Filling the Days

[Morven]

Devika Sirideán

Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah

✥

Devika watched him pace. For all her apparent ease, the tension strung her through in those long moments. His emotions were thorny and layered, and she spent no time trying to untangle them into sense. Whatever this man felt was likely as duplicitous as the lies dripped from his lips, and she would trust none of it. His listing of names made her blood run cold, yet she only looked back with chin aloft. She had meant what she said – the manner of this new “alliance” depended entirely on his willingness to be reasonable. A name to call him by was one small token towards that end.

“Jole, then,” was all she said in response, simple as that. The declaration came easily. Meanwhile he continued his foray about the room, ingratiating himself to comfort in a way she presumed was meant to irk her. Despite that knowledge, Devika’s brow lifted haughtily in response, mostly for his boots on her sheets. She was watching every move like she was stuck in a cage with a wild and slightly dirty animal, and apparently he had the manners of one, but for now she only wished to see his reactions unfettered.

“Seized upon an advantage, you mean?”

She did not know whether he meant the severance or the bonding, but either way she dismissed the claim of moral highground, especially from a Forsaken. Given the opportunity, none would have done differently. This was a war.

At his words she only made an indication that he continue. If he expected her to be offended by the notion he was in any position to bargain with her, for he certainly wasn’t, then it proved unfounded. By the slight curve of her lips she was even curious to give him the chance. She rested her chin upon her hand, one slender finger aloft against her cheek in a pose of patience. As it happened he was not entirely wrong about her needing his cooperation; she did. But she also knew she would have it, whether he offered it or not. The bond between them assured such things as obedience, if he would not know it yet. But she preferred honey over the whip.

“I have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle. For instance, after you Heal me, I will go for a haircut and shave at the Baths. I expect company whenever I want it, and I could use new clothes. Frankly, you don’t want me to get bored.”

Somehow it did not surprise her that he began with frippery and self-indulgence. He left the bed and squat before her chair, looking up into her eyes as if he could peer into her very mind. Devika stared back, though it was not entirely comfortable to do so –  it was a pointed reminder that the connection worked both ways. Yet she had not acted without understanding the sacrifice it required, and she would not baulk. Certainly not now the deed was done.

“I can feel your Power, your connection to the Source.” His eyes sank to her chest, but it wasn’t the displayed skin that they roamed. His voice was darker when he continued. “I may be unable to touch the Source myself, but I am not without Power. Can you feel it - Him - in me?” Those eyes, which had seen so much, returned to hers, boring as surely as the Dark One’s prison dug ever deeper into the Pattern.

“My soul is a conduit to Him, and now you’ve bonded yours to mine. You keep me happy, and I’ll keep the wall in tact.” He moved away, that same chin that she tilted so seductively now angled with newly revealed arrogance. “Because the moment I tear it down, you’ll feel the sheer magnificence of His power, beg Him to take you, and you’ll swear your oaths then and there.” He gave a pointed look, one that reminded her he still summon Myrddraal that very night.

“And I don’t think you want that.”

She was still for a moment more, considering both his words and his manner of delivery. Jole swapped personas like the mask of costume. It was chilling; this juxtaposition of frivolous, lazy Jorin, and the three-thousand year old Forsaken who smirked beneath his skin. When she lowered her hand, it was to rest both arms comfortably. Negotiation was in her blood, but she had always been blunt in the Mayener way.

“I have no objections to your being presentable, and Light knows I do not care who you bed. Whatever luxury you wish for yourself,” she waved a dismissive hand. “Hm, I do not care to forbid it. But the work will come first, and if your dalliances cause trouble, they will end. There will be no begging off with a headache, Jole. No more pleas nor demands for healing because you choose to spend your nights sodden. I do not mean to spend another thirty years allowing the Shadow more time to grow. We are going to hunt them out, you and I, and destroy them. Work the Lord Dragon should have set you to long ago.”

To that end Devika would be utterly ruthless. There was a shine of it in her expression; the devotion of one who recognised little boundary in her pursuit of the Light’s purpose, including this one – using the Dark One’s own sworn man as a weapon. In the undeniable force of her goals, Jole could be a tool or a hindrance; either way she claimed responsibility for this risk the moment she petitioned the Dragon for control of him. For the rest, she did not know whether he spoke true or not. There was hardly a precedence upon which to draw wisdom. But for the mere chance it might be possible she must consider it a threat, though. All the more reason to insist on the accompaniment of a Maiden: a failsafe against the prospect she might ever be used in such a way. Better dead than Dark.

The resolution in her was undiminished.

“You think it is a bonding of souls?” She made a sympathetic tsk as she rose from her seat, smoothing the skirts over her hips. His so-called deal fell too close to the threat of betrayal for her liking, and she did not appreciate such bribery. Why not simply enact it now? It would grant the freedom his glances at the door seemed to indicate was his desire. No clarity came from his emotions. He was going to be trickier than she’d like to handle. But she expected, as with most things, it must simply come down to choices. If, at least for now, this was Jole’s best one, it said a lot for the doors slammed shut in his face. Or perhaps his ultimate intentions. He must be accustomed to the long game. He’d been playing it for three light-forsaken decades already after all.

“You should know,” she continued, “that the bond of an Aes Sedai comes with certain benefits. Stamina, for one.” Her eyes cut a sly look and small smile as she languorously moved to readjust some of the ornaments he’d touched. “But you should also know that if I were to die, the hole it would rent in you would likely send you mad from grief. And I don’t think you want to risk that, especially not on top of your other recent affliction.”

The last thing she moved to adjust was him. The look in her eyes was steel and fire, though the touch was matronly soft as she straightened the collar of his dishevelled shirt.

“Thirty years the Dragon’s plaything, and now you find yourself Gentled and bonded by the Light. How much favour do you think that will really earn you with your master? The other Forsaken have left you here to rot forgotten. You might see me as a jailor, Jole, but I would urge you to see me as your liberator. When the other Forsaken come for you, you might be glad to have me on your side. How our partnership goes is entirely up to you.” She did not use the phrasing without calculation, though neither was it disingenuously meant. He had no choices here, but understanding that would only make him desperate, and desperate men did foolish things. She would treat him exactly how he allowed himself to be treated. But one way or another, she would have what she needed from him.

“Soon you will know despair. Men survive longest when they have a reason. I am offering you that. Now who is the dreadlord you spoke of, and why do you believe he will be a weapon for the Lord Dragon?”

[[Jole's dialogue written by Jaxen]]