Stranger in a familiar land

[Helena]

Arikan & Talin

The intensity of his gaze stared without other reaction to Talin’s approach. He knew exactly how he was portraying himself. The darkness and vitriol was no act, but she stood to it where even the nastiest of Blacks would falter. It was noteworthy, particularly for a Yellow.

Her request for consent was wisely sought but not for the morality. He did not speak, choosing to answer with a mere nod of the head. It was impossible to relax, but while she worked, his attention remained solely on her face, dissecting every flicker of expression for a hint she was about to betray her word.

---

Some small part of her was relieved when he simply nodded. Consent was a checkmark against proper procedure, but in this case it was also the first stepping stone across a treacherous drop below. Talin made the necessary justifications, but she understood she was undertaking a grave risk. She had anticipated an ultimatum, but perhaps he had finally spent himself. The silence was not comfortable, but it was preferable.

A pity she could not leave the tongue until last.

Once she began she ignored him entirely. He was just flesh and blood parts. A puzzle to smooth out. His injuries tangled in knots, and she had spent a long time already planning through the most efficient order in which to address them. Would that she had a circle of Sisters at her behest, or at least a sufficient angreal. The work was intricate, and she was learning besides; pausing to scratch notes in shorthand to expand upon later.

“Will you stare the whole time?” she asked eventually. She did not look up. Meeting his gaze was more unnerving than the crawl of peripheral scrutiny. “You’ll only make it more painful, tensing up like that. There is not a muscle, joint, or ligament that isn’t isn’t torn or twisted. I could brew you something to assist if you wish it. Self-torture isn’t admirable.”

---

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asked with all the flatness of the edge of a knife, but if she had the guts to meet his gaze, she would find it filled with grim amusement. He once possessed a thakan’dar soul-sealed blade that the barest knick could poison its victim. It was exquisite but even Arikan took great care when he cleaned and handled the weapon. As much as Talin did now with the object in her possession. She was wise to handle him as carefully as Arikan once did that sword.

---

“It makes me work slower,” Talin corrected. Her gaze did not release from the work, though there was wariness in her expression.

"I'm making you better. You should be thanking me," he said, explaining.

Talin ignored the taunt at her skill. She did not offer the remedy again, and was soon lost back into the webs of saidar weaving in and out of his body. Would that he could see and appreciate the measures taken to hoist him from an early grave. The balance of each flow was exquisite. His internal injuries were significant, and when she spared thought at all, it was to ponder how such wounds even came into being. Hours passed in that silence, broken for brief breaks comprising sustenance and notetaking. The light had faded by the time she finally recognised the tells of exhaustion beginning to tug at her own senses. When the power swept out, it was at least with the satisfaction of the progress made.

“Some of your bones had already begun to set,” she told him before she left him to rest. His reaction to learning the date had betrayed how long his torture must have been endured, but the tells of his body had already revealed much the same. “That must be rectified before it can be healed. I intend for you to be restored, not simply functional.”

Tomorrow would be another long day. And after that.

---

He was more spent than he expected. This was his first experience with healing of any sort. The tales spread a wide description of the effects to body and mind. When he slept it was still too fitful to wander tel’aran’rhiod, and for the rare opportunity, he was willing to release his hold on that dream kingdom in favor of storing up his energies for the following day.

His inexperience with healing revealed itself the moment Talin suggested his bones would need to be rebroken in order for them to mend properly. The injuries were sustained in the heat of confrontation, when adrenaline mixed with desperation to lend him a ferocity to fight. The Hand’s muscles did the rest, and it was only in the aftermath of solitude that he recognized the pain left with him. He did not think the Aes Sedai had the fortitude to do it, up until the very moment her powers freshly cracked what was half-healed. He would not allow her to see him scream, but what yells burst uncontrolled from his throat was genuine. Yet through it all, he withheld himself. The One Power was his to command, but he did not trust himself to not crush the farm to a pile of smoldering ash.

Soon he began to sit up and move himself about. The first time that he was on his feet and crossed the path of the farmer, he simply stared at the man until he swallowed nervously and shuffled away. As he should, Arikan thought, and went about the business of walking himself to the outhouse.

There were other movements. He never quite glimpsed the face, but he knew Talin possessed a second body. A warder, he assumed, though all the proof of the man’s presence was hurried footfalls and a color-shifting cloak catching the breeze.

---

She found the bone-work unpleasant. Not the clear pain it caused him, but the reactionary fear she felt for causing it. He had a predator's gaze, and while she trusted in the tenuous agreement they had made, it did not stop the primal concern that he might simply snap. She'd seen dogs do the same on frenzied instinct. It was one of the reasons she directed Kaori away and gave him tasks to occupy his time. The knowledge gleaned already from her work was valuable; it would save lives, and more than justified the allegiances of the care's recipient. But given the warder's past he was unlikely to agree. Fortunately, he listened without question. The trust was startling, though she understood why.

Once the bones were fixed the patient was mobile enough to leave the bed when he clawed enough stubborn motivation. Talin did little to keep him, though she intended to see her work through to completion and not simply see him back to his feet. The effort cost him whatever stubborn pride refused to admit to, but she began to consider the moment he would wish to be free of her. Meanwhile their welcome on the farm grew thinner, something he did not improve from what she saw. The farmer and his wife were being generously compensated, of course, and she was not worried about being turned out. It was him she observed, thoughtful.

---

Soon, the days grew long. Recovery stretched him in the bed and the walls felt more like a cage than a house of healing. The farmers owned nothing that might occupy the immensity of his mind. He doubted they could even read. Therefore he began to ask questions. They were inconsequential first, and he assumed Talin would take it to be the unusual bounds of small-talk. He had the capacity to charm when it suited him, but here he had neither the energy nor the desire to deceive. He simply wanted information, and the Aes Sedai, even of the Yellow Ajah, was his only source.

Then the day came that he required maps. Every city, every capital, and every known battlefront the Yellow could provide.

---

Talin could not fathom small-talk, and did not indulge. Straight questions, however, were usually met with straight answers. At least when her mind could split to the diversion. Deep in saidar’s clutch, or her own copious notetaking, she did not answer at all. If she thought anything of his interest she did not deign to say. It suited her to be underestimated, and she saw no reason to withhold what he asked about. Some of it, of course, she did not know the answers to, but he would discover her surprisingly decently travelled, and her knowledge recent. The youth of her face revealed the newness of the ring on her finger, she imagined. Her proclivities were not normal for her Ajah. Talin allowed him to make whatever assumptions he cared to.

When she had first discovered him she had imagined him to be one of the Forsaken. For the sake of the challenges presented and the knowledge to be cultivated she had been prepared to turn a blind eye, but the suspicion had already faded by the time recollection stirred. He was a wasted man, far removed from the memory. A fall such as the dreadlord Arikan must have suffered after his defeat would certainly explain the nature of his injuries, though she could not quite answer the question of how he had escaped the Shadow’s clutches still clinging to life. Impossibility was an irrelevance to his being here though.

The question of his use to her began to turn slowly over in her mind. The question of his intention, too.

When he demanded maps it was met with a thoughtful reaction. She had provincial maps from recent travel of course, though those were clearly not what he sought. And she had one of Shienar. She spoke quietly with Kaori when she retrieved it, and then sought him out. A reasonable man would still be abed. He was not, of course. She presented it without preamble.

"From recent travel," she told him. "It fares poorly, should you be looking for an easier mark than Tar Valon. Though by the manner of your questions I do not believe it is 'redemption' for your failures you are seeking."

---

He would crawl across the floor rather than suffer the humiliation of a cane, but the wounds on his feet were yet to be tended, never mind the weeping stubs of toes pried loose of their nails, so Arikan slowly limped toward his destination. The burns were crusted black, and he could not suffer boots even if the farmer owned a spare. Neither could he abide a shirt, which had nothing to do with the roughness of the cotton or how poorly it fit. He simply couldn’t stand the lay of it on the many punctures and cuts from the Hand’s tools. The air was warm to him anyway so he merely walked with a blanket draping his shoulders. The farmer donated an old pair of braies, half-length linen shorts that didn’t so much as have a button. They were rolled and held across Arikan’s hollow-tight waist with a belt. He felt positively barbaric. More so by being forced to walk barefoot on his route, but the pain was tolerable on the grass. He continued to refuse Talin’s death tea no matter her promises to temper the dosage.

He was destined for the perch of an old tree stump. The story said it was struck by lightning years before, and by some miracle of storm rains the fire did not spread to the nearby barn. The only remains were this stump that he collapsed upon like it was a throne. Yet when the air touched his cheeks and rustled the curls of his hair it made him breathe something approximating relief. He yearned for pampering, but Arikan played the cumulative role of soldier longer than lord. The recent decades of his life was passed at the Blightborder and overseeing the compilation of the Great Lord’s forces was far from luxurious. There was nothing so fresh as the Tairen breeze nor so alive as trees to make for a stump in the Blight, at least none that might not leech poison so soon as sitting upon its carcass. There certainly were no chickens in the blight he thought blandly as one pecked at worms nearby. Amogorath was certain to still be there, in the Blight, milking his monsters for their seed and conducting his horrific experiments. The aged Chosen would be easy to ambush, but the attack would be obviously carried out by one of their own to know where to seek his lair. No, he needed to slice away the most dangerous of the Chosen first before the others were aware the devil was hunting them.

His gaze lifted from his tentative plans for the Chosen when Talin approached bearing gifts. It was partially unrolled long enough for him to recognize Shienar when she levied her not-so-thinly veiled awareness. It pulled his attention upward. He was mildly curious how long she’d known: instantly since that day in the donkey barn? Or did she piece together awareness like she did his flesh? He didn’t rise when he answered. Now at least he could speak freely.

“The Great Lord does not redeem,” he studied her reaction to the usage of the name. Though a thoughtfulness for saying it gave him a longer pause than he expected. It was the first time in the whole of his life he did not feel reverence at the sound of it. The absence was almost startling, but his recovery was swift.
“No Talin. The marks I seek are far more difficult to fell than your precious city,” disdain flooded his voice for both.

---

Fear could be such an unnervingly cold sensation, and she felt it shiver her through in a physical tide when he spoke that name. He was constantly studying her reactions, yet she still couldn’t quite account for the pause he made then. Her own lips twitched, packaging away her discomfort in order to admonish his. “You must have seen necrosed flesh before. Burns will do that if you treat them unkindly, such as traipsing across all and sundry barefoot. You are undoing my work with your impatience. Should the flesh die, even I cannot help you. You would not enjoy stumps.” If she was joking not an ounce of it showed in her expression. Certainly, she was not about to offer to kneel in the dirt at his feet. A short sigh followed. “What I meant is you have seemed angry, not desperate. I find it unusual given your apparent position.”

No one had come for him. Perhaps the backwater countryside accounted for a little of that, but while Arikan was still deep in recovery, he was past the point of imminent death. As poor and wasted a figure as he presented, he must be aware. She had expected to need to bargain for his continued cooperation by now, and she wondered if it meant he simply had nowhere to go and no allies to rely on for his continued care. It benefited her whether she chose to concern herself with the why of it or not, yet still she wondered at what further opportunity it might provide.

“You didn’t manage that. It hardly flatters your chances for a greater challenge,” she pointed out flatly.

She had stopped some short distance away. Talin rarely came close unless it was necessary, and she had never touched him without first ascertaining his consent. Neither did she ever correct his abysmal adherence to ignoring her title. The flout of manners and ritual always bothered her a little, but she recognised the advantage in accepting the veneer of familiarity. Even submission.

Her mouth opened to say more, but she never got the chance.

---

It was mildly amusing that this young Yellow thought to educate him on the spoils of war. Arikan walked battlefields, both as a soldier and a dreadlord. Battlefields. He sliced more limbs from bodies than there were branches on the nearby trees, but in one way, she was right. He did not want his legs to end at the ankle.

Then after all the consideration, temperance and care taken thus far, she said something that undid it all.

“You didn’t manage that. It hardly flatters your chances for a greater challenge,” she pointed out flatly.

In that moment, he changed. A demon’s song strung the soul so tight he could barely breathe. So cold, the blood stopped swirling. He did not care about stumps when he climbed to his feet then.

He took one single step forward, but he did not blink. He did not open and close his fists. He did not strike her. He merely seized saidin for the first time in months and let it fill him until it was holding him up, and a darkness reached through the void as if it was going to grasp her by the spine and wrench it free.

It was cold when he spoke.

“That.

was.

not.

my.

fault.”

The hair stood on the back of their necks a heartbeat before a flash crashed so bright it seemed the sun exploded. His powers pushed the shockwave another direction, and Arikan did not so much as flinch when it should have thrown them both from their feet.

Nearby, the barn exploded. Wood sprayed a brown cloud taller then the trees and hay rained down afterward. In the chaos, donkey parts were littered everywhere. A head here. Bloody hoofs, tails and fur there. Beyond, the trees were flattened like blades of grass. Fire curled up in the place of the smote barn that was the object of so much hate. It could have been Talin.

Arikan’s power was enough to challenge the Dragon, but even now he tempered himself. He did not want to summon the Chosen, though he could have with his capacity. This was a taste. A small measure of the control he still commanded even as he was insulted so gravely he might have abandoned all pursuits for revenge just for retribution. Even then, he considered dropping her and crushing that burned foot across her tender throat.

He didn’t, and a moment later, he couldn’t.

He released saidin just as the fire curled upward from the ash of the lightning strike. The moment he did, he collapsed to his knees nearly trembling with weakness that could have killed him before Talin had the chance to perfect her art, but even then, he stared at her, and from the ground, blanket fallen around him, he spoke a final time.

He thought of all those eyes that met him when he emerged from tel’aran’rhiod. The dark grounds of gardens surrounded him. The spire of the Aes Sedai’s home loomed great and white. Fires flickered every level nearly to the sky. And from it faced more Asha’man and Aes Sedai in one place that it would have been a historical moment if it weren’t for the reason they were gathered.

If Talin was one of those empty faces, she must have bore witness to the demon that nearly felled them that night. The gateway snapped behind a great man adorned in the gravest, grandest armor ever to come from Thakan’dar. A long, blood red cape streamed behind him innocently tossed by the wind. A longsword was strapped to his side, but the most impressive weapon was him.

He tugged the helmet from his head and tossed it aside. He wanted them to see his face. To behold the one that was inches from crumbling the white tower to the ground. The tension hung heavy, then on both sides, power broke the awful silence in a storm of battle that erupted.

And he still escaped.

Now on his knees, this same man that stared down half of the Light's forces stared up at Talin. He did not release the hold of her eyes despite the fires climbing in the background.

“I would kill the Great Lord of the Dark if I could, but there is only one who can. So I will content myself with killing every last one of the Chosen, escorting the Dragon to the Bore myself, and sending him in to finally do the job he was born to do," he was drawing short, shallow breaths, head growing light. Still, he did not raise his voice.

"Finish.
Healing.
Me.
… so I can get the fuck out of here.”

The intensity with which he endured the Hand’s instruments of torture showed itself. Behind her, the fire smeared colors. Still, he spoke.
“And never insult me again.”

A moment after, his head swam alarmingly. The cost of channeling was worth it, he thought, just before dropping unconscious.

---

When he stepped forward, Talin stepped reflexively back. The colour drained quickly from her face.

She flinched when the barn exploded behind her; closed her eyes against it. Her breathing was fast and fearful. She did not reach for saidar; in fact all she did was mute the bond to stop Kaori feeling the primal nature of her fear, though likely the flames would soon bring people running. Talin did not acknowledge the bloody rain nor the squelch and dull thuds of animal parts. It was a gruesome detail she found irrelevant. Her hands were trembling and she could not stop them. It was him she was afraid of.

Arikan fell to his knees after and she did not move closer despite the clear need. Every base instinct screamed at her to run from him, though she didn’t do that either. Clearly saidin fled his grasp. She imagined consciousness itself would soon follow by the look of him, but there was a terrible intensity she could not look away from.

The words that followed burned so hot it was like a chill wrenched her spine. But as it did so it was akin to a straight tug on her soul, too. She accepted it like a confession. If her eyes widened a little then, it was in something other than fear.

But it wasn’t until she was sure he was no longer conscious that she felt her heart begin to slow its fearsome beat. Her hands clasped softly; she did not trust them to remain still. With a tight jaw she glanced over her shoulder at the devastation one flick of his mind had caused. It hadn’t even been an insult, just simple fact, but at least he had done her the favour of pointing out her exact misstep. Such a flagrantly volatile use of power, but it proved his capability. And his control.

If he intended to kill her, it would have been then.

She pulled hard on the bond. Kaori arrived so quickly she realised he must have already been on his way. They could no longer stay here, and it annoyed her to realise the sorts of variables one single action had delivered into her careful plans. “No,” was all she said to the hand her warder wrapped around his hilt. It still surprised her he obeyed so quickly, despite the conflict she felt roiling inside. Kaori thought it prudent to stick that blade in the back of Arikan’s neck. Yet if his thunderous expression did not settle his hand did. “Mephisto was not in that barn?”

“No, Aes Sedai. Your horse is fine. No people either, I do not think.”

But Talin’s attention had already moved back to the man in the dirt upon assurance of her animal’s welfare. It might have been fortuitous had the people here been consumed, but no matter. As for the dreadlord, clearly he would be too proud to ask for help. Too proud to ask for anything he could not instead demand like it was his due. Arikan appreciated nothing, but she did not need him to. She only needed to facilitate his vengeance.

[Adrian Kane]

Next time he woke, it was in another bed. The room was decently clean and moderately sized. Curtains fluttered a window that was barely ajar, but by the scents wafting inward, Arikan did not think they remained in the country. There was a ladder-back chair in the corner. A wash basin was dry. A warped mirror hung on the wall, but there was no other art. Even the blankets were clean. It was clearly the lodgings of an inn. He grumbled to himself and began to sit up to find his head throbbed. Ever suspicious that he’d been poisoned, he checked himself for other signs. Wounds remained, and notably, his feet had progressed to outright numbness, which was a little worrying. Talin wasn’t wrong when she warned the need to respect his wounds, but darkness damn the woman for her insults.

Despite the temptation to stay off his feet, he threw aside the blanket and found he was wearing more proper clothes than last he remembered. Breeches covered the shorts and a loose shirt draped his shoulders. It must have been for the journey, he assumed, and wondered how the Oath-bound Aes Sedai explained ferrying an unconscious man to an inn.

When he hobbled to the window to discover their location, his eyes were immediately drawn upward, and he swallowed nervously. The Stone of Tear loomed like a great mountain in the distance. Images flashed through his head. Endless passageways. Columns soaring into overhead darkness. The glowing sword hovering midair, endlessly taunting him.

The water pitcher flew across the room a second later. Crashing thunderously into the wall.

“Bloody Tear! Are you insane!” he roared to himself.

A minute later the door opened to reveal a fat innkeeper, his soft eyes wide with concern and shock.

Arikan stared at the man a moment before waving him generally in the direction of the shattered porcelain. He then ordered food and drink be delivered and he climbed back in bed.

[Helena]

Talin Sedai

There was much to do.

The city wasn’t ideal, but her choices in that regard were limited, and haste pushed her hand after the impulsive barn burning. She had no way of knowing whom the beacon of Arikan's power might summon to investigate, Light-aligned or Dark. Either would serve an unnecessary complication. But even if none were close enough to feel the massive current of saidin, the farm’s occupants could no longer be trusted for discretion. In one fit of tantrum Arikan sent their livelihood up in flames. It was a snarl that had needed careful smoothing, and she had found it an unaccountably disagreeable nuisance. They were lucky to be alive, but of course she could not reveal to them their good fortune; they still did not know what they had been harbouring.

In any case, perhaps waking to sight of the Stone might ensure Arikan did not forget the declarations made on that farm. Such was the message she intended anyway. His vows were the kind that would humble a smaller man, yet he had spoken in the heat of terrible power, and she had witnessed the venom in him for herself untold times before that moment. She reasoned the motivation was truly there even if he utterly lacked the resources. He could barely stand, and she could not force his body to heal faster than nature’s rule, but neither would she repeat the mistake of pointing out his current frailty. Mortality itself should have been sobering. But if fury fed his recovery she would not complain.

Just so long as it was a fury he did not aim at her again.

Whatever betrayal had transpired to ignite such vengeance in Arikan since the Battle at the Shining Walls, Talin vowed she would make use of it. What assets he needed, she would supply however questionable. She did not care what methods he employed, though neither did she care for direct involvement. The line she crossed now was irreparable in the eyes of the White Tower, but she had no stomach nor interest in violence such as might conjure from the imaginings of a darkfriend. She had in fact considered the question carefully before making that decision. As for the line itself, in the long run it would not matter; she would make sure of it.

So, while Arikan suffered the consequences of his actions, Talin had returned briefly to the Tower. Kaori remained in Tar Valon for now, with errands to complete of his own. The dreadlord himself might believe Talin’s interests began and ended at his literal feet, but her machinations spanned a far wider reach. She had less time to pull all the necessary threads than she would like – both those that peered forward into the ushering of a new Age, and those of more immediate concern. For as Arikan would need resources, so too would she. At the moment he was still somewhat reliant. It would not always be the case. Mutual understanding was not the same thing as trust.

She was a little aggrieved to discover he was awake upon her return. His outburst required a recalibration in the way she handled his pride; moreso now her intentions surpassed the moment the Healing finished its work. She did not fear death at his hands, but it was the least she imagined of his capabilities when pushed. A few empty dishes suggested he had least been fed, and light send it improved his mood somewhat, for the innkeeper downstairs had been most flustered by the recalcitrant nobleman in his charge. Or such as he imagined Arikan must be by his manner, despite all appearances to the contrary. Talin did not care how he treated the people here, but she would not be best pleased with another reason for flight.

Her attention was wary as she closed the door. Fear would not interfere with her plans, of course, but she considered that he might be satisfied to glimpse it in her. It was true enough.

“Forsaken,” she told him firmly. “Not “chosen”.” A satchel eased from her shoulders to rest on the ladder-backed chair. Since he had been inconveniently unconscious, she had been forced to rely on the memory of his questioning to gather what additional maps she could. “Tell me what else you will need,” she said. Her hands laced, her gaze releasing from his. She did not like to meet his gaze for long, though in this case it was to indicate his body beneath the blankets. "And then grant me your consent, so we might continue."

[Adrian Kane]

Last time he saw Talin, she was a little looming red-haired mountain. A face peering down at him as the world fell black. That face was pale now. Paler than usual; as it should be, and she was flustered this time. He could tell it in the way she dropped a satchel of scrolls and planted a defense across the room. It would do her no good if he had the mind, but the lesson was already imparted. He had the power but not the intention to kill her. Not yet. Likewise, while unconscious, she might have ordered his head from his shoulders, and yet she surely stayed the hand of the unseen warder stalking the edges of the farm.

Arikan made no motion to indicate he was considering anything but giving consent. Talin had proven her skillset repeatedly. The clearance of many grievous wounds was testimony to convince him, but while he had zero personal interest in Talin’s motivations, she was clearly a follower of the light. Even if she wanted a rat to apply herself, she’d accomplished her goal and yet she returned not only to continue the restoration but bearing the exact items he required. And of all the bizarre behaviors, she was interested in delivering anything else he instructed.

He doubted she would answer truthfully. Oaths or not, he knew better than to believe an Aes Sedai meant exactly what she said. So while she might conceal her motivations, even the manner in which she explained herself could be insightful.

“I require many things doubtful a Yellow can procure, and we will see about them soon enough. In the meantime, I require something of you, first.” He held that doll-like, glassy gaze without wavering. The tension in his voice was minimal, but expectant. He did not reposition nor shuffle despite the lumps beneath him. It might have been a king’s bed for the way he held himself, and compared to months on bedrock, it practically was.

“You know who I am. Why are you bothering to heal me? You should have turned me in by now.”

She seemed genuinely perplexed, which made him want to roll his eyes. No one, Aes Sedai least of all, could be so naïve to not understand. A darkfriend should be jailed by the Light. A dreadlord should be tried, gentled and hung by ropes in the Tower’s courtyards. A man who aspired to the heights of Chosen and nearly brought down the Tower itself should be suffering such punishments as to make Lythia’s plan seem tame in comparison. Arikan would have thrust his own head on a pike at the front gate of the White Tower if their roles were reversed.

Talin was composed when she spoke again.

“Bothering? What an unusual question. Your injuries were a challenge and an opportunity. What is a little questionable morality compared to the knowledge I have gleaned in the act?” She was quiet for a moment; considering, clearly. “The rest is irrelevant now. The Dragon has prevaricated on his path long enough. Your motivation matters little to me, but while our goals align I have no reason to ‘turn you in’.”

He shook his head. “You're not only aiding, but healing, a known Darkfriend and Dreadlord. When you're discovered you'll undoubtedly be condemned as Black Ajah."

“Clearly I do not intend to be discovered,” she scathed. “I will use what tools I must. The inconvenience of your past is perhaps the very thing necessary to see the job done.”

Her answer did little to expand the tenuous trust between them, but he opted to cease the interrogation for now.

“Then come and work while I tell you what I need,” he nodded at himself. By then he subjected himself to the delves of saidar as he had previously: leaning back, attention shifting between the ceiling and her profile as the sensations swept through him.

“The Chosen will be active but concealed well. The only way to find them is to look for the ripples of their effects. Throw a rock in a pond and it will sink to the bottom unseen from the surface, but the ripples will flow far. Find the epicenter and you will find one of the Chosen at the heart of the disturbance. I need rumors. Knowledge of the state of affairs in all the courts. Battles won swifter than they should. Unexpected deaths or accidents of high ranking members of military or rulers that resulted in the shifting of power to unexpected hands. And finally, rumor of a very specific type of miscreant near, but himself not particularly influential or powerful, close to one of the Dragon’s ruling courts. Somewhere rich and opulent. A nobleman most likely with a reputation for being lazy and demanding, who seems to offer no advantage, yet is known to be a friend of the Dragon.”

“Gather those rumors and I’ll know what I seek when I hear it.”

[Helena]

Talin Sedai

Talin was surprised by the interrogation. It felt surplus, and given his quite virulent pride, she had assumed he would simply accept the help she offered as his due, only to discard her as soon as he could. Her motivations were unnecessary surely. Such was the way she operated, it was with a perplexing moment of self-examination she considered how to answer. Because there was her answer, and the answer that would be acceptable.

Would she have turned him in in other circumstances? Yes. Certainly. Once she had gotten what she wanted from him. Not something she thought wise to share. And as she said, it was irrelevant now. Arikan presented more value than he did risk. The Tower was beholden to traditions Talin had no use for, and the lines between light and dark were far more malleable than anyone was ever willing to admit. She cared only for what Arikan was now, and what he proved himself to be.

And what he could do for her.

When he gave his consent, she attended without hesitation. This part of their tenuous alliance was easy for her at least; the part where he was simply flesh and bone pieces to be fashioned back together.

Her gaze frowned up at his terminally irritating misuse of chosen, but for once she did not correct it. Saidar flowed now, and she was too busy for the childish way he clung to the past. As for his demands, Talin had little use for such political knowledge, though she only listened quietly. She could tell him which countries had unusual bouts of illness, and which members of nobility begged her for favours for various indiscretions. But what she lacked in ability or interest she knew well how to source. Those were plans already in motion, but not things Arikan yet needed to be aware of himself.

“Well. We are in Tear,” she said offhandedly. He should not have trampled through all that chicken-shit at the farm; his feet were disastrous, and she was not much impressed with the extra work. Not that she commented. “And I do already have perhaps one thing that may interest.”

[Adrian Kane]

The flows of saidar coursing through his feet pulsed a river of warmth, but what really ground Arikan’s teeth tight together was the constant tickling. He would take a shit in the Pit of Dhoom before letting Talin see him laugh, but it was a hell of a torture. He almost yearned to trade her for the Questioner.

“Yes, Tear,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “Is there a reason or do you enjoy sulking around with gutter trash? Suppose I should be grateful. At least it’s not Illian. Take me there, and I'll leave your body in one of the canals for the alligators to tear to pieces." He was staring at the ceiling when he said it, but the tone of his promise suggested similar experience with disposing of bodies. The marshlands around the city of Illian were extensive and infamously dangerous.

Talking seemed to distract himself from the sensations rippling through his feet. So he kept it up. Not that he enjoyed conversating with Talin. Her voice was so shrill, it cut his ears like glass.

“So? You going to say this one thing or do I have to torture it out of you?” His gaze found hers, one brow slipping up with the semblance of a joke. Probably.

[Helena]

“Where else was I supposed to take you? Expedience was necessary.” As he would well enough recall. But the circumstance of their departure from the farmstead was certainly not something Talin wanted to either remind him of or to open for discussion. She did not look up, and did not add that she hoped sight of the Stone might guild his vow of vengeance. “One city is much as another. I care for none of them.” And he would be mobile soon enough; it would not be necessary for her to take him anywhere else, light willing. As soon as Arikan had the information he needed, or at least a good source for it, she fully expected him to set like a hound on the scent of blood. Though she tucked away the suggestion that he was Tarien born himself. No one else would bother alluding to such baseless and ancient enmity.

“At least it would put the flesh to good use, I suppose. Better than rotting.” It was muttered somewhat thoughtfully, paying only half mind to the distraction of conversation. Then:

“For light’s sake, why are you grimacing? This should not be hurting you.” At that she did look up, stare flat, lips slightly pursed. His discomfort did not concern her, and it was not the source of her consternation. Rather, perfection of the weave was.

At the lift of his brow she looked somewhat disturbed for a moment. Arikan’s attempts at humour were frankly uncomfortable, and so she ignored it entirely.

“Some time ago an emissary came to the Tower, seeking aid against the Blight. The great-niece of the King of Shienar no less. But the request was denied: the Blight is quiet, as quiet as it has been in fifty years, so the Tower says. But I have been north recently, to Fal Sion, and it is not good there.” Talin did not speak in an impassioned tone, only a factual one. She made no mention of Kaori, of course.

[Adrian Kane]

He just glared at her dismay, but like hell if he was going to let her see anything except a grimace. Besides, her eventual story gave him something to occupy his mind. Something besides what was making his toes stretch and curl.

Saying the Blight was quiet was a very different thing than saying the Blightborder was quiet. Just because it wasn’t encroaching on the borderlands didn’t mean it wasn’t growing or that something wasn’t growing in it. The King of Shienar’s kin petitioned for help from the White Tower and was turned away made him snort in derision.
“I am sure the White Tower would say that. Hopefully you have come to learn to not believe everything the Tower says.” He rolled his eyes, toes scrunching and stretching.

Arikan didn’t know all the Fortresses, Fal in the Old Tongue. There were so many, but he recognized Fal Sion simply because it was large enough to occupy a sizable dot on a map. For all his years as a dreadlord, he was never a part of offensives at the Blightborder. His work was far more important than overseeing the expansion of vines and plants, no matter how dark and twisted they were. 

“I promise you, the Blight is not quiet,” he muttered to himself, wondering if this meant one of the Chosen was manipulating the stories of the Blight. If so, were they changing the message from the source or blunting the message being heard? “She return to Shienar after being rudely turned away?” He imagined the king of Shienar’s niece at the gates, slunking away sad and defeated, dismissed by their oldest ally of the Light.

[Helena]

“If you will not help me streamline the process, then it is your own fault if you find it unpleasant.” Talin bit back the full tone of her annoyance, mostly out of wariness of his changeable moods. She would simply adjust the flows as she felt necessary then. It was not like she was unaccustomed to ignoring the mewls and complaints of patients while she worked, and this was no different. King or pauper. Dreadlord or Dragon. Flesh was all the same. “I can work slowly, so as not to over-tax your constitution. Since it appears to pain you.” The last was added grudgingly, though she did briefly glance up, and there was a flatness to her gaze that suggested she was not best impressed by his silence on the matter.

She ignored his insult, as well as his affectation of superiority (that being quite normal for him anyway). He insisted on speaking to her like a child and not the Aes Sedai who raised him up from his deathbed. Fortunately she did not mark the disrespect as anything but poor manners on his part. But he was being absurdly redundant. Of course she did not trust everything the Tower said to be true; would she be here, healing a darkfriend, if she did? And he did not even know the half of it.

But she only tipped a dismissive shoulder. “It was not rudely done,” she clarified. “The Lady Armendariz was simply kept waiting with vague reassurances that she would be heard, until the message was finally received. I do not believe she went home after, but I had left for the north before then, in order to see for myself.”

[Adrian Kane]

“For the love of the dark, do not work slower,” he muttered. Intensity didn’t make much of a difference, but he would consider selling his soul if it meant it was over soon. For dark’s sake he withstood torture. Why was this so much bloody harder?

His leg bounced anxiously while Talin channeled. Surely she didn’t need stillness? But it gave him something to do. Rubbing his eyes or pinching his nails into his palm was worthless. So he forced himself to focus on what she was saying. Tried to imagine which of the Chosen would benefit the most from misleading the Tower about the Borderlands affairs. And was it Shienar alone that was suffering? Or all of them? Certainly it should be more. But Shienar was nearest Shayol Ghul. The greatest incentive for a coverup was there.

Then he recognized something from the mire of Talin’s explanation. The bouncing leg fell to stillness and he propped up on his elbows to look at her quizzically. “Did you say the emissary's name was Armendariz?”

The same as that warder. Was he nobility then? He frowned at that. He knew little about the Borderlander families. None but the most prominent. Royals or whatnot. He hated having to ask Talin, but it was unlikely that even the Stone’s great library would have records of the non-royal northern Houses.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering how to fit this piece of information into the rest of what he knew. His tone changed to make himself more casual. The kind of conversation that many in the past spilled secrets without him even having to coerce it.
“That’s the same name as a warder. Do you know him? Vladamir Armendariz? Are they of the same House?”