05-15-2019, 06:57 PM
He woke feeling half past dead. But Light it was hard to care. At some point in the last few hours Jai stirred, awake enough to roll to his back and gather Nythadri close. On the other side of where she lay, his fingers tingled numb. Again, it was bloody hard to care. Everything from the eyeballs down ached. Not too surprising, but not that bad either. He’d definitely woken to worse states before. Truthfully, he lay there half grinning at the ceiling and enjoyed feeling Nythadri nestled against him. Her steady breaths pressed rhythmically against his chest with the even pace of someone completely asleep.
He traced a fingertip across her forehead, smoothing tumbles of hair from a porcelain brow, and let his eyes adjust to the dark. There was little to see. There was a trace glow of embers still. They’d died a slow death while the two of them slept.
His lids slid low and heavy once more, enjoying the steady pace of her breathing. He thought about going back to sleep. He knew he could lay around long enough to be right lazy. But this routine wasn’t exactly new. And he was hungry.
Women were always light sleepers. But Jai knew a thing or two about slipping from bed. Quiet as a shadow he slid from the mattress. It was a handy skill. But he chuckled to himself, realizing quite suddenly why he was so careful not to wake her. And it had nothing to do with his usual reasons.
Upright, he knuckled his back and rubbed the ache of sleep from his eyes. Nythadri must sense the expansion of space and stretched out to fill it. Or maybe she sensed he was gone? Before he turned into a total creep, probably should find something else to do other than watch Nythadri sleep. He took a better look around. She didn’t seem the sort to stash food in her room, but Jai frowned at the wardrobe curiously just in case. Then he scrubbed his hair with a sigh and wondered what Nythadri’s stance was on guys with the unshaven, disheveled look. Hopefully she was a fan. Because, uh, it’d take a desperate Jai to razor his own neck with blades of Air. And a mirror. And he kind of liked the look.
The White Tower. Twelve hours ago this was exactly not where he pictured he’d be at the moment. He remembered the exact moment the coin flipped in his head and he was ready to leave Bandar Eban in the dust. The twang of a final, very tightly wound string, snapped, he hurled something at a wall, which sounded pretty bloody expensive by the enormous shattering erupting behind him, then ripped the bloody Pattern a new hole. To somewhere. Anywhere. It was only afterward, standing in the shadow of Dragonmount, that he’d realized where he was. Outside Tar Valon. It’d been eleven years since he’d seen the capstone city of his birth. And, well, since he was here--why the hell not?
Heh. Hindsight.
He tucked in his shirt, thinking through the belts he still owned, and hoped one in particular was around. Somewhere. Then he took up Nythadri’s stool and went through the painful process of shoving off his boots, cringing at the lack of socks to soak up the leathery scent. If he was going to do this, he needed some light. But glancing at Nythadri, he wished she’d roll the other direction, but as she didn’t seem to sense the urgency by which Jai drummed his fingers on his knee, he channeled the barest flicker of a pale light. Then hoped the angle he sat blocked that ghostly glow from bothering her, plopped the first boot on his lap, and went to work.
His boots were black leather. Of course. Anything else would ruin the whole head to toe black look. And if a guy was going to do something, he might as well do it right. These things roamed from mud pit backcountry everywhere to the scrubbed streets of a dozen metropolises. And held up beautifully. They should. They cost half his inheritance; but a good pair of boots were life changing. The best bootmakers were in Tar Valon, naturally. And could take hundreds of steps to construct a single pair. But the investment was bloody worth it if a guy valued his feet. Eight months? A year, maybe, to finish. Completely worth it.
The light was too dim to read the name inside the calf, but his thumb traced over where he knew the lettering to be. Sometimes the only way to identify a guy was by the name on his boots. Which were then of course harvested to be reused by someone in need of a new pair. Which could quickly turn into a frustrating log of names if the new owner wasn't careful; and most weren't. Just like the pins were collected to be recast. Nobody ever said the Black Tower was wasteful.
Five optimistic years into the dragon pin, Jai clearly recalled the spatter on these exact same boots while a pair of upstanding brothers nearly came to blows nearby. All over claim to a bloody beltbuckle formerly owned by some Lordly Dedicated--Kerwin something or other. Where was that guy from? Somewhere gaudy. Cairhien, maybe. Well, either way, apparently the usual finders’ keepers protocol went out the window that delightful day. But Jai’s solution seemed to appease the frowns. He cleaved the silver two ways and each guy carried off an ornate half as his very own momento to remember their comrade. At least, that’s what he told them they were going to do. Otherwise they’d be chasing their scotch with shots of liquid silver and toasting the dead kid's memory with proper honors. It was a nice, relaxing night after that. Light, sometimes it was just nice to buff your boots in peace.
He looked up when Nythadri stirred.
"Mornin'," he grinned briefly and gave her eyes a second to adjust then flared the illumination up a notch or two. "You know you have the cutest little snore. Kind of like a puppy." One final inspection in the good light and Jai stomped shining boots back on. Short of a good shave and an iron, the rest of him likely looked about as great as he felt. But hey, at least the boots were clean. And the coat still black. And who didn't look good in black, right?
"So. Pancakes?" He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. Grinning mischievously. And completely serious. He was bloody hungry after all.
He traced a fingertip across her forehead, smoothing tumbles of hair from a porcelain brow, and let his eyes adjust to the dark. There was little to see. There was a trace glow of embers still. They’d died a slow death while the two of them slept.
His lids slid low and heavy once more, enjoying the steady pace of her breathing. He thought about going back to sleep. He knew he could lay around long enough to be right lazy. But this routine wasn’t exactly new. And he was hungry.
Women were always light sleepers. But Jai knew a thing or two about slipping from bed. Quiet as a shadow he slid from the mattress. It was a handy skill. But he chuckled to himself, realizing quite suddenly why he was so careful not to wake her. And it had nothing to do with his usual reasons.
Upright, he knuckled his back and rubbed the ache of sleep from his eyes. Nythadri must sense the expansion of space and stretched out to fill it. Or maybe she sensed he was gone? Before he turned into a total creep, probably should find something else to do other than watch Nythadri sleep. He took a better look around. She didn’t seem the sort to stash food in her room, but Jai frowned at the wardrobe curiously just in case. Then he scrubbed his hair with a sigh and wondered what Nythadri’s stance was on guys with the unshaven, disheveled look. Hopefully she was a fan. Because, uh, it’d take a desperate Jai to razor his own neck with blades of Air. And a mirror. And he kind of liked the look.
The White Tower. Twelve hours ago this was exactly not where he pictured he’d be at the moment. He remembered the exact moment the coin flipped in his head and he was ready to leave Bandar Eban in the dust. The twang of a final, very tightly wound string, snapped, he hurled something at a wall, which sounded pretty bloody expensive by the enormous shattering erupting behind him, then ripped the bloody Pattern a new hole. To somewhere. Anywhere. It was only afterward, standing in the shadow of Dragonmount, that he’d realized where he was. Outside Tar Valon. It’d been eleven years since he’d seen the capstone city of his birth. And, well, since he was here--why the hell not?
Heh. Hindsight.
He tucked in his shirt, thinking through the belts he still owned, and hoped one in particular was around. Somewhere. Then he took up Nythadri’s stool and went through the painful process of shoving off his boots, cringing at the lack of socks to soak up the leathery scent. If he was going to do this, he needed some light. But glancing at Nythadri, he wished she’d roll the other direction, but as she didn’t seem to sense the urgency by which Jai drummed his fingers on his knee, he channeled the barest flicker of a pale light. Then hoped the angle he sat blocked that ghostly glow from bothering her, plopped the first boot on his lap, and went to work.
His boots were black leather. Of course. Anything else would ruin the whole head to toe black look. And if a guy was going to do something, he might as well do it right. These things roamed from mud pit backcountry everywhere to the scrubbed streets of a dozen metropolises. And held up beautifully. They should. They cost half his inheritance; but a good pair of boots were life changing. The best bootmakers were in Tar Valon, naturally. And could take hundreds of steps to construct a single pair. But the investment was bloody worth it if a guy valued his feet. Eight months? A year, maybe, to finish. Completely worth it.
The light was too dim to read the name inside the calf, but his thumb traced over where he knew the lettering to be. Sometimes the only way to identify a guy was by the name on his boots. Which were then of course harvested to be reused by someone in need of a new pair. Which could quickly turn into a frustrating log of names if the new owner wasn't careful; and most weren't. Just like the pins were collected to be recast. Nobody ever said the Black Tower was wasteful.
Five optimistic years into the dragon pin, Jai clearly recalled the spatter on these exact same boots while a pair of upstanding brothers nearly came to blows nearby. All over claim to a bloody beltbuckle formerly owned by some Lordly Dedicated--Kerwin something or other. Where was that guy from? Somewhere gaudy. Cairhien, maybe. Well, either way, apparently the usual finders’ keepers protocol went out the window that delightful day. But Jai’s solution seemed to appease the frowns. He cleaved the silver two ways and each guy carried off an ornate half as his very own momento to remember their comrade. At least, that’s what he told them they were going to do. Otherwise they’d be chasing their scotch with shots of liquid silver and toasting the dead kid's memory with proper honors. It was a nice, relaxing night after that. Light, sometimes it was just nice to buff your boots in peace.
He looked up when Nythadri stirred.
"Mornin'," he grinned briefly and gave her eyes a second to adjust then flared the illumination up a notch or two. "You know you have the cutest little snore. Kind of like a puppy." One final inspection in the good light and Jai stomped shining boots back on. Short of a good shave and an iron, the rest of him likely looked about as great as he felt. But hey, at least the boots were clean. And the coat still black. And who didn't look good in black, right?
"So. Pancakes?" He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. Grinning mischievously. And completely serious. He was bloody hungry after all.
Only darkness shows you the light.