02-05-2023, 10:48 PM
It wasn't quite the answer he would have hoped for, to know that the woman had never appeared to pay for her actions, and though there was no inflection in Trista's voice, he was inclined to feel the anger on her behalf. He felt foolish for that rise of emotion, a simmer rather than a boil, but intense all the same. Araya was prone to these sorts of moods if he let himself, though it was rare for him to allow others to bear witness (for all his usual openness). It was not a facet of himself that he liked; something that had festered and matured during his years at the Black Tower in reaction to the shattering of his naivety, a twisting of his passionate nature. The Asha'man sighed, turning out a whole lungful of air, and felt calmer for it. His jaw softened. Light. He probably shouldn't let himself get so worked up; only the Creator above knew why he felt this blasted desire to want to protect her, not least when she was quite clearly capable of handling herself. Perhaps it was simply that she had been a channeler once; the idea of losing the ability to touch the power... for all the complications saidin had introduced into his life, he was as afraid of losing the connection as any other. Sure, that was probably it.
"Of course." He couldn't quite get her story out of his head, but he recognised her swift change of topic, and gratefully took it up. He was far from an expert on the subject; at the Black Tower, bonding was not a bustling commerce as it was here. Asha'man had no need of protection - their very name meant 'guardian' in the old tongue - so if they ever bonded then it was usually for entirely personal reasons.
"Some choose to bond Aes Sedai." Trista would probably have some idea of that; Kentrillo Orander's infamy stretched into many quarters. It had been a long time since the White Tower had accepted male channelers into their gaidin ranks, of course, but some still chose to bond sisters of their own right even now. He was not so convinced that it was out of mutual respect as some Aes Sedai's continued distrust of his brothers; the bond was the perfect shield to pledge trust on the one side and control on the other - not in terms of compulsion, but as an assimilation of the Black Tower wholly in to the White on an unequal footing. Not that that was always the case. If Araya was so cynical about the White Tower, then he probably wouldn't be here.
"But if an Asha'man is to bond at all, that's not as common as a brother bonding his wife. The intimacy lends itself to lovers, I suppose." Which was why he could not get his head around the Warder bond; the bond itself was something stronger than ordinary love; it did not necessarily have to stem from romantic or sexual feelings, of course, but to set yourself up for eventually losing that connection through death? To know that the person you can feel as close as though it were you, would ultimately die for you? And they said the Asha'man were mad. He smirked. "Not quite a Warder bond."
"Unless the sister is Green," Trista quipped with a smirk. Her answer was a prime example of the contrasting paradigms the respective Tower's instilled in respect to bonding. The Greens were the brunt of many a joke because of their rumored involvement with their Warders. Trista had come to understand that romantic involvement of any kind was frowned upon, and could not argue with their reasoning. She was in no position to question the Aes Sedai, but more than that, she merely understood. As best one could without having experienced it oneself, of course.
She watched the deepening sky above the last rays of sunlight as she spoke. "The general consensus of the White Tower is that love is a dangerous emotion. I cannot say I disagree," but neither did she agree; the apathy in her voice made clear that she had no personal opinion on the matter. "If you are a target for the dark, then you put those near you at risk. Or, the lover may be used to influence the channeler," the Aes Sedai answered to the Tower alone, and held nothing in life above it. Or so was the objective. As a Tower-trained Gaidar, a similar notion was drilled into Trista throughout her training. In private, Warders would admit their bondmates were their lives, regardless of the Tower as a whole. The Light was above all else, of course, but the Tower stood for the Light, and
was therefore considered interchangeable in such circumstances.
She glanced sideways at Araya. The Black Tower was portrayed as far stricter than the White, especially in the days of the Traitor's Tree. In this, however, they sounded quite the opposite. Did the Asha'man disregard such ideas? Or, perhaps, they felt the strict discipline required of initiates was enough to forever imbed their Tower's place in personal hierarchy. One did not question the ideals of the Towers; a deeply ingrained habit that silenced her curiosity.
"I was under the impression that the general consensus of the White Tower is that any emotion is dangerous." Araya laughed, massaging his throat.
Trista raised an interesting point. The Black Tower was still a fairly new structure, and the Light knew they were far from stable; many of the older men - the first to have been recruited - had had wives and families before they had earned the pins, so such traditions as the Aes Sedai practised had no hold; it was easier to work with rather than against. A boy tended to discover his channelling ability, or be discovered by another, later in life than most girls too; it left less room for conditioning, and many came with families already established. It did not mean the Black Tower was softer. If anything, the privilege of a family life meant the men had to work harder. The Asha'man were weapons, first and foremost, but they were also human; a man denied the company of his wife and children would not fight for the Light with the vehemence of one with the privilege. One had only to look at the Borderlands to see such in action.
The words she spoke sounded as though they'd been handed down to her via years of indoctrination. What she said was true, though; there were risks, but he hardly counted them as a reason to avoid any and all emotional intimacy. It was a personal opinion, though, and it wasn't his intention to prove either view right or wrong. Love could be a fatal distraction, but so could any other emotion; it was all about perspective and priority. He doubted that all Aes Sedai were as strict with that unwritten commandment as they let on, but for whatever reasons they erected a glamour of the untouchable, it appeared to work for their intentions.
As far as the Black Tower was concerned, the swift justice the Asha'man were known for maintained hierarchy in the same way denying emotional attachments worked for the Aes Sedai. Neither were infallible, but both served a purpose. Perhaps things would change in time, but it seemed to Araya that Asha'man were far more like normal men than Aes Sedai were like normal women.
"The Tower comes first, of course. Loyalty to the Dragon and fealty to the Light. Women who choose to marry Asha'man know that." He shrugged, since he didn't really have any experience of it himself. He'd had lovers in the past, and had been in love, but nothing so serious or mutual as to contemplate bonding. He'd never really thought about it in any depth before; there was no expectation for him to do so, and there was little in the way of peer-pressure from his brothers. For every bonded brother, there was half a
dozen who were not.
He turned to look at her. "The bond is a choice on both sides, same as a marriage. Neither party is ignorant of the consequences or blind to the risk. Would you stop climbing trees on account that you might fall?" He laughed. "Mind that I speak for myself, and not the Tower. I would not exactly present myself as the model Asha'man."
She opened her mouth to rebuff his words in one manner or another, but did not get far. She was not out to bore holes in his philosophy, but was surprised to find she had no wit to offer. She smiled at the return of his laughter, meanwhile her mind turned over the words. "I would stop climbing trees if the ascent clouded my head. So long as I am in control of myself, I will not fall," her voice was almost cocky, and she gave the Asha'man a wolfish smile.
"And I know no others to compare you to," she said honestly; Kentrillo was the only other Asha'man she had shared company with, and he was no longer counted among their ranks. "I would choose you over the Aes Sedai, though," she smirked at him and shifted so that her shoulder nudged his. The sisters made for poor companionship, unless one found dancing words and sharp tongues intriguing. Trista knew that they were probably not so harsh amidst their own private coterie's, but she did not have much exposure to them in such an environment.
In the city below, lights were being lit in windows and along boulevards as dusk descended on Tar Valon. Hundreds of people, going about their habitual lives, completely unaware of the pair looking down from the giant tree top. Trista was interested in seeing the nightscape; she had never remained in the trees after dark. Not this high, at least.
The wind ruffled her hair, and she was distantly aware of the temperature dropping. Without thought Trista produced a thin flask from somewhere on her body, and held it out to the Asha'man. The liquor was strong, but it was meant only to take the cold sting from the air.
“I should think that by the time you realised your senses were clouded, it would be far too late," he said, faintly amused by the boast of control. There, clearly, was one who had never fallen.
It was not surprising to hear that she knew no other Asha’man; there were not many who chose to reside at the White Tower, for all the talk of unity that was touted from time to time. Araya himself had only come for the open hall meeting, in which the Tower’s most recent M’Hael had made his first public speech. He couldn’t even say himself why he'd stayed after that. There had been nothing preventing him from returning to Caemlyn, or from travelling to other parts of the world, after all. There still wasn't.
“Take it as warning then. I wouldn’t judge another Asha’man by my colours.” He could not help but smirk at the terrible nature of his own pun. Something of her suddenly playful nature restored him to his usual blithe countenance, and he spluttered into laughter at her ‘compliment’. “I’m more tolerable than an Aes Sedai? That is good to know." The laughter was in part a release of his earlier frustrations; there was nothing more gratifying for the soul, but he realised that she had probably meant it with a dash of sincerity. She was an odd little thing, for all that she had cause to be. There was something quite endearing about it. "And for what it's worth, the same applies." He nudged her back.
The drink he declined, though it was out of abstinence and not distrust. "Are you cold?"
His pun caught her off guard, and so any immediate response was postponed as her eyes traced up and down his garishly clad body. Then, she laughed. What started as the soft humming of her throat crescendoed in a cascade of stunning vocal mirth. The sound was astonishingly candid, to where she might have been mistaken for any other joy-filled human if heard in passing. Tacky as some might consider such a jest, as an Accepted of the Sword Trista's mentor was possessed of a wit consisting almost entirely of its like. She was fundamentally conditioned for them.
Trista let herself fall back, and lay looking up at the Asha'man as her lungs trailed to rest. Something of the laughter remained in her though, silently chasing back the shadows in her eyes. The temporarily forgotten flask came up to her lips and she took a short swig, squinting as the cold liquid seared down her throat. "Not unbearably," she answered finally, the small flask disappearing back from whence it had come. Within a few minutes she would be comfortable again. As chill as the air was, she had dealt with much worse; one thing she did not miss about the Borderlands.
The breeze that remained paled in comparison to the earlier gales, but still it played with them. The golden locks of Araya's hair caught her attention as they swayed, beckoning memories of a dream. A very vivid dream, that the former tinker had starred in. She had no Talent for dreaming and never questioned that their meeting was only coincidence, but the phenomenon only a few nights gone it was difficult not to remember aspects of it every time she looked at him.
She felt her body warm, and knew it to be the alcohol, but it only fueled the sudden want to tangle her fingers in those blond strands. That desire had nothing to do with the alcohol, lest she had abruptly lost even the natural human tolerance for such small quantities of it; not to mention she would have to disregard every other time she had felt it in his presence.
Trista put her arms behind her head in an attempt to suppress the sudden itch in her hands. Her eyes moved to the stars just peeking through the purple expanse of sky. "The sky over Tar Valon is very different from the sky over Altara. Not just the stars but the angle of the sun, the path of the moon," she spoke her thoughts aloud. She knew the sky here, mostly for navigational purposes, but not in the way she had known the sky over Altara. She never had the chance to just look at it, the way she had as a child.
At first Araya thought she was laughing at his question, and wondered if the Tower trained had a secret trick for ignoring the cold as the Aes Sedai did. But then, noticing the way her eyes travelled up and down his body, he realised that the pun had simply taken a few moments to settle. Her reaction was amusing; his comment really hadn’t been that funny, but it was good to hear her laugh properly, and he could not help but laugh too. There was a childlike quality about it, and it lit her face in such a rare and genuine way. Aes Sedai laughed, but not like that; they were inhibited, they allowed themselves to laugh, whereas this was altogether more free. And it was infectious. He wasn’t cold himself, at least not enough to warrant the effort and control it took to seize saidin. His neck was perhaps a little chilly now that it was naked, but otherwise he was dressed warmly enough to be mostly comfortable, so long as the weather held anyway. As she mentioned the stars, he looked up at the dusk sky. It had been such a long time since he had taken any notice of them, and there was something pleasantly nostalgic about it. Once, he had even known some of their names, but such knowledge had long since left his mind, else lay forgotten in some dusty corner he no longer knew how to access. He blew heat into his fingers, then lay back to get a better view, his hands once more resting on his stomach, buried in the cuffs of his jacket. "Makes you feel so small, doesn't it? All that stuff up there. Good for the ego of an Asha'man." He chuckled. "So tell me about Altara. What was it like to grow up there?" He was genuinely curious, having grown up always on the move.
Trista glanced sideways at the Asha'man. She shrugged then, her eyes returning to the sky. "The seasons are not so pronounced. It is much warmer, most of the year," she had grown up on near coast, so the weather changed even less for her than those who lived further inland. "Sometimes huge storms would come in off the ocean. I have never experienced their like since coming north."
She looked away from the stars again, taking in the characteristics of the Asha'man. Altarans enjoyed colorful clothing, if not that colorful, but physically he was a perfect example of attributes not found in Altarans. "Outside of the city," Ebou Dar was not the only city in Altara, but she did not think to name it, "there was no one who looked like you. My mother had blue eyes, but I only ever met traders with pale skin and blond hair." She paused, a smirk coming to her lips before she spoke again, "people were much more polite. If you did not learn your manners, someone taught you some."
He watched as the stars became more pronounced, and listened as Trista spoke. She didn't appear to show any affection for the country of her birth, although given her nature maybe it was simply buried beneath that cool, listless facade. He noticed how she wavered; how bursts of lucid emotion (he was tempted to call it normality, but it seemed a cruel word to use, even in the confines of his mind) seemed to be followed by stretches of complete detachment. It wasn't something that made him uncomfortable; even before he had known of the cause, he had never taken her odd and vapid nature personally. Seeing her smile or laugh, or even glimpsing the briefest spark of something in her eyes was like catching a rainbow in a downpour. Araya was the kind of idealist who could quite happily sit in the rain.
He couldn't imagine living by the sea; to hear it crash every night as he slept... the call of gulls and taste of salt in the air. It reminded him how long he had been in Tar Valon, enclosed by the same four walls of his guest room. For all the eccentricities of spending the night atop the giant Ogier tree, he decided that it was actually quite refreshing. Perhaps he would take the time to travel; the Black Tower was always looking for new blood, and it was a good excuse as any to be left alone to his own devices. He had escaped much interest by the White Tower's denizens, but the longer he stayed the more likely it became he would eventually be ensnared. He let the thought drift, to recapture and muse on further another time, and listened to the gaidar.
Araya knew enough of Altara to know the kind of teaching she meant, and chuckled dryly. It wasn't his place to comment on or judge a whole country's ethos, but he had always found the idea of a duel to settle disputes rather... odd. Finesse and talent did not always side with justice, after all, so what was the point? There were plenty of other, non-violent oddities that mystified him in other cultures, though; the wagons had never travelled close to cities, and kept contact even with towns and villages limited. Araya was fairly well read, but he had not travelled extensively since gaining the dragon pin, and there was no other substitute for really and truly understanding a culture and its ways.
"I'm pure Tinker stock," he said to the comment of his pale appearance, which was to say he was of every nationality and none. The Tuatha'an way of life was not for some; people came and went all the time, but Araya could trace his genes amongst the travellers to way back beyond memory; his blood was so muddled it was impossible to place him, and even his accent had a neutral quality to it. He didn't have a homeland or a nationality; just a people. And his brothers, now, of course.
Despite the chill he was strangely relaxed, cushioned by a strong, warm sense of nostalgia as they spoke of the past. Like rainbows amidst downpours or the smallest hint of smile in an otherwise expressionless face, Araya chose fond memories over the bad. When he thought about the wagons and all that he had lost, he couldn't help but smile - even if only internally. He couldn't think of a more perfect upbringing. Even if one did not agree with the Tuatha'an's teachings and beliefs, they could surely appreciate the freedom and joy with which the travellers lived. He could have bored Trista for hours reminiscing stories of his youth if he'd been inclined. Instead he chuckled. "The Light take pity on any fool enough to cross you. I bet you've reminded more than a few of their manners yourself."
Pure Tinker stock? Trista hadn't the faintest idea what that meant, but in a way that was exactly how he'd meant it. He did not have a nationality. She knew of the Tinker philosophy, and the literal translation of their Old Tongue title. Tuatha'an. Travelling People. The ideals that drove their society were not ones Trista could imagine taking as her own, but true to the shallow depths of her wine-dark orbs, she was not a person prone to inner musings. Many people held to many different beliefs. Who was she to question them? And even if she were motivated to, to what end would it go? Better to focus on her own values. She could change herself. The world was out of her hands.
She smirked at his remark. The black sister's abuse had stolen the fire that spurred so many Altaran's to duel, providing a buffer of detachment that kept her out of trouble in her early training years. Her first challenge since her captivity came in her late Accepted of the Sword years, to a lordling on the Blightborder. The people of the far north were a gruff but gentle bunch, and normally the most well-mannered she had met. This one though- far too big for his armor-plated britches. The other northern lords thought it quite the humorous show, but her presiding Aes Sedai did not agree. Thankfully Lianora Sedai was a compassionate woman, and Trista's punishment was little more than a mild scolding and a lecture on how dueling was not proper outside of Altara. The lordling did not get off so easily.
Now, it was rare for the Gaidar to formally challenge a duel. She would if pushed to it, but stirring her to such a place was not a simple ordeal. Her trainees were another matter, but each instructor had their way of dealing with disobedience. Dueling was hers, and she found it to be exceptionally effective.
"I do my part to cure the delinquents of society," she said matter-of-factly, but her smirk remained to lighten the words. "What is it like to be raised among the Tuatha'an?"
"Beautifully free," he answered somewhat absently, falling so easily back into fond memory. To his mind, the Tuatha'an were the very definition of family. Blood did not come in to it; one man looked out for his neighbour because kin was kin and surpassed such trivialities. It had been disappointing, upon leaving the wagons, to discover how very rare that kind of bond was in the rest of the world, but he had also realised how innocent and fragile the Tuatha'an's way of life was. They were a small cross-section of people; idealistic, naive, and many ultimately untested by the grim underbelly of life. With the Light's blessing, they would stay that way.
"Imagine the best day of your childhood. Now imagine that that was every day." He chuckled. "Of course, maybe I'm a little bit biased." He lifted his hand and indicated with his thumb and forefinger, smirking. "But only a little."
He'd always thought himself lucky in that respect, for not many could claim such an idyllic upbringing. The Towers seemed to accumulate tragedy, but for all the twists in his part of the pattern, Araya considered himself fairly untouched. He'd faced hardship, sure, but he was hardly alone in that respect.
"Dragons and saidin were just fancy stories when I was growing up. Still are among some of the wagons, for all I know. I suppose you might call it ignorant, but at least it's a life free of the Great Game. I lived in Andor for a time, and Light were the children there precocious. I freely admit that I just don't get it."
The travellers were not entirely free of conflict, of course. There were disputes from time to time; arguments, disagreements and frustration. The Tinkers were nothing short of human, and their natures were not without blemish, but the practice of politics among the wagons was fruitless; one had nothing to gain by scheming or manipulation, and those who wished for things like power and wealth always left in the end. Tinkers walked the path of the leaf by choice, and even those born into the life ultimately decided whether to stay or find their fortunes elsewhere.
The Tinker's ignorance or the Game of Houses? He knew which he preferred, though perhaps that was because he'd never been seduced by daes dae'mar, nor been any good at it. The Tower, for all that it was the very centre, was different; at least it was closer to the heart of the world's problems, if you looked hard passed the fluff of politics and mindless (and often pointless) games the sisters played amongst themselves. It was not all about succession and power. Still, he would have chosen to remain on the Blight border amongst the straight-forwardness of the Borderlands if he'd had a stomach for war.
The Seanchan had come to Altara by the time Trista was born. Having grown up so near Ebou Dar, in such a turbulent time, Trista had grown up hearing about the Dragon Reborn. She had known him to be real, but there were other creatures that she believed mere nightmares. Darkhounds. Trollocs. Worms. Even the flora of the Blight appeared to have grown from some Forsaken's fantasy. If only the Forsaken themselves were so hideous. So obvious.
"The best day of my childhood was the day I defeated my brother in a rapier duel," the soft hum of laughter followed her words. She was well aware of how often an event like that took place among the Tinker wagons. "In front of the entire court and his fiance, too. I won my freedom from the awful party and the right to heckle him endlessly." If Andoran children were precocious, Alataran chits were fierce. In a society where adolescence brought the privilege of challenge, it was best to make certain your children knew the sharp end of a dagger. Or a rapier, in the noble's case. The fact that Trista was a daughter made no difference- women fought women as much as men fought men. That particular challenge was unusual in that it was between genders, but because they were siblings it was acceptable.
That whole day had been entertaining. Altara was a nation of festivals, and Trista had snuck away from Tila's house before dawn to enjoy them. The Alquin family always stayed with Lady Tila when they came into the city. She was a charming woman, and it was a shame her own daughter had not inherited her personality. Forrest had made a good choice, refusing to take her as wife.
Forrest, the bugger, had been the one to find her and drag her back to Tila's manor. The maidservants cleaned her and stuffed her in a dress just in time for the party. Light, but she had been relieved to win that challenge. She'd never beaten him in a spar before, but getting out of the court's dull dinner parties was apparently the incentive she needed.
Despite the differences in their childhoods, she understood what Araya had meant. Trista was not prone to nostalgia; thoughts of the past threatened her stability, but she had come far enough now that recollections were not so dangerous. She did not enjoy her life now, exactly, but she preferred it to death. A big step, and one she had only recently come to realize.
“Oh, okay,” he conceded with a chuckle, and wondered if she’d used that example to catch him out on purpose. It seemed to fit with her sly sense of humour, but given what he had come to understand of her, like as not it was the plain truth. He couldn’t imagine finding joy in duelling, even in the context of a simple contest of skill without the intent for any real harm. The fact that it was a childhood memory made it all the more incomprehensible. “I agree with you on the dullness of court parties, though.” Such attendances occasionally fell into the realms of duty, though since Araya had never shouldered much responsibility in currying favour among the nobles, those instances were rare. He could play the part of courtly gentleman as well as he could brandish a blade, but most nobles were far too inhibited to be good company.
Night had descended, and the Asha’man let his eyes rest, though he did not sleep straight away. Grasping saidin, he heated the air to something more comfortable. “Do gaidar sleep? You have my oath I won’t chuck you off if you snore.” He chuckled, but didn’t open his eyes. He had no pressing duties tomorrow, but she no doubt had recruits to teach.
An amused hum vibrated in her throat, her own eyes lidded but still focused on the little points of light above. They danced enthusiastically, as if to taunt the creatures trapped on the small planet below. "Gaidar rest," she answered simply. 'Sleep' was a strong word. The state was more of a trance, where the body could repair itself but the mind remained easily disturbed. 'Paranoia' was an even better term for it.
She felt herself begin to drift off, and the stars descended from their universal watch. Pulsing energy, unique and separated although somehow shapeless. The nearest beat softly, steadily. She knew each was unique, but it was more a knowing than an observation. This one was near enough she could feel it- could recognize it. The familiarity was warm, and her ephemeral self reveled in it.
The awareness her training lent her woke her at her own unconscious movement. She was normally very still in sleep; a requirement in an occupation such as hers. So the primal part of her mind stirred, assessing danger without coming to full consciousness. She was safe, and so was her charge. In truth, Araya was not her responsibility in any way, but her dozing mind did not care. Nor did it care that she had rolled onto her side, or that her head now rested on his shoulder.
'Rest', she said, and he had to chuckle at that. Without need or desire for Warder protectors, Asha'man were capable of something similar when necessity dictated need, but Araya rarely found cause to employ the technique - even now, in the company of what was essentially a stranger. That blind trust would probably kill him one day, he mused, drifting on the edges of sleep. Something warm rested against his shoulder, and he was coherent enough to recognise it for the gaidar. A smile softened the edges of his lips, as a fuzzy haze descended in and his thoughts meandered off into pleasant dreams.
"Of course." He couldn't quite get her story out of his head, but he recognised her swift change of topic, and gratefully took it up. He was far from an expert on the subject; at the Black Tower, bonding was not a bustling commerce as it was here. Asha'man had no need of protection - their very name meant 'guardian' in the old tongue - so if they ever bonded then it was usually for entirely personal reasons.
"Some choose to bond Aes Sedai." Trista would probably have some idea of that; Kentrillo Orander's infamy stretched into many quarters. It had been a long time since the White Tower had accepted male channelers into their gaidin ranks, of course, but some still chose to bond sisters of their own right even now. He was not so convinced that it was out of mutual respect as some Aes Sedai's continued distrust of his brothers; the bond was the perfect shield to pledge trust on the one side and control on the other - not in terms of compulsion, but as an assimilation of the Black Tower wholly in to the White on an unequal footing. Not that that was always the case. If Araya was so cynical about the White Tower, then he probably wouldn't be here.
"But if an Asha'man is to bond at all, that's not as common as a brother bonding his wife. The intimacy lends itself to lovers, I suppose." Which was why he could not get his head around the Warder bond; the bond itself was something stronger than ordinary love; it did not necessarily have to stem from romantic or sexual feelings, of course, but to set yourself up for eventually losing that connection through death? To know that the person you can feel as close as though it were you, would ultimately die for you? And they said the Asha'man were mad. He smirked. "Not quite a Warder bond."
"Unless the sister is Green," Trista quipped with a smirk. Her answer was a prime example of the contrasting paradigms the respective Tower's instilled in respect to bonding. The Greens were the brunt of many a joke because of their rumored involvement with their Warders. Trista had come to understand that romantic involvement of any kind was frowned upon, and could not argue with their reasoning. She was in no position to question the Aes Sedai, but more than that, she merely understood. As best one could without having experienced it oneself, of course.
She watched the deepening sky above the last rays of sunlight as she spoke. "The general consensus of the White Tower is that love is a dangerous emotion. I cannot say I disagree," but neither did she agree; the apathy in her voice made clear that she had no personal opinion on the matter. "If you are a target for the dark, then you put those near you at risk. Or, the lover may be used to influence the channeler," the Aes Sedai answered to the Tower alone, and held nothing in life above it. Or so was the objective. As a Tower-trained Gaidar, a similar notion was drilled into Trista throughout her training. In private, Warders would admit their bondmates were their lives, regardless of the Tower as a whole. The Light was above all else, of course, but the Tower stood for the Light, and
was therefore considered interchangeable in such circumstances.
She glanced sideways at Araya. The Black Tower was portrayed as far stricter than the White, especially in the days of the Traitor's Tree. In this, however, they sounded quite the opposite. Did the Asha'man disregard such ideas? Or, perhaps, they felt the strict discipline required of initiates was enough to forever imbed their Tower's place in personal hierarchy. One did not question the ideals of the Towers; a deeply ingrained habit that silenced her curiosity.
"I was under the impression that the general consensus of the White Tower is that any emotion is dangerous." Araya laughed, massaging his throat.
Trista raised an interesting point. The Black Tower was still a fairly new structure, and the Light knew they were far from stable; many of the older men - the first to have been recruited - had had wives and families before they had earned the pins, so such traditions as the Aes Sedai practised had no hold; it was easier to work with rather than against. A boy tended to discover his channelling ability, or be discovered by another, later in life than most girls too; it left less room for conditioning, and many came with families already established. It did not mean the Black Tower was softer. If anything, the privilege of a family life meant the men had to work harder. The Asha'man were weapons, first and foremost, but they were also human; a man denied the company of his wife and children would not fight for the Light with the vehemence of one with the privilege. One had only to look at the Borderlands to see such in action.
The words she spoke sounded as though they'd been handed down to her via years of indoctrination. What she said was true, though; there were risks, but he hardly counted them as a reason to avoid any and all emotional intimacy. It was a personal opinion, though, and it wasn't his intention to prove either view right or wrong. Love could be a fatal distraction, but so could any other emotion; it was all about perspective and priority. He doubted that all Aes Sedai were as strict with that unwritten commandment as they let on, but for whatever reasons they erected a glamour of the untouchable, it appeared to work for their intentions.
As far as the Black Tower was concerned, the swift justice the Asha'man were known for maintained hierarchy in the same way denying emotional attachments worked for the Aes Sedai. Neither were infallible, but both served a purpose. Perhaps things would change in time, but it seemed to Araya that Asha'man were far more like normal men than Aes Sedai were like normal women.
"The Tower comes first, of course. Loyalty to the Dragon and fealty to the Light. Women who choose to marry Asha'man know that." He shrugged, since he didn't really have any experience of it himself. He'd had lovers in the past, and had been in love, but nothing so serious or mutual as to contemplate bonding. He'd never really thought about it in any depth before; there was no expectation for him to do so, and there was little in the way of peer-pressure from his brothers. For every bonded brother, there was half a
dozen who were not.
He turned to look at her. "The bond is a choice on both sides, same as a marriage. Neither party is ignorant of the consequences or blind to the risk. Would you stop climbing trees on account that you might fall?" He laughed. "Mind that I speak for myself, and not the Tower. I would not exactly present myself as the model Asha'man."
She opened her mouth to rebuff his words in one manner or another, but did not get far. She was not out to bore holes in his philosophy, but was surprised to find she had no wit to offer. She smiled at the return of his laughter, meanwhile her mind turned over the words. "I would stop climbing trees if the ascent clouded my head. So long as I am in control of myself, I will not fall," her voice was almost cocky, and she gave the Asha'man a wolfish smile.
"And I know no others to compare you to," she said honestly; Kentrillo was the only other Asha'man she had shared company with, and he was no longer counted among their ranks. "I would choose you over the Aes Sedai, though," she smirked at him and shifted so that her shoulder nudged his. The sisters made for poor companionship, unless one found dancing words and sharp tongues intriguing. Trista knew that they were probably not so harsh amidst their own private coterie's, but she did not have much exposure to them in such an environment.
In the city below, lights were being lit in windows and along boulevards as dusk descended on Tar Valon. Hundreds of people, going about their habitual lives, completely unaware of the pair looking down from the giant tree top. Trista was interested in seeing the nightscape; she had never remained in the trees after dark. Not this high, at least.
The wind ruffled her hair, and she was distantly aware of the temperature dropping. Without thought Trista produced a thin flask from somewhere on her body, and held it out to the Asha'man. The liquor was strong, but it was meant only to take the cold sting from the air.
“I should think that by the time you realised your senses were clouded, it would be far too late," he said, faintly amused by the boast of control. There, clearly, was one who had never fallen.
It was not surprising to hear that she knew no other Asha’man; there were not many who chose to reside at the White Tower, for all the talk of unity that was touted from time to time. Araya himself had only come for the open hall meeting, in which the Tower’s most recent M’Hael had made his first public speech. He couldn’t even say himself why he'd stayed after that. There had been nothing preventing him from returning to Caemlyn, or from travelling to other parts of the world, after all. There still wasn't.
“Take it as warning then. I wouldn’t judge another Asha’man by my colours.” He could not help but smirk at the terrible nature of his own pun. Something of her suddenly playful nature restored him to his usual blithe countenance, and he spluttered into laughter at her ‘compliment’. “I’m more tolerable than an Aes Sedai? That is good to know." The laughter was in part a release of his earlier frustrations; there was nothing more gratifying for the soul, but he realised that she had probably meant it with a dash of sincerity. She was an odd little thing, for all that she had cause to be. There was something quite endearing about it. "And for what it's worth, the same applies." He nudged her back.
The drink he declined, though it was out of abstinence and not distrust. "Are you cold?"
His pun caught her off guard, and so any immediate response was postponed as her eyes traced up and down his garishly clad body. Then, she laughed. What started as the soft humming of her throat crescendoed in a cascade of stunning vocal mirth. The sound was astonishingly candid, to where she might have been mistaken for any other joy-filled human if heard in passing. Tacky as some might consider such a jest, as an Accepted of the Sword Trista's mentor was possessed of a wit consisting almost entirely of its like. She was fundamentally conditioned for them.
Trista let herself fall back, and lay looking up at the Asha'man as her lungs trailed to rest. Something of the laughter remained in her though, silently chasing back the shadows in her eyes. The temporarily forgotten flask came up to her lips and she took a short swig, squinting as the cold liquid seared down her throat. "Not unbearably," she answered finally, the small flask disappearing back from whence it had come. Within a few minutes she would be comfortable again. As chill as the air was, she had dealt with much worse; one thing she did not miss about the Borderlands.
The breeze that remained paled in comparison to the earlier gales, but still it played with them. The golden locks of Araya's hair caught her attention as they swayed, beckoning memories of a dream. A very vivid dream, that the former tinker had starred in. She had no Talent for dreaming and never questioned that their meeting was only coincidence, but the phenomenon only a few nights gone it was difficult not to remember aspects of it every time she looked at him.
She felt her body warm, and knew it to be the alcohol, but it only fueled the sudden want to tangle her fingers in those blond strands. That desire had nothing to do with the alcohol, lest she had abruptly lost even the natural human tolerance for such small quantities of it; not to mention she would have to disregard every other time she had felt it in his presence.
Trista put her arms behind her head in an attempt to suppress the sudden itch in her hands. Her eyes moved to the stars just peeking through the purple expanse of sky. "The sky over Tar Valon is very different from the sky over Altara. Not just the stars but the angle of the sun, the path of the moon," she spoke her thoughts aloud. She knew the sky here, mostly for navigational purposes, but not in the way she had known the sky over Altara. She never had the chance to just look at it, the way she had as a child.
At first Araya thought she was laughing at his question, and wondered if the Tower trained had a secret trick for ignoring the cold as the Aes Sedai did. But then, noticing the way her eyes travelled up and down his body, he realised that the pun had simply taken a few moments to settle. Her reaction was amusing; his comment really hadn’t been that funny, but it was good to hear her laugh properly, and he could not help but laugh too. There was a childlike quality about it, and it lit her face in such a rare and genuine way. Aes Sedai laughed, but not like that; they were inhibited, they allowed themselves to laugh, whereas this was altogether more free. And it was infectious. He wasn’t cold himself, at least not enough to warrant the effort and control it took to seize saidin. His neck was perhaps a little chilly now that it was naked, but otherwise he was dressed warmly enough to be mostly comfortable, so long as the weather held anyway. As she mentioned the stars, he looked up at the dusk sky. It had been such a long time since he had taken any notice of them, and there was something pleasantly nostalgic about it. Once, he had even known some of their names, but such knowledge had long since left his mind, else lay forgotten in some dusty corner he no longer knew how to access. He blew heat into his fingers, then lay back to get a better view, his hands once more resting on his stomach, buried in the cuffs of his jacket. "Makes you feel so small, doesn't it? All that stuff up there. Good for the ego of an Asha'man." He chuckled. "So tell me about Altara. What was it like to grow up there?" He was genuinely curious, having grown up always on the move.
Trista glanced sideways at the Asha'man. She shrugged then, her eyes returning to the sky. "The seasons are not so pronounced. It is much warmer, most of the year," she had grown up on near coast, so the weather changed even less for her than those who lived further inland. "Sometimes huge storms would come in off the ocean. I have never experienced their like since coming north."
She looked away from the stars again, taking in the characteristics of the Asha'man. Altarans enjoyed colorful clothing, if not that colorful, but physically he was a perfect example of attributes not found in Altarans. "Outside of the city," Ebou Dar was not the only city in Altara, but she did not think to name it, "there was no one who looked like you. My mother had blue eyes, but I only ever met traders with pale skin and blond hair." She paused, a smirk coming to her lips before she spoke again, "people were much more polite. If you did not learn your manners, someone taught you some."
He watched as the stars became more pronounced, and listened as Trista spoke. She didn't appear to show any affection for the country of her birth, although given her nature maybe it was simply buried beneath that cool, listless facade. He noticed how she wavered; how bursts of lucid emotion (he was tempted to call it normality, but it seemed a cruel word to use, even in the confines of his mind) seemed to be followed by stretches of complete detachment. It wasn't something that made him uncomfortable; even before he had known of the cause, he had never taken her odd and vapid nature personally. Seeing her smile or laugh, or even glimpsing the briefest spark of something in her eyes was like catching a rainbow in a downpour. Araya was the kind of idealist who could quite happily sit in the rain.
He couldn't imagine living by the sea; to hear it crash every night as he slept... the call of gulls and taste of salt in the air. It reminded him how long he had been in Tar Valon, enclosed by the same four walls of his guest room. For all the eccentricities of spending the night atop the giant Ogier tree, he decided that it was actually quite refreshing. Perhaps he would take the time to travel; the Black Tower was always looking for new blood, and it was a good excuse as any to be left alone to his own devices. He had escaped much interest by the White Tower's denizens, but the longer he stayed the more likely it became he would eventually be ensnared. He let the thought drift, to recapture and muse on further another time, and listened to the gaidar.
Araya knew enough of Altara to know the kind of teaching she meant, and chuckled dryly. It wasn't his place to comment on or judge a whole country's ethos, but he had always found the idea of a duel to settle disputes rather... odd. Finesse and talent did not always side with justice, after all, so what was the point? There were plenty of other, non-violent oddities that mystified him in other cultures, though; the wagons had never travelled close to cities, and kept contact even with towns and villages limited. Araya was fairly well read, but he had not travelled extensively since gaining the dragon pin, and there was no other substitute for really and truly understanding a culture and its ways.
"I'm pure Tinker stock," he said to the comment of his pale appearance, which was to say he was of every nationality and none. The Tuatha'an way of life was not for some; people came and went all the time, but Araya could trace his genes amongst the travellers to way back beyond memory; his blood was so muddled it was impossible to place him, and even his accent had a neutral quality to it. He didn't have a homeland or a nationality; just a people. And his brothers, now, of course.
Despite the chill he was strangely relaxed, cushioned by a strong, warm sense of nostalgia as they spoke of the past. Like rainbows amidst downpours or the smallest hint of smile in an otherwise expressionless face, Araya chose fond memories over the bad. When he thought about the wagons and all that he had lost, he couldn't help but smile - even if only internally. He couldn't think of a more perfect upbringing. Even if one did not agree with the Tuatha'an's teachings and beliefs, they could surely appreciate the freedom and joy with which the travellers lived. He could have bored Trista for hours reminiscing stories of his youth if he'd been inclined. Instead he chuckled. "The Light take pity on any fool enough to cross you. I bet you've reminded more than a few of their manners yourself."
Pure Tinker stock? Trista hadn't the faintest idea what that meant, but in a way that was exactly how he'd meant it. He did not have a nationality. She knew of the Tinker philosophy, and the literal translation of their Old Tongue title. Tuatha'an. Travelling People. The ideals that drove their society were not ones Trista could imagine taking as her own, but true to the shallow depths of her wine-dark orbs, she was not a person prone to inner musings. Many people held to many different beliefs. Who was she to question them? And even if she were motivated to, to what end would it go? Better to focus on her own values. She could change herself. The world was out of her hands.
She smirked at his remark. The black sister's abuse had stolen the fire that spurred so many Altaran's to duel, providing a buffer of detachment that kept her out of trouble in her early training years. Her first challenge since her captivity came in her late Accepted of the Sword years, to a lordling on the Blightborder. The people of the far north were a gruff but gentle bunch, and normally the most well-mannered she had met. This one though- far too big for his armor-plated britches. The other northern lords thought it quite the humorous show, but her presiding Aes Sedai did not agree. Thankfully Lianora Sedai was a compassionate woman, and Trista's punishment was little more than a mild scolding and a lecture on how dueling was not proper outside of Altara. The lordling did not get off so easily.
Now, it was rare for the Gaidar to formally challenge a duel. She would if pushed to it, but stirring her to such a place was not a simple ordeal. Her trainees were another matter, but each instructor had their way of dealing with disobedience. Dueling was hers, and she found it to be exceptionally effective.
"I do my part to cure the delinquents of society," she said matter-of-factly, but her smirk remained to lighten the words. "What is it like to be raised among the Tuatha'an?"
"Beautifully free," he answered somewhat absently, falling so easily back into fond memory. To his mind, the Tuatha'an were the very definition of family. Blood did not come in to it; one man looked out for his neighbour because kin was kin and surpassed such trivialities. It had been disappointing, upon leaving the wagons, to discover how very rare that kind of bond was in the rest of the world, but he had also realised how innocent and fragile the Tuatha'an's way of life was. They were a small cross-section of people; idealistic, naive, and many ultimately untested by the grim underbelly of life. With the Light's blessing, they would stay that way.
"Imagine the best day of your childhood. Now imagine that that was every day." He chuckled. "Of course, maybe I'm a little bit biased." He lifted his hand and indicated with his thumb and forefinger, smirking. "But only a little."
He'd always thought himself lucky in that respect, for not many could claim such an idyllic upbringing. The Towers seemed to accumulate tragedy, but for all the twists in his part of the pattern, Araya considered himself fairly untouched. He'd faced hardship, sure, but he was hardly alone in that respect.
"Dragons and saidin were just fancy stories when I was growing up. Still are among some of the wagons, for all I know. I suppose you might call it ignorant, but at least it's a life free of the Great Game. I lived in Andor for a time, and Light were the children there precocious. I freely admit that I just don't get it."
The travellers were not entirely free of conflict, of course. There were disputes from time to time; arguments, disagreements and frustration. The Tinkers were nothing short of human, and their natures were not without blemish, but the practice of politics among the wagons was fruitless; one had nothing to gain by scheming or manipulation, and those who wished for things like power and wealth always left in the end. Tinkers walked the path of the leaf by choice, and even those born into the life ultimately decided whether to stay or find their fortunes elsewhere.
The Tinker's ignorance or the Game of Houses? He knew which he preferred, though perhaps that was because he'd never been seduced by daes dae'mar, nor been any good at it. The Tower, for all that it was the very centre, was different; at least it was closer to the heart of the world's problems, if you looked hard passed the fluff of politics and mindless (and often pointless) games the sisters played amongst themselves. It was not all about succession and power. Still, he would have chosen to remain on the Blight border amongst the straight-forwardness of the Borderlands if he'd had a stomach for war.
The Seanchan had come to Altara by the time Trista was born. Having grown up so near Ebou Dar, in such a turbulent time, Trista had grown up hearing about the Dragon Reborn. She had known him to be real, but there were other creatures that she believed mere nightmares. Darkhounds. Trollocs. Worms. Even the flora of the Blight appeared to have grown from some Forsaken's fantasy. If only the Forsaken themselves were so hideous. So obvious.
"The best day of my childhood was the day I defeated my brother in a rapier duel," the soft hum of laughter followed her words. She was well aware of how often an event like that took place among the Tinker wagons. "In front of the entire court and his fiance, too. I won my freedom from the awful party and the right to heckle him endlessly." If Andoran children were precocious, Alataran chits were fierce. In a society where adolescence brought the privilege of challenge, it was best to make certain your children knew the sharp end of a dagger. Or a rapier, in the noble's case. The fact that Trista was a daughter made no difference- women fought women as much as men fought men. That particular challenge was unusual in that it was between genders, but because they were siblings it was acceptable.
That whole day had been entertaining. Altara was a nation of festivals, and Trista had snuck away from Tila's house before dawn to enjoy them. The Alquin family always stayed with Lady Tila when they came into the city. She was a charming woman, and it was a shame her own daughter had not inherited her personality. Forrest had made a good choice, refusing to take her as wife.
Forrest, the bugger, had been the one to find her and drag her back to Tila's manor. The maidservants cleaned her and stuffed her in a dress just in time for the party. Light, but she had been relieved to win that challenge. She'd never beaten him in a spar before, but getting out of the court's dull dinner parties was apparently the incentive she needed.
Despite the differences in their childhoods, she understood what Araya had meant. Trista was not prone to nostalgia; thoughts of the past threatened her stability, but she had come far enough now that recollections were not so dangerous. She did not enjoy her life now, exactly, but she preferred it to death. A big step, and one she had only recently come to realize.
“Oh, okay,” he conceded with a chuckle, and wondered if she’d used that example to catch him out on purpose. It seemed to fit with her sly sense of humour, but given what he had come to understand of her, like as not it was the plain truth. He couldn’t imagine finding joy in duelling, even in the context of a simple contest of skill without the intent for any real harm. The fact that it was a childhood memory made it all the more incomprehensible. “I agree with you on the dullness of court parties, though.” Such attendances occasionally fell into the realms of duty, though since Araya had never shouldered much responsibility in currying favour among the nobles, those instances were rare. He could play the part of courtly gentleman as well as he could brandish a blade, but most nobles were far too inhibited to be good company.
Night had descended, and the Asha’man let his eyes rest, though he did not sleep straight away. Grasping saidin, he heated the air to something more comfortable. “Do gaidar sleep? You have my oath I won’t chuck you off if you snore.” He chuckled, but didn’t open his eyes. He had no pressing duties tomorrow, but she no doubt had recruits to teach.
An amused hum vibrated in her throat, her own eyes lidded but still focused on the little points of light above. They danced enthusiastically, as if to taunt the creatures trapped on the small planet below. "Gaidar rest," she answered simply. 'Sleep' was a strong word. The state was more of a trance, where the body could repair itself but the mind remained easily disturbed. 'Paranoia' was an even better term for it.
She felt herself begin to drift off, and the stars descended from their universal watch. Pulsing energy, unique and separated although somehow shapeless. The nearest beat softly, steadily. She knew each was unique, but it was more a knowing than an observation. This one was near enough she could feel it- could recognize it. The familiarity was warm, and her ephemeral self reveled in it.
The awareness her training lent her woke her at her own unconscious movement. She was normally very still in sleep; a requirement in an occupation such as hers. So the primal part of her mind stirred, assessing danger without coming to full consciousness. She was safe, and so was her charge. In truth, Araya was not her responsibility in any way, but her dozing mind did not care. Nor did it care that she had rolled onto her side, or that her head now rested on his shoulder.
'Rest', she said, and he had to chuckle at that. Without need or desire for Warder protectors, Asha'man were capable of something similar when necessity dictated need, but Araya rarely found cause to employ the technique - even now, in the company of what was essentially a stranger. That blind trust would probably kill him one day, he mused, drifting on the edges of sleep. Something warm rested against his shoulder, and he was coherent enough to recognise it for the gaidar. A smile softened the edges of his lips, as a fuzzy haze descended in and his thoughts meandered off into pleasant dreams.
![[Image: Raffe-banner--scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/Raffe-banner--scaled.jpg)