02-01-2024, 05:55 PM
[[Byron's posts written by Number Two]]
![[Image: Byron.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Byron.jpg)
Byron
Byron Gaidin's idea of training was far from normal. Most often, he seemed simply to be enjoying life as any carefree and foolish man might. Gambling and drinking, sharing stories and telling jokes. Much of his training happened away from the Tower's actual training fields, as much of it was just too down right odd to be perfected there. Learning common regional lore? Accents? Rumour gathering and making contacts? Hard to do surrounded by trainees and Aes Sedai too busy enjoying the glistening of sweat on some muscle bound Warder's shoulders.
He often felt there was many things a Warder should know, that went beyond how to swing a sword or scare the wits out of a man with a look. Some Aes Sedai had more use for a man of wits and charisma then just another sword swinger, and it was to those that his strange cache of skills might appeal. If any where to take notice of them, which was decidedly unlikely considering his odd hours and activities.
That night was a prime example of his odd ideas. What was the best kind of training? The sort where you were motivated. Sure, a man could go for a run. But simply running? Was that truly enough? Not in his mind. Vaulting fences and crates, however, now that was good training. Got you used to over coming obstacles on the move, especially when say…running from guards (or an angry husband) in a city. Now most cities weren’t as clean as Tar Valon, but he would simply have to make do with what he had.
Now, simply running and leaping for the sake of running and leaping wasn’t quite good enough either. No, you were likely to take the easy way, likely to duck around a crate rather then go over it. Or slow down for a fence, to make sure the drop off the other side was clear instead of leaping it boldly and dealing with the consequences when they came. How to achieve that? By being chased, of course. Now, he was fairly confident a few hired dock hands or even some borrowed guards weren’t likely to be a good challenge. So what was?
Dressed rather casually, in a featureless set of boots and brown trousers, a comfortable shirt that he wouldn’t miss and a modest grey vest, Byron flew through the alley at a full run, eyes wide to help pierce the heavy gloom of the late evening’s shadows. He lithely bounded over a pair of old crates stacked against one wall of the alley. He was breathing heavily, the added weight at his ankles becoming acutely noticeable with each step. He’d only been at it a few minutes and was already getting winded.
And his pursuers were a bit more motivated then he had expected. A trio of stray dogs were hot on his heels, barking wildly as they gave chase. He doubted they would actually try to hurt him even if they did catch up, they were more interested in the slabs of lightly seasoned, uncooked beef strapped to his ankles. But, it was probably time to end the chase and let them have their reward. Spying a tall fence ahead that separated a storage yard from the street adjacent, Byron redoubled his efforts and let out a frustrated curse as the dogs closed on him, sensing a quick end to the chase.
Bounding another crate, he got two long, determined strides and threw himself up at the fence top. Hands grabbed the weather worn boards and he threw his body length wise over the top, the three hounds letting out a fresh deluge of frustrated barks of their own, pawing and scrambling at the bottom of the tall fence even as Byron vanished over the top. There was a moment’s hope that the street he was about to fall into was empty, and as he cleared the fence and got a good look he was glad to see only a few people strolling it’s narrow way.
He fell lightly, pushing off the fence after wrenching his body into position and landed easily on his feet. The dogs continued to bark and whine at the other side of the fence, too focused on the trail of the scent to find a way around the fence. Wearing his usual charming smile, Byron knelt to untie the slabs of meat from the sides of his boots, breathing heavily as he tossed them over the fence to the now very pleased yipping of his training partners.
“Well done boys, well earned. Light, but you’re faster then you looked. If I were of the mind, I’d adopt the lot of you. But, I’ve a hard enough time remembering to shave in the morning, let alone tend three dogs right?” He was grinning warmly, his breath coming back to him quickly and talking to the likely very distracted dogs on the far side without a hint of a care as to what anyone walking past might think. He was sweaty and dirty from his run, and had had slabs of meat tied to his feet. And now he was talking to dogs? No doubt the casual passer by would simply assume he was some sort of potentially harmful, or at least unpleasant, crazy person and shirked past without provoking his attention.
![[Image: Malaika-av.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Malaika-av.jpg)
Malaika
Malaika had only been in the city a handful of times, those visits all closely following her raise to the shawl, and only then with her sisters for company (and often at their urging in the first place). Many things had put her off; her memories of travelling to Tar Valon, which were a mess of fear and confusion - the savage roil of the sea and the blind panic on shore; strange peoples blurred like dense forest trees, and foreign accents that burned her ears if she ever cared to think on it. Which she very rarely did. Almost her entire life on the mainland had been behind the shining walls of the Tower, and until very recently she had never felt the urge to truly see what lay beyond it; she couldn't miss what she had never known, and her Brown shawl and the extensiveness of the Tower's library was reason enough to never contemplate leaving.
Ebou Dar had changed that, as well as what she had seen of Arad Doman. Curiosity burned like wildfire through her old contentedness with life - she had never had freedom like this. Lianora and Kekura had told her she was free the day she donned the white, and back then she had believed that that was freedom - to her, fresh from the leash, it had been. But this was ... different. To go where she pleased, talk to who she pleased. She’d spent years in her ajah halls, never even wondering about the world outside beyond its histories and artefacts; its writings and scholars and treaties. To experience these things had never really crossed her mind before.
She’d come seeking stories from sailors and dockhands - to hear it from their mouths, so to speak, but she had little experience with people either. Most had been bemused by her odd requests, and none too few had grown irritated; without the serpent ring to protect her, the afternoon would have like as not gone very differently. As it was, she had spent hours in the company of such phrases as “With all due respect, Aes Sedai, the men are very busy” and “No time for that, Aes Sedai, find your answers elsewhere.” She supposed it was unfair of her to expect them to take time from their work; they had wives and families to feed, and she did not. A few had directed her to taverns scattered about the dockside, but from the raucous noise emanating from most of them, she had been less comfortable with that idea.
As the afternoon light had begun to grown dim, she had decided to head home, but Tar Valon was bigger than she had imagined and in the closing dusk the dockside had turned into a warren of alleys and side streets. She was quite lost, she had no doubts about that. Something like fear tingled coolly over her skin, at first; she’d not been this close to danger in a long time (her encounter with Chakai non-withstanding) but the feeling fell flat … she was an Aes Sedai in Tar Valon, after all, and far from completely vulnerable. I know nothing about this city. About its people and their lives. Perhaps she should ask one of her sisters to show her around; they would probably be amused by her interest, and all to happy to oblige, but she was left with the feeling that that tour would only show one side of the coin.
Another cramped street. She would have to ask directions, eventually, which felt like something of a failure. An Aes Sedai lost in Tar Valon, she thought dryly. Not that anyone would know unless she told them, else they had close knowledge of the Tower and its people. Her face was yet ageless, and she didn't tend towards extravagant clothes even when she wasn‘t making a concerted effort to blend in. A navy cloak covered a plain dress and sturdy boots, the hood down and hair spilled like ink down her shoulders. She had the ring, of course, though that was tucked away with her hands for warmth.
A great deal of barking and yipping drew her attention. Most people hurrying along the narrow street ignored it as though it was something normal; Malaika watched their down turned faces as they passed curiously, as much enamoured with the normal denizens of the city as she was with the city itself. If her open appraisal offended anyone, they did not deign to show it, and Malaika was somewhat amused with being so thoroughly ignored. Then a man leapt over the fence a few yards ahead, nimble enough that he appeared to do such things often. In the dark street, the buildings crowded over like crooked teeth, she supposed she should feel fear.
By now she had stopped walking, and watched as he untied … meat? from his shoes. It was meat, and he threw it over to the sound of excited yips and barks of victory. How very … odd. He was filthy and glistening with sweat in the yellow lamplight; she had taken him for a thief, but now was not so certain. She intended to carry on walking, but ended up stopping - some small distance away, for safety’s sake. It was too bizarre a scenario to simply walk by.
She peered through the fence, placing her scarred hand against the metal links, but couldn't see the dogs beyond the crates in the gloom of the alley, only hear them as they gnawed at and fought over the meat with throaty growls. The noises were minuscule compared to the beasts of Seanchan, but a faint fondness crept over her features anyway. The creatures her brother had used to bring home had been far bigger and more awe-inspiring than a couple of stray dogs, but she had always had a soft spot for strays. That expression disappeared as she turned to the stranger, replaced by something vaguely bemused.
“You do that for… fun?”
Byron
He had years of training under his belt. Even as tired as he was from that short jog, he still managed to stay aware of anyone close by. Especially attractive women that he was certain he had seen before. Tar Valon was far from a small city, and Byron often prided himself on his ability to remember the faces and names of those he had met, so this was clearly a situation where it was someone he had seen but not spoken to. So the next question he had to ask himself was the why. Why hadn't he spoken to her? Married perhaps?
With the last peice of beef vanishing over the top of the fence, Byron knelt over one last time to carefully brush some of the loose dirt from his pants, properly blousing them into his boots. There was a long gap between when she spoke and his reaction, almost as if he simply hadn't heard her, and when he did finally react it was with apparent surprise.
He glanced up with an almost bored expression, gaze sweeping the street around him as he finished with his second pant leg, and his eyes passed over her once before snapping back. A surprised and very mild curse and he took a half step back, quickly brushing at some of the dirt on his shirt then vigorously wiping his hands clean on his pants, accomplishing little to improve his appearance. He hadn't worked up quite enough of a sweat for his hair to be clinging to his head, but a few wet locks hung over his forehead and threatened to poke him in the eye at any moment.
"Light woman! Your ilk should be a bit more careful sneaking up on some poor fool of a man. Blood and ashes, give a lout a heart attack if he goes looks on such a lovely sight so blasted suddenly!" He sounded rather serious. Not angry, simply providing a much needed warning, and he had a strong Arafelin accent without any of the looks. To a practiced eye, he was more likely of a midlands origin; southern Andor perhaps.
He started as if realizing the tone of his voice and flashed an apologetic smile, scrubbing his hands together almost nervously while getting some more of the grime off, "Apologies! Light, I'm about to fall apart at the seams aren't I? Taken off guard is all, not quite feeling the king of my castle at the moment."
He brushed a now mostly clean hand through his hair, flicking back some of the errant bangs from his eyes and finally dropped the act. Not that there was much of a change asides the confidence in his eyes and the change of accent, changing from the thick Arafelin gone and replaced by something a bit more worldly, his tone and voice warm. "Yes and no, good Lady. Training, and while most men do so enjoy working up a good sweat, I do so for necessity."
Malaika
He didn't react for a long time, and Malaika was content to wait for a while; she folded her hands in her cloak and watched as he made an apparent (and admittedly quite useless, given the state he was in) show of brushing himself off. She had a similar habit - of taking time to respond, that is - and she assumed he was stalling for time or ignoring her in the hope that she would move on quietly - she even considered that he might be deaf, and she probably would have passed by if she'd not grown bored wandering foreign streets in the hope of returning to someplace she recognised. Not that she intended to ask a man who tied raw meat to his boots for directions, unless he turned out to be a little less odd than first impressions made it seem.
He 'noticed' her in a rather theatrical fashion, since Malaika wasn't sure she believed he had really been ignorant of her presence, and she accepted his mild scolding without much outward expression. It was not a reaction she had been anticipating - and she had certainly not been sneaking - but she didn't choose to say anything in return. Perhaps he simply did not want to be observed. His looks didn't remotely match his accent, either, but Tar Valon attracted all sorts. The problem was less that discrepancy and more that he was acting... well, strangely. Lovely sight? She wasn't astoundingly beautiful like Fate, or even striking in the way of someone like Lythia. Is he making fun of me? The maids her ajah sister Adira sometimes tried to foist on her, particularly around feast times, always called her ‘exotic’, which Malaika had always assumed a polite way to say different.
And then something about him changed. She tilted her head almost imperceptibly, eyes slightly narrowed, unsure if she was being toyed with.
"Necessity..." she repeated sceptically, and then was quiet for a long time. The accent had dissolved, as had the bumbling attitude and even the formality with which he spoke was now different; subtle shifts that changed a persona, to Malaika's eye. A ruse, or something less intentional? Broekk had told her of personality disorders, a prism of different people all trapped in one body, but probably that was the dark, cramped street talking rather than reason.
What to make of it..? Well, she didn't really know, and time wasn't exactly lending itself to serious thought on the matter. And she had been staring, she realised; not exactly rudely so much as with a mix of curiosity and puzzlement. Since he appeared somewhat normal, now - or at least acted like everything she had so far witnessed was entirely usual - she mentally shrugged and simply took it in her stride, removing her invasive gaze back to the fence in order to gather muster for some sort of answer.
"Not a Lady," she ended up saying, eyes returning to the odd man. "My name is Malaika, and I didn't intend to pry. I was curious. Am curious." She paused and wondered if it would be considered socially rude to inquire further; she had discovered today that most ordinary people did not like a stranger poking around in their business, and in particular asking inane questions about ordinary things that, to one who had never observed the hustle and bustle of a mainland city, was quite a fascination. Malaika did not have this problem with her sisters; in the comfort of her ajah halls, the pursuit of knowledge via any means was encouraged.
"Is this sort of thing ... common, in the city?" she ventured, "Or do you have a particularly uncommon profession? I am not that ... familiar, with this place." To one with an ear for accents, as apparently this man had, that might sound odd coming from someone with an accent as neutral as hers; the slurring inflections common to her Seanchan heritage had mostly faded after so many years at the Tower, so she pretty much sounded as though she was from Tar Valon, or at least had lived here a good number of years.
Byron
Well she certainly seemed perceptive. He couldn't help but feel the part of an blacksmith's puzzle being studied and measured. Compared to feeling the part of a prize bull on auction, it was an almost pleasant change. Pleasant if not for the fact that with such inpsections came the danger of someone actually figuring him out. What was he without his mysteries and eccentricities? Well, asides from being an amazing dancer and outlandishly handsome of course.
Worse still, the woman had managed to play straight to his greatest weakness...or at least, of the moment, he was rather fluid that way. Curiousity. How could one learn, better oneself, gain confidence and power and friendship without curiousity? It was also an invaluable peice of leverage in a game of cards. Keep your opponents curiousity peaked, they didn't focus on the cards. And back to square one, his mysteries and eccentricities were his weapons of choice for keeping fool rich men from getting his coin.
"Well, I certainly doubt you are a wench. Not a man, although I have met some very questionable fellows in my day. And I rue the day I'm offended by a question." He glanced at the fence, the sounds of the dogs having calmed and drifted away once they had finished their well earned meal. "Now that is an interesting question. Most would probably think I'm a thief, something that simply makes no sense at all now does it? Unless I stole the meat. But why would I tie it to my ankles? Ah!"
He brought a fist to his hand with the sudden exclamation, a victorious grin on his face, "Ah yes. Maybe I was caught thieving, and the would be victim had his men tie the meat there and loosed his dogs on me as punishment?" He let the idea stew a moment then shook his head in dismissal, "No, that wouldn't make much sense either would it? Honestly, this is Tar Valon not some backwater Murandy township. And even so, it's more so for the thrill of the hunt, and where is my hunter? No, certainly not that."
"Well, good Lady Malaika, this sort of thing is so uncommon that I would wager I'm the only one in the city that practices it. And the reason I do is is as training for my uncommon profession." She hadn't asked what his profession might be, so he left that unanswered. Now, as for what to make of her. Now foreign accent that he could notice, it was as if she were indeed a Tar Valoner. But then she had said she didn't know much of the city. Or the neighbourhood, at least. So she had the neutral accent of a city dweller, yet without the knowledge of someone who really lived in the city.
Sheltered, perhaps? If that were the case, it opened various possibilities. A rich, over protective merchant who kept his daughter hidden away in the safety of his estate? Someone like that could certainly be both curious and naive, but she had a level of confidence that didn't quite apply. Her style of dress better fit the maid rather then the daughter. Perhaps she had had her maid bring in a dress she could wear as her disguise? But then wouldn't the maid have come with her to keep her out of trouble? So perhaps she had forced her maid to bring it? No, she didn't seem the type for that sort of treatment.
"Well, I dare say I could use a cup of tea and some supper of my own. Have you eaten yet Lady Malaika? Not far, a comfortable tea house favored by the more cultured merchantmen that visit the city. I've little doubt the house Mistress will frown over my state of dress, but I suspect she rather enjoys my stories too much to turn me away." He raised a hand indicating the direction of the tea house and even turned as if he would start walking with or without her, all the while sporting his usual charming smile.
Malaika
For all that he chatted with ease and confidence, Malaika noticed that he really told her very little of substance. He played at being open, but in reality he kept his cards close to his chest; her question was lost in a cloud of charm and wit that would make most women smile and forget what they had asked. Poor luck for him that this woman happened to be Aes Sedai. She had never realised until now, away from the confines of the Tower, how ingrained the Great Game had come to be in her. She had always considered herself only lightly touched by that particular trapping of the ring and shawl, but apparently not. Or at least by standards outside the Tower.
She had no inclination to pry deeper into his affairs, curious as they were, if the attention was unwanted. Whatever he was and whatever he did for a living was his own business, and either he intended her to work harder to find answers or he meant to keep her in the dark. Providing he was Light-fearing and meant no harm, he could keep his secrets; it had been a long day and she was content to find amusement in the weave of his outlandish fabrications without trying to fathom out the truth behind them. No more than her mind did automatically, anyway.
"Eaten?" The intruding thought caught her off balance. Any scrutiny that had been in her gaze moments before evaporated, now, like early morning mist. The expression that was left was a very human one for an Aes Sedai, if any here had known that was what she was, but less uncommon for a Brown. It was not at all unusual for one of her ajah to overlook such mundane, earthly things as meal times. Malaika was terrible for forgetting if not for intervention from the Tower's servants, her sisters or her nephew, and today she had spent the whole day alone in the city. Adira had reminded her to take coin for food, but now that she thought of it, that coin still weighted her down on one side.
The surprise softened from her face. She was hungry - starving, actually, now that the empty pit of her stomach had been brought to her attention. He’d phrased the offer in such a way that seemed to imply her acceptance, but had also turned to leave as though he would be unconcerned should she refuse. Malaika was not in the habit of dining with strangers, particularly men, but she was also quite disorientated in an unfamiliar part of Tar Valon. And she had never been to a tea house.
The last time she'd thrown caution to the wind it had cost her. She wasn't eager to repeat her mistakes, or make new ones, but was not suspicious by nature - and wanted to enlighten herself to life outside the Tower to boot. His charm, a glamour or an act though it might be, did its work enough to elicit something of a smile from the young Aes Sedai. What an odd situation I've found myself in.
"Do you have a name?" No, perhaps that was too vague a question. Given his earlier evasions and laid-back humour, he was like to simply grin and tell her yes, he did have a name. She was not interested in whether he offered the truth, but she did want something to call him. “A name I could call you by, that is. It would not do for a ‘Lady’ to accept tea from a stranger, no?” She had already told him she was no Lady, but since he used the title anyway she wasn't going to correct him again. She supposed he had every right to be as curious of her as she him, for although she hadn't been the one with slabs of meat tied to her ankles, she
was for all appearances a young, unescorted woman wandering about after dark. And seemingly without care to the danger, which even in Tar Valon was not non-existant.
She followed the direction of his hand, but slowed when she reached his side. She had little idea where she was let alone where they were going, and waited for him to lead the way. Since she had already gleaned as much as she could from his appearance and manner and didn‘t wish to make him uncomfortable, it was their surroundings she watched as they walked.
"Have you lived in Tar Valon long? You sound well-travelled." She was remarking on the flawless Arafelin accent, though she supposed he needn't have been there to have learned it. Tar Valon attracted people from all quarters, and he might never have left. He had mentioned telling stories, though, so she was inclined to believe he had travelled. Perhaps he was a Gleeman, though he didn't wear the motley of one (keeping his performing clothes clean?). Actually, that might go a long way to explain his eccentricities...
Byron
Byron Gaidin's idea of training was far from normal. Most often, he seemed simply to be enjoying life as any carefree and foolish man might. Gambling and drinking, sharing stories and telling jokes. Much of his training happened away from the Tower's actual training fields, as much of it was just too down right odd to be perfected there. Learning common regional lore? Accents? Rumour gathering and making contacts? Hard to do surrounded by trainees and Aes Sedai too busy enjoying the glistening of sweat on some muscle bound Warder's shoulders.
He often felt there was many things a Warder should know, that went beyond how to swing a sword or scare the wits out of a man with a look. Some Aes Sedai had more use for a man of wits and charisma then just another sword swinger, and it was to those that his strange cache of skills might appeal. If any where to take notice of them, which was decidedly unlikely considering his odd hours and activities.
That night was a prime example of his odd ideas. What was the best kind of training? The sort where you were motivated. Sure, a man could go for a run. But simply running? Was that truly enough? Not in his mind. Vaulting fences and crates, however, now that was good training. Got you used to over coming obstacles on the move, especially when say…running from guards (or an angry husband) in a city. Now most cities weren’t as clean as Tar Valon, but he would simply have to make do with what he had.
Now, simply running and leaping for the sake of running and leaping wasn’t quite good enough either. No, you were likely to take the easy way, likely to duck around a crate rather then go over it. Or slow down for a fence, to make sure the drop off the other side was clear instead of leaping it boldly and dealing with the consequences when they came. How to achieve that? By being chased, of course. Now, he was fairly confident a few hired dock hands or even some borrowed guards weren’t likely to be a good challenge. So what was?
Dressed rather casually, in a featureless set of boots and brown trousers, a comfortable shirt that he wouldn’t miss and a modest grey vest, Byron flew through the alley at a full run, eyes wide to help pierce the heavy gloom of the late evening’s shadows. He lithely bounded over a pair of old crates stacked against one wall of the alley. He was breathing heavily, the added weight at his ankles becoming acutely noticeable with each step. He’d only been at it a few minutes and was already getting winded.
And his pursuers were a bit more motivated then he had expected. A trio of stray dogs were hot on his heels, barking wildly as they gave chase. He doubted they would actually try to hurt him even if they did catch up, they were more interested in the slabs of lightly seasoned, uncooked beef strapped to his ankles. But, it was probably time to end the chase and let them have their reward. Spying a tall fence ahead that separated a storage yard from the street adjacent, Byron redoubled his efforts and let out a frustrated curse as the dogs closed on him, sensing a quick end to the chase.
Bounding another crate, he got two long, determined strides and threw himself up at the fence top. Hands grabbed the weather worn boards and he threw his body length wise over the top, the three hounds letting out a fresh deluge of frustrated barks of their own, pawing and scrambling at the bottom of the tall fence even as Byron vanished over the top. There was a moment’s hope that the street he was about to fall into was empty, and as he cleared the fence and got a good look he was glad to see only a few people strolling it’s narrow way.
He fell lightly, pushing off the fence after wrenching his body into position and landed easily on his feet. The dogs continued to bark and whine at the other side of the fence, too focused on the trail of the scent to find a way around the fence. Wearing his usual charming smile, Byron knelt to untie the slabs of meat from the sides of his boots, breathing heavily as he tossed them over the fence to the now very pleased yipping of his training partners.
“Well done boys, well earned. Light, but you’re faster then you looked. If I were of the mind, I’d adopt the lot of you. But, I’ve a hard enough time remembering to shave in the morning, let alone tend three dogs right?” He was grinning warmly, his breath coming back to him quickly and talking to the likely very distracted dogs on the far side without a hint of a care as to what anyone walking past might think. He was sweaty and dirty from his run, and had had slabs of meat tied to his feet. And now he was talking to dogs? No doubt the casual passer by would simply assume he was some sort of potentially harmful, or at least unpleasant, crazy person and shirked past without provoking his attention.
Malaika
Malaika had only been in the city a handful of times, those visits all closely following her raise to the shawl, and only then with her sisters for company (and often at their urging in the first place). Many things had put her off; her memories of travelling to Tar Valon, which were a mess of fear and confusion - the savage roil of the sea and the blind panic on shore; strange peoples blurred like dense forest trees, and foreign accents that burned her ears if she ever cared to think on it. Which she very rarely did. Almost her entire life on the mainland had been behind the shining walls of the Tower, and until very recently she had never felt the urge to truly see what lay beyond it; she couldn't miss what she had never known, and her Brown shawl and the extensiveness of the Tower's library was reason enough to never contemplate leaving.
Ebou Dar had changed that, as well as what she had seen of Arad Doman. Curiosity burned like wildfire through her old contentedness with life - she had never had freedom like this. Lianora and Kekura had told her she was free the day she donned the white, and back then she had believed that that was freedom - to her, fresh from the leash, it had been. But this was ... different. To go where she pleased, talk to who she pleased. She’d spent years in her ajah halls, never even wondering about the world outside beyond its histories and artefacts; its writings and scholars and treaties. To experience these things had never really crossed her mind before.
She’d come seeking stories from sailors and dockhands - to hear it from their mouths, so to speak, but she had little experience with people either. Most had been bemused by her odd requests, and none too few had grown irritated; without the serpent ring to protect her, the afternoon would have like as not gone very differently. As it was, she had spent hours in the company of such phrases as “With all due respect, Aes Sedai, the men are very busy” and “No time for that, Aes Sedai, find your answers elsewhere.” She supposed it was unfair of her to expect them to take time from their work; they had wives and families to feed, and she did not. A few had directed her to taverns scattered about the dockside, but from the raucous noise emanating from most of them, she had been less comfortable with that idea.
As the afternoon light had begun to grown dim, she had decided to head home, but Tar Valon was bigger than she had imagined and in the closing dusk the dockside had turned into a warren of alleys and side streets. She was quite lost, she had no doubts about that. Something like fear tingled coolly over her skin, at first; she’d not been this close to danger in a long time (her encounter with Chakai non-withstanding) but the feeling fell flat … she was an Aes Sedai in Tar Valon, after all, and far from completely vulnerable. I know nothing about this city. About its people and their lives. Perhaps she should ask one of her sisters to show her around; they would probably be amused by her interest, and all to happy to oblige, but she was left with the feeling that that tour would only show one side of the coin.
Another cramped street. She would have to ask directions, eventually, which felt like something of a failure. An Aes Sedai lost in Tar Valon, she thought dryly. Not that anyone would know unless she told them, else they had close knowledge of the Tower and its people. Her face was yet ageless, and she didn't tend towards extravagant clothes even when she wasn‘t making a concerted effort to blend in. A navy cloak covered a plain dress and sturdy boots, the hood down and hair spilled like ink down her shoulders. She had the ring, of course, though that was tucked away with her hands for warmth.
A great deal of barking and yipping drew her attention. Most people hurrying along the narrow street ignored it as though it was something normal; Malaika watched their down turned faces as they passed curiously, as much enamoured with the normal denizens of the city as she was with the city itself. If her open appraisal offended anyone, they did not deign to show it, and Malaika was somewhat amused with being so thoroughly ignored. Then a man leapt over the fence a few yards ahead, nimble enough that he appeared to do such things often. In the dark street, the buildings crowded over like crooked teeth, she supposed she should feel fear.
By now she had stopped walking, and watched as he untied … meat? from his shoes. It was meat, and he threw it over to the sound of excited yips and barks of victory. How very … odd. He was filthy and glistening with sweat in the yellow lamplight; she had taken him for a thief, but now was not so certain. She intended to carry on walking, but ended up stopping - some small distance away, for safety’s sake. It was too bizarre a scenario to simply walk by.
She peered through the fence, placing her scarred hand against the metal links, but couldn't see the dogs beyond the crates in the gloom of the alley, only hear them as they gnawed at and fought over the meat with throaty growls. The noises were minuscule compared to the beasts of Seanchan, but a faint fondness crept over her features anyway. The creatures her brother had used to bring home had been far bigger and more awe-inspiring than a couple of stray dogs, but she had always had a soft spot for strays. That expression disappeared as she turned to the stranger, replaced by something vaguely bemused.
“You do that for… fun?”
Byron
He had years of training under his belt. Even as tired as he was from that short jog, he still managed to stay aware of anyone close by. Especially attractive women that he was certain he had seen before. Tar Valon was far from a small city, and Byron often prided himself on his ability to remember the faces and names of those he had met, so this was clearly a situation where it was someone he had seen but not spoken to. So the next question he had to ask himself was the why. Why hadn't he spoken to her? Married perhaps?
With the last peice of beef vanishing over the top of the fence, Byron knelt over one last time to carefully brush some of the loose dirt from his pants, properly blousing them into his boots. There was a long gap between when she spoke and his reaction, almost as if he simply hadn't heard her, and when he did finally react it was with apparent surprise.
He glanced up with an almost bored expression, gaze sweeping the street around him as he finished with his second pant leg, and his eyes passed over her once before snapping back. A surprised and very mild curse and he took a half step back, quickly brushing at some of the dirt on his shirt then vigorously wiping his hands clean on his pants, accomplishing little to improve his appearance. He hadn't worked up quite enough of a sweat for his hair to be clinging to his head, but a few wet locks hung over his forehead and threatened to poke him in the eye at any moment.
"Light woman! Your ilk should be a bit more careful sneaking up on some poor fool of a man. Blood and ashes, give a lout a heart attack if he goes looks on such a lovely sight so blasted suddenly!" He sounded rather serious. Not angry, simply providing a much needed warning, and he had a strong Arafelin accent without any of the looks. To a practiced eye, he was more likely of a midlands origin; southern Andor perhaps.
He started as if realizing the tone of his voice and flashed an apologetic smile, scrubbing his hands together almost nervously while getting some more of the grime off, "Apologies! Light, I'm about to fall apart at the seams aren't I? Taken off guard is all, not quite feeling the king of my castle at the moment."
He brushed a now mostly clean hand through his hair, flicking back some of the errant bangs from his eyes and finally dropped the act. Not that there was much of a change asides the confidence in his eyes and the change of accent, changing from the thick Arafelin gone and replaced by something a bit more worldly, his tone and voice warm. "Yes and no, good Lady. Training, and while most men do so enjoy working up a good sweat, I do so for necessity."
Malaika
He didn't react for a long time, and Malaika was content to wait for a while; she folded her hands in her cloak and watched as he made an apparent (and admittedly quite useless, given the state he was in) show of brushing himself off. She had a similar habit - of taking time to respond, that is - and she assumed he was stalling for time or ignoring her in the hope that she would move on quietly - she even considered that he might be deaf, and she probably would have passed by if she'd not grown bored wandering foreign streets in the hope of returning to someplace she recognised. Not that she intended to ask a man who tied raw meat to his boots for directions, unless he turned out to be a little less odd than first impressions made it seem.
He 'noticed' her in a rather theatrical fashion, since Malaika wasn't sure she believed he had really been ignorant of her presence, and she accepted his mild scolding without much outward expression. It was not a reaction she had been anticipating - and she had certainly not been sneaking - but she didn't choose to say anything in return. Perhaps he simply did not want to be observed. His looks didn't remotely match his accent, either, but Tar Valon attracted all sorts. The problem was less that discrepancy and more that he was acting... well, strangely. Lovely sight? She wasn't astoundingly beautiful like Fate, or even striking in the way of someone like Lythia. Is he making fun of me? The maids her ajah sister Adira sometimes tried to foist on her, particularly around feast times, always called her ‘exotic’, which Malaika had always assumed a polite way to say different.
And then something about him changed. She tilted her head almost imperceptibly, eyes slightly narrowed, unsure if she was being toyed with.
"Necessity..." she repeated sceptically, and then was quiet for a long time. The accent had dissolved, as had the bumbling attitude and even the formality with which he spoke was now different; subtle shifts that changed a persona, to Malaika's eye. A ruse, or something less intentional? Broekk had told her of personality disorders, a prism of different people all trapped in one body, but probably that was the dark, cramped street talking rather than reason.
What to make of it..? Well, she didn't really know, and time wasn't exactly lending itself to serious thought on the matter. And she had been staring, she realised; not exactly rudely so much as with a mix of curiosity and puzzlement. Since he appeared somewhat normal, now - or at least acted like everything she had so far witnessed was entirely usual - she mentally shrugged and simply took it in her stride, removing her invasive gaze back to the fence in order to gather muster for some sort of answer.
"Not a Lady," she ended up saying, eyes returning to the odd man. "My name is Malaika, and I didn't intend to pry. I was curious. Am curious." She paused and wondered if it would be considered socially rude to inquire further; she had discovered today that most ordinary people did not like a stranger poking around in their business, and in particular asking inane questions about ordinary things that, to one who had never observed the hustle and bustle of a mainland city, was quite a fascination. Malaika did not have this problem with her sisters; in the comfort of her ajah halls, the pursuit of knowledge via any means was encouraged.
"Is this sort of thing ... common, in the city?" she ventured, "Or do you have a particularly uncommon profession? I am not that ... familiar, with this place." To one with an ear for accents, as apparently this man had, that might sound odd coming from someone with an accent as neutral as hers; the slurring inflections common to her Seanchan heritage had mostly faded after so many years at the Tower, so she pretty much sounded as though she was from Tar Valon, or at least had lived here a good number of years.
Byron
Worse still, the woman had managed to play straight to his greatest weakness...or at least, of the moment, he was rather fluid that way. Curiousity. How could one learn, better oneself, gain confidence and power and friendship without curiousity? It was also an invaluable peice of leverage in a game of cards. Keep your opponents curiousity peaked, they didn't focus on the cards. And back to square one, his mysteries and eccentricities were his weapons of choice for keeping fool rich men from getting his coin.
"Well, I certainly doubt you are a wench. Not a man, although I have met some very questionable fellows in my day. And I rue the day I'm offended by a question." He glanced at the fence, the sounds of the dogs having calmed and drifted away once they had finished their well earned meal. "Now that is an interesting question. Most would probably think I'm a thief, something that simply makes no sense at all now does it? Unless I stole the meat. But why would I tie it to my ankles? Ah!"
He brought a fist to his hand with the sudden exclamation, a victorious grin on his face, "Ah yes. Maybe I was caught thieving, and the would be victim had his men tie the meat there and loosed his dogs on me as punishment?" He let the idea stew a moment then shook his head in dismissal, "No, that wouldn't make much sense either would it? Honestly, this is Tar Valon not some backwater Murandy township. And even so, it's more so for the thrill of the hunt, and where is my hunter? No, certainly not that."
"Well, good Lady Malaika, this sort of thing is so uncommon that I would wager I'm the only one in the city that practices it. And the reason I do is is as training for my uncommon profession." She hadn't asked what his profession might be, so he left that unanswered. Now, as for what to make of her. Now foreign accent that he could notice, it was as if she were indeed a Tar Valoner. But then she had said she didn't know much of the city. Or the neighbourhood, at least. So she had the neutral accent of a city dweller, yet without the knowledge of someone who really lived in the city.
Sheltered, perhaps? If that were the case, it opened various possibilities. A rich, over protective merchant who kept his daughter hidden away in the safety of his estate? Someone like that could certainly be both curious and naive, but she had a level of confidence that didn't quite apply. Her style of dress better fit the maid rather then the daughter. Perhaps she had had her maid bring in a dress she could wear as her disguise? But then wouldn't the maid have come with her to keep her out of trouble? So perhaps she had forced her maid to bring it? No, she didn't seem the type for that sort of treatment.
"Well, I dare say I could use a cup of tea and some supper of my own. Have you eaten yet Lady Malaika? Not far, a comfortable tea house favored by the more cultured merchantmen that visit the city. I've little doubt the house Mistress will frown over my state of dress, but I suspect she rather enjoys my stories too much to turn me away." He raised a hand indicating the direction of the tea house and even turned as if he would start walking with or without her, all the while sporting his usual charming smile.
Malaika
For all that he chatted with ease and confidence, Malaika noticed that he really told her very little of substance. He played at being open, but in reality he kept his cards close to his chest; her question was lost in a cloud of charm and wit that would make most women smile and forget what they had asked. Poor luck for him that this woman happened to be Aes Sedai. She had never realised until now, away from the confines of the Tower, how ingrained the Great Game had come to be in her. She had always considered herself only lightly touched by that particular trapping of the ring and shawl, but apparently not. Or at least by standards outside the Tower.
She had no inclination to pry deeper into his affairs, curious as they were, if the attention was unwanted. Whatever he was and whatever he did for a living was his own business, and either he intended her to work harder to find answers or he meant to keep her in the dark. Providing he was Light-fearing and meant no harm, he could keep his secrets; it had been a long day and she was content to find amusement in the weave of his outlandish fabrications without trying to fathom out the truth behind them. No more than her mind did automatically, anyway.
"Eaten?" The intruding thought caught her off balance. Any scrutiny that had been in her gaze moments before evaporated, now, like early morning mist. The expression that was left was a very human one for an Aes Sedai, if any here had known that was what she was, but less uncommon for a Brown. It was not at all unusual for one of her ajah to overlook such mundane, earthly things as meal times. Malaika was terrible for forgetting if not for intervention from the Tower's servants, her sisters or her nephew, and today she had spent the whole day alone in the city. Adira had reminded her to take coin for food, but now that she thought of it, that coin still weighted her down on one side.
The surprise softened from her face. She was hungry - starving, actually, now that the empty pit of her stomach had been brought to her attention. He’d phrased the offer in such a way that seemed to imply her acceptance, but had also turned to leave as though he would be unconcerned should she refuse. Malaika was not in the habit of dining with strangers, particularly men, but she was also quite disorientated in an unfamiliar part of Tar Valon. And she had never been to a tea house.
The last time she'd thrown caution to the wind it had cost her. She wasn't eager to repeat her mistakes, or make new ones, but was not suspicious by nature - and wanted to enlighten herself to life outside the Tower to boot. His charm, a glamour or an act though it might be, did its work enough to elicit something of a smile from the young Aes Sedai. What an odd situation I've found myself in.
"Do you have a name?" No, perhaps that was too vague a question. Given his earlier evasions and laid-back humour, he was like to simply grin and tell her yes, he did have a name. She was not interested in whether he offered the truth, but she did want something to call him. “A name I could call you by, that is. It would not do for a ‘Lady’ to accept tea from a stranger, no?” She had already told him she was no Lady, but since he used the title anyway she wasn't going to correct him again. She supposed he had every right to be as curious of her as she him, for although she hadn't been the one with slabs of meat tied to her ankles, she
was for all appearances a young, unescorted woman wandering about after dark. And seemingly without care to the danger, which even in Tar Valon was not non-existant.
She followed the direction of his hand, but slowed when she reached his side. She had little idea where she was let alone where they were going, and waited for him to lead the way. Since she had already gleaned as much as she could from his appearance and manner and didn‘t wish to make him uncomfortable, it was their surroundings she watched as they walked.
"Have you lived in Tar Valon long? You sound well-travelled." She was remarking on the flawless Arafelin accent, though she supposed he needn't have been there to have learned it. Tar Valon attracted people from all quarters, and he might never have left. He had mentioned telling stories, though, so she was inclined to believe he had travelled. Perhaps he was a Gleeman, though he didn't wear the motley of one (keeping his performing clothes clean?). Actually, that might go a long way to explain his eccentricities...
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