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Helena · 04-13-2023, 06:54 PM

The intensity of his gaze stared without other reaction to Talin’s approach. He knew exactly how he was portraying himself. The darkness and vitriol was no act, but she stood to it where even the nastiest of Blacks would falter. It was noteworthy, particularly for a Yellow.

Her request for consent was wisely sought but not for the morality. He did not speak, choosing to answer with a mere nod of the head. It was impossible to relax, but while she worked, his attention remained solely on her face, dissecting every flicker of expression for a hint she was about to betray her word.

Some small part of her was relieved when he simply nodded. Consent was a checkmark against proper procedure, but in this case it was also the first stepping stone across a treacherous drop below. Talin made the necessary justifications, but she understood she was undertaking a grave risk. She had anticipated an ultimatum, but perhaps he had finally spent himself. The silence was not comfortable, but it was preferable.

A pity she could not leave the tongue until last.

Once she began she ignored him entirely. He was just flesh and blood parts. A puzzle to smooth out. His injuries tangled in knots, and she had spent a long time already planning through the most efficient order in which to address them. Would that she had a circle of Sisters at her behest, or at least a sufficient angreal. The work was intricate, and she was learning besides; pausing to scratch notes in shorthand to expand upon later.

“Will you stare the whole time?” she asked eventually. She did not look up. Meeting his gaze was more unnerving than the crawl of peripheral scrutiny. “You’ll only make it more painful, tensing up like that. There is not a muscle, joint, or ligament that isn’t isn’t torn or twisted. I could brew you something to assist if you wish it. Self-torture isn’t admirable.”

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asked with all the flatness of the edge of a knife, but if she had the guts to meet his gaze, she would find it filled with grim amusement. He once possessed a thakan’dar soul-sealed blade that the barest knick could poison its victim. It was exquisite but even Arikan took great care when he cleaned and handled the weapon. As much as Talin did now with the object in her possession. She was wise to handle him as carefully as Arikan once did that sword.

“It makes me work slower,” Talin corrected. Her gaze did not release from the work, though there was wariness in her expression.

"I'm making you better. You should be thanking me," he said, explaining.

Talin ignored the taunt at her skill. She did not offer the remedy again, and was soon lost back into the webs of saidar weaving in and out of his body. Would that he could see and appreciate the measures taken to hoist him from an early grave. The balance of each flow was exquisite. His internal injuries were significant, and when she spared thought at all, it was to ponder how such wounds even came into being. Hours passed in that silence, broken for brief breaks comprising sustenance and notetaking. The light had faded by the time she finally recognised the tells of exhaustion beginning to tug at her own senses. When the power swept out, it was at least with the satisfaction of the progress made.

“Some of your bones had already begun to set,” she told him before she left him to rest. His reaction to learning the date had betrayed how long his torture must have been endured, but the tells of his body had already revealed much the same. “That must be rectified before it can be healed. I intend for you to be restored, not simply functional.”

Tomorrow would be another long day. And after that.

He was more spent than he expected. This was his first experience with healing of any sort. The tales spread a wide description of the effects to body and mind. When he slept it was still too fitful to wander tel’aran’rhiod, and for the rare opportunity, he was willing to release his hold on that dream kingdom in favor of storing up his energies for the following day.

His inexperience with healing revealed itself the moment Talin suggested his bones would need to be rebroken in order for them to mend properly. The injuries were sustained in the heat of confrontation, when adrenaline mixed with desperation to lend him a ferocity to fight. The Hand’s muscles did the rest, and it was only in the aftermath of solitude that he recognized the pain left with him. He did not think the Aes Sedai had the fortitude to do it, up until the very moment her powers freshly cracked what was half-healed. He would not allow her to see him scream, but what yells burst uncontrolled from his throat was genuine. Yet through it all, he withheld himself. The One Power was his to command, but he did not trust himself to not crush the farm to a pile of smoldering ash.

Soon he began to sit up and move himself about. The first time that he was on his feet and crossed the path of the farmer, he simply stared at the man until he swallowed nervously and shuffled away. As he should, Arikan thought, and went about the business of walking himself to the outhouse.

There were other movements. He never quite glimpsed the face, but he knew Talin possessed a second body. A warder, he assumed, though all the proof of the man’s presence was hurried footfalls and a color-shifting cloak catching the breeze.

She found the bone-work unpleasant. Not the clear pain it caused him, but the reactionary fear she felt for causing it. He had a predator's gaze, and while she trusted in the tenuous agreement they had made, it did not stop the primal concern that he might simply snap. She'd seen dogs do the same on frenzied instinct. It was one of the reasons she directed Kaori away and gave him tasks to occupy his time. The knowledge gleaned already from her work was valuable; it would save lives, and more than justified the allegiances of the care's recipient. But given the warder's past he was unlikely to agree. Fortunately, he listened without question. The trust was startling, though she understood why.

Once the bones were fixed the patient was mobile enough to leave the bed when he clawed enough stubborn motivation. Talin did little to keep him, though she intended to see her work through to completion and not simply see him back to his feet. The effort cost him whatever stubborn pride refused to admit to, but she began to consider the moment he would wish to be free of her. Meanwhile their welcome on the farm grew thinner, something he did not improve from what she saw. The farmer and his wife were being generously compensated, of course, and she was not worried about being turned out. It was him she observed, thoughtful.

Soon, the days grew long. Recovery stretched him in the bed and the walls felt more like a cage than a house of healing. The farmers owned nothing that might occupy the immensity of his mind. He doubted they could even read. Therefore he began to ask questions. They were inconsequential first, and he assumed Talin would take it to be the unusual bounds of small-talk. He had the capacity to charm when it suited him, but here he had neither the energy nor the desire to deceive. He simply wanted information, and the Aes Sedai, even of the Yellow Ajah, was his only source.

Then the day came that he required maps. Every city, every capital, and every known battlefront the Yellow could provide.

Talin could not fathom small-talk, and did not indulge. Straight questions, however, were usually met with straight answers. At least when her mind could split to the diversion. Deep in saidar’s clutch, or her own copious notetaking, she did not answer at all. If she thought anything of his interest she did not deign to say. It suited her to be underestimated, and she saw no reason to withhold what he asked about. Some of it, of course, she did not know the answers to, but he would discover her surprisingly decently travelled, and her knowledge recent. The youth of her face revealed the newness of the ring on her finger, she imagined. Her proclivities were not normal for her Ajah. Talin allowed him to make whatever assumptions he cared to.

When she had first discovered him she had imagined him to be one of the Forsaken. For the sake of the challenges presented and the knowledge to be cultivated she had been prepared to turn a blind eye, but the suspicion had already faded by the time recollection stirred. He was a wasted man, far removed from the memory. A fall such as the dreadlord Arikan must have suffered after his defeat would certainly explain the nature of his injuries, though she could not quite answer the question of how he had escaped the Shadow’s clutches still clinging to life. Impossibility was an irrelevance to his being here though.

The question of his use to her began to turn slowly over in her mind. The question of his intention, too.

When he demanded maps it was met with a thoughtful reaction. She had provincial maps from recent travel of course, though those were clearly not what he sought. And she had one of Shienar. She spoke quietly with Kaori when she retrieved it, and then sought him out. A reasonable man would still be abed. He was not, of course. She presented it without preamble.

"From recent travel," she told him. "It fares poorly, should you be looking for an easier mark than Tar Valon. Though by the manner of your questions I do not believe it is 'redemption' for your failures you are seeking."

He would crawl across the floor rather than suffer the humiliation of a cane, but the wounds on his feet were yet to be tended, never mind the weeping stubs of toes pried loose of their nails, so Arikan slowly limped toward his destination. The burns were crusted black, and he could not suffer boots even if the farmer owned a spare. Neither could he abide a shirt, which had nothing to do with the roughness of the cotton or how poorly it fit. He simply couldn’t stand the lay of it on the many punctures and cuts from the Hand’s tools. The air was warm to him anyway so he merely walked with a blanket draping his shoulders. The farmer donated an old pair of braies, half-length linen shorts that didn’t so much as have a button. They were rolled and held across Arikan’s hollow-tight waist with a belt. He felt positively barbaric. More so by being forced to walk barefoot on his route, but the pain was tolerable on the grass. He continued to refuse Talin’s death tea no matter her promises to temper the dosage.

He was destined for the perch of an old tree stump. The story said it was struck by lightning years before, and by some miracle of storm rains the fire did not spread to the nearby barn. The only remains were this stump that he collapsed upon like it was a throne. Yet when the air touched his cheeks and rustled the curls of his hair it made him breathe something approximating relief. He yearned for pampering, but Arikan played the cumulative role of soldier longer than lord. The recent decades of his life was passed at the Blightborder and overseeing the compilation of the Great Lord’s forces was far from luxurious. There was nothing so fresh as the Tairen breeze nor so alive as trees to make for a stump in the Blight, at least none that might not leech poison so soon as sitting upon its carcass. There certainly were no chickens in the blight he thought blandly as one pecked at worms nearby. Amogorath was certain to still be there, in the Blight, milking his monsters for their seed and conducting his horrific experiments. The aged Chosen would be easy to ambush, but the attack would be obviously carried out by one of their own to know where to seek his lair. No, he needed to slice away the most dangerous of the Chosen first before the others were aware the devil was hunting them.

His gaze lifted from his tentative plans for the Chosen when Talin approached bearing gifts. It was partially unrolled long enough for him to recognize Shienar when she levied her not-so-thinly veiled awareness. It pulled his attention upward. He was mildly curious how long she’d known: instantly since that day in the donkey barn? Or did she piece together awareness like she did his flesh? He didn’t rise when he answered. Now at least he could speak freely.

“The Great Lord does not redeem,” he studied her reaction to the usage of the name. Though a thoughtfulness for saying it gave him a longer pause than he expected. It was the first time in the whole of his life he did not feel reverence at the sound of it. The absence was almost startling, but his recovery was swift.
“No Talin. The marks I seek are far more difficult to fell than your precious city,” disdain flooded his voice for both.

Fear could be such an unnervingly cold sensation, and she felt it shiver her through in a physical tide when he spoke that name. He was constantly studying her reactions, yet she still couldn’t quite account for the pause he made then. Her own lips twitched, packaging away her discomfort in order to admonish his. “You must have seen necrosed flesh before. Burns will do that if you treat them unkindly, such as traipsing across all and sundry barefoot. You are undoing my work with your impatience. Should the flesh die, even I cannot help you. You would not enjoy stumps.” If she was joking not an ounce of it showed in her expression. Certainly, she was not about to offer to kneel in the dirt at his feet. A short sigh followed. “What I meant is you have seemed angry, not desperate. I find it unusual given your apparent position.”

No one had come for him. Perhaps the backwater countryside accounted for a little of that, but while Arikan was still deep in recovery, he was past the point of imminent death. As poor and wasted a figure as he presented, he must be aware. She had expected to need to bargain for his continued cooperation by now, and she wondered if it meant he simply had nowhere to go and no allies to rely on for his continued care. It benefited her whether she chose to concern herself with the why of it or not, yet still she wondered at what further opportunity it might provide.

“You didn’t manage that. It hardly flatters your chances for a greater challenge,” she pointed out flatly.

She had stopped some short distance away. Talin rarely came close unless it was necessary, and she had never touched him without first ascertaining his consent. Neither did she ever correct his abysmal adherence to ignoring her title. The flout of manners and ritual always bothered her a little, but she recognised the advantage in accepting the veneer of familiarity. Even submission.

Her mouth opened to say more, but she never got the chance.

It was mildly amusing that this young Yellow thought to educate him on the spoils of war. Arikan walked battlefields, both as a soldier and a dreadlord. Battlefields. He sliced more limbs from bodies than there were branches on the nearby trees, but in one way, she was right. He did not want his legs to end at the ankle.

Then after all the consideration, temperance and care taken thus far, she said something that undid it all.

“You didn’t manage that. It hardly flatters your chances for a greater challenge,” she pointed out flatly.

In that moment, he changed. A demon’s song strung the soul so tight he could barely breathe. So cold, the blood stopped swirling. He did not care about stumps when he climbed to his feet then.

He took one single step forward, but he did not blink. He did not open and close his fists. He did not strike her. He merely seized saidin for the first time in months and let it fill him until it was holding him up, and a darkness reached through the void as if it was going to grasp her by the spine and wrench it free.

It was cold when he spoke.

“That.

was.

not.

my.

fault.”

The hair stood on the back of their necks a heartbeat before a flash crashed so bright it seemed the sun exploded. His powers pushed the shockwave another direction, and Arikan did not so much as flinch when it should have thrown them both from their feet.

Nearby, the barn exploded. Wood sprayed a brown cloud taller then the trees and hay rained down afterward. In the chaos, donkey parts were littered everywhere. A head here. Bloody hoofs, tails and fur there. Beyond, the trees were flattened like blades of grass. Fire curled up in the place of the smote barn that was the object of so much hate. It could have been Talin.

Arikan’s power was enough to challenge the Dragon, but even now he tempered himself. He did not want to summon the Chosen, though he could have with his capacity. This was a taste. A small measure of the control he still commanded even as he was insulted so gravely he might have abandoned all pursuits for revenge just for retribution. Even then, he considered dropping her and crushing that burned foot across her tender throat.

He didn’t, and a moment later, he couldn’t.

He released saidin just as the fire curled upward from the ash of the lightning strike. The moment he did, he collapsed to his knees nearly trembling with weakness that could have killed him before Talin had the chance to perfect her art, but even then, he stared at her, and from the ground, blanket fallen around him, he spoke a final time.

He thought of all those eyes that met him when he emerged from tel’aran’rhiod. The dark grounds of gardens surrounded him. The spire of the Aes Sedai’s home loomed great and white. Fires flickered every level nearly to the sky. And from it faced more Asha’man and Aes Sedai in one place that it would have been a historical moment if it weren’t for the reason they were gathered.

If Talin was one of those empty faces, she must have bore witness to the demon that nearly felled them that night. The gateway snapped behind a great man adorned in the gravest, grandest armor ever to come from Thakan’dar. A long, blood red cape streamed behind him innocently tossed by the wind. A longsword was strapped to his side, but the most impressive weapon was him.

He tugged the helmet from his head and tossed it aside. He wanted them to see his face. To behold the one that was inches from crumbling the white tower to the ground. The tension hung heavy, then on both sides, power broke the awful silence in a storm of battle that erupted.

And he still escaped.

Now on his knees, this same man that stared down half of the Light's forces stared up at Talin. He did not release the hold of her eyes despite the fires climbing in the background.

“I would kill the Great Lord of the Dark if I could, but there is only one who can. So I will content myself with killing every last one of the Chosen, escorting the Dragon to the Bore myself, and sending him in to finally do the job he was born to do," he was drawing short, shallow breaths, head growing light. Still, he did not raise his voice.

"Finish.
Healing.
Me.
… so I can get the fuck out of here.”

The intensity with which he endured the Hand’s instruments of torture showed itself. Behind her, the fire smeared colors. Still, he spoke.
“And never insult me again.”

A moment after, his head swam alarmingly. The cost of channeling was worth it, he thought, just before dropping unconscious.

When he stepped forward, Talin stepped reflexively back. The colour drained quickly from her face.

She flinched when the barn exploded behind her; closed her eyes against it. Her breathing was fast and fearful. She did not reach for saidar; in fact all she did was mute the bond to stop Kaori feeling the primal nature of her fear, though likely the flames would soon bring people running. Talin did not acknowledge the bloody rain nor the squelch and dull thuds of animal parts. It was a gruesome detail she found irrelevant. Her hands were trembling and she could not stop them. It was him she was afraid of.

Arikan fell to his knees after and she did not move closer despite the clear need. Every base instinct screamed at her to run from him, though she didn’t do that either. Clearly saidin fled his grasp. She imagined consciousness itself would soon follow by the look of him, but there was a terrible intensity she could not look away from.

The words that followed burned so hot it was like a chill wrenched her spine. But as it did so it was akin to a straight tug on her soul, too. She accepted it like a confession. If her eyes widened a little then, it was in something other than fear.

But it wasn’t until she was sure he was no longer conscious that she felt her heart begin to slow its fearsome beat. Her hands clasped softly; she did not trust them to remain still. With a tight jaw she glanced over her shoulder at the devastation one flick of his mind had caused. It hadn’t even been an insult, just simple fact, but at least he had done her the favour of pointing out her exact misstep. Such a flagrantly volatile use of power, but it proved his capability. And his control.

If he intended to kill her, it would have been then.

She pulled hard on the bond. Kaori arrived so quickly she realised he must have already been on his way. They could no longer stay here, and it annoyed her to realise the sorts of variables one single action had delivered into her careful plans. “No,” was all she said to the hand her warder wrapped around his hilt. It still surprised her he obeyed so quickly, despite the conflict she felt roiling inside. Kaori thought it prudent to stick that blade in the back of Arikan’s neck. Yet if his thunderous expression did not settle his hand did. “Mephisto was not in that barn?”

“No, Aes Sedai. Your horse is fine. No people either, I do not think.”

But Talin’s attention had already moved back to the man in the dirt upon assurance of her animal’s welfare. It might have been fortuitous had the people here been consumed, but no matter. As for the dreadlord, clearly he would be too proud to ask for help. Too proud to ask for anything he could not instead demand like it was his due. Arikan appreciated nothing, but she did not need him to. She only needed to facilitate his vengeance.

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