09-20-2016, 02:13 PM
She didn’t know where she was going; she didn’t even know where she was in this maze of courtyards and gardens, the heat blazing down her brow like fire. The desire to escape was palpable, all the more gripping for its impossibility. It had been a long while since she had felt the rise of such tangible emotion; that fierce anger at the world, at the Tower, at Caemlyn, her family. At Farune. She’d grown adept at blanketing it beneath the ice. She could disregard the direst of insults, turn a cheek at the most brazen of rumours, but somehow that man had crawled under her skin. I’ll make you dance.
Fury. Pure fury. The suggestion of control, the threat of it; and all because Imaad could. The aggressive pace of her steps was eating up the ground. She didn’t know who she looked for. Jai? Yui? Even Daryen? The King could put an end to such a farcical charade, if she could convince him of the conspiracy. Or maybe he already knew; perhaps this treaty was more important than the proposed ruination of his friend, and he turned a blind eye. And Fate? Where did Fate stand in all this?
Light!
Rage so vicious rarely sustained itself long; she was too controlled to let it, once the object that stirred her emotions was left behind. Cold flooded back, stilling her to something that seethed. Walking through the sun-drenched gardens, blind to the beauty, she suddenly pinpointed the crux of her reaction. Helplessness. Weak to the Game that drew her in despite every protest or promise she made. Recognition pushed her into darkness. As even seething anger plummeted to hopelessness, old wounds split: she missed Farune all over again; not just the physicality of him, but the stalwart companionship, the patient ear, that balance of calm and peace she’d never managed to attain for herself outside of her instruments - and even that reliant on an outlet so often denied her. How quickly the hate burned away, after a year of obliterating every happy memory. Light burn me for a fool.
“Nythadri, slow your pace, child.”
Nythadri sunk into herself, the anger and frustration tied in knots to keep it controlled, to keep it distant. Something terse and placid took its place as she did as bid, recognising without needing to look who had caught up with her: “Aes Sedai.”
In a strange way it was a comfort. It occurred to her she had spent so many years closeted by the Tower that she had forgotten the real world, that it was a thing of such vastly sweeping consequence it was almost overwhelming. It has overwhelmed me. Confessing it, even in her own mind, made her ashamed. Once she had been so worldly, and free, and in control.
Liridia was a petite woman, her delicate features unassuming in a pleasant way – agreeable to look at but easy to forget. Her hair was pinned and plaited in a complicated but functional halo about her head, the southern sun alighting gold amongst the inoffensive brown, and her dress, fit snug and divided for riding, was practical with a nod to modern fashion. A step behind walked a man she presumed to be the Brown’s warder, who nodded greeting when he felt her gaze on him. She had not noticed him before now, but clearly he had been lurking; the swirl of his cloak made her nauseous, and she looked away.
Liridia tucked the thin volume she had been reading into her skirts, and appeared to for a moment appreciate the warm caress of the sun on her face. “Oh, how wonderful to stretch my legs – I’m stiff as an oak. You should have roused me, Keren. Mind you, these precursors can be so tiresomely long, so perhaps it was for the best. How are you finding Arad Doman, Nythadri? Different, no?”
“Oh, the Domani have been very accommodating. I have been given plenty of friendly advice.”
A look in the woman’s direction sought indication of understanding, but she should have known better than to expect to find such answers from a Sister. The woman smiled indulgently, like Nythadri had made some inane comment about the weather. Typical Brown. No hope of understanding Fate’s intentions or Lirida’s opinions on the reception’s undercurrent. From the pocket the book had been secured in, the Aes Sedai pulled a pair of short riding gloves and proceeded to pull them on, wiggling her fingers into the leather.
“That’s good, dear. One should always consider the advice of others, just as much as she should learn to recognise when it comes from the mouths of fools. And even the wisest of us can be fools.”
Nythadri almost missed a step, grasping at that hand-hold like a drowning man sucks air. Relief swelled in her chest at the guidance. “And the Tower doesn’t suffer fools.”
Said as a statement, meant as a tenuous question.
“The Tower guides fools, like mothers guide errant children.”
Nythadri nodded, absorbing the cryptic as easily as if Liridia had spoken plainly. What she discovered quickened her heart, and finally made some sort of sense of her presence. But why send a Brown and an Accepted, not a Blue or a Gray? Because this is not an official gathering; Daryen is testing the waters, garnering his support. The guiding touch of the Tower must be light, especially with an Asha’man. Liridia is not here to force decisions, she is here to watch the ripples of their progression, and to gently steer them when necessary. A faint frown. So perhaps it didn’t explain why Fate had sent Nythadri through the Gate, but it was something to grasp at least; some end goal upon which to focus. She could live with that; it cemented her foundations, steeled her strength.
“It might pay to watch for snakes, Aes Sedai. I don’t want to fall from my horse in the Domani countryside.”
But Liridia only laughed. “Oh child, when doesn’t it pay to watch for snakes?”
The Aes Sedai had been driving their direction, and Nythadri paying only cursory attention. What had descended to a pit of darkness and confusion had finally reignited to light and air; the security of it was like a blanket, and with it Nythadri was back on an even keel - where she intended to stay. The excited baying of hounds pricked her ears after a time, growing closer with each step. The scent of horseflesh and hay was next, as they soon descended on the stables. Outside, people had already begun to gather; servants fussing horses, the ring of laughter and an expectant air flourished with with the anticipated thrill of the hunt. Her gaze drew to Imaad in his furs, standing by his brother who assessed a horse in a thoroughly excited manner. He smirked at her across the distance, but she only gave him a genial nod in return. He would not be getting the pleasure of manipulating her so easily to high emotion twice.
Taking in the scene as it came nearer, she realised she had given little to no thought to the hunt ahead. It had been years since she had ridden, and even in Caemlyn it had not been a pastime she had particularly pursued. She’d always been a city-dweller; market streets, the press of crowded roofs and fire-lit taverns, not open grasses and endless sky. What was music that had no audience but birds and insects? Her Lord father had indulged in the hunt from time to time, but House Vanditera's standing had never been so high as to make the occasions gratuitous. And Nythadri had never attended, or had conveniently been absent despite her most honest promised word. The closest she had ever gotten to the sanctity of nature was with Farune, and only because it was among the foremost of his loves. She had enjoyed the privacy of Andor's lakes and forests, but only because he was here to enjoy them with her.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to ride one of those.”
Aware that her tone sounded petulant, she turned her gaze to the Aes Sedai. “I mean it seriously, not disrespectfully. As soon as the hunt picks up pace, I’ll end up leagues away.”
Fury. Pure fury. The suggestion of control, the threat of it; and all because Imaad could. The aggressive pace of her steps was eating up the ground. She didn’t know who she looked for. Jai? Yui? Even Daryen? The King could put an end to such a farcical charade, if she could convince him of the conspiracy. Or maybe he already knew; perhaps this treaty was more important than the proposed ruination of his friend, and he turned a blind eye. And Fate? Where did Fate stand in all this?
Light!
Rage so vicious rarely sustained itself long; she was too controlled to let it, once the object that stirred her emotions was left behind. Cold flooded back, stilling her to something that seethed. Walking through the sun-drenched gardens, blind to the beauty, she suddenly pinpointed the crux of her reaction. Helplessness. Weak to the Game that drew her in despite every protest or promise she made. Recognition pushed her into darkness. As even seething anger plummeted to hopelessness, old wounds split: she missed Farune all over again; not just the physicality of him, but the stalwart companionship, the patient ear, that balance of calm and peace she’d never managed to attain for herself outside of her instruments - and even that reliant on an outlet so often denied her. How quickly the hate burned away, after a year of obliterating every happy memory. Light burn me for a fool.
“Nythadri, slow your pace, child.”
Nythadri sunk into herself, the anger and frustration tied in knots to keep it controlled, to keep it distant. Something terse and placid took its place as she did as bid, recognising without needing to look who had caught up with her: “Aes Sedai.”
In a strange way it was a comfort. It occurred to her she had spent so many years closeted by the Tower that she had forgotten the real world, that it was a thing of such vastly sweeping consequence it was almost overwhelming. It has overwhelmed me. Confessing it, even in her own mind, made her ashamed. Once she had been so worldly, and free, and in control.
Liridia was a petite woman, her delicate features unassuming in a pleasant way – agreeable to look at but easy to forget. Her hair was pinned and plaited in a complicated but functional halo about her head, the southern sun alighting gold amongst the inoffensive brown, and her dress, fit snug and divided for riding, was practical with a nod to modern fashion. A step behind walked a man she presumed to be the Brown’s warder, who nodded greeting when he felt her gaze on him. She had not noticed him before now, but clearly he had been lurking; the swirl of his cloak made her nauseous, and she looked away.
Liridia tucked the thin volume she had been reading into her skirts, and appeared to for a moment appreciate the warm caress of the sun on her face. “Oh, how wonderful to stretch my legs – I’m stiff as an oak. You should have roused me, Keren. Mind you, these precursors can be so tiresomely long, so perhaps it was for the best. How are you finding Arad Doman, Nythadri? Different, no?”
“Oh, the Domani have been very accommodating. I have been given plenty of friendly advice.”
A look in the woman’s direction sought indication of understanding, but she should have known better than to expect to find such answers from a Sister. The woman smiled indulgently, like Nythadri had made some inane comment about the weather. Typical Brown. No hope of understanding Fate’s intentions or Lirida’s opinions on the reception’s undercurrent. From the pocket the book had been secured in, the Aes Sedai pulled a pair of short riding gloves and proceeded to pull them on, wiggling her fingers into the leather.
“That’s good, dear. One should always consider the advice of others, just as much as she should learn to recognise when it comes from the mouths of fools. And even the wisest of us can be fools.”
Nythadri almost missed a step, grasping at that hand-hold like a drowning man sucks air. Relief swelled in her chest at the guidance. “And the Tower doesn’t suffer fools.”
Said as a statement, meant as a tenuous question.
“The Tower guides fools, like mothers guide errant children.”
Nythadri nodded, absorbing the cryptic as easily as if Liridia had spoken plainly. What she discovered quickened her heart, and finally made some sort of sense of her presence. But why send a Brown and an Accepted, not a Blue or a Gray? Because this is not an official gathering; Daryen is testing the waters, garnering his support. The guiding touch of the Tower must be light, especially with an Asha’man. Liridia is not here to force decisions, she is here to watch the ripples of their progression, and to gently steer them when necessary. A faint frown. So perhaps it didn’t explain why Fate had sent Nythadri through the Gate, but it was something to grasp at least; some end goal upon which to focus. She could live with that; it cemented her foundations, steeled her strength.
“It might pay to watch for snakes, Aes Sedai. I don’t want to fall from my horse in the Domani countryside.”
But Liridia only laughed. “Oh child, when doesn’t it pay to watch for snakes?”
The Aes Sedai had been driving their direction, and Nythadri paying only cursory attention. What had descended to a pit of darkness and confusion had finally reignited to light and air; the security of it was like a blanket, and with it Nythadri was back on an even keel - where she intended to stay. The excited baying of hounds pricked her ears after a time, growing closer with each step. The scent of horseflesh and hay was next, as they soon descended on the stables. Outside, people had already begun to gather; servants fussing horses, the ring of laughter and an expectant air flourished with with the anticipated thrill of the hunt. Her gaze drew to Imaad in his furs, standing by his brother who assessed a horse in a thoroughly excited manner. He smirked at her across the distance, but she only gave him a genial nod in return. He would not be getting the pleasure of manipulating her so easily to high emotion twice.
Taking in the scene as it came nearer, she realised she had given little to no thought to the hunt ahead. It had been years since she had ridden, and even in Caemlyn it had not been a pastime she had particularly pursued. She’d always been a city-dweller; market streets, the press of crowded roofs and fire-lit taverns, not open grasses and endless sky. What was music that had no audience but birds and insects? Her Lord father had indulged in the hunt from time to time, but House Vanditera's standing had never been so high as to make the occasions gratuitous. And Nythadri had never attended, or had conveniently been absent despite her most honest promised word. The closest she had ever gotten to the sanctity of nature was with Farune, and only because it was among the foremost of his loves. She had enjoyed the privacy of Andor's lakes and forests, but only because he was here to enjoy them with her.
“I hope you’re not expecting me to ride one of those.”
Aware that her tone sounded petulant, she turned her gaze to the Aes Sedai. “I mean it seriously, not disrespectfully. As soon as the hunt picks up pace, I’ll end up leagues away.”