Battle Stations

Tahmelah Keiake, Written by Misty
Posted on Thu, Aug 19, 2010 10:41 am

The Novice Halls, Tahmelah supposed, could not be more like an overturned anthill even if there was a fire.  Which, to her irritation, there wasn't: all this fuss was over dancing.  Letting her sour mood shine from her sweaty face, seated firmly over her besmirched white gown, she stalked back into her bedroom, which was, to her vast relief, all her own.  Not that enough space to barely turn about in, crowded with a bed, chair, table, shelf, and pegs constituted a proper bedroom: there wasn't even a window.  Of course, Tahmelah reflected, staring at her confining cage of whitewashed walls, there wasn't room for a window.  If it were over the bed, the only clear patch of wall, she'd crack her head climbing in and out of the narrow cot she slept in.

If you could call a few hours to herself, listening to the Tower creak in the winds off Northharbor, stiff in the darkness, being asleep.  Certainly it couldn't compare to her own bedroom, familiar and faintly lit.  She'd been away from home for several months now, but daily, she found she missed the small comforts of belonging where she was.  The White Tower made it clear that it was no one's familiar home, from the cold grandeur of the entry halls to the sparse comfort of the cubicles designated for its inmates.  Was it fair to compare the Tower to a prison?  If she was not permitted to leave, coerced to give years of her life for something she neither understood nor wanted, threatened, and minded every last flaming moment of her waking hours, she failed to see a difference between the two.  And if this was a prison, then what was her crime?

She'd tried to ask the first Aes Sedai that, when it came clear to her that becoming a Novice was not some prize position, but the woman had had "no time" to speak to the child she'd abducted and dragged out of the Borderlands.  Likewise, the so-called Mistress of Novices had had no time in her docket, either: Tahmelah was thrust into the glacial river of competition, rivalry, white-clad life, and abandoned to sink or swim on her own.  It was reflex that had guided her first few days, but once the numbness had worn off, a seething, thwarted fury had taken its place.  She'd made a few friends by relying on the bland politeness that was the shield of an innkeeper's child, but she couldn't keep that up.  Her life was designed to hold strangers just a few days, then have them disappear on business of their own, never to reappear.

Here, no one left, except the Aes Sedai, and they had no time for their own students.  Tahmelah had found herself foisted off on a network of girls clad in rainbow-striped white – a network infamous for judging you on its own first impressions.  And, sadly to say, Tahmelah's first impression for anyone had not gone well.  Having ducked the Accepted minding the gaggle of nobly born girls who had arrived for schooling, she had lit out across the Gardens, and she had been located sitting in the queue to see the Master of Arms.  A Gaidin's life she could understand, she had told the Mistress of Novices, after referencing all Aes Sedai as "prissy and meddling."  It hadn't, she had been told later, been the record for "fastest punishment possible," but it also hadn't been far off it.

Sorting through the few personal possessions she had been allowed to keep -  a brush, some pins for her hair, a comb, a small vanity mirror, a sewing box, all things small enough to fit in a corner of the table that doubled as a desk – she lifted the brush in laconic hands.  Her hair was a defiant smudge of intense orange, frizzy and thick, defying her best effort to tame it unless she began while it was wet.  (That annoyed her, because it would still be wet hours later.)  Many of the girls in the halls were doing just that, and the bathing chamber had been stuffed solidly with Novice bodies for hours.  Some of the girls had shirked afternoon chores to create hairstyles for one another, but she hadn't been invited to that group, and she wouldn't have stayed still for the fussing and combing, anyway.  Her toilette consisted of a clean dress (her other had had Kitchen duties, and it showed) and freeing her mass of orange curls from their temporary prison. 

As she glanced down into the hand mirror, noting her snubbed nose, lividly spotted pale skin, and slanted eyes, she was tempted to smack the silvered glass into the desk below.  Mirrors, however, were valuable, and she had no way of replacing it.  Sliding it back into its small dark fabric bag, she stuffed it under the brush, and shook her head.  Who was this vanity wasted on, anyway?  The trainees?  She had no desire to attract anyone, hated to dance…unless she had a sword in her hand, her feet tended to trip over each other, anyway!  Why go at all? she thought rebelliously, but her stomach answered her.  There was supper served in the small dining hall for Novices barred from the festivities, but everyone else was expected to take their meal there.

And the Kitchens had smelled so good all day.

No one commented on her arrival as Tahmelah inserted herself into the gaggle of excited girls poised at the top of the steps, waiting for an Accepted or Aes Sedai's inspection before they were permitted to join the party below.  The girl in front of Tahmelah, reeking of roses and wearing an inch of paint if she had a lick, was sent back.  A girl who had industriously…edited…her Novice gown was also sent back.  And to her shock, Tahmelah was sent back!  Her mood surly and dark, she scowled at the Accepted's advice.  "For the Light's sake child, a clean gown.  And wash your face!"

By the time she rejoined the party, forced to wait with a scrubbed-pink Domani, a Sea Folk girl (or so Tahmelah supposed from the tattoo on her hand, having never wandered so far away as Maradon's dock district.  She had lived in the streets surrounding the Palace.)  who had changed her white blouse and pants for a dress and a stern discussion on what Novices were permitted to wear, complete with the threat of Candance Sedai at the end, and some girls whose nationality she couldn't guess (nor could she guess their crimes) the other Novices had been absorbed into the crowd.  Feeling conspicuous, criminal, she perched at the edge of the grand stairway, her eyes scanning the crowd, not for familiar faces, but for…what?  A path to the tables heaped and groaning with food?  Perhaps.

The crowd before her opened, disgorging a tall, dark-haired man with cool green eyes, limpid as a stagnant pond.  The way his eyes flashed over them, sweeping down the group of girls, she assumed he was looking for someone.  It certainly wasn't her.  Her ongoing battle with the Novice rule book didn't include breaking the edict against men.  Coming from a country that had so recently celebrated the purge of Mazrim Taim and his army, Tahmelah felt a vague sense of horror every time her gaze landed on a man in Novice white.  The Soldiers, sworn to the Dragon, she could manage, but this man – no.  Dead or sworn to the Dragon, that was her motto, and this lad was neither.

And Light, was he smiling at her?

But it was the best offer she'd heard all night.  Crossing her arms over her breasts so he couldn't take one, she eyed him with the same interest she'd summon for a rat drowned in the butter churn.  Deciding he wasn't as serious as she would have liked, she thought about saying no – even as her mouth blurted out, "Light please."

Color crept up her cheeks, contrasting madly with the shrieking scarlet of her hair, and she stumbled forward, knowing the small hands at her back were from a jealous Novice she'd have to sort out later.  Escape wasn't possible, she knew that – but it was all she wanted.  And the night was still quite young.  Taking the hand he prooffered, she left the glaring gaggle of girls without even a backwards glance.  Putting herself in the hands of a madman?  No problem at all, she schooled herself.  The world had turned out to be full of them, and the women, in Tahmelah's biased judgment, were just a trifle more sane.

"So tell me what you really want," she asked, without preamble, as he tried assiduously to guide her into the fringe of twirling dancers. 

In reply to Battle Tactics - Tahmelah!![show]/[hide]

Staring at himself in the mirror, Ramaes wasn’t sure if he wanted to even bother attending the Sunday Festival. Yes, it was a chance to relax, and a possible chance to meet other novices. It was a rare evening of freedom in the midst of so many days of work and study. But, even as the sounds of music and laughter drifted through his tiny window, Ramaes still found himself unable to decide. There would be people from every section of the White Tower, and the delegation that the Black Tower had sent would likely be there as well. He doubted, however, that this Sunday would be like any other he had attended in his youth, in Tear. Frowning, running his fingers uselessly through the mop of black, curly hair that crowned his head, Ramaes realized that he had already decided to go. “What, are you afraid of a few girls, Ramaes?” That was the novice who he shared a room with – the White Tower had decided that all the male novices would be bunked in pairs, if possible. Ramaes was sure the reasoning behind it had something to do with feeling more like he was a part of the White Tower, rather than a recent change in policies that had stood for thousands of years. He turned away from the bubbled, chipped plate of highly-polished metal that served as a mirror. One day, he would own a mirror like those he had seen in other parts of the White Tower – a real mirror, that gave a true reflection. He had seen his own reflection clearly only a handful of times in his life, so he had a vague idea of what he looked like, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything a girl would be interested in. “No.” He said, a little more curtly than he had intended to, and the other boy grinned. “Ha! You know, ignoring them will just make them believe you’re really interested, Ramaes. You know how girls can be.” Ramaes grimaced, turning away from his bunkmate again. The novice – his name was Borinas – was almost always going on about the wide variety of information he had regarding girls. Ramaes was willing to believe about half of what the novice said, and only half of that without doubt. Still, he did sort of know how girls could be, and Borinas was right in one sense – ignoring girls never, ever made them leave you alone. In fact, it tended to do the opposite. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.” He grunted, straightening his collar one last time. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t, and I really don’t want to listen to you blather on about everything I missed for the next two weeks.” He knew he sounded sour and irritated, but he couldn’t help it. He had still not managed to fully trust the denizens of the White Tower, male or female. Old habits died hard. “Don’t worry!” Borinas said, altogether too cheerful. “I’ll still tell you everything you missed, since you’re probably going to sulk in a corner for the next few hours anyway.” Ramaes snorted, glaring at his own reflection. “If you actually dance with someone, I’ll wash your ‘whites for a week.” Borinas said, a sly little smile touching his lips. “And if you don’t, you get to wash mine.” Ramaes glanced at him, baring his teeth in something resembling a grin. “Deal.”
Half-an-hour later, Ramaes was beginning to suspect that he would be the one washing novice whites. The Hall was enormous, and as filled with people as it was decoration. Everywhere Ramaes looked he could pick out other novices – they were the only people in pure white, after all. There were more girls than he remembered noticing during classes and at meal times, but that didn’t really surprise him. There were new novices coming to the White Tower almost daily, and he couldn’t be expected to keep up with them all. The first (and only) one he really recognized was Corvin, the novice he had first met crawling around in the gardens. That was not a memory he would soon forget, and he guessed that Corvin’s was not a face he would forget, either. However, Corvin was the only novice besides Borinas (who was already dancing) that he truly recognized. A few faces seemed familiar to him – he had probably had chores or classes with a goodly number of the novices here – but there were more strangers than anything else. Sighing, Ramaes pried himself out of the corner that he had magically wedged himself into almost immediately, cursing Borinas under his breath. He waded into the crowd, heedless of the fact that he was sort of elbowing his way through rather than being ‘polite’. He passed by a number of Aes Sedai as he did so, and though he was sure he would hear about his abruptness later, they ignored him for the time being, focused as they were on networking with the Black Tower’s delegation. He really had no direction in mind – he was fairly sure that he would pop out on the far side of the crowd eventually, and the novice hadn’t quite figured out what he would do after that. Certainly, he would wait a minute or two before barging his way back through the throng. Yes, that much was certain. He was big enough that people started to get out of his way a half-step before he trampled them, which was a mixed blessing. It meant that Ramaes the novice had a small bubble of space around him at all times. It also meant that he was closing in on the far side of the hall a lot quicker than he would have liked. Scowling, he glared at nothing in particular, and remained completely oblivious to the stares that were following him across the room – many belonging to those girls he was so mystified by. He had come to a stop, maybe a dozen feet from the edge of the milling crowd. A small wall of novices (most of them female) stood between him and the relative safety of the tables that were crowded up against one wall, laden with so much food that they were nearly groaning. At some point, he had decided that he could avoid talking to anyone if he simply spent the entire time with some sort of food or drink in his mouth. It didn’t even cross his mind that he probably couldn’t eat that much food – or at least, it hadn’t yet. But there was this human wall of female novices that he had to deal with, first. He studied them the way a man might study a battlefield, trying to decide which one was the most likely to let him pass. Sadly, there weren't friendly forces in that battlefield –any male novice would have let him through immediately, knowing his tribulation. On the other hand, the only male novice Ramaes knew that didn’t also avoid female novices like the plague was Borinas, and he had long ago vanished from sight. “Bloody buttered onions.” He murmured, and wondered if he could scowl his way through the line. Probably not. Women seemed notoriously immune to scowls, at least when they came from men. Saldaean, Tinker, Tairen, Domani, and one of the Seafolk. Five girls, all eyeing him as if he were their next meal --- or at least that was how he perceived it. The Tairen might let him through just because they shared a homeland, but he doubted it. She was definitely looking at him as if he were something shiny that had just landed in her lap out of the clear blue sky. He might be able to bargain with the Tinker or the Atha'an Miere, but he doubted he would get the better end of the deal. That left the Domani and the Saldaean. The Domani would be his best bet, but Ramaes was fairly sure that he stood absolutely no chance in a game of wits against the girl, even if she was a few years younger than he was. Which left the Saldaean. Well, at least I know what to do with a fiery temperament.He thought, and grinned. Four sets of eyes lit up at that grin – which of course the novice was completely oblivious to. The other eyes – emerald-hard and emerald-green, narrowed to slits and regarded him with suspicion. Drawing a deep breath, and dredging up all the bits of charm he had been told he was in possession of, Ramaes approached the Saldaean, neatly placing his back to the other four girls, who had started to move almost as soon as he had. He bowed, still grinning like a fool, and offered the suspicious-eyed girl one hand. “Want to run away with me?” If you listened hard enough, you could just hear the shine coming off his teeth.

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Replies to Battle Stations

  • Battle Planning — Ramaes Gavron, Thu, Aug 19, 2010 23:32 pm