Ihvaron smiles a bit at her response before letting himself think to much on an answer for hers. He probably should have known she had the blood of a borderlander in her. His mind drifts quickly from that thought to her question and of course to his home.

"Originally, I left for the capital, for Shol Arbela, to join the army...me and my elder sister both."

He has a hard time continuing after that. The mention of Remerie, the thought of her brings the image of his horrid last view of her back to the front of his memory. His mouth feels suddenly as if it were full of dust, a stark contrast to the oasis preparing to spring forth from his eyes. He has to clear his throat twice before he can speak again, but he manages a small smile when he does.

"After our father died, my sister, Remerie, took up the sword. She trained at my side under our grandfather everyday."

"So where are you from?"

With his back to her, Ihvaron stiffens involuntarily at the question. He supposes part of him had hoped for a little more personal conversation to pass the time even if he couldn't get himself to start it, but he had never really expected her to start it either. He's silent for a moment before finally briefly looking at her over his shoulder.

"A little village in Arafel."

It's an odd thing watching him kneel at the water's edge unconcerned about muddying his pants, but pushing up his coat sleeves to keep them dry while he washes his face. Working on his father's farm all his life he's never been all that concerned with the cleanliness of his clothes, but the coat was a gift and next to his swords it's the nicest thing he's ever owned. He tries not to think about his mother and grandfather back home too much as he stands and retrieves some food from Raidin's saddle before taking a seat facing his companion.

"It is about two days west of the Mora River and Shienar, but it is not very close to any main road, so we don't see a lot of visitors. What about you? Where do you call home?"

"I think we should pull over, there should be some stream in the forest not far off the road where we can water the horses"

Nodding his acknowledgement without actually turning to face her, Ihvaron waits for her to turn into the forest and then follows behind her. While the ice has begun to thaw over the last couple days, since his break down a few nights previous he has found it more then difficult to look at her. He may not cry himself to sleep every night, but he does come close, even so, that night was the worst he can remember since the first after Remerie was killed. Part of him wants to believe it's ok, that he's been through a rough time and this kind of thing is normal, but he is still filled with so much shame. How can he expect to train with the Warders if he can't even get through the night without tears in his eyes.

Sure enough there is a stream not far into the forest and Ihvaron dismounts and leads Raidin to the water so he can drink. Focusing his attention on Raidin, he calls back over his shoulder to his companion.

"How much farther, do you think?"

Ihvaron only nods in acknowledgement of her words and continues staring into the flames. After a few moments, with his escort apparently asleep, he pulls his eyes fully away from the flames for the first time in what feels like hours, stands, snuffs out the fire and prepares his own bedding before drawing his swords and moving to the same spot where he watched her dance the forms out of the corner of his eye.

His movements are not as smooth or as graceful, and his lack of experience is blatantly obvious, but still he dances, and envisioned Trolloc after Trolloc falls to his attacks. In a distant part of his mind he remembers that it was nowhere near this easy with the few he killed, not even the one he took by surprise. This vague awareness does not stop his imagined enemies coming from all sides and it does not stop them from dying on the end of his slices and stabs.

Eventually the many are replaced by one, and Ihvaron dances the forms forward relentlessly as the Myrrdraal twists and bends away from his every advance, never being struck. The Fade spins away from a wild attack and when it turns back to Ihvaron it is not alone. Ihvaron’s sister, Remerie is in its clutches. Ihvaron falls immediately to his knees, his swords digging into the ground, his breath coming heavily and tears running down his cheeks. His sister’s dying scream pierces his ears and the visions are gone, leaving him alone to pound the ground with his fists.

“Why did you not listen to me? Why did you have to follow that fool and his dreams of being the bane of all shadowspawn? Why did you have to leave me Rem? Why?â€

Dragging his swords along beside him, he crawls to his sheets and barely manages to resheath his blades before collapsing and crying himself to a nightmare filled sleep, whispering “Why Rem?†quietly to himself over and over.

With the camp set and the horses settled for the night, Ihvaron sits in silence at the fires edge. His coat, gloves and the package lay beside him and he holds his sheathed swords by their hilts before him. The hilts are raised level with his eyes as his thumbs slide absently along the subtle, nearly undetectable grooves in them but he is staring beyond them into the flames.

His mind drifts from moment to moment starting with being charged with the delivery of this mysterious package and moving quickly through the day's ride. 'Cold' wouldn't be the best word for it, but it wouldn't be that far from describing the mood between Ihvaron and his Tower Guard companion since they left the inn. Few words have been spoken and he can't recall being given the woman's name, not that he ever offered his own either.

Ihvaron stops dead in his tracks as he nears the table, his mouth hanging open and the words to what was about to be an angry tirade stuck half formed on the tip of his tongue. Her smile is disarming at the very least and as hard as he tries to fight it, her words do an excellent job of cooling his head.

Without really remembering sitting, he finds himself seated across from the woman, the package at his feet and a fork in his hand. He is slow in eating, staring at her between mouthfuls, trying to assure himself this is the same woman who met him at the door earlier.

His stew is half gone and his wine cup empty before he brings himself to speak, returning to his face that boyish smile that no longer fits his face.

"I am sorry, for earlier. I have not been myself lately. I did not mean any offense to you mistress."

He stands in stunned silence for a long moment, his eyes bancing back and forth between the key in his hand and the woman's back. It is in this moment that Ihvaron sees her sword for the first time and is met with a pair of revelationsas her words replay themselves in his head. She is the Tower Guard that is to escort him to Tar Valon, and this trip, even if it is over tomorrow, is going to be very long and tiring.

Deciding it is probably best not to get any further on this woman's bad side then he apparently already is, he bounds up the stairs and into the room she directed, completely ignoring her gear so as not to be tempted to examine it more closely.

With his coat, shirt, gloves and swords laying beneath the package just inside his eyeline on the bed, Ihvaron washes his face and hands. He begins to fume so much from the thought of the woman referring to him as a halfblind welp that he is surprised the water is not boiling at his touch. After drying off, he puts his shirt, coat, gloves and swords back on, tucks the package back beneath his arm, and heads downstairs intent on telling that insufferable woman a thing or two about how things are going to be, he is after all the one who has been entrusted with whatever is in this package.

Standing in the doorway of the inn, Ihvaron examines the interior and clientele. Nothing in particular stands out in his mind. Shifting the package tucked beneath his arm to adjust his grip he notices the woman approaching him. Still walking in the same haze he has been for days he does not really see her. Were he to look away at that moment he would not be able to describe her any more accuratly then she was a women. Certainly not noticing her sword, he takes her for either the innkeeper or a waitress. Smiling a smile that is playful, boyish and appears completly unfit for his face, especially his eyes, he remembers a time when he would have worn that smile genuinely on a daily basis as he bows deeply to her. That time seems so very long ago now.

"Good evening mistress. Might I inquire the price of a room and a spot in your stable for my horse?"

On the western edge of a small village, Ihvaron sits his horse and stares blankly around him. It has been three weeks since he watched his sister tortured and murdered, three weeks since he woke up in The Tangled Roses Inn, two since he left and the memories are still fresh, making his eyes burn with tears every time he closes them, his ears ring with her screams and cries for help when he tries to sleep, which explains why he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks, he barely has and on the occassions that he did, it was most often in a hayloft.

Where he sits atop his horse, Raidin, his current pace would have him in Shol Arbela in roughly five days or Fal Moran in seven. He could make either distance faster, but the fact is, since the last village he hasn't pushed Raidin above a walk. He has been in a state of shock. He has vague memories of speaking to an Aes Sedai, or more accurately, arguing with her. Having met a few Aes Sedai briefly in the past, it wasn't very hard to recognize this women as one the moment she walked into the inn. He had approached her and the man who must have been her warder cautiously, he told her his story and where he intended on going in hopes of gaining her companionship on the journey. What he got was a nondescript package, instructions to take it with him to Tar Valon and assurances that there would be a Tower Guard waiting to escort him in the next village.

Now outside that village, Ihvaron looks back over his shoulder towards where he left the Aes Sedai and shakes his head. He touches the package tucked into Raidin's saddlebag and froms. He looks southwest, towards his home, his mother and his grandfather, and his frown deepens. If they have heard anything yet, it is that he and Remerie are missing. He is not ready to face them with his failure, he can't face them yet. Turning back to the village in front of him, he takes a deep breath, blinks back a few tears, pulls his coat snugly around him with gloved hands, checks the swords crossed on his back, and urges Raidin forward.

I should be around for most of 9-5 atlantic time(which started about 20 minutes ago) and I'm on msn whenever I'm on the computer so feel free to message me if you see me and I'll do the same.

Point taken...I'll be retracting my last statement now and seeing if I can get my foot out of my mouth. And in the meantime I think I'll just hide behind you. If that's ok, oh blademaster?

Is it wrong that I'm starting to think I might be safer if I were to run myself back into the blight?

Hooray for not being alone! No insanity for this young borderlander...not today anyway.

*excited to start work on my first RP here*

No, no, no...not that kind of companionship.

Ihvaron Mosevni is a young Arafellin boy intent on riding to Tar Valon where he hopes to train with the Warders. He is currently in the vicinity of the road spanning from SholArbela in Arafel to Fal Moran in Shienar. If interested in keeping the young man company, you need not be gentle with him, but it would be best not to treat him TOO roughly, as he just recently seen his sister die at the hands of a Myrddraal.

Please, don't leave the poor boy out there all alone with just his horse and his swords. That kind of situation is just a breeding ground for insanity.

I intended the black-cloaked man as an NPC at this point in time anyway, as in I have no plans on using him again in the near future or ever using him as anything but part of Ihvarons story. The idea is that all Ihvaron really saw of the guy was a black cloak and a sword and now one of his goals in life is to find the guy and pay him back for saving his life. That said, I dont think Id be opposed to the idea of someone else playing him, might make things more interesting down the road when Ihvaron finally finds him.

Ahh, my first post and it felt good.