If you're a masochist. :twisted:

I'm always up for ... discipline. :roll:

• So glad to see you have overcome them
  Completely silent now
  With heaven's help
  You've cast your demons out
  - A Perfect Circle, “The Nooseâ€

So what was reality?

The philosophers had diverted themselves coming up with answers for centuries. No doubt more books had been written on the subject than the Tower Library had room for, and the capacity of the Brown Ajah to amass books under that one battered roof was never to be underestimated, academics having book-hoarding instincts to rival beavers. In all that time nobody had come up with a straight answer. One writer had argued that dolphins ran the known world, the strange creatures sailors sometimes spoke of, thus making the Atha’an Miere a mad kind of messengers. Some said matter was made up of bits too tiny to see even with the strongest glass. Others told of spirits and forces that eddied somewhere beyond the reach of sight, even of a giant turtle the size of a planet.

Much had clearly been invented under the influence of strong drink. The giant turtle struck her as an especially inspired flight of imagination. Even the wildest fancies were backed up by as much evidence as the most logical-sounding, however, which was to say none, and therefore it was no wonder outsiders found themselves lost among this mass of contradictory views. She had never found philosophy to be worth her time before now, the finer points of existentialism being among the many topics unnecessary in a soldier’s life … but standing amid the damage caused by their recent trials, a hall choked with dust and made glittering by pieces of the finest Sea Folk porcelain, for the first time in long years Sirayn found herself in the mood to debate philosophy.

Light flooded through a window above her head, fell across the floor, sparking off points and edges across the display of broken porcelain. Or so her eyes told her. She had always trusted her sight before, had precious little else to go on, but after the Bubble of Evil how did one trust one’s own senses? It might be an illusion. Touching it would break the common weaves she knew, it took a great deal of power to create an image so strong it would deceive even touch, but the Bubble had shown her illusions that she could not tell apart from reality even by touching them. The same went for the voices she had heard, or possibly heard, or imagined herself to hear. By that logic anything she perceived might be illusion she could neither detect nor disturb. The paved floor beneath her feet: the great painting on the wall high before her: the servants at work sweeping up dust and little pieces. Did any of it exist?

Young men stripped to the waist as they worked held no interest for her whatsoever. Nor, though she frowned at it as though it had offended her greatly, did the damage from last night. She was too occupied elsewhere. It had begun just after twelve, what credulous folk still called the witching hour, and did that have any meaning? Did some malign intelligence exist behind the Bubble to work even the beliefs of simple folk into a tapestry to frighten them? Not such an outlandish idea as it might appear. Had she sent the Bubble herself she would certainly have sent it at midnight. Nobody knew for certain what the Bubble was. Some argued it to be a natural occurrence, created by the Pattern itself, but she liked to trade in hard facts and they had none. So how did one trust one’s own eyes?

Now she was tying herself up in knots. Truly the world worked in strange and often bizarre ways. Amyrlins ought to have an answer to everything; this particular example found herself at a loss. She had to trust her own senses, it was the only way, yet the possibility that she might be thus deceived again burned her. Illusions broke every law she understood. They could make pigs fly, the sky turn pink as the most delicate rose, and the dead pull themselves out of the earth one mouldering hand at a time … and there was no way to defend against them, nor even to comprehend them, none at all. She hated the whole concept. It challenged her fundamental belief that everyone directed their own destiny. Life ought not to be inexplicable.

Rather than debate the matter with herself all day, or possibly give the impression that she had picked this opportunity to admire an exceptionally handsome young man, Sirayn took a circuitous path back to the top of the tower. It still seemed bizarre to think of herself as living there by rights, she a mere nobody who could barely light a candle where others ignited blazes, but she was Amyrlin Seat now and she had to behave as suited her rank. Accordingly she schemed all the way up. Turn after turn of smoothly ascending path provided ample opportunity for her to consider her next step. From top to bottom the Tower had been shaken by recent events, all seven Ajahs as well as the children in the two wells and the servants who ran this great white place, and it fell to her to remind the Tower that they had come through it relatively untouched. And there were other matters …

Last night she had seen strangeness. She had watched the dead walk and the far-from-dead, unfortunately, transport images of themselves into the white corridors she called home. She had observed the disintegration of fine women, the raising of others into temporary heroes when the Tower needed them most. One image had lingered with her longest: Aramina sur Dulciena, marked in ash and char, weeping as she knelt. Even then she had known she was doing something she did not entirely understand, going by instinct rather than logic as she so rarely did, and though hours had passed Sirayn still had no better grasp of what had gone on than she had standing amid dust and smoke. She did not care for that ignorance.

By anybody’s standards she knew nothing of Aramina: not her family, nor her childhood, nor her time in whites; nothing of her inner thoughts, the drive that had brought them both to this same place at the same time. If she were brutally honest she had never even heard the name Aramina sur Dulciena until she met the child for the first time, late in her Acceptance, during that period she had first made a play for the Grey Ajah schemer Lavinya. Immediately she had marked the child as a possible acquisition -- one bearing all the hallmarks of serious intelligence and worth -- but she had neither known nor understood Aramina and that had never changed. So she could not say whose shade brought a Banner Captain to her knees. Only that somebody, somewhere, from some time … a woman whose countenance was not entirely new to her … had done so. Why? Another question she could not answer.

Enough questions! Now she wanted answers, not half truths but good, solid facts she could assimilate like learning from a book, untainted by a thousand possible shades of meaning. It was possible that any request along these lines would be refused; indeed, had she been a Sitter in an interesting political position, she would have run miles rather than speak openly and honestly to the Amyrlin Seat. Of course her association with her predecessor had never been simple, complicated as it had been by expectation and rivalry and legend, but all the same Aes Sedai did not disclose their innermost secrets to anyone. Partly she did not want even to ask for fear of rejection. If she never asked she could continue to convince herself she might have found out.

• And not to pull your halo down
  Around your neck and tug you off your cloud
  But I'm more than just a little curious
  How you're planning to go about making your amends
  To the dead

Partly she wanted … something she could not even put into words. Maybe she just wanted to be able to trust Aramina. Mad as it was to think that she might ever trust a fellow Aes Sedai, as wrapped about in layers of mystery and self interest as she herself, her life had ever been isolating and immensely stressful; donning the seven-striped stole had scarcely eased her burdens. Having somebody in whom she could put her faith, not by Order of the Rose methods but as a fellow soldier who looked out for her as fiercely as she would have done for any of her friends, seemed like a distant and tempting dream. Maybe she wanted to unwrap the aforementioned layers of mystery. Maybe she missed having people around her. Maybe all of that.

And partly, in a quiet and secretive way, she wanted this woman to be Jehanine for her. It had been a while now and she still missed Jehanine so intensely, Jehanine by whom she had defined herself, Jehanine her better and the bright star the Green Ajah had mourned so long. Jehanine had once told her she was not fit to be Green Ajah; those words had never been taken back, their resulting decades-long feud had never been resolved, and this brilliant, beautiful woman had died in her arms. A ghost could never forgive her. A ghost could never show her the acceptance she had craved from its original. It was strange and twisted in a way to wish that another woman could take her place, maybe to tell her everything Jehanine herself had deemed her undeserving to hear, and yet … and yet how did one forgive oneself, how did one forget … how did one prove oneself to the dead?

Burn her! She was making a mess of this. It ought to be simple; her predecessor, the great Lanfir Leah Marithsen, had never found anything difficult in her life. Her mouth set tight. She was not going to make a fool of herself, not today, nor any other day. Having nearly reached her new quarters, everything about them still seemed strange to her after so short a time, she had to resolve this or otherwise beg off and know herself too daunted by the past to tackle this problem head on. And an Amyrlin should not beg off. She looked about herself, eyes narrowing, and picked out the nearest novice. “Child! Find Aramina Sedai. And tell her that the Amyrlin awaits her.â€

• Your halo’s slipping down
  Your halo's slipping down to choke you now

Ooc: The world being run by dolphins is from So Long and Thanks for All the Fish by Douglas Adams; the celestial-size turtle is from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld.

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

*

Nothing had ever happened to disturb the quiet of the tastefully decorated quarters, quarters for an Aes Sedai and her three warders that held only one lone woman and a tale of only solitude and study. There were no warders to disturb her quiet and no men flaunting down the halls from this room in the Hall of the Green Ajah, unlike many of her sisters who passed their time with an occasional friend. The only people to walk through the door had been Sisters or the rare Accepted or Novice. From time to time, Aramina sur Dulciena taught individual girls on some part of the One Power, girls she though had some talent or other that she might exploit later in their careers if she could tie strings to them early enough. Her own life had enough ties from her earlier days to recognize the significance of it.

Though the usual quiet and order lulled her into the illusion of an atmosphere conducive to study, Aramina gave a sigh of frustration as she sat back and looked away from the text she had been examining. Over the years her personal eyes and ears had grown into an impressive network and she sat with her communications, reviewing the details and political currents that each could give her. The message laying before her spoke of a Bubble of Evil which had hit far from there, a killer fog that had destroyed all it touched. Light, she'd been looking at the message for the past hour and she couldn't seem to think past it.

Aramina pushed away from the desk and moved through the room until she stood before the fireplace. A vase of green sea folk porcelain sat beside other fine pieces on the mantel. She reached behind it and pulled out a small frame, hidden from view. Fingers brushed carefully over the face that lay there, the intelligent eyes staring back at her as she remembered them. So often her dreams had contained that face, sometimes matured in age, others a remembrance of days long past. She shivered as she put the frame back, hesitant to lose contact with the memory and yet afraid to think of that face as she had seen it recently.

Lost. There was no other way to put it. All Aramina could think about was that moment in the hall, running for her life from the one person she had always trusted. Running until there was no where to run, and then having to turn and see the face of her friend. A face that still showed love and trust and that Aramina had no will to fight. She had deserved to die that night. Her cowardice and lack of wits had been inexcusable. She should have died at the hands of her friend's illusion. Instead, the Amyrlin herself had seen Aramina at her lowest moment, had rescued her and then led her further into the Tower to help their fellows.

Sirayn Damodred, the one woman in the Tower whose opinion had meant anything to her. Sirayn, who had judged her and found her wanting, who had later demanded oaths that Aramina had willingly given. The one woman Aramina still cared to impress, and she had been the one to see the final fatal moments that should have been Aramina's last. Fire should have consumed her heart as surely as it had her ability to love so long ago.

Where was she supposed to go now? What could she do to pick up the pieces of her life and move forward? She was Aes Sedai, a Battle Sister and a Banner Captain, there was no fading away from existence. She had enough courage left to know that she had to face this, had to find a way to move past.

"Blood and bloody ashes!" she cursed as she sat in a large armchair, weaving flows quickly to start a fire. She didn't need the heat, but the flames themselves were quite hypnotic to her and she had spent many hours puzzling over the mysteries of the world in front of that fire in her favorite green armchair. She had taken years to move past Natalie's death. She didn't have years to move past almost dying at her hand. Tears sprang to her eyes again and Aramina let them fall. Blood she had spilled often in her life, but tears seemed more her lifeblood than anything, each one precious to her, each one costing a piece of her dignity that she had no way to recover.

Where was the girl who had once stood her ground, proud and strong, when she had been deemed unfit, declaring for all to hear that she would be Green Ajah and she would learn to fight the shadow on her own if need be? Where was the passion that had pushed her through her initiation and her oaths to Sirayn? Where was the dedication that had allowed her to spend over 100 years dedicated to the strength of the Tower and defending the world again the Last Battle? There was none of it left. It had all been stolen by the face of a young woman with fire in her hands and love in her eyes.

A knock at her door interrupted Aramina's thoughts and she gave a shuttering sigh before looking at her reflection. She was lucky to be one of those few whose eyes didn't puff after tears. Her reflected perfection seemed to be laughing back at her, another illusion she had chosen to believe all her life. Such a perfect face, spotlessly attired with hair piled in precise braids and pinned curls. The appearance of perfection that she believed because she was so far from it in truth. With a sharp pull she opened her door to find a young novice standing before her. The girl almost cowered at Aramina's expression and she quickly schooled her face, admonishing herself for the slip. "What is it child?" She asked in a calm voice that was sharply at odds with the look she had just given the girl.

"The.... the Amyrlin said that she awaits you." The girl said in a quiet voice.

The Amyrlin wanted an audience? With her? Why now? What had happened that the Amyrlin could want to see her about? She had no answers and she was sure that if the child before her had any information it would be erroneous. She had worked too long at Sirayn's behest to think the woman would give straight answers even when she gave any at all. "Then you had best lead the way and be quick about it."

The girl scurried to get ahead of Aramina and she let her. A few steps and the girl's carriage changed, emulating that of an Aes Sedai, as she should. Aramina felt a little tension leaving her shoulders. Movement. Activity. Something to get these doubts and concerns from her head for a moment, something that would allow her to focus on what was happening outside of herself instead of in.

The Novice led on and Aramina allowed the steps to take her focus. The one thought she had managed to avoid until now suddenly surfacing. In the face of her disgrace, would the Amyrlin ask for her resignation from the Hall and exile her from the Tower, or would she continue to let Aramina suffer for her deplorable behavior that night?

Aramina sur Dulciena

Battle Captain

Lost Soul

OOC: I loved the song bit :P Perfect! And I didn't have Aramina getting to Sirayn yet just because I wasn't sure if this would be in her private chambers or if she needed to announce herself to the Keeper and be sent in. :P

*

Every time she crossed the threshold into her new quarters a shiver worked its way through her. She had lived too long in the white city not to recognise where power lay, a knowledge that sharpened her senses, thrilled in her bones. As the world turned around Tar Valon, so Tar Valon turned around the Tower; a saying all children learnt at their mother’s knee, but sisters knew its unwritten postscript; the Tower turned around the Amyrlin Seat. So if one cut out all the intervening steps it could be said that the world, however indirectly, now turned around her. Cause enough for irony and, alone, she permitted herself a small dark smile.

Sometimes she got the sense that a cosmic joke was being played on her. Ranking as the most powerful woman in the world, the finery of a dozen nations assorted in her new quarters, and all for the benefit of a crippled midget who would never have made it to the shawl in more discriminating times.

No, she had no illusions about that. Her paltry strength had barely been sufficient for the shawl even now and the Light only knew that standards had been lowered by the long centuries of drought. So how was it that she, the weak one, had ended up as undisputed ruler over Tar Valon? A question she had asked herself a thousand times during the brief period she had worn the seven-striped stole and never an answer. Easy to spend all her time second-guessing, of course, but the truth was that she would probably never know, that even her hard-won perception could not open up that particular window. In a way she supposed why wasn’t even important any more. The Last Battle waited on the horizon. She had one shot at winning it. It was a chance duty and inward obstinacy obliged her to take.

As a mere minion she had rarely, if ever, entered the Amyrlin’s personal quarters. All those occasions had been vivid; she remembered making Lanfir Leah Marithsen swear on the Oath Rod that she was not Black Ajah, damn nearly spilling Lyanna’s head along with her blood on the carpet, bright lights and promises … penance and guilt. As a newly minted Amyrlin she had not the luxury of letting those associations trouble her. The quarters still bore the stamp of her predecessor; it fascinated her in a morbid way, how she had simply filled the spaces left by a much greater woman, though the foundations remained the same. Impossible to sleep here. So high up the quality of the light was different, or maybe it was the memories, or the pressure that gripped her too tight for her to ever relax. Eventually she might come to see this as hers by right. Right now she felt like an unwanted guest in her own quarters.

Rather than brood any more she made herself busy straightening out her quarters. Once scattered papers and half-open books had been sorted back into their proper location the whole place looked even more foreign to her. It had been busier here when Lanfir had been Amyrlin Seat. Her predecessor had had Gaidin, her best friend for Keeper, supporters in at all hours. Now it was only her. Not her idea of a fair trade: Lanfir Leah Marithsen, the bright star of her generation, and all the loyal people who loved her … for her. Please Sirayn; will you guard the Light for me when I’m gone? No turning back now. She paced, filling up the silence with the regular sound of her footsteps, and waited for her interruption.

Displaying her usual precise timing Aramina sur Dulciena arrived shortly thereafter. She had intended to begin as smoothly as she had half a hundred other meetings before this, but as she looked on the serene image thus presented to her, immaculate as always, she read into it an earlier memory … Aramina on her knees, ash and tears on her cheeks … and earlier still: the print of a red hand bloody on her wall. She had always been cursed by a memory going back centuries, vivid and intense as though everything had happened only yesterday, and it took her a moment to shake that particular vision. Thus she welcomed the Banner Captain into the spider’s parlour.

The decision to receive her here, in the Amyrlin’s quarters, rather than in her office had been a good one. A more private setting suitable for the spilling of intimate confidences. It was a little calculating, she supposed, but perhaps Aramina would even take it as a compliment and at any rate an Amyrlin was supposed to be intelligent. Intelligence she might need in spades to coax out the truth from wherever it was hiding behind this exquisite shell. The possibility that she herself might cause more damage than she had anticipated … had occurred to her; but it was getting to be time for the truth or nothing, full disclosure, and nothing more held back. So long as it remained a one-way street. Luckily nobody still here could oblige her to talk.

“Do sit down … daughter.†The old honorifics still came too easily to her tongue. Had to cut it out one step at a time; if she did not remember she was the Amyrlin Seat nobody else would. This new one, daughter, carried too much meaning for her; images and longing she had never entirely stamped out. “You and I are due a little discussion. As I think you well know.†Sirayn adopted a precisely calculated smile which ought to be more reassuring than it actually was. Inwardly she was assailed by the abrupt and terrifying sense that she was doing this all wrong, that she ought to have gone about it differently, but the dice had been cast and she could only deal with the results.

“I could order you to tell me everything and you would have no choice in the matter. That is both the blessing and the curse of the Order. I will not order you. But I will ask you … as one soldier to another, as a sister, and as your Mother … I will ask you. Just once. If you should choose not to answer me, that is entirely your decision, and I will respect it.†She regarded Aramina evenly across the empty space between them. “If you trust me, then tell me.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

*

She had avoided thinking of this moment. For all her preparations for the future and the hours she spent planning and overcoming any foreseeable obstacle, she hadn’t been able to imagine being faced with this choice. Choice it was, though if she would have taken the time, she would never have believed a choice would be offered. Ever shrewd and calculating, Sirayn had it in her power to order her to talk. If being the Amyrlin Seat hadn’t opened Aramina’s lips, her oaths to Sirayn over 100 years prior would have seen to that. In all that time, Aramina had never considered balking at an order or a request. Sirayn’s word had simply been law for her, and while at times she might have questioned the woman on tactics, their goals had always been the same. A strong Tower. It was the only passion in Aramina’s life that she gave free reign to. There were those who thought of Aramina as a cold and manipulative person with no possible warmth or charm, that her only contributions to the Tower were her Eyes and Ears. Aramina had no problem letting fools believe the way they would. It worked well for her own work to remain alone and aloof, untouched by the hands of people that thought they knew better, that believed they could help her in a Game they could hardly say, let alone converse intelligently in. A handful of people had ever heard her speak passionately about the White Tower. Sirayn Damodred was one of them. Her Captain General at the time, she had taken interest in Aramina and had probably shaped her into the Aes Sedai she was now more than anyone.

Except… the names were too painful to think of sometimes and one she had blocked from her active memory as soon as she could, not allowing herself grief or time to let her tormented soul mend. Action suited her better and she had moved on. But the other… Natalie…. She shivered lightly at the remembrance of the other night, of the glow around Nat and the love in her gaze, the gentle touch of her hand on Aramina’s chin as she prepared to take Aramina to meet her Creator.

The memory was almost too painful to stand and she closed her eyes against the onslaught of images that had yet to still. Images that had haunted her since she had gained the Green Shawl; a young girl alone in the Tower with only a roommate to find her way, two young women coming together as friends and remaining true to it when all else changed around them, getting the word that Natalie Sedai had died on the Battlefield far from home, alone. It was almost too much to be asked, in the light of day, in the Amyrlin’s private quarters. Even in her state of duress Aramina recognized that it was an honor to be asked to the private quarters. A calculated move or something to ensure privacy? Perhaps neither or both. In her dealings with Sirayn she had learned it was always best to assume Sirayn knew everything.

The question was, could she answer? She had refused to think of the night’s repercussions on her own life because they had simply been too much to think of when she needed to set everything else to right. Would she be removed from the Order and Sirayn’s confidence on those matters? Would she be asked to leave the Hall? The Tower? Or would the woman before her simply destroy her by commanding her to stop her work? They were all possible and Aramina didn’t like to know that she had done this to herself.

But then again, Aramina remembered other things as well. A hand up from the floor, words of strength and comfort in a time when Aramina had needed them. A sure answer that let her know her help was still needed by others. She didn’t know what Sirayn had meant at those moments but she took a sort of strength from them anyway.

She didn’t let her normal nature stop her this time. Like her meeting that had cast her lot with Sirayn’s years before, Aramina let her heart speak. “Mother, if there is anyone in this world I would trust, it would be you.†She said. “Our lives have been bound together by oath and goal, by Games and by love of the Tower. I could wish that you hadn’t asked for this and that what you witnessed had never come to pass, but I cannot undo these things. Perhaps, in the speaking of truth, in the giving of trust, I can learn something of it myself.†She paused, thinking before she continued.

“I hardly know what to tell you, where to begin.†She said honestly. “What you saw, was the illusion of Natalie Sedai, Mother, a Green Sister who died years ago. My roommate as a Novice, and my only friend.â€

Aramina

*

Truth to tell she had had her doubts about the wisdom of this choice. These quarters, fraught with memory, only infused further doubt and she could not afford uncertainty. Offering the other woman a choice implied that the matter was not serious enough to require full Amyrlin weight behind an order, or worse, that it was not her business at all; that despite the public scene it remained a private affair for Aramina to deal with as discretion demanded; perhaps, that she yielded up her right as the Banner Captain’s overall commander to require and be granted this information. Not to mention it opened up the unfortunate possibility that Aramina could decide not to talk.

Her call upon the other woman’s discretion only went so far. That much she could not permit. Aramina could have this choice … so long as she chose the right way. If she decided not to be forthcoming Sirayn contemplated the unfortunate necessity of having to change her mind for her. No doubt this unspoken warning had already occurred to her companion. By taking this gamble she had placed herself in a delicate situation, unnecessarily so, but at the same time one with potential to give great returns; keeping her own counsel, she watched obliquely under dark lashes as Aramina turned over her options, and no small amount of silent relief from her greeted the moment that Aramina started talking.

Natalie. A name that fitted a pretty woman, even in her most recent incarnation as a malevolent shade, red-headed and freckled and smiling as she lured Aramina toward waiting death. That sudden image chilled her: a flash from the past, vivid in blood and ash and strain. If she had been a fraction slower, if she had done anything but act on instinct and panic … that little picture would have moved to its inevitable conclusion. It ought not to matter to her; Amyrlins did not have the luxury of sentiment. Even when they wished, with a silent and increasing desperation, that Aramina would be somebody else for them.

Macabre to think it, she supposed, and unfair as well. In one way or another she had already killed Jehanine de’Gavrielle twice; once when the knife in the darkness claimed the wrong one of the two dark-haired Green Ajah veterans living side by side, once again when a shade stepped from a mirror. How many more times did she have to put that brilliant and much loved woman to the sword before she learnt to leave it alone? To make Aramina into her image condemned her as well. She had no right. And yet … if I asked, would you lie to me … she had the useless feeling that if she could only frame the right question, put all that history and blood and bitter guilt into words, she could fix this somehow.

A fool’s thought. Done was done; a broken glass could never be repaired in exactly the same way. She stamped out those thoughts with care and precision, impassive as always, still striving for that perfect Aes Sedai serenity. Easy enough for her of course; she was on the right side of this interrogation. Perhaps it was unfair of her to demand disclosure from another when she had gone to such lengths to avoid doing so herself. Too late now. Any possibility that she might trust someone had gone when she donned the seven-striped stole and her duty to act here was clear. “Continue.†It was a quiet instruction.

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

*

There was no hope of reprieve for Aramina. In some distant part of her she had hoped that the name enough, the name she never spoke and the memories she had never shared with another, would be protected still, but in truth she had known when she said that beloved name she would have to continue. She took a deep breath, such an uncharacteristic sign of weakness in herself, to show before the world that she was unsettled by this telling, her hands clutched at her mid section as if the slight pressure would stop the nausea and the things that kicked at her insides. She had no control over these memories, no control over the emotions they forced, unleashed upon her.

Light, it had taken 5 years as an Accepted to face the death of the woman she had called friend. If anyone could have claimed to know her, they would have said she had never truly stopped grieving for Natalie, but had instead channeled it into what she had become. And Aramina knew they would be right for saying it. Her determination to be a Green Sister had sprung from Natalie, from being able to do what she and Natalie had always dreamed about doing together. Her life outside the Tower was a way to make up for the emotionless state she lived in here, though she always shied away from any personal entanglements. At least, since Michael. The one person in all the years who had found a way inside her walls, inside the cold exterior she had created, and her grief was still unspent. She would never grieve for him. She would never mention his name. She rarely allowed herself to think of him for the same rush of torment that would inevitably unhinge her solid mask of competence and contentment.

What words would convey to the Amyrlin Seat, no to Sirayn Sedai. She was the Mother, of course, but in this she had demanded nothing, had ordered nothing from her. In this she felt safe saying that she faced Sirayn Sedai. And what could she say to Sirayn that would explain the sight she had seen? The certain death that she had saved Aramina from? The willing death.

“I had no one when I came to the Tower. My roommate was the one that showed me around, that helped me find my way in those first days when confusion would have overwhelmed me and perhaps my own fears might have sent me running. Nat, Natalie was a small girl with no great stamina but she had a strong spirit and that carried her much farther than I would have thought it could in those days. I looked out for her and she took care of me. It was as simple as that I suppose. She was my friend.â€

“I was raised to Accepted rather quickly and she soon after me. She reached the shawl as quickly also, leaving me in the banded hems for a while, alone. I still received notes from her, visits in the late of night when no one would notice an Aes Sedai calling on an Accepted. Our friendship remained in tact though no one knew it. When she died, I was devastated. I went numb and couldn't continue to function. I think the Sisters believed I would never move past it, that I would remain an Accepted forever.†She said with a small shuttered breath.

“But as years passed, it came to me that the only way I could honor Natalie was to continue on with the things we had dreamt of.†She smiled in remembrance. “We had dreamed of being Green Sisters together. We might not be able to be there together, but I was determined to become a part of the Green Ajah, to in truth call Natalie my Sister. When I made that choice, I moved through my studies again with greater speed and diligence. And then I had to face you to join the Green Ajah.â€

Aramina

*

Silence crept in deep and heavy to fill the space once her companion had finished speaking. Early light spilled through a window above their heads and lit all the glass and polished wood to brightness; its dazzle distracted her momentarily and she let it do so rather than have to speak. Briefly she imagined she could see half a hundred shades trapped in the broad beams of light before her. It stung her and she turned her head away from that image. Dead and dearly beloved sisters, black pasts, it seemed they had more in common than she had first thought; and as the stillness drew out she suspected that in their own way both of them were trapped by history’s chains.

Memories still lay so close beneath the surface. If she let herself brood at all she might wake something that had never truly slept, a thread gone black and quiet over time, like an break that had never healed straight. The tale stirred old images for her, times best left forgotten … the print of a red hand on her wall, the silence and solemnity of a Green Ajah funeral, thirteen black forms by her bed in the middle of the night … no, that she dared not remember, stamped out the pictures before an echo of fear could steal into her. Outwardly she remained still and unmoved as a statue. Light bless a good White Tower education; she need show nothing to her enemies or anyone else.

Ironic that of all people to be confronted by Aramina sur Dulciena and the desperate grief of years past it should be her. Maybe it would be easy to dispense wisdom where it was murderous hard to take it; otherwise she had precious little choice, she could not afford to damage her Banner Captain the way she had done to herself. An Amyrlin Seat should not be moved by doubt. Even when they were so new to the seven-striped stole they reached for the wrong honorific or in so far over their heads they couldn’t sleep for worrying. Light but she had never wished so much to break her self-imposed ban on drinking.

Cool, calm and in control: that was her, the world’s shortest and most crippled saviour. “Tai’shar Battle Ajah.†She gave it a dry twist. Dry because people took that famous phrase so easily, it had become a cheap currency, when to a handful it meant everything; dry, of course, because she herself would never be Battle Ajah again. It hurt her to think that she could never step into the Hall of Swords again as one who belonged there, even as Captain General, when she had craved that so much she had risked everything for it. But in a way … one never stopped being a soldier and sister for the Ajah she had given centuries to. Even as seven-striped as she was. Even when lowered into the ground.

If only she had not been lonely all her life. So much time had already passed for Aramina Sedai, but not so much as for her, perhaps the damage could be undone. She had never failed this woman before and she would not do so now. Let her find the old magic again. “I have been looking for you all my life,†said Sirayn, deliberate and even. “I recognised something in you the first time we met. You earned your shawl from my own hands. Time and again you have proven yourself to me. You are my right hand; I have faith in you. I will not lose you. Not to a blade, not to a memory, not for anything. You are mine, sworn and sealed, and if it comes to it I will protect you from yourself.â€

Damn. She ought to keep her possessiveness better covered up. All the same, when she remembered ash and tears and Aramina on her knees, she wanted to smash something; it outraged her that anything should damage that exquisite Cairhienin composure. Nothing was going to hurt this woman again. She ordered it so. Let people cross her if they dared. “But these are the black years. There is no more time for sentiment; now the Order must prove itself in the fires. I need to know,†tension had her in a tight grip, this was the problem with needing people, “that you will still be strong when I need you. If the past walks again you must be on your feet and at my side where you belong. I have to be sure -- sure this is over, sure you will never falter again. Sure beyond the shadow of a doubt. Can you promise me that? Daughter?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

And we're glad to have you. :D

Both would live. Thank the Light; it eased a tightness in her she had been preferring to ignore, a small sign of weakness, to see the threads of healing restore some life to the two who had fallen to tonight's chaos. She had never liked Estel Liones, not half so much as she did the woman's older and better behaved sister, but to see the Domani Blue stir at the hands of some attentive healer filled her with a certain satisfaction. Though the forces roaming tonight were beyond her control, even her comprehension, their work at least could be undone. If it had to be step by step, one grinding inch at a time, the Tower would overcome this trouble as it had all others.

Playing the cool observer it startled her indeed watching Estel Liones rise grim and bloody to her feet. She had not thought the woman had such strength in her; after the trials of times past, the tears and the powerless fury, who would have expected this particular Aes Sedai to have any courage left? She contemplated her young companion, cold grey eyes and steady face, wondering what else she didn't know about Estel Sedai. Perhaps the time had come for this one to stop playing at being half a child and become a genuine Aes Sedai. There was so little time left and the Tower had need of good women. Great need brought out the best in some, she knew that well herself, it was only stress and danger that had made her who she was. Maybe Estel would find her own steel tonight.

A half-ruined diplomat, a schemer near undone by her own demons, a lion-hearted Borderlander and this strange woman whom she suspected had not entirely accepted the blue shawl on her shoulders. And these were the people she intended to save the Tower. Well, she had lost battles, but she did not make a practice of losing wars; if they were not yet strong enough to be what she needed she would have to make them so. Let them be enough. “If you are ready,†Sirayn gave that phrase layers of meaning, though for once no disdain for this particular Blue, “then we go on.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

Fellow Cairhienin as lovely … she managed to stamp out both a defensive what do you mean by that and a wry your standards are low before continuing. “Yes, I hear all about you and lovely Cairhienin Aes Sedai. Brave man.†No names; she was not here to discipline anyone. “I had half a mind to speak to you of just one such. I believe we are both … acquainted … with a sister of mine? Aramina sur Dulciena.â€

Well, thats where this is going then. Still, the conversation hadn't taken a turn for the worse yet, so there was no need to invite trouble. Grinning, Aran shrugged. "Oh I've met with her on a few occasions, she's a rather remarkable person, bladework isn't too bad either."

Two could play at that game. “One of the Tower’s finest.†She smiled a benevolent smile, just an older Aes Sedai checking up on a student of sorts, nothing suspicious here. “Fortunately my work excuses me from sparring with all these bright young things,†that and the memory of the very public reminder that she was all but useless without her left hand, “so I have not yet collected any bruises from her. Still, I fear that even a well-swung sword is not tantamount to invincibility, even paired with good Green Ajah training.†She left that hanging to see if he would bite.

Smiling, Aran wondered why Sirayn did not broach the issue she had come to speak with him of. It certainly wasn't to inquire about Aramina's skill with a Katana, then again she was Cairhienin like himself, except unlike him she still observed the forms. But, Aran rarely observed the forms unless he had to, or if the whim struck him. "You should take the time, all work and no play is unhealthy. Not that my officers would agree, but we rarely do."

Blissfully ignored! A fellow Cairhienin did not need to be beaten over the head with a point; it was like trying to dance when her partner refused to move his feet. She supposed she ought to be blunt, though it felt like rudeness to her political senses; she couldn’t exactly ask him if he was being deliberately obtuse. “I’m short a hand. I can’t play any more.†A cool comment, hopefully not too insulting. Nothing if not persistent, Sirayn tried again to draw her opponent out. “I hear Aramina Sedai may be considering a visit to our native land. Has she mentioned it to you by any chance?â€

"She has not. No doubt she has important business of some sort there." Looking to Sirayn with an eyebrow raised in reproof, Aran continued. "And being a hand short doesn't mean you can't play anymore, it simply means you must change how you play. If you practiced as much with the blade now as you did when you had both hands, you could rediscover the skill you once had. One handed does not mean helpless."

Now that had to be deliberate. She was done and twice done with being mocked by Tower Guards! After they let their people do whatever they liked under the protection of the red cloak, as if they had no duty to attend to, nothing to keep them even on the right side of the law -- blood and ashes. Count to ten. She calmed herself down inch by inch, did her best to remember that this was not and never would be Corin Danveer or anyone else, that she could not make anyone else pay on their behalf. “Thank you, Master Aran.†It was entirely toneless. Enough with being Cairhienin then. She cut straight to the point. “I am concerned for my sister’s safety. Cairhien is a dangerous place for the likes of us. I want someone to observe and protect her on her travels. Interested?â€

Aramina hadn't organised an escort again? He was going to have to have a word with her about that. He didn't like the change in Sirayn either, touchy subject or not he'd given it in good faith. "She has no escort then. Why approach me? One does not usually handpick Tower Guards. Why come to me with this instead of Captain Paranov or Commander Vedrig?" Pausing, Aran thought to himself why not? "And don't be so cranky, I told you you're capable and I meant it."

Inwardly she sought composure. Aes Sedai should not respond to public needling; no matter how close to the nerve it came. He was a little shorter than Corin, a little darker, and certainly he lacked the right manners, and different. Even if he had inadvertently -- she assumed inadvertently -- hit on the exact same tack clever, clever Corin Danveer had used to trick her. No more of it. He was lying as much as the boy had ever been. “I appreciate your … endorsement.†She gave it the same lack of inflection. If she kept stonewalling this he would have to drop it eventually. “I required someone with a knowledge of Cairhien and of Aramina sur Dulciena. Someone who knew how to swing a sword and, preferably, how and when not to. I already knew you. Problem solved. Should you accept, that is.â€

What is her problem? It might have been easy to brush it off as her simply being self conscious about her lack of a hand, but she no longer covered it up with lace like she did when they first met so that couldn't be it. "Clearly you don't... And someone will have to do it, may as well be me." Pausing, he strayed over to the side of the conversation Sirayn clearly didn't want to go yet again. "So tell me, what is the problem? If you can't accept my words at face value, are you sure you can trust me with this?"

Trust the defence and safety of Aramina, her bright prospect for the future, to an insolent Cairhienin who didn’t dare use his second name even this far from the Topless Towers? Truth to tell she trusted nobody that much. If this one made himself useful even in the smallest way to a Green Sister far from home, in the murderous intrigues of Cairhien, she considered it an investment paid off. Not that she could say as much. Having tried the same trick earlier, she recognised the sound of a conversation being steered onto a narrow track of the other person’s making: “Aramina Sedai thinks you trustworthy.†The latter would not be the first to have her head turned by a Tower Guard. She stamped out the disloyal thought. “If you turn out to be a raving madman or a Cairhienin agent of some sort, well, all of life is a learning experience. I dare say Aramina Sedai will deal with it satisfactorily.†Let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Aran grinned. "Thats a blatant evasion and you know it. She may trust me, but she's not the one asking me to do this. You're the one asking, which means your trust is an issue. Don't get me wrong, I will do this because Aramina Sedai will need protection and I can keep her safe in Cairhien, but like I said before, if you won't put any trust in what I say, are you sure I am the one to be asking?"

His lack of manners disconcerted her. It had been a long time since anyone spoke to her so; even Corin had been polite, at least up until he started speculating on how long someone would last under forkroot before they went insane. If she could not command unquestioning obedience, she probably didn’t deserve it, but someone had to set an example for the novices. She let it slide for the moment. “If you come across Aramina Sedai in difficulties, I trust you will stab her opponent rather than her. I also trust you know which knife and fork to use if you have to be presentable. That is all that matters. Master Aran.â€

And she had said he was short. Chuckling, he shook his head at her. "No it isn't, not even close, but I suppose it will have to do for now since you're going to be so stubborn about it. When does Aramina Sedai leave? And do you know how many days she planned to stay there for? The more information you can give me, the better prepared I will be. I am guessing she doesn't know about this arrangement, so its not as if I can ask her myself."

Aramina must have the patience of a statue. Perhaps her fellow Aes Sedai was a masochist; it was the only reason she could see for tolerating being called stubborn and cranky at every opportunity. Still, at least her stonewalling had been successful enough. If there was anything she hated it was having her intensely private motivations pried into by dubiously-intentioned strangers. “She leaves in three days’ time. Dawn is the usual procedure.†Cool and unperturbed, that was the effect she needed to put across. Aes Sedai were supposed to be imperturbable. “I don’t know how long she’ll stay any more than she does. The work is not regular. No more than three weeks by my reckoning. More than that I cannot say.â€

"Dawn? Thats obscenely early." Grinning, he'd already decided what he was going to do. Aramina could be argumentative, so the easiest thing for both of them would be if he simply trailed her. Once he was in Cairhien with her, she couldn't really do much except take him along, as opposed to her trying to send him back on the first day. "But dawn I can manage. Three days should be plenty of time to get Captain Paranov's approval and all should be well. If she asks, do you mind if I mention it was you or do you want your name ommitted, seeing as you've come to me instead of her."

Even this one could produce a bit of Tower Guard efficiency on occasion. Thank the Light for that. “I … would prefer not to be mentioned.†If the worst came to the worst she could handle the other Aes Sedai, in fact she was possibly the only person who could be assured of coming out on top, but Sirayn preferred not to use such tactics save in last resort. It was on the tip of her tongue to add that it was not good, when watching a puppet show, to see whose hand held the strings, but on second thoughts a puppet metaphor might find its way back to Aramina in record time. “Consider me an anonymous patron.†She surveyed her chosen instrument drily.

Anonymous patron indeed, she was artful enough with her words but Aran knew he'd touched a spot earlier. "Then anonymous patron you shall be, though no doubt that means I will receive an earful for my trouble. Nothing unusual there though." Grinning, he lifted a finger towards her as he spoke. "And if you think you think I've forgotten about before, think again. I'm rather curious as to why an upstanding, wholesome and entirely honourable individual like myself isn't worthy of your trust. So, if I don't find out now, I will find out when I get back. Unless you just want to tell me now?"

He had an unnatural obsession with convincing strange women to trust him. She found this neither upstanding, wholesome nor honourable, but what did she know? “Perhaps you could turn your attention to Aes Sedai and their trips to Cairhien,†Sirayn prompted in relatively mild tones. It was easier to be smooth now she no longer had to handle the pressing and persistent threat of some Tower Guard’s unsatisfied curiosity. She had erred badly to let him glimpse a weakness at all. A lesson she would have learnt by next time. “If you will excuse me, Master Aran? I have places to be.â€

Grinning, he realised this was going to be an interesting challenge. It would definitely keep him occupied once he returned. "Then it shall have to wait until I return." Sweeping his hand before them, he added. "Of course, you have my leave. But remember, when I get back I will get to the bottom of this, one way or the other." Which he would, he had no room for doubt. The question was more how long it would take, he had a suspicion it would take sometime.

Aran, Tower Guard &

Sirayn, Aes Sedai

Heat hazed the streets; sunlight slid in among the dust churned up by passers-by. Slate and metal and bright glass glittered blindingly. Traders crying their wares at the local market, bells, chatter and the distant clang of iron on iron at a smithy formed a tapestry of differing sounds. It eased even her restless nerves a little. She knew Tar Valon in her bones, like a complicated and not always trustworthy second skin, and though it had sometimes betrayed her she felt at home here as nowhere else. Aside from the not insignificant part where it was the stronghold of Aes Sedai power, it also provided a convenient staging post for her to pick up Eyes and Ears reports, half the reason why Sirayn had ventured from her ivory tower this particular afternoon.

The stifling round of paperwork, politics and pressure normally had her in a vice-like grip until late at night, sometimes she imagined she was living in a bubble where only information stripped of any personal impact passed through, but for once she’d picked a more sociable hour to make a break for it. She rather liked the warmth compared to the bitter winters she had seen out in the Borderlands; and how distant those memories seemed now, banished by the tint of golden sun. Of course she would never be anonymous in summer again. Even the most modest style of dress named her for all to see as the survivor of that Darkfriend incident, not that the truth of it had ever entered the realm of public knowledge, thank the Light. Only the heavy, muffling fashions of winter covered up the marks. But time healed all wounds, or so she had heard tell, and she no longer felt so ashamed.

Her oblique approach took her though a lesser-used corner of the yards; a leather-clad ball rolled in front of her immediately and she restrained the un-Aes Sedai impulse to kick it back. Anyone who had played games a lot as a child had that instinct wired into their bones. Yes, the Tower’s highly skilled guardians were maintaining their usual strict discipline … A crunching tackle at high speed made her wince. This particular game was not being played with the protective rules she and her brothers had used when they were but scraps of children in the forests of southern Andor. Avoiding the game, she homed in on her target.

Aran the drinker, womaniser and rogue. Aran with no second name and a suspicious lack of history. It was this that worried her most; most people couldn’t exercise discretion for love nor money, so what was he hiding? Aran, who greeted her with a smile and a compliment, something she found unreasonably flattering. She did not entirely smile in response, not in public, but she recognised a straight line when she heard one: “Master Aran. You’re looking short.†Now if she could just get everyone to lie on the ground when she dealt with them, she would always be the tallest. She entertained this image with brief satisfaction. “Are you busy? I had something to discuss with you, but I could come back later … after this important question of Tar Valon security ends.†She indicated the ongoing game with a dry look.

Sirayn

Aes Sedai

Congrats Russ!

Patience! What kind of example are you setting? :D

Congrats! :D

By the red light of sunset Sirayn sat alone at a window somewhere in the lower reaches of the Tower, reading a letter. Nobody disturbed her though novices scattered to and fro like starlings; no servant passing through the corridors bearing a mop and brush, nor the sisters who sometimes swept past, all serenity and looking immaculate … only the bright crimson light flooded through the open window and cast a scarlet tint across her, as though the set face and her solitary hand were etched in blood. Not that anyone should have comprehended her letter anyway, even had they been reading over her shoulder, for it looked to the unwary eyes to have been written in gibberish. Such was only necessary to protect her dealings with certain folk of whom she would not wish the Tower to hear.

Initially she had been as composed as anyone while reading her letter. Gradually however, her mouth began to twist in some suppressed feeling; her eyes narrowed; novices began to give her an even wider berth as they passed by. It satisfied her indeed that Serena had managed to provide so much useful information, another sign that her trust in the little Blue Sister had been well placed, but the news this letter brought … pleased her rather less.

Aiel channellers! Sisters being forced into unskilled labour like mere novices! The harsh treatment set her teeth on edge. She had already known the so-called Dragon Reborn had no respect for Aes Sedai, that was clear enough by the abandon with which he had murdered some, but to put the survivors through an extended version of torture did not improve her view of him at all. No self respecting Aes Sedai let a mere child, a mad channeller of no education or integrity whatsoever, hurt people who belonged to them … and she promised herself that some day she would get her revenge.

Though her accomplice warned against it in her letter, briefly Sirayn considered using force to break her Aes Sedai sisters from their captivity. Every day they remained under oath in that wretched camp, being treated like common labourers, outraged the Tower further. She could not move openly against the Dragon Reborn, not without the Hall’s backing and burn her if she would go anywhere near the Hall with this, but a Battle Ajah member did not survive as long as she if they could not move discreetly. She was half tempted to send other Order members to get them out, those she could at least trust and had their own measure of competence, but it risked too much; the Light only knew what the Dragon and his madmen might make of her people. Perhaps mercenaries as she had originally suspected … a strike under the cover of night, to permit her folk to free themselves … Aes Sedai of the proper acuity could slip an oath as easily as a collar, perhaps they might be able to flee.

All sounded too dangerous. If she incited the captured folk to rise up in any way she risked the possibility that the Dragon Reborn would grow tired of tormenting them and simply execute them, or worse, turn them against the Tower. Bound though the captives were to the supposed Dragon, Serena at least seemed able and willing to assist, the oaths could not be too strongly conflicting at this point. Of course, had he a particularly sadistic frame of mind, all the Dragon had to do to hurt them was to bring their oaths into conflict. No, she could not let Aes Sedai be turned against Aes Sedai. The memory of Dumai’s Wells, blood and mud and chaos under a crisp sky, convinced her of that. The Dragonsworn question troubled her for some time after she had retired to her quarters; it was only late into the night that she finally set pen to paper to create a response.

Serena Sedai,

I am greatly relieved to hear from you. I admit, I had wondered whether my letter would gain any response at all, since even if it reached you I could not assure that you would be able to reply. You may be interested to hear that I am not the only Tower agent concerned for the welfare of those trapped in the Dragon Reborn’s captivity, nor the best connected, and though I must by necessity protect the means of our communication I have passed along information as discreetly as possible where I deem it proper. I am determined that I will see you all freed in due course come hell or high water. I got you in there and I will get you out.

It is not necessary to make further oaths to me, I know your loyalty. You have endured danger and hardship to put this in my hands; I will not forget it. Once you return to the Tower, as you may be certain I will arrange, you will be received in all honour. Your letter is most excellent; I expected no less from you. This information is a necessary step toward achieving our goals, which is to say, extracting you and your sisters with the least amount of damage all round -- or at least on the Tower’s side, any love for the so-called Dragon I might have had has vanished by now. Nevertheless, since we will not take independent action against the Dragon without the Hall’s sanction and I would rather have a close encounter with hot coals than go before the Hall again, we will endeavour to avoid confrontation with the Dragon Reborn’s minions.

All in all I gather that breaking you out by force would be not only counter-productive but possibly doomed to failure. I am devoting my attention to more creative means of freeing you. One option that springs to mind -- and you must not, I repeat must not, under any circumstances mention this to anyone else -- is that any oaths you have sworn are, shall we say, more flexible than their makers intended? Any inconvenient promises binding you now may be removed just as fast as we can get you into the proximity of the Oath Rod. Therefore return to the Tower as soon as possible and we will free you from your unnatural servitude. Prevail upon the Dragon Reborn to send you back to us. Deceive him, tell him tall tales, it matters not. The boy is likely so addled by the Taint madness that he will not notice, if in his ignorance he even knows the failings of the Three Oaths.

Any research you can do into this option would be of the greatest use to us. Otherwise your orders remain as they always are. Observe and learn. Maintain the dignity suitable to an Aes Sedai as much as is possible under the Dragon Reborn’s constraints. If you can ensure the co-operation of your fellow captives, do so with all speed. Relay everything you hear to me and wait for further instructions.

Under the Light,

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Sister of the Battle Ajah

Later, when she got time and solitude enough to review the whole incident, she estimated that the drawings had been up for a good four hours before she ever glimpsed them herself. Hours for those sketches to hang in all their deceptive innocence on public pillars. Hours for every passer by to admire some cynic’s impression of a certain Blue Sister, in whose reputation and career she had great interest, and who could scarcely afford further damage. Hours for rumours to spread. Had she approached it as a containment exercise -- which she had no intentions of doing, if anyone was going to put themselves out over it it should be one Estel Liones, perhaps it would stir her exquisite Domani beauty to some actual work -- it would have challenged her own cunning to the limit. It was damn near impossible to convince so many people to silence without giving anything away.

Somewhat to her later discomfiture, having been the target of public ridicule herself in her less politically defended days, her reaction when she first came across half a dozen interested novices staring at a poster was less than the ideal Aes Sedai response. She snapped at them quick enough; they fled like startled starlings, a precisely calculated effect of tone and bearing, and left her confronted by an image of such cruel accuracy that it stole the sarcastic comment she had intended to make. No mistaking its model. It was impossible to confuse those striking Domani looks, nor the damaging effects of certain secret hardships, even distorted by a satirist’s skill. The look of glowering fury, the caption … only too perfect.

The proper response in this circumstance would be to tear down the poster. It reflected poorly on Aes Sedai image, something of great importance to her, and besides the more rank and stature Estel gained the more use that Domani wretch might be. Perhaps eventually enough to repay her for the time and trouble she had put into the Blue Ajah’s kicked puppy. Instead entirely against all protocol she studied the paper again, brows lifting only a fraction, and her mouth twitched as a suppressed smile fought to break free. Must not smile at another Aes Sedai’s discomfort in public. Must not. And yet … ruthlessly she stamped out the beginnings of outward laughter. It seemed that Estel had stepped on some kitten’s tail. A kitten with claws.

Most likely this had been mocked up by some bored wit. As such, it was a demonstration of some artistic worth, but of no more interest to her. If one took it, however, as a carefully structured campaign of public slander against which no Aes Sedai could strike back effectively … timed and placed to gain maximum exposure … it became a work of real beauty. Art held no meaning for her by itself; now politics and revenge she knew intimately. If she had possessed any more artistic talent than a rock, or possibly even if she had had two thoughts to rub together in her young and daring years, she might have taken the same tactic herself.

Perhaps she should investigate this terrible crime further. As an affront to Aes Sedai dignity, it required proper attention and punishment. And if it should happen to introduce her to a sharp political mind, possibly suitable to be added to her collection, why that would only be prudent in preventing any further … outbreaks of levity. Her mouth was still curling a little at the edge when she took the poster down, careful not to tear the paper, and rolled it up. Briefly it occurred to her that the author in question could have stayed around to observe the effect; discreetly she scanned the hall, quick grey glance under dark lashes, but detected nothing suspicious among the lingerers. Present or no that person would meet her soon enough. Armed with this unflattering portrait Sirayn went to pay a call.

She disliked effortlessly gorgeous Domani women. She disliked the unreasonably tall. She disliked stupidity, especially when it was so contagious as to spread to everyone around, and most especially of all when it had to be displayed in public. Estel Liones stood at the unfortunate junction of all these unwanted traits; as such, the secret connections which neither could afford to see publicised protected her only from serious wrath, not from the daily sarcasm Sirayn liked to treat her to. It kept her opponent interestingly furious, the Domani whelp seethed like a teacup left too long to boil, and the beauty of it was that Estel had no way at all of striking back. Tormenting the helpless had a certain appeal. It was like kicking a puppy, only far more satisfying.

Therefore, when the Blue Ajah door opened before her at her sharp knock, she made no attempt whatsoever to feign sympathy. She had no compunctions about doing so. Once this ridiculously tall woman gained the strength to defend her and her dependents, then she would perhaps gain the right not to be harassed by unsympathetic superiors such as one Sirayn Damodred. Instead she held up the vividly drawn poster and smiled beatifically: the smile of one who was enjoying another’s misfortune and knew herself entirely safe from retribution. “It seems your fame is spreading, Estel Sedai. I trust this is nothing to do with anybody’s Warder? This time?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Everybody's best friend!

As usual Arie, the answer is no I'm afraid. ;) Thanks for fielding this query.

Sunet, you are welcome to return. Your information should be logged on www.whitetowerdiv.org and your bio is here. I can't find your One Power scores logged - how far did you get with them?

Welcome back!

Username: Ranine Alsufai

Handle at DM/WT: Oregon

Email: oregonstatejesus@hotmail.com

Physical Description: Delicate and proud, Ranine Alsufai sees herself as more pretty than beautiful. Her deep brown eyes are always in motion, as if constantly searching for...something. She Her close cropped hair is lost in the netherworld between red and brown. Between her short hair and heigh (barely five feet tall in shoes), if one didn\'t know better, it wouldn\'t be hard to mistake Ranine for a young boy. She would sneer at the notion, but do nothing to correct it.

Place of birth: South of Shienar

Age: 17

Character History: oregonstatejesus@hotmail.com

“Pride, my daughter. That is your greatest sin. You may have the bearing of a princess, but the blood that flows in your veins is cruder stuff.â€

Such were the words of Maicel Alsufai to his only daughter, Ranine. Maicel did his best to provide for Ranine, but life had done him no favors – in his mind. He was a cautious man, to the point that his neighbors mocked him – openly and to his face – calling him Mistrustful Maicel amongst other, crueler, things. They whispered none too softly about his ineptitude as both farmer and father. As the years passed, his bitterness grew. All his carefully sown seeds had yielded what? A failing farm south of the borderlands, and a dead wife. And of course, Ranine.

Maicel loved her dearly, of course, and did everything he in his power to provide her a comfortable childhood. Even in the best of times, however – from which these were far removed – as many of his crops failed as not. An empty belly and shivering cold became as much the staples of her early years as grain and meat. His paranoia extended to the point that he would seldom let her play with the children of neighboring farms. He contrived every excuse to keep her close to him at all times, and as she grew he began to lean on her ever more to keep even their meager existence afloat.

Perhaps it was inevitable that a young girl’s devotion to a beloved father would twist and changed as the years shaped them both. Ranine was growing into a pretty young woman – eyes turned ever towards the horizon – and he…he was drawing ever further into himself, and his bottle. Now when Ranine looked upon Maicel, she saw him not as a doting father, but as he truly was: unhappy, overcautious, and increasingly enfeebled by age and drink.

By the time of her eleventh name day, Ranine was speaking openly of a desire to go into the world, and these words filled her father with an icy dread – both for her sake and his own. He was loath to let her venture even as far as their nearest neighbors, for fear she would never return; the tighter he squeezed, the harder she pressed against the bonds. Ranine began wishing – furtively, but truly – that one day when she woke up, that her father would, simply, not.

Their last years together were terrible for father and daughter alike; as Maicel’s need for his daughter increased, Ranine’s need for a father – especially this father – declined. Sometimes, she would steal away in the night, as much to hurt her father as to visit friends. As these absences grew longer and more frequent, and he could contrive no way to keep her near him, his thoughts fled down a desperate path.

Steeling himself to the pain, telling himself it was for the good of his daughter, Maicel brought the wood axe down on his knee, rending flesh and bone alike. His screams were fit to wake the dead but, Maicel knew, now Ranine could never leave him. What daughter could abandon a crippled father? It was all as he planned, except one thing. Ranine had awakened early that morning – who can say why? – and witnessed the whole thing.

Disgust and terror flooded through the girl, still weeks short of her fourteenth name day – if he was willing to do this, then of what else might he be capable? Turning a deaf ear to the screams of her father outside, she packed what little she cared to retain of this life and – hesitating – her father’s few coppers. Shedding not a tear, she stepped out the door. Even half-crazed her father could understand the meaning of her pack and the way she avoided his gaze. Speaking not a word, she stepped past him.

“You’re leaving?! You can’t! You can’t leave! I’m dying! I’ll die!â€

These were the last words she would hear him speak, except in her dreams (and then only seldom). Briefly, guilt consumed her, but Ranine was never one to fret for too long. She had made her choice and now it was time to live with it – if possible. She wasn’t blind to the fact that she had little in the way of experience in the world, and littler still in terms of resources. Heading south, she earned what money she could by scouring pots and pans in inns, and singing in common rooms. What she couldn’t earn, she stole. It wasn’t long before she realized that taking was easier than working, and she abandoned earning all together.

If it wasn’t a glamorous life, neither was it her father’s life. She planned to find her way to Cairhien and settle there for a while. As luck – and her errant sense of direction – would have it, she soon found herself standing outside a different city all together: Tar Valon. She knew little of the fabled city, or the even more fabled inhabitants of its imposing Tower. Winter was coming, however, and she didn’t fancy trying to pick her way across the countryside amongst fierce storms. So it was by happenstance she first arrived inside the walls of the city she would soon call home.

Within days of her arrival, she took ill. Huddled in an alley behind a bank, she might’ve died, if not for the kindness of a stranger who bundled up the wayward and hauled her to the White Tower for Healing, if it could be had. One Healing and one testing later, Ranine found herself much restored, deeply confused, and on the way to the office of the Mistress of Novices.

I'm going to PM you Sandry. :)

For the record, all anyone needs to do to gain approval is to talk to the Mistress of Novices, which is sort of me at the moment, and she may need to consult the roleplay co-ordinator, who is also me. Important questions I'm likely to ask is how your character will achieve this, what she'll do when she succeeds, and what we're going to do about punishment.

I would make a pertinent comment here about how this works out with the Warders Div, but this is not my regular job and for the life of me I can't remember how it goes. I think if I approve something I will need to contact our friends in the Warders Div to make sure it's okay with them too, but I don't recall exactly. I blame the alcohol and the time. :eek:

I don't have a clue what I'm talking about. The alcohol is addling my brain. I'll consult other people. :D

I'm not clear whether you want a Freelander cross-check as the title says. If you'll settle for me, I cross-check for the White Tower. Well written. :)

Sirayn

Daemonster knows his stuff. :D

Please note that:

1. novices need ooc approval from the Mistress of Novices, who is temporarily me, to break ic curfews and limits

2. no matter how many rules you break ic, you still can't train with weapons as a novice

Okay? Let me know if I can help you. :)

Cross checked by the White Tower! You're good to go. Have fun. :D

You'll have to wait until you're Accepted, I'm afraid. Once you reach the banded hem, you can follow these instructions to train with the Warders Div. :)

Cheers!

Sirayn

Perhaps I will. It'd make your day, I'm sure. :roll:

Sorry, James. I was under the impression that Claire was your #2. She and I chat a lot, she was in chat at the time and so I thought I'd turn it over to her. I'll keep my mouth shut in future. :?

Has she? I didn't hear! Sorry about that. Here's hoping James will solve all your problems. ;)

Our bio checker is on maternity leave and I've been asked to take over in her absence. Your bio is awesome! Cross checked. :D