No Fun

Novice Bennon Ikareos, Written by Nicholas
Posted on Mon, Sep 6, 2010 01:05 am

"I heard the Amyrlin Seat is taking a Warder."  Bennon didn't bother looking up from his weeds.  Leina was a horrible gossip, all the novices knew.  If there was a rumor floating around the well, there was little doubt who dropped it there.  Still, when one of those rumors did happen to float all the way to the surface as legitimate fact, that too was due to Leina's extensive network of 'ears'n'eyes', as she called them; a handful of fellow tongue-waggers such as herself.  Bennon would not believe a word she said without seeing it true with his own eyes; and, even if he did, he wasn't a tongue-wagger himself, so the rumor would go no further than this set of ears and eyes. "They say he might be one of the Asha'man."  She sounded excited, maybe she thought this one had more staying power than the rest.  

Swiping at a sweaty brow with the back of his arm, Bennon sat back on his heels to stuff down the pile of weeds he'd collected in his potato sack.  He glanced over at Leina down the line and was not surprised to see her sack was half as full as his, if that.  At the moment, she was examining one of the lionsteeth she'd plucked, gloved hands clumsily extracting one feathered seed from the puffball, and subsequently bursting the whole thing in the process.  Little white parasols danced away from her through the air in all directions, and she smiled at their choreographed chaos.  

We'll be plucking those too in a few months as well, Bennon thought, dismally, retuning to his own work.  Actually, with the chill in the air, he knew those seeds wouldn't take before the first frost killed them.  Removing them now was merely an aesthetic choice by the Aes Sedai, in this case by one of the Yellows, who apparently had a soft spot for the purity of the gardens. 

"… said that Ely said that she heard one of the Asha'man talking about it," Leina continued, obviously to herself, since Bennon hadn't responded to more than her first question asking his name after they'd been assigned this task together.  Light but he detested idle prattle.  He wondered if he would be punished severely for gagging Leina with a sackful of lionsteeth.

As he plucked, Bennon took in the other occupants of this corner of the grounds.  He and Leina hadn't moved far, but he noticed now there were trainees where there were only novices in the last section.  He could tell they were trainees only by their general uniform and the look of apprehensive relaxation in their eyes – as though they knew a Warder might pop out of the ground at any moment to put them back to work.  Bennon wondered what it must be like to live in their boots, training and practicing and toiling all day.  He wondered if they had to take any history lessons or literary lessons or political lessons or, most asinine of all, mathematical lessons.  Light, Bennon hadn't even seized saidin yet, and yet he was already on his second book in one prolific Brown's class.  He doubted the trainees had to suffer through such classes, or weed their precious grounds.  

Two trainees were sitting against a low wall nearby, talking about one of their instructors.  Bennon slowly crawled a little closer to listen.  Closer still, a familiar face – Corva? Corvinne? – was approaching a third trainee.  She seemed to be performing a chore of her own, with that sling of books wrapped round her chest.  Maybe she was tasked with getting the trainees to read in their spare time.  By the look on that trainee's face, she had a real challenge ahead of her if that was the case. 

"… think Asha'man Ferle would make a fine choice, don't you?" Lein asked and, when Bennon didn't answer, turned to look at him.  He was too busy not watching the trainees and Corvin to notice.  "Babe, are you listening?"  Bennon did look over at that, and she smiled – some of the girls had taken to calling him Babe, due to his shortly-shaved, almost bald head.  "Don't you think Asha'man Ferle would make a fine Warder for The Amyrlin Seat?"  She hadn't moved from her previous position, he noticed, and now she was wearing a half-broken lionstooth behind one ear, several of its loosed parasols decorating her almost black brown hair down to her white dress, where he lost sight of any others. 

"I do no know Asha'man Ferle," Bennon said, honestly enough.  He knew of the Asha'man, had seen him once and had him pointed out by Hahn, but that hardly made him qualified to judge the man.  

"Oh, you're no fun," Fain waved him off, then, only now noticing Corvin, waved to her instead, " Hi, Corvin!" she called, by way of greeting and nothing more.  She finally went back to her weeding, and so did Bennon, eager to be done and free of Lein's tongue as soon as possible.  

—–

((OOC: Hi, hope you don't mind, but I figured I'd help populate your thread.  No need to include my guy, obviously, he's just pullin' weeds.))

In reply to Chores[show]/[hide]

Corvin bent to pick up another book, a copy of The Travels of Jain Farstrider from under a bench off the main garden path.  She slipped it into her satchel, just an improvised piece of linen slung over her shoulder and across her chest, resting heavily at her hip, full of books at this point.  One of the tasks the Browns tasked her with was to gather books left in the garden and other parts of the tower accessible to novices. She liked working with the sisters of the Brown Ajah, and loved her time in the Tower libraries.  If there was anywhere in the world that she could find out something about the song, then surely it was in one of those books, ranging back to dates impossibly far in the past.  There were a surprising number on music, and songs.  If she could just have her harp and flute back she could learn those songs.  Corvin was sure she would recognize the song if she heard it. It was startling how little care people took of the Tower’s treasure trove of books.  In her whole life they had only had a few books to share among the caravan. They traded them now and again for different titles when they met a peddler.  To leave a book lying around in the grass where it could get rained on or torn was just shameful. The Brown sisters seemed to appreciate that she didn’t shirk from work that was hard or physical.  She climbed stacks and carried loads of books around the Tower grounds. They even let her re-shelve some of them now and again.  On a lucky day she might even help a Sister organize notes or specimens. They just saw her tasks as simple chores, menial tasks befitting a novice, but to Corvin each instruction was a meaningful contribution to her training and a worthy use of her time. Her regular round of the gardens was the most peaceful part of her week.  Sometimes she even walked barefoot, feeling the slick tickling fingers of grass on the bottom of her feet. For now her slippers were snugly on her feet, since there seemed to be an abundance of novices, trainees and accepted populating the gardens today. She came to a small nook, hidden from the normal path, but popular among novice and trainees who wished to hide from authority, or those who wished to read in relative silence.  In the past month she had rescued 15 tomes from this part of the gardens.  Shameful. She liked doing real work; it reminded her of home.  Since they were kids Corvin had challenged Alrick that she could do the same chores as he, carry as much firewood or mend a cartwheel the same.  And as they grew the challenges remained, but their relationship changed.  Alrick always seemed to carry more of the firewood, not because she couldn’t of course, but just because.  They were the best of friends and never more, but confronted daily with girls her age who seemed concerned with nothing more than what the trainees thought of them, Corvin began to wonder if she could have swooned over Alrick the way they did over the young warders-to-be. Still, that life, her vibrant, simple life in the caravans was as impossibly far in the past as many of the stories and accounts she read in the Tower library. In the concealed garden there were a few novices and trainees, none occupied with reading, but almost immediately she spied a book lying open on a small ledge, almost hidden by a lonely trainee.  He was somewhat disheveled, with brown eyes set deeply into his gaunt face.  If his body wasn’t so muscular and clearly healthy, Corvin would have assumed he was ill. “Excuse me,” she began, adjusting the heavy satchel at her hip.  “May I?” Corvin gestured to the book sitting on the ledge just above his shoulder.

Login to post!


Replies to No Fun

  • Pass the Tome — Drystan Ihvaein, Mon, Sep 6, 2010 06:56 am