11-02-2017, 04:49 AM
A delivery?
Curious. Nythadri kept no ties to her world before the Tower, and knew of no one who might have seen fit to send her a gift. Her family, perhaps … at a push. Every letter they’d ever sent had fed the flames in her hearth, unread, and they had consequently stopped arriving a long time ago - before she had even earned the serpent ring. But if not them, that didn't leave a lot of potentials to speculate. Farune? Hardly likely. A mistake, perhaps. A misunderstanding. Or something mundane that would make sense once she'd received it. She pushed the door to the small office without hesitation, strangely bereft of the sorts of excited inquisitiveness one would usually expect at so uncommon an event.
An Aes Sedai sat behind the desk; Brown, Nythadri would imagine by the stacks of paper scribbled with ink. Ledgers and piles of letters arranged into some obscure order decorated the desk and shelved walls; checked, presumably, before being collected by their intended recipients. Or held until such as time as delivery was deemed appropriate. The ageless face did look up, but only to nod towards the waiting courier. A man as non-descript as the precise and smooth lines of his uniform.
“Nythadri Vanditera?”
She nodded, and held out her hand impatiently, eager to be away. She had been called directly for this, hailed down by a breathless and excited novice because the courier had been instructed to relinquish his goods personally – had in fact calmly refused to leave it in the hands of the Tower, which insofar as the Aes Sedai (and even Nythadri herself) were concerned, was as good as the hands of Nythadri Vanditera. It fit in the open palm of her hand, with a weight that suggested something significant within. Curious now, despite herself, she curled her fingers around the hard edges of the box. There was nothing outwardly to identify it; it was just plain, neat, unexceptional. She prolonged the mystery of it, looking askance at the sister. It would be preferable to retreat to the privacy of her own rooms to open it, though doubtful she would be offered the luxury.
“You’ll need to open it here, dear.”
Spoken disinterestedly, amidst the scratching of a quill; the Aes Sedai did not look up.
She shrugged, disinclined to argue, opened the box, pulled the object out. And folded back the wrappings.
A falcon in flight, with a flash of aqua caught in its outstretched claws. Darkness rushed the edges of Nythadri’s vision, and it felt like falling. Falling ever so hard and fast. The sigil of her brother. Lying stark in her pale palm. So unexpected it tugged her sharply off kilter, wrenched her somewhere dark and distant. Seconds trickled past unnoticed, her expression deathly still. Then, as numbness receded to sensation, ice stung her palm and prickled up the length of her arm. If the Aes Sedai had not been there, she would have snatched her hand free of its burden. But composure demanded more of her than rash impulse, no matter how sickening the twist in her stomach. A blood-soaked memory battled for consciousness among the dim-lit halls of things better left forgotten. “Who sent you?”
Her eyes flicked from the pendant to the courier, lethal as black ice. A detached control robbed any warmth from her gaze, and she spoke again before he even had a chance to answer. “Who is it from?”
She was very still, her voice steely and measured, expression deceptively blank. But the world was vibrating around the edges. Punctuated by a cascading rampage of buried memory. Tash’s face was predominant among the recollection, like his ghost shared the room, fingering the cold gold that had once lain against his warm and beating heart. Who would send such a thing? And perhaps more importantly, why. Fury mixed with disbelief, the pain tight in her chest. Light send her hand was not shaking; it felt like it might, and her grip on the hard edges of the pendant intensified. Squeezed her fingers white.
“It was sent anonymously, Accepted.”
“Anonymously,”
she repeated, and the word tasted bitter. Who. Had. Sent. It?
“I don’t want it.”
Quick steps brought her forward. She pressed it against his chest, crinkling the smooth front of his uniform. “Take it back.”
But he did not move. Calm grey eyes accepted her hostility placidly, even as he was pierced by the uncompromising demand made eerie in her pale gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back. With the Aes Sedai perched behind, she would not be able to sway him; though he might have noticed, in that moment, how the demand in her expression faded to a desperate plea. If he did, it did not cause him to falter.
“Then do as you will with it, Accepted. I am only charged with its safe delivery.”
His gaze broke to check the Aes Sedai, and he bowed his head. Retreated. Left her staring at a wall, with a weight of guilt hanging heavy in her hand.
“Accepted?”
Steeling her breath, blinking back the gaping black hole of the last few moments, she turned. The sister waved her forward, arm outstretched. A flick of Nythadri’s hand, a flash of gold, and the pendant fell from her palm, swinging like a pendulum suspended from her finger. The Aes Sedai cupped it in her grasp, and she snatched her hand back gladly. The chain clinked against the desk. For a moment saidar brightened her periphery, followed by a buzz of foreign weaves. Then the sister shrugged, and held it aloft. If she knew anything of Nythadri’s past, of what this trinket meant, she did not show it. “There is nothing to prevent you keeping it, child.”
In the corridor beyond, Nythadri’s heart was pounding, and bile stung her throat. A message? Anger. Her jaw locked. A warning? Fury so white she could feel herself ripping apart at the seams, for the person who had been so cruel as to send this to her. When she closed her eyes she saw Tash's face, and when she opened them she saw his pendant. A memory and a guilt she had fought so hard to bury, to forget, to accept in icy stillness. She placed it back in the box, and forced the lid shut.
Curious. Nythadri kept no ties to her world before the Tower, and knew of no one who might have seen fit to send her a gift. Her family, perhaps … at a push. Every letter they’d ever sent had fed the flames in her hearth, unread, and they had consequently stopped arriving a long time ago - before she had even earned the serpent ring. But if not them, that didn't leave a lot of potentials to speculate. Farune? Hardly likely. A mistake, perhaps. A misunderstanding. Or something mundane that would make sense once she'd received it. She pushed the door to the small office without hesitation, strangely bereft of the sorts of excited inquisitiveness one would usually expect at so uncommon an event.
An Aes Sedai sat behind the desk; Brown, Nythadri would imagine by the stacks of paper scribbled with ink. Ledgers and piles of letters arranged into some obscure order decorated the desk and shelved walls; checked, presumably, before being collected by their intended recipients. Or held until such as time as delivery was deemed appropriate. The ageless face did look up, but only to nod towards the waiting courier. A man as non-descript as the precise and smooth lines of his uniform.
“Nythadri Vanditera?”
She nodded, and held out her hand impatiently, eager to be away. She had been called directly for this, hailed down by a breathless and excited novice because the courier had been instructed to relinquish his goods personally – had in fact calmly refused to leave it in the hands of the Tower, which insofar as the Aes Sedai (and even Nythadri herself) were concerned, was as good as the hands of Nythadri Vanditera. It fit in the open palm of her hand, with a weight that suggested something significant within. Curious now, despite herself, she curled her fingers around the hard edges of the box. There was nothing outwardly to identify it; it was just plain, neat, unexceptional. She prolonged the mystery of it, looking askance at the sister. It would be preferable to retreat to the privacy of her own rooms to open it, though doubtful she would be offered the luxury.
“You’ll need to open it here, dear.”
Spoken disinterestedly, amidst the scratching of a quill; the Aes Sedai did not look up.
She shrugged, disinclined to argue, opened the box, pulled the object out. And folded back the wrappings.
A falcon in flight, with a flash of aqua caught in its outstretched claws. Darkness rushed the edges of Nythadri’s vision, and it felt like falling. Falling ever so hard and fast. The sigil of her brother. Lying stark in her pale palm. So unexpected it tugged her sharply off kilter, wrenched her somewhere dark and distant. Seconds trickled past unnoticed, her expression deathly still. Then, as numbness receded to sensation, ice stung her palm and prickled up the length of her arm. If the Aes Sedai had not been there, she would have snatched her hand free of its burden. But composure demanded more of her than rash impulse, no matter how sickening the twist in her stomach. A blood-soaked memory battled for consciousness among the dim-lit halls of things better left forgotten. “Who sent you?”
Her eyes flicked from the pendant to the courier, lethal as black ice. A detached control robbed any warmth from her gaze, and she spoke again before he even had a chance to answer. “Who is it from?”
She was very still, her voice steely and measured, expression deceptively blank. But the world was vibrating around the edges. Punctuated by a cascading rampage of buried memory. Tash’s face was predominant among the recollection, like his ghost shared the room, fingering the cold gold that had once lain against his warm and beating heart. Who would send such a thing? And perhaps more importantly, why. Fury mixed with disbelief, the pain tight in her chest. Light send her hand was not shaking; it felt like it might, and her grip on the hard edges of the pendant intensified. Squeezed her fingers white.
“It was sent anonymously, Accepted.”
“Anonymously,”
she repeated, and the word tasted bitter. Who. Had. Sent. It?
“I don’t want it.”
Quick steps brought her forward. She pressed it against his chest, crinkling the smooth front of his uniform. “Take it back.”
But he did not move. Calm grey eyes accepted her hostility placidly, even as he was pierced by the uncompromising demand made eerie in her pale gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back. With the Aes Sedai perched behind, she would not be able to sway him; though he might have noticed, in that moment, how the demand in her expression faded to a desperate plea. If he did, it did not cause him to falter.
“Then do as you will with it, Accepted. I am only charged with its safe delivery.”
His gaze broke to check the Aes Sedai, and he bowed his head. Retreated. Left her staring at a wall, with a weight of guilt hanging heavy in her hand.
“Accepted?”
Steeling her breath, blinking back the gaping black hole of the last few moments, she turned. The sister waved her forward, arm outstretched. A flick of Nythadri’s hand, a flash of gold, and the pendant fell from her palm, swinging like a pendulum suspended from her finger. The Aes Sedai cupped it in her grasp, and she snatched her hand back gladly. The chain clinked against the desk. For a moment saidar brightened her periphery, followed by a buzz of foreign weaves. Then the sister shrugged, and held it aloft. If she knew anything of Nythadri’s past, of what this trinket meant, she did not show it. “There is nothing to prevent you keeping it, child.”
In the corridor beyond, Nythadri’s heart was pounding, and bile stung her throat. A message? Anger. Her jaw locked. A warning? Fury so white she could feel herself ripping apart at the seams, for the person who had been so cruel as to send this to her. When she closed her eyes she saw Tash's face, and when she opened them she saw his pendant. A memory and a guilt she had fought so hard to bury, to forget, to accept in icy stillness. She placed it back in the box, and forced the lid shut.