11-07-2016, 01:15 PM
His compliment was only met with a smirk, idly wondering how many others had heard such grinning flattery. Not that it mattered; she was not here under any pretence of being special. She watched him, something of a content smile tugging the corners of her lips. And she realised that she was happy - frustration aside, of course. Something of a revelation considering her restless wanderings only weeks past; the burden of Tower expectation, the stifling funnel of the future. Content to silence, to this beautiful unlooked for peace, her eyes drew to his when he spoke. And she realised almost immediately that while she had been ruminating tranquillity, he had been fighting demons.
He gripped her hand like it were a lifeline, and it only made her realise how alone he was. There wasn’t anything she could say. What meagre light could she shed on dark recesses such as those? It was not the Fade that caught the empathetic strings of an otherwise dissociative nature, and tugged them in a rare direction. Neither was it the pride which had earned him such eternal reminder – though it was a mutual sin. It was the admission that he should not have lived. The guilt. Shame might have marred her expression if she had cared to relate the emotion back to herself. It was something of a shared sin, too. But she didn’t.
There were no gratuitous platitudes waiting on her lips. There would be no soothing hand to wipe across his brow, no whispered reminders that the Wheel Wove as it Willed. Neither was there any gentle consolation that he had deserved to live in lieu of those who had died. Only that silent stare. She absorbed everything; every flicker of relived horror in those eyes. How close his expression came to ruin. It took a lot not to lean in, press her forehead against his. Distract the pain of memory with the pleasure of forgetting. If only for a while. Enough to turn keys back in locks and let the dust settle on memories better left to disused corners. She could offer him that, if little else.
He lay back, and took the decision from her hands.
Light.
She did not lean back straight away. She was liable to do something infinitely stupid if she did. Blood and Ashes, but how much control was one person supposed to have? Her well was running perilously low. Her head dipped, knees tucking tighter to her chest. Strange to look down and see black, the shadows of the collar high above her cheeks. So long since she had seen anything but white against her skin. The shadows, the warmth, the weight; it was comforting. She wondered if he was counting. If saidin caught him in a vortex of madness. A waterfall of sand seeped through her fingers to re-join its brethren. Her thoughts were drifting as that sand. But beneath the melancholy and frustration that bound her to isolation, she was strangely content. To have found something so raw and real. And for that very reason she did not speak solace.
When she did lean back it was to roll onto her side, propped up by a hand that curled damp hair through her fingers. Her pale gaze was oddly diffused. Unsure what she would see if she looked at him, or if he would even want her to look at all if the deluge of remembrance had gotten the better of him. Her other hand snaked over his knuckles, laced her fingers between his. Her grip was fluid; the delicate musician’s touch; fingers curling, straightening, falling to the distant brush of fingertips before stealing back palm to palm, lifting his hand from the sand. Her thumb brushed his, drifted as her hand slid back. The dance began again. Contact never broke, gliding close then far; she never let go entirely. A thoughtless affection; one she stared at mindlessly. Control frayed to tattered edges, like a half-hearted banner in the wind. The wind of caution had died to a murmur. Some risks were worth taking; even the ones she regretted in the morning.
“Do you want to know a secret, Jai?”
Her gaze did flick up then, but only to see that she had his attention. And she didn’t let go of his hand. If she was going to bare her soul, it would be with the solid grounding of contact. It made him real; reminded her of the refreshing honesty that had punctuated their playful teasing. He didn’t pretend, even when he could. And it was so rare, and so earnest. Blinded by the conflict of her own stinging vulnerabilities, she had never thought to see his so exposed. She began to doubt there was any game here at all, at least anymore. If she was wrong, it was going to cut deep.
“When I was fifteen I found out I was going to go blind. Headaches, fuzziness. A wisewoman diagnosed it. And I just... fell apart. When I should have been playing pretty at court, I was in the city instead. Sneaking out at dusk, and back at sunrise. Making a mockery of the struggles of my House and the indulgent tolerance of my parents. And I earned something of a reputation in the process, knocking yet more nails in the coffin of our fortunes. A marriage would have sealed our debts. I had no special objections. I just.”
Was too selfish? Yes. And too prideful and stubborn and gravely insulted by the ill hand of fate. Her world had been entirely insular; encompassing her music and Farune and precious little else. The sacrifice was too great to suffer, then; in hindsight it had been nothing. The impudent protestations of a child.
“My parents pandered to my self-pity, but my brother grew tired of the disgrace. He followed me, once. There were men in that tavern with grievances against our House. And when my brother pulled me outside, they followed.”
Light, how long had it taken to close this wound, and now it gushed hot blood as sickening as both times she had lived the moment. They had swarmed on Tashir. And had not even known she was his sister. Celian had tried to pull her back inside – had not known who Tash was either. The memory of rent flesh beneath her nails charred ash in her throat. Reminded her of the taste of her own blood. The screams that had rocked her from sleep so many nights after echoed a desperate symphony. Emotion cut a deep path but her expression showed precious little; that in itself was stark indication of discomfort, if he had known her well enough to recognise it.
“If I had not been there, they would not have had the chance to beat my brother to a bloody pulp. There was nothing to recognise of the body.”
And she couldn’t even say the devastation had set her upon the path of absolution. Even now she did not dare linger on the guilt circling above, though she felt the ice of its shadow on her heart. “The rumours deteriorated quite rapidly after that. Hence being a lady in little but name.”
Her lips quirked a smile, but her eyes were cool. Those facts were not secret in themselves, but the story had never passed her own lips. And she had never intended for it to; not here, not to him, not to anyone. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of trust, but it was a nod towards their earlier conversation. More like the first shoots of green after an abrasive winter. And that was the rawest comfort she could offer him. Not empty words, not fake but well-intended understanding. Just hope. A connection in the dark.
She rested her chin on his shoulder, briefly searching his expression before laying down her head; finding sanctuary in the dip of his neck. She brought her other hand up to cushion her cheek; trailing his fingers along if they came willing, letting them slip if they did not. For a long time she didn’t answer the question. Her eyes drifted shut, nestled between Jai’s warmth and the soft silk-wool of his coat’s collar. Reserves close to depleted, and none left at all to worry about an Aes Sedai’s wrath, she was inclined to stay there until forced to rouse. Her muscles relaxed. It was a rare bliss to indulge so still a mind – thoughts distant, relieved of burden. It was only remembering what waited at the top of the cliff that plucked her back from falling asleep. Tar Valon and the Tower would remove her from that thorny briar, but it wouldn’t him.
“He has no reason to want to see you dead. No profit in it.”
Said like it was obvious, even though it was clearly not to anyone but her. Her voice was muffled sleepy, like the words were slipping free without much effort. “And besides, if Tamal had meant to kill you that arrow wouldn't have missed. Imaad wants this treaty, and so far as I’ve seen today, you’re the only one speaking out against it. Keeping you out of the way would have made things smoother for him. Only you showed up.”
A faint smile. “I imagine that changed his plans a bit.”
She might have stopped there. Already she’d revealed too much; not in what she had said, but in how clearly it marked her affinity for the Great Game. She’d told him it was a facet of herself she detested, but showing him the breadth of how much she deducted in a single day with people she had never met? That was something different. The thoughts, the links, the understanding; it was all innate, impossible to deny as breathing. But she didn’t have to speak it, share it, make it real in words and conspiracy.
Except, if she was going back to the Tower, and he was caught in this viper-pit? Sleep had receded a little now; eyes that had blinked sleepily now stared at the shadowed curve of her own hand. Despite the urge to drift to silence, to enjoy his warmth and the strange unity of confession, she knew she would not hold back.
“He meant to push you over the edge, Jai. I thought it was an attempt to discredit you. Quiet your influence in Daryen’s ear. But.”
She frowned, breathed a sigh into his neck. “Daryen wants the treaty. So who’s Imaad fighting? I think - it’s supposition – but I think perhaps it’s Daryen he wants to discredit. Or threaten to. That was quite the display of Brotherhood back there, against all evidence that you’re a dangerous man. Everyone saw it. And then the rumours.”
She imagined he might tense at that, but she never paused. All hearsay contained essence of truth; she didn’t doubt that for a second. But it mattered about as much to her judgement of him as did his scars. Or his ghosts. “But why would Imaad want leverage over Daryen? Because he’s a king? Maybe. Did you ever wonder why Imaad is so heavily in favour of this treaty? A man of wealth. A man of profit.”
A man who hates channelers. The thought concluded itself so surprisingly, it startled even her. And she dare not speak it aloud. “The merchant wants something more from this than Daryen is likely to give. And if he cannot convince him peaceably, he will try and ruin him.”
Still half-resting on his shoulder, she lifted her head enough to meet his eye. Rough dried hair was tousled around her head where she had rested, but that gaze was piercing and now bereft of lingering drowsiness. Something of his earlier words had ignited against her own theorising, reminded her she was throwing fuel on an already raging fire. "I never asked what you were planning to do about this treaty. Light burn you, Jai; don't do anything stupid."
He gripped her hand like it were a lifeline, and it only made her realise how alone he was. There wasn’t anything she could say. What meagre light could she shed on dark recesses such as those? It was not the Fade that caught the empathetic strings of an otherwise dissociative nature, and tugged them in a rare direction. Neither was it the pride which had earned him such eternal reminder – though it was a mutual sin. It was the admission that he should not have lived. The guilt. Shame might have marred her expression if she had cared to relate the emotion back to herself. It was something of a shared sin, too. But she didn’t.
There were no gratuitous platitudes waiting on her lips. There would be no soothing hand to wipe across his brow, no whispered reminders that the Wheel Wove as it Willed. Neither was there any gentle consolation that he had deserved to live in lieu of those who had died. Only that silent stare. She absorbed everything; every flicker of relived horror in those eyes. How close his expression came to ruin. It took a lot not to lean in, press her forehead against his. Distract the pain of memory with the pleasure of forgetting. If only for a while. Enough to turn keys back in locks and let the dust settle on memories better left to disused corners. She could offer him that, if little else.
He lay back, and took the decision from her hands.
Light.
She did not lean back straight away. She was liable to do something infinitely stupid if she did. Blood and Ashes, but how much control was one person supposed to have? Her well was running perilously low. Her head dipped, knees tucking tighter to her chest. Strange to look down and see black, the shadows of the collar high above her cheeks. So long since she had seen anything but white against her skin. The shadows, the warmth, the weight; it was comforting. She wondered if he was counting. If saidin caught him in a vortex of madness. A waterfall of sand seeped through her fingers to re-join its brethren. Her thoughts were drifting as that sand. But beneath the melancholy and frustration that bound her to isolation, she was strangely content. To have found something so raw and real. And for that very reason she did not speak solace.
When she did lean back it was to roll onto her side, propped up by a hand that curled damp hair through her fingers. Her pale gaze was oddly diffused. Unsure what she would see if she looked at him, or if he would even want her to look at all if the deluge of remembrance had gotten the better of him. Her other hand snaked over his knuckles, laced her fingers between his. Her grip was fluid; the delicate musician’s touch; fingers curling, straightening, falling to the distant brush of fingertips before stealing back palm to palm, lifting his hand from the sand. Her thumb brushed his, drifted as her hand slid back. The dance began again. Contact never broke, gliding close then far; she never let go entirely. A thoughtless affection; one she stared at mindlessly. Control frayed to tattered edges, like a half-hearted banner in the wind. The wind of caution had died to a murmur. Some risks were worth taking; even the ones she regretted in the morning.
“Do you want to know a secret, Jai?”
Her gaze did flick up then, but only to see that she had his attention. And she didn’t let go of his hand. If she was going to bare her soul, it would be with the solid grounding of contact. It made him real; reminded her of the refreshing honesty that had punctuated their playful teasing. He didn’t pretend, even when he could. And it was so rare, and so earnest. Blinded by the conflict of her own stinging vulnerabilities, she had never thought to see his so exposed. She began to doubt there was any game here at all, at least anymore. If she was wrong, it was going to cut deep.
“When I was fifteen I found out I was going to go blind. Headaches, fuzziness. A wisewoman diagnosed it. And I just... fell apart. When I should have been playing pretty at court, I was in the city instead. Sneaking out at dusk, and back at sunrise. Making a mockery of the struggles of my House and the indulgent tolerance of my parents. And I earned something of a reputation in the process, knocking yet more nails in the coffin of our fortunes. A marriage would have sealed our debts. I had no special objections. I just.”
Was too selfish? Yes. And too prideful and stubborn and gravely insulted by the ill hand of fate. Her world had been entirely insular; encompassing her music and Farune and precious little else. The sacrifice was too great to suffer, then; in hindsight it had been nothing. The impudent protestations of a child.
“My parents pandered to my self-pity, but my brother grew tired of the disgrace. He followed me, once. There were men in that tavern with grievances against our House. And when my brother pulled me outside, they followed.”
Light, how long had it taken to close this wound, and now it gushed hot blood as sickening as both times she had lived the moment. They had swarmed on Tashir. And had not even known she was his sister. Celian had tried to pull her back inside – had not known who Tash was either. The memory of rent flesh beneath her nails charred ash in her throat. Reminded her of the taste of her own blood. The screams that had rocked her from sleep so many nights after echoed a desperate symphony. Emotion cut a deep path but her expression showed precious little; that in itself was stark indication of discomfort, if he had known her well enough to recognise it.
“If I had not been there, they would not have had the chance to beat my brother to a bloody pulp. There was nothing to recognise of the body.”
And she couldn’t even say the devastation had set her upon the path of absolution. Even now she did not dare linger on the guilt circling above, though she felt the ice of its shadow on her heart. “The rumours deteriorated quite rapidly after that. Hence being a lady in little but name.”
Her lips quirked a smile, but her eyes were cool. Those facts were not secret in themselves, but the story had never passed her own lips. And she had never intended for it to; not here, not to him, not to anyone. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of trust, but it was a nod towards their earlier conversation. More like the first shoots of green after an abrasive winter. And that was the rawest comfort she could offer him. Not empty words, not fake but well-intended understanding. Just hope. A connection in the dark.
She rested her chin on his shoulder, briefly searching his expression before laying down her head; finding sanctuary in the dip of his neck. She brought her other hand up to cushion her cheek; trailing his fingers along if they came willing, letting them slip if they did not. For a long time she didn’t answer the question. Her eyes drifted shut, nestled between Jai’s warmth and the soft silk-wool of his coat’s collar. Reserves close to depleted, and none left at all to worry about an Aes Sedai’s wrath, she was inclined to stay there until forced to rouse. Her muscles relaxed. It was a rare bliss to indulge so still a mind – thoughts distant, relieved of burden. It was only remembering what waited at the top of the cliff that plucked her back from falling asleep. Tar Valon and the Tower would remove her from that thorny briar, but it wouldn’t him.
“He has no reason to want to see you dead. No profit in it.”
Said like it was obvious, even though it was clearly not to anyone but her. Her voice was muffled sleepy, like the words were slipping free without much effort. “And besides, if Tamal had meant to kill you that arrow wouldn't have missed. Imaad wants this treaty, and so far as I’ve seen today, you’re the only one speaking out against it. Keeping you out of the way would have made things smoother for him. Only you showed up.”
A faint smile. “I imagine that changed his plans a bit.”
She might have stopped there. Already she’d revealed too much; not in what she had said, but in how clearly it marked her affinity for the Great Game. She’d told him it was a facet of herself she detested, but showing him the breadth of how much she deducted in a single day with people she had never met? That was something different. The thoughts, the links, the understanding; it was all innate, impossible to deny as breathing. But she didn’t have to speak it, share it, make it real in words and conspiracy.
Except, if she was going back to the Tower, and he was caught in this viper-pit? Sleep had receded a little now; eyes that had blinked sleepily now stared at the shadowed curve of her own hand. Despite the urge to drift to silence, to enjoy his warmth and the strange unity of confession, she knew she would not hold back.
“He meant to push you over the edge, Jai. I thought it was an attempt to discredit you. Quiet your influence in Daryen’s ear. But.”
She frowned, breathed a sigh into his neck. “Daryen wants the treaty. So who’s Imaad fighting? I think - it’s supposition – but I think perhaps it’s Daryen he wants to discredit. Or threaten to. That was quite the display of Brotherhood back there, against all evidence that you’re a dangerous man. Everyone saw it. And then the rumours.”
She imagined he might tense at that, but she never paused. All hearsay contained essence of truth; she didn’t doubt that for a second. But it mattered about as much to her judgement of him as did his scars. Or his ghosts. “But why would Imaad want leverage over Daryen? Because he’s a king? Maybe. Did you ever wonder why Imaad is so heavily in favour of this treaty? A man of wealth. A man of profit.”
A man who hates channelers. The thought concluded itself so surprisingly, it startled even her. And she dare not speak it aloud. “The merchant wants something more from this than Daryen is likely to give. And if he cannot convince him peaceably, he will try and ruin him.”
Still half-resting on his shoulder, she lifted her head enough to meet his eye. Rough dried hair was tousled around her head where she had rested, but that gaze was piercing and now bereft of lingering drowsiness. Something of his earlier words had ignited against her own theorising, reminded her she was throwing fuel on an already raging fire. "I never asked what you were planning to do about this treaty. Light burn you, Jai; don't do anything stupid."