Filling the Days

[Jaxen Marveet]

Chapter 7: The Shield and the Plan

"Illusion is the first of all pleasures."
-Jole Addam Messosin,
The Second Age



Talk of balefire swathed Jole’s blasé expression with one of genuine concern. He knew the risk of playing with the flame, but he did not really think balefire was on the table. It was a terrible idea, and the opinion was not only in self-service. When something was so dangerous even the Shadow agreed to a truce, the Light ought to stick to the terms. Luckily for Jole, this new Dragon already learned the follies of scorching threads permanently from the Pattern, but he did make sure the suggestion was dismissed before relaxing once more.

He was an otherwise passive listener to the developing tale for his fate. Devika did have a way with words, blunt as a hammer as they were, but he admired the way she unfurled the plan for the Dragon’s tired eyes. Technically, it was his plan, but still, she sold it well. As such, Jole tapped his foot, the only appendage that was free to wiggle, to the rhythm of a song only he could hear, and when her stormy face sought his reaction, he gave her a daring nod of approval. It was obvious that was readily enjoying himself.

By the time the bonds evaporated, Jole was practically sitting on his hands to keep himself from clapping. It had been a merry show, and now, the true performer was ready to take the stage. He cleared his throat and stood.

After scratching at the ever-thickening neck beard lining his throat, he met the Dragon's steely gaze eye to eye.

“Are you ready to answer my last question?” He asked in reference to their earlier conversation.

Jole cocked his head to the side as though pondering what exactly that was. “Let’s see. Was it ‘why was Asristin not sealed in the bore with the rest of us?’”

The Dragon stared daggers. Oh so intimidating. 

Jole murmured thoughtfully and licked his lips, contemplating his answer. When he glanced at Devika, it was with curiosity over whether or not the name meant anything to her. It wouldn’t, so far as he guessed, much to his satisfaction. When finally that silver tongue did speak, out spilled an elaborate story.

“You had a lot of children. I mean how could you not? You were a dreamboat just like you are now.” He glanced at Devika to see how she would take to these little reminders of the past. Well, he assumed, and turned back. “That, and live for hundreds of years and you’re bound to produce a veritable army of offspring.” Jole himself hadn’t, but to each their own. Regardless, his irreverence was barbed with humor. He meant no harm in the additional explanation. It was best they were all three on the same page with the tale’s context.

“One day, you asked me as a ‘friend’” he emphasized the word to the extreme, “to provide your daughter — one of your daughters,” he paused to gauge any reaction, then waved it away having previously explained the reasons for bearing so many children. Predictably, there was little reaction, but Jole was used to as much, but still, he sensed the shield of pride slowly rising. It always did in Lews, and few subjects were as sensitive to him as family.

Jole was quite dwarfed by the absurdly tall Dragon Reborn, but he stood like a man defiant before the headsman all the same, gave a little turn to include Devika in the story, out of professional respect for the audience of two, and continued “— to create a dazzling fireworks show for her Nameday. And I did just that. And more.”

When his gaze drifted, it was with a light dancing in his eyes as if they were still watching the trails of such impossible fire. “I painted the sky with lights so magnificent their like was never seen again. I did it for myself, just to see if I could, but also for you, I suppose. Because you’d asked.” He shrugged. “Yet, you treated me like the hired help.” His gaze sharpened. “So go ahead and let your Aes Sedai take the rest of my power and send me away, but know that you are only pushing yourself further into His grasp.”

There it was; the stirring defiance. Nearby, he could practically feel the heat radiating off Devika, but he fixed the sudden seriousness of his gaze with an almost absurd lack of fear and planted a fingertip on the Dragon’s chest. Since the end of their little partnership was nigh, Jole might as well behave as freely as he desired. Ashtaroth was not known for his reverence of authority figures; the opposite, in fact.

He followed his own arm, stepping near as his voice sank to uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. “We all know you’ll never sell your soul, but that’s not what He wants. Every time you inch a little further into the Shadow, the less of the Light you take with you. So go ahead and justify your means to an end. I’m just the hired help after all.”

If the story stirred any thread of guilt behind that hard-as-rocks face, it did not show, but Jole had watched this Dragon for a long time, more, he knew the soul that slumbered inside that brawny shell; knew how to dig in the knife and twist.

The Dragon was too collected by now to rise to the challenge. Instead, he moved Jole’s hand away, squared those muscular shoulders and saw through the charade. He counted on as much; Jole long ago observed that this Dragon might actually be smarter than his predecessor. It was a lot of work, but Jole was smart too. In evidence of this Dragon’s sharp and calculating mind, he posed a shrewd conclusion. “You kept your word for thirty years. Moments after you learn a mere Dreadlord revealed himself, you look for a way to bolt. Tell me why.”

Jole might have smiled proudly if he wasn’t so deep in his role. The man was clever to notice that sequence of events, but Jole’s expression was flat and unresponsive as glass.
“I’m not your weapon, Lews. He is.” Despite the double-edged slice, those were probably the truest words Jole ever uttered. He wondered how Devika interpreted the strangeness of their report. Maybe he would have the chance to ask her later, but for now, he did not investigate.

A smirk accompanied exaggerated hand-waving as though it might erase the lapse of judgement that led to such bare honesty. It was only a nugget anyway, a nudge toward another target that Jole possibly knew more about than he let on. Merihem and himself were the only ones known to be afraid of Asristin, smart as they were, but Jole would wager all the Chosen guarded themselves from the Dream Lord none the less.

The Dragon had enough. He looked at his Aes Sedai and gestured for her to do as she willed. Jole was smiling a fool’s smile as he was escorted away, destined to become another’s prisoner. The worst case scenario was he would outlive this modern Aes Sedai and be free anyway before the world was ended. The best case scenario, well, was kept close to the chest. The firework story may have been pure fiction, but the most elaborate deceptions required complete commitment, and there was none more talented with illusion, in all its forms, than Ashtaroth.

A man once known as Elon would have attested as much... once upon a time… if he were still alive.