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+--- Thread: The Hunt (/thread-312.html)
- Natalie Grey - 05-02-2017
An Accepted’s dress rarely needed such special attentions – few were the times it was ever truly dishevelled – but every initiate learned the tricks to keep herself presentable, when not to do so laid her open to easily avoidable penance. It was a mindless chore, and strangely pleasant to slip into after the intense emotions of the evening. She brushed the sand from her skin meticulously, and used the power to assemble it neatly; not out of care for the servant whose job it would be to remove it, but with the sort of efficiency ingrained in one used to picking up after herself. The power coiled to pull the last remnants of damp from nearly-dry fabric, but the more mundane efforts of a towel were employed to smooth over her skin. Once clean, the dress slipped on as easily as it had slipped off, and she fastened it with only half a mind. Her thoughts drifted to all possible reactions to her absence, and the ways she could manoeuvre herself beyond the reach of lasting consequences. There was no real fear, though potentially her punishment could be severe. Hard to say until she saw Liridia’s face, and even that might reveal nothing. Truthfully it was more likely to be Fate who provided judgement; it was her who held all the strings, after all.
She was aware of Jai in her periphery, but oblivious to any channeling bar its physical manifestation in the corner of her eye, or sparked in a mirror’s reflection. Even that she paid little mind, focused on the precision of her own tasks, and working with the sort of speedy skill born of habit. She used a mirror to fix her hair, but aside from a cleanse of saidar was rather lackadaisical in its treatment. It tumbled soft glossy waves with little effort, and she left it to its natural design down her back. Done, she leaned against a drawer unit, resting comfortably on the heels of her hands, and watched the remainder of Jai’s mindless routine; absorbing the events of the day as her gaze followed the climb of buttons – absorbing him. The sheer normality of dressing felt surreal, and twisted something at once both pleasant and painful in her stomach. When he caught her looking, her only reaction was a face that softened into the sort of smile contained more in eyes than mouth. The silent amusement of secrecy.
That smile touched her lips more fully as he was hit by a gentler epiphany than the last, but she gave no answer. His tangled relationship with Daryen was not an affair she would remark on; the delicacy of his unconscious trust not something she would prod, lest it shatter. She was sincere in her lack of judgement; distant from the responsibility of leading him to that realisation, or the satisfaction of having done so. Just glad that through the darkness of his paranoia he’d finally understood he was not without allies; though the light burn Daryen to oblivion if he should cut the fragile thread of Jai’s faith in him, intentionally or otherwise.
Patient through the tugging at his uniform and painstaking artistry of his hair, her face was disconcertingly even as she straightened in assessment of his proud presentation. Teasing his charming arrogance with complete lack of amusement; though only if, by now, he didn’t recognise that familiar streak of playfulness in those ghostly eyes. “By that logic, you must be quite the hero.”
Her tone was dry, but the heat of her gaze as she passed obscured the sarcasm to something teasingly seductive; a last breath of desire before the door opened and expelled them from their brief escape. But she left its embrace without regret; ever marching onwards, never looking back. Whatever consequences waited; Liridia's judgement or Imaad's machinations, she would never lament walking through that Gate. Or slipping provocatively backwards into that ocean.
Her lips taunted an unashamed smirk for the frowning guard. Disapproval, even misplaced, was familiar territory; she cared little and less for the opinions of unimportant strangers. Inclined to revel in being brazen, amused by the implication, she slipped her arm in his. The danger of being caught on the beach had been one thing; a risk that tested even her self-control, but playing with this kind of fire was like idle entertainment. Liridia might object, but it contravened no rule. An Aes Sedai couldn’t act on rumour alone; and there would be rumour in a place so networked with eyes and ears. Ironic that Nythadri’s dire reputation might provide the perfect shield. So many of the things whispered about her were so preposterous, that this only tallied another absurdity. What Accepted would be so foolish? As such, sneaking in separately would only look guilty. She shrugged.
“That guard will talk. In places like this especially, it’s better to assume you have no secrets. But admit to none.”
A rather layered advice; she smirked and caught his eye as she said it, the elbow of the arm slipped through his jabbing him lightly in the ribs. “And shove what in their faces, Jai? All I remember is a perfectly innocent walk along the beach. You were quite the gentleman.”
RE: The Hunt - Jay Carpenter - 07-27-2017
Quote:
Jai was left to his darkness as Daryen strode back towards his light, mirrored torches creating a glowing ball atop the cliff as though a drop of the sun had been convinced to remain and take part in the merriment. Unlike Jai, Daryen was eager to join in. As a child he had jumped from the cliff-side to the distant ocean, not knowing if he would survive the fall only to be swept up in an invisible undertow beneath the ocean's rhythmic waves. Such were the politics of court, flowing predictably on the surface while vicious currents raced beneath.
But you would never feel the rush of survival if you never braved the jump.
A face fell in beside him, floating pale as the moon parting the clouds despite its usual olive tone. Lovely and disturbingly lifeless, his knowledge spared her the flash of saidin that raged within him, and would have felled an unexpected presence. "You know,"
he offered over his shoulder with a smile, "one shouldn't sneak up on a man with a price on his head."
Her eyes, black in the darkness, hesitated on him for an emotionless pause before resuming their constant scan of the surrounding abyss.
"A man with so high a price on his head should not sneak off alone,"
she countered without inflection, and Daryen felt his defiance flare. Defiance at her lack of feeling, so far beyond the serenity of the Aes Sedai and stoicism of their Warders. Tiny still it flickered, a childish mischief quelled by the newness that whispered polite warnings against impropriety.
He stopped suddenly but she was halted in the same step, trained to heel like a true follower. He turned to her and took up one of her hands with his as though to give her the Kiss of Strangers, tiny flowers of blue light blooming to illuminate the darkness around them. Bubbles of fire that swirled in whimsical circles on the breeze, the largest - marble-sized and brilliant - coming to hover between them. "Ah, but would you not protect me from the monsters that lurk?"
He gazed down at her through a space small enough to make most women blush, watching the sparkling reflections dance in her fathomless eyes as if life indeed dwelled there. The transformation of her face was one of living, breathing, beautiful sadness where before there had been only an expression at the end of a sculptor's chisel.
"Daryen,"
her voice was soft, and held a depth of sorrow so profound he was unsure if it was real or imagined. Her hand reached up towards his face as if to stroke the strong line of his jaw, but stopped short as her fingers closed around the little mass of light, suffocating it in her fist. The others fell dark instantaneously, doused with the first to which they were all tied.
"Please don't touch me."
Trista opened her palm and ashes fell away into the night. His hands released her and she turned away with a small quirk at one corner of her mouth- although perhaps he imagined that too. With her face turned away from him the darkness swallowed her. He might have lost her entirely except for her silhouette stepping out into the light of the distant party a moment later. The curtain of her hair hid the curvatures of her face as she called a single, uncaring word back over one slender shoulder: "Coming?"
![[Image: Daryen_Profile.jpg?strip=info&w=564]](https://i2.wp.com/thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/Daryen_Profile.jpg?strip=info&w=564)
![[Image: tri1-1.jpg?strip=info&w=628]](https://i1.wp.com/thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/tri1-1.jpg?strip=info&w=628)
RE: The Hunt - Jay Carpenter - 10-09-2017
Quote:
Calculations and considerations carefully composed behind the expertly crafted mask of a charming King, Daryen stepped into the light. The lamps and the stars could not compare to the brilliance of his smile, the sheen of his hair, the glow of his skin. Playfully mischief by nature, reserved and deliberate by nurture, the middle ground of politics was a perfect playground. The drums struck as he appeared, the musicians on their dais anticipating his arrival in a crescendo far livelier than the earlier pieces meant more to fill idle conversations than inspire attention. One hand waved in mass greeting as the throngs parted before him, greeting him in their own way- from the enthusiastic cheers of the mildly inebriated to the delicate uplifting of otherwise untouched flutes.
He felt the effect of Trista's presence ripple through the crowd like the vibrations of a distant but fast approaching cavalry. Her arm hovered over his in perfect decorum, her face as silent with the promise of death as his was loud with the shout of life. Her features belonged in the light, all delicately chiseled musculature and elegant proportions. Her mechanical grace adapted well the the sharp heels that made her tall enough to look a short Domani woman in the eye. She still looked pale compared to the Domani, if not so much as the Accepted trying so hard to avoid the ties she was already unknowingly entangled in. Her dress was a sanguine red, so dark it might have been black were it not for the way it brought color from her eyes. Tendrils of gold curled up from the hems in imitation of smoke, matching the gold accents of Daryen's outfit as clearly as if it marked her as his. Slits in either side allowed for movement should she need it, and the rapier belted to her waist served as a blaring warning that further convoluted their contrasting image.
They whispered. Who was she? A lover? A protector? Both? But the fetal rumors fell silent as he took his place on the dais of honor. He spoke words of gracious thanks for their presence, well wishes for their families and blessings for a good night. They swooned to his voice like snakes to a charmer's flute, and then swarmed the hard wood panels laid out for dancing as he released them to their merriment.
Some Kings would remain on their dais and watch the night unfold, but Daryen returned to the floor like the child jumping to the sea. He danced and drank and sang, if never so much as inebriated memories might assume. Not content to merely toe the line of propriety he danced deftly along its edge, never faltering. Trista watched passively from the dais, ever wary of danger. As the night wore on she could not help but wonder at his unconcern- did he not worry they would warp his pleasure into vice? And yet as she watched they adored him for his minor indulgence, how the little he gave was just enough to earn their trust without being so much that he lost their respect. She watched as he coaxed smile after smile from faces of veiled suspicion and awkward anxiety. The simple act of joining the lowly for a toast, or taking a good-natured bet from the high. Trista very nearly managed amusement as the Asha'man King bested the eldest son of a competing House in a race wherein they both walked on their hands to the finish. The King rose with a bow and a smile to laughter and cheers, the members of the House pretending anger, shouting about One Power trickery.
Very soon Trista came to understand that there were formal parties more typical of what one might expect of a noble court and its council, particularly those where Arad Doman hosted dignitaries from outside lands. But this it seemed was a private gathering, far more informal by comparison, though you might never tell given the number of attendees and their attire. Most of whom settled in to ignoring her beyond sneaking curiously glances.
Daryen continued to mingle, managing to convince the elderly grandmother of House Rajimi to dance and being rewarded with a kiss that made one of his generals laugh so hard he toppled his chair over. Serving girls slipped through the crowd with small glasses of a clear, wicked-smelling liquid one informed her was distilled from star thistles. The gaidar was as near to furious as she might ever be as she watched Daryen raise his first into the air along with several others, all yelling "To the stars!"
and then downing the contents in one swallow. Surely a King and Asha'man was not so incompetent! Soon after however, Trista realized that as many as he was offered he was a master of distraction and ended up actually drinking only very few. And those few were always delivered by the same serving girl.
The party wore on into the night. Endlessly.
- Jay Carpenter - 10-09-2017
The arches lining the corridor drew Jai's eye as they passed. The gallery framed a view of far stretched blue beyond in the daylight that now in darkness seemed to end abruptly as the curtain of night descended. If not for torch light caught in the sea winds it might have seemed as if the sky itself bound the manor with some blindfold. It felt isolated. A manor full of people, but in this last stretch, as isolated as the beach below. He stroked the hand cupped around his arm the whole length of their walk toward the light. For once with little to say. Having only lit a quiet smirk in response to Nythadri's proclamation about innocence.
The transition from dim solitude to rushed populace came fast. Warm flame momentarily seared his eyes with the sting of night-blindness, but the scent of spiced meats rumbled uncomfortably in his stomach. The court onto which they entered, usually calm and empty in quieter times was a nest of buzzing now. Almost immediately Jai scanned the shadowed roofline. An archer should be sitting ready on his hidden platform built into the tiles on either end, but though the Asha'man could not see them, he trusted they were there; unless Daryen reorganized security in the last week. He'd feel better if the hawks were a pair of Brothers, but any eyes were better than none at all.
Over the clatter of fork on plate the chatter of people cut the curtain of music. He murmured something about eating the first thing to land in front of him, slid his hand down her arm, and bid Nythadri farewell with a chivalrous kiss upon it. A message for the crowd. Not that he did not enjoy touching lips to her skin one last time. For her, he secreted a smirk and wink.
"Watch this,"
his lips lifted from her hand.
A parting nod and he fell into the crowd tugging his sleeves symmetrical as he went. There was no point disappointing the crowd of their expectations.
The lower tables were filled with notable men: acclaimed archers or generals dressed sharp in Domani uniform. Horse breeders and merchant traders were indistinguisable from the nobility. Among the lowborns at least. For the High every blue-blooded man and woman displayed the proud pins of their Houses, jeweled sigils otherwise missing on the merely wealthy persons. Around every Highborn was a bubble of matching color schemes: those of Lower Houses to whom they swore their service stayed close. The circles parted welcomes when Jai pressed their edges. From clapping one friendly shoulder to the gales of laughter erupting from others, he managed to borrow slivers of meat from nearly every plate, exclaim mountains of praise for the brave men that felled the beast on which they devoured, and moved on to the next campaign amid well wishes and calls that he return soon.
Strategy took him by those with the choicest smelling plates but the specific company mattered little. It was marketing as sure as he'd advise Jon to partake with Tar Valon's upper echelon. All a means to brighten his name on parting smiles of the influential and eventually snag some crystal brimming with effervescent promise on the other side. A goblet the Asha'man carried by hand rather than with his usual habit of the Power and deposited rather unceremoniously before the seated face of one Tamal Suaya.
The young Suaya brother was stretched out on a cushion of pillows and catered to his every need by three different women. So lounged, they draped sympathetic charms against the young Lord. Given the Domani their way, their attentions should distract quite well from the ache he imagined sloshing inside Tamal's rotund ankle.
Jai flashed the women an apologetic smile for interrupting, cast off their invitations to join in and nodded so deep for Tamal the gesture might have been a bow in sterner lands.
"Master Suaya. I'd hoped the sprain was not so bad as to deny gentle company your presence on the dance floor tonight."
Chagrined, Tamal flicked suspicious eyes onto the glass being gifted by the very man who half a day earlier meant to bury the two ends of his body in two separate graves. If Jai was so honorable a man as to care about digging graves. He wasn't. Birds needed to eat too.
Genuinely smiling, Jai left the gentle goblet in Tamal's tentative hands along with an explanation. "Don't worry, I came to offer apologies, not attempt a poisoning. You might have noticed..,"
the smile broadened for the sake of the three unfamilar but tempting, medicines surrounding the wounded warrior on all sides. "..I prefer something more flashy than mere poison in a wine goblet."
The ladies' anticipation glossed over with the humor to such an obvious joke, completely oblivious to the twist darkening Tamal's laughter.
"Another day perhaps. The vultures are well fed on this one. Apology accepted, friend."
Tamal dripped with taunting sarcasm, and bravely sipped a toast to their newfound truce.
Jai caught the first stage of a scowl thinning Tamal's lips sinister before he left the lordling's lounged off little kingdom. The show did not go unnoticed. Acceptance rippled many amenable faces his way from among those who'd witnessed the Asha'man's heartfelt gesture to smooth over the misunderstanding that Daryen so nobly broke up earlier that day. Jai wove welcomed back among them. So leaving the incapacitated Tamal behind, defenseless to undermine Jai's efforts with a campaign of his own. The walls of the dark gorge of mistrust he was stuck in widened a bit more. Neutralizing the apprehension born from sane men's fears by shining some heroic, and humble, light into the shadows. Rightful fears; not that he blamed them, but light was light. And every charming smile he tossed their way burned away another mistrusting emotion. He hoped it would be enough.
Sympathetic women swarmed in to inquire after his leg while chattering on about the dangerous pursuits of men foolishly playing at archery they ought not. Friendly jests from friends punched his sore shoulder for his lack of riding skill reminded them of the fall from a Razor.
""Flashiest horse that's ever thrown me."
He answered loud amid the bursts of laughter. They did not care it was not War Cry who slammed him to the dirt. Rolling his shoulder around in its sore socket added a much needed visual. The wince was genuine. Gentle hands gawked at the behavior of men and Jai found himself lassoed in a circle of women stroking his sleeves, smiling, and insisting he see a Wise Woman as soon as possible. And that he submit to nothing less than doing exactly what she said. His inquires after what they suggested he do here and now was met with ideas innumerable depending on who spoke up the loudest. Such was their babying he had to grab more than one pair of inebriated hands before they flung back his coat, untucked his shirt, and checked the damage for themselves. Not that he fought too hard.
He hated to snake out of their clutches, but the attention he purchased was worth the price. Tender fingers curled into the crook of his elbow. So like Nythadri had held his arm. And he turned toward it, only to swallow a speck of disappointment that it was not her who greeted him. "Jai,"
said the Lady Nisele's sultry voice, deep as the flavor of the sea roaring onto the far beach below. As ever her dark eyes were rimmed with the smokey mystery applied with kohl, blinking their sultry suggestions the long way up to his. Gone was the svelte, sinuous creature of that day parading around her tailor's exceptional skill to mold riding clothes into a work of art. Replaced now was a daughter of nighttime. She wore deep red silk from her neck and draped it fully covered to the ground beneath. Her loose hair curled full down to the base of her spine. His eyes fought the whole way down, but sheer opacity drew them against his better judgement. So suggestive was her dress clinging to her every curve that a blind man couldn't miss it. The crimson silk misting light as clouds over her skin was swirled with long streaks of darker, bloodred rivers suggesting the curl of a man's hands upon her hips to pull her closer. Her ears held bright aqua stones. Clear as the shallow sea at mid day. And set in enough diamonds to tempt nations toward war just to win them. She was slender and graceful. As much sun as Jai's skin had seen these last few years, her heart-shaped face was blessed with the kiss of a true born Domani tan. Her lips glistened with whatever she'd just sipped, inviting him for a taste.
"My Lady..."
His smile demonstrated his apparent appreciation for the Creator's skill in crafting such a creature. Doubly that he'd been the one to catch her eye. She came closer, and he glanced to see who was watching, but he did not step away. It grew to a full grin as he led her toward less crowded floorspace. The music had changed its tempo. So timed, he almost wondered if he'd snapped the musicians a few coins in his favor. "...Dance?"
"If you think you can keep up with me, my dear foreign Asha'man."
Any fear harbored since the hunt apparently dissolved, she accepted his courteous bow as fair warning and fell unresistant into his arms. She felt like the wind. As he led her through the swaying steps of a noble's dance perfect enough to make his mother proud, he felt her loosen as one who'd finally given herself over to the moment. The wealthiest veins in Tar Valon may not course with noble blood, but they knew how to throw an event to be remembered for years to come. The youngest, and most charming he liked to think, of the Kojima brothers won over many a matriarch shopping for new investment brokers with the same bait. Jai and Nisele were not alone, but between the turns and steps aside, they smoothly avoided those summoned from the low tables to join in. As for those honored hosts on the raised platform he managed to avoid finding any one pair of eyes. If Nisele had indeed fashioned her choice of attire after the woman residing in the seat of honor beside the King's, Jai had no desire to draw out whatever rivalry existed between them. Not until he was sure Nisele believed he was willing to play her game. He was busy enough watching Nisele watch Daryen. Let alone time out when to hold her too close when they knew the King would see the trick. All the while letting Nisele think Jai to be the fool caught between them. Blood and ashes, it was exhausting to keep track of it all.
They parted the closest of friends. He knew one dance would do it. Including the anticipation leading up to it. Such crescendos were vital for women. One dance and a few choice whispers afterward spread Nisele's lips with the promise she discover the identity of whichever foreign dancing master let such talent go wasted by the Black Tower. Parting Jai's was the promise to let her investigate anything she wished, much to her chagrin. Then to cast the real object of her desire a challenging look that he intervene. Daryen only looked at Nisele with that charming, slightly suggestive grin of his and bowed out. Jai flinched to think the gamble was lost. Until the king cast a look over his shoulder when perhaps Jai and Nisele should not have seen it. Flawlessly timed, his tension dissolved near to laughter as Nisele's dark eyes glinted with victory, thinking the King vindictive and jealous. Jai knew otherwise. Trust him; right. How long the man had known Nisele's plot was beyond him. How he knew Jai upped the stakes by staying in the game when he'd been acting as though he folded long ago, Light as his witness, he may never understand such brilliance. He watched the guy walk away until the gauzy shoulders and flashy grin was swallowed up by the shoulders of adoring subjects once more. Was that a circlet glinting power in his pale hair? Light.
Jai's shoulder meanwhile reminded him all too quietly it was too sore to let him join the races. Although his loud oaths proclaimed fairness for all that he remain excluded. He hated to ruin all their fun by turning good men into sore losers then walk away with their hard earned gold. Games of chance, though! Those he had no problem sweeping. And came away a few pounds richer. Chance was statistics, after all. And nobody counted equations faster than him. Not that he hurt for gold these days. Nor wanted to waste pocket space with the burden. So those coins always ended up as generous tips in the palms of servants bringing him new mounds of food and drink.
It was a man stumbling with the first touches of inebriation, constantly laughing at every bad joke, lingering friendly hands on the shoulders of his fellows, and beginning to lose the games which finally caught a grateful chair. Scraped clear across the raised platform by ropes of the Power. Planted armrest to armrest none too gently against another. The very seat harboring the mysterious guest everyone whispered about. He fell into it as the last of a tired chuckle escaped. He rolled his head back and found the stars dimmed by torchlight. The moon sunk smaller in the sky since it chaperoned his innocent walk on the beach. He ripped away from memory some moments later and turned toward Daryen's mystery woman.
Exhausting the wolves' attentions since the kiss on Nythadri's hand paid off. They seemed to pay no mind to the spotlight illuminating the stranger warming his seat. As some had whispered, she had a seanchan look about her: the raven black hair, eyes sanctified by death's caresses, skin pale as white sand, small as a kitten. She was striking enough to win any bed she sought. Jealousy aside, Jai hesitated to believe such whispers placed her in Daryen's. When Jai's all too sober eyes fell on her tiny red shape he could hardly blame the guy for not kicking her out of the sheets if she were in them. But the study was sequential and memorizing. Far from the display of appreciation he'd given Nisele. Word fluctuated as to whether the stranger or Nisele debuted first this evening in such a color, but clearly one was threatened by the presence of the other to be so matched. Nisele hardly wore a blade, but every wise man knew women didn't need steel to do some damage. He grinned to see so simple a weapon sitting dormant at the stranger lady's waist. After pushing the blood through every ache and bruise this evening, he had no desire to taste its business end tonight. He did, however, intend to learn which side of the field it defended.
"Evening. I don't know about you, but I am bloody exhausted."
His grin faded with intent, tame but waiting under the surface. "It's a good view up here. Your first time? It must be, I don't think I could forget someone like you."
Hearing it said that way, Jai couldn't help but laugh. That probably wasn't the wisest way to put it. But, despite the false show of inebriation, he actually was tired. And much effort had to be invested in a woman to not offend her. By now, he was well ready to get to the point. "What I mean is. Jai."
He waved a hand up and down himself. A sportive, albeit tired, presentation to match that conspicuous grin. "It's a pleasure. So, who the blazes are you?"
He pulled away from studying her cold expression to cast swift eyes toward the roofline. A few shadowy corners. And the crowd for anyone that might care about his proximity to so important a stranger. Which appeared to be nobody. Saidin, unchanneled but still held from wrenching the chair, swarmed with the threat of a building storm. Ready to be put to good use.
- Natalie Grey - 10-18-2017
Quote:<dl>
<dt>Trista</dt>
<dd> </dd>
</dl>
If the mysterious stranger was threatened by the burst of life from the nearby chair, she showed no sign beyond following his approach with her death-stricken eyes. She looked straight to him in fact, as surely as if she had felt him weave the cords that pulled it. Trista could feel saidin no more than she could feel saidar - less, even, if one acknowledged the distant, distorted warmth glowing in the back of her mind like the sun trapped behind a cloud. She preferred not to.
"I am the Empress of the Crystal Throne, come to steal away your King,"
to hear her speak was listening to silence. No inflection of mirth or hint of sarcasm glittered beneath the surface, nor was their any measure of gravity. The utter lack of inflection in the syllables, of expression in her face, highlighted all the more the ridiculousness of her words. Let him take them as he would.
Trista's eyes travelled the whole long length of him, though what she brought away from her inspection was his to guess. "Who are you?"
Malkieri, obviously. Why else carry a sword when you could conjure fire in less time than it took to draw breath, let alone a blade? Sentimentality; either because it was a rare find or an ancestor's belonging, and given his height it was far more likely to be the hierloom. There was always the chance it was actual sense - Trista knew well that channelers could find themselves unable to touch the Power, no matter how close it felt - but Asha'man were a cocky sort, and this one hardly looked the exception.
Her gaze floated back across the crowd, narrowing a hairsbreadth as she caught Yui give a small nod to Daryen across the crowd. Having only known them a short time, Trista already suspected conspiracy. But just what they were conspiring was still in question. Or it had been, until she caught a glimmer of white coming down the cobblestone steps.
She was not the only one, though most watched as Daryen bounded atop the elevated dais and addressed them for the second time that evening.
"My esteemed Lords and Ladies, I confess I must introduce you,"
he extended his hand backwards to Trista, who stared at him with as near to begrudgement as she could muster. He grinned, patient and giddy as a child luring a lost kitten from its hiding place. She stepped forward and laid her hand on his palm, which he then lifted into the air as if displaying her for a twirl.
"This, is the lovely and deadly Trista Alquin of the White Tower. You may call her Gaidar."
He punctuated with a wink, and the fervored whispers broke with laughter. Trista had to give him credit, as he continued to fan the flames of their curiousity while seeming to give them answers.
"And this,"
his hand holding hers lowered as the other outstretched, gesturing open-palmed to a shaven male and the pale, pale maiden at his side, "is the High Lord Sivrikaya and his Voice, Dilek."
Every head had turned at his gesture, and be it filled with gasp, rumor, or fact every mouth moved at his announcement.
The man, tall and fit beneath his stone-gray robe, smirked at the shocked crowd, though it was hard to tell from what source the expression came. His Voice was near as tall as he where she stood at his side, the thick sandals on her tiny feet hiding the truth of her height.
She was so very, very white. She might have been a foreign ghost, glowing and ephemeral in the moonlight. Trista had heard of the disease before, wherein people could be born without color, but it was one thing to have heard and entirely another to see for oneself. Her skin, her hair, even her eyes were glossed milky so that surely she could not see, though there was no hesitation in the way her heart-shaped face turned towards the dais. Her gown was loose, flowing fabric as white and sheer as her skin, accented with tiny rubies speckling the fabric as if placed at random. Red paint adorned only the middle section of her lips, and traced the line of her eerily empty eyes. With her exotic face and complection she was beautifully inhuman, capable of stopping ones breath while not quickening the heart.
Beside her, the High Lord seemed almost plain. He was handsome enough, with a more oval face than Trista would expect of a Seanchan but that was the only deviation. His tilted eyes were a shade darker than his robes, and shone with a dark, calculating light. Yet he seemed human enough; more diplomat than the monster of time-distorted memory that chained women in their nightmares. But he moved with a deadly grace that made the Gaidar wary, and she found herself glad to be on her feet.
RE: The Hunt - Jay Carpenter - 10-19-2017
Quote:
Behind his smile, Daryen watched the reactions of his subjects as the tsunami of realization washed over them like so many grains of sand molded by his outstretched hand. And just like sand those expressions were quickly smoothed over by the following wave of political considerations. Heads turned back to his face, and even though most hid their expectations he could feel their desire for an explanation thickening the air. Daryen greeted their weighing gazes like the pressure of a lover's body, and he met them with an expression of gentle reassurance. Their trust in him was based in the time he had taken to know them, to let them know he was one of them, and was built upon by his record of a solid, prosperous rule. They had trusted him when he raised taxes and had been rewarded with new roads and assistance with repairing the damage left by the Seanchan. They had trusted him when he invited in more channelers - Asha'man and Aes Sedai both - and been rewarded with not only greater commerce but also an increase in available technology and art. He could see in the way his smile soothed them now that they would be willing to trust him again, but for how long? Hate was a far more natural emotion than trust, making his position that much more precarious. Any reason to doubt him was an opening for their hate of the Seanchan to take precedence over their trust in the King. Lucky for Daryen it was an old hate, dulled by time and good fortune. They were willing to let their faith in him overshadow an old wound, for now.
Most of them, anyway.
Upon the dais, the High Lord faced the crowd with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, accustomed to facing hostile attention but not seeking it. His Voice stood a step behind him to his side, visible but commanding no attention other than what her strangeness attracted naturally. His speech was unnerving, if only for the way it originated in his companion's clear, strong voice. Her eyes sought nothing in the crowd, while his searched the faces as surely as though it was he whose mouth formed the words. Through her, he expressed his pleasure at the opportunity to mend their broken relations in a few sentences that were gracias, if not by any means humbling.
Afterwards the High Lord Sivrikaya took his seat of honor at the base of the dais, his Voice taking her place standing at the back corner of his chair. Daryen released the crowd to their mingling, though he remained on the dais this time, taking the seat next to Jai that Trista had vacated. The unfamiliar intensity in her eyes made it clear she had no desire to relax, if you could even call it that.
Daryen waited as his serving girl Juna proferred another tray of the tiny, crystalline glasses. He plucked one up for himself and glanced at Jai, blue diamonds sparkling with his usual mischief. As the girl departed he stared into the clear liquid for a long moment, finally downing it in a single swallow.
"That went better than I expected."
- Jay Carpenter - 10-22-2017
For the woman intended to live forever, she was plainer than he'd imagined an Empress to be. Maybe not exactly plain, he took the time to note. Nobody in that color could be plain, gowned in that shade of red, sinister as a draghkar's mouth. And he'd never seen a slit up the side like that before. But he would have wagered the Seanchan would deck their ruler out something a bit more flashy; they were a gaudy lot after all. He wouldn't put it past Daryen to host the seanchan empress a visit to Arad Doman though. The guy would probably give her a tour of his estate like some out of town relative. But violating this woman’s personal space didn't swarm half the Seanchan army on his back, so either the self-proclaimed empress, with hair that grew at an outrageous rate, was not a guest of her own free will or the warm and fuzzy stranger was being playful.
Always appreciative for a lady with a wit, Jai's tired grin fanned back to life. She fit with the mood of the night. It was almost refreshing to find someone with such obscenely dry sarcasm. Whatever intentions she had, stealing away the King of Arad Doman or not, Jai almost warned her she better hope her intentions aligned with the man in question, else she was in for quite the swim upstream. He knew how to stick to decisions once they were made. And make sure his subjects agreed. Daryen may be the country's immaculate ruler, but King though the man was, he wasn't Jai's, thankfully; though, come to think of it, kneeling was a whole other story. Daryen was now bounding up the dais like he owned the place, and Jai caught himself smirking.
As it seemed the show was about to start, Jai sank into the shadows of his chair as the charming stranger was swept onto her feet. He stretched out with the sort of terrible, relaxed posture some woman would surely rebuke, perched his elbows up, splayed his fingers together, and touched them to his lips thoughtfully. Mainly to hide his leaking expression while Daryen's salutation soared over the crowd.
A Gaidar? His brows rose up, impressed. Jai's study left the man in the spotlight to the petite thing at his side as though trying to picture the sarcastic draghkar in a red dress draped int the garb of a bit more mythical sort of warrior. A woman Gaidin? Interesting. Half-bored, Jai glazed across the crowd for their collective reaction, thoughts drifting. Were there female draghkar? Another good question. Misshapen face and all, it was mostly about keeping an ear out for their hypnotic song; he'd not invested much thought from where they sprang in years past. Myrddraal? Now that he knew: No. Being mutant trolloc spawn, they were always male. Thankfully unbreeding males. Trollocs: yes. As many fighting trollocs as there were in the world, likely a good million or two, but who knew how far the Blight went. There were probably as many females sitting up there suckling monsters and knitting leather. And two guys capable of doing something about it were waving the seanchan over from across the pond to break bread and share fire. A sentiment a Gaidar might understand.
Question aside, he followed the King of Arad Doman's outstretched arm as gullible as the rest of the crowd. All the way to the all too human but no less soul-sucking pair. The blood drained from his face, tense with shock, when he realized them. Jai slid immediately forward on the chair as though to spring to his feet in alarm. But somehow remained seated. The spark of Saidin rolling in the periphery roared instinctively into a much broader blaze and he reached out to it. Daryen would notice. Light how could he not? Moderately comfortable as they were channeling around one another, he'd be a fool to not expect everyone's defenses to immediately heighten: and Jai resorted to the same defense he always did. But unless the Seanchan character knew the Source as well, Daryen would be the only one to sense anything unusual. And he didn't seem to care.
Their names and titles slid away without recognition. The crowd responded and the feast was effectively corrupted. None of them should stomach eating in the presence of such a jaundice on civilization, but Jai was otherwise occupied regathering his bearings to pay the crowd any further attention. The man carried no weapon, but was sure enough of himself to perhaps not need one. Whatever it was the woman was wearing, Jai did not look at it long. It was slave-garb as sickening as the smocks they forced on their damane. They went about their dramatic speech making. Her drawl announcing the slave driver's thoughts bled his ears dry. It was carrying and confident and did not need filled with abhoration to swirl the taste of metal on his tongue.
Daryen pulled the strings of his mysterious distraction aside to make way for the foreign robe of power. A Seanchan authority like him did not crawl into their midst alone. Yet no rows of ferocious helmets marched in. No men in proud gold armor honored their Bloodlord's host with their presence. No women in uniformed dresses turned their gray warhounds his way. The moon was too dimmed by now to tell if anything winged darted across the massive pavilion of night. The absence wasn't as comforting as he'd hoped, there were still no sign of archers nesting in the shadows overhead. Surely Daryen had them up there?
How could Daryen stay his hand? Any Asha'man? Light! What restraint kept their seanchan heads attached to their robed shoulders when Daryen was free to take them? Jai was sitting on his hands as it were, holding himself back by loyalty alone. What hole so deep in his friend's gut buried such cold emotions far from surfacing: to offer the curse of civilization seats of honor at his table? Light! No channeler should stay their hand! Those two. Those bloody two guests of honor baiting the Domani with their glorified poisoned tongues would see their beloved king enslaved if they had their way. If captured damane were prizes to seek, a captured Asha'man would be unfathomable. Thankfully, the technology to capture their kind for slavery was nothing more than rumor. No, instead it would be just dying in the worst way a channeler could possibly die. Their darling hero-king would howl with torture so excruciating, his adoring subjects as witnesses would never recover: Jai had seen it, he knew. In the chaos of a night gone bad, a rogue sul'dam clapped a loose collar on a brother's neck. Witnessing someone suffering the living dissolution of their thread in the Pattern into fibers was not so easily forgettable. A man one moment, and a carcass the next. All because their connection to saidin forbade such a link to something meant to harness saidar. Kazic was nothing but an empty tendril left in his place in the Pattern afterward. All in the breadth of time it took to snap one of those vile collars that won the Seanchan their empire onto his neck.
The Aes Sedai would fare better to the collar than her black-coated counterparts. Slavery, yes but the collar would take the neck of Saidar into its fold. And put it to good use. Liridia should be keeping her warder close. It might do her some good, if they were all they were rumored to be. But Jai didn't need to cross blades with the fellow to know he wouldn't last long against a powerhouse seanchan slave. Less when that slave was his former Mistress: which they would do, turn Liridia against her own warder. Nythadri was in the open though. Agelessness didn't brand her face Aes Sedai like Liridia's, she had only take off her Accepted garb and could fall into anonymity. Until then, hopefully his services somehow extended to Nythadri by association. Blood and ashes! Where was she?! He thought his heart was going to fight its way out of his shirt until his roam finally spotted her. She didn't seem panicked. Calm as ever, actually. It was somewhat comforting, although her looks weren't the most reliable gauge of her status. At least he could get to her quickly. If she needed anything.
He rubbed his brow, pulsing with contingencies when Daryen confiscated what was rightfully his: his seat. Jai burnt old cinders of muted questions for the man at his side. He would go unanswered, but challenging as Jai's expression was, Daryen should guess he pleaded for them no less painfully.
Saidin hurt, pounding in on the doors that it be put to good use. It was hardly a relief to steal one of Juna's out of reach glasses from her tray with a snake of Air, but the thrill of the small task quickened his blood. Doubling the usual savor from ecstasy to an ache to do so in such close quarters with another vessel. Especially when that vessel was Daryen. The rapture for channeling behind Jai's torn expression was immediately lost for the short time copying Daryen's nervous swallow. Tense all the same as the white-garbed Asha'man at his side, but for entirely different reasons. That went better than expected? Blood and ashes! What'd the man expect?!
He placed the thimble on the ground but remained doubled over. Head swimming for far less fun reasons than the drink, he scrubbed his hair. Palmed his scalp. Pushed his face into his hands. Nythadri's wisdom censuring what he might otherwise have said.
He lifted just enough to stare at the vulnerable scalp of Lord Sivi-something-or-other seated within range of their seanchan stench. The albino slave at his side meant nothing. Saidin begged him to do something. And not to channel around thimbles of Light-forsaken spicy drinks. At some point his hand went to Asad's sword too. Not the prepared warder death grip on the hilt, but a casual, contemplative drumming. If he were going to rid the world of one less Seanchan Blood's shaved head, it would not be with steel. But he did enjoy the looks on a few turned faces when they appreciated the sight of coiled man of black casually drumming a hilt he knew how to wield.
Daryen wanted their treaty for some insane reason. Trust him? Trust that? How did Nythadri ignore her brother's ghost? Was Daryen really so numb a man to be capable of ripping beating hearts from thousands of chests, crush the organ in his fist, and drive them from his streets only to turn around a few years later to invite them back? A heroic nobleman, cloaked in their salvation. That was the Domain's view of their elected Lord. Jai'd been sold on it, as much as everyone else. He'd do anything for the guy. Still would, he supposed. Trusting him, the decision was made back at the gate in the White Tower. Sure. Faith, Right. Burn him.
He pulled away, sticking by the decision he'd already made. Creative ideas as to what to do with the Seanchan splashed the canvas of his imagination, but rather than developing them into reality, he found himself looking at Daryen instead. Ruddy sparkling blue gems jabbed in his eye sockets and all. Saidin lessened in response as he gave over, like blood seeping welcomed through a loosened fist. He knew the guy was ready to slash any weave Jai would use to crush their lives anyway. Without hesitation. And with more violence than what threw him from the saddle that afternoon. He also knew he really wouldn't stain the flagstones this time as opposed to earlier. But somehow, Daryen looked too rested to be seriously worried about Jai, as though he knew all along nothing was going to happen.
It seemed the world was going to burn, and Daryen was building the firepit, so Jai sighed and posed the obvious question. Absolutely serious, for once, "You checked them out, yes? Yourself? Every piece of jewelry taken from everyone they brought?"
It wasn't exactly reassuring to look for the leash any more. Not all collars these days were as obvious as they used to be. Aware of what the answer would be, the urgency about security detail fell from his expression soon after asking. He was tired. And an uneasy itch crawled across his skin. The same discomfort that creeped up when his mornings did not start exactly the same way.
"You got to give me something to do, brother."
He still didn't know why he had to be here for this. Sitting around doing nothing without knowing why was a hard beast to contain. The tension seemed to give way, but the struggle to give up control was obvious. At least the pins were straight. He was tired, sure. But some time devoted to mastering the one thing a guy was good at was worth staying awake for. Not that he'd have a choice, once started; but a long stint hunched across a desk would even out some of the imbalance threatening his resolve. He tugged his sleeves violently, one at a time straight to his wrists several times, as though they would not sit right no matter how neat their appearance. At least he'd feel useful, again. The idea of being so out of control grated on short nerves. Like he knew what would eventually strike out if the surrender were allowed to fester.
- Natalie Grey - 10-23-2017
She allowed Jai his theatrics; she even managed to refrain from rolling her eyes, though he would find her expression utterly deadpan, lips only just touched by a smirk. The rare intimacy she had shared with him certainly did not extend to her playing the role of fawning idiot in public, even as part of this elaborate game, though she did not think that by now he would be expecting any more than droll amusement where another woman might blush or smile behind her hand. If she were alarmed to then see him head in Tamal’s direction, it did not show. And it was not because she harboured any trust that Jai would not do something foolish. More, it was that she cared not to intervene even if he did. Male posturing would be what it was; she was not going to get involved in that. Light.
While Jai ingratiated himself into rich society like an old friend, Nythadri wandered to her own distractions, walking an outsider’s line. A celebration was only worth its atmosphere, and she had been absent for much of its build up. She knew none of these people, and of their culture only insofar as her education allowed. So she ate. Drifted. Declined invitations to dance, and indulged in the minimal of small talk. The nuances of rhythm and cadence from the musician’s dais kept her entertained. She had discovered Fate’s sister numbered among them, but there were no breaks in the performance to seek a conversation. Her harp was beautiful, crafted with all the exquisiteness one would expect of royalty’s daughter, and the fingers that plucked melody undeniably skilled.
She caught Liridia’s eye once, out of brazen curiosity for judgement; but the Aes Sedai’s expression was cool as glass, and alighted on Nythadri’s face only a moment before sweeping by. Should she have been paying more attention to the politics of the evening? Certainly, the pieces on the game board had all moved since the sun had been blazing a fierce death in the sky. And there was a new player entirely, seated on the King’s dais. The flow of rumour shifted waves towards the lady in red. Many whispered that she was Daryen's bodyguard - though if that were true, why was she absent from the hunt? - or lover or both. She was… familiar; something about her prickled at an unconscious thought or memory - and since she was not Andoran, that really only left the conclusion that she was also from the Tower.
A hand touched her arm, drawing her away from idle musing. “Beautiful evening, isn’t it, Accepted? I do believe I promised you a dance?”
Imaad’s grip was pinching, though from any distance the gesture looked friendly; naught but a gentle touch at elbow. Nythadri understood the game by now; or thought she did. With ring but no shawl, and an institution of propriety and tradition hemming her in, she was an easy target; powerless. There were no repercussions to his torments, unless she were to harbour a grudge for all the years it took to gain the Sedai title. If she ever gained it. She was his immediate relief to the slow game progressing around them.
Her head titled, the gaze behind her pale eyes detached. “And I do believe I declined.”
“Oh, your words do wound--”
“--How is your cheek, by the way.”
She interrupted his flowery drawl curtly, and pulled her arm away from his gripping fingers. Imaad’s expression darkened, and he drew closer, grasped her wrist in a decidedly unfriendly way. She almost delighted in the way her insolence bubbled his anger to the surface; that she had finally managed to trip him from the traps and snares of his sickly sarcastic words and get a reaction as pure as the one he had elicited from her this morning. She glared as his face loomed closer. Saidar lapped at her consciousness, only a surrender away. It made her fearless. The sparks from such an intense confrontation only fuelled her reckless desire for him to do something regrettable. The dare was written all over her face. But whatever words were about to embark from the sneer on his lips, they never left.
“Might I interrupt?”
The newcomer’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. But it was proof of audience enough. Imaad’s lips curved a smile that left his eyes cool and hard.
“Another time, perhaps.”
He dropped her hand and mocked a bow in her direction, lips pressed into a thin line barely concealing thick disgust. Then his masks returned, typified by the reinstatement of his caustic smile. He cast only a superficial glance over the man who had spoiled his fun as he left. Nythadri scowled at his retreating back, before turning to her would-be rescuer.
"Unnecessary. But thanks."
He shrugged, and offered her a genuine smile instead of an explanation. Pale of hair, pale of skin; he didn't fit this landscape at all; he was beautiful in the most effeminate way. At first glance she thought his shirt was drenched in lavender light, but closer inspection revealed it really did have a faint blush to it. She had not seen him with the other musicians earlier, but he had that sort of resonance to him, an impression aided by the nonchalance of the hands now slid casually in the pockets of his breeches. But despite the apparent chivalrousness of having fended off Imaad, he did not look particularly happy. She followed the trail of his gaze to the King’s platform. Daryen was bounding his way up, dazzling in white and beaming a smile to draw a thousand eyes. The illumination from behind lit him like a halo.
“The perfect time,”
she murmured.
“For what?”
She glanced back at him, and smiled wryly. “You think the king brought all these people all this way just for a party?”
The man’s jaw hardened and his gaze flickered away in such an obvious manner it caught her attention. Ill practised at internalising his emotions, else unusually open. A slender brow rose in question, calculating the stranger with renewed interest. "You know what's going on."
Not a question, but by now Daryen's voice was booming across the courtyard and he was presenting Trista to his audience, and…
Light above.
She stiffened when the final guests were introduced. Testing the waters, Liridia had insinuated, but there was nothing tentative in inviting the Seanchan to the heart of his court. The hushed hum of dozens of surprised voices thrummed in her ears, like their arrival had brought dissonance to the evening. The music had stopped; she only now noticed. Did Fate know what her brother was up to? The Tower must do, for Liridia to be here or for Trista to stand so sedately by Daryen's chair like a conspirator. But something didn't sit right here. Her eyes flicked to Jai, so close to the abject heart of a horror so loathed. The Creator only knew what was going through his head. Or if Saidin wove a net of destruction above their heads even now; and that was Daryen’s problem to deal with.
Seanchan. Light! Retrospect didn't find her surprised; Daryen appeared a man of decisive action rather than a purveyor of the empty spectacle of words, and he had gone to great lengths to sooth the path of his guests to this conclusion today. If this indeed was the conclusion. Instinct ignited doubt, and she turned with words on her lips to find the blonde stranger gone. Why announce Trista and the Seanchan together? What role did a gaidar of the Tower play here at all? Polite conversation had by now resumed, and the musicians had adopted a jauntier tune – as though to swell the dampened atmosphere back to its former glory. But for once the music failed to carry her mood with it.
It was not desire for protection that drove her to the Aes Sedai’s side, so much as that she was the single person here Nythadri was able to demand an answer from. Or pose her questions to, at least. She slipped into a chair beside the Brown.
"Arad Doman entertains Seanchan now?"
RE: The Hunt - Jay Carpenter - 10-23-2017
Jai is continued at Under guard
- Natalie Grey - 11-01-2017
Quote:<dl>
<dt>Asha'man Daryen Daimon</dt>
<dd> King of Arad Doman</dd>
</dl>
Daryen's gaze shifted out across the sea of people trying so desperately to regain composure. He knew a name, a house, and at least three generations of family history for each of them. Every single one was calculated as a necessity or they would not be present, but just because they were necessary did not mean they were trustworthy. Most, yes - the vast majority possessed a loyalty he knew for fact - but there were those who would see the Seanchan's presence as a means to which they might settle old grudges. If some harm were to come to the Aes Sedai or her charge after Daryen had brought a Seanchan into the country, it would not much matter whom had actually harmed her.
"Keep an eye on our friends from the White Tower,"
his voice was lower this time, though he would not say anything he did not want his newest guests to hear. If that ivory girl at the High Lord's side was indeed blind - or near enough - she was wont to have excellent hearing. "I've got my own eyes on them,"
- and the hundreds of eyes in his employment, of course - "but an extra pair cannot hurt. Especially since nothing will save me from our mutual sister's wrath should some misfortune befall them."
He punctuated the statement with a pained laugh that underlined the truth of the statement, then gestured to the Gaidar at his back. "I'd trust this one to save me from shadow-kin and assassin alike, but not from her."
The Gaidar's apathetic shrug was her only response. She was not about to get in Fate's way.
Daryen watched Jai, but he was keenly aware of the High Lord speaking privately to his Voice. After what could only have been a handful of words she nodded and turned to approach Daryen. The living possession of his esteemed guest knelt before Daryen on the top step of the dais, a smooth and practiced motion. "My Lord is curious about your companion,"
it was immediate clear that the strange girl was speaking to him with her own voice, and not as the Voice of her master. Dilek's words had a softer, less-assuming tone, and Daryen could only imagine it was meant as some sort of honor that the High Lord did not use her to speak to him directly. Rather, she spoke to the King of Arad Doman as herself, for her High Lord. Like a proper servant, not a slave.
"Oh?"
Daryen asked coyly, raising a hand towards Jai, "This is my brother at arms, Asha'man-"
"No."
She interrupted, poorly veiled disgust flickering her pale, tilted eyelids. Perhaps not a proper servant.
Looking down into her face, he could see the pink shadows of her irises through the white film that glazed them, shifting from Jai back to Daryen. No, above Daryen. Over his shoulder, where Trista waited like a poised panther clothed in the scarlet wash of a fresh kill. So, the girl had some measure of vision then. "My Gaidar, then?"
He said with calculated understanding.
Trista's blank eyes narrowed to hear the King refer to her as his, but she knew better than to bring any question to his authority during such a delicate situation. If living with Aes Sedai had taught her anything, it was how to tell the difference between situations where insubordination would be laughingly tolerated and moments where it would be mercilessly crushed. She had heard the stories of his rise to the throne as surely as anyone else who had ever stepped foot in Bandar Eban, and knew better than to trust the sanity in that smile.
"Yes,"
the pale girl nodded this time, "My Lord knows of the men who are called Gaidin, but he has never seen a woman with the rank before. A...Gaidar. He was not aware that...men, like you, kept such protectors."
Maybe the High Lord Sivrikaya was as liberal as he made himself out to be, given that his Voice only hesitated twice in speaking so near to the topic of channelers.
"As far as I am aware there has never been another Asha'man to do so, but alas I find myself in a particularly precarious position,"
he gave the young woman at his feet a knowing smile. They knew the sword's edge he walked by extending them his hospitality, there was no need to pretend otherwise. "But they have become quite prominent among the Aes Sedai, and I have found all those I have met to be as elite as their male counterparts. I am surprised this is the first your High Lord has encountered such a woman."
"A Gaidar, yes. A warrior, no."
Her ghostly orbs focused on the ground under his sandalled feet, but not before he recognized a flash of pride. "Many women serve the Empire as such, including myself. The High Lord would have me challenge your lady protector, your Grace, to a contest of skill."
That women served in the Seanchan military Daryen knew all too well. He had fought many in the name of the Dragon; rained lightning down on those riding raken - seemed they were favored for riding the beasts because they tended to be smaller. When he took back the palace he halved one with a sword of fire in the dining room. Daryen had seen her face every time he ate dinner for the first few weeks after the battle. A pretty girl... And the poor cooks had thought he just didn't like the food.
Daryen touched two fingers to his lips, his interest obviously peaked by the suggestion. "I would allow it. Trista?"
His eyes sparkled like faceted jewels when he turned them on her questioningly. Warders typically did not care for such contests, and by the flat expression on her face she was not an exception. And yet... There was something there. The spark of lightning in the distance, charged by a hate even the apathetic Gaidar was not immune to. Trista had never fought the Seanchan, but she had seen the damane brought home from war. Had seen a sister who had been chained and then rescued. Had known sisters chained and not rescued. The Aes Sedai were not her favorite people, but they were her responsibility. To have them treated so offended her in a deep, dark way.
She looked out at the crowd, most of whom were caught up in their own circles of chatter, unaware of the discussion on the dais. The Warder was not though. He met her eyes immediately, and though he could not possibly have overheard the conversation at such a distance, gave a discreet nod of approval. Her gaze returned to the pale child before her. "Can you truly see well enough to fight competently?"
If Dilek took offense, she did not show it. "I do."
She answered, and offered no further explanation.
With that assurance Trista unfolded her arms, nodding in acquiescence.
Daryen made the announcement with a proud smile, and Trista could not help but regard the gathering crowd with muted suspicion as they cheered her name along side that of their country as though she had championed their wars. Drunken fools. They were not all very drunk, of course, but they would have clamored for a lame mule if it was contesting these Seanchan newcomers.
The ivory girl had found herself a sword, nearly as slender as Trista's rapier and engraved with a sleek, striking cobra. In the torchlight her milky eyes had a reflectiveness that hid any color, and the Gaidar felt a pang of what might have been guilt. She could not possibly see with such damaged corneas and she was only a slave, however much she loved her master. Trista's anger may have made her hasty in accepting such a challenger.
"Now remember, "
Daryen bellowed as he raised his hand "no bloodshed! I'll not have you ruining my new flagstones!"
Another radiant smile, and he dropped his hand.
Trista held on to her doubt concerning the girl's vision for almost a full second. Dilek struck first without hesitation, her precision with a sword immediately obvious. She was a fierce little creature, and although Trista danced like water around her strikes there was little room for offense, and no room for error. The Gaidar realized quickly she was not going to win this with a sword.
The fight was not as long as such spectacles were meant to be, but the Tower elite were not trained as performers. They were taught to take out danger quickly, efficiently, quietly. No glory, no pride. End it and move on until the charge is safe. The Gaidar baited, swinging out just a little too far and the girl bit, swinging the butt of her sword down hard into the Gaidar's wrist. The pain was fed to the flame as Trista dropped her sword and swung her body inside Dilek's guard, twisting her free arm around the Seanchan's outstretched sword-arm. Trista's hips lifted and her shoulders twisted, and the girl fell hard. The crowd winced at the sound she made when she hit the stones.
The Gaidar was knelt over Dilek, having followed her to the ground, one hand splayed on the stones beside her snow-white hair, the fingers of the other wrapped so tightly around Dilek's fingers that they could not release the sword being forced against her own neck. She could slip. It would be easy. It would be so, very-
Daryen laughed as he jogged out to Trista, beckoning her to release her challenger. Short or no, the victory still pleased the masses, who resumed drinking and chanting with new found fervor as the King declared her victorious. Trista stepped out of the way and sheathed her sword as the King helped her felled competitor to her feet, his face falling at the red seeping into her hair. "You are hurt. I am able to heal you, if you would like."
Her hand reached up to touch the back of her silvery hair, blood staining her fingers when they returned before her face. "No. It is part of my failure. I am sorry if I have stained your courtyard with it."
The High Lord rose from his seat of honor to join the small group gathered around the two women. A look passed between the pair of strangers and Dilek bowed deeply, her voice changing back to one of pride and assurance when she turned her face back to the King of Arad Doman. "I appreciate your hospitality, but we have traveled far and wish to rest."
Daryen made one last announcement, begging his leave and asking his other guests to enjoy the hospitality of his House as long as they desired. A small entourage of those exhausted from the night's excitement joined him, Liridia and Yui among them, Accepted in tow. But it was Jai whom Daryen looked for when the guests had been shown to their rooms, and the Accepted taken to the Travelling quarters to be collected by his sister. Where had that man gotten to?