09-22-2019, 06:48 PM
“When necessary,” she said in answer, a gently sarcastic emphasis on the word necessary – and she did not mean the ward. Heat tingled where her heels pressed into the cold floor, and her eyes narrowed faint disapproval even as her lips quirked the smallest of amused smiles. She drew her legs back to press the soles of her feet into the warmth, the wrinkled folds of her skirts falling back over her toes, banding them in colour. The heat was pleasant (she could think of better ways to keep warm) but it was still a painfully wasteful use of the power. For a woman it would have been, anyway; it didn’t seem to work that way for men, not if how many times she had seen the darkening of saidin over Jai’s features was anything to go by. And that was not to even count the times she had missed it.
“The Tower frowns on lots of things.” If he’d intended to make her blush he would be disappointed; she laughed, then shrugged; he already knew the answer to that. Loosen up, indeed. Still, she was long used to the pressure of rules – as well as the art of creating herself breathing space within them. The Tower’s chains were much tighter than her father’s had ever been, and the consequences far more severe when her manoeuvrings failed, but she’d found a tenuous balance of existence. Even if her record wasn’t exactly unblemished. “But most girls come here very young. Children, really. I’m quite sure they don’t miss something they never had.” Girls grew up, of course, but for the most part novices were kept away from the warders in training. Since experimentation amongst themselves did not have the same undesired consequences, it numbered among the things Aes Sedai ignored unless they had a reason not to.
She watched him dress, quiet and content to watch his routines without even contemplating her own. With a ward about the room there was no immediate threat of discovery, even if the girls in the next rooms were now awake. All but an Aes Sedai would knock, a slim but not impossible chance; one which Nythadri shrugged away fatalistically. Time felt like it had fallen into stasis, and she let herself be lulled into the false security. When Jai offered his hands she took them without hesitation, affected by his sudden graveness like a weight on her own shoulders. The warmth underfoot made her think of warm ocean currents and hot sand; she wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t. He earned her full attention, even if he was babbling like a boy with his foot in his mouth. About pancakes. A charmed smile softened her expression, and she almost pressed a finger to his lips to get him to shut up, but there was something alluringly optimistic in his words and the certain way he spoke. It was the kind of hope she would usually crush with stark reality and a smirk, but she was clearly getting soft; instead she let it wrap around her like a promise.
For once it was Jai who stepped back into reality first. Arad Doman. She just nodded. He shouldn’t have left his duty in the first place; it would have saved him a great deal of loss and pain. But amidst the guilt for the role she had played in it, there was a slowly flourishing gratitude for the fact that he had, despite the weight of cost laying the foundations for him being here now. It was perhaps the first time appreciation had outweighed angered frustration since the pendant had first ended up in her possession, and it left her weightless.
She tucked the Asha’man’s name away to examine later, moments before Jai cut off abruptly. Her chest tightened with the passing of that cloud, though maybe she felt the shadow of it more than he did. Her jaw hardened and she turned her gaze away, containing the grimness from seeping further into her expression. Her fingers ached to press against his hip, not to force recognition of his loss but to somehow share the burden of it. Lay her forehead against his chest. Whisper retribution. She could not, she knew that; it was better to let him cope in the best way he knew how, which seemed to be a strange mix of denial and acceptance, but it did not assuage the desire to offer something.
He spoke before she did, anyway. Nythadri’s gaze returned slowly, releasing the ire she didn’t want him to see before finally falling on his grave expression. She didn’t know quite what to do with his ardency, nor the way it coiled around her heart and settled there. He was serious. Sincere. She believed him; the earnest seriousness of his expression tugged at every heart-string, and reminded her of how he’d gathered her up in the ocean like he planned to protect her from the waves themselves. She definitely believed him; trusted him, despite having pretty much said she never would. But she also remembered how one innocent confession had cascaded unthinkable consequences.
She should be melting under such oaths, and they did touch her, but Nythadri was not the kind to sit on a pedestal, nor to accept the grand solemnity of his words without a battle. She wouldn't let him be so foolish. “I can look after myself. Unlike one of us.” The accusation blended with a smirk, but though she was teasing there was also a gravity to her gaze, which was locked on his like it pulled unspoken secrets from their depths. If one of them need have concern for the other, then it was she for him. And it would probably always be that way. He was Asha’man. A weapon. She stretched onto her toes to cup his face, to tip it down gently towards her.
“I won’t hold you to promises you can’t keep.” Or shouldn’t. It was a treacherous promise to believe, and she wouldn’t be the counterbalance to his duties. Wouldn’t let herself hang on trust when that trust balanced on the sword’s edge of distance and time. But she had no intention of giving him up, either.
Her hand slipped away, though she remained close.
“Anything, huh?” she said softly, contemplatively; her smile was plain wicked.
“The Tower frowns on lots of things.” If he’d intended to make her blush he would be disappointed; she laughed, then shrugged; he already knew the answer to that. Loosen up, indeed. Still, she was long used to the pressure of rules – as well as the art of creating herself breathing space within them. The Tower’s chains were much tighter than her father’s had ever been, and the consequences far more severe when her manoeuvrings failed, but she’d found a tenuous balance of existence. Even if her record wasn’t exactly unblemished. “But most girls come here very young. Children, really. I’m quite sure they don’t miss something they never had.” Girls grew up, of course, but for the most part novices were kept away from the warders in training. Since experimentation amongst themselves did not have the same undesired consequences, it numbered among the things Aes Sedai ignored unless they had a reason not to.
She watched him dress, quiet and content to watch his routines without even contemplating her own. With a ward about the room there was no immediate threat of discovery, even if the girls in the next rooms were now awake. All but an Aes Sedai would knock, a slim but not impossible chance; one which Nythadri shrugged away fatalistically. Time felt like it had fallen into stasis, and she let herself be lulled into the false security. When Jai offered his hands she took them without hesitation, affected by his sudden graveness like a weight on her own shoulders. The warmth underfoot made her think of warm ocean currents and hot sand; she wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t. He earned her full attention, even if he was babbling like a boy with his foot in his mouth. About pancakes. A charmed smile softened her expression, and she almost pressed a finger to his lips to get him to shut up, but there was something alluringly optimistic in his words and the certain way he spoke. It was the kind of hope she would usually crush with stark reality and a smirk, but she was clearly getting soft; instead she let it wrap around her like a promise.
For once it was Jai who stepped back into reality first. Arad Doman. She just nodded. He shouldn’t have left his duty in the first place; it would have saved him a great deal of loss and pain. But amidst the guilt for the role she had played in it, there was a slowly flourishing gratitude for the fact that he had, despite the weight of cost laying the foundations for him being here now. It was perhaps the first time appreciation had outweighed angered frustration since the pendant had first ended up in her possession, and it left her weightless.
She tucked the Asha’man’s name away to examine later, moments before Jai cut off abruptly. Her chest tightened with the passing of that cloud, though maybe she felt the shadow of it more than he did. Her jaw hardened and she turned her gaze away, containing the grimness from seeping further into her expression. Her fingers ached to press against his hip, not to force recognition of his loss but to somehow share the burden of it. Lay her forehead against his chest. Whisper retribution. She could not, she knew that; it was better to let him cope in the best way he knew how, which seemed to be a strange mix of denial and acceptance, but it did not assuage the desire to offer something.
He spoke before she did, anyway. Nythadri’s gaze returned slowly, releasing the ire she didn’t want him to see before finally falling on his grave expression. She didn’t know quite what to do with his ardency, nor the way it coiled around her heart and settled there. He was serious. Sincere. She believed him; the earnest seriousness of his expression tugged at every heart-string, and reminded her of how he’d gathered her up in the ocean like he planned to protect her from the waves themselves. She definitely believed him; trusted him, despite having pretty much said she never would. But she also remembered how one innocent confession had cascaded unthinkable consequences.
She should be melting under such oaths, and they did touch her, but Nythadri was not the kind to sit on a pedestal, nor to accept the grand solemnity of his words without a battle. She wouldn't let him be so foolish. “I can look after myself. Unlike one of us.” The accusation blended with a smirk, but though she was teasing there was also a gravity to her gaze, which was locked on his like it pulled unspoken secrets from their depths. If one of them need have concern for the other, then it was she for him. And it would probably always be that way. He was Asha’man. A weapon. She stretched onto her toes to cup his face, to tip it down gently towards her.
“I won’t hold you to promises you can’t keep.” Or shouldn’t. It was a treacherous promise to believe, and she wouldn’t be the counterbalance to his duties. Wouldn’t let herself hang on trust when that trust balanced on the sword’s edge of distance and time. But she had no intention of giving him up, either.
Her hand slipped away, though she remained close.
“Anything, huh?” she said softly, contemplatively; her smile was plain wicked.