You all disturb me so much. ;)

You've got to stop talking about me behind my back. I know you all love me desperately, but this obsession is bordering on the disturbing. :roll:

ooc: Sorry about the wait! Got a bit caught up with school & all sorts. :?

It seemed highly unlikely that her mentor considered her a jewel of any sort, if she were to discard a fool’s desire to convince herself that Telcia Sedai thought well of her, and she rather prided herself on not softening blows of these nature. Silent consideration led her to conclude that there was plenty of room for creativity on that statement; unless she was being likened to an inanimate object, it was a metaphor and thus not governed by the First Oath at all, so any positive connotation was entirely a figment of her imagination … and that was far too much time and effort put into working out such a simple phrase. She still suspected she was being mocked somehow. Perhaps all these casual remarks that she puzzled over so much were merely to demonstrate how predictable her suspicion was.

Urgency indeed. She misliked the way events had moved on without her knowledge or involvement; probably this was some way to push her to the side somehow, to illustrate that no matter how highly she thought of herself, the beautiful and brilliant Telcia Sedai was always going to be better. Possibly she was overstating the case a bit, after all Telcia had given no overt sign that she meant to be a menace save one or two offhand remarks yesterday, but given the other woman’s apparent persistence in trying to make herself a political player once more -- a thought which rather horrified her, a male channeller husband and two children, good Light -- it seemed only prudent to assume that anyone eager to involve themselves in the Great Game was a threat.

Her dark brows drew together just a fraction at what sounded like a madcap request from a woman doubtless addled by the loss of her husband and children. She had little knowledge of ter’angreal, her interests lay in the theatre of war, and having famously been at daggers drawn with the Brown Ajah for so long hers was by no means the first name to be spoken when research was at hand. Nor was she best known for her sympathy and warmth toward novices, who on the whole were an ill-disciplined lot, weak of will and scarcely worthy of notice. Others found the question of the next generation fascinating, no doubt, but she devoted her time to other causes: causes like blood and black iron, sieges, the trafficking of steel, the subtler currents of politics requiring her own attention, and of course … the Order of the Rose.

Given that small difference in their priorities it did not take much intuition to surmise that a certain Telcia Dyfelle was far more interested in the plight of children than she was. Once upon a time she had been deeply upset by the Arches, to be true, but since then she had seen so many horrors that dwarfed anything that had happened back then. That ter’angreal had shown her many of her greatest fears … rejection, loss and loneliness, bitter enough to damage a fragile child, if sufficiently prone to instability … but nothing compared to what she had seen with her own eyes. A brief burst of images: mud and blood and chaos at Dumai’s Wells, their dark hunt to Tear, the red print of a hand on her clean white wall: no, she had little sympathy for the work of mere nightmares.

Too many examples to list here and certainly more than she planned to ever confess to anyone. Too many losses. She was no longer the child who, desperate after a number of assaults on her life and livelihood, had clutched for some kind of mother to protect her. Now it was her job to do the protecting, to be the iron hand, a dictator perhaps but nevertheless symbolising the one institution that had guarded the world since its darkest days. Her old mentor still held some sway over her, that was true, but perhaps less than the Red Sister liked to think; perhaps less than would be convenient for her, doubtless complex and dazzlingly skilled, plans. It was certainly not for her docile and compliant temperament that she had been selected, that was for certain, but for something else …

Truly this seemed a simple enough task if these words were to be trusted. All they needed to do was, under the watchful eyes of this Blue Sitter who apparently was so reckless with her reputation, test out this ter’angreal in whatever way Telcia had in mind … although doubtless there would be more danger and complication in it than that, she had accepted harder missions with hardly a qualm, and thus the task itself did not daunt her. But she required a little more than that before she devoted her valuable time and intelligence to an unknown course. She wanted to know what and how and, most of all, why.

Something waited here for her comprehension if she could just isolate it. There was a different undertone to her mentor’s words waiting for somebody to pick it out; discarding for a moment the old Battle Ajah impulse to prickle even at the suggestion that she might back out to save her own hide, she had faced far worse odds than merely the unknown, reason and logic was what was needed here; something of sufficient interest, and sufficient importance, to warrant her inclusion here. Telcia spoke of whatever bizarre and wonderful discovery she had made as the greatest tool in our struggle ... no way for the one-time Sitter to know it, but she was in such dire need of weaponry, and if this tool might somehow interfere with the natural working of people’s minds …

Forget little children, the ill and the weak of will. She had better concerns. Near a year ago she had been trusted with the blackest secret of all, and doubtless it was a sign of these bitter times that she no longer gave a moment’s fear to that dread name, but it was the Black Ajah that occupied her thoughts just now. A tool that could, if employed in the proper secrecy, become priceless to her: only think of all the ways it could be turned to a better use! If there was anything she desperately needed, far more than anything else she could name, it was something to address the balance between herself and the Black Ajah. They had everything: numbers, strength, skill, secrecy: it was a miracle any of the hunters had survived, divided and powerless though they were, and surely some kind of miracle was the only way she would accomplish this goal.

A rather icy smile was beginning to play about the corners of her mouth. She had never smiled easily, not to mean it, and it was rarely a good sign. “As always, Telcia Sedai, your proposals are of great interest to me.†Perhaps better not to add that the Sitter child appeared to be some kind of makeweight and the newest novice would have sufficed just as well to summon help should the situation require it. Her opinion of the Blue Ajah had gone through the floor after they had developed a disturbing habit of falling apart crying and pitiful in front of her. Light, had they no pride? Had somebody put something in the water? “I should be most glad to assist you.†Up to a point. If either of these two women, or indeed anyone else, got between her and a possible weapon against the Black Ajah somebody was going to regret it. It seemed injudicious to comment on this. “Lead on.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Hunter in the Shadows

ooc: I would apologise for the wait, but that seems rather redundant by this point! Hope you get this before you go on holiday. Have fun and much love. :D

Tension and fear strung so tight in her that every panicked instinct warned her of his fury. Despite the composure she herself had schooled into him, he still let through subtle cues and she was a skilled player at her best … and the intensity of her concentration on him left no room for distractions. Her flat and unreadable gaze riveted to his expression as she searched for the slightest sign of his intentions; striving even as she did so to maintain a level of iron calm for herself that any sister would envy. Not that she could spare the time to contemplate how she might be appearing right now. Only her instincts and hard earned serenity protected her innermost thoughts from prying eyes.

If she had been any less tightly in control she might have winced to hear the bitter edge beneath his words as he spoke; quietly echoing what had, in truth, been a little rash of her to say in the first place. It had always been in her nature to provoke rather than lie silent, to display her defiance openly but seeing the subtle warning of fury suppressed hard beneath his outer calm gave her a jolt of sharp concern. In fact, that fear she liked to deny so fiercely coiled within her like something living … beneath the intense focus in his gaze she wanted to fidget, to move somehow to ease the tension building within her but the forkroot still controlled most movement and she could not afford to show even the tiniest sign of weakness. Dread so intense that it drew tight through every muscle, locked any words tight in her throat, so that it took every ounce of concentration to suppress the shuddering fear she wanted to show openly; outward reflection demanded by the pressure of her inner desperate terror. Her imagination supplied only too vivid images to fuel it.

Light only knew how she had let him gain this kind of control over her. The intricate series of events that had led to this twisted scene, where his every gesture summoned such instant and total fear, now seemed as far from her grasp as any other coherent thought … how she had come to be so petrified by a mere glance, by the implicit, unspoken threat in his choice of surroundings … where her courage, which she had once foolishly thought to be unassailable became merely another tool by which he could coerce her. As though her closely guarded thoughts and feelings, as much a key to her identity as any shawl, had become his servants rather than her own; every moment she spent wondering if all this hot metal would come anywhere near her, if she was going to get burnt again exactly as she had in blacker times … was another small surrender. If he knew a tenth of the fear he was causing her right now he must be beside himself with glee.

So much cowardice shamed her on a deep level far beyond the moment’s immediate concerns. He had only limited tools at his disposal; she did not doubt that he could be quite accomplished with them should he so desire, but when one got right down to the wire … no matter how terrible an injury, it was only superficial damage, the Yellow Ajah could work miracles. Most like once all this was done their weaves, polished to near perfection since the Breaking, could restore at least a semblance of ordinariness to her and that was all she needed, just so people would not point and stare in the street. That was surface only: damage done on the inside was not so quick to reverse itself: the ravages of self disgust and disgrace lasted forever.

It ought not to affect her in this manner. Danger was an old friend to any Battle Ajah member and she had been menaced on countless occasions, sometimes by experts, and had faced prospects grim enough to give anyone pause; had even had them carried out on some memorable occasions, the incidents still sharp in her recall, not that there was any risk of her ever forgetting that … but something about this boy, his intensity, and the uncannily precise correspondence to harrowing memories scared her witless. If only she had more courage! The Battle Ajah would be disgraced if they knew of her conduct today; if they had any inkling of how dread crippled her beneath this frozen icy mask. Aes Sedai did not know fear. Fear was beneath them, they represented the Light’s perfection on this earth and permitted no sentiment to trouble them.

Of course it took more than a lecture to teach oneself to remove every shred of feeling, to cut out the softness that some said made people who they were, and on occasion she had suspected she had learnt that trick oddly somehow; it seemed unfair that she should lose any semblance of ordinary feeling and still have to suffer this fear. Anger she could deal with, that black bitterness fuelled her courage, but fear … so dishonourable, leaving marks that no amount of repentance washed out … that anyone could inspire such feeling in her shamed her. Yet for all her tightly suppressed feeling she remained utterly detached on the outside: impassive as a poker player, only the flat hardness of her eyes to warn that anything was going on behind that inscrutable mask. Her gaze lingered coldly on the boy who occupied her thoughts so intensely and she promised herself, transmuting fear into fury as much as possible that this would not go unpunished.

Guard herself though she might, despite all the times she told herself fiercely that no true Battle Ajah member ever felt fear, her grey gaze tracked his every movement with bitter intensity as he moved about the small cabin. His hands went about a task that she recognised with a sinking heart; no wonder he seemed so confident, even should the drug wear off a fraction, she was entirely powerless to stop him administering more as and when he chose. The very idea that another person could master her to that extent … dictating when and how much she could control her own muscles … outraged her to the point of building wrath. Part of her recognised with a grim resignation that there was no point even trying to resist him, he would impose his will on her as much as he wanted but the rest of her refused even to contemplate that it was time to give up; that there would ever be such a time. The Battle Ajah did not recognise defeat.

Stress and suppressed fear wound her tightly in iron coils as he drew near; icy grey eyes now contemplating him with the disdain one would reserve for a rat that had snapped at one’s feet. So this was what trust and dependence brought. Being rendered as helpless and feeble as a doll, as though Aes Sedai were ever bereft of the innate determination and resourcefulness that defined them as surely as their shawls … trying to lessen her, make her a mere ornament to be handled as one pleased … and there was an image she should have dismissed instantly: she shut that line of thought down hard as he neared her, though her gaze tracked him intently fearing whatever he had in mind. More forkroot she could cope with; that was merely a setback to her plans of recovery and eventual escape. Like a spider, her patience could last as long as the ages, and she would still be watching and waiting whenever he made a mistake.

Anything else she feared most bitterly. She had been averse to such contact even before the events of some months ago; her desire not to be interfered with in such crude ways dated back some decades to an incident best left forgotten … and these days for anyone to touch her, even in the most innocent way inspired fear and revulsion in her. Not that hse had been spared such ordeals. How and why people got the impression it was a wise idea to force their unwanted advances on an Aes Sedai she had yet to understand, but most certainly she had not forgotten how certain people had attempted to take advantage of her while she was upset, how others had apparently forgotten any scrap of self control, discipline or honour they were ever taught. Not unlike certain people in her vicinity right now. How under the Light the yards had wound up turning out so many Tower Guards who employed disturbing tactics against Aes Sedai she did not know … and as her attention narrowed in on the boy now lifting a hand to her head, presumptuous wretch, she vowed to herself that she would not give in to him any more than to that other one.

That cup containing another few hours’ worth of leaden sleep raised to her lips. Panic set in. Logically she knew that patience gave its own rewards; that if she bided her time and kept a cool head she could get through this much more assuredly than with flashes of temper she could not back up with acts; yet every fibre of assaulted dignity she possessed strained at the tight control she kept it under. Just to let herself be drugged once more by a man of malicious intentions outraged her sense of independence … not to mention it posed much more harrowing dangers that chilled her just by thinking of it. Safely out of sight she flexed her surviving hand gently, seeking to assess how much control she had regained; enough to upset that cup maybe and spill the forkroot messily … yet not enough to capitalise on that moment of confusion. Her muscles refused to obey her properly, saidar might as well be on the moon … it was hopeless.

Defeat had always tasted bitter to her and accepting her fate, as though she were some kind of damsel in distress powerless to affect her own circumstances, galled her beyond the ability of words to express; the knowledge that this was all absolutely true only incensed her even more. Her dignity and independence as an Aes Sedai was being systematically stripped away, not to mention the consuming fears and apprehension instilled into her. It had taken her such a long time to rebuild her shattered confidence after the disastrous and tragic events of a few months ago and even now part of her shook in terror cringing every time he raised a hand to her … all these fears, the dependence, the lack of control contributing to a towering fury the likes of which she had not known for some time. It took a great deal of self discipline to exert some control over that savage wrath. Suppressing her fury tightly she strove to master her immediate response and prepared herself, much against her will, for the taste of forkroot once more.

Instead for some peculiar reason the boy hesitated; drew back a little whispering a name she had not expected to her. Her anger, much against the laws of rationality rose even further. If he was going to inflict this humiliation on her a second time he might as well be quick about it … and what under the Light did Seiaman have to do any of this? Suddenly released, her head fell unexpectedly and bounced off the softness of the pillow; setting her teeth she restrained the urge to snarl at how much this whole situation frustrated her. And now, as though some unknown logic had taken control of this whole situation, the boy was rising to his feet … moving away … despite herself she had to work fast to control a flinch as he flung the cup away; porcelain shattering, steam rising in a sudden hiss where the tea flashed to evaporation on the hot coals in the fireplace. Torn between disbelief and perplexity the first response that rose to her tongue was a sarcastic comment about the expense of good porcelain but she trapped it before the snarl could get free and earn her any more punishment.

Now blessedly her fear and fury was ebbing, as everything seemed to be changing somehow as though the tables were being turned by some giant hand. Before her bemused gaze the boy slid down against the wall, to sink into a sitting position; head bowed slightly as though all the world’s troubles had defeated him in an instant. Only a brief glance found hers … could that be remorse she glimpsed there? No, she thought savagely, this was some kind of trick; just another ploy to gain her trust … before he seemed to utterly collapse. Panic eased its tight grip another fraction. For whatever bizarre reason he had the wretch seemed not to pose a threat any more, or maybe that was only the impression he wished to present, the Light only knew. The sudden release of tension gripped her hard; her hand trembling slightly out of sight, relief bubbling up but she trapped that hard rather than show a moment’s agitation. Beaten … after all this tension … could it be that the boy had somehow defeated himself rather than continue this ordeal any longer?

Slowly, exerting great control over every movement to remind herself there was at least something she could master, she drew a deep breath and let it out. No shaking there; could not afford to show any fear. Only steadiness her outward mask reflected in its composure. His mother? Disgrace on his family? Her first instinct was to laugh; indeed cruel mirth welled up and intensely she wanted to let it free, to show him every ounce of her contempt and fury for him, to make him suffer even a tenth as much as she had suffered. She kept that savage desire to hurt under tight control but Light she had promised herself revenge, and revenge she would have before too much longer had passed. How pathetic. A fool of a Darkfriend who, having an Aes Sedai helpless at his hands, could not even finish the job in the sadistic way he had first proposed. Disgust and disdain twisted at her; calm she told herself again, be cool, be the very image of Aes Sedai composure.

He had not intended any harm. He wanted to correct injustice. He wanted a swift death. Again she was sorely tempted to laugh; more than that, tempted to lash out, to hurt him somehow. A quick clean blow seemed too easy of a way out for somebody who had threatened to keep her under forkroot until the helplessness poisoned her mind and sent her mad and dying. Such talk did not deserve a single blow. How he had the temerity to ask her to end his life quickly she had no idea; how he imagined that she had anything but searing scorn for him and his failed schemes, his weakness, his treachery. Composure staying rigid and unmoved on her stern face as grey eyes dwelled, in silent intensity on her opponent … and inwardly she imagined far more satisfying work. Imagined making him powerless as he had taken such pains to do to her. Imagined making him regret every moment of his murderous, terrifying folly.

Light she wanted him to suffer. She wanted to claw his eyes out one by one, to confine him to bed and see how long he lasted before the forkroot sent him irreversibly mad. Sadistic, traitorous liar! Her surviving hand flexed just a fraction, opening and closing to dispel a fraction’s tension; intensely she pictured making every one of her cruel imaginings reality. Not that anybody would know or care. If she informed the Tower Guard that one of their number had run rabid and assaulted her in this manner they would thank her for taking care of their business so efficiently … though of course, that would require something far more challenging; and now a dark shadow stole across her mood of savage elation. That would demand that she explained, in loving detail, exactly how this wretch had rendered her powerless as the most feeble novice; how he had terrified her; how she had been panicking and pitiful and altogether worthy of contempt. Fury rose searing again and she had to focus hard to rein it in, to keep everything under that wavering control … no, Aes Sedai were disciplined at all times, they allowed only reason and logic to dictate their path.

Slow, calming breaths. She did her best to dismiss that from her thoughts but it returned insistently. It hurt even to imagine explaining all this to someone; how they would mock her for her cowardice, ask derisively how any Aes Sedai worth the name would let herself be put in such a shameful position. If she was ever called to explain herself before a council of her elders … she would have to admit that she had been pathetic, that she had been terrified, that the merest child could have finished her off as she lay there helpless and drugged. Hardly the glorious end a Battle Ajah member should aspire to; nor the proud state of affairs which a sister of that great order should keep in order. How efficiently he had gone about his work: her mouth twisted in sudden bitter hatred. Not only had he had plenty of time to exact whatever dark revenge he had in mind, before he had had a supposed eleventh-hour attack of remorse, but he had made sure through his twisted methods that the disgrace and horror of having done so would seal her silent. Most certainly she knew that she would never master her shame and humiliation enough to speak even a word of what had gone on here.

Oh she was furious. Even kneeling by her side, begging her to finish him off, the boy still held her utterly in thrall. He had to know that there was no possible way she would report him to the appropriate authorities; not that they were likely to do anything about it unless public image compelled them to do so, they were more likely to sit around laughing at how powerless these Aes Sedai were when one drugged them properly. If anyone ever got the idea to repeat the trick … her free hand curled into a tight fist; the memories of this harsh day would be sufficient to stop her being such a fool as to trust again, as she had begun with hesitancy to do before the boy decided to be a traitor, but the worst of her fears had not yet been realised. No doubt that meant it would keep happening until something final happened. No doubt this whole terrifying, bitterly shameful trial would come around again and again … because she was too stupidly pathetic to protect herself.

The catalogue of errors she had made was too comprehensive to list in any detail. It would take her all day to list everything she had done wrong: right from the mess over Seiaman, to letting her beloved Gaidin be brutally murdered at Dumai’s Wells, to being pitiful enough to think Seiaman wanted anything to do with her when she was resurrected by some miracle … being lonely, being a fool, desperately wanting someone to comfort her … imagining that this boy with his too sharp intelligence and his cunning would ever be safe to be around … trusting him enough to accept something to drink from his hands, Light how much of an idiot had she been, that was one of the first rules she taught people in enemy territory! Never to turn one’s back on an exit, always to go armed, never accept food or drink, and to trust nobody. Even when they were young and bright and outwardly respectful and she was possibly the most intensely lonely person in the world.

Dishonourable in the extreme. The newest novice would have known better than to be as gullible as she had been, as guilelessly trusting, and the less said about her conduct under pressure today the better. She had disgraced her shawl and brought disrepute on her Ajah, if anyone ever heard of this, and after the intense pressure and terror of the last hour that knowledge brought her to a different kind of breaking point. Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her wanted to break down in useless, pitiable tears and give everything up: surrender: confess that this life was just too hard. Constant suspicion and terror and the unpredictable, savage violence … holding these scars on the inside … never letting anyone close, was a dreadful fate the likes of which she would not have wished on anyone. And even to be thinking these cowardly thoughts disgraced her even more.

If she let herself continue on this path any longer she was going to spiral into some crazy coil of despair and self loathing. That way she knew too well already. Drawing a steady even breath she asserted control once more; smoothed out her troubled thoughts; and reminded herself once again that she was Aes Sedai. Misguided though they had been to give her the shawl … much as she had dishonoured it in the past … she had to uphold the same standards of flawless behaviour as any other Aes Sedai would have done in her place. Coolly she flexed her hand once more; discovering much to her suppressed relief that her control was all but recovered now. Time to make a move. Intensely she hated having him so close. It unnerved her to be testing this in front of the boy, the Light only knew whether he was just measuring her strength in order to pounce again, but she needed to get back on her feet and channelling again as soon as possible … in case the tables turned again or, nearly as bad, the urge to put his own knife through his black and traitorous heart got too much for her; but she had precious little choice over it.

If she did this smoothly enough and in perfect composure nobody would be able to tell that she was still far from certain of her own strength. Bracing herself for some kind of humiliating slip she swung her legs over the side of the bed, set her feet on the floor, and inwardly thanked the Light that that had gone off all right; her muscles stil felt a little leaden, slow to respond to her commands, but she had at least managed not to fall over or something equally mortifying in front of him. Now her grey eyes fell on the penitent kneeling before her and again the urge to strike him intensified. Just one good slap would rattle him a bit and assert some sorely needed control; take the edge off her savage desire to inflict some pain on him in revenge for what he had done today. The last person she had struck was a future Amyrlin … and remembering that taught her a bit more discipline. Aes Sedai never lost control. Aes Sedai did not need to raise a hand to anyone; their scorn was far more scathing than any blow. No violence. None at all.

All the same it took her several drawn out moments to master the urge to hit him. Instead her hand strayed to the dagger at her side; curled round the hilt, tightening until the knuckles went white. Saidar was still flitting from her grasp so, perhaps fortunately, the option to peel every inch of skin off his flesh was not yet open to her. The steel in her hand winked temptingly in the dimmed light and she lifted her cold gaze from the knife to the kneeling boy … imagining, with a ferocious intensity, how that youthful face might look with some new marks on it … wanting him to hurt, wanting him to suffer. It seemed a shame, after what now looked bizarrely like a success in which no blood was spilled, to get all that red everywhere just in revenge; there were more subtle and less messy ways of exacting some vengeance. Reluctantly she lowered the knife.

Her silence had held in forbidding coldness since the last time she had threatened him some ten minutes ago. Now she had a perfect opportunity to tell this wretch exactly what she thought of him, since the odds of him surviving this were minimal, but she stilled herself on the point of doing so; part of her still coldly feared that if she started talking she would never stop. That was one of the effects of pressure. Give somebody a good working over and they would eventually talk … and once they started it was difficult to stop them again. Maybe if she started laying into him, telling him how much she despised his worthless hide, she would eventually get onto exactly why: her overwhelming shame and terror, the black memories of times past: and that would just about invalidate any point in her having been so inflexible this past hour despite extreme provocation.

A considered, calm response was what was required. Not a good slap or even a bit of pretty knife work to give him something to think about next time he looked in a mirror. Reason. Logic. She didn’t want to be logical. She wanted to be cruel: to tell him that he was a liar and a traitor, that she would rather see him cold in the ground before he ever laid a hand on her again, that no amount of intimidation from him would ever break her: that she had known all along that he would turn out to be treacherous, exactly like Seiaman, only lacking the basic competence necessary to finish the job: that his touch disgusted her … the intensity of her revulsion, the sheer wrenching disgust she felt at those memories overwhelmed any attempt she might have made to express them. She needed to be concise. Brevity was the watchword. She required a perfect response from a perfect Aes Sedai.

At last once she had mastered every turbulent passion she let herself speak. Cool words: had to feel nothing. “Aes Sedai cannot be moved.†These words she had learnt at her mother’s knee two and a half centuries ago. “They know no fear, no anger. No danger can daunt them. They need nothing and nobody. They are the one defence that survived the dark days of the Breaking, that has protected the innocent and the helpless ever since, and that will stand against the Shadow when our world goes to ruin.†Her tones were cut-glass sharp, imparting no feeling, so clear and dispassionate one could see straight through them. “I was Aes Sedai a hundred years ago when your grandparents were children. In a hundred years’ time, when your grandchildren are grown, I will still be Aes Sedai. I need nothing from you or anyone else.â€

Control. She had to be utterly in command of herself and everything else. No dread, no wrath, no cruelty … that last being the most difficult to cut out of her voice. “By rights I should give you the same end you promised me,†said Sirayn Damodred, perfectly cold. “How long does the mind last when the body is useless? A worthy question; I am most curious. But a traitor does not deserve my attention, nor does he deserve a swift end.†Sharp movements showed only some suppressed feeling as she reversed the dagger, placed its hilt firmly in his hand. “Take the cloak and the sword. Return to Tar Valon if you will … or go elsewhere, I care not.†She gave a careless shrug. And this time when she reached out saidar flooded into her grasp … heat and light and security, everything that defended her against the likes of this disturbing trial … and finally, finally, she felt safe. Protected: by herself, her wits and her courage. Icily she spoke the last words. “I never want to see you again.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

The Tower’s Wrath ;)

Being a schemer at heart she had prepared herself for a range of responses, from fury to outright violence to submission amid trembling and terror … the latter being a matter of hope rather than expectation, she had to admit, her quarry was far too perfect to fear even for her political survival … but being calmly invited to have breakfast had not occurred to her as a possibility. Nevertheless, her newly gained confidence was so complete and overwhelming that she refused to be disconcerted as she ordinarily would have been. Revenge was so very close now. Only a few words, perhaps a generous gesture if she let the other woman have a day’s grace to gather her belongings before she left, and a remarkable success would be completed. Triumph burned like brandy in her blood and that icy smile she wore wanted to widen a fraction. She kept that under control; no need to taunt anyone … yet.

Only the barest hint of steel did she permit to enter her tone. “More than welcome? Yes, I know precisely how welcome I am here.†Her welcome? It was about the most laughable lie she had heard in some time, and despite the constraints of the First Oath, she heard many many lies within the shining confines of Tar Valon. How the other had convinced herself that it was true sufficiently to speak it she could not currently determine; but when one was as accomplished and brilliant as Jaydena Sedai no doubt it came easily. No doubt, and now her tightly suppressed wrath was starting to get out of control, she was a sight less welcome than her Warder would have been … preferably wearing not a stitch of course. But she was not going to let that upset her: it was all over now, not the slightest link bound her to either woman, and they were perfectly free to romp together all the hours the Light sent.

Now remembering that had been a misjudgement. She wanted to hit something, preferably an auburn-haired, stunningly gorgeous something. Restraint: that had to be her watchword. Given their respective positions she was now fully capable of taking as lingering and cruel a revenge as she liked without lifting a finger. Just a few words would suffice to achieve everything she had ever wanted. “I should have no objection to taking breakfast with you, Banner Captain,†she kept her smile affable and her tones serene, “but unfortunately I do believe I have been overcome by an attack of sudden cowardice.†Only a lift of one dark brow indicated that there might be any significance there. “It is most inconvenient to be a coward. One never knows when the fit will strike. Perhaps you might find a braver sister to entertain later this morning.â€

How very satisfying. She could employ sarcasm while still maintaining the dispassionate composure required of her by the current circumstances. “Of course, that assumes that you are not otherwise engaged, which seems like a stretch of the imagination. Your calendar does appear to be rather busy of late.†Her smile then was diamond hard and diamond brilliant. Life must be difficult indeed when one was accustomed to stealing other people’s Gaidin and then the woman in question had the gall to pass away. Such a tragedy … and briefly real grief wavered ready to break through her savage mood … perhaps this fabulous woman might have kept her bed cold for a while, just out of respect, but no, she had had to seize upon the nearest person as an object for her lusts. A shame indeed that that had turned out to be a certain crippled sister. “But let us not be distracted. You and I have business to discuss.

“Being so new of a Captain General,†sweetly she dropped in another reminder of who had lost this battle, “I have been busy tonight deciding who will serve where in my new administration. Those who have served me faithfully shall be rewarded, of course, loyalty deserves that much, does it not? It is so very rare these days.†Not that Jaydena knew anything of loyalty. She suppressed that comment hard before it could come out. “I have decided that I may be making some changes to my Banner Captains. Unfortunately, when there are such skilled, loyal candidates I wish to promote to serve our Ajah’s interests in the Hall … something has to give. And I fear that after our past differences of opinion,†she phrased that as delicately as possible, “you may not be the most favourable choice of Banner Captain I could make.â€

How long had it been? Fifteen years? Fifteen years of despair she was avenging in these precious moments. “Do you have anything to add so far, sister mine?†inquired Sirayn in tones of great concern. “I value your opinion.†Only as another excuse to banish this woman as far and as ignominiously as possible.

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Nobody's friend ;)

A smile so bright it was blinding reminded her, briefly and intensely, of something she could not quite identify; something lost and passed from this world many years ago. Aramina sur Dulciena had unsettled her in some obscure way. Her whole life was based on certain fundamental beliefs and to have to describe the most central one, her dedication to the Tower, in plain words for the benefit of another listener was a bizarre and strangely intimate experience … as though she had discarded, just for a moment, one of the layers of secrecy that kept her safe from all comers and let somebody glimpse what lay inside. It was a gamble and perhaps a dangerous one, she knew so little of the other woman, the Light only knew that a maliciously intentioned person might do with such information.

Usually words were her favoured tools. She had learnt to employ them with such fluency that it daunted people, served to create further distance between herself and others, fashioned images that she could use in turn to bend people to her will. Yet such skill had its drawbacks; speaking was an act of war in itself, the equivalent of a swordsman’s first cut, and words the steel with which she fought these days; so guarded her manner was that it was near impossible to articulate anything of significance to her. She had never even attempted to explain how much certain people, certain concepts, meant to her. So many reasons why: she was no good at feeling, it was too close to her heart, it gave her opponents another opening: but as well as that she simply could not find the words. Having got past this stage without making a fool of herself, the words that came so easily to her had all run out. She needed to put that armour back together. Needed to make more distance. Needed security.

Difficult though when somebody seemed so determined, either by accident or design, to touch on everything that meant a lot to her. Truly sisters: the words twisted at her a bit, a disconcerting echo of memory, she could not remember the last time somebody had said that to her. It would be easy to spend hours analysing the smallest intonation there, as if somehow to decipher the other woman’s intention but that was pointless. She was never going to know for certain. This composed mask covered a wealth of confusion, remembrance and sentiment she had thought long consigned to history, and she could not afford to show the slightest glimpse of weakness to anyone … truly sisters or no. She needed to stop being feeble, stop being the child who never found a family, and remember that the Order of the Rose waited.

If anyone came to hear this story, though the Light send that it remain secret, it would seem so very different to the truth. Looking at them now, two proud sisters together, one an Ajah Head and the other a bright star about to pledge herself, one might take this for another great act in the Battle Ajah’s history … and nobody but her knew anything of the truth. Nobody knew that she feared, that she had been a coward, that she had never deserved to be Aes Sedai. Only a handful remembered anything. It was a brief and dizzying thought: that for all intents and purposes, if she let it be, the past might be entirely divorced from the present: that she might not have to carry this guilt any longer, this shame and loneliness … Too far a step for one morning. But something to consider.

“Sisters then.†Another woman had knelt before her to seal their bargain, even touched her hand, in a gesture so symbolic she had yet to properly comprehend what it meant. She deemed that possibly a step too far for this stage. “If you will follow me, then swear. Swear that from this day onward, you put no other’s business above my own; that you obey my orders and defend my interests where you can; that you will never speak so much as a word of my business to anyone.†This was always the most dangerous part of her business, where she had disclosed her entire and spectacularly illegal intent, and the other not yet completely bound to obey her; but she had great and possibly unfounded faith in her companion … This speech gave her power in a strange way, armoured her against the dark. And she finished with the final words, the last step of the ritual: “Swear to me that I can trust you.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Order of the Rose

The sun had heaved its palely blazing mass into sight, its light flashing filtered through a forest of firs standing dark on the bank, and a sharp breeze swelled sails by the time the ship’s most famous passenger graced them with her presence on deck. Its light fell on her no different to any other, a tiny dark-haired woman in drab skirts, frowning over some papers in her grasp, but all the same a warning flashed between the crew like lightning: a look there, a gesture here, a drawing aside in reverence. In some ways anyone might have overlooked this woman small and plain looking as she was, but in other ways … in the cool grey glance she cut the crew, something old and hard as iron behind the timeless face that marked out her kind … it would take a good deal of ignorance not to recognise this one.

Borderlander courts had always extended the hand of friendship to the likes of her and the missive that occupied Sirayn Damodred at present bore some interesting news indeed. Movement along the border rose and fell in cycles, something that unfortunately people failed to put in proper perspective when they lived less than two hundred years, yet a rise in danger sometimes signified something more important. She had a suitable respect for the other side – as was only to be expected when one had won, and indeed lost, her fair share of battles with them in her time – and a rise in skirmishes along the border did not inspire her with confidence. At least she knew that if the enemy got enough courage to attack the Borderlands again the Green Ajah would be there in defence, as they always had been and always would be until the Last Battle … excepting Malkier, of course, the one story no Aes Sedai ever told.

Malkier. Now there was a topic to set any Aes Sedai to brooding. Moving swiftly to dispel those memories she crumpled the letter into her pocket, discarding as she did so all the great significance that the Borderlands had for people like her. Saldaea was behind her now. She clasped her hands on the rail, sunlight winking off a ring twisted into the likeness of a golden serpent, and distracted herself with the swiftly passing scenery while the ship inched ever onward toward Tar Valon. Most likely she would never go by river again without remembering another journey: suspicion and fear, the tremendous pressure of knowing that the Black Ajah had been one step ahead of them all the way, waiting tensely for the trap to spring: and how it had … but the sun blazed brightly now, not hiding behind clouds in a mirror of the terror they had all felt, and if she couldn’t forget now she never would.

“Aes Sedai? That is Tar Valon coming into sight.â€

Borderlanders did not fear her sort like many did, which had its drawbacks, such as their tendency to assume that they were being courteous rather than pointing out the blindingly obvious. She suppressed the desire to say that she had needed that clarification, there being more than one huge white city next to Dragonmount, and instead turned, dismissing the helpful crew member with a brief nod. Just as she had been warned, the great strength of Dragonmount loomed before them casting its deep shadow across the river, and there beneath the glittering sun lay Tar Valon: the axis round which the world turned. All white and brilliant, the city spoke power and grace in every line. From its midst rose the Tower itself – a citadel so great that it was said that, upon first seeing it, queens had fallen silent in reverence.

Her interest in it was rather more practical at this point. Having been busy out in the world these past few years she had fallen out of touch with her sisters and needed to renew political ties before she continued her work; no sense in letting that solid foundation she had worked so hard to assure fall into disuse. Her name opened some important doors and it was necessary for her future plans that it remain that way. Not to mention that she ought to collect the usual suspects from the Order of the Rose and direct their joint work together … it sometimes she thought that convincing a dozen strong-willed sisters to illegally swear fealty to her had been the easy part, the Order was demanding and required all her attention to repay their loyalty. They had earned such rewards.

Leaving the crew to go about their labour, as the ship swept serenely through bright waters toward the dock, Sirayn went in search of the most valuable prize she had brought back from her journeys in the north. A child scarce out of the cradle, yet possessing that seed inside her that meant she too might one day gain the shawl; it took more than simple channelling to be Aes Sedai, of course, it required a phenomenal level of commitment, sacrifice and an iron will, but she had judged it less than wise to impart any disheartening news at this stage of proceedings. She tracked down her quarry eventually. Something seemed to have been troubling the child during their river trip, but the romantic progress of Borderlander youngsters did not interest her and she had asked no questions. Soon enough Lani Cordragoran would learn to put aside her childhood.

A shudder ran through the broad dec beneath their feet as the ship docked. Crew scattered to yards and sheets. “Once we enter the city you will follow some simple rules,†Sirayn addressed her young charge in crisp tones. “Stay with me and do not speak unless spoken to. That goes double around Aes Sedai.†Perfectly serene she straightened her skirts, the very image of businesslike composure, though inwardly she was preparing herself for the different and far more hostile atmosphere inside the Tower … and finally inquired: “Nervous?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Retro Aes Sedai

Hi Lanette! I'm your new mentor and I'm writing you a private message even as we speak. :) I've just got one query about your bio. The character is 5'9, but if my calculations are correct, she's just over 7 stone in weight. In perspective, I'm 5'8 and at a healthy weight of 11 stone - this character is nearly 40% lighter than I am. Is that a misprint? That's not very healthy. :? Cheers!

Mob justice: her mouth wanted to twist into a hard line but she kept her composure smooth. She had seen the consequences of people taking the law into their own hands too often to be entirely comfortable with it, had come across the rough side of it herself on occasion, at least due process could be relied on to give the innocent a chance to explain themselves. Besides, not being accustomed to law nor the intricacies of court work, she had suffered rather a lot during the recent trial and it stung to hear it proposed that all her hard work should be undone so easily … that Caladesh should not be strung up before all watching eyes as she had originally planned, with nobody left to doubt that the Tower had meted out swift justice. An end fraught with suspicion and outcry did not seem a fair return for their efforts.

On the other hand … maybe she of all people had no right to complain about people delaing out justice themselves. She had never cared for rules when they crossed her path. If word ever got out about half of what she had done the golden Lanfir Leah Marithsen would never forgive her and maybe she deserved no less. Laws and official verdicts were dealt out by people in ivory towers, with no understanding of the tears and suffering of those beneath them, and what did Phaedra Eskarne know of justice? What did she know of revenge? Had she ever seen her best friend torn apart before her eyes and had to go on regardless? So many ways the Battle Ajah understood this that cool isolated judges never could. Nobody who had not suffered their own losses – not matters of politics but real, raw losses in blood and grief and despair – had the right to judge here.

If she had ever found out who laid hands on Jehanine this world would have held one less Darkfriend as soon as she caught up with them. No amount of trial nor procedure would make up for that absence; when one turned around and nobody but shadows waited there, when one spoke to an empty room expecting somebody to hear and no well remembered voice replied, when there was nobody any longer to share one’s stories with and one’s grief and fury and loss … what was the point of law? None of it would bring anyone back. Not even Lyanna al’Ellisande, the great and gifted, a legend to so many sisters who came after her could rise from the dead at a judge’s command. So many tragedies might be averted if the effects of death could be reversed so easily … but there was no such solace for the living who found themselves left behind.

All her life her actions had been characterised by suspicion and lack of faith. This golden woman before her, now so irreversibly broken had arrived at a critical time in her life and she had come to idolise Lanfir more than she had ever expected to do, so much that it contravened Aes Sedai dignity and stung her pride as much as it unnerved her, always a lesser shadow illuminated by the Amyrlin’s light. Yet there were certain fundamental truths on which she based her life and none of them had anything to do with trials and public executions. No, inwardly she had contempt for such ceremonial occasions. No two ways about it. In the end … when it came right down to the wire … she believed in Lanfir, she believed in the Battle Ajah, and she believed in the Tower.

Nobody had elected her a messenger of law and propriety nor did she have any right to interfere between a mourner and the object of her revenge. Nor would she have done anything different in the other woman’s situation. Put like that the decision seemed very clear. “Your decision.†She made the words cool and lacking in feeling; the time was far gone now when she needed to worry about what image she presented to the Amyrlin Seat, how much sentiment could be read into her actions and used to ruin her, but instincts kept everything sharply suppressed all the same. “And the right one,†her tone got a little quieter despite herself, it was not long enough since certain losses to remember this without feeling anything, “Lyanna deserved no less.â€

The words lay subdued on the stillness. No further ones came to her tongue; she had built her career on a foundation of speeches, silver tongued and always persuasive, but now that the situation required her to say something a little closer to her own heart she found herself tongue tied and silent. It would be only fair here for her to return the same comfort and support Lanfir had once given her in her darkest hour … but she had no idea how to do so; no idea if that would even be right; if that was what somebody better would have done in her place. Somehow she felt that she ought to do something, ought to make this right somehow, but nothing save an actual miracle would fix this now.

A bitter wordless kind of grief trapped any such display in her throat. Maybe this was it: could it be that this was the end for the Tower? That lacking their two lions, the great and good legends of the Battle Ajah, they had no chance whatsoever in the Last Battle? It seemed to her that this night they were not only mourning a strong woman, one of the only leaders the Tower had needed, but also the ruin of some great dream. The loss of any last hope that together, if they just held their courage, they could win through on behalf of the Light. How could anyone hope to fill the gap Lanfir Leah Marithsen had left behind? How did they settle for less at a time like this, in their hour of greatest despair, when somebody less great than Lanfir would have to step forward?

And part of her remembered something else … that near two years ago somebody had whispered some prophecy to her: something about heroes … and unaccountably she shivered. Playing like a legend was not her job, thank the Light, nor ever would be. Somebody else would take up that burden. They just had to stay strong even if the end was near now, even if they had no more heroes left, the game was not yet done and maybe a last gamble might win them some measure of hope; and if only she believed that. In fact she rather suspected that this signalled the end to any organised resistance from the Tower. But she would keep such dispiriting thoughts to herself.

If this was the last time Lanfir would ever be among Aes Sedai it seemed a poor ending. She wanted to say how grateful she truly was for the other woman’s services to the Tower, how much she regretted that she had been so stupid and resentful and inferior and given Lanfir so much grief … that she was ashamed of herself, that she feared so much, that she had wanted more from Lanfir than this living legend could ever give her … wanted to apologise, to reverse the past somehow, to make all of this never have happened. For frustrating moments she struggled with her own innate obstinacy, the soldier’s code of silence on anything important: and gave up. All she managed was, in tones briefly and uncommonly honest: “Light be with you, Lanfir. Mother.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Hello and welcome back! Nice to see you again. :D You can find our ooc board here and there are ooc Ajah boards there. Can you refresh me on who your character was? I don't see anybody listed under the name Cetana and our records are usually stupendously good. :roll: Cheers!

No longer? It took a good deal of control not to respond to that with all the derision it deserved. She had heard that before, so it seemed to her, and it had not been true on that occasion either; nor seemingly had it been true all those times the other woman had promised eternal love to a certain Sitter. If somebody chose to go back on their word, to break promises and abandon all their duties, giving their true loyalty to nobody and nothing, they had to expect nothing more than scorn when they made further false promises that would beyond a doubt be undone as easily as the last. Having dedicated her life to a single cause, which permitted no hesitation or conflict of loyalty, Sirayn found it difficult even to imagine viewing duty as something so empty and hollow. To be governed by that kind of whim must be … easier, she supposed. People were so strange and unreliable.

A hard smile wanted to curl her mouth at the next words. How ironic to hear Seiaman Kera, who had once been such a passionate believer in true love, distilling her so often professed feelings into a much colder truth: possession. Did the woman think she would find it more acceptable somehow to know that they had both been cynical liars rather than fools driven by desire and idealism? That their treachery had not been created by delusions of undying love but, instead, by some hostile intent? True love is simply a matter of ensuring no one else gets to taste what you own. Simple. Her lips tightened a fraction into a forbidding line. Good to know that the strong and the beautiful found life so effortless. Good to know, also, that if she ever became so pathetic she was prepared to let Seiaman touch her, she could look forward to being owned like a servant.

Maybe this was desperation talking. She had never understood how lust could be so strong that Jaydena could be prepared to sacrifice her pride and dignity just to get somebody in bed, but presumably it was, and maybe that motivated this bizarre conversation. Perhaps a journey to the north was too long to spend without some willing fool to warm one’s bed and thus overtures to one’s only companion in miles had to follow … or perhaps, she thought with a twist of bitter amusement, Jaydena had thrown her out of bed again for some imagined slight. No doubt the making up would be even more fabulously perfect than ever. The likelihood of her suffering herself to be some sort of stop-gap measure to ease whatever peculiar compulsions Seiaman had in the absence of her famously gorgeous and seductive lover was, needless to say, minimal.

In fact, the likelihood of her ever forgetting the past was equally minimal. For her to gain any measure of trust in this traitorous woman would require either a wholesale loss of memory or, for what reason she could not even imagine, her decision to consign the past fifteen years into irrelevance. The first time they had met Seiaman had done her best to kill her with a knife; on the next few occasions Seiaman had taken pains to assure her that she did not deserve to be Aes Sedai and never would; over the next few years, having coerced her into a bond she did not want and exposing her innermost secrets to somebody she did not trust, Seiaman had carried on a poisonous dalliance with that viper she professed to love; and several abandonments and times of treachery later, having been told over and over that she was now totally irrelevant to the life Seiaman had chosen to make for herself … now she was hearing tales of passionate love? No wonder it was hard to shake the suspicion that somebody was making fun of her.

Once upon a time she had dreamed that Seiaman would change her wayward ways and discover, through some moment of revelation, that it was not a certain brilliant Sitter she loved at all but someone rather plainer and more drab. She had been a fool to imagine that. There was no possible way that she could forgive what had happened in the past. Besides, people did not stop their shallow obsession with looks; nobody threw over the likes of Jaydena in all her flawless glory for drab and lesser replicas like her; traitors did not give up their lies … and fools like her continued to dream of ways to put the world to rights.

The first moment that Seiaman leaned in she froze. Panic shut out all reason. Part of her shrank back: she hated this, the closeness, the way anybody could terrify her so easily merely by intimating they might touch her. All her life she had traded on her courage and this immediate, instinctive fear diminished her. Her thoughts sped up. Her heart raced. She wanted to lash out, to drive the other woman away and couldn’t quite find the nerve to do so: wanted to draw away, couldn’t risk the damage to her pride: composure exerted frantic control. She had promised herself this was never going to happen again! That nobody would ever touch her against her will. Empty promises and no escape. As the other woman’s lips brushed hers she held herself still through tremendous effort … though once Seiaman finally drew away, after what seemed like an age, she only barely repressed a deep wrenching shudder of revulsion.

Blood and ashes. Her pulse raced wildly and her thoughts seemed scattered. She felt filthy, wanted nothing more than to hide somewhere and never let anyone near her again. How had this happened? How? Once she had convinced herself she wanted this … but Seiaman had seen what happened, had even been with her below the ground, how could the Gaidin ever imagine that she wanted anyone to touch her ever again? Did she seem so shallow or so stupid that she could forget that easily, or maybe it had not been harrowing enough, did Seiaman require something actually more terrible to happen before the other woman gave any credit to her very real and intense desire for nobody to come anywhere near her? Her grip tightened whitely on the reins. She wanted to snarl her fury and fear and frustration … and a small and fragile part of her wanted to weep.

This should have been such a special moment. It ought to have been something gentle and loving, a memory to store up against the dark times … but instead she found herself distressed and desperate beyond words, clutching at composure to hide the shaking inside. All ruined now. Sometimes she hated herself, hated everyone. She put on icy calm like a mask, drew on centuries of hard earned strength, and reminded herself that she was Aes Sedai. “Your touch disgusts me.†She kept her tones completely serene. “It will snow in the Aiel Waste before I ever suffer somebody to lay hands on me. You know perfectly well why. It speaks eloquently of your so-called feelings that you have either forgotten or care nothing for that. Kindly refrain from making such crude advances in future.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Sister of the Battle Ajah

All those years spent in the wilderness had not discouraged her. Perhaps she had been hardened by it, it had added to this iron face she showed to the world, but for the most part it had only sharpened her determination to press on. She had given up so much for the Tower that it did not bear thinking about; had retreated into the shadows, a spider dark and secret among her sinister schemes, and twitched her web to orchestrate events to her liking. And for many years while her contemporaries lived in the light, thrived on the warmth and liking of those around them, she had accustomed herself to a solitary path far from truth and certainty. Treachery in the past had taught her that other people could not be trusted; that when the dark times came one could only rely on oneself; and that lesson, at least, she had learnt well.

Of course she had dreamed of glory. Never lacking for ambition, as a child she had imagined all sorts of triumphs for herself, that she would come to be famous and beloved and everything people had promised she would never be. Those images were so bright she had put them aside once her childhood ended and practicality cast a rather colder light on affairs. Such honours came only to precious few. Perhaps she might lead one or two famous campaigns, maybe even become a Banner Captain in her twilight years once she brought enough age and prominence to the table … it seemed unlikely she would amount to anything else. She had not the effortless smiling charisma other great leaders had possessed, nobody fell at her feet in reverence, her looks and sternness won her few favours.

It was rumoured that Captains General way back in the mists of time had summoned Amyrlins to their door rather than the other way about, such had been their power and prestige, those so famous their legends were still taught to novices today. She knew she would never count herself among their number. It would take more than determination and tenacity to be mentioned in the same sentence as Rashima Kerenmosa and all her glittering comrades. Everybody knew that she had been marked forever by the loss of her hand, that she did not have the luck and brilliance to bring all her people back alive, and the Tower was not so short of heroes that it had to make do with the likes of her. Life in the shadow of her peers had always been discouraging: how did anyone measure up to Jehanine de’Gavrielle, cold and perfect as a statue, or to that gorgeous Sitter Jaydena? No, she had not had much real hope.

Yet tonight beneath the glitter of a thousand stars she had achieved a dream so long-held it seemed unreal, even now in her triumphant moment, like a painting sprung fully formed into life. Her schemes had come to completion; her faithful faction given its most challenging task on the field of politics, shadowed always by the Order, best and most loyal of her supporters. No older than many of her peers who had not accomplished half so much … even Jehanine, the most brilliant star of their generation, had never made it to where she stood now. It seemed surreal and maybe a bit unfair, perhaps she never should have made it to this place, but for all her flaws and failings and her frequent difficulties with the past, it was she who had lived and risen to triumph. Now she was Captain General.

Discretion being the watchword she had to keep telling herself to play it cool. An outward semblance of composure would preserve her ice-cold reputation and give nobody any excue to turn on her … but it was precious hard to act as though she had never even heard this miraculous news. Inwardly she brimmed over with excitement and jubilation. Of course nobody had lived to share it with her, they had all been snatched away by time and the Shadow, and this lent a dark note to an otherwise joyous night; but loneliness had become a constant friend and she rarely gave a thought any more to why nobody was beside her. She was a success! Her faction and the ever skilled Order had come through for her in style. The unwanted child had ascended further than anyone had even dreamed. So much for those doubters and critics.

Even so late at night, and the hour was winding onward toward dawn, the corridors echoed to the muffled sounds of song. Some would take any excuse to break open a bottle of wine and others had good reason to do so … particularly, one might hazard, those who had staked their careers on her triumph in this matter. She had promised them that in good time they would be rewarded as their service deserved. They celebrated now in anticipation that their stars would rise along with hers; and in good time their loyalty would receive its prize. They were not the only ones who would be rewarded. All those who had sworn she would never amount to anything, who had argued against her even being given the shawl in the first place, had been proved utterly wrong … and she remembered who had done so, of course, years had not dulled the memories. Everyone would get their reward in due time.

Candles danced in the corridors between the bright lamps. Their wavering light illuminated a rather icy smile as the new Captain General headed onward toward her goal. Just as some had good cause to celebrate right now, others should fear … and she suspected that people who had slighted her decades ago, in the certainty that she would amount to nothing, might now be discovering pressing reasons to be out of the city for now. Perhaps her wrath would cool in time. Or perhaps she would merely give that impression. It felt good to be in a position of dominance for once; she could spend hours imagining all the moves she would make in this great game, all the old scores she planned to settle. First and foremost, of course -- and again her smile was somewhat menacing -- was her old rival and nemesis: the gorgeous, popular, skilled and all around unquestionably perfect Jaydena Mckanthur.

Revenge after all these years would be so sweet she planned to savour every moment. How galling it must be! To be so fabulous and yet to be surpassed in one’s most burning ambition by one’s plain, drab rival, thus proving at a stroke that a flash of green eyes and long legs did not amount to all that much after all, must shake the very foundations on which Jaydena Sedai had built her faultless life. She indulged herself briefly by imagining that Jaydena was petrified right now. The other woman had to know that a colossal retribution was heading her way after all that had happened between them but, in case any shred of sympathy might colour her judgement, that was the price of losing this kind of gamble and certainly it was well deserved. No doubt Jaydena was too brave as well as all her other endearing qualities to tremble in the aforementioned shoes, but it would be as well for her if she did, perhaps some well-placed trembling might avert the wrath about to strike her. Life was good.

It had been some time since she took this path, but her feet found the way to her sister’s quarters all the same, as they had done so on numerous rather less satisfying occasions. All communication between them had ceased after Jaydena had called her the one insult she could never forgive … coward; but she remembered anyway how much of a fool she had been before now, how she had tolerated Jaydena stealing what did not belong to her, how she had even endured Jaydena touching her although the Light only knew it revolted her beyond words. Sometimes she thought life before she ended up on her own again had been one long sucession of mistakes. No more mistakes like that. She had no need of anyone any more, much less the kind of desperate, wordless need that had led her to overlook such contempt from somebody she had imagined to be a friend.

Even remembering discouraged her. The time for friends and mistakes had ended. It was time to play a harder game, and that included making certain that people who crossed her regretted it, preferably at length and for the rest of their lives. Up ahead that familiar door waited for her. She paused a moment outside to compose herself, smoothed her skirts, reassured herself that she was the very model of serenity, before she tapped and let herself in. A calculated pause only between request and entry. She did not have to ask permission for anything in her own Ajah Halls any more, particularly not when everyone must be expecting her to give Jaydena the thrashing of a lifetime, and though it startled her to think of these halls as belonging to her now she had no intention of giving up a fraction of the privilege being Captain General had brought her.

Inside she found herself graced with the lovely, portrait-perfect face of a woman who had callously and with malice aforethought made her life a misery. It pleased her immensely that rules of protocol dictated that Jaydena show respect to her now; she couldn’t remember the last time that Jaydena had seen her as anything but an unfortunate obstacle for the stealing of Gaidin thereof. “Good morning, Banner Captain,†Sirayn greeted her with a genial smile. And who appointed Banner Captains now? Her smile broadened just a fraction. No prizes for unravelling Green Ajah protocol for long enough to discover that the person thus blessed was, in fact, the one sister with an unrivalled reason to want a certain Sitter to suffer …

The Ajah Head. The same Ajah Head whom Jaydena had scorned, whose Gaidin she had stolen, whose courage she had insulted and whom she had opposed as an Ajah Head candidate. The tiny, plain, crippled one whom she had disdained now had complete discretion to destroy her political career and banish her into the wilderness. In fact, mused Sirayn as she contemplated her opponent’s perfect face, she had no reason whatsoever to restrain the temptation to do just that. This would be very satisfying indeed. “I do apologise for the hour of my visit.†Looking at that perfect face, these perfect quarters, this perfect life the urge to smash got a little more intense. She wanted to say something so poisonous it would hit the other woman like a blow; something to assert her new authority; something to strike fear into her prey … but she controlled herself. “Tonight is a night of some significance, however, and we have much to discuss. Such as your future in the Hall of the Tower.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Out for revenge

Semirhage? Now that name distracted her a bit from her rough games. It seemed so bizarre that anyone who knew her so well could doubt her identity, even leaving aside the spectacular unlikelihood of a Forsaken ever troubling her, that she furrowed her brow for a moment trying to figure out where that accusation had come from. Darkfriend she had been named on occasion, but this was the first time anyone had invoked the name of one of the thirteen most feared people in the world … but on the other hand, perhaps she ought to view it as a compliment. Common as it was for her to intimidate, she had rarely deemed it necessary to use force along with it and she had to admit it added a certain something. Perhaps she was discovering a new skill.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Semirhage had a habit of masquerading as crippled midgets; but even as she prepared her most scathing tones, a rather audacious proposal crossed her mind and she thought better of commenting. It had occurred to her that this might prove an interesting opportunity. Thoughtfully she watched the shielded soldier before her. Having been a good eight inches too short all her life she rather liked looking down on people for once. By some stroke of luck she was being invited to take on the limitless dread and terror associated with the Forsaken; and since she would have to seal Tayline to silence regardless of how this fell out, it seemed no more dangerous than her current enterprise. Could she masquerade as a Forsaken convincingly? The First Oath bound her and she had never even met the woman she was about to pass as … but she trusted her own ingenuity.

Briefly and coldly she considered the possibility of vengeance should the lady herself find out somebody had stolen her identity. No, that was too outlandish; a mere Aes Sedai did not deserve that level of attention. Semirhage it was! Though nobody saw it she resumed smiling down at her prey, and when she spoke, it was disturbingly gentle. “Have I asked you to call me by that name?†Her fingers strayed again to her captive’s soft cheek, still gentle of course, a touch perhaps not so reassuring under the circumstances as one might otherwise expect. Feigning such sheer power thrilled her. This could get addictive; being a Forsaken seemed rather preferable to being a crippled midget of an Aes Sedai. Nobody had ever dared lay a hand on Semirhage, the Dark One’s Chosen need not fear.

Reluctant, she moved away and crossed before Tayline once more; her pace was sinuous, nearly sinister. This would be the true trial by fire. Tayline had met the woman she was impersonating while she herself never had. If she could not mimic the mannerisms of a Forsaken, that most commanding and fearsome of folk, that would rapidly become evident. Yet it was just another mask; Daes Dae’mar demanded formidable skills at deception and she played that game daily. “It is beneath my dignity to wear a form like this.†Disdain subtly shaded her manner as she contemplated her quarry. “So short, so crippled, so feeble. Lacking in every respect. I wonder why you tolerate such among your sisters.†It took no deceit whatsoever to examine her own hands, or at least the remains thereof, contemptuously. “No true Chosen should lower themselves so … but needs must, I fear, and looking like this opens certain doors.â€

So late at night only candles lit these quarters. A careless gesture and the room plunged into blackness. Instants later a bright globe burst into existence in her cupped hand; its light dazzled the unwary, drenched the chamber in harsh light and shadows. The brilliance carved her stern face into demonic lines … and when the false Semirhage smiled her eyes burned with malice. “But let us not move too fast, sweetling. You may call me Sirayn for now.†Now she resumed her gentle pacing. The circles ranged in an unpredictable pattern; she lingered out of sight before advancing into view once more. Silence drew out into tension. Finally iron entered her tone once more: “Tell me about the Black Ajah.â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Black Ajah Hunter

Something in her twisted to see how gently the child put a hand on her swelling belly. A mother’s desire to protect and preserve she knew most intimately; in fact, being the callous and cold hearted person she was, she had relied on it in order to guide the other deeper into her schemes … but the trap had shut now, the child had sealed herself to a cause so great she did not even know it at this moment, and it was too late to regret anything: particularly the ruthless manipulation that had gained such standing of late. Yet all the same Sirayn watched that gesture with grey eyes narrowed a fraction in some concealed feeling. For a moment she might have despised herself for the cheapness of this trick and for how utterly she had taken advantage of a youngster in a hopeless position.

But she had more pressing matters to deal with than the questionable ethics under which she operated. Leave the philosophy for the White Ajah, convince herself she did not need to worry about how many principles she broke in pursuit of success, and continue onward; the night’s round of meetings was scarcely begun and she had much to accomplish before dawn broke. Job done, having accomplished everything she had set out to do, her thoughts were already moving away from the sorry tale contained within these quarters. “Good. And some day you will have the opportunity to pay me back. But for now, little sister, I must leave you. Tomorrow you go to Bandar Eban and soon, very soon … all this will be over.†Smiling warmly, she let herself out and exited the Ajah Halls without so much as a glance back.

Being greeted by a sleepy-looking Tayline Jolryn in a white robe disconcerted her somewhat. She couldn’t frame exactly what she had been expecting from a possible Black Ajah member. Menace perhaps; at least an image more cool and collected than the one presented to her right now. It was difficult to imagine this woman whom she had once considered her daughter ever being daunting. For all those tremendous gifts in battle it took other qualities to intimidate an Aes Sedai. Maybe to her Tayline would always be that child whom they had had to hold down in the dark, who had wept when she stitched up the effects of that first and calamitous Dreammwalking … and that line of thought had to stop right there. If she remembered too much she might let sentiment get in the way of this black business.

The salute gratified her briefly. It told her she was no longer a nobody round here. She could not let that distract her, nor thoughts of triumph, any more than this unexpected rush of memories and feeling upon seeing a woman she had not set her eyes on in some time. Those were a fool’s thoughts. The Black Ajah let nothing impair their work; they were inexorable, black spiders working their way through this Tower, and every second she spent being feeble was another second gifted to them to continue their progress. Even now nobody was safe. Bitterly she remembered the thirteen companions who had gone on that brave and lonely hunt. Only a handful had returned to graves, bearing the marks of Tear where nobody else could see, and now practically nobody was left. Put that way, the whole scheme was so hopeless anyone with any sense would give it up … but she had never been good at being sensible.

Mere inevitability had not stopped her before nor should it now. Their victory might be all but certain by now but the presence of Black Ajah here offended her on some fundamental level. She had lost too many sisters and feared their dark advance to give up now. Besides, a past Amyrlin had charged her with a duty she had not yet discharged. For these and other reasons, secret matters she kept close to her heart, she had to get this done as fast and brutal as possible. No space for considerations of family here. Tayline had ceased to be nearly her daughter when she became probably Black Ajah. That somebody had pried into her dreams and viewed her innermost secrets outraged her; and finally she found the determination Tayline had broken so successfully, the seething fury and the resolve never to stop until she had seen this mission through.

“There is plenty you can do for me, sister mine.†Her tone remained cool and impassive by habit but Sirayn smiled … a rather cruel, unsettling smile as she shut the door behind them and, with a rapid gesture, warded these quarters for silence. So far, so predictable. Nobody expected her to be courteous to them anyway and it might raise suspicions if she was. Calmly she drew on her angreal and doubled her pitiful strength. Now was the instant that a Black Ajah sister, knowing perfectly well the knowledge Sirayn held, should have recognised her number was up but no sign of guilt crossed the pretty face, nor did Tayline prepare herself for battle. She wasn’t certain whether to be heartened by this … or whether it made evidence of some deeper game.

Time to make her own move. “Do take a seat.†She struck with every ounce of force she possessed. A shield slammed down on the woman before her; shock and confusion played across a once beloved face, it moved her beneath her own composure but ruthlessly she excised that feeling. “Take a seat, I said.†Now smiling benevolently, she gestured her victim to the nearest seat. “Tayline, Tayline.†She shook her head in regret as she contemplated her opponent. The false concern covered her manner only lightly; her grey gaze remained cold and steady and unwavering. “I had such faith in you. Such trust. I suppose that proves the essential futility of trusting another person … but let us not get distracted by philosophy. You have made some mistakes, haven’t you? I am greatly distressed. All that valuable Dreamwalking expertise, gained at such cost to the Tower and yourself … and you still managed to make your presence known. This will not do, Tayline my sweet. Not at all.â€

The endearment sounded foreign on her tongue. It lent a bizarre strangeness to the scene; forget the woman sitting shielded before her, forget that she could not shield, forget that she ought not to have any desire whatsoever to lift a hand to one once as a daughter to her, it was the sound of that word that convinced her. The world outside these quarters had ceased to hold any importance. All that mattered was herself, the possible Black Sister before her, and the strength of their respective wills. It filled her with a bitter sort of excitement that she might finally have her hands on a member of the fabled Black Ajah, that if she just applied pressure in the right way, Tayline might crack and spill forth all her secrets … and Light, the pressure she intended to apply would break the bravest woman.

Preparing herself to do anything necessary to succeed, in that moment the mask slipped and a wealth of contempt and fury burned in her grey eyes … but all that moved out of sight as she stepped away. Her steps became slow, deliberate; on silent feet she circled her shielded and helpless sister. The note that entered her voice now was so intense as to be predatory. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody is coming. There’s only you and me. I advise you think about that for a while; you know perfectly well what I’m here for, and if you have any sense you’ll know that I am prepared to use any means necessary to deal with you. As your sisters have shown no mercy to us, so will I show no mercy to you. And my idea of showing no mercy has been known to be … how shall I put it … a little rough.â€

Her speech lay heavy and corrosive on the silence. On each word her false pretence of warmth shaded another fraction toward outright menace and cruelty. Another step took her behind the shielded sister and when Tayline half turned, she laid a hand gently on the other woman’s shoulder to discourage her. “Look straight ahead, sister. That’s right. Good.†Gentle now. Let that able imagination read all sorts of intonation into her words; let her fear, let her wonder, let the Black Ajah know uncertainty for once. This was no idle talk, Sirayn had no compunctions about turning the Shadow’s own methods on itself, and though doubtless she would regret it later at the moment she could not muster a scrap of sympathy for her quarry.

“So, little sister.†She leaned on the back of the chair, speaking softly, close enough now that when she rested her arms on the wood her fingers brushed feather light against Tayline’s exposed throat. She drew a finger along the delicate skin there and imagined ripping out her throat … but business before pleasure. “Do you feel like talking now? Or do you require a little demonstration? A proof, shall we say, of my intent?â€

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

Black Ajah Hunter

Rough hands shook her from sleep. It broke up her dreams and furrowed her brow in sleepy uncertainty; pieces of the night’s imaginings collided and for an confused instant she knew fear … but that was a coward’s thought. The pitch black blinded her and she pushed at reaching hands uselessly trying to gather her wits. Dreams weighed heavy on her tonight though she ordinarily slept light, with a soldier’s habit of waking at the slightest sound, and sleep drugged her thoughts to treacle slowness. This all seemed wrong. It was too dark: the stars should be out above their camp and the sentries burning signal fires to ward off the shadow. Nothing quite made sense. “On your feet,†someone growled in the darkness, and half a hundred lights turned the world white.

Everything flooded with brilliance so fast she flung up an arm to shield her eyes and still got dazzled. Stone and wood sketched the outlines of a room through the haze. This disconcerted her even more; these quarters were furnished in a luxurious style most unlike her own severe rooms, she would never willingly have suffered that opulence anywhere near her, it took her several laborious moments to put this together into a picture that made sense. Of course, the striped stole and the ceremony … now she remembered. Nothing like remembering about being the newly raised Amyrlin Seat to darken one’s mood. Her brow furrowed further in perplexity and outrage as previously forgotten dignity asserted itself. How did anyone get the audacity to wake up an Amyrlin Seat with lights and shouting? “This had better be important-“ Silence fell once she stopped mid-snap. Her eyes had recovered from the sudden brightness now; she recognised clearly that there were thirteen dark, hooded forms by her bed.

Thirteen: a number of black significance to all Aes Sedai. Panic hit her. She opened herself to the One Power and flung fire. It winked out like a candle between them; she never even saw how they did it. Everything turned to speed and chaos. Her hand shot to the dagger under her pillow, somebody swept it out of reach, hard hands hauled her stumbling to her feet. Their casual use of force insulted her deeply. She snarled at them to take their hands off her and someone hit her: a casual backhand blow that jarred her speechless. Her cheek stung. Fear and sleepy confusion vanished in an instant. Her fury rose as hard and fast as a wave; it might override all thought if she let it, break her prized control, but that much she could not afford. Had to think clearly: had to be fast, logical, precise. Not scared. Amyrlins did not know fear.

Empty handed and outnumbered thirteen to one. These did not make good odds; it would have unsettled her even had she not known that thirteen strangers channelling something she could not sense was not a good sign. She needed to identify their leader, the one who controlled the circle, and strike at him to incapacitate the others. That should give her a chance to get back on level terms … as much as she ever could be considering her pitiful strength in saidar. Coolly she instructed their captors to remove their hands, crossed the room, pulled a heavy robe on over her shift. Aes Sedai could not be seen less than immaculate, less than perfect, and bizarre as it was that she now wore the seven-striped stole, that went double for the Amyrlin Seat.

This looked bleak. Simpler to keep moving than to stop and think about this, how little chance she had, how great the consequences for herself and the world. Icy composure masked her inner thoughts; she choked out dread and horror that wanted to make her hands shake, took a ruthless control. Silent she kept her distance from her hooded guests. No point in sparking a confrontation yet. “Good evening, gentlemen.†Her tones rang cool and unwavering. At least she assumed they were all men beneath those hoods; she ought to sense the presence of another woman who could channel. “Your behaviour is most discourteous, but I will put that aside for the moment, I imagine we have other matters to discuss. You may show me your faces now.†Let her see what she was dealing with. Thirteen! Light.

Eleven ignored her. Only two lifted strong hands to dark hoods, pushed them back … and what she glimpsed there struck her speechless with horror. Her eyes went wide. For once all her silver words stuck in her throat and she was rendered as dumb as a novice. Terror coiled cold as winter in her heart; when she lifted a hand to clutch her robe tighter, needing something textured and solid in her grasp to ground herself, her hand was shaking like a leaf. “No.†It was nearly a snarl: as close to desperation ran stark in her voice as she had ever permitted herself. Amyrlins did not fear. She would not disgrace herself so. “No. Light no! This isn’t real! You can’t be here! This can’t be true!â€

It was her dead son Solin and his Dreadlord partner, Amiarin Lucif.

“Hello, Mother,†said Solin, and smiled.

Once she had dealt with the fear these two invoked in her so effortlessly through insults. Trapped in darkness below the ground, shielded and helpless, she had provoked without care for the consequences. Back then she had convinced herself she knew how much determined folk could hurt her if they wanted, but she had not truly understood, and thus she had mocked to keep up this mask of courage. In the mean time these two had ruined her. She had spent months piecing herself back together, months of nightmare and panic and dreadful shame. Now she understood that this double act was infinitely creative and capable when it came to inflicting pain … and she realised, with a jolt of fear so intense it was electric, that they already knew from past history how to hurt her best.

How much was the Tower worth? Had it earned this much from her, that she willingly let this happen again? Part of her cowered in such utter terror that she would have sacrificed anything and anyone if they just let her go. The rest of her … in accordance to some old, hopeless instinct the Tower had beaten into her long ago … resisted. Defiance was such a fundamental part of her character that she did not know if she could submit even if she wanted to; on the other hand, she suspected it was a trick she could learn fast enough, if there was the slightest risk anyone might put their hands on her again. It took concentration to repress the shudder that wanted to run through her at that memory. She had to control this fear. If she let it get the better of her she might as well surrender now and give up any right to call herself Aes Sedai.

Bitterly she resented that anyone could break her composure so easily. Dread hammered in time with her pulse. She made herself take slow breaths, calming herself, exerting control at the full extent of her will. Kept her eyes on the ground. If she met her son’s grey eyes so like her own she figured she might do something unwise; it had been touch and go for a few moments there anyway. Control. Calm. Only through logic and reason did she have half a chance of getting through this. There was something fractionally off about this scene, something she could not quite put her finger on … dread and doubt talking again, she dismissed it. A brief glance at Amiarin Lucif, dark haired and strong and menacing as her memories told her, just about undid all her hard work. And she called herself Amyrlin Seat.

“A collared Aes Sedai. I think I’d like to make you my pet, Mother. To serve my every need and whim.â€

Reluctantly her gaze lifted; and for long moments she simply stared, hopelessly longing, torn by fear and regrets. The brilliant youngster she had brought into this world stood before her smiling. She had last seen that smile when he had promised to escort her to the Dark Lord’s own hell; moments later she had put a knife in his heart and ended his traitorous life forever. Her shock was still so great, her fear so consuming that she could not even imagine how he was here in his old glory. Her thoughts stumbled over the whole concept. She couldn’t just dismiss it as a trick of her eyes, for hadn’t she seen Seiaman resurrected in much the same manner, was this the same crazy trick? Could it be -- and now her own thoughts filled her with horror beyond words -- that the Dark One had undone the effect of her illicit Red Ajah-aided stilling and raised her son among his Dreadlords?

“I am merciful,†said Amiarin Lucif beside him, the nemesis she had sought long and bitterly since their last meeting, who had slain her family and claimed her beloved Gaidin and so many other horrors besides. I should rip the lenses from your eyes in their sockets and leave you blind as well as Stilled. You will lose your arms and legs at the torso but keep your tongue so the world could hear your pathetic pleas. Abandoned in a land far from your precious White Tower, cut off from the Source without even the means to kill yourself. This is the hell I promise you if you mention Namandar again. But I am merciful. Feel the extent of my mercy. Amiarin smiled a brilliant smile. “Feel the extent of my mercy.â€

The eleven companions moved forward. Thirteen and Dreadlords all: her control had held across centuries but this seared it to treacherous wavering. She knew exactly what was coming. Once they were done breaking her all over again they would finish the job all Aes Sedai feared with thirteen Myrddraal at their side. A Black Ajah Amyrlin! If she even opened her mouth she was going to make herself a coward forever. She had nothing to fight back with. Her strength in the One Power was poor at best. And at the back of her thoughts something was itching at her. Her instincts warned her about something she could not quite grasp. No time for this! If she was ever to defend herself it had to be now.

They advanced. Sirayn lifted her hand and summoned everything she had … and then she realised. This fresh thought hit her like a blow. Everything sharpened to crystalline clarity. It was not confusion and fear that muddled this to such incoherence; there was something fundamentally wrong and she should have realised ages ago. “Hold on just one moment.†Her lifted hand, poised to weave, became a sternly raised finger. Eleven shadows looked at this imperious finger and paused. Only one dared make another step … and to see such obedience in the midst of such madness unnerved her again. It dislodged the tremendous weight of fear so that another and much older trait came to the fore.

Terror had suppressed her innate insolence to an extent such that it took only that sign to let it free. “Young man, you do not interrupt the Amyrlin Seat.†Sirayn fixed her quarry with a forbidding look. The following silence turned the sharp edge of her terror keenly to something more like excitement … something like fury. And when a good black fury was with her now she remembered how to feign courage under fire, how to speak insults where other women spoke surrender, how to be fiercely Aes Sedai despite the desperate circumstances. “Somebody tell me this. In a room full of Dreadlords, why is it I can’t sense the ability to channel? I should be feeling it. Even just one woman would be enough. For example,†and she fixed her arch rival with a look of total hatred, “Amiarin Lucif.â€

Only silence resounded in the opulent quarters. Nobody moved. For one blessed moment fear loosed its grip; her instincts told her that she had regained some measure of control over this situation. Her heart still hammered, her mouth was dry, but she had found her precious courage again and it made her who she was. “I can only think of one reason why I don’t sense it.†Time to push some boundaries. At first she figured that dread still held her still, but eventually she made herself step forward, a pace closer to two nightmares that had haunted her sleep for Light knew how long. It gave her a cruel thrill to think that she might be turning some measure of discomfort on them; their faces showed no expression but Solin took a step back. Good. Let him fear. “Have you been stilled? Is that it? You can’t channel any more?â€

Dark eyes narrowed in contempt. She did not care; the ascendancy was with her now, crippled and troubled or not, she had regained control. “You have, haven’t you?†Sheer malice lay corrosive on her voice. If she could have ripped Amiarin to pieces she would have done; instead she clutched her heavy robe and imagined her grip tightening on the other woman’s throat instead. “Stilled. How … degrading.†Spite gave her sorely needed strength. “How does it feel to be helpless? Not all that amusing after all, is it? Let me see … what was it that you said … Is there any creature as pathetic as an Aes Sedai who has been Stilled? I think that that is the ultimate height of worthlessness. Serves you right. I hope you suffer for it. I hope you spend the rest of your life suffering.†Her surviving hand opened and closed. If not for these two she would have had two strong hands and proper courage, such as befitted one who had once been Head of the Battle Ajah. “How does it feel to be less than me? To be the least and smallest and weakest one here? Stilled! You are pathetic. You have nothing. You are nothing.†Light, she needed this cruelty, needed this control. She had been perilous close to losing it earlier.

“But I am merciful,†said Amiarin Lucif once more. Somehow her tones lacked the malice and intensity and sheer paralysing menace that had had such terrifying effect … and now Sirayn came to think of it, wasn’t she repeating this rather often? Had the woman actually said anything she hadn’t come out with once before? “Feel the extent of my-“

“-mercy. I know.†Briefly this logic problem puzzled her. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Tell me something I haven’t already heard.â€

“Tell me something I haven’t already heard.â€

Slowly her hand fell away. She stared, grey eyes narrowed, at her greatest adversary. Maybe she was being mocked … but this didn’t add up to a now spectacular degree. If the other woman had been stilled, why would she have come here in the company of twelve Dreadlords? Or eleven, if the boy Solin had not had his channelling miraculously restored? Thirteen had made sense, thirteen was a number of power, but eleven? Every time she thought about it she ticked off another potential channeller from the list. For all she knew none of them could channel worth a damn. She had had her fire weave quenched earlier, but that was a child’s trick, a novice worth their whites could have done the same. Were they actually Dreadlords? Were they even here at all? Did they, in fact, even exist? Could it be that all her terror and the chaos and violence had been … some sophisticated trick?

This was getting metaphysical. All this uncertainty gave her no support at all; but at least the fear had eased, no longer to gnaw at her so hard. She relied on this clearer head. “You should be scarred.†This seemed obscurely important. Sirayn frowned over the strong, frighteningly familiar, yet irrefutably unmarked face before her. “Look, give me some credit. My friend exploded stone right in front of you. She told me she ruined your face.†Still nobody moved or spoke. She had the brief and uncanny feeling that she was dictating to a captive audience, that no intelligence moved behind the faces she knew so well. “Nothing to say to me? None of you?†Her voice turned to iron and stone in an instant. “Have you nothing to say to the Amyrlin Seat?â€

Only the words rang in the silence. “Blood and ashes,†snapped Sirayn, furious at herself, still shaking a bit in suppressed tension, and stalked toward the nearest supposed Dreadlord. She flung back the dark hood … and froze in momentary terror. Eyes wide, breath catching in her throat, it mirrored that earlier moment but the trigger was so different. Revealed was a young man of scarcely thirty years, dark haired, green eyed, bearing the stamp of Saldaea in his strong face. “Losyn.†The words wavered and nearly broke. She lifted a hand … then took it back as though burned before she touched that face: for it was not true, not real, only a mask created from memories. “That was a cheap trick.†She wanted to snarl, kept her tone steady with an effort. “Damn it.†She steadied herself and moved on.

The second Dreadlord proved to have the look of Far Madding, dark haired, dark eyed and speaking cool perfection in every line. Jehanine Rhessaven de’Gavrielle. No Dreadlord now, nor had ever been, for Jehanine had been slain months ago by an assassin’s blade meant for her. Her mouth twisted into a bitter line: she could see where this was going now. Nevertheless, she moved on.

The third Dreadlord looked serene and beautiful and perfect in every way. The hood fell away a little to show a stunning crimson gown; golden haired and lovely, her old mentor looked back at her calmly. They studied one another for some time in silence, blue eyes and grey, and then she moved on from Telcia Alianin-Nalemar.

The fourth Dreadlord was blessed with the kind of unfair, mesmerising beauty that came only once in a lifetime. Auburn haired, with eyes like jade and curves to distract the chastest heart, this one was Jaydena Mckanthur.

The fifth Dreadlord looked uncannily like her. Bright blue eyes met hers. So many memories were associated with this striking face that she had to concentrate to let nothing show on her face … Lyssa Símeone; her daughter, twin to Solin, and currently a proud Tower Guard.

The sixth Dreadlord wore the face of Corin Danveer. Seeing him like this twisted something oddly in her heart. It was maybe the only time she could watch him without fear of losing anything, for she was now quite certain that this was not true, it was some kind of complex game. Again she wanted to touch … but she did not dare.

The seventh Dreadlord occupied her for what seemed like a long time. She stood before this strange vision, wearing the look of somebody she had loved intensely and fiercely for so long, and truly her heart turned over and she did not know how she kept her composure: how she could ever look on that beloved face, meet the green eyes and still bear it: and only the strange emptiness there, the lack of intelligence, let her convince herself this was false. No thoughts moved behind the face she was so accustomed to seeing. The details weren’t even right any more. Seiaman looked harder now, older and colder, and she ought to be wearing a patch over the eye she had lost; still as she let her fingertips hover only a fraction above skin she knew would be warm, it seemed to her that this was a more real Seiaman somehow -- the Seiaman who lived on in her memories and would never get old.

By the time she turned away from the thirteen people she had imagined to be Dreadlords the fury rising in her was savage and all consuming. A trick. It was all a trick! By some bizarre magic her innermost fears and longings had been played out on a giant stage. Luckily nobody but her had been here to see, but … such terror, such anger she had known, if anyone had even glimpsed her … she had been played like a puppet. Somebody was laughing at her right now. She wanted to hit something. Her anger demanded some outlet. “For the love of the Light!†Frustration rang fierce in her voice. “Come on! Give me some credit! I’m not an idiot. How could I possibly fall for this? Corin Danveer? The boy’s barely out of the cradle! A hardened Dreadlord he is not! Tiassale Morobin? Lyssa? How much of a fool do you think I am? Light!â€

No more fear now. This wrath left no room for anything else, and anyway she was Amyrlin now, she could never be seen to falter. Snarling, she advanced on her thirteen tormentors. “You lying, twisted pieces of dirt! Did you think I would never find out? Do you take me for a dupe? Do I look like you can terrorise me into silence? You are lies!†She was shaking. If this lasted any longer she would actually have to throw them out with her own two hands; and now, savagely, she was convinced that she could do just that if she chose to. Two steps put her in front of her dead son and the mockery of his lover. She wanted, immediately and intensely, to slap those empty impassive faces … had to take deep breaths to have any chance of restraining herself. Light burn them!

No more playing. No more games. She crossed the room and flung open the door: screams came toward her and she ignored them: her growl rose to an outraged roar: “I am done with you all! I deny you! Out and out and thrice out before I throw you out myself!†And they went … shambling, shuffling, small figures now … and as they passed her threshold each one winked into nothing. Shaking in mingled temper and fear, in as towering a black fury as she had been in a long while, Sirayn slammed her door with a crash and stormed out into the corridors to find out what was going on.

Sirayn Damodred

Watcher of the Seals

Flame of Tar Valon

The Amyrlin Seat

Ooc: This is an off-timeline, showcase demonstration of the Division’s talent. All members of the White Tower Div are encouraged to post. Use your imagination as to what happens and if you run short of plot, check out this post for ideas; anything is possible in a Bubble of Evil. The thread lasts one week from Monday 12th of June.

*

On the stroke of midnight the world changed.

A thousand stars glittered in the skies like a painter’s masterwork. They shed a pale and sharply silver light over the dreaming world beneath them; starlight fell across the great swell of mountains and the sweep of fields, all shrouded in darkness that softened crude edges and pooled shadow in every hollow. Far below the swathe of stars a city slumbered in as close to silence as such a great place ever got. The tall white walls that had created its other title shone serene in the stillness, and behind them, like a ghost in the night, rose a great white stronghold. Around its massive base only shadows stirred. The occasional light glimmered up and down its length in testament to its nightly business. Long into the black watches of the night the Tower stood sentinel over its white city.

Even as the hour chimed midnight, twelve slow strokes of a great bell, the change stole in unnoticed. No whisper heralded its coming, nor did anything perceptible change which those left awake could put their finger on; but any lights left still burning wavered, just a little, and perhaps one or two who burned the midnight oil were given a moment’s pause at which to wonder. In this new age of men and machines some instincts had lain dormant for centuries. Relics of older times, they stirred now in response to a hundred subtle signals … the lights’ tremble, the midnight hour, perhaps a fractional cooling in the temperature … and all across the city the change moved on. Light sleepers stirred. Babes in their cradles began to cry. Shadows in the street outside scuttled for cover. Shut away behind several layers of stone and wood, the oblivious and the weary slept on unwitting.

At thirteen minutes past midnight, though few owned the complex and expensive mechanisms needed to time so exactly, every light in the city winked out. No guttering of flames, no dimming of lanterns: one moment light, the next moment darkness. Down in the city someone started screaming. The thin sound bounced in among stone houses and dwindled. In some streets mist began to boil up from the flagstones themselves. Dense and white and ghostlike, those creeping tendrils twined round houses and stole up among the graceful bridges that crossed back and forth across streets, tapped at windows. The mist muffled a little of the sound, confused anyone who stepped out unwary into the street and some might have sworn that it hid other things; shadows, perhaps, or forms that surely only legend could have brought forth. Sounds of panic and chaos rose above the clamouring city and …

… clocks stopped ticking.

… thirteen children vanished, snatched from their cradles and never seen again.

… a cathedral of classic architecture some centuries old started to fail. Stone slipped. Wood creaked. A spire some ten feet high slid off the roof and shattered on the street stones far below like a dropped glass.

… an innkeeper stepped outside to find that where a proud white banner had once flown from the chimney, now a black banner hung dead and dark in its place.

… a shop of finely blown glassware resounded to a succession of cracks. Inside each piece in turn was exploding, from largest to smallest, and when an unwary someone opened the door a huge shard ripped out their throat.

… all the flowers in the city started to grow at a manic pace, spilled blooms and thorns everywhere, and creepers formed a dense and prickly mat on the ground.

… the first man to venture out into the mist got swallowed up in an instant; moments later half a dozen versions wearing his face exited in different directions.

… cells beneath the city opened to release a hundred criminals.

And still the change moved on. It was a night of madness, of mayhem and mystery; a night when all normal rules were cast aside; a night in which fate, that great guiding hand, twisted together the most bizarre and disparate threads. In this night legends would fall and new stories rise, courage and determination could fail forever, and the onslaught of the world’s evil stepped up another notch. Yet lest anyone falter, all isolated and stricken by fear in the midst of this disorder, let it be remembered that the Tower had gone on standing for countless centuries and seen out countless hard times. Kings had quailed from the wrath of this great white beacon in the night; and even in this bitter hour, driven into a path of desperation, all was not lost. Let it never be said that the fabled Tower could not weather this storm too … nor that it was short of heroes.

Hail to the Tower!

Master is lurking. ;)

Behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.

She had never trusted in prophecy. She lacked that conviction in her heart, that willingness to place her belief in something greater than herself, the capability to take a leap of faith; she preferred facts and logic. If there was anything else … anything that the credulous might call the work of fate or even destiny … it stemmed from people wanting to believe in it. The reason a thousand folk might follow just one person came not from prophecy but from inspiration, drive and desperation, from the hundred places that made a hero. Yet in the hard years, dark times of desperation and despair, people needed to fool themselves that a final glory awaited them. They dreamed of being saved; that the Heroes of the Horn waited even now just out of sight; that a Lord of the Morning would come again to defeat the Shadow on their behalf. And even when centuries whiled on into ashes still they stubbornly believed.

So she did not imagine for a moment that it had been prophesied, maybe long ago, that the Green Ajah would give forth a lion of an Amyrlin to save the world at the Last Battle, though perhaps there was an innocent part in all of them that wanted to believe … nor did she think that the game was up now and that they had no hope against the Shadow. Intellectually she figured it might even make no difference. Replace one Amyrlin from the Battle Ajah with another cut from the same cloth; maybe one of her choosing, she liked to think she could extend that much influence now; and everything might proceed as had been imagined. That was what logic told her. But some old and persistent fear told her another story: that people only got one shot at redemption, one chance for salvation, and they had lost theirs … and now they were going to slide once and for all into the darkness.

Enough of this dark philosophy. If they had lost their golden hero, they would have to go on regardless, to think otherwise would be to give in to despair. And that would be the final blow. Instead brooding she watched the woman lying in bed beside her. Sunlight and the shadow of pale sheer drapes played across the lovely face, smoothed over the dismay and anguish there … and for once Sirayn had complete and unqualified sympathy. To have such an integral part of one’s life torn away must be paralysing; that much she could assess from having lost her own friends time and again; she had stood silent in white at half a hundred funerals and it never got any easier. If there was anything she knew, it was the guilt and horror of surviving when everything important had gone. Perhaps only the Battle Ajah treated its sisters so harshly.

Nothing she could say would make this any better. She merely took the other woman’s hand and remained silent while she watched the world crash down around Lanfir Leah Marithsen, the golden one, their hero and leader; the bright room so still and silent it seemed like a mockery after the past days’ chaos. Amid all this tragedy she felt like a traitor even to survive. Had she not pledged herself to the defence of the Tower? If anyone should have died in dust and smoke and bitter ashes during a Dreadlord assault on her home it should have been her; an Ajah Head could be replaced easily and anyway, she was dispensable, she had little merit her successor could not also provide. Those two had been too important to lose. And surely no Keeper had died in battle for Light knew how long.

In an irrational way she suspected that Lyanna al’Ellisande had stolen her death. No loss if they could have been switched around. It would have meant a quick, clean end for a Captain General doing her duty and spared the Tower’s leaders for the desperate future ahead; times which required women of their quality and determination to guide the Tower through Tarmon Gai’don. To be thinking in these terms seemed callous, but it was … easier, somehow, to watch the big picture right now; to think less about watching one’s best and only friend struck down in front of one’s eyes; not to remember the bloody print of a hand on her skirts. Politics scarcely afforded her any more comfort, but at least life would go on in its old course. Lanfir would never get back what she had lost. The memory of that desperate hour would never die.

Resilient as she was part of her just about admitted defeat when the great and golden Lanfir, legend for so many years, started pleading with her for reassurance. Half a hundred replies came to her tongue, none any more comforting than the last, yet she felt that to provide consolation here would be a small sign of betrayal; false comfort for somebody now so shattered, no more than a shell of the woman who had guided their Tower past Dumai’s Wells and so many other disasters. Even her own composure wavered a little when it occurred to her that this scene … one injured, seeking comfort, one expected to provide that … was a twisted kind of mirror of some other meeting not long ago. And she could not afford to let that waver. Had to be cool: had to be calm. It was not her place to interfere between another woman and her own demons.

But what could she possibly say? Commiserations, life was now over, time to give up? The likelihood of Lanfir Marithsen, once and future saviour, removing herself to a dull and undistinguished retirement seemed minimal. Truth to tell she couldn’t even imagine Lanfir not being Aes Sedai any more. If one had lost saidar, the Light’s greatest gift, what else was there left? It was the same reason why she could not comprehend that anyone would risk their standing as Aes Sedai for shallow reasons like men or wine or the ties of blood. How could anything like that even compare? And watching her idol now, in pieces, irrevocably broken, it seemed to her that she was seeing her own future … or maybe a metaphor for the fall of the world. There was no denying the end of everything.

Somebody more articulate and more compassionate should have been sent to do this. She had no words; had no idea how to express her sympathy and her concern, what well meant platitudes might be of some assistance here. “I wish I could.†Her small gesture substituted for a thousand words. “It’s all true. You’re burnt out. You’ll never be Aes Sedai again.†Only sisters of their kind understood how much that meant. To be Aes Sedai meant not only channelling, but made them part of something greater and more fundamental than themselves; a life of service and sacrifice; their knowledge isolated them, their courage and causes drove them, there was little friendship or gentleness open to them. Aes Sedai still shook the world they had once made in their image.

Not to be part of that any longer … she could scarcely imagine it, didn’t even want to. It reminded her of the allegory she had once heard: the moth that flitted through a darkened room, passed through a single bar of sunlight, moved on into the darkness. And that darkness seemed all the more terrible for the knowledge that once, somewhere, there had been light. How was life worth living, deprived of saidar, shackled to home and hearth, shunned by the Aes Sedai one had once known for the fears brought up by one’s terrible condition? Limited like some servant to a life of labour and ignorance? Accompanied only by dreams and regrets. Nobody who had not once worn the shawl herself could understand the pressures of life as Aes Sedai, the hardship and the glory, the sheer strength of will demanded. It wasn’t worth living any more.

No softening of the blow. That seemed disrespectful somehow. “Lyanna will be laid to rest tomorrow morning according to her final letter.†Again, it was not her place to ask the woman beside her to attend, but it seemed pitiful beyond words that the funeral might go on and nobody who had once loved and cared for the deceased would be present; only the bizarre-looking Tower Guard like a mockery of a clown and she knew perfectly well how far the feelings of Tower Guards could be trusted. “Caladesh survived, but he burned out as well, or so we think. The Red Ajah are holding him and they haven’t reported any attempts to channel. Yesterday,†now if she could distil an extremely trying event into a perfectly calm and business-like account, that would be ideal, “we held his trial.†She was certainly not going to talk about her own part in that. “He’s been sentenced to execution. Should happen any time now.â€

It didn’t seem enough somehow. She had nothing more to offer. And the lines from that funeral service kept running through her head … so much for death being swallowed up in victory.

Hello and welcome aboard! :D You'll find the majority of the White Tower Div action goes down at www.WhiteTowerDiv.org, where we hang out on our offsite boards. The lovely Lavinya Sedai, our freshers admin, will be getting to your bio shortly. If you have any questions and so on, feel free to ask.

Immediately after the Breaking is more my taste than Trolloc Wars era. There's a lot of background and information to the Trolloc Wars that people don't necessarily have much access to unless they've got the Big White Book sitting next to them - and the sheer chaos and desperation of the Breaking sounds like more fun. ;)

And the plotline, surely, would be survival. :D

Retirement was a word she was scarcely even acquainted with. It had not remotely crossed her mind in connection with herself and people she knew; it did not happen to sisters until advancing age had burned every scrap of usefulness from once sharp minds and weary frames, and while she might admit to the occasional moment on cold mornings in which she remembered how old her bones actually were, she was certainly far from done in her service to the Tower. To think of somebody who had once fought alongside her having retired from duty disconcerted her greatly. For that somebody to be Seiaman Kera … always the boldest and the strongest of the Tower Guard, a heron-marked blademaster, who had fought the Black Ajah with her in Tear and the Aiel at Dumai’s Wells … needed serious consideration.

Ordinary folk did not live a quarter so long as Aes Sedai, of course, and by their standards Seiaman had lived long and fought hard. The difficulties of life as a soldier must have taken their toll. Perhaps being struck down in the mud at Dumai’s Wells and left for dead had had its effects as well. All the same, somehow she had imagined that Seiaman would never fail or falter. Part of her remembered the Ebou Dari woman only as her Warder; did not even want to picture Seiaman with her sleeves rolled up in some inn somewhere, forgetting all about the path of the blade, no longer bonded to anyone. Memories and complicated feelings only confused her, but that was the heart of it, if she could only put it into words. She felt forgotten: pushed aside for this strange inn. Seiaman had made a different life that did not include small, crippled Aes Sedai.

Not that she did not have every right to do so. Considered coldly, maybe this was best for everyone. Her ex Gaidin now practised her mother’s profession as an innkeeper and doubtless it was a satisfying life; maybe while all that was going on, out of sight and far from her attention, Sirayn herself could be getting on with the work she kept interrupting for this unfeeling woman. She didn’t have time for Seiaman Kera and the host of troubles that came with her … the lying, the protestations of love, the treachery and the predictable departures. Yet for some strange reason, Seiaman had chosen to start her inn in Tar Valon. Why here? It offered no better prospects for commerce than anywhere else. And that kept her forever in sight. Just an hour’s stroll from the Tower, enough so that when Sirayn was out in the evenings on business, if she ever wanted to, she could just drop by.

Irony and bitterness filled her up just about beyond words. If anyone else had come after her with a knife, insulted her value as an Aes Sedai, deserted her repeatedly for another woman, abandoned her on several occasions and rounded this off with the occasional recurrence of this bizarre puppet show about loving her -- the depth of her feeling undoubtedly expressed through all the time spent with Jaydena Sedai instead, she had certainly heard about the roses and gifts left at a certain door -- she would have had them thrown out of Tar Valon long ago. Instead she tolerated everything Seiaman did … even the advances that left her cold and shaking and inwardly terrified, remembering a thousand horrors, because Seiaman never listened or cared when she objected. All endured for no other reason than that she was a fool and did not forget as easily as everyone else.

Unfortunately, on account of that being a fool, knowing how reckless and unwise it was did not stop her accepting an invitation to dinner. She ought to refuse as coolly as any other Aes Sedai would when she had more pressing matters to deal with than a dubiously motivated ex-Gaidin; in fact, what she did was write a dispassionate response, confirming that she would indeed be there for dinner tonight. Had it been so long already that Seiaman was ready to open her inn? The Rose’s Thorn: she did not need a gleeman to tell her the symbolism there and it worried her a great deal. Seiaman was free now to do whatever she liked with whoever she wanted, even with the now masked but no less gorgeous Jaydena Sedai, so long as none of this involved her.

That evening despite her best intentions she found herself preparing as carefully as any shy youngster for her first date. This was by no means a date, nor had she been young in two hundred years … but her heart raced a little just the same, and when she finally arranged her dark green skirts and finished twisting her dark hair up into a knot, a tiny part of her held this irrational hope that when she next looked into the mirror she would be transformed: no longer drab, tiny Sirayn but someone much more beautiful and tempting. Instead she looked much as anyone would have expected, like a plain woman of unremarkable looks, only smartly dressed this time.

A date indeed. If she had seen such foolishness in a novice she would have scolded the child. Maybe she had scolded herself enough already. Gathering her courage, fixing a mask of composure in place, Sirayn exited her quarters letting the wards spring up in her absence and headed down through many levels. Stone white as marble glittered beneath the touch of evening sunshine; a scarlet line here, a pool of rich red light there, and all around the hush of oncoming dusk as the novices scuttled about their errands in a flash of ivory skirts. Outside the city lay ice cold and stirring with life. A skilled observer viewed a city, or other equivalent body, not as a string of houses but rather as a complicated organism in its own right; where cheap labour fed the businesses, which poured gold into the pockets of the rich, who in turn established commerce which provided labour for the poor. And where did an inn fit into this?

Barring unforeseen incidents like those which had a curious habit of claiming sisters’ lives, Tar Valon held a great deal of respect for the likes of her, and Sirayn crossed through busy streets without so much as a careless thought for her own safety. The danger had gone up recently of course with her ascension to that most prized position, Ajah Head, but equally her confidence had risen in inverse proportion to her faith in everyone else. It escaped her entirely why sisters bothered with an escort of Tower Guards or anyone else; their skills were so small in comparison to the One Power, and their responses scarcely quicker than those of a vigilant Aes Sedai, that their company was all the more galling for their presumption and insolence. Now what gain they could possibly give she could not imagine.

Against a western sky prettily touched with red, the Rose’s Thorn stood proud and tall; its shadow lapped at her feet where she stood across the cobbled street. She examined its outside with cynical eyes. It looked well cared for, though when one was retired of course one had nothing better to do than take care of inns … and the sign which hung above the door showed her an image resonant with significance for her. It all seemed like a message she had no way of translating. Some kind of implicit warning? A reminder of their past history? Nothing whatsoever to do with her? She wasn’t certain which outcome would be most problematic. Maybe all this was just a sophisticated way of displaying the life Seiaman had chosen, one much more rewarding, and which did not involve crippled Aes Sedai at all.

Ironic that after all the Dreadlords and the worst the Shadow could throw at her, she found the idea of entering a former friend’s inn so daunting. Tai’shar Battle Ajah: the thought produced a wry smile and she crossed the street, silent on the cobbles, and entered the inn. Inside a fire burned merrily in the grate creating a welcome warmth. The rooms seemed spacious and well appointed, the wooden furnishings of good make and she suspected that a good amount of coin had gone into setting this place up. Briefly sounds distracted her from upstairs … footsteps perhaps … and with a sharp sting of jealousy she wondered whether some lover was up there; a pretty young lady perhaps, or maybe even Jaydena Sedai herself, she couldn’t fault anyone for choosing that one; but belatedly she remembered Seiaman had said something about keeping some kind of child here, a fosterling, of no interest to her. She dismissed the footsteps.

As always, the sight of Seiaman Kera herself in all her dark Ebou Dari glory produced an odd sense of hurt and regret … memories of a thousand small moments, all long lost now, and everything she had missed in the dark days after Dumai’s Wells. Partly she knew that Seiaman’s affections were fleeting at best, that the woman had deserted the folk she claimed to love so many times it was no longer a surprise any more, but partly … partly she still remembered a time when she would have done nearly anything to think that Seiaman felt anything for her, if she could just have let herself imagine she was in some way preferred to a certain Green Sitter … but of course who would choose the plain one, the awkward soldier above one as glittering and perfect as Jaydena? But she was not that weak any more. She needed nobody and nothing.

Composure hid her inward discomfort while Seiaman bowed before her and kissed her ring lightly. It was a simple enough gesture, but the caress of fingers against her palm lit some kind of electric, uncomfortable sensation in her. She hated to think that anyone could make her feel something. She took her hand back when she could politely do so and did her best to ignore this strange warmth. “Think nothing of it.†Smooth tones betrayed no hint of feeling, though at this moment she was remembering again that Seiaman had kissed her amid snow and death in a Borderlander winter … but why, and what for, she had never quite been able to discern. “The inn looks smart. You have put a lot of time into it since your … retirement?†Not quite a question. Retirement still sounded strange on her tongue, what was retirement for, why had she retired? “So how is Jaydena Sedai these days? I haven’t spoken a civil word to her since she called me a coward and I threw her out of my quarters. And am I to meet your guest tonight?â€

Ooc: Wow! Nice post.

It had been so long since anyone spoke so honestly to her that it startled her. No, the simple minded and the fools spoke like that all the time; maybe, and her own thoughts betrayed her now, the startling part was that anyone of any intelligence and value had deemed her worthy of their confidence. That thought rose unwelcome from memories she had done her best to forget. Yet no matter how she fooled herself, and she played such hard games these days that she often convinced herself she had accepted the past, part of her had never stopped being that unwanted child. Partly she still had so much to prove and nobody left to prove it to.

Sometimes she let herself forget … had her Ajah Head truly told her she was minded to refuse her second petition? Had she truly been moments from being the first person ever to be refused at her second petition? No, surely her memories had coloured the past harsher than it had ever been. No Tower Guard would ever come after a novice with a knife, not a tiny novice of such feeble strength, she would never have been expected to defend herself. Nor would such a Tower Guard be permitted to stay in the Yards with a mere slap on the wrist. And when she went distraught and looking for comfort, still only fifteen, she would never have been mocked for it … and the night of her raising twenty years on …

Old memories still had so much strength. She had never truly come to terms with everything that had happened. Those strong and brilliant women had departed this earth before they had ever accepted her as she had wanted so desperately. There was just no recovering from some wounds; being an illiterate commoner, being small and stupid and careless; being so feeble with saidar that her class mates had laughed at her powerlessness to perform the most simple weaves; wanting love and warmth where there had never been any for the likes of her. And where she had been hurt the injuries had healed all twisted and there was only scarring now.

Thinking these thoughts so many years later genuinely disturbed her. She had not remembered the past so bluntly in what seemed like forever. Some quality about this relative stranger, about her words, had unnerved her on some fundamental level … and for one dreadful moment, in the silence of her own mind, she nearly called this woman by another name. A secret name: a name both forbidden and marvellous. She nearly said Jehanine. And in that moment she was rendered speechless, silent, caught by the ghosts of the past.

She had been a child; she had been a fool, a nobody, knowing nothing. And Jehanine had been so brilliant … Jehanine, Jehanine, she had seen a wooden coffin lowered into the ground, equally as elegant and flawless as its inhabitant … Jehanine had clutched at her when she died, a single bloody handprint on her wall and she hadn’t remembered that in months, hadn’t wanted to, had never even framed the name in her thoughts. Jehanine. She wanted to put her head in her hands and weep for all the losses she had never known how to mourn. She wanted to trade in all the friends she had never loved half so much: a cold thought, a traitor’s thought, but for a tiny part of her nobody had ever measured up to Jehanine in her darkness and her beauty and her brilliance.

She had counted Jehanine her closest and only friend for some years. They had quarrelled the night she was raised; just one night before Jehanine, twenty-four hours, that was all it took to break a friendship. They had both lived some hundred and fifty years after that and they had never once spoken again as friends. Jehanine had died in her arms.

“Aramina sur Dulciena.†She spoke the name, slowly, and chased away those ghosts. “You have been honest with me and I will be honest with you; I owe you that much. If you can trust me with what’s in your heart, I,†and now this was getting a fraction disjointed, just a touch of reluctance to speak these words heralding what might become serious difficulty; she couldn’t even remember the last time she had spoken freely, “I will do the same for you.†This was going to be all right. If she spoke as smooth and as calculated as she always did, and concentrated hard on feeling nothing, it would not disturb her even an inch; this slight stirring of warning was merely the touch of something else brushing against her. She had decided long ago that she would never let anyone see her falter.

Smooth and easy and holding an iron control. “You are right to question; I am a schemer and a deceiver and a teller of tales. I never speak a word that could be used against me.†It had not always been like this. Nearly two hundred years ago she had been thoughtless, speaking the first thought that came into her mind, and Light how she had had that beaten out of her. “I have sinned as well. I am a friend to nobody and nothing besides the Tower, but … I came to this Tower with nothing. I was nothing. I am nobody today; I would be nothing if I were not Aes Sedai; if I ever betrayed the Tower I might as well be dead.†The words sounded hollow even to her, lacking the vividness she depended on … lacking because she did not dare put enough feeling in to convince anyone.

Blood and ashes! She had promised to be honest. Enough of these half truths. She knew words to light the world on fire, she had tricked and lied and schemed herself crazy, a silver tongue could get her further than she had ever imagined and it was somehow not enough. That small part of her that remained a child feared that by opening this door to the past she had forgotten the present; and she was visited by a sudden, superstitious fear that she would never again sway somebody through the sheer power of words; without that, rank and status meant nothing, she was as good as failed already.

“I have faced horrors beyond imagining. I’ve seen a familiar world corrupted, I watch as everything goes spinning toward the Last Battle. The enemies I’ve faced … I can’t even speak of them because of the secrecy and the danger. Once I thought myself untouchable, as children do, and I never imagined I would lose everything … but I have. I’ve lost everything and everyone I ever cared about. There is nothing left for me but ashes. I don’t care about law or honour or anything else; those are constructs made by people I keep safe, though they will never know it.†Sometimes words seemed so useless. How could anything sum up the whole of what she had lived through, her unwavering, total commitment to the Tower? How she had given up inch by inch her pride and her self respect and everything that made her who she was? How nothing and nobody meant anything besides the Tower?

And still she found herself speaking: confessing truths she had kept secret all these years. She had not talked so freely to anyone in a hundred years. And it hurt like a hand clenched tight on her heart; hurt to think, hurt to speak. The words still so steady, so controlled. “I live for the Tower, I would die for the Tower. If it falls, I fall too. This one cause is all I’ve ever needed. As long as the sun rises in the east, that is how long I will defend the Tower … and even when the long night comes and all falls dark, I will be there on the front lines. And I will still be devoted to the Tower.â€

Finish: all her words run dry. Sirayn had not drunk anything stronger than tea in decades, but in this moment she desperately needed a drink. Look at them both, she thought bitterly, look how they broke. Tai’shar Battle Ajah.

A fractional lift of a brow acknowledged how rich with meaning the question Sirayn had put to her was. No immediate response, of course; Aramina sur Dulciena was one of those rare folk who considered their answer before speaking and the information thus revealed was all the more calculated for it. Nevertheless, the reply when it came confirmed what she had already suspected … that certain of those contemporaries lacked the skills she was searching for right now; most of them, to be frank; that she needed somebody of a little more cunning, a little more subtlety. Any fool could swing a sword, though it took proper soldiers to serve on the field as she intended, but courts and intrigue provided a different sort of battle: one for which many were wretchedly unprepared.

Briefly it occurred to her what an irony all this was. Once she had been something of a firebrand, always quickest to the insult, ready with fierce word and fiercer weave for every occasion. And back then the field of war had been her home … knowing nothing outside discipline and tactics, wanting nothing else, entirely at home amid the harsh truths of the Borderlands and those other campaigns far from home. Now, of course, the ruins of her old life waited about her. She still kept a knife under her pillow and armour in her closet as though she would ever need it again. Books on culture and court ways had filled up the shelves where volumes on strategy and warfare had once been, but she kept those old military works, put away where nobody could see. And she cursed young sisters for being exactly as she had been.

She needed folk to be less like her and more like those subtle and skilful old legends in whose image she had fashioned herself. Memories were always troublesome. She was beyond that now; no more flaws, no more weakness. “I have need of soldiers, of course. Strong women who can follow orders immediately and without questioning.†Idly she sorted papers, affixed seals to letters aimed like arrows far from here. “It takes discipline and courage to choose that path … the path of the blade, perhaps, but there are more blades than one.†Fixing her companion with a cool grey gaze Sirayn discarded her sideways approach: "It's not often that I commend anyone, Aramina Sedai, but I will be frank with you this morning. You have some rare skills which, to my dismay, I am finding increasingly hard to locate among your peers.

“You are intelligent, you possess a good measure of discretion, you are willing to learn; you do not make a practice of offending people,†not a hint of anything showed in her controlled tones, but a glint in her eyes warned that she had not forgotten a certain incident earlier in this very office, “or at least you never make the same mistake twice. I have need of skills like yours. You work for me anyway, of course, as you will some day work for my successor as Ajah Head, but sometimes Ajah business is … how shall I put this … constrained? By certain limitations. By the meddling, not to put too fine a point on it, of people who think they know better than the Battle Ajah how to defend the Tower. I do not generally tolerate interference, but there are some who do not need to fear my wrath … and, therefore, everything I do as Ajah Head must be very correct and proper and above board. Something of a hindrance.â€

If she put her opinion of a certain governing body any more bluntly and this all went wrong she was going to get dragged before the Hall of the Tower to explain herself. That was as direct as she could be; someone with the wit her companion appeared to possess would fill in the gaps. This was delicate work … skirting the edges of what she truly meant, sketching the outline of her intent, while avoiding anything she could get into trouble over. “In my private affairs I exercise a little more discretion. I would never recommend breaking the law, of course, but sometimes one must choose between priorities … the artificial constraints of legalities concocted by dead folk gone to ashes centuries ago, or the pride and even the survival of the Tower? I choose the Tower; I have always chosen the Tower. One wonders, truly, where people’s loyalties lie if they would rather observe the letter of tradition.

“But enough explanation. I have affairs you have no knowledge of as yet; I am involved in a hundred dealings up and down the land from the Spine of the World to the Aryth Ocean. As a new sister, you will not yet know the half of which I speak, but you may take my word for it when I say that I and others like me defend the Tower in a thousand ways every year … some ways being, shall we say, best kept secret. I have no need of cowards or questioners or anyone who is not entirely committed to the Tower. I require people of enough wit and discretion to work for these causes. I require people who know the meaning of sacrifice, who who will never falter when I have need of them, and who will serve the Tower when everything else is gone.

“It will not be easy work. I bring adventure and excitement; I can teach you new skills and show you foreign countries and scenes you never even dreamed of. I need not point out that as your Ajah Head, I am well placed to reward any service you give me. I also bring hardship and danger, I will not fool you on that score. There are always risks, of course, but until everyone around you has been slaughtered and you have lost everything you ever relied on you do not know the meaning of suffering. I can show you the truth in this world. If you turn over a stone, you will find tiny little things wriggling in the dirt, and it is much the same here … if you know where to look, if you have the skills, you can uncover darkness beyond your imaginings. Doubtless you will wish you had never seen it.

“I cannot offer you glory, nor the cheap acclaim of crowds, but I can promise you that you will be working with the Tower’s finest -- and you and your companions will be the only ones who truly know the way this world is turning. And when the Last Battle comes, as it will in our lifetime, I will have you by my side.†It was not the first time she had made this speech or one along these lines, nor would it be the last … but she got the same strange thrill from it every time. That she the unwanted child, the commoner, who had barely even reached the shawl, should sit as Captain General offering to induct young sisters into her darkest schemes seemed surreal. It remained to be seen whether Aramina Sedai would take her up on her offer … but she rather thought she had the measure of this one from the beginning. “Consider it long and hard, sister. If you decide to join me you can never turn back.â€