01-10-2018, 12:03 PM
There was no apparent aftermath to her shirking the question, though who truly knew the thoughts of an Aes Sedai? Still, Lythia’s interest did not seem to have waned as Nythadri might have expected. That was often the way things went, in Nythadri's experience. It was well documented how difficult she could be to engage, how detached she was, how miserably she failed to meet her potential. Aes Sedai were busy women and Accepted were expected to steer their own studies, so it was not surprising those inclined to teach had their favourites upon which to bestow their wisdoms. It was a game Nythadri was more than capable of playing, yet her disagreeable tendencies had sent her traipsing a thorny path instead. One down which she sometimes reflected she had become somewhat stuck.
Lythia's offered answer fluttered dangerously close to a lecture, which would usually be the point at which Nythadri’s interest switched off. But it also cut close to the quick. Her thoughts drifted to a midnight garden, a faceless gaidin, and a white orchid. Memories of his advice softened what she might have otherwise taken in a negative frame. “That was more than one word, Aes Sedai.”
Her lips tilted into a somewhat wry smile, dancing upon the edges of propriety, but her tone lacked its razor edge; it was not intended as an insult. Not that her abrasive sense of humour was often met with a kind reaction when aimed at a superior, whether she sugar coated it or not. The intensity of her gaze lost its focus as she truly gave it thought, apparently unperturbed to still be under the weighing gaze of an Aes Sedai as she did so. Has Arad Doman had such a profound effect that I'm really going to consider this? She titled her head back, absently surveying the decor of Lythia's rooms in a way she hadn't bothered when she'd stood here alone.
In all honesty? She had never thought of Greens like that. Bastions of life. Hadn’t she told Jai to live? And hadn’t the faceless gaidin told her to find some way to consolidate her ideals with the life the Tower bound her to? Only she didn’t know if she was selfless enough to ever fit the image of the sort of woman Lythia painted. The speech panged her heart with an aching longing rather than lifted her up to noble righteousness. She wanted the life she could never have, even as the person she had become drifted ever distant from the kind of person who could ever find contentment in the ordinary. Admitting to any of that left her terribly vulnerable, though. She knew she could never have the life that had so nearly been within her grasp, and it had taken a long time to accept. Was she even capable of moving beyond that uneasy forgiveness? Was it even forgiveness at all if somewhere dark she still blamed the Tower for those things she had lost?
Through the story of Logan (past tense, she noticed) she listened, but drew into herself thoughtfully. For the most part. Men, simple creatures? Loyal? Her brow rose in cynical disbelief, though it was not a point upon which she dwelt. Nythadri had expected a pitch, and had convinced herself to meet it with an open mind. So far this meeting was interesting, but not surprising. And then the conversation took an odd turn. Her gaze had wandered as she considered everything Lythia said, but now her attention returned with a curious tilt. She knew of the Traitor’s Tree; she knew the Black Tower was renowned for its ruthless justice. But, as Lythia herself pointed out, even an Accepted’s education didn’t include the intricacies of its laws – unless it was a subject she pursued of her own volition. She watched the Green pause to finish her tea, but did not now touch her own. She anticipated some veiled insinuation of Arad Doman, but found herself dumbfounded by the words that left the Green’s lips.
An agent? On my behalf? Nythadri was proficient at keeping cool. Even when things spiralled away from her understanding, she could bluff and follow the flow until a picture built itself up; she had done as much in Arad Doman, to work out as much as she had in the short time she had spent there. But maintaining that apparent flawlessness now – pretending she understood what in the Light Lythia was talking about – served little purpose, bar preservation of pride. Not that she was completely ignorant. She could fill at least some of the spaces in Lythia’s words, though the smallest part of her wondered if therein lay the trap. “If I was ever inclined to bid someone to act on my behalf, I can assure you the trail would not lead back to me if I did not want it to.”
She might baulk from the Great Game, but that was through stubborn choice; she was not incompetent in its execution. Her brows knit in a deliberating frown; she did not bother to hide it. She studied Lythia's face, and then she looked away.
For a long moment she was quiet. Thinking. The Green could be lying – indirectly, of course. ‘He’ could be anyone. But they both knew who she meant. Talk of Asha’man had not been incidental. And neither, apparently, had mention of their punishment system. What in the light has he done? Dereliction of duty seemed the most obvious given the rift between his and Daryen's ideologies, but Lythia had insinuated Nythadri’s involvement. No, not even simple involvement; manipulation. And if I accept this offer, what? She will extend her protection to him, insofar as it will reach? For a Green, it was a net neatly cast, if Lythia presumed Nythadri cared what happened to him. With anyone else she might have assumed the Aes Sedai was exaggerating to tug an emotion reaction from rational thought - and dismissed it accordingly. With Jai? He really might have done anything, the bloody idiot. And it's hardly up to me to intervene. I hardly know the man. Except she'd hardly known him when she'd tried to protect him from Imaad's barbs, either.
Why does Lythia think it's my fault? It bothered her, and she didn't hide it. It was an unusual consternation to feel so lost, for the puzzle pieces to be so distant she couldn't grasp a clear enough picture. Lips pursed, she followed the vein of honesty. It would be easy to feign entire ignorance, but instead she greeted Lythia’s forthright nature with her own. “My interests... You make me sound wonderfully mysterious. I feel like you have me at a slight disadvantage, though. Or, at least, you've overestimated my abilities. What has Asha'man Kojima done?"
Lythia's offered answer fluttered dangerously close to a lecture, which would usually be the point at which Nythadri’s interest switched off. But it also cut close to the quick. Her thoughts drifted to a midnight garden, a faceless gaidin, and a white orchid. Memories of his advice softened what she might have otherwise taken in a negative frame. “That was more than one word, Aes Sedai.”
Her lips tilted into a somewhat wry smile, dancing upon the edges of propriety, but her tone lacked its razor edge; it was not intended as an insult. Not that her abrasive sense of humour was often met with a kind reaction when aimed at a superior, whether she sugar coated it or not. The intensity of her gaze lost its focus as she truly gave it thought, apparently unperturbed to still be under the weighing gaze of an Aes Sedai as she did so. Has Arad Doman had such a profound effect that I'm really going to consider this? She titled her head back, absently surveying the decor of Lythia's rooms in a way she hadn't bothered when she'd stood here alone.
In all honesty? She had never thought of Greens like that. Bastions of life. Hadn’t she told Jai to live? And hadn’t the faceless gaidin told her to find some way to consolidate her ideals with the life the Tower bound her to? Only she didn’t know if she was selfless enough to ever fit the image of the sort of woman Lythia painted. The speech panged her heart with an aching longing rather than lifted her up to noble righteousness. She wanted the life she could never have, even as the person she had become drifted ever distant from the kind of person who could ever find contentment in the ordinary. Admitting to any of that left her terribly vulnerable, though. She knew she could never have the life that had so nearly been within her grasp, and it had taken a long time to accept. Was she even capable of moving beyond that uneasy forgiveness? Was it even forgiveness at all if somewhere dark she still blamed the Tower for those things she had lost?
Through the story of Logan (past tense, she noticed) she listened, but drew into herself thoughtfully. For the most part. Men, simple creatures? Loyal? Her brow rose in cynical disbelief, though it was not a point upon which she dwelt. Nythadri had expected a pitch, and had convinced herself to meet it with an open mind. So far this meeting was interesting, but not surprising. And then the conversation took an odd turn. Her gaze had wandered as she considered everything Lythia said, but now her attention returned with a curious tilt. She knew of the Traitor’s Tree; she knew the Black Tower was renowned for its ruthless justice. But, as Lythia herself pointed out, even an Accepted’s education didn’t include the intricacies of its laws – unless it was a subject she pursued of her own volition. She watched the Green pause to finish her tea, but did not now touch her own. She anticipated some veiled insinuation of Arad Doman, but found herself dumbfounded by the words that left the Green’s lips.
An agent? On my behalf? Nythadri was proficient at keeping cool. Even when things spiralled away from her understanding, she could bluff and follow the flow until a picture built itself up; she had done as much in Arad Doman, to work out as much as she had in the short time she had spent there. But maintaining that apparent flawlessness now – pretending she understood what in the Light Lythia was talking about – served little purpose, bar preservation of pride. Not that she was completely ignorant. She could fill at least some of the spaces in Lythia’s words, though the smallest part of her wondered if therein lay the trap. “If I was ever inclined to bid someone to act on my behalf, I can assure you the trail would not lead back to me if I did not want it to.”
She might baulk from the Great Game, but that was through stubborn choice; she was not incompetent in its execution. Her brows knit in a deliberating frown; she did not bother to hide it. She studied Lythia's face, and then she looked away.
For a long moment she was quiet. Thinking. The Green could be lying – indirectly, of course. ‘He’ could be anyone. But they both knew who she meant. Talk of Asha’man had not been incidental. And neither, apparently, had mention of their punishment system. What in the light has he done? Dereliction of duty seemed the most obvious given the rift between his and Daryen's ideologies, but Lythia had insinuated Nythadri’s involvement. No, not even simple involvement; manipulation. And if I accept this offer, what? She will extend her protection to him, insofar as it will reach? For a Green, it was a net neatly cast, if Lythia presumed Nythadri cared what happened to him. With anyone else she might have assumed the Aes Sedai was exaggerating to tug an emotion reaction from rational thought - and dismissed it accordingly. With Jai? He really might have done anything, the bloody idiot. And it's hardly up to me to intervene. I hardly know the man. Except she'd hardly known him when she'd tried to protect him from Imaad's barbs, either.
Why does Lythia think it's my fault? It bothered her, and she didn't hide it. It was an unusual consternation to feel so lost, for the puzzle pieces to be so distant she couldn't grasp a clear enough picture. Lips pursed, she followed the vein of honesty. It would be easy to feign entire ignorance, but instead she greeted Lythia’s forthright nature with her own. “My interests... You make me sound wonderfully mysterious. I feel like you have me at a slight disadvantage, though. Or, at least, you've overestimated my abilities. What has Asha'man Kojima done?"