09-28-2016, 03:22 AM
Time stretched thin, the summer sun fading like sand through fingers until the temperature dropped to something pleasant. Nythadri had re-established her solitude some time ago, and sat tucked away in comforting shade, elbow resting on a knee, chin cupped in her palm. She watched the march, her view obscured now and then by those who went to welcome the returned hunters or set about packing away the vestiges of a leisurely afternoon in the sun.
Like blood-bathed warriors. It was akin to some morbid funeral march, the animal’s body parts passing in some semblance of its one-time unity. Like a fallen brother carried home. The sight of the dead flesh did not bother her, not the pungent scent of blood and meat. She was not squeamish, if she did not like the idea of so much mess. It was gory work, and for what? She doubted Daryen’s table lacked for meat. But clearly it had some appeal that was beyond her. Each to his own. As was typical, the pale of her gaze lacked judgement as it followed the gruesome parade, so hollow she might as well have been looking through them.
At the back Tamal was limping, empty handed, a deeply vexed expression on his face; not Jai’s work, surely? She couldn’t imagine Daryen would have allowed it. Nisele was also unburdened, though that was unsurprising. None of it looked light, or particularly easy to manage, and what were a woman’s wiles for but to make use of a man’s brawn? Or other gifts, though it seemed neither channeler would suffer the disgrace of not being able to rely on his own muscles. And of those, she could attest they both had plenty. Subduing a smile, she stretched her legs out – testing their pliability, and finding them reluctant. Assuming that the ride back would soon be coordinated, she did not rise, only soaked in these last moments of idleness gratefully, glad for the moment to be left alone.
Her attention on the bloodied hunters waned; her first indication of a Gateway was people moving through it. Relief boosted the faint melancholy of her mood, still lingering on Yui’s words and the heavy burden of purpose. It had troubled her often lately, stealing sleep and casting yawning shadows over her perceived notion of ‘future.’ Fate’s intervention only cast those shadows deeper, making them harder to ignore. Probably that was the point. An Aes Sedai’s aid was a subtle thing. Or maybe it was neither aid nor subtle; perhaps it was akin to casting a child off a cliff to see if it could fly. Browns had stranger obsessions, and ideas about teaching lessons.
Still, no inclination to resist marred her entrance through this Gate. A step from wilted grass landed on cool stone. The breeze was long-awaited, plucking playfully at her dress and hair, refreshing too-hot skin like blissfully cool kisses. Salt tanged the air so strong she could taste it, drawing her gaze to the view beyond. A massive expanse of water dominated everything, cast pink and red in the throes of day’s death. It stretched out to the horizon, sparkling like a thousand stars had descended from the skies to bask on its surface. She’d never seen something so vast, so infinite. Jai’s awed whisper confirmed her suspicions. The ocean.
The manor danced on a cliff-edge, and sprawled down to a coved beach below. Careless of those still filtering in behind, she approached the stone balustrade and leaned out dangerously, fingers curled at the edges, her whole torso straining out and over. The wind pulled at what was left of the pins holding her hair up as she peered at the faint burn of dancing torches lighting the way down. She could hear the waves licking the shore, but barely see the gentle foam meeting golden sand.
Liridia’s touch at her elbow drew her back; talk of washing and refreshing even more so.
Warmth still lingered in the halls, but it was the heat of stone that had basked in the sun all day, not the oppressive and stifling heat of the previous estate. A servant showed her to a room where she might freshen up. She didn’t strictly need the bath; the one power could have cleaned her sufficiently, and it rejuvenated her discarded dress well enough, the fabric as clean as when it had been gifted to her this morning. But it was a rare indulgence, and one she was keen on accepting when the offer presented itself. The heat flooded tender joints, balming them in comfort. Light send that I will grow strong enough to Travel.
She sank back, thinking about Yui and Fate and Gates to Arad Doman. The Wheel Weaves… only she had never been one to believe such mindless platitudes, nor to accept that she had no hand in her own destiny. Perhaps it was why she so often choose to fight the paths laid out for her; nobility, inheritance, ajah. She’d asked a gaidin, once, if he ever thought about what his life might have been without the Tower. It turned out he’d been chosen from the cradle to train to be a warder, but there had been no resentment. In fact his only dissatisfaction had been in not yet fulfilling his potential.
Frustration sent her under the water. When she resurfaced, she pushed back water and hair from her face. The solace of the warm water was fleeting; she did not linger long.
A mirror informed her that the sun had caught her cheeks like a permanent blush, hot to the touch but otherwise not painful. Saidar squeezed the water from her hair, and set it in little bubbling balls gently back to the old bathwater. She’d never before realised how much she liked to be clean, as she donned her refreshed dress and pulled soft black hair out of the collar. That was something the Tower had instilled. She wondered how much more of her it had changed, and if anything of the old Nythadri even remained.
Servants were busy about the courtyard when she returned, laying our feast tables and setting aflame to more lights. Already numerous fat tallow candles burned in gold inlays, glittering light to every shadow of the enclosure, and larger torches lit walkways to other open areas, some dipping down to lower levels. Dusk claimed everything beyond the manor, and it was dark over the sea. She thought to look for a familiar face, until the cherished lilt of strings lured her attention. She found the musicians soon enough. They were still tuning at the moment, laughing, chatting and waiting for the guests to freshen and return.
She had been bored and disinterested talking to nobles, glazed in ice like an island unto her own. Though many players held a comparable arrogance, particularly those renowned enough to entertain kings, she could easily dismiss such flaws for shared passion. Old, forgotten flame lit a zeal rarely seen with the Tower’s halls, and a silver-tongue won easy friends. Pedar Tiam’s skin gleamed gold in candlelight, and he did not seem to either see or recognise the serpent ring, even as she sweet talked the violin from his grasp. His companions seemed amused at that. Her smile was wry as he insisted on showing her how to grip the bow, the warmth of his fingers on hers as he explained placing with lingering touches and bright grins.
Like blood-bathed warriors. It was akin to some morbid funeral march, the animal’s body parts passing in some semblance of its one-time unity. Like a fallen brother carried home. The sight of the dead flesh did not bother her, not the pungent scent of blood and meat. She was not squeamish, if she did not like the idea of so much mess. It was gory work, and for what? She doubted Daryen’s table lacked for meat. But clearly it had some appeal that was beyond her. Each to his own. As was typical, the pale of her gaze lacked judgement as it followed the gruesome parade, so hollow she might as well have been looking through them.
At the back Tamal was limping, empty handed, a deeply vexed expression on his face; not Jai’s work, surely? She couldn’t imagine Daryen would have allowed it. Nisele was also unburdened, though that was unsurprising. None of it looked light, or particularly easy to manage, and what were a woman’s wiles for but to make use of a man’s brawn? Or other gifts, though it seemed neither channeler would suffer the disgrace of not being able to rely on his own muscles. And of those, she could attest they both had plenty. Subduing a smile, she stretched her legs out – testing their pliability, and finding them reluctant. Assuming that the ride back would soon be coordinated, she did not rise, only soaked in these last moments of idleness gratefully, glad for the moment to be left alone.
Her attention on the bloodied hunters waned; her first indication of a Gateway was people moving through it. Relief boosted the faint melancholy of her mood, still lingering on Yui’s words and the heavy burden of purpose. It had troubled her often lately, stealing sleep and casting yawning shadows over her perceived notion of ‘future.’ Fate’s intervention only cast those shadows deeper, making them harder to ignore. Probably that was the point. An Aes Sedai’s aid was a subtle thing. Or maybe it was neither aid nor subtle; perhaps it was akin to casting a child off a cliff to see if it could fly. Browns had stranger obsessions, and ideas about teaching lessons.
Still, no inclination to resist marred her entrance through this Gate. A step from wilted grass landed on cool stone. The breeze was long-awaited, plucking playfully at her dress and hair, refreshing too-hot skin like blissfully cool kisses. Salt tanged the air so strong she could taste it, drawing her gaze to the view beyond. A massive expanse of water dominated everything, cast pink and red in the throes of day’s death. It stretched out to the horizon, sparkling like a thousand stars had descended from the skies to bask on its surface. She’d never seen something so vast, so infinite. Jai’s awed whisper confirmed her suspicions. The ocean.
The manor danced on a cliff-edge, and sprawled down to a coved beach below. Careless of those still filtering in behind, she approached the stone balustrade and leaned out dangerously, fingers curled at the edges, her whole torso straining out and over. The wind pulled at what was left of the pins holding her hair up as she peered at the faint burn of dancing torches lighting the way down. She could hear the waves licking the shore, but barely see the gentle foam meeting golden sand.
Liridia’s touch at her elbow drew her back; talk of washing and refreshing even more so.
Warmth still lingered in the halls, but it was the heat of stone that had basked in the sun all day, not the oppressive and stifling heat of the previous estate. A servant showed her to a room where she might freshen up. She didn’t strictly need the bath; the one power could have cleaned her sufficiently, and it rejuvenated her discarded dress well enough, the fabric as clean as when it had been gifted to her this morning. But it was a rare indulgence, and one she was keen on accepting when the offer presented itself. The heat flooded tender joints, balming them in comfort. Light send that I will grow strong enough to Travel.
She sank back, thinking about Yui and Fate and Gates to Arad Doman. The Wheel Weaves… only she had never been one to believe such mindless platitudes, nor to accept that she had no hand in her own destiny. Perhaps it was why she so often choose to fight the paths laid out for her; nobility, inheritance, ajah. She’d asked a gaidin, once, if he ever thought about what his life might have been without the Tower. It turned out he’d been chosen from the cradle to train to be a warder, but there had been no resentment. In fact his only dissatisfaction had been in not yet fulfilling his potential.
Frustration sent her under the water. When she resurfaced, she pushed back water and hair from her face. The solace of the warm water was fleeting; she did not linger long.
A mirror informed her that the sun had caught her cheeks like a permanent blush, hot to the touch but otherwise not painful. Saidar squeezed the water from her hair, and set it in little bubbling balls gently back to the old bathwater. She’d never before realised how much she liked to be clean, as she donned her refreshed dress and pulled soft black hair out of the collar. That was something the Tower had instilled. She wondered how much more of her it had changed, and if anything of the old Nythadri even remained.
Servants were busy about the courtyard when she returned, laying our feast tables and setting aflame to more lights. Already numerous fat tallow candles burned in gold inlays, glittering light to every shadow of the enclosure, and larger torches lit walkways to other open areas, some dipping down to lower levels. Dusk claimed everything beyond the manor, and it was dark over the sea. She thought to look for a familiar face, until the cherished lilt of strings lured her attention. She found the musicians soon enough. They were still tuning at the moment, laughing, chatting and waiting for the guests to freshen and return.
She had been bored and disinterested talking to nobles, glazed in ice like an island unto her own. Though many players held a comparable arrogance, particularly those renowned enough to entertain kings, she could easily dismiss such flaws for shared passion. Old, forgotten flame lit a zeal rarely seen with the Tower’s halls, and a silver-tongue won easy friends. Pedar Tiam’s skin gleamed gold in candlelight, and he did not seem to either see or recognise the serpent ring, even as she sweet talked the violin from his grasp. His companions seemed amused at that. Her smile was wry as he insisted on showing her how to grip the bow, the warmth of his fingers on hers as he explained placing with lingering touches and bright grins.