Saline sat still for as long as she could, knowing she needed the rest, needed to wait for daybreak, but there was a ticking impatience inside her. They weren’t out of this, and every step seemed triumphantly and incredibly, worse than the last. She had hoped for daylight, prayed for light - light would make everything better . . .

They were on foot about an hour later, a half dozen guards along with Captain Mitya and Saline, and moved north. Their route followed a farm road up through the rolling landscape in the direction of a smaller town north of Katar.

The day was warm and still, the sun climbing slowly behind a blanket of hazy grey. No wind blew across the sticky, rain-darkened soil. This landscape was empty and dead. It had once been a lush agricultural zone, similar to the fertile region around Tanchico where Saline had grown up and where her family owned a piece of land. Her own lands, long abandoned and razed before she left them, in all likelihood resembled this now - somewhere only the roughest grasses and strangest trees grew. 

It was a distressing sight. Saline said little was she walked along, but she could empathize with the fallen feelings these hired guards were hiding. When had it began suffering? The land, the climate, the plants had all begun to suffer, as if diseased. Such was the nature of their desperate war against the shadows.

As they traveled together into the deep woodlands, under the grey sky, the aes sedai and her mercenaries said little to one another. Both, for different reasons, were used to being silent.

Mitya walked with Saline, their boots sinking into the overnight rain-mushed earth. 

“Saline, I do be sorry about all the precautions.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I understand.”

“Anyway, I do be sorry we followed where we do no be wanted.”

“I understand.” Saline repeated.

“We do be worried about you. Your . . . friends. They sent me so I do be looking after you, and make sure you do no be followed.”

“I know. Since I left.”

“Since before that, Saline. It do be you who left, to establish contact. But it do no have to be you alone, yes?”

“My . . . friends stayed at the inn?”

“Back in Katar.”

Saline nodded, as if this small fact made her world a better place. 

“Please send one of your men with a message from me to my two friends. Don’t wait. We will go on this mission without them.”

“I do be sad to hear it. They do be working well together.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“That we do be."

Ful didn’t complain about another block in his progress, about being handed off to yet another mentor. Such an act would weaken him in the eyes of the others. He’d grown up understanding there was a basic thread of unfairness running through a soldier’s life. Soldiering was about the whole, about the unit, and about the way that unit functioned in terms of discipline and coherence. Once he got used to the disappointment of being leveled out whether he was right or wrong, he began to function together with the unit, and life got easier. 

He also understood the importance of healing from yesterday's training. Ful dropped into step with Adrim at the medics tent. It was the first time he had ever spoken to the asha’aman who saved his mentor. “Sir, how's Nox?”

Holding her lady’s coat up by the collar loop, Saline brushed it down as she carried it towards a row of wall hooks. “Anything else, lady Elessar?” she asked over her shoulder, hanging the coat up. 

Thus excused, after a simple curtsey, Saline left the party at the inn.

This morning reminded her of something. In the way that a dream forgotten from last night caught up suddenly and became memory again. As with such dreams, Saline couldn’t define or reconnect the memory. But there was a feeling there. Sadness. Regret.

Everything about Saline, in fact, was hidden. Hiding was what the aes sedai did. They hid themselves and their thoughts, their emotions, their hopes and their fears. They knew Saline, but they didn’t know her at all. She doubted anybody did . . .

Ful was small and bright and so lightly built it seemed soldiering was entirely the wrong profession for him. But he could fight, and survive. He put time in on the archery range, ran a few sparring sessions and exercised. Ful also took the wooden lathes he’d been issued with great reverence. They were a loaner for the week, the Ful was pretty glad he took multiples. 

The small dedicated was still getting used to using two weapons at once. He believed in diligent practice. He believed in pushing himself and testing himself. He’d always admired Isha’s blade skill - the giant attack leader who fought four at once- and knew it took a lot of practice to keep such close-combat skills honed.

Merdyn was sharp, quick, confident. It was likely it’s been a long while since he fought physically, and was therefore coiled tight like clip-springs. Ful came up short, and lowered his wooden swords slightly. He allowed himself to be distracted with his remembrance of Isha’s drilling. 

A flash food of acute pain flared across his right arm, and the knuckles of Ful’s fist. He was forced into a frantic, defensive back-step to avoid the downward attack, but was not able to dodge Merdyn’s reach entirely. The soldier spun in the air and his slash struck true.

Ful dropped onto the grass, choking. The lathe stuck him in the stomach. Were he the one with the attack advantage, Ful would have followed it up with another strike across the back of the head as he went down. Merdyn now retreated into a balanced, guard position.

He sucked in air, reached into his pocket and felt the comfortable grip of his dagger hilt. A clean hit with unsheathed blade. But he was told specifically no live blades. That rather took the fun out of it. His other hand grabbed a fistful of earth and pocketed it into his trousers.

“Yes, nice. A warm up.”

Mischief in mind, Ful grinned back. He threw aside his uniform and his inner shirt and resumed the spar. He was stripped to the waist, sweating hard, ducking and spinning, lashing out with his lathes. He circled Merdyn, jabbing and striking. Ful’s lathe spiraled until the circular motion locked the lathes, Grapevine Twines - a move to disarm the opponent. He switched to Kingfisher again, jabbing the bundled lathe at Merdyn’s leg, then at his stomach. Parting the silk.

Ful let out a curse. He exhaled as he ducked sharply, and turned his body in a low spin under the lunging blade of his opponent. Then he came up clear and parried the weapon aside. He kicked out savagely with his heavy boot, then turned and sliced under the guard, drawing his left lathe across the other’s torso. He drew saidin which flung the bit of earth from his trouser pocket to Merdyn’s face.

At once, he cracked his dominant lathe across Merdyn’s knees, then rammed the blunt end of his free’d lathe into the small of his back as the other folded forward and crumpled. 

“We use everything in our fights. Weapons. Our body. Saidin. All the dirty tricks to stay alive.”

Things were interesting now that saidin would be allowed in their fight. He couldn't wait to see what Merdyn would bring.

ooc: love it! Also took a liberty 

“What?” There was a high, querulous tone of disbelief in his voice. He craned his neck forward and cupped a hand around one ear. “Bloody what!” 

Enraged by the accusation, Giles swung about and came forward at Aiden. Everyone else around them shrank back. They knew that mad-eyed look.

The moment unspooled as their weapons kissed, then sprang apart. They were on fight time now, that unreal measure of passing moments that seemed an eternity while it lasted, but in reality was just a few seconds. Fight time. Instinct time. Giles side stepped the incoming blow - using that easy, shoulders-back, hip-roll walk he had.

Giles rotated on the balls of his feet, the tails of the fan cloak floating out. It was a surprisingly graceful move for someone so solid. Teeth bared, Giles whaled the great sword down into Aiden’s ribs, glancing several loud blows as the guard’s sword came up defensively, protectively. 

Giles crowed, loud and laughing. “You foolish boy.” 

lol congrats Viv! 

Giles folded his huge arms and sighed. He wasn’t sure what to expect, except something mysterious. This made perfect sense that Aiden’s mother was a Gaidar. He closed his fingers around the sword handle by his belt. He’d come a long way to implicate Aiden in public, and he wasn’t about to waste this confrontation so generously. Giles didn’t want to back down. But they were scaring people and things could get ugly if the real guards, or worse yet, aes sedai came.

A crowd had gathered and grown. Turned around to watch, shouting over the heads of others. Several in the crowd looked agitated. Their row had caught the attention of the men near to them now, some pointing at Giles as if to deter him. But he ignored the mutters, the pointing.

This just made him worse. Giles didn’t question Aiden any further.

Walking to where there was clear space, he drew his sword and said, “I inspected your room for clues, that’s all. Fight me. You don’t get to slander me, you stinking dark friend." He'll win and have Aiden thrown out like bath water.

Before Merdyn had even stopped coughing, Ful was on his feet, his - not one, but two - wooden blades raised in front of his face. Unfolding the fan. He let a smile cross his face at Merdyn’s remark about not liking to use “sir” here, because it was true. Even Isha was just Isha . . .

Ful waited, attentive, ready. His face, thin and pale, was confident, the look in his dark eyes soft. He kept his gaze on the taller soldier, apprehensive of the other’s superior reach, of Merdyn’s practiced balanced form, keeping both his blades raised against a head blow. Ful was no master of the blades. He was just a merchant boy from Ghaeldan who had made the pilgrimage here when he’d heard the news in Tear because it seemed like the right thing to do. Along the way - and it had been a hard journey - he’d somehow become somebody to look up to. Soldiers looked to him for opinion and direction, more than ever since there were new recruits who’d reached the cold, austere reality of the camps. He felt the heaviness of the responsibility he accepted.

But then, of course, most men never asked for their responsibilities. The men here could fight, fight disciplined. That was what made them scary, in both saidin and their weapons. To bind, to maim, to kill.

Ful had no idea where that sudden, sobering notion had come from. But it was enough to make him clear his mind as he deepened his breathing and became one with the void. He bent his knees into a crouch, taking care to spread his feet - just so - and instead of flowing into a basic guard stance from this leopard in the tree, he chose to begin their spar aggressively as he executed his first attack: Arc of the moon. Ful stepped up, taking into account Merdyn’s height, swung his left sword from up high and stabbed down toward his opponent’s neck.

Arc was a great choice for speed, sacrificing power, as it landed high, making for faster draws whether blocking or attacking next. He lowered his right blade below shoulder height and lunged forward, slashing deep into the groin. The kingfisher takes a silverback. Used to disable the leg or groin muscles. Easy form to deflect in a spar, a move such as Falcon swoop would push aside his lathe in an instant, but surprisingly efficient in battle. Doesn't matter if he's tall once he's on his knees.

Forced to side-step, Ful returned to guard position - positioning his lathes close, low wind rising - he thrusted one of his lathes into Merdyn’s face next. Hummingbird kisses the honeyrose. A versatile blow, and powerful enough to split open a trolloc's head. Or give nasty headaches, from his experience.

The intelligence, such as it was, had been in her possession for two days. Yet three times a day, and more often during the watches of the night, she would review it, as if somehow she expected it to change.

Saline wasn’t sure what that meant. She wasn’t sure if she was excited by the news, or disquieted. That troubled her enormously, for she prided herself on knowing her whims and moods like no other.  For seventy-one years she trained and won that vaulted position of aes sedai, by besting all her base instincts; but now she was none the wiser than the rest.

She was restless again, now that Corwin and his aiel student were merely a heartbeat away. The chatter in her head became more urgent, even as she schooled her expression into a mask of calm.

“Thank you, Lavinya Sedai,” she said, not unkindly “but I must see for myself.” Alone. Mitya would throw a fit, but not if she left their party before he noticed.

She had witnessed the intimacy between Lavinya and Corin in the morning when she woke, restless, apprehensive of what she’d find at the camp. It would be good to give the two their chance to create happiness. Saline was not entirely surprised - there was talk - and pretended she hadn’t seen them together.

Ooc: Thanks guys! And sorry, I just noticed shouldn't have a fire in the barn lol. Saline's snuck out with a pack slung over her shoulder. If you're at the inn I'll do the note and we've closed our timeline perfectly :)

“I can read your crappy writing,” Giles snapped, lowered his weapon and spat on the dry ground. He could feel the grit crunch against his teeth.  

“Was a dark friend? His brother swore his soul to the Dark One?” He echoed, stressing the word in secret pleasure. It was enjoyable to finally announce the great lord aloud, if only in such a manner. Delightful. “Your letter was posted for the safety of all, so that everybody could see for himself the mysterious association you have with . . . unsavory characters.” 

Giles had all the attention he needed as he held up the warder fan cloak he unfolded out of his uniform. He held up the colorful material, tapping his index finger against the fabric in anticipation. He said at last the big reveal, “Aiden you are a thief and a liar. Is this what you’ve been looking for? Why do you have this? I know you’re working for the shadow." Great lord, he corrected.

It was in the air. A smell of steel and hate. This trial was going to cost the boy. For Giles was waiting for him. Old and hard and cunning, like a wily beast ready to pounce.

Light, but those illuminations were beautiful. What strength and skill to weave such a display. This was unexpected . . . 

Ful clapped as Merdyn performed an official salute. The other - well built and handsome - rose and greeted him.

In reply, he pushed a hand out towards Merdyn’s face, forcing the other to dodge back, but it was a ruse. The real sting was Ful’s left leg, sweeping round at knee height. He was on Merdyn in a heartbeat, crashing him onto the grass with his weight, one hand gripping his short hair and yanking his head back, one knee in the small of his back. He dug his knee into the other’s spine and leaned in, “Thanks Merdyn. I won’t go easy because we’re friends.”

The more combat experience Merdyn got, the better it would be when the real fights start. Ful held back from going further and breaking the other’s nose, like he would if this fight were real. He had skills and he would use those skills.

Ful got off him and took the pack from the grass covered ground. There were wooden lathes inside. “Get up and take one. We’ll practice with these first." 

Ful said, "also, don’t call me sir.”

Remembrance that was also what Nox said made him smile. He wasn’t strong enough in saidin to travel like Nox or Merdyn eventually, but he could slam heads - quickly with the base of his hand against the back of the neck - smash noses, and yank hair. Those would be the useful skills he’d impart his students, together with rudimentary preparatory weaves. Like flash, to blind your opponents. His goal was simple: they would create opportunities with saidin, and be prepared to smash people nose-first into the ground. 

“Don’t talk that way. You really don’t want to be doing that.” said Giles smoothly. “But I notice you haven’t shown respect to my rank since this conversation began. Would a ‘master’ or a ‘sir’ really kill you?” Some of the men took interest; a few shuffled forward screwing their eyes in confusion. Others looked ready to jump in, and all the people in the yards near them had got to their feet. 

Was there to be a fight? If a fight occurred, would it help to get involved? Would Giles thank them? Probably not. He’d want to assert his command over Aiden alone, to make the point, an example. The tower guards clearly thought this way, as they stood down. 

“I’ll deal with this,” Exerting his authority, Giles turned back to Aiden. He said archly, “so what, the mail clerk screwed up and gave me your letter. Go hunt for the dimwit if you like. Why are you being this protective if there is nothing to hide? What is your relationship with the Rashad boy? A well known dark friend?"

There, he had delivered the first blow. They were in public. Would Aiden attack him outright for the implication? Giles slid the haft of his heron marked sword out, making sure Aiden and their audience know it wouldn’t come to fists. He didn't even reveal his trump card yet.  Why did Aiden have a warder's cloak in his room? It really was deliciously suspicious.

Exciting. My character would be so fascinated by the fireworks. 

Having just put the last letter between Rashad and Aiden up on the public post board, Giles turned around at the shout. Aiden’s smile was strained. Giles didn’t think Aiden even noticed the post board behind him yet. Perfect timing.

No one had dared mess with Giles before his promotion. Strong and tough, with cropped hair, Giles was raised from the slums, an environment that had schooled his his wits, reflexes and fighting smarts. 

“Let’s see,” he said, slowly and clearly, fixing Aiden with his cold green gaze. Hatred for the other rose and his words grew louder. “You’re a member of the tower guards. I’m the blade master. I’ve just given this training group here a direct order to make use of this time by polishing their weapons. Which they are happy to obey during our chat."

He smiled back. It was a most unsettling smile. “I don’t know what you’re on about. And where’s my honorific that comes with rank, young Aiden?”

Ful’s shiny pin was displayed between the third button of his field jacket and the stud of the right hand breast pocket. He was short but lean, with long dark hair that he kept pinned back into a bun, and a slender, sharp nosed face framing knowing dark eyes and a refreshing smile.

His promotion to dedicated, and the responsibilities that came with it, was never going to be an easy ride. Ful took his lessons seriously, and had been promoted on Nox’s advice. The two sides of himself - saidin and the void - had taken a long time to gel, but now they seemed to be pulling together as one fluid unit and for that Ful was grateful. He appreciated that his skills improved in both aspects, which mixed well and complemented his fighting; though he had the endless work of healing to do, he had put in for training soldiers. He could facilitate well, and was somewhat of a people person, so found himself quickly approved to teach others. Ful would do his best to bring some of the soldiers up to scratch, and if one of those students were successful, Ful was going to be nothing but proud.

He breathed deeply and waited for his first student, whose name he was not told, just that the soldier was pretty advanced and needed more front-line combat experience. They were to fight hand-to-hand, with channelling of course. An asha’aman used every tool he had, his gift, his body . . . 

Ooc: Thanks so much Matalina! Both of us are super interested in learning from Adrim while Nox is out. 

Ful sat, sipping on the cup of fortifying tea. He was still shaky, still weak, though he put a brave face on it. He had seen Nox injured during the fight against the trollocs. It was as much as they could do to drag Nox to safety. He looked pale, but was breathing better after the healing. 

The ground lurched and Ful shot out a hand to steady himself against the tall back of his chair. Adrim had brought the tea and then he was gone - along with the young boy whose name they never learned. The young boy whispered “good luck” to Ful, Merdyn and Nox then never looked back. Ful sighed, settling back “what a day Merdyn. I hope Nox gets to go home soon."

In the recent month the fighting had slowed, and medic tents were being set up to help, the healing skills from black tower forces proved to be invaluable, the backbone of medical operations here. Still these places barely coped with the sick and injured refugees from every walk of life - combat casualties of conflicts and disease. Or so he heard from passing soldiers and dedicated.

Ful nodded respectfully to the medics each time he encountered them but never stepped inside a medical space until now, as he entered this tent and stopped in front of the asha’aman. There was a warm, cloying smell of living bodies and dirt in the air. This smell was coming from a cot-space halfway down the makeshift ward. Ful stepped between the cots and faced the man working, laying a calming hand on the little boy by his side. Adrim. The one Nox quoted earlier, who said failure wasn’t failure. His voice was full of authority.

They helped him remove the shards, all but two carefully. Then, over-solemnly, Ful looked up at Adrim as he healed Nox, trying to remember how the threads worked together to create this weave. The complexity of the weave startled him. Wonderment tried to escape his composed expression as the wounds repaired themselves. He contained it well. Ful swallowed, looked away at the blood, and thought he’d like to learn healing. He stroked the boy’s blonde hair absently. The healing was now complete.

Ful stood back from the pair, Adrim and the sleeping Nox on his cot, as Merdyn launched into words. He was disinclined to speak, for his head was empty of words to say. Ful said nothing, stationary in thought for some time.

Ooc: all my dreams come to life! Love that the men are drinking and relaxing.

Saline could smell the rain on the air, the wet odors of a woodland floor. For a moment, the smell became unbearably evocative. Her heart struggled to accommodate her feelings.

She was weary from the long carriage journey and, as she moved north, the weather had become increasingly poor and wet. Saline tried to distract herself by reviewing the documents once again, but it was too dark in the back of the carriage and she dared not channel. Instead, she sat back, hands clasped across her belly, and watched the scenery as it passed. 

When she woke, the rain was coming down. It made dark, blurry sheets under the clouds that frothed above them. Grey barked trees towered around her like a badly-ordered dream. She could hear Mitya's team and their animals as she leaned forward, swept aside the partition curtain and let in the cool rain-scents of the road. The warder was no longer sat in their sight, beside their carriage. Saline wondered idly where Corin was . . . she wondered how he was doing. It couldn't be easy to travel with two sisters and a handful of guards. To protect them.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to slow her breathing, calm her rising pulse the way Lyssa Gaidar taught her. But Katar was only a few days' ride away. The lightning. The spraying mud. They pulled north, the riders describing wide arcs as they roared forward into the storm.

“This is maddening. But perhaps the rain will let up if we ride through the night . . ." 

She bit her tongue and breathed deeply the way she was taught when Mitya let her know, rather firmly, that they must make camp. Preferably inside a sturdy structure.

“Ready?” Mitya asked.

“Yes,” she said, and got out as Mitya's guard held the curtain for her and her lady.

They pulled up to a farmhouse under the awning; it would be some time and delicate negotiation from the Gray sister before they were finally unpacked, changed and were waiting for their clothes to dry inside the barn. Still it humbled her how other aes sedai handled people and got their way in the end. She was happy to have Lavinya Sedai to arrange all.

Saline rose. She had been sitting near the fire, shielded from its direct heat with a screen. Through the stall door on the far side of the room, she could see a gathering of figures and the chink of glasses. Smiling to see the men relaxing she turned back and stared into the fire for a while.

Good point you guys. I'm good with teaching requirement. Let's do some basic fighting/weapons training hehe. Now if I remember correctly dedicated rank gets WS upped automatically? :/ just need to figure out how this works hehe

thanks for your help!

@Taymist yay thank you!!

@Oddpositions merdyn vs ful duel? Nox's students fighting each other! Interested?

lol thanks @Matalina it's a requirement for dedicated to ashy haha

I wonder if it's possible to duel another dedicated or maybe practice spar against female aes sedai or any channeler instead since there are v few full ranked ashy around and I'd rather role play a fight instead of a monologue with npc :)

ful is not a fighter so I don't plan on him winning 

If any ashy wants to duel and win against my dedicated character please hit me up. Thanks in advance 

Ful clambered over the tied off gateway, encumbered by Nox. He heaved himself up the stonework after Merdyn who was helping the boy, and took the hurt asha’aman with him, dragging him through the gateway. Nox’s fingers were cold, his grip weak.

A tall lean figure in a long dark coat greeted them at the base of one of the tents. Ful counted the pins, and snapped to attention. 

“Adrim?” 

He asked the man. The asha'aman had the sort of long, high cheek boned face that made everything he said seem chilling and dark. There was also a star tattoo under his left eye. In the bad light of the evening, his grim look was drawn out, taking in Merdyn, Ful, the blonde child, and the injured Nox. 

“Go on, Adrim’s inside that tent.”

“Ah! Thanks."

Elynde was super great! I remember her well  saving Tris and Burgandy at the tavern brawl. Okies, now I def am itching to pick this back up!

Seriously considering bringing private Tris back   I miss the band!