09-26-2016, 03:54 AM
She noticed Jai seemed bemused by the contact, like he was unaccustomed to the touch of mindless affection for its own sake. His expression contained an almost boyish charm utterly dichotomous with a man so easily consumed by the blind rage of murderous intent; though something of his volatility flashed in the tightening of reins after the red pulled her away. It should have concerned her, how quickly he snapped from one to the other. But unless the uncontrollable madness was ever aimed directly at her she struggled to muster the urge to worry. If she ever found herself in that situation, she supposed she would be too dead to care. Comforting apathy flooded her now that Imaad's face and voice persisted in shady schemes beyond sight and mind. Adrenaline ran low, and she felt a fragile peace. At last.
The horse’s antics only amused her; most distinctly because they had been intended to frustrate. Even as the red set his own direction and pace, treating her like a rag doll on his back, she made no attempts at control; the thrust of a river would sweep you down either way, and there were better battles to fight than the ones you couldn’t win. Or where the spoils were of negligible desire and consequence. Mostly he tried only to nose ahead, too proud to pull away from the razor and admit submissive defeat, and too intent on the game of competition to race ahead and leave the razor in dust. It suited her well enough, even as Jai drifted to silence, to simply exist in the oppressive heat and think about all the things she would rather be doing.
Talk of ghosts did not incite her to look back; the discipline that propelled her from dwelling never paused to allow grief or regret, despite how the Arches had made her relive every cruel moment again - and worse, had made her choose. Memories old and new occasionally haunted her dreams, but they rarely found purchase in waking moments. Perhaps knowledge of her own capacity for cruelness softened the blow; with a sort of morbid certainty, she doubted it would be the worst mistake she would ever make.
It was melody that separated her from the abyss that might have left a very different woman in its wake, and occupied her now. It wove among the beat of hooves, the hum of conversation, filling the vast spaces of emptiness. But imagination was a vague sort of distraction. The discomfort of riding only exacerbated every other bodily ache, and it was fair to say that that was what she thought most about. The fading green and purple bruising down her side from Talin‘s distractions. The dull ache pinching her shoulders from the previous night’s efforts hunched over a desk, when sleep had evaded a too busy mind. Again. As a quaint sort of peace descended despite the ceaseless beat of the red’s movements, fatigue caught up. Such swift descent surprised her, until she considered how few lulls like this her day-to-day life ever contained.
She could feel a faint burn against her face, and imagined her fragile midlander skin sizzling under the incessant sun. She wondered if the city would be as hot, and yearned for shadows, music, laughter. Then thought unbidden of home. Would Brynn allow her into Tar Valon once all this was over? She’d never sought permission after her return, and had never felt so palpable a desire until now. Desire was dangerous; it only gave more ammunition to an institution that wished to shape her in its image. At least denying herself was self-control not punishment. But the fall was one she had begun the evening she had uncased her violin, and freezing the creeping release of passion back in ice threatened a dark path she was increasingly unwilling to face. She only hoped she had learned enough lessons to soften her landing.
“What is saidar like?”
Eyes that had drifted closed opened, their paleness focusing on an earnest face presenting an earnest question. The Tower taught something of saidin, but she had never thought to wonder if Asha’man were taught of saidar. She murmured laughter at how closely the question mirrored her thought, unrelated as it had been, and her answer came promptly. “It’s like falling when you know there’s no-one there to catch you.”
Or so it had always felt to her, the wrench of that submissive release. Most women would just describe joy, and there was a vast and undeniable sweetness – but it was something oh so easy to become lost in. The potent urge to gather that delight until the euphoria pulled apart sense, and the light burned empty, was a danger imprinted upon a novice every day she wore the white. “Only the longer you fall, the less you care. Purest bliss. Joy, strength, invigoration. Letting go is the hard part. Relinquishing the sense of completion. Everything is a little darker. A little less real than it was before.”
She tilted her head, distracted by the laughter ahead. Though a number of curious riders thundered past, she was content to wait until the source of amusement presented itself without her having to strain to see. Jai spurred the razor forward and the red pulled to follow, but this time she reigned him back. He fought with an imperious stamp of his hoof, but desisted after so brief a tantrum to a tense and unhappy march forward; at her pace, this time. The sound of Liridia’s tutting behind marked her at the back of the group, and as the gathered crowd parted to allow Jai through, she saw the cause of the Aes Sedai’s disapproval.
Her stomach rebelled when she realised why the huntsman was so drenched in colour, worse when the scent joined the image. Liridia was muttering under her breath, among the quiet string of words a rather vehement repetition of ‘juvenile’. Her petite mare made a sedate pace towards the carnage, and Nythadri followed at her side.
“I think I understand why exploding birds is not on the curriculum, Aes Sedai.”
A frown and a sharp look met her comment. “Frivolity is the thing not on the curriculum, Accepted. And once again it will fall to the hands of the women to clean the mess. Come, child.”
Endless patience and serenity saw Liridia defer to the king and his court’s amusement before she interfered. In the meantime, quick reflexes allowed Nythadri to catch the bloodied rag before it landed on her lap. “Thank you. So much.”
Tempting as it was to throw it at Nisele just to hear her squeal, she let it drop to the ground with a heavy moist thump. A sickening pink juice wet her fingers, seeping into the grooves of her nails and the swirls of her fingertips. A few thicker bits of sticky tissue plopped to the ground, but she couldn’t very well wipe the rest down the pristine white of her skirts. Holding her hand out like she dearly wished it were not connected to her wrist, she ended up claiming swift retribution by flicking it back at Jai. If she offended polite company by doing so, it did not seem to inhibit her errant grin.
“How fortunate we are not hunting birds. It doesn’t appear there are any left in the skies.”
Swift on her warder’s offer, Liridia cleared her throat. Stately ageless features condemned the mirth of such a tasteless distraction, but she did not speak her revulsion, only gestured a hand to the huntsman as though beckoning him forward. “The folly of men with big sticks and little brains.”
Whether that was a snipe at Imaad or Jai or both was lost to the impassive nature of her expression, softened by the vagaries of an ajah that allowed such vicious comments to pass as the wisdoms of a grandmother. “Now, since those with the capability lack the manners, may I?”
The horse’s antics only amused her; most distinctly because they had been intended to frustrate. Even as the red set his own direction and pace, treating her like a rag doll on his back, she made no attempts at control; the thrust of a river would sweep you down either way, and there were better battles to fight than the ones you couldn’t win. Or where the spoils were of negligible desire and consequence. Mostly he tried only to nose ahead, too proud to pull away from the razor and admit submissive defeat, and too intent on the game of competition to race ahead and leave the razor in dust. It suited her well enough, even as Jai drifted to silence, to simply exist in the oppressive heat and think about all the things she would rather be doing.
Talk of ghosts did not incite her to look back; the discipline that propelled her from dwelling never paused to allow grief or regret, despite how the Arches had made her relive every cruel moment again - and worse, had made her choose. Memories old and new occasionally haunted her dreams, but they rarely found purchase in waking moments. Perhaps knowledge of her own capacity for cruelness softened the blow; with a sort of morbid certainty, she doubted it would be the worst mistake she would ever make.
It was melody that separated her from the abyss that might have left a very different woman in its wake, and occupied her now. It wove among the beat of hooves, the hum of conversation, filling the vast spaces of emptiness. But imagination was a vague sort of distraction. The discomfort of riding only exacerbated every other bodily ache, and it was fair to say that that was what she thought most about. The fading green and purple bruising down her side from Talin‘s distractions. The dull ache pinching her shoulders from the previous night’s efforts hunched over a desk, when sleep had evaded a too busy mind. Again. As a quaint sort of peace descended despite the ceaseless beat of the red’s movements, fatigue caught up. Such swift descent surprised her, until she considered how few lulls like this her day-to-day life ever contained.
She could feel a faint burn against her face, and imagined her fragile midlander skin sizzling under the incessant sun. She wondered if the city would be as hot, and yearned for shadows, music, laughter. Then thought unbidden of home. Would Brynn allow her into Tar Valon once all this was over? She’d never sought permission after her return, and had never felt so palpable a desire until now. Desire was dangerous; it only gave more ammunition to an institution that wished to shape her in its image. At least denying herself was self-control not punishment. But the fall was one she had begun the evening she had uncased her violin, and freezing the creeping release of passion back in ice threatened a dark path she was increasingly unwilling to face. She only hoped she had learned enough lessons to soften her landing.
“What is saidar like?”
Eyes that had drifted closed opened, their paleness focusing on an earnest face presenting an earnest question. The Tower taught something of saidin, but she had never thought to wonder if Asha’man were taught of saidar. She murmured laughter at how closely the question mirrored her thought, unrelated as it had been, and her answer came promptly. “It’s like falling when you know there’s no-one there to catch you.”
Or so it had always felt to her, the wrench of that submissive release. Most women would just describe joy, and there was a vast and undeniable sweetness – but it was something oh so easy to become lost in. The potent urge to gather that delight until the euphoria pulled apart sense, and the light burned empty, was a danger imprinted upon a novice every day she wore the white. “Only the longer you fall, the less you care. Purest bliss. Joy, strength, invigoration. Letting go is the hard part. Relinquishing the sense of completion. Everything is a little darker. A little less real than it was before.”
She tilted her head, distracted by the laughter ahead. Though a number of curious riders thundered past, she was content to wait until the source of amusement presented itself without her having to strain to see. Jai spurred the razor forward and the red pulled to follow, but this time she reigned him back. He fought with an imperious stamp of his hoof, but desisted after so brief a tantrum to a tense and unhappy march forward; at her pace, this time. The sound of Liridia’s tutting behind marked her at the back of the group, and as the gathered crowd parted to allow Jai through, she saw the cause of the Aes Sedai’s disapproval.
Her stomach rebelled when she realised why the huntsman was so drenched in colour, worse when the scent joined the image. Liridia was muttering under her breath, among the quiet string of words a rather vehement repetition of ‘juvenile’. Her petite mare made a sedate pace towards the carnage, and Nythadri followed at her side.
“I think I understand why exploding birds is not on the curriculum, Aes Sedai.”
A frown and a sharp look met her comment. “Frivolity is the thing not on the curriculum, Accepted. And once again it will fall to the hands of the women to clean the mess. Come, child.”
Endless patience and serenity saw Liridia defer to the king and his court’s amusement before she interfered. In the meantime, quick reflexes allowed Nythadri to catch the bloodied rag before it landed on her lap. “Thank you. So much.”
Tempting as it was to throw it at Nisele just to hear her squeal, she let it drop to the ground with a heavy moist thump. A sickening pink juice wet her fingers, seeping into the grooves of her nails and the swirls of her fingertips. A few thicker bits of sticky tissue plopped to the ground, but she couldn’t very well wipe the rest down the pristine white of her skirts. Holding her hand out like she dearly wished it were not connected to her wrist, she ended up claiming swift retribution by flicking it back at Jai. If she offended polite company by doing so, it did not seem to inhibit her errant grin.
“How fortunate we are not hunting birds. It doesn’t appear there are any left in the skies.”
Swift on her warder’s offer, Liridia cleared her throat. Stately ageless features condemned the mirth of such a tasteless distraction, but she did not speak her revulsion, only gestured a hand to the huntsman as though beckoning him forward. “The folly of men with big sticks and little brains.”
Whether that was a snipe at Imaad or Jai or both was lost to the impassive nature of her expression, softened by the vagaries of an ajah that allowed such vicious comments to pass as the wisdoms of a grandmother. “Now, since those with the capability lack the manners, may I?”