10-03-2018, 09:34 PM
When his weight tipped forward she tensed to brace the unexpected fall, suddenly worried he was more injured than she’d realised. He clasped her hands tight, as tight as he had on the beach when he’d confessed how he’d gotten the scar, and for a moment she pulled to break free, utterly convinced that if she looked at the palm she’d pressed against his chest she’d find it bloody. The tautness racing up her arms only lasted as long as it took for her to realise that if he was gravely wounded, it was not physically so. Her tension loosened, if not the concern tight behind tired eyes; she was solemn, intent, waiting for answers, but in that quiet moment her mind stilled, thoughts muffled as though swathed under a gentle blanket of fresh snow. Blessedly still. She never noticed the scars, new or old, lining the hands that encased hers; she looked at him then and only saw a man. Pins be damned, serpent ring be damned. Just a man.
When he teased her hand to his face he was lucky the rest of her didn’t follow. The conflicts that contradicted the threat of Jai’s words with the gentleness of his actions were not hindrances to the way she looked at him. Even her own doubts were risks to be dashed in moments of recklessness, later to be repented at leisure. Nythadri was not shy, and she knew what she wanted - knew too, then, that even as he ordered her to stay away he'd yield to her embrace. She would risk it; even in the heart of the Tower she would risk it. But what Jai offered with one hand he denied with the other, and even Nythadri recognised the point at which the thrill of racing to the edge was outweighed by the waiting jaws when she fell; especially when it was a fall she had suffered before. She would not implore him, nor continue to reach out when each touch was bittersweet and futile. Pride wouldn’t let her. It would destroy them both. If he left – when he left, she was beginning to realise – she would not stop him. He’d already written his ending. You have to let me do this.
Her fingers tangled in the fabric of his jacket, pressed flat against a beating heart, and she wished, light she wished, the seconds would stop ticking forward. Her expression was still, but the peace of the moment was melting and there was a glistening betrayal in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, but the sting was there; burning her eyes, burning her chest. He never answered her question with words, but he didn’t have to. She understood, and the truth cut far deeper than forced demands and the pretence of callousness Jai simply lacked. Instinct tugged at her to move away, shield what was left of her vulnerabilities and not let herself mistake earnestness for promises. It was not only foolish, but an affront to every Aes Sedai teaching the Tower had forced on her. Still, she sat on the precipice a moment longer, because facing the pain was the only way she was going to learn. She offered everything, and it was not enough. It was cruel, but it was also inevitable. What else should she have expected? She only had herself to blame.
He let her go but she was already withdrawing; her hand did not fall gently when released but pulled back. No hatred, no remorse; nor regret or disgust. The anger of before had drained, replaced by something weak and exposed. Affection crumbled what intimidation could not. She began to realise in the self same moment how much receipt of that pendant had affected her; beneath all the self-protective layers of anger, the frustration, the guilt - hidden even from herself. It was dark and Jai was fighting his own demons; she doubted he would notice the brief rouse of that second ghost, the smaller and frailer of the two, but the one she held closer than the death of her brother. Weakness was more shameful than guilt, and a far easier sin to hide. Usually. The slip lasted mere seconds before she regained her composure, drew herself together and detached herself from the warm memories of every touch. Her hands clasped in her lap, fingers interlaced inwards; the gentle picture of patience. Hidden from view her nails pierced hard into her palms; the quickest way she knew to puncture the swell of emotion at its crest. To think. Ready to face the truths Jai was so keen to hide; to weather the storm and try to keep them both afloat.
The right thing. There it was again, those ugly words; words that tasted like a mouthful of ash. Nythadri had no noble code by which to govern her life (at least not one she would confess to) and freely admitted to being self-indulgently selfish. As far as she was concerned Jai hadn’t done anything wrong, but she saw it then, in the honesty of his gaze; he believed. His only transgression - if it could even be called that - was to cross an institution that failed to protect its own members. But he didn’t see it. He thought he deserved what that bastard had done; the sudden clarity with which she realised it appalled her. He thinks the punishment was just. It was far from just. When Rand al’Thor had begun gathering the first Asha’man, the Last Battle might have descended any day. It still could. Necessity had bred soldiers, but more than thirty years had passed and still the Black Tower neglected to shelter the very men who would sacrifice their lives for the world that so often turned its back on channelers. Winther's accusations were a travesty that both Towers wrongly condoned; the Black in punishing Jai, and the White for allowing their brothers to get it so bloody wrong. Feelings cast aside - fingernails digging a little deeper - it was a consequence she would not turn her back on. He'd already written his ending, but it did not mean he'd written hers.
"And I’m a complication." She wielded the cold truth with a starkness that had always formed amongst her primary of defences. Ironically it played to her strengths, or at least trusted experience, to be outcast from what was proper and correct – and a source of strength was so very needed right now. A spark of morbid humour lit the depths of her pale eyes, accompanied by her habitual smirk - daring him to correct her, to lie to her. A mistake, not born of regret maybe, but of the lives hemming them both in - and a mistake was still a mistake. She was the obstacle stood right in the centre of his dogged path to duty, apparently, because there was little else to draw him here in the dead of night. Never seek me again. Zakar. The money. She hadn't sought Jai out; she'd begun to accept the silence as closure. But he'd come here anyway; desperate, urgent, and repeating the same mantra over and over: the need to do the right thing. If he'd been listening, he might notice she had done much the same thing; she would not turn her back.
"You don't look glad to be alive. You're battered. Bruised. And you're sopping wet. This epiphany of yours, Jai, does it include pushing your body to the edge of sustainability until it finally fails? Because it's a dreadful plan." Holding back from leaning in or touching him, her tone was a strange mix of accusing and soft, her gaze intense. Her thoughts were whirring, finally pulling a picture together. Every word. Every nuance.
When he teased her hand to his face he was lucky the rest of her didn’t follow. The conflicts that contradicted the threat of Jai’s words with the gentleness of his actions were not hindrances to the way she looked at him. Even her own doubts were risks to be dashed in moments of recklessness, later to be repented at leisure. Nythadri was not shy, and she knew what she wanted - knew too, then, that even as he ordered her to stay away he'd yield to her embrace. She would risk it; even in the heart of the Tower she would risk it. But what Jai offered with one hand he denied with the other, and even Nythadri recognised the point at which the thrill of racing to the edge was outweighed by the waiting jaws when she fell; especially when it was a fall she had suffered before. She would not implore him, nor continue to reach out when each touch was bittersweet and futile. Pride wouldn’t let her. It would destroy them both. If he left – when he left, she was beginning to realise – she would not stop him. He’d already written his ending. You have to let me do this.
Her fingers tangled in the fabric of his jacket, pressed flat against a beating heart, and she wished, light she wished, the seconds would stop ticking forward. Her expression was still, but the peace of the moment was melting and there was a glistening betrayal in her eyes. She wouldn’t cry, but the sting was there; burning her eyes, burning her chest. He never answered her question with words, but he didn’t have to. She understood, and the truth cut far deeper than forced demands and the pretence of callousness Jai simply lacked. Instinct tugged at her to move away, shield what was left of her vulnerabilities and not let herself mistake earnestness for promises. It was not only foolish, but an affront to every Aes Sedai teaching the Tower had forced on her. Still, she sat on the precipice a moment longer, because facing the pain was the only way she was going to learn. She offered everything, and it was not enough. It was cruel, but it was also inevitable. What else should she have expected? She only had herself to blame.
He let her go but she was already withdrawing; her hand did not fall gently when released but pulled back. No hatred, no remorse; nor regret or disgust. The anger of before had drained, replaced by something weak and exposed. Affection crumbled what intimidation could not. She began to realise in the self same moment how much receipt of that pendant had affected her; beneath all the self-protective layers of anger, the frustration, the guilt - hidden even from herself. It was dark and Jai was fighting his own demons; she doubted he would notice the brief rouse of that second ghost, the smaller and frailer of the two, but the one she held closer than the death of her brother. Weakness was more shameful than guilt, and a far easier sin to hide. Usually. The slip lasted mere seconds before she regained her composure, drew herself together and detached herself from the warm memories of every touch. Her hands clasped in her lap, fingers interlaced inwards; the gentle picture of patience. Hidden from view her nails pierced hard into her palms; the quickest way she knew to puncture the swell of emotion at its crest. To think. Ready to face the truths Jai was so keen to hide; to weather the storm and try to keep them both afloat.
The right thing. There it was again, those ugly words; words that tasted like a mouthful of ash. Nythadri had no noble code by which to govern her life (at least not one she would confess to) and freely admitted to being self-indulgently selfish. As far as she was concerned Jai hadn’t done anything wrong, but she saw it then, in the honesty of his gaze; he believed. His only transgression - if it could even be called that - was to cross an institution that failed to protect its own members. But he didn’t see it. He thought he deserved what that bastard had done; the sudden clarity with which she realised it appalled her. He thinks the punishment was just. It was far from just. When Rand al’Thor had begun gathering the first Asha’man, the Last Battle might have descended any day. It still could. Necessity had bred soldiers, but more than thirty years had passed and still the Black Tower neglected to shelter the very men who would sacrifice their lives for the world that so often turned its back on channelers. Winther's accusations were a travesty that both Towers wrongly condoned; the Black in punishing Jai, and the White for allowing their brothers to get it so bloody wrong. Feelings cast aside - fingernails digging a little deeper - it was a consequence she would not turn her back on. He'd already written his ending, but it did not mean he'd written hers.
"And I’m a complication." She wielded the cold truth with a starkness that had always formed amongst her primary of defences. Ironically it played to her strengths, or at least trusted experience, to be outcast from what was proper and correct – and a source of strength was so very needed right now. A spark of morbid humour lit the depths of her pale eyes, accompanied by her habitual smirk - daring him to correct her, to lie to her. A mistake, not born of regret maybe, but of the lives hemming them both in - and a mistake was still a mistake. She was the obstacle stood right in the centre of his dogged path to duty, apparently, because there was little else to draw him here in the dead of night. Never seek me again. Zakar. The money. She hadn't sought Jai out; she'd begun to accept the silence as closure. But he'd come here anyway; desperate, urgent, and repeating the same mantra over and over: the need to do the right thing. If he'd been listening, he might notice she had done much the same thing; she would not turn her back.
"You don't look glad to be alive. You're battered. Bruised. And you're sopping wet. This epiphany of yours, Jai, does it include pushing your body to the edge of sustainability until it finally fails? Because it's a dreadful plan." Holding back from leaning in or touching him, her tone was a strange mix of accusing and soft, her gaze intense. Her thoughts were whirring, finally pulling a picture together. Every word. Every nuance.