02-05-2023, 10:14 PM
[[should add that this was all written with Trista's original writer]]
![[Image: araya.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/araya.jpg)
Asha'man Araya
In all technicalities, she was an apt pupil. Araya’s expression relaxed; brief consternation at how to teach quickly swept up into amusement and, despite the rasp of his laugh and the unpleasant spasms of sound it could produce, he laughed well and often. The melody was simple - one of the first Araya had learned as a child, and with each twang of the strings rose a sense of nostalgia within the Asha’man. How long ago it had been, though, since he had travelled with the Tuatha’an. He forgot the years, sometimes - well, most of the time actually. Time was a blur, each day, month, year melting seamlessly with the last. He couldn’t even say how long he had been at the Tower now.
Trista had a mechanical method of playing and followed each instruction perfectly, and yet there was a soul missing from the sound. It was as hollow as the woman’s expression, and she appeared to gain no pleasure from the instrument. He wondered briefly over that as he watched her play, each note a duty, nothing but the obligation of the lesson, but he was not one to pry needlessly. It was clearly a facet of her nature, this strange listlessness, because he recalled her as much the same in the Hall meeting. If she did not want to stay, then she would not be here. It was that simple, and with that Araya abandoned the thought.
He had also noted the silence. She did not laugh when he laughed, nor gave any indication of the thoughts in her head. When she finally did speak, the words brought a wry curve to his mouth, but he did not flatter her otherwise, the way most men would to a pretty face. He listened as she played the short melody in its entirety - perhaps to prove a point, perhaps not - and then folded his legs so that he sat cross-legged, returning the lute to his lap. This time, rather than plucking its strings, he lounged on it, one arm draped across the wooden belly, the other hand resting lightly on the neck.
He watched the gaidar for a moment in mindless scrutiny - open in his curiosity, and unembarrassed by the brief moment of silence. She was close to smiling; he could see it in the faint tautness about her lips and the equally faint glimmer in her vapid eyes. She was not withholding it, clearly, but the expression was so minimal he might easily have missed it.
“A trade for a trade,” he said presently, grinning. That jesting tone was back. “Now it’s your turn to teach me something.”
![[Image: tristasq.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/tristasq.jpg)
Trista Gaidar
There was a lot of mutual observation passing between the strange pair. And they were strange, each an opposite extreme of the expected personality spectrum for their respective occupations. Araya baring the lighter side of an Asha'man, while Trista the darker side of a Warder. Still, if numbers were counted, - of Asha'man, Aes Sedai and Warders all - there were more who fell into Trista's end of that spectrum than Araya's. Darkness was drawn to power, it seemed, and the Tower was a shining beacon of the greatest power in the world. The weak were weeded out early by it, but even the strong that remained suffered for it.
Thoughts such as these never truly manifested in the Gaidar's mind. They were more of an awareness. The same as she knew the sun would rise in the morning and the sky beyond was blue; there was no need to think about it, one just understood that was the way it was.
She nodded absently, his words obviously expected. Altarans were a people who understood the importance of repaying favor, though they did not find debt in every action the way the Aiel seemed to. In a city where even elderly grandmothers carried curved daggers at their waist, if you did not pay a price willingly another may exact it from you in his or her own fashion.
Trista put her hands up in front of her, palms facing the Asha'man. He likely would not recognize the gesture, but if he did it still may not make sense. In Ebou Dar it would express her desire for a discussion not to escalate into a duel, and she was in no danger of that here. "My trade is in battle, and your Black Tower has undoubtedly versed you in that already. If there is an aspect of your training you wish to improve I may be able to help," her voice did not trail off, but halted with noticeable abruptness. She really was quite one-dimensional. Outside of the war she dedicated her life to, she had little to offer. Her only respite was that which had found her in the branches before.
Here eyes shifted upwards. "I can show you the Ogier Grove from a new angle, but you must be willing to climb."
Asha'man Araya
Araya was a little disappointed that she took his jest in absolute seriousness, as her hand gesture and solemn words seem to suggest. He had offered the lute lessons freely, and did not expect a repayment in any serious way. He was teasing, he supposed, but thus far it seemed to be yielding little. The intensity of his gaze dipped after a little internal thought, and then something of the carefree aura returned. What did it matter anyway? After she spoke he followed her gaze up to the lofty tree tops. It was high up there, but the Asha'man was never one to shirk an adventure. Or a challenge.
He grinned and stood, placing the lute safely in the hollow he had been sitting. It had been a long time since a boyhood of climbing trees with his peers, but the familiar comfort of saidin made him cocky. "I accept! Lead the way, Gaidar."
The Asha'man's enthusiasm brought a smirk to one edge of the Gaidar's mouth. The expression was not the evil thing that turned the trainees' knees to water; it was more genuine- a facet of her true personality peeking through. "Keep up if you can, Asha'man," she challenged, her otherwise barren vocals laced with good natured sarcasm. She rocked back up onto her feet, and leapt up onto the standing root fluidly. Trista had an impressive vertical jump, but still was not quite tall enough to simply leap and catch the low branch she'd come down from. Not when there was an easier way, at least.
A few quick steps and the friction of the rough bark provided a foothold, allowing her to push off with one leg and reach the large limb. She swung up easily, and stood looking down at Araya. "Coming?" She teased again with a startlingly visible upward curve to her lips.
For all her provocation, Trista made no true attempt to lose him. If he struggled she would wait and assist if he needed. Saidin undoubtedly eased his way to at least some extent, so she did not really expect him to have trouble. In the beginning it was an especially easy trek; the climb was more horizontal than vertical, and here the large lower limbs of the trees meshed together relatively closely. Those limbs which were not so close required rather daring leaps, but Trista took them with ease. She had done this many times, and this particular path was the most effortless. For that reason in particular she used it quite rarely, but she was unsure of Araya's abilities.
The vertical climb was more taxing. In such large trees the branches were often several strides apart and up, but getting to the desired Great Tree had inadvertently found them at a height where the length between branches was manageable. Even slowed a fraction in light of her guest, the pace the Gaidar set was grueling. From the start they had traveled for nearly half the hour, and it was at this time she paused. High as they were, the branch she halted on was still half her height wide. She glanced upwards, but did not need to gauge the distance left. Habit told her where they were.
"We're about halfway to the top," she stated, her eyes moving to Araya. A normal person starting from the bottom of this tree would have needed at least two hours to get where they were. Her experience at navigating the canopy smoothed their way, but only years of conditioning and practice kept sweat from drenching her body. That did not mean she was without fatigue; making the journey twice in one day, in such a short interval, warmed her skin and deepened her breathing measurably. "Are you opposed to a short rest?" She could continue without, but felt the stress weighing on her muscles. There was no need to damage herself in leisure, and she did so hate being Healed.
Asha'man Araya
The propsect of the climb seemed to jump-start the strange gaidar. He chuckled, watching the daring acrobatics that lifted her back into the branches, and then attempted to follow suit in a not quite so daring fashion. The Asha'man was not so graceful in his climb, but something so trivial as outward appearance did little to phase his efforts. One did not come across many opportunities for careless fun in Tar Valon, and Araya grasped it with both hands, lips quirked never far from an inwardly amused expression. He might've enjoyed the view above if the climb had not required his full attention; though he had saidin as a safety net, the Light burn him for a fool should he actually fall.
I am not dressed for this, he mused as the loose, flapping material of his attire snagged on small shooting branches. The dense canopy shielded the bark from much ice, but he noticed the drop in temperature as they got higher. When they finally paused, Araya flopped on the wide branch, seemingly unafraid of the steep drop back to the ground. Though he kept himself in some fitness, he was not as strict with it as his training at the Black Tower had dictated, and certainly didn't come close to the rigours of the White Tower trained. Pale brows rose in his head. "Only half?" The words were followed by a scratchy chuckle, and then his eyes glanced over the edge of the wide branch. "Fortunate I am not afraid of heights, hmm?" Even glancing over the edge elicited some slight vertigo, but Araya was well balanced.
"A good place to escape from the world below, if one feels the need for escaping." Araya had his own demons and no need for hers; the words were light and not an interrogation. "I shall have to remember it. Especially if the view is magnificent as I imagine."
Trista Gaidar
Araya's unceremonious drop onto his backside was taken as an agreement by the Gaidar, who leaned back against the massive trunk, bending her knee so that the sole of one foot rested on its coarse bark, and folding her arms beneath her breasts. She regarded him with an expression bordering on amusement. His positive disposition was infectious, and even she was beginning to succumb to it. "I have always liked heights," she offered, her own eyes drifting over the edge. "I grew up on the Altaran coast, where the cliffs meet the ocean. My brother and I used to jump off into the water." The admission was more than most got from the Gaidar, and alarming for any who had visited the Altaran cliffs. They rose higher than the great trees, and leaping from the edge had been like growing the wings of a bird and taking flight. Trista had been baiting death long before the Tower, it seemed.
Her eyes trailed back from the edge of the limb, and up the form of the Asha'man. "The view isn't too bad from here, either," she said with a smirk. The Gaidar met his sapphire blue gaze shamelessly, the delicate planes of her face taking on a playful countenance. She was Altaran after all, and so, as a woman, felt no disgrace in being forward.
As for an escape, she could not say. As busy as she was, Trista rarely had trouble finding time alone. She was a rough taskmistress, and the trainees hesitated to seek her out once they were free for the day. She was not without companions among the Gaidin, but even the unbonded such as herself were kept busy. The Aes Sedai rarely sought her out, but that was more a relief than a worry. The skirts - a term Trista had picked up from Akari, the Light shelter her soul - always made Trista uneasy. Not a particularly attractive trait, in one sworn to protect their lives. And she would protect them; odd as it was, she was more comfortable with the idea of dying for an Aes Sedai than carrying out a conversation with one.
Asha'man Araya
He supposed he'd probably been to Altara with the wagons, but since the Tuatha'an stayed away from cities and large settlements he had no particular memories of the place. Or any other place, either. It had all been much the same, and was perhaps moreso in the faded recesses of his memory; just one huge continent without borders. He'd never even bothered to learn the names of the countries until his training at the Black Tower, though that was not to say he had been ignorant. He'd known stories, cultures, accents, and clothes. The honour of the north and frivolity of the south. Life had been so much simpler. And much more boring.
"A brother, eh? I had a sister. Well, have I suppose. I've not seen her in a long time." She could be anywhere in the world right now, he mused, all grown up with children of her own. Though the tinkers were always on the move, he didn't doubt that he could find her and the others if he really wished it. But what would be the point? For all the closeness of family ties, it was all past now. They'd moved on to continue the search for the song, and he'd moved on to become an abomination. The irony made him chuckle in his lighter moods, and for all his 'claimed' ignorance of the great game, he saw, sometimes, the faint amusement with which the aes sedai viewed his fate. It bothered him little and less these days, if it ever even had. He was what he was, so let them laugh. Perhaps it would do them some good.
"I was a tinker, once," he disclosed with a wink. As if that wasn't obvious. He'd retained more of his past than was proper, and despite it all had never truly given up his pacifist sensibilities, but you couldn't very well follow the way of the leaf and be a weapon in your very being. Araya had accepted that much, but it didn't stop him refusing to wear a weapon. Blind folly, his comrades called it. Araya agreed that one day it would probably get him killed. "And for all that the aes sedai teach their protegees otherwise, our past never really leaves us. Makes us who we are, right?" He rubbed at the cloth round his throat. The scar itched under the sweat and fabric.
He chuckled at her flirtacious banter, and did not balk from her gaze. "Indeed," he agreed, and grinned mischievously. Araya was not unaccustom to female attention, but Tower women were a dangerous quarry.
As much as he was comfortable lounging around in tree branches all day, and with beautiful company besides, the gaidar had said short rest. He hauled himself to his feet, balancing himself with a hand against the trunk, and glanced upwards. "After you, then, gaidar."
Trista Gaidar
Trista's arms fell to her sides, the muscles of her abdomen contracting to straighten her into a standing position from where she leaned on the tree. She was not surprised at his admission, but knew he had not expected her to be. He was clearly unashamed of his past, and made no attempt to hide it. Trista was unashamed of her past, but knew that it made the skirts uncomfortable. She made no exceptional attempt to hide it, but neither did she flaunt it. In essence, what information Aes Sedai did not like, did not exist. If the Yellows who had discovered her inability to channel had told anyone, they never spoke of it. Even those Yellows seemed to have put her out of mind, though every once in awhile a sister assigned to Healing on the training grounds would watch her with a bit more interest than the others.
There was one other person that knew, because Trista had told her. Ellesei had been her roommate, and the first person she had called friend once arriving at the Tower. The northlander was gone now; to where, Trista did not know. Rumors said that she left to return to her home, and Trista had no reason to believe otherwise. Whatever had happened, Elle had a fierce spirit, and she was either alive or had fought to an honorable death, as northlanders so required.
Two short strides and she crossed into Araya's space. She stood in front of him, looking up, and a predatory smile slowly split her lips. Tower women were dangerous quarry, but they were also exceptionally skilled hunters.
Her fingertips lifted to tug softly on the bottom of his vibrant scarf. "I was a wilder, once," her otherwise monotonous voice was laced with mischeif. If he missed the soft sound of the article that turned that key word into a noun, the whole meaning of the statement changed. "And yes, you're right."
She leapt vertically and snagged the next branch, flashing upwards into the canopy. The short rest had been more than enough for the slenderly muscular Gaidar; this time, she did not stop until they had reached the top.
The summit of the monstrous tree was stable enough to support the weight of both climbers, so Trista did not worry about stopping short. The tree had once been even taller, but the top of the trunk ended in jagged, broken bark. Black splotches named the axe lightning. The jagged edges made good stabilizers however, and so she left room between herself and the trunk for him to stand, in case he needed them. She stood without fear, the branch under her feet still twice as wide as the thin beam she used for training.
Tar Valon spread out before them, the clean white buildings shining in the afternoon light. Beyond the western wall the river ran orange with sunlight, and the forests faded into the Caralain grass. The White Tower overpowered it all from where it rose in the center city, challenged only by Dragonmount in height. She watched the surreal scene for the second time that day, and was again painfully aware of how little it inspired her. For all the subtle affairs that drove life and death in Tar Valon, at this distance they were invisible. Tar Valon stood untouched by the ages; it never changed.
Her eyes shifted to the Asha'man. He was much more interesting to watch. His face changed.
Asha'man Araya
When she came close, Araya realised that Trista was actually much shorter than her long, lean legs suggested. And that was not the only deceptive thing about her; he was not quite sure he could decifer her strange nature, so very solemn and playful in the same instance, but as she tugged on the end of his scarf he was overcome by the somewhat insane (and possibly dangerous) notion to draw her into a kiss. A cheeky smile curved his lips, sparkling in his blue eyes, but neither thought nor action had much hold before she'd sprung up into the dense, broad green leaves, leaving him alone on the wide branch. Wicked creature, he mused, arching his head backwards to watch her dexterous climb. He had the feeling he was but a mouse being toyed with under the claws of a cat, and yet he wasn't exactly an unwilling party in the game.
As the gaidar began to disappear, Araya steeled himself for another lengthy climb. Half-way, she had said, and he sighed. Perhaps it was time to add a couple of laps around the practice fields to his morning routine if he couldn't even climb a tree (no matter how extraordinarily tall) without getting out of breath. He didn't imagine either the M'Hael or the Dragon would be much amused by this 'well honed' weapon...
Oh well.
It was not until he began the steep ascent that he actually considered what it was she had said. A wilder. He knew the terminology, of course, and saw the conclusion readily enough. As a channeler, even of the other half of the source, the thought sent shivers colder than the season's snow down his spine. For all that saidin was the bane of his unwanted fate, he would never now wish to be without it; it was the Black Tower's ideology he was at odds with, not the wondrous nature of his gift.
The woman's vapid eyes and expressionless face made some sort of sense now. One only had to look at the tattered remains of Kentrillo Orander to see the devastating affects of withdrawal (which was an altogether euphemistic way of putting it), and he felt a rare respect for one who could seemingly come out the other end so 'normal'. What he didn't understand is why she had told him, especially as his own disclosure had been in jest (and hardly a disclosure at all for its obviousness). Oh she had sultried the words. He hadn't missed that, but she had still said what she said. She had still told him, if not in so many words.
He had reached no conclusions by the time he arrived at the top, but the achievement of that dulled any melancholy thought. The Asha'man pulled himself up on to the final branch, and did opt to accept the space near the trunk for balance. This far up the wind was icy cold and whipped at his scarf and pale-blonde hair; he could shield himself from that if he wanted, but there was something alluring in the wild danger. Still, the fingers of his left hand curled around the jagged edges of bark as he peered out at the view. And what a view it was. How many people ever saw Tar Valon like this? Only the two of them and the Creator, no doubt. The awe was free across Araya's face, and he laughed.
"The deal is met, and surpassed I don't doubt." His eyes slid to the gaidar, only to realise she had been watching him this whole time. The laughter was stalled, if only to save the pain in his throat, but he did smile. "Now you can't tell me, gaidar, that I am more interesting than this?"
Trista Gaidar
Whether the pounding in her head was her own heart or a trick of the mind, it throbbed steadily in a place behind her ears. Though it refused to leave and had gained in speed, it no longer caused her pain. Since her encounter with the Asha'man it had faded, and though it felt somehow stronger now, the rythm had settled in the back of her head, slowly receding from perception. Even now it was not gone, but she had nearly forgotten it as she watched the former Tinker take in the vast scenery.
She smirked at his words, her gaze shifting back to the overwhelming view. "I have seen this before. The surface never changes, no matter the force or depth of the currents underneath," she vocally summarized her earlier thoughts, "Tar Valon is not so different from its people."
The wind gusted, tugging at her braid and sending a spray of what raven hairs had come loose across her olive cheeks. She ignored the few unruly wisps, though she had to look through them as she turned her face back towards Araya. "But you," she paused, a smile creeping into her eyes "your face changes." A strange logic, but clearly the Gaidar did not think it so.
Trista finally brushed the freed tresses behind one ear as another gust of wind disturbed the tree tops. She maintained her balance without thought, but it did not stop the thrill rushing up her spine. It settled in her diaphram, fueling a fire that enchanted her dark eyes. A weaker person might become addicted to the danger of it all, but Trista kept herself in check. She had a duty to the Tower and its denizens; if she had longed to end her life taking unnecessary risks, she'd have never stepped foot inside that gleaming white wall.
Asha'man Araya
In all technicalities, she was an apt pupil. Araya’s expression relaxed; brief consternation at how to teach quickly swept up into amusement and, despite the rasp of his laugh and the unpleasant spasms of sound it could produce, he laughed well and often. The melody was simple - one of the first Araya had learned as a child, and with each twang of the strings rose a sense of nostalgia within the Asha’man. How long ago it had been, though, since he had travelled with the Tuatha’an. He forgot the years, sometimes - well, most of the time actually. Time was a blur, each day, month, year melting seamlessly with the last. He couldn’t even say how long he had been at the Tower now.
Trista had a mechanical method of playing and followed each instruction perfectly, and yet there was a soul missing from the sound. It was as hollow as the woman’s expression, and she appeared to gain no pleasure from the instrument. He wondered briefly over that as he watched her play, each note a duty, nothing but the obligation of the lesson, but he was not one to pry needlessly. It was clearly a facet of her nature, this strange listlessness, because he recalled her as much the same in the Hall meeting. If she did not want to stay, then she would not be here. It was that simple, and with that Araya abandoned the thought.
He had also noted the silence. She did not laugh when he laughed, nor gave any indication of the thoughts in her head. When she finally did speak, the words brought a wry curve to his mouth, but he did not flatter her otherwise, the way most men would to a pretty face. He listened as she played the short melody in its entirety - perhaps to prove a point, perhaps not - and then folded his legs so that he sat cross-legged, returning the lute to his lap. This time, rather than plucking its strings, he lounged on it, one arm draped across the wooden belly, the other hand resting lightly on the neck.
He watched the gaidar for a moment in mindless scrutiny - open in his curiosity, and unembarrassed by the brief moment of silence. She was close to smiling; he could see it in the faint tautness about her lips and the equally faint glimmer in her vapid eyes. She was not withholding it, clearly, but the expression was so minimal he might easily have missed it.
“A trade for a trade,” he said presently, grinning. That jesting tone was back. “Now it’s your turn to teach me something.”
Trista Gaidar
There was a lot of mutual observation passing between the strange pair. And they were strange, each an opposite extreme of the expected personality spectrum for their respective occupations. Araya baring the lighter side of an Asha'man, while Trista the darker side of a Warder. Still, if numbers were counted, - of Asha'man, Aes Sedai and Warders all - there were more who fell into Trista's end of that spectrum than Araya's. Darkness was drawn to power, it seemed, and the Tower was a shining beacon of the greatest power in the world. The weak were weeded out early by it, but even the strong that remained suffered for it.
Thoughts such as these never truly manifested in the Gaidar's mind. They were more of an awareness. The same as she knew the sun would rise in the morning and the sky beyond was blue; there was no need to think about it, one just understood that was the way it was.
She nodded absently, his words obviously expected. Altarans were a people who understood the importance of repaying favor, though they did not find debt in every action the way the Aiel seemed to. In a city where even elderly grandmothers carried curved daggers at their waist, if you did not pay a price willingly another may exact it from you in his or her own fashion.
Trista put her hands up in front of her, palms facing the Asha'man. He likely would not recognize the gesture, but if he did it still may not make sense. In Ebou Dar it would express her desire for a discussion not to escalate into a duel, and she was in no danger of that here. "My trade is in battle, and your Black Tower has undoubtedly versed you in that already. If there is an aspect of your training you wish to improve I may be able to help," her voice did not trail off, but halted with noticeable abruptness. She really was quite one-dimensional. Outside of the war she dedicated her life to, she had little to offer. Her only respite was that which had found her in the branches before.
Here eyes shifted upwards. "I can show you the Ogier Grove from a new angle, but you must be willing to climb."
Asha'man Araya
Araya was a little disappointed that she took his jest in absolute seriousness, as her hand gesture and solemn words seem to suggest. He had offered the lute lessons freely, and did not expect a repayment in any serious way. He was teasing, he supposed, but thus far it seemed to be yielding little. The intensity of his gaze dipped after a little internal thought, and then something of the carefree aura returned. What did it matter anyway? After she spoke he followed her gaze up to the lofty tree tops. It was high up there, but the Asha'man was never one to shirk an adventure. Or a challenge.
He grinned and stood, placing the lute safely in the hollow he had been sitting. It had been a long time since a boyhood of climbing trees with his peers, but the familiar comfort of saidin made him cocky. "I accept! Lead the way, Gaidar."
Trista Gaidar
The Asha'man's enthusiasm brought a smirk to one edge of the Gaidar's mouth. The expression was not the evil thing that turned the trainees' knees to water; it was more genuine- a facet of her true personality peeking through. "Keep up if you can, Asha'man," she challenged, her otherwise barren vocals laced with good natured sarcasm. She rocked back up onto her feet, and leapt up onto the standing root fluidly. Trista had an impressive vertical jump, but still was not quite tall enough to simply leap and catch the low branch she'd come down from. Not when there was an easier way, at least.
A few quick steps and the friction of the rough bark provided a foothold, allowing her to push off with one leg and reach the large limb. She swung up easily, and stood looking down at Araya. "Coming?" She teased again with a startlingly visible upward curve to her lips.
For all her provocation, Trista made no true attempt to lose him. If he struggled she would wait and assist if he needed. Saidin undoubtedly eased his way to at least some extent, so she did not really expect him to have trouble. In the beginning it was an especially easy trek; the climb was more horizontal than vertical, and here the large lower limbs of the trees meshed together relatively closely. Those limbs which were not so close required rather daring leaps, but Trista took them with ease. She had done this many times, and this particular path was the most effortless. For that reason in particular she used it quite rarely, but she was unsure of Araya's abilities.
The vertical climb was more taxing. In such large trees the branches were often several strides apart and up, but getting to the desired Great Tree had inadvertently found them at a height where the length between branches was manageable. Even slowed a fraction in light of her guest, the pace the Gaidar set was grueling. From the start they had traveled for nearly half the hour, and it was at this time she paused. High as they were, the branch she halted on was still half her height wide. She glanced upwards, but did not need to gauge the distance left. Habit told her where they were.
"We're about halfway to the top," she stated, her eyes moving to Araya. A normal person starting from the bottom of this tree would have needed at least two hours to get where they were. Her experience at navigating the canopy smoothed their way, but only years of conditioning and practice kept sweat from drenching her body. That did not mean she was without fatigue; making the journey twice in one day, in such a short interval, warmed her skin and deepened her breathing measurably. "Are you opposed to a short rest?" She could continue without, but felt the stress weighing on her muscles. There was no need to damage herself in leisure, and she did so hate being Healed.
Asha'man Araya
The propsect of the climb seemed to jump-start the strange gaidar. He chuckled, watching the daring acrobatics that lifted her back into the branches, and then attempted to follow suit in a not quite so daring fashion. The Asha'man was not so graceful in his climb, but something so trivial as outward appearance did little to phase his efforts. One did not come across many opportunities for careless fun in Tar Valon, and Araya grasped it with both hands, lips quirked never far from an inwardly amused expression. He might've enjoyed the view above if the climb had not required his full attention; though he had saidin as a safety net, the Light burn him for a fool should he actually fall.
I am not dressed for this, he mused as the loose, flapping material of his attire snagged on small shooting branches. The dense canopy shielded the bark from much ice, but he noticed the drop in temperature as they got higher. When they finally paused, Araya flopped on the wide branch, seemingly unafraid of the steep drop back to the ground. Though he kept himself in some fitness, he was not as strict with it as his training at the Black Tower had dictated, and certainly didn't come close to the rigours of the White Tower trained. Pale brows rose in his head. "Only half?" The words were followed by a scratchy chuckle, and then his eyes glanced over the edge of the wide branch. "Fortunate I am not afraid of heights, hmm?" Even glancing over the edge elicited some slight vertigo, but Araya was well balanced.
"A good place to escape from the world below, if one feels the need for escaping." Araya had his own demons and no need for hers; the words were light and not an interrogation. "I shall have to remember it. Especially if the view is magnificent as I imagine."
Trista Gaidar
Araya's unceremonious drop onto his backside was taken as an agreement by the Gaidar, who leaned back against the massive trunk, bending her knee so that the sole of one foot rested on its coarse bark, and folding her arms beneath her breasts. She regarded him with an expression bordering on amusement. His positive disposition was infectious, and even she was beginning to succumb to it. "I have always liked heights," she offered, her own eyes drifting over the edge. "I grew up on the Altaran coast, where the cliffs meet the ocean. My brother and I used to jump off into the water." The admission was more than most got from the Gaidar, and alarming for any who had visited the Altaran cliffs. They rose higher than the great trees, and leaping from the edge had been like growing the wings of a bird and taking flight. Trista had been baiting death long before the Tower, it seemed.
Her eyes trailed back from the edge of the limb, and up the form of the Asha'man. "The view isn't too bad from here, either," she said with a smirk. The Gaidar met his sapphire blue gaze shamelessly, the delicate planes of her face taking on a playful countenance. She was Altaran after all, and so, as a woman, felt no disgrace in being forward.
As for an escape, she could not say. As busy as she was, Trista rarely had trouble finding time alone. She was a rough taskmistress, and the trainees hesitated to seek her out once they were free for the day. She was not without companions among the Gaidin, but even the unbonded such as herself were kept busy. The Aes Sedai rarely sought her out, but that was more a relief than a worry. The skirts - a term Trista had picked up from Akari, the Light shelter her soul - always made Trista uneasy. Not a particularly attractive trait, in one sworn to protect their lives. And she would protect them; odd as it was, she was more comfortable with the idea of dying for an Aes Sedai than carrying out a conversation with one.
Asha'man Araya
He supposed he'd probably been to Altara with the wagons, but since the Tuatha'an stayed away from cities and large settlements he had no particular memories of the place. Or any other place, either. It had all been much the same, and was perhaps moreso in the faded recesses of his memory; just one huge continent without borders. He'd never even bothered to learn the names of the countries until his training at the Black Tower, though that was not to say he had been ignorant. He'd known stories, cultures, accents, and clothes. The honour of the north and frivolity of the south. Life had been so much simpler. And much more boring.
"A brother, eh? I had a sister. Well, have I suppose. I've not seen her in a long time." She could be anywhere in the world right now, he mused, all grown up with children of her own. Though the tinkers were always on the move, he didn't doubt that he could find her and the others if he really wished it. But what would be the point? For all the closeness of family ties, it was all past now. They'd moved on to continue the search for the song, and he'd moved on to become an abomination. The irony made him chuckle in his lighter moods, and for all his 'claimed' ignorance of the great game, he saw, sometimes, the faint amusement with which the aes sedai viewed his fate. It bothered him little and less these days, if it ever even had. He was what he was, so let them laugh. Perhaps it would do them some good.
"I was a tinker, once," he disclosed with a wink. As if that wasn't obvious. He'd retained more of his past than was proper, and despite it all had never truly given up his pacifist sensibilities, but you couldn't very well follow the way of the leaf and be a weapon in your very being. Araya had accepted that much, but it didn't stop him refusing to wear a weapon. Blind folly, his comrades called it. Araya agreed that one day it would probably get him killed. "And for all that the aes sedai teach their protegees otherwise, our past never really leaves us. Makes us who we are, right?" He rubbed at the cloth round his throat. The scar itched under the sweat and fabric.
He chuckled at her flirtacious banter, and did not balk from her gaze. "Indeed," he agreed, and grinned mischievously. Araya was not unaccustom to female attention, but Tower women were a dangerous quarry.
As much as he was comfortable lounging around in tree branches all day, and with beautiful company besides, the gaidar had said short rest. He hauled himself to his feet, balancing himself with a hand against the trunk, and glanced upwards. "After you, then, gaidar."
Trista Gaidar
Trista's arms fell to her sides, the muscles of her abdomen contracting to straighten her into a standing position from where she leaned on the tree. She was not surprised at his admission, but knew he had not expected her to be. He was clearly unashamed of his past, and made no attempt to hide it. Trista was unashamed of her past, but knew that it made the skirts uncomfortable. She made no exceptional attempt to hide it, but neither did she flaunt it. In essence, what information Aes Sedai did not like, did not exist. If the Yellows who had discovered her inability to channel had told anyone, they never spoke of it. Even those Yellows seemed to have put her out of mind, though every once in awhile a sister assigned to Healing on the training grounds would watch her with a bit more interest than the others.
There was one other person that knew, because Trista had told her. Ellesei had been her roommate, and the first person she had called friend once arriving at the Tower. The northlander was gone now; to where, Trista did not know. Rumors said that she left to return to her home, and Trista had no reason to believe otherwise. Whatever had happened, Elle had a fierce spirit, and she was either alive or had fought to an honorable death, as northlanders so required.
Two short strides and she crossed into Araya's space. She stood in front of him, looking up, and a predatory smile slowly split her lips. Tower women were dangerous quarry, but they were also exceptionally skilled hunters.
Her fingertips lifted to tug softly on the bottom of his vibrant scarf. "I was a wilder, once," her otherwise monotonous voice was laced with mischeif. If he missed the soft sound of the article that turned that key word into a noun, the whole meaning of the statement changed. "And yes, you're right."
She leapt vertically and snagged the next branch, flashing upwards into the canopy. The short rest had been more than enough for the slenderly muscular Gaidar; this time, she did not stop until they had reached the top.
The summit of the monstrous tree was stable enough to support the weight of both climbers, so Trista did not worry about stopping short. The tree had once been even taller, but the top of the trunk ended in jagged, broken bark. Black splotches named the axe lightning. The jagged edges made good stabilizers however, and so she left room between herself and the trunk for him to stand, in case he needed them. She stood without fear, the branch under her feet still twice as wide as the thin beam she used for training.
Tar Valon spread out before them, the clean white buildings shining in the afternoon light. Beyond the western wall the river ran orange with sunlight, and the forests faded into the Caralain grass. The White Tower overpowered it all from where it rose in the center city, challenged only by Dragonmount in height. She watched the surreal scene for the second time that day, and was again painfully aware of how little it inspired her. For all the subtle affairs that drove life and death in Tar Valon, at this distance they were invisible. Tar Valon stood untouched by the ages; it never changed.
Her eyes shifted to the Asha'man. He was much more interesting to watch. His face changed.
Asha'man Araya
When she came close, Araya realised that Trista was actually much shorter than her long, lean legs suggested. And that was not the only deceptive thing about her; he was not quite sure he could decifer her strange nature, so very solemn and playful in the same instance, but as she tugged on the end of his scarf he was overcome by the somewhat insane (and possibly dangerous) notion to draw her into a kiss. A cheeky smile curved his lips, sparkling in his blue eyes, but neither thought nor action had much hold before she'd sprung up into the dense, broad green leaves, leaving him alone on the wide branch. Wicked creature, he mused, arching his head backwards to watch her dexterous climb. He had the feeling he was but a mouse being toyed with under the claws of a cat, and yet he wasn't exactly an unwilling party in the game.
As the gaidar began to disappear, Araya steeled himself for another lengthy climb. Half-way, she had said, and he sighed. Perhaps it was time to add a couple of laps around the practice fields to his morning routine if he couldn't even climb a tree (no matter how extraordinarily tall) without getting out of breath. He didn't imagine either the M'Hael or the Dragon would be much amused by this 'well honed' weapon...
Oh well.
It was not until he began the steep ascent that he actually considered what it was she had said. A wilder. He knew the terminology, of course, and saw the conclusion readily enough. As a channeler, even of the other half of the source, the thought sent shivers colder than the season's snow down his spine. For all that saidin was the bane of his unwanted fate, he would never now wish to be without it; it was the Black Tower's ideology he was at odds with, not the wondrous nature of his gift.
The woman's vapid eyes and expressionless face made some sort of sense now. One only had to look at the tattered remains of Kentrillo Orander to see the devastating affects of withdrawal (which was an altogether euphemistic way of putting it), and he felt a rare respect for one who could seemingly come out the other end so 'normal'. What he didn't understand is why she had told him, especially as his own disclosure had been in jest (and hardly a disclosure at all for its obviousness). Oh she had sultried the words. He hadn't missed that, but she had still said what she said. She had still told him, if not in so many words.
He had reached no conclusions by the time he arrived at the top, but the achievement of that dulled any melancholy thought. The Asha'man pulled himself up on to the final branch, and did opt to accept the space near the trunk for balance. This far up the wind was icy cold and whipped at his scarf and pale-blonde hair; he could shield himself from that if he wanted, but there was something alluring in the wild danger. Still, the fingers of his left hand curled around the jagged edges of bark as he peered out at the view. And what a view it was. How many people ever saw Tar Valon like this? Only the two of them and the Creator, no doubt. The awe was free across Araya's face, and he laughed.
"The deal is met, and surpassed I don't doubt." His eyes slid to the gaidar, only to realise she had been watching him this whole time. The laughter was stalled, if only to save the pain in his throat, but he did smile. "Now you can't tell me, gaidar, that I am more interesting than this?"
Trista Gaidar
Whether the pounding in her head was her own heart or a trick of the mind, it throbbed steadily in a place behind her ears. Though it refused to leave and had gained in speed, it no longer caused her pain. Since her encounter with the Asha'man it had faded, and though it felt somehow stronger now, the rythm had settled in the back of her head, slowly receding from perception. Even now it was not gone, but she had nearly forgotten it as she watched the former Tinker take in the vast scenery.
She smirked at his words, her gaze shifting back to the overwhelming view. "I have seen this before. The surface never changes, no matter the force or depth of the currents underneath," she vocally summarized her earlier thoughts, "Tar Valon is not so different from its people."
The wind gusted, tugging at her braid and sending a spray of what raven hairs had come loose across her olive cheeks. She ignored the few unruly wisps, though she had to look through them as she turned her face back towards Araya. "But you," she paused, a smile creeping into her eyes "your face changes." A strange logic, but clearly the Gaidar did not think it so.
Trista finally brushed the freed tresses behind one ear as another gust of wind disturbed the tree tops. She maintained her balance without thought, but it did not stop the thrill rushing up her spine. It settled in her diaphram, fueling a fire that enchanted her dark eyes. A weaker person might become addicted to the danger of it all, but Trista kept herself in check. She had a duty to the Tower and its denizens; if she had longed to end her life taking unnecessary risks, she'd have never stepped foot inside that gleaming white wall.
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