08-15-2019, 11:46 PM
Cheerful? Hah! He could almost laugh at that. Actually, no. Not almost. He did laugh. Not the bitter laugh of a cynic. Not the merriment of a fool; though fool he was. Just a clear, pure sound of finding Nythadri's take on things as down right funny. And it was funny. Life, that is. Moment by gut-wrenching moment. Living out life for the Creator's kicked-back personal entertainment. Or maybe it wasn't so dreary as being a puppet for divine torture; maybe one guy really could have a bloody avalanche of bad luck. Surf out soul-crushing mudslide at a time.
The laughter subsided as Nythadri crawled upright. He blinked a few times, face hurting from spreading the bruise across a wide grin. A spot along one brow felt like it might split open again. So he touched it gingerly and suppressed a wince for the tenderness there. He probably looked awesome. At least the beard didn' t itch any more. Though it felt scraggly, even for Jai's taste. Nothing compared to the wool slapped across Andreu's jaw, or the fine trim Arman Kojima always kept up. But his wasn't completely disrespectful. Daryen was probably going to hate it. Actually, come to think of it. Would he? Jai had no idea. Though he couldn't recall ever seeing a shadow of facial hair on the guy.
He waved off Nythadri's warning. Though placing her finger to her lip like that stirred up a suggestive thought or two in his head. So it was forbidden that he was here? Suppose that made sense. Dumb. But it made sense. This was how the White Tower carved Aes Sedai from the former husks of normal women after all.
He waved a light hand around the room. "The ward is still up. Tied off. You guys can do that too I guess?" Surely Aes Sedai could tie off the things they created from saidar? Surely. Though, who knew with saidar. It wasn't like Asha'man were trained in that kind of thing.
Something they were trained in, however--
Jai's brows lifted suggestively as he nodded at the floor. Hinting at a surprise she should find there. "Try the floor again." There was the thin rug, but the chill likely creeped through the weavings. While the air was decent, at least for a guy in expensive blend of wool and silk, the stone was probably ice on her toes. Which were bloody tiny. Like those thin ankles. Like the curve of a slender calf. Like. Well, uh. Right.
His face darkened the brief moment of seizing saidin. It shot a fire through his veins. Burned his chest like chugging harsh brandy. Every hair on his body split apart, and he wanted to laugh again from the sheer joy of it. But there was a job to do. And an Asha'man's tightly controlled discipline--at least for the time being--saw it finished in a matter of seconds.
It was clear by his expression when he released the Source. The fury of those exultant moments left; their flutters of shadows chased away into the night by a will strong enough to know they would soon return and in their absence, Jai alone remained. A guy from Tar Valon. A guy who knew penthouses and views of Dragonmount, but also the siren sound of honor, the howl of war, and the taste of blood.
That guy was a crazy blend of both now. But a guy with a purpose. And purpose was fuel. The next moment she put feet to the floor, a pleasant warmth waited to welcome frigid skin. He expected little in way of reaction from Nythadri. At least, he hoped for little reaction. Praise and favor from her was not exactly what he sought. One upping her was thoroughly entertaining on its own. Mostly because he rarely had the chance to beat her at anything. Scratch that. He never beat her. And providing her some extra little comfort no other man could give. Well, every little gesture like that was like beating every other man alive. And who didn't enjoy winning contests like that?
"So. Got it. I won't let them catch me in here." Seemed easy enough. Best chances at getting caught were to be traced by some White Tower resident Asha'man. Which, if there were any about, his should be the first door last night's guards should go knocking. Who better to track a guy who can channel but another guy who can channel? Least, that's what Jai would have done. The ward might be a bit of a smoke signal, but the pulses were weak enough, the weaving so minimal in structure, one of his kind would have to walk by the door to sense it. In which case--he'd deal with it if he had to.
"I take it the White Tower frowns on conjugal visits? I mean. Life looks pretty rough in here for you. You seem stressed. Should really loosen up."
Advising Nythadri to loosen up. Hah! He toyed with the idea of laughing again. Instead. Jai shoved himself up right, smacked at his pant legs a bit so they would sit properly. Being without a belt and all. Then a few shakes of the coat and on the uniform went. But his hips remained empty. Bothersomely so.
His fingers flew up the buttons. Practiced. Nimble hands. The sort to fondly hold a graceful hilt. Malkieri may be the song his blood sang, but the tune did not ring with the sound of two-handed longswords. Let the Shienarans wield their armor-biting blades. Let bloody blademaster Lennox Orander heft a log around the battle field. The fact of the matter remained, Jai was going to have to bring himself to get another sword. He was a bloody Asha'man, and the Lord Dragon said his legions of death ought to be armed with weapons of mortal men, and to that responsibility Jai would hold. But on his terms. And his terms meant a very particular flavor of weapon. Bloody problem was. How the hell was he going to find one?
Dressing finished. He was a bit more grim when he crossed to Nythadri, offered two palms downward, and brought her to her feet before him. His chest grew heavier with the realization of what he had to do. He was going to think about her every minute of every bloody day. Which was going to become a rather annoying distraction after a while. So he stood there, hands on her shoulders, lightly brushing curls away to delay the inevitable.
"I'll be getting a raincheck on those pancakes. But for the love of the Light, no pancakes in Bandar Eban. You do not want to know what they put in those things. And Illian ruins theirs with chunks of fish of all things stirred in the batter. Now you'll have to take my word on this, but there's a woman in a town about three days east of Maradon who poured this sludge of molasses on hers. Blood and ashes, nectar of the gods it was. Next time we're up that way."
Which was probably going to be never. No. Not never. Jai wasn't ready to give into never. He was in a bloody damned good mood because the book of never was closing. One way or another, he would make this work. If it meant going a few more years without seeing Nythadri. Fine. He could wait. He was going to wait. Story of his life, after all. He was just going to have to get better at waiting. Which meant finding something bloody fun to do in the meantime. And there was a hovel of priceless fun sitting in Bandar Eban itching to fill the hours.
He sighed and stepped away from the shelter of warmth her presence shared with him. "I'm going back to Bandar Eban. Araya, the Asha'man who hauled me to Tar Valon in the first place--" he absently rubbed his jaw thinking about the last few days "--said I was cleared with the M'Hael to return to my post once Healed up, uh, that is--" Probably shouldn't finish that sentence.
His tone deepened then. Serious. Different than Nythadri had seen from him yet. This was not a flash of anger. Not a loss of control. This was as pure a reveal of his dedication to her as he could literally provide. "If you need anything. At all. Somehow, get word to the palace in Bandar Eban. To bloody Daryen himself. Word to him is as good as word to me. Better, actually. People actually deliver him the messages pigeons bring. Perk of being King I guess."
"I'll be here in an instant, Nythadri. I swear. Anything."
He was ready to slice the Pattern up and leave. Which was kind of a relief to know he could. Last night, the idea of channeling a gateway did not sound like a monster he was willing to wrestle. But not without her agreement first. And maybe without one more kiss. Definitely not without her promise. See how that goes first. Then he'd see to a more memorable goodbye.
The laughter subsided as Nythadri crawled upright. He blinked a few times, face hurting from spreading the bruise across a wide grin. A spot along one brow felt like it might split open again. So he touched it gingerly and suppressed a wince for the tenderness there. He probably looked awesome. At least the beard didn' t itch any more. Though it felt scraggly, even for Jai's taste. Nothing compared to the wool slapped across Andreu's jaw, or the fine trim Arman Kojima always kept up. But his wasn't completely disrespectful. Daryen was probably going to hate it. Actually, come to think of it. Would he? Jai had no idea. Though he couldn't recall ever seeing a shadow of facial hair on the guy.
He waved off Nythadri's warning. Though placing her finger to her lip like that stirred up a suggestive thought or two in his head. So it was forbidden that he was here? Suppose that made sense. Dumb. But it made sense. This was how the White Tower carved Aes Sedai from the former husks of normal women after all.
He waved a light hand around the room. "The ward is still up. Tied off. You guys can do that too I guess?" Surely Aes Sedai could tie off the things they created from saidar? Surely. Though, who knew with saidar. It wasn't like Asha'man were trained in that kind of thing.
Something they were trained in, however--
Jai's brows lifted suggestively as he nodded at the floor. Hinting at a surprise she should find there. "Try the floor again." There was the thin rug, but the chill likely creeped through the weavings. While the air was decent, at least for a guy in expensive blend of wool and silk, the stone was probably ice on her toes. Which were bloody tiny. Like those thin ankles. Like the curve of a slender calf. Like. Well, uh. Right.
His face darkened the brief moment of seizing saidin. It shot a fire through his veins. Burned his chest like chugging harsh brandy. Every hair on his body split apart, and he wanted to laugh again from the sheer joy of it. But there was a job to do. And an Asha'man's tightly controlled discipline--at least for the time being--saw it finished in a matter of seconds.
It was clear by his expression when he released the Source. The fury of those exultant moments left; their flutters of shadows chased away into the night by a will strong enough to know they would soon return and in their absence, Jai alone remained. A guy from Tar Valon. A guy who knew penthouses and views of Dragonmount, but also the siren sound of honor, the howl of war, and the taste of blood.
That guy was a crazy blend of both now. But a guy with a purpose. And purpose was fuel. The next moment she put feet to the floor, a pleasant warmth waited to welcome frigid skin. He expected little in way of reaction from Nythadri. At least, he hoped for little reaction. Praise and favor from her was not exactly what he sought. One upping her was thoroughly entertaining on its own. Mostly because he rarely had the chance to beat her at anything. Scratch that. He never beat her. And providing her some extra little comfort no other man could give. Well, every little gesture like that was like beating every other man alive. And who didn't enjoy winning contests like that?
"So. Got it. I won't let them catch me in here." Seemed easy enough. Best chances at getting caught were to be traced by some White Tower resident Asha'man. Which, if there were any about, his should be the first door last night's guards should go knocking. Who better to track a guy who can channel but another guy who can channel? Least, that's what Jai would have done. The ward might be a bit of a smoke signal, but the pulses were weak enough, the weaving so minimal in structure, one of his kind would have to walk by the door to sense it. In which case--he'd deal with it if he had to.
"I take it the White Tower frowns on conjugal visits? I mean. Life looks pretty rough in here for you. You seem stressed. Should really loosen up."
Advising Nythadri to loosen up. Hah! He toyed with the idea of laughing again. Instead. Jai shoved himself up right, smacked at his pant legs a bit so they would sit properly. Being without a belt and all. Then a few shakes of the coat and on the uniform went. But his hips remained empty. Bothersomely so.
His fingers flew up the buttons. Practiced. Nimble hands. The sort to fondly hold a graceful hilt. Malkieri may be the song his blood sang, but the tune did not ring with the sound of two-handed longswords. Let the Shienarans wield their armor-biting blades. Let bloody blademaster Lennox Orander heft a log around the battle field. The fact of the matter remained, Jai was going to have to bring himself to get another sword. He was a bloody Asha'man, and the Lord Dragon said his legions of death ought to be armed with weapons of mortal men, and to that responsibility Jai would hold. But on his terms. And his terms meant a very particular flavor of weapon. Bloody problem was. How the hell was he going to find one?
Dressing finished. He was a bit more grim when he crossed to Nythadri, offered two palms downward, and brought her to her feet before him. His chest grew heavier with the realization of what he had to do. He was going to think about her every minute of every bloody day. Which was going to become a rather annoying distraction after a while. So he stood there, hands on her shoulders, lightly brushing curls away to delay the inevitable.
"I'll be getting a raincheck on those pancakes. But for the love of the Light, no pancakes in Bandar Eban. You do not want to know what they put in those things. And Illian ruins theirs with chunks of fish of all things stirred in the batter. Now you'll have to take my word on this, but there's a woman in a town about three days east of Maradon who poured this sludge of molasses on hers. Blood and ashes, nectar of the gods it was. Next time we're up that way."
Which was probably going to be never. No. Not never. Jai wasn't ready to give into never. He was in a bloody damned good mood because the book of never was closing. One way or another, he would make this work. If it meant going a few more years without seeing Nythadri. Fine. He could wait. He was going to wait. Story of his life, after all. He was just going to have to get better at waiting. Which meant finding something bloody fun to do in the meantime. And there was a hovel of priceless fun sitting in Bandar Eban itching to fill the hours.
He sighed and stepped away from the shelter of warmth her presence shared with him. "I'm going back to Bandar Eban. Araya, the Asha'man who hauled me to Tar Valon in the first place--" he absently rubbed his jaw thinking about the last few days "--said I was cleared with the M'Hael to return to my post once Healed up, uh, that is--" Probably shouldn't finish that sentence.
His tone deepened then. Serious. Different than Nythadri had seen from him yet. This was not a flash of anger. Not a loss of control. This was as pure a reveal of his dedication to her as he could literally provide. "If you need anything. At all. Somehow, get word to the palace in Bandar Eban. To bloody Daryen himself. Word to him is as good as word to me. Better, actually. People actually deliver him the messages pigeons bring. Perk of being King I guess."
"I'll be here in an instant, Nythadri. I swear. Anything."
He was ready to slice the Pattern up and leave. Which was kind of a relief to know he could. Last night, the idea of channeling a gateway did not sound like a monster he was willing to wrestle. But not without her agreement first. And maybe without one more kiss. Definitely not without her promise. See how that goes first. Then he'd see to a more memorable goodbye.
Only darkness shows you the light.