11-02-2017, 05:19 AM
A few days later
She stood on tip-toe to scrutinise the damage in the mirror, running her fingers over the pink pinch marks making a path down the side of her ribs. Those will bruise, she mused, sinking her heels back onto the cold floor. Talin’s aggression in her efforts to distract Nythadri from her Hundred Weaves could be downright appalling. Not that her fellow Accepted did not receive as well as she gave, if Nythadri’s predilections did not leave such ugly marks. She pulled her dress back over her hips, frowning at the sting of fabric pulled across too-tender skin. How much force had Talin used to leave such lasting reminders? Light-forsaken woman.
She sighed, lacing fingers back through her dark hair, and turned away. Sweat sheened her skin, the only other external testament to such a vigorous training session. Her eyes longed for the solace of black. How many times today had she dropped her threads and suffered the cruel black-lashes of those pointless weaves? Improvement came with practise, but despair hovered at the edge of every incremental victory. She sunk her weight into the ladder-backed chair at her desk, but refused the urge to sprawl over the desk-top and sleep. How irritating that one needed another to practise with. Alone Nythadri could perform the weaves flawlessly. But that was hardly enough to see her to the final Test.
Exhaustion plucked at her senses, and she gazed longingly at her wardrobe, where her violin lay wrapped in its case, but time was a harsh mistress when one wore the rainbow hem. The evening bell was not far off; she had a few moments to herself, but not enough to lose herself to the cathartic beauty of music; there was little point indulging when she would be torn away so soon. The occasional skipped meal when her studies took their toll was inevitable, but she didn’t make a habit of it. I’ll go down to the hall early. If she stayed here she’d only succumb to sleep and find herself wide-awake at an unspeakable hour of the morning. If she took a meandering route and looked purposeful about it, at least she could not be accused of idleness.
But upon opening the door, a harried looking novice stood with fist poised to knock. The girl's eyes widened, and her hand dropped quickly to clench a handful of skirt. The approximation of a curtsy followed. "Lythia Sedai of the Green Ajah requests you for tea tomorrow afternoon, Accepted."
She sent the girl away without admonishment; she seemed intimidated enough. The summons she mulled over curiously, though. A Sister of the Blue had delivered Nythadri to the Tower, and the Blues had subtly plagued her time here - like she were marked for them. For her part Nythadri had been reluctant to pledge to any Ajah. But Green? She'd had never shown either interest or inclination at all.
~*~
The Green's domain was ostentacious, but Nythadri could never quite decide whether she thought it beautiful or gaudy. The many mounted weapons certainly eclipsed notions of frivolity usually associated with these sisters, as did the many wall hangings depicting battle scenes, but there was habitually an air of lightheartedness that Nythadri found incongruous. It seemed strange; the lingering notes of music, the distant laughter, the splashes of colour and vibrancy; they were all things she had once coveted and lamented losing. She had never wished to join the Tinker wagons because of pacifism, but neither had she ever contemplated raising a sword herself; seeing the framed swords and spears filled her not with disgust nor excitement. The atmosphere was actually almost reminiscent of some of the more reputable inns she had played in Caemlyn. But it was not like stepping into a space and finding home.
She did not pay excessive attention to the decor as she passed, but it was natural to contemplate the Ajah when in its home environment. To step within an Ajah's halls was always akin to entering the den of some sleeping animal. There were far more Aes Sedai eyes to take note and find Nythadri's often less than humble attitude offensive, so it was important to take some note of her surroundings; or, particularly, to who shared those surroundings with her. The Green's halls were rarely empty - rumour would have it, not whatever the hour. At a sociable time of the afternoon, there were plenty of sisters and warders around, engaged in whatever activities they deemed of interest; Nythadri hardly paid attention beyond passing deference, gaze only drawn to open doors to check that the sword was not green outlined in gold - that which would denote Lythia's rooms.
When she did find the door, it was shut. Without need to draw breath or compose herself, Nythadri knocked straight away, then took a step back to wait.
She stood on tip-toe to scrutinise the damage in the mirror, running her fingers over the pink pinch marks making a path down the side of her ribs. Those will bruise, she mused, sinking her heels back onto the cold floor. Talin’s aggression in her efforts to distract Nythadri from her Hundred Weaves could be downright appalling. Not that her fellow Accepted did not receive as well as she gave, if Nythadri’s predilections did not leave such ugly marks. She pulled her dress back over her hips, frowning at the sting of fabric pulled across too-tender skin. How much force had Talin used to leave such lasting reminders? Light-forsaken woman.
She sighed, lacing fingers back through her dark hair, and turned away. Sweat sheened her skin, the only other external testament to such a vigorous training session. Her eyes longed for the solace of black. How many times today had she dropped her threads and suffered the cruel black-lashes of those pointless weaves? Improvement came with practise, but despair hovered at the edge of every incremental victory. She sunk her weight into the ladder-backed chair at her desk, but refused the urge to sprawl over the desk-top and sleep. How irritating that one needed another to practise with. Alone Nythadri could perform the weaves flawlessly. But that was hardly enough to see her to the final Test.
Exhaustion plucked at her senses, and she gazed longingly at her wardrobe, where her violin lay wrapped in its case, but time was a harsh mistress when one wore the rainbow hem. The evening bell was not far off; she had a few moments to herself, but not enough to lose herself to the cathartic beauty of music; there was little point indulging when she would be torn away so soon. The occasional skipped meal when her studies took their toll was inevitable, but she didn’t make a habit of it. I’ll go down to the hall early. If she stayed here she’d only succumb to sleep and find herself wide-awake at an unspeakable hour of the morning. If she took a meandering route and looked purposeful about it, at least she could not be accused of idleness.
But upon opening the door, a harried looking novice stood with fist poised to knock. The girl's eyes widened, and her hand dropped quickly to clench a handful of skirt. The approximation of a curtsy followed. "Lythia Sedai of the Green Ajah requests you for tea tomorrow afternoon, Accepted."
She sent the girl away without admonishment; she seemed intimidated enough. The summons she mulled over curiously, though. A Sister of the Blue had delivered Nythadri to the Tower, and the Blues had subtly plagued her time here - like she were marked for them. For her part Nythadri had been reluctant to pledge to any Ajah. But Green? She'd had never shown either interest or inclination at all.
~*~
The Green's domain was ostentacious, but Nythadri could never quite decide whether she thought it beautiful or gaudy. The many mounted weapons certainly eclipsed notions of frivolity usually associated with these sisters, as did the many wall hangings depicting battle scenes, but there was habitually an air of lightheartedness that Nythadri found incongruous. It seemed strange; the lingering notes of music, the distant laughter, the splashes of colour and vibrancy; they were all things she had once coveted and lamented losing. She had never wished to join the Tinker wagons because of pacifism, but neither had she ever contemplated raising a sword herself; seeing the framed swords and spears filled her not with disgust nor excitement. The atmosphere was actually almost reminiscent of some of the more reputable inns she had played in Caemlyn. But it was not like stepping into a space and finding home.
She did not pay excessive attention to the decor as she passed, but it was natural to contemplate the Ajah when in its home environment. To step within an Ajah's halls was always akin to entering the den of some sleeping animal. There were far more Aes Sedai eyes to take note and find Nythadri's often less than humble attitude offensive, so it was important to take some note of her surroundings; or, particularly, to who shared those surroundings with her. The Green's halls were rarely empty - rumour would have it, not whatever the hour. At a sociable time of the afternoon, there were plenty of sisters and warders around, engaged in whatever activities they deemed of interest; Nythadri hardly paid attention beyond passing deference, gaze only drawn to open doors to check that the sword was not green outlined in gold - that which would denote Lythia's rooms.
When she did find the door, it was shut. Without need to draw breath or compose herself, Nythadri knocked straight away, then took a step back to wait.