12-23-2021, 08:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-23-2021, 09:49 PM by Natalie Grey.)
She’d stayed late in Talin’s rooms, and had not slept well after. Usually she would have buried such pervasive worries in work, but there was nothing in these rooms to occupy her. When Elly asked how much trouble they were in, Nythadri could only reply that she did not yet know, and the simmering anxiety left in uncertainty's wake only sent the warder to restless pacing. At least until Nythadri finally worked out how to mask the flow of her emotions. After a heated discussion over the efficacy of that as a last resort, they finally snatched some sleep before the sun rose.
Roused by dawn's rays, a washbasin of cool water and a cloth chased what remained of fatigue, and Nythadri sharpened her thoughts to the deliberation of what waited. Years of Tower training accustomed her to functioning with little proper rest. By now she was resigned to how little information she truly had, but she picked through it all again anyway as she dressed. Pulled everything apart and reassembled it once more, until dozens of possibilities remained to pore over in turn. She had no inkling of the sort of impression she ought intend to make this morning, but had none of her own clothes anyway. The dress she wore was a blue shy of midnight, adorned with a little embroidery as was Talin’s proclivity for beautiful touches, but it was functional rather than fashion.
The Yellow Aes Sedai and her warder met them outside, the latter leading them through sparsely decorated hallways that fell between shadow and light until they reached a door. Kaori proceeded Talin, who glanced an unreadable look back over her shoulder at Nythadri before she followed. The weighing nature of it sent a prickle of trepidation down her spine; it was the kind of consideration one bestowed upon a specimen. Or an experiment.
Within was what might have been intended as a library by the lackluster arrangement of books, but it was the only transitory observation Nythadri made. Morning’s light haloed a man standing by the windows. His dark clothes drank it in. Absorbed the eye, too, against the spartan walls.
She paled. Paused barely over the threshold. Because it was a face she immediately recognised but never thought to see so closely in the flesh. Saidar drew as swiftly and fully as she was capable, until the sweetness felt like burning. Elly’s stance shifted dangerously, but she had no reason to match an identity: she’d still been living north when the Tower nearly fell, and the man in front of them now was not visibly armed.
“She did not know who to expect. She would not have come if she did,” Talin interjected smoothly. The glow did not surround her. Her expression held perhaps a touch of wariness as she beheld her mystery guest’s reaction, but beyond that her straight-backed posture was as unaffected as ever. Kaori was standing close, though, and while he did not lay his hand on any weapon, his posture suggested it was control not trust.
Nythadri did not let go. Not a drop. Couldn’t, though she realised it was scant protection. At least it would not end quietly.
“You were there, Talin.” She broke her gaze free to glance at the Yellow; refused to grant him evidence of her fear by being unable to look away from where he stood. Her tone stung with betrayal, raw as the edge of a blade drawn from scabbard, and she was surprised how much it hurt. Treachery was the only answer, now; the only explanation for bringing her before a dreadlord. And not just any dreadlord, but this one.
Light.
Nythadri never allowed herself to think back on the memory; pushed it deep where it could not touch her. Novices had been shielded from the worst of the Tower assault, running messages and treating wounded, but it had still been war. And none had been spared the burials afterwards. The months of mourning. The months of rebuilding. The dreadlord Arikan’s name was nightmare-fuel in the novice halls, even now, amongst girls whose only evidence for it being naught more than a scary story, whispered into terrified ears during night’s stillest hours, was the patched repairs to Ogier masonry.
“I was there,” Talin agreed calmly. Her lips pursed a little, and Nythadri wondered if Arikan had known that, or if the reminder itself was just uncomfortable for her. She smoothed the front of her skirts as she sat, lavender slashed with palest yellow. Small white flowers studded the bodice. “And I saw as well as you what he can do,” she added. “Now imagine the skill put to infinitely better use. At least listen to what he has to say before you burn yourself out on what, frankly, would be a rather fruitless endeavour.” A brow rose, but the look that followed was poignant. “I asked for your trust. I haven’t broken it, Nythadri, I swear it.”
It didn’t offer much solace, even knowing what she knew. Perhaps especially given what she knew about the lies Talin could or could not tell. But it pooled the horror into icy stillness in her heart all the same. The measure of breath in her chest was hard won to keep even. Pale eyes returned to the man in question, dissecting what she knew. Taunting was poor form, but he could have killed her the moment she passed the doorway if such had been the intent, and it made her belligerent as an animal caught in a trap. “Then one of you speak.”
**
Roused by dawn's rays, a washbasin of cool water and a cloth chased what remained of fatigue, and Nythadri sharpened her thoughts to the deliberation of what waited. Years of Tower training accustomed her to functioning with little proper rest. By now she was resigned to how little information she truly had, but she picked through it all again anyway as she dressed. Pulled everything apart and reassembled it once more, until dozens of possibilities remained to pore over in turn. She had no inkling of the sort of impression she ought intend to make this morning, but had none of her own clothes anyway. The dress she wore was a blue shy of midnight, adorned with a little embroidery as was Talin’s proclivity for beautiful touches, but it was functional rather than fashion.
The Yellow Aes Sedai and her warder met them outside, the latter leading them through sparsely decorated hallways that fell between shadow and light until they reached a door. Kaori proceeded Talin, who glanced an unreadable look back over her shoulder at Nythadri before she followed. The weighing nature of it sent a prickle of trepidation down her spine; it was the kind of consideration one bestowed upon a specimen. Or an experiment.
Within was what might have been intended as a library by the lackluster arrangement of books, but it was the only transitory observation Nythadri made. Morning’s light haloed a man standing by the windows. His dark clothes drank it in. Absorbed the eye, too, against the spartan walls.
She paled. Paused barely over the threshold. Because it was a face she immediately recognised but never thought to see so closely in the flesh. Saidar drew as swiftly and fully as she was capable, until the sweetness felt like burning. Elly’s stance shifted dangerously, but she had no reason to match an identity: she’d still been living north when the Tower nearly fell, and the man in front of them now was not visibly armed.
“She did not know who to expect. She would not have come if she did,” Talin interjected smoothly. The glow did not surround her. Her expression held perhaps a touch of wariness as she beheld her mystery guest’s reaction, but beyond that her straight-backed posture was as unaffected as ever. Kaori was standing close, though, and while he did not lay his hand on any weapon, his posture suggested it was control not trust.
Nythadri did not let go. Not a drop. Couldn’t, though she realised it was scant protection. At least it would not end quietly.
“You were there, Talin.” She broke her gaze free to glance at the Yellow; refused to grant him evidence of her fear by being unable to look away from where he stood. Her tone stung with betrayal, raw as the edge of a blade drawn from scabbard, and she was surprised how much it hurt. Treachery was the only answer, now; the only explanation for bringing her before a dreadlord. And not just any dreadlord, but this one.
Light.
Nythadri never allowed herself to think back on the memory; pushed it deep where it could not touch her. Novices had been shielded from the worst of the Tower assault, running messages and treating wounded, but it had still been war. And none had been spared the burials afterwards. The months of mourning. The months of rebuilding. The dreadlord Arikan’s name was nightmare-fuel in the novice halls, even now, amongst girls whose only evidence for it being naught more than a scary story, whispered into terrified ears during night’s stillest hours, was the patched repairs to Ogier masonry.
“I was there,” Talin agreed calmly. Her lips pursed a little, and Nythadri wondered if Arikan had known that, or if the reminder itself was just uncomfortable for her. She smoothed the front of her skirts as she sat, lavender slashed with palest yellow. Small white flowers studded the bodice. “And I saw as well as you what he can do,” she added. “Now imagine the skill put to infinitely better use. At least listen to what he has to say before you burn yourself out on what, frankly, would be a rather fruitless endeavour.” A brow rose, but the look that followed was poignant. “I asked for your trust. I haven’t broken it, Nythadri, I swear it.”
It didn’t offer much solace, even knowing what she knew. Perhaps especially given what she knew about the lies Talin could or could not tell. But it pooled the horror into icy stillness in her heart all the same. The measure of breath in her chest was hard won to keep even. Pale eyes returned to the man in question, dissecting what she knew. Taunting was poor form, but he could have killed her the moment she passed the doorway if such had been the intent, and it made her belligerent as an animal caught in a trap. “Then one of you speak.”