The Aes Sedai’s words sounded gentle and well-meaning, but what it came down to in Vivien’s mind is that she still had no choice, she would still be confined to a life she had not chosen. There was still no change. Still, the Aes Sedai suddenly touched her. She lay an arm around Vivien’s shoulders and held her, sharing a bit of warmth and comfort. It was the first time anyone had touched her like that since she came here. The thought alone made her want to cry.

“I know this isn’t much of a comfort, especially not since it won’t give you back the things you’ve lost, but trust me when I say that there will be times when everything you’ve gone through suddenly gets a meaning. Everything that ails you now will be forgotten in time. You have a great life ahead of you, Vivien. It may not be a life you would choose for yourself, but it is a great life indeed.” The Aes Sedai smiled. Starlight caught the little bells in her hair briefly as she sketched an image of Vivien’s future. Still horrifying, but there was finally a bit of explanation. This was what it was going to be like, this was what lay in store for her. 

“And in the end, the choice is still yours,” The Aes Sedai then said. Vivien sat up a little, listening intently. “That is what many Aes Sedai here forget. The wheel weaves as the wheel wills, but there will be moments in your life during which you are free to determine your own path. While you have been raised to do so, you will find that you do not have to accept your fate as meekly as your mentor or the Mistress of Novices seem to suggest now. Why, look at yourself now. You’re sitting in a garden under the starry sky, well after curfew. Had you simply accepted your fate, you would be in bed by now, but instead you chose to find something else. A moment of freedom, if you will.” The Aes Sedai winked. “And look, fortune smiles upon you, for you find yourself in the company of someone who will not betray your secret.”

“I... I…” There was too much in her head. She couldn’t talk anymore. There was a bit of relief, for there were possibilities of choosing her own path in the future, as well as complete shock that she’d been discovered indeed – she had been breaking rules. “Thank you, Aes Sedai,” she whispered, wringing her hands. “I didn’t break the rules on purpose, I just needed some air. Thank you for your support, it means a lot to me.” She looked up at the Aes Sedai again, smiling faintly. “It’s a small comfort that you’ve given me, and I thank you for that. Maybe now I can last three weeks before cabin fever gets to me again.” When had she made the decision not to flee, but to tough it out here? Was it this Aes Sedai’s words alone? The possibility of choice? She wondered faintly what paths the Aes Sedai had been talking about, but supposed she would see in the future. 

“And thank you for keeping my … rulebreaking a secret, Aes Sedai.” She smiled, as she pushed caramel-coloured hair out of her face to look up at the Aes Sedai. “I now realize I don’t even know your name… my name is Vivien.”

Vivien had not noticed that anyone was there, when she had whispered her questions to the night. She had not expected anyone to answer that rhetorical question, not in a million years. It was a question that only the Creator would be able to answer, she had thought when she uttered it – and it had been asked to the Light indeed.

And suddenly there was an answer. An Aes Sedai with a smooth face and eyes that had seen the ages, little bells in her hair. “You came here because that is what the wheel wove for you,” she said gently, stepping into Vivien's view. Vivien would have ran if she could have, if not for the tone of voice that the unknown Aes Sedai was using as she continued: “And you are still here, because the Creator has a purpose for you, and you can’t wait to figure out what it is.”

She wanted to protest, but she found that she couldn't. Her heart was beating in her throat as she looked up at the regal, dignified and wise woman that sat down next to her. <i>Light, what have I gotten myself into? Philosophical conversations under the stars with an Aes Sedai?</i> Still, to have someone finally taking time to really <i>see</i> her, to talk to her.... that had not happened here before. The Mistress of Novices had written her off to a mentor, and her mentor was dismissive, curt, and not open to any reason or pleas whatsoever. Yet this Aes Sedai... she was the first one to treat Vivien with a mind of her own, someone who could maybe, perhaps, give her a bit of comfort.

So Vivien made herself smile a watery smile and started to talk softly into the night air: “I can't really wait to figure it out. I just don't really have a choice, I guess. My family is long gone, I have no ways of contacting them... and nobody just asks me what I think of this, what I want with my life. Everybody just assumes that I am to be an Aes Sedai. I hardly knows what it means, and my parents wrote to me that it's an honour, that they're so proud of me... but I could read between the words that they've written me off, that they have lost their daughter to a noble good... but I don't know what's so noble about it, it's just <i>assumed</i> and I spend my days toiling around with bath water and chamber pots and they say I'm going to learn how to channel but isn't that something dangerous, and I'm afraid and I'm homesick and I just feel like I'm <i>choking</i> in there...” The words tumbled over her lips, frantically finding their way outside, until she couldn't speak anymore because she was weeping. Thick sobs racked her throat and she covered her face in her hands. “I'm sorry, I really am, but I just don't know what I am <i>doing</i> here... I can't see the purpose of it all, it all seems like it's not worth it...”

Vivien Senette

Poor lost novice :(

Vivien managed to stay inside her room for the better part of two hours after curfew. While her roommate was asleep quickly, Vivien was unable to catch a wink. She was jittery. It was her third week in the White Tower, her third week of her new life, and she was already losing her mind. The walls were closing in on her and however tired she was, she couldn’t find any rest. She felt suffocated in the hot stuffy air of the small room, she needed to breathe. She needed the open sky, the earth beneath her feet – perhaps even more than she so desperately needed her family. While the loss of her old life made her weep for hours on end sometimes, the feeling of being cooped up with nowhere to run was much worse. In those light-blasted hours after curfew it always seemed as if she was jailed, as if there was nowhere to go.

Her parents and her family had already traveled on and there was no way of finding out where they’d gone. They’d gotten the tear-splotched letter that Pia Sedai had made her write, and they had written back that they’d miss her, that she would for ever be in their hearts and that they’d write her often… that they were proud of her that she would now walk her own Path… and that was all that she’d heard of them since the day that she wandered into Tar Valon unsupervised. Three weeks had passed, and she was close to losing her mind.

Vivien buried her face in her pillow so her roommate wouldn’t hear her choked sobbing. She was locked up in a Tower where she didn’t want to be, she was made to do stupid chores all day long, there were only harsh-faced women around, and few girls of her age. But most of all… she couldn’t leave. That was the worst thing of all… she couldn’t leave if she wanted to. If she would, they’d drag her back by the hair, or so the Mistress of Novices warned her. If she was to go outside without permission, she would have to do penance for it.

She had contemplated leaving anyway. Leaving, hiding, and never coming back. Yet that was not how her family had taught her. The Path of the Leaf taught acceptance, going along with the river of life, floating where the Light wanted you to float. Vivien, however, felt as if she were sinking to the bottom of the river… for she couldn’t breathe here. She felt like she was choking.

It was too warm, too stuffy, too <i>confined</i> in here.

She had to go outside! Out, out, out!

Without a moment to waste Vivien was on her feet and out of her room, bare feet under a white dress slapping onto the cold marble-inlaid tile floors. It was a spiraling mazework of hallways, the quarters of the novices. Vivien didn’t think, she just followed the ways that were going down and down and down, until she found herself in a deserted hallway that led to one of the Gardens. She didn’t care which one it was. Perhaps if she’d be outside, she could finally breathe again…

She threw the doors open, looking up at an indigo sky with twinkling lights, and she nearly cried while she breathed the evening air. The feeling of relief nearly made her fall over. She walked down the pathway, sitting herself down under one of the tall trees. It was quiet in the garden. On this evening in early autumn there were only a few birds calling before they too would go to sleep. All the other sounds were the sound of the gentle breeze through the foliage and the sounds of human life far away.

Vivien trailed her hand trough the grass as she leaned against the bark of the tree, closing her eyes. Here, outside, she could finally feel a little bit like herself again. Here was where she was supposed to be, here was where she was supposed to go. Not as one of those Aes Sedai or novices in their monochrome dresses and their unfriendly or expressionless faces.

She was not one of them! She didn’t belong here! What did it matter if she could learn how to channel? She wasn’t born with it, there was just a possibility that she could learn if they taught her. And Vivien wasn’t particularly interested in slaving away doing stupid chores while being taught something about Power for years and years on end – something you could hurt people with. It wasn’t worth it, in her opinion. She didn’t want to be dressed in the colour of mourning and death every single day of her life, until she passed some sort of test. She’d wept when they’d taken her clothes, her self-made jewellery and the colourful beads from her hair.  As some form of protest, she’d then taken to putting colourless glass beads in small braids amongst the thick shock of her goldbrown hair. It had been three days, and nobody had said anything about it yet. She’d seen Pia Sedai look at it when they met in some nameless hallway on the ninth floor, but the Aes Sedai had just shaken her head and moved on whatever she’d been on her way to.

Still, it was only one small victory after everything had been taken from her already. Her family, her loved ones, her clothes and her identity. Everything. What were glass beads in the grander scheme of things? Nothing.

"What am I still doing here?" she whispered against the starry evening, breathing the air deeply to try and soothe her thundering heartbeat. "Why did I have to come here?"

Congrats girlie, I know how hard you worked for it!! :D

Hello, I'd like to sign up so I can revive Esthelle the violent Trainee :D

Vivien Senette, newly raised Yellow Sister, on her way to go Black :)

OOC: Lanfir will have gone to kill Caladesh in his cell, when she finds a Black Sister standing there with the same intent. She surprises the Black with her katana, murders her in cold blood, and then struggles with Caladesh. It's a dirty fight, a confusing one, since Caladesh also wants to Sheathe the Sword, but in the end they get what they both want: Caladesh' blood staining Lanfir's katana. He perishes. I'm not sure if we ever get to roleplay it out, so we started with the last phase of One Last Stand. This deals with Lanfir's fate...

One Last Stand: The Last Remaining Light

~When you try your best but you don't succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse~

Her knees were trembling like straws and she had to sink down to the bloodied floor when they could not support her anymore. Adrenaline rushes were making her body shiver. Battle fever in an exhausted and wounded body was not a pretty thing to behold, especially when the battle had ended. There was blood on her hands, on her vest, her katana. She could even taste it on her lips. The scent of it was thick and metallic in the confined space of the cell.

At her feet lay the lifeless body of Caladesh. The killer of Lyanna, the thief of her own life and joy.

"Blood for blood, Caladesh," she whispered at the corpse.

He did not respond, naturally. All he did was ooze the last bit of blood out of his body while he cooled off and would soon be overcome with rigor mortis. She regarded his body with a detachment that drowned out all other feelings. The whirlwind had quieted down into silence. She had thought she might feel betrayed because he'd wanted to die at her sword, because he'd thrown himself at her... but in the end she didn't. Not really. All that mattered was that he was dead, and that his lifeblood had spilled over her hands. She had not sat idle and helpless, but she'd taken her fate, and his, into her own hands. And the result was cooling off at her feet.

Now all there was left, was silence. There was a complete and utter numbness in her mind, yet the tears were streaming over her face again.

She had hoped for relief, or resolve, but she was not feeling anything of the sort. Just emptiness, just lack of direction. What would she do now? Where would she go? Did she even want to, when all what was waiting her in the outside world was emptiness? Once, she had been happy in the 'Green Nature', but that was when she had chosen for her solitude. Back then Lyanna had been alive, her warders... unbonded, living their own lives. They had not even met yet, and there hadn't anything been lost. She'd still had the eternal warmth and comfort of saidar and her ability to access it-- to embrace herself and indulge in the sweetness. That missing was so painful and acute that she literally ached with need.

She had felt it the most during her showdown with Caladesh. Adept at swordfight as she was, she had not realized how much she also relied on the heightening of her senses and the tugs and pushes with Air she used to keep her opponent off-balance... or that simple strand of fire to make her katana blaze. There had always, always been saidar. Fighting without it was... odd. Something was missing, and the gaping hole where part of her being had been pointed out way too clearly what it had been.

It took the joy out of fighting.

It took the joy out of everything.

There was emptiness in her head, in her heart, in her being.

Lanfir wept, not thinking, not realizing that she was sitting on the scene of a crime in a puddle of blood of her two victims. If she would have been thinking, she probably would not have cared much, either. Because what did it matter, really? She had kept herself well in the past hours, but the loss... the sheer weight of her loss... how could anyone remain standing after a thing like that? Bloodlust had kept her upright before, but now the lust had been quenched, the only quarrel she had at the moment was with Fate and the Creator itself. And how could she do anything but accept that fate?

So she wept.

~And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?~

And that's when someone entered...

OOC: Lyrics are by Coldplay, "Fix You".

OOC2: Nyssa, your turn, hun :)

OOC: hey hun, could we finish this? :)

Ein Herzschlag nur für mich

und die, die bei mir sind

Augen auf, schaut euch das an

Wer dafür keine Tränen hat wird morgen blind

Wenn ihr das nicht liebt, was dann

Jeder liebe das so viel er kann

Wir Sind Helden, "Wenn es passiert"

"Your decision," Sirayn said. She seemed cool at first, so much more calculating than the hot-headed and spiteful woman Lanfir had once argued with. But then she added: "And the right one. Lyanna deserved no less."

Lyanna didn't deserve any of this, was all Lanfir could think and she froze for a moment as she felt her determination waver and stagger under the immense weight of her loss. Light no, no, don't go there. Don't stumble, don't fall. Time to pick up the pieces later, if there are still pieces left to pick up, or if I even want to pick them up... those pieces don't matter anymore, this is not the world as I know it and want to be in anymore.

She slid her leather vest over her head and fought nausea, fought the aching stiffness of her joints and the bruises still on her body. They must have not completely healed her; she must have been drained too much by the initial Healing and what the burning out had taken out of her. Burnt out. It felt like it had happened to somebody else. Lanfir's whole life she had heard about it, she had even known somebody who had burnt out - a younger Green that Lanfir had known briefly before going to Fal Dara - she had been warned of burning out her whole life... they told her to never, ever give into the sweetness of saidar or she would lose it all. And now the horror image that her teachers, her colleague Aes Sedai, had painted her had become real. It HAD happened to her and it was the worst feeling in the world; the ultimate crippling. And inside of her there was a gaping hole of emptiness. It was worse than a broken bond, it was worse than any sort of battle wound she had ever taken (and that punctured lung on that mission to Kandor with Brid had been very nasty, never mind the lovely scar near her kidneys that she had taken in Fal Dara when the weave exploded), it was as if a part of her had just died and the rest of her body had just not followed suit yet.

She finished dressing in silence.

Sirayn was still sitting and watching her get dressed, subdued and her stormgrey eyes clear. Lanfir saw the thoughts raising as the Green looked up to her and said suddenly, from the bottom of her heart:

“Light be with you, Lanfir. Mother.â€

Tears welled up in her eyes again. She sat down on the chair before her vanity stand and hugged her knees, ignoring her body protesting against the sudden movement by aching ferociously. Emotions were more important now, and she was filled by them. She looked up at Sirayn with a sad and wry smile. "I knew you wouldn't stop me, Sirayn. You're a Green, you understand what I'm going through. However different we are you and me; a soldier's attitude is what I've always recognized in you... and you in me, too, I think." She rocked back and forth for a moment, lost in thoughts and emotions that were too big for her, threathening to pull her under again - so she focused on the present and let go of the might-have-beens and the should-have-beens. Caladesh. "You know he is to die, at the hands of Tower Law, but you can't blame me for wanting to spill his blood myself. I've seen you after... Solin... you told me what happened... you know what it's like to hate. You know that it's all I've left." So, so painful. So horribly true. There was really nothing left. Light... it was all over. Anger boiled. "The Tower won't let me spill blood, but I'm no part of the Tower anymore. They'd put me away to die quietly..." Oh yes, she was Amyrlin, she knew what the Tower would do. She knew what the Hall would do. She had reached and fought Hall decisions long enough to be perfectly aware of what was in store for her. Quiet, supervised wasting away. Not for me. "I won't have it. That is not my life. Everything's gone wrong but at least I'll still have his blood on MY sword and on MY hands. I have first rights to the spilling of his blood and everyone knows it... even if it's not the political thing to do, it is the RIGHT thing to do. His blood is MINE."

If she would have been listening to herself, she might have been disturbed by the vehement and bloodthirsty tone in her voice. As it was, she couldn't care less. She was so, so angry.

Murderous. Feelings, vermillion red and boiling - so violent and dark that she had not thought herself capable of. She knew she was darker than she'd given herself credit for; she had felt rage and wish to hurt, to maim, while standing before Serashada. She had wished to kill, wished to mutilate. At the time, those feelings had been a surprise to her because she had, despite everything, always thought of herself as a generally nice person just doing her job. But with Serashada and the horrors that the Forsaken had caused, she had become closely acquainted with vengeance and bloodthirst. It shouldn't have been a surprise, though. After all, she came from a pretty shady family and blood doesn't lie.

Blood doesn't lie. Blood for blood.

Her katana was standing next to her closet where she had left it after morning workout just a few days ago. An eternity ago. Light - how come it's been only days? She picked it up and strapped it onto her back in the same practiced movement she had done a thousand times before. It was dark outside by now, night was falling. Time to end it.

Yet first, there was responsibility, and tying up the loose ends. She sat down next to Sirayn and made direct eye contact with the Green, suddenly feeling on top of things again. "Sirayn; I'm going to leave the Tower. I might even leave this world. I don't know, and I don't care. There are still some things though. Tarmon Gai'don. The Tower. My responsibility for the Light has been ripped away out of my hands and there is nothing I can do about it anymore." She took Sirayn's remaining hand in her own. "All I can do is to make sure the Tower is in good hands. I've trusted you with Dumais Wells, Sirayn. I was with you in Namandar. People might say that you messed up, considering the disasters, you might beat yourself up over it." Light flashed in Sirayns eyes and Lanfir nodded a little, strengthened in her decision. For what it was worth, here she went like a battlefield commander handing over command. Her job was done, after all... "Sirayn Simeone; I know what it's like to be dealt a bad hand of cards and having to deal with consequences. I've always think you've done well. The Tower has been dealt a bad hand too, and you know about crisis management. Please Sirayn; will you guard the Light for me when I'm gone? Will you watch the remaining seals and Tar Valon and the Tower?"

Welcome to the soldier side

Where there is no one here but me

People all grow up to die

There is no one here but me

System of a Down, "Soldier Side"

If she had been anything less of a mess, she would have been grateful that Sirayn did not offer meaningless consolation. It was a sign of respect that the other woman told her the situation in a grave voice. For the first time since Lanfir had known the Green, she was showing genuine traces of regret and even something that ressembled pity. That was the worst, probably. It was a silent and yet so screaming loud a reminder of the situation, of her situation.

“Lyanna will be laid to rest tomorrow morning according to her final letter," Sirayn said quietly.

Lanfir didn't say anything, she just sat with her face in her hands and remembered the day that Lyanna had told her where she'd kept her testament in case they'd ever die in battle like the Greens they were... no, had been. It had been on a sunny afternoon on the balcony, and they'd been drinking a glass of bloodred wine. Lanfir remembered thinking that Lya's wine had looked like blood itself, with the sunlight shining directly into it like that... and how oddly fitting it had been for their morbid topic of conversation.

Who would have thought that this letter would be opened so soon? Oh, Lya...

Bitter tears were wetting the palms of her hands as they pressed against her face. Bitter, desperate. I can't believe that you're gone, that everything is gone. It wasn't supposed to be like this Lya! It was supposed to be you and me cutting our hair on the morning of the Last Battle... why did we end up this way? What went wrong?

Lost in the enormity of trying to grasp how the world had turned into such a nightmare, she nearly missed Sirayn's next piece of oh so vital information.

"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..."

Oh no you bastard... you can't be alive. Not you, and not my Lyanna, my Syl. Not you. NOT YOU, Light burn you, not you... She only realized that she was biting on her knuckles when she tasted blood, heavy and copperish in her mouth. Tears and blood for her, and life for Caladesh. It was unbelievable. The darkness of her nightmare just seemed to increase and increase until there was no light left at all. Was there an end to this insanity, to this nightmare? Even Serashada in all her sadism had not been able to come up with a scenario as painful as this one... and yet the Creator was doing this to her. Life for Caladesh, death for my loved ones. Death for me. Why?

"Yesterday, we held his trial," Sirayn concluded. "He’s been sentenced to execution. Should happen any time now."

Sentenced to death by execution? Oh yes, the Tower took care of its problems. Caladesh would be beheaded, gentled-- wait.

No gentling. Her weave had already taken care of that. If only she had lashed out with Spirit to begin with... she was strong enough for the Severance weave... but no... she had wanted to undo his destruction, and it had cost her everything. That weave had cost her everything... HE had cost her everything. But he could not channel anymore, he was harmless. And he was still alive. He shouldn't be. He deserved to die for what he had done to her.

"When?" she croaked out.

"Tomorrow at noon," Sirayn answered. There was an inquiring light in those gray eyes, a calculating light. "He's been held in the cells under the Tower at present, waiting for his execution."

His execution. He would die tomorrow, a clean kill. And all she could do was watch... no. Light, NO.

At that very moment, Lanfir made the decision with the speed that had saved her life so many times out in the field, in battle. A gut instinct telling her what to do, and how to do it. She knew what to do.

There was blood staining her balled fist, but Lanfir thirsted for more. "My battle is over while the war has not yet ended. Can you imagine what it feels like, Sirayn, to be out of the fight for good and just watch it from the sideline? I can't stay here and wait it all out. I wasn't made for sidelines."

She pulled the covers off her body and stepped out of the bed, ignoring how her vision was shimmering and the lightheadedness that made her dazzle. She walked over to her closet and opened it with a wide swing. There, her battle attire.

"What are you going to do?" Sirayn asked, her wording still so careful, so controlled. Such a difference with how Lannie was feeling; the maelstrom of emotions in her head and her body threathened to consume her. But now one feeling was prevalent, pushing all the other ones to the background... grief, pain, disbelief and horror... they were there, but not as overwhelming.

Now there was just vengefulness and determination.

"I'm going to do the only thing I can still do. Caladesh' blood is mine to claim, not the Tower's."

She has bold eyes, Vivien couldn't help thinking as her roommate fixed her hazel eyes on her and they made eye-contact. Not very friendly, either.

The curly-haired girl hung her pouch and belt on a peg and then turned to Vivien in an almost off-hand and uninterested matter. "Right. I think you'd better get dressed in white quick, before your mentor or anyone else for that matter catches you in those clothes. A Tinker I presume?"

Vivien decided that she did not like the girl's tone of voice especially how she emphasised the word Tinker, even though she offered sound advice. The girl sat down next to Vivien and continued without waiting for an answer. Many people seemed to be doing that today and she didn't like it one bit. Whatever happened to respect to other people and letting them have their say?

The girl said, still eyeing her with that sharp, piercing look: "My name is Irina and I've been here for a while already. Since we are obviously going to share a room, I think it is smart if we establish some rules. There are only two things you should remember. The first is, don't touch any of my stuff. The second is, never forget the first rule. Okay?"

"Don't worry, I won't touch your 'stuff'," Vivien promised, catching herself just in time from rolling her eyes at her roommate. Stereotypes, stereotypes. And this Irina sure knew how to embrace them and distrust on principe. Light, they surely were off to a splendid start! "As for your question, yes, I am with the Tua'athan. Thank you for your advice, I'm about to change into the white dress. Apparently we're to look as if we're mourning someone's death all day here, I might as well go along with it." She sighed. "Anyway. How long have you been here? You must be unhappy that you suddenly have to share your room now or did you have any roommates before me?"

The door closed with a very final sound behind her and all Vivien wanted was to cry her eyes out. If this was to be her room then she was already going nuts with cabin fever. Was this all? And... she had to SHARE? There were two beds in the very sparse room and there was some evidence of the room already being lived in, even though it was far and between.

So, another person. In this confined space. Vivien sat down on one of the beds and dropped the two white dresses next to her. She buried her face in her hands and considered her options. Apparently she was not to leave the Tower and her family was to be informed about her current predicament. Oh, how unpersonal. How undignified. She had not even been allowed to say goodbye to them, although Elyssa Sedai had said that Vivien could write them letters if she wanted. It was not enough, though. There was the staying in this place forever part that unsettled Vivien immensely and she didn't think she could do anything against it. She could not even go into Tar Valon! How would she survive being confined like this?

She was supposed to get changed into the white dress but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd also been told to take the beads out of her hair because they were too colourful, but she'd decided immediately that she would not do this. If they wanted colourless, they could get colourless. She took the white-and-yellow beaded bracelet that she'd been wearing forever off her wrist and broke the seal, letting the beads spill on the bedspread. They glittered a bit in the light. Vivien smiled down sadly upon them and took the blue beads out of her hair so she would replace them with the white ones.

If she would have to live here for now, she'd make sure she wouldn't lose herself completely.

But only until there was a way out or a loophole. Surely she should be able to find her way back tonight or tomorrow night. Her father and the rest of their travelling group would leave when the moon turned, they'd said. That would be next week, Vivien knew. So she had a week to find her way back to them, undetected.

And that was how her new roommate found her; sitting on the bed, dressed in bright colours and braiding white beads into her blond hair while contemplating on how to get out of this life and the Tower.

Vivien smiled at the curly-haired girl with the hazel eyes (and also, dressed in white) that entered the room. "Hi there," she said with a slight shrug and a slight smile. "I guess I'm your new roommate. My name's Vivien..."

Even during her talking, Vivien could see the eyes of the Mistress of Novices flickering away from her as if she wasn't giving full attention to Vivi's concerns. Vivien was about to ask what was wrong, when the door opened and a woman with shoulder-length hair and a birthmark on her cheek. She was also carrying a blue shawl as if it was some sort of badge, as if it meant something. Vivien regarded the woman with interest, but the woman ignored her and said to the Mistress of Novices: "I recieved your note and came as fast as I could."

Faerzyne waved the other woman to sit down next to Vivien, who was now beginning to get a bit nervous. When was she going to get out of here?

"I appreciate your haste, Elyssa Sedai." the Mistress of Novices said, closing the book she'd been writing in previously. "I would like you to meet Vivien Senette. She is our newest novice."

She is talking about me as if I'm not even there! That rubbed her completely the wrong way, even more than the casual decision that Vivien had apparently become a novice without her consent. She opened her mouth to speak, with Faerzyne raised a hand with a dismissive gesture that she instinctively obeyed; there was so much authority speaking that she had responded by closing her mouth before even realizing what she was doing.

"Elyssa Sedai will be your mentor. You can go to her with any questions you have, and she will begin your lessons," the Mistress of Novices said off-handedly, obviously completely ignoring Vivien's seething and panicking that had to be upsetting the atmosphere in the room at current. Faerzyne walked over to a large cupboard against the wall and took two dresses out of it. They were completely, utterly and blandly white, as Vivien had seen some of the younger women around the place wear. And she was handed these dresses. They looked like something to wear when somebody had died. Surely they didn't expect her to...?

The Mistress of Novices seemed to guess her thoughts. "This is what you will be wearing now, child. You are to take care of them, keeping them clean and mended."

Again her attempts to say something were completely ignored as the Mistress continued, running down a list of rules that sounded as if she'd recited them a great many times to girls like her. "And lastly, you will treat your mentor with utmost respect and deference, for she has much to teach you, as does every other Sister in the Tower." Within the same breath, Faerzynne Sedai gestured to Elyssa, who'd been regarding the both of them silently throughout the whole ordeal. "Now child, Elyssa Sedai will answer all your questions." And with that, she just turned away back to her desk. "Good day, Elyssa Sedai," she said, not even bothering to acknowledge Vivien anymore.

Elyssa curtesied and gestured her to do the same... and again Vivien obeyed, too confused, dumbfounded and overcome to do anything but listen. That took all about of two seconds after Elyssa Sedai had closed the door behind them.

"Elyssa Sedai," Vivien started, looking up at the woman with the blue shawl with big frightened lightblue eyes over the pile of drab white dresses in her arms, "I don't want to be a novice. I just want to go home, my da must be worried sick... I don't want to be a trouble to you at all, I truly regret being a trouble, but I don't want to come live here and do Aes Sedai things. I want to just go back to my people..."

~Vivien

He'd dressed up too, was the first thing that Esthelle noticed when they met up again. The next thing she noticed was how pleased she was about it, and she wondered a bit about herself. It was less than two months since she'd fled from Yoran and her marriage and here she was feeling attracted a guy that she'd just met today?

"There's a place I know not too far away." Ursana told her. "Before I joined the guard I spent a little too much time in the Inns of Tar Valon." He graciously offered her arm, and she took it with an answering smile.

"You look lovely."

She didn't think her smile could get any wider. "So do you," she told him, and then grinned cheekily. "In a manly kind of way, that is." She reached out to Sana's chin and cheeks and lightly touched the dark stubble as they set off to their destination. "You should keep it at this length," she remarked. "It looks good on you. Makes you look older than you really are." She smiled at him. "Because I think that you're younger than you look. Also, I've been trying to guess where you come from based on your looks and your accent, but I can't guess for the life of me where you're from. Usually I'm pretty good at that kind of stuff!"

The clouds above them had given way to more drizzly rain, but Esthelle hardly felt it...

After they'd done their Traineely duty by making sure that Maldrin was taken care of, Esthelle had taken a few moments to slip into clothes that were a bit better for the occasion. It shouldn't matter much, she thought as she looked at her face in the mirror as she quickly plaited her hair in a loose braid, Sana had seen her mud-splattered and bloody and her face was still trying to get used to the fact that it was actually Healed. She didn't look too hot, with traces of a bruise on her previously broken cheekbone that was about to vanish tonight, but it never hurt to dress up for any occasion.

Her parents were traders in cloth; and if there was something they'd taught her then it was how to dress up nicely. Esthelle wasn't about to fuss too much over her looks, though. She just slipped into darkgreen skirts and a matching tunic that tailored subtly to show her feminine forms and did her hair and then she was ready to go. All in all it only took ten minutes to get ready, but it did earn her some amused remarks from her roommates: "Going out on a date, Esthelle?" Vanion asked with a smile.

"Just having dinner with a friend," she confessed, noting with a hint of annoyance that her cheeks were flushing slightly.

"Sure," was all Vanion said, and then Esthelle fled out of her room. Her head still felt like it was spinning with an overload of happenings that had passed today.

She felt cheerful enough, however. She might have gained an enemy, but Sana seemed to become quite the opposite. She found herself genuinely looking forward to spending the evening with. He was so different from her husband; just a joy to be with instead of being on her guard pretty much twentyfour hours a day. She met up with Sana at the gate to Tar Valon.

"Hi," she said cheerfully, meeting his eyes. "Do you have any suggestions on a good place to eat? As I promised, it's my treat..."

~Esthelle

Walk, I cannot walk

For I am blind, blinded I am

By the pitch of dark, so dark it is

The narrow street, never ending narrow

Clogs my throat

Silently I try,

Try to walk, blinded by the pitch

The narrow darkness, clogs the street

I am speechless, I'm speechless

~The Gathering, “Black Light Districtâ€

“Lyanna...†a voice answered her, soft and timid. It sounded like a wish, somehow.

Lannie turned to look at the speaker through veils of panic and a clouded mind and recognized Sirayn Simeone sitting next to her bed. One of her Sisters. Despite all their differences, all of their misunderstandings and despite everything, Sirayn had been one of her Sisters. One of the few she had trusted to stand next to. Her Sister to Battle in the truest sense of the word was sitting next to her.

Sirayn's stormgrey eyes that had always looked at Lanfir with some sort of hidden challenge underneath her stony deference (that Lanfir never asked nor wished for) were now looking as troubled and sorrowful as Lanfir had ever seen them. So sad, so full of sorrow.

The look in the eyes of Sirayn Simeone told Lanfir all that she wanted to know before the words even left her lips. “Lyanna didn't make it.â€

She didn't make it... Lanfir remembered what had happened. Of course she did; she'd been so close. She could not have been any closer to Lyanna; they had been linked at the time. Sharing a Circle is more intimate than any bond with a warder, simply because there's more saidar involved than that one tied off strand of Spirit. It's a heightened state of being: you feel what she feels, you experience what she experiences. So very close...

At the moment of Lyanna's death, Lanfir had held her hand and shared a link with her. They were as close as they had ever been. She had not seen it happen because the lightning had been too bright for her to make out anything in that instant that it hit their unprotected, unShielded unity – but she had felt every... single... thing...

She had felt Death in one shattering blow.

“She went before anyone could reach her,†Sirayn told her in smooth, controlled tones. There was no gentleness in her words but a clear, blunt truth that she could not, and would not hide. “You took the full force of an unraveling weave. We nearly lost you both.â€

It had been Lyanna's death, but it felt like her own.

Her heart broke.

Was there any difference, really?

“Lyanna is dead?†Lanfir breathed, reaching out to the Green sister at her bedside like a drowning woman might clutch anything that would float. Sirayn was here, Sirayn was real in a world that seemed to beat any horrific nightmare she had ever had by a mile. “Oh Light... I've felt it, I felt it.†The other woman nodded solemnly, taking Lanfir's hand into her own remaining one – a reminder that she too had fought and lost. “I felt her die, and I thought that I would go with her.†Blood was pounding in her ears, in her head. Pounding like rain, drowning out any thought that resembled coherency.

“I should have gone with her.†Despite the pain, despite her weakened physical state and the wounds that had not been healed completely yet, despite the very real person that was sitting next to her, Lanfir reached out instinctively to the greatest source of comfort that had been with her for the better part of two and a half hundred years- something so ingrained in her being, something so much a part of herself... comfort beyond anything she knew, comfort like the Light itself... something that she had lived with for so long that she could not remember what it was like to be without.

Saidar.

She found out what it was like at that very moment.

Her breath stuck in her throat, her heart skipped a beat. She gave in and opened herself to the river that was saidar and could not find it. It was as if it had never been there in the first place. She opened her eyes and looked to Sirayn for reassurance, for comfort – but even before their gazes had caught she knew.

She knew.

She had been unable to connect to the Source before, in Fal Dara; after her fumble in Gytta's circle. The young Gray who'd had so much at stake in the successful completion of the weave had grabbed control over the link and had attempted to finish it, instead... and failed. The weave had been too much for her to handle and threads of Spirit had torn loose, effectively unraveling Lanfir's hard work and exploding in their faces before they could undo their error. Gytta had died, the young woman they'd tried to Heal had died... and the next morning, after Ryell had left so abruptly... Lyanna had sat at Lanfir's bed much like Sirayn was doing now. The parallel of the situation was crystal clear.

“I'm afraid I've burnt out,†Lyanna had said through a river of shared tears. The amount of Spirit they'd been hit with was staggering, and thus Lanfir tried to test Lyanna's theory... and found a blinding headache where her surrender to sweet saidar had been before, blocking her way. She had been unable to channel, but it had still been there. Not being able to reach for it was torture, but she'd known it would pass as soon as her body had recovered.

...And this felt different.

There was nothing. Nothing. NOTHING. NOTHING!

“Oh, you did...†She had not felt it previously; the dull ache in her mind, the emptiness where a part of her had been before. In her terror over Lyanna, over love itself... she had not felt it previously. But she did now. There was nothing left.

(nothing...)

“You did lose us both, didn't you?†Lanfir breathed. She'd lost her voice. New tears were streaming over her ravaged face, silent but unrelenting as the tattered remains of her world came crashing down around her. “It's all gone. I burnt out. And Lya... oh Light...Lya....â€

The realization was too big. Her body turned to water and she sunk back into her pillows. The world spun around her as she tried to weep. She tried to breathe and found herself failing. “Tell me it isn't true,†she begged of Sirayn and the Creator alike. “Tell me this didn't happen...â€

One Last Stand: The Fine Art of Falling Apart

I'm burning bridges for the last time

I'm breaking habits for the first time

I saw my future today, it said I'm going away

And I still haven't sung the last line

On my way down...

~ Demon Hunter, “Not ready to dieâ€

In her dreams, she was running. The running was good, and she was at peace. She wasn't running for her life; she was running because she wanted to, because it felt good. The staccato rhythm of her feet hitting the ground, the adrenaline, sweat beading on her skin... and companionship. It all felt good and peaceful because she wasn't alone.

In her dreams, the sunrise was painting a still sleepy Tanchico a brilliant hue of amber and peach. Out here, on top of the hill where she was, there were hardly any sounds yet apart from the gentle breeze and early birds greeting the sun. That, and the two friends that were jogging down the hill... two women, one blond and one dark, their footfalls hit the ground in perfect rhythm and they talked, jested, and laughed with a familiarity that spoke of many years of companionship, of trust and kinship. Two friends on their morning jog, running towards the sun rising over the city in the east.

In her dreams, Lyanna was running next to her, and she laughed. The sound of it was so precious. The moment was precious and perfect; one to cherish for eternity.

In her sleep, Lanfir reached out to the scenes of her memory, trying to embrace the dream to stay forever in that early morning in Tanchico three years ago... but the dream fleeted between her grasping fingers and was replaced by an aching emptiness and a dull, throbbing pain all over her body that was forcefully waking her up. There was no escape, no matter how hard she tried to stay below the currents of her consciousness. Deep inside her dreams she wanted to deny reality, deny what was going on because she remembered that waking up meant facing things she did not want to face, things she simply couldn't deal with.

Her dreams were a far more pleasant place to dwell. And how long had it been since she had thought that last... for the longest times, the dreamworld was not where she wanted to be for it plagued her with scenario's that made her wake up gasping in horror and fear. In her darkest dreams, she had been betrayed and Lyanna had died horribly over and over again, mostly because of her own fault... but now everything had been turned upside down.

Now it was thus that in her dreams, Lyanna laughed her sweet laugh... and in the waking world... oh Light, in the waking world...

She almost remembered, and that alone was enough to jolt her out of her unconsciousness in terror.

Lanfir Leah Marithsen, ex-Amyrlin of the White Tower and arguably one of the most powerful people in the world up until yesterday, woke up with a choked scream. She sat up between her sheets and winced at the feeling of fabric against skin that was once whole but now was covered in sensitive burn-scars that were not completely Healed yet. The tears were rolling over her cheeks before she had even taken in her rooms and the bright winter sunlight falling through the silky draperies.

Late afternoon. How much time had passed? What had passed?

She remembered flashes – coughing up blood – the icy feeling of Healing – hurried talking – people sounding concerned and stressed – but most of all she remembered fire, she remembered burning. She didn't think that she could ever forget the burning. The scent of ozone and burnt flesh and smoke. And the hurt...

“Lyanna,†she gasped. Her fingers dug into the damp white sheets. Feverish breathing, panicking. She was in her own bed and it was empty. She had to fight for oxygen in her lungs. It hurt; as if on the inside she was blistered as well. Her head was spinning with nausea and fatigue, but she ignored it. She had to know. Her bed was empty, and her memories were ink black. “Where is Lyanna?â€

I mourn for those who never knew you

It won't be long, we'll meet again

Your memory is never passing

It won't be long, we'll meet again

My love for you is everlasting...

~Killswitch Engage, "Rose of Sharyn"

It ended in fire. In a horrid way that even made sense to Lanfir, although later she would be unable to explain why exactly.

By that time, it was too late to do anything but register what was happening.

In the moment itself there was just this realization, this crystal clear moment of utter horror before the world shattered. Lyanna's hand had found Lannie's, their fingers twining together passionately for just one heartbeat before the electric lightning left their adversary's fingers.

At least we face him together, was one, half-formed thought - and then the lightning left his fingers and Lanfir realized that there was no shield of Air and Spirit to protect them anymore. There was lightning coming their way and she had no way of protecting them without dropping her current weave, nearly completed but not ready to let go yet... she needed two more seconds. Two more. Too many.

The cellar lit up brightly with the blue-white electric fire that sprang to life again around Caladesh' fingers.

"No! Lanfir! Let go!" Lyanna shouted, warning her of imminent danger... but Lanfir couldn't let go of saidar. Not with what was at stake, not with that nearly-formed weave hanging suspended in the air before them. If she would let go, the weave would unravel and- and- she remembered Gytta, she remembered destruction, she remembered it all so clearly that in this last moment, she couldn't let go. Not while there was a chance they might still live, that they might still beat this monster made flesh. Two more SECONDS...

The world drowned in blue-white light and heat.

The impact slammed Lyanna's hand out of hers and a terrible sense of loss hit her before anything else could. In that one terrible moment, in that moment the world ended, in that same exact moment that she had to let go of her love's hand, she could feel Lyanna die and the circle that they had formed was broken violently. She felt Lyanna's brutal death for only a split second before the link that bound them dissolved, but it was enough. More than enough.

The world ended in fire; she got her own brunt of the lightning directed at her and she felt the fire engulf her as much as Lyanna, burning her hair and her clothes, her skin... she did not even have time to scream out with the pain of it. No time to scream, because one process led to another in the worst sort of chain-reaction possible.

With the loss of the link, the loss of Lyanna's sweet presence and her fire-wielding abilities, Lanfir was suddenly holding more power than she could normally bear. But most of all, she was holding too much Fire.

It ended in fire, twice over. It was a complete sensory overload; the feeling of saidar, SO overpowering, thundering over her senses and through her veins... and then there was Fire, more than she could bear, more than she could wield, burning, burning, scorching until it was all gone and there was nothing left of the sweetness, nothing left of saidar, nothing left of her.

Lyanna was ripped away from her so violently; out of her grasp and out of her life while the world drowned in electricity, light and fire. She was set alight and then the link broke and she was burning on the inside as well. She might have screamed, if she would have had the air to scream. She might have wept and shouted, if she could have. As it was, she could only register how something that should have been Lyanna smacked against a wall, lifeless and smoking.... how her own skin and her hair burnt... and then, how the One Power inside of her burnt her out.

So this is what it feels like, she realized, and suddenly her vision toppled over as her body collided with the floor in a crumpled heap. She could not control it anymore. All she was right now was pain and fire and loss trapped inside a human shell.

The last thing she saw was the weave of energy and fire take shape in the air before her and how it rippled and distorted reality, flashing red and yellow and white. Her weave was unravelling after all, and strands of Spirit and Fire cut through the air with a force that would have incinerated her on the spot had she still been standing there. Instead, it struck out at the only other human still standing in the cellar. Caladesh.

Lanfir passed out with the sound of Caladesh's screams echoing in her ears. It should have pleased her. As it was, it all drowned out in pain and grief.

Unconsciousness came like a blessing.

OOC: My heart is breaking. :cry:

With the Fair going on outside, the tavern was bustling with activity. Therefore, it didn't take Sterre long to find a cute young man buying her beer. It never did; but ever since she'd hooked up with Suraya and had adopted the other woman's provocatively and glittery manner of dress, it had been easier than ever. In the beginning she had felt uncomfortable looking so flashy. She'd been a thief; catching attention had been a bad thing in the old days. These days, it bought her drinks and assured her interested looks from an audience. How times changed!

The beerbuyer today was a young man called Bart with sandy blond hair and large grey eyes. He looked as Andoran as you're probably going to get and she figured that she intrigued him with her Taraboner braids and her hazel eyes and low-cut black-and-silver shirt. "Are all girls in Tarabon as gorgeous as you are?" Bart slurred. He apparently was quite into his cups already and his pick-up lines were about the worst that Sterre'd ever come across. But he was buying her beer so she didn't have any qualms really.

"Of course not, I'm the prettiest," she smiled sweetly at him and subtley leaned a bit into his direction so he would have a better view of her cleavage. She wasn't a whore, not exactly. She just liked a bit of beer and a bit of teasing of the boys.

"I should have known," Bart flirted back. He was grinning a bit lopsidedly in a way that Sterre decided was rather cute. "You're the best thing that I've spent my coppers on all week. The beer might taste like piss around here, but it's the best pub in town. And it got me to meet you..."

In the pub, it suddenly grew a bit darker. A chill swept through the small building and Sterre looked up in confusion. For one moment she thought that perhaps a rainstorm had started outside, but there was nothing of the sort. The sun was still shining and there were still people... it just seemed... less bright, all of a sudden. And weird.

She looked up at Bart for confirmation while she took a swig of her beer. And then a few realizations registered all at once.

One: the mug she was holding was warm.

Two: people outside were screaming something about rats.

Three: her beer tasted extremely off.

"What am I drinking?!" Sterre exclaimed, setting her mug on the table as if she'd burnt her hands on it. Nearly as warm as tea, and the taste... She looked up at Bart. "What did you just say?" she asked him sharply.

He blinked those large babyblue eyes. "I don't understand, I said that you were the best thing that..."

"No, about the beer!" She thrust him the mug, daring him to take a sip with her gestures. He took it wordlessly and gulped a mouthful of it. He immediately spewed it out again. "Light that's awful! It tastes like-"

"Yes!" Sterre sneered. She was desperately looking around for something to rinse away the bad taste in her mouth. "Best investment of the week, right?"

There were more people coming to this conclusion around the pub, and shouts of outrage were bubbling up. Some people walked over to the barkeep and began harassing him, but the poor man looked as startled as anyone else.

And it became darker.

Before Sterre's unbelieving eyes, her mug began to levitate. It floated up in the air as if it were caught in a gleeman's trick with invisible threads that pulled it up. It floated above her head and hovered there for a moment...

Sterre was too late to realize what was about to happen. If she would have realized earlier, she would have stepped out of the way, but as it was, the mug simply turned itself over, pouring the yellow waste over her head and dripping over her face and back. She immediately reeked of urine. "Light!" she screamed in shock and revulsion. "What is going ON here?"

That goat-kissing trolloc Bart was laughing at her, but his laughter soon died as his own mug treated him to the same fate. He stepped out of the way in time to miss most of the golden shower, but apparently the mug was not done with him yet. As if someone were swinging it, the heavy glass mug slammed down on the back of his head, knocking him out cold with one efficient swing. Sterre screamed as she watched Bart sag through his knees like a rag doll.

One look into the pub showed more floating and attacking beermugs, and Sterre didn't hesitate. She was a thief, she knew when it was time to run away. She was fast enough; running through the crowd, fighting her way to the exit, wringing through the panicking crowd. Unfortunately she had been nearly at the back and more interestingly-reeking people had shared her idea, and there was no way of getting out.

"Blood and ashes!" Sterre cursed and turned for the window. She rushed through the part of the pub which was now mostly deserted apart from puddles of human waste and fallen tables and chairs, and then dove through the window. It was a good thing that she knew how to brace herself for impact and how to land on her feet; during her jump, she rolled over and was able to break into a run as soon as she was on her feet again.

Naturally, she was once again not fast enough. After three steps she was hit painfully in the back of the head. Spots danced before her eyes as something shattered against her head and wetness gulfed over her back. For one frightening moment she thought that it was blood running over her back, but then she realized that the trickling liquid would not be red, but yellow.

Yet it could become red soon enough if she did not get out of here fast! She nearly broke her neck over scuttling rats and screaming people, but Sterre did not care. She was fleeing. And fleeing was good. Bloody good.

With the Fair going on outside, the tavern was bustling with activity. Therefore, it didn't take Sterre long to find a cute young man buying her beer. It never did; but ever since she'd hooked up with Suraya and had adopted the other woman's provocatively and glittery manner of dress, it had been easier than ever. In the beginning she had felt uncomfortable looking so flashy. She'd been a thief; catching attention had been a bad thing in the old days. These days, it bought her drinks and assured her interested looks from an audience. How times changed!

The beerbuyer today was a young man called Bart with sandy blond hair and large grey eyes. He looked as Andoran as you're probably going to get and she figured that she intrigued him with her Taraboner braids and her hazel eyes and low-cut black-and-silver shirt. "Are all girls in Tarabon as gorgeous as you are?" Bart slurred. He apparently was quite into his cups already and his pick-up lines were about the worst that Sterre'd ever come across. But he was buying her beer so she didn't have any qualms really.

"Of course not, I'm the prettiest," she smiled sweetly at him and subtley leaned a bit into his direction so he would have a better view of her cleavage. She wasn't a whore, not exactly. She just liked a bit of beer and a bit of teasing of the boys.

"I should have known," Bart flirted back. He was grinning a bit lopsidedly in a way that Sterre decided was rather cute. "You're the best thing that I've spent my coppers on all week. The beer might taste like piss around here, but it's the best pub in town. And it got me to meet you..."

In the pub, it suddenly grew a bit darker. A chill swept through the small building and Sterre looked up in confusion. For one moment she thought that perhaps a rainstorm had started outside, but there was nothing of the sort. The sun was still shining and there were still people... it just seemed... less bright, all of a sudden. And weird.

She looked up at Bart for confirmation while she took a swig of her beer. And then a few realizations registered all at once.

One: the mug she was holding was warm.

Two: people outside were screaming something about rats.

Three: her beer tasted extremely off.

"What am I drinking?!" Sterre exclaimed, setting her mug on the table as if she'd burnt her hands on it. Nearly as warm as tea, and the taste... She looked up at Bart. "What did you just say?" she asked him sharply.

He blinked those large babyblue eyes. "I don't understand, I said that you were the best thing that..."

"No, about the beer!" She thrust him the mug, daring him to take a sip with her gestures. He took it wordlessly and gulped a mouthful of it. He immediately spewed it out again. "Light that's awful! It tastes like-"

"Yes!" Sterre sneered. She was desperately looking around for something to rinse away the bad taste in her mouth. "Best investment of the week, right?"

There were more people coming to this conclusion around the pub, and shouts of outrage were bubbling up. Some people walked over to the barkeep and began harassing him, but the poor man looked as startled as anyone else.

And it became darker.

Before Sterre's unbelieving eyes, her mug began to levitate. It floated up in the air as if it were caught in a gleeman's trick with invisible threads that pulled it up. It floated above her head and hovered there for a moment...

Sterre was too late to realize what was about to happen. If she would have realized earlier, she would have stepped out of the way, but as it was, the mug simply turned itself over, pouring the yellow waste over her head and dripping over her face and back. She immediately reeked of urine. "Light!" she screamed in shock and revulsion. "What is going ON here?"

That goat-kissing trolloc Bart was laughing at her, but his laughter soon died as his own mug treated him to the same fate. He stepped out of the way in time to miss most of the golden shower, but apparently the mug was not done with him yet. As if someone were swinging it, the heavy glass mug slammed down on the back of his head, knocking him out cold with one efficient swing. Sterre screamed as she watched Bart sag through his knees like a rag doll.

One look into the pub showed more floating and attacking beermugs, and Sterre didn't hesitate. She was a thief, she knew when it was time to run away. She was fast enough; running through the crowd, fighting her way to the exit, wringing through the panicking crowd. Unfortunately she had been nearly at the back and more interestingly-reeking people had shared her idea, and there was no way of getting out.

"Blood and ashes!" Sterre cursed and turned for the window. She rushed through the part of the pub which was now mostly deserted apart from puddles of human waste and fallen tables and chairs, and then dove through the window. It was a good thing that she knew how to brace herself for impact and how to land on her feet; during her jump, she rolled over and was able to break into a run as soon as she was on her feet again.

Naturally, she was once again not fast enough. After three steps she was hit painfully in the back of the head. Spots danced before her eyes as something shattered against her head and wetness gulfed over her back. For one frightening moment she thought that it was blood running over her back, but then she realized that the trickling liquid would not be red, but yellow.

Yet it could become red soon enough if she did not get out of here fast! She nearly broke her neck over scuttling rats and screaming people, but Sterre did not care. She was fleeing. And fleeing was good. Bloody good.

The weather was beautiful, the sunlight was dazzling, and everywhere there were happy people about. Sterre remembered such days from Tanchico and suddenly had a bout of homesickness to her old buddies. On days like these, they'd always gone drinking together. Suraya had other plans, however. Well, that figured. That woman was always practicing things that already went perfect, always nagging about improvement where none could be reached. “Well, what did you think I was going to say?" the other woman snapped. "We need that money to buy equipment and all that... and we need the time to practise. You could certainly use it!â€

Sterre frowned at the slight that Suraya was biting at her. She had been performing beyond what could be expected of someone who has joined a circus a mere two/three moons ago, and Suraya knew it. She'd done great, she'd strained to meet Suraya's demand on every turn and every idea, and now she got served such a comment? That was simply not fair. "Not as much as you need to let go a little and remove that stick out of your behind, Suraya," Sterre told her partner sweetly. "But if you don't want to come with me, fine. Don't worry, I'll be home before sundown."

As if she were planning on drinking away ALL of the money that they'd earned and stolen. Just a little bit, just enough for a happy afternoon. She'd gone through enough crap in the past few months already, she had EARNED this day off. She was through with being bossed around all the time; Suraya could be a real trial to live with and Sterre needed her relaxation and her alone moments, too. To get berated with every breath she took was not her idea of a fun time.

Sterre turned around and went into the wagon to get herself a handful of coppers and a few silver coins. "See you tonight," she spat, and turned to leave for the nearest tavern. Suraya could stick it where the sun didn't shine. Today would be hers.

Suraya returned with a sack of silver that obviously came from Fitch' wagon. She was grinning and looking as satisfied as Sterre had ever seen her partner. “That son of a goat was going to keep all of that from us. I figured it was only fair that it went to the two stars of his show.â€

Fair enough! Sterre had to concentrate on reining the horse, otherwise she would have already burst into laughter.

“Light, I’m glad we’re gone from there. I wouldn’t have liked being there when the fire is dealt with…†I’m sure he’ll expect us to go to Bandar Eban, or even Illian.†Suraya sighed. “It’s a pity though. There’s loads of money to be made. I’ve heard rumours that they’re starting up the Hunt for the Horn again. Just imagine that, thousands of brave young lads, just waiting for us to pick them clean. Ah well… maybe later. Caemlyn is as good a place as any for now. And with this… I doubt we have to worry about a place to stay during the winter either.â€

It was then that Sterre stopped biting back her laughter and laughed freely. "Oh Light Suraya... This is just too funny." The other girl gave her an inquisitive look, as if she did not quite know what to make of Sterre's reaction. Sterre just giggled and handed the reins of the wagon's mare back to Suraya. "Here, I'll show you." She reached under her tunic and displayed the package she had dug up. Opening it quickly, they could make out the assorted jewellery glinting in the moonlight on Sterre's lap. "Seems like great minds think alike, Suraya. Howel Fitch has been robbed twice over tonight."

Their laughter rang through the darkness of the deserted road.

"Of course not!" Suraya protested. Her eyes flashed angrily in Sterre's direction for a moment before she looked back at the road again. "I’m not stupid enough to light a fire when the grass is dryer than my aunts. Not with my wagon still in reach of it… It must’ve been one of those acrobats. Probably Rufus. He would be stupid enough to ruin his own income. He doesn’t have a chance on making a living with an actual legitimate menagerie."

Probably true, Sterre agreed silently. A good thing they'd gotten out of there, then. A very good thing. What idiot would indeed set the place alight in the middle of a very dry summer? She hoped it had been Rufus who'd been crying about his wagon being on fire.

Suraya suddenly laughed. "Boy, but he sure did get what he deserved, eh? I was so worried he’d come look for me the instant the first spark hit the tent. Fool man." She chuckled again and shot a mischievous glance at Sterre. "Oh well, at least we didn’t leave empty handed."

Sterre's hand went to her tunic, where she had hidden the package she'd dug up in a reflex. There's no way Suraya could know, right? Nobody saw me and she had been readying her wagon to flee. I never told her about my profession in Tanchico. There is no way she can know. Sterre didn't complete the motion. Instead, she asked warily: "What do you mean?"

It had not rained in weeks and the ground was dry. The tall grass in which their camp had been stationed were as dry as possible. Sterre, who knew how dangerously prone to bushfires this part of the country was, had been very careful not to let any glass litter about. Bushfires were very, very easily made when the summer had been as dry as it had been this year.

Sterre sprinted into camp and found the main tent burning as cheerily as Suraya's torches. Like torchwood, she thought distantly, and thought of the blazing argument that she'd overheard between Suraya and Fitch when she was washing her hair. After tonight's thrilling performance, Suraya had gone to demand more of the profit that the menagerie was making. After all, they were the main attraction and thus they deserved more. Sterre had completely agreed with that line of thinking and offered to go with her, but Suraya had thought she'd be more forceful and was in a better position to make demands since she'd been here longer.

She had made demands, indeed... and Fitch had rejected them all. Bastard, Sterre had thought, and assumed that they'd get back to the discussion later. Surely they could convince him to come around later, and otherwise they'd just threaten to leave his show and start up their own. It was easy enough, Sterre thought.

But to see the fire... there was a lot of confusion in camp. They were trying to save the animals and Fitch was screaming to get water to put out the fire, that Suraya was to blame for this and that he'd get her for this (accompanied by some very colourful curses), he'd make her pay...

Sterre didn't stand around to listen. Whether Suraya had put the place on fire or not, she didn't really care. All she knew was that the menagerie here was bankrupt without it's main tent and Suraya, and that she was not planning to stay around any longer. As far as she knew, they could even think her as guilty as Suraya because of their affiliation.

And she had seen where Fitch kept part of his secret stash. He buried it, always, at a tree that was on the western outskirts of camp. Usually the biggest one; and if there were more, he would carve a little mark into it so he wouldn't forget about it.

Sterre, who was a very accomplished thief, thought that this was just a laughable course of action to take. Did he really think that splitting his stash and hiding it in exactly the same spot every time was going to keep him safe. He must have thought that she was stupid, or something. Or that the world was as stupid as he was.

So she took her chances and dug up the package that Howel Fitch had thought safe from thieves, and stole it away while the man himself was busy screaming obscenities about Suraya's ancestors and possible descendants. Sterre rolled her eyes as she kicked the dusty dirt back in place and took a look at the package. It felt heavy, at least. She tucked it under her shirt and blended back in the shadows. All eyes would be on the fire anyway. With the bright light the shadows seemed only darker and she could slip away unnoticed.

She ran back to Suraya's wagon to either warn the woman or to get her stuff, but the other woman was as quick on her feet as Sterre had been and the wagon was already moving, with Suraya leading the reins of her horse. She looked like storm.

Sterre hopped onto the wagon next to Suraya. "Hi," she said cheerfully. Let me guess, we're leaving?"

"You are SO perceptive," Suraya said with a sarcastic drawl in her normally so clear voice. She was nearly growling. Her eyes were narrowed and she did not even look at Sterre.

"Perhaps it was time to go," Sterre noted. She leaned back against the cart and made herself comfortable while Suraya ushered their horse to hurry out of here. Behind them, the fire was roaring and somebody was screaming: "Dear Light, my WAGON!"

Sterre didnt look back. She just grinned slightly and looked at the empty road and the darkblue night sky, that was by now filled with stars and constellations. Strangely enough, she hardly felt upset by this new turn of events. She was only... curious. "So tell me Suraya, DID you light the place on fire?"

In one moment

In one second

Watch it all burn

You and I

Will stand as one

You and I will be transformed

~Killswitch Engage, "World Ablaze"

In that one horrifying moment, time stopped.

She was clinging onto her weave and laying the last hand to it; Spirit and Fire to strengthen the weave just before she would tie it off and the weave would become the liquid fire she'd read and been warned about that would blast Caladesh into oblivion as though he had never existed. He deserved it; he deserved it so thoroughly. He had taken Syl from her, one of the purest souls she'd ever known. He had devastated the Tower and he would kill them without a second thought. He deserved to die by her hand, by her and Lyanna both.

It had been all of five seconds since she'd started weaving yet it seemed like an eternity. Tears were streaming down Lanfir's face as she wove that Fire and Spirit and Earth, another thread around her weave for strength. Her weave would be brilliant, her blast would be all consuming. She would make that shot count, for Syl, for Lyanna, for the Tower.

If he would let her.

He had created that lightning so quickly, as if he'd been weaving already anyway... and that fire that was playing around his fingers as he looked up from the sweet young woman that had been bonded to Lanfir... sweet, young Syl... whose lack of presence was hurting so bloody much... oh, the look in his eyes...

Such mad glee. Such utter, horrible, repulsive glee. He didn't even look human anymore. The man standing before them with fire around his fingers was not a man anymore. He was consumed by madness. The taint had melted away his sanity as if it had never been there in the first place.

He's going to weave.

One moment, one realization, and time stopped.

The weave left his fingers.