Crimsonthorn

[Eidolon]

Malaika’s pose did not shift when he began to softly read aloud from the pages, for all that it struck her like the first notes of unexpected music. Her attention remained ahead, yet upon recognising the cadence of the poem she closed her eyes. It was almost like embracing the source, only it was the words she let permeate her being. Vladamir’s voice was soft and purposeful, like something born of nature. She had rarely heard him use it. Feeling suffused his reading like a guide over well-worn paths, but if the poem was well-known to her, the territory explored now was entirely new. Experiencing herself led over its lines by another who loved it too made the journey entirely different. The existence of such depths to him did not surprise her, but that he chose to share himself like that briefly did. They’d co-existed for years in the same haunts, but for all that tangential familiarity had rarely ever spoken. She wondered what the poem meant to him, but of course would not ask.

For her it had always been something mythic. A realm far beyond her own, but one which shed across a comforting light. Tonight, hearing it aloud, it stirred in her a deep and nostalgic longing, though for what she could not say. Perhaps because she feared that what might transpire in the Hall tonight would hold little of unity. Truthfully, Malaika was gravely afraid of those fractures, more than she had been even when the Dark One’s dread general stormed the Tower’s walls. She feared especially what duties her experiences may soon rest on her shoulders. But for all that, she was also an island, and it was a quiet serenity which subsumed such thoughts. Malaika was not the only woman in the Tower to have known the collar, but such horrors had bred no friendships in which to express them. Fear was often selfish. She would do what she had to in service to the Tower, and to the Light.

Comfortable silence lingered after, in which she opened her eyes to shadows far less certain than valour-flamed hearts. If she dwelt on the manner of her own solitude, it was not to the ignorance of a bridge offered between them. His features softened in a way she had rarely witnessed in the public halls they both tread, and her own did in turn as her attention moved to acknowledge his greeting.

“I hope for it,” she said eventually. “Thank you for sharing yours.”

She knew little of what to say after that, though she thought Vladamir would accept her silence like one accepted wind or rain. He had closed his book though, and for a moment she felt intrusive upon his own vigil this night, for she had little to share in return. But surprisingly the guilt did not stay, and the quiet only felt harmonious. She watched his hand resting upon the cover for a long moment; a more common sight to her than the full regalia of his armament. 

“One of my Sisters has spent many years seeking to validate a piece of work she believes to be one of Norinen Mathevron’s,” she said after a time. She did not lift her hands to gesture the book. “If it is, it throws into question the date we have always believed he died. It might be many years before the work is finally categorised to a place on the public shelves, but I was permitted to make my own transcription as a gift when I joined the Ajah. I will send it to your quarters, if you wish to see it. It would be an honour. I have never liked the thought of it being so unread.”

Her gaze had returned ahead by now. A natural melancholy fled inwards in introspection, mostly for where the notion of forgotten things led her. Such a small thing in comparison to the wheel's great turnings. A single thread burned free unfinished, and she would never know why. She prevaricated over speaking. Already, the conversation lasted longer than she could recall, the happenings of the bridge included. Commandeering his attention away from his Aes Sedai did not sit well, though there was little enough he could do until the doors opened. Yet Malaika was not sure the opportunity would ever return. After consideration, it was permission she sought first.

“I recognise it is not my place, gaidin. But may I confide something?”