Choose Your Path Carefully
Novice Medaea sur Yvaine, Written by Taryn
Posted on Wed, Jun 9, 2010 08:27 am
He was quick for a commoner boy, but her father had instilled in her that men would be clever whether high or low and to not discount their usefulness based on class. He clearly favored an injury to his leg, Medaea paused several times at his behest to massage what were probably sore and pained muscles in his calves, but she didn’t ask what happened and bandied words with him in the interim. Medaea was surprised to find she was genuinely enjoying speaking to someone who held more spark of intelligence than some of the stupid twits in Novice Whites. The companion Novice that Theon had been with she felt would be useful for a pawn and easily manipulated, but this one she knew a certain amount of care would need to be seen to. He was too intelligent and clever by half for any of her machinations.
Perhaps, however, she might be able to use him by partnership—to give him the sense of equality with her instead.
His comments about wilders and male channelers certainly were aptly observed, but lessons held stated that while women were more deft with their weaves, men were by far stronger in raw strength. And wilders in general were stronger than those incomplete women who could only learn to channel if they were guided. Surely this was a good start to toppled the false sense of superiority of those who might despise her for her gift.
“I’m headed to the library.” She said. “I’m stuck cataloguing books for Devora Sedai. Where will you be?”
She watched his gaze go distant, the question had been a simple one but he appeared to be giving it deep thought as the seconds stretched out to a handful before he replied. “With you, I’m afraid. Fortunately, I’m very good with books.”
Curious and yet opportunistic. Cataloguing was tedious—as most chores were—and the other Novices she’d been assigned with were not as interesting to talk to. One could only chatter about the Trainees and Gaidin for so long. “I see.” Tilting her head to the side, she considered what uses this relationship would do for her—there were the obvious ones of being one of the few female Novices to associate with the male Novices. Others would certainly present itself just as useful. “Well, I am rather new to the Tower. Perhaps you can help me?” She was perfectly capable of cataloging, if he were as bright as she surmised, he would see through that and see to an alternative meaning.
Theon pursed his lips in what looked to be though. Surely she hadn’t miscalculated? “Perhaps we can help each other?” He replied.
Medaea smiled and opened the doors to the library beyond.
Dinner was always plain and simple. Luxuries such as honey were a rare treat, though Medaea had not partook of such a thing since she’d been admitted. Their meal was sliced lamb seasoned almost too lightly with herbed potatoes and green beans that might have been cooked too long. Medaea was unaccustomed to the simple and sometimes apathetic care that went into their meals. Where was the chilled honeydew soup to refresh on a warm summer day? Or perhaps some spiced mint jelly to go with the nearly overcooked lamb?
She ate mechanically, the food providing nourishment and nothing else for her. Medaea had made a simple comment to another Novice during her first meal that had earned her an upbraiding from a passing Aes Sedai. Food was simply to provide energy to the Novices in the pursuit of their chores and studies, nothing more.
Theon sat opposite her in the Dining Hall, his actions nearly as automatic as her own. A Novice who was eating too slowly might be a Novice already full and therefore available to continue her chores immediately. Some latitude was allowed for conversing with fellow Novices, but everything was kept to a murmur and nothing louder. Loud Novices were Novices not eating and available for chores, after all.
“They appear to be clearing out and cleaning more rooms in our Well, as if preparing for more male Novices.” Theon spoke softly between bites.
Medaea nodded, forcing a calm face as she chewed the tough meat. “If the truth of the White Tower amnesty is true, it seems that they would certainly need to prepre, though our own Wells are pitifully empty. In fact—“
“Well, aren’t you a pretty couple?” A short, plump girl with shining blonde hair didn’t precisely sneer at them, but her distaste was evident. Medaea recognized the girl as Emina Mellidore, an Andoran merchant’s daughter. A girl who could only be taught. “The wilder and the gimp. Next thing you know, you two will be caught in a corner somewhere, I’m sure.”
Theon’s face was pale but Medaea was unable to read his expression. Hers, however, was icy cold as she turned to the girl. “I thought that Eria Sedai taught you to not make statements without ascertaining the facts. Because that was you that exclaimed an Aes Sedai should channel to save a man drowning while in Mardecin, correct? A town in Amadicia?”
“You are an insufferable wilder, Medaea sur Yvaine. You and your male Novice pet!”
“And you are a dim-witted cowardly fool who will probably cry herself out of the test for Accepted, Emina Mellidore. Go back to your lessons where they will teach you how to find the True Source and think that when you were still in braids I had already found it on my own. Without help.” Medaea’s voice was soft and their exchange had not been overheard. Yet. Calmly she continued to eat delicate bites of her food while Emina stood there, fists clenched. She glanced back to Theon to find that color had returned to his face and he wore a thoughtful expression while he ate.
“Is there a problem, Novices?” The voice of a relatively severe Accepted by the name of Taline stood there with her hands on her hips. Emina immediately dropped into a curtsey deep enough to honor an Aes Sedai.
Theon spoke up, “No, Accepted Taline. Novice Medaea and I are simply trying to complete our meal, though Novice Emina appears to be done.” He placed another bite of his lamb deliberately in his mouth, chewing slowly. They watched as Emina’s face reddened and Taline led her away, presumably for more busywork chores. She heard Theon sigh, head shaking. “It’s always the same.”
Medaea raised a brow at him. There was almost a sense of disappointment and shame in his soft tone, but he went silent and she couldn’t read anything further from him. Where was the mocking boy from their lessons the day previous? The one who had selected whom he would assist and who to hang out to dry? “It always will be the same, Theon. I don’t hold any false illusions that once I wear the shawl that I will no longer be held in less regard. It will be the same women—and men—but they will simply keep it to themselves easier.”
Theon shook his head, a small smile dancing on his lips. “And yet you won’t let it bother you.”
Medaea smiled, “Why should it? My accomplishments are not judged by others but by myself. And why should the stupid words of a girl like Emina Mellidore affect me in any way when I know she’ll be put out of the Tower for one reason or another because of her weakness.”
Theon didn’t flinch but she saw something pass on his face. The Mayener had not pressed yesterday how he had come about to injure his leg, but it was barely more than a limp and he seemed to get along just fine and yet for some reason he thought that minor injury demeaned him in some way. He was a very smart man and she wondered why he was stupid enough to let something like that affect him. Sometime while she considered Theon’s leg injury and its impact on him, their food cleared from their plates and they rose to hand in their plates to the waiting Novice.
As they parted ways for separate chores, Medaea considered Emina’s words and how they seemed to have affected the male Novice. And she plotted.
It had been a simple matter to switch chores with a mousy little Novice by the name of Reneta; although the Amadician girl was known to ask for the more onerous of chores, she was also accommodating, polite and took things at face value. So if another Novice was actually asking to sweep the floors of the entrance hall, they must like performing the chore. That was how Medaea found herself side by side with Emina, sweeping away what little dust and grime had accumulated after the Tower servants had cleaned them that day.
The Andoran girl was stoic, her eyes firmly affixed to the area she cleaned, so clearly ignoring Medaea that it was as if she shouted. In the quiet of the hall, Medaea spoke to her, a soft voice that carried only to the other Novice and no farther. “You’ll desist from your taunting of wilders and of the male Novices here in the White Tower Emina. If you don’t, you’ll find that every time you are going to class, something will happen to make you late. Every time your room is inspected for cleanliness, it will be in disarray. Every moment you are given for quiet and solitude to study will be filled with disruption and disorder. In short, I will ensure that the time you have here in the Tower will be spent wondering what will happen to you next and yet you will have a difficult time laying it at my feet.”
Emina’s face darkened, turning to Medaea with hot words, “You can’t do that, there’s no way!”
She continued to sweep, missing not a single swipe of the bristles. “Test me, girl, and find out. If you wish to clash wills with me, let’s have a go.” Her voice was cold steel to Emina’s warm temper. “But you may want to just make it easier on yourself and learn now what you should have realized from the start.”
“And what exactly is that, wilder Medaea?”
Her smile was chill, eyes cool as ice as she lifted them to stare at the Andoran. Emina flinched away and swept at her patch furiously. “That we are driven. And we wilders and male Novices may be the ones giving you orders when we wear the Shawl you are you still in a banded hem trying to master your weaves. Choose your path carefully, Emina.”
OOC: Okay I didn’t do a lot of interacting with Theon but I at least wanted to establish the tension between the girls against wilders and male channelers as well as giving a taste of Medaea’s way for finding justice in situations. I’ll leave it up to you as to whether Emina actually takes Medaea’s threats seriously or not, either have a lot of good possibilities. =D
In reply to Peculiar Practices[show]/[hide]
Ryelle Sedai was not a pleasant woman.
She forced all of her students to sit on hard benches, while she spent the majority of her lectures perched on a cushioned chair. Her classroom was very close to the top of the Tower, and while she claimed that this was because she enjoyed the view of the grounds, he knew of no other class that held session so many stories up. To his knowledge, the nearest one was eight stories below.
Most of the novices got their blood pumping by the end of the grueling climb, after which they were promptly forced to listen to an old woman drone on in the most monotonous voice imaginable. All the while, they were expected to sit straight-backed on sore feet, without squirms or complaints, provided with little more than an uncomfortably low-sitting podium upon which to take notes. Record-keeping was not precisely required, but it certainly made the hour-long lectures more tolerable.
It didn’t help that “Northern Law” was largely dry and useless, and Theon was hardly overjoyed about the upcoming lectures on “Southern Law,” “Western Law,” “Eastern Law,” and “Common Law.” In fact, the whole point of all the climbing and standing was supposedly to prevent students from falling asleep. Theon suspected that its true purpose, however, was to assert the witch-woman’s dominance over the Tower’s children.
In both cases, it was remarkably efficient.
Theon had a keen mind – a golden mind, his father had often called it. He had no need for notes, because his memory was nearly absolute, not that he’d want anyone else to know. His friend Jaryion was not quite so fortunate. The rough-and-tumble Altaran with a nasty scar across his cheek had little choice but to sit still and pay close attention, hanging onto every word the gnarled old woman spoke. Theon wrote with an almost rhythmic grace, fluidly scribbling his letters across the bleached leather journals with an easy, stylish penmanship.
When the lecture was complete, Theon carefully sanded and blotted the last of his notes, blowing on them as gently as he could to quicken the drying of the ink. The witch selected a novice at random – a pale-skinned Cairhienin girl with an almost-legendary contempt for wilders. The moment she turned her back, Theon handed his journal to the scar-faced southern boy. Strangely enough, Jaryion did not pour over the pages. Instead, he dipped his pen in an inkwell and began to carefully work over notes on a new page, slowly and carefully.
Ryelle’s face was a perfect mask of Aes Sedai calm, her eyes a pale shade of winter blue. Today she wore a virgin white satin gown chased with floral patterns and embroidered in cloth-of cobalt. Her hair was done up in the Cairhienin fashion; a pale shade of salty gray, twisted into an exotic bun that made her seem taller than she was. She adorned herself with very little jewelry, but her dress was sinuously slashed with deep shades of cerulean.
Even for an Aes Sedai, she was old. She did what she could, however, with what she had. Her sanguine lips and unusually long eyelashes spoke of a peculiar affection for cosmetics that most of her students likely failed to notice. Theon found it off-setting.
Leatherface, as she was often called---quite far from where the nickname could ever be overheard---did not ask questions. She conducted interrogations, and she did so in a manner that was very nerve-wracking and stressful. She never raised her hands against her novices and she rarely raised her voice, but everything she did was carefully calculated, and oftentimes demeaning. If she was in a particularly sour mood, she asked questions that pertained to a lecture conducted last session, or even one before that.
Needless to say, this could make things quite difficult for a novice who was already under pressure, because her lectures were only conducted once a week. The Cairhienin girl was dismissed after recounting a law regarding the permissible length of hedges, wheat-fields and grass within a mile of any given dwelling in Shienar.
“Novice Jaryion!” She called, standing from her cushioned seat. “To the front.”
The class sat in absolute silence as the coppery skinned novice approached the center of the room, turning to face the students. Theon caught a bead of sweat trickling down the boy’s brow and smiled at him reassuringly, but the gesture of solidarity did not appear to help. Jaryion began dry-washing his hands as he looked to the rest of the class. Theon didn’t have to hold saidin to know that his friend’s heart was racing, but he did wish he could slow it down.
“Is there any reason why you’re fidgeting, child?” Asked the witch.
“Please forgive me, Aes Sedai.” Said Jaryion, the epitome of polite civility. “I am very nervous.”
“Oftentimes, I find this to be an indication of guilt.” She replied. “Were you paying attention, child?”
“Yes, Aes Sedai.” He said quickly. “Very much so.”
“In the kingdom of Shienar, there stands a city very close to the edge of the Blight.” She intoned. “The city is currently known as Fal Dara. What was the name of its predecessor, built by the Ogier?”
“Fa-Fal Mor-” He stuttered. “Fal Moran?”
“Is that a question, child?” She asked. “Or were you speaking in High Chant?”
Nobody laughed. After a fashion, Theon wondered if they were supposed to.
“No, Aes Sedai.” He said bashfully. “I stammered.”
“Yes, I think we’re all aware of that.” She said. “Repeat your response.”
Theon carefully reached his hand toward his collar, subtly scratching at his throat, twisting his head almost imperceptibly and flinching. No, his gesture implied. That’s the wrong answer.
“I… eh.”
“We haven’t got all day.” She said tersely. “I am not above holding you all here until the tests are done.
"What would Candance Sedai have to say," She asked the rest of the class "About your impending tardiness?”
Seeing no other alternative, the Ebou Dari closed his eyes and became perfectly still. When he opened them, it looked to Theon as if he had assumed the void. Theon nodded satisfactorily.
”Mafal Dadaranell,” Said Jaryion. “Aes Sedai.”
Ryelle stood from her chair and began to round on the boy like a wild boneshark. Whatever he’d done to calm himself, she seemed to have caught on and she didn’t appear to like it one bit.
“What remains of Mafal Dadaranell, child?”
As the woman turned toward Jaryion’s flank, Theon canted his head toward her ever so slightly and traced his fingers along the line of his sleeve. That was where the witch had the most prominent floral embroidery.
“A rose, Aes Sedai.” He replied. “Once, it was an Ogier grove.”
“Better.” Said Ryelle. “Since you appear so calm, novice, perhaps you might recount one of the many exotic laws of Mafal Dadaranell and explain the reasoning behind its implementation?”
Theon reached up and pressed the heel of his palm carefully against both of his eyes, as if to rub the sleep out of them. Ryelle caught the gesture and regarded him coldly. He responded by lowering his head in submission immediately.
“Something the matter, boy?” She asked.
“My apologies, Aes Sedai.” Said Theon, leaning against his cane. “I was weary from the flight of stairs.”
“Perhaps you would like to lay on the rug?” She asked.
“No, Aes Sedai.” Said Theon. “It will not happen again.”
“Are you certain?” She asked, almost playfully. “As I understand, the rug has a very high thread count.”
Some of the students snickered, but they all fell silent as her eyes passed over them. Many girls cupped a hand over their mouth to prevent themselves from laughing. Theon flushed, but took heart. She saw his gesture as an indicator of fatigue – and that would not be tolerated. Would that she had spotted its true purpose, what would she have done?
“No, Aes Sedai.” He said coolly. “I would very much prefer to remain where I am.”
“Very well.” She replied. “Novice Jaryion, due to novice Theon’s interruption, I will ask you to make your recantation between twenty-five and fifty words. I will be counting.”
This time, Jaryion didn’t miss a beat.
“In Fal Dara, it is illegal to wear a hood of any kind.” Jaryion intoned, his voice free of emotion. “This is because the constant threat of Myrdraal, who wear hoods over their faces because they have no eyes. Also, for this reason, the streets are always very well lit.”
“Very good, novice Jaryion!” Proclaimed Ryelle Sedai. “The rest of you would do well to take heed from novice Jaryion’s exemplary recovery.”
The words did not go over so well with the other novices. Theon could feel the tension in the air and see the derision on their faces from the corner of his eyes; the Aes Sedai had made her declaration truthfully, but it would earn Jaryion no friends. Perhaps she did it because she was fascinated by the way the novices would react. As far as Theon was concerned, she was a cold-hearted hag who was resentful because of her lost beauty.
Many other novices were called, and many more found themselves in the proverbial hot seat. Theon was picky about who he helped. One golden haired Andor girl looked to him desperately with pleading eyes, until she finally burst into tears and confessed that she simply did not know the answer. Instead of being dismissed, she was forced to explain, in detail, why she was crying when all she had been asked was “a series of simple questions.”
Theon knew the answers, of course. He simply didn’t care for the Andor girl.
Nevertheless, whether or not he chose to aid a girl had nothing to do with whether or not he cared for her. It also had nothing to do with whether or not she was pretty, ugly, skinny or fat. Once, he’d even helped a woman from Illian. No matter how helpful he was, none of the girls ever acknowledged him. None of them had ever sat with him at mealtime. Certainly none of them ever reciprocated his kindness. But he didn’t care about that – he never had.
Obviously, Theon held them to another criteria entirely.
When his turn was called, he stood before the class and carefully studied the students, as if committing their faces to memory. He also smiled, which was, perhaps, a foolish gesture.
“Novice Theon.” Snapped the old witch. “Why are you smiling?”
“I like to smile, Aes Sedai.” Said Theon. “I find that smiles are often contagious.”
She studied him curiously, and circled him fiercely.
“Who is the lawful King of Saldaea?”
“With all due respect, Aes Sedai.” Said Theon. “There is no such a man.”
She smirked.
“What is the name of the full name and title of the Queen of Saldaea?” She asked. “Answer carefully, novice Theon.”
“Her Illumined Majesty,” Theon said carefully. “Tenobia si Bashere Kazadi, Shield of the North and Sword of the Blightborder, High Seat of House Kazadi. Lady of Shahayni, Asnelle, Kunwar and Ganai.”
“Is that all?”
“I believe so, Aes Sedai.”
“You are certain you have left nothing out?”
“Quite certain, Ryelle Sedai.”
“See what happens when we take notes?” She asked the classroom.
Theon could see their faces clearly now. Many of them held contempt or derision of some nature. A handful of them were thoughtful. He swept a glance over them before lowering his head in humility.
“You’re dismissed.” She declared.
Toward the end of the lecture, novice Medaea sur Yvaine was called to the front. He couldn’t say whether or not she met his standard, so he decided to err on the side of charity, should she find herself perched in a predicament. She was asked to give an explanation regarding the various ranks of servants and their structural responsibilities within the houses, but she was one of thew few who needed no help. He studied her carefully as she recanted the structure, her voice both meek and succinct. She didn’t hesitate, she didn’t stammer or stumble – but she certainly didn’t smile. Much like him, she did not appear to be the least bit intimidated.
It wasn’t that leatherface wasn’t an intimidating woman. Theon got shivers up his spine just thinking about her, but he’d discovered throughout his short tenure in novice whites that the only witches who could ever really get his goose were those who he considered to be pretty as well as powerful.
“The classroom is adjourned.” Barked Ryelle Sedai. “Novice Mailyn Haeron. I wish to speak to you privately.”
The golden haired woman had long since stopped her sniveling, but if Ryelle had anything to say to her, it would wait until the others had departed.
“Thank you for the notes.” Whispered Jaryion. “I’ll sound them out tonight as best I can.”
“Just keep practicing your penmanship.” Replied Theon, waiting for the women in white to pass them by before he continued on. “How are your read—“
Jaryion nudged his shoulder, and suddenly Theon looked up.
“Hello,” Said the voice of an unfamiliar woman, sun darkened as any Tairen but with an almost exotic countenance. “I’m Medaea.”
Theon looked toward Jaryion and then back to the Mayener with a quizzical expression on his face. Am I really seeing this? It seemed to say.
“I haven’t seen you about the Tower but I’ve only been here a week.” She continued. “How long have you two been here?”
“Sincerest apologies, novice Medaea.” Said the coppery skinned Altaran, his black eyes appraising her from behind a few locks of his handsomely disshelved, equally stark hair. “My friend here is not accustomed to the attentions of women, the Light bless his virgin heart. My name is Jaryion, and I’ve been here for five weeks. Might I say that—”
“Might I say that this louse is supposed to be my guide.” Said Theon. “No matter that he still doesn’t know his way around the Tower grounds. I’m Theon Mavidante.”
The Altaran playfully punched his arm.
She smiled fondly, but there something about the way her lips pinched at the end. Scorn, perhaps? Curiosity? Theon couldn’t quite say.
“You’re a Tairen, aren’t you?” She asked.
“Tairen, yes.” Said Theon, grunting at the punch. “Tairen Lord, no. Frankly, I don’t think our political views on Tear are quite so different.”
“Is that so?” Asked Medaea. “What foreign insight allows you to make such a presumption, I wonder?”
“Well, my ancestors didn’t try to oppress yours.” Theon quipped. “So I figure that puts us on some degree of common ground.”
“If the two of you would be kind enough to excuse me.” Said Jaryion. “I fear I have chores to complete. Sincerely, Medaea, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope my boyish friend doesn’t scare you off.”
“What,” Theon quipped. “You plan on giving her one of those wedding knives?”
“I’m nothing like him!” Jaryion called, a sour grin on his face as he left. Then, without regard for decorum, he turned to the rest of the girls as they all fell out into the anteroom, single file. “Light’s blessing on all here.”
Medaea laughed easily, for all the world as if she were talking to two normal boys. The rest of the girls regarded them coolly. None replied to Jaryion’s benison.
“ . . . obviously boy-crazy.” One of them remarked.
“Penchant for dangerous men, Medaea?” One of them quipped.
“Is your friend always so formal?” She asked, unsurprised. As if the two other novices hadn’t spoken to her at all. As if . . . they were so far beneath her that they didn’t merit her notice.
“Do Silverpike spawn in the winter?” Theon replied.
For a hairsplitting moment, he felt as if he were being studied.
“You’re a fisherman, then?” She asked.
“Only in the sense that every Tairen is a fisherman.” He replied, extending his arm as if to escort her. “Walk with me, Medaea?”
“And why would I do that?” She replied. “I haven’t the slightest clue where you’re going.”
“Well, why don’t we start by heading downstairs?”
“As you wish.” She said, shrugging. “But you, master Theon, will walk with me.”
“Shall bow and fetch your parasol as well, my Lady?”
“Not at the moment.” She replied casually.
There was a peculiar air of superiority about this woman that screamed nobility, but in a classy sort of way. The boyish Tairen couldn’t be sure whether his admission of poverty – or lower social standing, at the very least – would be a setback or an advantage. In any case, they both needed to head downstairs no matter what sort of semantics she played. He followed her carefully, one hand lightly skinning the railing as he used his cane for balance.
“So, what possessed you to speak to the two of us?” Asked Theon.
“Why did you help some women and refuse others?” She replied.
He paused after about four flights, lingering in the stairwell and making a careful gesture that beseeched her to pause in turn. She did so, but her eyes immediately drifted toward the leg he so clearly favored. If she had questions about that, she didn’t voice them.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Medaea,” Theon said with a shrug. “But wilders are about three rungs above men, and most men are about six rungs below sea level.”
“None of those women gave you any gratitude.” She replied. “Certainly none of them feel indebted to you.”
“Can you be so sure?”
“It’s the obvious truth.” She replied.
“It was a moral issue.” He said, leaning against the corner. He stretched out his dead leg as if tending to an old injury, once again thankful that it was disguised by a bleached leather boot.
As she waited for him to explain himself, he felt her scrutinizing gaze level against him, but he dismissed it easily enough. It was all too easy to be paranoid in these parts, and the sensation was brief at best.
“The three women that failed Ryelle Sedai’s test were all brought into the Tower through naturalmeans.” He used the word natural with a curious degree of contempt. “If they believed that you were a wilder, they’d turn on you, quick as a school of Silverpike on a sinking kitten.”
“They’d regret it.” She stated indifferently. To Theon, it didn’t seem to him like a vengeful statement at all. She might as well have been reminding him that the sky was blue.
“Perhaps they’d find a leopardess instead.” Said Theon. “Still, you would be scorned. This way of thinking is divisive – I wish to topple it.”
“How?” She asked.
“This is certainly a good start.” He replied.
She looked to him as if she were appraising the statement. For a moment, he felt like she was debating whether or not he was an intelligent man or a fool.
“I’m headed to the library.” She said. “I’m stuck cataloguing books for Devora Sedai. Where will you be?”
For a moment, it looked as if Theon was staring off into space. In fact, he was recalling their conversation, running it back through his mind. This novice was more cunning than he’d initially suspected. Moreso than any Tairen Lord he’d ever met. Looking back on it, he realized that she’d hardly answered any of his questions at all. He, however, had found himself so eager to be in a woman’s company that he was practically ready to recant his life story.
“With you, I’m afraid.” Said Theon, as if snapping out of the brief spell. “Fortunately, I’m very good with books.”
“I see.” She said, canting her head at him like a fisher-bird with its eye on an unsuspecting mudfish. “Well, I am rather new to the Tower. Perhaps you can help me?”
The implication was almost clear as spring water: perhaps you can do it for me?
Theon pursed his lips, as if considering the statement for what it was truly worth.
“Perhaps we can help each other?” He replied.
His words, however, did not seem to imply anything about books.
