Memories

Within the infirmary, within a room set apart from all the others, there were two men present.  One man was sitting, the other was lying down, both were silent as the grave.  The room they were in had once been bare, but now an assortment of things had been gathered.  A dresser full of fine clothing, a table with a selection of books on both the militant and philosophical, a valet stand where a set of armour hung with a gleam that bespoke of impeccable care.  The bedstand was clear save for a candle, a bottle of wine and a glass that would have left rings in the dust if dust had been allowed to settle.  The room was waiting for something, just like the man who was seated there.

They waited for Dramon Calgar to awaken.

Barely breathing, Dramon Calgar had been a much older man than his forties belied.  An officer of the Queen's Guard of Andor with greying hair and iron will, he had discovered the power and proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn.  He had raised an army and with his warcraft he had been formidable, but it was with his ingenuity that he had become near unstoppable.  As his army travelled, he tested the men that joined him for those who could channel.  Others, those who had been rejected by their families, companions, those whom they had known as friend, they had heard of Dramon Calgar's acceptance of others like him and had heeded the call.  They had joined their Dragon and been ready to follow him to the ends of the earth, such was the charisma of their Dragon and the loyalty he had inspired.

The man who sat behind him was such a person.  Dressed in the black of an Asha'man, he bore not the dragon pin of the Guardians, he bore not the sword pin of the Dedicated, he could not grasp saidin so he did not qualify as a Soldier.  His name was Marden Veniso.  Once, a long time ago, he had served in the Border Armies, his sword much like any other as he joined his battlebrothers time and time again.  A veteran, he had seen many of his brothers day and done his best to ensure those that remained survived to continue the ceaseless struggle against the shadow.  He'd fought with all his heart, everything he had because that was all that was left to him, the struggle.

Then IT happened.

Manifesting the power in battle, never had the fight been so desperate and confronted with a deathblow from a monster of the Shadow, lightning and fire had flowed from his fingers and struck down the Shadow and some of his brothers with it, saving those who remained.  Yet he knew what had happened, as had his brothers as the weapons that had once turned aside blows that would have ended him were now aligned with the very purpose they'd tried to frustrate.  All he had been able to do was flee, hide, run from everything he had fought for, everything he had ever loved.  Run because he was now as bad as the thing he had sought to fight.

He hid from the Red Ajah even as he stalked the Borderlands and the Blightborder, trying to use his power as a weapon and take advantage of it before the madness took him so he could sell his life dearly.  Even as the ones he tried to protect searched for him, it was difficult to know that everything that had been you was lost and turned against you.  It was because of that that Dramon Calgar's rise had been so fortuitous.  There was another possibility, if the Dragon Reborn had come and Tarmon Gaidon was approaching, then he wasn't a mistake.  He was not a freak.  He was necessary, he had a purpose!

His faith in Dramon Calgar was absolute, the cause was just and he learned how to wield his power as had his new brothers who shared his curse turned gift.  They lived the dream that they would see the end of an Age and bring a new dawn, seal the Dark One away and wipe the world of his evil.  They were ordained by fate to fight for humanity, they were right!

It ended when the Red Ajah finally caught them with an army at their backs.  Saldaean light horse harassed their army while Arafellian Lancers had broken their centre, allowing the Red Ajah to get close enough to capture Dramon Calgar.  Stationed with different units of their force, no brother was close enough to assist Dramon Calgar and free him even as the army was routed with the capture of their leader.  Chased away into the night, the survivours had either banded together to win free or just fled and been lucky.

Some did not flee, those who were most loyal to Dramon Calgar and Marden had been amongst them.  They'd conceived a plot to free their Dragon before he was taken to Tar Valon and in the middle of one night, they did so.  Finding him already free of his cage, they had shepherded him away only for the Tower force to give chase.  It had been an easy decision for Marden at the time, Dramon Calgar had given him life and if Marden had to spend his to ensure the Dragon Reborn would rise again, then he would do so without reserve.  He'd stayed behind and ambushed the pursuit, blinding them all including himself in the process.  He stole enough of their time as they apprehended him that they would never find Dramon Calgar.

But he had gone to the Tower in Dramon Calgar's stead, he was charged with murder, rebellion against his lawful liege, for serving the Dragon Reborn, for being an inherently flawed creation that would not be tolerated, would not be helped.  Instead, they would 'gentle' him, a pathetic euphemism for reaving his gift from his soul, forever seperating him from saidin and cursing him with an eternal thirst for what he couldn't have.

And they were surprised that he hated them.

But there was a place for people like him to go, to 'The School' in Far Madding where particularly troubled men who had been 'gentled' were kept.  The Stedding removed the call if not memory of temptation with saidin, it was meant to calm them and make them more malleable so they could buy the lies that were fed to them.  That what was done was for their own good.  If it was so good, why did Marden struggle to even find a reason to exist?  His constant danger to his gaolers had led to permanent imprisonment below the earth, a sentence he had served with two other men.  One who had been young and full of hatred, one old and long since spent of any desire except to see the sun again.

Marden had feigned weakness, even as he had cultivated a plan.  He fought his way out of that school, his companions dying in the escape but the three rings that hung on a silver necklace that Marden wore remained a mute testament to the revenge that Marden had wrought upon his 'keepers' and the Tower that had monstrously ripped from him what had come to define him, like they'd stolen his soul.  Certainly, he was not the same man he had been before he had been taken by the witches, even Marden knew that.  A year underground with nothing but his faith in the Dragon to keep him alive, that faith and that alone was what had allowed him to survive even as he was tortured endlessly by the tantalising hints of what was once his to hold, now forever out of reach.

It was his brother Dalinarius that he had found in Tear, and it was from him that his faith had been challenged.  That some farm boy from a backwater was the Dragon?  That Dramon Calgar had been false?  That even then as now, his lord was in some deep sleep, some coma from which nothing would rouse him?

That had been a difficult time, coming to the Black Tower that Dramon Calgar had built before he had been laid low.  Yet Dramon Calgar still lived, and in his heart Marden knew that regardless of whether Jarron al'Tannin was the true Dragon Reborn, Dramon Calgar would always remain his Dragon.  Even now, preserved only by Dalinarius' healing powers, the barest part of his thread remaining, Marden knew that he could truly owe no other man his loyalty as completely as he did the man who had saved him.  The man who had taken him in, shown him that he was not a pestilence, he was not a freak, he was not a mistake.  He was worthy in his own right, and while the taint plagued all male channelers, it was the test that all men had to face.  To constantly fight the shadow even as one used the power to do good things, great things.

How could they be wrong when they could use their powers to lay the Shadow to waste?  How could they be an aberration if their powers could be used to heal the sick and help their fellow man?  With discipline, their final days could benefit all of mankind, they could make a difference.  That was Dramon Calgar's legacy to the world, to the Dragon al'Tannin that succeeded him.  Forgotten in this room by all but a few, Marden refused to forget what Dramon Calgar had done.  He prepared his Dragon's room as he best thought the man would want to find it when he awoke from his malady.  Even if Dalinarius faith was fading that Dramon Calgar would ever recover, could ever recover, Marden would and could not accept that possibility.

Marden would resist the urge to find peace, to find escape from the constant torture of the power being lost to him, of being but a fraction of what he once was, he would fight and survive and would persist so that when his Dragon awoke, he would be ready to serve once again.

Standing from his seat, Marden leaned over and adjusted the sheets upon Dramon Calgar.  He had his duties to attend to, but once they were done he would come back.

He would wait for his Dragon.

Marden Veniso

Ti jenn aman sha misain ye