OOC: This is part 2 of the "Spirited Away" thread found here: http://dmpsw.com/dr/viewtopic.php?t=813

 

IC:

 

The clouds; gray wind carved patterns, threatened to release snow upon them before days end as the two horses continued up the barren dirt road. Sun obscured by the thick blanket above offering light without source. A single shadowed rider looked back down the road, nothing in sight moved, tension still held shoulders tight and knotted. Turning off the road a packhorse in tow carrying supplies it appeared. He had changed the red cloak of the guard for a drab dark gray woodsman’s cloak, the red tucked away safe from sight. Nothing out of the ordinary unless one took the time to see the minute white mist of warmed breath wisping now and then from the end of the rolled carpet across his lap.

 

The wind, it’s bitter cold edge tore at the wool cap pulled low over the riders head, it’s heat stealing chill biting through the cloak and layers the man wore. Raced through the trees, pulling at the last remaining leaves as it swept on it’s way away from Dragonmount. The symbolism should have had him laughing, but no warmth touched the flat emotionless face that seemed carved from the very wind that blew here; matched the weather of the day, mood dark and distant. He looked back once more as a hand eased the sword at his side. The trail still, void of all movement, behind them as the light weightless crystals began to float from the sky like bits of cotton falling from the sheaving cards of a weaver. Good, a masking for the trail granted we arrive before it begins to collect on the ground too much. The thought only half felt as his eyes fell once more on the white rug draped over his legs, eyes softening slightly as he denied the emotion trying vainly to gain life; heart pulling at sense and reason. Each bounce the carpet roll took across his lap seemed to stab at him, but the journey was almost over. Once they arrived the real adventure would begin; a silent pray he could remain strong enough to finish what he had started.

 

Near the foot of Dragonmount itself sat the small square hunting lodge, though few would consider it a lodge other then it’s owner. The small cabin tucked neatly into the woods seemed in a permanent embrace from the surrounding trees. Only two other buildings marred the cropping of trees, both worn and weathered to match the cabin. The outhouse to the side offered little in the way of comfort beyond the necessity; a door from the side of the cabin offering a direct route, and the small shelter in which to bed the horses. The two would fill the building; their own body heat and the blankets he had brought earlier would suffice to keep the building warm enough for them. Stopping the horses at the front entrance he swung down, stretching for a moment happy to be out of the saddle at last. It had taken almost twice as long to arrive here with his precious cargo; the pace slower then he had hoped for to keep the package safe from strains or other damage.

 

Stopping next to the roll his eyes studied the frosted end, waiting for the tell tail sign of the life within; his heart beginning the accusations anew. As the fine soft mist appeared at the edge he felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease before reaching up to untie it from its place. With great care he lifted the rug, as if picking up a baby; fearful of dropping it. Swinging the door to the cabin open he stepped out of the gray light and into darkness, a small pool of light infiltrating the space from the open door and around the shutters of the only window. He set her carefully on the worn and tattered blue rug near the hearth and began to build a fire to add the needed heat to the building no longer void of life. Taking a moment to ensure she still had an adequate opening for unrestricted breathing, he stepped back out into the curtain of increasing snow to tend to the horses and the few supplies he had brought with them.

 

With horses watered, fed, and bedded in for their stay, he returned to the warmth of the cabin, hanging his cloak on the peg near the door he light the few lamps in the room. It’s contents where simple, the building open as one room. Moving back to the white rolled rug that lay on the floor he carefully began to unbundle it’s precious cargo. Sirayn lay there still, her chest still rising and falling lightly with even breath. A dark path traced its way from her mouth across and up her cheek to just below her eye. Dried tea from the trip, it had dribbled from her mouth as he feed her to keep her unconscious until their arrival. Gently he reached under and lifted her relaxed form for the second time studying her passive face before crossing the short distance to the bed off to the side of the fireplace.

 

Retrieving a cloth he pour some water from the kettle near the fire into a wash pan and returned to where she lay. Sitting on the edge of the bed he carefully cleaned her cheek and face with the cloth, his fingers brushing a stray lock and then trailing along her soft warm cheek. She looked so peaceful, so innocent and defenseless; the welling in his heart growing ten fold. He knew otherwise but allowed the thought to linger a while as he enjoyed its presence before rising; the cloth and pan returned to the nightstand. With equal care he unpacked the things he had collected from her room and placed them in the closet. Once more trying to set the shifts neatly with out actually looking at them, cheeks coloring just the same.

 

Moving to stand over her once more a memory of their first meeting pulled to reason a thought until now that had eluded him. She had come in search of daggers; logically she would have some on her person. With a deeply furrowed brow he reached out with hesitant hands as he prepared to search her; cheeks already deeply flushed at the thought of what he was about to do. After a careful and rather uncomfortable search he place the found items with his own daggers, minus one should he need it, in a small lockbox; the key on a cord around his neck, before laying sword and sheath on the table.

 

With a last look he ensured the supplies where still safely stowed away; brought earlier on his trips to prepare the cabin for his guest. Flowers would be nice, his eyes resting on the empty table. The thought was quickly replaced by puzzlement on my he felt such a strong urge to make the place perfect for her when she woke. Even unconscious it seemed she weaved spells around him; a sigh escaping as he surveyed the room once more.

 

With everything placed, as he liked, he moved to the rug in front of the fire and sat cross-legged facing her. She would wake soon, but he still had time as he closed his eyes and drew the void around him. Emotions and sensations turned to smoke and dissipated to nothing as he fed the flame, the black wick growing; swallowing all light as it devoured the flame. Quiet emptiness embraced him in the void as he set into his meditation practice. He was determined to learn the skill his teacher Lonrick had demonstrated. Slowly he allowed the world in; her soft steady breathing, the crackling of the fire, the sound of his beating heart, heat and the sensation of light off to his side. He concentrated first on each one and then on none, allowing his mind to notice things as they came to him. The soft scrape of snow as it slid from the roof, the quietness of the room around them, the stillness of the forest void of motion.

 

How long he had meditated he did not know, but his mind picked out the change in her breathing pattern, she was waking up. His eyes remained close as he listened to the sounds around them, trying to gauge her level of alertness; to steel his emotions. This would be a pivotal point, he had to maintain control of his emotions and the situation or he would loose greatly. She would try once she realized her position to gain control; he could not afford that. Slowly he opened his eyes and let them lock on her’s, intent and focus radiating from them. Confusion was just starting to turn to open shock and he braced himself for her fury. His voice matched his expression soft, yet like the twinkle that danced in his eyes, leaving no doubt as to who was in control this time. “Good morning Sirayn Simeone-Damodred, I trust you slept well? Worry not, you are safe here, we have much to discuss you and I.â€

 

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

"The pupil becomes the teacher"

 

Darkness shrouded her like some comforting shelter. All her strength had leaked out of her and lead weighed her down choking out any fleeting desire to move. No fears or other feelings crossed her thoughts; oblivion was a gentle master, sought to no success, and made her as anonymous to herself as a shadow across water. Not even the icy air stirred her. Quiet, she drowsed on while the world moved on around her. Even movement brought only distant interference … a spaced scatter of confused feelings, cold turning into wetness turning into careful touch, each image lasting no more than an instant, all disjointed and forming no complete sense. It did not occur to her to connect them. Nothing disturbed her.

 

Later perhaps two random thoughts collided, or maybe some spark was finally permitted to light that usually burned as a blaze, or it might have been some other contact from a strange outside world that stirred her from her daze. For long instants nothing made sense; the taste of mint puzzled her as much as a quiet crackling sound like fallen leaves which seemed to have no source; still only formless dark surrounding her. A tiny sense of warning glinted within her, as the stone which lay at the bottom of a rushing river, unnoticed until a stray shaft of sunlight caught it. That caution trapped her. Some semblance of intelligence stirred beneath the still tremendous weight that seemed to burden her and grasped at anything to make sense of. Distant crackling and the slow even sound of her own breathing; the scent of burning; cloth against skin, something soft beneath her, confused glimpses; and still that maddening taste of mint. It all meant nothing to her. Putting sense to it was like trying to assemble a coherent sentence from dissonant syllables.

 

Clarity returned like a dash of freezing water. A sudden breath caught harshly in her throat; her eyes snapped open, a chaos of colour and strangeness confronting her, and that instinct for danger seized her sharply. Fear cut through muddled confusion like a bitter knife. Every ounce of iron will she possessed behind her she lunged for saidar. An instant’s time was all it took to prepare herself for the precise weave she had selected. In so small a space the shattering concussive effects of a good grenade would stupefy anyone in the room. Yet even as she went for it saidar slid away from her just as promptly. Failure shocked her speechless. It had been centuries since she last failed to embrace at will. Now stunned, filled with a sharpening sense of disbelief, she grasped again only to find emptiness. This was some kind of bizarre mistake; saidar was the sun around which her life orbited, it could not be beyond her, that was madness. But the more frantic her attempts became the further saidar eluded her.

 

Panic so near to her now like a shadow cast by some towering menace. Her breath came harsh and fast as dread seized her too tight and choking cold; no reason now, only savage desperation. Made reckless by fear she reached for a dagger she no longer carried with a hand she no longer had and not the smallest response came as much as a twitch. Only by the fiercest effort of will could she manage the fractional lifting of one finger. Some crushing weight pressed her down and turned all her muscles to liquid. Defenceless now she remembered bright as burning: terror and a torrent of black memory drowned her. An age might have passed for all that she registered it trapped in the past.

 

Firelight painting a small cave in tones of red and gold. Shadow and flame. Her cheek stung: phantom pain, contempt and searing heat; the taste of fear and shame bitterer than she had ever known. In two hours they had smashed her fabled courage and ruined her forever. If she had just had the chance she would have dispatched the ruins of her Battle Ajah identity and begged them like the most spineless craven that ever lived for them to stop hurting her. Now still surviving this mask of composure covered some dreadful chasm that no amount of pretending could ever fill; it haunted her dreams, cracked apart any courage she might have laid claim to, drove her always onward into ever more reckless attempts to prove herself. All for nothing. Nothing could fix what was broken inside her.

 

That night had been the single most dreadful time of her life. The prospect that anything like that might be happening again was too terrible to put into words. Moments drew out into shattering silence; powerless, plagued by the past, something small and utterly essential in her disintegrated into paralysed terror. Years might have passed unnoticed while locked into her own horrors, too heavy a burden for her fragile mind to handle, she knew nothing but a weight of black and choking fear.

 

Somewhere among bleakness one facet of an iron will asserted itself; like the side of a gem turned to wink at the sun flashing hard colour back at the intruder. Some qualities had been beaten into her so intensely that even in the darkest hour a fraction of her still strove for dominance. Maybe it would have been better to give up, to start putting her own well being first as she had never been able to do, but stone cold unyielding pride did not permit it. Control: she had to find some way to recover herself before terror and fury drove her mad. Fixing her gaze on the ceiling she imagined herself somewhere else, not defenceless in menacing company like a butterfly pinned down for all to see; pictured it so fiercely it was nearly true.

 

Shattering fear loosed its icy grip a fraction. A careful breath, seeking to check her racing pulse, and she made herself relax. Deliberately she flexed her fingers as much as her paralysed muscles would allow, strove for further control against the forkroot’s interference, mastered herself inch by inch. Intense feeling left her shaking and she stamped that out hard in case anyone caught the slightest trace of her weakness. Now most bitterly of all she could not be the terrified damsel in distress who a gleeman might have cast in this role; she was too old, too plain and too terrified for that. How in the name of the Light had she resisted them before? How had she found the steel to defy them even for a moment? If anyone knew the meaning of despair it was her and she searched desperately for some sort of salvation.

 

Once she was certain that a mask of cold composure covered her true terror, a little harder looking than usual perhaps, brittle with intensity, and that she could trust herself to speak … a trace of roughness in her voice which she could not cut out … she did so; icily, brooking no interference. Drugged and rendered paralysed she might be, but an Aes Sedai had tricks up her sleeve which the likes of common folk scarcely comprehended, and she herself possessed more than most. “I have taken you to task over this once already.†Each word came out weighted with venom. “That will be Sirayn Sedai to you, boy, and I answer no questions under duress.†Still desperately close to the edge she clawed back more of her fabled control; exerting all the restraint she possessed over fear still clamouring fiercely. Aes Sedai could not … ever … be seen even the merest fraction imperfect.

 

Concentrating distracted her from terror. How had the taste of mint on a quiet evening become this muddled travesty? This was no dream. All the images and sounds this strange place presented were too intense for anything but reality … and besides, when she dreamed, she had both hands. If she could just figure out what in the Light’s name was happening maybe she could regain all the control she ought to have, piece together her fractured defences, hide how distraught she truly was. Nobody would ever see her weak. Nobody would lay hands on her again. Nobody. “I advise you to get rid of whatever illegal substance you are in possession of,†her voice scraped, blessedly cold, “and start working out the quickest way to flee from here … because let me assure you, you have never seen me truly furious before and it will not be an experience you enjoy.â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

Slowly her words, cold and authoritive, harsh with venom washed over him though she moved little. Her voice pulled at emotions he held deeply buried, clawing at them as if to bring them back up. They slithered and slid over the void’s surface demanding his attention; each one that threatened to break through he quickly put to the flame. He could not afford to show any emotion though his heart wished to pour itself out to her wishes. He knew she would fight to gain control of the situation, it was her nature and he had spent time studying her. But even so, no training in the yard he had taken could prepare him for the conflicting emotions that hammered at the void as he watched her laid out on the bed.

 

Rising slowly he moved to the fireplace and shifted the logs that where ablaze; fire consuming and altering forever their form. A cascade of sparks burst forth like an illuminators night flower before the rushing air swept them up the chimney; used the time to gather his thoughts and ensure his emotions where solidly in hand. So many things she could say, would say; you must be strong no matter what. Harshness will be spoken for control and freedom, let it slide …. Only words. Eyes flicked to glimpse at her from their corners, the same person she always was; so different from the peaceful vision she had been. So many years of anger and control, could she ever be anything different? Heart taunting mind. Dangerously he let the thought live, tucking it back in a corner; not ready to have to answer it yet.

 

He turned from the fire to face her bed once more, his mind replaying the thorough search of her clothing and person for weapons; the effects of the tea, how long each level took to regain control from. Calculations met his minds approval; casually he walked over to wear she lay, turning slightly he lowered himself to sit on the left side of the bed next to her. Soft and reassuring his mothers words came to him, a saying she reminded him often, â€you can catch more with honey then with vinegar.†Warm memories washed over him as he looked down on the hard sternness of Sirayn’s face. Memories of home; a mothers embrace; life before Daes Dae’mar. Things he my never again get to enjoy, his mothers soft face filling his minds vision before he could muster the strength to push it to the back. He could not afford time for revelry in the past, even for his mother.

 

Conscious; focused control help to keep the warmth of emotion from gaining his eyes as he looked deeply into the gray windows to her soul. Searching for something he could use to solidify the situation in his hand. “Come now Sirayn, there is no need for this,†his voice low and soft as his finger tips brushed back hair from the side of her face. He fought to keep the shudder at the touch of her warm skin from racing through him. “There is no one here to see, you needed not wear that facade here, let us talk openly with civility.†His hand returned to the side of the bed, blunt did not work perhaps honey will, or a least add confusion to her mind; how many emotions will you make me ride Sirayn. How far was he willing to go; he had known once, but now everything was in question. No change offered the slightest crack in her appearance save a tightening around the eyes.

 

Silently he bit off a curse, why did the bloody women refuse to let emotion touch her, to slip out behind that damn stony exterior. He knew life must live in there, somewhere deep she held it imprisoned and refused it life. He did not want to fight her; did not wish to break her spirit in the process of what may yet happen before either left this cabin again. Was emotion really that much to ask for, even a sliver from her would make this task easier. But she’s not about to make it easy for you is she foolish man. No man will ever understand the intricacies of the female mind. Bitter defeat tried to lung for him but he pushed back, holding it outside the void.

 

He broke their mated gaze, eyes rising to look at the wall behind the headboard. “So many possibilities lay in the future of this age. So many lessons from the past learnt,†his voice drifting lower toward a whisper, “so many not.†Eyes darted to look down at her again, studying her face. Nothing ever seemed to break that stone blank expression; memories of how peaceful she had looked just a short time before. A pity it had to play out in hard and angular tones; but it was only temporary. Sooner or later one of them would give, many possibilities if she did; a possible slow and bitter death if he did. His stomach tightened at the dark thought before he could snatch the emotion, crushing its existence. “The feeling will pass,†he offered hope to soften the sting of believed betrayal that hinted in her eyes. Should the need arise it would also help cement the weight of the unspoken threat that he would not allow it to return complete.

 

“I do not doubt your fury, it is legendary, little study was needed to know that. But I don’t think I am quiet ready to face that, perhaps after a talk if you still feel the need of it,†he paused briefly as his hand gestured in the air. He forced his voice light and carefree, “perhaps then we can discuss such unfortunate matters. But for now I have simple questions for you and I am sure you have ones for me. I was always taught that a gentleman allowed the lady to go first and as a sign of good faith I will allow you the first question to help ease that calculating mind of yours.â€

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

 

The slightest brush of his fingers across her cheek woke every nerve to exquisite, screaming terror. It took every ounce of control she possessed to freeze her muscles to iron stillness. Inward and intense she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry somewhere quiet where nobody would ever get to touch her again; instead ruthlessly she closed out all the horrors clamouring in her thoughts, cut them out as pitiless as a surgeon with ice keen scalpel, focused herself on something beyond the racing of her panicked heart. If he touched her even an instant longer she would surely scream; only desperate strength shut down that cry trapped in her throat like all those other words unspoken. So simply he reduced her to a mass of quivering fear … all coherent thought as far from her grasp as saidar … the Light only knew what he might do when he truly put his mind to it.

 

Careful slow breaths kept under rigid control restoed her hammering pulse to something only a notch above normal; freezing fear releasing its grip on her somewhat. Civility? Panic bubbled up laughter inside her and she trapped it down just as hard; surely this was difficult enough without being mocked so openly. She had never been docile and compliant under coercion in her bitterly fought life and she did not intend to give up on pride and independence so easily. It appeared that it was easier than she had anticipated to creep past her wards and the cautious layers of protection she had laid around herself, to reduce her to a helpless state, but no amount of paralysis was going to steal her wits and her scathing tongue. Again she flexed her fingers a fraction, even so small a movement weighed down with heaviness, muscles unwilling to respond … making herself remember that she did at least have a tiny bit of control to push back fear.

 

Stung pride wanted to point out exactly how little she intended to comply with brute force and demands; nobody defeated her so easily. Passing indeed! So nearly she snarled her frustration and fury at being kept so defenceless; held it close and secret instead in case an unwary slip should reveal more than she dared. The unspoken threat, that he might not permit this state ever to be lifted … chilled her a little, but on the scale of threats she had previously received while helpless, it scarcely registered. She had half a mind to draw a comparison directly for his benefit to let the boy know how little she thought of his menace but perhaps actual provocation might not be her best option right now … and the sheer cowardice of that thought shamed her; that she should so easily be reduced to thinking about her own interests and security.

 

Fury still seethed black and bitter in her heart kept under pressure too great to be allowed free; burning with resentment at how easily she had been fooled. Inner suspicion had been right in telling her not to trust the boy but as always, caught up in her own stupidity, wanting so keenly to believe that somebody might actually want her company, she had allowed herself to be tricked lying as much to herself as he had done. Had she learned nothing from so many other treacheries? How long did it take for this lesson to be battered into her enough to finally stay? If she got out of this scrape, and she had weathered worse in the past, she promised herself she would learn better … that nobody would come close enough to lay hands on her again. Shameful loneliness and desire for company had brought her nothing but betrayal. No more weakness. None.

 

Statues had been carved from marble which showed more softness than her stern face at that point; expression a mask of ice and stone, bitter determination in every line. Mock her though he might, she was not yet enough of a fool to swallow this line about an exchange of questions … as though anybody drugged and abducted a sister for such a simple purpose. If answers were all he had wanted the damn boy could have asked in the safety of her quarters and not risked the wrath that was now certain to sweep him away. “I am at a loss to imagine what you think you are doing, boy, but credit me with enough intelligence to know that asking you is not likely to be a step forward.†Anger suppressed so hard not even a hint showed in her tone; being defenceless heightened every feeling since she could not even move to release the tension steadily building in her. “Get a move on with whatever you have planned. Listening to you talk is not as riveting as you might like to think.â€

_________________

Sirayn Símeone-Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah - 999 NE

White Tower RP Co-ordinator

 

The ice-cold set of her face echoed the absence of emotion as her words bore in to him; cutting as if to cleave him in two. Bore into the inner recesses of his mind and fanned the fire of confusion and anger that he fought to hold at bay. Emotions seethed and surged against the void like colors of a painters pallet; mixed and layered into the thick black mud that cling to it’s surface trying to crush his resolve. Rising swiftly he tore his eyes away as he stalked to the fireplace once more; it’s dancing light casting hard angular shadows across his face.

 

What had started as a foolish though of adventure and control of a legend had twisted bitterly. Awe and childhood pride had set the jib of his sails to eagerly clutch at the branch of smoke and mirrors she had tempted him with at there first meeting. The world around them surged and echoed of the stormy future their agreement reached in darkness offered; impending loss of himself to her; child like ears unable to sense. Squatting in front of the fire he retrieve the poker and pushed at he fire’s fuel.

 

Slowly she had drawn him in and buried him under her thumb. He did all for her, never questioning her direction or reasons. The tip of the metal beginning to take on a reddening tinge; his hand flexing on the shaft. It felt good to have steel in his hand while he worked this problem in his mind. Had she but simply asked of him he would have spilt blood on more then one occasion; an uncontrolled shudder raced through him, eyes flicking to her prone body before returning to the hypnotic dance of the flames. “Get a move on with whatever you have planned. Listening to you talk is not as riveting as you might like to think.†the words played over and over in his head. Disbelief blooming from a heart he tried desperately to hold at bay. The fact that she obviously did not trust him rent deep cavers across its tender surface.

 

Tingeing pain in his hand brought eyes back to the metal still in the fire, the end a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges glowing fiercely. He drew the poker from the fire, the glow casting eerie shadows and coloring across his face as he stared intently, seeking answers and guidance in it. How could she not see the life I have offered her; my life time and again. Bitterness stabbed through the heat; mocked him at how simple her use of him had become. A careless object to be directed when needed and pushed aside at a moments desire. Seiaman’s face floated disembodied in front of him; one of the deep roots of dissension between them. The glowing end of metal stabbed out in to the air in front of him a slight hiss escaping his mouth.

 

Sirayn had tossed him aside for her, no thought or care for his desire and dedication to see her safe. Instead love for that cold woman had left him heading south with another while they went north; thoughts of Seiaman’s hands on Sirayn caused his knuckles to whiten under the strain of his grip. His revenge on her would come with time, already he had what little network he had built watching everything she did. Another lesson he had taken deeply to heart from his teacher. Though it seemed he had failed miserably with his emotional control compared to the marble statue that occupied the bed.

 

Setting the rod back in the holder he rose to face her once more and caught sight of the box; it’s rich waxed surface highlighting the woods coppery grain. Perhaps …. the unfinished thought tossed away like refuse as his ears picked a faint creak from outside. Spinning fluently toward the door, a dagger flashing from his left hand; firelight played along the sharpened edge. Perfectly still his ears strained for further indication of a possible threat. He floated alone in the darkness of the void now; thoughts and turmoil that had moments ago been deep in battle were lost as if they never existed. Eyes closed he listened as he did during his practices; her breathing, the crackle of the fire, the beat of his heart; no other noise met him in the darkness. With a swordsman’s grace and light steps he moved to the door and slipped out.

 

Snow, thick white flakes of cotton, continued to fall from lead grey clouds. His eyes roamed the surrounding area and stopped on the only indication of change since their arrival. A branch, leaves still attached, lay on the ground. The weight of the snow had pulled it from the tree before him. Drawing a deep breath he relaxed muscles tense like a spring ready to strike. The distraction allowed him to regain control of emotions and thoughts. Though he lectured himself briefly on his jumpiness he was glad for the chance to regroup. He would allow nothing to harm her, but he could not be jumping at every noise if he was to complete his task.

 

Warmth washed over him as he stepped back into the cabin; eyes readjusting to the dim light. Now where were we dear Sirayn, his eyes found the box again and he crossed the room to it; the dagger flashed once more as it disappeared into the sheath in his sleeve. Thoughtfulness mixed with remembrance drew softness to his face as he collected the box and returned to sit next to her. “I see you received the gift I sent you,†his hand slide over the smooth surface. “You have taught me through Daes Dae’mar that meanings can be read from everything said, seen or given.†His fingers began to tap lightly on the box, “I remember our first meeting in that secluded garden and the ensuing conversation.†His hands stopped their movement on the box as his voice became soft, “the box is made from the center of an alder tree, heartswood.†He left the last word hang there between them no more then a whisper for her ears alone as his eyes flicked once more to her hoping for a change in that chiseled face void of emotion. Please not rage again… the thought frozen like his breath while he awaited her reply.

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

Despite her best attempts a fraction’s movement toward the fire arrested her thoughts and riveted every petrified instinct immediately. Fear gripped her so intense that she could barely draw breath but for the icy hand clenched tight on her throat; the foreign space around her seemed in an instant both immense and threatening. Any coherent sense shattered into fragments. Panic seared through her, beat out a rapid rhythm in her heart, and it took every shred of steel she possessed to master that all consuming terror … to lock down strength born from driving horror, to bring hatred and terror and memory under the same strict control … all to no success. Fracture lines existed in what passed for her courage that no amount of time had fixed and she could not seem to make herself be as fearless as Battle Ajah ought to be.

 

She disgraced herself and her people with every moment she spent frantic with fear. Her folk never panicked, they did not know shame, no force on earth could disrupt their flawless composure. All her life she had driven herself to match that perfection. If she could not keep herself together despite the most intense pressure, if all it took to break her was a drop of some drug or other and a little bit of intimidation, she might as well be dead for she was useless to the Tower & to her beloved Battle Ajah. She had to be stronger than steel … so strong that no amount of threats carried out or otherwise could daunt her … strong enough never to fear again. Near two hundred years ago she had promised herself that danger would never stop her: she could not betray that now; not and still live with herself afterward.

 

Once the poker went away her dread loosened its grip a fraction. Immobile as ice cold marble, she watched permitting no expression to mar her composure as her captor drew a dagger: briefly and intensely her memory supplied another image, her son and his sword, minutes before he rendered her forever a crippled coward: a skitter of terror along the edge of her calm. Panic stole in like a whisper’s passage in the darkness. If she let that occupy her thoughts with its deceptive strength it would never let her go and she had to stay nothing less than in control at all times. For some reason she had not been paying over much attention to whatever had distracted the boy; it seemed insignificant beside the imminent threat of losing something else quite precious to her; equally still she only watched and waited as the boy slipped outside.

 

Only then did she let herself draw a deep, shaking breath and relax a bit. The intensity of feelings in quick succession, fury and terror and despair, left her exhausted; she hated this, hated feeling so exposed, all her most secret fears open for anyone to see. At least this unseeing cabin could tell no stories. Cautiously she flexed her hand again seeking to assess how much control she might have recovered over drugged muscles, found scarcely a fraction more than she had ten minutes ago, it was going to prove difficult to escape. If she couldn’t even sit up how was she supposed to escape this cabin, much less haul herself out of whatever snowy unknown it was located in … how was she going to defend herself until the One Power returned to her? A stutter of images showed her in cruel clarity that she did not want to test her meagre strength against a fully trained Tower Guard. Burn her but she needed the Power and needed it now.

 

His sword still lay with its sheath on a table not far from her. She surveyed it thoughtfully, calculated the distance: asked herself again what she thought she could accomplish crippled and drugged and useless with somebody else’s blade against a proper swordsman: but if there was anything she despised and feared it was being helpless. Light only knew there was nothing else in the cabin that might be of use to her. Concentrating hard she managed to lift her hand, her head, got that useless arm beneath her and pushed herself up an inch; but the drug was too Light forsaken strong and everything felt heavy and unfeeling as lead. The damn sword was probably longer than she was tall anyway. Blood and ashes! How had she ever got herself into this mess?

 

If any Aes Sedai had ever been as pitiful as to wind up paralysed and robbed of the One Power in the hands of a dubiously motivated man she had yet to be acquainted with them … and surely anyone else would have made a better job of escape. This was immensely frustrating; helplessness shamed her nearly to tears; it would have been the ultimate disgrace to break down in these circumstances and she made herself hard and cold as iron. Footsteps crunching through snow outside warned her. Composing herself once more, centuries old instincts smoothing any trace of expression from her face, she waited much in the manner of a doll for his return though she had no choice over it.

 

A tiny and forgotten part of her cried bitterly in fear, in distress, wanting nothing more than to escape somewhere quiet and safe. The greater part of her held it an iron conviction that nobody would see this mask slip even in the slightest. Harder times had come before this, would doubtless do so again, and she would outlast them all. Inch by inch she made herself relax, feigned disinterest, though she remembered only too vividly her last encounter with deranged children who had access to fire and iron … she had not become scarred and battered and one handed of her own accord, that was for certain, not even if one reckoned that by such carelessness she had brought it on herself … and even touching lightly on such memories came precious close to undoing her.

 

Last time around had broken her utterly. It had taken her weeks to put the broken pieces of herself back together. A thousand times she had promised herself that that would never, ever happen again, that nobody would ever lay hands on her again, that she would protect herself first and foremost even if it smashed any claim she might have made to being a good Aes Sedai. The difficulty lay in actually meeting that promise. She was coming to imagine, bitter and incredulous though that thought might be, that complete and total disintegration on a quite spectacular scale was preferable to the kind of existence she would be left with if she let fear make a coward of her. After all what price could be put on life if everything else was gone? If one had betrayed one’s identity and one’s loyalty and everything else that mattered?

 

Such was the exalted life of an Aes Sedai. A twist of irony lightened her thoughts momentarily; she kept them deceptively easy, thinking too much only added to her current burden. Her objectives were simple. She had to convince the boy not to dose her with more of the drug or otherwise get herself out from under its influence. If she could extract from him his extremely dubious motives in the process she would count that an added success. Most importantly she had to remain as composed as befit an agent of the White Tower’s great reputation. High goals: she had extracted herself from tighter corners in the past, through luck more than judgement perhaps, and she was beginning to suspect that this would be easier said than done.

 

Grey eyes narrowed when the boy came to sit beside her once more. Her skin crawled in anticipation of some further unwanted touch but he managed to restrain himself, probably plotting something else she thought bitterly, and that idea was enough to turn her to ice. She had tracked that dagger back into his sleeve and it irked her beyond words that it waited so close yet still stubbornly out of reach; possibly the only type of blade with which she had half a chance of defending herself; it might as well have been on the moon. Her fingers itched to pick up steel or saidar, something to fool herself that she was capable of holding her own, to stamp out any possibility that what she feared might come to pass. Even the tiniest trickle of saidar would cause the boy some serious damage. If only she could reach it.

 

A few words was all it took to render her nearly speechless with fury. How this child had found the impertinence to snatch her from her comfortable rooms, drug her stupid and then threaten her family she had yet to grasp. Presumably he had no way of locating them, the last folk precious to her who survived in this harsh land, but even the implicit menace stirred every protective instinct to outrage. She would have burned down the world to protect Heartswood, the Last Hearth, and it stung her like nothing else to have to lie here defenceless while he all but taunted her with that knowledge. If he had even gone near them … if they had so much as been troubled … there was going to be some vengeance.

 

Retribution might have to wait until she was not in fact completely helpless any more. Anger and the savage need to wreak revenge seared her; there were important scores to be settled here; nobody threatened her, nobody threatened her family. “You know nothing about Heartswood.†Soft as a whisper, yet harsh and holding a wealth of fury. “The reason why is simple … I never trusted you enough to tell you any more; and judging by today’s little outing I was correct to doubt you.†She wanted this one to suffer even a fraction as much as she was doing right now. His study outraged her; an intensely secretive person, she wanted little less than to have all her most intimate thoughts pried out of her now that she could not lift a hand to stop him; in fact, everything about this situation irritated her greatly.

 

Fortunately, paralysed though she might be, he had not yet stopped her speaking and Sirayn was quite capable of exacting a bit of reprisal via words. “I knew a boy like you once,†in deceptively careless tones she touched on a story so great he would never know the half of it if she had anything to do with it, “equally so deceitful, and he played much the same game as you … only a hundred times more dangerous. I did not sever my own hand, after all, regardless of rumours to the contrary.†Coldly she watched to see if that hit home, searching for a tell tale narrowing of the eyes, all the hundred small cues that might warn her. “I have known Darkfriends who put less consideration into assaulting me. Small wonder that I should be a little confused as to where your loyalties lie. But I dealt with them as I will deal with you; and if I should imagine for even an instant that you pose a threat to the White Tower, insolent child, I will send you a message that the densest fool could not misconstrue.â€

“You know nothing about Heartswood.†The words were little more then a whisper of air but the weight in venom and unbridled fury pressed down on him like the weight of the Tower it’s self. Inwardly he felt the last thread of hope begin to bend and waver. A knife, its edge sharp and lethal; she wielded it with such grace, her words cut through him seeking his heart. Everything he had given to her, dedicate to her cause to see wrongs righted and the glory of the light furthered. Body, mind, and spirit he had offered her; done everything she had bided him, anything she had scarcely had a whim for while he was present. Yet all this he had offered to her she laughed and scoffed at with the few sweeping simple words. Words that felt like ice and fire at the same time as they seared through him; the knife finding its target. She twisted it, deeply imbedded, while offering a simpering smile. All the dedication he had given to her since there fist meeting that dark and stormy night she rendered meaningless with the few simple words, “I never trusted you.†With the last fibers of control crushed under the bitter words she washed over him his hands whitened with their grip on the box. The spoken distrust leaving him feeling hollow and empty.

 

His face became a blank mask of calm, placid, as the word echoed in his head, “Darkfriend.†That she of all people would mark him as such a low, vial, and disgusting entity as that feed his anger. Anger that wavered at the edge of existence since the onset of her spoken distrust. Anger that now flared like the sun it’s self. Even his eyes remained flat and calm; dangerously deceptive to anyone who did not know him immensely and have a deep skill in reading people. It was a calm that spoke of violence and death. She held no emotion physically, contrary to her words. But his voice matched the deadly calm that had become him; the calm of a skilled swordsman preparing to work his trade. “Insolent child ……. Darkfriend,†the words slipped from his mouth soft and twisted, light in weight but the underlying edge that the calmness gave it was as sharp as any sword. They had been spoken almost nonchalantly as if in passing, green eyes flat and calm met equally emotionless grey ones. Rising he moved to set the wooden box back on the table before he could harm it with his grip, the only outward appearance that something was no longer right with him other then the loss of light in his eyes. Easing his hands slightly in front of him so she could not see, he moved back toward the table; collecting the heated kettle from the side of the fireplace were it had been steaming.

 

Memories of tasks and errands that he had attended for her flashed through his mind as if history played out years in a matter of seconds. Each one dark and twisted in its new view born from the festering anger within; a cold heartless old woman pulling at strings. He moved to a shelf on the far wall collecting a simple chipped cup before returning to the table facing her. All he had want was to help the great White Tower and its Aes Sedai occupants see Darkness defeated. Now here he was with this ice woman condemning him of being a Darkfriend, while she herself might very well be. The silver bob slipped from one of the saddlebags on the table; he let it swing from the end of the chain briefly. Flames meagre light flickering off the mirrored surface as it twisted on the end of the chain. Green eyes never left the frail form prone on the bed; once viewed softly as a future hope. Now he watched her as if watching a coiled viper awaiting the slightest drop in his defences. She would know the pain she had inflicted in him one way or another; a bitter seed growing, spreading it’s poison in his soul as the bob dropped in to the cup. Collecting the kettle he let the water slowly pour out; clear liquid swirling and spreading within the cup mixed with the dark as it leeched from the bob. “A message you might send one day Sirayn, but not until I grant you the strength to accomplish it.†No emotion touched his voice as it filtered across the expanse to her ear, the missing honorific bold in its absence. “You speak of Darkfriends with such ease. Perhaps it is time we see how much you truly know of them.â€

 

A life with her was what he had sought, had thought possible until only moments ago. She had found him, drawn him to her, trained and used for her purpose only to have him declared and agent of darkness. She would know darkness, a deep pitted darkness to match the deep cold barrenness of her heart. He played back how she had drug him into her twisted existence; his hand swirling the bob to create an even dark fluidity that heaped minty aroma into the air around him. “You look cold, a nice warm cup of mint tea should take care of you,†he moved around the table toward her with the cup in hand. His voice remained flat, but where emotion was void before a light waiver of heat began to take form. “Rest, and sleep will perhaps soften that forked tongue of your’s my dear little Sirayn,†the emphasis on her being his possession now. A heated voice whispered to him, encouraged the bitter seed’s growth; caressed the venom she had filled him with. It suggested ways to break her, make her grovel at his feet the way she should; how to forever remove this blight from the world. He felt the sneer that molded his face without recognising its grip as he sat to the side of her bed again. With little softness he reached behind her head and drew her partway up; green eyes now piercing with intensity as they focused on her. Leaning in close to her ear he whispered the venom back to her, “How long does a mind last when the body is useless and the call of Saidar can not be quenched;†thick ropes of contempt filled the words. “Together we will find out,†as he leaned back he brought the cup slowly to her lips; grey eyes no longer on his.

 

A heart beaten and bruised; savagely crushed in her hand pulled at him. Something in those eyes brought distorted images of a woman walking next to him on dark streets. It felt familiar and comforting; the cup stopping just shy of her lips as his mind and heart fought to bring him back. Moonlight danced off stone and slate; cobbles lightly repeating their steps back to them. It was a comfortable feeling though a strange tension seemed to sit between them. He tried to focus on the distorted face, her dress elegant as the moon set off its deep lustre. Her hair, the dress highlighting tints of … sudden clarity brought Sirayn’s familiar features into bold sharp images that filled his vision. A yearning to reach out and trace a finger along skin unnaturally ageless in tone offering it’s own beauty. Night glared then faded to green trees and soft grass, the sound of water emanated from no where and yet everywhere in the surreal grove he found himself in. A solitary familiar shape sat at waters edge, but it was not the Sirayn he normally new. She offered guidance and correction through soft and distant words; an underlying hurt wrapped around them.

 

The cup slowly began to sink back toward her lap as his mind drew focus on a tall dark figure. Caution and wariness surrounded the form and set the hair on the back of his next on edge; phantom pain radiated from wrist and side as the figure turned and a solitary eye looked back at him, the other covered by a dark patch. “Seiaman,†he name escaped him with a hiss as he drew back; his hand releasing Sirayn’s head; allowing her to fall back into the pillow. Quickly he stood eyes darting as if he expected the woman to appear in the flesh. Warm liquid flowed over his hand and he looked down in disbelief at the cup the heavy scent of mint rising from it. A quick motion sent the cup careening through the air until it met with the hard rock of the fireplace; shards of varying size exploded at the contact point like an illuminators night flower. Steam burst from the fireplace’s opening as the concoction he had moments ago prepared for her evaporated on the hot coals.

 

Hard firm pressure centered on his back as he came to rest against the back wall. He had slowly moved back in confusion; from her, from the fireplace, from his anger. Why did nothing seem simple around her, everything a thick cloud of confusion and chaos. He slide slowly down the wall to the floor as the realization of what had almost transpired washed over, bathing him in cold hollow guilt. He had let emotions, keen as a headsman’s axe rent cavernous gashes in his psyche; drew on the bitterness that is in all man and allowed it to control him briefly. It was not his way; not the way of balance he strove for. The things that darkness had offered, had planed. His eyes quickly flashed to her still form; chest constricted as if the weight of the world sat on it. But his eyes picked out the movement of her chest as each life giving breath entered; met eyes for lest then a heartbeat before his locked to the floor in front of him in shame. “Why do you taunt me, when all I want is to see …..†the quiet words broke off as his voice gave out; a loss greater then any he had felt before pressed down on him.

 

For long moments he sat in silence, the room silent as his mind tried to find away out. A simple straightforward plan to secure her future was now nothing more then a dark ugly spot in history destined to be cleansed from existence. Slowly he pushed himself back to his feet and moved back to the table avoiding her eyes. His mind could find only one way to right the wrong she felt; the injustice and hurt he had caused her. He leaned on the table to steady hands that wanted to tremble; so much he was will to offer to the Tower but had not imagine this would be called for so soon. All he had ever wanted after time spent under her tutelage was to be with her; to offer his life for hers. He reached out and collected his bag opening it slowly; with loving care he pulled the red cloak of his position from in it’s depths.

 

“My mother would have been so proud to have seen me in this,†his voice broke again as eyelashes barely held back the unshed tears that glistened his eyes. Fingers caressed the clasp with fond remembrance of his raising. “It was the first time I noticed a signet ring on your finger.†How proud he had felt that she would trust him, speak on his behalf. Now she hated him, loathed the boy she could not trust; would not trust. A finger collected the moisture as it tipped over the dam; scrubbed it away before it could travel it’s journey down his cheek. Carefully he placed the folded cloak in the center of the table and hefted his sword; pulling several inches of steel free. The reflection in the blades mirrored surface echoed back green eyes wet; emotion laid about them heavily. “She will weep long … sorry my mother …. But dad will understand; he will ease the pain I bring to her. I know I have no right;†focused on the eyes reflected back at him. He sought to gain some semblance of composure; blade sliding with a soft sound back into the sheath until it click at the crossing.

 

Placing it on the cloak he brought his gaze up seeking hers for the first time since he had left her side. “I have no right to ask anything of you but please hear me out. I did not mean you any harm; it was the furthest thing from my mind I assure you. I only wanted …†a sigh left him like a rushing wave racing toward the shore. “It does not matter what I want, I have caused you hardship and disgrace in your eyes. I ask not for my self but for the heavy heart of a mother who’s grasp on life will be strained with the news of her loss.†Sorrow tinged his words leaving some broken off and unfinished. How had he come to this point; to such loss and distorted purpose. His eyes could no longer hold her’s in the shame of failure that took him momentarily; forced eyes glistening once more with fresh unshed tears to the floor at his feet.

 

In this isolated cabin his future would end; future would not remember his name save for the quiet dark record of a traitor. His lineage would bear the burden of his mistake forever had there been anyone, a small gift from the Creator not knowing the joy of their birth. Feet of lead made a slow even progression to the side of her bed; the flash of silver once more at his wrist. Self preservation was so easy; the knife would sink into her flesh stopping her heart for eternity in this lifetime. Give in to the dark feelings that had taken him earlier and he would indeed see a lineage raised from his seed. A tear making its way slowly down a face too young to know such tormented decisions. Gently he laid the dagger on her stomach and sank to his knee’s at her side. He still could not force him self to meet her gaze. They locked on an arm bared of it’s hand; his sliding down its length to the stump, “I can not return your loss. I only wished to stand in the gap and offer myself, but that is not to be now.†He closed eyes now rimmed red and began a familiar exercise; dropping into a relaxed meditative state just shy of the void’s emptiness. Emptiness did not exist here as it did in the void, but peace of being and calmness supported his voice as he spoke once more, preparing for it to be his last.

 

“Sirayn Sedai, I can not correct injustice caused by my hand alone. Trust has been lost and my future with it. Please ensure my mother receives the cloak and sword as due her right from my death. The drug will leave you soon, with it’s leaving I give you the means to blot out this transgression from lights knowledge. I assure you there will be no resistance from me; the blade will side home with ease. I really did not mean you any harm…†His chin sunk to meet his chest; head bowed silently in wait of the knife that would free him from the torment of this life and return him to the arms of the Creator.

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

Broken

ooc: I would apologise for the wait, but that seems rather redundant by this point! Hope you get this before you go on holiday. Have fun and much love. :D

 

Tension and fear strung so tight in her that every panicked instinct warned her of his fury. Despite the composure she herself had schooled into him, he still let through subtle cues and she was a skilled player at her best … and the intensity of her concentration on him left no room for distractions. Her flat and unreadable gaze riveted to his expression as she searched for the slightest sign of his intentions; striving even as she did so to maintain a level of iron calm for herself that any sister would envy. Not that she could spare the time to contemplate how she might be appearing right now. Only her instincts and hard earned serenity protected her innermost thoughts from prying eyes.

 

If she had been any less tightly in control she might have winced to hear the bitter edge beneath his words as he spoke; quietly echoing what had, in truth, been a little rash of her to say in the first place. It had always been in her nature to provoke rather than lie silent, to display her defiance openly but seeing the subtle warning of fury suppressed hard beneath his outer calm gave her a jolt of sharp concern. In fact, that fear she liked to deny so fiercely coiled within her like something living … beneath the intense focus in his gaze she wanted to fidget, to move somehow to ease the tension building within her but the forkroot still controlled most movement and she could not afford to show even the tiniest sign of weakness. Dread so intense that it drew tight through every muscle, locked any words tight in her throat, so that it took every ounce of concentration to suppress the shuddering fear she wanted to show openly; outward reflection demanded by the pressure of her inner desperate terror. Her imagination supplied only too vivid images to fuel it.

 

Light only knew how she had let him gain this kind of control over her. The intricate series of events that had led to this twisted scene, where his every gesture summoned such instant and total fear, now seemed as far from her grasp as any other coherent thought … how she had come to be so petrified by a mere glance, by the implicit, unspoken threat in his choice of surroundings … where her courage, which she had once foolishly thought to be unassailable became merely another tool by which he could coerce her. As though her closely guarded thoughts and feelings, as much a key to her identity as any shawl, had become his servants rather than her own; every moment she spent wondering if all this hot metal would come anywhere near her, if she was going to get burnt again exactly as she had in blacker times … was another small surrender. If he knew a tenth of the fear he was causing her right now he must be beside himself with glee.

 

So much cowardice shamed her on a deep level far beyond the moment’s immediate concerns. He had only limited tools at his disposal; she did not doubt that he could be quite accomplished with them should he so desire, but when one got right down to the wire … no matter how terrible an injury, it was only superficial damage, the Yellow Ajah could work miracles. Most like once all this was done their weaves, polished to near perfection since the Breaking, could restore at least a semblance of ordinariness to her and that was all she needed, just so people would not point and stare in the street. That was surface only: damage done on the inside was not so quick to reverse itself: the ravages of self disgust and disgrace lasted forever.

 

It ought not to affect her in this manner. Danger was an old friend to any Battle Ajah member and she had been menaced on countless occasions, sometimes by experts, and had faced prospects grim enough to give anyone pause; had even had them carried out on some memorable occasions, the incidents still sharp in her recall, not that there was any risk of her ever forgetting that … but something about this boy, his intensity, and the uncannily precise correspondence to harrowing memories scared her witless. If only she had more courage! The Battle Ajah would be disgraced if they knew of her conduct today; if they had any inkling of how dread crippled her beneath this frozen icy mask. Aes Sedai did not know fear. Fear was beneath them, they represented the Light’s perfection on this earth and permitted no sentiment to trouble them.

 

Of course it took more than a lecture to teach oneself to remove every shred of feeling, to cut out the softness that some said made people who they were, and on occasion she had suspected she had learnt that trick oddly somehow; it seemed unfair that she should lose any semblance of ordinary feeling and still have to suffer this fear. Anger she could deal with, that black bitterness fuelled her courage, but fear … so dishonourable, leaving marks that no amount of repentance washed out … that anyone could inspire such feeling in her shamed her. Yet for all her tightly suppressed feeling she remained utterly detached on the outside: impassive as a poker player, only the flat hardness of her eyes to warn that anything was going on behind that inscrutable mask. Her gaze lingered coldly on the boy who occupied her thoughts so intensely and she promised herself, transmuting fear into fury as much as possible that this would not go unpunished.

 

Guard herself though she might, despite all the times she told herself fiercely that no true Battle Ajah member ever felt fear, her grey gaze tracked his every movement with bitter intensity as he moved about the small cabin. His hands went about a task that she recognised with a sinking heart; no wonder he seemed so confident, even should the drug wear off a fraction, she was entirely powerless to stop him administering more as and when he chose. The very idea that another person could master her to that extent … dictating when and how much she could control her own muscles … outraged her to the point of building wrath. Part of her recognised with a grim resignation that there was no point even trying to resist him, he would impose his will on her as much as he wanted but the rest of her refused even to contemplate that it was time to give up; that there would ever be such a time. The Battle Ajah did not recognise defeat.

 

Stress and suppressed fear wound her tightly in iron coils as he drew near; icy grey eyes now contemplating him with the disdain one would reserve for a rat that had snapped at one’s feet. So this was what trust and dependence brought. Being rendered as helpless and feeble as a doll, as though Aes Sedai were ever bereft of the innate determination and resourcefulness that defined them as surely as their shawls … trying to lessen her, make her a mere ornament to be handled as one pleased … and there was an image she should have dismissed instantly: she shut that line of thought down hard as he neared her, though her gaze tracked him intently fearing whatever he had in mind. More forkroot she could cope with; that was merely a setback to her plans of recovery and eventual escape. Like a spider, her patience could last as long as the ages, and she would still be watching and waiting whenever he made a mistake.

 

Anything else she feared most bitterly. She had been averse to such contact even before the events of some months ago; her desire not to be interfered with in such crude ways dated back some decades to an incident best left forgotten … and these days for anyone to touch her, even in the most innocent way inspired fear and revulsion in her. Not that hse had been spared such ordeals. How and why people got the impression it was a wise idea to force their unwanted advances on an Aes Sedai she had yet to understand, but most certainly she had not forgotten how certain people had attempted to take advantage of her while she was upset, how others had apparently forgotten any scrap of self control, discipline or honour they were ever taught. Not unlike certain people in her vicinity right now. How under the Light the yards had wound up turning out so many Tower Guards who employed disturbing tactics against Aes Sedai she did not know … and as her attention narrowed in on the boy now lifting a hand to her head, presumptuous wretch, she vowed to herself that she would not give in to him any more than to that other one.

 

That cup containing another few hours’ worth of leaden sleep raised to her lips. Panic set in. Logically she knew that patience gave its own rewards; that if she bided her time and kept a cool head she could get through this much more assuredly than with flashes of temper she could not back up with acts; yet every fibre of assaulted dignity she possessed strained at the tight control she kept it under. Just to let herself be drugged once more by a man of malicious intentions outraged her sense of independence … not to mention it posed much more harrowing dangers that chilled her just by thinking of it. Safely out of sight she flexed her surviving hand gently, seeking to assess how much control she had regained; enough to upset that cup maybe and spill the forkroot messily … yet not enough to capitalise on that moment of confusion. Her muscles refused to obey her properly, saidar might as well be on the moon … it was hopeless.

 

Defeat had always tasted bitter to her and accepting her fate, as though she were some kind of damsel in distress powerless to affect her own circumstances, galled her beyond the ability of words to express; the knowledge that this was all absolutely true only incensed her even more. Her dignity and independence as an Aes Sedai was being systematically stripped away, not to mention the consuming fears and apprehension instilled into her. It had taken her such a long time to rebuild her shattered confidence after the disastrous and tragic events of a few months ago and even now part of her shook in terror cringing every time he raised a hand to her … all these fears, the dependence, the lack of control contributing to a towering fury the likes of which she had not known for some time. It took a great deal of self discipline to exert some control over that savage wrath. Suppressing her fury tightly she strove to master her immediate response and prepared herself, much against her will, for the taste of forkroot once more.

 

Instead for some peculiar reason the boy hesitated; drew back a little whispering a name she had not expected to her. Her anger, much against the laws of rationality rose even further. If he was going to inflict this humiliation on her a second time he might as well be quick about it … and what under the Light did Seiaman have to do any of this? Suddenly released, her head fell unexpectedly and bounced off the softness of the pillow; setting her teeth she restrained the urge to snarl at how much this whole situation frustrated her. And now, as though some unknown logic had taken control of this whole situation, the boy was rising to his feet … moving away … despite herself she had to work fast to control a flinch as he flung the cup away; porcelain shattering, steam rising in a sudden hiss where the tea flashed to evaporation on the hot coals in the fireplace. Torn between disbelief and perplexity the first response that rose to her tongue was a sarcastic comment about the expense of good porcelain but she trapped it before the snarl could get free and earn her any more punishment.

 

Now blessedly her fear and fury was ebbing, as everything seemed to be changing somehow as though the tables were being turned by some giant hand. Before her bemused gaze the boy slid down against the wall, to sink into a sitting position; head bowed slightly as though all the world’s troubles had defeated him in an instant. Only a brief glance found hers … could that be remorse she glimpsed there? No, she thought savagely, this was some kind of trick; just another ploy to gain her trust … before he seemed to utterly collapse. Panic eased its tight grip another fraction. For whatever bizarre reason he had the wretch seemed not to pose a threat any more, or maybe that was only the impression he wished to present, the Light only knew. The sudden release of tension gripped her hard; her hand trembling slightly out of sight, relief bubbling up but she trapped that hard rather than show a moment’s agitation. Beaten … after all this tension … could it be that the boy had somehow defeated himself rather than continue this ordeal any longer?

 

Slowly, exerting great control over every movement to remind herself there was at least something she could master, she drew a deep breath and let it out. No shaking there; could not afford to show any fear. Only steadiness her outward mask reflected in its composure. His mother? Disgrace on his family? Her first instinct was to laugh; indeed cruel mirth welled up and intensely she wanted to let it free, to show him every ounce of her contempt and fury for him, to make him suffer even a tenth as much as she had suffered. She kept that savage desire to hurt under tight control but Light she had promised herself revenge, and revenge she would have before too much longer had passed. How pathetic. A fool of a Darkfriend who, having an Aes Sedai helpless at his hands, could not even finish the job in the sadistic way he had first proposed. Disgust and disdain twisted at her; calm she told herself again, be cool, be the very image of Aes Sedai composure.

 

He had not intended any harm. He wanted to correct injustice. He wanted a swift death. Again she was sorely tempted to laugh; more than that, tempted to lash out, to hurt him somehow. A quick clean blow seemed too easy of a way out for somebody who had threatened to keep her under forkroot until the helplessness poisoned her mind and sent her mad and dying. Such talk did not deserve a single blow. How he had the temerity to ask her to end his life quickly she had no idea; how he imagined that she had anything but searing scorn for him and his failed schemes, his weakness, his treachery. Composure staying rigid and unmoved on her stern face as grey eyes dwelled, in silent intensity on her opponent … and inwardly she imagined far more satisfying work. Imagined making him powerless as he had taken such pains to do to her. Imagined making him regret every moment of his murderous, terrifying folly.

 

Light she wanted him to suffer. She wanted to claw his eyes out one by one, to confine him to bed and see how long he lasted before the forkroot sent him irreversibly mad. Sadistic, traitorous liar! Her surviving hand flexed just a fraction, opening and closing to dispel a fraction’s tension; intensely she pictured making every one of her cruel imaginings reality. Not that anybody would know or care. If she informed the Tower Guard that one of their number had run rabid and assaulted her in this manner they would thank her for taking care of their business so efficiently … though of course, that would require something far more challenging; and now a dark shadow stole across her mood of savage elation. That would demand that she explained, in loving detail, exactly how this wretch had rendered her powerless as the most feeble novice; how he had terrified her; how she had been panicking and pitiful and altogether worthy of contempt. Fury rose searing again and she had to focus hard to rein it in, to keep everything under that wavering control … no, Aes Sedai were disciplined at all times, they allowed only reason and logic to dictate their path.

 

Slow, calming breaths. She did her best to dismiss that from her thoughts but it returned insistently. It hurt even to imagine explaining all this to someone; how they would mock her for her cowardice, ask derisively how any Aes Sedai worth the name would let herself be put in such a shameful position. If she was ever called to explain herself before a council of her elders … she would have to admit that she had been pathetic, that she had been terrified, that the merest child could have finished her off as she lay there helpless and drugged. Hardly the glorious end a Battle Ajah member should aspire to; nor the proud state of affairs which a sister of that great order should keep in order. How efficiently he had gone about his work: her mouth twisted in sudden bitter hatred. Not only had he had plenty of time to exact whatever dark revenge he had in mind, before he had had a supposed eleventh-hour attack of remorse, but he had made sure through his twisted methods that the disgrace and horror of having done so would seal her silent. Most certainly she knew that she would never master her shame and humiliation enough to speak even a word of what had gone on here.

 

Oh she was furious. Even kneeling by her side, begging her to finish him off, the boy still held her utterly in thrall. He had to know that there was no possible way she would report him to the appropriate authorities; not that they were likely to do anything about it unless public image compelled them to do so, they were more likely to sit around laughing at how powerless these Aes Sedai were when one drugged them properly. If anyone ever got the idea to repeat the trick … her free hand curled into a tight fist; the memories of this harsh day would be sufficient to stop her being such a fool as to trust again, as she had begun with hesitancy to do before the boy decided to be a traitor, but the worst of her fears had not yet been realised. No doubt that meant it would keep happening until something final happened. No doubt this whole terrifying, bitterly shameful trial would come around again and again … because she was too stupidly pathetic to protect herself.

 

The catalogue of errors she had made was too comprehensive to list in any detail. It would take her all day to list everything she had done wrong: right from the mess over Seiaman, to letting her beloved Gaidin be brutally murdered at Dumai’s Wells, to being pitiful enough to think Seiaman wanted anything to do with her when she was resurrected by some miracle … being lonely, being a fool, desperately wanting someone to comfort her … imagining that this boy with his too sharp intelligence and his cunning would ever be safe to be around … trusting him enough to accept something to drink from his hands, Light how much of an idiot had she been, that was one of the first rules she taught people in enemy territory! Never to turn one’s back on an exit, always to go armed, never accept food or drink, and to trust nobody. Even when they were young and bright and outwardly respectful and she was possibly the most intensely lonely person in the world.

 

Dishonourable in the extreme. The newest novice would have known better than to be as gullible as she had been, as guilelessly trusting, and the less said about her conduct under pressure today the better. She had disgraced her shawl and brought disrepute on her Ajah, if anyone ever heard of this, and after the intense pressure and terror of the last hour that knowledge brought her to a different kind of breaking point. Part of her wanted to cry. Part of her wanted to break down in useless, pitiable tears and give everything up: surrender: confess that this life was just too hard. Constant suspicion and terror and the unpredictable, savage violence … holding these scars on the inside … never letting anyone close, was a dreadful fate the likes of which she would not have wished on anyone. And even to be thinking these cowardly thoughts disgraced her even more.

 

If she let herself continue on this path any longer she was going to spiral into some crazy coil of despair and self loathing. That way she knew too well already. Drawing a steady even breath she asserted control once more; smoothed out her troubled thoughts; and reminded herself once again that she was Aes Sedai. Misguided though they had been to give her the shawl … much as she had dishonoured it in the past … she had to uphold the same standards of flawless behaviour as any other Aes Sedai would have done in her place. Coolly she flexed her hand once more; discovering much to her suppressed relief that her control was all but recovered now. Time to make a move. Intensely she hated having him so close. It unnerved her to be testing this in front of the boy, the Light only knew whether he was just measuring her strength in order to pounce again, but she needed to get back on her feet and channelling again as soon as possible … in case the tables turned again or, nearly as bad, the urge to put his own knife through his black and traitorous heart got too much for her; but she had precious little choice over it.

 

If she did this smoothly enough and in perfect composure nobody would be able to tell that she was still far from certain of her own strength. Bracing herself for some kind of humiliating slip she swung her legs over the side of the bed, set her feet on the floor, and inwardly thanked the Light that that had gone off all right; her muscles stil felt a little leaden, slow to respond to her commands, but she had at least managed not to fall over or something equally mortifying in front of him. Now her grey eyes fell on the penitent kneeling before her and again the urge to strike him intensified. Just one good slap would rattle him a bit and assert some sorely needed control; take the edge off her savage desire to inflict some pain on him in revenge for what he had done today. The last person she had struck was a future Amyrlin … and remembering that taught her a bit more discipline. Aes Sedai never lost control. Aes Sedai did not need to raise a hand to anyone; their scorn was far more scathing than any blow. No violence. None at all.

 

All the same it took her several drawn out moments to master the urge to hit him. Instead her hand strayed to the dagger at her side; curled round the hilt, tightening until the knuckles went white. Saidar was still flitting from her grasp so, perhaps fortunately, the option to peel every inch of skin off his flesh was not yet open to her. The steel in her hand winked temptingly in the dimmed light and she lifted her cold gaze from the knife to the kneeling boy … imagining, with a ferocious intensity, how that youthful face might look with some new marks on it … wanting him to hurt, wanting him to suffer. It seemed a shame, after what now looked bizarrely like a success in which no blood was spilled, to get all that red everywhere just in revenge; there were more subtle and less messy ways of exacting some vengeance. Reluctantly she lowered the knife.

 

Her silence had held in forbidding coldness since the last time she had threatened him some ten minutes ago. Now she had a perfect opportunity to tell this wretch exactly what she thought of him, since the odds of him surviving this were minimal, but she stilled herself on the point of doing so; part of her still coldly feared that if she started talking she would never stop. That was one of the effects of pressure. Give somebody a good working over and they would eventually talk … and once they started it was difficult to stop them again. Maybe if she started laying into him, telling him how much she despised his worthless hide, she would eventually get onto exactly why: her overwhelming shame and terror, the black memories of times past: and that would just about invalidate any point in her having been so inflexible this past hour despite extreme provocation.

 

A considered, calm response was what was required. Not a good slap or even a bit of pretty knife work to give him something to think about next time he looked in a mirror. Reason. Logic. She didn’t want to be logical. She wanted to be cruel: to tell him that he was a liar and a traitor, that she would rather see him cold in the ground before he ever laid a hand on her again, that no amount of intimidation from him would ever break her: that she had known all along that he would turn out to be treacherous, exactly like Seiaman, only lacking the basic competence necessary to finish the job: that his touch disgusted her … the intensity of her revulsion, the sheer wrenching disgust she felt at those memories overwhelmed any attempt she might have made to express them. She needed to be concise. Brevity was the watchword. She required a perfect response from a perfect Aes Sedai.

 

At last once she had mastered every turbulent passion she let herself speak. Cool words: had to feel nothing. “Aes Sedai cannot be moved.†These words she had learnt at her mother’s knee two and a half centuries ago. “They know no fear, no anger. No danger can daunt them. They need nothing and nobody. They are the one defence that survived the dark days of the Breaking, that has protected the innocent and the helpless ever since, and that will stand against the Shadow when our world goes to ruin.†Her tones were cut-glass sharp, imparting no feeling, so clear and dispassionate one could see straight through them. “I was Aes Sedai a hundred years ago when your grandparents were children. In a hundred years’ time, when your grandchildren are grown, I will still be Aes Sedai. I need nothing from you or anyone else.â€

 

Control. She had to be utterly in command of herself and everything else. No dread, no wrath, no cruelty … that last being the most difficult to cut out of her voice. “By rights I should give you the same end you promised me,†said Sirayn Damodred, perfectly cold. “How long does the mind last when the body is useless? A worthy question; I am most curious. But a traitor does not deserve my attention, nor does he deserve a swift end.†Sharp movements showed only some suppressed feeling as she reversed the dagger, placed its hilt firmly in his hand. “Take the cloak and the sword. Return to Tar Valon if you will … or go elsewhere, I care not.†She gave a careless shrug. And this time when she reached out saidar flooded into her grasp … heat and light and security, everything that defended her against the likes of this disturbing trial … and finally, finally, she felt safe. Protected: by herself, her wits and her courage. Icily she spoke the last words. “I never want to see you again.â€

 

Sirayn Damodred

Head of the Green Ajah

The Tower’s Wrath ;)

Time stretched on in long drawn out moments of self loathing and personal disdain at what he had done; brought down on himself and the one woman he had being willing to die for. He had laid out his heart to Sirayn and in her just fury she spoke not a word to him as he remained silent, kneeling at her bed side. She had every right to hate him; to see him ripped apart and scattered to the winds with what had transpired. How had fury so deep and hard slipped in like that? It was not suppose to be like this; never turn out like it had. He had secreted her away to ensure he was making the right decision; the decision to surrender his will and identity to her. Become whatever she wanted of him in servitude to ensure her thread remained in the pattern through The Great Battle. Now he knelt here awaiting his own blade at her hand to remove his own thread. So much of this was not right; did not match the carefully thought out plan in his head when he had first crafted the idea. It seemed so long ago now as death’s veil lay in wait over his head for her to strike.

 

Where had things turned astray; taken the dark road he now found himself kneeling on. It had been in fury and dark isolation they had met and tied one to another a thread of a kind. While the storm set its fury on the Yard and buildings of the White Tower they had discussed choices and paths in the warm safe embrace of night’s own eyes. He had know so little then; expected so little, dreamed of grand adventures and the wondering power of Aes Sedai. She seemed to wear stern separation as a cloak wrapped tightly around her frail little frame then. A spiders mask to lure the fly in close to it’s web. Promises and agreements had been made that night. Agreements that had changed the course of the life he had planned; started him on the path that had placed him here. So sure back then he had been of himself; false confidence in the tiny little thread he had bound her to, thinking a great victory. But while pride had blinded him to her small and quiet movements; Sirayn had wrapped layer upon layer of steel cord around him with a surgeon’s own envious precision. Ironic that it should be in fury and isolation that darkness should come to him again. Only this time the isolation was a setting by his design and not hers; the darkness would be forever a cold separation from life itself at the hand of her fury toward the man that had failed her again. Another deep and steady breath registered in his ears; herald a release soon to come.

 

If his heart had been porcelain it would have shattered as if crushed under the heel of a forceful boot. Realization that indeed he had failed her again brought forth new levels of self loathing and disgust. How could he possibly expect her to want him when all he seemed to do was cause her hardship and bring failure to her feet as an offering. Failure, that small simple word had bit into his heart deeper then any knife the first time he had heard it slip from her lips. How could he expect her to understand; to love him if all he brought was suffering and defeat as gifts? Indeed Sirayn Sedai’s life could only get better with the removal of Corin Danveer and his treacherous, witless life. At least by his end he had been able to separate and save her from that dark cold women she had once called Gaidin. A small and feeble victory compared to the turmoil he had created for the one he wanted so much to devote his life to. Only the Father of Lies could orchestrate misery to such a fine and grand display of uncontrolled thought and emotion. It seems he was not above the dark one’s touch after all; accepted false belief in an untouchable separation the creator and light would have given him to watch over her.

 

Movement registered in the silent still ness as her feet reached toward the floor righting herself on the bed in the process. Soon would come the blow that would still his lungs forever and bring sweet separation from the hurt he had caused. Her strength was returning which would aid in a quick clean cut; saving her from the mess of a less then precise blow. Or do you think only of yourself again Corin and the avoidance of pain. To be saved from the drawn out gasping of your bodies attempt to struggle for life as it slowly ebbed through your fingers? The voice was hollow and cold in his mind but a great edge of truth flowed from its words. Would he be able to hold on if she was less then precise and quick in her blow? Would he cry out in desperation worse then the pathetic excuse for a protector he had turned out to be. His eyes cracked open a fraction; grey dim light slipping through and brought the picture of white knuckles wrapped firmly around the hilt of a knife who’s memory his hand held. Good it will be quick then. It was only a matter of time; her grip spoke of strength again and he had no doubt about her abilities when she decided to deploy it’s sharpened edge to work.

 

The blow he prepared for did not arrive; was not the method of her choosing. Instead cold sharp words designed to leave the deepest of scares filtered from her mouth and drove deep into him. Reminded him of his place in this age and in her time. She had been long before him and would see many years after him if the light continued to show it’s favor on her. He had only wanted to help ensure that she indeed did se those many many years after his passing; for his time was but a candles life. But after the way he had slipped; fallen so easy to the darker voice of temptation how could he fault her for the verbal knives she assailed him with. Torn and battered he would accept what was her do and wait on the release from failure his own blade would give.

 

But he had lost favor in the light as she contemplated the foolish words that had slipped from him in frustrated anger only a short while ago. To be lost to one’s self; trapped in a useless shell without escape or purpose; a shudder racked his body at the thought. He was hers to dispatch how she wished. He would not fight her even in the horrid torment she offered him with no emotion or malice in her voice. It only emphasized the deep separation between them now confirmed in her choice of names for him. Only with the sudden firm pressure of a hilt in his hand did he open his eyes in puzzlement; hand closing loosely around the hilt. Confusion at it’s return to him and not sheathed within him was answered in the dawning remembrance of the One Power. The blade must herald her return to connection with Saidar and there by her ability to defend herself easily against a simple traitor as she had put it; the word tasted bitter on his tongue. So this was how it was to end; a life of torture knowing what he had done but never able to correct the transgression.

 

Slowly he rose from the bed side; avoided her eyes with shame painted plainly on his face. This was to be his sentence, a life time of wandering this land knowing that she was near him in the Tower but he would never be able to be part of that life. Hesitantly with leaden feet he moved to the table to collect his cloak and sword; symbols of a life he had ruined with these recent events. Turning the Red Cloak of the guard over in his hands he weighed the level of shame he had brought to it’s purpose. The guard was a proud force sworn to protect the Tower and it’s occupants to the very last. It was a desire he had held when introduced to the yard and his mentor. Reikan’s words from his training; a conversation they had about the duties of the guard and it’s role in regards to Aes Sedai. Turmoil twisted his insides as deep seeded desire fought for existence, No … NO!! He had not disgraced the cloak; would not. He had made a mess of things with Sirayn and would spend his life time seeking away to correct that. But he had done nothing against the guards oath; the oath that bound him willingly to the Tower and it’s purpose. In that there remained hope and a future. A hair of optimism wormed into his middle at the possibility there may yet be a way to correct this.

 

Silver flashed at his wrist as the dagger slipped with practiced precision back into the sheath in his sleeve. Emerald green eyes with a suppressed fire of purpose glinted in the candle light as he swung the cloak around him; the clasp at his throat clicking shut softly in the dead silence of the room. The fabrics weight serving to straighten his stance; confidence strong in his posture. Without turning Corin hefted the sheathed sword and strapped it to his waist. It’s presence like a weight of trial and judgment to ensure he would remember. He would live out his purpose and duty to the guard until the pattern called for his path to change. She would be alone once he left the cabin; an Aes Sedai away and unprotected; the thought setting his shoulders. The commander would never allow it and neither would he. She did not want to see him so he would comply; further hardship on her he would not be the cause. But nowhere in there had she stated he was to never see her again. A chuckle reached for his throat; seek to find escape through his mouth at the irony of how well she had trained him to look at all the holes in a persons words, their logic. But iron willed control had returned to him now and he crushed the emotion ruthlessly. Each new journey began with a small simple step, this would be his.

 

Stilling the smirk that begged to make itself known on his face he collected the saddle bag from the table. His hand stroked the closure softly for a moment before reaching into it and pulling forth a small polished slate grey stone. It’s liquid smooth surface drawing back visions of the day he had requested it’s creation; another time and a different person then. Finger tips traced the engraving of that odd dagger he had come to use as his own version of a sigil etched to adorned the surface. His thumb stroked over the stone several times before he placed it on the table in front of him. It had been made in a different time; he had brought it for a different circumstance then what faced him but the purpose remained the same. As had been his desire with it’s creation so it would remain in purpose. The changing situation that face him now would not alter the fact that it would still be her choice. “From your eyes I will depart as commanded Sirayn Sedai of the Green Ajah,†his voice once again cool and honed as she had trained him though his heart fought to add emotion. “If this stone appears to me again I will come without question; do as you command; depart after if you wish. All without question.†the cloak flared around him as he spun to face her; the red material wrapping in a hug as it continued in movement to it’s end and then dropped back. “I wish you well Sirayn Sedai and safe travels for your return. May the Creator always keep you safe in his loving hands.†Sweeping into a bow exact in it’s formality and technique; eyes glittering with his new purpose met her’s for the first time since he had rose. She had trained him for a purpose and instilled skills he had not previously held. In this simple act she would know how well Corin Danveer had indeed learned those lessons.

 

The meeting of eyes was the length of a lighting bolt’s life but in that span a vibrancy that had been lacking since their arrival met the cold hard stare of grey with almost suppressed amusement. The dark end that had begun to appear at this journeys conclusion had been manifested in his mind as a new opportunity. Blood still coursed his veins. Continued life meant a continued chance to find away to bridge the gap and restore order to the union he believed the future still held. His cloak swirled around him as he turned and departed from her; a new journey was about to begin. “The cabin is well stocked and your mount is safe in the stable on the east wall of the cabin.†Let us see what time has in store for us Sirayn Damodred; what will the Wheel spin out in this age for us? The question warm and inviting as the cold steel door latch mated with his hand.

 

 

Corin Danveer

Tower Guard

Renewed ;)