Slim and black-haired, banded skirts, a smooth curtsey and a lowered gaze. The classic Domani good looks reminded her of nothing more than a porcelain doll and combined with such uncanny deference it gave Sirayn the distinct impression that this child was a prettily painted puppet. It was a disturbing thought; she let it go. She had had a penchant for green-eyed women once upon a time … ones full of fire, not downcast eyes, and she no longer wished to indulge such tastes. An odd memory to call up. She still missed Seiaman every day, a loss that had never left her, and some days it took her harder than others.

Briefly she contemplated the perfect image of an Accepted, frowning herself, over her still unopened letter. Lily something. Lillian. She had seen the child once or twice before around here … but to the best of her knowledge this was not a Green Ajah aspirant, she knew her future soldiers like the back of her hand, so why would she come across black-haired Domani girls in the Green Ajah halls? “Halvie Sedai.†She plucked the connection from her memory with some effort. Having a long, if somewhat fraught, acquaintance with the other woman made her job a fraction easier; these days she had little to do with young Halvie, but she had not forgotten one particular conversation they had had, many years ago.

“Your mentor was no older than you are when she and I first met.†Keeping a covert watch on her visitor she broke the seal and opened the letter in a rustle of paper. It was in her disposition to spin webs as effortlessly and as constantly as other people breathed, and despite the apparent casualness of her tone, she was definitely spinning one now. Halvie was still a name that held a good deal of significance for her. The girl had been an experiment the results of which she had never truly found out. Had it been an accident that her mentee wound up delivering mail here like a particularly dutiful puppy? “Younger, even. Such a promising girl. Pity about … everything.†The extent of that everything she certainly wasn’t going to disclose to untested company.

Momentarily she went silent reading the letter. It did not bring good news; letters had a habit of doing that these days. Her mouth had compressed, just a fraction, by the time she reached the end and she folded the letter returning it to its envelope with sharp gestures. Her voice remained steady. “How is she doing? She hasn’t been seen much lately.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Danger! Schemer!

Important news. She had had her fill of news, important or otherwise, and it seemed unlikely that anything from this particular quarter would lighten her mood. Suppressing a grimace through a heroic effort Sirayn gestured for her visitors continue. The further they got into this the stronger her suspicion got that she should have been consulted a long time ago; it did not bode well at all that everyone in the Tower had known of the Grey Ajah’s miraculous discovery before her. Her job was to be not only the smartest but the best informed. She did not count herself secure enough yet to pull up the Grey Ajah on their apparent forgetfulness … but it was a definite black mark against them. A note to pursue in the future.

Only an instant’s warning prevented her doing something precipitous when Kaylan embraced the One Power unexpectedly in her presence. Ever since the very first Black Ajah hunt she had never been comfortable while people channelled around her; heads had damn near rolled when Lyanna al’Ellisande burst into delicate negotiations armed with saidar. The sheer unlikelihood of cranky old Kaylan Morin turning out to be an incarnation of evil calmed her somewhat. It was a fool’s thought, nobody could be trusted unless she had tested them herself and never let them out of her sight afterward, but nevertheless she could not make herself believe that Kaylan posed a threat to her.

The next moment even the chances that one or both of these women were Black Ajah left her. Skimming! A lost weave from the Age of Legends! Her quarters were stuffed full of books detailing all these skills they had never recovered, stores of knowledge gone down with Paaren Disen, lore lost forever when the Strike at Shayol Ghul went terribly wrong … It took literally months for even a fast rider to reach the Blight. To get there and back in half an hour had never been accomplished in the past two thousand years. The two women beside her looked so calm; they spoke so casually of something never done since the Age of Legends; did they have any idea the prize they had brought her? Did they know what could be done with this weave?

Its tactical value resounded in her skull. She could list half a hundred possibilities for warfare, for economics and politics. More than that, and she began to smile in a rather chilly fashion, she could finally escape the trappings of being Amyrlin. In thirty seconds’ time she could be high in northern Shienar, or tasting salt on the wind in marshy Mayene, or dicing with death in Amadicia. Not only her but a hundred Tower Guards or anyone else she chose to bring with her. She could send a proper strike force to Kandor -- not just Rosheen Tahn Sahkr and the best the Order of the Rose could give, but real strength, the Tower’s might brought to bear. She could get the Dragonsworn out of Cairhien herself!

Of course she dared not, much though she disliked it her life was now too valuable to risk in so cavalier a fashion, but nevertheless … if she ever needed to, she could go anywhere. Oh yes, she could make something of this. Did the Black Tower have such riches for their madmen and children at play? The Shadow? Could the weave be turned upon them as she had already started planning to turn it on others? She needed to put her head together with Aramina sur Dulciena as soon as possible to figure out how to defend the Tower against this new threat. Doubtless the full strategic implications would not become apparent until they had had some time to consider it. But for now … she fingered the tiny angreal in her pocket and, frowning, summoned the image of what Kaylan had done before her.

As with every other bloody weave one could possibly conceive of it was beyond her unaided, though had she just a fraction more strength in Spirit, she might have had it at her fingertips. It did not require especial skill; just concentration … a framework of threads here, bare bones in her favourite element of Earth, a little lace sparking whitely, and the whole weave fell into place. A slash of silver twisted in the air before her, rotated and opened into a portal. A gust of glacial wind swirled forth into the room; snow dusted the floor in the instant before she let the weave drop, exulting inwardly, though she kept herself composed on the outside. Borderlands on her doorstep! She liked this very much indeed.

On second thoughts it seemed almost too good to be true. Did innovations like this happen by accident? Supposedly a member of the Green Ajah had discovered how to make herself invisible not long ago, but that person had disappeared under suspicious circumstances, and she had never satisfied her own curiosity as to the exact provenance of Eleanor al’Raim’s little invention. “Where did this come from exactly? Who in the Grey Ajah has been … experimenting?â€

The mystery of the artistic saboteur being considerably less of a mystery than it once was, nevertheless Sirayn Damodred did not act at once, for only fools rushed their work. Fortune sided with the cautious and the calculating. She had an objective to reach and intended to do so with all speed; any insult to an Order member reflected on her too, though only she and a handful of others knew it, and this particular case had incurred her wrath for a myriad other reasons. But a soldier first scouted the lie of the land. Having finally extracted a name from her Blue Ajah counterpart, the current bane of her life, at least that was easily accomplished through just a twitch of her web.

Her target hailed from a place not unknown to her. Ebou Dar! Even now the name triggered a succession of images: steel and smoke and chaos, the arc of sunset brilliant red above the city, a woman dying in her arms as the dark drew inward. She had promised herself never to go back to that Light-forsaken city, never to stir up those old memories again, and in the past fifteen years she had kept that vow. She had never once set foot in Ebou Dar after the night she bonded Seiaman Kera. No doubt they remembered her down there … and perhaps they still spoke her name with a little bit of fear. It did not count for enough. For her Ebou Dar had passed irrevocably into the Shadow a long time ago.

That long gone night coloured her thoughts in shades of black. She continued regardless, sorting through the results of her investigation, brief queries to half a dozen different people. A comely young novice, well brought up by a respectable Altaran House, and bright as a copper by all accounts. Often found in the library or forever doing an improbable number of chores; one with a lady’s manners should know better than to incur so many, which indicated to a cynic that she either lacked intelligence, an impression not borne out by the poster affair, or that she had fallen passionately in love with a kitchen servant. Or that she was a masochist. The Tower contained enough colourful characters not to rule out any possibility.

If her information was correct her target even now went about some chore or other. Hopefully the child would restrain the urge to visit poster-related revenge on anyone who crossed her in the next few minutes. A novice had already been dispatched with a brief summons for the young lady in question; now Sirayn had only to wait for it to be obeyed. And wait she did, entrenched in her own quarters, planes of light and glass all about her. Idly fiddling with a quill she contemplated the otherwise unoccupied room with a look of distant consideration. Books lay to hand but she was more interested in musing on today’s upcoming meeting.

She had never met her future visitor but already had considerable respect for her intelligence. It took a certain kind of mind to pull tricks like that one with the posters; cunning, discretion … all qualities she liked very much in those around her. Qualities she prided herself on her ability to detect, bring out and temper like a blade. Aes Sedai were made, not born, and she was a maker of Aes Sedai as well as one herself. A child like this one could be put to great use indeed. It was why she had troubled herself to contact a young White Sister to arrange something else should this meeting go well. She maintained such webs precisely so she could identify minds like that which needed her personal intervention to reach their full potential.

In time came a knock, then upon her further summons, an entry. A slim young lady, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with the classic Ebou Dari looks; she knew the type intimately, but it still brought her up short for a moment to see a mirror of the same strong lines she knew in Seiaman. “Sit down.†Installed in relative comfort behind her desk Sirayn indicated the chair opposite her. In the same lazy gesture she spread out a roll of parchment on her desk, revealing a searingly accurate caricature of one Estel Liones, and pushed it across the polished dark wood. “I believe you left this in the Blue Ajah quarters.†She remained impassive, her tone clear as glass, but her eyes waited sharp and steady for any response. “Littering is rather unsociable … Novice Rossa Venye.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Friend to little novices everywhere

Let's continue on as we are to the Last Battle and go beyond it. How awesome would the post-Tarmon Gai'don scene be? You know you want to. :P

I think you'll find I didn't give her permission for that. :P

Despite her now effervescent mood she kept a close watch on the other woman in case of any further outbursts of violence. Her patience extended only so far. Luckily it seemed that even Estel Sedai had received her message loud and clear and she did not need to defend herself against any more attempts to forcibly eject her. She contemplated the Blue Sister’s positively heroic effort to overcome her temper with a betraying twitch of a smile; it was on the tip of her tongue to warn Estel not to rupture anything … but she needed to encourage the Domani to think before speaking, not to actually sabotage those efforts, and her sarcasm could just as easily be vented elsewhere. Infuriating though she was Estel Sedai might still be useful in the future if she could just be properly guided.

“How many?†Briefly she recalled scenes of laughter and fascination as she had first entered the Blue Ajah quarters. The chattering crowd had had many separate centres. She had removed only the one poster for her own perusal, but there had been plenty more than that, certainly. Perhaps even more than she had seen at first glance. It could well be that she had not been the first person to remove a poster. In fact there could be an infinite number, scattered across the White Tower, spreading their witty brand of poison wherever they went. “Suffice it to say that if I estimated the number it would turn out to be an understatement.â€

It occurred to her in a sober moment that if she had had any sympathy for Estel at all she should have taken them all down immediately she came upon them. She hadn’t even considered it. If it had been somebody she liked … somebody she felt responsible for … she would have exercised her political and persuasive powers to their utmost. It disturbed her a little; she had always thought of herself as the kind of person who protected their dependents. Yet Estel was dependent on her -- very much so, if today’s events were any measure. If she didn’t teach Estel to be a strong Aes Sedai, who would? Had the Blue Ajah washed its hands of her already? Like people had done to her once upon a time. Always she recognised a little too much of herself in Estel to be truly comfortable.

Blood and ashes. She didn’t even like Estel. But she had taken on an obligation as well as given it when she tricked this wretched child into swearing loyalty. “Come with me.†Summoning the other with a brief snap of her fingers she left the doorway and headed to the centre of the Ajah Halls. Pillars stood all around them; she had always liked this chamber, its sweep of grandeur reminding her of the Hall of Swords where so many of her career’s defining moments had occurred, and now the posters brightening them up did not amuse her half so much. “One and two and … I don’t have time to count them all, but you can see there are many, yes? Study them. And tell me who drew them.

“Sister, if I wanted you embarrassed, I would see to it myself. I don’t recall that I ever gave anyone else that right. Since this was not my doing, I will find out whose it is and I will correct them. Give me a name. That person will not trouble you again if I have anything to do with it.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Smiter of satirists!

Something we're all grateful for. :P

No, it'll be fine the way it is. I can't cross-check bios so I've PMed someone who will come cross-check it for you. Welcome aboard! Score one for the paranoid, cut-throat schemers. :D

ooc: I will make that other post soon, I swear. Honestly I will. :P Here's a little something to tide you over ...

Poor decisions? Poor decisions! Only by dint of some effort did she manage to hold her tongue. Otherwise she would end up echoing his words like a halfwit in her incredulity and her acquaintance with this young man had held enough examples of idiocy without her adding any more. She meant to ensure that this meeting did not prove to be such a mistake. It was not her job to protect Lavinya’s reputation when that lightskirt had no care for it herself and as for Corin Danveer and his unexplained, unexpected lapse of all the intelligence and prudence she had hammered into his head, well, he must have anticipated that it would come back to bite him. Miscalculation indeed. Not something to be aired out in the open! Perhaps if either of them had listened to caution for just a second she would not have had to take the boy to task at all.

Inwardly she seethed; she stuffed down sarcasm before it could come to light. Lightskirts and children playing at games they did not fully comprehend while imagining they could keep up their careless mischief on the side, as if a hundred enemies did not wait in the shadows to take advantage of the smallest slip, as if there was any time for youth and play any more. Tarmon Gai’don rolled toward them like a machine and what use would either of them be if they spent all their time canoodling? Burn them both. Sometimes she felt like the only person in the Tower who looked toward the horizon, who was checking off the signs prophesied in the Karaetheon Cycle as they occurred, who was preparing for the Last Battle at the full extent of her skills. It left her with no patience whatsoever for the games fools played.

She bit back exactly those words. Despite his distressing tendency to get himself beaten by Seiaman Kera or fondle complete strangers in public, that occasionally empty head still possessed all the skills and knowledge she had given it, and therefore she could not give in to the temptation to slap it. The likelihood that he had genuinely learnt his lesson seemed slim but she had neither the time nor the inclination to stand over him every moment to see if he had come to his senses. It vexed her in the extreme that he apparently did not understand the gravity of the situation … but she was not his mother. “I suggest you play no more games, boy. If you find yourself inundated by lackwits I expect you to exercise your own discretion regardless. There is no excuse for displays of that sort.â€

Sharp words and yet it felt like not enough. She wanted to demand of him what he could possibly have been thinking, why he even needed another Aes Sedai, what was wrong with her that he turned to empty-headed lightskirts instead; but his mother was only one of the many roles she could and would not play for him and asking questions of that sort would only create the wrong impression. Even though it burned her to think of him with some other woman, one who lacked her intelligence, but doubtless possessed all the alluring qualities she herself did not. It was his choice; all she had offered him was teaching; who he chose to warm his bed was none of her business … but damn it, a halfwit who couldn’t even keep her own affairs secret? Didn’t he even have any taste? His standards were lower than she had thought, although it was, of course, nothing to do with her.

Moving quickly along before she made any more of a fool of herself … she still needed to know what under the Light was going on with him and Seiaman. No possible explanation of events between them made any sense. Damned if she’d let them make a spectacle of themselves any more if she could choke it off with just a few words. She contemplated the object of her scrutiny coldly while he feigned great interest in the ceiling; a spark of grey ice beneath dark lashes, her expression composed as always, not a hint to show that a soldier’s instincts had her tracking everyone who came close to them. Let him ignore her stare all he liked. She knew well the value of a proper long, hard silence.

Finally she let the name drop like a stone. “Seiaman Kera.†If she wound the pressure up tight enough he would eventually crack and talk; a true Aes Sedai knew beyond doubt that her will was stronger than anyone else’s. The question remained if she had enough time, if the boy was properly shaken up, if she dared get heavy in this kind of company. “If I ask again, is there any chance I might get the truth this time?†The chill underlying her tone left no doubt that she knew perfectly well she had not yet had the full story. “Or tell another lie if you like,†if he dared, “but make it a colourful one, yes? Something to amuse me.†If anything her voice was inching colder and colder. “What under the Light are you two up to? Is this about women? Money? If I have to bang your heads together to put an end to this foolishness I will.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Just a little jealous

It's 19. :D

Yes - the upper age limit was upped to 19.

Forkroot. If properly prepared, an almost undetectable substance identified only by a slight mint taste, which could be added to tea to induce a state of near-complete paralysis. This being a cynical world, its current and specific purpose was to render channellers unable to touch the True Source. Not a function she viewed lightly; it had, after all, come to her attention in a somewhat … striking way. The whole episode had burned itself into her memory with an intensity that still shook her. It would not require much effort at all to call up an intimate and detailed description of the drug’s effects -- the drowsiness, the almost total paralysis, panicky powerlessness to channel, the excruciatingly slow return of feeling and movement. Yes, she was not likely to forget forkroot in a hurry.

Also a shipment of same. Right now it was still locked up in an extremely safe place known only to her, in case of small mistakes on the part of anyone else, which was why Sirayn was consulting books and pondering on the many shady possibilities now open to her. Her agents had surpassed themselves in even getting hold of the evil stuff; she should give them a raise, or would if she paid them in the first place. Instead all they got was a cool thanks and their precious cargo taken smartly off their hands. That consignment represented many things. Danger. Opportunity. But most of all … power. Nobody would ever get the drop on her like that again; if anyone was to be poisoned by forkroot in her presence she would be administering it herself. And she could think of a few candidates for a little bit of forkroot treatment.

A knock at the door broke her from a satisfyingly vindictive fantasy. She slipped the book she’d been studying into a drawer, stuffed her papers in with it, clearing her desk save for writing implements. No use anyone seeing that she had been studying forkroot. If questioned, she could reply in strict honesty that she had been moved to investigate it after encountering it herself, and it would require a gigantic leap of imagination to think that she actually had some … but it might tip off the wrong sort of people that she was considering her move. Thus presenting the deceptive impression that she had been up to nothing much at all, she banished thoughts of forkroot and called out: “Enter!â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Changed would be ideal, I think. It's an exiling or stilling offence. :)

Just one comment. Red Sisters aren't permitted to gentle men in this way. Male channellers must be taken back to the White Tower for proper trial and gentled in the usual manner by a circle of thirteen. In the books Galena and other Red Ajah members were severely punished for the "vileness during the Aiel War" - this practice of gentling people without trial. Instead of him killing himself at being gentled, you could try having the brother do it because of the trauma of being shielded and the knowledge that he's been caught by the Red Ajah and is therefore going to be gentled. How's that sound?

Cheers,

Sirayn

See, now you have an extra incentive to hang out in chat with me, not that you need another. I will feed you all tips and rumours! :roll:

Her triumphant mood had long since slid downward into bitterness; remembering that her Warder, who should have held her above all others, had instead devoted her passionate Ebou Dari heart to a certain Sitter for years did not improve it. If she had gone to friends for celebration like an ordinary person would have done upon promotion she might have kept her good cheer longer. Instead she had gone to an unwelcome place in order to complete the final stage of her victory; so in a way she had given herself this bitter scene as a reward for all her hard work. Looked at that way her sound rejection was a kind of irony. Although in a way perhaps she had gone to friends, to a woman she could no longer trust, where even if she was congratulated she could not trust it … which just about summed up the state of her private life.

The one drawback to being an Aes Sedai of moderate intelligence was knowing exactly how far the First Oath could be bent. Far enough that she could not trust a word anyone said; if she could twist the same words into a figure-of-eight and still stay within their shared vows, so could anyone else, since as she kept reminding herself it was dangerous to conclude anyone else was stupid. Therefore she could only judge this woman and many others on the basis of what they had actually done … and Jaydena Mackanthur had no right whatsoever to a fair hearing. Even had those long and bitter years beforehand never happened nobody called her a coward; it was the one insult she could never forgive. Only one had ever gotten away with it and those had been … unique circumstances. She did not mean to let it pass again.

A better woman would have walked out the moment Jaydena kept on talking. The lies she conjured up were so outlandish they startled her: that the Warder who had left her had ever loved her, that she had been placed even for a moment above perfect Jaydena; the same Warder who had gone after her with a dagger. A better sister would have exercised some restraint. She was fed up with exercising some restraint. Her temper rose: the memories were too vivid to ignore so easily, too painful to be pushed down. “What under the Light are you talking about?†An edge of genuine ire rose in her voice; it was half a snarl. She had not lost her temper in a fair while and it looked set to be a challenge to maintain that record. If needs must she could act as the spider waiting in the web, but her patience was not infinite, no, not by far. “Came to me? Talked to me? I had to find out from a complete stranger that she was even alive at all!â€

A complete stranger who’d asked her in passing if she minded if this woman bonded her unknown, miraculously resurrected ex-Warder. In hindsight it sounded too bizarre to be true. It had felt like it at the time: too much to take in all at once, a welter of images, touching off her still bitter grief for Dumai’s Wells … for blood and mud and chaos, the agony of a bond broken forever, a cold circle pressed into her unfeeling palm ... and when she had gone to find Seiaman that long while later, hopelessly lost to the love and devotion she had never dared voice while her Warder was alive, what Seiaman had said- “Did you hear what she said to me, that I, that I should have-“ she cut herself off, seething, provoked to a shadow of that old fury by remembering.

It hurt her. It hurt because she was everyone’s fool, because she had loved and lost, because Seiaman had wanted her to put aside her duty to the mission as a certain Dreadlord had never made her do, only for her: a sacrifice she could never in a hundred years make. That the Ebou Dari woman had misunderstood this so fundamentally … thought that she could ever even consider placing Seiaman Kera’s welfare above her Tower work … left her cold. Told her all the more sharply that she could never trust Seiaman, who wilfully refused to understand. And that was enough maudlin self pity for one day. Aes Sedai did not need anyone.

The total lack of answering comprehension gave her the strange, fragile feeling that Jaydena would never quite follow what she was thinking. Perhaps a life of diplomatic luxury made it impossible to truly understand what it was to give up everything for the Tower. She got herself tightly under control: “Blood and ashes, woman, you knew that all along. Seiaman never wanted to speak to me. It was a mistake that I found out, no doubt it was desperately inconvenient for me to turn up at all, I’m only the one she was bonded to for Light knows how long. It was you she wanted. Do you think I don’t hear what goes on?†an edge of anger rising anew in her tone, damn it, the way she chased this hopeless task in circles was laughable: “It was you she went to. Your roses in her room, your gifts, you were the one kissing her in public, always you! You can twist it all you like but I know the truth!â€

Frustration coiled tight and hot in her. She wanted to release it somehow, to hit something maybe, but that would scarcely be suitable for an Aes Sedai. All this bloody propriety got to her sometimes. Exerting a self discipline she was coming to hate, she smoothed out her composure, adopting an iron control. “You will not make me a second choice for my own Warder any longer. I have no Warder now and I am glad of it.†A fitting end for one who interfered in their great love story. She had always had the unfortunate feeling that a romance like theirs was fated, it was an inevitable suspicion when people started trading protestations of passionate undying love forever, and the consequences for interfering had caused her fifteen very hard years. Sirayn tipped a short nod to her rival in so many things. “Good night.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Captain General

Over the years many had found out to their cost that in almost every conceivable area Sirayn Damodred had no sense of humour whatsoever. If ever induced to relax she could be amused or, rarer still, amusing, but this was approximately as common as the proverbial coloured moon. Not normally being a woman given to light moods and mirth, therefore, it surprised even herself when the rapid and drastic alteration in her sister’s expression set her off laughing. The image of towering Estel Liones in all her Domani beauty going purpler than a sheaf of lavender was one that burnt itself into the memory.

Honestly she got the near-uncontrollable urge to poke Estel and see if the woman popped of sheer outrage. It was the urge of a giddy novice, not a stern Ajah Head and therefore with some effort she kept her hands to herself, though her amusement could not be suppressed so easily. It seemed to spur Estel on to ever greater heights of righteous ire -- or possibly the Domani Blue was so wrapped up in her sputtering attempts to form words that she hadn’t even noticed. The range and inventiveness of the curses this most improper sister could summon up raised even Sirayn’s dark brows and she spent a moment in happy contemplation of her vocabulary, now expanding to rival that of a trooper, while Estel got herself at least under a semblance of control. Oh the many benefits of baiting sisters!

One response she had not been expecting was for Estel to turn on her violently. But it was broad daylight and the corridors were full of people, and she had a hold over this woman she could not bring up in polite conversation, and she did not fear. Estel made a grab for her; she stepped back promptly, still laughing, and pushed away any further attempts to eject her by force. “Dear Light, woman, get a hold of yourself!†The sheer hilarity of the young Blue frothing over with just indignation overwhelmed any attempt to put the proper force into her voice. No doubt their audience were equally spellbound.

“If you could possibly restrain your urge toward indiscriminate violence for just a moment,†eventually she forced herself to composure, though her mouth kept twitching toward a smile, “you could put your remarkable mind to figuring out, say, who actually … expressed her creativity in this charming way.†She tapped the parchment still in her hands, keeping it prudently out of Estel’s reach, to illustrate her point. “Good artist, doesn’t like you, access to the Blue Ajah quarters? Ring any bells? Do at least try to think, I know it hurts, but the practice is good for you.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Nice lady

Not for the first time, standing silent and cold in the Hall of Swords, Sirayn contemplated the paintings looking down on her from high above and weighed how much outrage she might cause by removing them. It was only a half serious thought, the Green Ajah lived by its traditions and famous history, but to stand beneath the portrait of Captain Generals long gone was to feel remarkably small. At her diminutive height one would have thought she would be used to it by now. Besides, undoubtedly the likes of Lanfir Leah Marithsen and her starry predecessors had never stood here before her and felt intimidated, and it was they whom she needed to imitate to the best of her ability.

Instead she stood, hands clasped, beneath the paintings in full dress uniform. She had always hated dress occasions, but it looked smart on even her hard to flatter form, the striking black broken by only one of her career’s haul of medals: the red shooting star from the campaign that had made and broken her reputation. It felt cold when she touched it, sharp edges and solid planes, a campaign’s worth of memories compressed into one small item. People no longer whispered of that hunt like they had done before. For a new generation, growing up after the great call to arms, it lacked the same immediacy; the rush of images and colours associated with the name. The thought no longer troubled her. Let it pass into myth.

Around her the Hall of Swords still stood quiet, filled only with echoes and silence, stirring faintly as a few people joined her. Thus saved from excessive formality Sirayn began to pace, steady methodical steps while she waited for the Ajah to gather round her. Mostly the wonder with which she had once viewed these occasions had dissipated and she no longer marvelled at their strangeness; indeed she felt content as Captain General as she had not in a myriad of other roles. And why not? Her position was secure, she had Green Ajah ritual at her fingertips and she was surrounded by, if not friends, at least people she could rely on to think before speaking. The Wheel wove as the Wheel willed but the Green Ajah would be there to meet whatever came.

If all went well today would see the induction of a new member into the Battle Ajah. One who was, despite the coolly unmoved exterior she put forth, rather high in her estimation; a place many had found difficult to reach, but which Aramina sur Dulciena had found with the same effortless skill she applied to everything else before her. It seemed the many cruelties of the Green Ajah initiation system had not poisoned her as they had done others, one of whom might not be too far from this spot right now, and her instructors had recommended her in the most glowing of terms. She would make a fine addition to the Ajah. All in all this ceremony should go without a hitch.

Theoretically nobody was put forward for their second petition until they were ready so nobody was ever turned down. She herself had come within an ace of breaking centuries of tradition when her Ajah Head nearly threw her out of her own second petition … but despite her less than ideal behaviour at that point she had had the last laugh over the years. Perhaps fear hid beneath that flawless Cairhienin mask all the same. It was impossible to ever be sure that one’s petition would be accepted and the consequences of failure could be severe. No doubt it was infinitely more comfortable on this side of the trial, judge and executioner all in one, spared the burden of fear and hope.

By now the great hall buzzed. Light slid through the huge windows high above her head like a blade and fell across the flagstones before her. People crossed the floor to take their positions in a broad half-moon, smartly dressed in their finery, and for just a moment Sirayn Damodred contemplated the sweep of Green Ajah strength with a devotion so possessive and so intense it twisted at her; if there was a way to protect them from all harm, the soldiers who had come under her command, she would take it without an instant’s hesitation. Of course it was their job to take the blows and some day she would even get used to sending them out to die in her place. Exchanging a nod with her two Banner Captains she took up her place in the heart of the Hall of Swords.

A flash of colour heralded the entrance of the recruit and her instructor. Her cool grey gaze lingered just a moment on Jaydena Sedai. The very image of beauty as always, the Banner Captain joined her in a sweep of green skirts, and neither showed so much as a hint of the long and bitter history between them. Immaculately presented, their recruit bowed her dark head; Sirayn inclined hers briefly in greeting. The striking resemblance this one bore to somebody long dead still twisted at her. No amount of time would be enough to communicate all the many meanings to that. But she had to concentrate right now, deal with Aramina for Aramina, not for the shades of a past now sleeping. And Aramina would be hers in time.

“Aramina sur Dulciena Aes Sedai.†She gave the other woman her full and formal title as she swung into an old ritual. “What brings you to the Hall of Swords?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Heartfelt words, she did not doubt, for all this woman’s scheming political mind Aramina gave her the rare gift of honesty. In all the colourful courts she had seen she had never received anything as as precious as the trust of a good woman nor ever expected to; for a sister of this quality to choose her, out of everyone or no-one, was more than a moment’s passing flattery. No doubt it was over and above what she deserved into the bargain. By some people’s measure she had earned her rank the hard way, it had been somewhat of a necessity since as a youngster she had lacked the polish or intelligence to smooth her own path, but for all that new-found fame she had never done enough to merit this much loyalty.

Jehanine had known it well. Jehanine, a hundred times cleverer than her, dark flawless looks and composure fit to rival a statue, had had no illusions about their comparative worth. If it had been anyone else who had spoken those words to her years ago, the night of her raising, she could have dismissed it as the product of resentment and envy; but women with that much sheer, frightening intelligence had to be right. Now she considered it, she found it an interesting little paradox. Only one of the two could be correct. She only wished she could convince herself Aramina sur Dulciena had better judgement than the woman who had died in her place.

So much time had passed, she felt so old now and she still couldn’t shake the ghosts of times past. She had clawed her way to becoming Captain General, forged the Order herself, even ascended to the Amyrlin Seat -- and what a strange, intoxicating idea that could be if she let it be -- and still she couldn’t let go what Jehanine had said so long ago. To maybe fix something in even Aramina, who carried her scars as closely as anyone, surely that was a kind of magic in itself? How far did she have to go before she could make amends to Jehanine, cold and brilliant and dead before her time, before that bitter business could finally be over? Further than she could afford. Now she wore the seven-striped stole she no longer had the luxury of deciding what was best for her; it had to be the Tower, the Tower, always the Tower. No more stalking shadows, then, pieces of the past. Only, the Light knew it was hard to let go.

“Then it is done.†She kept her tones light, no longer pressing for anything, though part of her thrilled a bit at those promises. I am your protector Sirayn, your sworn sword arm. Swing me where you will and I will not falter. And what swings she meant to make. She intended to steer the Tower safely through the Last Battle if she had to do it with her own hands and the Order was an essential part of her plans. She did not want protecting, could defend herself very well, pride and dignity demanded nothing less -- but people she could not only rely on but place as she willed … who reported back to her and her alone … whose initiative and intelligence she could trust; they were what she needed, what she gambled much to secure. And what she meant to use.

She ought to dismiss Aramina and move on. Doubtless the other woman had work to be about; she certainly did, she no longer had a moment to call her own. She could scarcely complain of course. She had known exactly what she was doing when she took on the striped shawl. But she didn’t want to see Aramina go -- an unwise thought, a lonely thought, not fitting an Amyrlin, but present nonetheless. Instead she found herself saying: “I have asked a great deal of you and given little in return.†It was perhaps a little closer to the truth than she intended after what she had brought to her friends and companions, the sentence Jehanine had faced, as had her bondmates and everyone else around her. “Therefore,†now she knew idiocy was contagious; but she had asked this of Aramina when the soldier’s code and Aes Sedai education and everything else ran counter to it, it seemed only fair that they should suffer together … “a story for a story. If you wish.â€

I hear a peon talking when he wasn't invited to. :roll:

No flirting with the supreme ruler of the universe, boy. :P

Petitions still stuffed her head to bursting as she made her way back through the bustling corridors. Spoilt lordlings by the bucketful and the squabbles of lesser merchants served to give the newly minted Amyrlin Seat the impression that a good outbreak of plague would do everyone a favour. Having been something of a firebrand in her misspent youth she had never felt the slightest kinship with the Grey Ajah, patient schemers that they were, and now she found herself compelled by events to exercise a little diplomacy she was finding a whole new appreciation for them. The odd moment of tragedy provoked compassion from even the coldest heart but how anyone could stand so many self-seeking people escaped her entirely.

Technically she was one-seventh Grey Ajah now, just as much as Green Ajah, and the thought ought to strike fear into the hearts of all right-thinking people. It struck her as a little bit surreal that she, the unwanted one, had come to preside over petitioners’ audiences as Amyrlin Seat as though she had every right to do so; the weight of the seven-striped stole on her shoulders still felt foreign and in the office and quarters now hers by right she felt like an imposter. She half expected someone to denounce her at any moment. Only it didn’t seem to be happening and despite all common sense she appeared to be the leader of the free world right now.

Rank always brought trouble and this particular one brought more than its fair share. For example, nobody had warned her before she put on the striped shawl just how many endless ceremonial duties she was now expected to fulfil. Before her ascension she had taken every opportunity to escape such functions, save perhaps as Captain General where she had known Green Ajah tradition inside out, and now she had no choice any more she contemplated the spectre of petitioners’ audience with dismay. If they wanted a ceremonial leader they should have picked someone who looked prettier all wrapped up in a striped stole. She had never been much good at being ornamental.

The bloody shawl was too conspicuous anyway. It drew people’s eyes like merchants to gold. She slipped it off with a practised shrug of one shoulder, though it seemed sacrilegious to stuff it into her pocket and therefore left it draping her arm like a colourful banner. Even carrying it thus made her stand out; she could not vanish into a crowd however much she wanted, adorned by those seven bright stripes, and for one who had spent most of her life in the shadows one way or another it disconcerted her greatly. Not half so much as the idea that she might one day get used to this though.

By the time she reached her destination her sorely taxed patience was beginning to recover. Her new office, the Amyrlin’s office, was at least beginning to bear her stamp; she’d been busy making it look like a place of hers by filling it full of books and papers and cold clean colours. On the way in she exchanged a polite word with her new Keeper, still an unknown variable to her and one whom she planned to run a proper and detailed assessment on later to see what dirt she could dig up; it did not do to let one’s sensitive political plans go through the hands of someone whose allegiance she did not know. No doubt her Keeper was busy doing exactly the same to her. The opening moves in a game always had that stylised, predictable aspect.

Other games ongoing today became her primary concern as soon as her Keeper informed her who had come to visit. Two of her favourite people! Her mouth curled in a smile approaching irony as she contemplated this unexpected pleasure, or possibly not. The real irony of it was that while she had no liking for either woman, not to mention a rather strong hostility to painted, perfect Jaydena after all the history between them, they were two of the only people she could probably trust right now: Kaylan because she had once been a Black Ajah hunter too, and Jaydena because of her … current loyalties. Of course either or both could have been corrupted in the meantime, which was why she could only probably trust them, and why she did not keep them closer in her counsels.

Though honestly, she couldn’t figure out why they had come. Kaylan in particular would never have come by for political reasons; the old Green Sister had made clear her aversion to politics. No doubt her companion was too busy with Seiaman and their turbulent love life together to trouble herself with anything else. Only one way to find out: “Send them in, please.†She composed herself in preparation for what, if history was any indication, would be a trying interview.

You never told me you could write, Zylazlo! I like it. :D

Go Aramina! :D

Estel should consider bookmarking www.dictionary.com. :D