An Early Evening Run

[Eidolon]

Byron

Byron glanced back at her briefly and flashed a rather warm smile, "Why yes, good Lady Malaika, I do have a name. Actually, many I suppose. They are important things, I suppose, but Light have they the iron-clad weight of responsibility don't they? If someone knows your name, they can find you so much more easily right? Someone knows your name, knows what you can do, you build a reputation. Dangerous things, those. You become so much more popular with a reputation. Some people seek you out to use you for their own gains, or to bask in the light of your story."

He started walking again, albeit at a more then leisurely pace as he continued his explanation, arms now clasped at the elbows behind his back, shoulders squared off and almost looking the part of a lecturing instructor, "Worse still, some seek you out to surpass your reputation. To steal the pedastal you stand on and add to their own. Say you are the best swordsman? A reputation you took years to build. And then one day some young upstart comes and beats you? He gains so much reputation, his name grows powerful and known. And what did he do to earn it? Nothing."

At the end of the street he turned left down a slightly wider, more openly used road that headed up away from the docks towards the finer establishments of the upper-middle class of merchants and craftsmen. "So having one name, associated with all your skills and abilities is a dangerous thing. But having many names? One for each pedastal? Well, be bested in one aspect, and you've more to continue preaching from." His brow furrowed as if he suddenly found the idea distasteful, and he glanced at her with an apologetic shrug, "Not that I am prone to preaching. I've nothing against sharing knowledge, certainly, but preaching for the sake of proving your own worth above others? Dreadful thing that is. I'm of the belief that it should undermine your own reputation."

He didn't seem to pay much attention to the world around him as they walked, his path taking him dangerously close to such distasteful things as muddy puddles or missing cobblestones in the road or worse still the markings of the recent passings of horse and wagon. And each time he drew near, without sparing a glance for whatever the obstacle might be, he always seemed to narrowly avoid it. "Now, you are quite right that a lady should not go to tea with a stranger. And a gentleman should never lie. So as long as you continue playing the Lady, I will continue playing the gentleman."

He suddenly bounded a few steps ahead of her and spun on one heel in a manner that should have sent the average man tipping over or flailing drunkenly. He instead smoothly recovered with another step and one hand reached to flourish a cape he didn't have and the other to pull a hat he wasn't wearing, managing what would likely have been a rather brilliant bow, the likes of capes flapping in the breeze and billowing about oneself. Instead, he simply looked more so the goof for it all. "Byron. And my time in Tar Valon started late in my youth and has been an on-again off-again affair. I am certainly fond of the place, but I am a traveller at heart, prone to seeking new places to find new sorts of trouble to get into."

He tapped one booted foot against the other heel, indicating where the meat had been tied, "This evening's escapades was something I am sadly quite familiar with. Some Murandian land owners are a bit...frugal, with their secrets. And their daughters. Poor good Lady Illene's father more then frowned on her having a relationship with a simple tanner's son. Light, have you any idea how hard it is to get an entire estate's guards drunk enough to sneak a young woman out to meet her love without her father learning of it?"

Malaika

Names had a certain power, she agreed. It felt like an eternity since her existence as Shea - she had been an entirely different person then, and recovering her birth name had been an important step in forging a new and healthier identity for herself. As he continued to speak at some length on the nature of reputations, Malaika observed the street around them, glancing back at the man every so often to affirm that she was, in fact, listening. Everything appeared different under the cover of shadow; she was allured by the backdrop to countless ordinary lives, but she was also looking for anything familiar so that she might orientate herself.

Light but he certainly seemed to like the sound of his own voice, though it suited Malaika well enough given that she was of a naturally quieter nature. She wasn't sure whether he truly had anything to hide or if he was just rambling his thoughts aloud, and either way tried not to dwell on it. A reputation cannot be stolen, she mused, noting the architectural signs of a wealthier neighbourhood, because it does not belong to a single man, but to the men who's eyes behold him. Not that she voiced her opinion aloud; she had no desire to be caught in a debate that would give him an opportunity to bypass her question entirely.

She paused as he quite suddenly careened ahead of her, for a moment on the edge of wary ... until it was clear that he was simply indulging in more theatrics. He must be a Gleeman... She watched the flourish of a non-existent hat and cape without much outward reaction, not the hint of a smile or frown of distaste betraying her thoughts. Inwardly, she was a little amused, but such expression rarely made it to her features unless one knew her well enough to recognise the mirth in her eyes. Silly fool. He implied the name he gave was true, which surprised her given his tirade as to the usefulness of multiple personas and what not. No matter; she did not mind either way.

Ah, and he was rambling again, and at such a speed that a slow, methodical thinker like Malaika struggled to keep up. So he was a traveller; that alone garnered the young Brown's interest, since her whole day had been in the fruitless pursuit of such people. Funny how the Wheel weaves. And a tanner's son? She filed that away, though not necessarily as a truth. He might play the charming idiot, but the way he nimbly avoided obstacles without a second glance (or even a first glance) was proof enough that he was not unaware of the things he said and did.

"No, I can't say that I do," she replied. On any level, in fact; she had never been to Murandy, never gotten drunk (or even slightly intoxicated) and had never had ... ah ... those types of relations. "I have lived here for..." She blinked as though the time slipped through her fingers before she could count it. Or maybe because she did not usually volunteer information about herself without prompting. "Twenty odd years, I suppose. I didn't realise it had been so long." She shrugged since it was irrelevant anyway, and her gaze regained some of the focus it had lost. "I imagine you could call my life a sheltered one. In some respects, at least. I've never seen much of the mainland."

She was curious to hear tales of his travels, but decided to press her questions on him once her hunger was less of a distraction. Not that he appeared to need much prompting into the role of story-teller ... although he might regret it by the time Malaika's endless curiosity was satiated.

Byron

Well wasn't that just a wealth of information for him to gobble up? Byron fell in at her side again to resume their walk. The streets were rather quiet, with the faint hint of well-performed music drifting from one tavern or another but none seemed to be his intended destination no matter how inviting they looked. Judging from her age, twenty years prior she must have been very young, hardly a child. Judging from her appearance, and supported by the time, she must have been amongst the Seanchan, so how had she ended up in Tar Valon?

Various options came to mind, of course. Adopted daughter, perhaps her parents had been amongst the servant class and had simply changed Houses somewhere along a hectic road. Of course, she could be a Channeler couldn't she? Liberated from her slave masters or maybe one of leash holders. No, she hadn't the personality for that sort of thing. "Well, you've likely no end of questions then, good Lady Malaika? I couldn't possibly imagine spending so long in one place. Light, twenty years? Tar Valon is a wonderful city, there is no doubt, and if you had to spend an eternity in pne place...well, this place is a bit too stiff about the collar for my liking, but there is much to be seen and heard."

"Could you imagine? Having but a handful of places, a scattering of people, to enjoy a game of dice? Or stories over some ale? Light, but it would be dreadful! Like old warhorses put to pasture, telling stories of the old days. The same stories! Over and over, nothing new to talk about. Nothing new to do." He shuddered visibly, the thought of such a life near as terrible as a horde of Trollocs or being the guest of honor at a marriage.

His brow furrowed suddenly and he glanced at her with an apologetic smile, waving his hands soothingly, "Not that I've anything against it. Simply wouldn't work for me. Could you imagine someone like me settled down to grow old? Disparaging thought, age. Little to be done about it of course. Some options exist, but none that anyone has deemed worthy to capitalize on in respect to myself."

Malaika

Malaika could imagine worse things than a sedentry life, and by the standards of most channelers and their fear of the leash had lived it too. Freedom was a new and unexplored fascination - it was not something she had longed for or even given much thought before. She'd never wished to escape while a damane and her release had been none of her own doing. Though she wouldn't wish the life back, or curse it upon anyone else, it had not been so ... bad... to live through. Not at the time, at least, when she had been oblivious to the things she knew now. It was not an opinion she was inclined to share though - with anyone - since it was not one most people could understand. Things were simply different in Seanchan, and the people did not know the things they knew here. Most Aes Sedai believed all damane wished to be free; it was simply not the case.

Even with all the extra knowledge she had not wished to escape while a novice or accepted, either, nor had she ever really contemplated the world outside. It had been nothing to do with her, nor something she had believed she had any right to be a part of. The Light only knew how long it would have taken her to grow curious if Eithne had not taken her to Arad Doman and then Ebou Dar; she might have turned to dust in the Brown's libraries and never even missed the sunlight.

"Plenty of questions," she agreed. "And a willing victim to spoil me with answers, I assume, should you really be as difficult to offend as you say." She did smile that time; it was not often she indulged in any sort of humour, and she was amused that he seemed so horrified by her situation. What he knew of it, at least. Of the world she was well read, of course, and probably knew more of each nations' histories than the locals who lived there, but it was a poor substitute for experience. And of that, she had very little. Not that she regretted it. She had the luxury of an extended life, and even coming to the world as new as a babe at her age she still had enough years left to see two lifetimes over. Light willing, obviously.

"I'm not sure I was ever aware I had a choice. One can't miss meeting strange new people, playing dice or drinking ... what was it you called it? Ale? One can't miss things they've never experienced." Although she supposed she had now remedied the 'meeting strange new people' part. "It's not so bad being ignorant, so long as you remain ignorant." The real problem was the way her eyes were opening. She was young and did not have enough standing within the ajah to do exactly as she wished, but it would not be impossible to find herself duties elsewhere for a while. The Browns sponsored excavations and studies across the continent, after all. Where to start, though, when she could lose her way so easily in the city that was supposed to be her home?

Her thoughts had ambled away again. Warhorse? Same old stories, nothing new? Over and over... She raised her brows, unashamedly amused. "You know, you shall have to let me know if I start repeating myself. I wouldn't want to be a bore." It was clear from her tone that she was simply teasing, neither serious in her remark or remotely offended. She might not have had much choice in the path her life had taken, nor much adventure, but she was privileged in a way few ever were. Enough talk of that, though, for Malaika was never one to enjoy the spotlight or invite it open herself more than necessary.

His last statement was curious, but it was a moment or two before Malaika's consciousness caught up with her brain. What an... odd thing to say. She looked at him with a renewed eye, suddenly sure she had missed something completely obvious. Whatever it was, though, apart from being an irksome niggle sparking in the back of her mind, eluded her. "Options?"

Byron

He couldn't say she was finally coming out of her shell. She didn't really seem shy or withdrawn, she was simply...well, to use her words, 'ignorant' about so much. Which was strange since she seemed so curious of everything. She had definitely been living a sheltered life. "Ah, but there are all sorts of choices aren't there? Unless you believe in fate, that every little thing is ordained by the Great Weave. I cannot deny that there's no end of very lucky coincidences throughout history. I'm a man of chance and luck, and even I cannot deny there must be the Creator's touch in such things."

Soon enough Byron came to a stop with one foot on the step into the tea house he had mentioned. By Tar Valon standards it was...quaint. Simple design, subdued even, and it might fit in perfectly in a quiet little village somewhere. "Ignorance is Bliss, as some say. Certainly, I've learned some things in my time I could have stood not knowing. What might a Trolloc carry in a beltpouch? Or the feeling of defeat losing twenty Tairen crowns to a matched pair." Somehow, of the two, the money seemed the more distasteful memory. He'd never admit it was the child's marbles in the Trolloc's pouch that had nearly ruined him.

"But on the other hand, I've learned many things I can't imagine not knowing. The elation of -winning- twenty Tairen crowns on a matched pair. I once heard that Domani mothers teach their daughters a hundredsome ways of touching a man's face. I would wager there are very few left for me to learn." He chuckled and shook his head ruefully as he stepped in and swept the door open for her, revealing a warm room of earth tones and dark woods, with bowls of dry leaves or wood chips to give the room a pleasant outdoors scent.

There were only a a small handful of men and women scattered about the room at comfortable chairs and low tables. A well matured woman emerged from a back room, likely a kitchen, with a glossed tray bearing tea and snacks. Seeing Byron at the door she flashed an an almost motherly smile that quickly lost it's warmth upon seeing him holding th door for Malaika. The Mistress likely thought Byron was up to no good with the poor woman.

He of course was all charming smiles and innocent frowns at her glare, but then the proprietress was off to serve her customers, and Byron waved vaguely at the empty tables, letting Malaika pick one of her choice, "I've little doubt you have no end of stories of your own. You would be surprised how often someone thinks they have nothing worth talking about. Friends and family, even a seemingly routine day tending their crops can be interesting with the right spin. Maybe one day I will regale you with the dire terrors of my time tending cabbage?"

He grinned again, a mischievous twinkle in his eye at her one-word question. Another fine opening for a long winded tale, no doubt about it. "Yes, options. Immortality through fame or infamy is possibly the best known. If I were to die, would I be remembered? Certainly, by many through different names and faces and deeds. Remembered in a small Tairen village for a fine cloak given to be sold for new nets? Or by Lady Minyarrin's court as the handsome and dangerous Derires, or his oft whispered pet name, 'Dairy'? Byron, the cabbage farmer or Byron the Odd? Each of my names might one day award me immortality. But, that isn't quite what I meant was it?"

He frowned briefly, thinking over her question and what he had said to spark it, nodding slowly, "No, certainly not. I meant means of a longer life didn't I? Well certainly, if I stopped tying meat to my ankles and running from hungry dogs, or raising the ire of jealous husbands, or winning too often at dice, I might live much longer then I likely will as stands. But, I am not likely to bring any of those to an end 'till I'm put out to pasture. So what might I have meant? Can you think of any ways a skilled man might live longer then even the healthiest and heartiest of farmers?"

Malaika

Malaika paused to think about that, though only in the moment he stopped to open the door. Even being born in Seanchan, where her channeler’s blood marked her for a life of servitude, had she always ultimately been destined for the Tower? She had always considered her release a coincidence … and no, even now, she could not fathom that it might have been fate. Why her, of all the thousands that were leashed? Luck. Simple, pure luck. It was written in the pattern, now, regardless. She did not dwell on it.

As a Brown, Malaika considered knowledge to be of utmost importance, but she recognised the truthful insight in his words. Oh, he made a joke of it (she was not sure what a ‘matched pair’ was, having never been exposed to much in the way of gambling, though she could guess) but the point was there nevertheless. Knowledge was as dangerous and powerful as any steel-wrought blade; it could build and break kingdoms, and hearts. There was a warning there, and one she knew well; Malaika had already been burned by pursuing her curiosity against better judgement. But she was a Brown to her core, and fiercely passionate to such ends. It would not stop her. She could not help how sheltered from certain things she had been until now; learning to control and manipulate saidar had been far more imperative than experiencing an ordinary life or having the freedom to roam the world on a whim. Now, though, she would dedicate her life to learning all she could, and suffer the consequences as they came. She stepped over the threshold, giving Byron a side long glance as he mentioned the arts of Domani women. Well, maybe there were some things she’d rather not know about.

The teahouse was quaint and did not look like the type of place dirt-smeared men such as Byron would choose frequent (although, to be fair, he probably did not run around covered in dirt every day). Though he had professed to being familiar with the establishment and its proprietor, she wondered if his choice had more to do with his assumptions of her and who she was. Or perhaps his intentions. She was not familiar with the courting rituals of men, but if he had notions of conquest on his mind he was going to be sorely disappointed. It was doubtful to be the case, however, unless she was even more ignorant of life than she imagined.

She was not sure if the Mistress’ thunderous look was meant for her or Byron, since it was upon seeing her that the smile had fallen. Perhaps they were lovers, or had been. The woman was older, certainly, but Byron spoke like a man who was familiar with all types of women so it would not have surprised her. She wouldn’t pry, though, and had no interest in doing so. Byron had so far proved frank with his tales, whether they be truthful or not, and she would rather spare herself the blushes. Dark eyes scanned the other customers, but she did not see anyone she recognised amongst those already seated. Not that that always mean much in Tar Valon.

She had no particular preference as to where they sat, but since he had waved the decision over to her she choose them a spot within reasonable distance of the hearth. Aes Sedai did not feel the cold, so it was said, but Malaika enjoyed the glowing heat and comforting crackle of flame.

“I never said I had no stories to tell,” she said as she sat, with as close to a hint of mischievousness in her voice as one was ever likely to hear from the usually stoical Brown. Not that she had the skill to tell them in anything but bland, impassive facts. She had never shied from being candid about her past, though people very rarely asked it of her. In the Tower it was fairly well known that she had once been a damane, and no Channeler liked to bring that up. Occasionally she might find herself asked about Seanchan, but by now she had lived longer on the mainland than her country of birth, and her memories of a time before the leash were muddied with those of her Arches anyway.

The chairs were as comfortable as they looked and, especially given the late hour, she had to resist the urge to curl up in one as she would in her own rooms. It was how she would have usually spent the evening, with a good book or surrounded by copious paperwork, a single, power-made light balanced over her shoulder. It suddenly occurred to her that she had left no word for Kasimir; he had residence in the Tower’s guest quarters, but it was not uncommon for him to arrive unannounced and proclaiming boredom (much to Malaika’s chagrin). Malaika seldom locked her door, and though she had warned him against it, he still tended to let himself in. I doubt he shall worry, if he even notices I am not there at all.

Since it was quite warm, she snapped the clasp and shrugged the cloak from her shoulders. The dress beneath was quite as plain, loose about her frame and entirely unadorned. The sleeves were long, only the tips of her fingers poking out from the dark green material. That was to hide the scars on her right hand rather than the ring on her left, though while her hands were motionless in her lap it did both. She listened to him talk, happy to soak in the cosy atmosphere (although she almost spluttered at the admission of his 'pet name'). Perhaps she would bring Adira here, if she was able to find this place in the light of day. She imagined the young Brown would fall in love with the charm of the place, if she did not already know of its existence. And it was entirely possible she did.

Listening to Byron speak, she wondered if he mistook her ignorance of the world for stupidity; many often did, actually, and Malaika was never quick to disabuse those assumptions. It didn’t matter to her what others thought of her, unless those others were her ajah sisters.

“An exceptionally skilled man, or woman, might find what they were looking for at the White Tower,” she said. Matters of bonding and warders were not things she was familiar with, and she assumed Byron had not been hinting at methods one who did not walk in the Light might resort to. She tilted her head and wondered for a moment; that sudden clarity was back in her gaze, where usually it was passive - almost dreamy. “Although I would advise them against bonding Green, if a long life was what they were after.”

A gaidin? That was ... unexpected. He did not fit her impression of the Tower's warders, but she had never spent long enough in any one’s company to truly know for sure. In fact, she had met fewer than a handful in passing greeting throughout her entire life at the Tower, and shared conversation with less (and even then only for various study assignments in her youth). She might have assumed he was talking purely hypothetically but for other things he had said. The Arafelin accent and his passing mention of Trollocs suggested he had been north, but few fought against the Blight but Borderlanders, and he was not. His strange ideas of training and the ease and confidence with which he moved...

“Well, now you’ve gone and made me feel quite dense. I thought you were a Gleeman out of motley.”

She had to admit that she was still slightly sceptical, but she did not explicitly ask for clarification. If he wished to keep it to himself she would say no more of it; it was not like it truly mattered beyond that it had surprised her. Given that (unless he was simply being polite by not calling her out), she wondered if it would be rude not to mention that she was Aes Sedai; she’d made no attempts to hide it, after all - in fact it had not occurred to her until now that he might not actually realise. She was used to people simply knowing. Would his demeanour change if he did know? The serpent ring was good for a great deal of things, but eliciting casual conversation was not one of them. No doubt he would expect an ulterior motive of her. Ah well; she would simply let him notice of his own accord; she didn’t have it in her to erect a conscious deception when he had been nothing but kind, but blurting it out seemed somewhat juvenille. And she didn't want to insult him by pointing out what he might already be aware of.