02-10-2017, 02:51 AM
She waited for the pieces to fit together on their own, and finally reveal something of the tapestry that had back-dropped this whole sorry episode. And a small part of her regretted it. Not only for presenting one of the ugliest facets of herself, but for ripping the comforting veil of ignorance from his eyes; both actions painfully irreversible. Light knew, she would have preferred to fall asleep under the stars and let the world beyond pass by unmolested; but it seemed the duty ingrained on every light-forsaken gold scale on that serpent ring was going to thwart every attempt at peace and comfort. She knew what talk of Daryen and Imaad and conspiracy would do to him. But it was necessary, if they were demons she couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t have to fight alone. He’d made a lasting impression. Ironic that the fact she actually cared unravelled the evening to such depressing finality. But in the end, silence would have been selfish.
“You and me both.”
Light, that sounded undeniably weary. Though she was not always sure which exhausted her more; the machinations of the Game itself, or her constant fighting of it. Recognition of her own flaws – that endless, burdening conflict – always sparked memories of better times. Of the tinker wagons and Farune. And that second Arch. In cold daylight she realised it had all been a fantasy. An impossible refuge. Laughable. Insignificant. And, above all, false. But the dark collusion of regret always swelled it to something more; something so light-forsaken beautiful and unattainable it made her grieve for the life she lived. Now, so close to the edges of another kind of denied peace, vestiges of hard-stretched control frayed to ash. And for a moment she shuddered dangerously close to shattering into a thousand pieces.
What a fool: flirting with memories over which she’d always presumed to have infinite control, when control had been spiralling distant since the sea had kissed her ankles. Recalling his response to her pain only made it worse; the wordless press of his cheek, the smoothing trail of his fingertips while she’d lain hollow in his arms. And she regretted the tangle of daes dae’mar even more, to have lost that final moment to its cold breath and indifferent embrace- only to have the flood of feeling creep up when it no longer made sense. It was so weak. Emotion roared in her ears loud as the Aryth – desperate to be soothed by music or saidar, and neither viable. There was no longer a warm neck in which to bury her grief, or a drumming heartbeat to centre her world. She shouldn’t have shared that confession. Light, she shouldn’t have. But she’d always been that way; offering little fragments of soul to strangers. Revelling in the way it made her bleed.
She was shaking her head in answer to his question about damane, but the tension in her features was a personal grief. The last time they’d spoken of the treaty, when daes dae’mar had crashed sickening waves over her head, she’d excused herself for air. There was nowhere to run, now. Defiance was a hard mistress; the same steel that sharpened her tongue against enemies did not recoil against the faceless ones. Every self-protective instinct urged her to look away, take a minute. But it was precisely the reason she didn’t. When she blinked her eyes were glassy. It took a moment to realise she’d driven the nails of one hand so hard into her palm it’d almost drawn blood. And it stilled the spinning fall. Dulled the world to flesh and pain.
She looked at Jai, and she wanted to find something more profound than a playful fumble in the ocean. Only it was delusional to place that kind of burden on his shoulders. Or hers. Waiting for the height of her delayed reaction to dampen, she hugged her knees to her chest and cushioned her chin. Her toes scrunched in the sand, half-hidden beneath black fabric. The tide of regret eased. What had happened to Tashir was fact. She had lived. The same as Jai had. Looking for meaning in the Pattern was like staring at the sun; it seared, making mockery of the effort. And the Game was in her blood. She couldn’t change that either. The memory of his surprise burned. But, regrettably, she let that drift too. Better to convince herself it didn't matter.
“You will, huh.”
He’d spoken with the voice of burden; of burning, singular burden. The earnest, brooding resolution of the words shouldn’t have made her smile, but there was that inappropriate humour again. There was something indefinably heroic in making such promises in the face of defeat, like his were the only shoulders broad enough for the task; except she did not think that was an impression he usually cultivated of himself. Hence the smile. She’d cast this net of darkness, and she wasn’t going to let either of them flounder in it alone. Only the epiphany hit him before she could speak again.
If the weight of that discovery could shake the very earth, it would have.
She took responsibility for that. She’d pushed him to this edge, this conclusion, and she wasn’t going to let him leap off that cliff. Or suffer the weight of such knowledge alone. Did he really think she’d spit poison then abandon him to its vice? Let it eat away at him until it devoured all reason and left the sort of monster apt for Imaad’s scheming? A pale foot peeped out from the confines of his coat, to brush his black clad leg. Who knew if he wrestled saidin even now; if it were so intrinsic to his emotion that it surged with the shock and gripped him senseless. Last time she failed miserably to talk him back. Nythadri was not the type to suffer failing twice.
“Stupid things you shouldn’t do include turning Imaad into a pile of gore. For the record.”
He would find a smirk ghosting her lips. And the ever-present pierce of her gaze, because she bloody meant it. Imaad crawled under her skin like a parasite, but he didn’t deserve to die. And Jai certainly didn’t deserve another ghost, born from the regret of pure fury. “There’s another thing to consider. And that’s Daryen himself. He clearly knows his court. His people. And presumably, he invited Imaad today. He’s not fighting a blind battle.”
If Jai might prefer there was no battle fought at all. The one thing Nythadri could not fathom? Why Daryen sought the treaty in the first place - why he played fire with men like Imaad. But the point was that the Asha'man king was not an ignorant. If Nythadri saw evidence of these strings after a day? She couldn't imagine Daryen didn't know. The only wildcard here was Jai. And perhaps that was what Imaad was counting on. "Whatever they say about the Tower, Jai. About Aes Sedai. They wouldn’t let that happen."
And she meant that, too. If there was one thing the Aes Sedai did well, it was to protect their own. Symptomatic of Nythadri's own evolving opinion of Asha'man that she naturally included them in the equation.
“You and me both.”
Light, that sounded undeniably weary. Though she was not always sure which exhausted her more; the machinations of the Game itself, or her constant fighting of it. Recognition of her own flaws – that endless, burdening conflict – always sparked memories of better times. Of the tinker wagons and Farune. And that second Arch. In cold daylight she realised it had all been a fantasy. An impossible refuge. Laughable. Insignificant. And, above all, false. But the dark collusion of regret always swelled it to something more; something so light-forsaken beautiful and unattainable it made her grieve for the life she lived. Now, so close to the edges of another kind of denied peace, vestiges of hard-stretched control frayed to ash. And for a moment she shuddered dangerously close to shattering into a thousand pieces.
What a fool: flirting with memories over which she’d always presumed to have infinite control, when control had been spiralling distant since the sea had kissed her ankles. Recalling his response to her pain only made it worse; the wordless press of his cheek, the smoothing trail of his fingertips while she’d lain hollow in his arms. And she regretted the tangle of daes dae’mar even more, to have lost that final moment to its cold breath and indifferent embrace- only to have the flood of feeling creep up when it no longer made sense. It was so weak. Emotion roared in her ears loud as the Aryth – desperate to be soothed by music or saidar, and neither viable. There was no longer a warm neck in which to bury her grief, or a drumming heartbeat to centre her world. She shouldn’t have shared that confession. Light, she shouldn’t have. But she’d always been that way; offering little fragments of soul to strangers. Revelling in the way it made her bleed.
She was shaking her head in answer to his question about damane, but the tension in her features was a personal grief. The last time they’d spoken of the treaty, when daes dae’mar had crashed sickening waves over her head, she’d excused herself for air. There was nowhere to run, now. Defiance was a hard mistress; the same steel that sharpened her tongue against enemies did not recoil against the faceless ones. Every self-protective instinct urged her to look away, take a minute. But it was precisely the reason she didn’t. When she blinked her eyes were glassy. It took a moment to realise she’d driven the nails of one hand so hard into her palm it’d almost drawn blood. And it stilled the spinning fall. Dulled the world to flesh and pain.
She looked at Jai, and she wanted to find something more profound than a playful fumble in the ocean. Only it was delusional to place that kind of burden on his shoulders. Or hers. Waiting for the height of her delayed reaction to dampen, she hugged her knees to her chest and cushioned her chin. Her toes scrunched in the sand, half-hidden beneath black fabric. The tide of regret eased. What had happened to Tashir was fact. She had lived. The same as Jai had. Looking for meaning in the Pattern was like staring at the sun; it seared, making mockery of the effort. And the Game was in her blood. She couldn’t change that either. The memory of his surprise burned. But, regrettably, she let that drift too. Better to convince herself it didn't matter.
“You will, huh.”
He’d spoken with the voice of burden; of burning, singular burden. The earnest, brooding resolution of the words shouldn’t have made her smile, but there was that inappropriate humour again. There was something indefinably heroic in making such promises in the face of defeat, like his were the only shoulders broad enough for the task; except she did not think that was an impression he usually cultivated of himself. Hence the smile. She’d cast this net of darkness, and she wasn’t going to let either of them flounder in it alone. Only the epiphany hit him before she could speak again.
If the weight of that discovery could shake the very earth, it would have.
She took responsibility for that. She’d pushed him to this edge, this conclusion, and she wasn’t going to let him leap off that cliff. Or suffer the weight of such knowledge alone. Did he really think she’d spit poison then abandon him to its vice? Let it eat away at him until it devoured all reason and left the sort of monster apt for Imaad’s scheming? A pale foot peeped out from the confines of his coat, to brush his black clad leg. Who knew if he wrestled saidin even now; if it were so intrinsic to his emotion that it surged with the shock and gripped him senseless. Last time she failed miserably to talk him back. Nythadri was not the type to suffer failing twice.
“Stupid things you shouldn’t do include turning Imaad into a pile of gore. For the record.”
He would find a smirk ghosting her lips. And the ever-present pierce of her gaze, because she bloody meant it. Imaad crawled under her skin like a parasite, but he didn’t deserve to die. And Jai certainly didn’t deserve another ghost, born from the regret of pure fury. “There’s another thing to consider. And that’s Daryen himself. He clearly knows his court. His people. And presumably, he invited Imaad today. He’s not fighting a blind battle.”
If Jai might prefer there was no battle fought at all. The one thing Nythadri could not fathom? Why Daryen sought the treaty in the first place - why he played fire with men like Imaad. But the point was that the Asha'man king was not an ignorant. If Nythadri saw evidence of these strings after a day? She couldn't imagine Daryen didn't know. The only wildcard here was Jai. And perhaps that was what Imaad was counting on. "Whatever they say about the Tower, Jai. About Aes Sedai. They wouldn’t let that happen."
And she meant that, too. If there was one thing the Aes Sedai did well, it was to protect their own. Symptomatic of Nythadri's own evolving opinion of Asha'man that she naturally included them in the equation.