I'll catch the Freelanders #2 in chat and point her your way. Thanks for the heads up. :)

God help us. ;)

That depends. You should hear at least something in about a week. What Division did you send a bio to? :)

Congrats! :D

Is it Jeryl or Jaryl? Just curious. :)

Oops, my mistake! I shall send apologetic chocolates to the correct email. :D

Hi and welcome back Ben! Glad to have you back again. You can catch the lovely silhouette, who is indeed a she, at animewolf_83[at]hotmail[dot]com. Hope you and she can get stuff sorted out.

Cheers,

Sirayn

Hi and welcome aboard! :D

Way to go girl! :D

If she had ever harboured the deceptive impression that the boy held her in high enough esteem not to lie to her she learnt better in less than ten seconds. Excuses! The boy took her for enough of a fool to believe this rubbish, an insult in itself, and should count himself lucky to get away with an icy lift of a brow. He knew perfectly well which order she was referring to. Small glimpses of her displeasure she permitted to show openly: mouth set tight, her grey eyes gone cold: but the greater part she masked beneath her usual composure. So public a venue demanded proper restraint. She had half a mind to drag the boy off by his collar to interrogate him properly, but the Green Ajah had enough scandal attached to its name without high-ranking sisters hauling youngsters into their private quarters, and besides it would attract too much attention.

As if anybody else cared. It twisted her mouth to think how much it cost her to keep all the decorum proper to her rank, a constant effort given the provocation offered to her by the likes of Seiaman Kera, whereas others discarded dignity as easily as another might slip off their shoes. Even when it brought the Tower’s good name into disrepute! She had dedicated herself to one cause and one only with all the single-minded determination she possessed. The smallest benefit to that cause meant infinitely more than anything she would wish for herself. Orders of magnitude more, so that it bemused her that anyone could even think otherwise, that anyone should be less than a satellite orbiting the Tower’s great star. Thus devoted she would never have dreamed of the behaviour her sisters seemed to lower themselves to on a daily basis.

Or one sister in particular. Her meeting with the Domani flipskirt had proven … strange, in a way, and most revealing; but although she had not yet managed to recover her old unshakable contempt for such women, her dislike for the whole class of behaviour remained intact. Once upon a time maybe she had seen the interest to such superficial flirtation, but any softness had been seared out of her long ago and now she would rather burn herself than let somebody touch her. And something about that thought trapped her a moment. Burn herself: a casual turn of thought, overstated of course, and plucked from nothing … but she had known somebody who burned himself to death once. Actually she had been bonded to him at the time. No prizes for guessing why she had buried that memory so deep.

It pleased her in a vindictive way to pick out cracks in his customary mask. A slight tremor underlay his voice, the glance he sent around betrayed discomfort, his words lacked their usual smoothly persuasive quality; all signs that the healing had gone to work on him. If she knew more about the Yellow Ajah’s work perhaps she might have been able to guess how injured he had been, by the fractional slowness of his responses. She had been hauled in here many a time herself, in fact not long ago she had been so severely injured that they had simply brought her straight to her quarters and summoned half the Yellow Ajah -- memories faded now into a blur of colour and agony -- but she dodged the infirmary whenever possible. Anyway she paid so little attention to the healers’ work that she had no chance of learning anything about the damage inflicted on him.

All the lying made it hard to take his supposed remorse as truth. His condition frustrated her attempts to read him, not that she could do that as easily as she once had anyway with how swiftly he had learnt from her, but she was at least able enough to disbelieve it. It was a play at contrition as his earlier words had been a play at deception. Strange to think that she had trusted this boy once, had let him see her defenceless, had even told him a little of matters that haunted her dreams and troubled her waking hours … or maybe she hadn’t even trusted then, hard to remember. She ought not to have taught him so much. Easy to say so now, of course, but it had become bitterly clear with hindsight. He had surpassed her expectations, becoming not the obedient servant she had thought to make for herself, but instead one so skilled that it made him a threat to her.

Not something she could ignore, yet she had no idea what her next move should be. It chafed her to think that there was anything she did not know how to handle; an Aes Sedai should be nothing less than serene in all circumstances, always knowing what to do, an icon of composure and cunning. Instead she found herself watching his familiar face -- a little less pale now, the colour returning over strong bones -- and coming up short of words. Once she had known certainty, now she found only doubt and distrust. And yet a tiny, fragile part of her wanted something she could barely frame in words … maybe to touch him, just once, to reassure herself that he had survived and would recover his strength … longing twisted in her heart so intense it hurt. She did not move so much as a muscle. Even had they been entirely private she would never have dared. But the thought passed through her nevertheless, inexplicable, a traitor in itself.

She was a fool of truly spectacular proportions. Had to distract herself with something. All this had become unfathomable like a book written in a foreign language; she yearned for the years when life had been simple, the open road before her and only her own wits to guard her back, not this mockery her son had given her. The infinite and staggering complexity of people’s behaviour had always been beyond her to understand. How under the Light had it come to this? Why had a boy risked life and limb to go up against a heron-marked blademaster? Had their feud progressed this far, if so why, and why had she not intervened before now, did she lack the basic intelligence needed to see that this was going to end in blood spilled? And what did all this madness have to do with her? She had not invited the slightest violence on her behalf. Not that she ruled it out, of course, but she would choose the occasion and the victim. Surely this was an entirely separate matter. Nothing to do with her at all. But why? A thousand times why!

A proper Aes Sedai would understand this. Maybe if she just concentrated hard enough she could make this simple, as if sharp thoughts could cut away any excess information like a knife, leaving only the truth lying bare beneath. It was the inevitable tendency toward sentiment that undid so many; she needed cold, hard logic, fact over fiction. She had poured a good deal of her time and effort into making Corin Danveer who he was today. Devious, determined and well schooled in intrigue, the perfect agent for an Aes Sedai who knew better than to show her own hand. Regardless of any independence he might think he had Master Danveer had been made to serve her ends. It seemed a tragedy to have that perfect tool twisted by a lightskirt woman with nothing more than sex on her mind, when it took a lifetime to make a Corin Danveer. All this risked for nothing! Damn it. Maybe a resounding slap would return the boy to his dubious senses.

“You failed me.†Coldly she repeated his own words, her voice polished and lacking in inflection, while she contemplated a leaded glass window across the room as if the play of light and glass fascinated her. “Curiously enough, Master Danveer, you have taken the words right out of my mouth.†No slapping. Not in private nor in public. The last person she had raised a hand to was Lanfir Leah Marithsen, everybody’s hero, and it did not take a genius to work out how well that had gone; it seemed somehow unseemly to strike a lesser person. And everybody was lesser than Lanfir. That was the hardest lesson to learn when in the company of legends, that try how one might, nothing one could do would ever make one their equal. No, she would restrain the desire to rattle some sense into him.

“I suppose I should expect no less. I was mistaken to think that you could follow a simple order. The problem with you, boy, is that you think you know better than I do. In that you are making an entirely … erroneous … assumption.†She drew out each word to deliberate length. Still she contemplated the scurrying infirmary in the manner of one who read many tales into its patterns. Inwardly irritation and disgust and obscure, stupid hurt pulled her taut; she strove to register as much of his reaction as she could while playing at nonchalance. “It seems that I must keep you in sight every hour the Light sends or you will be off on some fool’s errand.†Five beats of silence, expertly calculated, for maximum effect … then she slid the knife home. “Tell me, between picking a quarrel with a heron-marked blademaster twice your age and taking up with loose women, where do you find time to sleep?â€

The caustic words she let lie on the air temporarily while she planned her next assault. The image of this youngster brazenly dandling an Aes Sedai on his lap in front of all and sundry outraged her on so many levels it cut out all words. Discarding for the moment the behaviour of his pet lightskirt, which certainly merited a good tongue lashing from her Ajah Head, where had his own conduct gone? The rules of discretion and judgement she had hammered into his head? Did he lack the intelligence the Light gave a mouse? Light but it infuriated her! No matter how hard she worked to teach people some sense they dropped all semblance of intelligence when somebody with the appropriate anatomy turned up. A single well placed curve could devastate all her careful work.

Darker than that it struck her as intensely unfair. Her life was hard: no mistake about that. She lived in loneliness and fear, practised self denial to a rigid extent. Meanwhile the people whom she intended to deploy in the Last Battle … were off playing children’s games in public like tavern servants? How was that just? Life had not been designed to be fair, she knew the smart answer already, but it still hurt her. It felt like a deliberate blow. Farcical to think that people behaved like flipskirts solely to spite her … but all the same, had she had the other culprit of this little incident before her right now, two heads would have been banged together before either could speak. No doubt it spoke much of her intelligence that this was her resort of choice; Aes Sedai ought not to want to bang some heads together.

Burn them all. Tarmon Gai’don would come and go by the time they remembered their respective ages, forgot tawdry pursuits, and dedicated themselves finally to the cause of winning this one great battle. She had been a fool to think she could rely on any of them. “I know precisely what you have been up to, boy.†She invested the words with a quality of suppressed poison rarely employed in public. “A fine use of your time! I only hope,†she discarded Domani trollop as a term of identification, “that woman was worth the damage you have both caused to the Tower’s reputation. In public, Master Danveer?†For the first time something hard and near to fury rose in her voice. “In public?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Cradle snatching!

I'm afraid you won't be able to play an Aiel Asha'man. You'll need to start off as a recruit in the Black Tower like everyone else does and as far as I know, no Aiel characters are allowed there. The Dreamwalking Talent is also dependent on availability. Here is the Wolfkin Div and here is the Black Tower Div so you can get started. :)

Ooc: The character Christine Segreto is no longer a PC. She will be NPCed with the consent of her player so this thread is finished. Thanks for the fun!

An enemy realising she had been beaten had to be one of the most satisfying sights in politics. It had not been fair and square, a term suited only to tales of honour anyway, but at least she had won to an extent that left no room for argument; in all honesty she had had Christine Segreto by the throat from the very beginning, but it had taken the fool this long to realise … a display that told nothing good about her intelligence. She had always suspected that one had to be spectacularly dull in the head to turn out as much of a lightskirt as the woman before her; however, she had rather hoped not to have the point proven, at least not with a fellow member of the Battle Ajah. None of this filled her with any great desire to show sympathy.

So many ways she could play this. Some crueller than others, some possibly less than fitting for a Captain General; she dismissed those, if she did not uphold the proper standards of behaviour then nobody would. It was half a shame that the threat of court martial had proven as effective a deterrent as she had expected. Now she had no excuse for seeking further punishment, although it tempted her sorely to tell Christine her penance included apologising to every member of the Battle Ajah for bringing their good name into disrepute. That would have been satisfying indeed after the insolence this pup had shown her … but seeing the coldness in the Domani chit’s eyes, the bright flare of saidar around her, Sirayn rather thought she had satisfied herself enough already by beating this wretch hands down. If the child so much as twitched it would be a court martial.

No, she meant to play this one by the book. She had secured the girl’s compliance without resorting to solitary confinement, a good slap or other crude methods, on which restraint she felt congratulations was in order, and now she would give Christine Segreto the escape the child scarcely deserved. “I shall repeat myself for the deaf and the intellectually challenged among us. I assure you I will not be doing so again, so I expect you to listen closely this time.†Truly the quality of sisters she surrounded herself with was steadily diminishing. Sirayn wondered if she might find an excuse on which to set the pup that Ajah-wide apology … “Your conduct falls below the standard which I expect from a Green Ajah member. I intend to address it. You have two options: one is court martial, which believe me will give me a great deal of satisfaction after your display tonight, and the other is demotion.

“As I said earlier, when you were clearly not paying attention, you are demoted as of tonight to the rank of recruit. If you still want to be Battle Ajah, which I doubt greatly, you will earn it. You go nowhere outside these Ajah Halls without my permission; you do not drink, you do not so much as speak to men, you speak to your elders only when spoken to. You do as you are instructed. I will give you tasks which you will complete to the best of your ability. If I see that your behaviour is not adequate, or that you are failing to work as I order, I will not be best pleased. That is the bargain between us. If you break it I will court martial you -- and take my word for it, right now I am looking for any excuse. Is that understood?â€

Put like that, the unfortunate Christine Sedai did not have much of a choice. Teaching a lightskirt how to behave proved to be one of the more thankless and frustrating tasks of this particular Ajah Head’s chequered life, considering that their respective views were in the same proximity as the Aiel Waste and the Aryth Ocean, but it was worth the doing … and by the end, reluctant though she was to admit it, she was reasonably content with the product of her labours. Given time she released Christine Segreto into the wilds as a sister of whom the Green Ajah might, some day, be proud. And she never did get to oversee her first court martial.

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Captain General

"I threaten out of love!"

Nobody had yet found the source of that screaming. Its constant sound irritated her; it was as though fingernails scraping on slate had slid up the scale to a far higher pitch. Not very charitable of her to be wishing the sufferer would do so in silence, but somebody had to take charge right now and the screams interfered with her thinking. It did nobody any good to hear such frightening sounds while she did her best to rally her battered, beaten troops and restore their spirits to something more becoming Aes Sedai … a difficult task at the best of times, demanding nothing less than perfect composure, but a part of her thrilled to recognise such a challenge. In a twisted way she had become Amyrlin Seat for moments like these: to be the decision maker, the leader, the one constant light in the darkness.

All this flashed through her mind at dizzying speed. Having another person at her side settled her somehow, gave her somebody to set an example for, and it being an Order member steadied her courage somewhat as well. It was easier to wear this hard mask when others were watching. Right: time to figure this out. The ordinary rules of the world seemed to be broken tonight. Apparitions came and went as they would but the wounds they made were real. That the lights had gone out just after midnight, as people were whispering around her, did not fill her with much optimism either. For somebody who had seen a Bubble of Evil at first hand only recently it required little in the way of analytical skills. Nothing to be gained from denying it; the Pattern had decided to torment them again.

Her thoughts spun out in such precarious threads that it took only soft words to break them. She looked up; tensing, even the sound flooding her with wariness; but what she laid eyes on shocked even her. Though she had seen, right at the beginning, the damage done to a once perfect face, it startled her every time she glimpsed the proof of it beneath the half mask. To her Jaydena Mckanthur would always be beautiful, too much so to be real, like a painting by a master craftsman. Looking upon her one-time sister felt like a betrayal. Half still lovely, half ravaged face; the light shone softly through her auburn curls in a haze; blood black and sticky where she had been wounded. And for all that she had hated this woman intensely, that she still kept her jealousy and fury close, Sirayn felt a sudden and unexpectedly harsh stab of protectiveness.

It unsettled her. She ought not to care. Everything was done between them, she had no interest whatsoever in raking up the ashes of a dying time, and to hear such stark words -- “I killed you†-- only doubled this perilous feeling of fragility. The prospect that she might actually say something to Jaydena, words that might show her unwelcome desire to keep the Banner Captain safe, struck her as treachery of sorts. Only a fool would betray enmity so deeply set into her simply because her rival turned up bloodied and battered and not half so perfect as usual. Not in a hundred years would she have spoken equally softly back. She pitched her voice low and harsh. “Congratulations. The temptation must have been irresistible.†Immediately she regretted it, that had been too hard on a woman suffering her own problems, but better that than anything sentimental. Better cruel than weak.

Too many surprises tonight. A succession of shocks had jolted her right out of her usual effortless composure. Images inundated her: her son and the Dreadlord, a Banner Captain on her knees, Jaydena ravaged by fire and battle. Had she been anyone else, she might have slid away into the nearest empty hall and sought precious silence … somewhere to rest for a moment and recover her balance. Amyrlins had no such luxury. “All of you listen up.†It carried far on the smoke-laden air, blessedly cool and calm, reflecting not a hint of her inner fears. “This is a Bubble of Evil. Anyone who doesn’t know what that means should get a book out of the Tower Library at the earliest opportunity. Suffice it to say that anything you see may or may not be real … but it leaves real wounds all the same. All the rules you live by have been temporarily suspended. For the moment, at least, anything is fair game. You will glimpse sights both strange and disturbing; and more disturbing still is what you may have to do to survive. Yet you are not alone. Forget politics. Tonight we are all Aes Sedai together.â€

Given the circumstances she lacked her usual eloquence. It would have to do; she had neither the time nor the will to say anything more inspiring. Let them at least do as they were told, this fractured whole, for once in their difficult and overly troublesome lives. “Battle Ajah, secure your Ajah Halls. Anyone who can heal should put themselves to good use.†And think themselves lucky for it. She herself had never been able to heal worth a damn, could not fix so much as a scratch, and that made her worse than useless in the circumstances. “Soldiers with me.†In a few curt words she gathered her people round her. Her grey gaze slid over Aramina sur Dulciena, in whose face she saw so many others, and an old rival who needed no introduction. It was a small enough force through which to dispense assistance; but it woud have to suffice.

Ten steps beyond the Hall of Swords brought them to a gory sight. On the floor, broken as bloody dolls, lay two women; streaks of red behind them told how one or both had dragged herself here. One had slumped atop the other, as though shielding her from something, though the dagger standing out like a point from her shoulder told how unsuccessful that had been. One glance and one only told her their identities; it hit her bitterly hard. “Secure the hall.†The curt order was directed to nobody in particular. Only the barest edge of strain tightened her voice. She herself knelt, sought a pulse. After several heart stopping moments she detected the thread of a pulse in first one woman, then the other. It held little strength, yet it persisted, a current of life clinging in both. The realisation eased something in her. She let go a slow breath. “Somebody heal these two.â€

She had always liked Serena. It was a useless thought in the circumstances, when blood and steel seared the corridor, but it twisted at her hard. One of the only people she had ever liked and Serena Morrigan lay clinging to life at her feet. Briefly she felt very old indeed. Soldiers only got in the way when healer folk moved in; she got to her feet, stress and tiredness and fear waiting beneath the surface of her control, and removed herself from the scene to observe. Had half the Blue Ajah dragged themselves here, losing pints of blood along the way, and if so for what? Had these two sought her protection? Surely that was only a fancy … but it twisted at her. She did not permit others to hurt people who belonged to her yet somebody had. It made a mockery of her so-called rank; what good was the seven-striped stole if it did not let her protect the people she had promised? How well had she defended the Tower to let it come to this?

Guard the Light for me, Sirayn-

Somewhere in the distance a woman was still screaming. It clawed at her, but she was too distracted by the healers’ work to pay it much attention, part of her could not believe life and liveliness would be restored to these two bloody forms. Yet she remembered … a room full of light and stillness, facing a legend far greater than she could ever be … being asked to defend the Tower. She had promised it. Some guardian she made.

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

Our DL is away on holiday and to the best of my knowledge, our tech admin has resigned. Hence why we were thrown by the situation. Luckily, the site has either spontaneously recovered, our arcane sacrifices appeased the spirits, or an angel is looking out for us somewhere. :D

It's down right now. Not being the most technically accomplished bunch, your staff are currently working out what to do about it. :roll:

• Would you like to be the one who sees me lose this all?
  Would you like to be the one who sees me fall?
  Did you want to be the one who pushed me off the wall?
  Did you want to be the one who let me fall?
  Nobody’s gonna stand in my way
  Give it up son, I’m doin’ this my way
  Nobody’s gonna stand in my way
  Give it up son, I’m doin’ this my way
  - "Out Of My Way", Seether

Love! Friendship! The scale and audacity of these lies left her speechless. Momentarily her hard-won composure wavered; the otherwise clear pane of her thoughts turned bitter red, fury rose like a tide, colouring all before it. She wanted to slap that prettily painted face. Just one blow to release all her tight-held wrath, demonstrate her contempt, to leave somebody else shocked and speechless for a change. Masks of civility covered over her feelings well enough but scarcely permitted for a properly satisfying revenge. No: she had to exercise control. Plenty of time for a more discreet vengeance. She flexed her surviving hand, the only movement she could permit herself lest it disclose the intensity of her rage, and brought herself inch by inch back under control. Nothing crossed her smooth, impassive face. No spark of anything in the cool grey eyes. Nothing.

Inside she seethed like a caustic potion set to the boil. How much friendship had the other woman had in her heart when she came out with that word, coward, the only insult Sirayn found unforgivable and which still burned her like a brand? How much love, to steal her Gaidin away, and then to turn to her for replacement comfort when the woman perished? Yes, she had felt very loved when this woman had put the beloved’s bond on her only surviving Warder, clearly that had been a demonstration of the most shining and honourable devotion. Love and friendship indeed. She fumed inwardly and strove to keep any sign of it from the outside. Having scarcely behaved in a saintly way herself, she could not exactly claim the high ground, but at least she had never lied about her intentions. Given their long and colourful history it seemed the last straw to be lied to so brazenly.

Aes Sedai behaved with equal dignity in triumph and defeat. A sister should not lower herself to scoring points off a beaten rival. Nevertheless, this latest in a long series of clashes only stoked her desire to finally tell Jaydena exactly what she thought of her. No doubt the gorgeous Sitter had picked up on her enmity by now, one so politically skilled could scarcely have missed it, so the only purpose served by such an outburst would be to relieve her own suppressed ill feeling … and that was no good reason to make a move. No, she had kept her own counsel for some time now despite intense provocation, and she did not intend to share her thoughts with all and sundry at this late juncture in the game. It would be an obscure kind of failure to crack now; not to exercise the same control she demanded of her underlings, not to maintain the proper composure, not to be the better Aes Sedai.

That was her only concern now. Strange to think that at one point she had wanted something else; that she had sought company to ease her loneliness, warmth and trust, something to make her feel better somehow. Once she had been weak -- but no more. “I see your situation, sister,†said Sirayn with a deceptively sympathetic smile. “I see it very well. If our places were reversed I dare say I should behave in the same way.†Or might have done had she not found offensive the very thought that she might lie to somebody she had once loved, try to convince them of the depths of her supposed love for them, like some common lightskirt. In fact, and the inklings of cold bitterness coiled in her, she might not have behaved in the same way at all …

She resumed her speech, seemingly idle, at her leisure. “Here stands before you a mere nobody. A coward who lacks your courage; a political lightweight, having not a scrap of your own history, your illustrious career in diplomacy; a pawn whom you once found easy to move at your every wish. You never quite managed to suppress her as Banner Captain, but surely when you beat her out for Ajah Head, as you certainly would, you could put this upstart in her place once and for all … And since this nobody never had the wits to make it to Sitter alongside you,†only because she had refused, damn it, once and twice and thrice she had refused rather than give up the open road, and if a Dreadlord had not taken her good hand she would have stayed at her soldiering life and never tasted any of this, “… surely she won’t notice if you tell her a few lies?â€

Like must beneath the sun her false compassion vanished. Her smile went bitter and diamond hard: a quality of cruelty there, beneath the surface brightness, that spoke much of a long and relentless feud. “Spare me.†In a matter of moments her voice had sunk to something low and tightly controlled. It barely covered over her outrage, that anyone should think her dim enough to fall for this, her fury that it was even considered necessary. “You’re lying. You and I both know the First Oath means nothing to any sister worth her salt. Credit me with enough intelligence to admit that I can see through you. And don’t you talk to me of love and friendship.†It ended on a black hiss. Light help her but she wanted her revenge. So long she had waited to finally claim her dues. So much to claim for: years of longing, being solitary and soldierly beside her friend’s bright brilliance, always on the outside looking in. Yes, she wanted vengeance. Deserved vengeance.

Harshly she suppressed the urge to smile. She knew how this would play out, of course, but the expectation was sweet nevertheless. “Let it be thus. As of this moment you are banished from this city. Your rank and station is forfeit. You are no longer Banner Captain. You are outcast.†And her smile broke free like the sun. Nobody had ever been better than Jaydena Mckanthur in all her perfection, yet this crippled and common born nobody had reached that goal, simply through diligence and a little judicious use of scheming. Rejection had long tasted bitter and for Jaydena, who in her startling beauty, intelligence and charm had probably never been unwanted in her life, perhaps it might taste doubly so for being so unknown. She hoped the other woman choked on it.

The intervening moments passed in precious silence. Still smiling serenely as a painting she imprinted even the smallest of images on her memory, immortalising this forever. Finally once she had extracted every last drop of satisfaction she continued. “Your sentence, however, is transmuted. For the moment. Possibly.†Briefly she inquired within herself whether she was certain she wanted to do this, came up certain. Tempting though it was to send this conspirator into the wilderness where she belonged, an Ajah Head had to think laterally on occasion, and that meant making use of liars and traitors. “I will permit you to remain in Tar Valon, and even as Sitter … on one condition.â€

How far would Jaydena go to preserve her starry career? The question afforded her a moment’s diversion. Beg for it, she wanted to say, beg like she herself had wanted to beg -- had refused to beg … but she had been protecting the Tower then, defending all the priceless information she kept stored in her head, and even at that cost she could never have made herself do it. She bit it back. No begging. “You work for me. You report to me; everything you hear, you make certain I hear. You will never question or undermine me. Everything you do is at my command. No matter how strange or dangerous, I will always have a reason for my orders, and I dare say you will never know the half of it because I don’t trust you enough to tell you. This you will tolerate. I have no sympathy for those who gamble everything, knowing it, and lose. And the reason why you will do this?â€

Because I am better than you.

Dena had been there in that black cavern beneath the ground where her son sought to make a coward of her. If this woman deemed her a craven, having seen everything there was to see, did that make it true? It was a bitter thought. She did not want to be a coward, damn it, but it seemed a curse that never ended. She could not cut every last shred of ordinary feeling out of herself no matter how hard she tried, and it seemed like it was always the fear that remained, making her more a disgrace to the Battle Ajah every year it did so. Lanfir had feared nothing. No doubt her favourite auburn-haired Sitter lived in the same state of glorious heroism, never daunted by anything, sailing serenely through every challenge life set her. She herself still feared as bitterly as the child she had once been. She couldn’t in all honesty claim to be better than anyone.

She went for the coldest truth instead. “Because I beat you. You may be taller and prettier and more charming, and I dare say you’re more intelligent as well, and you’re better at politics and probably better on the battle field and I expect you’ve never feared in your whole life, and of course nobody’s ever told you you weren’t good enough to be Aes Sedai … in fact, let’s be honest, you are far better than me in every respect … but I won. Not you. Me. And I will not permit you to raise a hand against me now or ever again. You will do as I say or you will be gone from this city tomorrow, never to return while I still hold sway here.†Now doubt was worming into her. The memory of fear had upset her. She should have done this differently, better somehow, managed this more cleanly.

“This is not a pardon,†said Sirayn, in her most level tones. “I have neither forgotten nor forgiven. Think of it as a stay of execution.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

A long and colourful life had taught Sirayn many truths. Dispute her views though some folk might, she had seen for herself how the world worked, and she knew with immovable certainty that all beautiful women were the same. Commonly she practised detachment to a heartless extent, but if there was anything that drove her up the wall it was shallow, gorgeous women who had received a stroke of luck they never earned and found themselves living a life of luxury and privilege as a result. Anything they wanted got served up to them on a plate, they were never required to show the least dedication or to dirty their fine hands by actually working, everything was simply a gift for having sultry eyes or whatever the fashion was this time. This lightskirt was clearly one such.

Not only was this child incapable of keeping her legs together, apparently a common trait among youngsters newly come to the shawl, but she had somehow managed not to acquire an idea of what behaviour was suited for an Aes Sedai. The rigorous standards demanded of Aes Sedai were clearly either too complicated for her to comprehend or she simply believed they did not apply to her, that she could flutter those long lashes at anyone and get her way. Being able to flash some cleavage clearly made an excellent substitute for actually useful qualities like wit, intelligence and commitment. Everything about this disgrace incensed her to the limits of her hard earned composure. Of course she herself had been taught better than to resort to a good slapping, even behind closed doors, but she found herself definitely tempted to damage those shallow looks a bit.

No. Sisters of her age and standing represented the Tower. She conducted herself with the dignity required by her station, even if witless children like this one had seemingly not heard of either dignity or station, she did not intend to lower herself to the same level. She took some time to smooth out her tones to the clearness of glass, her features set composed as ever, not a hint of feeling to be seen anywhere about her. Inwardly she still fulminated. Had anyone had open access to her thoughts at that point they would undoubtedly have been shocked; although many had forgotten it by now, she had originally been a bastard child and a nobody, and she still possessed a colourful range of language when the mood took her. Fortunately her inner thoughts were veiled. On the outside, thanks be to centuries of schooling, she remained impassive as a statue graven from stone.

“I do not make a practice of explaining myself to the likes of you any more than I would disgrace my Ajah by behaving like a tavern maid in public.†How dare this child demand that she explain herself? “Apparently you do not believe yourself bound by the same standards that govern the other thousands of Aes Sedai … as to why I shall not inquire, although perhaps you think that anyone who might have the temerity to expect you to obey the same rules as we do will be so mesmerised by your cleavage that they will become your obedient slave instead. I can assure you, little sister, I am not at all entranced by any part of you. I have seen the likes of you before.†This wretch reminded her of nobody so sharply as her cousin, who of course had perished in questionable circumstances. Let it not be said that the Battle Ajah did not cut back dead wood.

“Clearly you cannot survive without somebody to warm your bed, their identity being irrelevant compared to having the correct anatomy, and I find it discouraging that any Aes Sedai should be so …†she picked her words with relentless precision, “weak. If you had any wit or intelligence you would use that instead of lowering yourself in this manner. Lightskirts and fools use what they keep between their legs; all others, including anyone with a shred of cleverness or worth, use what they have in their heads. Therefore I can only conclude that when your looks desert you, you will be reduced to nothing. Such a shame.†How this pup had ever made it to the shawl passed her by completely. The real shame was that they were not both members of the same Ajah; had she had direct command over this wretch, rather than the indirect authority of all elders, she would have done something far more drastic.

“If you are incapable of understanding that the rules apply to you as well I will summarise for your benefit. It is, after all, extremely simple. Exercise some discretion … that of a four-year-old child would be a welcome addition in your circumstances … and a little intelligence would also be a bonus. Too many syllables? Let me clarify once more.†There was something infinitely satisfying about a round of good, old-fashioned abuse. She might be plain and drab and taciturn, everything this painted strumpet was not, but she did at least have a mind like a steel trap. “Keep your hands to yourself in public. Don’t answer back. And do as you’re told.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

ooc: It's been a privilege to play with you in this thread. I hope this works. :)

• The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
  Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
  Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
  Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. –- Omar Khayyam
   
  Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutamus.
  Hail Caesar! We who are about to die salute you.
  –- Gladiators’ farewell, Ancient Rome

Bright silence and stillness closed round them. The sunshine fell subtly though half a hundred pale drapes, illuminated this woman softly, picked out brilliance in the lowered eyes; trapped in her lashes tears sparkled like diamonds. In that moment above all Lanfir Leah Marithsen looked as beautiful and as terrible as a solitary star, a single lonely light in a world gone to darkness, and to look upon the Tower’s last hero then was have that image forever burned into memory. It seemed like a little bit of blasphemy to even be here right now. This should have been an hour fit to be immortalised in song and story. Lanfir should have made her farewells in a manner suited to such a legend, possibly amid tears and speeches and in the company of those who had loved her best, not alone with a crippled soldier in the silence of the Tower’s mourning. But she was the last one standing: her, the failure, the shadow: it was her job to end this.

Soldiers together. Hearing that pulled at her, a relentless draw, like the phases of the moon, like something she should have said before; it summed up everything she hadn’t found the words to say. That they had been sisters. That they had been comrades in arms. That they had fought for a common cause, under the banner of the Battle Ajah, and in that at least they had been the same. The green shawl marked people out in ways others could not recognise; no matter that this woman had worn six other stripes on her shawl, nor that she technically belonged no more to them than to any other Ajah right now, she was as Green Ajah in her heart as Sirayn herself. Nobody could dedicate their whole lives to one cause only to forget it all when called to the Amyrlin Seat. Iron and stone and plate steel, red sparks and chaos, the taste of blood, the sweep of foreign lands before them in a hundred wars … yes, the Battle Ajah remembered.

Part of her had been remembering back even before Lanfir spoke her son’s name. Months had passed and the intensity of those memories had faded, the bright colours dulled, but nothing had been forgotten entirely. During sleep she dreamed it; that tale came with the shadows, held its tightest drip at the darkest hour of the night; in the bright hours of sunlight, it ebbed. Yes, she knew what it was to hate. Sometimes she still felt it, a subtle thrill in her bones, an echo of an older time. Those two had ruined her: look at her now, no longer a soldier, just another spider in a tower filled with webs -- if she could have exacted from them the same price, balanced out her own losses even in the smallest measure, she would have done so … and in the end all she had claimed was one life. A quick death was the last gift she could give her children.

Under the Light, I hereby denounce you as a servant of the Dark One. Under the Light, I find you irredeemable of your crimes. Under the Light, I condemn you to execution by my hand, serving in this as in all else.

Memory put a shudder in her and she suppressed it hard so that nothing should trouble her outward composure. Briefly she felt in her bones that all this was wrong, that it should have been her in need of support and understanding … how uncannily this mirrored that other day, when she had come to be condemned for her sins and found only forgiveness instead, only all twisted about somehow … that if anyone should have taken this blow it was her. Nothing should have interrupted the Amyrlin Seat in her work of destiny. But the Wheel of Time cared nothing for the labour of mere lives, nor did it mete out to each person what was deserved like some gigantic balance, a force so immense and unknowable acted only according to the constraints of its strange nature. The moving finger had writ, and having writ, moved on. The world had changed. No going back now.

How dark her thoughts in such a bright room. Lanfir Leah Marithsen sat next to her -- on her level, like an equal, she prized that tiny gesture -- and she found herself looking into eyes the same grey as her own. Only these grey eyes had once been so warm. Now both women here were weighed down by duty and destiny and losses, the Battle Ajah burden, and Lanfir no longer looked to her like anyone’s Mother. She looked like a soldier who had nothing left to lose. Never back your enemy into a corner, somebody had taught her once. Had it been Daeralle? Daeralle was dead. She had never mourned the loss. A woman with nothing left to lose is a desperate one, a danger in herself, and she will fight until the very end. And this was what people got for their last stands. This was how everything ended.

Only a coward should want to look away, somewhat like a small child convincing herself it would be less true if she didn’t watch, but she found it difficult to hold that grey gaze. Most intensely at this point she wanted to be somewhere else. Not to look at a woman who had lost everything. Not to sit here as though she had any right to be present, as though she could possibly replace anyone, she the failure. Definitely not to have Lanfir take her hand, gently, like a sister. She stared at their clasped hands in the golden light of this quiet room and for an instant, everything wavered and she found herself shamefully on the point of tears: asking herself how it had come to this, how she had never made things right and now Lanfir was leaving forever and there would never be another chance: and it seemed to her like a microcosm of the Tower’s greater disquiet that such similar, similarly committed people could not have worked together better.

Back in the mists of time she had come to the Green Ajah among ordinary women. Perhaps they had only been ordinary because she had known them, maybe acquaintance undercut any basis on which otherwise to command worship, but she had seen them merely as people. And even the folk who ran her Ajah back then had whispered this name with reverence. Later somebody had come from nowhere, a hero whom all the world had thought lost, and that had been Lanfir Leah Marithsen: golden haired, charming and already a figure of legend. They had been crying out for a hero. Of course she had resented it, it would have taken a stronger woman than her to watch that in play and not feel jealousy, of course she had felt threatened and cast into shadow, of course she had responded with bitterness. Of course. Such a fool’s thought. It had been a damn stupid way to react. Now she sat with Lanfir holding her hand, Lanfir who had lost everything already, and for the space of that single moment of clarity she had again the terrifying thought that she might weep.

Aes Sedai never let their composure slip. She drew a slow breath, made herself unreadable as a book in which nobody had written, and next moment had to scramble to keep her cool. The question unsettled her so intensely that she had a momentary urge to flee, a shadow flitting at lightning speed across her thoughts, even as she recoiled away from its meaning. Only deliberately could a question be made to sound like that. Only intentionally and meaning every word, and at that thought her treacherous mind unsettled her even more, she wanted to dismiss it as a mistake or a passing fancy not to acknowledge that it carried such meaning. The last stand had come upon them with such speed that surely Lanfir had had no time to think upon who might succeed her, surely only the Hall in all its poisonous strength could dictate who did so, surely nobody in their right mind would have chosen her anyway … yet, and her thoughts ticked over as inexorable as a clock, to hear such from Lanfir Leah Marithsen, the Amyrlin Seat, the champion of the Light on the very day that she passed from the Tower’s reach forever … meant everything she feared to admit.

Not her. Please the Light, not her. All the hundreds of people whom Lanfir might have chosen, why her, when she had cracked every rib she had in a knock down fight with this same woman, when she had pleaded for forgiveness for her sins, when she had failed, why her? I couldn’t possibly. I was always a soldier, I was never meant to play Daes Dae’mar, I’d fail so terribly. I’d bring everything down. If you put that burden on my shoulders I will fall. Such poisonous thoughts. The past had only dimmed not yet expired; though she had mastered it a little, part of her still feared so intensely to take command, terrified in case she failed again. She could not imagine ever being a Lanfir herself. Couldn’t think how she would even begin to measure up to the legend the Green Ajah had wanted. Knew herself too much of a coward, too crippled, too weak and too stupid and too useless. She wished intensely that Lanfir had asked elsewhere, that this cup had passed to someone else, but she had to take it. Had to. Because she was the last one standing.

Did the why of the question even matter in the end? She had many failings, too many to list, but deserting her post had never been one of them. No matter the past and inward doubts and her sudden, frantic fear … she was still Battle Ajah to the core and she knew her duty when it was set before her. There were few constants one could rely on in this dark time, but the sun would always rise, the tides would continue to move and the Green Ajah stood ready. She lacked the words to say so, to communicate that unpredictable as she might seem, she had always been dependable when it came right down to the wire -- but somehow she thought Lanfir already knew.

The effort needed to smile at a woman as good as dead already, who had lost everything that had once defined her life, hurt a little. In fact that summed up the whole situation. Everything hurt a little right now. She smiled anyway, because Lanfir deserved it right now, her and her always thinking of the Tower first, and Sirayn Damodred -- who had found herself Head of the Green Ajah as this woman had been before her and knew herself to be in no way a successor to a legend so great -- said: “You can’t catch me like that. I’ll be on a Domani beach in the sun, with a cold drink and legions of flatterers, not knee deep in paperwork.†She kept her tones light. Not that it was necessary; Battle Ajah knew one another to be true in trying circumstances. Just the subtlest edge of despair threaded through her tones when she relented. “I’ll guard them, of course I’ll guard them, I couldn’t do anything else. And when the Last Battle comes and the Tower holds the front line I’ll tell your name to the Dark One himself. Be there to hear it. I’ll remember.â€

Now she had to speak, found the words spilling out of her, everything she had not dared to say. It was a farewell, most likely the last farewell ever for all her light comments, and how could she not speak the truth? Light help them all. They were losing Lanfir, Lanfir, and surely all the light in the world was going with her. “If this is the last you hear from a fellow Aes Sedai, let it be this. You were our hero. You were the great star of your generation, the standard against which all others were measured, and we are but the shadows cast by your light. Even now and ever after yours is the legend. You served the Tower long and loyally; it is ended between us in honour.†Damn it. Damn it. “Go with the Light’s speed, Lanfir.†The bright light fell round them and at the last she spoke the words she had known she had to say all along: the last and ritual vows for a soldier heading to her last battle.

“The Light shine on you.

May you shelter in the palm of the Creator’s hand.

The last embrace of the mother welcome you home.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

At the Last

Take care Gaidin-mine. Hope everything's okay. *hug*

Silence had lain over the Tower Library so long it had sunk into the materials themselves, painted the even stone underfoot, diffused into the smooth, polished panels on the walls. Books breathed dust and silence row on row. Her presence disturbed them only by a fraction; a slight sound where she brushed her fingers over the harsh stiff spine of a book old beyond centuries, the whisper of her steps, the stirring of air once gone still and cold with lack of movement. A pale shade in her flowing silks, a shade of ice green most like a glacier, she passed among the standing shelves: solitary of course. Nobody came with her, nor did anyone disturb her contemplation, for Aes Sedai went alone through this shattered world.

After her foray into enemy territory had ended she returned bearing the spoils of war. The stack of books looked too heavy for her tiny form; all the same she handled them deftly as she sorted through them, picked out one black book, opened it so she could scan the first page even as she crossed the great open floor. Once she would have scorned this task, libraries and learning as if she were some ink-stained scholar rather than a soldier of the Battle Ajah … but her soldiering days were done and now she knew that knowledge was power. Sometimes it gave her a kind of bitterness even to think of herself, in long skirts clutching a pile of books: not even armed, not so much as a dagger anywhere to hand: her hands covered in ink and dust rather than hard from honest work: the very image of a soft academic. Books. Scholarship. It disgusted her.

Old resentments still lay below the surface. Never had she felt fully at home among these tall shelves, with the Brown Ajah watching like hawks, and likely she never would. Not knowing what else lay outside these walls; the way of the open road, of iron and leather, rain and stone and storm. Sometimes she pictured herself back a year, still so secure in her seeming immortality, two strong hands and an immovable sense of confidence, and at those times she could imagine leaving so intensely it seemed real. No more politics, no more compromising and committees, just the simple truths of Battle Ajah life. No doubt people would put that down to her lacking in subtlety or intelligence, but that wasn’t the way of it, or at least so she thought. It was just difficult to give up the only life she had been made for.

Musing on soldiers and scholars Sirayn had scarcely noticed that somebody was occupying her favourite spot in the corner of the library. She liked it best because of the huge window above it, the light that fell clearly across a polished desk, and the wide space around it; nobody came near save to speak to her, and very few cared to do so, which suited her well. It turned out to be a slip of a boy wearing the rough garb of a trainee. Typical: she had no intention of being ousted from her favourite seat by a mere trainee. Approaching at a sidelong angle, she took a moment to study the child before her. Eight inches taller than her, as per usual, and handsome enough in a brown way that spoke of Altara … and a bruise already colouring high up on the cheekbone where somebody had struck him. Did the Warders’ Yard beat its trainees these days? She had no idea. Crisply she cleared her throat.

The snarled response raised her dark brows a fraction, but his reaction once he recognised her ageless features was rather gratifying, she still got a perverse enjoyment out of sowing fear and panic with her presence. She regarded him still with raised brows while he bowed as deeply as a supplicant. “Oh do straighten up, boy. I’m an Aes Sedai, not the Light incarnate.†Nevertheless she rather liked it. Being respectful was a sure-fire way to commend oneself to her otherwise prickly self. “Does your mentor beat you?†she went on casually, examining the aforesaid bruise and paying little attention to any start the pup might have given at her offhand comment, “You look too young for an accident in training. Fresh out of the cradle, I dare say, it’s a wonder they let children get their hands on anything with an edge.â€

Briefly she looked up at her quarry, frowning in some absent thought, while her thoughts ticked over. She had passed Deneira l’Spada, that illiterate, half-witted excuse for a Tower Guard, on the way out and this was the only trainee in the place … fair to assume that there was a link. “Deneira l’Spada never set you this work, did she?†Shamelessly she examined the paper over his shoulder as she set down her books. The boy wrote well, that was for certain, and he seemed articulate as well. A left-hander like her. Perhaps one to remember. “I shouldn’t write too many words if I were you,†the barest note of contempt entering her voice, “she can’t read it anyway. Giving her a proper written essay is like giving a first-edition Jain Farstrider work to a back-street trader. Art is wasted on a heathen like her.†Illiterate! It still outraged her.

Ooc: You can talk to her if you like, she won’t bite. Nice to meet you in the field, as it were, as well as in chat. ;)

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

Wow! Great going Vera. :D

I think somebody's read the Circle of Magic Quartet by Tamora Pierce. :D

It took some effort to keep a derisive smile under wraps when meeting the guileless green eyes. Such a picture of innocence! Of course the faithful and loyal Seiaman Kera would never even dream of laying hands on a certain Green Sitter. How foolish of her even to propose it. And the very intimation that Seiaman might ever think of betraying anybody … much less the Aes Sedai she professed to be devoted to above all others … another outrageous thought, merely the product of an overly suspicious imagination. Did the woman think that a flutter of dark lashes and a pretty smile was enough to convince her of that? The rest of the world seemed inexplicably eager to forget all the wrongs people had done them, but Sirayn Damodred had not forgotten the times she had been desperate for any sort of comfort, only for this seemingly honest woman to seize the first opportunity to betray her.

Missed her indeed. Now there was a phrase to summon real bitterness; her mouth set tight, despite her best attempts to maintain composure and she stamped down the urge to point out that in the past Seiaman had not missed anyone who was not fabulously gorgeous with curves to die for. Perhaps that would be unnecessarily harsh. Light only knew what bizarre reasons lay behind this little show, the dinners and the crude attempts to get her into bed, it certainly wasn’t the looks she didn’t have … so presumably there was some other motive going on here as well. No matter how long and hard she thought about it, how many motives she tried to give Seiaman in her own imaginings, none of this made sense. Tar Valon brimmed over with stunning women whose beauty could knock one dead at ten paces; no doubt all of them only needed a crooked finger to get into bed; so why pick the crippled one, the plain one, who had nothing whatsoever to recommend her? There was no logic.

Touching again: a good part of her flinched away when Seiaman lifted a hand to her face. Impossible not to watch those threatening hands and not remember … blood and iron and terror beyond words … maybe if she focused hard enough she could push down fear and revulsion, her first and intense reaction to such a bold move, but after so long this powerful loathing for any kind of contact was grained into her as closely as a scar. It was going to take a Light forsaken miracle to convince her that anybody touching her against her will was good. After the fire and the hot metal … shuddering again. Damn it. Eventually she might even pluck up the courage to tell Seiaman that she never wanted anybody to touch her again, particularly not a certain Ebou Dari woman, and maybe then all this would end.

Aes Sedai had to be nothing less than composed at all times despite the provocation. Care and concentration smoothed out any trace of feeling; she pretended she was merely a mirror, reflecting back anything the watcher wanted to see, and nothing inside felt anything at all. Once she had done that she could forget that somebody had touched her … forget that so many times she had been distraught after another tragedy and people had abandoned her when she needed them most, that nobody had truly loved her, that she had never found the comfort and loyalty she craved. Enough self pity for one day. She kept her tones perfectly cool. “You’re welcome to tell me all about how you missed me … behind a privacy ward, if you please.†Not even a spark of shame or fear or even sarcasm. No small achievement given the circumstances.

Even as the one-time Gaidin began bringing out dishes, accompanied by what she had to admit were tantalising smells, steps echoed on the stairs and Sirayn turned already preparing a cool lift of a brow. She had expected some kind of inn help but instead … a child scarcely out of the cradle met her gaze. One fragile enough to horrify any mother, small and plain, and for some reason dressed all in black. A warrior’s look seemed rather bizarre taking into consideration the child’s obvious youth and small size: she had not the stance of a swordsman, nor did her hands display the callus of one who worked closely with weapons all day, so presumably the black and the martial look was merely for the purposes of intimidation. Now wary, she kept composure about her and waited for this strange guest to make a move.

Typically enough it turned out to be a bow. At least Seiaman taught her pups good manners, although why and when the other woman had started picking up stray children she had yet to understand, perhaps it was some kind of replacement for the busy life put aside … and there was a fool’s thought; of course that had never been regretted for a moment. Seiaman had made it perfectly clear that she was glad not to be bonded any longer. “Good evening …†for once exercising a moment’s pity, she bit off the word child, replaced it with a smooth “Coraman.†It was on the tip of her tongue to inquire who under the Light this stranger was, and what she was doing in the Rose’s Thorn, and why Seiaman felt the need to take in one fosterling when so many thousands starved on the streets, but presumably all would be revealed in good time. “My name is Sirayn Sedai. I gather you are the child of whom I have heard a little already.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Head of the Green Ajah

The murmured response, the casting down of those blue eyes only served to confirm what Sirayn had already suspected about this child simply from her origins. It was common in northerly regions that they raised their children in a certain style: to hold the common good as their goal, to speak with courtesy to their elders, to do as they were commanded: all qualities which she had a particular liking for. Yes, this was why she came to the Borderlands so often … because they recognised Aes Sedai as worthy of obedience. It had not all been sunshine; she had once bonded a Saldaean, who had turned out to be lacking in certain essential qualities, such as whatever strength of character led people not to burn themselves to death. But on the whole she liked Borderlanders far better than others.

Of course there were certain other traits the north’s people were famous for and she liked those less well. It seemed less than prudent to assign them to the child straight away, since she had not the slightest knowledge of the girl Lani Cordragoran other than what her observations had yielded, and she had not yet been given cause to think that the child was a halfwit with no greater understanding of the Great Game than a block of wood. Unfortunately many people lacked the essential cunning and distrust that marked a good political player and therefore, in these dark times particularly Sirayn kept a wary vigil to seek out the clever and the sly around her; not only as possible threats to her, hurdles to be cleared in her schemes, but for other reasons …

Not that she would mention that secret name as they crossed into the shadow of Tar Valon. The white city was a place of riches and unrivalled splendour, but it also housed some of the sharpest minds in the world, and she had no desire to be caught speaking that name: nor caught having knowledge she had no good explanation for acquiring. People had a deplorable habit of ignoring the most obvious evidence of their own eyes, but even they could scarcely fail to sit up and take notice if she were so indiscreet as to mention that illegal and most secret of organisations … the Order of the Rose. The slightest of chills swept through her at the name: a scatter of images, a memory, fierce triumph: and she smoothed over her composure rather than show any satisfaction.

Steady now the ship lay silent beneath their feet, moving only a little, in the even rise and fall of the river below. The crew were already scattering to bring their belongings; she reminded them sharply to take care with her pack, not that she would mention why, but it contained various items she would not care to see damaged or lost. Half of them she could replace easily enough … but it would scarcely reflect well on her if she was so careless as to consign a finely crafted emerald shawl to the depths of Tar Valon harbour. She descended the gangplank swift as a spider, with a similar lack of care for the precipitous drop to either side, and behind her Lani Cordragoran came equally quiet; the child possessed a surprising amount of composure for one so young. Somebody to keep a close watch on no doubt.

Tar Valon bustled in its usual fashion. The city had lost much of its original novelty for her, but only the stoniest of heart could gaze upon the sweeping and majestic lines crafted by the finest Ogier stoneworkers in times long gone and not feel moved: all bright and sharp Tar Valon looked like the pictorial equivalent of the highest note struck on a harp, something so pure it cut through everything else. For the longest time it had never been home for her, not truly, while she still belonged to the green fields and quiet, shady woods of Andor. Now she had given up all the trappings of that other time, put aside her childhood and this cold stone cage was the only place she kept in her heart.

Dark thoughts for a sunny morning. Drawing rank and dignity about her like a cloak Sirayn headed deeper into the city keeping a guarded part of her attention on the child at her side; it would be also careless of her to lose a future novice in the white city itself. The crowds fell back before her. It was her bearing as much as the ageless cast of her face, the first sign warning of an Aes Sedai in all the books and gleemen’s tales, that gained that immediate reverence from Tar Valon folk. Living so long in the shadow of the White Tower itself taught one never to question women of that much obvious rank. Thus with little trouble they crossed through the broad white streets and into the citadel’s dark shadow, trailed about now by cooler air, where the frenzied shouts of the market fell in muffled silence; and hence by quiet ways to the Mistress of Novices’ Office.

Not being her own Mistress of Novices, Faerzyne Grigory was a woman she had only the barest passing acquaintance with, and all she remembered was that this one was Grey Ajah and hailed from the Borderlands. As was common within these white walls Faerzyne Sedai turned out to be tall, regal and startlingly good-looking; what more did one need to know? Younger than her by a considerable margin though, and at least polite and well-spoken, so unlikely to give her any insolence. Sirayn exchanged a nod with her counterpart, her impassive face showing nothing of her thoughts: “The Light shine upon you, Faerzyne Sedai. I found this child in the Borderlands. Since she tested true I brought her to you.†Briefly she turned a cool glance on her charge: “You may speak as you see fit to the Mistress of Novices.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Aes Sedai