02-16-2019, 09:30 PM
He was strangely at peace with this. Now that the noise and confusion were done, everything sort of slammed home. His shoulders felt like his hands were made of lead. His skull throbbed but pillows were a dream on a distant hill. Watching Nythadri, eyes downcast as she folded inward, away from him, the rage in his heart joined his head and arms. A brittle shell crumbling beneath its own weight. That moment, sharing their last glimpse of sunlight, he wanted to step aside and let the final rays drizzle her pale skin rather than cinder his own. Maybe he could have pulled off the jobs a little better, but every decision was for her, for his brothers, for everyone. For bloody duty. So if he were finally driving her away, every tedious step was a bitter victory but brutal turmoil to watch.
Nythadri’s hands clenched, then released whatever tension she held so fiercely. His own knuckles wanted to react, yearning to shield hers. Maybe graze a thumb down her cheek. Tuck the tendrils of hair from her eyes and give her the horizon she deserved to behold. He didn’t, though the memory of Arad Doman sang an enticing song. His time standing with one step in the shade was done. For her, it was time to leave such touches to memory.
She probably thought his silence was his usual reaction. The first time they spoke, he’d been neck deep in a mosaic of numbers and was oblivious for a long time. She witnessed his poor navigation through a dark sea of obsessions, paranoia, calculations, and mistakes a dozen times since. She watched a man batter himself on the rocks for slim reasons, but reasons which meant the world at the time. How many times in those gales had Nythadri wielded an influence so strong even Daryen noticed the anomaly?
Maybe it was Nythadri. Maybe it was simple acceptance. But the blood in the water diluted and drained on. Nythadri explained the things he’d done like she sat on his shoulder the entire time of it. As close as her witness was, as much as he wished she spoke true, she didn’t know the coldblooded rage that blinded him of all good intention. She wasn’t aware of that brief moment of delight when a waste of a body twitched its final draw of breath. She hadn’t realized how easily he turned on politics despite his hatred for manipulation. She couldn’t sense the thrill of walking into a room knowing he’d conquered everyone in it single handedly. When they looked in the mirror, they glimpsed the same reflection but they did not see the same man.
”I deserved it, Nythadri,” he spoke the frigid truth, and Jai only lied to himself. Usually. He sounded like he was trying to convince her.
His hand no longer ached. The shoulder he’d thrown in Arad Doman was nothing now. The hole in his gum was smooth. Evidence of those near unbearable minutes or hours or however long it lasted were gone like a rainstorm. Which made it all the worse. He had been wrong, all these years since flaring the first flame. True devastation wasn’t in the blow by blow. It wasn’t found in the howls of shame. It was facing the quiet aftermath. A funeral was hard, but confronting an empty house was harder. Breaking a sword was easy; the reforge was excruciating. Looking into the disappointed eyes of that Aes Sedai; letting go of hatred for a father’s drastic measures because you forced his hand; going one step forward and falling two steps back. When you sleep through a storm but the scratches on the window chilled your heart Understanding what the flood washed away, and not mourning a single stone of it. These were the things of horror. Stones didn't weep. Weapons didn't hide.
”And the world deserves better,” he uttered painfully. Jai was starting to see. He couldn’t slowly fall apart now. This tunnel led only to one place. If he could stop staring into the unknown and fight for a little more ground.
Then her offer ripped everything apart. Again.
Help? He blinked like the word was strung together by foreign syllables. The confusion reigned for a brief moment, and he wasn’t sure whether to kick it away or pick it up and look at it.
She really believed she could help. There was so much purity to the word, the power of it shattered good intentions with a genuine chisel when a hammer left no dent. If there was ever a moment to fail, it was now.
There were no knives at their throats. Both could rip free of their oaths, walk out the door, and never look back. There were a thousand places they might disappear. The Last Battle would still fall like an inevitable, bloody sunset. They were not the Kinslayer and Amyrlin; the world would endure or crumble regardless of one Aes Sedai and a single Asha'man. They were only Jai and Nythadri, and both wanted out. They could taste it on the air. Escape. Peace. I could give that to her. Right now.
Would she go?
Would he?
The shadows quickly filled with doubt. He watched that pretty petal crumple before it curled to ash as the wind swept it mercifully onward. He guessed both answers, and it killed him. Yes. Yes, he’d go, and every instinct guessed she would too. A playful half grin. Then offer to help her to her feet. One surge of strength and neither Tower would find them again. He thought about it. Light, it would be insanely easy. As hard as she’d studied his hands, he now turned to hers. She was seated so patiently, fingers laid across her lap. An image of certainty so strong he could forget her ties to Aes Sedai altogether. The gold he crossed out, eyes led up by the saber of her arm. Arms which once reduced him to a shuddering, incredible puddle. The cap of her shoulder begged to be gripped and the slender tendons of her neck hinted like perfume. At her throat once before, he remembered coaxing her into taking saidar. Skin pebbled, she’d obeyed and they both gasped. There would be no forgiving exploration of her lips this time. Only fire and light; skin and desire. She was watching with so much earnest emotion... The way the flat of her hand pressed against his chest. Her pupils were flared to black stones, drinking in the low candlelight. Her breathing was shallow, poised. The arc of her collarbone formed a line beneath flawless wool. The tilt of her face.
She couldn’t be thinking the same thing. Right? The cold, snatching woman of moments before wore a different armor now. Had he mistaken plate and mail for gleaming hope and crashing invitation? Light! He was going to burn in eternity for this. Just thinking about jeopardizing their duty was a guilt he could barely imagine; this dream had to fall to the floor. Servants lived for others. They take no wedding vows. They don’t kick around in the waves, or race tiny feet up and down the beach, or curl up to watch the stars until dawn. Imagination crashed in Nythadri's pale colored eyes, and he could feel it like a rolling thunder. Simple lives belonged to the couple down the street. Not to them.
Just to ram the thunder home, a choked whisper crept into his thoughts. He had to strain now as when he first heard the words, but once the chase begun, he'd be damned if he sight now. What else did a man fight for, if not for the things he loved? Jai knew. He was bloody staring right at it.
He drew a detached breath, dream descending and eyes lit with resolution. Those inner passions he couldn't hide were slowly replaced by dedication. A broken tool was only useless if it wasn't remade; he didn't want to stay broken forever.
“I can be better, Nythadri. I can be what I need to be,” he insisted. To them both. Light, he insisted.
He hadn't lied when he told Andreu he was different. The Black Tower cleaved real shards, jagged and bloody, but if the splinters were to be recast, they had to be collected before they were kicked to the four corners of the earth.
He had to put some distance between them as there was no hilt to pivot an apology. His control came and went a hundred times tonight, but he didn’t want to test it on Nythadri any more. He’d nearly failed already, and his limits were near. He shoved himself to his feet. Ignoring the wear and tear beneath the moves. He piled the blankets on Nythadri's bed and joined them, sitting on the edge of it like he were ready to get up at a moment's notice. But leaned forward, arms across his knees and fingers twined together, eyes directed toward the floor. He was bothered by the stains on his boots and vaguely aware he wore no belt.
Burn it all. Polish would have to wait. It'd take an hour to get them right again anyway. He still never answered Nythadri's question and he couldn't tear himself away until she stopped reaching for him.
“What do you want to know?” He looked up, willing.
Nythadri’s hands clenched, then released whatever tension she held so fiercely. His own knuckles wanted to react, yearning to shield hers. Maybe graze a thumb down her cheek. Tuck the tendrils of hair from her eyes and give her the horizon she deserved to behold. He didn’t, though the memory of Arad Doman sang an enticing song. His time standing with one step in the shade was done. For her, it was time to leave such touches to memory.
She probably thought his silence was his usual reaction. The first time they spoke, he’d been neck deep in a mosaic of numbers and was oblivious for a long time. She witnessed his poor navigation through a dark sea of obsessions, paranoia, calculations, and mistakes a dozen times since. She watched a man batter himself on the rocks for slim reasons, but reasons which meant the world at the time. How many times in those gales had Nythadri wielded an influence so strong even Daryen noticed the anomaly?
Maybe it was Nythadri. Maybe it was simple acceptance. But the blood in the water diluted and drained on. Nythadri explained the things he’d done like she sat on his shoulder the entire time of it. As close as her witness was, as much as he wished she spoke true, she didn’t know the coldblooded rage that blinded him of all good intention. She wasn’t aware of that brief moment of delight when a waste of a body twitched its final draw of breath. She hadn’t realized how easily he turned on politics despite his hatred for manipulation. She couldn’t sense the thrill of walking into a room knowing he’d conquered everyone in it single handedly. When they looked in the mirror, they glimpsed the same reflection but they did not see the same man.
”I deserved it, Nythadri,” he spoke the frigid truth, and Jai only lied to himself. Usually. He sounded like he was trying to convince her.
His hand no longer ached. The shoulder he’d thrown in Arad Doman was nothing now. The hole in his gum was smooth. Evidence of those near unbearable minutes or hours or however long it lasted were gone like a rainstorm. Which made it all the worse. He had been wrong, all these years since flaring the first flame. True devastation wasn’t in the blow by blow. It wasn’t found in the howls of shame. It was facing the quiet aftermath. A funeral was hard, but confronting an empty house was harder. Breaking a sword was easy; the reforge was excruciating. Looking into the disappointed eyes of that Aes Sedai; letting go of hatred for a father’s drastic measures because you forced his hand; going one step forward and falling two steps back. When you sleep through a storm but the scratches on the window chilled your heart Understanding what the flood washed away, and not mourning a single stone of it. These were the things of horror. Stones didn't weep. Weapons didn't hide.
”And the world deserves better,” he uttered painfully. Jai was starting to see. He couldn’t slowly fall apart now. This tunnel led only to one place. If he could stop staring into the unknown and fight for a little more ground.
Then her offer ripped everything apart. Again.
Help? He blinked like the word was strung together by foreign syllables. The confusion reigned for a brief moment, and he wasn’t sure whether to kick it away or pick it up and look at it.
She really believed she could help. There was so much purity to the word, the power of it shattered good intentions with a genuine chisel when a hammer left no dent. If there was ever a moment to fail, it was now.
There were no knives at their throats. Both could rip free of their oaths, walk out the door, and never look back. There were a thousand places they might disappear. The Last Battle would still fall like an inevitable, bloody sunset. They were not the Kinslayer and Amyrlin; the world would endure or crumble regardless of one Aes Sedai and a single Asha'man. They were only Jai and Nythadri, and both wanted out. They could taste it on the air. Escape. Peace. I could give that to her. Right now.
Would she go?
Would he?
The shadows quickly filled with doubt. He watched that pretty petal crumple before it curled to ash as the wind swept it mercifully onward. He guessed both answers, and it killed him. Yes. Yes, he’d go, and every instinct guessed she would too. A playful half grin. Then offer to help her to her feet. One surge of strength and neither Tower would find them again. He thought about it. Light, it would be insanely easy. As hard as she’d studied his hands, he now turned to hers. She was seated so patiently, fingers laid across her lap. An image of certainty so strong he could forget her ties to Aes Sedai altogether. The gold he crossed out, eyes led up by the saber of her arm. Arms which once reduced him to a shuddering, incredible puddle. The cap of her shoulder begged to be gripped and the slender tendons of her neck hinted like perfume. At her throat once before, he remembered coaxing her into taking saidar. Skin pebbled, she’d obeyed and they both gasped. There would be no forgiving exploration of her lips this time. Only fire and light; skin and desire. She was watching with so much earnest emotion... The way the flat of her hand pressed against his chest. Her pupils were flared to black stones, drinking in the low candlelight. Her breathing was shallow, poised. The arc of her collarbone formed a line beneath flawless wool. The tilt of her face.
She couldn’t be thinking the same thing. Right? The cold, snatching woman of moments before wore a different armor now. Had he mistaken plate and mail for gleaming hope and crashing invitation? Light! He was going to burn in eternity for this. Just thinking about jeopardizing their duty was a guilt he could barely imagine; this dream had to fall to the floor. Servants lived for others. They take no wedding vows. They don’t kick around in the waves, or race tiny feet up and down the beach, or curl up to watch the stars until dawn. Imagination crashed in Nythadri's pale colored eyes, and he could feel it like a rolling thunder. Simple lives belonged to the couple down the street. Not to them.
Just to ram the thunder home, a choked whisper crept into his thoughts. He had to strain now as when he first heard the words, but once the chase begun, he'd be damned if he sight now. What else did a man fight for, if not for the things he loved? Jai knew. He was bloody staring right at it.
He drew a detached breath, dream descending and eyes lit with resolution. Those inner passions he couldn't hide were slowly replaced by dedication. A broken tool was only useless if it wasn't remade; he didn't want to stay broken forever.
“I can be better, Nythadri. I can be what I need to be,” he insisted. To them both. Light, he insisted.
He hadn't lied when he told Andreu he was different. The Black Tower cleaved real shards, jagged and bloody, but if the splinters were to be recast, they had to be collected before they were kicked to the four corners of the earth.
He had to put some distance between them as there was no hilt to pivot an apology. His control came and went a hundred times tonight, but he didn’t want to test it on Nythadri any more. He’d nearly failed already, and his limits were near. He shoved himself to his feet. Ignoring the wear and tear beneath the moves. He piled the blankets on Nythadri's bed and joined them, sitting on the edge of it like he were ready to get up at a moment's notice. But leaned forward, arms across his knees and fingers twined together, eyes directed toward the floor. He was bothered by the stains on his boots and vaguely aware he wore no belt.
Burn it all. Polish would have to wait. It'd take an hour to get them right again anyway. He still never answered Nythadri's question and he couldn't tear himself away until she stopped reaching for him.
“What do you want to know?” He looked up, willing.
Only darkness shows you the light.