01-12-2023, 12:19 AM
She spent the rest of the afternoon in Ellomai’s company. In that time they spoke of much. The ease of the companionship proved somewhat stilted by the tension threatening to drag Nythadri’s thoughts miles away, but she had ever been capable of dividing herself, and she did so now. She allowed herself to fall into the necessary role, knowing she must learn as much as she could while she could. If Ellomai noticed the way the mask slipped upon Nythadri’s expression sometimes she did not show it. Nythadri’s attentiveness was genuine, even if her motivations were concealed. She pressed Ellomai for answers, leaned upon Jai’s madness when she must, and soaked up the wisdom bestowed. In between she listened to a plethora of the Green’s varied tales (of those she had many), and found herself moved to genuine amusement on several occasions, despite the severity of her mood and the insistent miasma of the Tower’s potentially grim fortunes. Ellomai had a knack for bringing the lightness to dark clouds. The Ajah of living, indeed.
Later, upon their parting, the Green reached to pin a brooch into the folds of Nythadri’s cloak. The small ornament was round and made of gold, sculpted into the shape of a crane between two leaves with a pale stone inlaid by its feet. Nythadri’s eyes rose in surprise, for a moment unguarded in reaction.
“My welcome to you, my dear. I hope it helps,” Ellomai said. She smiled, and pat the gift where it nestled. “I trust you will visit again.”
The day had sped on by the time she returned to the inn she had left Eleanore. The sun was still high, but it felt like time was slipping endlessly through her fingers. The warder glanced up upon her return to their room, the distinct shape of a frown pressing low on her brow. She had been sorting through the purchases Nythadri had directed her to buy in the city; supplies for Elsae, among other things. Sweet smoke pillowed from the pipe fixed between her teeth. She’d braided her hair back from her face, and Nythadri noticed a scar following the strong line of her jaw, usually hidden beneath the curve of her dark tresses.
“You’ve been tense all day,” the woman grumbled, and Nythadri offered half a smile in response. She shed the cloak from her shoulders, careful to unpin Ellomai’s gift. It was barely bigger than a Tar Valon mark, and she ran her fingers over the inset stone thoughtfully. Opal or moonstone, she thought, for the way it shimmered. Though it was not that which arrested her attention. After a moment she slid it into her pocket, and folded the cloak upon one of the beds.
Only this morning three days had seemed a workable challenge, but she realised now she could not afford them all. Her mind was already spinning with the racing of her thoughts and her recalculations of their next move. If Kay’s support was faltering, Nythadri might be able to sow the seeds of some gentle aid while she was at the Tower. The names of the Sitters ran through her head, but the only sister she had even passing acquaintance with was Broekk of the White Ajah, and that was something long in the past, when she had first donned the novice white. How did the Hall’s favour fall? Nythadri did not know; she had never cared. The ignorance injured her now, and she did not have the time for reconnaissance. Light but the Tower needed to be strong, now more than ever. And there was precious little she could do about it.
Her mind drifted to Arikan. To the unknowing spit of his insult, and to a promise of vengeance she did not want to have to rely upon. But her thoughts did not linger there.
She wound the ring around her finger, gold scales cool beneath the pad of her finger. The serpent ever chasing its tail. She felt a little like that now.
“I’ve done what I needed to here. It’s time for us to leave.”
Elly’s stare was flat. She dropped the shift she had been folding, plucked the pipe from her lips, and folded her arms instead. Her blouse, open at the neck, was the colour of wine. “You said we were staying in Caemlyn for the night. To have a fresh mind for the Tower on the morrow,” she reminded. Nythadri had said that, and meant it, but their circumstances had changed. Her pale stare took a measure of the woman, wishing she did not have to explain herself to another, then feeling guilt for the shape of her own resentment. By Eleanore’s fierce and candid expression, she had clearly been hoping for Nythadri to sleep on the decision. The gaidar had said no more about arming themselves against the dreadlord, but it festered in her nonetheless.
She fought a sigh. Warded up her frustration. Eleanore’s doubts niggled though, eating at worries of her own. It was not like she planned to abduct Elsae. The light knew if she did not wish to go then Nythadri would not make her. What then, she did not know, for honestly she imagined Elsae’s curiosity would blind her to the danger and it wouldn’t be an obstacle. But she would not make her go. Not when she could not promise what waited. Her hand smoothed the dark lay of her skirts, feeling the shape of the brooch tucked within. It was not much in the way of protection, honestly. But Nythadri grasped for every advantage.
How many hours were left in the day now? She glanced at the light still filtering through the small window. Beyond lay the flat faced buildings of the new city, the street below noisy with the bustling sounds of ordinary living. Saidar hovered about her senses, and she tested the strength left to her. A war waged within; an argument of duties. Only it wasn’t a decision at all really.
“Do we have parchment? Ink?” She finally pushed away from the door. Rules caged. Instruction frustrated. There was nothing like outright denial to stoke Nythadri’s blood to rebellion.
Foolish? Probably. But not so foolish as letting it lie. Not so foolish as regret.
Elly only sighed as Nythadri sank into a chair and began composing the letter. She felt her watching eyes for a moment, and then the woman sat on one of the beds opposite, elbows braced on her knees. Smoke wreathed around her. There was probably a scowl; there felt like there was a scowl.
“Tell me what I need to know.”
Nythadri did not glance up. The words flowed smoothly across the page; she favoured brevity. “I spoke with a sister at the palace. Talin might have been right about what we will find at the Tower, Elly. I need you to see what you can find out for me. If anything. Light send it’s nothing, but we may need to move quickly.” Ellomai had been cautious and reluctant in her commitment to a true picture, but the fact she admitted doubt at all was damning enough. The Ajah understood the necessity of the treaty – of upholding the Dragon’s Peace, even with the Seanchan – but there were still insistent voices of dissent even amongst Greens. Maylis, for one. Now that Kaydrienne had stepped back from Daryen’s negotiations in such a public way, those voices would only grow louder and bolder. Of graver possibilities she did not dare consider too deeply. The Amyrlin had always been stalwartly stubborn. This capitulation was a concern. “Arad Doman sanctifies a treaty with the Seanchan today – a peace that was openly supported by the Tower, until the very last minute.”
“I can do that,” Elly said straightforwardly of the instruction. “But does a treaty really concern us right now?”
It was a fair question. Tower politics ran in deep currents, and through it the Aes Sedai shaped the world. As such there was always something to worry about, and Eleanore had good reason to be nonplussed by such a small seeming drop in the ocean. They’d been at the Tower only days ago, and nothing had felt out of the ordinary. How much could have really changed? Nythadri paused from her writing. Time and circumstance had not allowed for her to know Eleanore very well, nor she to be known in return. There was so much she ought to share, and intended to, but in all honesty she was reluctant to explain now all the ways this was so very personal. “I was present for some of the negotiations,” she said after a quiet moment. “I chose the Green Ajah because of it. It is of concern to me.”
It felt an inadequate response, but Elly only nodded and stuck the pipe back between her teeth. She heaved herself up, and turned back to packing their things with a soldier’s efficiency. Resolution filtered through their bond with all the strength of cuendillar. The simplicity of Eleanore’s commitment was startling – as it had been when she’d knelt in the rain and made binding oaths to a woman she did not know. But Nythadri was grateful for it. If it matters to you it matters to me, that feeling said. She watched a while longer, thoughtful.
“If the Amyrlin has completely rescinded her support, it will have reaching consequences. She will not have done so for a poor reason. The King of Arad Doman is an Asha’man, and that complicates things further. At worst, it might mean a road to war. One we cannot afford. Blood and ashes, you know that better than even I do. The Blight marches and we are all looking in the wrong direction.”
Elly paused to wrap the leather guard around her waist and affix her blade. “It’s important. I get it,” she mumbled around the pipe. “Don’t worry, soldiers talk.” Two fingers over the bowl snuffed the light. She pulled it out and laid it down with the neatly tied bags. Began to affix vambraces to her forearms. Dark eyes met Nythadri’s with a grin. “Even warders. Easier than Aes Sedai do at any rate.”
Nythadri smirked in response. The jest eased something between them that made Elly laugh aloud and shake her head. This bond was piqued with hills and valleys; in some moments it felt like the most natural connection, and in others a crippling chafe. Maybe Nythadri offered too little of herself to ease the process, but the adjustment was vexing. She had spent most of her life fiercely protecting both her freedoms and her privacy, and in one stroke Elly stifled both. Equally, her support soothed the ways she found it abrasive. A constant contradiction.
“I don’t get you, Nythadri. Maybe in a decade. Or two.”
Nythadri laughed wryly, but it faded after a moment into sobriety. “Elly,” she said, “if the Tower is slipping into instability there might be little left of it to raise against a dreadlord.” The warning was gentle but insistent. She wanted the woman to understand. Light send it would not go that far, but Ellomai’s discomfort had rattled her nonetheless. When the Hall lost faith in an Amyrlin it was rarely bloodless. But nothing would happen quickly; if none witnessed the ceremony, none could bring evidence of its secrets, and Kaydrienne was former Blue: she was a political supreme. The timing of such discontent could not be worse placed though. “But if it’s worse than I suspect, Arikan really might be our best chance in the face of Tarmon Gai’don. I know you do not like it. Honestly, neither do I. But I will do what must be done.” Nythadri was not careful of the words, but she was mindful of the impact of them. She folded the letter, sealed it, and stood. The knot that was Elly hardened in her mind, but she said nothing in return. Just flexed her jaw and breathed heavily through her nose to mark her unease. Her fingers brushed heart then hilt, and Nythadri could not tell if it was a faithful promise or a dogged mantra to be steadfast.
She held out the letter. “Find out what you can. But be subtle about it. Pray we find the Tower strong. But first you must deliver this to a home in Tar Valon. The woman there is called Hana, and you can trust her.”
Elly took it without hesitation; didn’t even ask what was in it. “And at what point are you going to tell me where you’re going instead?” she asked with a forthright hike of her brow. For a moment Nythadri found the intuition surprising, not because she had been hiding it, but because she had not expected the warder to parse through her words so quickly and reach a conclusion. Amusement might have fluttered her expression if not for the way Elly felt then. She stood at least a hand above her, even with the small square heels of Nythadri’s boots. The intensity of the glare she arrowed down communicated her displeasure without need of the bond’s echo of it.
Perhaps Eleanore was coming to understand her after all.
Later, upon their parting, the Green reached to pin a brooch into the folds of Nythadri’s cloak. The small ornament was round and made of gold, sculpted into the shape of a crane between two leaves with a pale stone inlaid by its feet. Nythadri’s eyes rose in surprise, for a moment unguarded in reaction.
“My welcome to you, my dear. I hope it helps,” Ellomai said. She smiled, and pat the gift where it nestled. “I trust you will visit again.”
***
The day had sped on by the time she returned to the inn she had left Eleanore. The sun was still high, but it felt like time was slipping endlessly through her fingers. The warder glanced up upon her return to their room, the distinct shape of a frown pressing low on her brow. She had been sorting through the purchases Nythadri had directed her to buy in the city; supplies for Elsae, among other things. Sweet smoke pillowed from the pipe fixed between her teeth. She’d braided her hair back from her face, and Nythadri noticed a scar following the strong line of her jaw, usually hidden beneath the curve of her dark tresses.
“You’ve been tense all day,” the woman grumbled, and Nythadri offered half a smile in response. She shed the cloak from her shoulders, careful to unpin Ellomai’s gift. It was barely bigger than a Tar Valon mark, and she ran her fingers over the inset stone thoughtfully. Opal or moonstone, she thought, for the way it shimmered. Though it was not that which arrested her attention. After a moment she slid it into her pocket, and folded the cloak upon one of the beds.
Only this morning three days had seemed a workable challenge, but she realised now she could not afford them all. Her mind was already spinning with the racing of her thoughts and her recalculations of their next move. If Kay’s support was faltering, Nythadri might be able to sow the seeds of some gentle aid while she was at the Tower. The names of the Sitters ran through her head, but the only sister she had even passing acquaintance with was Broekk of the White Ajah, and that was something long in the past, when she had first donned the novice white. How did the Hall’s favour fall? Nythadri did not know; she had never cared. The ignorance injured her now, and she did not have the time for reconnaissance. Light but the Tower needed to be strong, now more than ever. And there was precious little she could do about it.
Her mind drifted to Arikan. To the unknowing spit of his insult, and to a promise of vengeance she did not want to have to rely upon. But her thoughts did not linger there.
She wound the ring around her finger, gold scales cool beneath the pad of her finger. The serpent ever chasing its tail. She felt a little like that now.
“I’ve done what I needed to here. It’s time for us to leave.”
Elly’s stare was flat. She dropped the shift she had been folding, plucked the pipe from her lips, and folded her arms instead. Her blouse, open at the neck, was the colour of wine. “You said we were staying in Caemlyn for the night. To have a fresh mind for the Tower on the morrow,” she reminded. Nythadri had said that, and meant it, but their circumstances had changed. Her pale stare took a measure of the woman, wishing she did not have to explain herself to another, then feeling guilt for the shape of her own resentment. By Eleanore’s fierce and candid expression, she had clearly been hoping for Nythadri to sleep on the decision. The gaidar had said no more about arming themselves against the dreadlord, but it festered in her nonetheless.
She fought a sigh. Warded up her frustration. Eleanore’s doubts niggled though, eating at worries of her own. It was not like she planned to abduct Elsae. The light knew if she did not wish to go then Nythadri would not make her. What then, she did not know, for honestly she imagined Elsae’s curiosity would blind her to the danger and it wouldn’t be an obstacle. But she would not make her go. Not when she could not promise what waited. Her hand smoothed the dark lay of her skirts, feeling the shape of the brooch tucked within. It was not much in the way of protection, honestly. But Nythadri grasped for every advantage.
How many hours were left in the day now? She glanced at the light still filtering through the small window. Beyond lay the flat faced buildings of the new city, the street below noisy with the bustling sounds of ordinary living. Saidar hovered about her senses, and she tested the strength left to her. A war waged within; an argument of duties. Only it wasn’t a decision at all really.
“Do we have parchment? Ink?” She finally pushed away from the door. Rules caged. Instruction frustrated. There was nothing like outright denial to stoke Nythadri’s blood to rebellion.
Foolish? Probably. But not so foolish as letting it lie. Not so foolish as regret.
Elly only sighed as Nythadri sank into a chair and began composing the letter. She felt her watching eyes for a moment, and then the woman sat on one of the beds opposite, elbows braced on her knees. Smoke wreathed around her. There was probably a scowl; there felt like there was a scowl.
“Tell me what I need to know.”
Nythadri did not glance up. The words flowed smoothly across the page; she favoured brevity. “I spoke with a sister at the palace. Talin might have been right about what we will find at the Tower, Elly. I need you to see what you can find out for me. If anything. Light send it’s nothing, but we may need to move quickly.” Ellomai had been cautious and reluctant in her commitment to a true picture, but the fact she admitted doubt at all was damning enough. The Ajah understood the necessity of the treaty – of upholding the Dragon’s Peace, even with the Seanchan – but there were still insistent voices of dissent even amongst Greens. Maylis, for one. Now that Kaydrienne had stepped back from Daryen’s negotiations in such a public way, those voices would only grow louder and bolder. Of graver possibilities she did not dare consider too deeply. The Amyrlin had always been stalwartly stubborn. This capitulation was a concern. “Arad Doman sanctifies a treaty with the Seanchan today – a peace that was openly supported by the Tower, until the very last minute.”
“I can do that,” Elly said straightforwardly of the instruction. “But does a treaty really concern us right now?”
It was a fair question. Tower politics ran in deep currents, and through it the Aes Sedai shaped the world. As such there was always something to worry about, and Eleanore had good reason to be nonplussed by such a small seeming drop in the ocean. They’d been at the Tower only days ago, and nothing had felt out of the ordinary. How much could have really changed? Nythadri paused from her writing. Time and circumstance had not allowed for her to know Eleanore very well, nor she to be known in return. There was so much she ought to share, and intended to, but in all honesty she was reluctant to explain now all the ways this was so very personal. “I was present for some of the negotiations,” she said after a quiet moment. “I chose the Green Ajah because of it. It is of concern to me.”
It felt an inadequate response, but Elly only nodded and stuck the pipe back between her teeth. She heaved herself up, and turned back to packing their things with a soldier’s efficiency. Resolution filtered through their bond with all the strength of cuendillar. The simplicity of Eleanore’s commitment was startling – as it had been when she’d knelt in the rain and made binding oaths to a woman she did not know. But Nythadri was grateful for it. If it matters to you it matters to me, that feeling said. She watched a while longer, thoughtful.
“If the Amyrlin has completely rescinded her support, it will have reaching consequences. She will not have done so for a poor reason. The King of Arad Doman is an Asha’man, and that complicates things further. At worst, it might mean a road to war. One we cannot afford. Blood and ashes, you know that better than even I do. The Blight marches and we are all looking in the wrong direction.”
Elly paused to wrap the leather guard around her waist and affix her blade. “It’s important. I get it,” she mumbled around the pipe. “Don’t worry, soldiers talk.” Two fingers over the bowl snuffed the light. She pulled it out and laid it down with the neatly tied bags. Began to affix vambraces to her forearms. Dark eyes met Nythadri’s with a grin. “Even warders. Easier than Aes Sedai do at any rate.”
Nythadri smirked in response. The jest eased something between them that made Elly laugh aloud and shake her head. This bond was piqued with hills and valleys; in some moments it felt like the most natural connection, and in others a crippling chafe. Maybe Nythadri offered too little of herself to ease the process, but the adjustment was vexing. She had spent most of her life fiercely protecting both her freedoms and her privacy, and in one stroke Elly stifled both. Equally, her support soothed the ways she found it abrasive. A constant contradiction.
“I don’t get you, Nythadri. Maybe in a decade. Or two.”
Nythadri laughed wryly, but it faded after a moment into sobriety. “Elly,” she said, “if the Tower is slipping into instability there might be little left of it to raise against a dreadlord.” The warning was gentle but insistent. She wanted the woman to understand. Light send it would not go that far, but Ellomai’s discomfort had rattled her nonetheless. When the Hall lost faith in an Amyrlin it was rarely bloodless. But nothing would happen quickly; if none witnessed the ceremony, none could bring evidence of its secrets, and Kaydrienne was former Blue: she was a political supreme. The timing of such discontent could not be worse placed though. “But if it’s worse than I suspect, Arikan really might be our best chance in the face of Tarmon Gai’don. I know you do not like it. Honestly, neither do I. But I will do what must be done.” Nythadri was not careful of the words, but she was mindful of the impact of them. She folded the letter, sealed it, and stood. The knot that was Elly hardened in her mind, but she said nothing in return. Just flexed her jaw and breathed heavily through her nose to mark her unease. Her fingers brushed heart then hilt, and Nythadri could not tell if it was a faithful promise or a dogged mantra to be steadfast.
She held out the letter. “Find out what you can. But be subtle about it. Pray we find the Tower strong. But first you must deliver this to a home in Tar Valon. The woman there is called Hana, and you can trust her.”
Elly took it without hesitation; didn’t even ask what was in it. “And at what point are you going to tell me where you’re going instead?” she asked with a forthright hike of her brow. For a moment Nythadri found the intuition surprising, not because she had been hiding it, but because she had not expected the warder to parse through her words so quickly and reach a conclusion. Amusement might have fluttered her expression if not for the way Elly felt then. She stood at least a hand above her, even with the small square heels of Nythadri’s boots. The intensity of the glare she arrowed down communicated her displeasure without need of the bond’s echo of it.
Perhaps Eleanore was coming to understand her after all.