A small pool of soft light broke the unrelenting blackness that normally filled the room at this hour. The dance of a single flame set the shadows in a sinuous dance to the sound of a pen scritching over the plain parchment. In another place or time the movements of the shadows might have even been called erotic. But the lone occupant that maned the pen had no time for such thoughts or dreams of such trivial contact. An innocence lost to that flash of heat and carnal imagery of the mind had seized him once in a moment of weakness. It would not happen again. For all the challenges he had endured in the name of trying to win back his place. He had succeeded only in drawing others into the world of suffering and isolation that was his price to pay for inadequacies. Too many times now he had played the fool, stepped up to the table for the game with the knowledge he held the winning hand. A knowledge born and fostered in a lie and of a lie. He was no match for the decades of experience and wisdom that flowed through her veins. How could he; a mere boy, a child chasing after a wild stallion with the purest of bloodlines. Only a self blinded fool would not see the stallion was far outside his own abilities and understandings. Pity, pity for a foolish boy with thoughts of grandeur was what had been bestowed upon him then. Pity that had limited patience even for a boy as simple minded as himself. Patience that he had worn thin with his games and trivial attempts.

 

Thus the pen continued it's movements in flowing forms across the parchments surface trailing a line of liquid black like the blood of the shadow itself. Blood that tried to bind him and pull him from lights path; to remove her from the world that needed her wisdom so desperately. The more he had tried the less he had succeeded and the further they had drifted. Perhaps if it was this, just a single flow of black over the cream white parchment. Perhaps taken back to one of it's more basic forms would allow her to speak to him once more as she had. Remove the tricks and traps and foolish idea's his mind harbored and bring him back to a state where he could fully express everything to her. Isolated from ageless face and penetrating eyes. Through the broken flow of ink they might find once more a common place in which to build back from the depths he had singlehandedly taken them. Shadows continued their dance over table and wall, but in silence now as the strong hand of a soldier placed the quill lightly in it's stand. The yard had changed much about him. Soft thin hands of a boy had thicken; callouses from the hours at work with the sword and bow now marred there one time smooth soft surface. Strength born from continued use in training had broadened them and created tools for the use of a soldier. He was no longer a boy, a child playing at the games of adults. He was a man with lives under his watch and command. The petty desires of a child had to be put aside and the duty of a man brought forward. But even the oldest and wisest of men still have the boy at heart.

 

 

Dearest Mother,

 

It seems like an eternity since we last traded the flow of dark color in broken and simple flows for a purpose other then that of our calling. It is not as if we have run out of games or ways of this age to deal in. But simply that an unforeseen twilight has over shadowed that which we originally sought to prepare for the coming times. Each has had a purpose and goal that directed the movements and choices that have passed between us; neither truly comprehending the other. This I believe is the root at what has placed us at the points of the pattern we presently stand. Unfortunate in it's coming. A far different future I has foreseen.

 

When the ashes are sifted and the final pieces pulled from the ruble that had once been a mutually beneficial future I pray to the good of the Light that we are not left to morn that which might have become. Troubled times are in the future of this Age though to you I need not preach the prophecy. You have a busy and trying time ahead with little time to spare on matters of triviality such as has been created from these misplaced steps. At one time you saw a future; a use when others did not have the time to even look. That use still exists, do not abandon all hope for it yet. We can still rob the gave of it's cold embrace and breath life back into that which you had the fortitude to envision so long ago.

 

Though the flow of this ink over parchment so common may offer little to those who's eyes need not see. I know in the end that your skills will deduce the origin of this missive you now find in your grip. Consider it an open invitation to further confer that which was, that which is, and that which the wheel may still hold for us all. I stand ready and willing to follow your lead in this matter. Should word or note from you find me in regards to what you now posses I will welcome the terms you set out for this exchange. Tear does not hold the only stone in the world, but the White Tower does hold Lights only hope. If silence is all that finds me from this offering then I shall accept that as your answer and let what might have been be that of smoke.

 

Sincerely,

 

 

His eyes traveled back over the letter studying every loop and slant. They did not see words as they pasted over the parchment following the black trail. They were intent on their study of his hand and it's match to a writing intimately familiar with his mind. Years of study and practice had taken a need and turned it into a fine tool of trade. His hand at forgery had become exceptional and the years of service to the Tower and Sirayn had given him ample examples of her writing in which to study. It would take a trained eye and a great deal of study to detect it's lack of authenticity. But even then it would still not tie to him beyond simple suspicion. The benefit was in the delivery. If for any reason the letter fell in to the hands of someone other then the attended or for that matter eyes other then hers. It would offer nothing in the way of true information in word or technique. A confusing letter to the Amrylin from the Amrylin. Perhaps confusing enough for others to believe it a test of loyalty if it's arrival was compromised. But he had plans for that as well.

 

His eyes took one more pass over the parchment and stayed in contemplation on the signature. He was not about to sign her name; unsure how she would react to seeing her own hand in the writing never mind her own signature. This was a judgment on the side of caution. So in it's stead he had drawn out the tree and crown from her signet ring as best as he could remember. Having never seen her draw the sigal, he was at a disadvantage as to how she might. This was the one and only part of the letter that might not look entirely like her hand. But from the studies he had done, it should be close enough for the average eye. Their focus would be more on the body of the letter anyway.

 

Rising from the table, Corin collected his red cloak and fastened it upon his shoulders. The solitary candle light glinted off the polished gold clasp and reflected in the mirror above the desk. The cloak in the dim light seems to float below a disembodied head. He had dressed in black woolens from head to toe to help avoid the eyes notice. But should he find attention in someone's gaze, it would be the cloak of the guard that would get him free from too much scrutiny; or that was his hope. Folding the letter carefully he collected the stick of ebony sealing wax and warmed it over the candles flame briefly before pressing it to paper. The side of a dagger finishing it to a smooth unmarred surface. There would be no mark in wax to trace it's origin but he knew she would figure out the clues he left her.

 

Slipping the folded missive into his shirt he extinguished the candle flame between dampened finger and thumb before stepping out into the moonless sky. This night had been chosen for it's light less sky save that of the million pin pricks that danced above the sleepy city. Swift purposeful steps lead him through the slumbering yard; momentary words with a foot patrol adding only a slight delay in which to offer grumbled words about summons to the Tower at such an hour.

 

The Tower corridors themselves remained quiet and vacant for the most part. Occasionally a sister passed through their spacious passages. But soft leather boots and a keen ear kept him in the shadows and servant passageways out of sight. The servants passageways offered a blessing to both the Tower occupants, in the unobserved passing of servants throughout the Tower, and Corin for his journey to the Amrylin's room. He had remembered her room fondly from his audiences with her in the Green Quarters during his service. It would be interesting to see if her taste and decor had changed since her ascension; something he would, for the most part, not have the opportunity to take in. If she indeed was in her room asleep then the moment his hand pressed to her door she would be stirring. That he was sure of. If she was not then it would be a gamble as to when she would return. To be caught in her room would be suicide for any hope he had in this letter.

 

The passage through the tower to her door had gone well though it was far from without incident. The greatest blessing so far was that none of these happenstances had reviled his presence to any of the Tower occupants. Drawing a deep and calming breath Corin embraced the void and stilled himself at the door for a moment to ensure he could hear no movement inside; closed his eyes to adjust them to the darkness within. There still remained the chance she could be awake in her room with guests, the sound shielded off from those outside. But some caution was better then none and it was all he had. Preparing himself mentally he slipped the latch from it's bedding and swept into the room. Eyes adjusted quickly to the deep darkness of the room, enough to guide him to the table. Placing the letter quickly in it's center and a small wooden heart on top he wheeled on heel and swept from the room with haste; the door latch sealing the room from him again with barely a sound. There was a chance that she might search the immediate hall as well so he moved quickly on soft leather boots using the shadows between the pools of light. If she caught him in the Tower dressed as he was she would have him locked up and watched for sure. Slipping back into the servants passageway he narrowly adverted running into the back of an older man slowly plodding down the steps polishing cloth in hand.

 

It took far longer to safely exit the Tower then it did to make his way to her room. But anonymity was far more important on his leaving then the arrival had been. Only after a thorough search of his room and the trips he had placed to indicate if anyone had entered while he was away did his head finally rest on the pillow. But sleep did not find him quickly as anticipation keep his mind reeling with the many possibilities this latest play may produce.

_________________

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

Tied to the Flame

 

Sirayn Damodred had reached the final conclusion that she just did not understand people.

 

She had built her life on immovable foundations. She did not change her opinions. She did not betray her vows -- only the one meant anything to her and she meant to stand by it until the skies turned to dust. She did not give her affection lightly, nor, once she had done so, did she take it back without good reason. She acted rationally and consistently as far as she could. Not everybody followed her internal logic, but until she worked out how to forcibly insert an ounce of common sense into every empty skull she came across, she had resigned herself to drawing clear and logical conclusions by herself.

 

So she did not understand the unpredictability, the stupidity and moronic behaviour a clutch of dribbling idiots inflicted on her on a regular basis. She most certainly did not understand what insanity possessed someone to break into her quarters at the dead of night like a robber … to invite her to discuss their future together! Had it not occurred to the wretched man that requests for reconciliation should be delivered by, say, a passing novice rather than by demonstrating the very height of disrespect, discourtesy and inconvenience to all involved? Had he never thought that a grovelling apology or even a word, one single word of explanation for his random, murderous behaviour might be better suited to the situation than a rambling letter attributing their interpersonal problems to misunderstanding rather than psychotic violence? Perhaps he thought that she found his mindless aggression in some way impressive. She could see no other reason and frankly she had run out of patience.

 

Not only did she not understand people, she did not want to. She had had her fill of liars and traitors, fools and lunatics, lightskirts and halfwits, murderers, blackmailers and sadists and the teeming masses of every stripe. She had been duped by Seiaman for so long due to her pathetic, useless need for affection and she counted that among the worst mistakes of her life -- she’d be damned if she’d do the same to a man this poisonous.

 

Master Danveer,

 

Let me give you some advice as a former tutor to a former student.

 

Your skills at deception are extremely poor. This pains me greatly. I personally taught you to lie better than this and I dislike seeing somebody misuse my teachings. Had I set this as a field test, you would have failed it so hugely, so resoundingly that the verdict of FAIL would be bouncing off the stars even now. Even more unsatisfactory, you have failed for no good reason.

 

It is clear that no cohesive plan lies behind this hazardous little enterprise. I see no conceivable reason which would account for your farcically aggressive and unstable behaviour; I can only conclude that not even you know why you swing from homicide to sobbing submission at the spin of a coin. In short, you are psychologically unbalanced and I have neither time nor incentive to rewire your brain in a more satisfactory fashion. I suggest that it would be the better for both of us if our association came to an end -- before I regret showing lenience toward my would-be murderer.

 

If in future you find a person who is intellectually limited enough to tolerate you, may I suggest that if you wish to kill her you do so in a competent manner, and if you wish to ally with her you restrain your outbreaks of mindless violence?

 

Polite regards,

 

Sirayn Damodred

Amyrlin Seat

The bloody woman was thick; there was no two ways about it. Thick and stubbornly stupid at times. His hands unwrinkled the letter for the fourth time since opening it, and reread the lines anew. Mindless violence indeed, as if she had not started that whole untimely downspin at the cabin. The thoughts only seemed to darken his mood further. How could the light blinded woman not see how much he cared for her? That in her presence he would do almost anything to gain her touch, her …. His hand trembled slightly, the letter still clutched in its grip. Lavinya had spoken that word to him in the Ogier grove the night of his lessons; spoken it again at a new meeting. “Love”; his voice seemed to echo in the darkness of his room. Lavinya had loved him then, loved him unconditionally and all he did was hurt her. Did he love her as well? Did he love Sirayn?

 

He placed the letter on the table afraid his grip would rip the weakened parchment and started at the words once more. If one were to read the letter as she read all her conversations with others. Then clearly a suggestion was not the same as a decision stated plainly. That being the case then the suggestion that their association came to an end could be interpreted in a completely different manner. In fact, if she believed he would read it as such then she could in fact write to him in such a manner to avoid true intent by wandering eyes as the message worked it’s way to his hand. “Smack!” His hands clapped loudly together. Of course that’s it. She didn’t want to break off the relationship but she still wanted to keep the impression of difference between them.

 

He slipped a new piece of parchment from the desk drawer and pulled the inkbottle and quill close. Dipping the pen tip in the ink he drew it carefully along the bottles edge and then brought the pen to hover over the top left corner of the paper. How he was to reply was daunting him, the pen re-dipped several times to return to it’s hovered position before he finally began to draw it over the parchment.

 

Blessed Mother,

 

  May the light illuminate and celebrate your lengthy rein of wisdom.

 

    I understand your misgivings on matters related to past experiences. Indeed it would appear that your belief would be the only logical explanation to draw between the two points presented. I offer to you that perhaps, though the line does seem straight, it is indeed drawn off from true linear fashion by an unknown point in its trajectory. This unknown point I believe is fear. Fear brought on by a lack of truth and tainted by perhaps a past vestige that has been in part, a concrete factor in the solidifying of a certain belief’s placed against actions of the past.

 

  Although my skills, as you have so graciously over stated as extremely poor, are not to the level I would have liked. I hedge to state it is indeed not as bad as you have thus far expressed. I openly note your use of the term lie as part of your teaching. We both know you are not capable of that since your oath swearing for the raising to the shawl. I invite you to find once more the student who’s open mind you collected in the past and continue to build from there the tool that you and I both know can exist.

 

    My blade is sworn to the tower; you are the tower. My blade and person is at your service as you see fit.

 

In dedication,

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard