equipment broken and already disposed of. That or hit people up for a few favours that had been earned in dicing games. It was all doable. But that was something that could be organised for tomorrow, for now he had other things to do and it was time to give Sirayn a chance to recover. "Tomorrow afternoon, be here. I'll see you then." Smiling, Aran let himself out of her quarters. He wouldn't say he'd won a victory of any sort, but the process had begun and that was the main thing.

“Yes, sir,” she muttered in the silence after he had gone; feeling colder and wearier than she had done in quite some time. So this was the price of scheming her best for the Black Ajah: a daily dose of torture until future notice. It was the only name she could put to it after she had stupidly managed to show how much she didn’t want to touch him and yet he had gained some kind of sadistic pleasure in making her do it anyway. She smoothed her good hand over her skirts as if she could rub off the memory of his touch, but it refused to leave so easily, a source of fear as bitter as anything Corin Danveer had done. Yes, she was definitely the Green Ajah’s finest, she had raised being outraged and terrified by Tower Guards to an art form.

The silence closed her in with the crippling weight of shame past and present. How under the Light did people like Lyanna al’Ellisande and her Amyrlin move through life so gracefully, never tainted by anything as weak as fear, spreading their good Green Ajah charm and courage like some kind of demented fairy dust? She didn’t know. Aes Sedai were supposed to be perfect and she couldn’t be. She couldn’t even manage to present a convincingly neutral front to some halfwit Darkfriend, oh no, that would be far too smart for the likes of Sirayn bloody Damodred. Instead she had served him a gilt edged invitation to hit her right in a career’s worth of fear.

She needed a drink. But she wasn’t going to get one. Instead, just maybe, she might get her revenge instead.

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

On reflection, although the whole farce outraged her, one point that reserved itself for especial irritation was his idea that she needed to train again. The last episodes requiring her to defend herself had involved either Dreadlords or forkroot, and … why yes, during neither incident at any time would such skill have been remotely useful! Actually she couldn’t even remember the last time she had need of it. Much help it would have been against Amiarin Lucif, who had had her on her knees and shielded before she even knew the other woman was there, or the boy Corin and his forkroot when she couldn’t lift so much as a finger to protect herself. The only defence an Aes Sedai could rely on was her own fortitude.

Perfect. She could be intelligence gathering or administering various schemes or maybe even doing her actual job as Captain General. Instead she got to spend an unspecified amount of her time uselessly trying to relearn something she couldn’t go back to and wouldn’t even need anyway. It infuriated her no end; the soldiering times were over for her, she knew that, it had been difficult enough to adjust to a different life as a spider and schemer without raking up so many dead ashes. She would never go to war again, no amount of Darkfriend interference would make her half the soldier she’d been and pretending she hadn’t lost damn near everything -- her good left hand, her independence, the life she’d made for herself -- when Amiarin Lucif decided to step up the pressure only spun out fantasy. Sentimentality was a luxury she couldn’t afford. It was done, no going back, time to move forward.

Except some halfwit of a Darkfriend thought it would be amusing to show her the full extent of her incompetence. It wasn’t even necessary; she had had plenty of opportunities to find out that she was indeed quite worthless now. She still remembered dust and bright fire as sunlight winked along steel, still suffering from the terrible exhaustion of a massive healing attempt and they had laughed … no, damn it, she wouldn’t think of that. She wasn’t going to be weak and crippled and stupid for everyone to laugh at ever again. Or at least, it seemed, for anyone other than this drunkard Aran. No doubt he’d get his fair share of entertainment from watching her make an idiot of herself again.

Light but she needed a drink. She’d made the right decision after that Ebou Dari disaster that alcohol was too much of a risk, and now she didn’t even have to tolerate her Warders drinking since they’d both managed to get themselves killed, but sometimes she wanted something to make all this a bit more bearable. A dose of daily humiliation until such time as the lackwit got bored of her was a bleak prospect indeed; but starting to drink again while under severe stress was a one-way road to dependency and there was a limit to how much like the Amyrlin and her illustrious Keeper she actually wanted to be. She waited out her half hour in silence instead and did her best not to think.

The intrusion tripped her alarm wards and sent chills racing over her skin. Idiot: he should know better than to try an Aes Sedai’s door, for all he knew her door was warded so heavily it would take his fingers off. The door to her bedchamber was warded to be impassable, at least without a good half hour’s concentration on undoing the wards, so someone ought to knock some sense into his empty skull before he went around triggering any more weaves. Sirayn considered the wooden implements he brought with a fractionally raised brow keeping her disgust on the inside. Practice daggers. How dull. She could be doing proper work right now, something that would actually advance her preparations for Tarmon Gai’don and the end of the Black Ajah, instead she got to play with wood.

She kept it curt. “It’s been a while.”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Aes Sedai exercised discretion even in the most trying of circumstances. She was the image of calm. She was not going to hit him … damn it, she wanted to introduce him to the back of his own head. Call him master! She still seethed. Heads were going to roll when she worked out which of her bloody useless Order had spilled all their secrets to a womanising, blackmailing Darkfriend. Unfortunately for him she wasn’t so stupid by half and while she found it infuriating that a minion like him had the cheek to question her courage, she chalked it up to sheer ignorance, a Tower Guard either too illiterate or too uncaring to have the first idea who he was speaking to. The scathing thought calmed her down somewhat. The man was a halfwit but, nevertheless, she needed to think in tactical terms.

It galled her no end that a Tower Guard thought it seemly to lecture her, inaccurately no less, on the Ajah whose traditions she had upheld for the past two centuries. Did she look like she’d been blind all that time? He didn’t even know what he was talking about. Rookies and gleemen spoke of the Green Ajah sacrificing itself heroically for one’s sisters, but they were all as empty headed as each other, and real Aes Sedai knew the blacker truth. Much as taking a blow for one’s sisters might fill one with a complacent glow of valiance, an Aes Sedai’s job was to carry out her duty, not to put her name in the history books. The lesser sacrificed themselves for the higher. She belonged to the latter category.

A difficult code to follow but nevertheless vital. As the last survivor of that desperate hunt to Tear, and perhaps the only woman with knowledge and resources enough to run their dark work, she had her sights set on the future: on purging the Black Ajah and winning the Last Battle. No longer was she a nameless pawn in the Battle Ajah’s ranks. It was her job not to make war, but to send others to make war on her behalf; not to find some good clean danger, but to pick the best underlings she could find to take her place; not to die herself … but to survive. She’d found it bloody hard to accept, when she had been a soldier all her life and wished for nothing else, but the Black Ajah Hunt demanded that much. Let fools and children speak of sacrifice. She needed success. Nothing else would save the Tower.

Burn it but she had to be there when the last dice were rolled. Nobody else was preparing to cleanse the Tower of its darker sisters; unless Lanfir Leah Marithsen had something up her elegant sleeve, she and her carefully stored resources would be the Tower’s only chance. She had known a long time how hopeless her mission was. How innumerable the Black Ajah, how vast their power, how she couldn’t trust anyone but herself. That she needed everything she could get her hands on. Like forkroot … the only method she had access to of mass incapacitation for channellers. Forkroot, her ace in the hole, her secret weapon. Forkroot was how she was going to defeat the Black Ajah.

Light blind them, when she got her hands on whoever had talked, she was going to do something to them even the Shadow had never thought of! It incensed her beyond words. How bloody hard was it to realise for the halfwit sheep who didn’t suspect about the Black Ajah that when an Aes Sedai was storing up forkroot it was for her own good reasons? Reasons that maybe shouldn’t be shared with the first passer by? More than the sheer, unparalleled idiocy, what grated with her was that someone had broken her trust. Yes, the Order life could be harsh at times but she had extended her faith and protection to a select handful of people, ones she had planned as a new Tower leadership for a later time. And they had taken her best laid plans and smashed them. Somebody was going to pay for this. Light were they going to pay.

What was the idiot Darkfriend even playing at? She hadn’t paid a blind bit of attention to the other part of his price; her attention had been trapped very neatly the moment he told her to call him master, still a phrase that inspired total revulsion in her, a primal rejection so strong she couldn’t frame it in words. He wanted to train with her … it wasn’t even a reasonable excuse. All right, he didn’t want to tell her his actual purpose, but she found it most insulting that he hadn’t even put any effort into lying. He might as well have told her that his price was for her to stand on her head once every day. She couldn’t see any reason why anyone, Lightfool or Darkfriend, would want her to practise with the sword at little more. Actually, the last person to make the same request had been a Darkfriend as well, so presumably there was some reason she had yet to discover.

Corin Danveer. The name stirred memories -- trapped in a shell that refused to obey her commands, helpless to defend herself, staring at a slow death or worse. She dreamed of it sometimes. In terms of good slow torture it had been nothing short of inspired. Charming: she’d got herself into a cross between the forkroot episode and the Solin affair! Only this time nobody was coming to save her. It was one of those laugh-or-cry moments. All her painstaking efforts had come to nothing if she couldn’t keep the bloody forkroot safe for that far-off day when the Black Ajah finally met its end in the white halls of the Tower.

Take the long view. Easier said than done. It took some concentration to relax her tightly wound shoulders, find again the usual composure, convince the part of her that still worked on soldiering lines that this particular threat should not be blasted off the face of the earth. Light, what a sadist, he must have done that deliberately to outrage every fibre of Aes Sedai instinct she possessed. If he was a Darkfriend maybe he already knew about Amiarin Lucif … a thought that might have tipped her into cold paralysing horror if she let it. Could she let someone else pick up where the Dreadlord had left off to preserve the forkroot? She wanted never to find out. She hadn’t slept properly since it had happened, couldn’t forget, couldn’t even relax in case it all came back. Couldn’t stand anyone to touch her. They had been experts; it took a certain kind of mind to understand that whatever one did on the outside, the real damage could be done on the inside.

“As you like. We train.” Still too much tightness in her voice. She took an iron grip on the desire to rip this fool into little pieces, or possibly just leave, and deal with the consequences as they happened. It was the thought of a Battle Ajah member, one secure in her own competence to handle a difficult situation, but not one who had the Black Ajah on her mind. “I don’t give a damn where or when,” once again he did not credit her with the intelligence to realise that a blackmailing Darkfriend had no more regard for her daily routine than for her, “but I answer only to Sirayn Sedai and I concede authority to nobody but the Amyrlin Seat. If that’s unacceptable, take your price and be damned, I’ll give you no more.” She hated every moment of this. Let her control just last until she found herself a member of the Order. A tactical withdrawal, that was all, until she got hold of whoever was responsible for this shambles and made their life a ruin … It was still too bloody much.

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Tensely expectant, wearing calm outwardly like a shawl, Sirayn let the silence linger as long as it took. Let the child think; she had been brought here to exercise her undoubted intelligence. Light only knew she herself would have made nothing of the opportunities put before her today, having lacked the wit and the skill to make use of them, but she rather thought whoever had raised the Ebou Dari child had given her a good dose of political awareness along with her milk at supper time. Enough knowledge to see the accuracy of spiders and webs perhaps. Enough to see the danger of continuing her present course … and, perhaps, enough to recognise an unspoken offer.

And what an offer she might make to Rossa Venye some day. Rossa, small and dark and daring, could become a formidable player in time; but in her formative years she needed a spider behind her … a sister of established strength and intelligence who could divert the consequences of her mistakes. And she herself needed another Aramina sur Dulciena. Someone intelligent and discreet, who could follow orders without question, but who also knew when to use her initiative. And this particular version could go many places Aes Sedai could not. The picture of composure, Sirayn contemplated that pretty young face, free of any distinguishing Aes Sedai agelessness and felt an inward satisfaction. It would not be proper to expose a novice to too much danger … but useful, yes, the child could be useful.

Her waiting tension eased, just a fraction, at the eventual reply. Nothing more about spiders, in fact the topic had been dropped and conversation closed over the top without so much as a ripple, but she sensed that mind ticking over behind the serene face. Briefly she considered the question. If she had accomplished her primary goal, to prevent Estel and everyone else in her command from satirical escapades, then she need not punish to reinforce that lesson; on the other hand, it seemed only proper that someone should remember their penance for damaging the Tower’s precious image, and besides it was a chance to take another step toward her secondary goal. Everything was a chance in the right hands.

Best of all this was the famous double-hander -- the chance to turn a disadvantage into an advantage, a liability into an asset, a threat into a benefit. “Since you mention it, I do have a task for you, but I would prefer you to see it not as a punishment … but as an opportunity. An opportunity to see, to understand and, perhaps, to learn. True, you could also see it as an opportunity to go to the Mistress of Novices and beg off, but that is not the lesson I would like you to learn.” It might be helpful at some point to learn that in the hierarchy of Aes Sedai, the Mistress of Novices ruled with an iron hand where it came to novices, but that would rather take out all the fun. “I want you to do Estel Sedai’s bidding for a week. Obey. Listen. Watch. Then come back and tell me why I protect her. Once you can do that, then you and I will talk again.”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Icy water shocked her into focus and chased away the last shades of sleep. As the surface stilled the image resolved once more, like a mirror shattering in reverse, and gave her back her own reflection. Her night had been disturbed by ghosts she hadn’t laid to rest, the price of too long a life, but nothing disrupted her Aes Sedai serenity; her image looked back at her, timeless and impassive, and showed her nothing. It satisfied her. Her job this morning required all her concentration, if she didn’t keep her wits about her she might miss an opportunity to secure herself and her people, and to show any feeling would be as good as giving her enemy a lever on her.

Outside dawn had come cold and clear. Its pale light slid through the curtains, fell on the letters scattered at her side, which she had been reading over a final time before she got to work; letters she now glanced at briefly and set aside. They held a number of seals, some personal, others private, one bearing the stylised image of a rose. All reports from those faithful to her … and all telling the same tale. She hadn’t even credited it at first, it was such a wild story, but by now she had come to acknowledge that for whatever bizarre and unfathomable reasons he had, a Tower Guard was indeed stalking her.

Stalked was the only term she could put to it. Aran had interrogated his way through her entire circle of acquaintances, including some who should never have been let off the leash near a determined questioner, she did not trust their judgement under any kind of pressure. Perhaps the one could have been a coincidence, two even a warning … but all of them? Initially she had done her best to make it into some kind of exceedingly cunning plan. It did not matter if he spooked her entire circle because Aran was a decoy. The risk to his person, ably illustrated by one Corin Danveer, did not matter because Aran was … expendable? Because the information gained was so useful?

She couldn’t see it. There was no logic whatsoever. Aran had angered everyone she knew, put her even further on guard than usual, blown his cover sky high and for what? To see how a group of total strangers would respond to her name? Had they even given him the satisfaction of a response? It didn’t make sense. She had considered setting a watch on him herself, but frankly, she already knew all she needed to know. He was either a Darkfriend or a Cairhienin agent and in either case he didn’t have half the intelligence she supposed. Therefore her resources should be put to more efficient uses. It was of no matter in the end; he needed to be silenced regardless of his questionable loyalty and intelligence.

At least she had learnt a valuable lesson. She had been a fool to strike up conversation with him at the Tower Guard raising and doubly a fool to let him anywhere near Aramina sur Dulciena. The latter was far too precious to be risked in such a manner; she should never have let an unreliable, undisciplined red cloak accompany her into the seething intrigues of Cairhien. And she had been triply a fool to think that it was safe to talk to him, at all, in any possible circumstance. Shame on her to be so easily hoodwinked by a laugh and a ready smile. Evidently she had learnt nothing at all from the forkroot episode.

It was the bloody loneliness again. Not the first time it had got her into trouble, nor was it the first time it had got her a Darkfriend for her pains, but this had to be the last time she let it draw Darkfriends and hostile agents from the woodwork. In a way her own idiocy disgusted her. Lonely or not it was indefensible; she would never have tolerated such indiscretion from anyone working under her. If she could cut out every single shred of stupid, pathetic loneliness she would do it without hesitation. Aes Sedai needed nothing and nobody.

No more, she told herself, for the hundredth time. No more people, no more talking, no more careless misjudgement. No more friends, no more family, nothing. Lanfir had never been so feeble that she needed other people to lean on. She had promised herself she would be strong enough this time, that nobody would ever lay a hand on her again, that she would trust nothing and nobody and that way everything would be fine. That the defences she made herself would be enough.

It wasn’t bloody working. Instead of being the last line of defence, a guard she could raise at the darkest times, her spiderweb had turned out to be a weakness in itself; there was no way she could ignore someone targeting her agents one by one, it was just that easy to draw her out. She had monumentally failed to factor in that people working for her could not be relied on to handle problems themselves. Now she had to take care of them too. Seiaman had been absolutely right -- she didn’t deserve to be Aes Sedai. The words still echoed in her head across fifteen-odd years, across all the rows and the treachery, from Ebou Dar to Dumai’s Wells. Some words, once said, could never be unsaid.

Distractions she dismissed as she made her way to the yards, speaking to nobody, intent on her work. Some might think the hour unsociable, and she preferred the late hours of the night for their silence, but otherwise it was all the same to her; if it disturbed those around her, all to the better. Few stirred as she entered the barracks and made her way through its corridors. She hadn’t come here since she cleared out Seiaman’s old quarters: a black memory, quickly suppressed. Finally reaching the right door she paused a moment, looked up and down the corridor, then let herself in.

Two steps inside and something fell from above the door with a clatter. So much for a discreet entry. She shut the door regardless, closing them in, and contemplated the scene resignedly. A bar of bright light fell across the bed and painted its stirring occupant … occupants … in shades of gold. An unfortunately familiar man and someone still covered up; she glimpsed a bare shoulder, a spill of dark hair, and turned her eyes away. A can lay at her feet as though it hadn’t been making such a racket. “How discreet.” Dark brows raised, she pushed the can aside with her toe, producing another clamorous rattle. “Good morning!” and she treated her victims to a somewhat venomous smile, “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Lyssa smiled at Aran and noticed his leering wink at her, she knew exactly what that meant and she was game. She knew he was sleeping with not just her but she was hoping at this point to keep him so exhausted that he felt no need to go to anyone else. He sure was keeping her busy, she spent more time sleeping in his bed and well not sleeping so much rather than her own bed. Lys ate her food quickly, knowing she would need her energy, honestly she would rather be in bed with Aran than eating or sleeping or anything else. The man has more talents than one and he uses them well, she thought as she finished the chicken. Taking a deep drink of the milk on her table, she stood up and returned her dishes to the cleansing area. Leaving the room she swayed past Aran's table and walked to the barracks. She climbed the stairs to her rooms, picking up some clothes for the night, she took a quick bath and then walked to his room, she checked all the corners to make sure no one was around and then walked into his rooms. He hadn't arrived yet and she smiled before, undressing and laying down on his bed with her book.

Laying on her stomach with her bare rear in the air she continued to read the book on military giants. She chuckled as she read a part on the rise and fall of a nation though the utter stupidity of the counselors to the leader and shook her head. How could anyone be that stupid or gullible she thought? A few minutes had passed before Aran walked into the room, he stopped in his tracks and chuckled low in his throat. She could all but feel the heat coming from him, she turned and looked over her shoulder, winking at him with her big blue eyes before turning back to reading the book. It wasn't long before the man had distracted her so badly that she could no longer read or focus. Time passed and eventually she was worn out to the point of crashing with no clothes on in his bed. They slept spooned together with their faces facing the wall away from the door.

Only a few hours later Lyssa woke to the can Aran had put in front of the door, being pushed forward. She blinked and was about to roll over and see who had entered the room without permission when she heard a voice she had known since birth. “How discreet.” Lyssa blinked as the can moved again and cringed into the wall. “Good morning! I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She almost cried out in fear. What are the odds of my mother showing up in the room of my lover while I am in it asleep and wearing no clothing. There's no hiding what I have been doing. I can only imagine her thoughts about this, and what in the light is she doing here. I didn't know they had a huge amount of contact, not enough for her to come to his room before dawn. Her forehead creased and she wondered if he had slept with her mother.

Lyssa Simeone

One of many lovers of Aran

It was not everyday that Aran woke up to find Aes Sedai in his room. That wasn't to say that it hadn't happened before, but it remained a rarity nevertheless. The fact it was Sirayn meant that he had drawn her out, pushed enough of her buttons to force her to reveal that he had her worried. She would not have bothered with him at all if he hadn't been on the right track and it meant that he was ready to move forward. Granted, it would have been easier to do so when he was a little bit more awake but there it was.

Of course, having Sirayn's grand niece in his bed complicated things slightly. More so because he could feel from the way she had tensed up that she was awake, and from her lack of overt action, pretending to be very very deeply asleep. He didn't blame her, all things considered between those two that he knew, and what he knew of Sirayn, he wouldn't want to have been in Lyssa's position. Freeing his arm from under Lyssa's head gently, Aran's voice was quiet as if he didn't want to awake her. "Well, this is a first. Would you mind not doing that? Thats really rather rude. I don't suppose it occured to you to knock at all did it?"

No answer on that except a smile. This was rather petty of her and it also spoke volumes about why she was here. He doubted she would have been so quick to try and rile him with such thoughtlessness if she wasn't antagonised. She knew about her people being questioned one by one, a weak spot he had been sure to press as obviously as he could. People who played the game like she did relied on people's silence and their willingness to play the game in secret. Aran refused to play the game, therefore the same rules didn't apply to him and that was what had made Sirayn nervous. It was amazing what one could accomplish when one was willing to cheat.

"Well, you can at least go wait outside while I get changed then. Or you can stay and watch, either way I'm putting some clothes on." Slipping out from the covers rather unashamedly, he proceeded to ignore Sirayn as he got changed. Underclothes, breeches, shirt, padded boots, all the things that would keep him warm wherever they decided to wander. In fact, why leave the decision with her at all? It would be better if he decided on a place they could talk.

"Well, no doubt what you've got to say is important, let us go someplace private no?" He knew of a spare room that they could easily use, one which was not near Lyssa's room. "Follow me." Leading the way out the door, Aran frowned as he noticed he couldn't hear any steps behind him. Turning to see Sirayn looking into his room, the expression on her face seemed no different than usual and she had said nothing so he presumed that she was simply trying to divine who the woman was by sight. "Leave her to sleep and close the door would you?"

That snapped her out of it and it wasn't long before they found the room that Aran was after. Holding the door open for Sirayn, he was quick to close and lock it before helping himself to one of the two beds in the room. He might have to be awake, but he was going to be comfortably so. He wondered if she'd warded the room from people trying to listen in. No doubt. Slipping his hands behind the back of his head, there was an easy grin on his face as he looked at her. "So? What brings an Aes Sedai of your esteemed standing to visit a both lowly and humble Tower Guard such as myself? Have you decided to give in and talk?"

Aran

Tower Guard

Having her good manners insulted by someone who had systematically interrogated his way through her circle capped off her deep and increasing irritation. She did not take protocol lessons from people whose idea of proper behaviour was harassing Aes Sedai. The little interlude reminded her all the more why she hated Tower Guards; they spent all their lives living off Tar Valon gold, sheltered by Tar Valon might, bedding Tar Valon women, yet offered such casual disrespect to Aes Sedai that it took her breath away. Actually she couldn’t think of a single one so far whom she had known in any meaningful way who hadn’t tried to kill her. Her misgivings doubled.

Just in time to coincide with an unexpected view of this stranger in the altogether. So much bare flesh repulsed her with a suddenness and a ferocity starting even to her and she had to take a choke hold on the urge to step back, just as far and as fast as it took to get away from here, asserting ruthless control instead; she wanted to leave, or possibly just hide behind the door until he was decent again, but then it occurred to her that he might make a break for it through the window and she forced herself to stand in the doorway like a sentinel averting her eyes. How bloody crude. Faced with a Cairhienin Aes Sedai, culturally and politically held to strict propriety, he decided to start taking everything off. Her mouth twisted and keeping her disgust and anger under control, she waited in stony silence.

Fixing her gaze anywhere but on the unpleasant view she found herself watching the sleeping woman. Something about the curve of shoulder beneath the heavy blankets, the lovely dark hair brought memories to mind; frowning, she moved a bit closer, got a brief glimpse … a mirror image of her own face, only softer and sweeter and prettier, framed in glossy black hair … a sight that sent an electric jolt through her. Lyssa? In bed with a womanising drunkard? She couldn’t believe it at first but a second glance showed her the same intimately familiar features. Only by dint of some effort did she keep immobile: perplexed and infuriated on the inside, on the outside, no sign but the slow drawing together of her dark brows.

Why under the Light would she find her daughter here? The obvious answer seemed too simple. Lyssa had been brought up in southern Andor, not exactly a haven of the high life, and Cairhienin blood ran through her whether she knew it or not. Besides, surely she had inherited more intelligence than to fall into bed with the first properly equipped person she came across. It didn’t take more than ten seconds’ thought to see that this wretched man was a malignant influence; she found herself reluctant to conclude that her daughter was an idiot. Perhaps … a cold hand ran down her back and she considered the situation with a new and icy clarity. Aran had been plying her friends with alcohol to induce them to talk. Then he turned up in bed with her daughter. She had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer but even a fool could draw the obvious conclusion here.

Taking advantage of her innocent, clueless daughter simply so he could worm some information out of her was one of the most vicious tricks Sirayn Damodred had ever seen pulled in the Great Game and she had watched some real bastards at work. Fury overrode even her ferocious control. Aran was saying something to her from the corridor and in that moment she genuinely thought she might hit him; the temptation to ensure other mothers’ children remained safe from him in the future was overwhelming; but an Aes Sedai should never, ever show emotion and inch by inch she strove for composure.

Easier said than done. Every maternal instinct she possessed burned to protect her daughter. Lyssa lay so still; what if she was scared, what he had hurt her? It was a bloody myth that sex was pleasant or even tolerable. Presumably the girl had discovered that for herself by now. She might need a mother to take care of her right now. Even, Light help them, a healer. Her blood was beginning to run seriously cold at the possibilities her imagination presented her; Sirayn reconsidered her decision not to rip the bastard limb from limb. She remembered Lyssa tiny and helpless, remembered cradling her as a child, the irresistible desire to keep her safe and warm and loved. Instead she had given her daughter to Tar Valon, a hive of Darkfriends, where filthy men could trick her into bed because of the name she carried. Some mother she made.

Naturally she couldn’t stay to look after her daughter. That would be too bloody simple by half; the shawl forbade such luxuries as being a decent mother. She had come to protect the Order of the Rose and its irregulars, she couldn’t let herself to be distracted from that goal. Her duty as an Aes Sedai and as a defender of the Tower in the Great Game precluded anything … personal. After all what was the worst that could happen? She could lose her daughter -- two dead children in as many years -- but that meant nothing to the Tower. On the other hand, if she let her carefully constructed network slip into Darkfriend hands because she was too busy being stupidly sentimental to hold the line, that would mean rather a lot to the Tower. And in the end, as always, the Tower was all.

It took a considerable effort of will to unclasp her fingers from the door frame. Once settled in proper Aes Sedai composure, showing not a hint of feeling, Sirayn followed the man she’d rather see dead in a ditch to another room. His levity jarred her, since she was now damn near convinced he was a Darkfriend or at least the kind of Cairhienin agent not to be trusted until in a lead-lined box six feet under, but she managed to ignore the temptation to say so. The mockery she did not take so kindly. He could take his esteemed standing and his lowly humbleness and put it where the proverbial source of light did not illuminate. And as for the implication that an Aes Sedai would ever spill Tower secrets to a scheming, whoring drunk … well, she hoped he’d had a good time with her daughter, it would be the last time she let him take advantage of anyone else’s defenceless children.

“How curious.” Given concentration she achieved a pleasant smile and fixed it in place. Locked door. Silence ward. The only drawback was the setting; she knew from an eventful past that it was damn hard to get blood out of the furnishings in a hurry. It would be unfortunate if she had to terminate this meeting, particularly since she was running out of good excuses as to why all Lyssa’s companions ended up messily dead, but Aes Sedai were supposed to be resourceful and she would think of something if she had to. If enough was at risk. “I was about to ask you the same question. Find out anything interesting?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Lots of love. :)

M'bela looked around in the hut, though it where all orderly, things didn’t easily change in the dream so though she had arrived two days ago little of that showed in here, nor that she where asleep on the bed in the corner.

Her reason for starting here was as easy explained as it being a safe place, she preferred knowing that she where unlike to stumble upon someone when stepping into Tel'aran'rhiod.

She had no reason to doubt the message left in her dream the night before to be genuine. She was too old and experienced, though she saw the reason and liked it there were something about this mission that annoyed her. There was no saying there was talk of another dreamwalker, though the few the tower could come up with were witches with no clue what they where on about in most cases. Or as much they had recorded of it anyway, there weren’t to many of them in any case and those few in the shadow where far between as such it was a little mapped out area as such even for them.

She had no idea for instance where her own teacher Thamior had gone, and she had little knowledge of whether there where more in the dark side or where they where, who had her talent, all in all it had been luck she had met Thamior as a youngling in here.

Forming the white tower in her mind she stepped forward to go about her mission. She looked around in the halls, a green sister, sometimes she wondered how Semirhage came over information. Surely no one would have been as foolish to publicly claim to be her mistress, and least of all a green witch, and lightfool at that. She shook her head, this hunt could take its time, she would settle it in here though with less risk's if she could, if not then well at least gather as much information as possible.

Walking up the stairs, she knew somewhat where the different quarters where, she had visited the tower in here her share of times in the centuries past. Going here for real was out of the question, it would be way to dangerous.

Stepping in between halls decorated with battle scenes and green floors she knew her hunt was about to begin. Now and then peoples would stumble into the dream. Altering her appearance she let her skin grow olive pale instead of the darker one, taking of the look of a domani, a bright red dress and long black curls down her back.

She walked from room to room, flipping through papers in search of that of the right sister, until she looked at a report with the right name. The rest of that night went to flipping through the papers on the desk and in its drawers.

----

Almost a week had passed, she thought she had found what she needed and more so, it was precious what these busy little ants got their nose stuck in, though the tower never moved with to much haste. She drew a finger over a shelve as she looked bored out the window, that was when she saw the flicker in the corner of her eyes and froze it into the dream before she even managed to turn properly. And even as she turned she could feel the potential weak as was, the shield she had at hand always ready slammed in place.

She was not foolish the power could be a danger if not the largest in here, so holding onto saidar had been something she had done through each night on this hunt along with the weave. She looked at the smaller woman, this would be her she thought but better make sure. If not she would have to let her go, it was out of the question to endanger the hunt in any way by having them start wonder why some woke up hurt. No she had but one aim.

"My my, what do we have here?" She placed a domani accent on the voice that she spoke in sweet soft tones.

*

A curving flash of light in the darkness as a blade came down. Red blood on white walls. Dark skirts flared when a sister fell at her feet. Hands clutching whitely. Dust and screaming hazed the air, the age-old white stone broken beneath their feet, the Tower shaking on its very foundations. Darkness: quiet close darkness, intimate, tasting copper and salt. Silver starlight over Tar Valon, the grand sweep of chaos at Dumai’s Wells, Black Ajah captivity in Tear, waking dazed and defenceless before a Dreadlord, thirteen black forms in the middle of the night, green eyes, a touch, colours, stillness.

The images came in disjointed bursts. Memory spilled over with them, bright colours and pressure, half a hundred moments from an eventful career. She had lived too bloody long; long enough to remember kneeling in white skirts before a strange Amyrlin many years ago, to remember the Dragon Reborn so terrible in the high halls of Tear, the shining glory of Callandor. The Karatheon Cycle had played itself out before her gaze and she had turned her back on it all the same. No written words dictated their path; she refused to let prophecy, or the ravings of long dead madmen as she preferred to think of them, decide their moves. Yet she had seen … brown hands on a glittering white hilt, a cold ring pressed into her fingers as she lay in the mud, hatred in grey eyes mirroring her own, the taste of desperation. How did one forget? One did not.

She hadn’t slept well since blood and steel during the Solin affair months ago. Somewhat shameful for an Aes Sedai to admit to but she just didn’t have the detachment necessary to block out those memories entirely; how anyone slept after seeing that she couldn’t imagine. It still crept into her sleep and coloured all her dreams in crimson and shadow. That was partly why she preferred to work so late at night: why not put the time to more constructive uses? Otherwise her subconscious just played out the same scenes over and over. Choices she’d made, paths she had set herself on for good many years ago.

One such scene brought her to her own quarters in the Green Ajah halls. No transition, of course, one moment she was elsewhere and the next she found herself in her accustomed rooms; the why and wherefore escaped her and so meshed in the past she wasn’t curious in the slightest. The only puzzling part of this particular scene was the woman opposite her. In an unsuspecting moment she saw: a slim Domani woman in a striking scarlet gown, all soft black curls, foreign to her entirely: and then the shield slammed down.

The last woman to shield her had been Amiarin Lucif. Panic and fury kicked in that instant. A hand she no longer had went to a blade she no longer carried; she went for the One Power in the same instant, hammered against that shield, trapped inches from the light and warmth and safety of saidar. Too bloody late. All her dreaming daze had vanished like mist under the sun. Now stone cold awake, she stared hard at the intruder, trying to work out what the hell was going on. Nobody she recognised, nowhere she might have expected it, not even a familiar turn of phrase … was this even real at all? She had conjured up those thirteen Black Ajah members easily enough. Perhaps her mind was just playing tricks on her. Maybe she was still dreaming.

Confusion could be lethal. Her colourful history gave her no clues at all. Burn her but she wasn’t going to let this woman see her off guard, apparition or no, whatever quirk of the underlying conscious she was. Calm, composed, controlled: the Aes Sedai way. As far as she knew the Aes Sedai way did not cover being caught and shielded in her own quarters. “You are in my room,” growled Sirayn Damodred. “You are in my dream.” When she had banished the Bubble of Evil ghosts they had left at her command. Not before frightening the life out of her if she were entirely honest with herself. Perhaps the same trick would work again. “I don’t believe I gave you permission. Get gone!”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Fly in the spider’s parlour

The woman tried to reach for saidar, but apart from beeing a weaker channeler then M'bela, there where the fact that M'belas strong element was spirit so the shield held easily enough. “You are in my room,” M'bela smiled. “You are in my dream.” a will strong woman this Sirayn, but at least she had the right one, there would be no more long nights waiting, her hunt had been fruitfull. “I don’t believe I gave you permission. Get gone!”

Leaning back against the wall M'bela watched her rant. "I am afraid that wont work so well you see, and for one not good at asking permisions herself you shouldnt be the one to speak. This is my batlefield, i set the terms her, so you can whipe that Aes Sedai haugthyness off, really its so anoying."

M'bela had the control now, the shield in place and the woman was locked to her dream as such. She let the soroundings swirl untill they where standing by the edge of dragonmount, this was as good a place as any and less likely for geting random stumble by Aes Sedai. "Now lets play guess what I did wrong" she grinned.

"Oh and when we are done we can negotiate for a fair remedy to make up for that so as to be sure not to do such a terible thing again, I have a feeling you dont like guests so surely you would not mind not having another visit?" she raised an eyebrow in question, "well for your own good i would hope not, i have litle tolerance for waisting my time with witches foolishness. So be a good litle girl.." she started walking back and forth, "and start by guessing your sin...the quicker you get it the sooner we can be on about this."

*

If there was anything that genuinely irritated her it was people who thought shielding meant they could dictate the pace. Battle Ajah members did not concede defeat until their corpses had stopped twitching. She especially had never been good at bending the knee … even shielded, trapped by a stranger in a strange world, clueless as to how she would escape. Something about this she recognised in a primitive way: the discomfort of shielding, her own confusion, the dark glances the Domani woman flashed her all made her prickle in warning. It rang too close to images and memories she had kept tight suppressed for a long time. No, she would not let them surface. That way lay panic.

Burn her but she needed to think. Too many possibilities confused her; time to cut them down to the bare essentials. She had been dreaming, ordinarily as far as she knew, only to wake up here … if she had woken up at all. Narrowing her eyes she sorted through her memories turning a precise focus on them. Her own quarters had appeared around her; she had glimpsed this self-satisfied wretch; by the time she even realised what she was seeing the stranger had shielded her. Had she been expected? Yes -- that shield had been ready before she arrived. She herself was fast, the Green Ajah demanded no less of its soldiers, and to beat her reflexes that shield had been prepared in advance.

Her logic led her step by step down an ever darker path. Her dreams had been interrupted so another channeller could shield her. Even as the term Aes Sedai haughtiness provoked her, if she had had the One Power at her fingertips this Domani pup might have found out exactly why she thought so highly of herself, the familiar setting began to … smear. Colours ran into each other. Straight lines warped. The floor lurched beneath her; everything swirled; she seized the back of a chair for balance and the next moment even that ripped from her fingers. Just an instant of uncertainty but it lasted forever. Then the world reasserted itself round her in clean bold lines.

A vast shadow fell across her. Lifting her eyes she found Dragonmount towering above her. Fear contracted coldly inside her. That ostentatious scene change confirmed her suspicions and she didn’t like the conclusion at all. She should have figured it out earlier, Aes Sedai education and her own history was sufficient to the task, but it hadn’t crystallised in her mind until just now. After all her memory was inch-perfect in almost every way. It had been many years ago, to be certain, but not enough for those vivid images to dull … for it was by no means the first time she had encountered Tel’aran’rhiod.

They had had to hold the child down. Long before she had finished her hands had glittered redly with her friend’s blood. Tiny black stitches like spiders, the child screaming beneath them, thrashing wildly as she worked. The blood had washed off her hands in scarlet ribbons in the stream: iridescent water and redness. Oh yes, she remembered Tel’aran’rhiod very well indeed, one did not forget meetings like that in a hurry. Nor did one forget what it meant. Danger.

How ironic. Despite her best intentions her lips twitched in a bleak smile. How carefully had she prepared? Built her defences up, year on year, worked on each part so hard. All to be plucked like an apple from her own dreams by a bloody Dreamwalker. And she was supposed to be the Green Ajah’s finest! Good work, no wonder she was Ajah Head, she toasted herself silently. Then she stuffed down her savage inward fury, strangling out the urge to curse her wilful stupidity until she battered it into her own skull that she could never be so careless again, and did her best to focus once more on her current predicament.

Dreamwalking then. She had no defences whatsoever in Tel’aran’rhiod, no way to protect herself, no escape. It was a bitter thought, paired as it was with the realisation that whoever this black-haired Domani woman was, this could present a real and serious danger. Even a half-trained Dreamwalker could take an Aes Sedai apart. And the One Power too! People could die in the Dream World. Or worse. Death was her companion, a raven on her shoulder, she did not fear a clean end. But she had other fears; the kind of fears a channelling Dreamwalker could make very real indeed. The kind of fears a Dreamwalker might have seen in her own nightmares. The kind of fears a Dreamwalker might be better at creating than even Amiarin Lucif.

Amiarin. Even thinking the name left her cold. Did she face such an ordeal again? Could she? She had promised herself it would never happen again, promised, and on the strength of such a promise she dared to take on daily life. Such a promise had never involved Tel’aran’rhiod and hostile Dreamwalkers. She had so much to lose still. And nobody was coming to rescue her. This time there would be no eleventh-hour escape, no cavalry charge … no salvation. Not even Seiaman to keep her strong. Nothing to stop this Dreamwalker conjuring up the darkest of her imaginings.

Tai’shar Battle Ajah. She had wanted Jehanine de’Gavrielle to be proud of her, wanted it so long and so intensely it had become a wordless craving, an unspoken part of her heart. Jehanine would never be proud of her now. On the contrary Jehanine would think her weak; alone, terrified, a craven the Battle Ajah should never have accepted. Her surviving hand had been so tightly knotted in her skirts that her fingers ached. She made her fingers open, smoothed out the heavy cloth, gathering her courage. It was to be rough talk then.

“It’s ill-mannered not to introduce yourself,” said Sirayn with her best attempt at a benevolent smile. “Since you haven’t, I think I’ll name you myself. I had a kitten once with fur the colour of your hair.” She had named the kitten Balerion, after the Black Dread of legend, having a taste for the mythical herself. An odd memory from happier times. “How do you like it … Kitten?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Suicidally reckless

If she had needed any further proof that she was a complete idiot, her response upon hearing that Corin Danveer had burst into the infirmary bloody and desperate with some dying boy in tow proved that for good. At first she assumed she hadn’t heard correctly. Tower Guards were supposed to protect their own people, why would anything happen to him within the white walls themselves, it didn’t make sense. But from the careful tension in their voices they at least believed it … and when she accepted it as the truth, truly accepted it, fear set its cold claws into her and clung tight. Her voice held an underlying tightness as she made her excuses and turned on her heel.

Dread tightened its grip minute by precious minute as the time ticked past. It was a tangible weight on her shoulders, like an added burden nobody else could see, distracting her from logical and ordered thought. In a vivid flash she remembered Seiaman: blood and mud and chaos at Dumai’s Wells, where they hadn’t even been supposed to be, secrecy still shrouded their mission there. She should have been glad that he was in trouble, lying, poisoning wretch that he was, it was his fault she couldn’t even talk to his Commander without being convinced forkroot waited on the horizon, but when her imagination presented her Tar Valon without him the prospect paralysed her. And that would be because she was an idiot.

The state of the infirmary when she entered did not ease her fears in the slightest. Blood everywhere, Yellow Sisters wove their intricate and remarkable work with furrowed frowns of effort, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. One glance told her that whoever lay deathly still and silent on the bed before them he was too Ebou Dari by half; that cold pressure eased, just a little, and she slid past them unobtrusively not wishing to interrupt their work. She had no idea at all what had happened here, but the sheer quantity of blood spoke volumes as to its speed and violence, and though she had little attention to spare for anyone else inwardly she sent a thought to the injured child for his swift recovery.

Finally she found her quarry being fussed over by initiates in their whites. They had not the skill nor strength to perform a healing weave of any appreciable power, not unlike Sirayn herself, but their presence there told her that nothing serious had happened at least to the boy Corin; if his condition was at all grave they would have set a Yellow to him. He looked distraught: covered in blood, his shirt slashed, it was probably the most defenceless she had ever seen him. Admittedly the last time had been when he had her under forkroot. She shut out that memory fast. Corin Danveer was a bloody menace, but then again she was a fool, a pretty pair they made.

“Quiet, you.” Fortunately it held her usual acerbic edge as she pushed him into a seat and leaned against the chair back herself, her surviving hand tight on his shoulder, never breaking the contact as if he might vanish right under her fingers. “Did anyone ask your opinion? No? Then be silent. Everything is under control.” It had damn well better be. The tension in his shoulders beneath her steadying hand told her how dire the situation truly was. Not only for him. Poisoner and flatterer, enemy and probable Darkfriend and for some stupid, stupid reason she didn’t want to see him hurt, didn’t even want to let go. She made up for it with the icy edge in her voice: “So what have you done this time?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

He seemed courteous enough, though being called Mother unnerved her all to hell, that title still belonged to another woman in her head. Lanfir Leah Marithsen: once Watcher of the Seals, Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat … now gone from the white city forever. She had never found out where Lanfir went after that mad night, when she had given her promises and let the woman find her lone vengeance, nor did she know now. Did the shade of the Battle Ajah’s most beloved legend wander the land even now? If she had believed in spirits, or anything she could not touch for herself, she might have been inclined toward that answer; these rooms did not feel like hers, she felt Lanfir everywhere she went, following in the footsteps of a better Ajah Head and Amyrlin by half. But superstition was as disloyal as a smile and in time she would come to terms with never knowing.

Good manners ordinarily went a long way toward smoothing any ruffled feathers she had, and she could say this for the new Commander, his behaviour was exquisite. The red cloak on his shoulders told her to place no weight on small tricks like that. Anyone could feign deference where in truth they had none, and she knew from bitter history how easily fooled she was, how she liked respectful young men so much she dropped all her defences for them. Not a good time to be reminded so sharply of Master Corin Danveer … not shut in a room alone with a red cloak and whatever hidden motives he had … and how good Corin had proven in the end, armed with all the skills she had taught him and his own knowledge besides, she hadn’t even noticed the poison when it came. Never again. She was on her guard now and she would never be caught unsuspecting again.

“There is something in particular I thought we might discuss, Commander.†Indicating for him to take a seat, Sirayn sat herself, arranging her skirts neatly. Diplomatically speaking she was obliged as the hostess to provide refreshments, which had occurred to her about thirty seconds after she realised she might be forced to accept something from his hands, thus providing her with an interesting little protocol problem: skip the tea and possibly cause offence or risk drawing attention to her sudden and unexplained aversion to forkroot opportunities? In the end she had deemed affronting the new Commander an unacceptable risk when she needed his co-operation not only in the future but very soon. The fix was to serve herself. Not exactly standard procedure for an Amyrlin Seat, but at least she could reassure herself that no mysterious substances were going anywhere near what she drank, and while she thought forkrooting the Amyrlin Seat when an unknown number of people knew the two of them were meeting would be improbably dangerous the consequences of getting herself forkrooted again could be huge.

“Tea?†Sirayn favoured her guest with what she dearly hoped was a serene smile. Showing nothing, saying nothing, that was the Amyrlin Seat: her Aes Sedai composure impenetrable to all attempts: at least that was her aim. Even with the memory of forkroot in her head and the red cloak keeping her on edge. Receiving his response she poured tea and set the pot aside, good Sea Folk porcelain, closed her hands round her own cup and let the warmth heat her through. Burn it, she hated these courtesies. If she’d grown up in a Damodred-ruled City of the Rising Sun as her half-siblings had … if she had been anything but a shy, awkward child … perhaps she would view these as opportunities rather than as fences to be negotiated. She wanted to work, not to play at court.

Having discharged her duties as hostess Sirayn finally got to the important part. “I want Kandor liberated as soon as possible.†She contemplated the Commander over his tea, steady grey eyes, measuring his reaction. “I have intelligence reports from my agents in the Borderlands. I have a Tower full of outraged Aes Sedai. I have the Hall’s backing.†It burned her that she needed permission from anyone to push back the Shadow, it was her job for the Light’s sake, but when the Hall wouldn’t even grant her that when it was desperately needed her frustration became something bitterer. Of course such a huge and cumbersome machine couldn’t be moved easily but why for the Light’s sake couldn’t they do as they were bloody told? She didn’t pass on information for her own benefit, she did it so the Hall could give her what she needed to set them on the right course for Tarmon Gai’don. Useless people.

“More importantly,†with some reluctance she diverted herself away from imagining herself dealing some serious wrath to the Hall of the Tower, “I have Aes Sedai ready and willing to head north. Soldiers and diplomats, healers, good women all and tested against the Shadow. Now I need the Tower Guard’s backing. What do you say?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

Being a woman who never, ever discussed her personal affairs, whom wild horses could not convince to talk about anything that touched her heart, and who was generally known to be about as forthcoming as a rock Sirayn found herself rather insulted to be laughed at. Her response was understated; a fractional drawing together of dark brows, a quick glance under her lashes; she bit off the comment that came to her tongue. She didn’t understand the amused reaction at all and her patience for mockery when she had shown more of herself than she had ever dared before was short. What she heard next only confused her more. She thought it improbable that any sane person would consider her to be the perfect picture of an Aes Sedai, crippled and weak as she was, so was she being taken for a fool?

Most likely but she couldn’t exactly say so. That would only cause further damage. So she said nothing, unsettled now, not quite certain how to respond. She wouldn’t be telling any more stories at this rate; she had intended to make everything simpler, to level the balance between them, but it had been a fool’s thought that talking about her long and chequered past would make anything better at all. It would be cleverer to make light of that comment, to say something about not even Amyrlins being actually perfect although they were clearly incarnations of the Light, but she didn’t trust herself to say that without any sarcasm at all so instead she held her tongue.

She had done her best, damn it. She had never been tall and strong and beautiful like her predecessors, nor did she have Lanfir’s charm or even -- what word could she put to the quality that once shone from Lyanna al’Ellisande like a brand, integrity perhaps, or maybe that old-fashioned word, honour -- but she had put every ounce of determination she possessed into being the best possible Aes Sedai she could be. It didn’t count for much in the end, not like the effortless innate strength that others had inherited from lucky backgrounds, but she still tried. It was a stupid, forlorn thought, worthy of being a novice again, sat at the back of the class tiring herself to the point of tears over some frustrating new weave and never quite getting it, but that novice still remained part of her. She would never be the perfect Amyrlin. But that wouldn’t stop her being the best damn Amyrlin she could possibly be.

Once those inward thoughts had been suppressed in the proper manner she allowed herself to say, perfectly steady, perfectly even, “Humanity in the way you mean it is a weakness. A luxury for the protected rather than the protectors. I will eradicate it as best I can before the Last Battle rolls around; I will not have sentimentality when the world is at stake.†The more inhuman the better in her view. Inhuman people could kill their Darkfriend sons and feel nothing. Inhumanity would have done her a hell of a lot of good. “That will be all, daughter. Dismissed.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

Although being Captain General was by no means full of sparkles and light, in fact from her point of view it had turned out to be more about paperwork and the art of intimidation and fretting while other people went out to fight her battles for her, a raising was always a special occasion for her. To stand here beneath slanting coloured light from the huge stained-glass windows, the rank and responsibility of Ajah Head on her shoulders, was to remember how far she had come; nobody would ever get the upper hand on her again; she was strong now, too much so to rely on anyone ever again. Much like an iceberg part of that strength lay below the surface … and although Aramina sur Dulciena knew it not, some day she too would become part of it, waiting in readiness for the last summons of all.

Tarmon Gai’don was ever in the back of her mind and never more strongly than on days like this. Surrounded by the Green Ajah’s might, waiting to welcome a new sister into their ranks, she judged always on who she thought might help her to win the Last Battle. Sweet sentimental virtures like sympathy and a moral compass were useless to her. She needed strong people, who could follow orders without question, but who had initiative and resourceful cunning nevertheless; the type who would not hesitate to do whatever had to be done, who would not give up until the world had ended, regardless of the hardship they came across. Discipline. Intelligence. Dedication. Qualities she needed, qualities she selected as carefully as a jeweller picking gold from the dross, qualities that would win Tarmon Gai’don. Let others worry about the state of their love life or the price of peas in Illian. She had only one concern, the concern of a Captain General, the Last Battle.

For that and a multitude of other reasons she would take this particular recruit as a soldier in her Battle Ajah army. Not only because this one reminded her of Jehanine de’Gavrielle, a legend in her own time, although that was good; she had never thought to see the likes of Jehanine again, the same cold mind and iron will, the loyalty and the courage. But because Aramina sur Dulciena would be at her right hand when Tarmon Gai’don came and the Shadow’s war machine rolled toward them to crush the White Tower once and for all. Aramina was not the type to break, nor to disobey her orders, and although she had once and not long ago been greatly offended by Aramina she rather suspected that it would never happen again. Had better not happen again. Even for Aramina her patience had its limits.

Soon it would be over. Time for gifts and warm words and congratulations all round. Time for certain spiders to begin spinning other webs. She let the silence draw out nevertheless. Technically she had the right to turn down a recruit, reject them straight out, though that would be not only a tremendous break with tradition but a grave insult to the initiation leader who had declared them ready. Perhaps some day she would have cause to use that right, the Ajah Head’s veto; but it would not be this day. “Aramina sur Dulciena Sedai has spoken.” Level and detached as though she did not know the other woman at all, as though it meant nothing to her. “Who will stand for her?”

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Good girl! No trace of a smile broke through her serenity, but inwardly she congratulated them both, the child for following her cue so obediently and herself for steering this little interview back onto the track. It gave her an odd kind of satisfaction to know she was exactly on course: saying the right words with the right touch of menace, prompting just the right responses. She had long found people complex and irrational, beyond the scope of her comprehension, and she liked her newfound schemer’s skills very well indeed. She had come far from the firebrand young sister she had once been to the kind of spider who could wait years for the best possible opportunity to move.

Rossa played her part well. Such a composed child. Her eyes spoke louder than anything in her voice or manner, showing all the fire banked down behind her obedient exterior, but in time she would learn to put even that aside. A smooth-faced, smooth-voiced little conspirator, alive to the currents of foreign courts, safe from the ageless Aes Sedai looks that limited her own involvement: briefly Sirayn distracted herself with thoughts of all the uses she could put this child to, sending her where she herself could not safely go, making her an extension of the Order’s not inconsiderable powers. It was early days yet, of course, and the child still too young and untested for much responsibility, but such testing must proceed apace. The clock was ticking. Soon she would need every pair of hands she could get.

“A diplomatic answer, young lady.†She bit back the remark that it was as well that Rossa had not suffered a fit of flippancy again, but it remained implicit in her tone, her sense of humour was extremely stunted where it came to business matters. “I would contend, however, that there are one or two fitting places for such posters. In your room, for example, rolled up tight where nobody will find them. Elsewhere … perhaps. In the right circumstances. At the right person’s request.†Her tone stayed the same as she dropped that line in there to see if Rossa would pick up on it. Having no idea how much the child was used to following orders, or the amount of independence Rossa liked to claim for herself, she meant to introduce the idea of following her instructions carefully.

“Now in public, targeting somebody with powerful friends,†or even one friend if that friend was enough of a threat, “I hazard that this is almost always an unwise decision. Not only does it damage the Tower’s image, something best done with extreme care, but it is impossible for a novice to pick out the full extent of the web their target is a part of. Twitch the web, the spider comes running, yes? You twitch a web without knowing what spider will come. That is … bold, but unwise.†A brief, open-handed gesture. “Well, you found one. I am the spider guarding that particular web. You did not know when you took on Estel Sedai that you were taking me on too; you know now and I trust you will keep your artistic impulses under control in future.

“You risk this every time you try an Aes Sedai. However young or powerless they may seem, as Aes Sedai go, they may have powerful backers whose identities you do not know. Therefore do not extend yourself … unless there is a spider behind you too. Either find yourself a spider or keep away from other people’s webs. That is all the advice I will give you. For your own sake, and for your future in the Great Game, I trust you will take it.†It wasn’t an overture precisely; she had offered nothing. This game she played mostly on the surface for the child’s benefit and it did not benefit her to scare off Rossa for good. Nevertheless, she had recognised the child before her as a future player of some interest, and if both that and its significance were not picked up on she had misjudged her target entirely.

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Ever since one had done their best to terminate her life untimely at a young age she had borne somewhat of a grudge against the Tower Guard. She had seen for herself that those wearing the red cloak banded together to present a single united front as soon as any one was threatened; no matter how great their crime, such as trying to kill a novice, just a tiny one with barely any control over the One Power and unable to defend herself. She had never forgotten that the punishment for attacking novices was a slap on the wrist, nor that everyone had forgotten it when she herself had remembered it vividly ever since. It was an injustice she had held onto for many years.

Master Corin Danveer personified another reason why she had little to do with the red cloaks these days. A liar and schemer of fabulous proportions, he had been the latest in a succession of improbably murderous Tower Guards, but she did not want to dwell over long on Corin Danveer; not on how much she had liked him, nor how bitterly she had been fooled, or how she couldn’t get the memories out of her head. She should have done exactly as they had both wanted -- let him beg himself hoarse, then taken the knife he offered and ripped out his throat with it, let him leak out all that bright red blood until the last spark of life left him. Only she hadn’t. Because that would require explaining to his Commander all about how yet another of his people had turned out to be an aspiring murderer. And she knew exactly how sympathetic the Tower Guard were when that happened.

She had neither forgotten nor forgiven. It had started years ago, decades even, long before her next visitor had been Commander. Perhaps even before he had put on the red cloak. So blaming him for everything was unfair, that much she knew, but she also understood that a culture of covering up the worst deeds remained whoever was in charge, and also that if the supposed best and brightest of the Tower Guard were willing to attack Aes Sedai so was anyone. It wasn’t that she expected him to go for her throat exactly. On the other hand, the implausible number of would-be Aes Sedai-killers under his command led her toward suspicion even with the best of intentions, and since the latest attempt had been so recent the insistent reminder that she could trust a Tower Guard about as far as she could throw them was impossible to ignore.

None of this had she communicated in any way to the Commander when she summoned him for a meeting. No doubt he already knew everything that was on the public record, and shame and self-preservation should have kept Corin Danveer quiet, stilled his lying tongue at least temporarily. There was no way any secrets could come out to blindside her now. Or so she hoped. Her patience was rather short when it came to members of the Tower Guard. If she just didn’t mention any of it this meeting would go off smoothly, merely an official diplomatic contact between leaders of their respective factions, full of courtesies and empty words. She was no longer the novice who had damn nearly lost her life over a stupid quarrel with a woman who couldn’t keep her lethal skills to herself. The Amyrlin Seat did not have feelings, much less resentment locked up tight for a long time, and she intended to treat her visitor exactly as an Amyrlin should.

All the same the knock at the door wound up her ever-present tension just a bit. She took a deep breath, smoothing her smart copper skirts, checking the lie of the seven-striped stole draped round her shoulders. It was near as long as she was tall and she liked the iridescent colours. Perhaps she should not have dismissed everyone. She had decided to receive the Commander by herself, uncommon enough but made more logical as a private audience, and the chill hand of warning was now telling her sharply that the last time she had been alone with a Tower Guard he had been planning to find out how long he could keep her under forkroot before she went irreversibly mad. Such charming men they gave the red cloak. Fixing her composure in place Sirayn Damodred went to meet her visitor.

Her door swung open at her touch to reveal a tall man, dark-haired and brown-eyed, smartly attired in Tower Guard red and black; easy enough on the eye, she supposed, though she had little interest in his looks. She unbent enough to smile for him, it seemed proper in the circumstances, and gestured for him to come inside. “The Light shine upon you, Commander.†She was calm itself, the surface of water, clear and unfeeling. She certainly was not thinking about Corin bloody Danveer. “Come in and be welcome.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

Something about the beautifully behaved novice before her gave Sirayn the distinct impression she wasn’t being listened to with all the concentration one might have desired. Novices should be smarter than that, it was only self-preservation to give the impression that one was listening intently to every word the evil Aes Sedai said, and she knew full well that this one had more intelligence than most. It was on the tip of her tongue to inquire whether little Rossa Venye had something more important on her mind than being reamed out for surreptitiously shredding a sister’s battered reputation, but her sarcasm had not yet had the required effect, and she would continue being civil.

She didn’t point out that she had not asked to be corrected either. The self restraint required by dealing with novices and their doubtless delicate little minds gave her no end of trouble; had it been Estel Sedai before her in all her clueless Domani glory there would have been blood on the walls already. The situation needed something a touch more subtle, something more like the treatment she had given to the Domani Blue to get her in a choke hold in the first place; although her objective this morning was not to recruit one Rossa Venye -- she only recruited full Aes Sedai, even if only a few weeks into the shawl, it seemed faintly indecent to do that to initiates who had no chance whatsoever of resisting her if Aes Sedai couldn’t -- but something rather less obvious. Not to teach: but to make her want to be taught. Patience, therefore. Patience and caution.

And perhaps a little sarcasm as well. “I know you left it pinned up. I took it down myself. Along with numerous other examples of your artistic talent, thus depriving a crowd of their entertainment and Estel Sedai of an oncoming stroke.†Her unfortunate victim found herself skewered by a cold stare. Sirayn rolled up the poster once more, never taking her eyes off the dark-haired novice before her, and tapped it on the desk: a slow steady beat like a pulse. “In my view something is litter if it is not where it ought to be. Where is the proper place for a poster lampooning an Aes Sedai? You may have three guesses, but I trust you will only need the one.†Her brows raised just a fraction in polite enquiry though inwardly she had her fingers crossed.

If she got more back talk from this particular novice she would have to seriously consider taking the gloves off and that was a tactic of last resort considering people’s responses. How some people squirmed before they realised they were well and truly hooked! Pinned like a butterfly on a skewer. Not pausing in her poster tapping Sirayn contemplated her target, impassive as always, idly spinning herself an image of what she could accomplish with a properly intelligent and skilled novice …

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Spidery spidery spider

Please don't leave Sirayn, I miss you.

It caught at her just a bit, shook her carefully constructed wrath, the armour that kept her safe and isolated. Of course she knew better than to take it as the truth; if she had been in the other woman’s position, beaten hands down in a political game and desperately needing to recover some kind of leverage, she might be trying the same tricks herself. Beg forgiveness, speak soft words, play upon the ashes of old friendship … and trust to luck and loyalty to see her through. Of course it would have stung anyone’s pride to lower herself before another sister, much less when both were Aes Sedai of considerable rank and standing, not to mention old rivals, but that was the price one paid for gambling with one’s career and losing.

Yet even knowing it for a lie that story tempted her sorely. A siren song luring her with toward promises of love and loyalty, friendship, someone she could at least trust to watch her back; she had not relaxed in so long she had forgotten how it felt. She too missed the old days when she had been at the heart of a tightly knit group of friends and sisters. Though her resentment ran very deep indeed … it was difficult not to remember who had stood by her in the dark times, who had brought light to that cave beneath the ground, who had comforted her when someone she loved had taken a knife meant for her.

She wanted hopelessly to believe it. A belief like that could mean so much: trust, companionship, acceptance; something she craved even now. Such shameful thoughts stemmed from loneliness, she knew, even when she kept it pinned inside, even when she could never admit to it in case anyone thought her weak … her control was good, but not good enough to simply cut everything out, to eradicate all feelings completely. Maybe it never would be. Maybe only machines could live without feeling at all. She envied them; if she had had the same capacity to shut everything off, to ignore the most shattering treachery, or the most tempting lure, she might have avoided much hardship. She might even have become the perfect Aes Sedai: intelligent, rational and entirely unemotional: free from fear and loss and shame. She might have been able to hold her head up in the company of better sisters than she would ever be.

If she betrayed the train of her thoughts at all she risked ridicule. To be true, Jaydena had heard more damning confessions from her before and … she had nearly forgotten that Jaydena had given her a hug, just that, just when she had craved the slightest sign of comfort … she couldn’t trust that the same would happen again, Light only knew that, but the thought that all the bloody water under the bridge could be forgotten with just a simple hug once more called to her most intensely. She needed somebody to forgive her, somebody to welcome her. Being as cold as a glacier all the time made for good decisions under pressure, but it didn’t make it any easier to live with herself, couldn’t make her forget.

Perhaps she need not worry about what Jaydena might think. Just this past night she had seized the upper hand; her authority now held solid as a rock. She was untouchable. The other woman could do nothing to her. A strange and fragile thought. Surely she could relax, just a little bit; tell herself that Jaydena couldn’t ridicule her even if she wanted to; convince herself that this time there would be no crowd, no mockery, no public humiliation. It was too bloody dangerous to trust anyone -- a warning written into her memory in lines of fire -- and she couldn’t get her head round the idea that it might be safe to do so now.

She had never been much good in peacetime. Her personal life was in a state of constant warfare because she only knew how to handle people as her enemies, or maybe it was because of that that her affairs had gone so badly wrong, maybe if she knew how to be a proper friend she would have saved other people hurt. She didn’t even remember how she had once been so easy with these people. Hadn’t she known the risks? Or had she known anyway and she’d had her hands on something so precious she’d decided to ignore it, to live only in the moment and not fear the future. Damn it, if they had loved her and not each other -- if they had only taken all the leeway she had given them and not pushed it to breaking point -- if there had been some way, just one way she could fool herself she wasn’t an unwanted third wheel …

She was going to make a fool of herself. Derision would ring up and down the halls of the fabled Battle Ajah; they would all know she didn’t have the backbone to manage this alone; she would lose everything she had worked so hard to build. No letting go. Not even an inch. And yet … she found herself talking almost involuntarily … “I don’t know -- how to forgive you.†Somewhat harsh, she couldn’t seem to make herself soften, didn’t know how to behave toward someone who was no longer her enemy. “I -- what do you want me to say? That I miss you too? Is that how it works? I don’t even know how you talk like that. How-“ damn it, she was useless at this. Stick to her strengths. She should bid her old rival a curt good night, for a second time, and make herself scarce before she tripped herself up any more; but-

Please don't leave Sirayn, I miss you. Light I miss you, I miss spending time with you. She was an even bigger fool than she had thought. Cool and in control, that was what she needed to be. “Your job is in the Tower,†she completed her sentence finally, striving for calm. Steadier now. Much better. “I’ll choose who I can and cannot work with. Get thinking about politics.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Ooc: Thread comes after Spirited Away & sister thread A Soul Given. It leads onto Little Pieces of Chaos and should be seen as part of the aftermath of the Solin Affair Arc, which is archived in its entirety on the White Tower Div site, links ordered here.

No two ways about it, from her earliest years one diminutive Aes Sedai had been singled out as a magnet for danger and difficulty. She had long ago resigned herself to a succession of tight corners, dictated in part by her career path as a member of the fabled Green Ajah, and in the most part those occasions had not been beyond the call of duty; she had signed up for battle, after all, even if she had not imagined poison and knife-wielding shadows and work so black she was still bound to silence centuries later to be part of that bargain. And mostly, if one glossed over the harsh years, that constant menace had forged her identity.

On the other hand, there had been some times so terrible that even to touch on them lightly in remembrance brought her grinding to a halt: that coloured sleep and brooding moments and every time left defenceless: that showed her vivid flashes of blood and iron and darkness if she did not guard her thoughts closely. Possibly the blackest of those times had been the Solin affair. If she had ever given serious consideration to laying aside her shawl it had been then. In hindsight she could not imagine how she had possibly carried on functioning holding that much sheer misery inside, coping with disgrace and dreadful fear, stitching together the shattered pieces of her pride, convinced that this time surely she would never recover.

It had taken one public disgrace at the hands of her mentee Sasra Sedai, one instance of complete disintegration, some dedicated and desperately needed protection from her then Gaidin and a great deal of lonely dignity to even survive. Matters had not been improved by losing her beloved bondmate straight afterward. However, duty had called and she had been compelled to answer, and fortunately for her life had been gentler since then. She had grieved for Seiaman and for herself behind closed doors, where nobody could mock her weakness … and though she had sometimes thought it impossible she had recovered and gone on with her solitary life.

Dreams and silent nights still posed an ordeal for her. Apart from that and a nearly pathological fear of any sort of intimacy, one might have judged her unmoved from her outward appearance: a little colder, a little harder, her games more ruthless, but generally the same. She had long been a schemer, hiding her true intent behind a succession of masks, and that observer might have been forgiven for being fooled. Yet between one change and another her life had been set into a new course … one which she liked far less than her previous careless life as soldier and spy for the Battle Ajah. A last keepsake the Solin affair had left her she had hidden far better. Some might call it a dangerous fixation, others a drive for revenge that bordered on homicidal; however, those folk judged without understanding; she knew its true face to be complete and obsessive hatred.

It was a simple matter for equally simple resolution. One woman had ripped her from her comfortable life and shattered her forever, made threats so terrible she still shivered at the memory and then made good on them, left her in pieces and desperate and never to recover. One woman had stalked her like some sinister shadow for months until finally her opportunity came to strike again. One woman had slain her Gaidin with a quick white-hot blow far across a crowded field from where she lay trapped and bleeding. One woman had, as a last gesture of contempt, pressed a ring into her hand … the outline of which she still remembered burning cold when times were quiet. One woman had made her a cripple and a coward, taken away everything she loved, and ruined her forever. Therefore she would find that woman, track her down and destroy her life as completely and utterly as Amiarin Lucif had once done for her.

It perpetuated the cycle of violence between them and she did not care in the slightest: had no regard for anything that intruded upon her secret quest. Mountains could have fallen and she would never have noticed so wrapped up was she in her vengeance. Though she immersed herself in Ajah Head work, schemed coldly in her new and ruthless style, part of her waited always poised on the edge for anything … the slightest sign, a word, a gesture … which would signal that the time for her retribution had finally come. She would burn down the world to get her hands on Amiarin Lucif. Months passed and other matters distracted her: but in the end, as she had known it would, the time came.

*

“I’m sorry, Sirayn. I need more information about that Dreadlady … What did she want to know?â€

At first listening so intensely, strained with the fear and yet an awful hope that the Amyrlin Seat was going to punish her as she deserved, it took her long moments to understand what Lanfir was saying … comforting words, offering condolence, so foreign she could barely grasp them. She should have been relieved, but instead, she only felt cold and uncertain, striving for some anchor by which she might plot a new course. It did not seem proper to sit beside the Amyrlin Seat while another looked on, but she let herself be guided, sat, closed her hand round a cup of tea. The warmth soaked into her. It felt strangely unreal. She clasped her hand round the fragile porcelain, sipped at the hot liquid, thinking of emptiness; imagining herself so hollow inside that none of this would touch her.

She wanted to forget. Her desire to blank out every memory of what had happened was so powerful it had even succeeded, for a time. And the dread that something she admitted would cause Lanfir and Lyanna to be ashamed of her was paralysing. But one did not refuse a direct request from a superior … especially when that reason was fear. She imagined herself telling Lanfir no, a thousand times no, that this was too much to ask; that she was scared to remember and scared to confess; imagined their disbelief and contempt. That thought stung. She took a deep, steadying breath, pushed away the choking weight of horror, and tried to think.

The silence was stifling. Broken images of blood and pain and darkness. Had to focus. Her voice came out level and calm; she blessed her training. “They wanted me to tell them everything I knew of you; trivial seeming questions at first … your habits, your friends …†a harsh, rasping laugh, “harmless tidbits only a dear friend could know. After all, what harm could it do?†Dark eyes. A stream of questions, innocuous at first, building to the more difficult ones. Sardonic smile, always controlled, until provoked. She lifted her surviving hand, touched her cheek lightly, where Amiarin had struck her with the cane … unseeing of her surroundings, of cool white stone and concerned looks; she had returned to a darker place.

Another careful breath. “She knew Boyaelle was dead. Asked me who the other Hunters were, the name of their new leader. If you knew about them.†She spoke with difficulty, tangled in bloody memories. “I knew what they were trying to do. It’s all in the books. Ask the easy questions first, to get the prisoner talking, then build up. I thought …†she rested her head against her hand, unmoving. Amiarin had wanted to still her, blind her, cripple her, and leave her a pitiful remnant of the woman she had once been. “… never mind what I thought. That’s the whole of it.†I didn’t tell them, I didn’t tell them anything; she wanted to wail the words, to prove somehow that she had meant well at least but she kept her silence. She had said too much already.

*

Later, when only the smallest scars still patterned her in lines of silver, to be seen only if she ever showed bare skin, she got her moment. All the waiting meant nothing in the end; the months that she had spent poised like a spider in her web twitching the lines to discover secrets; that moment came so fast, in a bright flash, and her best-laid plans fell apart utterly. Not that she knew it when it first began, for it started in an innocuous way, much like that day so long ago when she had gone out into warm Tar Valon on her Warder’s arm and found a special kind of hell. No day this time, no brilliant sunshine, and of course no more bond … but ordinary life became madness just the same.

Night had closed in. Rain lashed against the leaded glass panes nearby, soft pattering blurred into a tapestry of sound, all sharp lines and colours outside washed out into a smear of black. On the desk the candle flared and burned casting a maze of shadows across her work; absently she moved it away a distance so she could continue writing evenly, a pool of black ink shadowed further by the candle’s stand, the page beneath her fingertips covered by line after line of writing. Those were the images she kept later: each a slice of frozen time: the rough texture of paper, the concentration necessary to set down her thoughts in coherent and concise terms, words to fix a few problems. Once she had finished penning the letter she rolled it up and secured it tightly. Despite the inclement weather it needed to be sent north immediately. Drawing a heavy shawl about her shoulders Sirayn tucked the bound letter into its folds and bent her steps outside her quarters.

Above her the oppressive weight of the Tower lay dark and silent. This hour had its drawbacks, such as that nobody answered their doors awake, alert and ready to communicate, but nothing interrupted her either; like a spider she moved freely at night twitching strands of her web as necessary. Swiftly she passed through deserted corridors. The moment she cracked open a small side door the wind snatched it from her grip, her weak right-handed grip, and rain veiled everything; she had picked quite the night for her travails; absently checking that the letter would survive unharmed she hauled the door back into place and set off toward the aviary where messenger birds roosted.

Under the night’s heavy cover the citadel’s surroundings, so intimately familiar to her after all those years, looked subtly different: traced with shadow, a glitter of light on torrential rain here, there an edge softened to velvet smoothness. Head bent she continued on her path. The storm’s lashing discouraged her from being too wary, the thrashing sound of the rain and the myriad sparkles of misdirected light made it difficult to tell real from imagined danger, and at first she did not notice the shadow hurrying toward her.

If only she had been more suspicious she might have taken a different route so as not to pass by a stranger in the night. If she had not been busy dealing in secrets she might not have been out and about in the hammering rain in the first place. Had she not been crippled … robbed of her dignity and her independence, of the soldier’s life she had believed she was meant for, marked so that she could never even vanish in a crowd again … she might have had nothing to prove at all. Of course, given that she had broken every bond that bound her to her friends one by one with a single-mindedness that nobody would have believed not to be deliberate, perhaps it was only her own fault that she delivered this with her own hands; perhaps she should have used a friend she didn’t have, an agent she had no faith in … trusted somebody somehow. But all the ifs and onlys went for nothing the moment she looked up at that passing shadow.

A swaying lantern illuminated the stranger’s face beneath the dark hood for just a moment. Knife slim and strong beneath her heavy weather proof garb, she stood tall so that for just a second her towering form shut out the light. A tangle of dark ringlets framed a striking face and intense dark eyes; she looked lean, fit and hard with the single-minded quality that few had even in the Tower. Amiarin. She tasted the name silently, imprinted it on her memory and now the past had her in a murderous tight grip. Shadows and blood: a flash of silver from nowhere: pain sharp and startling: the colour of sunset over Tar Valon and for some stupid, stupid reason she remembered quiet quarters-

*

“Can we speak freely?†Her tones quiet, controlled, betraying nothing of her thoughts. A sense of resignation had come over her like a shroud and she knew the bitterness of defeat. Knowing the words as a warning Jaydena warded her quarters but even in the reassuring silence Sirayn found it hard to relax or to quell her gathering nervousness. She dismissed the offer of a seat and remained standing hoping to add an edge of formality to the proceedings.

“I came to thank you for saving my life.†The words awkward, she was not accustomed to thanking anyone much less for the rescue of a life she had long resigned to more pain. But she needed to discharge this debt somehow. She stamped on the small voice that asked why they couldn’t have come earlier, if they had just ignored Seiaman’s pain, if her hand and her pride and self respect might have been salvaged: “I realise you had to ask the Amyrlin for permission and maybe there will be repercussions from that, and, you didn’t have to so I appreciate your work on my behalf.†Light but this was humbling. She could only be thankful that her voice remained perfect steady and showed nothing of her true feelings. “Figured since those two attacked you and all I should tell you what the story was back there.â€

The air was beginning to press in on her with an ominous tension. The room seemed somehow smaller than she had remembered. She wanted to ease the restless strain with movement but she dared not show any weakness. “The woman was a Dreadlady. She held a grudge against me from Namandar.†It surprised her how coolly she could name that expedition, the mission that had made and broken her reputation forever. “The young man, he …†Damn. Choking. She fixed her eyes on the far wall and wished with a sudden fierceness that she was anywhere but here. You are such a coward, Mother. But he had been so bright and golden, so magnetic, even in hurting her.

“It’s a long story.†Her voice trembled, just a little on the words and she cursed herself silently and swallowed hard. “I don’t .. I don’t want you to think badly of me, but …†She was no silver tongued charmer and any pretence at eloquence abruptly deserted her. “He was my son. I have a daughter too. Twins.†The stark words told of a shame long hidden, secrets kept, and desolation too great for words. “I know I should never have let it happen, but I didn’t want – and I was scared-“ her throat closed on the words, she no longer knew which of two tragedies she was referring to and she stared resolutely at the far wall through a haze of impending tears striving to keep her face impassive-

*

No amount of logic could convert that one blinding instant into words: not quite knowing where the memory ended and reality began, good solid now that one could touch and, dear Light, Amiarin Lucif. For a time that seemed endless she couldn’t draw breath for the freezing grip of fear, couldn’t think. Nothing existed for her but those dark eyes and the smile she remembered for its cruelty.

Panic shut out all thought. Only that kept her rooted in this moment, in the cold lash of rain and the heavy folds of the shawl drawn tight around her, tasting rain and salt. Images she barely saw, sensations she barely felt while the greater part of her concentration locked somewhere in the past. It lasted forever. Then the shadow moved past her without turning and time kicked in with a jolt; movement and sound swallowed up the silence. Everything reassembled itself frame by frame. Her heart hammered. She felt cold and hollow as ice. Nothing quite made sense, thinking a little bit disjointed, she forced this into some kind of order.

Amiarin. Amiarin here. In her home, among her friends and family, walking where she herself had gone. It outraged her and yet petrified her too, fear too huge to express. Ought to go after the demon in her own home. Couldn’t. Couldn’t find that supposed Green Ajah strength. Even the thought of crossing Amiarin again made her shudder, a nameless kind of horror beyond her capacity to describe; she remembered too much blood and fire and iron to ever face that again. It still stung her to think of herself as a coward … but if she couldn’t make herself do that again, even at so high a price, what else did that make her but a craven, how could she look her sisters in the eyes …

Rain had closed over the shadow’s path long before she scraped together enough nerve to move. Cold and fear still had hold of her; she moved away stiffly, overriding the insistence of her memory that she should find somewhere to hide right now, but then stopped in irresolution. Had to go after Amiarin. Some day, somehow, she had to stop that woman, had to find some strength from somewhere. If only she had the courage of her Battle Ajah predecessors she would have ended this already.

Instead she clutched the shawl tight with a hand that now shook and, eventually, feeling older than she had ever felt in her life, went back. Felt small. Felt shaken. Maybe if she made herself quiet enough and small enough Amiarin would never notice her again. Or maybe not. She didn’t understand this, didn’t know how to stop it and maybe it would be like this forever.

• Salvation going under
  they say I won’t survive you
  I wish I never knew you
  your name is sanctuary
  I call you catatonia
  - “Strung Outâ€, Katatonia

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Her companion was smiling again, not even the practised smile of politics, and Sirayn spared a moment to congratulate herself. Dealing with people had never come easy to her; she lacked the glamorous charm of her rivals, or even basic articulacy when the topic strayed a little too close to matters of the heart, and unpicking other people’s tangles often defeated her. But she had come a long way since the frustrated days of her novicehood. Far enough that when she summoned a sister she valued to her quarters she could let that sister go again content in the knowledge that she had done a little bit of good. It was a new and satisfying thought.

So many obvious questions she had been prepared to field; even questions that she would have refused to answer; she hadn’t looked forward to trying to explain how and why an experienced member of the Battle Ajah let herself get crippled, or what exactly had happened to make her send Order members half across the world to procure forkroot, or why she had let her Warders die … or, should Aramina have been particularly busy in Cairhien lately, why exactly she claimed the name Damodred when she had not been born to it. Come to think of it it gave her a moment’s irony to think that had they not both been Aes Sedai, Aramina would have outranked her by a league, a scion of a respectable Cairhienin House and flawless in behaviour. The Tower had set them both on a harder path.

Yet when it came to it the gamble turned out easily enough for her. Her tension eased just a fraction to realise that she would not have to explain about her son, about the forkroot, about any of it at all. An arrow dodged at the last moment. Now why Aramina had chosen that particular question when she must have known it was the only chance she was likely to get was more problematic … but perhaps, if she fooled herself just a moment, she could see it as a sign of respect in allowing her to keep her own secrets, just as she herself had been reluctant to pry. She only stayed her hand when it came to those she genuinely respected and there were precious few of those around.

What had she judged herself against? Quicker to ask what she had not judged herself against. It had never been easy, being Green Ajah, but it was even less so trying to live up to the legends of times past. How did one echo a Rashima Kerenmosa or a Caraighan Maconar, or even a Lanfir Leah Marithsen or a Lyanna al’Ellisande, heroes of a more recent year? One did not. Hard to feel worthy compared to perfection. And how was she supposed to value herself, when the only people she had trusted and loved had told her she did not deserve to be Aes Sedai … when all the years and all the battles had never stopped those words ringing in her ears … on second thoughts, perhaps not so harmless of a question at all.

“The dead.†Her tone was curter than she had intended. She had volunteered for this herself, to settle the balance somehow, but it stung to bring up these old memories. “As you know yourself,†she made a valiant attempt to inject some levity into the situation, “they have very loud voices and nothing better to do than criticise. Most ill-mannered of them.†Making light of this was not the disclosure she had promised. She needed to be honest. That much Aramina had earned through her loyalty. She did not care to be beholden to anyone, but Aramina … disarmed her somehow. Aramina never pressed her for answers, never tainted a good clean situation with messy sentimentality, never made mistakes. Never except once.

Confession then. Not for absolution this time, for Aramina sur Dulciena could not grant her forgiveness, but in other ways it reminded her painfully of an earlier meeting. Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned. A memory that seized her in a tight grip. She forced herself to speak clearly. “I … well, when I was this high,†again attempting lightness, she held her finger and thumb an improbable inch apart, “I knew somebody who told me that I didn’t deserve to be Aes Sedai. Well. Several somebodies. Friends.†Short sentences to cover up years of hardship and loneliness, a succession of betrayals. “They were -- convincing. Now they’re dead. Too dead to change their minds.â€

Dead for the undeserving one, the short one, the cripple. Dead because she hadn’t known; if she’d seen it coming, if she’d had the slightest chance, she would have taken that blow willingly rather than lose Jehanine. Part of her never wanted to stand by while somebody died for her again. It just hurt too much and she hadn’t even deserved it, hadn’t earned her shawl in their eyes, had never been good enough to justify that kind of sacrifice. The greater part of her knew that she had a responsibility now … to send people out to die on her behalf and never speak a word about it. Tai’shar White Tower, indeed.

Too much sentiment now. She needed to get back to being as unemotional as the shawl demanded. “Could be worse. I dare say it’d be dull being satisfied with yourself.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat