01-16-2018, 05:27 PM
“Caemlyn.”
She had hoped for a straightforward answer – and she supposed in Lythia’s mind it may well have been, since she seemed to assume Nythadri’s understanding of the surrounding context. Lacking that, and disinclined to protest to the innocence she had already stated once, Nythadri made what she could of the explanation. It was a vague picture, but it had enough substance to begin to stoke an ember of discomfort. What’s he doing in Caemlyn when he’s supposed to be in Arad Doman? Her lips twitched a frown. She had cut all ties with Caemlyn and her family when she had left, and kept no tabs on the city’s current affairs; it would be hard to care less about the political cesspit that had been her old home. House Winther was known to her, of course, but it meant very little personally. So why did she get the feeling that Lythia thought it should mean something?
Her skin was tingling cool, like the blood within was running ice. It was never pleasant to be one step behind, but it was more than that. She didn’t like the conclusions that were gathering like clouds on a clear day, darkening the edges of her vision like the morning she had received Tashir’s sigil. Her expression stilled with serious gravity, the look she pinned on Lythia a sort of silent intensity. Why is it my fault? A more astute question to have asked, perhaps, but too late now. She blinked her gaze away, assimilating this information. Wiser to analyse it later, though, or darkness was going to rush up and choke her. She could feel it now, as intoxicating as the breath of saidar - and just as dangerous. Balanced on that brink, she pulled herself back. The details were unimportant, for now. Best focus on the present. Just the 'what', not the 'why'.
So he’s broken one of the oaths. To speak no word that is not true; to make no weapon with which one man may kill another; never to use the One Power as a weapon. And of those three, she was pretty certain which Jai must have transgressed. But why? The idiot! Her quickest impulse was defence; did Lythia know what Jai had come from? What Daryen was up to? Not that such stresses were excuses for poor judgement and reckless behaviour, but she had seen his reaction to Tamal’s arrow; knew something of the rashness of his anger. Asha’man were bred for war. If Jai had done something stupid, she was convinced that it must have a defensible rationalisation. Probably. Only where was the anger in the apparent calculated fall of a House Lord?
None of those armoured words ever left her lips; it was the wrong battle to fight. Calm had found purchase now that the shock of revelation passed – or had at least been contained - and some of her wry humour returned in its stead. “Isn’t that why we’re supposed to stand by our brothers.”
It was not a question so much as a statement; and a superfluous one at that, given her company. She could not think of a Green more closely affiliated with the Black Tower, or one less likely to jump to the aid of an Asha’man unfairly charged. It was also the barest hint of alliance, the first deliberate whisper that Nythadri might be taking the offer seriously. Between Jai and Daryen, she had developed a rather resolute opinion of the White Tower’s counterpart. Different though the Towers may be - and they were different - it was a chasm marked wider by White Tower arrogance. Asha'man were to be the first line of defence, yet too often Nythadri had heard derisive opinion.
For a while she was quiet, chewing idly on the treats the Aes Sedai had provided. Were there not such an abyss between their respective ranks, she might have pursued the topic further. But Lythia had not brought her here for that reason; her offer still hung in the air, unanswered. Did Nythadri think she needed Lythia's protection? No. Not that it would not have its benefits, but it did not sway her. “When they discovered the Spark in me, I was days away from running away with the Tinker wagons.”
Granted, that had not been down to pacifist ideals, but it amounted to the same thing. She had no interest in bearing arms in the traditional sense. Looking at the weapons mounting Lythia’s walls did not glitter her with the dream of glory. It was necessity, but the necessity of others who had the talent for it. “Not many people know that. At least, they will not have heard it from me. I shirked many duties to my House because I was too busy living. And I've erred once or twice since donning the white, too. I’m not a noble person. And I have no interest in weapons or glory,”
– her hand waved vaguely at Lythia’s walls, to distinguish that she meant it in a physical sense. It was a purposeful list of stereotypical Green qualities. And once Lythia knew Nythadri better, she might be able to distinguish it as her rather strange sense of humour at play.
"I accept your offer, of course."
Said flippantly as she reached to replace her empty cup on the table, though accented with a brief look up and glimmer of a smirk. Foregone conclusion, really. If even the Blues had asked nicely, and bluntly, she might have said yes. Lythia’s speech had touched something, granted, but she was not about to admit to it. "Presuming the Sitters approve of my aspirancy."
She had hoped for a straightforward answer – and she supposed in Lythia’s mind it may well have been, since she seemed to assume Nythadri’s understanding of the surrounding context. Lacking that, and disinclined to protest to the innocence she had already stated once, Nythadri made what she could of the explanation. It was a vague picture, but it had enough substance to begin to stoke an ember of discomfort. What’s he doing in Caemlyn when he’s supposed to be in Arad Doman? Her lips twitched a frown. She had cut all ties with Caemlyn and her family when she had left, and kept no tabs on the city’s current affairs; it would be hard to care less about the political cesspit that had been her old home. House Winther was known to her, of course, but it meant very little personally. So why did she get the feeling that Lythia thought it should mean something?
Her skin was tingling cool, like the blood within was running ice. It was never pleasant to be one step behind, but it was more than that. She didn’t like the conclusions that were gathering like clouds on a clear day, darkening the edges of her vision like the morning she had received Tashir’s sigil. Her expression stilled with serious gravity, the look she pinned on Lythia a sort of silent intensity. Why is it my fault? A more astute question to have asked, perhaps, but too late now. She blinked her gaze away, assimilating this information. Wiser to analyse it later, though, or darkness was going to rush up and choke her. She could feel it now, as intoxicating as the breath of saidar - and just as dangerous. Balanced on that brink, she pulled herself back. The details were unimportant, for now. Best focus on the present. Just the 'what', not the 'why'.
So he’s broken one of the oaths. To speak no word that is not true; to make no weapon with which one man may kill another; never to use the One Power as a weapon. And of those three, she was pretty certain which Jai must have transgressed. But why? The idiot! Her quickest impulse was defence; did Lythia know what Jai had come from? What Daryen was up to? Not that such stresses were excuses for poor judgement and reckless behaviour, but she had seen his reaction to Tamal’s arrow; knew something of the rashness of his anger. Asha’man were bred for war. If Jai had done something stupid, she was convinced that it must have a defensible rationalisation. Probably. Only where was the anger in the apparent calculated fall of a House Lord?
None of those armoured words ever left her lips; it was the wrong battle to fight. Calm had found purchase now that the shock of revelation passed – or had at least been contained - and some of her wry humour returned in its stead. “Isn’t that why we’re supposed to stand by our brothers.”
It was not a question so much as a statement; and a superfluous one at that, given her company. She could not think of a Green more closely affiliated with the Black Tower, or one less likely to jump to the aid of an Asha’man unfairly charged. It was also the barest hint of alliance, the first deliberate whisper that Nythadri might be taking the offer seriously. Between Jai and Daryen, she had developed a rather resolute opinion of the White Tower’s counterpart. Different though the Towers may be - and they were different - it was a chasm marked wider by White Tower arrogance. Asha'man were to be the first line of defence, yet too often Nythadri had heard derisive opinion.
For a while she was quiet, chewing idly on the treats the Aes Sedai had provided. Were there not such an abyss between their respective ranks, she might have pursued the topic further. But Lythia had not brought her here for that reason; her offer still hung in the air, unanswered. Did Nythadri think she needed Lythia's protection? No. Not that it would not have its benefits, but it did not sway her. “When they discovered the Spark in me, I was days away from running away with the Tinker wagons.”
Granted, that had not been down to pacifist ideals, but it amounted to the same thing. She had no interest in bearing arms in the traditional sense. Looking at the weapons mounting Lythia’s walls did not glitter her with the dream of glory. It was necessity, but the necessity of others who had the talent for it. “Not many people know that. At least, they will not have heard it from me. I shirked many duties to my House because I was too busy living. And I've erred once or twice since donning the white, too. I’m not a noble person. And I have no interest in weapons or glory,”
– her hand waved vaguely at Lythia’s walls, to distinguish that she meant it in a physical sense. It was a purposeful list of stereotypical Green qualities. And once Lythia knew Nythadri better, she might be able to distinguish it as her rather strange sense of humour at play.
"I accept your offer, of course."
Said flippantly as she reached to replace her empty cup on the table, though accented with a brief look up and glimmer of a smirk. Foregone conclusion, really. If even the Blues had asked nicely, and bluntly, she might have said yes. Lythia’s speech had touched something, granted, but she was not about to admit to it. "Presuming the Sitters approve of my aspirancy."