The Point of No Return

[Kiyohito]

Vladamir Gaidin

His dreams had grown steadily harsher of late.

He’d not thought much of it until one day in the library. Whispers passed loudly in those hallowed halls. Vladamir found a corner with an old pillow pressed between his back and the wall, and was generally unmoved for several hours. Two Aes Sedai walked by, whispering among themselves in a way that Vladamir attempted to tune out the conversation, but it wasn’t until they turned the corner and both faces fell to blankness at the sight of the warder that they realized their mistake. Vladamir pretended not to notice, turning the page, lost in thought until one of them said his name.

He recognized both when he climbed to his feet and bowed, eyes averted aside.

For all his attempts to forget, he couldn’t forget, and he wished for the opportunity to discuss it with Edwin, but he’d not encountered the dream man for many months.

From that day on, he was watching Aes Sedai in a way that settled discomfort in his stomach. He eventually brought it up with Caia’li.

“Sitter, it is not my place, but I must comment on the tension in the Tower.”

“Your senses are accurate, Vladamir. The Hall is tense too. There is a new treaty soon to be enacted between Arad Doman and the Seanchan. We are discussing the ramifications.”

Vladamir’s frown was unsure how this correlated to the tension building among so steeply of late nor to the many dreams plaguing his nights.

He bid Caia’li to have a peaceful rest and returned to his quarters; however, a week later, he had opted to sleep on a bench in the Green Halls just to be nearer to her. He wasn’t sleeping much anyway, and he could keep a closer eye on the Gleeman who seemed to be lurking around Green doors more than anywhere else.

Then came the day that he heard that the treaty everyone was discussing was signed.

There were too many warders for all of them to wait outside the Hall of the Tower while their Aes Sedai were locked within. Vladamir was some distance away as a result, seated at a simple bench with a handheld pocketbook of poetry poised in front of him. For all the calm turning of the pages, he was completely armed and armored.

And there he waited.