Filling the Days

[Jaxen Marveet]

Chapter 5: The Note

The paper was smudged with dry blood. Jole sighed and simply took it, clearly not uncomfortable with the evidence of murder soaked into the parchment. His hands held worse. His hands did worse.

Lews was thin on the specifics, but learning that the note was literally staked to the body of the Dragon's second in command made him properly laugh. That didn’t go over well either.

“Come on? That’s creative if I say so myself.”

Rand al’Thor:
Get your shit together.
See you at Shayol Ghul.
- Arikan

“What do you know of him?”

Jole rubbed his face, finally feeling more alert despite the hangover. “I never met him myself. Though I heard he caused quite a stir a few years back.”

“Why would Forsaken be concerned about a mere dreadlord?”

Jole studied the man’s face. If he squinted, he could almost see the same righteousness as before surging back out of those eyes.

“Because, dear Dragon, in the War of Power, he was a ‘Forsaken.’ What? You don’t remember?” A challenge held his gaze. He knew the man hated it when he lorded his fresh memories over the reborn soul’s foggy ones.

Soon, he waved away the question in good jest. Of course their dear Dragon didn’t remember.

“Well. To be precise, he was one of us ‘Chosen to rule the world forever!'” He announced the title loud and obnoxious as if it actually meant something. Clearly that was going so well. The only kingdom that Jole ruled was his bed, and even then, he abdicated from time to time as the sore ass-cheek reminded him.

“Even reborn, he was a threat, and threats can’t be abided. There are only thirteen seats now and the music is still playing.” He waited, but when he didn’t get a reaction, his expectation turned to a frown. Didn’t they play that game any more? Guess not.

“What would Shayol Ghul mean to him?”

Jole lifted a curious brow. He had a suspicion but best he keep that information to himself for now. ‘Get your shit together’ didn’t sound like the tone of a man wanting to challenge the dragon. 

“Hell if I know. Asristin always had a stick up his ass. Maybe he’s asking you on a date.” Still nothing.

“Asristin…” he repeated the name like he was testing it. Jole decided to change tactics.

“He followed you, you know.”

That took the cursed man by surprise. Finally. Jole decided to indulge.

“Rather obsessive about it too. Like I said: a pain in the ass. I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with him in the war. Lilis… er, Merihem was afraid of him too.” His voice trailed with the unexpected wave of emotion. Asristin would have kicked his ass if it came to facing him. The bastard was unbreakable, and knew it too, but Jole was smart. It never came to that.

“'Too'? Are you saying you were afraid of him?”

A flash of darkness crossed Jole's expression, and he ignored the question.

“Then one day he up and flipped sides. I assumed you did something to piss him off. Did you?” The previous flicker was carefully hidden away, and he studied the other man carefully. But to his disappointment, no sign of recognition gave away a clue as to what happened. Either way, Asristin was full of himself enough to be the great Lord’s favorite. Or near enough to it.

“Why wasn’t he trapped in the bore with the rest of you then?”

Jole decided he was tired of talking.
“I want some wine.”

“It’s not even lunch yet.”

This time Jole fixed a look. “And a healer to wash away this headache.”

“Just in time to fill your head back up with more wine?” He crossed his arms, impatient.

But Jole only smiled. “I’m done talking for now. I’m too thirsty.”

He rose, sauntering by the pair of Maidens waiting outside and relayed his friendly requests as he passed. “Send the healer to my room. I’ll be there resting my vocal cords.” And he laughed boisterous and amused, humming to himself as he strolled.