War Cry
Tahmelah Keiake, Written by Misty
Posted on Tue, Aug 24, 2010 01:13 am
He didn't back down from her challenge. Wondering what under the Light she would do with an empty belly and a full bottle of wine, Tahmelah cast her gaze upward, a theatrical, beseeching glance she'd never admit she'd picked up from her oft-beset mother. Well, what were the chances he'd get it up all this way? Rising to her knees, she glanced down, forgetting to be disgusted at the fact that saidin was this close, that a man who could – and was – channeling was within arm's reach of her. She felt nothing, and that disappointed her. She didn't see anything, either, and as she ran the gamut of her senses, some empirical knowledge prompted her to be horrified. Shouldn't she be shrieking in terror as the round, silver tray settled to the marble tiles as though it were some kind of demented, flat, giant butterfly? She felt curiosity, mostly, a deep and capricious motivator, and swallowed back a half a dozen questions.
What was wrong with her, anyway? A sensible woman would run back the way they'd come, but Tahmelah was frozen, paralyzed somewhere between sitting and kneeling. His hand decided her, snaking out and selecting the largest chunk of cheese: perturbed by his lack of manners, she lifted her chin from staring at the tray and caught sight of his eyes. They mocked her, viridian light dancing inside each. Her spine stiffened as he let out a mangled lowing sound, one she automatically translated. Being an innkeeper's daughter meant you had half your conversations with people in the strangest situations: a mouthful of food was nothing when you'd had men dancing foot to foot with only a swath of towel between themselves and complete immodesty. Hearing the challenge issued in his "Whaaat?," she struck, daring him to call her a coward again. Anyway, it wasn't as if the One Power could make the food go bad, was it?
Her hand paused above a succulent selection of summer ham, defying the voice in her brain that urged her to go ahead already and prove to him that she wasn't afraid. Across from her, he chewed, causing her to wrinkle her nose at his sheer noisiness. She kept a covert eye on him, waiting to see if he reacted to the food at all: he seemed to be fine. Her stomach growled demandingly and she shook her head, breaking her glare. Light's peace, but how did she tell the man she'd been wondering if the poison in him would infect her if she ate what he'd touched? Snatching at a big, round slice of the pink meat spread temptingly before her, she tried to avoid his gaze. After a moment of awkward silence, he waved a bottle of wine at her, and being a fool, she accepted it. The corks had been drawn, allowing for easy pouring of a favored selection, and so Tahmelah had no trouble pulling free the bit of spongy wood.
He had the upper hand, she realized, as warmth bloomed in her belly, rapidly traversing her bloodstream to fuzz her mind and loosen her tongue. She couldn't tell him the truth, of course: the last thing you wanted to tell an Aes Sedai, even one who was merely playing at the role and hadn't a sparrow's chance in Shayol Ghul of attaining it, was what you were afraid of. They had bargaining chips enough on the table without being handed the key to your own compliance. Coercing a bland smile to her lips as her fingers twisted aimlessly in the air, she shoved the piece of meat in her fingers into her mouth. What to lie? Somehow, she had to get this situation back in hand. Her hand. And she was certain the food couldn't kill her: if she could eat an earthworm on a dare, pink and raw and squirming, she could certainly manage her supper.
She upended her green glass bottle again, straining to buy time. He watched her steadily, still as a mountain, his eyes calculating. Had he guessed? Could he know she was afraid of him?
Initiation, her mind prompted her, and she seized the thought with both hands, unlike the wine bottle, which slid precipitously from her fingers before he stopped its fall. Her smile widened, lost its grimly macabre quality, became more natural. "Well, that was quite a show," she said, her voice breathier than she would have liked. "Light, and no one has come pounding down the door yet, either. I'm convinced," she said, winningly. "They were right about you." Holding up her bottle in more cautious fingers, she touched it to his in a celebratory gesture. Her mind was a bit swimmy, but she discarded that warning feeling of warm inebriation. "It's your turn," she murmured, seizing another piece of cheese in case their executioner really was on her way. "You did my dare, after all." He stared at her blankly for a moment, and she shook her head. Light, if the boy was this dim all the time, he wouldn't make it in the Tower until first frost, much less all the way to the shawl.
So she took his dare into her own clutches. This warm, this secluded, saidar was eager for her, and she did not have to think to fall into its secure embrace. Pleasure crossed her face, limning it in bliss: mouth half-open, eyes closed. They opened slowly, and the smile she gave him was a different breed from her usual brash grin: distracted and dreamy. Curving her palm, she frowned, a long crease forming in her forehead, pointing out a place a wrinkle would never take hold in an Aes Sedai's ageless face. It was tricky to do what she had done so unconsciously before, but was that because she wanted to understand it, a girl with her first, large, blunt needle wanting to stitch the finest tapestry, or because he resisted her?
"Tell me what you want," she said, finally, still uncertain about whether her little trick had worked.
In reply to Spoils of War[show]/[hide]
He would probably get caught, despite the fact that only a handful of the people below could channel saidin -- and therefore would be able to see his weaves as he formed them. His mind touched on the idea of a visit to the Mistress of Novice’s chambers, and shied away. There would be time aplenty to worry about his punishment if he were caught – right now he had a girl to impress. Or, if he did not impress her, to avoid earning her scorn. This Tahmelah seemed the kind of person that was always looking for a challenge, and was forever expecting anyone she decided to befriend to also accept challenges, rather than shying away from them because of rules.
Ramaes thought about all the things he had done as a young man on the docks of Tear, of all the rules he had bent and broken without thinking twice about it. Valerie had been his catalyst then, forever urging him to try new things, to leap without looking, to banish fear of reprisal and simply do it. He had heartily earned the few lickings his father had seen fit to give him, and he had never regretted the things he had done to earn them, not in all the time that he had spent in Tear.
Tear. It seemed a lifetime ago, now. The memory of his first experience channeling saidin would never leave him – he would never abandon the guilt that haunted his memories – but it was fading, slowly. The White Tower was an entirely new life for him, a life away from his old family and friends, a life that fairly well excluded them completely.
It did not keep him from being homesick, though.
On the other hand, this Saldaean girl had unwittingly brought Ramaes back to a place he had almost forgotten since he had come to the White Tower: she had retrieved his lost sense of adventure for him. So, perhaps he would get caught, but it didn’t matter at the moment. Whatever punishment resulted from channeling without supervision – well, he would deal with it when it came. For now, the most important thing was one of the simplest ideas of all: to have fun. It was an idea that had been foreign to the young Tairen for months now, and that he was eager to grasp once again.
“All right, I’ll do it.” He said, keeping his voice low despite the fact that no one could have possibly heard him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to talk in a normal voice – it would have ruined the moment, if nothing else.
The weeks and months of practice made embracing saidin easier than he could have hoped for, cleansing his mind of all emotion and reaching out to grasp the source firmly, allowing it no room to escape or wrench free from his mental fist.
Threads of air appeared, whispering over the heads of the crowd to form a net of sorts around the items that were needed – if anyone happened to look up, of course they would see a strange little sight: a platter of cheese and meat and two bottles of wine floated quickly upwards, hovering at the edge of the balcony for a moment before traversing the banister, to land neatly at the feet of the two novices.
Ramaes stared at the food, grinning in foolhardy triumph. It was the first time he had done anything other than channeling fire in the privacy of his own rooms – and Air was not one of his best elements in the One Power. Looking down, he didn’t see anyone staring upwards at where they crouched, and so assumed that he had managed his little task unnoticed.
He was probably wrong, of course.
Tahmelah was staring at him with an odd expression on her face, and as Ramaes grabbed a hunk of cheese and stuffed it into his mouth, he couldn’t help but to question her.
“What?” The word was muffled, more vowels than anything else. Talking clearly around a mouthful of cheese was apparently a talent he had absolutely no skill in. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He finished, after swallowing the bit of cheese.
He picked up one of the bottles, proffering it to her while taking the other for himself. The meat on the plate smelled wonderful -- he had not realized just how hungry he was – but he waited for Tahmelah’s answer before eating anything else, despite the fact that she was already grabbing for some of that meat herself.
