Thandrel pushed the door open and slipped quietly inside. The sun had long since set and his family would, or at least should, be asleep, so he had little reason for stealth other than not wanting any confrontation. Still, it was a surprise to see his brother awake, stoking the fire back to life in the hearth almost as if he’d been expecting Thandrel to arrive.

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” Thandrel asked, taking a seat near the fire. “And how did you find out I was back?”

Kerrick, his younger brother by four years, continued to feed the fire, coaxing life from the glowing embers. It was a long moment before he turned to Thandrel, regarding him with the same cool, gray eyes of their father. “Someone needed to keep the fire going for you, lest you burn down the inn trying to start it yourself.” He smirked at Thandrel and clapped him on the shoulder before taking his own seat. “Besides, I had to make sure you didn’t clean out the pantry on this visit.”

Thandrel grumbled at the remarks, glowering at his brother. “I can get the fire burning just fine, thank you, and I have never cleaned out the pantry.” he hissed at Kerrick. He turned slightly to fire, stripping the glove from his left hand as he held both out for the flames to warm them. It had been a long walk into town, and the evenings rain had left him half frozen when the sun dipped below the horizon. He watched the fire light dance across the floor while he rubbed some life back into the cold joints of his hands. His left hand was especially stiff, as it usually was after a cold autumn rain. It sometimes made him feel older than his twenty years.

He’d hardly noticed Kerrick staring at his hand until the other spoke. “How’s the hand doing? I see you

still wear a glove over it.” It was easy to hear the concern in his voice.

“Same as always: stiff, aching, and -” he paused, pulling the glove back on and grinning through the dancing firelight, “- lucky as ever.” Most would think he was being sarcastic with that last part, and to a point he was. But he knew his brother understood what he meant. Years back he’d been ambidextrous, quick with either hand. Then he’d gotten too sure of himself, and tried to play around with their grandfather’s sword. He’d tripped and nearly killed himself, except his hand had gotten in the way. Instead he’d earned a deep scar across the hand, a long furrow running from his ring finger to the base of his thumb. He’d given up most of the use of a hand in exchange for his life: a fair trade he thought, made fairer by the luck it seemed to bring him in when he played dice.

His brother laughed, the sound of it bringing another smile to Thandrel’s face. “I was going to ask where you got the coat Than, but I think I can guess now. Ever the gambler, eh?”

He nodded, standing to show off his latest prize. It was a large coat, ill fitting, hanging past his knees when he stood, once dyed blue but now faded to a lighter color. It’d been patched in several spots, some of the newer areas he’d had to do himself. Still, he liked the coat, even if it was made to be worn by a taller man. “Won it in a game of dice.” he said. “Man was a sore loser though, I think maybe he liked this old coat.”

“And I think maybe you should have taken it as a sign to stop gambling.” His brother shook his head, rising and making for the kitchen. “Finish warming up, I think there might be some stew left, or at least some bread.”

Thandrel watched his brother disappear after lighting a candle, before turning back to the fire. It had been years since he’d first left home, and it always felt strange when he returned. The last time he’d stormed out after a fight with his father. This time he planned to avoid the issue, and if he could manage to avoid his father too then all the better. His father would never understand why he didn’t want to help run an inn. It wasn’t that Thandrel didn’t like the work, on the contrary he found working to be somehow relaxing to the mind. No, he thought, it was being tied down to one place. It was something he wouldn’t allow himself, to settle into sameness and routine, a life without any excitement. It might as well be death.

Turning from the fire, he scanned the floor boards, counting them off. It would disappoint his brother to know that Thandrel had a reason for his visit other than to see his family: and while it was shameful to perform his search while Kerrick was in the kitchen, he couldn’t bear to tell him why he was really there. He found the board he was looking for and stooped down, using his dagger to pry the loose board free before grasping in the darkness. He grumbled and laid down to get a better reach, searching blindly, and hoped it hadn’t fallen free from its hiding place. He cursed to himself when his hand ran across where it should have been – someone must’ve found it.

“Looking for the sword?”

He quietly stood, replacing the board and his dagger, and turned to his brother, eyes lowered to the floor. “It is mine, I was just retrieving it was all.” He mustered his will and looked up at his younger brother. There was a look of disappointment mixed with pity on his face, and as Thandrel looked at him in the dancing shadows of the dimly lit room he thought Kerrick was more like their father than he ever would be. He sighed, taking his seat again and shaking his head. He turned his gaze back to the floor, searching for words to explain himself. He heard Kerrick leave the room, only to return moments later.

“I found it after you last left. I had wondered when you’d come back for it.” Kerrick took the seat across from him again, and he looked up to see him holding the scabbarded sword in one hand. “Why you left it under the floor I’ll never understand. Our grandfather would never have forgiven you if he knew you left it somewhere to rust while you were off traveling about.” He offered the sword to Thandrel, who starred at it, unsure of why he was seemingly forgiven. “Go on, take it. I kept it oiled and polished. One of us had to be responsible at least.”

Thandrel reached out and took hold of the scabbard. “I’m surprised you’re giving it to me. If I remember right, you were rather upset when it was given to me.” He noticed Kerricks grip tighten with a reluctance to let go. Thandrel shook his head and chuckled quietly. “Or perhaps you still want it?”

His brother smiled, releasing his grip on the weapon. “No.” he said, shaking his head. “It’s yours.” Kerrick leaned back, watching as Thandrel lay the sword gently across his lap. “You’ll need it anyways, I imagine. Never were much in a fist fight.” Kerrick smiled at his older brother’s glare.

“Yes, well, I don’t need to be a better fighter,” Thandrel replied, his glare shifting to a thin smirk, “I only need to be faster than others.” The brothers shared a laugh at that, then fell into a silence as each thought fondly of their childhood and the numerous times they’d fought. “Thanks little brother,” Thandrel said at last, breaking the silence, “for taking care of this.” He patted the sword.

“It was nothing.” his brother said, reaching towards the table beside them and sliding over a bowl of stew for Thandrel. “So can I ask, what are you going to do with it? If you planned to sell it then you can hand it back right now.”

“Now why would I do a fool thing like that? This sword and I, we have a history.” Thandrel smirked and held up his left hand while he reached for the bowl. A silence settled between them while he ate. It was a simple vegetable stew, with the usual over seasoning that marked it as his mothers cooking. It had been months since he’d last eaten it, and he savored each spoonful, mopping up the rest with a chunk of bread. When at last he’d finished he set the bowl aside. “Anything to drink?”

“Sorry Than, ale is for paying customers.” Kerrick said with a grin. It earned a grumble from Thandrel in response. “So where are you headed? You have any work, or just wandering about living on your winnings?”

“That last one. You know no place can hold me down for long Kerrick. If there was any place that could, it’d be here, you know that.” He leaned back, sighing deeply. “The open road calls me.”

“Suit yourself, brother. I suppose some just aren’t made for settling down. Me, I couldn’t be a wanderer. Couldn’t live not knowing where I would be tomorrow, or if I’d have a place to sleep.”

“Okay, I get the point. What would have you me do?”

“You could always look for work in the city. I’m sure there’s something needs doing there.”

“Tar Valon was the first place I went when I left. Not much that catches my interest there. The gambling is good, but I’ve no desire to work the docks again.”

“I’m sure there is work other than the docks, Thandrel. You could seek work at the Tower perhaps.”

“Me? A warder for some Aes Sedai? I assume that’s what you mean, because surely you don’t suggest I gain employ as a servant.” Thandrel eyed his brother, one eyebrow raised so far that it nearly disappeared under his rain dampened hair. A part of him thought the idea was insane, but another part of him was intrigued. It might provide an interesting challenge, but that was only if they’d consider training him. If that even possible he wondered, idly flexing his scarred hand.

“Yes.” The sound of Kerricks voice roused him from his thoughts. He sighed, glancing in the direction of the city, though it was too dark to see the white walls across the river. He turned back to Kerrick, but found himself unable to speak. He couldn’t sort his thoughts, his mind was so intent on weighing the possibilities: on one hand the idea was solid, intriguing, somehow interesting. But on the other hand, to train and serve the Tower, wouldn’t that just be another way of settling down?

“I don’t know.” he said finally, shaking his head.

“Well, I was merely offering a suggestion. Unless of course, you think you couldn’t handle such a thing. And if that’s the case, why not leave the sword here?”

Thandrel searched his brothers face for a smirk, a smile, a grin, anything. All he found was that serious stare that he’d only seen a few times before. Light burn his brother, but he was serious and he knew Thandrel too well. It was a challenge of sorts. He smiled, an idea creeping forth to turn the tables on Kerrick. To wipe the seriousness off his face. “Oh, I can handle it,” he said, folding his hands across the sword, “but how about we make a bet. Just a friendly wager between brothers. You seem to think I can’t handle being in one place, subject to another’s rules and order, right?” His brother nodded without breaking eye contact. He held his smile and continued, “How about this then. If I go to the Tower, and train to become a Warder, successfully, I keep the sword and the satisfaction of proving you and the rest of the family wrong.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll come back and take my place as an innkeeper’s son. I’ll consign myself to the everlasting boredom of learning to run this place. And you get grandfather’s sword. Deal?” He waited, wondering whether his brother would accept. He hoped he wouldn’t, that he’d laugh and shake his head and that would be that. But in the back of his head, in that part of him that had started wondering at the idea, he was beginning to hope his brother would agree. Another silence settled down as Kerrick considered the wager at length. Thandrel fought to keep still, his impatience gnawing at him.

“Deal, on one more condition. If I win this one, then you swear never to gamble again. On anything.”

Thandrel narrowed his eyes, felt the corner of one twitch a little. “Why do you insist on taking the fun out of life?” He received a raised eyebrow in response, and let out a long sigh. “Alright. Fine. A deal is a deal.” He stood, tying his hair back before tucking the sword through his belt, while he grumbled under his breath. He looked Kerrick in the face and smirked, “I don’t intend to lose. I have luck on my side, remember?” he said, waving a farewell with his gloved left hand to make his point as he turned for the door.

“Leaving already? You could at least stay the rest of the night, get some sleep.”

“No. I’m getting an early start on this. I will not lose, Kerrick.” He stopped at the door, turning to shoot a grin to his brother. “Besides, if I stay, you’ll have time to rethink this and stop me. Oh, and thanks for the food.” Before his brother could say anything more he pushed the door open and walked into the cool night air. “No, certainly not losing this one…” he muttered, pulling his coat close to keep out the chill as he set off in the direction of Tar Valon, with its shining white walls and the White Tower.